[angelicyoongie]

(you're) always on my mind (Ill/finale)

— pairing: bird hybrid jimin x (f) reader — word count: 5.9k — summary: When your workplace announces that they've decided to promote collaboration between departments, you suddenly find yourself face to face with your sworn nemesis Park Jimin. Your plans to avoid him are quickly foiled as his presence turns the floor into a madhouse, your coworkers all vying for his attention. With so many people at his beck and call, why is it that Jimin is always so insistent on getting in your way?

01 - 02 - 03 / Masterlist

You let out a small huff, staring at the same empty document that's been taunting you all morning. It's the last thing you need to complete in order for your project with Jimin to be officially over.

Perhaps it was fate that you had long since planned for the final week of the project to be completed individually, to give you both ample time to nitpick the project for any mistakes. It sure made your mission to avoid Jimin all that easier. 

Truth is, you have been keeping your distance from Jimin for a week, crafting excuses to miss lunch and dodging every opportunity to engage in conversation with him. It's not like he hasn't tried, but each time you've found a way to brush him off with stilted responses and averted eyes.

You could tell every rejection was getting to him more than the previous - his once blinding smile dimmed each time you turned away, and a small part of you ached whenever a flicker of confusion and disappointment passed over his expression. 

Yesterday, just as the days before, you had turned him away with a poor excuse as to why you couldn't accept the coffee he had bought you. As Jimin had walked back to his desk, you could see his wings droop, his precious tail-end feathers dragging across the dirty floor.

You had felt a sense of guilt then – you were only doing this to protect yourself, but somehow, it felt like you were tearing him down in the process. The guilt was fleeting however, gone just as quickly as it arrived when you remembered the conversation you had overheard. 

You simply couldn't shake the hurt of what you heard him say. It replayed on your mind constantly, twisting the knife in your gut deeper with each time. You missed the sound of his laughter and the playful banter that once flowed so easily between you. Everything that was left now was just awkward silence that made you feel vulnerable and exposed. You hated how much it affected you, how exhausting it was to ignore him. One night, you had even found yourself wishing that maybe you had just heard wrong, that you had simply misinterpreted what you thought you heard and that Jimin actually felt the same way. But you were too scared to find out, too scared to reopen a wound that hadn't even had time to close in the first place. It was just easier to keep him at a distance, to push him away before he could do more damage. 

Sighing, you rub the sides of your head, irked by the headache you can feel building up. 

Despite your better judgement, you find yourself casting wry glances toward the small meeting room you had shared with the bird hybrid. Jimin has been working there all morning, only stepping outside to refill his coffee. It's funny how welcoming that room felt only a few days ago, but now you never want to step foot in it ever again - especially not if he's in it. 

"Hey, are you okay? You've been really quiet lately," Jungkook pushes his chair closer to your desk, concern etched on his face.

"Yeah, just tired," You wave him off, averting your eyes back to your screen.

"Tired my ass," Jungkook huffs. "Is it because of–"

"Jungkook," You interrupt, your voice sharper than intended. "Just drop it, okay? I don't want to talk about it right now."

You can feel Jungkook's gaze boring into the side of your face, scrutinizing you. After a few seconds pass, you can hear the pout in his voice as he says, "Alright, but you know I'm here if you need to talk."

"I know. Thank you."

You sigh inwardly, the feeling of guilt that's been rooted in your stomach for the past week only growing heavier as you glance to the side and see Jungkook frowning at his screen. It wasn't his fault; he was just trying to help. But you're not ready to talk about Jimin – not yet. 

Jimin lasts exactly eight days before he approaches your desk, frustration etched across his handsome features as he taps the wood to get your attention. 

"Y/n," He says, a tinge of vulnerability underneath the firmness in his voice, "Can we talk?"

Glancing up, you meet his piercing violet gaze, and feel a familiar pang of guilt. But your instincts tell you to stand your ground and you cross your arms defensively as you reply, "What's there to talk about?"

Jimin's eyes flicker across the room, no doubt seeing the curious eyes of your coworkers staring right back at him. The bird hybrid's voice is just a touch softer as he says, "Please, just give me five minutes. Out in the hall."

You're sure nothing good will come of this, but the morbidly curious part of you just needs to know what Jimin wants to tell you. 

"Fine. Lead the way."

You follow Jimin out of the office, all the way down the hall to the fire escape. It's far enough that no one will be able to overhear you.

Jimin's wings shift as he turns around, feathers ruffling with frustration as he drags a hand through his hair. "Can you please tell me why you've been avoiding me? I don't understand what happened." His voice trembles slightly, betraying the confidence he normally exudes.

The question hangs in the air like a challenge, one that you're entirely unprepared to face.

"You know why," You snap. 

Jimin's expression shifts as he processes your response, his eyes screwing shut momentarily, as if to block out the anger and hurt laced in your tone. 

An embarrassed pink flush eventually spreads up his neck. "You figured out that I like you and you don't feel the same way. I get it now, I'm sorry."

"What?" You whisper, your mind blank, struggling to comprehend the confession that just slipped from his lips. "What did you say?"

"I like you, Y/n." Jimin repeats, his eyes timid as he dares to meet yours, the sincerity in his gaze making your heart ache. In that moment, you couldn't help but think back on all the sweet gestures Jimin had done for you, how attentive and kind he had been as you worked on your project. But–

Your breath catches in your throat, a mixture of surprise and disbelief washing over you. "Oh, you like me now? Just a few days ago, you were saying I wasn't right for you." The accusation drips from your lips, heavy with the hurt you've been trying to suppress. 

"What, how did you–" He stammers, clearly taken aback by your reaction, his confusion only making your heart ache more. 

"Does it matter?" 

He takes a step forward, the hand that was reaching out for yours freezing midair as you pull back.

"Of course it does! You didn't hear everything, Y/n, you misunderstood–" Jimin tries to explain, desperation creeping into his voice. 

"What's there to misunderstand? I heard you Jimin. Not to mention that you've been flirting with every other employee while I've had to watch. How.." You swallow thickly, "How can I take your feelings seriously?"

Jimin's expression crumbles, the bitter truth hanging heavy in the air between you. His voice trembles, "You think I'm just a flirt? That's all you see me as?" 

No.

You know Jimin is way more than that, so why can't you seem to find the words to deny it? 

Before you can muster up an apology, Jimin turns on his heel and storms off, leaving you alone to stew in your hurt. The empty, cold silence left behind feels suffocating, the unsaid words on your tongue heavy and bitter. Regret settles in as the echo of Jimin's footsteps die out. In your attempt to shield yourself from more pain, you had inflicted it on someone else.

You lean against the wall behind you, blinking away the stinging sensation in your eyes. You don't know what's wrong with you. He said it himself that you had gotten it all wrong, that he likes you – so why can't you take his word for it? Jimin has never proved himself to be untrustworthy before. A flirt yes, but never one to intentionally go out his way to hurt you. 

"Fuck," You mutter, rubbing your eyes.

You can't shake the feeling that you just made the biggest mistake of your life. 

The weekend gave you ample time to ponder, to mull over your harsh words. The feeling of regret grew heavier as you replayed the conversation over and over in your mind. You wished you could take it all back, that you would have handled it differently. You know you blew it out of proportion. You were right to feel hurt about what you thought you heard, but you really should've tried to listen to what he was trying to tell you. But you let the moment pass, and all you were left with was a weekend filled with a gnawing sense of guilt. 

Come Monday, you had resolved to apologize. Maybe you didn't fully understand your feelings, but pushing Jimin away like that felt like a mistake. With that in mind, you decided to take a few hours off work in the morning, determined to find a proper gift you could use to apologize to Jimin. 

As you walked slowly down main street, peering into the shops you passed, it didn't take too long before something caught your eye. A bracelet. A simple silver bracelet faceted with a gemstone. You would have considered it plain if it wasn't for how the sunlight caught the stone, a kaleidoscope of deep blues sparkling across the display. The same deep hue as Jimin's wings and hair.

"Perfect," You breathed. 

A little while later – with a hole in your bank account and the bracelet safely tucked inside your pocket – you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what's to come. Your heart is racing with a mixture of excitement and trepidation as you approach Jimin's desk. Your palm grows clammy as you rehearse the words you wanted to say to him one final time. You really didn't want to mess this up again.

"Hey, Jimin," You softly say. The bird hybrid looks up from his computer screen, the surprise that flickers across his face quickly dampened by worry.

You shakily pull out the box from your pocket, presenting it to him shyly. "I wanted to give you something. I had some time to think over the weekend and I'm really sorry for how I acted before. I shouldn't have pushed you away like that. And I didn't mean the things I said. I'm just.. really sorry." 

You keep your voice low as you ramble, clasping your hands awkwardly together as you watch Jimin unbox your gift. The bird hybrid's violet eyes grow large as he sees the bracelet, his cheeks turning flaming red. He gently caresses the blue gemstone as his feathers rustle behind his back. 

"I... I'll have to think about it," Jimin stammers, flustered. 

You don't let the dejection show on your face. You did expect that Jimin would need some time to think too - to decide if he wants to accept your apology or not. 

"Of course," You give him a weak smile, "Take all the time you need."

You feel like you're ready to burst by the time lunch rolls around, jittery energy coursing through your veins as you hurry down to the cafeteria. You know there's one person you can count on to give it to you straight, one that has a bit more special insight than most. Luckily he's not hard to locate, not with his antlers being visible from the other side of the room. 

"Hey, Hoseok, mind if I join you?" You try to keep your voice light as you approach his table, but you know he doesn't buy it. 

The deer hybrid simply gives you a once over, his kind eyes narrowing immediately as he says, "Sit. What's wrong?"

You slump down onto the seat across from him, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. "I need your advice on something, or well, someone. Jimin."

Hoseok's expression shifts, his curiosity piqued. You're aware that he knows something went down between you and the bird hybrid, that the reason you suddenly stopped coming down for lunch was to avoid him.

Hoseok gently clears his throat, placing his fork down on this plate as he tries to act nonchalant,  "What about him? Is everything okay?"

You place your head in your hands with a groan, hesitating as you weigh your words. "I guess it's complicated? There was a misunderstanding, and I reacted badly. I didn't want to get hurt, but I ended up hurting him instead."

"Let me guess, he confessed that he likes you?" 

Your gaze snaps up, bewildered at how quickly Hoseok has caught on. "Did he tell you?"

The deer hybrid shakes his head, "He didn't have to. It was obvious to every hybrid in this building that he was trying to court you." 

"What do you mean?" You ask, a flush creeping up your cheeks as embarrassment mingles with surprise. How could you not have noticed?

Hoseok leans forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Y/n, hybrids have their own ways of expressing interest. Jimin has been showing off–" Hoseok rolls his eyes, "– quite desperately, might I add, trying to impress you with his charm and desirability. It's part of his nature. He was trying to court you, even if you didn't see it."

You feel your heart race at the confirmation. "But I didn't know.. Why didn't he just tell me?"

"He didn't say it straight out because that's not how it works for us. I get that it's confusing, you wouldn't naturally pick up on his courting like other hybrids would, but he has tried really, really hard to show you that he was interested."

Hoseok gives you a wry smile.  "Obviously it hasn't worked that well, so maybe if you talk to him about it, you know, clear the air? Maybe that will set things straight and let you know where you both stand in this."

"Well, I did apologize?" 

"You did?" Hoseok blinks. "When?"

"Earlier today. I felt like a simple apology wouldn't be enough, so I sort of .. got him a gift." 

Hoseok stills for a moment, staring at you with such big eyes that he looks like the true definition of a deer in headlights. "You got him a courting gift?" 

"No!" You hiss. "It was an apology gift, that's all–" 

You suddenly freeze as you remember how shocked Jimin had looked, how flustered he had been to accept your gift. "Oh my god, did I give him a courting gift?"

"Y/n!" Hoseok groans, shaking his head in disbelief. The ears on his head twitch in every direction, reflecting the myriad of thoughts he's trying to sort through at once. 

The deer hybrid eventually drags a hand down his face, his gaze more serious than you've ever seen before as he says, "You need to talk to him. If you really do want to accept his courting then I guess you've done yourself a favor, but if not– then you need to speak with him right away. Don't... don't get his hopes up, Y/n. He can be a brat but he doesn't deserve that kind of heartbreak." 

"I will, I mean, I won't! I–" You fumble over your words, too flustered to properly function.

"Courting is just like dating, alright?" Hoseok cracks a smile at your antsy state. "You got this. Just go talk to him." 

"Okay!" You shoot up from the table, almost tripping over your own feet. You grimace at Hoseok's snort, "I mean.. Yeah, I can do that." 

You don't hear the deer hybrid's reply, your feet already carrying you across the cafeteria. You have no idea where Jimin might be right now, but starting with his desk is probably the right idea. And if he's not there, well, it'll give you some time to definitely not hyperventilate in the bathroom. 

You let out a shuddering breath as the elevator door opens with a soft chime, your heart racing as you step out. Your feet carry you with such urgency that you end up cutting the corner a little too much, the sharp turn sending you stumbling right into someone. You feel warm hands wrap around your arms, steadying your balance so that you don't go crashing to the ground. 

"Sorry, I–" The words die on the tip of your tongue as you glance up and find Jimin staring back at you. There's a concerned furrow between his brows, his eyes sweeping you up and down to make sure you're okay. 

"I'm alright," You blurt, finding yourself growing a little squirmish under Jimin's attentive gaze. "I actually wanted to, well, um, you see.." 

"I accept."

"Accept?" You ask, blinded by the brilliant smile that Jimin gives you. 

"Yes. I didn't expect you to be so straightforward considering you've turned down all of my attempts at wooing you the human way so far, but I could really feel your sincerity with your courting gift." 

You blink. "How? I mean, when, did you attempt to woo me?" 

Jimin's smile grows a little sheepish. "I did try to ask you out for lunch. Many times."

"Wait-" You shake your head, "those were supposed to be dates?"

"Of course! Why did you think I was so persistent in asking you out to eat if I didn't like you?" He replies, a hint of hurt creeping into his voice.

Your racing heart comes to a near stop, your mouth suddenly dry as dust as it hits you just how wrong you have been about him. The words taste like chalk as you force them out,  "I figured you wanted to gloat, maybe rub it in my face a little that I only got into the project because of you."

You feel sick as Jimin's face visibly falls at your explanation. You honestly think the guilt might eat you alive as he weakly says, 

"You've had a very low opinion of me this entire time, haven't you?"

"I'm sorry," You whisper.

There's no point in denying it. You've spent the past months believing that Jimin had some kind of vendetta against you – that he could just charm his way to anything he wanted. That he was just toying with you. 

Jimin gently releases your arms as he uses one hand to run through his hair, leaving it a dark blue mess. "I just–" The confusion is palpable in his voice as he asks, "I know we didn't get off on the right foot last year, I was trying too hard to prove myself and it just came off as me being an asshole. But there has to be something else, right? Or did I leave that bad of a first impression?"

"Ah," You trail off, biting your lip. It all sounds stupid now that you know, but then again, it's not like courting rituals is something you're involved with often (or ever, in fact). 

As you actively try to avoid Jimin's eyes, you find that you seem to have drawn a small crowd. You recognize a few of your coworkers lingering just by the door to the office floor, and you think there might be some from Jimin's old department too. They don't even try to hide their staring as they converse with fervent whispers.

Jimin, sensing your discomfort, suddenly extends his wings with a swoosh. The movement is so abrupt that the nearest onlooker actually stumbles backwards, sending the papers in their hands flying. Jimin clicks his tongue, displeased, before shifting them to wrap around you, cocooning you both off from the rest of the corridor. 

You let out a small gasp as you're engulfed by midnight blue feathers, the sounds outside slightly dampened by his wings. You find that you can't look at anything else but Jimin, his violet eyes taking on an inhuman shine in the low light. 

"Y/n?" Jimin prompts gently.

"It wasn't just the emails," You admit. "It always felt like.. whenever I tried to do something, you were already one step ahead. Like you were always one-upping me. And then you were constantly flirting with everyone, and I just figured–" You cut yourself off with a laugh, small and self-deprecating. "I thought you were messing with me. Or trying to make me look stupid. Even when you said you liked me, I felt like I couldn't trust it."

Jimin shakes his head, embarrassment palpable in his voice as he desperately tries to explain, "Bird hybrids have these.. instincts? Everything I did was my way of trying to prove myself as an attractive and capable mate."

Jimin's wings twitch slightly as he rubs the back of his neck. "When I brought you coffee, I was trying to show that I could provide. When I was showing off and attempting to seem desirable–" Your lips quirk at how hard Jimin tries to avoid the F word, "–I wanted you to know that I was the best well, uh, specimen around. And when I complimented your friends, I thought it would reflect well on me." 

There's something sad and vulnerable in his voice as he says, "I was never trying to compete with you. I only wanted you to notice me."

"I'm sorry," You say, and you mean it. "I didn't know."

In the near darkness, you let your hand seek out Jimin's, your fingers tentatively brushing over his knuckles. He lets out a soft breath at the touch, unfurling his fingers to let them tangle with yours. 

His violet eyes soften as he hesitates, then adds, "And maybe I couldn't help but annoy you just a little bit. You look really cute when you pull that irritated pout."

"I do not do that!" You blurt, but it's too late – your lips already betraying you and curling defensively into the exact expression he mentioned.  

"See?" Jimin lets out a small, fond laugh. A moment passes, the tension melting away into something softer and more sincere. "I really am sorry. I know I messed up. I should have just told you instead of hoping that you would understand."

Having it all laid out in front of you like this, you can't help but feel utterly foolish for the resentment you harboured for so long. You wasted so much time and energy on a rivalry that didn't even exist. But, even though you both fucked up in the past, it doesn't mean that it has to stay that way. 

"I did too. I was too harsh," You say softly. "Maybe we could... start over?"

Jimin squeezes your hand, his expression turning hopeful. "I'd like that." There's a silence, comfortable this time, and then: "So, lunch tomorrow?"

You shake your head with a smile. "I don't think we would be able to find a place to eat in peace with the stunt we just pulled here in the hallway. Instead, how about dinner?"

Jimin’s wings seem to flutter involuntarily based on the blush that dusts his cheeks, as if the prospect of a real date is enough to send him airborne. He swallows, and in the hush you swear you feel his heartbeat echo yours.

“Yeah," He grins, "Dinner sounds good.”

When you return to your desk, Jungkook is spinning in your chair, a pout on his lips. “So, should I congratulate you now, or wait until you’re mated?”

“Shut up,” You whine, scanning for eavesdroppers. “We just… talked.”

“Sure looked like more than talking to me,” He replies, narrowing his eyes.

"Nothing happened!" You lightly smack his arm, "We agreed to go out for dinner, that's all."

Jungkook stills, his eyes growing wide as he dramatically whispers, "Should I tell Jimin to watch out for poison in his food?"

"No, it's not like that.. anymore."

"I swear I picked the worst possible time to take a few days off!" Jungkook whines. "You wanted to bite his head off when I left on Wednesday. What happened between then and now to change your mind this much?" 

You rub your face, shrugging your shoulders as you say, "It's complicated."

"But!" You add, seeing Jungkook opening his mouth to complain, "I promise I'll tell you everything. I just need to talk some things out with Jimin first, I think there's been a lot of misunderstandings between us." 

"Fine," Jungkook concedes, "You have twenty-four hours." 

"Oh, how generous of you," You roll your eyes.

"If you need any advice, let me know," Jungkook chirps as he jumps out of your chair. “I’m an excellent wingman.”

You groan, but under the embarrassment there’s a fizz of something lighter, almost thrilled.

You make it through the day by sheer force of will. The incident that occurred between you and Jimin is definitely the talk of the office, and you can feel your coworkers' amused and envious stares. It certainly doesn't lessen your anxiety ahead of your little date. The entire walk home, you replay the conversation in your head, dissecting every word, every gesture. You’re so distracted that you nearly miss your own apartment building, and have to double back, face burning.

You feel so out of sorts while you're getting ready that it's not until you're standing outside the restaurant, nerves tangling in your stomach, that you realize you've put on a deep blue satin dress – one that matches the hue of Jimin's wings perfectly. 

It's too late to turn back now and standing Jimin up just because you made an embarrassing choice of dress is not an option. So you square your shoulders, take a deep breath and hope that the colour will read more black than blue in the dimly lit restaurant. 

It’s a small place—cozy, with twinkle lights in the window and the smell of fresh bread waftes out as you open the door. You spot Jimin immediately as you step in. 

He’s wearing a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, collar open, wings folded tight and gleaming in the soft light. He’s fidgeting with the edge of the menu, scanning the room every few seconds, and you realize with a tiny jolt that he’s nervous too.

The moment he sees you, he stands up so fast he nearly knocks over his chair. “Hey,” he says, then stops abruptly, blinking at your dress. So much for hoping he wouldn't notice. 

His eyes widen, then soften, mouth quirking into a crooked smile. “You look stunning.”

You want to say something suave in response, but what comes out is, “You too. Good. You look good.” 

You wince inwardly, but Jimin just beams, and you think maybe this won't be so bad after all. 

Dinner is a blur of laughter and awkward stories. You tell him about the time you accidentally sent your boss a meme instead of a quarterly report; he counters with a story about getting his feathers dyed neon pink in a charity event gone wrong. The conversation is easy—easier than you’d expected, the tension from before melting away. 

But when it’s time for the waiter to clear your plates, you feel the weight of the moment. There's still one conversation to be had that you've been dreading all night. “Jimin.. about before,” You begin, voice steady. “I’m sorry I pushed you away. I was scared of how I felt, and I handled it badly. You didn’t deserve that.”

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes searching yours, as if he were weighing the sincerity of your words. “You really mean that?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You nod, and your whole face feels hot. “I do. I was stupid. And I’m not even sure why it freaked me out so much except—” You sigh. “I don’t know. I guess sometimes it’s easier to expect the worst than to hope for something good.”

Jimin draws in a breath, then lets it out slowly. “I get it,” He says. “I do. I mean, I pretend I don’t, but I know what it’s like to be scared of wanting something too much.” He shrugs, his wings shifting minutely behind him, like they’re echoing his discomfort. 

You open your mouth, then close it, trying to find the right words. The sentences tangle on your tongue, but you force yourself to be honest. “Jimin, I have to tell you something,” You say, voice barely above a whisper. “This whole thing—I didn’t even know I was asking to court you.”

You press on, even as your heart hammers in your chest, “The gift was just an apology for how I acted before. I didn’t mean to send you mixed signals, but I get why you thought it was more. Especially with what you, um, confessed to me last week.”

He blinks, his wings drawing in tight against his back. Something flickers across his face, a quick, vulnerable flinch before he composes himself.

"You didn't know?" The question comes out soft, almost wounded.

“No,” You admit, nothing short of mortified. "You’re the first hybrid I’ve ever – well, you know. I didn’t want to hurt you again, but I keep doing exactly that.”

"No, it's–" He starts, then stops, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his napkin. “It seems we keep misunderstanding each other."

"I'm really sorry. I didn't realize it then but I do know better now and... well, if you still want me, I promise I'll come up with something much better – a proper courting gift."

For a moment, Jimin just blinks at you, slow and deliberate. His lips twitch at the corners, not quite a smile but something close. His left hand, the one closest to you, creeps forward until it’s resting just at the edge of the table, so close to yours that it would be easy, almost accidental, to reach out and brush his fingers.

Still, he waits—giving you the choice to respond.

“You’d do that?” He asks, voice hushed. “You’d try again? Even knowing what that means now?”

You let your fingers brush, gently grasping his hand as you say, “I would, if you let me.”

He finally, properly smiles. It’s small but devastating, the kind of smile that makes a home in your ribcage. "I'd really like that. A lot."

You settle the bill soon after and step out into the night together, the city lights painting everything gold and blue. When your apartment building comes into view, you feel a knot of anticipation tighten in your stomach. Jimin hesitates at the entrance, then follows you to the front steps, his wings folding and unfolding in restless, jittery arcs.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. You can feel the pleasant breeze drag across your skin, ushering a promise of warmer days ahead. But before you can drag your feet up the stairs, Jimin steps close— close enough that you can feel the heat rising from his skin, can see the blue-black feathers at his nape twitch when he swallows.

“I had a really nice time tonight,” You murmur.

“Me too,” He replies, and then his expression goes unreadable for a fraction of a second. “I’m glad you gave me another chance.”

I am too, you think. But saying it doesn't feel like enough. So you step toward him, hands reaching for the lapels of his shirt, and pull him in.

He tastes like cinnamon and something sharp, maybe the wine he was drinking earlier. His lips are tentative, at first, as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he’s too forward. You giggle against his mouth, and he responds with this breathless, incredulous little exhale that makes you want to kiss him harder. So you do. The world tilts, just a little. In the press of his body against yours, you feel the tremor of his nerves, the careful shift of his wings so as not to crush you.

When you finally break apart, you’re both out of breath and a little dazed. Jimin’s hair is messed up from where you’d run your hands through it, and he’s looking at you as if you’re the last star in the sky.

“Wow,” You say, because it’s all you can manage.

He laughs — a real, unguarded laugh, and it’s so dazzling you almost want to shield your eyes.

“I know,” He says. There's a pause, as if he's weighing the words in his mouth before he speaks them, “I really do like you.”

It’s simple and raw, and you don’t know what to do with that kind of honesty except accept it. Because you feel the same way.

You reach for his hand, the one that’s been hovering at your side since you left the restaurant. His palm is warm and soft. “I really like you, too.”

He looks down at your joined hands, then back up, lips parted as if he’s working through a dozen possible things to say and discarding them all. He settles for, “Can I see you again?”

“I don’t know,” You tease, “I’m actually very busy with my extremely important spreadsheets and projects.”

Jimin snorts. “I can respect the hustle.” His thumb traces lazy circles on the back of your hand. “But if there’s ever a vacancy in your schedule, let me know.”

"I might be able to fit you in somewhere," You hum. 

Jimin lets out a short, endeared laugh, and gently tugs you closer.

The second kiss is bolder, less hesitant, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him. You feel the heat of his body through your dress, the firm pressure of his hands at the small of your back. You match his energy, fingers tangling in his hair, drawing him in as his tongue slides against yours. A soft moan escapes you when he nips at your bottom lip, the sensation sending electricity down your spine. His wings unfurl slightly behind him, feathers trembling with barely restrained desire as Jimin responds in kind, lips moving with urgent confidence, his touch almost reverent even as it borders on desperate. The world fades to black and blue and the sound of your heart, loud and insistent in your ears. You could get used to this, you think, to the weight and warmth and wildness of kissing Park Jimin under the stars.

When you finally part, you’re dizzy and laughing and giddy, and you can’t remember the last time you felt this light.

“Would you, um, like to come up?” You ask, suddenly shy.

There is a beat of silence – just enough for you to panic and wish you could take the words back – before Jimin’s lips curl in a slow, devastatingly sly smile.

“Depends,” He says, voice dipping into something honeyed and dangerous. “Will you be wearing that dress?”

You feel heat rush to your cheeks and you can't help but stammer as you say, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

His wings flutter slightly — a tell you’re learning to read. He's nervous. Excited.

Jimin’s eyes search your face, lingering at the corners of your lips, the slope of your jaw. He reaches up and, impossibly gentle, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Either way,” He murmurs, voice barely a whisper, “I’d follow you anywhere."

a/n: it took almost a year but i'm finally back with the final chapter!! this road sure hasn't been easy for the MC and Jimin – it's hard to look past your own bias when you've made up your mind about a person – but the MC pulled through in the end! they're going to end up being the company's power couple for sure 🤧

ps. jimin is a blue bowerbird hybrid!

i would love to hear your thoughts on the story and reblogs are very much appreciated!! 💖

[hollyhomburg]

Diary Of a Part Time Puppy (JJK)

(Magical Realism, Omegaverse, Hurt/comfort, Eventual Polyamory) 

Summary:  Both you and Jungkook are outsiders in your respective species. You- a witch without a coven, and Jungkook- a wolf without a pack. But together you make something of a family. 

Pairing: alpha Jk x reader, Eventual Ot7 x reader, eventual polyamory, 

Tags: Alpha! Jk, Witch! reader, Touch-starved Jk, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, childhood neglect, implied child abuse, parent loss, orphan! Jk, loneliness, depression, Isolation, Astraphobia, Jungkook needs a hug, magical realism, mention of parallel universes, elements of suspense

W/c: 12.4k

A/n: This is for everyone who’s never been loved in the way that they needed to be loved, never gotten affection as easily as they needed it <3 I firmly believe everyone has a love story waiting for them out there <3 and until you find it you can find a little bit of it here. there will be four parts to this series! 

Jeon Jungkook has never been comfortable in his wolf form.

When he was younger, shifting was a one-way ticket to earning a scolding or worse- an open fist or rough pinch to his snout. Being human was by comparison a little bit less likely to incur pain. Sure it took a lot of energy to make sure his feet stayed feet and didn’t become paws and a lot of concentration to make sure his eyes stayed human, and that his ears were just rounded instead of pointed and tall. 

But it was worth it. It’s always worth trying to appear human. 

Jungkook learned early on, the utility of appearing normal, in being small and quiet and obedient in order to earn a pittance of love. 

Seguir leyendo

[mrsvante]

Safe & Sound

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: idol au, established relationship, angst, pfp

summery: you waited the last six months for the love of your life to finally come home. and when he finally does with his uniform crisp, with open arms, smile bright—you realize some things can’t be rehearsed. some things break the script entirely. especially the kind of love that arrives shaking, breathless, and swollen with surprise.

warnings: military discharge, birth control failure, unplanned pregnancy, soft angst, lots of crying, oral!f receiving, breast play, fluffy emotional sex, mentions of body insecurity, aftercare,soft domestic jimin 😜, pregnancy cravings, brief depictions of labor & childbirth

word count: 5,819

a message from our sponsors 💁🏽‍♀️: i’ve realized i might have a thing for daddy jimin. there’s just something about soft but fiercely protective jimin that gets me going 🤪. and i KNOW i’m not the only one. so don’t judge me, judge your mother. anyways, hopefully you enjoy! i definitely got a little carried away while writing this 🤭💜✨

The sun raked across Jimin’s cheeks as he smiled for the camera, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jungkook in front of the training facility gates. Cameras flashed, reporters called his name & cheered from behind barricades.

It was a brief blur of gratitude, bows, and polite words rehearsed more times than he could count.

But none of it felt real.

Not the neatly pressed uniform or the click of camera shutters. Not even the company assigned car idling by the curb, ready to take him away from duty and back to the life he left behind.

The only real thing waiting for him, he knew, was you.

His fingers twitched as he climbed into the van, the smile he offered through the tinted glass fading the second the door shut. He blinked out the window, watching Jungkook’s van pull off first, laughing as it fishtailed slightly before catching traction again.

Typical.

Jimin glanced at the empty seat beside him and frowned, just for a moment.

You were supposed to ride with him. It wasn’t like you to skip something like this, especially after so long apart. His last leave was six months ago. Six months without your voice in his ear at the end of each day, your fingers in his hair, your warmth pressed against his side in bed.

You had said you wanted to surprise him. That you had something special planned.

And okay… you were terrible at keeping secrets. Always a little jittery. Always giving yourself away with the tilt of your smile or the too quick shuffle of your feet.

Still, Jimin’s stomach rolled with unease as the city blurred past the windows.

—

The apartment was dark.

Not dim. Not softly lit.

Dark.

The curtains were all drawn tight. The only light came from the blue glow of the television and the soft amber of an accent lamp in the corner. Even from the entryway, he could feel the chill in the air—sharp, unwelcoming.

He set down his overnight bag, toeing off his shoes with a frown.

“Honey?” he called gently, stepping farther inside.

No answer.

Then he heard the sound of a soft sniffle and the flicker of movement from the living room.

He found you bundled on the couch, a blanket pulled up to your nose. Just your eyes peered over the edge at him, wide and glistening. The sweater you wore hung loose around your shoulders.

You smiled weakly. “Welcome home.”

Jimin’s heart swelled and ached in the same breath.

He moved toward you, arms already outstretched. “Come here, pretty girl. Let me hold you—”

You jerked the blanket tighter.

“Don’t.”

His hands paused midair. “What? Why not?”

“I… I’m not feeling well,” you muttered, voice trembling.

Immediately, Jimin crouched beside the couch, his fingers brushing your forehead. “You’re freezing. Why is the apartment so cold, honey? Have you eaten? Are you sick?”

You flinched at his touch.

His brows drew tight. “Hey. What’s going on?”

The look in your eyes, a tortured mix of fear, guilt, and panic, sent alarm bells ringing down his spine. The hairs on his neck stood up like ice.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. “Why are you looking at me like that, baby?”

You swallowed thickly, tears already welling, bottom lip trembling.

“I’m sorry,” you said suddenly. “I’m so sorry, Jimin. I didn’t mean to—fuck—I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

His heart stopped.

“What happened?” he asked, voice cracking. “Why are you apologizing?”

You shook your head, rocking slightly under the blanket. “I don’t want you to be mad at me. Please don’t be mad. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose—”

“Hey, hey—breathe, baby,” Jimin said gently, kneeling now with both hands on the couch as he tried to see your face. “I’m not mad. I promise. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“You can’t promise that!” you cried, eyes wide. “You don’t know what I did!”

He tried to smile, to keep the panic at bay. “Yah,” he said playfully, “Aegi-ah, why are you acting so weird? Just tell me what’s wrong, right now!”

“Don’t yell at me!” you snapped, voice breaking as the tears spilled over.

Jimin’s breath hitched. His expression sobering immediately.

“No—no, aegi-ah, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Shh, don’t cry, please don’t cry, baby. Don’t cry—tell Jimin-ie what’s wrong, yeah? Whatever it is… we’ll figure it out. Together.”

He watched your lip tremble. Watched your hands clutch the edge of the blanket like a lifeline.

Then, with shaking fingers, you began to push it off. Your breathing was ragged as you shrugged out of your sweater. And beneath it, round, unmistakable and impossible to ignore was the soft, swollen curve of your belly.

Jimin stared.

Everything around him slowed to a whisper.

You were crying before you could speak, words tumbling out like stones.

“I didn’t know—I swear—I kept taking the pill and I didn’t miss a day. I—I double checked the window every time, but it still—it still happened. I didn’t want to trap you—I’m not trying to ruin your life, I swear, it’s just—do you know how low the failure rate is? It’s like 0.1%—but that’s still me, because of course it’s me—”

“Stop, baby,” Jimin whispered.

But you didn’t.

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t hiding it to be manipulative, I was scared, and I didn’t want to do this through a letter or video call, and you’ve been so stressed, and I know this isn’t what we planned—”

“Stop,” he said again, firmer this time.

He surged forward and wrapped you in his arms, gently but completely.

You froze.

Jimin buried his face in your neck, arms locking around you like a lifeline, and whispered, “You didn’t ruin anything. You didn’t fuck up. You didn’t trap me.”

You choked back another sob, fists clutching his shirt.

“I’m scared too,” he admitted softly, “but not because of the baby. I’m scared because you’ve been here… alone… carrying this without me.”

You broke.

And Jimin held you tighter.

“You’re not alone anymore, okay? I’m home. And I’m not going anywhere.”

—

You didn’t realize how long you’d been crying until your throat burned and your eyes felt raw.

The couch cushions had shifted beneath the weight of your grief and Jimin’s comfort, and now you were curled sideways into his chest with his arms around you like a shield. He rocked you without rhythm, just enough to soothe, thumb stroking slow circles against your side.

Your body trembled, and he didn’t let go.

“I hate this,” you whimpered against his shoulder, your voice thick and wrecked. “I’m sorry—I can’t stop crying. I’m trying. It’s just—fucking hormones.”

Jimin chuckled softly, lips brushing your hair. “You don’t have to explain. I’ve never been pregnant, but I’ve had to live with Jungkook during a breakup. I know a hormonal crisis when I see one.”

You snorted, wet and weakly, but the sound made him smile.

He kissed the crown of your head, his voice low. “When did you find out?”

You swallowed. “End of the first trimester. I kept… I kept thinking it was a stress thing. Then I started getting sick every morning. And… my smell sensitivity kicked in.”

Jimin hummed. “And the doctor?”

“They said based on the scans, it likely happened about six months ago.”

Jimin blinked.

Then his brows lifted.

“Wait—six months? You mean…”

You nodded, already burying your face again, your entire body overheating with embarrassment. “Yeah. During your last visit. That morning. On the couch.”

Jimin stared down at you, eyes wide.

And then he burst out laughing.

Your head snapped up. “What?”

He doubled over, wheezing through the laughter, eyes tearing up. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?!”

He wiped his eyes, still grinning. “We had this running bet in the barracks. Just something dumb to keep morale up. We were all guessing who was gonna come back home to a surprise baby or a panicked voicemail or a crying girlfriend on base leave.”

You blinked at him.

“And what?” you asked. “You lost the bet?”

“I didn’t bet on myself!” he howled, clutching his stomach. “I bet on Taehyung! Taehyung!”

You groaned, covering your face.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Jimin. I—”

“No,” he said quickly, firmly, cutting through your apology before it could root. “Stop that, baby. No more of that, okay?”

You sniffed, hands dropping slowly from your eyes.

Jimin cupped your face, brushing away the tear tracks with his thumbs. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You made a human with me. Us. You don’t get to apologize for that.”

You nodded, breath still shaky. “I was just… scared you’d be mad.”

He kissed your forehead. “I’m not mad. I’m overwhelmed, yeah. But not mad. Not even close.”

There was a moment of silence. Just the hum of the apartment and the background sound of the TV playing something long forgotten.

Then Jimin glanced down. “Can I…?” His hand hovered slightly above the curve of your stomach.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

He smiled, eyes soft and big as he placed both hands on your belly. Spreading his fingers wide, thumbs brushing gently along the swell. You watched his eyes go glassy, his mouth parting like a breath had just caught behind his heart.

“Hi,” he whispered, leaning down. “I’m Jimin-ie. I’m… your appa. Kind of new to the job, kind of scared. But I already love you, so much.”

He kissed your stomach. Once. Twice. Again.

“I’m gonna try really hard not to screw this up, okay?” he murmured, speaking to your skin. “I’m gonna be there. Every day. Every appointment. Every craving. Every weird hormonal meltdown.”

You let out a quiet laugh.

“I’ll help pick out the name, the crib, and paint the nursery. I’ll do the midnight bottles. The lullabies. All of it, honey.”

He looked up at you then, cheeks flushed, hands still gently cradling your belly.

“I’m all in.”

Your throat tightened, tears welling again—but this time, for a very different reason. You slid your fingers into his hair, tugging him up gently to kiss you.

And he kissed you like the promise he’d just made.Like a man finally home and finally whole.

—

The kiss deepened before either of you really noticed.

What began as a thank you, a you’re home now kiss, softened with relief and tears, slowly gave way to something hotter, heavier. Your fingers curled tighter in his hair. Jimin’s hands slid from your belly to your waist, gripping like he needed to pull you closer.

You shifted forward until your knees straddled his thighs on the couch, and Jimin hissed beneath you, like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

It hit him then, all at once.

You were pregnant.

You were pregnant.

With his baby.

His breath caught as his hands slipped over the gentle curve of your stomach again, slower this time, more intentional.

He got you like this.

He did this.

You were swollen and round and glowing and gorgeous and his, and he hadn’t seen you in half a year, and now—

“Shit,” Jimin breathed, hips twitching beneath you as the blood in his veins surged south. “Baby… fuck. You’re carrying my baby.”

You flushed, squirming a little on his lap.

“And you’re so sexy,” he murmured, mouth dragging along your jaw, your neck. “You’re perfect. You’ve always been perfect, but like this—fuck, I can’t—”

He moaned again, hard and straining beneath you now, one hand rubbing slow circles over the small of your back as the other gripped your thigh.

“I made this,” he said in disbelief, voice turning hazy. “We made this. And right here, just like this, is how it happened.”

He tilted his head, nuzzling your neck as he pulled you down snug against the outline of his cock.

“Right here on this couch,” he whispered against your skin, grinding up slowly. “We’re in the same position as when I knocked you up.”

You groaned and slapped his chest lightly. “Don’t say it like that. And don’t talk to the baby about sex right before sex!”

Jimin cracked up, his laugh warm and breathless against your shoulder. “Already a bossy momma,” he teased, licking a slow stripe along your throat.

You squirmed again. “Jimin—”

His breath hitched, and he moaned again at the word. “God, momma,” he whispered, hands smoothing up your back, “you don’t even know what that’s doing to me.”

His tone dropped, growing deeper, hungrier, and you felt it. The shift. The heat. The effect that word had on him. The knowledge that you’d created a life.

His hands were trembling now, moving beneath your shirt slowly.

“Can I take this off, honey?” he asked, nodding to the tshirt swallowing you whole. “I wanna see you. Wanna see what’s mine.”

You nodded.

Jimin swallowed, then lifted the shirt carefully. You helped him tug it over your head, and the second it was off, he went still.

You weren’t wearing a bra.

Your breasts were heavier than he remembered, full and flushed and on display for him, your nipples peaked from the chill of the room and the ache of your arousal.

Jimin’s eyes darkened.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned. “You’re so beautiful.”

He cupped your breasts gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples as you gasped softly.

“Does this feel okay?” he asked, immediately concerned.

You nodded quickly. “Yes—Yeah, it actually feels really good.”

“Yeah?” he said, kissing the top of your chest. “Can I…?”

You nodded again, breath stuttering as his lips wrapped around your nipple, tongue swirling slowly, hand splayed against the curve of your back for support. He moaned at the taste of your skin, kissing and suckling with soft hunger, flicking his tongue just right.

You sighed and rolled your hips, your cunt slick and throbbing, grinding right over the thick, hard press of his cock.

Jimin groaned—mouth still on your chest—his hands guiding your hips in a rhythm that made him tremble. Even now, with you straddling his thighs, bare from the waist up and glowing with heat and flushed emotion, Jimin moved like you were the most fragile, exquisite thing he’d ever laid hands on.

He couldn’t stop touching you.

“You feel so good like this,” he murmured. “So warm. So soft. Fuck, I want you, baby. I need you.”

You moaned, rocking your hips with more force.

“You’re sure?” he asked, hands cradling your hips. “You feel okay?”

You nodded, breath catching as you rocked against his lap again. “I’m okay. I want this, Jimin.”

He pressed a kiss to your sternum. “Okay, I’ll be careful with you, promise.”

He tugged his fatigues open, button by button, and shoved them down just far enough to free his cock, his boxer briefs dragged down with them. He hissed softly as the fabric peeled away to reveal him already painfully hard. Flushed tip wet, the whole length throbbing from the weight of wanting you.

But the moment your hips lifted, lining yourself up above him, his breath caught for another reason entirely.

He realized something.

You weren’t wearing anything else.

His eyes flicked up, wide. “You’re not wearing any panties.”

You shook your head, embarrassed and breathless. “Anything clingy is my worst enemy right now. Most of them don’t fit anyway.”

Jimin moaned like you’d just told him the sky was on fire.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered.

And then slowly, so slowly, he guided you down.

The head of his cock pressed at your entrance, and the second your slick walls wrapped around him, Jimin’s jaw dropped open in a silent gasp.

“Fucking hell—”

You whimpered above him, trembling, your body shuddering from the stretch and pressure. Even with how wet you were—soaked, he realized—your walls gripped him like they’d been missing him as much as the rest of you had.

You sank down inch by inch, both of you panting, your hands braced on his chest, his fingertips digging into your hips like he was anchoring himself to reality.

Once he was fully inside, Jimin couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, honey,” he moaned. “I’m not gonna last. I swear to God, if you move—”

You did.

You rolled your hips slowly, moaning as your oversensitive body responded instantly. Every clench, every drag of his cock along your inner walls making your voice break with pleasure.

“Jimin—oh fuck—it’s so much.”

He nodded frantically, head lolling back against the cushions. “You’re so fucking soft. So wet—Jesus, baby—how are you this tight?”

You whimpered again, thighs trembling.

“I don’t know—everything’s just so sensitive now.”

And he could tell.

The way your hips moved in slow, quivering circles. The way your walls pulsed around him with every breath. The way you clenched hard at the smallest shift of his body.

Jimin gritted his teeth, trying not to thrust up. Trying to let you ride him, slow and safe, even as his cock throbbed like it couldn’t handle another second untouched.

“You’re doing so good,” he rasped, hands sliding up your sides, cupping your heavy breasts again. “Let me take care of these, yeah?”

You nodded, flushed and already falling apart.

He leaned in, suckling your nipples with devotion. His tongue teasing just enough to send a new wave of moans tumbling from your lips. He alternated between your breasts, worshipping your body with kisses, murmurs, and trembling hands.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he whispered. “Full of me. Taking me like you need it.”

Your hips stuttered.

“I do,” you gasped. “I do need it—”

And then it hit.

Your orgasm tore through you without warning, walls fluttering around him, your body tensing up, hands flying to circle his shoulders as you cried out.

Jimin’s eyes flew open. “Holy shit—”

The feeling of your orgasm was too much.

Too tight.

Too wet.

He growled low in his throat, trying—fighting—to hold back, but the way you squeezed him, the way your body milked him for everything he had…

“I can’t—fuck, I can’t—”

He moaned your name like a prayer and came hard, hips jerking up once, twice, as his cock throbbed deep inside you, his cum spilling into your fluttering heat.

He buried his face in your neck, arms wrapped around you like he’d fall apart without the anchor.

“Fuck,” he panted. “You’re incredible, baby.”

You trembled in his arms, still catching your breath, still half floating.

—

Jimin was still buried deep inside you, your body soft and trembling in his arms, the air thick with sex and affection. But even after coming that hard, he didn’t want to let go.

Didn’t want to pull out.

Didn’t want to be anywhere but right here.

Instead, he wrapped his arms under your thighs and lifted you.

“Jimin—” you gasped, clinging to his shoulders. “You’re still—!”

“I know,” he whispered, voice thick. “I can’t help it. I want you again.”

He stood, carefully, adjusting your weight against him, keeping your bodies connected as he walked—slow, steady steps down the hallway toward the bedroom. His cock throbbed inside you with each step, and you clung to him, laughing and moaning as the movement pushed you deeper onto him.

“Still so full,” he panted, voice shaking with love and need. “Still so fucking perfect.”

By the time he stepped into the bedroom, both of you were flushed and breathless. He lowered you gently onto the bed, his hands never leaving your body, kissing you softly as he finally slipped out of you.

“Stay right there,” he whispered.

He stood and stripped the rest of the way down—tugging his fatigues off with eager hands, discarding the last of his clothing until he was bare.

Then he looked at you. And froze.

You were lying on your back, hair splayed across the pillow, lips kiss bruised and cheeks flushed. Completely naked and bared to him, and you were glowing, round and full with the life he gave you.

Stretch marks kissed your hips and lower belly, silver and gold under the soft light. You moved to cover them with trembling fingers, shame flickering in your eyes.

“Don’t,” Jimin said, voice low.

“I just… they’re not—pretty,” you whispered. “I didn’t want you to see—”

“Don’t.” His voice cracked.

He crawled onto the bed with quiet urgency, kneeling between your legs, his eyes wide with awe. “Are you serious? These?” His fingertips traced the soft curves of your belly and hips. “These are from me. These are from our baby. These are fucking beautiful.”

You blinked up at him, lip trembling, tears threatening again.

Jimin lowered himself, mouth to your belly, kissing every line, every mark, every soft place that had shifted and stretched.

“I love this body,” he murmured between kisses. “I love how it changed. I love how it knows how to carry something so precious. You’re beautiful. You’re amazing.”

He kissed lower—down to your thighs, your hips, then between your legs, licking up your slit as you moaned and arched into his mouth.

“Let me show you,” he whispered.

And then he was sucking your clit.

His tongue worked in soft flicks, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit with perfect pressure as two fingers slid slowly inside you, curling up and stroking until your entire body shook.

“Jimin—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“I’ve got you, honey,” he murmured. “Let it happen.”

And then…something definitely happened.

Your back arched. Your thighs clenched around his head. You screamed, sobbing his name as your release gushed from you, soaking his chin and the sheets below.

You trembled in disbelief, gasping for breath.

Jimin sat up slowly, licking his lips, wide eyed and flushed.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “You’ve never—?”

You shook your head.

He grinned, biting his lip. “Okay. Well. We’re doing that again.”

You laughed breathlessly, still shaking, and he leaned over to kiss you slowly and messily before positioning himself between your thighs.

“Let me in again, baby,” he whispered. “Let me love you again.”

He guided himself to your entrance, pausing only to press a soft kiss to your belly.

Then he slid in.

This time was different. This time he knew your body again. Knew your rhythm. Knew what felt good.

He rocked into you slow, holding himself up on trembling arms, watching every expression flicker across your face. He leaned down to kiss your cheek, your lips, your chin—his hands roaming up to cup your breasts again, rubbing gentle circles over your sensitive nipples as you moaned into his mouth.

“Still okay?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” you gasped. “More than okay.”

He moved a little deeper, a little faster.

Your hands gripped his waist, your legs curling around his hips as he built the rhythm, every stroke sending sparks across your skin.

“I can’t believe I get to do this,” he whispered. “I can’t believe this is mine. You. Our baby. This life.”

You moaned again, hips rolling to meet his.

He picked up the pace. Not quite rough, but deeper now. His pelvis grinding into your clit just right as your body trembled beneath him.

When you came again it was quieter this time, whimpering into his neck as you clung to him, your pussy pulsing around his cock.

Jimin growled against your shoulder, hips stuttering.

“That’s it,” he gasped. “Milk my cock—come on, baby—fuck, you feel so good—”

And then he followed your lead, buried to the hilt, cumming inside you with a soft, broken moan, his whole body shaking as he collapsed into your arms.

After the final tremble passed through your body, Jimin didn’t move for a while.

He stayed there—curled around you, one hand on your thigh, the other gently brushing the curve of your belly, his cheek resting just below your breast, lips parted against your skin.

His cock had softened, his heart hadn’t. It overflowed with feeling.

You both lay wrapped in the quiet for long minutes, breathing together, heat lingering like the final note of a song that neither of you wanted to end.

But then he stirred.

He kissed your sternum and whispered, “I’ll be right back,” before gently sliding from the bed. You whined softly, shivering when the air hit your skin, and he tugged the comforter up around your shoulders before jogging to the bathroom.

When he returned, his hands were full—warm glass of water, a clean washcloth, and a soft towel. He knelt beside the bed, mindfully parting your thighs with delicate fingers, and began to clean you up with careful movements.

You flinched slightly, still sore, oversensitive, and Jimin paused immediately.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “I’ll be extra gentle.”

You looked down at him, lips curling faintly. “Jimin, I’m not made of glass.”

He gave you a look—half scandalized, half adoring.

“You’re not made of glass,” he echoed, carefully blotting between your thighs, “but you’re carrying very precious cargo.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming. “You’re going to make me cry again.”

“Too late,” he said, setting the cloth aside and crawling back into bed beside you. He wrapped an arm under your shoulders, the other smoothing across your belly like instinct. “It’s my turn, anyway.”

You snuggled closer, forehead pressed to his temple as he pressed soft kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your lips, each one slower and more tender than the last.

He sighed, brushing his thumb across the slope of your stomach. “Gotta take care of my girls.”

You blinked.

Your head tilted.

“Did I… already tell you the sex?”

Jimin froze.

He looked up slowly.

“…No.”

You raised a brow.

He sat back, blinking in disbelief. “Wait. Wait.”

You laughed, wide eyed. “Jimin—”

“It is a girl?!”

You bit your lip and nodded.

And Jimin collapsed beside you. His face buried in your stomach, arms curled tightly around your waist, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

You ran your fingers through his hair as he cried.

“Oh my God,” he whispered against your skin. “A girl. I have a daughter.”

He lifted his face and kissed your belly. Once. Twice. Over and over.

Then he pressed his cheek against your bump and whispered, “Hi, little cherry blossom.”

You blinked, heart stuttering. “Cherry blossom?”

“That’s what she is,” he said, eyes glassy. “Beautiful, and soft, and new.”

You swallowed thickly, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “You’re going to be such a good dad.”

He smiled, radiant and trembling. “I already feel like one.”

You nodded, thumb brushing under his eye. “You already are.”

And in the quiet that followed, Jimin curled around you again. His lips pressed to your belly, whispering soft promises to his little girl as you drifted to sleep with his love surrounding you like a fortress of love.

—

The apartment smelled like roasted sesame oil and toasted seaweed the moment Jimin opened the door.

It was almost midnight.

Practice had run late again—dance rehearsals dragging into vocal drills, vocal drills into a spontaneous team meeting about camera blocking and choreography marks.

He was exhausted, his hoodie clinging to his neck with sweat, shoes dragging a little more than usual.

But he still made the detour.

Because it had been two days.

And his baby, his girls, deserved their chicken.

“I’m home,” he called gently, pushing the door shut with his foot as he balanced the steaming container in both hands.

He spotted you immediately.

You were perched at the breakfast bar in one of his oversized tees. Looking achingly soft, stretched over your belly, with your hair swept into a messy bun on top of your head. A pair of chopsticks in your hand, a spoon in the other. A cup of barley water shimmered in the low kitchen lighting.

Your eyes lit up when you saw him.

“I knew it,” you said, grinning. “I could smell it down the hall.”

Jimin beamed. “One rotisserie chicken for milady,” he declared, setting it down in front of you with a dramatic flourish.

You laughed, already pulling the container open, the rich, savory aroma spilling into the kitchen like a hug.

“Smells amazing,” you murmured, already picking through the soft, steaming meat.

Jimin leaned over and kissed your temple. “It better. This place has your order memorized now. Chicken stuffed with garlic rice, extra drippings, sesame glaze on the side.”

You hummed happily, mouth already full, as Jimin stood behind you with his hands gently stroking your belly.

“Hi, Blossom,” he whispered into the crown of your head, smiling at the swell of your stomach. “Daddy brought your favorite.”

Your belly shifted slightly, a subtle roll just under his palm.

“Oh—!” Jimin gasped, eyes lighting up. “Was that a ‘thank you’?”

You snorted through your food. “Either that or she’s fighting me for the last thigh.”

He chuckled, thumb tracing slow circles over your bump as he continued speaking to her like she could understand every word.

“She’s been so active lately,” he said softly. “Think she’s excited?”

“She better not get too excited,” you muttered, spooning more rice onto your plate. “She still has a few days on the clock.”

Jimin smiled, stepping back around the bar to pull out the stool beside you. He flopped into it with a quiet groan, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Practice was brutal today,” he said, voice dipping into that familiar, raspy exhaustion. “We were polishing the floor with our sweat by the end of it. Tae almost passed out doing the chorus for the sixth time.”

You reached over, brushing your knuckles along his cheek affectionately. “You’re doing amazing, though.”

He smiled, watching you eat. “Can’t lie. I’m excited about this comeback. It feels… good. Different. Like we’re really starting fresh.”

He rubbed your belly again, tone softening. “It feels like everything’s starting over.”

You nodded, chewing slowly, eyes warm.

And then it hit. A tight, low ache clenched across your belly, enough to pull a small gasp from your lips as your spoon clattered to the plate.

Jimin was up in a second.

“What was that?” he blurted. “Was that it? Are we—? Should I get the bag? Where’s your charger? Do we need to call—?”

“Jimin.”

He stopped, wide eyed, practically vibrating with panic.

You exhaled slowly, pressing your palm to your bump. “It’s just a Braxton Hicks. Not the real thing.”

“But—but how do you know—?”

You gave him a look.

He swallowed, sitting down slowly, still tense as he reached out to feel your belly again.

You grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it.

“I’ll know when it’s time.”

Jimin nodded slowly, but his gaze stayed fixed to your belly like he was waiting for it to glow or send up smoke signals.

You smirked. “I promise you won’t miss it.”

“I just…” He exhaled, rubbing your stomach gently. “I don’t want to mess anything up. I want to be ready.”

“You are,” you said, voice soft and sure. “You already are.”

He leaned in and kissed you, thumb brushing just beneath your navel.

“Still,” he murmured. “Next contraction, I’m putting on my shoes.”

—

The room was too quiet.

Too full of everything that had just happened and somehow, impossibly, not enough.

Then came the cry.

High. Piercing. Clear as glass.

A wail so loud and sharp it rang off the walls, and for a split second, Jimin forgot to breathe. Then the doctor laughed gently and said, “She’s got your lungs, dad.”

And just like that, his knees gave out.

He barely registered the slick weight of her being placed on your chest. She was red and warm and still covered in the traces of you, tiny arms flailing as she cried out with pure, unfiltered life.

You gasped, overwhelmed, arms trembling as you reached to cradle her. She fit like nothing had ever fit before. Like she belonged right there, a heartbeat echo of your own.

And Jimin…sobbed.

Collapsed against the edge of the bed, his hand covering his mouth, the other pressed against the fragile, damp curve of his daughter’s tiny back.

“Oh my God,” he choked. “Oh my God, honey, you did it—you did it. You’re amazing. You’re incredible.”

You turned your face, damp with sweat and tears, toward him and he kissed your temple again and again, crying into your skin.

“You gave her to me,” he whispered. “You gave me our daughter. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

She whimpered again, tiny voice softening, cries turning to little breathy hiccups as Jimin stroked his fingers down her back with infinite care.

“Hey,” he whispered, brushing the damp curls on her tiny head. “Hi, blossom.”

You inhaled shakily, eyes wide as you looked down at her. “Jimin…”

“I know,” he whispered.

His thumb swept across the arch of her tiny back, eyes shining with tears as he leaned in, lips ghosting just over her head.

“Hi, Jihyun,” he whispered, saying it aloud for the first time. “My little cherry blossom. Jihyun-ah. Appa’s here.”

Her whimpers softened again, her breathing growing slower and steadier, the sound of his voice was already something familiar. Like something she’d been waiting to hear on the outside.

Jimin turned to you, blinking fast through tears. “She’s here. She’s really here. You did so well, baby—God, you did so well.”

You smiled through the haze of exhaustion, cheeks wet with tears, your chest still heaving with disbelief and joy. “She’s perfect.”

“Just like her mom,” he whispered, kissing you again on your forehead, your temple, the cheek, anywhere he could reach. “I’m so proud of you.”

The nurse approached then, voice gentle. “We’ll just take her for a moment to clean her up and check her vitals, okay? You’ll have her back soon.”

You nodded reluctantly, and Jimin hovered as they carefully lifted Jihyun from your chest. He pressed one last kiss to her head before she was cradled into the nurse’s arms and carried to the bassinet just across the room.

Both of you watched.

You, eyes wide, mouth parted in wonder.

Jimin, still crying, one hand clutching yours tightly while the other wiped at his soaked cheeks.

“She’s so small,” he whispered, voice cracking.

“And so loud,” you added, grinning weakly.

“She’s got her father’s vocal cords,” the nurse teased, smiling over her shoulder.

Jimin let out a laugh that crumbled into another sob.

You turned to him, reaching for his cheek. “Jimin, take photos. Videos. We have to send them to the guys—and our parents.”

He nodded, fumbling for his phone with shaking hands.

“I want to remember this forever,” you added, voice soft. “I want her to see how much we loved her from the very beginning.”

Jimin lifted the phone, but before he could snap the photo, he looked at you again.

And it hit him all over again.

The woman he loved, glowing and flushed, tears in your eyes and a proud, tired smile on your lips. His daughter, just feet away, healthy and real and breathing.

His heart couldn’t hold it.

So he whispered, “Thank you,” one more time.

And took the picture with trembling hands and love overflowing.

masterlist

[yoonia]

𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚕 | 𝟸𝟹

— chapter summary | A secret rendezvous forces Yoongi to open his eyes, prompting him to finally make the move he dreads the most—confronting the truth.

— title: Carousel | pairings: Min Yoongi x female reader | genre: CEO!Yoongi, Arranged Marriage!AU, smut, angst  — ratings & warnings | +18 / M for mature; involves delicate themes related to arranged marriage, family legacy, family betrayal/drama, alcohol (drinking). — word count: 7,196 words  — story masterpost: Carousel | ⤎ previous chapter |  next chapter ⇢ — chapter drop date: May 11th, 2026 | main masterlist | mailbox | feedback | ko-fi | patreon | series taglist

𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚕 𝟸𝟹. 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚛

[Yongguk]: Concluded business at Lacuna office. Making a stop for a rendezvous at Cozy Corner in Gangnam. [Yoongi]: Understood. Report again if there's any development.

A mixture of relief and unease washes over Yoongi as he reads the text from Yongguk. He has no idea what you’re planning to do for the rest of the day, but knowing that you’re safe—with Yongguk remaining close and keeping watch—is enough to offer him some peace of mind.

For now.

Peace has always been temporary for him—measured in moments before the next complication begins.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, Yoongi continues down the narrow sidewalk, away from the main road. This part of the city isn’t one he visits often. Not since the days when he still tried to live freely—when he wasn’t shadowed by his family name or the weight of the empire tied to it.

He used to like this place. It used to make him feel small in a way that was comforting—before he learned that anonymity is a luxury only the innocent can afford.

The streets around him hum quietly with life. It’s too early for the city’s nightlife to awaken, yet the air already carries the faint echo of what will come—the laughter, the music, the indulgence. For now, the golden hour keeps the chaos at bay, leaving behind only a hollow version of the nights he once knew.

The traffic is light. A handful of pedestrians pass by, their faces washed in amber light. Yoongi counts the cars out of habit—one, two, five—before stopping in front of his destination: a high-end pub that doubles as a small nightclub. Its gleam is dulled under the dying sunlight.

The bright neon sign reading Da Capo hasn’t been lit yet. The usual line of club-goers is nowhere in sight, and no bouncer stands guard at the front. Only one heavy door is cracked open, like an invitation—or a trap.

He doesn’t believe in coincidences anymore. Not after everything he’s seen fall apart by trusting them.

Inside, the soundscape shifts. A low hum of music replaces the muffled city noise. Cool air meets his skin as dim LED lights fade in, guiding him through the tunnelled foyer. The dark red walls, streaked with black swirling lines, almost feel alive as they lead him deeper.

Stepping into the main room, Yoongi pauses.

The pub occupies one side of the wide floor, the bar stretching long and sleek beneath amber lights. The décor leans vintage—plush seats, round tables, and low booths reminiscent of a 70s lounge. A few patrons linger, their quiet chatter threading through the lazy music.

Every place has its rhythm. This one beats too slow, too deliberate—as if waiting for something to happen.

He feels their eyes on him as he walks by, curious, calculating. He ignores them. The faint headache that’s been following him flares with the smell of stale beer and smoke.

Watch your back.

As he feels the pull of those curious gazes following him, Mr. Oh’s voice lingers in his mind, sharp as ever. He has been hearing that advice since he was old enough to lie convincingly. Yet today, those words haunt them deeply like a ghost clinging to his shadows.

His gaze sweeps the space—the empty dance floor, the dim stage stands beyond it. A staff member mops the far corner, while a couple sways lazily to the music, their shadows blending into the darkness. When they turn briefly toward him, he senses the faintest shift—the awareness that comes from being watched.

He continues anyway. He always does.

A heavy door creaks shut somewhere behind him. The lights above the bar flicker to life, washing the bottles in gold and glassy reflections. Behind the counter, a bartender collects empty glasses while chatting and nodding to the two older men sitting at the far end, both seem too weary to notice anything else.

Yoongi’s attention slides past them—to the man sitting alone at the other end who seems just as out of place as he feels. The leather jacket and black cap he is wearing barely hide his presence. A half-finished beer sits in front of him, as if he has been waiting for something.

Yoongi takes the seat beside him without acknowledging his presence and turns to signal at the bartender.

“Black Russian,” he orders quietly, eyes on the counter.

The bartender nods and begins to prepare the drink, his attention drawn away from him immediately.

“Quite early for a strong one, isn’t it, Mr. Min?” the man beside him says, voice smooth but edged.

Yoongi smirks. “I should be asking you the same thing, Detective. Isn’t it a bit early to be drinking on duty?”

A low chuckle comes from the young detective, the edge in his voice thinning, even if just a little. “What I do on my afternoons shouldn’t concern you. But if you must know, I’m off the clock. For now.”

Off the clock. Convenient phrasing for someone who never really stops working.

“I’d say leisure suits you,” Yoongi replies dryly. He lifts his glass as the bartender sets it down, takes a slow sip, and lets the silence stretch before adding, “Though I didn’t realize it would take so much effort just to arrange this meeting with you.”

Jungkook turns slightly, his mouth quirking. “Couldn’t have been harder than tracking you down. I hear businessmen of your stature are difficult to pin.”

Yoongi’s gaze sharpens. “Flattery isn’t your strong suit, Detective.”

“Neither is patience, I assume,” Jungkook murmurs, the smile in his voice fading. “So—what business do you have with me?”

Yoongi sets his glass down with a soft clink. “You’re quite straightforward,” he says evenly. “Was that how you first approached my wife?”

The detective’s lips twitch. “What are you insinuating, Mr. Min?” His tone hardens. “If you can’t trust your wife, perhaps the problem lies closer to home, and I'm not the one you should be talking to.”

The jab lands. He feels it, though he doesn’t show it. People always assume trust is a virtue—Yoongi learned early that it’s an expense.

“What I think of my wife isn’t your concern,” he says, leaning in slightly. “You, however—you’re a stranger sniffing around where you shouldn’t be. Tell me, Detective. What is your purpose in getting close to her?”

Jungkook doesn’t flinch. If anything, he seems amused. “Maybe the real question is how much you know about her.”

“I know everything there is to know about the woman I married,” Yoongi replies, calm but clipped.

“Of course,” Jungkook chuckles. “Just like how you ‘knew’ everything about me before you sat down here.”

He doesn’t deny it, because the detective isn't completely wrong. Knowledge is his weapon, his defense, and sometimes—his only form of control.

It has always been his way to get the upper hand, both in dealing with business and with the people he encounters in his path to claim his place in the world he is walking on. This was something that his grandfather taught him long before he entered the world of business, although he eventually learned more after past experience showed how important it was to know what a person might be hiding behind the shadows.

“You could’ve chosen anywhere else for this meeting,” Yoongi says, breaking the tension that seems to rise after the detective's implication. “Why Da Capo?”

A sly grin rises on Jungkook's face at Yoongi's obvious displeasure. “Why not? Would you have preferred this to be at an official setting? Like your office, perhaps, where you refused to meet me years ago—after your brother’s case?”

The sound of that word—brother—cuts like a shard of glass he’s been trying to ignore.

Meanwhile, Jungkook pauses, feigning uncertainty, before his smirk deepens. "And if I remember correctly, you also ignored my request to speak with you when I came back only a week after your wife's former fiancé died in that convenient ‘accident’, did you not?”

Yoongi’s gaze snaps to him. “If this is your idea of baiting for my reaction, you’ll have to try harder, Detective.”

But Jungkook’s words have already lodged themselves somewhere deep, stirring the ache he buried years ago.

“Then perhaps you’ll return the favour and tell me why you’re here,” Jungkook replies. “Because as far as I can tell, you don’t take risks unless they serve you.”

Yoongi smiles thinly. “Let’s call it curiosity. And a need for answers.”

"So I'm the only one who has the answer," Jungkook surmises with a smile. "Does that mean you'll be answering my questions as well?"

Yoongi leans back in his seat. "I thought I heard you saying something about not being on duty."

Jungkook raises his hand, feigning surrender. "Anything that comes out of me will only be to feed my own curiosity,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “The conversation we share today will be off the record.”

“Off the record,” Yoongi repeats, almost to himself. He stays quiet for a moment, contemplating his options. Once his decision is made, he lifts his glass and clears his drink before signalling the bartender. "A refill for me and this gentleman."

When they’re alone again, he speaks first. “I suppose that would be a fair trade. An answer for any information you give me. As long as you're telling me the truth. Nothing less.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Sounds fair,” he says, meeting Yoongi's eyes. "And I speak only facts."

“Then tell me—what is my wife looking for that she had to seek your help?” Yoongi’s tone lowers, controlled but threatening. “Meeting in secret, at places like this—it doesn’t look like idle conversation.”

Once again, Jungkook takes his sweet time answering. As if testing Yoongi's patience, one that is already wearing thin. Drinking his beer, his eyes flick briefly to something behind Yoongi when something seems to catch his attention. Noticing the way his gaze hardens, Yoongi glances over his shoulder to see the reason why—a man is watching them from across the bar. One of the older men from earlier, who acted as if disinterested, now seems to lock onto their muted conversation. The stranger quickly looks away when caught and steps away from the bar.

The distraction draws a lull. The possibility of their meeting at risk of not being discreet enough hangs between them for a while, and neither says a thing. They both enjoy their drinks for a moment, but when Jungkook finally speaks, his voice is steady. "What would you do once you find out what your wife has been up to? Would you try to stop her?"

Yoongi studies him for a moment. "It depends on what kind of danger she is involving herself with."

Jungkook looks at Yoongi. He seems reluctant to say anything at first. But then, with his voice lowered, he finally says, “Your wife…She’s looking for whoever was responsible for her ex-fiancé’s death.”

Yoongi stills.

The words hit harder than he expected. Not because he’s surprised—but because they confirm what he feared all along.

“And she believes you can help her?”

Jungkook studies him. “She needs information, and I'm the one fortunate enough to be able to give it to her." He pauses before adding, "Maybe she thinks I owe it to Jinyoung. Or maybe she knows I was close to him before the accident.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes. “You were close to him?”

A small, humourless smile appears on Jungkook's face. “Was that quite a surprise to you? Yes, we were closely acquainted, enough that he came to me first when he needed help.”

Yoongi frowns while holding his tongue. It shouldn't be a surprise for him to hear this when he knew that the detective had many connections. He just didn't expect that Jungkook himself would openly admit to having a close acquaintance with Park Jinyoung.

That would explain at least some of his suspicions.

“Why would Park Jinyoung come to you?”

“The same reason why your wife came to me. For information,” Jungkook says simply.

Yoongi leans forward. “Is that so? You seem to know awfully a lot to have different people coming to you for 'information'," he says with an accusing tone. "Who do you really work for, Detective?”

“You already know who I work for.” Jungkook drawls while putting on a mocking grin. “Cyber Crimes Division, Seoul Police Department.”

“The Police Department?” Yoongi scoffs. “The same department that covered half the truth about my brother’s case and started a witch hunt on my family, only because he was connected to us? Forgive me if I have trouble believing that Jinyoung would be running to someone connected to that same department.”

Yoongi's voice sharpens when he continues, "I'm going to ask you again…Who…do you work for?"

"Officially, I work with the Police Department," he says, keeping his voice low. "Unofficially… who I'm currently working with—I'm afraid, I cannot say." Once again, Jungkook's gaze travels around the bar, completely focused and alert.

Yoongi doesn't know why the detective seems to be on edge. But what he says next catches him completely by surprise.

"If you're wondering if I'm working with the same people who placed your brother behind bars, then I'll have you know that I am not," Jungkook says, this time, almost nonchalantly, before adding under his breath, "Not anymore."

Yoongi tilts his head. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“Depends,” Jungkook says. “Would you rather I was working against you?”

Their eyes lock. Neither speaks for several beats.

Yoongi’s pulse ticks once against his wrist—a reminder that anger still lives under all his practiced calm.

"To be able to work with someone, I would need to be able to trust them. And yet, I simply can't find it in me to trust you, Detective, just as much as I've lost trust in the Police Department a long time ago."

Jungkook smirks. "Is that so? Was it because they caught and branded your brother as a criminal and caused disruption in your entire family?" Jungkook sarcastically asks, "Or was it because they played a part in framing him as one?"

Yoongi freezes—not from guilt, but from the audacity of the question.

"What are you implying, Detective?" Yoongi's expression darkens.

“Nothing,” Jungkook says casually. “Just that history has a funny way of repeating itself.”

The way he says it makes Yoongi’s stomach twist—not in fear, but in memory.

"Was it not you and your team who first caught his tracks and proved that he was the one behind the fraudulent business which stole billions from the people who trusted him? You did take the delight of getting that promotion after solving my brother's case, after all."

"You have quite a good memory," Jungkook mutters bitterly, as if he doesn't enjoy being reminded of his accomplishment any more than Yoongi does.

“Is that why you're playing this game, Detective? Have you not done enough damage?” Yoongi’s voice tightens. “My brother, my family—and now my wife?”

“Your wife and I share a purpose,” Jungkook replies evenly. “Park Jinyoung connected us both. That’s all.”

“Then why did he go to you if he didn’t trust the Police?”

“And how would you know he didn’t?” Jungkook asks, eyes narrowing. When Yoongi doesn’t answer, Jungkook’s smirk returns. “Ah. I see I’m not the only one keeping secrets. Does your wife know about these secrets of yours, Mr. Min?”

Yoongi’s expression doesn’t change, but his hand tightens around his glass until the condensation runs cold down his knuckles.

“I thought we agreed on an exchange of answers, Detective,” he says coolly. “But I don’t think you’re holding up your end.”

“Fine.” Jungkook sighs, lifting his glass. “Jinyoung came to me for an exchange—information for information. He became my informant.”

"So he was helping you with something. Did it have anything to do with his death?"

As Yoongi mentions Jinyoung's passing, Jungkook’s gaze hardens. “You tell me, Mr. Min. I think you know more about his accident than any of us do."

Yoongi’s mouth curves in a humourless smile. “I think you’re mistaken. I’m just a businessman worried about his wife.”

“Then maybe stop getting in her way,” Jungkook says quietly.

Yoongi sets his glass down. “I’m warning you, Detective. Whatever you have with her—whatever deal you made—ends tonight.”

“Isn't that for her to decide?” Jungkook scoffs at Yoongi.

“Not when her safety is at stake,” Yoongi says coldly. “Stay away from her.”

He doesn’t realize his voice has dropped lower than before. It’s not anger—it’s something colder.

Jungkook studies him for a long moment. "It would be hard to keep that promise if she keeps searching for me," he says at last. "But I also know that it wouldn't be wise to cross you, so I'll step back. For now."

After saying this, Jungkook looks away, turning his attention to his drink as if Yoongi's presence no longer interests him.

Yoongi isn't pleased, but he knows when to stop pushing it. Having no other choice but to accept Jungkook's promise, he pushes his chair back, ready to leave.

But before he can, Jungkook speaks again. “When was the last time you visited your brother, Mr. Min?”

Yoongi stops mid-step.

“Just like your wife, I’m only doing what I do because I'm looking for the truth, and I'm not going to stop until I find it,” Jungkook says, voice low. “I'm sure it's the same with your wife."

His comment draws Yoongi's attention. Yet he lets Jungkook finish. "These secrets you are keeping—the longer you keep them, the closer she gets to walking straight into the same fire you escaped from.”

Yoongi turns his head slightly, just enough to meet Jungkook's gaze. “We’re done here,” he says. “But I’m not done with you. Expect my call, Detective. I will be in touch.”

With those final words, Yoongi walks away without giving the detective a chance to say anything else as he exits the pub.

Outside, the air feels colder than before. Maybe it’s the night settling in—or maybe it’s the truth, slowly catching up to him.

As he pulls out his phone, Yoongi quietly makes up his mind. As much as he hates to admit it, he knows that Jungkook was right. The secrets he keeps around him will one day bite him in the ass, and that day might come sooner than expected. He needs to resolve this matter before it's too late, and he knows exactly where to begin.

Opening the files Hoseok gave you feels like lifting the lid of Pandora’s box—a quiet, trembling moment before chaos breathes out.

Inside lies your father’s life.

His old university papers. His early research notes. Photos of him in a lab coat, MYG Corp’s insignia stitched over his heart. Newspaper clippings that record both his rise and his ruin, ending with his quiet departure from the company owned by the Min family.

A life that had been erased and rewritten—until Lacuna Technologies resurrected his name.

You’ve been poring over the files since you came home, the hours slipping by unnoticed. Every discovery leaves you a little more hollowed out, a little more awed by how much Hoseok had managed to uncover. It’s almost frightening what he can do.

No wonder Jungkook had warned you about trusting his skills.

The penthouse has been silent all evening, the kind of silence that magnifies your thoughts. So when the door opens, you hear it instantly. You close your laptop and tuck it away before stepping out to meet Yoongi.

You find him standing in the living room, still in his dress shirt, eyes closed as if trying to steady himself. The faint crease between his brows makes you pause—an old signal of fatigue or the echo of his illness returning. His coat lies carelessly on the couch; his shoes set up neatly by the rug.

You approach slowly when he seems too deep in his thoughts to notice you. “You’re home early.”

Yoongi opens his eyes, a small smile curving on his lips. “Did you expect me to come home late?” He shrugs off his suit jacket and tosses it aside.

“I just thought you’d stay a bit late to finish some work,” you say lightly. "I know that you always put your work first, so I thought I might have to call Jimin or your driver to make sure that you'll come home once you're done."

He chuckles, drawing you close with an arm around your waist. "Jimin convinced me not to go back to the office after my last meeting. I felt my headache coming back in, so I listened to his advice.” His thumb brushes against your side. “I heard you had a busy day today.”

You try not to react to his words. It should've been obvious that his bodyguard would report back to him at the end of the day. "Not really," you mutter as you lean close, kissing the side of his face. "Just a long talk with my father over tea, met up with some old friends and co-workers at the office while I had the chance, and picked up some coffee on my way home. If you hadn't sent me with a bodyguard, I would've lost track of time and spent the whole day out with my Dad."

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind." Yoongi gives you a gentle smile. “You should visit him more often.”

Your lips curl into a small smile. “Maybe.”

As you look at him, you remember your father’s quiet admission—that he and Yoongi had been in contact without you knowing. The thought presses at the back of your mind. You have questions, but you keep them to yourself. For now.

Your hand rises instinctively to his cheek. “Your fever isn’t coming back, is it?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Just tired. And—I actually had another reason to come home early.”

Your brow lifts. “Oh?”

“I believe I still owe you dinner,” he says simply, his smile widening. “How about going on a date tonight?”

His offer startles you. Not the idea of it—but how easy it sounds coming from him, after everything that has happened, and after the way both your lives spiralled the past few days. It seems so—normal. “Are you sure? I was thinking of having a quiet dinner at home and then going to bed early.”

“Then let’s have both,” he murmurs, voice dipping low, while his smile looks playful. His arm tightens around you, as if he wants to stop you from running. “Let's lie down in bed and take a short nap first. Then later, we'll go to the movies and grab a quick dinner. Nothing fancy—just us. What do you say?”

You can’t hide the smile that rises. It’s disarming how easily he makes you forget the noise in your head. His offer sounds too tempting for you to refuse, and you know that you need something like this.

Something to make you feel normal. A moment to forget that life is way more complicated than it seems.

“I like your idea better,” you whisper as you take his hand and begin pulling him toward the bedroom.

Yoongi had promised you a simple, relaxing night out, so you chose a soft summer dress to wear tonight.

Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you feel as though you cannot recognise yourself. Your reflection looks composed, though your fingers are cold as you run them down your dress. The invisible mask you've put on still holds—barely.

Warmth still courses through your body. Yet unease simmers beneath the quiet. The short nap you took earlier may have helped you feel well rested, but being in Yoongi's arms only stirred your emotions that still refuse to settle.

Secrets never sit still.

The thought comes like a reminder, spoken by that small voice in your head that has been warning you to be wary.

You have Yoongi to blame. His warmth and kindness have slowly been chipping at your facade, and you know that you won't be able to fight it any longer. You can already feel it; the weight of your secrets pressing down on you, and your heart quietly ready to be free of it.

When Yoongi appears behind you, his reflection appearing in the mirror, you feel your pulse stutter. You've grown used to seeing him in his corporate armour; with suit jackets and tie, and his eyes always looking sharp and steady. Tonight, Yoongi shows you a different look that is just as breathtaking. With a black leather jacket over plain t-shirt, Yoongi looks more relaxed. His smile is easy, his gaze tender as he looks at you through the mirror.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs from the doorway. The way he is looking at you brings warmth to your cheeks, and your smile comes naturally.

"You're not looking so bad yourself, Mr. Min," you tease him with a smile and turn around. "Are we set to go?"

Yoongi returns your smile. "Whenever you're ready."

You finish getting ready right away. You put on your perfume and slip on a cardigan to brave the chilly evening, then link your arm with his. "Show me the way, dear husband."

The drive is quiet, and your unease returns tenfold. Yoongi's presence fills the car as he drives, steady and close. It's hard to ignore it with his hand finding your knee at every red light.

“You’re quiet." Yoongi's voice is calm and soft, yet his words weigh heavily around you.

Brushing your fingers on the back of his hand, you force a little smile. “Sorry. I got lost in my head for a moment.”

He takes a glance at you. “Something bothering you?”

"It's nothing serious, and you should keep your eyes on the road," you tease him, before adding, "We can always talk more later at dinner."

He chuckles, squeezing your knee once more. “Sure thing, sweetheart. I’ve got a few things to share with you too.”

The night unfolds like a dream—which Yoongi fills with tons of surprises.

Yoongi starts the night by taking you to the movie theater for a private screening of the movie you missed on your honeymoon. His quiet grin is the only thing he offers as you whisper in surprise, "I thought they took down this movie over a month ago."

"I have my ways. Now hush and enjoy the movie, love," he smoothly whispers as he takes your hand and kisses the back of it.

A little over an hour later, he then drives you to the city park for a quick stroll to enjoy the evening breeze. You stop at the open food court at the end of the park, where the air smells faintly of roasted chestnuts and cold metal, and a delicate mix of street food being sold by the food trucks lined up at the side of the park.

You find a comfortable spot to sit between the lines of picnic benches while Yoongi walks off to order dinner. Soft, golden hue falls around you from the rows of lanterns hanging above your head. The pretty lights distract you from the cold breeze, but do so little to distract you from your thoughts that keep returning each time Yoongi isn't there to take your mind away.

He returns soon after with a tray of food and drinks. A breeze brushes against your skin while you are helping him set all the food on the table, causing you to shudder.

"Cold?" Yoongi suddenly asks as he moves around the table to get to you.

"I'm fine," you laugh, even as you gently fix the cardigan around your body. "It's just the breeze. I'll survive the night, just let me fill my stomach with food."

Ignoring you, Yoongi slips his jacket off his shoulders and wraps it around your shoulders, instantly enveloping you with warmth. "It's better not to risk it," he whispers, kissing our temple. "I promised you a relaxing night, so you should be able to enjoy your food without feeling cold."

“Thanks,” you whisper, too aware of the warmth he leaves behind as he sits right across the table.

The dinner may be simple; nothing as fancy as the restaurant dinner both of you are used to. Yet it feels lovely. For a moment, it feels easy—just two people sharing dinner beneath the glow of autumn light. For the first time, his presence doesn't feel so intimidating. The music playing from a distance sounds soothing, and the accompanying sound of rustling leaves makes it even more perfect.

Everything slows down as you enjoy your dinner and the light compliments he shares about the food he chose. Until your thoughts drift back to the secrets waiting between you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You startle at his voice. He’s smiling, but his eyes are watchful, his gaze lingering on you for too long.

"Looks like you have something in mind," he says, as he puts a piece of cheesy fries into his mouth. "Is something troubling you?"

“Just… thinking about work,” you lie.

He nods. "Want to share? Maybe I can solve it for you."

You lightly laugh as you slowly push around the rest of the food on your plate. "I may not be as experienced as you are in terms of dating, but I personally don't think that business and work are quite the appealing conversation to have during a date."

"We tend to do things differently," he jokes with a chuckle. Crossing his hands on the table, he leans forward to speak to you gently, "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“I know,” you whisper, though the words taste heavy. You can no longer sit still. Not when he is looking at you in a way that makes you feel as though he can see inside your head.

Noticing your silence, Yoongi tilts his head. “Did something happen at your father’s office?”

"No…no, there was nothing important." Your throat tightens. You sip your drink to buy time.

You think back about how the day went by; Miss Ahn and her guarded tone, and Jinyoung's past work that he kept hidden from you. Despite finding out so many in one day, you realize how little you understand everything. How little you know. You also have no idea what Yongguk may have reported back to Yoongi once he was done keeping you under his watch.

Then you remember the conversation you had with your father. So instead, you ask, “Dad said you’ve been calling him frequently. What do you talk about?”

Yoongi leans back with a smile. “You,” he says easily.

You roll your eyes, laughing. “Be serious.”

“I am.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “He worries about you.”

You cannot help but laugh. "About me?"

Yoongi shrugs. "He's right to worry. After all, he had to let his precious daughter marry someone like me," Yoongi lightly chuckles.

You smile faintly, and just then, your afternoon meeting with Hoseok comes to mind, followed by the files you spent the rest afternoon sifting through while waiting for him to come home. It makes you wonder how much about his father's past that Yoongi knew, or if he had known anything about your father's connection with his family at all.

Curiosity gets the better of you, then—without quite meaning to—you start to ask, “Did our fathers used to be close? Or…would you say that they get along aside from their activities at the Country Club that they'd often go to?”

Yoongi looks surprised. “Not that I know of. Why?”

Taking a deep breath, you decide that it's best to tell him what you know. “I found out today that they worked together. A long time ago.”

His eyes grow wide. “You’re kidding.”

His reaction seems genuine, “No. You really didn’t know?”

“I didn’t. But…” He pauses, his expression shifting. "Ah, that must've been what he meant."

"Who?"

"My father," Yoongi says with a chuckle. "Remember how much he and your Dad drank on our wedding day, and I volunteered to stay with them for a while once the guests had left?"

"I remember," you answer as you recall returning early to your room once the reception was over, leaving Yoongi behind as he joined your father and his at the open bar.

"They talked for a while, and it did seem like they connected easily after a few drinks. After your father left, I stayed with my Dad for a while to talk more. That's when he said something about how good it felt to talk to your Dad again. I didn't think much of it at the time. I just thought that maybe they used to see each other during our school days. But now that you said they used to work together, it makes perfect sense."

You listen quietly as he explains, his tone thoughtful. Somehow, his surprise eases you. He truly hadn’t known.

Still, something itches at the back of your mind. “You never saw them together at the club?”

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t around them much whenever I had time to hang around at the club. I talked more with Jinyoung whenever he was there with your Dad.”

Hearing your late fiancé's name steals the air from your lungs. Your throat feels tight. But you swallow the dull ache in your chest down and force your voice steady when you ask, “Were you close with Jinyoung?”

Yoongi's gaze snaps back at you, perhaps realizing too late that he had let Jinyoung's name slip out of his mouth. “Not really,” he says, his voice gentle. "You can say we got well acquainted through the club's activities and events, only because the young members used to be the ones to do the hard work during those times. We didn't talk much outside of work when we saw each other."

You simply nod, not knowing what to say in return. Suddenly, Yoongi reaches across the table to grab your hand. His thumb rubs slow circles on your hand. "Was it at my grandfather's company where our fathers worked together?" He asks you, deliberately changing the topic.

You nod. “Apparently so. I don't really know the details,” you admit with a small smile. "You really didn't know?" You ask him again, and look up to see him shaking his head.

His frown deepens. “No, not a clue. It's so strange. I’ve never heard your father’s name mentioned there.”

You nod slowly. "I can't say I'm surprised. It was long before my Dad started building his own business, so everything related to my father may have gotten lost in time."

Yoongi hums softly. "You seem surprised."

You softly laugh. "You can't blame me for feeling that way. I just found out about it today."

He studies you for a moment. “Is this what’s been bothering you all night?”

"Part of it, I guess," you say with a small smile. “I just have questions, that's all. And it doesn't seem like my Dad would be open to talk about it.”

Yoongi nods. “I could ask around at the main office if you'd like. Maybe there's still some information about it,” he offers.

You shake your head. "Thank you. But there's no need," you reassure him, because it seems doubtful that he'll find anything, even if he tries. If his grandfather truly has a hand on it—or, if he had anything to do with your father's departure from the company—then it's more than likely any record of it has been wiped out or buried so deeply that no one would be able to see it.

The records you saw today showed many reasons why it would be possible. During his time in the company, it seems like your father had amassed plenty of accomplishments and favourable results, which should have been enough to earn him an important part in the company today. But when his fate was completely the opposite of what should have been, then you know that something crucial must have happened years ago.

I should finish sifting through Hoseok's files. The answers might be in there.

"Are you sure?" Yoongi asks you, snapping you back to the present. "I don't enjoy visiting the main company all that much, yet if it's for you, I'd do it."

His offer makes you smile, and you realize that your quiet reflection may have soured the mood. So you try to change the mood by jokingly saying, "You don't have to. I'm sure we'll eventually find out more in the future. All we have to do is invite them for drinks again, and they'll start talking."

He laughs softly, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah, you might be right."

You are ready for the date to be over once dinner is done. But apparently, Yoongi still has another surprise hidden up his sleeve.

"There's something else I want to show you before we go home."

Taking your hand in his, Yoongi leads you down a hidden path across the park. The pathway opens between tall green hedges, with a long, winding gravel-covered pathway, and strings of fairy lights hanging above your head. Here, the night glows softly and golden, making you feel like you are walking through a sky full of stars.

You laugh in quiet wonder as you look at your new surroundings. “This is beautiful.”

Yoongi's smile is wide when you look at him, yet he only has his eyes on you. "It is beautiful, isn't it?

Walking slowly down the path with your fingers laced in his, you continue to enjoy this moment, suddenly wishing that it would last—long enough to help you forget for a moment everything that has been weighing you down.. "How did you find this place?"

Yoongi hums softly. “Jimin told me about it,” Yoongi admits. “Said it was perfect for dates. I thought he was overselling it when he told me about it. I can see now that he was right.”

You grin. “So you trusted his advice?”

“Why not?" He smiles when he sees you holding back a smile. "What? Was that so bad?”

“No, it was good, actually,” you tease, yet he still isn't buying it.

"What is it?" He asks, his touch on your waist stopping you from looking away. "What's with that look?"

"Nothing," you tease as you try to escape him, only to fail, as he pulls you closer.

"No, I know there's something. Tell me," he insists, smiling and looking straight into your eyes.

Giggling softly, you finally admit to him, “I thought maybe this was one of your old dating spots.”

He groans. “You thought wrong.” Then, gently—seriously—he reassures you, “You’re the first I’ve brought here. I promised not to let the past touch what we have.”

His sincerity hits you like a soft bruise. You smile, but it feels fragile. “Okay. I trust you.”

Even as you try to answer him with a steady voice, the words sound faint, your voice sounding like it comes from far away. You can feel the weight of your words pulling you down, yet it seems like Yoongi isn't seeing it.

“You should.” His smile returns, small but present, and you can still feel the guilt clawing at your chest. Taking your hand in his, Yoongi laces his fingers through yours. "Come on. It's getting late."

You continue to walk in silence down the pathway, yet your mind refuses to stay quiet. His warmth feels like a steady presence beside you, enveloping you like a protective shield, meant to bring you comfort. Yet his promise continues to echo through your mind, and your secrets grow heavier with every step you take with him, quietly threatening to take over your life entirely.

It’s almost midnight when you return home.

You barely cross the threshold when Yoongi pulls you close and does the one thing you've been waiting all night long for him to do. With his arm wrapped around your waist, he pulls you against his chest, his lips finding yours. The world narrows—just his warmth, his scent, the faint tremor in your chest. The kiss swallows every thought you’ve tried to bury.

You feel his hands peeling the jacket off your shoulders, then your cardigan, then you feel him gently pulling you back until you are pressed against the wall.

When he pulls back, his eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Did you have a good time tonight?”

You exhale. “I did. Thank you. It's been a lovely night.”

“You deserve it,” he murmurs. His gaze flickers, unreadable. “You deserve everything. You know that, right?”

The words hit deeper than he knows. You look away, blinking hard. "I'm not so sure about that."

If only you knew how little I deserve.

He tilts your chin back up to look at him. “You believe me when I say you can trust me, don’t you?”

Your throat feels tight. “I do,” you manage to whisper. I want to.

“I want to trust you too, sweetheart,” he says, voice low, a tight smile appearing on his face. “I find it easy to open up to you, and I can see myself sharing everything with you in the future.”

“I think…” You hesitate. “I think I want that too.”

And you mean it. Every word, every part of your being wants nothing more than to be able to trust him.

But reality works differently with you.

For a heartbeat, he smiles. Then something changes. The air shifts—too still, too sharp.

“Really? You mean it?” His tone is calm, but the warmth is slowly fading. His words—for the first time—feel empty. Something is different about him. “Everything I’ve promised you, everything I’ve done—it’s all been for us. For you. The promises I made about keeping you safe and treating you the best I possibly could are all true. Never once have I ever thought about going back on my words.”

The unsettling feeling that has been haunting you stirs, yet you force yourself to ignore it. "I know. You've proven it to me already."

And for some reason, a part of you truly believes that he'll continue to do the same.

Which only makes you feel even worse inside.

"Right," he murmurs, his voice sounds tight. "Then…can I ask you just one thing?"

Chill runs down your spine as you look into his eyes. You swallow hard to ask, "Of course. What is it?"

He takes a slow breath. “Tell me…because I'm dying to know the answer, and I know I won't be able to move forward until I can understand this one thing—”

His voice drops, quiet and cold, each word landing like a blade drawn through silk, tilting your entire world off its axis when he continues to ask,

“Are you still planning to take me—and my company—down, my love?”

Story taglist: @lalalunasstuff — @shadowkoo — @onyxthornseer — @vantelover1306 — @annyeongbitch7 — @princesstiti14 — @amarawayne — @knjkitten — @pars-ley — @iamhicran — @iammisstora — @mar-lo-pap — @forevercarpediem227 — @meadowsweetskoo — @carriereadsbooks — @bts123746 — @qalable — @reiaclub — @holykstan — @polarnightmyg — @smitssharon02 — @yukina0521

Note: bolded urls = unable to tag | Please notify me if I missed your url or if something needs to be fixed so I can tag you in the next part. Feel free to let me know if you want to be removed :)

Please kindly leave a like to let me know that you are tagged and leave comment if you enjoyed reading this. You can help support the story by reblogging it!

— © Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. unsolicited translations are not allowed. First published & completed in 2020. Rewritten and re-published in 2025-2026.

[wintrbears]

The Wife Trap: Part I | JJK

Summary: There are two boys but only one girl, leaving Jungkook hopelessly in love with someone he can never have, and doesn't want to have, because that would mean taking you away from the person he loves most. Then suddenly there’s only one boy and one girl, but it's the wrong one.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, Jungkook’s Twin x Reader, (Slight) Jungkook x Jennie

Genre: Twins AU, Unrequited Love, Brother-in-Law/Friends to Lovers?, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Slow-Burn, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 28.9k

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. I’M SERIOUS. major character death, intense grief, depression, suicidal ideation, vehicular accident, dead body, injuries, medical jargon, self-harm (not by definition — he gives himself a cut for appearances), hospital, nurses, doctors, fear, anxiety, panic attack, crying, funeral, mention of burial, planning funeral arrangements, mention of morgue, funeral home, casket, headstone, obituary, unrequited love, self-hatred, unhealthy coping mechanisms, drinking, bars, business jargon, mentions of wealth, jealousy, secrets, wedding, high school and college, exams, work, public speaking, insecurity, lying, manipulating, betrayal, violation, misogyny 😔, twins, trading places, tricking people, drunkenness, rudeness, depressive inner monologue, yearning, dub-con (I’m not sure if this counts — she consents to the acts but is unaware of his real identity), kissing, touching, titty fondling, cuddling, and that’s all!

Author's Note: guys I don’t know what demon possessed me when I wrote this but I worry I might be a sadist. this shit is SO sad and so dark. I really caution you to read all the warnings if there are topics which can easily trigger you. you might need therapy after this one, lord knows Jungkook needs some. and a lot of it!! he does not make good decisions in this fic and I don’t condone any of his actions. he’s the definition of morally ambiguous so hopefully you all vibe with that. also I know nothing about science or physics so if there are any inaccuracies, mind ya business lmao. I personally love this story despite it being so heavy, because it’s got so much heart, and I hope you all will too. ILY :)

-> The Wife Trap Masterpost

Jungkook and Jaehyun trade places often, which is coincidentally how Jungkook ends up meeting you for the first time. 

Junior year of high school’s been a slog so far. Between his parents pressuring him to keep his grades up so he’ll be accepted to a nice university and assimilating with the teenage social scene, he’s mentally drained. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to further his education or hang out with his peers, but he’s got plenty of other interests besides those two. 

He wants to draw and paint more, listen to new music, or even practice photography. None of which can happen if he’s stuck in his room studying all night. 

Hence the main reason he and his identical twin brother sometimes pull switcheroos on their teachers and classmates. 

This time around it’s because Jungkook has a chemistry exam tomorrow worth a quarter of his grade. While he personally excels at the liberal arts, STEM classes are a whole different story. Jaehyun, on the other hand, can’t recall historical facts to save his life, but doesn’t even flinch at balancing atoms. 

Knowing this, Jungkook politely knocks on his brother’s door just before sundown. Jaehyun immediately grants him entry and after peeking his head inside, Jungkook finds Jaehyun sitting at his desk with a notebook and his laptop laid out before him. 

“Hey,” Jaehyun greets him while setting his pen down. 

“I need a favor,” Jungkook matter-of-factly declares as he flops onto his brother’s bed. 

Jaehyun chuckles at his twin’s familiar antics before spinning around to face him.

“Like what?” 

“Chemistry exam. Twenty-five percent of my grade. I’ll do your chores for a week.” 

There’s no need for further explanation because the two boys understand each other without words. Jungkook probably could’ve just held up a chemistry book and waited for Jaehyun to give him a thumbs up or down to achieve the same result.

Jaehyun purses his lips and leans back in his desk chair to ponder the quid pro quo, but it’s pretty rare for either of them to deny one another. He’s more likely debating on whether or not it’s a fair deal. 

“No need for chores. I have a better idea,” Jaehyun poses.

“Oh? Pray tell.”

Jaehyun chuckles and to Jungkook’s surprise, a blush appears on his brother’s cheeks.

“So, there’s this girl…”

“No shit!” 

Jungkook shoots up from the bed with a boisterous, eager laugh while his twin throws his hands up to stop him from overreacting. 

“Aish, it’s not like that.” Despite Jaehyun’s protests, Jungkook remains on his feet to await more details. “She’s just, like, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen and we talk all the time because we’re lab partners, but I have no idea if she likes me back.” 

“And?” Jungkook excitedly elongates the syllable. “What do you want me to do?” 

“Well, if we swap places tomorrow, maybe you could give me an unbiased opinion. You know, see how she acts with you and report back whether or not you think she feels the same.”

Jungkook’s eyes light up at the notion of being an undercover wingman. Plus, he gets what he wants without having to do twice the housework for a week. 

“Oh, you’re on.”

Jaehyun can’t resist affectionately rolling his eyes at his brother’s enthusiasm. 

It only makes sense considering Jaehyun’s always chosen school over any sort of love life. To be fair, Jungkook hasn’t had much luck with the ladies himself, but at least he tries instead of keeping his nose in the books.

All Jungkook wants is for Jaehyun to find someone who’ll love him just as much as he does. Despite only being eleven minutes younger, Jungkook looks up to his twin more than anyone else in the world. He knows the sentiment is shared; that Jaehyun wholeheartedly admires all the traits Jungkook possesses which he himself does not. Nevertheless, Jungkook views Jaehyun as his better half and if he can lead someone else towards the same belief, he will. 

“Just grab some clothes for me and lay them on the bed, will you? I’ll do the same once I’m done with this,” Jaehyun requests as Jungkook strolls out of the room. 

“Got it!”

The following morning, Jungkook spends a couple extra minutes styling his hair away from his forehead to appear more like his twin. Jaehyun does the same, only the opposite, by applying some gel so his bangs fall down nicely at his browbone. 

When the two meet outside their respective bedrooms, they both chuckle at the uncanny resemblance to the other’s signature style. Although Jungkook does tsk at his brother upon surveying his outfit. 

“Nuh uh.” He faces Jaehyun to fix the collar of his leather jacket, popping it up how he normally wears it. “There we go.” 

Jaehyun rolls his eyes.

“Well, if we’re being picky.” To return the favor, Jaehyun undoes the top two buttons of Jungkook’s polo so it looks more casual. “I may be a nerd, but I’m not that bad.” 

“If you say so,” Jungkook teases, prompting Jaehyun to nudge his shoulder while the former giggles. 

They head downstairs together and follow their usual routine of grabbing their book bags and wishing their folks farewell. Neither of their parents register the switch as the four of them circle each other in the kitchen before scurrying off in separate directions to leave for work and school. 

Their mom, who works from home as an interior designer, catches Jaehyun’s attention at the last second with a call of his name. 

“Jae, sweetie, you have an appointment this afternoon. Remember?”

Jaehyun peers around the corner with a doting grin. 

“I know, mom. Thank you.”

The only issue is Jaehyun doesn’t look like himself, and when she notices his appearance, she blanches. 

“What — huh?”

“Bye!”

Jungkook smacks his twin’s chest once he returns to his side; a hint of a laugh still on his lips. 

“You doofus. You’re gonna give the poor woman a heart attack.” 

“I forgot, I forgot,” Jaehyun defends himself. 

Once they make it to Jaehyun’s car, which is the vehicle they’re driving this month because they always switch off for fairnesses sake, Jungkook hops in the driver’s side to maintain their ruse. 

A Jeep is Jungkook’s choice of ride and the car he was gifted by his parents for their sixteenth birthday, whereas Jaehyun drives a Mercedes given to him for the same occasion. Even though Jungkook enjoys being high off the road when he drives, he certainly doesn’t mind cruising around in his twin’s sleek sports car every so often. 

Their family is more than well-off, on behalf of their dad being the founder and CEO of a fortune five hundred company in the center of Seoul. Jungkook has no interest in joining the conglomerate after college, whereas Jaehyun’s already preparing to be their father’s successor. 

Thankfully, their dad doesn’t mind that Jungkook wants something different for himself and neither of their parents ever push them towards a certain career path. As long as they both receive a good education and find jobs to keep themselves off the street, they’re satisfied. 

“So, what’s your girl’s name?” 

“She’s not my girl,” Jaehyun corrects him, although there’s a pink hue splattered all over his cheeks. “But her name’s Y/N.”

“Cute,” Jungkook notes with a smirk. 

“You have no idea.”

Jaehyun’s right, per usual, because when Jungkook steps foot in the biology classroom later that day and spots a girl sitting precisely where his brother said she would be, his eyes blow wide and he clenches his jaw to prevent his mouth from dropping open.  

You aren’t just cute. No, cute is how he would describe Jiwoo from second period or Yoona on the cheerleading squad. You’re goddamn ethereal. 

Your hair is falling down your back in pretty waves, although the front pieces are tucked behind your ear. Your pink, plump lips are wrapped around the end of your pencil as you focus on whatever you’re reading. You’re wearing an oversized sweater and loose-fitting jeans which, despite seemingly being for comfort, make you look like a model straight out of a magazine. 

Jungkook and Jaehyun have never shared the same taste in women. It’s just another topic they happen to fall on opposite sides of the spectrum about. So him finding you so attractive is completely unexpected. Yet here he is, paralyzed in the doorway like he’s never seen a woman before in his life. 

He manages to snap out of the trance quickly, but not before a couple classmates shoot him confused glances from across the room. After maneuvering around the labyrinth of chairs and backpacks between him and Jaehyun’s desk, he slugs his bag off his shoulder and sits down beside you.

You don’t look up, which is to be expected when this is an ordinary occurrence for you. Plus, you’re busy scribbling in your notebook after finishing the page you were reading. Once you’re done, you place your pencil down and blow air out of your mouth before shaking your hair loose from behind your ear and flicking the short pieces aside.

“You must be Jungkook,” you nonchalantly profess.

Jungkook’s brow scrunches. 

“Sorry?”

A smile graces your lips as you finally look in his direction. 

“Jaehyun doesn’t have a scar on his cheek.” 

When you gesture to the small mark on Jungkook’s left cheekbone, he lifts his own hand to trace the indentation. No one’s ever been able to distinguish them by that before, not even their parents. Even though Jungkook’s had the scar since first grade after he and Jaehyun fought over who got to use the computer first. 

“There’s no way you noticed something so small that fast,” Jungkook accuses.

You shrug following a short, prideful giggle. 

“Maybe I’m just a genius.” 

Or you have a big fat crush on my brother.

“You must be Y/N, then.” 

It’s your turn in the hot seat and you face Jungkook directly so you can interrogate him. 

“And how do you know that?” 

Jungkook mirrors how you shrugged your shoulders a moment ago. 

“Because Jae told me his lab partner’s super smart and the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. Obviously you’re smart if you clocked our scheme so fast and… well.” 

He gestures to you with both hands, causing a bright pink blush to overtake your cheeks. 

“He really said that?” You ask in a higher pitch with a massive smile on your face. 

“Does that surprise you?”

“Not… exactly. It’s just that Jae’s so smart and sweet. Not to mention considerate, funny, stupidly handsome —”

“You think I’m handsome?” 

“That’s not what I…”

Your voice trails off when you look over to find a shit-eating grin staring back. 

“Gotcha,” he cheers while pointing to his head. “Same face.”

As you roll your eyes and chuckle, Jungkook swears his heart starts pounding faster inside his ribcage. He would do anything to make you do it again; hear you laugh at his jokes or pretend to be annoyed when he teases you. 

“Anyway,” you redirect the conversation. “What’s with the switcheroo?”

“I have a chem exam today and Jaehyun got the brain cell in the divorce.”

You cackle so loud you have to cover your mouth with your hand to avoid getting in trouble with the teacher. Meanwhile, the pride Jungkook feels for prompting such a reaction almost makes him burst right out of his skin. 

Despite your best efforts, the teacher shoots you both a warning glare before beginning his lecture. You and Jungkook attempt to quiet your laughter and focus, but there are still some residual giggles by the time your teacher starts. 

After about twenty minutes, the teacher releases everyone to continue working on your current research project, but since your actual partner is somewhere across the school, you and Jungkook just chit chat until the end of class. 

“So, considering how highly you spoke about my brother, I imagine you like him back?”

His words must pique your interest because you stop writing in your planner and glance up with cartoonishly wide eyes. 

“Back?” You parrot. “As in…”

“Oh, yeah. Jae’s down bad.” 

Your blush from earlier returns with a vengeance and you even cover your mouth with your sweater cuffs to hide the broad smile you’re sporting. 

It gives Jungkook goddamn cuteness aggression and he has to refrain from kicking his feet underneath the desk. 

This situation is uniquely strange for Jungkook. Because on one hand, there’s nothing more important to him than Jaehyun’s happiness, and you’re both clearly smitten. Yet in the opposing corner lies his heart that’s suddenly beating to a new rhythm; one that sounds suspiciously similar to the syllables of your name. 

He can’t deny how badly he wants you for himself, but he would never make a move unless Jaehyun told him it was alright. If he can’t have you, he supposes the next best thing is for his brother to be the one who does. 

“I had my suspicions, but I just… I didn’t wanna get my hopes up. You know?” 

Your cheeks are still a dull pink and you have lovesick stars in your eyes as you talk about your crush. 

“I get it,” Jungkook replies. “But you don’t have anything to worry about. You two are on the same page.” 

“Is he planning on asking me out?” 

“He better be. If he doesn’t, I will.” His sudden candor causes your eyes to widen again until Jungkook raises his hands in surrender. “I’m kidding.” 

I’m not.

You sigh in relief upon hearing his rebuttal and Jungkook refuses to admit how much his heart shatters.

“Well, if he asks, you’re more than welcome to assure him I’ll say yes,” you state. 

Jungkook genuinely smiles at that. 

The thought of Jaehyun finding someone who makes him happy and will keep him laughing is enough to soothe any ache Jungkook may feel because of you. 

“Duly noted.”

“So, Jungkook —”

“Kook,” he corrects you.

“Huh?”

The man in question chuckles.

“Everyone calls me Kook.”

You tilt your head like that’s a foreign concept before disagreeably clicking your tongue.

“That just won’t do. I don’t wanna call you what everyone else does. I should get a special nickname,” you explain.

“You don’t say?” 

The two of you share another laugh while you tap your pencil against your notebook in thought. 

“What about Kookie?”

“Kookie?” Jungkook shakes his head, but it’s mostly to hide the smile and accompanying blush creeping in. “What am I? Willy Wonka?” 

“Oh, c’mon. It’s cute!” 

It is cute, and therein lies the problem. 

Nevertheless, Jungkook purses his lips as he ponders a fitting response. 

“Fine, but I want one for you.” You shrug and show him your palms as though to yield the nicknaming power. “How about…” After aimlessly gazing around the room, Jungkook’s eyes soon land on a doodle in your planner of a sweet treat that feels just right. “What about Cupcake?” 

“Cupcake?” 

“Mmhm. Cupcake,” he repeats while motioning at you before doing the same for himself. “And Kookie.” 

You giggle at his suggestion, but nod your head in agreement a moment later. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Kookie.” 

With a charming smile, Jungkook extends his hand towards you. 

“Pleasure doing business with you, Cupcake.”

When you two melodramatically shake on it, Jungkook doesn’t think about the long term consequences. He has no idea how this single conversation will alter the course of his life forever. 

Because Jaehyun does ask you out about a week later, forcing Jungkook to witness you two fall in love and remain utterly devoted to each other for years to come. 

Including standing beside his parents when Jaehyun proposes at your college graduation. You’re a year younger than them, so his twin’s had time to save for a beautiful diamond ring using the paycheck he receives from their father’s company. 

You obviously accept, but not before screaming your head off and nearly tackling your poor boyfriend, now fiancé, to the ground. Jaehyun catches you by the waist before you’re able to take him down and Jungkook doesn’t believe he’s ever seen his brother so happy as he spins you around a couple times before kissing you senseless. 

“I love you,” Jaehyun whispers once your lips part while your foreheads remain pressed together. 

Despite it being the thousandth time you’ve heard the proclamation, you still beam brighter than the sun. 

“I love you, Jeon Jaehyun.”

“Enough to marry me, huh?” 

An infectious giggle fills the air between your faces and makes Jungkook’s heart constrict where it lies dormant in his chest. He even instinctively looks away when you clamp Jaehyun’s head between your hands to emphasize your response. 

“Enough to marry the shit out of you!”

It sucks because it’s not like Jungkook isn’t happy for you two. Quite the contrary. He couldn't be more ecstatic about his favorite people finding their dream come true. But he also can’t help the debilitating, insistent ache he feels inside. 

He never meant to fall in love with you and for a while after you met he hoped his feelings would fade into oblivion. Months went by, then years, but rather than disappearing, his devotion to you only grew stronger until it became a part of his very soul. Something so innate he believes it must transcend this world and bleed into the next. His love for Jaehyun is the same; just as deep and even more integral to his being. 

Which is why it doesn’t matter how much he adores you. You and Jaehyun are perfect for each other, and more importantly, you make one another irrevocably happy. Jungkook would sooner die before he took any part in destroying that. 

He doesn’t want you for himself despite his feelings, but that doesn’t make reality any less painful. 

His attention is yanked from the reverie by his brother’s joyous holler and he refocuses on the present just in time for Jaehyun to throw his arms around him. 

“Fucking nailed it,” Jaehyun cheers while giving Jungkook an excited, brotherly pat on his shoulder. 

“‘Course, you did.” Jungkook returns the affection by resting his chin on Jaehyun’s shoulder. “Congratulations, bro. I’m glad you didn’t choke.” 

Jaehyun scoffs and steps back to reclaim your hand. 

“I never choke,” he argues.

“Um, there was the time you were so nervous about asking me to prom you put the jumbo letters in the wrong order,” you counter. “But I had a wonderful time at ‘rpom’ with you, baby.” 

Your fiancé rolls his eyes at the memory, but there’s a huge grin on his face when he bends down to kiss your cheek. 

“Congratulations to you, too, Cupcake,” Jungkook interjects. “You scored yourself the second best looking, second funniest, and second most lovable man around.” 

“Gosh, I wonder who could possibly be the first?” 

Jungkook sarcastically shrugs with his hands up, but your sweet laugh shatters the act when you lean in to hug him with your free arm. 

“Seriously, though, I couldn’t be happier for you.”

“Thanks, Kookie.” After unwrapping yourself from the embrace, you rest your weight on Jaehyun next to you and he naturally wraps his other arm around your waist. “So, should I start calling you big brother now or…”

The aggressive grimace that contorts Jungkook’s face causes both you and Jaehyun to relentlessly cackle. 

“Fuck, no. Never. I beg you.”

Despite genuinely feeling like he might throw up at the thought of you ever referring to him as that, he joins in the laughter once his expression of disgust fades. 

You and Jaehyun wait almost a full three years to wed so you’re both at least twenty five. Meaning it’s been just over a decade since you first started dating; longer than some marriages even last.

The years following your engagement have been easier for Jungkook to stomach compared to when you were all in school. You two live together now just a few blocks from Jungkook’s apartment and the three of you hang out fairly often. 

One would think it would make the situation worse, but spending more time with you as a couple actually lessens the weight. It gives him a chance to witness the people he cares about most at their happiest, and even though he still yearns for you in ways he shouldn’t, seeing you smile or hearing you laugh is enough. 

On the morning of your wedding, in which Jungkook has the honor of being the best man, things are a little hectic. Jaehyun’s an objectively intelligent, organized, and calm person, but whenever he’s nervous those traits fly right out the window.

Hence why Jungkook’s on his way to your bridal suite across the venue to ask you where Jaehyun’s cufflinks are. His twin swears he put them in the same bag as his suit, but they’re nowhere to be found. The men tried calling you first, but your phone must be tucked away on silent because it repeatedly went to voicemail.

Jungkook knocks first before creaking the door open and calling your name. He peeks his head in to ensure no one’s getting dressed and once he deems the coast clear, he steps inside and lets the door shut behind him.

You stroll out from a separate room soon after his arrival, but before Jungkook has a chance to talk, you shriek and jump behind a floor length mirror.

“What the fuck, Jae! You can’t see me before the ceremony!”

“Relax, it’s just me! It’s Jungkook!”

After a long pause, you peer out from around the furniture to confirm his identity. When you find he isn’t wearing what your groom should be, you sigh in relief and step further into the room.

“Jesus, Kookie, don’t scare me like that,” you scold him. “You trying to give me a heart attack on my wedding day?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away, or more like he can’t. Seeing you in your wedding dress with your hair beautifully styled and makeup done to highlight all your best features stuns him into complete silence. He didn’t even realize it was possible for you to look any more gorgeous than you normally do, but by god, have you proven him wrong.

You notice his lack of communication rather quickly and give him a once over to discern the possible reason. Unfortunately for Jungkook, it’s glaringly obvious why he’s standing as still as a statue with his mouth half open.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

You’re being playful, but Jungkook’s far too awestruck to volley your banter.

“No,” he whispers. “Just the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”

The compliment brings a warm smile to your face, but you still shake your head in disagreement while strutting across the room to him.

“You’re only saying that because you haven’t met yours yet.”

He wants to argue, but he can’t explain why that isn’t true without revealing his deepest, darkest secret.

You force him back to reality when your fingers graze his lapel, causing him to shoot you an inquisitive look.

“Your bowtie’s crooked,” you answer his silent question as you adjust the fabric.

“Thanks, Cupcake.”

There’s an earth-shatteringly gorgeous smile on your lips that gives Jungkook actual heart palpitations, especially with you standing so close. He even holds his breath so you don’t hear how wildly the muscle is thumping.

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

Once you finally step back, Jungkook inhales for what feels like the first time in minutes.

“Jae can’t find his cufflinks.”

You affectionately roll your eyes.

“Of course, he can’t,” you chuckle. “That man would be lost without me.”

“Yes, he would,” Jungkook agrees. “He knows it, too.”

“He better.” The two of you share a laugh before you leave his side to find your phone where you have a list of today’s necessities and their respective locations. “The inner breast pocket of his suit coat,” you read out loud from your notes.

“Seriously? I could’ve sworn we checked there.”

“And I know you both well enough to know you definitely didn’t.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn for an eye roll as he grabs the doorknob.

“Well, thank you. I promise I’ll have him in tip-top shape in time for the ceremony,” he assures you.

“Wait,” you request before scurrying back over. Upon reaching him again, you throw your arms around his neck and rise to your tiptoes for a heartfelt embrace. Jungkook’s brain momentarily short circuits despite this being a regular occurrence, but he eventually recovers and returns the affection by enveloping your waist. “I love you so much, Kookie. I can’t wait to finally be family.”

It takes all his willpower to hold back the tears encroaching on his waterline. They’re predominantly on behalf of his deep platonic love for you as opposed to his unrequited feelings. No matter what his heart wants, you’re one of his best friends and someone he can’t imagine living without. It isn’t just because of your connection to him through Jaehyun, either, but the bond you two have built over the last decade.

“I love you, too, Cupcake. Always and forever.” Ironically, once you part, you’re the one with watery eyes that you have to carefully dry. “Hey, hey, no tears. You’ll ruin your makeup.”

“I know,” you sniffle. “I’m just really happy.”

Jungkook smiles.

“Me, too.”

He returns to the groom’s suite after wishing you farewell and of course, you’re spot on. Jaehyun’s lost cufflinks were on his body the entire time, causing Jungkook to lovingly tease his brother as he finishes the final touches to his ensemble. 

The two of them are currently standing side by side in front of the mirror and Jaehyun’s spent the last five minutes fiddling with pieces of his suit that are already perfect. Jungkook chuckles at the familiar behavior before clasping him on the shoulder.

“Jae, I don’t understand why you’re nervous when you’re marrying the love of your life.”

Jaehyun shakes his head while slowly releasing the air from his lungs.

“I just want today to be perfect. She deserves nothing less than that.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue.

“But Y/N’s gonna think it’s perfect simply because she’s marrying you. Don’t you know that?” 

His assurance causes Jaehyun to smile and sigh in relief.

“You’re right,” he concedes. “I guess the problem is being a boyfriend and fiancé is one thing, but being a husband is another entirely.” He glances down to tug on his sleeve. “I have to take care of her, you know? I never wanna let her down or leave her wanting for anything.”

Only someone as magnanimous as Jaehyun, who’s never disappointed you even once in a whole decade, would worry like this moments before walking down the aisle.

“She loves you. You love her. You two have a long life together ahead of you. Both of you are bound to get upset or wish things were different every once in a while, but none of that matters as long as the love is still there,” Jungkook asserts.

Jaehyun’s smile returns prior to him glancing up to meet Jungkook’s gaze through the mirror.

“I thought I was supposed to be the wise one?”

Jungkook shrugs along with a lighthearted chuckle.

“Someone’s gotta pick up the slack whenever your usual characteristics go on leave.”

The twins share another laugh, but then Jaehyun clears his throat and turns to face his brother.

“You make a good point, about picking up my slack,” Jaehyun notes. “Will you promise me something?”

“Yeah, always.”

Jaehyun’s teeth sink into his bottom lip.

“Promise to look after Y/N for me. If, I don’t know, for whatever reason I’m not able to anymore.”

“Jae —”

“Just promise me, Kook.”

Jungkook knows how much this means to his brother, even if he can’t ever envision a world where you two aren’t together. 

“Of course, I will,” he responds assuredly. “I promise.”

It’s obvious a weight lifts off Jaehyun’s shoulders and he immediately pulls Jungkook in for a hug to convey his gratitude. After stepping back, the groom appears much more at ease and even claps his hands together while turning towards the door.

“Okay! You got the rings?”

“Yup.”

“Time to get hitched, then.”

Contrary to moments ago, the pair exit the room lighthearted and laughing as they make their way to the main hall. 

The ceremony is beautiful. Perfect, even, just as Jaehyun hoped. From the moment the doors open to reveal you and your dad, to Jaehyun blubbering like a baby throughout your entire walk down the aisle, to the heartfelt, sentimental vows you and him share, up until your groom dramatically dips you across his body for your first kiss as husband and wife. 

There isn’t a dry in the room and Jungkook’s heart nearly explodes with love for you both. Seeing you two so joyful and knowing you’ll always have each other is all he needs to die without a single regret. 

Cocktail hour, plenty of photos, and a grand entrance into the reception follow soon after and in the middle of all the guests enjoying their meal, the DJ hands Jungkook a microphone for his best man speech. 

He’s rewritten the damn thing at least a hundred times, including a version that went something like, “Fuck it. I’m in love with the bride. I don’t know what to do about it. Have a good evening.” 

The final product doesn’t contain any of those words except the last four, but even without a confession, he’s unbearably nervous. 

“Good evening, everyone,” he announces from his place at the end of the head table. “If it wasn’t obvious already, I’m Jaehyun’s identical twin brother, Jungkook. Being a twin has its pros and cons, as does everything, but no other twin has the perks that I do by having Jaehyun as a brother. Jae is the most kind, considerate, loving, and genuine person I’ve ever met. He’s the best brother in the world and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’ll be the best husband, too. We’ve done everything together up until now, so marriage is the first adventure he’s going on without me. But I know I have nothing to worry about because the person he’s venturing into it with is the best of the best. Ironically, I first met Y/N while pretending to be Jaehyun. I’ve never told her this before, but while Jae’s end of the deal was to take a test for me, I was running reconnaissance on her. Jae had a big, fat crush on Y/N, but he didn’t know if his feelings were reciprocated, so he asked me to go undercover and report back. Our carefully laid plan was immediately thwarted, though, because Y/N clocked that I wasn’t Jae only seconds after I sat down. I knew then that she was going to be around for a long time, and more importantly, that my brother’s heart would always be safe in her hands.” Jungkook takes a deep breath before his final paragraph. “I adore you guys more than I’ll ever be able to properly explain and I couldn’t be happier that you two will have each other for a lifetime to come. I wish you nothing but everlasting love, health, and good fortune. And I love you both so very much.” 

Once he concludes his speech, everyone loudly applauds for a job well done, but Jungkook’s focus is solely on your and Jaehyun’s reactions. Except when his eyes land on the center of the long table, only you’re sitting there. 

An explanation arrives soon enough when his twin forces him into a bone-crushing embrace. Jungkook laughs while happily returning the affection as tightly as he can. 

“Do you have any fucking idea how much I love you?” Jaehyun asks through a sniffle. 

“Of course, I do,” Jungkook sighs. “About half as much as I love you.”

When the two break apart, the sound of heels rapidly clicking along the floor steals their attention. Before they can process what’s happening, you barrel right into them with a gleeful cheer. 

“I didn’t wanna feel left out,” you explain where your head rests between their own. Both men chuckle at your antics prior to you stepping back to face them. “That was perfect, Kookie. Thank you.”

Jungkook bashfully shrugs.

“It was nothing, Cupcake. Just another Tuesday for me, public speaker extraordinaire.” 

“Aish, can you believe he’s drunk already? He thinks it’s Tuesday!” Jaehyun turns towards you to joke. 

You giggle and glance at your husband with the entire galaxy in your eyes. As always, Jaehyun’s sporting a matching expression and it’s only once Jungkook clears his throat that you two snap out of the daze and join him in returning to the head table.

Jungkook passes the microphone to his brother, who’s set to deliver the next speech. It isn’t necessarily common for the groom to talk at the reception, but his father did so in order to honor their mother at their wedding and he urged Jaehyun to do the same. 

“Hello,” Jaehyun cheers from where he’s standing next to your chair. “I’d like to take this time to thank everyone for being here to celebrate our marriage with us. Y/N and I are overjoyed to be surrounded by you all on our special day and we’re frankly overwhelmed by the vast amount of love we’ve received.” Like it’s second nature, he reaches for you and you automatically lace your fingers together. “I also want to spend a moment talking about my beautiful wife sitting here beside me.” Even though he’s technically giving a speech to the whole room, he pivots so he’s staring directly into your eyes. “Y/N, I’ve been hopelessly in love with you since the day we met when I was only sixteen years old. And to this day I still can’t believe you feel the same. You’re radiant, spellbinding, and magnificent, and I’m nothing but a humble admirer. But what’s truly wonderful about you as a partner is that you don’t view me in that light. You see right through me; all my faults and failures, but also my strengths and virtues. And you love me regardless of all of them. So I consider myself the luckiest man alive because I’ll never deserve someone as warm, caring, and compassionate as you are. It’s been ten years since we became a couple and I’ve yet to even come close. But I promise to keep trying, baby, because that’s what you deserve. I’ve loved you for an entire decade and I’ll continue to do so for a thousand more, even though I know the universe isn’t gracious enough to give us that much time together. But with the time we do have, I plan to cherish and worship you every single second of every single day. Thank you for choosing me ten years ago and even more importantly, for choosing me today. I love you so much, my bride.”

You and Jaehyun haven’t broken eye contact once throughout his whole speech, but yours are shimmering and flooded with tears which are slowly cascading down your pink cheeks.

“J — Jae,” you cry, at a complete loss for words. 

Jaehyun doesn’t verbally respond. He just lifts your intertwined hands up to his lips for a kiss before resting them against his cheek. 

Following his lead, you forgo trying to produce sound and tug him into his seat by the hand before grabbing his face so you can kiss the daylights out of him. He squeaks and giggles at the abrupt movements, but it soon becomes a content hum as you ardently slot your mouths together as if you’re the only ones in the room. 

Your foreheads remain together even once you part as a pair of gleaming smiles appear. 

“I didn’t prepare anything to say back,” you complain as your voice cracks.

Jaehyun shakes his head.

“You don’t need to.”

“I love you so fucking much.”

He chuckles and steals another quick smooch.

Everyone else’s been clapping since the moment Jaehyun stopped talking, but you two stay in your own little world until he kisses the tip of your nose and pulls back.

Jungkook’s always known Jaehyun to have a way with words, and he’s spoken about his unconditional love for you at least a million times over the years, but even he’s taken aback by his twin’s profound candor. 

It’s a blaring reminder why Jaehyun’s the one sitting beside you today. His brother’s an amazing person, and only someone as noble as him should have the honor of calling himself your husband.

The remainder of the evening all goes according to plan and everyone seems to be having a great time. Even Jungkook, because despite his heart slowly withering and dying in his chest, he always enjoys spending time and goofing around with you and Jaehyun. 

A couple hours into the reception, he feels a tug on his arm while he’s standing at the bar and upon turning around, he finds you eagerly pulling him towards the dance floor. 

“C’mon. You owe me a dance, big brother.”

“Yuck,” Jungkook overdramatically shouts, but he still allows you to lead him away. 

An early 2000s ballad is playing that Jungkook faintly recognizes as you place one hand on his shoulder and he steals your other so you can sway chest to chest to the beat of the music. Neither of you speak for about a minute or so, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable or awkward. Nothing ever is with you two. 

“Is tonight everything you were hoping for?” Jungkook asks you. 

When you glance up to meet his eyes, your effervescent smile reveals the answer before you verbalize it.

“It’s a dream come true,” you proclaim. “I’ve never been happier in my whole life.”

Jungkook can’t resist mirroring your grin. 

“I’m really glad, Cupcake.”

“I mean, it was basically impossible for today to be anything but the best day ever.” Before you continue, Jungkook drops his hand from the small of your back so he can twirl you around. “I’m surrounded by all my favorite people in the world. I can’t ask for anything more than that.” 

“Let’s see… your mom, dad, Jae, best friend, cousin —”

“You.”

Your interruption isn’t necessarily surprising, but it still mentally stops Jungkook in his tracks, and he has to fight to hide all the emotions swimming in his irises. 

“I don’t know if I’m worthy of such an honor.”

“Of course, you are,” you argue. “You’ve never been just Jae’s brother to me. You know that, don’t you?” Jungkook softly nods. “You’re… my Kookie.”

The idea of being your anything lights Jungkook’s heart on fire. 

“Now that is my greatest honor,” Jungkook sincerely declares.

You two exchange matching smiles at the same time the first song ends and fades into the next. 

“Sweetheart, I’m over here!” Jaehyun calls from across the room, causing you and Jungkook to turn in his direction. Your groom’s sporting a playful grin while posing with his hands on his hips. “Did you get us mixed up again?”

Without missing a beat, you theatrically gasp and clap your hand over your mouth before looking between him and Jungkook.

“Dammit, not again!” You stomp your foot like a child and cross your arms over your chest. “You would think after a decade I’d be better at this.” 

Jaehyun clicks his tongue a couple times along with a disappointed head shake. 

“What am I gonna do with you, huh?” 

His gag comes to an end when he simply can’t resist sending you an affectionate smile that turns his eyes into crescents and paints his ears red.  

You look at Jungkook to ask if it’s alright to conclude your dance so soon, but he’s already nodding towards his brother to give you permission. 

“You sure?”

“‘Course. Go celebrate with your husband,” he tells you.

“Well, thank you for the dance.” As you’re strolling away, you turn around to continue speaking. “You know, most of my bridesmaids are single.” Jungkook’s eyes almost roll out of his skull. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.”

He watches you collide with Jaehyun, who immediately grabs your waist to lift you a few inches off the ground while you both squeal in excitement. 

In truth, Jungkook could use a good fuck right about now. He’s sure one of the single women here tonight would be more than willing to go home with him or at the very least sneak off to the bathroom, but he just can’t bring himself to try. 

Back in college, after accepting his feelings for you were here to stay, he threw himself into the bed of any woman who would pull the sheets back for him. He used sex as an outlet for all his pent up emotions. 

It didn’t work. Even when he was balls deep in someone else, all he could think about and picture was you. To his benefit, he still tried time and time again. His body count reached triple digits before he finally came to the conclusion he needs healthier coping skills. 

He still uses sex to let off steam every now and then, but it isn’t always because of you anymore. Life just gets stressful sometimes and they don’t call it a release for no reason. 

Jungkook’s smarter about his hook ups these days. Rather than fucking to forget you, he hits it from the back while shoving the woman’s face into his pillows so he can pretend she is you. He knows it isn’t right, and that he should probably see a damn therapist, but it helps. 

Ironically, and maybe disturbingly, thinking about you and Jaehyun having sex eases his mind a little. Because what you and his twin look like in the bedroom is exactly what he and you would look like, down to the last DNA molecule. 

It might seem contradictory to others, but his heart’s a convoluted, fucked up labyrinth. 

The last time he sees you and Jaehyun that evening is right before last call. You two are sitting at the head table with your knees touching as you giggle over a shared slice of cake. 

Jaehyun spots Jungkook from across the room, where he’s strolling away from the uncle he’s been reminiscing with for the last twenty minutes or so.

“Kook!” He calls with a wave. 

Jungkook quickly changes directions to greet you both and upon reaching the table, he pulls a chair out to sit opposite you. 

“What’s up, Mr. and Mrs?”

“Night’s almost over. Wanted to make sure you had fun,” Jaehyun states before taking another bite. 

“You kidding?” Jungkook scoffs. “I got to watch my twin brother marry the greatest girl in the world. It was the best day ever.” 

Sentiments aren’t usually Jungkook’s forte. Even his speech earlier was tough to utter out loud. Him and Jaehyun never vocalize their love for each other because they don’t need words to communicate. So, although it couldn’t be more true, it tastes foreign rolling off his tongue. 

“Okay, but besides that,” you interject. “Did you like the cake?”

You point to the dessert with your fork while playfully raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, it was great. Why?” 

“Because I made it,” you proudly chirp. 

Jungkook gawks.

“You made your own wedding cake? Isn’t that against the rules or something?”

When his comment makes you laugh, Jungkook does his best to ignore the butterflies fluttering in his stomach. 

“Well, I’m the best baker I know! Plus it gave me something to focus on besides my nerves right before the wedding.”

If there’s one thing Jungkook knows, it’s that you’re absolutely the best baker. You have been since he met you a decade ago, hence where the inspiring sketch for his nickname for you comes from. Every recipe you create features a little doodle of that particular treat. 

You have a business degree, just like him and Jaehyun, so one day you can achieve your lifelong dream of owning a bakery. For now, you work from your household kitchen and accept orders from friends, family, or people who find you through social media. Since Jaehyun’s now the youngest executive at their father’s company, his salary’s more than enough to cover all the expenses until you’re ready. 

One of Jungkook’s favorite things about visiting your house is the sweet treats always lying around. Not to mention you often use him and Jaehyun as taste testers. 

“Well, shit. No wonder it was so fucking delicious,” Jungkook declares. 

Jaehyun takes that as a cue to pass him an extra slice and Jungkook gladly accepts, eliciting a proud snicker from you. 

Before digging in, Jungkook scoops up a sizable piece and lifts his fork. 

“To the Jeons?” 

You and Jaehyun both flash blinding smiles in his direction before raising your own forks in the air. 

“Jeon Jaehyun, Jeon Jungkook, and Jeon Y/N,” Jaehyun recites. “I sure like the sound of that.”

“Me, too,” you agree while gazing at your husband like he hung the stars in the sky.

The three of you clink your utensils together and eat in perfect sync, prompting a unanimous moan of delight over the taste.

“Fuck, that’s so good,” Jaehyun mumbles with a mouthful of cake.  

Jungkook concurs by aggressively nodding his head along with the signature expression you call his “good food face.”

The familiar sight almost makes you choke when you start laughing prior to finishing the bite. You tell him all the time there’s just something about his forehead scrunching up and his eyebrows pinching together like he’s furious that tickles your funny bone. Especially considering it’s the exact opposite emotion of how he’s actually feeling. 

“You’re lucky, Jae. You get to eat the best desserts in Seoul free of charge for the rest of your life,” Jungkook tells his brother. 

You snort.

“Oh, and I’ll make you pay for them?” 

“You never know!” Jungkook has to dodge when you gingerly chuck a napkin at him. “Listen, when you own some big shot bakery in the city you won’t have time to bake for small fry like me.” 

“Kookie, I literally bake an extra half dozen of everything I make to account for how many you’ll steal,” you retort.

He smiles so big his eyes disappear, making it impossible to continue arguing his point because his heart’s doing backflips and somersaults. The thought of you doing something specifically for him is enough to heal almost all the scars of his unrequited love. 

Almost. 

Because five years later as he’s sneaking into a large banquet hall so no one realizes he’s ten minutes late, his heart still skips a beat when he spots you standing alone near the back. 

As always, you look utterly showstopping in a shimmery, navy gown with your hair styled up in an elegant ponytail. 

You don’t notice him at first because you’re focused on the introduction of your beloved husband for his big speech tonight. Jungkook uses the opportunity to admire you for a moment without any interruptions. You’re not doing anything special or particularly interesting, but your radiant smile and sparkling eyes alone are a better sight than he could ever pay for. 

In the midst of his shameless gawking, you turn your head and discover him by the door. Your face lights up with a wide, toothy grin while you enthusiastically wave him over. 

Jungkook can’t help but mirror the expression as he swiftly traverses the room to reach you near the long tables of refreshments. 

“Hey, Cupcake,” he whispers before paying attention to the stage just in time for Jaehyun to step out from behind the wings. 

Your friendly smile totally shifts when Jaehyun appears; becoming what can only be described as the glow of someone still profoundly in love even after fifteen years together. 

“Hi, Kookie.” 

Despite returning his greeting, you don’t look away from where Jaehyun’s shaking hands with the event organizer and getting comfortable behind the podium. 

His brother then clears his throat and flashes the crowd a cordial, humble grin. 

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he begins. “This is a very new experience for me, so I ask that you hold any hysterical laughter at my expense until the end of the speech.” 

A harmonious chuckle rolls through the room and it’s clear the audience is already charmed by Jaehyun. 

Jungkook can’t blame them. Ever since his twin took over as CEO following their dad’s retirement four years ago, he’s naturally come into his own and become a shining star of the corporate world. He couldn’t be prouder of Jaehyun and that’s the sole reason he’s attending an event like this. 

It’s a fundraiser for a new non-profit organization Jeon Industries is partnering with and even though Jaehyun repeatedly claimed he didn’t need to come to hear his speech, Jungkook wouldn’t miss one of his brother’s achievements for the world, no matter how insignificant. 

“Jae was so nervous beforehand he almost walked out of the house with two left shoes,” you lean over to inform Jungkook. 

The familiar behavior of his twin whenever he’s nervous produces a knowing, affectionate smile.

“Of course, he did.” 

You finally glance over after his reply and even warmly squeeze his bicep. 

“Thank you for coming.” Jaehyun’s speech falls to the back of his mind once it ventures into administrative mumbo-jumbo. “He loves to downplay his accomplishments and the more loved ones I shove in his face, the less he’s able to get away with it.” 

Jungkook chuckles.

“Anytime.” 

After reaching behind him to snag a dessert from the table, he casually pops the pastry into his mouth. Except it ends up tasting so damn delicious he almost moans out loud. 

He settles on just a quiet grunt while rolling his eyes and pointing at his mouth so you understand what’s causing such a response. But once he swallows, he faces you to demand an explanation.

“Holy shit. Where did the company get these?” 

One corner of your mouth twitches upwards. 

“Where do you think?”

Jungkook’s lips instantly form a shocked O as his eyes flicker between you and all the baked goods. 

“No!” You respond with a proud, avid nod. “Oh, Cupcake. That’s amazing!”

“The one you tried is my newest recipe.” 

“Wait, there’s no way you baked all these in your kitchen. Did you?”

The table is drowning in sweet treats and although you and Jaehyun now live in a rather grand estate, all this would demand no less than an industrial-sized kitchen.

“No, the company rented a space for me,” you explain. “I still had to prepare everything myself, though. It was insane.”

Jungkook’s positively beaming while you talk about the process because baking on a large scale is your dream and he can’t believe it’s finally coming true.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” 

When you meet his gaze again, he notices a light pink blush on your cheeks. 

“Thanks, Kookie.”

You both revert your full attention back to Jaehyun as the end of his speech approaches. At least until Jungkook leans over to whisper another comment.

“I should really wear burgundy more often,” he ponders aloud. “Jae looks like a fucking model.” 

As if you haven’t been staring at your husband all night long, your eyes slowly rake over his figure before you lick your lips and nod in agreement. 

Jaehyun’s sporting a sleek, burgundy suit with a navy dress shirt underneath, presumably to match your dress. He certainly fits the appearance of a CEO from the lavish clothes down to his hair that’s expertly styled without a single strand out of place. 

“He got it tailor made.” 

“So you’re saying I’ll still look like a schmuck regardless of what color I wear?” 

You make a noise that’s a perfect mixture of a huff and a chuckle.

“Kookie, you’re the only dive bar owner I know with a face like that. Give me a break.” Another scoff pushes past your lips. “Schmuck,” you tsk. 

He knows his nerves shouldn’t light up like fireworks over you complimenting his features. You’re married to someone with the exact same face, for Christ’s sake. Obviously you find him attractive. It would be slightly concerning if you didn’t.

Alas, no amount of logic can stop his body’s reaction to your comment. 

Just then, roaring applause from the conclusion of Jaehyun’s speech diverts his focus as you both join everyone in clapping for him. 

“Thank you all,” Jaehyun announces. “I hope that wasn’t too painful.” With his formal speech over and done, he visibly relaxes behind the podium. “I also hope you enjoy the remainder of the evening we have planned for you. Please take some time to mingle and help yourself to the wonderful spread of food and drinks available in the back. I especially recommend trying the delicious desserts made by my beautiful wife, Y/N.” 

Your jaw drops at the unexpected shout out, but you quickly force a smile when Jaehyun points at you and half the room turns over their shoulders to look. 

“I told him not to mention me,” you sing-song once the crowd’s attention is off you. 

Jungkook snickers.

“Cupcake, how long have you known him? Has Jae ever missed an opportunity to brag about you?” 

Lo and behold, Jaehyun continues after a moment.

“And if you need somewhere to go after, the best bar in town is only a couple blocks away and owned by my twin brother,” he proclaims. “Say hi, Jungkook!” While you burst into hysterical laughter that you muffle with your palm, Jungkook turns beet red and shoots daggers at his twin, but he still waves to the room so no one notices his ire. “I’m aware it can be confusing. So if you think we’re chatting, but it seems like I have no clue what you’re talking about, it might not be me.” 

Thankfully, Jaehyun’s humor pulls everyone’s eyes away so Jungkook can exhale a massive sigh of relief. 

You’re still giggling at his expense, but he can’t resist smiling despite wanting to throttle his darling brother. He should’ve known better, just as he told you, since Jaehyun always supports his loved ones regardless of time and place. 

By the time your laughter dies down, Jaehyun’s exiting the stage and weaving through the crowd in your direction. He’s stopped by multiple people along his path, but proceeds like a man on a mission by politely excusing himself to all of them. 

Once he’s close enough, he jogs over to you while you place your hands on your hips and shake your head.

“That was some stunt you pulled up there,” you teasingly scold him.

Jaehyun ignores your faux indignation with an adoring smile.

“C’mon, baby, you know I can barely go ten minutes without talking about you.”

He effortlessly scoops you up by the waist and your act falls away in an instant as you giggle and rest your forehead on his shoulder, your own arms circling his neck. 

“I’m so proud of you, honey,” you whisper while running your fingers through the short hair at his nape.

Jaehyun’s smile grows before he nuzzles his face against your throat to make you laugh again. 

“Couldn’t have done it without you, sweetheart.” Your feet soon return to the ground, but Jaehyun still keeps you in his embrace. “Was it alright?”

“It was perfect, Jae.” 

“Yeah? I didn’t talk too fast or anything?” 

One of your hands travels from his shoulder to his cheek.

“Not at all. It was the speech to end all speeches.”

Your reassurance, however playful, causes Jaehyun to breathe a sigh of relief. 

He steals a quick kiss and lets you go, but you two instinctively lace your fingers together so you’re still connected. You both turn towards Jungkook next, who immediately opens his arms for a congratulatory hug.

“You did great, bro,” Jungkook assures Jaehyun with a pat on the back.

After they part, Jaehyun returns to your side and rests his hand on your lower back. 

“Thanks, Kook. I really appreciate you coming out. You didn’t need to.” 

“Like I would ever want to miss all this?” Jungkook gestures to the massive crowd of blue and black suits standing around chit chatting. “You know I just adore the corporate world.” Jaehyun laughs at his brother’s signature sarcasm. “In all seriousness, I couldn’t not be here.” 

“Well, I hope you stay a while and indulge in all the food. There’s no chance the people here will finish everything.”  

“Oh, no worries, I’m about to clean you out of desserts.”

“No, you will not.” You cross your arms over your chest for dramatic effect even though it’s impossible for you to appear intimidating. “I made those for the guests. If you want some, I’ll bake you a separate batch.” 

Jungkook melodramatically clutches his heart.

“You would do that? For me?” 

You roll your eyes. 

“If it keeps you from demolishing my pastries.” 

Before you two can prolong your little skit, Jaehyun grabs your attention.

“Are you ready to schmooze with me?” You nod assuredly and he turns to Jungkook next. “Will we see you once we’re done or do you have to dip?” 

“Nah, I gotta get to the bar,” he answers. “It’s restock night so I need to do inventory.” 

Jaehyun frowns while closing the distance between them for another hug.

“That’s too bad, but thank you again for being here. And please take some food to go. Grab some for Jennie, too.”

“You got it,” Jungkook replies. “We’re still on for lunch tomorrow, right? Same time as usual?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. I’ll pick you up at your place,” Jaehyun confirms. 

Following their farewell, you step forward to hug Jungkook as well. 

“Love you. I’ll see you soon,” you tell him, as always.

“Love you, too, Cupcake.” 

After you unwind yourself from the embrace, you rejoin Jaehyun who’s already reaching out for you to take his hand. He kisses your knuckles once you're beside him again before you stroll away together to interact with all the guests. 

A deep sigh leaves Jungkook’s lungs as he surveys the table of expensive food and beverages. He knows he should listen to his brother and take some with him, especially considering he didn’t eat much earlier because he was too busy ordering new supplies for the bar. Alas, something inside always puts up resistance to the idea of mooching off Jaehyun, or more so his business. 

Perhaps it’s silly, but ever since becoming a business owner himself he feels the need to constantly stand on his own two feet. Even when what’s being offered is just some hors d’oeuvres from a fundraiser. Although, Jungkook does steal a couple more desserts before exiting the hall straight into the cold night air. 

His motorcycle’s currently in the shop for a tune up, hence why Jaehyun’s picking him up tomorrow for their monthly lunch. So, until further notice, he’s stuck traversing the five long blocks between him and his dive bar, Kookie’s. 

Jungkook never really dreamed of running a bar or even owning a business. He only chose to get a business degree in college because it’s the most versatile and he wasn’t sure what he wanted. But after seeing an ad three years ago for a bar going into foreclosure, something just kept nudging him until he finally applied for a loan to purchase the building. 

Now it’s practically his baby, and he does everything within his power to make it the best establishment it can be. He adores his staff, loves the location, and even enjoys mingling with regulars whenever he visits during business hours. 

The doorbell dings overhead as he strolls in from the street and the patrons surrounding the entrance all glance over to see who’s entering. Upon realizing it’s none other than Jungkook, they begin hollering and cheering while some raise their bottles in his direction. 

“Jeon! Didn’t know you were coming in tonight,” a frequent flyer, Felix, declares.

He successfully maintains his composure even though the warm welcome turns the tips of his ears pink. 

As he passes by to reach the counter, he pats Felix on the shoulder.

“I own the place, bro.” 

“True,” Felix chuckles. “But most nights it’s just Jennie running things.”

Jennie’s the bar manager, and also Jungkook’s best friend besides you and Jaehyun. Ironically, they met on Tinder, but when their only date ended in Jungkook drunkenly wailing about being in love with someone he can never have, Jennie unilaterally decided being just friends was the right approach. 

They have hooked up a fair amount of times over the years, though. Usually after a late night at the bar when their decision making skills wane too much to resist, but it never makes anything awkward between them. Jungkook can not only trust Jennie to run his business, but to keep him grounded and lend a shoulder to cry on whenever he needs it. 

He strives to do the same in return and seeing as they’ve been friends for close to ten years, he believes he’s doing an okay job. 

She’s currently at the register counting cash so she can add some to the bartender’s tip jar. It’s a well-known fact people tip more when there’s already money in there. 

Jungkook raps his knuckles against the wood to force her eyes up, which she does with a lighthearted chuckle.

“Whatcha doing here, boss? Thought you had Jaehyun’s event tonight.” 

“I did, but I left after his speech,” Jungkook explains. 

“I told you I can do inventory myself,” she argues.

The register slams shut before she raises a challenging eyebrow at him. Jungkook decides to play cute; pursing his lips, tilting his head, and leaning his body on the bar. 

“Can’t I just miss you?” 

“Ha!” Jennie rounds the counter and shoves his shoulder so he stands up straight again. “If you’re here, then you better get to work.” 

She tosses him the keys to the office and he stumbles back a bit in an effort to catch them. 

Jennie’s objectively gorgeous. Anyone with eyes will come to that conclusion after just a single glance. He’s also certain they’d be great together and could easily make each other happy for the rest of their lives. The only issue is Jungkook can’t bring himself to cross that divide. He cares about her too much to do so when his feelings for you are impermeable.

Even though he’ll never have a chance to be with you, Jennie doesn’t deserve to be anyone’s second choice. 

“Damn, Jen, you’re feisty tonight,” he teases. 

Her feet are already carrying her in the opposite direction, towards the kitchen behind the bar, but she still tosses a reply over her shoulder.  

“You would be too after the night I’ve had.”

Jungkook’s brow scrunches and he immediately forgoes the playful attitude to follow her.

“Hey, wait!” Upon catching up, he gently grabs her elbow to halt her steps. “What does that mean? What happened?”

Jennie’s chewing on her lower lip and Jungkook knows her well enough to understand she doesn’t want to answer, but he’s not about to let up.

“It was this guy. A newbie I’ve never seen before,” she explains. “Let’s just say he didn’t respect me very much as the manager. Or at all.”

“Excuse me?” A flame sparks in Jungkook’s chest. “What did he do? Are you hurt?”

On instinct, the hand on her elbow slides up to her shoulder as his eyes frantically inspect her for injuries. 

She’s plenty used to Jungkook being protective. A female manager in the bar scene isn’t exactly common and it can cause issues when drunk, belligerent men are involved. So, she reaches across her body to push his arm off while sending him a reassuring smile.

“He didn’t touch me, Kook,” she clarifies. “Just acted like a complete asshole.” A grateful sigh passes through his lips. “But his card was already on file so I flagged him in the system.”

“Good.” Jungkook sucks in air between his teeth and pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s good.” 

“Don’t —” 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“— apologize.”

“Jen, I’m your boss. Whether you like it or not, it’s my responsibility if you get harassed at work.”

“Yeah, well, whether you like it or not I’m a big girl who can handle herself.” She sighs and crosses her arms. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m fragile.”

That causes him to hesitate because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. She’s right, and they both know it, but nothing will ever stop Jungkook from worrying about someone he cares about. 

“It’s not about you being fragile,” he counters. “I would just never forgive myself if something happened to you.” There’s a brief pause before he pivots tactics. “I mean, you’re my best friend. Pardon me for giving a shit.” 

Jennie laughs and her tense features soften a little.

“I appreciate it, Kook. You know I do. But some faith in me would be nice.”

Jungkook disagreeably shakes his head. 

“I believe in you more than anyone, Jen.”

This is a common debate between them. When Jungkook first opened Kookie’s, he asked Jennie to be the bartender since she’d worked as one in college. But once the bar became something more substantial, he needed help with the administrative tasks as opposed to pouring drinks. 

Jungkook wanted to hire someone externally, but Jennie begged him to give her the job instead. She claimed she knew the place front to back and anyone else wouldn’t be as efficient as her, which he truly couldn’t deny. 

He wasn’t hesitant because of a lack of trust in her to run things in his absence, but due to situations like this. Her safety and wellbeing are far more important to him than his business. 

Obviously, he eventually relented, and Jennie’s been the manager for over two years now. She does an outstanding job, but Jungkook still hovers and it makes her feel like he doesn’t find her capable enough for the role. 

But since they’re best friends above all else, they can argue about the same topic over and over again without any love lost. 

“If that’s true, then go home and let me finish the inventory,” she suggests. 

The idea causes Jungkook to click his tongue and rest his hands on his hips, but he knows she’ll throttle him if he doesn’t agree. 

“Alright. You take care of inventory, but I’ll run the front. Just in case that asshole decides to come back.”

“Deal.” They both relax following the consensus, each of them leaning against one of the steel counters in the kitchen. “So, why did you actually leave your brother’s thing early?” 

Jungkook pretends to be clueless by gently shaking his head.

“There wasn't one.”

“Uh huh.”

Although Jennie isn’t aware of Jungkook’s affection for you specifically, she knows something, or someone, in his life leaves him with an unrelenting ache. 

“Whatever. Get to work, subordinate.” 

Jennie gawks and chucks a dish towel at him that he seamlessly catches and uses to give her a noogie. She shrieks in response while pushing his chest, but Jungkook doesn’t stop until her hair looks like she was electrocuted. 

She huffs in frustration while Jungkook merely strolls out of the kitchen with a lingering laugh trailing behind him. 

The night concludes without a hitch, which gives Jennie bragging rights about Jungkook having nothing to worry about. She’s still working on the inventory when he locks the door and flips off the neon “OPEN” sign in the window, but she manages to convince him to go home. 

“You sure you’ll be alright here alone?” Jungkook asks a couple feet from the door. 

“If you ask me that one more time, you won’t be alright,” she threatens with a faux cordial smile. 

He knows she means it, so he sighs in defeat and does his signature two-finger salute before turning on his heel to leave.  

Less than twelve hours later, Jungkook’s waiting for Jaehyun outside his apartment for their monthly lunch. It’s a tradition they erected soon after college once they both entered the workforce. Unlike school, there’s no guarantee of seeing one another so they grab a meal together at least once a month. 

Of course, regardless of their plans, they usually hang out a couple times a week. 

Being a twin has a lot of perks, but the biggest one is having a built-in best friend. 

When a long black sedan pulls up in front of him, he doesn’t bat an eye since Jaehyun drives a sleek Mercedes just as he always has. But then the back window rolls down to reveal none other than his twin sporting a proud smirk.

“Hop in, broski,” Jaehyun chuckles.

Alternatively, Jungkook’s face drops into an incredulous glare.

“You’re kidding.”

Despite being a CEO, Jaehyun doesn’t really conform to the lifestyle of a filthy rich 30-something. For instance, he allows a driver to bring him from place to place for work purposes, but insists on using his own car for everything else. 

“Look, my meeting ran long and I didn’t have time to switch cars.”

“You’re making me look bad, you know. I’m a small business owner. I can’t be seen fraternizing with the enemy,” Jungkook complains. 

Jaehyun laughs again with an affectionate head shake.

“I’ll make my driver park around the block. C’mon.”

Jungkook relents following an overdramatic huff, but he still ducks behind a nearby pole to prolong the ruse that they shouldn’t be seen together. After quickly gazing in both directions and putting his hands up in a gun shape, he scurries over to the car before throwing the door open and front-rolling inside as fast as he can. 

Meanwhile, poor Jaehyun’s nearly in tears from the hysterical laughter overtaking him. 

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” he manages to comment between giggles.

The driver pulls away from the curb while Jaehyun’s busy drying the corners of his eyes and Jungkook’s settling in his seat. 

Even though Jaehyun’s been CEO of Jeon Industries for years at this point, Jungkook’s never ridden in the company car. At least not since childhood when they’d occasionally join their parents for an event. 

He observes the lush interior with wide, curious eyes while running his hands along the leather and buttons. When he presses down on the one right below the lock, a thick piece of black glass rises from between the two front seats and severs their connection with the driver.

“Damn! Even a partition?” He cheers. 

Jaehyun nods and leans back against the corner seat so he can face his brother. 

“Hell yeah. I told you being a company man isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jungkook flicks the glass and the sound echoes, telling him it really is as soundproof as they claim. “Huh. So how many times have you and Y/N…”

His hands gesture towards the partition and then the backseat, and Jaehyun immediately understands what’s being asked. He rolls his eyes like it’s a ridiculous question, but Jungkook just sends him a straight-faced, disbelieving look and soon enough Jaehyun smirks because he knows he’s been caught red handed. 

“About half a dozen. Give or take,” he answers. 

Jungkook snorts.

“Freaks.”

“Yah, you’re the one asking about your brother’s sex life.” The two share a laugh before Jaehyun changes topics. “Did you enjoy the fundraiser?”

“Ehhhhh.”

“Alright, alright,” Jaehyun graciously concedes.

“I mean, you know that’s not my scene. But I loved hearing your speech and Y/N’s desserts were out of this world.”

The mere mention of you pulls an endeared, lovesick sigh out of Jaehyun.

“Weren’t they? She worked so fucking hard and I’m just… in complete awe of her. As always.” 

A bright smile naturally spreads across Jungkook’s face. Whenever he hears Jaehyun rave about you he can’t help but feel cheerful. At least if he can’t have you, the best man in the entire world does. Plus, his twin’s happiness means more to him than both his own or anyone else’s. 

“She’s going to be a big name baker in no time,” Jungkook predicts. 

Jaehyun agreeably nods before a thought causes his head to tick to the side.

“Wait, did you try anything else? You know, the actual food?” Jungkook realizes he’s been discovered and attempts to cover his tracks with a cough, but his brother knows better. “Kook,” he scolds him.

“Listen —” 

“No, you listen.” Jaehyun fully turns towards him by bending one knee and resting it on the seat. “I know you don’t jive with this world.” He points around the car for emphasis. “And I know you equate taking anything from it with accepting charity, but that’s bullshit.” Jaehyun inhales to collect his thoughts before continuing. “We’re both business owners, yeah?” Jungkook nods. “Then it doesn’t matter how much profit our respective places make or that I run a corporation and you own a bar. You’ve worked just as hard as I have regardless of the industry you’re in. In fact, you probably worked harder than me to achieve everything you have now. Sure, I paid my dues at the company, but I was always going to take over as CEO after dad retired. You chased a dream; built something from the ground up that’s absolutely thriving. So there's no shame in possibly needing my or anybody’s help, business related or not.” 

Obviously, this conversation has nothing to do with food. This is something that’s been building for years because of Jungkook’s refusal to accept anything from Jaehyun, their parents, or anybody else since the moment they graduated from university. 

At first, it was because Jungkook felt like he had something to prove. Right after school, Jaehyun joined Jeon Industries while Jungkook floated from one well-meaning job to another. So, he thought he needed to show everyone, or maybe just himself, that he can stand on his own without his family’s wealth. 

Purchasing Kookie’s changed his perspective since there was no longer any doubt, self imposed or otherwise, that he could succeed by himself. But Jaehyun was already CEO by then and so his resistance shifted into something more akin to insecurity. Because while he had to take out a sizable loan to kickstart the business, a single paycheck of Jaehyun’s could’ve covered both the building and renovations. 

Which he offered to do without an ounce of hesitation when Jungkook originally told him his plan. 

Although he knows his brother meant well and he always appreciates Jaehyun’s support, he left the conversation feeling like he would never be enough. It’s not as though Kookie’s will ever bring in even a quarter of the profit Jeon Industries does, and that reignited his determination to prove he doesn’t need anyone but himself.  

Jaehyun doesn’t view the situation like Jungkook does and that’s where this grandstand’s coming from. He believes in both Jungkook’s choices and abilities as a businessman more than anyone and finds it ridiculous to compare two polar opposite careers. He also knows if the roles were reversed Jungkook would never shy away from helping him out.

“You just don’t get it, Jae,” he argues. 

“But I do, Kook. I understand putting your pride first and I’m not asking you to accept any handouts. I just want you to give yourself some grace, okay?” Jaehyun lays a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “You’re a goddamn bona fide success story if I’ve ever seen one and leaning on the people around you will never erase that.” 

Jungkook sighs while fiddling with his fingers in his lap, but soon enough his lips pull upwards into a smile. 

“Thanks, Jae. That means a lot coming from you.”

When he glances up again, Jaehyun’s wearing an identical grin. 

“It shouldn’t. I’m just some new money nepo baby,” he counters. 

The clever deflection leaves them both laughing as Jaehyun pats Jungkook’s shoulder again before retracting his hand. 

Jaehyun’s words resonate with Jungkook despite his prior stubbornness about the topic. He isn’t sure what it is about this specific conversation, but the weight he constantly carries on his shoulders feels a little lighter.

“You know I love you, right?” Jungkook asks. 

His twin smiles so wide his eyes become little crescents and Jungkook instantly mirrors the expression. 

“Always,” he assures him. “And I love you.” 

The two men happily giggle together, but after a moment Jaehyun’s face falls and his eyes grow cartoonishly wide. Jungkook notices the abrupt change right away, causing his eyebrows to kiss with confusion.

“Wha —” 

“Kook, get down!” 

Everything happens too fast to distinguish the proper order of events. All Jungkook registers is Jaehyun tackling him straight to the floor, an ear-piercing crash and the sound of metal scraping, and an unbelievable amount of pressure surrounding him. 

After that it’s just pitch black nothingness. 

A blinding, fluorescent light is what returns to Jungkook’s field of vision first. The bright white color overheard forces him to gradually blink his eyes open in order to accommodate the stark difference. 

There’s also a steady beep and low hum coming from somewhere in the room, but he’s still too disoriented to make sense of left or right, up and down. 

He groans and tries twisting his head, but his neck, and quite frankly, his entire body, feels stiff. When he finally manages to accomplish the task, he notices Jaehyun lying in a bed parallel to his own. 

On sheer instinct, his hand stretches out towards his twin. 

“Ja —” 

“Oh, you’re awake,” someone exclaims. 

Jungkook turns to locate the owner of the unfamiliar voice and finds a young nurse standing at the foot of his bed. 

“Where am I?” 

“You’re at Seoul National Hospital,” she calmly explains. “Do you know why you're here?” 

The fleeting, vivid memory of Jaehyun shouting his name flashes across his mind, but there isn’t much else. 

“Not really,” he answers. 

“You were in a car accident earlier and the paramedics brought you in.” 

“Oh.” That certainly tracks with the sounds and sensations he felt before passing out. “What about my —”

“Sir, I apologize, but there’s something else.” Jungkook looks at her expectantly, but she seems too nervous to speak as her fingers cling to the edges of her clipboard. “Your…” She gulps. “Sir, I’m so very sorry to tell you this, but… but your brother didn’t survive the crash.” 

For a singular moment in time, Jungkook’s mind, the world, and maybe even the heavens go hauntingly silent. 

Then all at once everything becomes total and utter chaos. 

Sirens, warning bells, screaming, alarms, whatever torturous noises may exist in this world all blare inside his skull until he believes it’ll explode from the pressure. He can’t think, hear, or see straight and somehow his body feels both weightless and heavier than a skyscraper. 

“What… what did you… you just say?” He stutters in fear.

“Sir —” 

“No, no. That’s not possible.” An extreme sense of panic is beginning to overtake him to the point he doesn’t even feel like he’s inside his own skin anymore. “That can’t be. He can’t be.”

It isn’t possible because that would mean he’s alone. That his other half, the matching piece of him which makes him whole, the person he shares a soul with… is gone. 

How could he ever survive in that condition? He doesn’t even know who he is without his twin. 

Nothing is the only answer that comes to mind.

“Sir, just try to stay calm. Why don’t you tell me your name?” 

The question completely catches him off guard.

“My name?” 

He’s having difficulty breathing and the room seems to be twisting and turning in different directions all around him, but she’s concerned with administrative details?

“Yes, focusing on something will help,” she claims. “Plus, we need to know for identification purposes. You and your brother’s wallets got thrown around during the crash so we haven’t been able to tell you apart.”

A contradicting mixture of confusion and enlightenment breaks through the black cloud hovering above him as he slowly discerns what that means.

So far he’s the only person who knows what happened. His parents, family, and friends have no idea which twin survived. At this very moment, he exists only in a limbo outside the real world where both he and Jaehyun are simultaneously alive and dead. 

Once he utters his name, the glass will shatter, and he’ll have to face reality. Not just him, though, but everyone. Which means…

Oh, god. You. 

A horrifying vision of you crumbling into a heap on the ground while you scream as loud as your lungs will let you whirls around his mind until it’s all he can imagine. He can picture exactly how your face will contort in agony as salty tears stain your cheeks and suddenly only one notion crosses his mind. 

That he would do anything to ensure that never happens.

“Jaehyun,” he whispers without a second thought. “I’m Jaehyun.”

It’s the stupidest, most reckless, and unhinged decision he’s ever made, but he doesn’t have any other choice. Not when he refuses to let his premonition come true. He has to protect you; shield you from the truth so you won’t ever have to feel the emotions he’s experiencing right now.

“Jaehyun,” the nurse repeats. “So, this is Jungkook?” 

She gestures to the other bed and Jungkook turns to see his brother for the first time since she told him. He honestly just looks to be sleeping, but after focusing more on Jaehyun’s appearance, he notices the cuts and bruises all over his face and exposed arm. 

It almost feels like she’s asking to give him one last chance to correct his original answer; to right the wrong before it’s solidified. But Jungkook doesn’t falter.

“Yes, that’s Jungkook.”

The nurse sighs deeply.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Loss?

No, that doesn’t sound right. The word is far too small to hold the weight of his twin. Then again, no word will ever be enough to describe everything that Jaehyun was. 

“What, um, happens now?” Jungkook tentatively asks.

She offers him a soft smile while stepping closer to his bedside. 

“I’ll go notify your family and they’ll contact a funeral home who will escort your brother to the morgue.” Jungkook grimaces at the thought of Jaehyun in such a cold, lifeless place. He doesn’t belong at a morgue. He belongs with him, you, and their parents. He’s meant to be somewhere warm and inviting just like he is. Or was. “You’re medically cleared so once you’re ready, you can join your family outside. You and your brother’s belongings are in those bags there so please take them with you.”

“What are my injuries? I don’t feel anything but sore.”

“That’s normal. You only suffered some minor bruising and superficial cuts,” she announces. 

That doesn’t compute with Jungkook and he begins shaking his head like it’ll somehow make sense of what she said.

“How is it possible for me to walk away almost entirely unscathed when Jungkook didn’t even survive the crash?” 

The sentence tastes weird coming out of his mouth. 

Her face falls and she starts chewing on her lower lip and flipping through the pages on her clipboard like she’s dreading the explanation. Finally, after a couple seconds, she sighs again and offers him a sympathetic look. 

“According to the paramedics, when they found you…” She pauses to inhale. “It appears your brother shielded you with his body. Between the floorboard and him covering you, it created a pocket of space that kept you safe from the effects of the crash. If he hadn’t, it’s highly unlikely either of you would’ve survived.” 

A harsh, violent sob rips through Jungkook’s chest and causes him to choke. He clasps his hand over his mouth when tears begin to endlessly cascade down his face. His heart feels like it’s being forcibly torn from his body and thrown into an incinerator, leaving behind just a shallow husk that’s drowning in red hot blood from the inside out. 

All he can think of is Jaehyun using his final moments to do the thing he always did best; protecting him. He suddenly remembers his brother’s eyes widening upon noticing something over Jungkook’s shoulder and how he didn’t hesitate for a second before springing into action. 

Jaehyun is only dead because Jungkook is alive. 

But that isn’t right. Jungkook refuses to accept it because Jaehyun’s the one who deserves to live. He has a wife, a massive company where people rely on him, and most of all, a heart full of pure gold. 

After a few minutes of crying so hard his throat hurts, he manages to take some deep breaths and slow the constant flow of tears from his eyes. 

“So, then,” he sniffles. “Am I the only person to survive?”

“That’s right,” she answers. “Your vehicle was hit by a semi-truck while stopped at a red light. The collision caused your car to roll three times before a telephone pole stopped its momentum. Due to the truck’s high speed, it slammed into a nearby building and the driver was killed on impact. No passersby were hurt, though.”

“Then what killed Jungkook was…”

“Blunt force trauma to the head and internal bleeding.”

He’s thankful he and Jaehyun traded places so often growing up or else this conversation would be close to impossible without tripping up. 

“Can I… can I stay here with him before I go?” 

“Of course. Take all the time you need,” she assures him. “When you’re ready, your family will be waiting for you right outside the double doors at the end of the hall.”

Jungkook mindlessly nods before thanking her as she turns to leave. Once she’s gone and the door shuts with a soft click, he attempts to sit up for the first time. 

His equilibrium is still skewed and an intense wave of vertigo gives him pause for a moment, but he eventually manages to swing his legs over the edge of the mattress and straighten his spine. 

His eyes remain fixed on the floor tiles while his mind filters through millions of different thoughts like a jukebox of misery. He starts to wonder if his loved ones know yet and if so, how they reacted. His heart shatters all over again at the idea of his mother and father finding out one of them is gone. They loved him and Jaehyun more than life itself and he can’t even begin to fathom the anguish they’ll be in. 

For a fleeting moment, an ugly, twisted thought occurs to him. 

Will people be relieved? Not necessarily that he died, but that Jaehyun’s the one who survived. 

Will you be relieved? 

You have to be, right? When you found out they were in an accident and one of them didn’t make it, you must’ve breathed a sigh of relief after hearing your beloved husband is alive. 

He certainly wouldn’t blame you if you did.

What Jungkook doesn’t know is that although he’s correct about his parents, he couldn’t be more wrong about your reaction. 

As soon as the nurse uttered the syllables of his name, their poor mother let out a horrific shriek and collapsed into her husband, who was too shocked to do anything but catch her with a face entirely devoid of emotion. Similarly, you screamed bloody murder into your palms before dropping into a chair and pulling your knees to your chest so you could hysterically wail into your jeans. 

It never occurred to you to feel even an ounce of relief because it wasn’t about which twin survived; losing either of them was too much to bear. 

Back in the hospital room, Jungkook finally lifts his eyes up until they land on Jaehyun. His brother still looks perfectly at peace tucked under the soft, white sheet. 

A piece of him wishes he could just remain here forever and convince himself Jaehyun’s only sleeping. In all honesty, he’d rather stay until his twin’s body is nothing but bones than live in the outside world without him. 

But he can’t do that because people out there need him. Well, they need Jaehyun. That’s the reason he’s going to live on as him.

His eyes water again as he observes his precious brother lying just ahead of him and soon enough his chest begins shaking from the intensity of his cries. 

“You’re such an idiot, Jae,” he croaks. “Why the fuck would you do that? Why would you… why would you save me?” Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief. “You have so many people who rely on you. You have Y/N, for Christ’s sake. Why would you protect me when they need you?” His words are coming out muffled due to his forceful sobs, but it doesn’t matter because no one else can hear him. “My life isn’t worth yours, Jae. Not even close.” He methodically swipes at his eyes, but the tears are unrelenting. “You should’ve been the one to survive, not me… never me.” Before Jungkook can even register his body moving, he drops to his knees beside Jaehyun’s bed and grabs his hand. It’s involuntary; like they’re a pair of magnets always meant to attract each other. Jungkook presses his forehead to his twin’s knuckles as he continues to gasp for air. “You. Can’t. Leave. Me.” His vocal chords are rubbed raw and each word escapes between hoarse hiccups. “Please, Jae,” he weeps. “Please, I can’t do this without you. I don’t know how. I’m not… I’m nothing without you. I’m not even a full person.” He switches to resting his cheek against the back of Jaehyun’s hand so he can see his face. “We were supposed to live this life together,” Jungkook whimpers. “It’s meant to be you and me until the end. And… and Y/N. Cheers to the Jeons, remember?” His tears are gradually subsiding, allowing him to finally inhale as his thoughts start to organize themselves. “That’s why I’m doing this. Because you should be here, Jae, and if the universe got it wrong, then I’ll make it right. I’ll let myself die and be the one who gets buried underground, so you can live on through me.” He reaches out to gently push the hair out of Jaehyun’s closed eyes. “I promise to take care of everyone. I’ll look after mom and dad and keep the company running. As for Y/N… I’ll make sure she never feels this. She won’t ever lose you, Jae.” Following a deep sigh, Jungkook rises from his knees and leans over to kiss Jaehyun’s forehead before adjusting his blanket to a more comfortable position. “You won’t be alone for long, okay? I’ll come to the funeral home as soon as I can.” His eyes fill up with tears again, but none fall. “I love you, big brother.”

Jaehyun always teased Jungkook about being eleven minutes older and often claimed he should be respectfully referred to as such. So, he figures he’ll give his twin the satisfaction at least once in this lifetime. 

Once his thoughts and emotions settle into just a dull hum in his ears, he takes another deep breath and gets ready to leave. He dresses himself in Jaehyun’s clothes and slips his belongings into his pockets until there’s none left. His next stop is the mirror, where he observes his own appearance for the first time. 

Frankly, he looks like hell even without extensive injuries. His face is sullen and devoid of light, his eyes have massive bags under them, and his hair is in knots all over his head. But at least he looks like Jaehyun, and that’s what matters. 

It’s a good thing he got a hair cut last week since prior to then the length was about three or four inches longer than his brother’s. 

There’s still one thing, though. 

Jungkook gasps when he remembers the distinct feature only he possesses while running his fingertips across his cheek. The infamous scar which will no doubt instantly give him away is a major problem. Luckily, the accident itself provides a perfect cover story. 

He quickly turns around to rummage through his own possessions for his pocket knife and upon locating it, he grabs an alcohol wipe from a bin of supplies in the room and sterilizes the blade. 

Once in front of the mirror again, he cranes his neck so he can see what he’s doing before placing the tip of the knife at the start of the small scar. 

“Just go slow, not too deep, and do not fuck up your face,” he instructs himself. 

Following a long inhale, he applies pressure and slowly glides the blade down his cheek until there’s a slightly longer, fresh cut hiding the old one. The metal stings as it slices his skin open and he hisses afterwards because of the ache on the left side of his face. 

Jungkook surveys the new mark to ensure it’s sufficient before snagging a bandage to cover the injury. Then he slings the hospital bag over his shoulder and turns towards his brother again.

“I’ll see you soon. Okay, Jae?”

He exits the room and closes the door behind him so no one disturbs his twin and heads for the double doors the nurse spoke of. When he reaches them, he stops to spend a moment counting his inhales and exhales as a means of calming himself down. 

Beyond this point, his whole world changes forever. Not only is it one where his brother doesn’t exist, but once he steps through the doors, Jungkook is dead. 

The life he knew is over and done, but losing his own identity is more than worth it to keep Jaehyun alive. 

After smacking the automatic button, he anxiously waits while the two doors swing open. His eyes flit around the waiting room for someone he recognizes and as if by fate, the first person his sights land on is you standing with his aunt near some chairs. He starts to open his mouth to call for you, but your head naturally turns in his direction first. 

The world seems to slow like a movie effect when you catch one another’s gaze. Your eyes open wider and your mouth forms a soft O, but soon enough all your features wilt as tears begin to pool along your waterline. 

“Jae,” you quietly gasp. 

Jungkook watches you place one foot in front of the other until you’re full-on running to him. He automatically follows your lead by rushing ahead and once you reach each other, he lifts you right off the ground while one hand circles your waist and the other cradles the back of your head. 

You’re already crying into his shirt where your face is hidden and Jungkook instinctively shushes you and pets your hair.

“I was so scared,” you whimper against his skin. 

“I know, baby, I know.” Jungkook twists his head so he can kiss your temple, where he whispers his next phrase. “But it’s all over now.”

A sorrowful, pained whine leaves your lips when you nuzzle yourself deeper into his neck. Jungkook echoes the action, resting his forehead on your shoulder while his fingers slide along your scalp. 

After what feels like both too long and not enough time, Jungkook returns you to the ground and pulls back so you can see each other. As soon as he does, he notices a wave of confusion cross your face. It makes him momentarily panic about the possibility of already being caught, but then the expression disappears just as quickly as it came. 

It’s replaced with the familiar look of devotion you always have around Jaehyun while your hands rise to cup his face. 

“Are you okay?” 

Your fingers delicately graze the bandage on his left cheek and he covers your hand with his own as a wordless reassurance. 

“It’s my only injury,” he answers. 

“What?” 

Based on your expression, it seems you’re experiencing the same puzzlement he did.

“Jungkook…” He pauses both for the sake of his emotions and to ensure he doesn’t mess up. “The nurse told me he protected me during the crash. And I remember him tackling me to the ground right before everything went black. That’s why I’m totally unharmed while he…” His voice trails off when fresh tears start blurring his vision. “It’s all my fault,” he cries.

Jungkook’s already shaking again by the time you force him into another embrace so he can sob into your neck. Just as he did with you, one of your hands slinks up into his hair while the other creates soothing circles along his spine. 

“That’s not true, baby,” you profess in his ear. “And he wouldn’t want you to think like that.” 

The comfort of your voice ironically just makes him wail louder as he clings to your shirt like a lifeline. He’s certain if you weren’t holding him he’d already be on his knees. His grief is inconceivable and the only reason he isn’t drowning is because your arms are around him. 

When he lifts his head again, you immediately wipe away the remaining tears on his cheeks.

“We should be with your family,” you suggest. 

He nods despite dreading the idea of seeing his parent’s faces right now, but before you can lead him across the room by his hand, a new thought occurs.

“Wait,” he calls while grabbing your arm to stop you. “The bar. Does anyone there know yet?”

An image of Jennie flashes in his mind and causes his heart to clench. 

He hasn’t had time to consider all the consequences of throwing his own life away just yet. Including how it’ll affect everyone he loves, because while he’ll get to see all of them again, they’ll never see him. 

His last moments with Jennie will forever be her playfully threatening him if he didn’t stop being so damn protective. It was such a mundane and familiar scene, but now it bears the weight of their entire friendship. 

“No, we’ve only called family so far,” you respond.

Jungkook grimaces. 

“We need to tell them. Jennie, at the very least.”

“I’ll do it.”

“What? No —”

“You should be with your family and she deserves to hear it in person,” you argue.

He can’t refute that, no matter how much he wants you to stay by his side. 

“Okay,” he relents. 

You steal the hand resting on your elbow so you can encompass it between your own and plant a gentle kiss on his knuckles. 

“We’ll meet back at home?” 

Jungkook nods and you leave soon after for Kookie’s, hopefully arriving before the bar opens. In the meantime, he tries to regulate his nervous system and emotions so he can greet his family. He knows it’s technically pointless since he’s going to break down again as soon as he sees his parents, but he has to at least try holding it together. 

Once he rounds the corner from the hallway, he notices a small group of his loved ones gathered together. Most of his aunts, uncles, and cousins are present and thankfully, everyone seems to be okay at the moment. 

His eyes land on his mom and dad near the back of the crowd and the thought of interacting with them for the first time as an only child makes him want to vomit. Alas, he can’t put it off forever.

“Mom,” he softly calls for her. 

Her head instantly whips in the direction of his voice and Jungkook holds his breath in anticipation. 

“Oh, Jae!” 

She scurries over to him like a bullet and Jungkook helps close the gap before throwing his arms around her. His mom hugs him so tight he worries she might crack his ribs, but he doesn’t mind. This is precisely what he needs. 

As expected, he’s already crying again and he can hear his mom sniffling in his ear. It causes all his horrible, overwhelming thoughts and feelings to come roaring back stronger than ever despite her comforting embrace. 

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” she whispers. 

His heart cracks right down the middle and suddenly the deep sobs from earlier return to haunt him.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Shh. You have nothing to be sorry about, sweetie.” 

“He should be here.” Jungkook gasps and chokes on nothing but his crushing guilt. “He’s supposed to be here.” His mom gently tugs him upright so she can caress his face and swipe at his tears. “I’m not meant to be alone. We’re two for a reason. I’m… I’m only half a person. How am I supposed to survive with half of me missing?”

“But you’re not alone,” she assures him. “You’ve got us. You’ve got Y/N. We’re here, my darling.” 

He doesn’t know how to explain what someone else will never be able to understand. No one but him and Jaehyun, and perhaps all the other identical twins in the world, can comprehend what this feels like. It’s like being slowly ripped in half with a dull knife; his very soul stretching across an incomprehensible divide. 

“It isn’t the same, mom.” His tears are finally beginning to wane again and allowing him to speak clearer. “You have no idea. It isn’t possible for you to.” 

She frowns and drops her hands from his face to hold both of his instead. 

“Maybe not, but I think I can come pretty close.” Her voice breaks at the end of her sentence. “I gave birth to two beautiful boys. But now only one’s standing in front of me.” Jungkook’s stomach drops while she inhales to prevent more tears from falling. “You claim you’re cut in half, but I’m in thirds.”

“Mom,” Jungkook cries.

“I’m not telling you that to make you feel bad, sweetie.” She squeezes his hands a few times with a soft smile on her lips. It’s an expression only a mother could manage at a time like this. “It’s so you know we’re in this together.” 

He has to briefly close his eyes to keep his emotions in check, especially when his mom reaches up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His dad approaches them soon after, causing a similar cycle of tears and tight hugs to repeat. 

By the time Jungkook’s spoken to everyone at least once, he’s so mentally and physically drained he can barely stand up straight. His parents drive him home, Jaehyun’s home, and your car’s already there when they pull into the driveway. 

“I’ll come over tomorrow,” he declares. “So we can talk about… stuff.” 

“Alright, darling,” his mom responds, turning around to rest her hand atop his own. 

Jungkook exits the car after a quick goodbye and fishes through Jaehyun’s coat pocket for the house keys as he walks towards the front door. He manages to locate them, but his brother’s key ring has at least ten others dangling from the small, metal loop. 

“Jesus Christ, Jae,” he mumbles to himself while attempting each one. 

Once he succeeds in opening the door, he peers inside before entering the house and turning the lock behind him. 

It’s almost eerily silent in the home. Of all the times he’s been here, there's almost always music playing or a kitchen timer going off. He supposes it’s fitting, though. Without Jaehyun, the world is simply duller.

“Sweetheart?” He calls as he slips off his shoes and hangs his coat on the rack. 

He doesn’t hear a single peep until he nears the master bedroom. 

The door’s slightly cracked, but enough for Jungkook to spot you sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. You’re crying so hard your breath is skipping every couple seconds as your upper body rattles. It’s heartbreaking to witness, and even more so when he realizes you’re also clutching a picture frame to your chest. 

Jungkook inhales in preparation and then lifts his hand to rap his knuckles against the wood. Your head rises at the unexpected sound and it turns out seeing your somber, tearful expression is even worse than watching you sob. 

“Hi,” you rasp. 

“Hi, baby.” You use your shirtsleeve to dry the tears on your cheeks while Jungkook walks further into the bedroom. He sits down once he’s close enough before sliding over until your shoulders brush. Like its muscle memory, you melt into his side while your body releases all the built-up tension. “Whatcha got there?”

Your eyes drop to the object in your hands and you tentatively pull it away from your chest to rest it on your knees so Jungkook can see. 

It’s a photo from your wedding, one of you and Jungkook taken after the ceremony by your photographer. Besides the bride and groom portraits, you had them capture quite a few pictures of Jungkook and Jaehyun, the three of you, and finally you and Jungkook. 

In this particular image, Jungkook’s hugging you from behind, but he’d tickled you right as the photographer snapped the picture, resulting in an adorable still shot of you two laughing. Just like you always do whenever you’re together. 

Did. Since he’s effectively dead now. 

Jungkook hasn’t seen the photo in a while, even though it’s framed in his office amongst other photos from your wedding day. It’s hung up on the opposite wall to his desk, so he has to make a point of gazing at them when he isn’t working.

The framed photograph automatically produces fresh tears, although they feel happier than his previous ones. 

“I love that photo,” he chuckles while using his thumb to dry his cheek. 

“Mmhm,” you hum with a hint of a grin. “Me, too.” Jungkook watches your fingers run down the glass so you can trace his face in the image. You hiccup and sniffle, but it isn’t enough, and you begin softly crying a second later. “I can’t…” You inhale deeply. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.” 

You’re sobbing again before you can stop yourself and automatically cling to Jungkook by slinging your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shirt. His hands slide around your waist to hold you tight and he even tugs you across his lap so he can gently rock you back and forth. 

He won’t lie and say it doesn’t satisfy something malignant inside him that this is your reaction. His worst fear was that you'd be too happy about Jaehyun being alive to care about Jungkook being dead. But it’s a miniscule piece of him. For the most part, his heart aches at the mere thought of you being sad or in pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. “I’m trying to be strong for you.” 

Jungkook’s face immediately scrunches in disapproval.

“I don’t want that, baby.” He trails a hand up your back to lift your head as his mom’s words from earlier echo in his mind. “We’re in this together.” 

You shake your head.

“It isn’t the same for me as it is for you. I’m your wife, I need to be there for you.”

“You are,” Jungkook interjects. “Just by being here in my arms and looking at me like you always do. It’s more than enough.”

Instead of replying, you collapse back into him while tightening your hold. Jungkook follows suit just as vehemently until you two can’t possibly get any closer. 

After a few minutes, you both naturally unwind from the embrace, although you stay in his lap and draw absentminded shapes along his collarbone with your fingernail. 

“How did it go? Is Jennie alright?” He eventually asks. 

“Not even close.” When Jungkook’s eyes tilt down in concern, you elaborate. “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard such a horrible sound before. She screamed like… like I’d plunged my hand into her chest and suffocated her heart. Then she just started chanting ‘no, no, no’ until it mixed in with the shrieking to become this gut wrenching… prayer, almost. I had to catch her, too, because she instantly started dropping to her knees. But she clung to me so tight it brought us straight down to the floor. And that’s where we stayed while she sobbed and whimpered his name until her voice was gone.” 

As you speak, Jungkook has to drive his nails into his palms to keep it together. Because Jaehyun wouldn’t react to that news like he would. 

For him, every word you utter stomps on his lungs with the weight of an elephant. Not only because the vision you’re painting is downright agonizing to imagine, but because it’s all his fault.

In saving you from the heartache of losing Jaehyun, he condemned Jennie to that fate instead. Sure, it isn’t exactly the same since their relationship’s platonic, but she’s still his best friend of a decade.

“She’s not still there, is she? All alone?” 

“Oh, god, no,” you confirm. “Once she calmed down, I helped her hang a sign on the door stating Kookie’s would be closed until further notice and drove her home. I also told her to call me if she needs anything.” 

Jungkook nods along with a sigh of relief before allowing his head to rest on your shoulder. It's becoming increasingly difficult to even hold it up, but it helps when you start combing through his hair and kissing his crown. The sensation of your fingertips on his scalp elicits an appreciative hum and soon enough his entire body relaxes against you. 

“You should get some sleep, honey.”

He shakes his head while lifting it again to meet your gaze. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to,” he admits. 

“Well, let’s at least get you out of these clothes.” 

After standing up, you offer him your hands and he takes them without a second thought so you can help pull him to his feet. You begin to lead him towards the en-suite, but suddenly Jungkook’s paralyzed with a completely new fear. He halts fast, causing you to get tugged back in his direction. 

“Jae?”

“I can’t…” 

“What’s wrong?” You attempt to survey his expression, but he’s staring straight past you into the large bathroom. “Honey?”

“I can’t… um… can’t…” He exhales a shaky breath. “I don’t wanna look in the mirror.” 

Earlier when he was ensuring his appearance would exactly match Jaehyun’s, his adrenaline and determination were guiding him and he didn’t think much about it. But now that his body and mind have had time to settle, the idea of looking in the mirror and seeing his twin’s face staring back is terrifying. 

Luckily, you steal his attention by gently pulling his face down so he’s looking at you instead, freeing him from the anxious reverie.  

“That’s alright. You don’t have to,” you reassure him. 

“How? I mean, there’s one in every bathroom.”

You thoughtfully purse your lips and glance back over your shoulder at the room in question. 

“Give me a minute?” 

Jungkook nods despite not knowing what you’re thinking and sits on the edge of the bed once you leave the room. 

When you return, you have a roll of parchment paper, tape, scissors, and a couple other miscellaneous household items. You hurry into the en-suite before Jungkook can question you and close the door behind you, but he still hears the various noises coming from inside.

You emerge about ten minutes later with a prideful grin and steal his hand to bring him into the bathroom with you. Jungkook’s just about to object in case he accidentally catches sight of himself, but the realization of what you did stops him in his tracks. 

The massive mirrors which hang above the double sinks are completely covered by multiple layers of parchment paper and taped down around the entire perimeter so they won’t budge. Best of all, there’s a small note in the bottom corner that reads “I love you” followed by an adorable smiley face. 

“I’ll take care of the other bathrooms save for one tomorrow,” you state. 

Jungkook can barely hear you because he's too focused on what you’ve done for him. His eyes flicker back and forth across the mirrors as if it’ll all disappear if he looks away. But it won’t, because you’ll make sure it doesn’t until the moment he’s ready to meet his reflection again. 

Tears flood his eyes and cause him to sniffle the longer he admires your work. When you hear the sound, you look at him in concern. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook mumbles between hiccups. “I just don’t deserve you.” 

Your expression melts into one of nothing but love as you reach out to push his hair back.

“You can say that all you want, baby, but it’ll never make it true.”

He shakes his head. For what, he isn’t sure. Perhaps because he disagrees with your statement or maybe he’s just in complete disbelief over how truly wonderful you are.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

You simply shrug with a soft, gorgeous smile.

“There’s no need.”

The two of you proceed to complete your nightly routines side by side. Other than when you head to a different bathroom so you can see what you’re doing while you wash your face and apply products. 

Jungkook finishes first and decides to change clothes prior to you returning. It just feels like the right move, all things considered. Thankfully, he’s spent enough time here to know where Jaehyun keeps his things, such as pajamas.

He’s already in bed by the time you come back and you affectionately grin over how cute he looks snuggled up beneath the sheets. 

“Comfy?” 

The question encourages Jungkook to run his fingers along the edge of the blankets. They’re much softer than the ones back at his apartment. Which certainly tracks considering Jaehyun made well over six figures and Jungkook doesn’t even budget a salary for himself among the expenses for the bar.

“Yeah.”

His meek reply produces a wave of sadness on your face, but you don’t comment on it and head straight towards your closet to find something for bed. When you return, you’re holding your pajamas. Jungkook quickly realizes what that means and looks down to avoid seeing you change. 

He knows he can’t do so forever, but he really doesn’t want tonight to be the first time he sees you naked after being helplessly in love with you for fifteen years. 

The mattress dips as you climb in beside him and Jungkook glances up again now that he knows the coast is clear. You make yourself comfortable by sliding beneath the sheets and lying on your side so you’re facing him. He quickly mirrors you, leaving you two only a couple inches apart in the large bed. 

“Is it a stupid question to ask how you’re doing?” He shakes his head. “Alright. How are you doing?”

Despite everything, including that he’s doing absolutely terrible, he can’t help but faintly smile at you. 

“Honestly?” 

“Mmhm.”

After a deep sigh, Jungkook’s hand finds your own under the blanket so he can lace your fingers together. 

“I don’t know how I would’ve survived without you,” he confesses. 

You squeeze his hand and he swears it’s like someone removing a one hundred pound weight from his back. 

“And that’s exactly how we’re gonna get through this,” you claim. “You just lean on me and I’ll see that you make it out safely.” 

Jungkook genuinely doesn’t know how much more his heart can take. You’re an angel amongst humans, and he feels woefully unprepared to experience being loved by you. 

“I’m kinda heavy, we might need to take a lot of breaks,” Jungkook teases. 

The beautiful, melodic laugh he adores so much passes through your lips and prompts him to join in. 

“That’s alright. No matter how long it takes, I’ll carry you the whole way.” 

More tears prick the corners of Jungkook’s eyes, but you reach out to stop them in their tracks before he can do so himself. 

“You’re… you’re the best thing to ever happen to me, Y/N,” he cries. 

It’s true. Even though you’ve only ever had a platonic relationship before tonight, he can’t imagine his life without you. 

“Me, too,” you whisper while caressing his cheek. “I love you, Jaehyun.”

Jungkook forces his eyes shut while willing himself not to cry anymore, but it's difficult to combat the raging whirlpool of emotions coursing through him. One being the profound sadness of hearing you say Jaehyun’s name. His twin who’s currently lying on a cold, steel slab at a funeral home across town. But that’s the precise reason he’s doing this, because you love Jaehyun, and Jungkook loves you. Enough to throw his whole life away just so you’ll never know the pain of losing the person you love. 

On the flip side, there’s also the guilt slowly eating away at him. Even though his motives are benign, it doesn’t change him lying in bed with his brother’s wife on the evening of his death. 

The worst part is Jungkook never wanted this. No matter how much he loves you, he never once wished you would be with him instead of Jaehyun. You two were a match made in heaven, and Jungkook’s devotion to you both vastly outweighed his desire. Hence his determination to make sure your love lives on. 

But now he’s left with no choice but to end his fifteen years of yearning, with this being the defining moment. 

For the first time, whether you’re aware it’s him or not, he’s able to tell you he loves you. He’s uttered the infamous phrase to you a million times over the years, but only platonically. Tonight he’s allowed to mean it. 

“I love you,” he declares, clear and simple; without an ounce of hesitation. Except once his adoration’s finally out in the open, suddenly it’s all Jungkook wants to say. “I love you, Y/N.” Entirely on instinct, he closes the gap between you by grabbing your waist and tugging you into him. “I love you.” Your arms circle his neck as your body naturally molds to the shape of his own. “I love you.” His opposite hand rises to push your hair back and cradle your jaw. “I love you.” He doesn’t know who moves first, but your foreheads meet in the middle, causing your noses to brush. “Y/N, I love you.”

You’re crying again and he doesn’t realize he is too until your hand slides up his cheek to wipe away the fresh tears. He returns the favor, but it’s useless against the endless raindrops falling from your eyes. 

“I thought I was gonna lose you today,” you confess. “None of the doctors or nurses would tell us anything. But the news was reporting multiple people dead at the scene.” You hiccup. “And I was so fucking terrified, Jae.”

Jungkook shakes his head while soothingly running his thumb back and forth along your cheekbone.

“I’ll never let that happen. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“But I… I still lost him.” Even through the tears, you manage a small, nostalgic smile. “My Kookie.”

He hasn’t heard you refer to him like that since your wedding and it's just as heart stopping as the first time. 

“No,” he disagrees. “Jungkook will always be with us. Him and I were one soul in two bodies. Now we’re just together in this one.” 

The irony is so potent he can practically taste it. 

“Then will you give him a message for me?” 

His eyebrows rise, not expecting your response in the slightest, but he still nods. 

Both your eyes and hand drop to his chest where you trace along the stripes on his shirt. Jungkook can’t tell if you’re simply thinking about what you want to say or are hesitant to vocalize it. 

“Kookie,” you softly exhale. “I’m really thankful you protected the person we both love most today.” A belated tear escapes from your waterline. “But I’m also really fucking angry at you for leaving us.”

It takes Jungkook a minute to process your declaration because his brain’s just one, big, jumbled mess of both him and Jaehyun. Once he manages to, he clears his throat and captures your gaze again. 

“Message received,” he tells you with a smile. 

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, baby.”

Surprisingly, Jungkook’s actually able to fall asleep. He imagines it’s because you remain in his arms all night and your comforting smell, warmth, and touch are enough to keep him in a deep slumber. 

Waking up in a world without Jaehyun for the first time is bizarre, to say the least. Especially considering the moment his eyes open, he’s thrust right back into his brother’s life. 

The scent of sweets is wafting through the house as he rises from bed and twists until his feet meet the floor. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and stretches his body that’s still sore from yesterday before glancing around the room. 

Everywhere he looks are pieces of Jaehyun, but rather than being a reminder of the horrors he faced yesterday, they soothe his scattered mind. Similar to what he told you last night, being in this room makes him feel like his brother’s still here with him. 

After gathering his bearings and changing into something comfortable to wear for the day, he goes downstairs to find you. 

As always, you’re standing in the kitchen sipping from a mug and flipping through a recipe book. He spots you before you notice him because the house’s open concept allows him to see the lower level before reaching the final step. He uses it to his advantage, giving himself a second to admire you uninterrupted.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he greets you while stepping down onto the first floor. 

You glance up at the sound and your entire face glows with adoration. Jungkook doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to that. You’re almost too radiant to look at head on. 

“Hi, honey,” you coo. 

The mug clinks on the countertop when you set it down and round the corner to reach him. As soon as you do, you slide your arms around his waist and place your ear to his chest. Jungkook hopes you can’t hear the jackrabbiting tempo of his heart; something your husband of five years shouldn’t have. 

Jungkook wraps his limbs around your neck in return, letting them lay limp on your shoulders while he bends down to kiss the top of your head. 

“Did you sleep well?” 

He feels you nod against his sternum and a smile immediately spreads across his face. You gaze up afterwards, taking a step back at the same time so you don’t have to crane your neck. 

“How are you doing?”

“I feel… weird,” he admits. “I don’t really know how to describe it.”

“That’s alright,” you assure him. “I’ll still do my best to understand, okay?” His grin grows as he acknowledges your pledge with a nod. “The bathroom mirrors are all covered now except for the half bath near the guest room. But I put a sign on the door so you don’t forget.” 

“Thank you so much.” 

“It’s the least I can do.” You turn on your heel to return to the kitchen while Jungkook follows like a lost puppy. Not only because this isn’t his normal morning routine, but because he just wants to be near you. “I made all your favorites for breakfast.” 

With a gesture at the dining room table, you show off the massive spread of both savory and sweet dishes. Honestly, Jungkook can’t believe what’s seeing. He’s always known you to be a doting, giving wife, but Jaehyun had it fucking made. 

“Baby, I don’t even know what to say.” His feet carry him to your side while his eyes keep surveying all the different foods. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

One of your hands gently tugs on his chin to turn his face back to you. 

“I know. I wanted to do this because I love you. Simple as that.”

“I love you,” he whispers, almost like an automatic, involuntary response. 

“Then will you please eat all the yummy food I made for you?”

He chuckles and nods before sitting at the table and beginning to dig in. A couple minutes later, you return with two mugs and set one down in front of him. His eyes grow with curiosity as he leans over to check the contents, but his face falters upon realizing what it is.

Hot chocolate with mini marshmallows. His brother’s favorite. 

Jungkook loves hot chocolate, too, but he hates when marshmallows are included. He swears they ruin the flavor and turn the entire drink into a lumpy mess. 

But Jungkook’s dead for all intents and purposes, so marshmallows it is for the rest of his life. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” 

You hum in acknowledgment prior to turning around so you can grab something else. It’s a good thing because after Jungkook takes his first sip, he gags and lays his tongue out to try getting rid of the taste. 

“So, I talked to your mom this morning and she said we’re welcome to come over whenever we’re ready to start working through all the logistics,” you explain while strolling in from the kitchen. 

After coming back once again, you sit down in the seat next to him.

“Do you think we can go to the funeral home today? I promised Jungkook I wouldn’t leave him alone for too long.”

“Well, he might not be ready for visitors yet. If you know what I mean?” 

He really wishes he didn’t. The thought of his brother getting pumped with chemicals to slow the decaying of his body makes him sick to his stomach. 

“Right. Do you think they’ll tell us once he is?” 

“We can always call and ask,” you suggest. 

Jungkook hums before you both continue eating your breakfast in a comfortable silence. 

Following the meal, Jungkook asks you to help him look more presentable since he can’t use a mirror to do so himself. You’ve both already showered and gotten dressed, so all that’s left is to fix his hair and swap out the bandage on his cheek. 

You ask him to sit on the edge of the bed while you grab a hairbrush and the first aid kit. He waits patiently as instructed and once you come back, you stand between his open legs and place the items beside him on the mattress.

The first task you attempt is changing his bandage, which you begin by delicately removing the current one. Jungkook hisses when the tape pulls at his skin, but the pain is brief. 

Afterwards, he admires your face of determination as you clean the cut with an alcohol pad. He expects you to apply some ointment and the new bandage next, but instead you just stare at the small, red mark with a thoughtful expression.

“What is it?” He inquires.

You click your tongue and shake your head like you’re still debating on the answer yourself.

“Nothing. It's just… what are the odds you walk away with only a single injury and it happens to be in the exact spot your brother’s scar was?” 

Jungkook’s heart drops, but he soon realizes you aren’t accusing him of anything and are simply pointing out the coincidence. 

“I noticed that, too,” he responds. “I guess the universe just wanted to ensure I have a reminder every time I look in the mirror.” A hollow, dark chuckle escapes him. “As if my identical fucking face isn’t enough.”

“Oh, but it’s such a nice face.” Your fingers trail down his chin so you can tilt his head up. “So handsome god had to make two of them.”

His responding laugh is instantaneous and bright. He even squeezes his eyes shut as both rows of teeth make an appearance. It prompts you to parrot the sound while lovingly caressing his jaw. 

Once the delightful energy simmers, he ensnares your waist to pull you close and bury his face in your stomach. His hands glide up and down your back as he holds you and you reciprocate by carding your fingers through his hair. 

“Thank you. I needed that.” 

“Always, baby,” you reply with a kiss to his crown. 

You finish with the injury and brush his freshly washed hair before heading to his parents’ place about thirty minutes away. Jungkook drives, claiming the control of being behind the wheel will help with the anxiety of stepping into a vehicle only a day after a life altering accident. 

When you two arrive, your hand immediately finds his as you stroll towards the entrance together. He always saw the same thing happen with you and Jaehyun, but he never realized just how instinctual it is. Even though it’s been less than a day, he has an insatiable urge to touch you at all times. 

His mom meets you both at the door and everyone exchanges warm hugs before entering the house. It seems his folks had an early morning because there's already photo albums and legal paperwork strewn all over the kitchen table. 

“Alright,” his mom announces. “We’ve got a long to-do list, but we also need to make sure we’re checking in on each other. Yes?” You and Jungkook nod in sync. “So, funeral and burial comes first. We need to choose the date and time, casket, and headstone. Along with writing the obituary and sorting through photos. Afterwards, we need to discuss logistics regarding the apartment, the bar, his motorcycle, etc.”

“If you can’t tell, your mother’s coping by running this house like a drill sergeant,” his dad pipes up from behind her.

The lighthearted humor at the time like this is precisely what everyone needs and allows for the air to feel a little less suffocating. 

“I can start on the photos while you all focus on the burial arrangements,” you offer. 

“And I’m going to take care of the obituary,” his dad adds. 

Jungkook’s teeth sink into his lower lip as he observes the table’s contents representing everything that still has to be done. It’s overwhelming enough learning how to survive alone after thirty one years of being a pair, but now there’s a laundry list of other tasks, too. 

“That sounds… good,” he whispers. 

You comfortingly squeeze his hand and it leads him to glance over at you. You’re wearing a sweet, supportive smile and you also lift your eyebrows to silently ask if he’s alright. After he nods, you tug on his arm to pull you closer together. 

“Jae, sweetie,” his mom grabs his attention. “Can you run upstairs and grab the 2001 photo album? It’s the only one missing.”

“Yeah, sure.”

He lets go of your hand at the same time you step into the kitchen to begin sorting photos. It doesn’t really phase him to walk up the large staircase in his home, but once he reaches the top, his heart drops.

Him and Jaehyun’s rooms are directly across from another at the top of the steps, with a small landing separating them. Neither twin has changed the layout or decor since moving out, so they’re still perfectly preserved time capsules of their youth. 

He ventures into his own room first by gently pressing on the door until it swings open. It seems smaller than when he was young, but everything is identical otherwise. His feet carry him around the perimeter a couple times as he runs his hands along the furniture, trophies, books, and collectibles throughout the room. 

This is it, he supposes. Everything that makes him, him, will be buried along with his brother because he’ll never be Jungkook again in this lifetime. It makes his grief even more daunting and convoluted because while he’s mourning Jaehyun, a piece of him is also mourning himself. 

His fist taps the desk a few times as he inhales and lets the air gradually exit through his lips. 

“Goodbye, Jungkook.” A tiny smirk appears. “It’s been fun.”

While walking backwards, he admires the bedroom a little longer before closing the door. 

His next stop is Jaehyun’s bedroom and he has to take in another large gulp of oxygen just to prepare himself. With a push, he opens the door the same as he did his own room and crosses the threshold into the familiar space. 

He doesn’t recall the last time he was in here, but his memories with Jaehyun are present all around him.

Brief flashes and mirages of their time growing up together play on the walls and across the different pieces of furniture. Like the time they tried to pull an all-nighter at the ripe age of eight only to crash at four in the morning with a pile of candy and soda bottles between them. Or when they were chasing each other around at age eleven and ended up breaking the bed frame by jumping on the mattress too hard. And another one from when they were fourteen and play-wrestling on the floor until one of them accidentally kicked the dresser and shattered a lamp. 

They were rambunctious, devious, and fun-loving throughout their entire lives, up until their final moments together. 

Most of all, Jungkook remembers lying on his twin’s bed the night Jaehyun told him about you. It’s strange to think how different the last fifteen years would’ve been if that had never occurred. You’re such an integral part of their lives and as his mind replays the memory, he can’t help but smile. 

It isn’t for long, though, because the more images he sees, the harder he finds it to breathe. Soon enough, he feels the familiar prick of tears and his bottom lip begins to tremble.

His eyes flicker to the mattress and suddenly all he sees is Jaehyun lying still in a hospital bed. 

Jungkook whimpers aloud while trying to stop the influx of emotions before they get the better of him, but it's useless, and he ends up on his knees just like yesterday. 

He pushes his forehead into the sheets as harsh, erratic sobs surge through his body. His hands clutch the comforter like a vice grip, anything to provide some sort of stability. 

“Please,” he gasps. “Please come back to me.” His chest is shaking so much the words are barely audible. “I don’t wanna do this without you, Jae. I can’t be somewhere you don’t exist.” 

It’s uncertain how long Jungkook weeps into his twin’s old blankets, but by the time his body relaxes, he’s got a headache, a sore throat, and his eyes are swollen. 

He’s in a weakened, almost trance when he returns to the first floor with the photo album. It lands on the kitchen table with a loud thump and causes both you and his mom to jump because you didn’t hear him enter. 

When you notice his current state, your eyes widen. 

“Jae?” You call while standing up. 

The sudden sensation of your hand on his shoulder grounds him to reality and he slowly blinks back to normal before meeting your concerned gaze. 

“I’m okay,” he quietly assures you as his hand rises to cradle your cheek. 

You automatically relax into his touch, letting your head rest against his palm. 

“Are you sure?”

A hint of a smile spreads across his lips. 

“As long as I have you,” he whispers so only you hear it. 

Afterwards, his head dips so he can place a light kiss on your forehead. 

The doorbell rings, surprising everyone and pulling all your attention to the entrance. 

“Who could that be?” His dad ponders from the couch. 

“Shit, that must be Jennie,” you answer. 

“Jennie?” Jungkook squeaks in shock. 

His odd reaction earns him a quick, questioning glance from you, but you thankfully don’t pry any further. 

“Yeah. I told her yesterday if she has any photos she wants to include she can bring them here.” You squeeze Jungkook’s bicep before heading for the door. “I’ll go greet her.”

Jungkook’s only thought is that you cannot let her into this house. Jennie, of all people, is the one person who always sees right through him. Not only that, but he won’t be able to keep it together. The guilt of knowing what he’s putting her through is far too expansive. 

Spurred on by anxiety, Jungkook follows you to the entrance, but slips into the foyer nearby so he can witness your conversation without being seen. 

Once the door opens, you smile and wave your arm to usher Jennie inside before giving her a long hug.

“How are you doing?” You ask her.

Jennie tries to send you a reassuring smile, but it looks more like a tight-lipped frown.

“Oh, you know,” she faintly chuckles. “I’ve been better.”

You grimace and reach out to hold her hand. 

“Can I help at all? I mean, with anything.” 

“No, no. I just have to… survive my own subconscious.”

“Well, do you wanna come in?”

“Oh, no,” she objects while offering you the shoebox tucked beneath her arm. “I just came to give you these. Please don’t feel obligated to use them. I won’t be offended.”

“Of course, we will, Jen.” You open it enough to peek inside and whatever photos are in there, they make you grin. “You’re Jungkook’s best friend. You deserve to be included.”

Jennie graciously nods.

“It’s just so strange, you know? One moment he’s here and the next…”

“Yeah,” you concur.

“And now I’m just playing back the last time I saw him over and over again and trying not to regret every little thing.”

“What do you have to regret?” 

“I don’t know, honestly. Probably nothing, right? But that doesn’t stop me from agonizing over it.” She sighs and sniffles while using her coat sleeve to wipe her eyes. “I just thought we’d have more time. I thought I would hear his voice again, or his laugh. See those huge fucking eyes of his go wide because he got excited.”

You both break out into a fit of giggles and Jungkook’s suddenly smiling from ear to ear. Not necessarily because of your conversation, but the vision of his girls looking so happy together. Even if it’s only fleeting.

“God, he was such an enigma. Wasn’t he? Like he owns a dive bar, exclusively wears all black, and drives a motorcycle, but also owns multiple pairs of Iron Man socks and has a pink toiletry bag.”

“Oh, don’t forget the adorable little keychains he used to hang from his backpack in college,” Jennie adds. 

The two of you laugh again before you gesture towards the interior of the house.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come in?”

Jennie thoughtfully nibbles on her lower lip for a moment, but inevitably shakes her head. 

“No, I, uh, I don’t think I can handle seeing Jaehyun right now,” she confesses. “Not because of anything to do with him, of course. I just have no idea how I’ll react to seeing someone who looks just like Jungkook.”

You nod understandably.

“No worries.”

She sends you a warm smile that you mirror before giving one another a goodbye hug. 

Jungkook’s beyond thankful she didn’t want to come in because watching from the shadows is one thing, but actually interacting with Jennie would’ve been next to impossible. 

He watches you wave until the door shuts and then makes himself known by stepping into the main hallway. You jump a little when you spot him and Jungkook tosses his hands up in surrender.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I didn't mean to scare you. I was just curious to see how she’s doing for myself,” he explains. 

“Gosh, warn a woman first. Will you?”

Despite your retort, you’re smiling as he closes the gap between you. 

“I can help you go through photos, if you want,” he offers.

“No need, baby. I’ve got it handled. Besides, you need to help decide on everything.” 

Jungkook clicks his tongue and grimaces.

“Right. Except that’s kinda what I was trying to avoid.”

“I know,” you giggle. “You really think I don’t see through all your little tricks by now?” 

Well, there’s definitely one I know you can’t see through.

“I just…” He sighs. “Deciding on this stuff makes it real and I don’t want that. I don’t wanna pick out a casket because he shouldn’t be in a casket in the first place. He shouldn’t have a headstone or an obituary... all of this is just fucking wrong.” 

Clearly the anger stage of grief is beginning to set in because his hands clench into fists while he talks.

“It is.” Your bottom lip gets caught between your teeth as you debate on your next statement. “But if he were to need a casket or a headstone, he deserves the best ones. Doesn’t he?” 

Jungkook shakes his head with his eyes glued to the floor. 

“He deserves to be alive.”

After eliminating the space between your bodies, you cup his face with both hands and force him to meet your gaze. 

“You’re right. But if the universe won’t give him that, then this is the next best thing we can do for him,” you claim.

To this day it still shocks Jungkook every time you’re able to make everything feel okay again without even trying. Whether through words, touch, a smile, or merely your presence, you have a magical way of calming him down and allowing him to breathe freely.

“Yeah,” he whispers. 

“Yeah?”

Jungkook nods and paints a grin onto his face.

You two rejoin his parents in the kitchen and everyone gets to work on their respective tasks. When his dad finishes the obituary, he reads it out loud for a second opinion. Once that’s done, he helps Jungkook and his mom choose the most important details of the day. 

By the time the sun dips beneath the clouds, you’re all mentally drained and decide to call it a day. The funeral won’t be for another week, anyway, so there’s still time. Most of the issues yet to be tackled are what happens with the bar and Jungkook’s possessions, but thankfully, he’s here to help make those decisions himself. 

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[dreamersparacosm]

⌗ the one where jungkook just wants a taste

a gameboy installment .ᐟ.ᐟ

PAIRING gamer!jungkook x onlyfans!reader

WORD COUNT 5.1k

BLURB WARNINGS oh god where do i start uhhh girl dad!jungkook, jungkook has a kink for your titties, breastfeeding, breast milk, nipple play, unprotected sex, jungkook calls you mama so light mommy kink, breeding kink, jungkook is a whiny little shit, idk basically he wants to try your breast milk lol

ANG’S NOTE i have no words for this except i'm sorry. this lowkey might be the dirtiest thing i've ever written bc why is he drinking her breast milk... chile anyways. whiny jungkook got me acting up. hope this holds y'all over while i continue to edit 'one more night.' (coming soon i swear!!!!)

Breastfeeding is easier than you expected. Not that you were envisioning a shitshow where your breasts grew to the size of milk jugs, but you had heard horror stories from your “Mommy and Me” Reddit group. Something about babies biting their mother’s nipple, their milk expiring, or other tidbits you don’t like to think about. Luckily, your daughter, Jiwon, latched onto your nipple immediately after birth, and even the nurses clapped in excitement as to how eager she was. You were so proud of your little bug, even though she was acting upon natural human instincts. 

As the months passed by, she never gave you any issues. She happily took her milk, and when you sat her down just to sit with her, she would play with your boobs like they were her own personal toys. You found it endearing, but your husband…well, Jungkook was a little jealous. 

It all began when you were hanging out with Namjoon and his wife, and Jiwon was seated on your lap, giggling while playing with your breasts. Namjoon had made a joke at the expense of your daughter, something about how she was more obsessed with your tits than her dad and Jungkook grumbled in response “I guess.” 

To which you then slapped his shoulder because he couldn’t possibly be annoyed with his angel of a daughter. 

Jungkook has always loved your breasts. Gives them extra love when he’s fucking into you, flicking your nipples to ensure they’re hardened. He even made you cum once just from nipple stimulation, which is one of his greatest feats. So Jeon Jiwon stealing your tits from him was blasphemous. Utterly unheard of. He couldn’t let that slide. 

Thus began the Great Tit War. Some would argue scarier than the thought of World War 3.

“Good job, Jiwonnie.” You kiss your daughters forehead as she happily latches onto your nipple, doe eyes twinkling with delight. Rocking back and forth in the feeding chair set up in her room, you caress the sprouts of hair curling from her head. She’s only just begun to grow hair, and you can’t wait until it gets long enough to put into cute little bows. “You’re so perfect, my bug.” 

You watch as she sucks and sucks, wiping droplets off her puffy cheek as she feeds. 

A knock at the door causes your head to instinctively swing up, a hesitant little rap against the doorframe, and you look up from Jiwon’s face to find Jungkook hovering in the entryway. Sometimes he lingers in the entrance, unsure if he’s allowed in. 

“Come in, Koo,” you giggle, keeping your rocking steady. He shuffles in slowly, sock feet quiet against the nursery rug, hands tucked into the front pocket of his trusty black hoodie. His hair is still messy from his headset. There’s probably a game paused downstairs, controller resting against the couch cushion, waiting for him. When his eyes drift to Jiwon, his entire body relaxes, a glow on his cheeks. 

Her eyes are fighting the sleep as she continues to suck. She gets sleepy once she’s full, so it’s only a matter of time. Her tiny fist is curled against your breast, and a little bubble forms at the corner of her mouth that you wipe off with a smile. Jungkook crouches down to chair level, forearms on his knees, and looks at her the way he always does. Jungkook was always meant to be a girl dad, you presume. When they had pulled her from your vagina and he got to hold her for the first time, there was no denying the twinkle in his eyes, the undying admiration lingering in the air for her. 

Jiwon’s eyes flutter open. Find him immediately, some homing instinct tuned specifically to her father’s frequency. Her whole face does the thing where it scrunches in delight. The gummy almost-smile that isn’t quite a smile yet but is.

She reaches out, fingers splayed, grasping at air in his direction. Jungkook offers her his index finger without hesitation, and she latches onto it with your nipple still tucked between her pink lips. He lets out a quiet breath through his nose. 

Jungkook loves her in a way that frightens him sometimes. You’ve watched him hold her at 3 AM when she won’t settle, swaying in the dark with his cheek pressed to the top of her head, whispering things you can’t hear from the doorway. 

You never interrupt those moments. They belong to the two of them.

Finding alone time since Jiwon arrived has been its own comedy of errors. She wakes at odd hours with no pattern you’ve been able to crack, usually just as you’ve finally gotten comfortable. It’s always you she summons first and you’ll stumble down the hall half-asleep while Jungkook makes grabby hands at the warm space you left behind. But on the nights she wants him, she makes that known too. He’ll be up before you can even register it, padding down the hall, saying I got her, go back to sleep in a voice still rough with exhaustion.

Intimacy after children is something you schedule around a nine-pound tyrant who controls your life and whom you would die for without hesitation.

Jungkook tears his gaze from Jiwon and looks at you. “When will you be done here?”

You giggle at the implication of the question. “Soon, Koo.” Adjusting Jiwon slightly, you brush her cheek with your thumb. Her eyes are drooping again, fighting a losing battle. “I want to make sure she sleeps through the night.”

He hums. Looks back at Jiwon, then his eyes lower to land  at your breast. 

The urge to roll your eyes is almost too hard to resist. Yours and Jungkook’s sex life has definitely slowed down (but not enough to say you’re celibate by any means), but ever since Namjoon made that irreversible comment about your tits, Jungkook has made it extra known that he values your chest just as much as your infant daughter. He once motorboated you during sex. Another time, he left hickies littered on your tits, and poor Jiwon had to see them. 

Jiwon unlatches with a tiny pop, milk-drunk and boneless, eyes fully closed now, her whole body gone heavy in your arms. You shift her carefully onto your shoulder, one hand supporting her head, and begin the gentle rhythmic pat on her back.

Jungkook’s eyes drop down yet again. You didn’t even have time to cover yourself.

The look on his face speaks volumes. You have catalogued that look across years of being with this man. He wore it constantly when you were pregnant, borderline feral about the way your body was changing, specifically about your chest, specifically all the time, to a degree that was flattering for the first month and then became its own part-time job to manage.

They’re so much bigger, he had said. They’re sore and hurt like hell, you had replied.

And then he proceeded to suck your nipples, toying with them while he was balls deep inside you at a pace that had you cumming in under five minutes. 

“Jungkook.” Your voice is stern. It bounces off him completely.

“What?” he innocently asks. 

“I see you.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re making a face at me,” you argue. 

He scoffs, “I don’t have a face.”

Jiwon burps, and you sigh in relief. Kissing her temple, you smile. “Good girl.”

Jungkook tears his gaze up to your face with visible effort. “I’ll wait for you in bed.”

“I’ll come in twenty.”

“Come now,” he whines, slumping his shoulders. 

“Jungkook, I have a baby on my shoulder.” 

“I can see that.” His eyes flicker to Jiwon and her relaxed expression, practically snoring from where she’s perched on your body. 

“Then you understand why now is not an option.”

He slumps back against the nursery wall in utter distress. He is a man with tattoos and a streaming setup worth more than most people’s cars, and here he is pouting in a room decorated with little pastel clouds.

Jiwon has finally settled after another few minutes of rocking and watching her face for the telltale stillness that means she’s properly under and not pretending. You’ve been fooled before. You’ve made the mistake of putting her down too early and you refuse to repeat it.

“Okay,” you whisper, tucking Jiwon against the mattress, pulling the little cloud-print blanket up. You and Jungkook stand over the crib for a moment in the dim glow of the nightlight, watching her sleep. Her little lips are pursed. A tiny wrinkle between her brows, like even in dreams she has things to say.

She gets that from him.

On the way out, Jungkook takes your hand. In the hallway, the door eased shut behind you, you readjust your nursing bra and pull your shirt down. Jungkook watches and you don’t miss the way his eye twitches. .

Padding toward your bedroom, you joke, “Most husbands just say ‘hey you look tired, let me give you a back rub.”

He perks up. “I can give you a back rub.”

You snort. “Jeon, that is not what your face was saying in there.”

He follows you into the room, and you hardly have time to turn around before his warmth envelops you, hands finding your waist, chin dropping to look at you.“I missed you,” he says.

“You see me every second of the day, baby.”

He digs his nose into your neck, inhaling your scent. “But I feel like it’s been a few hours.”

You laugh, letting him walk you back toward the bed. “Well, I was being a mother to your baby.”

“I think I’m nutritionally deprived of my wife.” His voice comes out muffled against your skin. 

“You are not—”

“I want your titties.”

You halt in your tracks. Slowly, you remove his hands from around your waist, turning to glare at him. “…I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.”

Oh. So he is serious and not manic. 

“I need you to say it again so I can confirm I didn’t hallucinate,” you deadpan. 

“I want—”

“Jungkook oh my god.” You press your hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking. Honestly, you don’t even want to hear the words again. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s not coming from anywhere.” He sits on the edge of the bed, manspreading. “I’m just saying. Jiwon gets them everyday.”

Your jaw falls agape. “Jiwon is a baby. Our baby, actually.” 

“And I’m your husband.”

“Those are not equivalent positions!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. 

“I’m not saying they’re equivalent. I’m just saying. I’ve been very patient and waited my turn.” This hardly qualifies as him waiting his turn. He has the instinct of a newborn child. 

To be honest, you’re not entirely opposed to the idea of Jungkook fucking you. It’s been a few days since you’ve been able to have alone time, and the clock is ticking as you speak. “Go brush your teeth,” you say.

“After.”

“After what?”

He levels you with a look.

“Go brush your teeth, Jeon Jungkook,” you chastise as though he’s a toddler. 

He groans and drags himself off the bed like you’ve asked him to do the impossible. You watch him disappear into the bathroom and take the opportunity to change into your sleep shirt, a worn one with the stretched collar, and get under the covers and close your eyes. A quick prayer for a full eight hours even though you know that’s not happening.

The tap water runs for about four seconds before promptly being shut off. 

You exhale. “You did not brush your teeth that quick.”

“I actually did.” He appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He’s taken his hoodie off, buff, tatted arms on display to where you remember oh, right, you’re attracted to this person, which is inconvenient given the current circumstances. 

“Don’t you dare come over here and kiss me with stank breath.”

He crosses to the bed and climbs in next to you, gravitating toward your side the way, arm hooking around your waist. You feel his nose against your hair. This part you’ve missed all day, you think. This specific configuration of the two of you.

Then his hand starts to wander.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

“I’m just—”

“I know what you’re just.”

He subsides, shuffling under the duvet until you hear his voice again. “Can I ask you something?”

Oh no. “…Sure.”

“Hypothetically.”

Oh no oh no. “Okay.”

“If I were to—” He stops, choosing his words. It’s more alarming than if he’d just said it. Jungkook unfiltered you can manage. But he knows what he’s about to unleash on you is unhinged and is trying to land it anyway. “If I were to ask for something. And it was maybe a little unconventional…”

You nod for him to proceed. 

Jungkook clears his throat. “If your husband, who loves you very much, who is a very good husband by most metrics—”

“What metrics?” 

“—who fixed the leak under the sink last week without being asked—”

“You watched a YouTube tutorial, failed, then called Namjoon.”

“I still fixed it,” he says with dignity. “If that husband were to make a small, reasonable request—”

You sit up and peer at him. His hair is all pushed to one side, a small crease on his cheek from the pillow. 

“How is it,” you say, “that you’re whining more than our newborn daughter?”

“I’m not whining.”

“Jungkook, you have so far made a seven sentence case for why you deserve something and you haven’t even told me what it is yet,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.

He sits up too. And then, because he is who he is, he pulls the duvet off him, and gets on his knees on the mattress. “Hear me out.” 

You’re not hearing anyone out. You think about the version of yourself from ten years ago, pre-Jungkook, and whether she could have predicted this specific moment. She could not have. No one could have.

“Jiwon,” he begins gravely, “gets to have your boobs every night.”

“She’s breastfeeding.”

“Every night,” he continues over you. “Multiple times. She just takes them.”

“Because she’s an infant,” you incredulously retort. 

“And I,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest, “have been very respectful. I have kept my feelings largely to myself and I just think that after everything I’ve given to this family, I just think I deserve to, at minimum, also..”

He wavers, gulping thickly. The rejection is already boiling on your tongue.

“…try some.”

Suddenly, the room is eerily quiet. Somewhere down the hall, Jiwon makes a small sleep sound and the white noise machine hums.

“People do it. Apparently, it’s normal and nutritious. It has antibodies,” he argues, bouncing on his knees. 

“You’re invoking antibodies right now.”

Grabbing a pillow and pressing it over your face, you scream into it. Your adult husband wants to be breastfed, and frankly, you might find it hot if you weren’t being used as a cow by your daughter everyday. 

You lower the pillow, and to your dismay, he’s peering at you expectantly, weaponizing those same doe eyes Jiwon utilizes against you.

“So… is that a yes?” 

“That is not a yes.”

He whimpers, lowering his head. 

You sigh. “Koo—”

“Just think about it.”

“I have thought about it. I thought about it for the three seconds it took you to finish the sentence and my answer is no.”

“Whyyyyy?” he whines again. You wish you could film the whole thing to show his friends. They might bully him enough to leave Jiwon fatherless.

You got a first-class ticket on the Jeon Jungkook experience and this is where it’s taken you. “What if I asked nicely?” he tries.

“Is there an even nicer way you plan on asking?”

“What if I said please””

“Jungkook—”

“Please.”

“No.”

He lets out a loud groan, and you grab the pillow back to smack him in the arm. “You are going to wake Jiwon,” you hiss.

Jungkook climbs back under the covers and you turn the lamp down lower. In the dim room, he curls toward you, head propped on one hand, despite your body language indicating bedtime. 

“I’m not changing my mind,” you preemptively tell him.

“Okay,” he retorts in a tone that means he disagrees.

He reaches out and moves a piece of hair from your face. After, his thumb traces your cheekbone. 

“Go to sleep,” you say. Your body can’t help but melt under his touch.

“I’m not tired,” he murmurs. 

“Then lie there quietly.”

He flops onto his back like a starfish and lets out a groan directed at the ceiling. Jungkook shifts around for a few moments, trying to find comfort.

The fundamental problem is that when his hand finds your waist under the blanket, butterflies erupt in your stomach like it’s the first time you’ve felt him.

In a weird way, you understand what he means when he says he misses you. Although you try to make time for sex, it feels like there’s a divide between you and him. Not one that’s high enough to keep you two apart, but it’s noticeable. It’s there, and you both struggle to climb over it when your newborn is so needy. It’s another thing you read about in your Mommy and Me Reddit group. 

“We’ve barely had time for anything since she came,” you admit.

“I know.” He presses his lips to your forehead. “I’m sorry about earlier. I’m not trying to pressure you. I just… really, really miss your boobs.”

And there goes your empathy. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper, laughing despite everything.

“I’m serious.”

You press your face into his shoulder, laughing quietly, and feel him grin against your hair. “You are so much, you know that? You are so much.”

“But you love me, right, baby?”

“Inexplicably.”

He squeezes you, and for a moment you just lie there together, his chin on top of your head, the white noise machine humming. You never thought you would end up like this with your top tipper on your OnlyFans. Maybe it was always meant to be you and Jungkook. 

And then his hand is moving. It’s the lightest drift of fingers at the hem of your sleep shirt.

“Jungkook,” you warn.

“I’m just touching you.”

“I know what just touching leads to with you.” 

It led to Jeon Jiwon. 

“Maybe I’ve changed.” His fingers trace along your side, and you would tell him to stop except it feels like the first time anyone has touched you like a person today rather than a feeding apparatus. “Maybe I’m a different man.”

Jungkook nudges the hem of your shirt up, palm flat against your stomach. “You’re so soft,” he murmurs. Pregnancy and after had changed you in ways you were still making peace with, but Jungkook had been annoyingly consistent about this. There’s not a day that goes by where he doesn’t remind you just how ethereal you are. 

His hand drifts higher and your breath catches in your throat. “Koo—”

He mouths at your jaw. “You can tell me to stop.” His lips drag down to your neck, pressing wet, warm kisses to your skin. 

Fuck. 

The last time you two had sex was rushed. A quickie in the morning during one of Jiwon’s naps, and you and he had cum in under three minutes. The steady pace sends your brain spinning. 

His hand finds the fabric of your nursing bra and he pauses. Even through the material you feel the warmth of him.

“Boobs still sore?” he whispers against your ear.

“Not tonight.”

You hear what might be a quiet inhale. His fingers trace the edge of the fabric. He’s obviously operating on the theory that if he moves slow enough you won’t notice the direction of travel.

A smile curves against your skin while his thumb traces a slow circle, and through the fabric, it draws an unbidden moan out of you. He lifts his head to look at you. His brown hair is a disaster, somehow looking younger than his years with how red his cheeks are. Quietly, without ceremony, he slides the strap of your nursing bra to the side.

The air is cool before his hand is there to warm you up, and he watches your face as he fully unbuckles your nursing bra, letting it fall to the carpeted floor. “Missed you,” he says again.

“You’re still not getting—” you start, and then his thumb brushes your nipple and you exhale sharply, fingers curling into the sheets. Immediately, your nipples harden under his touch, and he flicks them again, watching as they puff up.

“Still no?” he murmurs.

He rolls it gently between his fingers and your hips shift of their own accord. “You’re cheating,” you manage to say through a moan.

“I’m not doing anything.” His voice is rough as he’s entranced by how full your breasts look without the nursing bra. Jungkook’s mouth finds your shoulder, collarbone, traveling with intent while his hand continues its campaign and you feel the familiar tightening sensation that means—

Oh shit.

He pulls back, looks down and you already know from his expression, from the way his lips part, from the soft reverent oh that escapes him.

A tiny pearl of milk wells up from your nipple.

“Jungkook,” you whimper, and your voice has lost most of its authority.

“Can I?” He looks up at you and he’s not whining now, all the theatrics gone. Your hand intuitively finds the back of his head, fingers tangling into his hair.

“You’d better not wake Jiwon,” you say.

He lifts his head and smiles at you before ducking his head down. When you moan quietly into the dark of the room, you press your palm to the back of his head and hold him there. Jungkook’s tongue gently laps at the milk drop, smacking his lips as he tastes it. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he groans. “Keeping our baby girl fed.”

You giggle. “Really, Koo? You like it?” 

He massages your breasts again until a few more drops trickle out, and he laps those up eagerly too. “So fucking good, baby. It tastes so sweet.” The massage sends arousal to your cunt, your underwear beginning to soak. His tattooed hands are so big and veiny around your breasts, and the sight alone is enough to cause your body to shiver. 

Jungkook leans down, sucking on your nipple while massaging the other. He peers up at you like he wants to devour you. Your face contorts into a series of expressions, mouth falling open in a silent moan. Jungkook ruts against the mattress, trying to relieve the pressure that’s grown in his sweatpants. “Mmm,” you sweetly moan. “Koo, i-it feels so nice.”

“Yeah, mama?” His voice is huskier with desire, eyes now a shade of onyx you hardly recognize. And you have trouble concentrating from how good his lips feel around your nipple, tongue flicking the hardened peak back and forth, so full of that feeling you only get with him. “Your tits are perfect, baby.”

You whimper, legs trembling from the overstimulation. “Koo, I-I want you inside me.”

He lets go of your nipple with a pop, his free hand traveling down to rub over his boxers. Jungkook continues to stimulate your breasts while singlehandedly kicking off his sweats and boxers. It’s quick, your head spinning in rapid circles as though you just got off a merry-go-round. He pushes the comforters off your bodies, letting it fall somewhere to the floor. Pushing your sleep shirt up to your neck, he gets a full good view at your underwear that’s soaked through the mattress. “You’re so fucking wet for me, mama. You like when I play with your tits, don’t you? Trying to deny me these perfect things when you know it’s what you want.”

He chastely presses his lips to yours, fingers wandering down to slip your thin panties to the side. He gathers your slick on his pointer fingers, taking it to your mouth for you to suck. “Open up,” he taps against your lips, and you follow like a lost puppy, sucking your arousal off as he watches. “Taste so sweet, angel. You always do.”

Hurriedly, his hand comes to wrap around his cock, which you’ve now realized is angry, precum seeping from the tip. His veins are engorged, doused in purple. His head lolls back for a moment before he rubs his mushroom tip over your entrance, causing you both to groan in unison. “Shit, Koo.” 

“This pussy was made for me, hm, mama? No one else gets to have you like me,” he groans as he presses his cock to your clit in a way that makes your vision hazy. “So fucking perfect.”

You want to answer yes, it’s all yours, always will be, but you can’t, because he starts pushing inside you at an excruciatingly slow pace, to the point where you can feel every inch stretching you open. Jungkook’s hand falls beside your head, bracing himself, your face scrunching up in pleasure. “Oh, fuck, baby,” he whimpers. “God, you always feel so good, so nice and warm.” 

The slide feels almost endless, despite the fact you’ve had sex at least a million times. It always feels new, somehow feels like he’s grown to double his size. Jungkook bottoms out, pelvic bone pressed to your clit, and you choke on your moans, mouth open in silent pleasure. “Ah, shit,” he groans, flicking your nipple. “It’s so tight, baby. You’re dripping onto my cock.” 

His hand pushes your leg higher up on his waist, and the angle makes you sob into the air. He pulls all the way out, slowly, tentatively, watching the creamy arousal build up on his cock, before pushing back in at a more steady pace. It makes you crazy, thinking that you’ve made him like this, that he’s riding that edge because your breasts produce milk, and you can’t help but hook an ankle over his thigh and tug him forward, forcing him to move. “Please, Koo, keep going.”

Jungkook speeds up, fingers digging into your plush thigh as he draws in and out, your cunt squelching with each movement. The bed creaks, practically scraping across the floor as he goes faster, rougher, desperately trying to finish inside you like he always does. “Fuck… sweetheart, how are you so fucking wet?”

Jungkook leans down again to suck your nipple, tonguing at the pebbled peak. You can feel the milk dribbling onto his tastebuds, and he moans so beautifully that for a mere second, you don’t care if there’s none left for your daughter. You run your hands through his messy hair, moaning, “Right there, fuck, baby.”

His other hand comes down to thumb at your puffy, swollen clit, and your back arches off the mattress. Your eyes meet his, an animalistic urge glinting in his eyes. His lips move from your nipple to your neck, undoubtedly leaving marks that all your Mommy and Me friends will see (and be jealous of). “Shit, shit, baby, I don’t know how long I’m gonna last,” he whines into your hot skin. 

“I-it’s okay,” you exhale, eyes nearly rolling back into your head from the stimulation of his cock hitting your sweet spot. “I want you to cum inside me. Get me pregnant again.”

And you don’t even really know what you’re saying, because you just gave birth no more than six months ago, but your hormones are going crazy and your nipples are leaking milk without preamble. He groans, kissing you but barely slotting your mouths together from quickly he’s thrusting. The headboard slams against the wall, and god—please let Jiwon sleep through this. “Gonna let me cum inside this tight pussy? Give you another pretty baby? God, you’re the most perfect mama, baby. I—fuck—I love you.”

It’s been pretty clear from the moment he slid into your wet heat that neither of you would last very long. 

Your nails dig crimson marks down his broad back, eyes squeezed tight, tight, tight as you feel the coil in your stomach unclench, arousal coating his cock and leaking onto the sheets below. He feels your walls tighten around him, milking his cock. “S-shit, don’t do that, baby, ‘m gonna cum,” he moans. 

Your mouth rips open, uneven breaths falling from your lips as your orgasm crashes into you like a tsunami, washing over your entire being. You shudder underneath him, fingernails digging crescent moons into his golden skin. “P-please, Koo, I want your baby, please fill me up.” 

And that undoes him. His cock twitches inside you, his seed spilling into your cunt. Warmth envelops you as he paints your walls. Your brain is buzzing, toes curling, Jungkook saying into your ear, “Fuck, I’m gonna give you another baby, hm? Gonna get you nice and round with my seed, mama.” 

Nodding, you moan again, unable to control your volume any longer. He cums for what feels like forever until finally, he’s pulling out, a string of your arousal chasing his cock. Jungkook falls onto the mattress beside you, breathing heavily, eyes closed. His hair is stuck to his forehead, and the poor man looks utterly pussy drunk, kind of like how your daughter looks when she gets milk-drunk. You giggle, nestling yourself into his side. 

With his eyes shut tight, he smiles, wrapping his arm around your body to bring you even closer. His heartbeat thumps erratically in his chest. “Baby, Jiwon is having a fucking Michelin star meal with your milk. That shit’s incredible.”

You slap his chest, gawking. “Jeon Jungkook. Don’t you dare deplete my milk.”

“Just saying. She’s living the dream.” He pushes his hair off his forehead, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Think we got time before she wakes up for me to tittyfuck you?”

Well…

You’re not opposed. 

Looking up at him, you bat your eyelashes. “How do you want me, baby?”

His eyes light up like a kid’s at a carnival. But before he can move into position, before he can get his hands again on your plump breasts, the sound of Jiwon crying comes through the sleep monitor. Loud and clear, a wail that signals she wants her mommy, and she wants her now. 

“God damnit.” Jungkook groans, falling back onto his pillow. 

Laughing to yourself, you shake your head and pull down your sleep shirt. You press a kiss to his cheek before heading down the hallway to where your sweet baby girl is. 

And lo and behold, the Great Tit War continues. 

perm taglist. @mimi1097 @almatiarAU @absolutelyjeons @Sabrinahiddig @yooniepot @ggukivrse @Deluluvalerie @Sugak00kie134340 @Angelxkoo @yange7l @mellyyyyyyx @Senaqsstuff @jjkkkk15 @likecrazy22 @impossiblecopoaffire @readingbee44 @EyesforJungkook @lvnderdreams @vintagemoonsstuff @mauveliz @allysh @jeontylv @neurospicynugget @jxniana @haniiii @bo-rimmy @j0cgr0c @roseda @ggukreqz @dltyum @xxxxx1415 @annyeongbitch7 @nesha227 @Cannotalwaysbenight @Satisfied18 @qielica @Mar-lo-pap @remgeolli @Seolhyuningg @secretspam699 @Bangtansfav-7 @m4aimm @jeontylv @ot7girl4l @hoemeprazole @lovingkoalaface  @crackedby2017jungkook @taevescence @starlitkook @chwrryppie @jjkszn @junqive

[dreamersparacosm]

one more night ⟡ jjk

SUMMARY. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t do girls. As the first son of the Jeon family, heir to more money than God, he’s spent thirty years being perfectly fine without them. He doesn’t have any desire to engage in frivolous rendezvouses like his friends, nor enter a situationship that will distract him from the title of CEO. That is, until his best friends drag him to a strip club for his birthday and a girl in red lingerie falls right into his lap, and well… there goes that ideology.

pairing. stripper!oc x virgin!jungkook

word count. 17.2k

warnings/genre. inexperienced!koo, virgin!koo, soft dom!oc, stripper!oc, everyone’s horny, male masturbation, public dry humping???, lap dancing, mention of slutting yourself out obv, jk steals oc’s panties, strip teasing, virginity loss, oral (m receiving), titty fucking, jungkook cums a LOT help, cowgirl

note. hi my pookietons! this was supposed to be out weeks ago but unfortunately my fiancé’s mom passed away and it has been a rough time in the household. luckily, things are starting to get back to normal and i’m trying to stay optimistic about things. writing has always been my outlet for my emotions, and having this community during this time has been such a blessing. i’m so grateful for you all and hope you enjoy this diabolical read 🤍

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| playlist

banner creds | masterlist

Jeon Jungkook has been seeing black for the past 25 minutes, and quite frankly, he’s fed up with the situation.

He was under the impression that his birthday meant doing what he wanted to do, not getting kidnapped by his six closest friends and getting tossed into a Cadillac for a ‘big birthday surprise.’ If Jungkook wanted a surprise for his birthday, he would’ve just asked his assistant to book out a restaurant of her choosing. Or done absolutely nothing, which was the original plan and, truthfully, a perfect one.

It’s not that Jungkook necessarily despises his birthday—although it is tough to celebrate happily when your family is as strict and prim as his— but more that he doesn’t see the point in it. He would much rather spend money on himself, perhaps buying the new car he had his eye on. Not squeezed in the back of his car with his best friends.

They often lived a different lifestyle than he did. His friends worked hard as most people did in his circle, but they played harder. Weekends were swallowed up by clubs and bottle service and girls whose names they’d forgotten by Monday morning.

Jungkook had never quite understood the appeal. He had a company to inherit, a father who tracked his every move like a hawk and exactly zero interest in giving the man more ammunition. Jeon Wooshik had made it abundantly clear that the CEO seat came with conditions, and Jungkook had spent the better part of his twenties checking every box that his father had almost run out of things to criticize.

So, really, this whole thing is juvenile. Immature and foolish. But considering he’s blindfolded and handcuffed, he doesn’t really have a say in the matter. 

“Kook! We’re hereeee,” He recognizes Kim Seokjin’s voice, his hyung. Jin was four years his senior and had the emotional maturity to show for it exactly none of the time. He was Namjoon’s best friend first, then Jungkook’s by proximity, and somewhere along the way had appointed himself a permanent fixture in Jungkook’s life whether he wanted him there or not.

Kim Namjoon, though, he trusted unconditionally despite his laidback lifestyle. If Namjoon had signed off on this, there was a reason. Jungkook just wished the reason didn’t involve handcuffs.

“Alright, jokes fucking over. Can you take off this shit?” Jungkook asks flatly. 

He hears the car door open, and warm hands are guiding him out of the vehicle, little giggles and snickers filling the cool night air. 

“He speaks!” Taehyung cackles, arguably the most immature of them all. (Well, between him and Park Jimin.)

“What a grump,” Jimin adds, and he sounds closer, so Jungkook assumes it’s his soft hands leading him somewhere. “Look at his cutie little face.” 

“Feels kinda unfair I can’t see any of your faces.”

“Jungkookie,” Someone squeezes his cheek, and he has to fight the urge to punch the air. 

“Ugh, his pout is so cute, Jin-hyung,” Taehyung giggles again, and Jungkook sighs. He can already tell Taehyung is drunk, since he only laughs in such a way when Jimin is shamelessly flirting with him or he’s drunk too much soju. 

“I’m going to kill all of you—“

A hand finally yanks the blindfold off his face, as another undoes the handcuffs digging into his wrists. Jungkook blinks into the dark, vision swimming. When his eyes finally do adjust, six faces grin back at him, varying degrees of giddiness painted across their expressions. 

Jungkook surveys his surroundings as quickly as he can. He’s in a parking lot… it’s packed to the brim with all kinds of cars, none that are as expensive as his. Bass pounds in his eardrum from the nearby entrance, but when he cranes his neck to peer inside, he sees nothingness. A void that leaves everything up to the imagination. 

The front door is musty, worn down and guarded by one man who’s watching something on his phone. “Paradise” in flashing letters hangs off the top, flickering as though someone had forgotten to pay the bill. And underneath it, “Adult Club.”

Fucking hell. 

“What,” he says slowly, “is that.”

“Birthday surprise,” Jin jokes, and the boys giggle like schoolgirls. 

Jungkook looks over at Namjoon. Namjoon, to his credit, has the decency to look sheepish. His friends know him better than anyone. People don’t gain access to Jeon Jungkook easily—and yet they failed him so astonishingly he can’t even believe it. This goes against everything he stands for. Clubs of any kind are forbidden. Especially strip clubs, where any lone person can recognize him and report back to his father. 

As if Namjoon can smell the rebuttal on his lips, he rushes to argue, “It’s fun in there.”

Jungkook snorts, “I doubt that. If my dad finds out, I’m fucking toast.”

“Your dad’s not gonna find out,” Jimin rolls his eyes. “We’ve been here like once a month and you’re not allowed to take pictures. Out of respect for the girls or some shit.”

A shiver rolls down Jungkook’s back at the word girls. The thought of them annoys him already. “This is stupid, you know? I’m not even into this kind of shit.”

“Yeah, we know,” Taehyung slaps his shoulder, trying to steer him toward the entrance, but Jungkook is fortunately bulkier than him. “You’re the king of the land, Jeon Jungkook, refuses to touch a woman because he’s better than all of them.”

“Fuck off, Tae.”

“Dude, come on. Live a little. It’s your birthday and your boys want to treat you to a night of fun. How could you say no to that?” Jin begs, and Jungkook comes up with a plethora of ways he could say no to this.

Jungkook sighs, staring at the door. On the other side of it are things he cannot get involved in. He has a board meeting Monday morning he hasn’t prepped for yet. A pristine reputation that took the better part of a decade to build. He has a father who has Google alerts set for his name. 

He really, really should not be here. 

Jungkook turns to face the six faces staring back at him expectantly. 

“It’s your birthday,” Namjoon tries feebly one more time. 

“That is not the argument you think it is—”

“Jungkook-ah.” Jin steps forward and puts both hands on his shoulders. “We love you. We have always loved you. And it is because we love you that we are telling you, as a united front, that you are going inside that door if we have to carry you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Jungkook retorts, and all Jin does is raise his brows back at him. Well played. 

The silence that follows is not reassuring.

Jungkook realizes this is one negotiation he is not going to win. Sighing, he shakes his head. “I fucking hate you guys. One hour tops, and I’m out of there.”

“That’s a good boy,” Jin pats his shoulder like he’s a dog and pushes him in the direction of the entrance. “Let’s get on in there.” 

The bouncer at the front seems to finally recognize he has a job when the seven men walk up, beady eyes scanning their faces before they land on Namjoon in the back. “Joon!” he calls out, reaching over to give him a firm handshake, nearly knocking Jungkook flat on the floor. Of course Namjoon knows the fucking bouncer—he’s probably reached some kind of reward status at this club. He doesn’t bother checking anyone’s IDs, just lets all of them sidle in.

Jungkook steps through the door and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Goddamnit.

Red lights flash over the club floor, speakers blasting some RnB song he doesn’t recognize. The place is enormous, larger than he thought, with a main stage dominating the room. Two strippers dance on the two poles adjacent to each other, men perched on chairs with wads of cash stuffed in their hands. Booths line the walls, packed with men in varying states of losing their minds. All decked in suits, loosened collars and flushed faces and eyes tracking the room with an attention they probably never give their actual jobs. Private tables closer to the stage are worse. Bottles everywhere, dollar bills everywhere. 

The worst part of it all, is how many girls there are. Girls in lingerie, silk and lace that barely constitute fabric, moving through the room in what feels like slow motion. Every single one of them moves like she knows exactly where she’s going and exactly what’s going to happen when she gets there.

“Kim Namjoon?” A hostess approaches in normal clothes—thank god—and he steps forward to speak to her, all hushed whispers and suspicious glances back at Jungkook. Enough for him to know that this night will be anything but casual. Jungkook expects he’ll have an ass in his face in twenty minutes tops. 

She smiles at all of them, clapping her hands to get their attention. “Hi boys! Welcome to Paradise. I know some of you have been here before, so I’ll keep it brief. No pictures or videos allowed. If we catch you, you’re banned for life. ATMs are lined up against the wall, so make sure you take out cash beforehand so you don’t have to get up.”

She pauses to ensure everyone understands, eyes lingering on Jungkook, and he fights the urge to roll his eyes. It’s not rocket science. It’s a strip club. “I heard we’re celebrating a birthday tonight, so Joon has booked a private table for you all. Dancers will rotate by your table and you better make them feel like the shit, because they are. Got it?”

All boys nod in unison. Jungkook side-eyes Jimin and Tae, and already, they have heart eyes forming. It’s despicable. The hostess leads them through the room, weaving between tables without looking, heels silent on the floor, not once glancing back to check if they’re following. The private table is tucked a few feet off the main floor, with curved booth seating, a pole attached from the ceiling hanging right in front of them, and a clear sightline to the stage. Bottles are already sweating on ice in the center like they’d been expecting them (which Jungkook is certain is the work of his hyungs).

The boys pile in with zero decorum. Hoseok immediately reaches for a bottle, passing out glasses to pour up shots of soju and whiskey. Jungkook allows him to be overserved, because there’s no other scenario in which he gets through this night without being wasted. He doesn’t know where to look, which means he keeps looking everywhere. He’s not stupid — he knows objectively that women are attractive. He’s always known that. It’s just that knowing it theoretically and sitting in a room saturated with it are two very different things. 

Jeon Jungkook’s disinterest in women never stemmed from anything other than the fear of being mediocre. His high school life, which should’ve been filled with bad decision making and girlfriends, was instead taken over by shadowing his father at the office or learning how to use Microsoft Excel to make financial reports. College was a repeat, and he adapted easily to the hermit lifestyle he had been living. Even once he graduated, he made no attempt to date anyone. His mother, a frivolous woman who lived off the family money with ease, had once asked him if he was gay or asexual. Unfortunately for her, he is neither. 

He is just, quite literally, indifferent to what women can offer. 

That’s not to say Jungkook doesn’t get horny (hence dispelling the asexual rumors). Jungkook masturbates as often as most normal guys do, mostly when he’s frustrated by work. But instead of seeking respite in another woman’s vagina, he uses his own hand, which has worked perfectly well for him. 

And, well, there is this other… thing he’s kept locked with a key within him. Deep in his unconscious, something not even a therapist could uncover. The fear that he might be bad at it.

It sounds ridiculous when it crosses his mind for even a second. He does not do things badly. He does not do things at all until he’s certain he can do them well. That’s just how he's wired, has always been wired, the same compulsion that made him practice his father’s presentations in the mirror at fifteen until they were perfect.

It is exceedingly unfortunate that this is not something one can research into oblivion or competence. You learn by experience. And the idea of being in front of someone, exposed and vulnerable, makes him want to die. 

“Jungkook-ah, look at the girl in the pink,” Namjoon whispers into his ear, fighting to be heard over the bass. “She’s so fucking hot.”

His eyes wander over to where Namjoon is trying to subtly point. A girl in pink lingerie roams the stage, lashes batting flirtatiously as she lets the pole sit between her ass cheeks. Jungkook doesn’t have time to respond to his hyung before he’s being (rudely) interrupted by a girl in light blue lingerie, standing over their table with a smile. “Hi boys, how are we doing tonight?”

The boys, minus Jungkook, whoop and yell, and he wants to crawl into the booth and hide. They’re acting like wild vultures, and his brain is reeling trying to comprehend what’s unfolding in front of him. 

Before his mind can catch up, he feels a wad of cash slithering into his palm. 

“Just go with it,” Namjoon murmurs from beside him, already clapping.

He gulps as he peers down at the bills in his hand. The girl in blue has climbed onto the small raised platform in the center of their table, one hand wrapping around the pole. Up close she’s gorgeous—warm tanned skin, black curly hair spilling over one shoulder, a devious twinkle in her eye. 

Her hips roll in a figure eight, one hand trailing the length of the pole as the other moves down her waist. She turns, spine arching back, and the boys lose their collective minds. Bills flutter onto the platform like confetti, and a small smile contorts onto her plush lips. 

With both hands, she drops into a low squat, thighs spread, and comes back up in a languid motion. Hoseok physically slaps the table, tossing twenties to no avail. 

Okay, calm down, he thinks distantly. His heartbeat is picking up in his chest. 

She spins, one leg extending wide, the momentum carrying her around the pole in a slow arc before she hooks her knee and drops back in a hang that makes the fabric of her lingerie ride up her thighs. The light catches her and Jungkook forgets, very briefly, that he came here against his will.

Taehyung’s on his feet as fast as he can move. Jungkook can only watch in horror as Taehyung peels a bill from his stack and stuffs it right into the waistband of her panties. She giggles and turns toward him. Tae grins up at her and she leans down, curly hair falling forward, and shakes her chest right in his face.

Taehyung tips his head back and says something Jungkook cannot hear over the music, but it evokes another laugh from her. Jungkook’s mind is blank, save for the images of ass and tits flying across his vision. 

Jungkook sits very still and feels something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time shift somewhere low in his stomach.

He is not indifferent, it turns out.

He is just very, very in over his head.

The girl turns back to the rest of them, eyeing them up as though to decide her next victim. Her eyes linger on Jungkook for a few seconds, and his heart thumps out of its cage. 

He’s aware of what he looks like. He’s not a fool, after all. Tattooed arm, a body sculpted by Greek gods, multiple facial and ear piercings. The irony of it is not lost on him—all that packaging, none of the experience to back it up. 

He’s had girls lining up to talk to him, but not a single one that could hold his interest. Jungkook could care less.

But it seems she recognizes he’s not eager to talk to her, and so she focuses her attention on Jimin, who’s practically panting like a puppy left out in the sun for too long. She does a few tricks for him on the pole, all of which are rewarded with bills and yells. 

“Candy, you don’t plan on keeping these boys all to yourself, do you?”

A melodic voice, almost like a siren’s, floats into Jungkook’s ear. His body stiffens, muscles taut as his eyes avert over the table to spot a woman.

Jungkook’s not gay by any means. He’s also not fucking blind. The woman that stands before him is an angel, a goddess, a temptation for him sent from hell. Adorned in red lacy lingerie and white knee socks with red bows on them… utterly fucking delicious. 

He’s drooling. 

“They’re all yours, Angel,” the stripper, apparently named Candy, says with a grin, sliding off the platform, and just like that she relinquishes the pole like a crown being passed. In one smooth motion, you climb up, nimble fingers wrapping around the pole. Immediately, his friends turn into wild animals, even more explicit than before. Taehyung stands from his seat, eyes blanking as he observes how your thong hugs your hips and ass. 

You alternate through a series of movements—slow spin, then fast, one leg extended in a line. You hook your knee around the pole and lean back, hair falling away from your face, and the red lace catches the light. Jungkook’s higher brain functions vacate the premises. Money rains onto the platform, more than he expected. 

He realizes he’s also holding money, and it’s as though a lightbulb flashes above his head. Oh shit, he thinks. He wants to spend his entire wallet on you. 

You climb down and drop straight into Namjoon’s lap like you’ve known him for years. Kim Namjoon, the most composed man Jungkook has ever met, grins like an idiot. You lean in close to say something to him, pink, lush lips brushing his ear, and Namjoon laughs low before responding with a hushed whisper. 

Slowly, you pull away from his ear, eyes twinkling. 

And then you glance over at Jungkook. 

It’s a half-second, a flicker, the most minor redirection of your attention imaginable. A slide of your eyes that lands on him and then lifts away. 

His cock twitches in his pants. It is, quite literally, the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. In that moment, he realizes he wants nothing more than your attention, your time, you. But he just doesn’t know what he has to do to get such a thing. To be able to deserve a woman as delectable as you. 

A flutter of giggles escapes your mouth, cheeks ruddy as you get up from Namjoon’s lap.drifting around the curve of the table, all seven pairs of eyes track you like flowers following light. Taehyung fans himself with a hundred dollar bill, and you immediately gravitate towards him. 

Jungkook watches you kiss his cheek. Watches Taehyung’s hands find your waist. Watches him stuff a fistful of bills into the back of your lingerie, give your ass a playful smack that you welcome with a laugh. He wants to blow his brains out.

He deadpans at the ice bucket instead.

“Fucking hottest girl I’ve ever seen," Namjoon mutters beside him, just loud enough for him to catch, "Don’t you think, Jungkook-ah?”

Jungkook’s tongue is tied into knots. 

“She’s a sin,” Namjoon continues.

Across the table, you laugh at something Taehyung says, head tipping back, throat exposed, and the red lace shifts. Jungkook moves with it, recrossing his legs under the table and tugging his shirt down to hide the growing tent in his pants. 

Namjoon notices the movement, looking down for a millisecond before peering at Jungkook smugly. 

He claps Jungkook on the back, “Welcome,” he says, “to being a fucking man.”

“I hate you so fucking much right now.” 

“Your dick doesn’t hate me.”

He’s not technically wrong, per se. Jungkook just refuses to admit he’s right. 

Taehyung leans up to murmur something in your ear, and you pull back with a slow smile spreading across your face. 

Oh no. Oh no, no, no—your body turns to look directly at Jungkook.

Jungkook has closed deals worth nine figures, has sat across from men who built empires from nothing and held their gaze at the age of 20 without a care in the world. He has endured his father’s silent disappointment across a dinner table for 30 consecutive years.

Like a cartoon character with a fork stuck in his throat, he gulps audibly. 

You start walking toward him, your eyes piercing into it. They don’t leave his face not once, not even to check where you’re stepping or acknowledge the table erupting in cheers around you. 

Namjoon slides over calmly to make room, and Jungkook watches the space beside him open up and thinks what the fuck are you doing and means it directed at every single person in this room, including himself. 

You stop in front of him, and he peers up at you. In those heels, you tower over him, and he notices the smirk that’s curved upon your lips. Evil. You’re fucking evil. 

Trepidly, you sink down onto your knees, maintaining eye contact. 

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god —

His cock twitches so hard he has to lock every muscle in his body to keep from visibly reacting. 

“Hi,” you smile.

“Hi,” he replies with bated breath. 

You already know. He can tell you already know exactly what you’re doing to him and precisely how badly he’s losing. Somehow that makes it so much worse and so much better. 

Your hand comes to land up on his thigh, snaking up and up until he swears you’re going to stick your hand in his pants. You stop right on his inner thigh, feeling the muscle. He swears he sees a twinkle in your eyes at the realization. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm every nerve ending in his body. 

“What’s your name, pretty boy?” you whisper, trying not to be heard by the group of animals that he unfortunately calls his friends. 

“J-Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

“Jungkook.” You repeat the name with so much seduction it almost doesn’t even sound recognizable to him. 

You stand up, and he exhales the deepest breath. God fucking damnit. Of course you’re done with him—he stuttered his own name like he’d never used it before. He watches you straighten up and thinks okay. okay, that’s fine. that was a normal amount of humiliation for one evening.

But instead of leaving, your knee lands on the cushion beside his thigh, followed by the other one, and then you’re in his lap. The air leaves his lungs in one swift, silent evacuation. Your lace panties settle directly over the front of his pants and you shift forward, eyes panning down between you. 

With a lift of your brows, you move again. Shit. He knows what you found. He can feel exactly what you found and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.

Shit shit shit—

“Look at little Kookie!” Taehyung’s voice echoes across the table, ringing in Jungkook’s ear. “He’s pink!”

Jungkook turns to look at his alleged friends with the dead eyes of a man considering his options.

And then he feels your warm hand, two fingers catching his jaw, turning his face back to yours.

“Don’t look at them, baby.” Your voice is low, meant only for him. “Look at me.”

God help him, he does.

Your eyes hold his for a moment that stretches longer than it should, and then—your hips gyrate forward in a slow circle. The warm drag of your hips moves against his, and nothing, not a single thing, has ever felt like this in his years of living. 

“You’re really pretty,” you giggle, looping your arms around his neck, rolling your hips in a figure eight that makes his vision white out at the edges.

Behind you, the boys are losing their minds. Money’s flying, and Jungkook cannot process any of it because you’re shifting again, turning so that your back is pressing into his broad chest. You lean back into him, head dropping to his shoulder, and the slide of red lace against his cock is making him see actual stars. He can’t hide the groan that escapes him. 

Leaning your head back to face him, you’re close enough that your breath fans across his jaw. “You’re so tense, pretty boy. These hands doing anything useful or just decorating the couch?”

He really can’t argue, because his hands are pressed flat against the cushions on either side of him, white-knuckled and rigid like he’s bracing for a car crash. “I—” he begins. 

“Need help?”

Helplessly, he nods. 

You reach down, take his hands and settle them on your hips. The lace is soft under his palms, plush skin warm to the touch. 

“Hold on right there,” you whisper. “Don’t let go.”

An actual, audible, involuntary whimper crawls up his throat and escapes before he can catch it. With his hands on your hips he can feel every single movement now, every roll and dip and shift of your weight, and it is so much better than anything he has ever done alone in the dark of his penthouse that it almost feels like a personal insult to every year that came before this one.

“F-fuck,” he exhales. "You’re so—you’re so g-good—”

“Yeah?” You straddle him once more, knees digging into the couch, your eyes pausing to glance at his lips before meeting his eyes. Your finger comes up, tracing slowly along his lower lip, catching on the small metal ring of his lip piercing and playing with it before releasing. “What a pretty piercing for a pretty boy.”

“You like it?” Jungkook feebly asks, even though he knows you do. Every girl likes it, but none have caught his eye the way you do. 

Silently, you reach past him then, fingers closing around the forgotten wad of cash still sitting on the cushion where Namjoon pressed it into his palm a lifetime ago. He watches as you lean back in his lap and drag the bills languidly across your chest, the red lace, down over the curve of your waist.

You peer up at him from under your lashes. “You were just going to let all this go to waste?” you ask, clicking your tongue.

“I—” he swallows. "I didn't know—like the protocol—”

The dopey smile that breaks across your face sends vibrations to his cock. “You’re doing so well for me already.”

You lean forward again, closing the distance, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as your hips keep moving. Without a second thought, he grips your hips tighter. 

Somewhere behind you, he distantly registers that the boys are no longer watching. Other girls have materialized at the table, except for Namjoon and Hoseok, who are deep in a drunk conversation. It’s just you and him. 

Your teeth graze his earlobe. “You know, when I saw you, I thought you’d be trouble.” A soft giggle leaves your lips. “Turns out you’re harmless.”

“I—” he starts, some distant fragment of pride assembling itself. “I’m not—”

“Harmless,” you repeat, pulling back to look at him. “The sweetest thing in this whole place.”

For an irrational moment, Jungkook forgets every reason why he can’t be caught here. 

And then it’s his father’s disapproving tone, thinks about the words you represent this family everywhere you go, Jungkook, everywhere, and the Google alerts and the face his father makes when he’s upset  and how Jungkook has spent his entire life trying to prevent that specific expression. 

He could call his driver, go home, pretend this whole evening was a fever dream. After all, this is exactly the kind of situation that becomes a headline. Jeon heir spotted at—

Suddenly, your hands leave his shoulders. The warmth of your weight lifts off his lap all at once and the absence of it is so sudden that his body mourns it, an embarrassing physiological grief response he didn’t know he was capable of. Left behind with a raging boner that is apparent to the naked eye. 

You smooth down your lingerie. Roll your shoulders back. And just like that the curtain comes back up, a polished version of you, like the last twenty minutes happened only to him. “Bye boys," you say to the table and the ones paying attention halfheartedly wave. 

Then you turn to him. “Bye, Jungkook. It was nice to meet you.” With a wink, you disappear off to the next table, and all he can do is stare at the space where you were once sitting, his cock standing tall and proud in his pants. 

He becomes aware, slowly, that Namjoon is looking at him. “Don’t start.”

“Wasn’t going to.” 

“Ah Jungkook-ah, you just need to fuck a girl and get it over with!” 

Kim Seokjin, for all his years of knowledge and wisdom, is a bit of a menace when liquor enters his bloodstream. 

Jungkook has become overtly aware of two things: 1) he’s the drunkest he’s ever been and 2) the boner in his pants has yet to go down. 

He had briefly considered going into the bathroom to jerk off, but that would be too obvious and embarrassing to admit, even to himself. Instead, he would much rather subject himself to the torture of his best friends and let three other women dance on him to erase the taste of you from his mouth. 

Each woman was attractive, but they didn’t entice him the way you had. Even after an hour of sitting at this couch, throwing bills upon bills, nothing felt as ethereal as the feeling of your weight upon him, as though he had claimed you. 

“I’m not just going to fuck any girl,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, tipping his head back to take another shot of whiskey. 

“Why not?!” Jin motions wildly with his glass, sloshing amber liquid alarmingly close to the rim. “You’re 30! You’re rich! You look like… that!” He waves his hand at Jungkook’s being. “What are you saving your best years for? Soon we’ll all be pumping ashes out of our cock—”

“Jin—”

“Dust will leak from our tips!-”

“I’m going to fucking murder you.”

“He’s waiting for love,” Jimin notes, words slurred from the effects of alcohol. A black-haired girl is draped across his lap, lips peppering kisses on his supple skin. “It’s actually very romantic if you think about it.”

“I am not waiting for love.”

“He’s waiting for her,” Taehyung whispers, pointing across the room. Without even turning to look, Jungkook knows they’re talking about you. Mostly because he hasn’t been able to stop looking at you for the past hour, heat rising to his cheeks when he watches you dance on other men. 

“The red lingerie girl has him in a chokehold,” Tae continues to nobody, nodding as though Jungkook is suffering from a grave disease. “I’ve seen this before. This is a chokehold situation.”

“No one except my dad has me in anything, Taehyung,” he argues. 

“Your cock has suggested otherwise,” Yoongi snorts, not even looking up from his drink.

Jungkook tips his head back and stares at the ceiling, thinks about how peaceful his penthouse is right now. How peaceful. How completely devoid of these people.

From his peripheral, he watches as Hoseok leans over and cups his hand around Namjoon’s ear. He has known Kim Namjoon for ten years and he knows exactly what Namjoon’s listening face looks like versus Namjoon's scheming face. This is the second one. Very much the second one.

Namjoon’s eyes light up, and Jungkook’s body has a visceral reaction. Namjoon turns to Jin. Whispers something. Jin’s face splits into a grin so enormous it looks like his lips will crack in two. 

Flatly, Jungkook asks, “What is happening right now?”

Not a single one of his friends answers. They’re doing the hive thing—buzzing between each other, passing from person to person, grins multiplying like a virus. 

Jungkook clears his throat. “Excuse me.”

Namjoon ignores his words and stands up. “Where are you going,” Jungkook blurts, panic bursting in his chest. “Namjoon. Kim Namjoon. Where are you—”

But he’s already gone, sliding through the crowd, and Jungkook watches him disappear toward the back of the club where a woman in all black is standing with a clipboard. The bottom of his stomach drops out completely. He turns to the remaining members of his betrayal circle. “Whatever he’s doing, stop it now—”

“Shh,” Jin serenely says, patting his knee.

“I don’t care that I’m younger, don’t shh me.”

“Shhh.” Jungkook shrugs him off and cranes his neck toward where Namjoon is now deep in conversation with the clipboard woman, nodding, reaching into his jacket pocket. His wallet comes into view. Fuck. 

Jungkook can’t imagine whipping out a wallet at the strip club is anything but bad news.

“I’m leaving,” Jungkook announces, planting both hands on the table. The way he sees it, he has about ten minutes to escape before he either blacks out or embarrasses himself even more. 

Two pairs of hands push him back down immediately. “You’re not going anywhere, big boy,” Hoseok tuts. 

“You’re detaining me.”

“It’s a birthday gift,” Taehyung argues, “You can’t refuse a birthday gift. It’s rude.”

“Watch me.”

Jungkook abruptly feels a slap on his back, and when he looks up, it’s Namjoon reclaiming his seat beside him, a sinister grin plastered on his face. “You’re welcome.”

Sighing, he shakes his head. “For what?”

“Happy birthday, Jungkook-ah.”

“That didn’t answer my fucking question, Namjoon.”

Before Jungkook can pester further, a shadow falls over the table. The woman with the ominous clipboard and headset is standing at the edge of their booth, and she doesn’t particularly look like she’s here to refill their drinks or anything tame. 

“Which one of you is Jeon Jungkook?”

Of fucking course. 

The boys erupt like zoo animals. Clapping, hollering, hands slapping his back from every direction simultaneously. Jungkook wants to cry, maybe throw himself off the balcony of his penthouse. 

The woman smiles at him. “Follow me.”

“What—”

Namjoon’s hand closes around his arm and hauls him bodily upright. “Up you go, buddy.”

“I’m not—this is—you can’t just—”

But none of it matters—his feet are carrying him, brain several steps behind. He’s following the clipboard woman through the club in what feels like cement shoes. As he walks, he peers around the club—other men at tables, women moving through the dim light to reach their poles, money piling on the floor. 

He is the only one who looks like he’s being escorted to his own execution.

The woman stops at a door at the back of the club. It’s unmarked, flush against the wall. She pushes it open, and the first and only thing Jungkook sees is red. Everything inside is red. A plush crimson couch curved against the far wall, red LED light bleeding over every surface. 

Even the color red turns him on now. That must be your doing. 

“Wait right here,” the woman instructs, stepping back toward the door. “Your private dancer will be here to join you shortly. 

“My what?!”

He’s so fucked that he might need to use a new word to describe how utterly fucked he is. 

The door slams shut behind her, a finite ending to his arguing. There’s no going back. 

His cock jumps in his pants, and Jungkook looks down at himself in indignation. Bad, he thinks. Bad. Bad dog. We are leaving.

But he thinks that even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t. He’s thinking of you, towering over him, asserting your dominance over him. He’s spent most of his life being in charge, and for once, someone else is taking the reins and letting him sit back. 

He stands in the middle of the red room until finally, his legs give up the principle of the thing and carry him to the couch. He should have known. From the moment Namjoon’s wallet came out he should have connected the dots because Kim Namjoon does not spend money without intention, has never done anything without intention, and Jungkook has known this for years and still walked directly into it like a fool.

Pressing both palms to his knees, wiping the sweat off them, he stares at the door. It might not be her, he reasons. It’s probably not her. There are lots of girls here. It could be anyone. 

It would be foolish to assume someone like you would not be taken already by another dominant, assertive man. Sure, Jungkook probably has the money that most men in this club dream of, but he doesn’t have an ounce of the confidence that he needs to handle you. 

Jeon Jungkook is currently sweating through an expensive shirt in a red room the size of a closet because a girl in lingerie might walk through that door. 

The door swings open and the first thing Jungkook sees is—red. 

Red flashes across his vision and it’s all he can see or think about. 

You step inside and the LED light catches the lace, makes your curves look like they were designed by a Greek god. For a moment, your eyes adjust to the dim light, averting around the space to try and make sense of your surroundings. 

But when they finally land on him, there’s a dangerous twinkle dancing in your eyes. 

“We meet again.” 

Loudly, he swallows whatever drool has accumulated in his mouth. The door clicks shut behind you and you move toward him, heels marking an agonizing rhythm against the floor.

Clack. Clack. Clack. 

He cranes his neck as you approach, tracking you up until you’re standing directly in front of him and he has to tip his head all the way back to hold your gaze. Your lips are freshly glossed with red lipstick, he notes. 

“You know,” you say, tilting your head, “I was starting to think you were scared of me.”

He opens his mouth (to say what, he’s not sure of.)

“Are you, Jungkook?” You pause, lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “Scared?”

Without a single reservation, yes, he is. But he’s not entirely useless—he’ll never admit that. 

Clearly, you take his non-response as an admittance of defeat. Your hand comes down, cradling the side of his face. Your manicured thumb traces his cheekbone. “Hey. We don’t have to do anything, you know. I know your friends booked this.” Your eyes are steady on his, reading him the way you’ve been reading him all night. “Or…”

He blinks like a teenage boy, saliva pooling in his mouth as you hold your words for a second. 

“Do you want me, Jungkook?”

Embarrassingly, devastatingly fast, his head bobs up and down before his brain has even finished processing the question. He wants to dissolve into the couch cushions and never be found.

Your smile breaks acros your features. Pearly white teeth come into view, the realest expression he’s seen on your face all night. “Good boy. Do you have any song requests?”

You turn toward the TV mounted on the wall, and he watches you move to it, your back to him now, and somehow that’s almost worse because he can just… look. He may be a virgin, but he’s not an idiot. Your perky ass is mere inches away from his face, and his fingers itch to reach out and squeeze the plush skin in his hand. 

With his eyes still trained on your ass, he says, “U-um. Anything. I don’t—I don’t care.”

“Hmm.” You bite your lip, scrolling. Jungkook begins to hope you never turn back around so he can relish in the shape of your ass all night. That would be well worth Namjoon’s money, he thinks.

The opening beat of a song drops from the speakers and Jungkook goes completely still. Of all the songs in the world, it’s his favorite song.

2.0 by BTS.

He’s not ashamed to listen to their music, despite them being a typical k-pop boy group. Their shit is catchy. Sue him.

You swivel back around and your hands come down onto his thighs. You lean down enough that your hair falls forward and he can smell your perfume again. His hands curl into fists at his sides.

Your eyes drag themselves down to his pants, like they’re ogling at the very unfortunate situation he’s unable to handle. Then they drift back up as if you saw nothing at all.

“You know,” you say, your voice dropping to something that would be condescending if it were anyone else. “I’ve had a lot of men in this room.”

He swallows back the bile that threatens to rise up his throat. He’d rather not think about them. .

“But none of them—” your fingers press into his thighs, just slightly, “I’ve wanted to have as bad as I do you.”

He can feel his jaw go slack, eyes widening to the size of flying saucers.

You smile. Lean in until your lips brush the hinge of his jaw, a bare whisper of contact that makes every nerve ending in his body stand at guard. “You have no idea how bad I want you.” 

Great. You must be attracted to tortured virgins who are rich and powerful but don’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman. “Lucky for you,” you pull back to look at him. “I’m going to take very good care of you.”

The weight on the couch shifts before he can really notice it, your knees digging into the sofa, until you’ve infiltrated every cell in his body. Above him, around him, your hands landing on his shoulders and squeezing, fingers pressing into the muscle there with a small sound of approval. 

Your full, warm body settles onto his lap as though you’re at home, and really, he doesn’t think there’s enough oxygen in the room. The thought of how little space there is between you two wrings a sound out of him that he will be taking to his grave. Your panties graze slow over the length of his cock. “Fuck—”

His head drops back against the couch, neck going loose, and he stares at the ceiling like it might offer him salvation. Potentially a trapdoor.

He can feel your eyes lingering on his face, and not a single thing can be done about it because every resource he has is currently being allocated to not cumming in his pants. 

Your clothed pussy drags over him through the thin barrier of your panties. He makes a sound that is not a word.

“There he is,” you murmur. Your hands slide from his shoulders up the sides of his neck, thumbs tracing his jaw, tipping his chin back down so he’s looking at you instead of the ceiling. “Stay with me.”

“I’m—” he tries. “I’m here. I’m very—I’m extremely here—”

The pace you set is torturing enough to make his eyes roll back into his head. Your lips curve. “You feel that?”

“I feel—” he swallows, “—yes. Yeah. I feel that.”

A hum leaves your mouth. Jungkook watches your eyes stay on his face and realizes with dawning, helpless clarity that you are observing every single reaction. Every twitch. None of it really matters, since he has no poker face left, has burned through every last reserve of composure he had somewhere around the moment you sat down.

Manicured hands slide down from his jaw to his chest, pressing flat against him, and you lean back to look at him from a new angle, hair falling over one shoulder, hips never breaking rhythm. 

“Relax,” you softly say, fingers digging into his chest. “I can feel how tense you are.”

“I’m not tense—”

You perk an eyebrow.

“I work an intense job—”

“Jungkook.”

“Fine. I’m tense or whatever," he admits, “and I would appreciate it if you didn’t hold that against me.”

You giggle, and his stomach erupts into a nest of angry hornets, bloodthirsty insects that rival those ‘butterflies’ people get when they fall in love. Jungkook doesn’t do girls. Never has. He feels the need to remind himself once or twice. 

“You’re doing so well,” you murmur, and your hips roll again, and he swears he can feel your folds against him. Or maybe wishful thinking. 

He just can’t fucking think straight anymore. 

“I-I’ve never done this b-before,” he whimpers as your ass rubs over his hardened length agonizingly slow. “I don’t r-really—fuck—talk to g-girls.”

His head falls back onto the couch again, small, erratic puffs of air escaping his lips. 

You lean into his ear, lips coquettishly brushing against the crimson, heated skin. “I know.” 

Kim Namjoon. When he gets his hands on him. It is so fucking over. 

Your hands leave his shoulders.  They move, traveling behind your back to undo the clip of your bra in one fell swoop. The red lace goes slack. You let it hang from two fingers, dangling, looking at his face the whole time. Then you let the red fabric drop to the floor.

Oh fuck. 

Everything he knows about boobs is from porn itself. But up close, he can see your hardened peaks, stimulated and perky, ready for him to suck and play with. They’re just the right size, enough to cup in his hand. You lean forward, bracing your hands on the back of the couch on either side of his head, closing the distance between you inch by inch until your nipples graze his chest through his shirt.

He shivers, cock twitching beneath you. 

“Sensitive,” you note with a whisper. 

“I have—I’m wearing a shirt—”

“I know.” Your lips brush his jaw. “Imagine if you weren’t.”

He grips your hips so hard the lace bunches under his fingers. “You have no idea,” you exhale against the hinge of his jaw, “what I want to do to you.”

“Tell me.” He doesn’t even recognize his own voice when it escapes him.“Please—”

You pull back to look at him, eyes an onyx black shade, lips parted.

“Have you ever touched yourself, Jungkook?” You punctuate your question with another slow grind. He whimpers in response, and the shame of it hardly registers because his cock is twitching and pulsing against his slacks, his boxers already damp with his arousal. He has never been less in control of his own body.

“Answer me.” Your nail drags across his jawline. 

Jungkook can’t breathe. All he can do is grip the couch and try not to fall apart in front of a woman who looks like she has never fallen apart in her life.

“Y-yes.” he croaks, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I do.”

“Hm.” Your hips roll again, the lace of your panties catching against his slacks perfectly, perfectly, and his brain halts all coherent thoughts. “What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

He thinks about women, mostly. They’re usually abstract, faceless, nothing like you. Nothing like the warm weight of you in his lap or the way you smell. Usually the entire ordeal takes him four minutes and he goes to sleep feeling embarrassed about the whole thing.

He does not say this.

“I— I think about girls.”

“Just girls?”

Your eyes peer down at him, sparkling with wonder. Your lips graze his cheek and every single neuron in his body fires at once. He’s going to fucking pass out.

God, he’s an idiot. He should’ve been having sex years ago. What was he so busy doing? Working? He gave up this for spreadsheets and impressing his father?

“Y-yeah,” he exhales. “Just—yeah.”

A small sound escapes you, something like a moan. The thought that you could be finding pleasure from this makes his cock pulse desperately in the confines of his pants. 

“Well.” Your hand finds his, lifts it, and presses his palm to the curve of your hip. Guiding his grip, guiding your own rhythm, you turn him into an active participant in his own undoing. 

“Next time you touch yourself.” You pick up the pace, slowly but steadily. “Think about this. Think about me. And how bad I want to fuck you.”

Fucking hell. 

His eyes squeeze tight, tight, tight. Tries, desperately, heroically, pathetically, not to cum. Jungkook groans, and he feels your fingernails dig into his broad shoulders for stability as your movements become more frantic.  

“F-Fuck,” he chokes out. “That feels so good.”

“I bet it does, baby,” you purr, and your angelic voice quells the fire in his core. “Bet your cock has been hungry for female attention, hasn’t it?” 

“No.” Jungkook hastily replies, “N-No, just for you.” 

He’s so fucking close, precum leaking out of his tip incessantly as each grind gets him closer and closer to his orgasm. Your tits bounce in his face, and he opens his eyes to see the sight that will forever be imprinted in his brain. Probably stored in his spank bank for the rest of time. Your cheeks are ruddy, eyes piercing into his, hair moving wildly, lace panties hugging every curve. 

Fuck. 

He’s going to cum untouched, like the virgin he is. 

Underneath the red lights, your hand finds his, and you guide up, up, up, press his palm flat against your chest. Your eye contact doesn’t waver. “Fuck,” he groans, “fuck, I’m—”

You watch him with a faint smile on your face. Without instruction, his fingers find your nipple, toying with the hardened peak lazily. Rolling them softly, you make a small sound above him and a lightbulb goes off in his brain. 

This is good for you too. You like what he’s doing. Holy. Shit. 

He continues to massage your nipple as you rut against his thighs, and it’s only a matter of time. He is a virgin, after all. 

Jungkook feels his cock twitch in his pants once, twice, before he’s moaning and whimpering as spurts of hot cum fill his boxers. His hand tightens around you on instinct, a sound leaving his throat that he has never made in his life, not once, not like this. He rides out his orgasm, shuddering and cursing under his breath, and your hips slow to ease him through it. 

He’s not sure how long he cums for, if he’s ever even cum this hard before. But when it does finally end, he slumps back against the couch like his skeleton has resigned. Staring at his face, your own movements still. 

Jungkook doesn’t keep track of time, only cares for the loss of the feeling of your body on his. You stand up, using his thighs for leverage to steady yourself. 

Placing a chaste kiss on his cheek, your eyes twinkle as you grin at him. “Come and find me when you’re ready, pretty boy.”

Jungkook sounds like a broken record everytime he reminds himself he doesn’t do girls. He’s already convinced himself that his attraction to you is some sort of rebellion against his virginity. 

That’s the only explanation as to why he’s standing outside Paradise Adult Club at 7 PM on a Monday holding an extravagant bouquet of red roses. 

Definitely has nothing to do with the fact that his Sunday night was spent wallowing in despair, cringing at how fast he came in his pants after you dry humped him for five minutes. No, that piece will live in his brain exclusively. It’s embarrassing to admit how much of an effect you’ve had on him. 

He’s never done anything nice for a girl in his life. Never took someone on a date, bought them flowers or jewelry, never held their hand just because he wanted to. He finds that shit cheesy, especially when his dad is yelling at him about some document from ten years ago. 

But then again, he can’t say a lot of girls have had the effect on him that you do. You had him throwing his truths and ideologies out the window, disappearing under red lights and red lace and just… he really fucking loves the color red now. 

The idea to stop by your place of work was a bold one, he can admit that much. It’s just that your last words to him before you strutted off ‘come and find me when you’re ready, pretty boy’ didn’t leave much room for representation. When he’s ready? Ready for you? Pretty sure he was ready for that the moment you laid eyes on him. 

Or, maybe you were referring to being ready to lose his virginity. He’s certain Namjoon has set him up for failure, probably mentioned numerous times everyone thought he was gay. In that case, Jungkook was also more than ready, but only if it was to you. Only if it was to see your tight little pussy swallowing his cock whole, eliciting those same sounds you did a few nights ago. 

Fuck, he needs to have you. 

“Excuse me? Sir?” 

A brunette hostess with a mousy voice jolts him out of his daydream, his cheeks rosy as if he’s been caught sniffing your panties. Her eyebrow is raised in confusion as she eyes the bouquet of roses. Chances are slim to none she’s ever seen those around a dance club before. 

“Yes. Hi. I’m looking for—” he stops.

Oh. Jungkook comes to the very hapless realization that he, in fact, does not know your real name. He knows your stage name. Candy called you Angel. That’s what he has. Angel. Which is a stage name, obviously, not a real name, and showing up to a woman’s workplace asking for Angel with a bouquet of roses is somehow worse than what he’s already doing.

“She works here,” he starts.

The hostess blinks. “…several women work here, sir.”

“Right. Yes. She was, uh, she was working Saturday night. She had—” he gestures vaguely at his own chest, “—red. She was wearing red.”

“A lot of women wore red on Saturday too.”

Her patience is wearing thin. 

“She had pretty hair.” He’s aware of how this sounds. “And she was—” another vague gesture, this time at his own face, “—she was very. You know.”

The hostess does not know. Her eyebrows are migrating slowly toward her hairline.

“Pretty,” he finishes, lamely. “Very pretty. Like, showstopping pretty.”

“Tall? About this height?” The hostess holds her hand up.

“Yes.”

“Works the private tables?”

“Uh, yeah,” he nods. “And uh, private rooms too.”

Something clicks behind the hostess’s eyes. Her brows lift in a completely different way now, a hint of recognition mixed with amusement.

“[Y/N]?” she asks.

[Y/N.]

He turns the name over in his head. Lets it settle. What a gorgeous name for a gorgeous girl, he thinks. 

(It’s his first crush, so he lets himself be as shameless as he needs to be about it.)

“Sure,” he says. “Yes. That one. [Y/N].” Your name. He knows your name now. He likes it more than he has any reasonable right to. “Is she—can I—”

“She’s off today.” The hostess smiles at him, fake sympathy seeping through the gesture. “Sorry.”

Jungkook grips his bouquet of roses until his knuckles are white. “Oh,” he says.

“Yup.”

He looks down at the bouquet. Red roses, obviously, because he’s been colonized by a color. He’d had his assistant order them this morning and had not explained why and the look on her face had been something he’d also be taking to his grave.

“Is there any chance—” he starts.

“I can’t give out personal information, sir. Our dancers lead private lives outside of their place of work.”

Jungkook sighs, weaving his fingers through his hair with his free hand. He can’t blame the hostess for her unwillingness to help, but he can’t let you get away. “No, I know. I wasn’t going to—Could I leave these for her? Is that… is that something that’s allowed?”

The hostess looks at him for a long moment.

Then she sighs, rolling her eyes and beckoning him further into the club. “Follow me.”

Somewhere, there’s a god he’ll be thanking later. 

The hostess leads him through a narrow hallway, behind the main floor, past a few closed doors, stopping at one left slightly ajar. When she pushes it open, it’s empty, save for the scattered lingerie and perfume bottles on the floor. 

“You can just leave them there,” she says, gesturing at the vanity.

She turns to leave. He hears it distinctly, murmured under her breath as she goes, “Amateur hour.”

Jungkook chooses not to acknowledge that.

He steps inside and sets the roses down on the vanity, straightening them slightly, then immediately feeling insane for straightening them and stopping. Jungkook doesn’t mean to look around, but his ADHD gets the best of him as his eyes wander. 

Your setup feels very you, although he’s only been aware of your existence for two days. The vanity mirror is framed with warm bulb lights, surface below it an organized chaos of things he has no reference for—foundation bottles and setting sprays lined up like little soldiers, a tray of eyeshadow with so many colors he can’t identify half of them. There’s trays of lip glosses, shades of red and pink that sent his brain into a tornado of horny thoughts. 

And, yeah, that’s enough for today. 

He turns to leave, trying to avoid eye contact with any of your other belongings he might find. But on the chair by the door sits a pair of panties.

Black. Lacy. Small enough to fit in one hand.

He stares at them, and they stare back. Every single rational thought he has ever had in thirty years of living lines up in his head and says, collectively and in unison: do not.

His hand moves independently of his brain, reaches out, closes around the fabric, and tucks it into his pocket in one fluid motion. Fuck. He did not plan that. That was not a decision he made, that was a decision his hand made, and he and his hand are going to have a very serious conversation about boundaries later—

He walks quickly, practically jogging. His shoes are loud in the hallway, he just needs to be outside, needs air, needs to be somewhere that isn’t the room where he just stole a woman’s underwear like some kind of pervert. 

“Have a good evening, sir!” the hostess calls from the front.

“Yep,” he quickly retorts, not stopping.

The door swings shut behind him and the cool night air hits his face. Luckily, his car is still waiting at the curb. It’s a miracle his driver hasn’t left him for dirt, despite Jungkook telling him to not wait for him. Maybe he also thinks Jungkook is a big, fat loser and knew he would need a backup plan. 

Jungkook gets in, stares straight ahead.

“Home, sir?”

“Immediately,” he says. “Please.”

With the knowledge of the black panties sitting pretty in his pocket, his cock puffs up in his pants, poking at his boxers, begging for air. Jungkook suddenly feels sweaty, even with the aircon set to 60 degrees. 

By the time Jungkook gets home, he’s a full-on mess. His cock is leaking precum at the tip, dripping into his Calvin Klein boxers. He’s never felt like this before, never been so undeniably hungry for someone that his whole body feels like it’s on the verge of collapse. 

Jungkook stumbles into his bedroom, sitting down on his bed and pulling out the pair of panties with shaky hands. 

He recognizes this is not a defense, merely an observation—he has never stolen anything in his life. He is a man of principle, of discipline, of self-control that has served him exceptionally well for three decades. He has walked away from bad deals, bad investments, bad decisions, more times than he can count.

He cannot seem to walk away from this.

Jungkook brings them up to his face slowly. Presses the fabric against his face and inhales. The fabric is warm, floral detergent filling his nostrils, and he falls back against his mattress as though his spine has stopped working.

“Okay,” he says to the ceiling. “Okay.”

He is so far gone it’s almost funny.

Almost.

His veiny hands find his waistband. The pants go first, then his boxers shoved halfway down his thighs, and when his cock finally springs free it’s so painfully hard he actually hisses, slapping against his abdomen. 

Thirty years old. CEO-in-waiting. Multiple degrees. Fluent in three languages. Lying in his bed with stolen lingerie and the most humbling erection of his life. He rushes to sit up against his headboard, otherwise his skeleton will fail him and he’ll fall straight down on his bed again. His cock is flushed, angry and red, glaring at him. The veins on the side of his length protrude, and he quickly gathers the seed of precum that’s spurted at the top to spread it around his tip. “Fuck,” he groans, head hitting the sturdy wood behind his head. 

Jungkook lets saliva fall from his mouth right onto his cock, too desperate to search for lube or lotion. Another quick glide of his hand up and down his length, and he’s painfully hard. Your black panties are strewn to the side of his mattress haphazardly, and he makes eye contact with them for a split second. 

He grabs them in his right hand. The lace is soft in his fist, softer than he expected, delicate little scalloped edges. He wraps the pair of panties loosely around his cock, and the sensation of it sends his brain into overdrive. Against him, the lace looks improper, something immoral. 

He is a little ashamed of himself.

Unfortunately, he is also completely unable to stop.

He guides his hand up and down his length, at a pace that he normally goes at when he’s just frustrated. His brain supplies images in snapshots—the weight of you in his lap, hips rolling against his crotch. He thinks about your chest, bare in the red light. The small sounds you made when the pace shifted and you stopped being professional about it for a microsecond. He thinks about your hands guiding his, hold on right there, pretty boy. 

Your thighs bracketing his, what it would feel like if there was nothing in between them… if you were actually—if he could actually watch you ride his cock, bouncing up and down on it as your tits moved in his face. He would probably press his face into them, so perfectly plump and ready for him. 

“God, [Y/N],”  he chokes out, to nobody, to the ceiling, to the concept of you existing in the world without his knowledge for however many years before Saturday.

Jungkook jerks himself off faster, twisting his hand at the ase just how he likes it when he wants to cum fast. His hair falls into his eyes as he looks down at the way your black panties are now covered in a mix of his saliva and precum. 

He wants to see you covered in his cum, maybe on your perfect tits or those glossy lips, taking every ounce of him that your body can manage. He bets you would take it like a good girl, would do anything just to please him and suck him dry of his money. 

It doesn’t take long before his mind is spiraling down a drain and he’s on the brink of his orgasm. It was never going to take long. It bubbles in his core, the knot in his stomach unfurling, and then he’s cumming, with a loud whimper and a “Fuck, fuck. [Y/N],” staining your panties with hot, white ropes of cum. Jungkook doesn’t know how long his orgasm lasts, just that he’s never cum that hard in his entire life, not with the essence of you on your panties lingering so nearby. 

For a long time, he sits on his bed, panties still balled in his fist. He sets them down very carefully on his nightstand like they’re evidence. In some sick twisted way, they are. They’re evidence of whatever is happening to him, whatever you cracked open in that private room, whatever he has blindly been waiting thirty years to feel and was not prepared for when it finally arrived.

But Jungkook knows one thing for sure: he can’t go on like this. He has to have you, one way or another. 

Sometimes, you really fucking hate your job. 

Men over the age of 40, married with two kids, will treat you with such disregard, as though you’re a piece of meat lucky enough to be desired by them. Your boss, Natalie, is a fucking cunt who takes half your earnings some nights, just to assert her dominance. Some nights, it’s so slow that you and the other dancers watch paint dry on the wall in your dressing rooms. 

But sometimes, when the stars align and the universe throws you a bone, you really, really love your job. 

Those nights are harder to come by. Usually, they start with a man throwing wads of cash at you, or stuffing them into the hem of your panties. They end with a private lap dance in the red room, where you rake in enough cash to pay off ten months of rent in advance. 

But in the case of Jeon Jungkook, although your night started and ended the same way with him, you were utterly, completely intrigued by the harmless creature you had made cum in his pants last weekend. 

His friends had showered you with cash, but Jungkook sat back in fear, watching you with a hypnotized gaze that never wavered. It was like he was captivated by every movement, hanging on every gyration of your hips. Namjoon didn’t need to tell you he was a virgin. You could smell it on him, something you predicted with just one glance. 

And now, that virgin had infiltrated your every thought.

When you stumbled into the club on Tuesday, you saw the fresh bouquet of red roses lying on your vanity, and immediately knew who they were from. Sure, you had other older suitors at the club, some regulars, but none that would bring you flowers or shower you in anything but money. No, this was the gift of a boy, someone who wasn’t quite yet a man. 

Quite honestly, you wanted to defile Jeon Jungkook. 

So you waited. You waited and you waited, but he didn’t show up all week. By Friday, you were beginning to lose hope of seeing the aforementioned man again. You settled back into your old routine, hoping to get him off your mind with older, more forward men. It’s not like you were having sex with them. It’s a firm line you never wanted to cross, made that clear the first day you started. 

It’s also not every day a hot, buff, tatted guy with bunny teeth and puppy-dog eyes walks into your club.

Saturday begins the same way it always does. Saturday nights at Paradise run like a well-oiled machine, and you are one of its most valuable parts.

The private tables are usually packed by 9PM, main stage rotating girls every twenty minutes. Bartenders furiously make drinks for eager men with open wallets, scanning for a dancer they can claim as their own for the night. You move through it with ease, a calming sensation spreading through your limbs. At least for now, this place has become your sanctuary. Or until the number in your head for your mother’s hospital bills finally hits zero.

Candy (also known as Lisa, but no one calls her that anymore) materializes out of nowhere, falling into step beside you. Since the day you joined Paradise, you two have shared a dressing room, secrets, lip gloss, and even underwear. She’s in gold tonight, hair pinned up, already counting a wad of bills from her regular client. Her hand connects with your bare ass, smacking the firm skin hard enough to leave a mark. “Lover boy show his face yet?”

“Haven’t seen him.” You adjust your bra strap without breaking stride. “Don’t think he can handle me, honestly.”

She snorts, “Yeah, no shit. Baby, he came in his pants from a lap dance.” She tucks the bills into her garter. “He cannot handle you. That’s the whole point.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m going easy on him. Letting him come to me if he wants.”

Candy stops walking entirely to look at you. “You’ve never gone easy on anyone in your life.”

“I’m feeling charitable.” You try to walk around her, but she holds her arms out. 

“We don’t do free shit around here,” she squints her eyes at you, sizing you up. She knows you better than most people do, which is usually a positive, but has now turned into what you hate most about her. 

“Listen, the guy’s obviously a virgin.” You roll your eyes. “Not to mention, he’s fucking stacked. Like, loaded loaded. He’s also hot. Need I go on?”

She stares at you for a long moment as though she’s watching a car accident happen in slow motion. Then she opens her mouth to refute.

“CANDY. [Y/N].”

Natalie’s voice bellows across the floor. Your boss is standing by the bar in all black, clipboard tucked under her arm, wearing the expression she reserves for moments when she feels her 40% cut is not being adequately earned. “Floor. Now. Both of you. Please, for the love of God.”

Candy mouths a not-so-subtle we’ll talk later and runs off toward the main stage. You turn back toward the floor, scanning the private tables, already taking mental note of the bachelor party in the far left corner. There’s eight guys, sashes, someone wearing a veil ironically. They’d keep you busy for an hour tops, and everyone knows bachelor parties are where the money is—

Natalie’s hand lands on your shoulder, redirecting you with zero ceremony. “Not that one.”

You turn. “The bachelor party has—”

“Got it covered. I need you at table five.” She steers you firmly. “He’s alone.”

You raise a brow. “He got money?”

Natalie gives you a side eye that could scare kids on Halloween. “Yes, dumbass.”

“How much money?”

“Just enough.” She releases your shoulder and delivers a brisk slap to your ass that you choose not to comment on. “Make me proud.”

Cursing under your breath, you start toward table five, fluffing your hair as you walk, rolling your shoulders back. Chin up, gaze level, lips pouted. Table five is tucked slightly off the main floor, dim even by Paradise standards. 

As you approach the booth, you excitedly say, “Hi—”

The word dissolves in your mouth.

Because sitting at table five, in a dark t-shirt that hugs his tattooed biceps, turning a glass of whiskey between his hands nervously, is Jeon Jungkook. 

He lifts his eyes to yours. For a second, he has the audacity to look surprised, like he didn’t come here specifically. He blinks at you and his ears go bright pink. 

“Well,” you say, recovering first, “Look who found his nerve.”

His eyes rake over your figure, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. 

You don’t want to let the poor man suffer for too long. Swinging yourself into his lap, your knees straddle his thighs. A sharp inhale escapes him, hands flying up instinctively before freezing mid-air like he’s forgotten whether touching is allowed, ears going from pink to red in one second flat. “Nothing to be shy about, pretty boy,” you murmur.

He lowly whimpers. A soft and involuntary noise, his jaw snapping shut like he can take it back.

“I got your gift,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, tugging him an inch closer to you. His sculpted chest is pressed against your tits, and he doesn’t need to take his shirt off for you to decipher how buff he is. 

His eyes go wide. “Y-yeah? Did you like them?”

You tilt your head, lips brushing against his jawline. “How did you know my favorite color was red?”

(It’s not. Your favorite color is green, has been since you were seven years old. But he doesn’t need to know that, and the way his body tenses when you say it is worth every cent of the lie.)

“L-lucky guess,” he stammers, and looks so pleased with himself.

“You’re a smart boy.” You press a chaste kiss to his jaw, then to his neck, and you feel his cock twitch underneath you. He shifts a little, trying to hide it, but you press down further. 

His hands hover at your hips, still not quite landing, suspended in that same paralyzed uncertainty from the private room last week. 

“You can touch me.”

He doesn’t spare a moment. His hands land directly on your hips, curling into the fabric of your underwear that rides high. 

“Tell me why you came back,” you coyly bat your eyelashes. You know exactly why he’s here and what he wants, but you’ll let him tell you. After all, that’s what you instructed him to do. To come and find you when he was certain he was ready. Even though it was unspoken, he had to have known what you meant. 

“I–I wanted to, uh, see you,” he swallows thickly, struggling to maintain eye contact. 

“Alone?” You tilt your head. 

“My friends don’t know I’m here.”

“Ah, so I’m your secret?” you tease. 

“N-no!” He leans forward, brunette hair falling into his eyes. God, he’s so fucking cute. “No, you’re not. I just—this is new for me.”

“What is?”

Say it, Jungkook. Say it. 

“You… you know what.”

“You know,” you say, leaning in slightly so he can feel your hardened nipples through your bra, “most men who come in here alone aren’t shy about what they want.”

“I’m not shy,” he pouts. 

You roll your hips over his half-hard cock, and he exhales. “You’re right. I’m so sorry, Jungkook. You are a big, strong man.”

He owlishly blinks at you, trying to understand what mind game you’re playing on him. Not that it matters, since he’s putty in your hands. 

“So prove to me that you want me.”

You tip his chin up with two fingers, pulling his gaze back to yours. “Hey,” you say quietly. “Right here.”

Hurriedly, like he’ll lose the words, he says, “I touched myself to you. Like you said.”

“Yeah? Did you cum?”

“I did,” he pauses, mulls over his next words. “I came so hard I almost cried.”

“Wish I could’ve seen that.” You kiss his neck, teeth biting down on his soft skin before soothing it with your tongue. A sweet moan echoes in your ear as you suck on his skin, sure to leave a blooming purple bruise on him. “What did you think about?”

“You… and me.” Your lips travel to a different park of his neck, littering a new section with sloppy hickies. “You…ah, fuck… on top of me, riding me. Making me cum again. I wondered w-what it would feel like if there were no clothes between us.”

Your hands slide from his jaw down his chest, feeling him tense under every inch of movement. “And what did you decide?” you ask. “Would it feel good?”

“I think it would feel like—I think you would ruin me,” he whimpers. 

It’s written all over his face, plain and undefended, the way everything is with him, and you think about all the men who have sat where he’s sitting and uttered the complete opposite. Your hands drift lower, finding him at your hips, and you guide them up over your waist, ribcage, until his palms are cupped over your tits, fingers curling around you through the thin fabric of your bra.

He breaks your gaze. Looks down at his tattooed hands cupping your breasts. 

“Jungkook,” you say.

He looks back up like a puppy following orders from a trainer.

“Still with me?”

“Yeah,” he exhales, massaging your tits with his massive hands. “Yeah,‘m very—I’m extremely with you.”

You roll your hips forward and watch his eyes flutter. “Good,” you murmur, lips brushing the corner of his jaw, cheek, the soft skin below his ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about you all week.”

“You have?”

“Mhm. Kept thinking about how good you’d feel inside me.” Your thumb traces his lower lip, catching the piercing. His cock is hard against you now, has been since you sat down, and you roll over it slightly, enough to feel him inhale sharply through his nose and grip you. “I want you to cum inside me, fill me up the way I know you want to.”

“O-oh,” he breathes, rutting his hips up to feel more. “I want that too.”

“You’d take it like a good boy, wouldn’t you?” You tug at the piercing, running your fingers over his supple pink lips. 

“Y-yes, please. Anything.” 

His eyes are glossed over with lust, so much that you doubt he’s hearing a word you say. “I bet my pussy feels so good wrapped around your cock. Bet you’re—”

“How much?”

Huh?

Your brows furrow, and his hands halt all movements on your tits. “What do you mean?”

“H-how much for a private room?”

He eyes you expectantly, chest heaving. 

Of all the things you expected him to say in this moment, it was not that. You’re half naked in his lap, you just told him you’d been thinking about him all week, and he’s asking for a price point.

The old version of this interaction writes itself easily. You name the number, take him to the back, take his money, take what you want, and send him home by midnight. Clean cut. 

You’ve done it a hundred times. 

But then he’s looking at you with those eyes, looking like a kicked puppy. An obscenely wealthy, tattooed, jawline-having kicked puppy who brought you roses on a Tuesday and almost cried when he came. 

You genuinely, physically cannot take his money right now.

“I don’t want your money, Jungkook,” you say.

He stares at you like you’ve grown an extra head. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I—” he frowns, “—that’s not—you should take it, it’s fine, I have it—”

You shift in his lap, rolling your eyes. “I know you have it.”

“So just let me—”

“I want you,” you shrug. “Not your money. You.”

He goes still underneath you, like he’s running it back trying to find the catch. His brows pull together. “That doesn’t make any sense—”

And before he can question you any further, you kiss him. 

You don’t plan it. One second he’s trying to logic his way out of being wanted and the next your hand is at his jaw and your mouth is on his and he makes a strangled sound against your lips. A muffled noise falls from his lips, and you swallow it down. For half a second, he’s frozen, your lips guiding themselves. He clearly has no idea what to do. 

And then something gives way in him all at once and he kisses you back clumsily. His lips try to match your speed, and you cup his jaw in your hand to guide him as best you can. 

Jungkook lets out a soft moan, fingers digging into your waist so he can tug you closer to him. It feels like your body is melding into his, becoming one. The sound of misogynistic men waving cash around fades into the background, and you forget where you are. Only a mere moment, until you snap back into it. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he licks into your mouth desperately. You open your mouth a bit to let him explore, and his tongue is so soft and warm that butterflies erupt in your stomach unexpectedly. 

When he pulls away, his cheeks are red, breath escaping him in puffs. Those doe eyes of his are twinkling under the light, bunny teeth poking out underneath his top lip. 

“I—was that, um, okay?” 

Oh god. You’re going to ruin this man’s life. 

You bashfully giggle. “It was perfect, pretty boy. Are you sure this is your first time?” 

Jungkook nods a few times like a broken bobblehead. You chuckle, shaking your head. Your voice lowers an octave. “I want more of you.” 

“R-really?” He squeaks. 

Rather than answer him with words (which he seems to understand so little of), you peel yourself off his lap, taking his hand in yours and tugging him off the couch. Jungkook stands, brows stitched together in confusion. You’d forgotten how tall he was, how much of him there is. 

The floor parts around you as you move through it, the Saturday night chaos swallowing the two of you whole. You catch Natalie’s eye near the bar. She locks eyes with Jungkook and gives you an enthusiastic double thumbs up from behind her clipboard.

She’d lose her mind if she knew you were walking her highest-paying client of the night to the back for free. That’s a problem for later. 

You push open the door to the red room. The LED light bleeds warm over everything. 

Turning, you push him onto the couch with one hand flat against his chest and he plops into it with a soft exhale, hair falling across his forehead, looking up at you with those eyes. Puppy dog eyes, you think. 

“You know what I’ve been thinking about all week?” you say, reaching up to slide one strap off your shoulder. Then the other.

He frantically shakes his head.

“Taking you apart,” you murmur. “Until you don’t remember your own name.”

“That’s—” he swallows thickly, “—that’s fine. Y-yes.”

You reach behind you and unclasp your bra.

For some reason unknown to you, it’s at this moment that you remember what you’re actually doing. 

You’re standing in the red room on a Saturday night about to take the virginity of a man, a man who looked at you in a room full of women and somehow only saw you.

His eyes drop to your bare chest, perked nipples on display

The moment of clarity evaporates completely. You don’t feel bad at all.

Sinking to your knees, you crawl over to where he sits. The carpet is soft beneath your knees. You place your hands flat on his thighs and look up at him, plump, pink lips parting, hands gripping the couch cushions on either side of him. You run your hands slowly up his thighs, feeling the muscle jump under your palms, and tilt your head. “Is this okay, pretty boy?” 

“Y-yes. It’s okay,” he hurries to respond like you might rid him of this moment. 

“Have you ever been titty-fucked before?” you blink up at him, already knowing the answer. 

His cheeks turn the color of the lights. His hand comes up to cover his face and he makes a sound into his palm that is equal parts mortified and desperate. “I-no. I never-I don’t even know, like, what that—I don’t—“

“Hands down,” You tug his hands away from his face. “Use your words, pretty boy. It’s just me.” 

“No.” He finds his voice, his big brown eyes burning into yours. “I have not.” 

You hold his gaze and run your palms up the inside of his thighs. Every coherent thought he has exits his body through his eyes.

“Well,” you say. “Pay attention.”

Your hands find his zipper. The sound it makes in the quiet room ricochets off the walls. His breath goes ragged, stomach caving on an inhale, watching your manicured hands fiddle with his pants. You take your time dragging the denim down his legs until he kicks them off desperately, left in his boxers. 

Even through the fabric, you can see the outline of his erect cock. You wonder how long he’s been hard for, if it’s been before you saw him. You press your palm flat against the fabric, rubbing his bulge, and his head drops back with a groan. 

“You’re so responsive,” you murmur, more to yourself than him, pressing slightly and watching his hips shift toward the pressure. “You feel everything, don’t you?”

“Y-yeah, I really—” he stops, swallows, “—I really do.”

“That’s so good,” you tell him. “That’s exactly right.”

His fingers find the edge of the couch cushion and grip. You take the waistband of his boxers between your fingers and look up at him one more time, giving him every opportunity to change his mind.

Jungkook’s eyes say please before his mouth does.

“Please,” he whispers anyway, because he has no defenses left. You trace the outline of his cock—and holy fuck, you can’t believe your luck. You’re the first girl to bear witness to his cock, and its massive, hidden underneath a man who’s never felt the warmth of a woman, never wanted to. Through his boxers, you can feel his girth, how thick he is. 

Saliva builds up in your mouth. Slowly, you peel down his boxers, dragging them down his legs to the floor. 

His cock stands up proud, slapping against his abdomen. For a moment, your heart thumps in your chest at the size of it, how thick and veiny he is. Fucking hell. You haven’t taken a cock this big in years, but damn straight you’re willing to try. 

“I-is everything okay?” he asks, eyeing your expression. 

You wrap a firm hand around his cock and he jolts forward. Stroking upwards, you feel every ridge, every vein that outlines his length. “It’s perfect, Jungkook. I can’t wait to taste you, for you to be inside me.” 

Precum seeps from his glossy, red tip. You jerk him off a few times until he’s thrusting his hips into your hand. He’s beyond eager for anything you’ll give him, you note. Your eyes meet his, and slowly, you let spit dribble onto his cock, giving you enough slick to jerk him off properly. “Agh-fuck,” he moans, biting his bottom lip hard enough to produce blood. 

“Feels good?” you ask, smiling. 

“Y-yes, don’t stop,” he begs. Flicking your hair behind your shoulder, you hold your tits together, slipping his cock in between your cleavage. He chokes on a breath. “O-okay—okay—” he stammers, hands hovering uselessly on the couch. 

The image of his pretty pink tip sitting between your tits sends waves of arousal to your core, flooding your panties. Adrenaline pumps through you, at the thought of taking this man’s virginity. Slowly, tentatively, enough for him to feel it, to understand it, you observe his face the entire time. His head falls back against the couch.

“You’re—fuck—” he cuts himself off, fingers digging into the cushion. You tilt your head, adjusting the pressure, testing what makes him react harder. Gradually, you move your tits up and down, down to his base and back up to his tip. The slick sounds of skin-on-skin echo across the room, mixed with his soft whimpers. His body tightens under your hands, thick thighs flexing, hips starting to thrust into you without thinking. He’s losing control faster than he can handle, faster than he can pause it. “S-shit, [Y/N], I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna cum—“

But you want him to cum. Want him to cum all over your tits, paint your body with it and let himself claim you. “It’s okay, Kookie,” you let the nickname roll off your tongue. “I want you to cum. It’s okay, I won’t be mad.” 

“Y-You won’t?” His eyes bug out of his head like you’ve just spoken another language. 

You giggle. “No, of course not.” 

He shakes his head like he wants to deny it, but it’s useless. “I– I don’t know, I just— it feels—”

The words fall apart in his mouth. You slow down for a moment before leaning in and adding more slick, dragging your breasts over him again. Jungkook's head snaps back, a broken sound ripping out of him as his hands grip the couch harder. “Oh—fuck— I think I—“

Beneath your grasp, his thighs quiver, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he spurts all over your tits, white, hot liquid painting your skin. Some of it lands on your face, which you lick off happily. “O-oh, [Y/N], fuck fuck, I can’t stop—cumming,” he cries as you slow your pace down, laughing to yourself. 

You ease back onto your knees, hands resting loosely around him. Jungkook is entirely too beautiful for his own good with his chest heaving, long lashes fluttering. 

You’ve had men leave this room strutting. Buttoning their shirts before they’re off the couch, already reassembled, gone. It’s a specific kind of departure that reminds you what this is and what it isn’t.

He takes two shaky pulls of air, then a third. His eyes find yours and stay there. “I—I think you’re amazing.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have volunteered to defile the virgin, because now he’s saying things like this. 

You laugh softly,. “Yeah?”

“No, like—” he pushes himself up further on the couch, words tripping over themselves, “you’re so beautiful and you knew exactly—and I didn’t even—I couldn’t—”

He stops himself. Cheeks flooding red, and all you can do is 

look at him. “God, you’re cute,” you say.

Obviously, you’ve said the wrong thing because his ears go scarlet and his shoulders cave inwards. “Oh. Thank you”. 

Another giggle escapes you, and you hardly recognize yourself. You’re not the girl who giggles during sex with a client, let alone any man. But then again, Jungkook isn’t really your client. 

Your fingers wrap around his softened cock, and without doing much, he begins to harden in your hand, puffing up to his full potential again. He owlishly blinks, gulping. “Sorry, I’m just—“

“Don’t apologize,” you interrupt. “How do you want me?” His throat bobs when he swallows, eyes flicking down to where your hand rests on his length, then back up to your face. “I—”

He exhales shakily. “I don’t know.”

You hum, not letting him off that easy. Your thumb brushes over his tip, gathering the precum that’s begun to form and his hips twitch up. 

Your mouth curves into a sinister smirk.“That’s not true.”

Jungkook lets a small, frustrated sound slip from his lips.“I just—” He breaks off again, dragging a hand over his face. “I don’t know how to say it.”

Leaning in a little closer, he has no choice but to feel how little space you’re giving him to hide in. “Use your words, pretty boy,” you murmur, “You’ve been doing so good.”

He sucks in a breath, “I want… I want your mouth on my cock. I want you to suck me off.” 

Immediately, he turns bright red and you can’t help the delighted laugh that wracks through you. “Kookie,” you say, shaking your head a little, “I didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth.”

He chuckles at that, reaching down to place his hand over yours, guiding your slow strokes. Your heart leaps into your throat at the innocent touch, betraying you entirely. 

With your eyes locked on his, you lean down and kitten lick his tip, and then drag it down his shaft. His mouth drops open on a silent moan, chest heaving. When you reach the bottom, you lick back up, following the path of a vein, before engulfing him fully in your mouth. He’s bigger than you expected, and your jaw aches at how much you have to open up to fit him in. Your tongue swirls around his tip, and he jolts forward, instinctively pulling your hair and entangling his tattooed fingers in it. 

“K-keep going.” He bucks his hips up, the tip of your nose hitting his pubic bone. You can hardly hold back your gags, choking sounds escaping from your mouth, tears seeping through your lashes as you take him to the hilt. “Feels s-so good, angel. You’re so p-pretty.” 

Your lips pop off his cock as you gasp for air, jerking him off in the meantime. “Yeah? You like how I look with your cock in my mouth, baby?” 

He nods eagerly. “Yes, please.” Jungkook pushes your head down, and then blushes as though he just caught himself sticking his hand in a candy jar. It’s not as if you mind—his cock is addicting, his precum so sweet and warm. You lower your head, swirling your tongue around his tip just so you can hear his pretty little moans again. 

You move at a steady pace, your hand working anything your mouth can’t take. His fingers dig into your scalp, almost guiding you. You don’t want to stop, never do, not until you ruin him. Not until you’ve had every ounce of him. His cock twitches in your mouth, and his thighs shake. It’s hard to hide the smile that’s curving upon your lips. After suctioning your lips around his tip a few more times, he drags your head up, practically ripping you off his body. 

Your stomach leaps into your throat, and the unfamiliar swell of anxiety bubbles inside you. Men don’t ever push you off, and you’d be lying if you said your ego isn’t taking a hit. 

“What do you want, pretty boy?” you ask sweetly. 

“I liked it when you c-choked on it.” His cheeks turn a scarlet glow, brunette hair sticking to his golden skin. “You look pretty.” 

“Want me to deepthroat your cock?” You grin, kitten licking his tip. Jungkook whimpers, and you take that as your answer. With no further instruction, you deeply inhale through your nose and take him to the hilt again, your throat full of him. Your air flow is entirely restricted, and Jungkook—the innocent virgin—pushes your head down, as if there were anywhere further to go. The feeling of being lightheaded doesn’t even scare you, just turns you on from how utterly desperate he is for you. “Shit, you’re so good at this,” he whines. “Don’t wanna cum yet. I wanna cum inside you, baby.”

You hum around him, and your mouth pops off  his cock, saliva connecting his tip to your lips. “Are you sure, Kookie?” 

You’re certain the poor boy has never been more ready for anything in his entire life. “Yes, please, please fuck me.” He begs between breathless groans, and you have to hide your own whimper from how fucked out he sounds. 

Now, you’ve done a lot of things in the red room. Bondage, roleplay, orgasm denial… but taking someone’s virginity? And that of a man who actually might be worth your time? Can’t say you’ve done that before. It excites you, and for a moment, you have to wonder if it’s because of the situation, or because of the man sitting in front of you. 

Standing up, you steady yourself despite the ache in your knees. You unhurriedly peel off your underwear, your arousal sticking to your thighs as you kick them off. Jungkook’s eyes follow your legs up, up, until he stares at your pussy with a tiny gasp. You straddle his thighs, using his shoulders as leverage. Your soaking core hovers above his erect cock, and he looks down to see just how close you actually are. “Are you sure, pretty boy?” you ask again, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Please.” His eyes snap to yours, and the sincerity behind it sends electricity through your veins. You take his fingers, placing them in your mouth before sucking on them and bringing them to your clit so he can feel how aroused you are for him. So ready and pliant above him. “O-oh, you’re really wet.”

“I am, Kookie,” you giggle. “You made me like this.” You guide his movements, little circles on your clit. Foreplay isn’t even necessary—you’re not sure you’ve ever been wetter. 

You align his length to your hole, and sinking down on him, inch by inch, you can feel every ridge and vein decorating his cock. You're deliciously full, until you’re filled to the brim, stuffed with his cock. You’d had a rough idea of what to expect. You’d done this a hundred times in this room. You thought you knew how this part went. But you were not prepared for Jungkook.

The stretch of him is slow and overwhelming and your walls have to work to accommodate his size. You hear yourself exhale, an involuntary release of air. His face finds your neck immediately and he groans. “O-oh my god,” he croons in your neck, muffled against your sweaty skin. “Is this what pussy f-feels like?”

You can hardly think long enough to form a response, and then he starts to move. Careful rolls of his hips, driving his cock up into you, checking every flicker of your expression for anything that looks like discomfort. It’s so like him. Completely, specifically him, that something in your throat tightens. 

What he finds instead is your eyes, telling him everything. He continues fucking upwards, and a borderline scream escapes you from how quickly he finds that sweet spot inside you. His fingers flex at your hips. He gasps and then he’s babbling, words tumbling out unfiltered the way everything does with him. “Your pussy feels so good. So tight and warm,” he speaks into your neck, inhaling your scent like he’s a wolf. “It’s so wet, [Y/N], so fucking wet.”

You need to get it together. You need to find the part of yourself that knows what she’s doing in this room, that has always known, that has never once lost the upper hand. Your hands come to rest on his thighs behind you, and you lift yourself up his cock, only to slam yourself back down. Each time you take him fully, your breath punches out in a grunt you can’t swallow back, your knees working against the cushions as you ride him. Your nails dig into his thighs, red, crescent moons forming. The sound of skin slapping and your wet cunt swallowing his cock fills the room. “Fuck, you feel so good, Jungkook. You’re so big, so deep inside me.”

“Yeah? You like how I feel inside you?’ His hands cup your ass, helping your movements. Despite it being his first time, Jungkook moves like he knows you.

Muscle memory takes over, and you grab a fistful of his hair and drag him towards you. You kiss him. 

Sloppy and breathless and without technique, lips catching and sliding, both of you too far gone to be graceful about it. He makes a broken sound into your mouth, hips stuttering.

“Want to make you my fucktoy. Would you like that, pretty boy?” 

He nods excitedly, eyes squeezed tight as you milk his cock with every bounce. Although you should be focused on making him cum, all of that flies out the window as the familiar coil in your stomach begs to come undone. Your walls flutter around his cock and his eyes open, looking to where your bodies join to try and decipher the sensation. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you moan. 

“Really?” he asks, wide-eyed with wonder. “Shit–keep going, baby. You’re gonna make me cum too, I won’t be able to last l-long.”

You switch to a back-and-forth motion, your clit hitting his pelvic bone, enough to make your legs shake as your orgasm washes over you. Jungkook grips your hips tight as you whimper, falling forward and wrapping your arms around his neck for stability. He takes the opportunity to thrust up into you again desperately, chasing his own release. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he whines. “So fucking addicting. I want to be inside you forever.” The sound of those words tumbling from his lips, tone so easy, has something inside of you clenching.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum again,” he hisses, hips faltering as he coats your walls with his cum, and the warmth of him fills you up. Wrapping his arms around you entirely, you feel Jungkook press chaste kisses to your neck, jaw, and cheek, bringing you back down to earth. 

When you two finally catch your breath, you rest there, with his cock softening inside you and your nails tracing patterns down his back. Your legs remain glued to his thighs, like the rest of the club doesn’t exist, like Natalie and her clipboard and the Saturday night chaos on the other side of the door are happening on a different planet. It feels like just you two in the whole building.

14 months ago, your last relationship ended abruptly. In the parking lot of a grocery store, which is such an unglamorous setting for the end of two years that you’ve never quite been able to shake it. He was handsome, aware of it, rationing it, using it for his benefit. He never brought you flowers. Not once, not for birthdays or apologies or just because. Flowers were a waste of money in his opinion, and not to be spent on ‘cheap girls’ like you. 

You look at Jungkook’s profile. The soft line of his jaw in the red light, the flutter of his long lashes. 

There are red roses on your vanity that he left without being asked.

“Did I… did I do okay?”

You pull back to peer at him, and his eyes are sparkling, an earnest expression taut on his face. You recognize what he needs to hear. “Yes, Jungkook,” you say, combing your fingers through his hair. “You did very good.”

The relief that moves across his face is immediate. “Okay,” he nods. “That’s good.”

He ducks his head. “How do I—how do I pay you?”

The ripple of his question moves through you. You need the money more than anyone in this room. You have a number in your head that lives there rent free, that wakes you up at 3 AM sometimes, that is the entire reason you’re here in the first place.

You open your mouth to name a figure, but instead, “It’s fine,” you hear yourself say. “You don’t have to.”

He pouts. “But I want to. You should let me.”

“It’s fine,” you repeat.  

“Not even a tip?” he tries again, and you have to commend his effort. 

“No.”

And  with a calm confidence that was not there an hour ago, “My number then,” he says. “Can I have yours? Would that work?”

You laugh, dropping your face into the curve of his neck, and feel him go warm underneath you. “You have some nerve, Jungkook.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Huh?” Maybe he wasn’t expecting your compliance, but you give it anyway. You’ll give yourself this one. 

“Yeah, Jungkook.” It’s probably a bad idea. Or maybe it’s the best one you’ll ever have. “You can have my number.”

The next night, when you open your phone, you read a text from Jeon Jungkook that says: i know you said no tips, but think of this as a gift. open your door. 

Outside your door sits a bouquet of red roses, with piles and piles of cash sitting beside it. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. 

On the flowers is a note, something even cuter than his text, that reads: give me one more night? - your pretty boy 

perm taglist. @mimi1097 @almatiarAU @absolutelyjeons @Sabrinahiddig @yooniepot @ggukivrse @Deluluvalerie @Sugak00kie134340 @Angelxkoo @yange7l @mellyyyyyyx @Senaqsstuff @jjkkkk15 @likecrazy22 @impossiblecopoaffire @readingbee44 @EyesforJungkook @lvnderdreams @vintagemoonsstuff @mauveliz @allysh @jeontylv @neurospicynugget @jxniana @haniiii @bo-rimmy @j0cgr0c @roseda @ggukreqz @dltyum @xxxxx1415 @annyeongbitch7 @nesha227 @Cannotalwaysbenight @Satisfied18 @qielica @Mar-lo-pap @remgeolli @Seolhyuningg @secretspam699 @Bangtansfav-7 @m4aimm @jeontylv @ot7girl4l @hoemeprazole @lovingkoalaface  @crackedby2017jungkook @taevescence @starlitkook @chwrryppie @jjkszn @junqive  @kookdollia @Mninotjungkook @odetomeringue @stargguki @lovingkoalaface @rockstarjeonjk @yeskookii @hellomynameis-jessica @lovjeongukkie @bjoriis

[hazel-ana]

When You Touch Me Masterlist

Story Summary: You know what happens when soulmates first meet. But when it happens to you one day at work, you are less than thrilled. Things only get worse when your new soulmate introduces you to his six friends. Pairing: ot7 x f!reader Rating: Mature/Explicit (later chapters) General Tags: soulmates!AU, slow burn, angst, hurt and comfort, long-distance relationships, canonical therapy, eventual smut, an eventual HEA Fic Warnings: low self esteem, self-harm, past abuse (physical, mental, emotional), lots of talk about food (both in positive and negative ways).

I'm new to Tumblr, so if any of these links don't work, please let me know which one(s).

Prologue "Overture"

Chapter 1 "I'm Doing Everything All Wrong"

Chapter 2 "Best Laid Plans..."

Chapter 3 "...Often Go Awry"

Chapter 4 "Agony, Misery, Woe"

Chapter 5 "Telephone Hour"

Chapter 6 "Just the Boys Now"

Chapter 7 "The Anxiety Song"

Chapter 8 "Bit By Bit"

Chapter 9 "Nothing's Gonna Harm You"

Chapter 10 "Head Over Feet"

Chapter 11 "Tell Me More, Tell Me More"

Chapter 12 "On the Steps of the Palace"

Chapter 13 "What is This Feeling?"

Chapter 14 "Blow Out The Candles, Taehyung, And Make a Wish"

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

[hazel-ana]

When You Touch Me Masterlist

Story Summary: You know what happens when soulmates first meet. But when it happens to you one day at work, you are less than thrilled. Things only get worse when your new soulmate introduces you to his six friends. Pairing: ot7 x f!reader Rating: Mature/Explicit (later chapters) General Tags: soulmates!AU, slow burn, angst, hurt and comfort, long-distance relationships, canonical therapy, eventual smut, an eventual HEA Fic Warnings: low self esteem, self-harm, past abuse (physical, mental, emotional), lots of talk about food (both in positive and negative ways).

I'm new to Tumblr, so if any of these links don't work, please let me know which one(s).

Prologue "Overture"

Chapter 1 "I'm Doing Everything All Wrong"

Chapter 2 "Best Laid Plans..."

Chapter 3 "...Often Go Awry"

Chapter 4 "Agony, Misery, Woe"

Chapter 5 "Telephone Hour"

Chapter 6 "Just the Boys Now"

Chapter 7 "The Anxiety Song"

Chapter 8 "Bit By Bit"

Chapter 9 "Nothing's Gonna Harm You"

Chapter 10 "Head Over Feet"

Chapter 11 "Tell Me More, Tell Me More"

Chapter 12 "On the Steps of the Palace"

Chapter 13 "What is This Feeling?"

Chapter 14 "Blow Out The Candles, Taehyung, And Make a Wish"

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

[daechwitatamic]

Amalthea || KSJ || Masterpost

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: Amalthea

Status: Complete - all parts posted!

WC: 40k

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: best friend's older brother!au, angst smut fluff trifecta

Summary: You can count on two things in life. One: that your lifelong best friend Minji will always be there for you, in your corner, your brightest star. Two: that you'll never be free from her older brother Seokjin's orbit - the gravitational pull is just too strong.

Warnings:  language, drinking, angst, time jumps, pov changes, this whole thing could’ve been 10k if i were mentally well, way too many deeply pretentious space references, kissing, explicit sex (chapters will have individual warnings), Jin calls reader “Beautiful” as a pet name but only like twice, Jinkook as actual brothers bc fuck biology!

Author's Note: thank you to @yoongiphoria @here2bbtstrash and @kookstempo for beta-ing. MJ you especially answered six THOUSAND questions about this as I worked and I THANK YOU 😭🥰

Series teaser:

There have been many times through your life where you felt like you were clutching Minji’s hand through the fire. 

You still remember clearly the way she’d bounded up to your locker, back when you were thirteen, squealing and excited because the most popular girl in your year had invited her over. 

You still remember her sobbing on your bed weeks later when it came to light that the girl - who wouldn’t be the last to try - was just trying to get an “in” with Minji’s hot, older brother.

“You know I would never, right?” you’d promised her. Stupid, at fourteen, not clarifying that you meant never use you to get to him. Stupid, because then you were sixteen and then eighteen and then twenty-one and then twenty-six and you weren’t sure what you had actually promised - had Minji heard it as I would never get involved with him? 

“I know,” she’d sobbed, reaching one hand blindly to clutch at yours. “I know you wouldn’t.”

And now you’re twenty-eight and the secrets you’ve kept keep piling up - each day you love him, another pebble atop the pile.

1. Asterism || WC: 9.5k

A prominent star pattern that is not a full constellation

2. Retrograde || WC: 9.5k

When a celestial object moves "backwards" or reverse of "normal" motion

3. Libration || WC: 14k

A slight tilting of the Moon over time that brings parts of the Moon that are normally obscured into view

4. Perilune || WC: 8k

The point of an elliptical lunar orbit where the satellite and the Moon are the closest

[snackhobi]

min yoongi is the best shot in the business. you’re the best gunsmith in the city and the only person he trusts to programme his tech; to make his gear. 

he likes your work. it’s a shame, then, that he doesn’t like you.

pairing: yoongi x f!reader / word count: 14.3k / genre + rating: NSFW (18+), cyberpunk!au, smut, frenemies (?) to lovers

warnings/etc: hitman!yoongi. black market dealer/gunsmith!reader. cursing/explicit language. whole lotta tension, sexual and otherwise. mentions of injury/violence. minor character death (no one important, don’t worry, this isn’t an angst fic). brief hurt/comfort. reader has tattoos. sexually explicit content. oral; fingering; multiple orgasms; overstimulation (f). unprotected sex (please take the necessary precautions irl). rough sex?. choking. creampie. brief mention of aftercare. I think that’s everything but please lmk if I missed any!

a/n: thank you SO MUCH to both @hobi-gif​ and @morndas​ for beta reading this and being so supportive, ily both so much and I owe you my life 🤧💕 as always what was meant to be a short fic turned into a huge one. also this is technically for my 1.1k milestone but it’s a billion years late, oops!​

Yoongi really doesn’t like you.

You’re loud. Cocky. Arrogant. You needle him all the time, dig your fingernails in and squeeze, revelling in the way he sets his jaw, the muted spark of irritation in his eyes. You bat your eyelashes and tilt your head, throw it back whenever you laugh and reveal the easing column of your throat, dragging each interaction out with a kind of sadistic pleasure that has him gritting his teeth. Because you love annoying him, getting under his skin, tapping your fingers against the soft swell of your bottom lip as you eye him up, taking your time before you speak.

Infuriating. You’re infuriating and you know it.

It’s unfortunate, really, because you’re unavoidable. 

Jungkook had asked, once, why Yoongi doesn’t just go elsewhere. They’re more than familiar with the underbelly of this heaving city, underneath all the neon lights and shimmering holograms and towering skyscrapers and legal tech; the scuttling seams of back alley traders and illegal goods, tech or otherwise. There are plenty of black market dealers, after all, plenty of other vendors he could go to to get the equipment he wants. Plenty of other skilled crafters, artificers, artisans, people who would be more than happy to create the things that Yoongi asks for, that he needs. People who can get their hands on anything you want. For a price.

Yoongi’s answer had been short and succinct.

“She’s the best there is,” he’d said, and that had been that.

Keep reading

[gukyi]

into the wilderness | pjm

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was… disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

{camp counselor!au, unrequited love!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: park jimin x female reader genre: angst, fluff, comedy word count: 27k warnings: unrequited love, camp shenanigans, awkwardness, secondhand embarrassment/hurt, ot7 cameos a/n: hello and welcome to the one thing that guyi has wanted to write for literal years now but never go around to! finally i can cross camp counselor au off my list. anyway, it’s been over a year since i wrote for jimin so i hope that this monster 27k fic can make up for that !!! i swear the ending is happy. i swear. i promise.

Seguir leyendo

[gukyi]

into the wilderness | pjm

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was… disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

{camp counselor!au, unrequited love!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: park jimin x female reader genre: angst, fluff, comedy word count: 27k warnings: unrequited love, camp shenanigans, awkwardness, secondhand embarrassment/hurt, ot7 cameos a/n: hello and welcome to the one thing that guyi has wanted to write for literal years now but never go around to! finally i can cross camp counselor au off my list. anyway, it’s been over a year since i wrote for jimin so i hope that this monster 27k fic can make up for that !!! i swear the ending is happy. i swear. i promise.

Seguir leyendo

[spicybutterfly]

Baby, Oh Please ₊˚‧︵‿ Park Jimin

♡ Summary: Jimin, your best friend of many years, loves you with his entire being. One night when your boyfriend decides to act up again, he makes it his mission to show you why you should be with him instead.

♡ Pairing: best friend!jimin x reader

♡ Genre:  best friends to lovers, angsty with fluffy smut

♡ Rating: 18+

♡ Word Count: 14.6 k

♡ Warning/Tags: explicit language, cheating, explicit sexual content 

♡ A/N: Arirang and Jimin in the Hooligan music video have awoken something feral in me :))

*Disclaimer: All characters and events portrayed in my works are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.*

Copyright © 2026 Spicybutterfly

All Rights Reserved.

As always, thank you for reading! ♡

masterlist

────˚‧୨ᰔ୧‧˚────

Your arms wrap tighter around yourself as another heavy gust of wind breezes by. Effortlessly, it sweeps a discarded plastic fast food wrapper further down the street, away from where you’re standing. Your fingers brush against the numberless goosebumps blossoming on your bare arms. The ends of your hair tickle your skin as it moves with the invisible force, grazing your shoulders and back. 

  Your chin trembles. Though not as vigorously as before, as now it’s only because of the chilled air and not anymore from your tears. Tears that dried with the wind on your cheeks, leaving behind messy streaks of mixed makeup that you spent over an hour perfecting. You can’t wait to wash your face clean.

Numerous cars speed past, music blaring through the open windows, their horns beeping. Across the street, a group of intoxicated girls around your age surrounds a stray cat, cooing and giggling as they snap countless photos, stumbling over themselves but never falling. Nearby on a short brick wall, a couple sits cuddled together, enjoying each other’s company over a shared ice cream cone. The street is littered with people all around, yet you don’t hear anything, just static filling your ears 

The restless thoughts crowding your mind drown out the sounds of the bustling street around you. 

How could such a perfect night have gone so terribly wrong?

How could he do this to you? 

How dare he do this to you, again?

Before your mind could spiral any further into a pit of distress, your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of an approaching car. The hum of the tires sounded so close you couldn't ignore it. When you lift your head to see, the relief of familiarity washes over you. 

An all-black BMW, your best friend’s car, luxurious and sleek, parks in front of you, the passenger-side door only an arm's length away. You sniffle as you release yourself to readjust the strap of your bag over your shoulder. The moment the car is in park, Jimin jumps out, leaving the door open behind him and you exhale a breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in. 

You don’t know what you were so worried about, maybe because it was well into the late hours of the night and so abrupt. But Jimin always came when you called. He was always there when you needed him, no matter what.

Jimin’s eyebrows were pinched in concern, a frown present on his puffy lips. His strides were swift as he paced over to you, dense blonde hair bouncing in the wind.

 You hated seeing him so upset. More than that, you hated being the cause, which you seemed to have been a lot lately. He didn’t say anything as he approached. Instead, he grabbed the black leather jacket draped over his arm to wrap around your bare shoulders. His scent engulfed you, warm vanilla with a hint of bourbon; it settled your restless nerves. You welcomed the warmth, clutching the shoulders to secure its place over you.

With a gentle guiding hand on your lower back, he leads you over to his car, opening the passenger door for you. Still with no words exchanged between you two, you slide onto the plush, leather seat. The swift movement makes your dress ride up, and you miss the way Jimin’s eyes lock in on the exposed skin of your thighs. As quickly as it comes, he erases the thoughts with a slight shake of his head. 

 As he reaches over you to fasten your seatbelt, you toe off your high heels, strappy black stilettos, pushing them aside to make space on the floor for your aching feet. When the seatbelt clicks, signaling that you’re safely secured, you thank him barely above a whisper, him giving you a closed-lip smile in return. Once Jimin was settled in the driver’s seat, seatbelt buckled, and hands positioned at nine and three o’clock, he turns to you. 

“My place?” He asks, though he already knows the answer. You nod your agreement. 

Typically on nights like these, your best friend coming to your rescue; the car ride to his house was anything but serene. There was so much to say—too much to say. Jimin wanted to know everything, firing off questions so quick your mind could hardly formulate proper answers. And you were just as eager to spill, sparing him no specifics as you filled him in on all the infidelity details your sorry boyfriend never failed to supply. 

Not this time, though. 

The silence in the car was deafening, thick and heavy. Jimin apparently has nothing to say, and well after the night you just had, neither did you. The only noise in the car was the quiet hum of the vents, steadily blowing warm air. Shortly into the drive, you took the liberty to turn the heat on. 

 None of that bothers you, though. What bothers you is that your best friend seems…mildly irritated. He didn’t even need to say anything for you to figure it out; it was practically oozing from him.

His eyes are narrowed, zeroed in on the road, not in a focused way, more like in an "I can’t even look at you right now” way. His posture is stiff, too perfect, as his back presses firmly against his seat. His lips are pressed into a firm line, neither a frown nor a smile.

You can’t understand it. What’s there for him to be irritated about? You were the one who just caught your boyfriend cheating again. Was he upset that you called him to come pick you up? If that’s the case, he should’ve left you right there. You are more than capable of getting yourself a ride. You’re well versed in getting Ubers, and you’ve ridden the bus from time to time. Enough to know how to get home.

Fed up with the seeming silent treatment, you finally speak. “You’re not going to ask me what happened?” 

Did you mean for it to come out as bitter as it did? Maybe, maybe not. But you’re already on edge, and his lack of interest was getting on your last nerve.

There was a pregnant pause as Jimin came to a stoplight, fist tightening on the steering wheel. With a clenched jaw, his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. A telltale sign that something was bothering him. You’re almost unsure if it’s the traffic light that tints his face red or his sheer frustration.

“Do I really need to?” The bite in his words matches yours. He turns to face you full on, the most attention he’s given you the entire ride. With his tone firm and low, he snaps, “How is this time any different from the last? Or even the one before that?”

 Rather than giving him an answer, you swallow the lump in your throat, turning your body away from him to gaze out of the window. The last thing you need is to be reprimanded by your best friend. Especially considering it’s nothing you have not heard before. He should be comforting you, threatening to drive over to Theo’s right now and kick his sorry ass. Of course you would never allow that to happen. You would never want anything bad to happen to your best friend or your shitty boyfriend, but still the sentiment was nice.

You hear Jimin sigh, but he doesn’t say anything else, instead continuing the drive when the light turns green. 

Before long, you make it to Jimin’s neighborhood. With practiced ease, he navigates the familiar streets. Right at the first turn at the stop sign and continuing straight until he reaches the second-to-last house on the left.

Jimin pulls into his driveway, putting his car in park before shutting it off. For a moment neither of you says anything. Jimin exhales and lets his head fall onto the headrest. You can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your face, but you don’t dare to give him the eye contact he’s seeking. Your petty mind determines that he needs to feel how upset you are with him. 

When he calls your name, you roll your eyes, folding your arms over your chest. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings earl—"

“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” you lie right through your teeth, barely able to keep the tears collecting on your waterline at bay. Internally you thank the heavens above your voice didn’t tremble, a dead giveaway to your emotional despair.

For a moment your best friend does nothing. Then with not a word more to say, he pulls the key from the ignition and opens his car door. 

Shielded away from his eyes, you quickly wipe away the tears sliding down the corners of yours. Feeling pulled together enough, you take a moment to gather your purse and heels from the floor. Though, you don't bother to put your shoes back on. The distance from Jimin’s driveway to his front door is short anyway. 

Naturally, Jimin comes to open the car door for you. You shiver, greeted again by the cold air. As you exit the vehicle, you make no effort to thank him, swinging the strap of your purse back over your shoulder. From behind, you hear a sassy grumble of "You're welcome," that you choose to ignore. 

The walk from Jimin’s car to his front door feels like an eternity. From the wind blowing your hair into a tangled mess, the pebbles and rough gravel digging into the soles of your feet to the suffocating tension between you and your best friend, which you still couldn’t really understand. All you wanted to do was take a hot shower and turn your brain off for the rest of the night under a massive pile of blankets.

Jimin pulls out his key to unlock the door, and now it’s your turn to ignore the way his sharp jaw ticks. When the front door opens, the heat from inside surrounds you,  comforting you like a warm hug. You learned early on that your best friend loved to be just as toasty as you, always keeping a spare jacket or blanket around if or whenever it got too chilly. Another reason you’ve been friends for so long. You make a mental note to thank him later for turning the heat on when you're not as irritated with him. 

Your heels drop to the hardwood with a dull smack, joining a few pairs of Jimin’s piled on the floor. Your purse follows behind, on the ottoman next to the door, covered with other jackets, scarves, and things alike. Your best friend comes up beside you, discarding his own jacket and shoes.

You take notice of the comfy scene in front of you. On the couch, Jimin’s favorite blanket lies in a messy heap, like someone tossed it away in a hurry. Before the couch, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn sits in the middle of the glass coffee table, an opened can of soda beside it. In the background, the murmured chaos of an abandoned action movie, gunshots, explosions, some screaming, and then more gunshots emits from the television speakers.

The guilt that washes over you overtakes any of the irritation you felt earlier with Jimin. Once again, your tumultuous relationship has not only caused problems for you but also for the people around you.

 Of course he was upset. He had a right to be. If the roles were reversed, you’d probably be a little upset too. Lord knows how much you valued your couch potato time.

“I’m going to go wash up,” you mutter, your tone not nearly as snappy as it was before, and you don’t wait for his response as you make your way down the hall towards his bedroom. 

You close the door behind you with a heavy sigh, twisting the lever on the knob into its locked position. Guarded away from the outside, you take a moment to finally breath. Since all this shit’s transpired, you feel like you’ve been fighting for breath.

You squeeze your eyes shut and lean back. Your head thuds when it makes contact with the door behind you. In through your nose and out through your mouth. You repeat the mantra in your brain over and over. When you feel like you’ve finally caught your breath, your brain switches to autopilot. You’ve performed this exact routine far too many times. 

You reach behind yourself to tug down the zipper of your attire, a black mini dress you bought at a cute little boutique for this very date night. The piece drops, pooling at your feet. Usually you’d ask Jimin to help with the zipper, but you’re not quite ready to face him yet, and you’re sure he does not want to talk to you. Next to go are your bra and panties. The matching lace set joins your dress in the laundry hamper, which Jimin will wash for you after you’ve fallen asleep for the night like he always does.

Inside the closet in his bathroom, you grab a spare towel and washcloth stacked neatly on a shelf. You set it aside on the sink to turn on the shower, twisting the temperature dial to the hottest setting. You love showering at Jimin's; the water at home was never scalding enough for you, and the water pressure was never enough to soothe your aching muscles. Plus, his bathroom was stacked to the brim with the best of the best skincare products. You wouldn’t dare catch sight of the cheap drugstore stuff you tend to reach for in here.

As the water warms up, the bathroom fills with misty steam. From the cabinet drawer, you grab a packet of nearly empty makeup remover wipes. You don’t need to look in the mirror to know that you look a mess. Although you couldn’t even if you wanted to, the glass is all fogged up. 

Gently, you drag the wipe all over your face, making sure to reach every nook and cranny until your skin feels, for the most part, clean. You toss the wipe, soiled with pinks, brown, black, and a bit of shimmer, into the wastebin underneath the sink.

Now you’re ready to shower.

You eagerly welcome the hot water as it cascades over you, soaking every inch of your tired body. You take a moment to enjoy the feel of the water droplets raining over your skin. However, before long the steam from the shower begins to feel suffocating, and before you know it, your eyes are brimming with tears. 

With every water droplet that pelts your skin, the weight of tonight feels heavier and heavier until—

It finally breaks you.

You curl into yourself as your body is wracked by uncontrollable sobs. Instinctively, your hands come up to cover your face, slapping over your mouth, even though you’re alone in the bathroom. It feels like you’re choking on your own breath. Throat and chest burning with how hard you try to keep your sobs in.

 You need to get out of this bathroom quick.

Vision blurred from tears, you reach for your washcloth and then Jimin's body wash. You then drench the square cloth with a generous amount of soap, the scent of lavender filling the small space. You’re practically panting now. Every gasping breath triggers a new wave of tears. You press your lips together firmly until it hurts. You're known to be a loud crier, and you don’t want to alarm Jimin. 

Through it all, you scrub yourself clean, rinse, and do it again. But the icky feeling never goes away. In fact, it settles deep in the pit of your stomach and makes its home there. Weightless, you drop to the tile floor below, one hand clutching your stomach and the other over your chest right where your heart is, and you let yourself cry.

You cry until your throat is sore and until your eyes are bloodshot red. Until your wails have subsided into pathetic shuddering breaths that make your chest jerk. You cry until you can’t physically cry anymore. Until all that’s left is a soggy, heartbroken human on the wet shower floor.

────˚‧୨ᰔ୧‧˚────

Like a zombie, you emerge from Jimin’s bedroom slowly and in desperate need of some fuel. The living room is quiet and dark when you step in. Your best friend sits with his back pressed against the couch’s arm, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. Awaiting on the television screen is the play menu for Shark Tale, your comfort movie. Two mugs of warm tea replace the popcorn and soda on the coffee table. Instantly you recognize the one on the right as yours. Jimin found it at a thrift shop years ago early into your friendship. He bought it because he said the bunny on the front reminded him of you. Eyes twinkling and cheeks round, as it sat in a patch of unruly wildflowers. You rolled your eyes playfully when he showed it to you, insisting that he keep it at his house, since you were there more than you were home anyway. 

The dragging of your footsteps alerts your best friend. He looks up from his phone, gaze sleepy as his eyes settle on you. You did your best to hide the evidence of your breakdown with what limited supplies you had. Though there was nothing you could do for your bloodshot eyes and splotchy skin. If Jimin notices your disheveled appearance, he doesn’t say anything.

Jimin sets his phone on the coffee table, patting the open spot on the couch next to him with a small smile. You join him without a second thought.

The sofa moans with your movement as you settle onto the plush cushion, grabbing the throw blanket to cover your chilly legs. Jimin’s basketball shorts didn’t offer you much coverage. You would think that after spending so many nights here, there would be something of yours to sleep in. 

Nonetheless, all you were privy to were a pair of too-short gym shorts and a shabby university t-shirt. You did find, however, in Jimin’s underwear drawer, a pair of your panties neatly folded and tucked in a corner. You were thankful for that. 

When you seem comfortable enough, Jimin uses the remote to press play. The small living room area was then filled with the sound of Shark Tale’s opening scene.

The two of you watch the movie as it plays, sipping your respective mugs of tea. It’s not nearly as tense as it was earlier, but it was still a little awkward. 

The warm beverage alleviates some of the soreness in your throat. When you're sated and cozy enough, you set the cup back in its previous place. Beside you, Jimin clears his throat. From the corner of your eye, you can see him glance at you, the TV screen, and then back at you again. You pretend to not notice him, trying your hardest to focus on the scene of Oscar being manhandled by the twin jellyfish brothers, Ernie and Bernie. 

 Another minute passes before Jimin finally decides to break the silence. His voice is steady and cautious when he turns to you and asks, “So… what did happen tonight? With Theo?”

Eyes still trained on the screen, you fiddle with the seam of the t-shirt you’re wearing, Jimin’s t-shirt. You pinch the thin fabric, flicking it back and forth between your fingers. Soon Jimin is going to have to throw this old thing out. Not only was it sporting several sizable holes, but there were loose threads everywhere.

You shrug when you say, “I thought you didn’t want to know.” 

Jimin’s exhale is loud, but his tone is still calm. “That’s not what I said, and you know it. I asked what made this time different. I feel like that’s a fair question.” You’ll give it to him; your best friend is and always has been blunt. 

With no rebuttal, you grab your mug from the table, yet you don’t take another sip from it. Instead, you rotate the ceramic in your hands, watching the liquid slosh all around. 

“He cheated on me again.” The way you say it so plainly is almost startling. 

Sadly, Jimin’s demeanor doesn’t change. That part he’s used to. He leans forward, as if to ask for further details without actually uttering a single word.

“He didn't confess it to me this time; I found out.” 

Theo was nothing if not an excellent victim player. Since the beginning of your relationship, he could never keep any of his rendezvous to himself. Before you could even begin to suspect anything, he’d be spilling his guts to you, sparing the explicit details. He’d cry like a baby, falling to his knees begging for your forgiveness, and by the end of it all, somehow you were the one with the heavy heart, apologizing for your shortcomings. 

Eyes downcast, you swallow down the lump forming in your throat. If you weren’t so focused on the dark-colored liquid in your mug, you would see the way Jimin freezes, his face morphing into pure disgust. 

“Well,” you correct yourself, your voice going a little shaky, “I snatched his phone before he could delete anything. But yeah, I found the messages. All of them.” 

Against you will, your mind travels back to earlier in the night. 

Your boyfriend had invited you out to dinner, a way to make it up to you for standing you up a few nights ago. There was this new restaurant in town that you’d been begging him to go to. But each time you’d ask, he would always decline, claiming that it was too expensive even though you were usually the one who paid for your meals. That’s why when he told you your dinner would be at this restaurant, you were overjoyed. 

In the beginning, the dinner went wonderfully. The ambiance was romantic, live music playing in the background and a lit candle separating you two on the table. You hadn’t argued at all leading up to the dinner. Not when you took a little longer to get ready, not when you put the restaurant’s address into the GPS wrong (507, not 501), and not even when you couldn’t decide what you wanted to eat. 

Everything was perfect, until it wasn’t. 

You see, your boyfriend was not the sharpest tool in the shed. Like an idiot, he left his phone faced down on the table, and throughout the night it rang and rang with incoming calls, messages, and you’re pretty sure emails. This wasn’t uncommon. Your boyfriend works a taxing job. His phone was always going off as he needed to be available whenever. In fact, you wouldn’t have suspected a thing if it weren’t for the guilty looks he’d send your way every time the device sounded with a new message. 

You grew fed up with his suspicious actions and snatched the phone from the table. He tries to reach for it but backs off when he gathers the attention of a couple of onlookers. 

The contact name on the phone screen is visible, Jerry’s Pizza, but the message was hidden behind a passcode. 

You tongue the inside of your bottom lip, fury clouding your mind. “Why the fuck is Jerry’s Pizza texting you at,” you look towards the clock at the top of the screen. “Nine p.m.?”

He huffs like he has the nerve to be upset. “It's probably just some promo stuff.” 

This man must think you’re stupid. “What’s the passcode, Theo?”

Your boyfriend drops his fork, and the metal utensil clashes onto the porcelain. He leans back in his chair with a smug look on his face. “Are we seriously doing this right?” 

You swallow, teeth clenched when you hiss, “Unlock it.”

“God _____, seriously. We’re having a good night; don’t let your insecurities ruin it.”

“Unlock the fucking phone now, or we’re done!”

When he finally does give you the passcode, you’re disappointed but not surprised. You scuff and shake your head as you read the many messages from one of the many girls he’s been hooking up with. "Unfuckingbelievable."

Fresh tears sting your eyes. “God, Jimin. They were so fucking filthy. I…I didn’t even know," you stop yourself, shaking your head. “I’ve never heard him say things like that before.”

The look on Jimin’s face portrays exactly what he feels for you. He scoots closer to grab the mug from your shaky hands, setting it on the coffee table. Hands now free, he interlocks his fingers with yours as you continue.

That familiar wave of emotion bubbles up inside, just as furious as before. You can barely speak now, choking on your own words when you say, “Th-they were t-talking about me in them—" you end in a hitched breath. 

Jimin pulls you into him as you succumb again to your tears. He engulfs you with his embrace, shushing your cries and petting your hair. “Shh, shh. It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anymore.” Your best friend rocks you both back and forth, calming you with words of comfort.

He holds you as you cry, soaking the front of his shirt with your pain. He doesn’t say anything, letting you release it all. You calm down after a while and separate from him. 

Jimin leans towards you and cups your cheeks in his hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. In turn, you grab his wrists, seeking his comfort and closeness. “God _____," he shakes his head, face full of nothing but sorrow. “Honey, I’m so sorry.” 

It’s your turn to shake your head now. “Not, not your fault,” you hiccup as you try to catch your breath. 

Jimin calls your name once, and then again. When you finally open your eyes, his are pleading with yours. Briefly, your heart stutters. 

His palms cup your cheeks. “Listen to me. Theo is a fucking idiot. He does not deserve you. He never did.” When new tears fall, he wipes those away too. 

Jimin releases a devastating sigh, shaking his head. “I hate that this happened to you.” He swallows thick, and there’s a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “I’m just relieved you’re finally leaving him.”

His words knock you back into reality. You blink, eyes flickering away from his to stare down at the couch instead. Instinctively, your bottom lip makes its home between your teeth. 

Jimin frowns, immediately taking note of the hesitation swimming in your features.

 “_____?” he calls, in the exact tone your mother uses when she suspects you’re hiding something from her (she’s usually right). He leans forward, attempting to regain your eye contact, and you dodge his brown orbs. “You are leaving him after this, right?” 

You don't say anything. You don’t have the courage to lie right to his face, or even tell him the truth, for that matter. 

Jimin’s exhale is long and tired. He then closes his eyes and slowly nods twice. Bitter understanding. 

The light-haired man leans away from you, removing his hands from your face. Instinctively, you reach out for him, hands hovering in midair, but he makes no effort to appease you.

Jimin drags a hand down his face, and it makes his eyebrow hairs go askew. “Please tell me that this is some sick joke, that you’re not actually thinking about taking him back after this.” 

You press your lips into a firm line. The agitation inside of you is and has been steadily building. It bubbles up and overflows when you say, “Everybody fucks up, Jimin. Some people are just better at hiding it.” 

Jimin scuffs as he shakes his head, standing up from the sofa. Running both hands through his hair, he chuckles in disbelief. The hollow, humorless rumble sends a shiver down your spine.

 "Unfuckingbelievable,” he unknowingly echoes the same word you said earlier in the night. “I can’t believe you’re making excuses for him. Still!” 

You shoot up too, quick and agitated, planting your hands on your hips. “All relationships have their problems, Jimin! That’s just the way it is. When I go home, we’ll talk, and I’ll fi—we'll fix it. We always do.” There’s uncertainty in the way you say it. Like you’re trying to convince yourself as well as him.

The sour look he’s giving you right now makes you want to flick his forehead, dead right in the center where that stupid vein is protruding. 

“God, I didn’t come here for a damn lecture. I would’ve gone to my parents’ for all that.” Jimin shrugs at you like he doesn’t care, and you know he doesn’t. It pisses you off even more.

Anyone who knows Jimin knows that your best friend is a caring man. A kind, gentle soul, as your mother liked to call him. He wouldn’t hesitate to give the shirt off his back to his greatest enemy (which he does not have) if they were in need. That’s just the type of person your best friend was. The love that Jimin had for you was undeniable. You know he’d do anything for you because he’s proven it to you time and time again. But you learned quickly in your friendship that Jimin tolerates bullshit from no one. He has had no problem with putting anyone in their place, including you. Particularly when it came to your unstable relationship. 

 Your glare is harsh, words provoking when you spit, "Especially not one coming from you.” 

Jimin’s eyebrows shoot so far up, they're nearly hidden by his grown-out bangs. He smirks like he’s ready for a challenge. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

This time, you shrug. “You’re in no position to be passing judgments on my relationship, considering your track record.” The words tasted just as bitter leaving your mouth as they did hearing them said aloud. 

Jimin’s expression turns stone cold, but his smirk doesn’t waver. “My track record.”

You don’t spare him an opportunity to clapback. If you were judging correctly, you had the upper hand in this argument, and you needed to keep your momentum. 

“Don’t even pretend to be shocked, Mr. ‘I can’t keep a girl longer than a week before I’m bored and ready to hop on the next available piece of ass.

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you can see his Adam's apple bobble when he swallows. “It’s like that, huh?”

“Oh, it’s exactly like that. You’re no better than he is."

You should’ve known you were in trouble when his smirk grew wider. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong, _____,” he taunts, wagging his pointer finger at you. It triggers your eye twitch. 

“I've treated every single booty call better than that man has ever treated you since you started dating.” He points an accusatory finger at you. “Unlike your shitty boyfriend, I know how to properly conduct myself.” 

Your jaw is clenched tight, and your eyes are narrowed into furious slits. “Bullshit.” He takes a step closer to you, and your stance is unwavering. “Yeah?”

"Yeah, Jimin, that’s bullshit, and you know it. I’ve seen how you treat those girls. Love them one day, fuck them the next, and then you're done, ready for a new one. It takes a dog to know one, Jimin,” you retort, arms folded over your chest with an eyebrow arched. 

“Don’t even pull that shit with me, _____. I make sure whoever I’m dealing with knows exactly what they’re getting into. They knew that being in a relationship was not my end goal. I just wanted to fuck around, and they were fine with that.” 

You scuff. “And they were fine with you just dropping them for the next, like it’s nothing!?”

Jimin laughs high and loud, though there’s no humor behind the sound. His eyes are blown wide, both hands in his hair. He looks exactly how you feel, crazy.

“God _____! What don’t you understand? I’m fucking single; I can do that! Your boyfriend is not! But for some reason he acts like he is!” Jimin’s words are booming, bouncing off the living room walls between you. Pretty soon you think the neighbors will come knocking with the police, and you hope that doesn’t happen because the elderly couple next door is very sweet.

The shock on your face had to be laughable. Throughout your entire friendship, Jimin has never raised his voice at you, not once. 

How dare he yell at you like that? You aren’t a child!

 Your mouth flies open, ready to shoot back with something, anything just from the sheer volume of his voice. But just as quickly as your lips fall open, they shut. Jimin’s words settle over you like ice, cooling down your temperament as your brain processes what he’s saying.  

There’s practically smoke coming from Jimin’s ears as he continues. “I’ve never kept anyone on edge all day waiting for a simple text to let them know I’m okay. Nor have I played on their insecurities to better justify my own. I’ve never fucked someone else while I was dealing with another woman, even if we weren't in a committed relationship because I’m a decent human being.” 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you shift your gaze away from his to your sock-clad feet. A silent admittal of defeat, but Jimin doesn’t stop.

“I don’t make them feel worthless, like they aren’t my equal, like I’m more deserving of respect." He comes in closer, so close that you can feel his breath on your face with every word. “How dare you even have the audacity to compare me to him? You couldn’t count on him to attend his own funeral. But who’s always there when you need them?” 

You don’t dare answer. 

“Me! I’m there! Every late-night call, every text message, every single time you need me, I’m always there. Always! Picking up the broken pieces that he leaves behind without a single fuck given.” 

With an icy glare, he leans in until the tips of your noses are nearly touching. “I’m not anything like him. I’ll never be.” 

You exhale the breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding as Jimin brushes past you, just barely missing your shoulder. He’d never hurt you deliberately, no matter how upset with you he is. Though you kind of wish he did. After the unjustified nasty attitude you’ve had with him tonight, you kind of wish he would just curse you out a little, throw you a few extra insults, and send you home to your cheating boyfriend. Then perhaps his compassion wouldn’t make you feel so sick to your stomach. 

Maybe that’s the exact thinking that’s gotten you into this mess in the first place. 

What are you supposed to do now? 

“Fuck,” you exhale with your head tossed back.

 At this angle, you’re face to face with the popcorn ceiling. God, you hate popcorn ceilings; they remind you of long, humid summer nights at your grandma’s unair-conditioned house in the country. Feeding feisty chickens and milking cows for two and a half months straight.

It makes your neck ache, but in this position on the edge of the couch, you ponder. Not just about your argument with Jimin, but everything you’ve been through. The disaster of tonight, your entire relationship with Theo, and all the lying, cheating, and sneaking. The heartbreaks he puts you through time and time again. Then finally your friendship with Jimin. Seemingly the only piece of stability in your life for God knows how long. 

You think about it all until the credits of your abandoned comfort movie start rolling. Begrudgingly, you reach over to grab the t.v. remote, shutting off the device with a simple click of a button. Instantly, darkness engulfs the living room. Briefly, you ponder sleeping right there on the couch, but you know your back would hate you for it, and more importantly, you need to fix this mess with Jimin. You don’t want to, but you make the short trek back toward the room at the end of the hall. 

You stop just before the doorway, peering into the bedroom. The courage you built up suddenly depleted. 

Moonlight streams in through the cracked blinds, the only source of light, neatly illuminating the room in linear streaks. Jimin sits on the edge of the bed with his head hanging low, drained, between his shoulders, elbows planted firmly on his knees. The long sleeves of his shirt are rolled up now, exposing the veins in his forearms that jump with every clench of his fingers. You’re not sure how long he’s been sitting like that, but it looks like he hasn’t moved in a while.

Through his long bangs, you can see the worn expression on his face—eyes squeezed shut, nibbling at both lips. Your heart shatters at the sight. For a moment, it feels like he’s the one that’s just been cheated on, not you. 

You take in a deep breath as you step into the dark bedroom. The floorboards creak beneath you, alerting Jimin of your presence. His keen sense of hearing. Like a hawk stalking its prey, Jimin’s gaze never falters as he watches, silently calculating your every move. Are you coming as a friend or a foe ready for more? 

Though uninvited, you settle onto the made bed next to him. You inhale deep through your nose. The faint scent of the lavender shower gel you used earlier still lingers in the air. 

“I’m sorry,” you start. You wait for a moment, giving Jimin the opportunity to say anything, but he lets you continue. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting towards you.” You shake your head. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Jimin. You didn’t deserve any of it. I—" You pause, rapidly blinking away unshed tears. Dammit, you’ve already cried so much tonight; you don’t feel like another headache.

Jimin grabs your open palm lying between you and gives your hand an encouraging squeeze. It gives you the strength to finish. “I shouldn't have been so snappy with you tonight, especially since you were just trying to help me.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “And I’m genuinely sorry for always dumping my bullshit relationship problems onto you. It’s not fair. I—I don’t know.”

 You shake your head, squeezing Jimin’s hand in return. “I just want you to know that I really, really do appreciate everything that you do for me. I know that I don’t show it enough, and I apologize for that.” A lone tear tickles your cheek as it trails down your face, soaking a tiny spot on your t-shirt. You wipe away the wetness with your free hand. “From the bottom of my heart, I love you, Jimin, so so much.” 

You don’t possess a way with words like Jimin does. That silent charm that wraps people in comfort, alleviating any and all of their worries. Your only hope is that Jimin can at least feel what you’re trying to convey.

“I love you too,” he whispers, his voice watery and thick. You don’t doubt a single word. “But that’s not why I’m upset.” Your brows knit together in confusion. 

Jimin looks off to the side, like he’s carefully contemplating what he’s trying to express. “I’m not upset with you for needing me, _____. I’d never be upset because of that. We lean on each other; we support each other. That's what makes us a team. There have been plenty of times when you’ve been there for me too. It’s what we do.” 

You shake your head. “I don’t...”

Jimin sighs, clenching his pants at the knee. What he wants to say sits at the tip of his tongue. His tone is firm when he declares, “Theo does not deserve you.”

You close your eyes as you nod your agreement. “I know that, Jimin.”

“But do you though? Seriously, _____. I don’t think you do.” 

"I do, Jimin. I know, I really do. I'm—"

 “Can’t you see that my heart is broken for you?" 

Any excuse you had ready for him dies right there in your throat. You blink your eyes open, and when you look at him, really look at him, it’s all you can see.

 It’s written in the way his shoulders slump with defeat. The way he fiddles with his fingers clasping and unclasping his hands. It’s in the way his chocolatey brown eyes, usually warm and inviting, are downcast and wet with unshed tears. In fact, you can barely keep his gaze because the emotion there is so intense. 

 “Throughout your entire relationship, I’ve watched you be there for him, constantly giving him your all until there is nothing left. And at the end of the day, what does he leave you with?”  

Your best friend doesn’t wait for you to answer.

Jimin scuffs, dark espresso eyes shiny with tears. “Agony. Insecurities that eat at you every day _____.” He clutches his shirt, right where his heart is. “It devastates me.”

Fuck, how could you have been so blind? So wrapped up in your own problems that you failed to notice how it was affecting Jimin. He has always felt so deeply. Of course, when you’re hurt, he hurts too. 

“Why do you love him?” 

Like a fish out of water, your mouth opens and shuts, only able to produce  stuttering breaths. 

The next question that comes from him is barely above a whisper. “Why can’t you leave him?”

"Because—" The word rushes out of you quicker than your mind could process it. Your eyes bulge as you slap your hands over your mouth.

“Because what?” He rushes, successfully tugging your hands away from your face. 

You pinch the frayed hem of your t-shirt. “Forget it, Jimin. It’s nothing.”

Your best friend shakes his head, his thick hair moving with him. “Don’t do that. Tell me. Please, _____.” 

  You try to fight it, you really do, because once you say it, there’s no going back. It’ll become real, and it won’t just belong to you anymore. It sits on the tip of your tongue, waiting for the perfect moment to break free. 

When Jimin calls your name, you look up to meet his gaze. His eyes are pleading with yours, filled with misery as they silently beg for an answer. “Please.”

Fuck it. If there’s anyone in this world you could spill your deepest secret to, it would without a doubt be Jimin. One of the few people on this world who you trust wholly.

“Because Jimin, if I leave him, then who’s going to love me?” 

It grows silent, as if your words shatter the tension in the air surrounding you.

To finally say it aloud feels like a major relief. A thousand-pound weight being lifted off of your shoulders. Consequently, at the same time, there’s a dreadful sinking feeling deep within you. A sick feeling that you've been trying to fight for too long. The admission was devastating but desperately needed. Maybe now, the journey to solving the root of this vulnerability can finally begin.

Jimin’s lips pull into a deep frown before he whispers your name. “Is that…really what you think? That you’re unloveable?”

If there was one thing Theo knew how to do well, it was keeping you humble. It started off subtle. A joke or two here and there, always defining him as the central point of your life. You’d laugh it off every time, never quite able to detect the subliminal honesty. For a while, it continued on like that, until it built into something blatant. 

It didn’t take long for you to actually start believing that. No other man in their right mind would want a woman so damaged by their own insecurities. You thought that he truly was the sole person that you could rely on. Thankfully, Jimin was always there to prove him wrong at least a little. But, as far as romance went, forget it. There was no one better for you than him. 

You chuckle solemnly. “No one is going to put up with me, Jimin." 

Your best friend sighs. He lets go of your hand, standing from the bed. For a moment, you think he’s ready for another fight. But you don’t have it in you to argue again. Much to your surprise, he gets down on one knee and then both, kneeling down in front of you. 

 A startled gasp sneaks through your lips. “Uh, Mini?” you whisper, slightly panicked.

Jimin grasps both of your hands in his. He licks his bottom lip, and your eyes follow the pink of his tongue. “Let me,” he whispers, a determined look in his eyes. 

You blink dazedly at him. “What?”

“Let me love you." He confirms exactly what you thought he said. “Just for tonight.” 

You sputter, pulling back slightly, though you don’t let go of his hands. “Jimin, that’s not—" You shake your head. “Do you know what you’re asking? Where’s this even coming from?”

Jimin chortles, rubbing the backs of your hands with his thumbs. "It's always been there. From the moment we met, I knew I wanted you. But at that time, I was in no place to be in a relationship.” 

You arch a brow. “And now you are?”

“Shut up." Jimin nudges your knee as you bite down on your bottom lip, suppressing your grin.

“I’m not asking for a relationship.” He then wiggles his eyebrows at you when he says, “At least not right now anyway.” 

Jimin squeaks when you dig your socked toe into the meat of his thigh. He grips your foot in his hand, restricting you from delivering anymore nudges. 

“Be serious,” you chide, even though the smile on your lips has spread wider. “Are you… really into me?”

Jimin grins, his pretty teeth on full display. “In more ways than one. All I need is one night. One night to give you what you truly deserve. Let me love you how you should’ve been a long time ago.”

The thrill that bubbles up inside you is dangerous. It’s a foreign feeling, one that you don't recall ever experiencing before. But, oh, it is so welcomed. Then, a sudden wave of realization halts your excitement. A major bump in the road. 

Your boyfriend.

You almost don’t want to say it, afraid that it might ruin the exhilaration in the air. The question comes out strained with a touch of hesitancy. “What about Theo?” 

But Jimin shrugs like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. “What about him? He’s had his fun.” 

Jimin lets go of your hands, and you frown at the loss of contact. It’s short-lived, however, when his firm grip takes hold of the backs of your legs, making you gasp. 

His breath hitches at the sound of your satisfaction when he caresses you there, thumbs working overtime to unknot your tense muscles. You sigh, relaxing under his touch. Slowly, as if time isn’t of the essence, he runs his hands all the way down your legs until his fingertips reach the heels of your feet. At the same leisurely pace, he drags his digits up until they brush over your inner things, bunching up the thin material of your basketball shorts. 

 “Isn’t it time you have a little of your own?”

You have to consider Jimin’s words carefully. There’s so much at stake if you agree. For one, your friendship with Jimin will never be the same. Though you suppose, he kind of set that in motion already with his little impromptu love confession. 

The greatest damage done will be to your relationship. No matter how you try to spin it, sleeping with Jimin tonight will make you a cheater, betraying your boyfriend in the same way that has left you with a sizable hole in your heart. 

Won’t that just make you a hypocrite in the end? Did you even have that kind of promiscuity in you?

Apparently it lied dormant inside you, because as quickly as the doubt comes, it dissipates. Just like that, your mind rationalizes the decision. 

What’s the harm in indulging for just one night? After all, it’ll be with your best friend, someone you’ve known for years and trust with your life. Not with some random man you met at some sketchy club or bar.

 If Theo can do it, why can’t you?

Instead of using words to respond, you let your body do the talking. With ease, you wrap your legs around his middle, pulling your best friend forward. Jimin lets out a surprised huff as he collides with your front, his face mere centimeters from your braless breasts. The surprise on his face is quickly replaced with enthusiasm as he admires the pillowy mounds displayed casually in front of him. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, and with as much courage as you could muster, you simply request, “Show me.” 

The grin that breaks out on Jimin’s face is infectious. A manifestation of pure joy. Thinking back as hard as you can, you can’t remember a recent time when you’ve seen him look so happy. 

He takes your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, hooded gaze flickering from your eyes then to your mouth and back to your eyes again. His thumb sits there for a moment, caressing your skin as his eyes scan across your face in a way that you could only describe as admiring. When he seems fulfilled enough, Jimin tilts your face down, guiding you towards him, and you let your eyes flutter shut. As the anticipation builds, your heart hammers beneath your ribcage. You can practically hear the thumping in your ears. 

But then there’s a pause so pregnant that it has you blinking your eyes open in confusion. If you weren’t nervous before, you certainly were now. Did you do something wrong?

You pull back slightly, just enough so that you can see Jimin’s face. Your best friend looks slightly hesitant. A gleam of uncertainty shines in his brown orbs, like he can’t believe you actually said yes. 

“Jimin,” you urge, the tenderness in your voice easing his nerves, and you try your hardest to ignore yours. “Kiss me, please.” 

The blonde man doesn’t need any further encouragement. Jimin closes the small gap between you, slotting his mouth together with yours. 

This is not the first time you and Jimin have kissed. That was years ago, back in your freshman year of college in your tiny dorm room after too many shots of illegally purchased Fireball. Surprisingly, even with your heavily intoxicated mind, you remember that day like it happened yesterday. The way you could barely keep yourselves upright, your bodies feeling too heavy and sluggish. Or how you both giggled and bantered throughout the entire ordeal, the alcohol refusing to let you take it seriously. 

You just don’t remember it feeling so damn good.

Jimin’s lips are soft when they press to yours, coated in a thin layer of chapstick. He takes his time when he kisses you like he’s always wanted to. Every peck, brush, and pressure was deliberate. Slow and searing. He needed to savor the moment, afraid of what he might miss if he went too fast. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been kissed like this before. 

With an unprecedented eagerness, you welcome the taste of him, a faint raspberry with a hint of mint. His favorite herbal tea. The same kind he always made for you after a taxing night. The plush feel of his lips has you humming in satisfaction, legs squeezing tighter around his middle. Jimin grunts, fingertips gripping the soft flesh of your thighs. 

Together, your lips work in near-perfect harmony, trading almost silent gasps and breathless sighs between each other. Noting what you liked, what you loved, and what you could probably do without. 

Jimin presses into you firmer, the hand holding your chin coming up to cradle the back of your neck. He licks at your bottom lip, begging for entry that you so graciously grant, letting your mouth fall open wider. The wet muscle of his tongue glides expertly over yours, and your nipples perk beneath your t-shirt. With every breath you take, the sensitive buds press harder into your best friend’s chest. 

Jimin's free hand grips your hip to pull you impossibly closer. A shudder wracks your body when your covered center unexpectedly meets the solid muscle hidden under his shirt. The corners of his lips twitch upwards into a smirk, clearly enjoying the evident effect he has on you.

"Damn." Jimin pulls back with a wet smack, gasping for breath. Brain foggy from the kiss, you chase his mouth with yours, craving the feel of him back on you. Jimin waits until you’re close, and then he pulls back. The groan you emit signifies your displeasure, letting your mouth fall into a frown.

He giggles at your enthusiasm, and he shakes his head naughtily at you. You lick your lips as you watch him with what you’re sure are hungry eyes. 

Jimin reaches a hand behind him, gripping the collar of his shirt. With a quick tug, he pulls the garment over and off, tossing it somewhere on the floor behind him. 

You lean back on your hands, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. The mattress sinks under your palms with the weight. Unabashedly, you take in the sight of your best friend, scanning over the muscled, toned lines that define his body. An appreciative hum tumbles past your lips, and you nod your approval. 

Has your best friend always been so ripped? 

Jimin chuckles at your reaction. A quick brush of his fingers pushes his thick bangs off of his forehead, leaving his blemish-free skin on full display.

“Like what you see?” He asks breathily, even though he already knows the answer. Under the basketball shorts, his fingers trail up and down the sides of your bare thighs. The ticklish sensation makes you tremble just slightly. 

“Mm, not too bad." You feign nonchalance and shrug, eyeballing the necklace adorning his thick neck. You can’t wait to have the shiny silver dangling over your face when he fuc—

“Ow!” You yelp when Jimin pinches the skin there, not enough to leave a mark but just enough for you to feel it. 

He pulls you in close again, your foreheads nearly touching. “Watch yourself,” he warns in a firm whisper, thumb caressing the tender spot. His warm breath hits your chin with every word. “Or you won’t get to have any fun later.” 

His words, the tone he used with you, almost sounded…mean? But for some strange reason it doesn’t alarm you. In fact, it might’ve even turned you on a little if the wet patch forming in your panties was anything to go by. 

Jimin captures you in another passionate kiss, this one more dynamic than the first. He wastes no time slipping his tongue back in, licking and sucking his presence in your mouth. A gentle hand cradles the back of your head, pulling you in close and keeping you there. You keep up as best as you can, mirroring his actions with your own. You may not be as experienced as Jimin, but the way he was gripping every part of you—your shirt, the back of your neck, and your hands—desperate to keep you close reassures you that you were doing just fine. 

Every brush of his lips, flick of his tongue, and airy whine from his mouth smothered by yours makes you dizzier by the second. 

When you both pull back, lungs burning from your lack of oxygen, breathy pants fill the warm, quiet air. You were virtually frozen earlier, but the bedroom has grown far too hot now. 

“Fuck,” Jimin groans. He smiles unbelievably to himself, shaking his head. “There’s so much I want to do with you tonight.” Like a bobble head, you nod in certain agreement. He then captures your eyes in a heated gaze, the hunger in his eyes undeniable. He licks at his kiss-swollen lips, and your eyes follow every movement. 

“Can I take care of you? Will you let me, baby?”

“Yes, yes, please.” 

Jimin’s chuckle sends a delighted shiver down your spine. Taking the hem, he frees you from the confines of your t-shirt, pulling the fabric off of you with ease. When he tosses it, it lands somewhere on the bed behind you. 

Your nipples stand firm and proud, already pebbled from your heated kiss with Jimin. He practically salivates at the sight of them, running the wet muscle of his mouth back and forth over his plump bottom lip. You know that he’s always been a boobs man, but the fact that your boobs were the cause of his content had a bit of pride swelling in your chest. It feels incredible to be wanted so unabashedly.

Jimin reaches up, his hand hovering over your left breast. “May I?” He asks, eyes flickering up to gauge your reaction. 

You swallow down your anticipation. “If you don’t, I feel like I might explode.”

Jimin hums, and his smile is sincere. “We can’t have that now, can we?"

You sigh, breath stuttering when he strokes his thumb over your erect nipple. With his other hand, he cups your right breast. Heavy and squishy, it fills his left palm, your stiff bud grazing his skin. When he squeezes your boob, gentle and cautious, your thighs squeeze together in response, the dull ache between your legs becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore. 

“Beautiful,” Jimin whispers, pinching the hardened peak with his thumb and pointer finger. You don’t say anything; you can’t say anything with how hard you’re biting down on your bottom lip. Your best friend leans down to pepper a trail of kisses across the plane of your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He then flattens his tongue, licking a stripe between the valley of your breasts, and blows on the wet skin. You cradle the back of his head, tangling your fingers in the blonde locks. 

“Oh!” you gasp when he engulfs your nipple with the wet warmth of his mouth, reflexively tugging at his hair. Jimin groans from the action, the vibrations from his delight traveling from your nipple straight down to your cunt. His tongue flicks in rapid successions over your nipple before circling your areola. In his other hand, he rolls and tugs your right nipple, still pinched between his fingers. 

The simultaneous assaults on your sensitive buds have your head reeling. The discomfort between your thighs was no longer dull but immense. Your pussy flutters around nothing, steadily soaking your panties with arousal.

“Jimin,” you mewl, eyes slamming shut when his teeth graze just barely over your stiff peak. When he sucks, the pressure creates stars beneath your eyelids. Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp, eyebrows pinching together. It makes your spine arch, further thrusting your chest into his mouth.

Your breast bounces back into place when he releases your nipple from his mouth. Every quick breath from his mouth cast over your stiff peak, chilling the wet, heated skin. 

You take a moment to catch your breath, but as soon as you inhale, the air is knocked from your lungs again when he sucks the skin of your left breast into his eager mouth. Pleasure explodes over your breast as Jimin marks you with his love bite. Satisfied with his work, he kisses the prominent bruise before he sucks your left nipple into his mouth, giving it the same attention as he did the first. 

Squirming under his keen affection, your hips jut forward to collide with his abs. It offers a brief smidge of relief, but not nearly enough. The ache emitting from your center was absolutely unbearable. Trapped behind too many layers of clothing, your clit was begging to be rubbed. 

You loosen your grip on the comforter, snaking your hand between your bodies down toward your wetness. Just as your fingers breach the waistband of your shorts, Jimin captures your wrist in his hand before interlocking his fingers with yours. You cry out in frustration, and you feel Jimin smirk around a mouthful of your tit. When he releases your nipple with a wet pop, a thin string of his saliva connects you.

It continues on like that for what feels to you like forever. Jimin ravages your breasts, alternating between your nipples, licking, sucking, and nibbling to his heart’s content. Hickeys now litter your chest, a bold yet beautiful display of his insatiable desire. You won’t dare to wear any low-cut top or dress for at least a week. By the end, your cunt is still untouched and practically weeping, confined by your soaked panties and basketball shorts.

When Jimin is finally satisfied, he releases your tit, and your chest is wracked with heaving breaths. He leans forward to peck you once on the lips and then once more. “Lie back,” he whispers against your lips, a hand on your shoulder guiding you to lay flat on his bed. You follow his command, maneuvering so that you’re in a comfortable position on his bed. You’re not quite sure what to do with your hands, letting them rest on your stomach. 

Jimin hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts, tugging them past the thickness of your thighs then down the rest of your legs. On the floor, they drop in a heap in front of him. 

A sharp intake of breath comes from Jimin, and you prop yourself up on your elbows. Your best friend, still on his knees before you, is face to face with your panty-clad pussy. That sinful tongue of his makes another appearance, and you make a mental note to buy him a new chapstick later. 

When he whistles appreciatively, your body flushes. “Damn,” he mutters, a finger tracing down your slit. The wet fabric sticks uncomfortably to your skin, molding itself to the shape of your slick folds.

 “You’re soaked, baby.” Jimin leans down to plant a firm kiss on your lips, and when he realigns himself, there's a slight sheen coating his mouth. 

“Jimin,” you whine, coated with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. He’s got you leaking like a fucking waterfall, and all he’s done was play with your tits. 

“Okay, okay,” Jimin chuckles, finally removing your panties from your hips. The dampened fabric joins your bottoms on the floor. You shudder, wet skin greeted by the warm bedroom air. 

 “Hush your whining.” 

Without warning, he licks a slow, broad stripe up your slit, stopping just below your needy clit. Along the way, he collects your juices on his tongue, savoring the heady taste. A strangled moan escapes you as your head falls back between your shoulders. 

Jimin groans from the sheer taste of you, his eyes fluttering shut. His tastebuds are trembling with delight. You’re more delectable than he could have ever imagined. He’s positive he can never eat another pussy ever again; he doesn’t want to eat another pussy ever again. Your juices have saturated his tongue, forever claiming his mouth as yours. 

Jimin grips the meat of your thighs, pushing them up to your chest to allow himself a clear shot at your pussy. You hook your hands underneath your knees, keeping the position he put you in. It gives you the perfect view to watch Jimin feast on your weeping sex.

His smirk is dangerous when he purrs, “Hold on tight, pretty.” 

He wastes no time burying himself between your thighs, moaning when your essence graces his tongue again. You cry out, toes curling when the thick muscle flicks over your winking entrance. 

“Oh fuck, fuck!” Your eyes flutter shut, rolling behind your closed eyelids. 

His mouth works diligently against you, his wet tongue heavy as it drags over and then through your folds, further soaking your wetness with his saliva. The sound of it is vulgar, reminiscent of someone mixing a larger bowl of mac and cheese. It makes you gasp, body heated in a blush. 

"Yes, Jimin," you shiver, elbows going shaky beneath you. Your fingers grip where you hold your shaky legs up for him, crescent moon shapes indenting your skin. Jimin hums, sucking your labia into his heated mouth. Your hips buck once, twice, and he releases them with a wet pop. 

You fall back against the plush bed, arms weakened by the immense pleasure. Your hips have a mind of their own, canting forward chasing the euphoric feeling of his mouth, and he so graciously gives it to you. Your breathing is shattered. Shaky moans and excitable squeals tumble past your parted lips, echoing off the walls of his once quiet bedroom. 

Jimin flattens his tongue, shaking his head from side to side. His mop of fair hair, gone messy from your tugging, tickles your inner thighs with the movement. He eats your pussy like a man starved. Like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have on this Earth. Even when his face is stuffed in your heat, his senses completely overtaken by the smell, feel, and taste of you, he can’t fucking get enough. He doesn’t think he ever will.

Every flutter of your empty walls sends another syrupy gush of your arousal, soaking his face and the bedsheets beneath you. You can hardly breathe as Jimin drinks you up, taking everything you give him, his lips greedy when it slurps at your leaky opening. 

It's so messy and so fucking wet.

When Jimin pulls away, his mouth and chin are shiny with his efforts. He sighs  contentedly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, panting like he’s the one getting the best head of his life instead of you. He breathes, “You’re so juicy, baby.” 

Hypnotized by you, he delves back in, effortlessly parting your folds with his soaked tongue, licking up and down, up and around, but never where you need him the most. Where your ache is the most ferocious.

“Jimin,” you practically sob, heart hammering in your chest. Unshed tears have begun to collect at your waterline. God, it was good, so fucking good, but you might die if he doesn’t get his mouth on your clit soon. 

“Please, I-I need,” but you break off into a choked whine when his nose bumps your clit, the only bit of stimulation it’s gotten all night. 

Jimin detaches from your pussy with a wet pop. Hooded eyes glance up to meet yours. There's a hint of a smirk on his lips. The corners of his mouth lifted just barely. He was clearly enjoying the torture he was putting you through. 

“What was that, baby?” 

"My," you plead, voice watery and thick. “I need, my-you..." You hesitate, cheeks burning with what you want to say but can’t quite bring yourself to do it. 

Jimin steals the words right from your throat. “You need me to suck that pretty, little clit?” 

You swallow thickly, nodding before you can respond. “I need it.” You watch as Jimin’s jaw ticks and the grip he has on your hips goes tighter.

 “Say it." There's a tilt in his voice that’s unfamiliar to you. You can’t quite put your finger on it. 

Your eyes bulge. It's humorous how quickly the fog clears from your brain. “What?”

“I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you need.” 

“Jimin,” you whine, kicking your leg in frustration. Your body heats as it floods with embarrassment. “Are you serious?” 

Jimin smiles wickedly, pearly whites on full display. “Say it, _____. Or we stop right here.” 

“I uh, I need you to..."

There’s an amused glint in his eyes when he lifts his eyebrows, watching for you to continue. He plans a kiss at your inner thigh in encouragement. 

Your inhale is deep, pride tossed out of the window when you plead, “I need you to suck my clit, Jimin."

When he sees the desperation in your eyes, deep espresso connecting with yours over the plane of your quivering stomach, he loses it. You sob when his mouth engulfs your needy bud wholly. Your fingers scramble, letting go of our legs to tangle in his blonde strands, pulling tight. Jimin groans, and the vibrations shoot straight through your clit to the very tips of your toes. He holds you down himself, pinning your thighs to your chest, rendering you helpless to his merciless suction. 

The tip of his tongue circles your clit, quick and firm. “God yes!” You moan when his lips wrap tight around your swollen bud to suck incessantly. Back arching from the bed, toes curling in the open air, tears finally leak from the corners of your eyes, trailing down your temples. 

When he slips his finger in and then another, knuckle-deep, your slick walls grip him up instantly. They pulse around the slim digits, drawing him in deeper. He didn’t even need to move; the pressure alone sent you over the edge, crashing headfirst into euphoria. 

When you cum, it’s not shrill and elegant like those well-produced pornos you’ve watched before. It’s deep and guttural as it blossoms from the pit of your stomach until it rattles through you, seizing your body. Your muscles tighten, thighs quivering around his head as he delivers wave after pleasurable wave with his soaked tongue and fingers. 

And Jimin loves every second of it.

He doesn’t let up, even after you’ve cum. It’s not until you’re whining, pushing weakly at his head, that he takes mercy on you, pulling away after one final kiss to your spent pussy. 

Vision still teary, you blink up at the ceiling, lying there in disbelief and panting as you try to catch your breath. Reaching a hand up, you wipe away the tiny beads of sweat that have collected at your hairline. 

Below you hear Jimin finally rise from the floor, but you make no attempt to get up, still spent from your amazing orgasm. There’s some rummaging, the sound of clothes hitting the ground, and then the bed dips with Jimin’s weight. He clambers over to you, covering your body with his. You welcome his added heat, arms weakly coming up to wrap themselves around his neck.

He smiles down at you, eyes flickering all across your face, soaking in your post-orgasm haze. His touch is gentle when he brushes stray hair away from your sweaty forehead. 

“Hey you,” he greets, leaning down to give you an Eskimo kiss. 

You trace a finger down the slope of his jaw down to his chin before you cradle his cheek in your palm. “Hey yourself." You smile back, voice slightly hoarse. 

“How are you feeling?” 

You swallow, licking at the dryness on your lips. Your grin is sincere when you say, “I feel amazing. You’re really good at that, you know.” 

Jimin giggles, interlocking his fingers with yours to kiss the back of your hand. With his thumb he strokes the skin. 

“Thank you, Jimin.” 

Your best friend leans down to capture you in a gentle kiss. Your tongue darts out to swipe across his lip, dipping inside to taste yourself on his tongue. You pull away, satisfied and a little breathless.

 “Of course. It’s what you deserve.”

You hum, tracing a finger from his sternum down to the ridges that make up his abs. He shivers under your feather-light touch. “Do I maybe deserve a little something else?” You tilt your head to meet his gaze. 

Jimin raises his eyebrows at you. A playful gleam in his eyes. “A little something like?” He trails off.

You hold his eye contact, and with your free hand, you reach down between his legs to take hold of his stiffened member. Jimin gasps, shutting his eyes tight. He’s heavy in your palm, his skin smooth and warm to the touch. He must’ve been hard for quite some time

“Yeah,” Jimin nods, breath knocked from his lungs when you squeeze the base of his cock. “I think that can be arranged.”

You hum, working your hand over his stiff rod. He grunts when your strokes come faster, his freehand fisting the sheets beside him. “Just like that, pretty,” he encourages, and you do exactly as you’re told. 

You soak in how beautiful he looks in ecstasy. The way his thick brows pinch with every stroke. How his plush lips fall open, unleashing sounds just as pretty as he is. Delicate yet husky. Your favorite part is the way his stomach muscles quake with the effort of holding himself up. 

“Fuck, baby,” Jimin moans as your wrist flicks upwards, from base to head. 

When you glide your fingers across his reddened tip, your digits slicking with his precum, a hand claps over your wrist, restricting your movements. 

His eyes bore into yours, his voice strained when he breathes, “If you don’t stop, I’ll come, and I don’t want to yet. Not until I’m inside you.”

You shiver, exhilaration rattling your bones. “Then, what are you waiting for?” 

You allow Jimin to position your body until you’re lying on your side. When he assures you that you're comfortable, he comes up behind you, slotting his chest to your back. You lean into him, comforted by the feel of his own heart thrumming in his chest. Nerves and excitement are coursing through his veins as well, anticipating what is to come. Your senses heighten at the feel of his hard cock nestled between your ass cheeks.

He leans in to kiss the plump of your cheek before reaching behind himself to retrieve a condom from inside his nightstand. 

You stop him, a quick, gentle hand on his thigh. “Can you… I want you to fuck me raw.” 

A muttered curse from behind makes you grin. “_____, are you sure?” 

You nod, thighs rubbing together, the heat between your legs intensifying at the mere thought. “I want to feel all of you. Is that okay?” 

“Fuck, yeah, that’s okay." Jimin doesn’t need much convincing to agree. He just needs to get inside you quick. His hand slides from your hip to your thigh, cupping underneath your knee to prop your leg up and open enough.

 “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, cockhead sliding through your slippery folds to nudge at your needy clit.

You gasp, reaching a hand up to tangle in the hair on the back of his head. “I’m fine, Mini." You roll your hips back, seeking more of that delicious pressure on your pearl. Your teeth clench in a hiss when he bumps it again. “Just please fuck me.”

You watch, eyes eager as Jimin slides in without much resistance, filling you up to the brim. It knocks the air from your lungs. He’s so incredibly thick, thicker than any other dick you’ve taken before. It feels like he’s splitting you open in the best way possible. 

Jimin groans, engulfed by your soaked warmth. His body flushes, one hand fisting the bedsheets, the other with a vice grip on your hip. Quick short pants slip past his mouth to coat the shell of your ear.

You spread your legs wider, the propped one coming to hook behind his thigh. Somehow, it slips him deeper into your flooded canal, leaving you both crying out. 

“Holy shit, Jimin,” you breathe, as your walls pulse around him, adjusting to his sheer girth.

Jimin’s chuckle is breathy, full of disbelief. He pecks your shoulder before resting his forehead there. He’s thinking exactly what you are.

Why does it feel so fucking good?

 “I know, baby.” He gives an experimental thrust of his hips that has your eyes rolling, his hips pressed flush against your ass. “So fucking good,” he murmurs in your ear, and a delighted shiver journeys down your curved spine. 

The pace he sets is maddeningly slow, nothing like what you’re used to. Languid rolls of his hips that stuff you full before leaving you just about empty, only to fill you right back up again. You can hardly breathe through the feel of him, gasping for air every time he presses back in. Jimin moves from your shoulder, attaching his lips to the juncture in your neck, licking and sucking. It leaves you with marks so fierce you have no idea how you’ll cover them later.

“Jimin,” you whine when the pace gets to you. A pressure that builds and builds but never fully erupts. 

Looking back, you capture him in a lust-filled gaze. "Fuck me faster, baby, please.” 

Jimin grunts, his brows furrowing when he picks up his pace, his hips meeting your ass cheeks with resounding smacks. They’re enough to fill the bedroom and bring a warm hue to your cheeks. 

The noises spilling from your cunt are just as lewd. Roaring slickening when he glides in and out. Messy when it soaks his cock in your transparent juices, dripping down your thighs onto the bedsheets below. 

Jimin tweaks your stiff nipples with his thumb before pinching them between his fingers, rolling and tugging. The pain, sharp and temporary, makes you jerk, toes curling tight. 

“Shit!” you wail, fist pounding the bed. “Just like that baby.”

"S'good, pretty?” he whispers, choked up with his own pleasure. 

You don’t respond; you can’t respond with the way the pounds into your dripping heat. He wraps you in his firm hold, his arm coming to sling across your chest. The extra leverage he needed to pull you back, forcing you to meet his deliciously deep thrusts. 

The force of his fucking rocks the bed beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall. You’ve definitely got to write Mr. and Mrs. Welles an apology letter tomorrow. 

There is nothing you can do except take it, helpless to his powerful pumps. Like a ragdoll, you lie limp, taking everything he gives you. The heat in your lower tummy swells, your pussy squeezing around his heavy cock. “Close,” you choke, your mind fuzzy and delirious. 

Jimin gasps as he thrusts upwards one last time, filling you to the hilt before he pulls out completely with a wet pop. He leaves you empty, clenching around nothing, the heat in your belly subsiding. 

Your eyes fly open, complaints ready to fly past your lips, but Jimin stops you. 

“Hands and knees,” he pants as he palms your ass cheek. "Want to fuck you from behind.”

Any rebuttals you had ready die right there on your tongue. You prop yourself up on all fours, limbs slightly wobbly, and arch your spine in a way you know will make the light-haired man crazy. 

You feel Jimin position himself behind you. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you wiggle your ass, swaying from side to side to tease him a little. 

Your yelp is shrill when his palm collides with your right cheek, flinching at the feeling.

Jimin hums, marveling at the ripples it creates. “Behave,” he tsks as he palms the sore area and you lick your abused lips. 

He groans as he feeds his cock to your pussy. Your walls greedily accept him with a filthy-sounding squelch. When he’s all the way in, he steadies himself, with both hands on your hips. His huff grazes the skin of your back. “How are you still so fucking tight?” 

You sigh, dropping your head forward between your shoulders. He holds you in his palms, caressing your fleshy hips.  

He wastes no time in setting a brutal pace, fucking you faster and harder than before. You scramble, hands finding purchase on the bedsheets, but each roll of his hips sends your body forward and back, tugging the sheets loose from the mattress corners. 

"God, yes,” you groan, body trembling with delight. He pounds into you, the flesh of your ass smacking his thighs and lower stomach with every thrust. Its roaring and filthy.

Jimin is just as, if not more vocal than you, whining, groaning, and gasping every time he stuffs you full. It sets your body alight to know he’s just as affected as you are. 

He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, and your spine bows deeper than before. "Oh, fu—," you try, but you can’t even get the words out as he plunges into you. Rhythmic and precise.

It doesn’t take much until you’re drawing near again and you know you’re close when the fluttery warmth in the pit of your stomach returns, your pussy squeezing Jimin tight. 

He cries out, falling over to cover your sweaty back with his front. “M’ not gonna last,” he whimpers, rocking forward, body trembling with the efforts of his pumping.

He fucks you like that. His body is glued to your back, constant rolls of his hips that slide him deeper and deeper. His tip nudges incessantly at your front wall, gliding repeatedly over that spongy spot. The spot that has you seeing stars.

When Jimin feels you tighten up around him, he snakes his hand under your body to circle your swollen bundle of nerves. Like magic, the added pressure is just what you need to reach your peak. 

The coil, pulled taut in your tummy, snaps, and euphoria pulses through your veins, hot and rapid. Your mouth falls open, eyes squeezing shut as you gush around his cock. A strangled wail that you’re not even sure came from you resounds in the room, but you can barely hear it past the blood rushing in your ears. Falling face-first into the mattress, your muscles seize as your body is overtaken by the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Through it all, Jimin's hips never let up, and you flutter around him, creaming his thick cock. The ferocity of your orgasm triggers his own. Jimim ruts once, twice, and then he comes with a breathy sigh that sounds something like your name, painting your quivering walls with his hot seed.

────˚‧୨ᰔ୧‧˚────

It’s early when Jimin comes to the next morning. He can tell by the lack of sunlight beaming through his cracked window blinds, covering his bedroom in a barely there glow. 

He smacks his lips tiredly, muscles achy with exertion making their presence known, and in an instant, memories of last night come flooding back to him.

 Picking you up outside of that restaurant. The sight of you ripped his heart to pieces. Standing there alone in the cold, looking so vulnerable, clinging on to what little sanity you had left. You looked so heartbroken but yet so beautiful. Always so beautiful. 

Or later on, when he confessed his love for you. An undying ache that’s been tugging at his heart after all these years of being your friend, your best friend. A title he doesn’t take lightly. Not because he was in love with you, but because he loved you. Every part of you, your mind, your heart, and soul.

 How you didn’t turn him away, accepting his affection and embracing it wholly. There was so much love he had to give, so much time he needed to make up for after all these years lost. 

Jimin turns his head, and there you lie, a beautiful smile on your face directed at him. His heart stutters in his chest. 

“Good morning,” you greet, your tongue peeking out to wet your lips. 

Jimin rolls over on his side, readjusting on his pillow. “Morning,” he grins, all teeth. “How’d you sleep?”

You inhale deep, your smile never leaving your pretty lips. Your gaze is still slightly hazy with sleep when you look at him. There’s a gentle glow surrounding you, radiating utter bliss. Happy and carefree. It’s been so long since he’s seen you like this, too long.

“Mmm, I slept amazing, thanks to you.” You reach out to poke the solid planes of his stomach, hidden by the comforter. You yawn, hands coming up to rest under your head. “Though, I should rough you up for letting me fall asleep without my bonnet on. I just got my hair done.” 

Jimin snickers, scooting closer to you. He grabs hold of your hands, interlocking his fingers with yours. “I did try to wake you up, but considering it's been so long since you’ve been fucked to sleep, I figured you needed it." 

Your eyes widen, mouth curving up in disbelief. “Fuck you!”

Jimin shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Been there, done that.” 

You gasp, reaching over to smack his arms as you’re taken over by giggles. “Shut up, Jimin!” 

He laughs, dodging your harmless blows, and you don’t oppose when Jimin sits up, scooping you in his arms. Effortlessly, he plops you down over his lower stomach. When your giggles subside, you trace a finger over his chest, covering his skin with invisible doodles that only you can see.

“I uh..." you clear your throat. “I talked to Theo earlier." 

Jimin does his best to mask his apprehension. “Yeah?” He fingers the hem of his t-shirt you’re wearing, which basically belongs to you.

You nod. “He wanted to know where I went.” 

“Did you tell him?” 

“I did.” Jimin arches his brow when you smirk. You lean over to grab your phone from under the pillow. You tap the screen, turning the device on, and there’s a bright glow cast over your face. Swift fingers tap a few more times before you turn the screen to him. “I sent him this.”

Jimin squints at the brightly lit screen, but when his vision clears and he recognizes what you’re showing him, he gasps incredulously. 

On the screen is a picture of him and you, tangled together in his bed and obviously naked under the sheets. In the picture, Jimin is still fast asleep, eyes closed and his mouth slightly ajar. But you, on the other hand, are wide awake. In fact, you’re posing for the camera, two fingers up in a peace sign next to your face and your mouth pouted in “duck lips." On your skin, his love bites from last night are proudly displayed.

Below the picture, there’s a message from Theo that you have no plans to respond to. It included every curse word in the book, words that Jimin didn’t even know existed. 

You shrug, locking the phone, and tossing it aside. “I think it’s safe to say we’re done.” 

Jimin tosses his head back in a laugh. He shakes his head as he says your name. “You’re unbelievable!” 

“Noo, what’s unbelievable is that I stayed with him for so long," you counter, rolling your eyes. You grab both of his hands in yours. 

“Thank you,” you nod. “For staying by my side through all of this. And dealing with my stubbornness. I truly don’t know what I would do without you. I love you, Jimin.” 

Jimin’s grip is gentle when he grabs the back of your neck to pull you into his kiss. You gladly accept, cradling his face in your hands. 

When you pull away, you’re breathless. “I love you,” Jimin whispers on your lips. “So much.” 

You beam, sitting back on his muscley thighs. Your head tilts, however, when your clothed center comes in contact with something firm.

 “Are you…hard?” Your question is laced with amazement. 

Jimin groans, cheeks reddening in embarrassment when you laugh aloud. “I can’t help it; everything you do turns me on. You could literally breath and I’d be hard as a rock.” The heat between your legs makes a fierce return.

 “Hm, is that so?”

You hook your thumb in the waistband of your panties, ready to slide them down your legs. Jimin licks his lips as hunger clouds his pretty brown eyes. “You were so generous to me last night. Why don’t you sit back and let me take care of it, baby?"

And Jimin will certainly not say no to that.

[d2dayyoongi]

FOREVER VALENTINE

summary 𓂃⋆.˚ You’ve never believed in Valentine’s Day. But Park Jimin proves that love is less about the holiday and more about showing up — until one February night changes everything.

pairing 𓂃⋆.˚ park jimin x fem!reader (established relationship)

word count 𓂃⋆.˚ 2.5k

tags 𓂃⋆.˚ PURE FLUFF, established relationship, military enlistment, long distance, valentine’s day, soft jimin, romantic gestures, flowers as symbolism, proposal, engagement, slight emotional comfort, mutual devotion, happy ending

notes 𓂃⋆.˚ hi 🫶 this is my first ever post on this account and my first time writing in months, so i’m a little nervous sharing it. i’ve missed writing so much and tumblr felt like the right place to start again. i thought writing a fluffy jimin one-shot might help ease me back into the writing mindset + there is a criminally low amount of jimin fics on the app! anyway thank you for reading and being here ♡

You were never the type to circle Valentine’s Day on a calendar.

The holiday always felt performative to you. One designated day to celebrate love, as if affection were a limited-time offer. If you loved someone, you showed it constantly. On random Tuesdays or busy Thursdays. In words and actions, even in silence.

But this year, despite your long-standing cynicism, something was fluttering in your chest. A quiet anticipation you tried to ignore and failed.

You and Park Jimin had been together for four years now. Four years of stolen weekends between his packed schedules. Four years of private moments behind closed doors, hands intertwined beneath restaurant tables, dancing in your dim kitchen past midnight.

Eighteen months of those four years, however, had been spent apart.

Jimin’s enlistment had carved distance between you, but it hadn’t hollowed you out. If anything, it forced you both to become more deliberate. More intentional. Love had become something you practiced carefully instead of something you could reach for whenever you wanted.

Jimin called whenever he could, even if it was only for a few minutes. Sometimes you would catch yourself watching the clock, counting down to the small window when he might have access to his phone.

He told you about the exhaustion, the ache in his muscles, the strange quiet of military life. You told him about your job, about the café across from your building finally fixing its espresso machine, about how empty the apartment felt at night.

Before enlistment, Valentine’s Day had always been understated. Jimin knew you weren’t fond of grand gestures, so he never forced the day into something it wasn’t. A bouquet of red carnations waiting on the kitchen counter. A kiss pressed to your cheek while you tugged on your coat. A soft, “I love you,” murmured into your hair before you rushed out the door.

It had been simple.

It had been enough.

The first Valentine’s Day without him was 2024, only two months into his enlistment.

You’d thought the worst of the ache had passed. January had been heavy, yes, but survivable. You convinced yourself February 14th would feel like any other weekday.

It didn’t.

You woke up with the kind of longing that sat directly on your sternum. Not sharp enough to break you, but constant. Like a weight you carried from room to room. The city seemed louder that day. Every storefront window was flooded with red and pink. Couples walked too close together. Even the air felt syrupy with affection that wasn’t yours.

By the time you reached home that evening, your shoulders were tight from holding yourself together.

And then you saw it.

A bouquet resting against your door.

For a moment, you just stared, heart thudding.

Inside the flowers was a small folded note. Not his handwriting, but definitely his words.

“I know you think it’s just another day, but being away from you makes every day feel heavier. So let me have this one. I love you more than you know.”

You pressed the bouquet to your face and inhaled.

Red carnations.

As you stepped inside your apartment, closing the door gently behind you, your eyes stayed on the note. Your thumb traced the edge of the paper. Something in your chest shifted. It wasn’t just sadness anymore. It wasn’t just missing him.

It was being chosen.

Even from far away.

Valentine’s Day 2025 was more of the same.

And yet, not.

You woke up that morning already aware of the date before you even opened your eyes. The space beside you was still empty. The sheets were cool. The apartment was quiet in a way you had grown used to, but never quite befriended.

You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling.

It’s just a Friday, you told yourself. Go to work. Come home. Eat. Sleep.

But there it was. That buzz. That faint, electric hum beneath your ribs.

Hope.

You frowned at yourself.

Why are you like this?

You had always claimed Valentine’s Day was trivial. You had rolled your eyes at couples posting elaborate surprises online. You had teased Jimin during your first year together when he nervously showed up with flowers.

And yet, all day, your mind wandered.

Did he remember?

Of course he remembers. He always remembers.

But maybe this year he’s too busy. Maybe training is heavier. Maybe he can’t arrange anything.

You told yourself not to expect anything. Expectations were dangerous. They built fragile little ladders inside your chest that were too easy to kick away.

Still, every time your phone buzzed, your heart leapt.

By lunchtime, you caught yourself glancing toward the entrance of your office building as if a delivery driver might somehow appear there. You scoffed internally.

This is ridiculous. You’re acting like a teenager.

But the truth was, something had shifted in the last year.

Before enlistment, his flowers had been sweet. Thoughtful. Part of a rhythm you both understood.

After enlistment, they meant something else.

They were proof.

Proof that distance hadn’t diluted him. Proof that he was still reaching for you, even from a place you couldn’t follow.

By late afternoon, you had almost convinced yourself that nothing would be waiting for you. You walked home slower than usual, your breath visible in the cool air, your thoughts spiraling in quiet loops.

Don’t be disappointed. It’s fine if there’s nothing. He loves you. You know that.

You reached your apartment door.

Your hand hovered over the handle for half a second before your eyes drifted down.

And there they were.

Another bouquet.

Your breath caught so sharply it almost hurt.

Red carnations, deep and rich, wrapped neatly with a ribbon you recognized from the florist near your building. For a moment, you just stood there again, just like the year before, heart pounding so loudly it felt like the hallway might hear it.

He did it again.

Of course he did.

You crouched slightly to lift them, fingers brushing over the cool petals. Tucked carefully between the stems was another note.

This time the handwriting was unmistakably his. A little uneven, as if written quickly.

“I know you still think this day is overrated. But loving you isn’t. I can’t be there to hand these to you, so imagine I’m standing behind you right now, stealing a kiss before you even put your bag down. Thank you for waiting for me. I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

Your vision blurred instantly.

You let out a small, breathless laugh at yourself.

Why are you so emotional?

Because it wasn’t about the holiday.

It was about the effort. The constancy. The fact that even from inside barracks and rigid schedules, he was still finding ways to show up at your door.

You pressed the bouquet to your chest before unlocking the apartment, stepping inside with a softness you hadn’t felt all day.

The space didn’t feel as empty anymore.

For someone who claimed Valentine’s Day meant nothing, you couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through you now.

Maybe it wasn’t the holiday you loved.

Maybe it was the way he refused to let you pretend you didn’t deserve to be celebrated.

The first few weeks after discharge felt almost unreal, like the universe had made a clerical error and returned something far too precious without asking for collateral. You had relearned the weight of him in the apartment. The sound of the shower running while you made coffee. The way he hummed absentmindedly when he was choosing what to wear.

As the months went by you thought the ache of Valentine’s Day would disappear once he was back.

It didn’t disappear.

It transformed.

When February 14th crept closer in 2026, that familiar flutter returned. Not the heavy, hollow longing of the enlistment times. Something brighter. Warmer. Anticipatory.

And then he said it.

“Clear your evening,” Jimin told you one night in early February, casual but not quite casual enough. “I made a reservation.”

You blinked at him from across the couch.

“A reservation?”

“For Valentine’s Day.”

You stared.

For four years, Valentine’s Day had been red carnations on the counter. Kisses at the door. Private softness. Even before enlistment, he had never insisted on going out. He had always met you where you were, matching your low-key cynicism with gentle compromise.

Dinner out was… new.

Your heart did that small, traitorous leap. All week, you tried to pretend it wasn’t affecting you.

It was ridiculous how aware you were of the date approaching. You caught yourself standing in front of your closet longer than usual the night before, debating dresses. You even googled the restaurant he had booked, then immediately closed the tab as if you’d been caught doing something embarrassing.

Why are you nervous? It’s just dinner.

But it wasn’t just dinner.

For years, your Valentine’s routine had been carved in stone. Carnations. Simplicity. Intimacy at home.

This felt like he was turning a page.

The evening of the 14th arrived with a quiet kind of electricity.

When Jimin stepped out of the bedroom, you forgot how to breathe for a second.

He was dressed in black, long tailored coat draped over sharp trousers, everything clean and intentional. His hair fell softly around his face, that slightly longer, brushed-back style that made him look both delicate and devastating at the same time. Polished boots. Rings glinting faintly under the light.

He looked refined. Composed.

And then he smiled at you, and it was still him.

“You’re staring,” he murmured.

“You look…” You swallowed. “Unfair.”

He laughed, crossing the room to you, fingers grazing your waist in a touch that was meant to be there.

“Look who’s talking.” he gave you a once over, before pulling you closer.

At the restaurant, the lighting was low and golden. Intimate. Perfect.

Jimin was attentive in a way that made your pulse hum. His hand found yours across the table. He watched you when you spoke, not distracted, not checking anything, just… present.

“Why do I feel like I’m being evaluated?” you joked halfway through dinner.

“I’m just looking at my girl,” he said simply.

The answer was too steady to be teasing.

Halfway through dessert, just as you were pretending not to notice how strangely composed he’d been all evening, he shifted in his seat.

You barely registered the movement at first.

Until he reached beneath the table.

When he came back up, he was holding them carefully, almost reverently.

Red carnations. Like always.

Not an extravagant bouquet. Not something dramatic. Just a small, elegant arrangement wrapped in cream paper and tied with ribbon.

He set them gently in the center of the table.

Your breath hitched.

“Jimin…” Your voice softened without your permission. “You didn’t have to.”

He followed your gaze down to the flowers, then back up to you. His expression was warm, steady. Certain.

“I always do.”

The words were simple. Not grand. Not theatrical.

But the way he said them made your throat tighten.

“But you got us this reservation,” you insisted quietly. “This is more than enough.”

A small smile curved his lips. Not teasing. Not smug. Just fond.

“Enough?” he repeated, like he was testing the word.

He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting against the table, fingers brushing yours where they hovered near the dessert plate.

“I would do anything for you.”

Something in your chest pulled tight, almost painfully so. Because you knew he meant it. You could see it in his eyes, the way they twinkled in the soft restaurant light, watching you like you are his whole world.

“Don’t say that so easily,” you murmured, trying to lighten the weight of it.

He tilted his head slightly. “Why?”

“Because it makes me feel…” You exhaled softly, struggling for the word. “Small. Like I could never match that.”

His hand tightened around yours immediately.

“You don’t have to match it,” he said, voice firm in a way that stilled you. “You’ve already given me so much.”

You blinked at him.

“You waited,” he continued quietly. “You stayed. You loved me when it wasn’t easy.”

The restaurant around you faded into a blur of muted conversation and clinking glasses. It felt like the two of you were sitting inside a glass bubble, suspended.

“You don’t have to earn what I give you,” he added, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I give it because I want to. Because I love you.”

Your eyes burned.

You looked down at the flowers again. The same flowers. Every year. Even when he wasn’t there.

The tradition had started as something small.

Now it felt like a promise.

And somewhere beneath the tenderness of that moment, beneath the steady hum of the restaurant lights and the faint scent of the flowers between you, you felt it.

The shift.

Like the air itself was holding its breath.

After dinner, he suggested a short walk. The night air was cool but gentle, the city quieter than usual. He led you a few blocks away to a small terrace overlooking the river, lights shimmering against dark water.

You turned to say something.

He wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked certain.

“Y/n,” he began, voice softer than the night around you, “I used to think Valentine’s Day was about proving your love to someone. Big gestures. Loud statements.”

You watched him carefully, heart beginning to race.

“But since I met you and these last two years… it wasn’t about the day. It was about you waiting. It was about you choosing me, even when I wasn’t here.”

Your throat tightened.

He stepped closer.

“Being away from you, y/n, made me realise I don’t want to spend another Valentine’s Day sending flowers to your door from somewhere else.” His hand slid into his coat pocket. “Hell, I don’t want to spend any other day without you either.”

Your pulse roared in your ears.

“I want to be there. Every year. Every day. By your side.”

When he dropped to one knee, the world didn’t explode. There were no fireworks. No sudden swell of music.

It felt quiet.

Sacred.

He opened the small box, and the ring caught the city lights like it had been waiting for this exact moment.

“You’ve been my home,” he said, voice unsteady for the first time that evening. “Even when I couldn’t come back to you. So, please, let me stay. Y/n, will you marry me?”

For a second, your mind emptied completely.

You thought of 2024, standing in a hallway with carnations in your arms. Of 2025, hoping and anticipating a handwritten note. Of the way your apartment felt different once he came back. Like safety. Like warmth. Like home.

You thought of how you had once called this holiday pointless.

And yet here you were, trembling.

“Yes,” you breathed.

Then louder, through tears you didn’t bother stopping, “Yes.”

The ring slid onto your finger perfectly.

He stood, cupping your face, forehead pressing to yours as both of you laughed in disbelief.

“Still think it’s just another day?” he murmured pulling your face closer to his, grazing his lips against yours.

You smiled, fingers tangling in the lapel of his coat.

“No,” you whispered. “I think you just ruined that argument forever.”

And then you kissed him under the city lights.

[wwilloww]

point of no return | PJM

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Smut. Fluff. Friends to lovers. Roommates AU.

WC: 10.2k

Summary: Both Jimin and you are determined to never act on the feelings you hold for one another. Instead, you’d rather shove it down, somewhere deep, dark, and inaccessible. So what do you get when you mix a broken furnace, an old victorian home, a little bit of jealousy in the club, and a need to keep warm together? A mess.

Warnings & Tags: Cursing. Reader is really freakin cold. Jimin sleeps in the nude. Spooning. Grinding. Obscene daydreaming about your best friend.  Sex dreams. Mentions of alcohol. Dancing. Jimin is a little jealous. Masterbation. Unexpected visual. Super soft makeout. Fingering. Orgasm denial. Sex. Slight power play. Creampie.  

AN: Oof! Finally! A Jimin fic! Thank you to @thatlongspringnight for guiding me through the last 6k of this fic, all written in one day and for being the most brilliant, queen of queens level beta reader. A big thanks to @triviasapphic too, for letting me use their likeness! 

This is very loosely based on this ask beautifully submitted by the loveliest @jinpanman for the milestone request party! 

©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

Seguir leyendo

[glossdebut]

second nature | MYG

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ REQUEST: Grumpy/sassy Yoongi x sunshine or mischievous reader. He’s grumpy with everyone but super soft with reader! Reader loves to push his buttons, and mess with him. She starts to feel insecure that maybe Yoongi doesn’t feel the same way with her and so she starts to distance herself from him and it’s killing himmmm!! He yearns for her so bad and is so terrified that he will lose her 😝You can make it however seems fitting or comfortable to write for you!!

✧ TAGS: aqua’s first grumpy x sunshine dynamic, friends to lovers, light angst, fluff

✧ WARNINGS: some miscommunication and resulting angst but i promise it’s light!

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: this request was sent in with proof of donation to an organization giving aid to palestine! i’m so sorry that this took me so long 😭 i’ve never written a “sunshine” MC before, so it took me a while to figure out where i wanted to go with it! i hope it doesn’t disappoint <3 thank you @rottingbedpost for giving this a little read-through before i posted

✧ WORDCOUNT: 2.5k words

From the outside, Min Yoongi is a difficult read.

He isn’t rude—of course not! But he can come off kind of cold to people who don’t know him well. Quiet. A nod instead of a greeting, a grunt instead of a full sentence. You’ve seen him go hours without saying more than ten words.

But anyone who actually bothers to pay attention can see that Yoongi isn’t actually cold. 

He remembers birthdays without prompting. He holds doors open for strangers and lets ajummas cut ahead of him in lines. He helps his friends carry groceries, pays the bar tab, never asks for credit. Never expects thanks. Never lingers long enough to accept praise if it’s offered. He does the kindest, most thoughtful things you’ve ever seen as if it comes as naturally to him as breathing.

He’s just… guarded. Reserved. Selective.

The complete opposite of you, really. It was clear from the moment you met, years ago. He was quiet where you were talkative, steady where you were restless, soft-spoken where you were loud and brash. It should’ve made you incompatible.

You were the one who broke the ice.

You inserted yourself into his life, infiltrated his friend group in order to wear him down. And once you were in, you got away with so much. You’d wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind when he was minding his own business, or ruffle his hair just to hear his whiny “hajimaaaaa!” You called him things like “Yoongi-boongi” just to see the exasperation in his face.

He never mirrored your loud affection, not exactly, but you learned to notice the ways he gave it back. He’d bring you a drink before you even asked, always exactly the way you liked it. He’d tilt his phone toward you when he found a meme he knew would make you laugh. He’d save the best pieces of meat at dinner and fill your plate without making eye contact.

You’d lie awake sometimes, replaying the smallest moments. You wondered if it was intentional. If he liked your attention. If he liked you.

Because, god, you definitely liked him. He pulled you in without even trying. You were addicted to his voice even though you barely got to hear it. You’d catch yourself staring when he did the most mundane things—stretching his arms overhead with a groan, fiddling with his rings, frowning at his phone, pursing his lips in thought.

It felt like you were walking around with a secret scrawled across your forehead. You knew you were being obvious, but you couldn’t help the way you always found a reason to be near him.

You hoped it wasn’t one-sided. That the pull you felt toward him was mutual.

And then Park Jimin had to open his big fucking mouth.

It happened a few weeks ago. The whole group’s schedules aligned for once, miraculously, so you got together for dinner. You were crammed into the corner of the booth, pressed up against Yoongi’s side—thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, using every excuse to touch him. You weren’t even thinking about it, though. Being in his space had just become second nature. He never pulled away, so why would you stop?

But maybe you were being more touchy than usual, because Jimin leaned across the table, chin resting on palm like a cartoon villain.

“Are you two finally a thing, or what?” he teased.

The whole table burst into laughter. 

“Finally?” Taehyung chimed in, speaking around a mouthful of rice. “I thought they were already dating! Look at how they’re clinging to each other!”

“Yoongi-hyung, blink twice if you need help,” Jungkook joked, reaching for his drink.

Seokjin made kissing noises. Someone else banged on the table. It wasn’t cruel. Group outings were always like this—loud and chaotic, everyone talking over each other at once, ribbing each other harmlessly. It was all in good fun. The kind of thing that came with years of friendship. You knew that. You did.

But Yoongi—he didn’t say anything.

He didn’t complain, or whine, or make a joke, or even look at you at all. He just shifted slightly in the booth to create a small but sudden gap between you. And then he picked up his chopsticks again and went back to eating like nothing had happened.

The entire right side of your body went cold where his body no longer touched yours.

You tried to shake it off. You forced yourself to laugh with everyone else, pretended your stomach didn’t drop. You told yourself not to read too much into it. Maybe he was just uncomfortable being the center of attention. Maybe he just didn’t know how to react.

But it was too late. Your thoughts were already racing with what his reaction could possibly mean.

What if he didn’t like you back? What if he didn’t actually like you at all, even as a friend? What if he was just too polite, or too passive, or too indifferent, to tell you how he really felt? What if he had tolerated you clinging to him like a shadow, but now, faced with the possibility that people might see it for what it was, couldn’t put distance between you fast enough?

So you started giving him space.

You didn’t bring it up. You were too embarrassed, too afraid that if you said the words out loud, they’d confirm the thing you didn’t want to be true. Instead, you just stopped reaching for him.

You didn’t lean against his side, or loop your arm through his when you walked together, or ruffle his hair. In fact, the next few times people got together, you didn’t even get close enough to do any of those things. You gravitated toward the opposite side of the room and filled your time with other people. 

And Yoongi didn’t say anything.

Still hasn’t, actually. Weeks have gone by.

Now, it’s your birthday. 

You love your birthday. You’re the type who starts counting down the days weeks in advance, dropping subtle (and not-so-subtle) hints into conversation. The type to plan your outfit and choose your nail color to match the theme. You live for the attention, for the excuse to celebrate yourself, for the way your friends always go out of their way to make it feel like your day. You should be buzzing with excitement right now—bouncing off the walls, playlist blasting while you get ready, taking selfies in the mirror at every step of the process.

And you’re trying. Sort of. You did your makeup nice. You’re wearing an outfit you feel pretty in. Everything should feel perfect.

But… all you can think about is how for every other thing, Yoongi would be here. Even if it was usually by force.

He never liked going out, and you knew that. But that never stopped you from calling him up anyway—whining, wheedling, telling him to stop being such an old man and come play. And he never complained, not really, when you demanded he be your driver-slash-bodyguard-slash-shoulder-to-lean-on whenever you went out. 

He’d show up. Every time. He’d keep an eye on your drink, grumble about the music, but let you drag him onto the dance floor for one song if you begged.

But this year? Nothing. No texts. No calls. No Yoongi. Not since you stonewalled him.

You sigh, stepping back and eyeing yourself critically. You look good. You do. You just don’t feel good. It’s like you’re playing dress-up in someone else’s night. Like you’re on the outside looking in.

Everyone else is already on their way to the club, so you might as well get going. You’ll dance with your friends, drown your thoughts in tequila, and maybe you’ll end up having a happy birthday anyway.

You slip on your jacket, grab your purse, and head outside.

You’re halfway down the front steps, heels clicking against concrete, when the glow from a pair of headlights cuts across the sidewalk. 

You don’t think anything of it. At a passing glance, the car doesn’t match the description of the rideshare you ordered. It’s not the silver sedan that’s supposed to arrive in ten minutes. 

But then you get a good look at it.

Is that… Yoongi’s car? What the fuck?

The engine shuts off and the door swings open. Yoongi steps out fast. He looks frayed at the seams, like he had barely made the decision to be here before his foot was on the gas.

“Can we talk?”

You blink, genuinely stunned. “Uh. Hi? What are you doing here?”

“I saw the groupchat,” he explains, walking up until he’s standing at the bottom of the steps. “I figured you were getting ready to head out.”

“I’m waiting on an Uber,” you say, waving your phone in your hand. “It’s supposed to be here in a few minutes, so—”

“Cancel it,” he interrupts.

Your brows draw together. “What?”

His hands rake through his hair. “Just—fuck. Please cancel it,” he says. “You always ride with me. I’m your designated driver, right? That’s our thing.”

You stare at him, heart pounding. “I—”

“Except for this time. This time, you didn’t even text me. You haven’t texted me, or talked to me, or even acknowledged my existence in weeks.”

Your fingers curl tightly around your phone. The streetlight casts a soft glow across Yoongi’s face, catching the tension in his jaw, the hesitation in his eyes.

“And I—” He shakes his head. “I’ve been trying to be cool about it. I thought maybe you were busy. Or stressed. But I’m going kind of crazy, okay? I don’t know what I did.”

You swallow hard. “You didn’t do anything, Yoongi.”

“Then why the hell are you icing me out?”

“I’m not,” you lie, shifting awkwardly on your feet. “It just… It seemed like you needed space, okay? That night, when Jimin made that joke about us… dating. It felt like you were uncomfortable. Like I made you uncomfortable.”

Yoongi stares at you, stunned. “What? No.”

“Yoongi, come on. Can you blame me for thinking that?” you ask, cheeks burning with embarrassment at the memory. “You moved away like I was, like, diseased or something.”

“I was embarrassed,” he says, his voice laced with panic. “It caught me off guard. I panicked, okay? Everyone was looking at me, joking about something I hadn’t even—” He cuts himself off and rubs at the back of his neck. “Shit, Y/N, can you cancel the fucking car so I can explain?”

You hesitate, then unlock your phone with shaking fingers. Your phone pings quietly as the ride disappears from your screen. 

You look up. “Okay,” you say. “Go ahead.”

“Y/N, I don’t want space from you,” he says. “Ever. That’s not—god. It’s never been what I wanted.”

He gestures helplessly, like the words are fighting him on the way out. “You’re so—loud. And annoying. And a pain in my ass. You talk too much. You touch everything. Did you know you have, like, zero sense of personal space? Seriously, you’re even worse than Taehyung.”

“Wow. Thanks—”

“I’m not done,” he interrupts, taking a step closer. “You’re also funny. And smart. And impossible to ignore. You make every room better just by walking into it. You drive me crazy. And you’re my favorite person in the world.”

You stop breathing. 

“The guys give me shit about it all the time. Tell me I get this stupid look on my face whenever you’re around. Jimin calls it my ‘Y/N’s here’ expression. I want to hit him every time he says it, but he’s not wrong.”

You swallow around the lump forming in your throat and try to compose yourself a little. Here he is, saying all the things you’ve been waiting to hear for years now, but you’re still licking your wounds from that night. It’s a little hard to believe that he’s changed his tune, just like that. Just from a bit of distance.

“You don’t have to say this just to make me feel better, okay?” you say, crossing your arms over yourself protectively. “I’m a big girl, Yoongi. I don’t need your pity.”

“No—fuck, I thought you knew,” he insists. “Jesus, Y/N. I love you. Okay? I thought you could tell. I love the way you talk over movies, and how you snort when you laugh, and how you touch all my shit without asking. I’ve been in love with you for so long, but I didn’t think you felt the same way. I thought maybe if I just kept it to myself, it would go away. But it didn’t. It got worse. And I couldn’t—I couldn’t let you go out tonight without telling you.”

Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

He takes another step. He’s so close you can feel the heat of him now, the familiar smell of his cologne dizzying you.

“And also,” he adds softly, “happy birthday. You look beautiful. I missed you—”

You kiss him.

It’s clumsy at first. Your purse bumps between your bodies, your hands fist in the front of his shirt, and Yoongi exhales his surprise against your mouth, like the breath’s been knocked out of him. 

But then you both get your bearings, and suddenly it deepens.

One of his hands slides up your back, curling gently around the back of your neck. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you in until there’s no space left between your bodies. Your lips part slightly, and he follows your lead, both of you growing more certain with every passing second. The heat of him spreads through you, fingertips warm against your skin, thumb brushing your jaw while you kiss each other breathless.

When you finally pull back, your lips tingling, Yoongi stares at you. His eyes are wide and dark, pupils blown.

“I love you, too,” you say, as if you didn’t just prove it with your mouth on his.

He licks his lips. “Oh.”

You track the movement of his tongue, dazed. “Yeah.”

Your hands are still on his chest, his shirt bunched up and wrinkled under your fingers. You stand there on your front stoop, holding each other under the soft wash of streetlights like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

“So,” you murmur, “do you wanna drive me to this stupid thing?”

Yoongi blinks.

“You know,” you go on, voice lilting but eyes searching. “Designated driver duties. You can watch me do birthday shots, hold my purse while I dance, hold my hair if I throw up.”

He laughs under his breath. “You make it sound so tempting.”

You smile. “Or…” you continue, softer now, “do you wanna, um… come upstairs?”

Yoongi goes still.

“Upstairs,” he echoes, like he’s testing the word on his tongue.

You nod. “You don’t have to,” you add, uncharacteristically nervous. “Whatever you want.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Thinking. Processing. And you let him, because you’ve learned by now that Yoongi doesn’t rush. He doesn’t blurt. He considers everything. Weighs it. Chooses his words carefully.

Which is why your breath catches when he looks you in the eye and says, with full certainty:

“I want to come upstairs.”

Your heart flips.

“Okay,” you say, a little breathless. “Okay. Then let’s go upstairs.”

You take his hand, and together, you climb the stairs of your building, fingers interlocked.

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