starry eyes sparking up my darkest night

18+ a moonchild among her stars

[curryshesus]

jeon jungkook fics that had me going feral

hi guys, here's a part 2 to my favorite jjk fics on tumblr! note that many of these fics contain 18+ content. you are responsible for the content you consume! as always, if you enjoyed any of these fics as much as i did, please take a moment to send some love to the authors! part 1 | other bts members

➺ cold nights & blurred lines - by @awrkive

summary: jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.

➺ night crawlers - by @alphabetboyluvr

summary: jungkook’s always been good at running. track, field, red lights, shit outta luck. drugs, now, too. but he doesn’t expect to run into you. in your shared lecture halls, sure. maybe. but not down the back alleys of daerim at ass o’clock in the morning. there are only three types of women he ever sees in daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. you aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. he's sure of it. so it then further begs the question: why the fuck are you here?

➺ this is how you fall in love - by @jeonqkooks

summary: after years of drinking and clubbing most days of the week and leaving every gig with a different girl on his arm, jungkook feels what it’s like to want someone with his entire being.

➺ the dilf installments - by @mercurygguk

summary: this series follows jungkook’s life as a divorced father. but wait, how exactly does one balance being a father, a boyfriend, a friend, and a respectable boss at the same time? read the installments below to find out!

➺ ultimatum - by @parkmuse

summary: your pervy, idiotic boyfriend just so happens to also be your friendly neighborhood Spider-man (in bed).

➺ a hero's journey - by @hansolmates

summary: jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story

➺ tempest - by @kooktrash

summary: you’ve always considered your life to be more mundane than you would like to admit. it was a constant cycle of the same things over and over again that when you meet jeon jungkook at a bar, of all places, you didn’t expect to see just how much he would change your life and those around you. he’s got an air of mystery around him with his charming good looks and a violent past that you slowly begun to unravel when it feels like everything is going perfect.

➺ by its cover - by @gimmesumsuga

summary: the one where Jungkook makes a horrifically bad first impression.

➺ slow dancing - by @yoonia

summary: when your countdown appeared on your wrist right in the morning of your eighteenth birthday, you had thought that perhaps the universe was on your side, especially since the final seconds were already ticking so soon. You just never expected to have your first meeting with your soulmate to be the day when you had to let him go. But hope was not lost when you still found love without the bond, and Jungkook showed you that it was possible to find happiness beyond the system that was written for you. Except that the universe doesn’t seem to have enough of its game, when your past sacrifice comes back hitting you straight in the face, just when you had believed that you had written off the perfect ending to your bittersweet tale.

➺ e s p r e s s o - by @joonberriess

➺ hold me closer - by @ahundredtimesover

summary: when you're asked to look after your parents' house and meet them before they go on vacation, you, Jimin, and Jungkook take the trip to your hometown of Busan and relive memories of your youth. While your new relationship has you feeling like a lovesick teenager with all the affection that Jungkook shows you, you're still you - a professional trying to make it in the corporate world, and an eldest child trying not to disappoint her parents. And that turns out to be your undoing, as a little blunder causes a rift between you and Jungkook, resulting in a trip that you might as well have messed up… Not if your brother can help it, though.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Elemental (M) Pt. 2

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Second Chance Romance / Modern Fantasy

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader (she/her)

Synopsis: Fear has never been a foreign concept to you. Your entire life has been shaped by the knowledge that you’re different, and fear of the stigma which might follow discovery. Although fire, earth, air and water Elementals have been public for decades, the fear-mongering around your kind hasn’t changed; something you have intimate knowledge of, having experienced it firsthand. Since then, you’ve done your best to hide your water powers. This is for your own safety, as your mom likes to say.

Safety flies out the window though, when you fall in love. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just any love, either, he’s the love. The person who makes you feel as though your darkest corners deserve to be seen. Unable to control your magic around him, you find yourself faced with a horrible fact: you need to break up.

A plan which proves difficult when Jungkook simply refuses to go. And maybe, just maybe, you find the constraints placed on yourself don’t make sense anymore.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: death of a parent (past), some emotional abuse

NSFW Warnings: oral (woman and man), multiple orgasms (woman), fingering, hand job, face-riding, sex outdoors (in a secluded, private area), very slight ass-play, breast play

Word Count: 15,200 (32,487 total)

Author's Note: Unfortunately, the new Tumblr text editor doesn't allow for more than 1,000 paragraphs per post. THIS IS PART 2. Please read Part 1 of Elemental here. Please, please, please reblog both if possible! In my experience, engagement tends to be worse when split into two parts.

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

WARNING: this is the second part of this fic. Please read part 1 here.

It’s around midnight when the front door opens. Startled, you pull from your reverie and lower your paintbrush.

The canvas is darker than before. Colors and feelings entwine, creating a contrast against the light background. Exhaling, you sit back on the stool to examine. Pride fills your lungs despite the half-finished state. It’s good, but not great and that’s okay.

Only a few days prior, you would have been too scared to start. Afraid of the worst, you couldn’t release the barest hint of magic. You feared that, once begun, it would be hard to pull back. Now, you consider the opposite. Maybe by containing yourself, you exacerbated the problem.

A throat clears from the hallway, a mirror to a prior memory.

Whirling around, you nearly knock over the canvas. Seokjin’s eyes widen, though you steady the painting fast. Glancing over your shoulder, you notice Seokjin seems tired. Heavy shadows line the skin beneath his eyes.

“Painting again?” he muses.

Slowly, you nod. “Starting to.”

Pushing himself off the door, Seokjin comes closer. “I like it,” he declares. “You’ve always been great, but this… this feels more honest.”

Following his gaze, you attempt to see the work from his perspective. You suppose that he’s right, but don’t have time to dissect why that would be.

“What’s up?” you ask, turning back again. “You were out late.”

Seokjin pauses, considering. “Yeah. Decided to answer a call myself. Laundromat over on 8th – you know it?”

Immediately, you stiffen. That was your laundromat from earlier; the one you flooded and now, you’re entirely too conscious of having left your hamper at the front door.

Seokjin lifts an eyebrow.

Last year, his parents retired, bequeathing to him a magical consulting business. He employs mainly Elementals, contracting them to clean up situations. Sometimes said situations are caused by Elementals and other times, they’re natural. For example, a fire Elemental could be called to heat a building without power in a snowstorm.

Or possibly, one might request an air Elemental to dry out a flood.

“I know that place,” you say at last. “What happened?”

“Couple of pipes burst. Flooded the lower level. Most of the water had drained by the time I got there, but they needed help drying equipment.”

You deflate a little. “Oh. Glad you could help.”

“Mhm.” Seokjin tilts his head. “Your ex-boyfriend was there.”

“Oh?” you manage to squeak.

“Yup.” He pops the p. “Until I saw him, I assumed it was an accident. But then your ex-boyfriend was there, and I came here and saw your laundry by our door. Is there something you wanted to tell me, Y/N?”

“Ugh,” you groan, covering your face with both hands. “Fine, yes – it was me. I had to use a different laundromat, but then Jungkook showed up and we fought and I just – lost control. I was going to fix this,” you insist, lowering your hands. “As soon as I could figure out how, but then there were sirens and I –”

“Whoa, Y/N – whoa.” Crossing the room, Seokjin grabs a chair to sit backwards. “I’m not blaming you, to be clear. Everyone loses control of their powers occasionally. Hell, if I had a nickel for every person I wind-shoved into a door.”

You blink. “That’s uh, oddly specific.”

“And true.” His smile is rueful. “Listen. I want to know if you did it because I want to make sure you’re alright. No other reason.”

Some of your tension drains. “Oh. That’s… nice of you.”

He looks at you strangely. “That’s what friends do, Y/N. They help each other. What, did you think I’d turn you in or something?”

Your lack of response must be obvious since Seokjin goes unnaturally quiet. Having it said out loud sounds silly but yes, that’s exactly what your mom raised you to think. Wreaking havoc of any kind – but especially magical – would always have consequences.

“Look.” Seokjin’s tone softens. “I know it’s scary. Our powers are strong and if we don’t control them, they tend to control us. But pretending magic doesn’t exist doesn’t make it disappear. It just means when things do happen, it’s unpredictable.”

“I don’t want this,” you sigh, the words spilling out. “I don’t want to always be scared, always terrified of losing control. I don’t want to hurt other people or push them away. Everything would be better if I were just normal.”

“Would it?” Seokjin muses. “In everything you just said, you never said you didn’t want magic.”

This leaves you silent since Seokjin is right.

In all your concern about hurting other people and wishing you weren’t afraid you’ve never once resented your magic itself. Sure, you want to be normal but normal for you means living without fear. Not living without magic.

“I… guess you’re right,” you murmur. “I hadn’t thought about that before.”

Seokjin nods. “I can’t even begin to imagine what it was like for you, growing up. It’s hard for non-Elementals to understand our powers. Especially when you’re a kid.”

“It was,” you admit, glancing down.

Even now, admitting this feels like a betrayal because your mom tried her best. But maybe sometimes, trying your best isn’t the same as being what you need. While the intentions were good, the damage continues to live with you to this day.

“Suppressing a piece of yourself is never the answer,” Seokjin adds.

Your jaw tightens. “That’s easy for you to say,” you say, looking up. “You have two wonderful parents who support you. Your magic comes to you second nature. You rarely seem bothered by anything, let alone by your power.”

Lowly, Seokjin laughs. Dark hair falls into his face, leaning forward. “In control?” he scoffs. “Y/N. Just because I’m easy-going doesn’t mean everything is all good in here,” he says, tapping the side of his head. “I’m bothered by a lot of things, and magic is never easy.”

“Oh, yeah?” you shoot back. “When’s the last time you lost control, then?”

“Last month,” he says, automatic. “I drove to my parents’ place, got stuck in traffic and someone rear-ended me. I was so mad I summoned wind and slammed them into the next lane of traffic. Luckily, they weren’t hurt. Badly.”

You stare at him, open-mouthed.

“There was also this time last year,” Seokjin adds, undeterred. “I had a shit day, went to a bar after work. I was drinking alone, and one guy was harassing every woman in the place. He wouldn’t leave this one person alone, and I snapped. Blew a door open into his face. Guy needed five stitches.”

“I… I didn’t know all that.”

“I don’t usually tell people.” Seokjin sits back, slightly amused. “Personal flaws are terrible conversation starters. Those weren’t even the most embarrassing,” he warns. “The first time I had sex, I came so hard I made a mini tornado in the house. It woke up her entire family, who kicked me out with no pants.”

You try – and fail – to keep your lips from twitching. “Seokjin, that’s… awful.”

He laughs. “I got better at controlling it, alright? Just like you will. The threat is always there though,” he warns, his smile diminishing. “It’s like how, when you’re mad, sometimes you feel this undeniable need to punch someone. Occasionally, the urge wins, and you do punch someone. Magic is just another instinct, like that.”

“An instinct,” you murmur, turning this over in your mind.

Your magic has always reacted to your strongest emotions. Times when you felt angry or sad or – your cheeks heat – ecstatic with joy. Like with Jungkook.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit softly. “I broke up with Jungkook, but that was a mistake. I love him. I want to be with him. But…”

“But you’re scared that you’ll hurt him.”

“Yeah.” You hesitate. “And I’m scared I’ll be hurt by him, if that makes sense.”

Seokjin nods. “It does. In college…” He pauses, as though debating whether to say the next part. “When I was in college, I had a girlfriend who didn’t know what I was. It was after the whole virginity-loss incident, and I was stubbornly pretending not to have magic.”

Your eyes widen. You didn’t know Seokjin went through a similar phase to you but then again, you suppose you don’t know much about him as an Elemental. Purposefully, you never wanted to open that door in case it led back to you.

“Pretending only works for so long, though.” His lips twist. “When I finally told her, she was scared. But… she promised me she loved me, and that we’d get through it.”

“What happened?”

“She started pulling away. Said she was busy studying and one night, I caught her making out with a friend. In some ways, it was a relief. But… I get what you mean.” Seokjin exhales. “Some people don’t want to understand, and you can’t make them.”

“I don’t think Jungkook is like that.”

“I don’t either.” Seokjin pauses. “He waited a long time at the laundromat, you know. He was there when I arrived, and he seemed… I don’t know. I asked all the standard questions, and when I asked if there was an Elemental, Jungkook was adamant there wasn’t. To the point where it seemed weird. Are you sure he doesn’t know what you are, Y/N?”

“I… don’t think so,” you say, your eyes wide. “Not unless he found out somehow. And if so, I don’t know why he wouldn’t tell me.”

Seokjin clucks his tongue. “I guess he could say the same about you.” Smiling slightly, he pushes himself to stand. “Anyways, I wanted to let you know what happened and say I’m here if you need anything.”

Nodding, you prepare to brush this off as usual when something gives you pause.

Before, denial would have been your go-to. Avoiding responsibility and telling yourself that next time, you’d do better. Next time, you’d be stronger, but ultimately, nothing would change. Maybe it’s time to admit that it doesn't work. To acknowledge that if you really want change, you must take the first step.

The problem with ignoring emotions is they don’t disappear. All they do is hide, biding their time until you’re at your weakest to pounce. You’re so tired of living with fear.

Tired of pushing others away and calling it selfless. Most of all, you’re tired of living without Jungkook.

“I’d like that,” you admit. “If you have any resources to recommend…?”

Seokjin stares at you, stunned. “God, yes,” he says, shaking his head. “Wow – I never thought this day would come. Okay, so, first things first, we need to get you in class. Other Elementals learn to control their magic. They’ll help with coping mechanisms, teach you to release your energy and channel emotions. Oh!” He straightens. “And you should really find a therapist who specializes in magic. I can give the name of mine, but that might be a conflict.”

“Whoa – whoa,” you laugh, holding up both hands. “All of this sounds good, but maybe one step at a time?”

“Noted.” Seokjin turns to leave. “Let’s talk more tomorrow. Whatever you need, Y/N – that’s what friends are for.”

Warmth fills your chest, and you manage a nod. That hasn’t necessarily been your experience but slowly, you’re beginning to trust what he says. What Jungkook said in the past, asking you to trust him.

Cleaning your brushes, you cover the half-finished art and follow Seokjin into the hall. Before long, you’re in your own bed, staring up at your ceiling. It’s difficult to sleep, multiple realizations from the day coursing through your mind.

Tonight, Seokjin provided more love than you ever had growing up. Well – he provided greater understanding. Although your mom loves you, her love turned to fear instead of the help you craved. Important, because you now understand how deeply your magic is ingrained.

It’s something you spent a long time ignoring. And though you know your mom loves you, she doesn’t love your magic – which means she doesn’t love all of you. This realization hurts more than you’d care to admit.

Turning into your pillow, you bury your face as the tears come. Sadness radiates from the same place inside you where there once was a dam. Uncertain, you reach out and brush this with your consciousness. After a moment of hesitation, you absorb it. The pain becomes part of you; not in a bad way, but in a way that’s new and unnerving.

Lifting your head, you tentatively reach out and gather the tears. They form a sphere in mid-air, crystalline and pure. Wide-eyed, you remember your father doing the same. Whenever you would cry, he’d save your tears in case you wanted them later. Facing and learning to use your emotion is important, he often said.

This memory urges the tears to fall harder, turning back to your pillow. When you finally drift into sleep, it feels as though a weight has been lifted from your chest. For once, you don’t feel divided against yourself. For once, you fall asleep without fear of what tomorrow might bring.

Saturday morning, you wake up earlier than normal. Groping for your phone on the bedside table, you blearily open a chat to Jungkook’s name. His last text was on Sunday and, after rereading this several times, you wearily lower your phone. Tossing aside your covers, you pad into your bathroom and brush your teeth.

Some things can’t be fixed overnight. You need to think before reapproaching Jungkook, to consider what to say so he’ll understand. Or maybe he won’t. The thought of this very real possibility makes your heart twist, though you ignore it the best you can to get dressed.

After breakfast, you bring your dishes to the sink and stare at the faucet. Before, you would have avoided anything to do with magic, but now…

With a deep breath, you reach inward and extend a tendril of magic. The water responds, slowly at first and then, all at once. The dishes begin washing themselves, lifting a sponge to get themselves soapy.

Seokjin wanders out of his room, bleary-eyed. Walking right past you, he plods to the coffee pot and grabs a new filter.

“If you break more of my dishes, you should just get me a new set,” he mumbles.

Grin widening, you finish the dishes and put them away by hand. It’s intoxicating to use magic and have nothing bad happen. You almost forgot what that felt like. A small step, but to you, it was once insurmountable. Knowing this grants the courage to make other decisions.

Dressing quickly for the day, you walk out of your bedroom. “Did I tell you I went into an art store on Thursday?” you ask Seokjin, seated at the kitchen table.

He yawns. “That’s nice.”

“They wanted me to teach an art class.”

Abruptly, he sets down his mug. “Wait, seriously?” Seokjin’s eyes widen. “You should do that!”

“I plan to. Well.” You hesitate. “I wasn’t going to, but now I am. I think I’ll head there this morning.”

Seokjin nods, although something uncertain drifts across his face. Toying with the edge of his mug, he seems to be thinking. Waiting for whatever comes next, you rummage through your purse for your phone.

At last, he exhales. “That’s good. But…”

“But?”

“I just… don’t want you to be discouraged if this takes a while, Y/N. Changing your entire outlook on magic won’t be easy.”

Your fingers pause, and slowly, you close your bag. “What do you mean?”

“I mean progress isn’t always linear.” Seokjin’s frown deepens. “You’re going to backslide. That’s kind of inevitable. Even the most talented Elemental has times when they slip. If – or should I say when – that happens, I don’t want you giving up.”

Seokjin’s utter sincerity lessens the sting of his words. You can see the truth in this logic, even if it scares you. Part of you continues to wish for a magic solution.

 “Thanks,” you respond. “I appreciate that, Seokjin.”

“Anytime.” He lifts his mug. “Now, go get that job so you can pay rent.”

“I knew you weren’t that generous,” you call as you leave the apartment.

Seokjin’s laughter is cut off by the elevator doors. Your walk to the train station is short, as is the train ride. Creative Courage is in the opposite direction of Jungkook’s apartment, but close enough that you can still smell the harbor as you walk.

Ascending the steps of the subway, it’s hard not to recall the first time you met Jungkook.

Three months ago, it was a muddled spring day. The type of day when the weather can’t make up its mind and a tank top or sweater might be equally needed. For once, the rain wasn’t your fault and you stood on the train platform, drenched at having been caught without an umbrella.

Jungkook stood on the opposite platform, parallel lines of train tracks between you. You were mostly alone – a situation which would typically put you on edge, but that day, it meant you noticed Jungkook sooner.

He stood near the edge, closer than you ever would. Giant, over-ear headphones rested over his head, which bobbed absent-mindedly to the beat. You had noticed him before that, nearly as soon as he cleared the turnstile.

Jungkook wore his hair longer then, pulled into a bun at the base of his head. His hands were chapped; he blew on them intermittently before stuffing them in his pockets. Cheeks red with cold, he glanced up and his gaze snagged upon yours.

Later, he said it felt as though the world stopped. You could corroborate. There was something about his gaze, intense and sincere, that robbed you of rational thought. A train roared between you, shaking the platforms and your stomach dropped.

By the time the train left, you assumed Jungkook would board, and the moment would end. Relegated to nothing more than a shared look between strangers. A what-if, not a has-been.

But then the train pulled away, and Jungkook remained. Lips parted, you stared while he jerked a single thumb over one shoulder. Eyes bright, Jungkook cupped both hands over his mouth.

“Want to get coffee?” he yelled across the tracks.

Uncertain who he was talking to, you glanced around and found the place empty. When you turned around, both eyebrows were raised. Already, you weren’t a spontaneous person and by now, you usually would have said no, but –

“Yes!” you called out. “Meet at the entrance?”

Jungkook nodded, his grin widening – if possible – as he spun around. You watched him sprint for the exit, taking the escalator two steps at a time. Ducking your head, you followed a similar route on your side of the tracks.

Riding the escalator, insecurities reared their ugly heads. What if you were mistaken about his intentions, what if you dropped something, or what if he wasn’t attractive as you remembered – but then, all this faded as he came into view.

The hour was dusk, with one or two street lamps penetrating the darkness. Jungkook emerged from his escalator, lit from behind, and some of your worries quieted. When he waved, slightly awkward, you couldn’t help but smile. Despite the multiple piercings, he somehow looked soft. He was also ridiculously, insanely beautiful and your hands itched to paint him.

Exiting the subway this morning, you attempt to refocus. It’ll do you no good to reminisce about Jungkook before Creative Courage. First, you get a job. Then, you learn to control your magic. Then you can beg for Jungkook’s forgiveness.

Maybe with some wiggle room in that order. Heading towards the art shop, you fish your phone from your pocket and scroll to his name. Stopping abruptly, you stare at Jungkook’s thread, bold with an unread text.

Your fingers hover a moment before pressing open.

Jungkook: I think you left one of your shirts at the laundromat. It was on the floor, I found it after you left [11:09 AM]

Clutching your phone tightly, you reread the message. Jungkook has a piece of your clothes. He has a piece of your clothes and is reaching out. Trying not to read too much into this, you text back.

Y/N: Oh, no! Thanks for grabbing. Can I stop by sometime to pick it up? [11:15 AM]

Y/N: I heard you ran into Seokjin at the laundromat [11:09 AM]

Wincing a little, you lower your phone. Your last text may be ill-advised, but you don’t want Jungkook to think that you’re hiding things.

Jungkook’s ellipses appear, then disappear several times before his next message.

Jungkook: yeah, he came in to fix things. Seemed to think an Elemental was involved [11:18 AM]

Frozen, you stare. Seokjin did say he asked Jungkook about there being an Elemental, but Jungkook had been adamant in his response to Seokjin. Did Jungkook… lie?

Skin prickling, you type your response. Not giving yourself time to second-guess, you press send and immediately head down the sidewalk.

Y/N: If an Elemental was involved, I guess Seokjin would be the person to call [11:22 AM]

Y/N: I’m on my way to a potential new job (do you know the art store, Creative Courage?) but I’m free later – I could stop by for the shirt? [11:22 AM]

Heading away from the harbor, you try to clear your head. Creative Courage is only a few blocks from the subway and once again, the bell tinkles when you step inside. This time, you aren’t surprised when Taryn pops out from behind the front counter.

“Oh!” Her eyes widen. “It’s you! Y/N, right?”

“That’s right.” You smile, side-stepping the door so as to not block the entrance. “Hi. I um, just wanted to stop by and see… well, I wanted to know if your offer still stands? To teach, that is.”

Beaming, Taryn claps both hands before her. “Oh my gosh, yes. I told Micah you’d be back! They were all like, ‘don’t get your hopes up,’ but I was like, ‘they’re already sky-high.’ And here you are!”

Your smile grows while she speaks, certain you made the right decision. Taryn looks nervous, which somehow serves to put you at ease.

“Anyways, come on in!” She steps aside, sweeping an arm over the room. “There aren’t any classes until the afternoon, so we can check out the space together. Maybe set up time for a demo. Oh, don’t worry,” she adds, noticing your look. “I know you’re amazing. This would be more about your teaching style. Understand the process, that type of thing.”

You nod. “I get it. That makes total sense.”

“Cool.” Taryn beams. “I’m just so excited.”

Showing you around, the two of you fall into easy conversation. Although you don’t have teaching experience, Taryn doesn’t seem worried. Everyone has a different learning style, she says. Students need free thinking instructors as much as structured.

At some point, Micah stops by to drop a kiss to her cheek. “Hey,” they say, noticing you for the first time. “I’m Micah. It’s nice to meet you – Y/N, right?”

Reaching out, you shake their hand. “Yes, that’s me.”

When you pull back, you blink at the streaks of dark grime on your skin.

“Micah!” Taryn gasps, noticing at the same time. “How many times have I said to use the special soap when you’re working with fire?”

Micah grimaces and turns. “I’m so sorry,” they say, wiping both hands on their apron. “Sometimes I get carried away in the workshop.”

“It’s totally fine.” You hesitate a moment before barreling on. “But I’m sorry – did I hear right? You were working with fire?”

Nodding, Micah drops their hands. They’re taller than both you and Taryn, with lithe muscles, short hair and a Power Puff t-shirt. They aren’t exactly what you pictured for a fire Elemental.

“Yeah,” they confirm. “I’m a fire Elemental. I use it a lot in my art – charcoal, and whatnot. Recently I’ve been getting into metal sculpture work.”

“Oh,” you say on an exhale. “That’s amazing. I’m a water Elemental, which explains all the watercolors.”

Micah’s eyes light up but before they can respond, Taryn lays a hand on their arm.

“Wash your hands first,” she insists and Micah laughs. Shaking their head, they leave, and Taryn turns to face you. “I didn’t know you were also an Elemental, Y/N! That’s so great. Maybe you and Micah can brainstorm a class someday. You know, an outlet for Elemental artists. How to use your magic creatively, or something.”

You stare, recognizing the genius in this and wondering why such a thing never occurred to you before. Magic has been second nature in art for so long – you never imagined it might be the same for others. Teaching Elementals to create with something they might fear fills you with a sense of hope.

You stay for a long time, chatting with both until Micah leaves to lead the afternoon class. Taryn eventually says goodbye as well, promising to be in touch to arrange your schedule. By the time you step outside, it’s close to dinner and you’re feeling better than you have in months. Good enough that, when your phone rings, you almost answer on reflex. Pulling from your pocket, you glance at the name and freeze.

Mom.

Feet rooted to the ground, you stare at her name and your happiness dims. Seokjin’s words come back, warning about a backslide. Less than twenty-four hours have passed since embracing your magic. You hoped for longer before confronting your mom.

Standing on the sidewalk, you deliberate long enough for the call to end. Slowly, you resume walking down the road. Without fully realizing why, you find yourself heading towards the harbor.

When your phone rings a second time, it somehow sounds urgent.

Mom.

Exhaling, you stop and press answer. “Hi, mom.”

“Y/N,” she breathes, her relief audible, and you’re suddenly saddled by guilt in addition to fear. “Thank goodness. I was about to call your roommate if you didn’t answer. Can’t be too careful these days, can you?”

You briefly close your eyes. “His name is Seokjin, mom. We talked about this.”

“Right, yes – of course. Seokjin. So, Y/N…” Her pause is weighted. “How are things?”

Resuming your course, the harbor comes into view. “They’ve been better, to be honest. I didn’t tell you everything earlier this week, mom. More happened than just losing my job.”

“Oh? What else happened? Are you okay, Y/N?”

“I – well, no,” you admit, correcting yourself. “I’m not okay. Jungkook and I broke up.”

Her silence is deafening, long enough that the sun slips behind a cloud, the water before you turning a blue-grey color.

“Oh, honey.” At last, she exhales. “I’m so sorry.”

Another pause follows, and your teeth grit while you wait for the ‘but.’ With your mom, there’s always a ‘but.’

“But… maybe it’s for the best?” she tentatively offers. “You remember your last break-up, don’t you? With that Elliot fellow. It was horrible and your magic, well – that’s not happening again, is it?”

Her voice is full of alarm, tightening your grip on your phone. The tingling in your chest spreads outward, waves in the harbor rising in tandem. One of them sloshes, haphazardly, over the pier.

“What are you asking me, mom?” you ask.

“Well, you remember how you… well, how your magic… after you broke up with Elliot, things didn’t go well. Did they, Y/N?”

“No, they didn’t, because I wasn’t well, mom.”

“Yes, of course, sweetheart. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not, though,” you say, each word pouring from a place long ignored. Squeezing your eyes shut, you finally release. “Do you know how much it hurt growing up when something bad happened and rather than be sad for me, you only cared about magic? If I’d lost control. If someone else was hurt. I was hurt, mom, and you never seemed to notice.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. “Of course, I noticed. Of course, I care that you’re hurt, Y/N. I just didn’t want things to get worse. That’s all.”

“Worse,” you say with a bitter laugh. “Mom. I broke up with my boyfriend and your response was that it was probably for the best. Do you want me to be alone?” you add, voicing aloud your worst fear. “It would be safer if I were, right?”

“Don’t twist my words, Y/N. Obviously, I want you to find someone and be happy. You have to admit though, you don’t have the best track record when it comes to romance!”

“So, that’s a yes.”

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” she asks, sounding annoyed. “If you asked me whether I’d like you safe and alone or with someone and hurt – obviously, I’d rather you were safe. If that makes me a bad mom, then so be it!”

Turning away, you shake your head. “I don’t think that makes you a bad mom. I’m just trying to understand what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking my daughter called to attack me out of nowhere! Everything I did when you were a child was to keep you safe. Those floods,” she adds, putting two and two together. “The ones in the city this week – they were you, weren’t they?”

“Yes, mom,” you snap, eyes flying open. “The floods were me. I broke up with Jungkook because I couldn’t control my magic and ironically enough, it only made me spiral further. I was so scared of hurting him, I ended things and hurt us both. You didn’t even ask why we ended, mom.”

“Where are you now, Y/N?” she demands.

Glancing around, wind whips your hair and storm clouds gather. You realize it was probably a bad idea to have this conversation so close to a large body of water.

“Near the harbor. I was leaving a job interview when you called. Oh,” you add, an aside. “I got a new job as an art teacher.”

“The harbor?” Your mom bypasses everything else. “That’s dangerous, Y/N – are there people around? You shouldn’t be talking about your magic in front of them. They could assume the wrong thing.”

“What, mom? That I’m an Elemental? Because I am one.”

“Y/N!”

“It’s the truth!” you blurt, a wave crashing over the pier. “I am an Elemental and I do have magic. You can’t keep pretending otherwise!”

“I know that, Y/N, but your magic doesn’t have to define you!”

“It kind of does.” Voice breaking, you take in the roiling sea. “It does define me. I’m an Elemental. I have magic, and I can’t change that fact. Pretending to be someone I’m not hasn’t worked.”

“I don’t want you to be someone you’re not, Y/N. I just want you to be safe.”

“You can’t protect me from everything.”

“No, I can’t.” Your mom’s next words are rushed. “Do you know how much that kills me? I couldn’t save your dad, and now, I can’t save you. No matter what I do, the world doesn’t care about who you are, only what you can do. I hid so much from you back then,” she adds. “Maybe that was wrong of me. Maybe you should have known about the casual threats from our neighbors. Teachers who wondered if you’d be better off home-schooled. People I thought were our friends ignoring you in public. You don’t remember what it was like, Y/N.”

The first raindrops on your face. “I’m sorry you went through that, mom. Really, I am.”

“I don’t want you to think I don’t love you, honey.”

“That’s not what I think.”

Even as you say this though, a knife twists in your chest. It’s a moment you could move past and reconcile. You could hang up, knowing you had a difficult conversation with your mom, and it ended happily.

Or you could tell her the rest. Or you could lay it all on the line and for once, not care that it might cause complicated feelings.

Overheard, the clouds darken. In the harbor, boats creak against lines holding them to the pier. You should try and control your magic but stubbornly, you don’t want to. You’ve spent so long repressing and pretending; once the dam breaks, it can’t be repaired as easily.

“I don’t think that,” you slowly admit. “But mom… I also don’t think you know who I am. My magic is a part of me. Being an Elemental is part of me. For so long, I’ve been afraid of part of myself and a lot of that came from you. Other people made it worse, but it started with you.”

Shocked silence follows. While you wait for a response, you cringe from the phone. Nausea swirls in your stomach, threatening to swallow you like ocean waves.

“I… that’s not fair,” your mom whispers at last. “That’s not fair at all, Y/N.”

Jaw tight, you look at the shore. “I didn’t say it was fair, I said that’s how I feel. What would dad say if he was here? He loved his magic. He always said to use magic for good, but I don’t know how to use it at all without hurting people! I don’t even know myself. That’s not what he would have wanted.”

“Who can know what he’d want?” your mom demands. “Your father is dead, Y/N. He’s gone, he can’t come back, and I raised you the best I could without him. Your entire life, I’ve tried to keep you safe, and I can’t believe you blame me for that.”

Reeling backwards, you stare at the waves. “Kept me safe at what cost, though? I have no idea how to use my magic, mom. I live in constant fear of hurting someone. Each day, I walk a razor’s edge and fall into bed, exhausted. How is that keeping me safe?”

Waves smash against the pier, higher than you’d like. Taking a step backwards, you avoid the water and turn inward. Everything inside you is churning – your anger, your guilt, the sudden injustice of all your mom’s words. Although you try and calm yourself, it only serves to add fuel to the fire.

“Don’t do that, Y/N,” your mom says.

“Do what?” you snap. “Tell the truth?”

“Don’t pretend I’m the villain,” she counters. “Are you even in control right now?”

Your anger surges, along with the waves. “Of course, not!” you blurt. “No, mom, I’m not in control. Seokjin recommended classes, but I haven’t had the chance to take them. I –”

“You should not be going to class for magic. It’s too dangerous!”

Mid-sentence, you realize something you should have known from the start. Your mom isn’t ready to have this conversation. No matter how cathartic it would be for you, she’s not going to be ready to hear this right now.

“I have to go, mom,” you say, choking a little. “Call me when you’re ready to talk.”

“Y/N. Don’t you dare hang up on me!”

“Bye, mom,” you whisper, and press end.

The phone rests in your hand, your entire body taut as you resist the sudden urge to throw it in the ocean. In this half-movement, you spot the horizon and shudder to a halt. Thunder booms up above, the waves roiling erratically with each lifted heartbeat.

Seokjin warned you this couldn’t be solved in an instant. You’re so used to suppressing your magic, you have no idea how to turn it off once it starts. Your laundromat realization feels ages away, your magic a force bigger and more powerful than you are.

Water swiftly withdraws from the pier, and you sigh in relief, only to realize it’s gathering. Going utterly still, you stare in horror at the building wave. Your panic rises, fueling your power further as you raise trembling hands.

Struggling, you cast your thoughts outward in a wide net. Your father never mentioned this, though. He never explained how to divert a large wave, probably thinking there was plenty of time. You were only five when he died. Hopeless, you watch as the wave crests and wonder if this is how you end. Morbid, you wonder if you can die from drowning.

When the wave hits, wood crunches from the pier underneath you. Yelping, you’re drenched head-to-toe in water as it retreats to form a bigger wave.

Shaking, you lift both hands again. You try to remember what Seokjin told you – clear your mind, focus, envision the outcome you want –

Other words overlap with his; yours, your mom’s, the news.

This won’t work. You can’t do this. Someone will see. Magic is dangerous.

Swiftly, the wave approaches and your dread only grows. Fear overtakes, and–

“Y/N, MOVE!”

Footsteps pound the pier as you spin around. The next seconds seem to occur in slow-motion. Jungkook sprints past you, gaze determined and jaw set. Eyes wide, you stare as he skids to a stop, clenching his fists.

Jungkook faces the ocean, wind whipping his hair. Your wave looms, several feet high – until a jagged line of rock bursts from the sea. The two of them connect, water and earth meeting with an ear-splitting boom. Water sprays over the top of the rocks, but nothing more happens.

A beat passes, or two while you stare at the harbor in shock. Earth… just burst from the ocean, saving the city from your rogue wave.

Memories rise to the surface, one by one. The fact that Jungkook lives near a train stop that often shakes his building. When the barista in your coffee shop dropped the tea kettle, Jungkook looked nearly as stricken as you did – as though it was his fault. When Jungkook freed you from the laundromat, opening a door that shouldn’t have opened.

Each of the pieces falls into place, forming a truth that knocks the wind from your lungs.

“You…” Eyes wide, you stare. “You’re a…”

Emotion churns in Jungkook’s gaze, turning to face you. “Yeah,” he admits. “I’m an earth Elemental. I’ve… been trying to figure out how to tell you.”

Head spinning, you shake your head and the world tilts beneath you. At first, it’s a metaphor, swiftly made real by the events of today. Briefly, your vision blurs as your knees start to buckle.

“Whoa,” Jungkook blurts, rushing forward. His arms wrap around you, keeping you upright. “Are you alright, Y/N?”

“I…” Dazed, you glance at the ocean. “That was you, just now? With the rock?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook winces. “Sorry about the dramatics. I was trying to act fast, and it’s all I could think of. Didn’t want to cause an earthquake and create a second wave.”

He sounds slightly nervous, and you continue to stare. Genuinely, you don’t mean to be rude but you’re having trouble stringing two words together. Jungkook is an Elemental. Jungkook is an earth Elemental.

Jungkook’s smile fades, spurring you to speech.

“That’s not what I was thinking,” you blurt.

His brow furrows. “Oh. What are you thinking, then?”

“I…” You shake your head. “I was thinking that was really… hot. And you know, a general sense of relief that my out-of-control magic didn’t wreck the entire city. Oh, right,” you add, somewhat glum. “Seems like you already know, but I’m a water Elemental.”

“I know,” Jungkook murmurs.

He hasn’t released you yet, continuing to hold you. The waves in the harbor have returned to normal, although a slight mist continues to fall from the sky.

“Well, I wasn’t sure,” Jungkook corrects. “I started suspecting at the laundromat. Then I got your text and was in the area, so I decided to stop by. Glad I did,” he adds, his lips twitching. “I followed the storm to the harbor.”

“I confronted my mom,” you mutter. “She doesn’t have magic.”

Jungkook’s expression sobers. Although you haven’t told him everything, he knows the two of you have a tense relationship. Jungkook also knows your dad died when you were young. Possibly, he’s put two and two together by now.

“I see.” Jungkook pauses. “How are you feeling?”

Four small words and again, something inside you crumbles. You weren’t aware you had more to give. Collapsing into him, you rest your head on his chest. Holding onto you tightly, Jungkook soothes his hand up and down your back.

“That’s not an answer,” he murmurs, but the words are gentle. “Talk to me, Y/N. Do you want to go somewhere?”

Probably a good idea but right now the only place you want to be is with him. Shaking your head, you tighten your grip on his t-shirt.

“I probably should,” you admit. “Jungkook… you and I…”

His body stiffens. “Yes?”

Slowly, you lift your head. His gaze is dark, wary and it pierces deep in your chest.

“I feel awful,” you say. “It’s… been a long time since I told someone what I was. I was scared of hurting others. Scared of hurting you. That’s why I ended this. It had nothing to do with you, Jungkook,” you insist, the words pouring out. “I swear. I was so scared of hurting you with my magic – and I hurt you anyway. I am so sorry.”

Jungkook’s expression is inscrutable. “It had a little to do with me,” he says slowly.

“No.” You pause. “Well, maybe. I wouldn’t have been this scared with someone else. The way I feel about you, Jungkook? I’ve never felt like this before. It’s all new to me, and I couldn’t control my magic around you.”

His gaze remains steady. “How do I make you feel?”

“You make me feel… everything,” you whisper. “Hopeful and happy and scared and alive and I – I can’t control myself around you. When we touch, I…”

You bite your lip, embarrassed and one of his brows sketches upward.

“When we touch, you what?” Jungkook pushes.

You can’t seem to meet his gaze. “I… forget myself. I burst the pipes in the laundromat,” you admit. “I caused a storm the night we fought. When I ended things between us, it rained for three days. I can feel the water in every pipe in your apartment, every faucet and I was so scared of hurting you.”

Drawing you closer, Jungkook gathers you tightly. “Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s okay – you didn’t hurt me. I’m here. Tougher than you give me credit for,” he adds with a chuckle.

Leaning into him, you allow your eyes to shut. His heartbeat mirrors yours, a fact you find soothing. Reality sinks in a second later, realizing the truth of this week.

Jungkook doesn’t just understand what youare – he is one, himself.

Eyes flying open, you pull back. “Why didn’t you tell me you were an Elemental?” you demand.

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “Why didn’t you tell me? I tried to explain a few times,” he adds, his brow furrowing. “I brought up Elementals, but you would always change the subject. I was scared to tell you. I thought… maybe you’d leave. I didn’t want you to.”

A small fissure mends in your heart. “My entire life, I was told magic was something to fear. Something to hide. I was taught to hide and only recently, have I started thinking otherwise. I… want you to know me, Jungkook.”

“I want to know you, too.”

“I want to learn how to use my magic,” you add, determined. “Seokjin is going to help.”

The divot between his brows deepens. “I want to help.”

It’s such a Jungkook response, you can’t help but grin. “You can,” you agree, squeezing his waist. “I’ll need all the help I can get.”

His expression softens. While you watch though, his thoughts seem to deepen, gaze flicking over the panes of your face.

“What does this mean?” Jungkook asks at last.

His grip on you doesn’t loosen, and you hear his unspoken question. Heart sinking, you realize you may have overstepped. Jungkook is touching you. He came here to help. Both of you know what the other is and you’ve apologized – but you haven’t asked for him back, and he hasn’t accepted.

Before, you might have allowed these negative thoughts to drown out the rest. To wonder if maybe Jungkook is only helping from guilt. Now, you shove those thoughts aside and force yourself to be strong. To ask for what you want, even if the answer is no.

“I was wrong, Jungkook,” you say quietly. “I ended this because I didn’t want you to get hurt, but you did anyway. I hurt myself in the process. I… I thought you couldn’t possibly love this part of me, so I ran away. That wasn’t fair,” you add, gaining momentum. “You deserve to know who I am and decide what you want for yourself. Jungkook, I love you. I want you. I am so sorry I hurt you, and I just want to know if you could ever –”

“Yes.”

You falter, blinking upward. “There was more to the speech.”

His lips twitch. “It was a very good speech. You can give the rest later. Right now, I want you to know my answer is yes. Yes, I love you. Yes, I want you. Yes, I forgive you.”

“But Jungkook” – it’s difficult to concentrate with his arms wrapped around you, nose lightly brushing the shell of your ear – “I broke up with you. Don’t you want me to –”

With a weary sigh, he pulls back. “What do you want me to say?” he asks, amused.

“I don’t know.” You frantically search. “Shouldn’t I promise not to run away again? To be more honest with you, more communicative?”

Jungkook waits, as though expecting more and when nothing comes of it, he shrugs. “I thought all that was a given. Don’t uh, run away, okay? Are we good?”

“Jungkook,” you laugh, though this becomes a groan when his lips brush your neck. Gripping the back of his hair, you pull his head upward.

Jungkook’s eyes gleam, his skin flushed. “You should work on your punishment, if that’s what you were trying to do,” he murmurs.

Ignoring the shiver these words bring, you shake your head. “Jungkook… um, the last time we were close, I…”

He tilts his head. “Yes?”

His voice is nothing but patience, and you draw a breath. “I’m scared,” you admit. “I know I’ve said it a lot, but I can’t seem to control my magic around you. Especially when we touch. That’s when things get…” Aimless, you shrug. “You know.”

Lips pressed tightly together, Jungkook lifts a brow. “What about this?” he teases, cupping your waist with one palm. “Is that alright?”

Your eyes roll. “Yes, Jungkook.”

“And this?”

Thumb slipping beneath your shirt, he traces the damp skin above your panties. Your entire lower body clenches, your limbs going molten.

“That’s… harder,” you admit.

He grins. “I know.”

“Oh, shut up,” you groan, half-heartedly attempting to pull away.

Jungkook laughs, catching you easily and laying your head on his shoulder. You stay there for a while, his hand cupping the back of your neck as his thumb strokes up and down. Eventually, the clouds part enough for the sun to peek through.

Throat clearing, Jungkook pulls back to see you. “To be clear – that doesn’t matter to me. We can go slow. We don’t have to have sex if you don’t want to. I’ll help in any way that I can, Y/N. I just want you.”

“I do want to try, though,” you insist. “I do. It’s just…” You hesitate. “Your apartment is so breakable.”

Jungkook stares at you for a moment. “I shouldn’t find that as hot as I do.”

“Jungkook!”

He laughs, taking your hand in his. “Sorry, sorry.” Turning on his heel, he heads from the pier. “I do have any idea, though. One that could help.”

Hand in his, you follow him inland. Jungkook leads you down a steep path towards the boathouse, ducking the gate towards the parking lot. It’s late enough that his car is alone, headlights blinking as he unlocks the doors.

You trail behind, happy to do so because honestly, the sight of Jungkook in a soaked t-shirt is akin to a Regency hero. You savor the sight, grinning like crazy. Always, you used to question the good things that happened because it seemed they could fade any second. Now, you find yourself determined to live and enjoy.

The ease with which Jungkook forgives makes his trust precious. Someone like Jungkook deserves someone honest, the type of person you aspire to be. Climbing into the passenger seat, you continue to admire Jungkook as he walks to the opposite side.

He slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting the seat and buckling his belt. Fixing the rearview mirror, he glances at you.

“What?” he asks, doing a double take.

“Nothing.” Smiling to yourself, you shake your head. “Where are we going?”

Mischief enters his gaze. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Cool. We’re going somewhere to solve our problem.”

Shaking your head, you settle back as he pulls from the parking lot. Glancing around the car, a sudden thought occurs to you, and your smile widens.

Noticing this, Jungkook hums. “What are you smiling about, now?”

“I thought you said you were in the area?”

“Yep.”

“Hm.” Smiling broadly, you twist to face him. “Seems odd you would bring your car if you were just ‘in the area,’” you say, using air quotes around the last words.

Jungkook flushes beet-read. Your ex-slash-current boyfriend is many things, but a good liar isn’t one of them.

“I – fine,” he admits on a groan. “I was hoping to see you and didn’t want you to leave before I got to the art shop. My car was fastest.”

Your grin widens. “Cute.”

“We’ll see who’s calling who cute later,” Jungkook mutters.

His words send a thrill down your spine. “Speaking of later…”

Reaching a stoplight, his head turns. “Yes?”

You wait a long beat. “Where are we going?”

Surprised, Jungkook laughs and faces forward when the light turns. “Does the art of the surprise mean nothing to you?” he teases.

“No! Surprises are mean. They’re for the surpriser more than the surprised.”

“Exactly.” Nodding, he merges onto the main highway. “Consider this your punishment for breaking up with me.”

“Hey! You said we were even.”

Jungkook smirks. “That’s not what I said. I said I forgive you. I never said we were even.”

“Oh? And just what might ‘getting even’ entail?”

His grip on the wheel tightens, voice pitching lower. “I have a few ideas.”

Lips parted, an entire city block passes before you assemble your thoughts in a coherent manner. “Well,” you exhale. “I hope these ideas involve us leaving the city. Preferably getting away from the ocean, as well.”

“Oh, they do. My family owns a cabin an hour north. We stayed there a lot when I was younger, especially once my magic started. There aren’t many people around – which is good, in case I slip and cause a seismic event.”

You stare at him over the console. “A… seismic event?”

Jungkook drops a wink. “What? You thought only water Elementals have cool powers?”

“Well, no, but–”

“I’ll show you,” he laughs. After a few seconds, Jungkook clears his throat. “So… what does your magic look like?”

“Sorry?”

“You know.” He glances your way and, upon seeing your confusion, backtracks. “Sorry. I forgot that not everyone… well. What I meant was, when you use your magic, what does it feel like? How does it… manifest?”

“Hm.” You consider. “It’s like… a small kernel of heat in my chest. Whenever I feel strongly, the kernel brightens – with joy, anger, sadness. The brighter it gets, the more aware I am of the water around me. You know, in the pipes, in the ground. Even you,” you add, a bit stilted. “In your blood.”

“Whoa.” Jungkook’s eyes widen. “That’s cool.”

“Cool?”

“Hot,” he amends, and now, you’re the one burning. “That’s…” He stops, then chuckles. “Damn, Y/N.”

Pushing aside that tantalizing thought, you sit back. You’ve never had the urge to show someone your magic but now, find yourself wanting to try. And learn more. Ultimately, this urge wins out.

“What does it feel like for you?” you ask, curious.

Jungkook frowns. “Magic is… a hum in the back of my mind, I guess. A hum, or a vibration. My emotions also affect it,” he adds, glancing your way. “Eventually, the hum spreads and I get what you mean about heightened awareness. For me, it feels like gravity shifts. I become more grounded. When I want the earth to do something, it just… listens.”

“Oh,” you say.

He glances at you, unsure. “What?”

“Nothing. That’s… unbelievably hot.”

A pleased smile spreads over his face. Sitting back, Jungkook’s hands tighten on the wheel and suddenly, the cabin seems a long way away.

“How long is the drive?” you pose.

“About forty-five minutes.”

“Huh.” You fidget a little.

“Why?”

Feeling his gaze on the side of your face, you shrug. “I have ideas for tonight, too.”

There’s a moment of silence before the car accelerates. Surprised, you laugh and grip the door handle. “Jungkook!” you scold, glancing sideways.

He blinks, the picture of innocence. “What? It seemed like you wanted me to go faster.”

“Sure, but preferably all in one piece.”

“You will. Trust me.”

And that’s the thing – you do. Trust him, that is.

Smiling slightly, you relax in your seat and lower the window. Skyscrapers have long since passed, turning to buildings, which became towns and fields. Eventually, the motion of the car lulls you to sleep. It’s been a long week of restless nights.

You wake when the car hits a bump, and you jerk suddenly upright. The sun casts long shadows over the dirt road you drive on.

“Sorry.” Jungkook winces. “This part can be rough. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Yawning, you stretch both arms overhead. “No, you’re fine. Are we close?”

Nodding, he keeps one hand on the wheel. Jungkook’s elbow is propped on his open window, a breeze ruffling hair from his face. Music plays, softly in the background.

“Five minutes.”

You nod and look around. Anticipation sketches over your skin, and you suppress a shiver. Knee bouncing along to the song on the radio, you reach a heightened state of awareness about tonight. Jungkook has never felt quite so tangible, or maybe you’ve never been so perceptive.

Turning down the next road, the car’s headlights bounce over trees and a mailbox before landing on a small, white house. Jungkook parks in the driveway as the sun slips towards the horizon.

Not opening the door, Jungkook drums his fingers against the wheel. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when he turns to face you.

“Now that we’re here, it feels kind of presumptuous,” he admits in a rush.

Having imagined the worst, you can’t stop your smile. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you push open the door. “Let’s go,” you declare, feet hitting the ground. “I’ve been waiting for months, Jungkook!”

His chuckle follows, the car turning off as you shut the door. Footsteps follow you up the front path, Jungkook catching you around the waist near the rhododendrons.

“And whose fault is that?” he growls, nipping the curve of your ear.

“Excuse me,” you say, breathless, “that I didn’t want to drown your bedroom.”

“Baby.” His ensuing laughter is soft. “The only way I want you in my bedroom is soaking wet.”

With that, he reaches beyond you and unlocks the front door. Ignoring your speechlessness, Jungkook steps around you and enters the house.

“You coming?” he calls, flipping on lights.

You stare after for a moment before you come to your senses. Muttering darkly, you slip off your shoes and shut the front door behind you. The hallway ends in a kitchen, cheerfully lit while Jungkook rummages through a cabinet.

“Tell me,” he says, standing to shut the door. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh…” Your face heats. “Well, I kind of thought…”

“Can’t have sex on an empty stomach.” Dropping a wink, Jungkook turns around to open another cupboard.

With a half-hearted eye roll, you sit on a stool and glance around. The kitchen cabinets are dark green with bronze handles. You would ask Jungkook if he helped, but his interior design skills leave something to be desired. Just because a person is creative one way doesn’t mean it automatically translates.

Vividly, you recall entering his apartment and being thoroughly confused by the multiple mattresses. Patiently, Jungkook explained they were for his dog, Bam – as though that made any difference.

Remembering this, you sit upright. “Hang on – where’s Bam?”

“Left him with Jimin,” Jungkook says, setting down a cutting board. “I sent him a voice note while you were sleeping.”

“Oh,” you say, sinking back on the stool. “That’s good.”

Nodding, Jungkook resumes preparing the meal. Propping your chin on one hand, you take in the small but well-loved home around you. Traces of Jungkook are everywhere in a road map of his life. Photos of Jungkook as a child are tacked to the refrigerator, his eyes a similar size but in a much smaller head. There’s one of him with his dad on the playground, another at graduation with his mom.

Your gaze lingers on one that looks like the yard of this house. A giant boulder fills the frame, while Jungkook sits, cross-legged, at the top. He can’t be older than ten, scowling furiously while his mom yells something upward. In the foreground, his dad takes the picture in selfie mode, giving a giant thumbs-up with a maniacal grin.

“That’s the first time I used my powers,” Jungkook says, catching you looking.

Half-guilty, you start but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Instead, he smiles. “I was something of a late bloomer. My parents were concerned, although they wouldn’t say it. One day, I was out playing, and my mom called me in for dinner.  I didn’t want to leave. Next thing I knew, I’d made a small cliff in the yard. My mom was furious,” he recalls with a laugh. “My dad was ecstatic. Keep going on and on about how I’d been ‘saving up.’ Anyways, they enrolled me in camp the next summer.”

“Camp?”

“To help with my magic,” says Jungkook, nodding at another photo. This one has Jungkook with his arms around three kids near his age. “Both my parents are Elementals – my mom, fire and my dad, earth. One of their friends runs a summer camp for Elementals. I went as soon as I could.”

“Oh,” you breathe, not having realized such things existed. Maybe you would’ve gone if your dad had lived longer. Or maybe you wouldn’t have – he was an only child without much family, which explained why you felt isolated after his death.

Sensing the change in emotion, Jungkook abandons his cooking. “My dad was adopted,” he admits, coming around the counter. “He didn’t even know he was an Elemental until he turned twelve. When his adoptive parents realized, they told him to hide it and my dad did for a long time. It wasn’t until meeting my mom that he started relearning.”

You aren’t sure how to respond, your throat suddenly tight.

Luckily, Jungkook doesn’t expect an answer. “Not that your situations are the same,” he hastens. “I don’t want to make comparisons, but I wanted to say it because… well, I wanted to let you know you’re not alone. You can learn now. I’ll help however I can.”

Warmth expands in your chest, replacing the sadness. “I don’t know what I did to deserve that,” you whisper.

Jungkook’s frown deepens. “I don’t think it’s about deserving help – although of course, you do. Things don’t just happen because someone deserves them. You didn’t deserve for your dad to die when he did. We both don’t deserve to live in a world that forces us to hide. None of that’s deserved, so why should you question when good things are good?”

“That’s exactly it, though,” you admit. “So many bad things have happened that were connected to my magic. Like earlier today – I finally confronted my mom, and I nearly drowned the city.”

He shakes his head, stubborn. “That’ll take time. Time and practice, but you will get there. I don’t have any doubts about that, Y/N. You don’t have to be scared of magic – it’s not going anywhere, and neither am I.”

You stare at each other and, oddly, you feel some of his strength. It would be impossible for so many people to have faith in you for no reason. If anything, it’s more foolish to continually assume you’ll fail.

After another long moment, Jungkook tears his gaze away. “Food,” he declares with a firm shake of his head. “Food first, then… other stuff.”

Laughing softly, you lean back. Jungkook chats while he cooks, explaining how his dad thoroughly proofed the house against several types of Elemental. His mom is a fire Elemental and his dad is earth, but they have several members of the extended family who are water.

“Essentially” – Jungkook chops vegetables – “this place could survive a 7-magnitude earthquake, followed by a fire and a flash flood. There are sprinklers in every room with drains in all corners. Furniture is water resistant and non-synthetic. Basically, go wild. No one will care.”

Your brows arch. “You might care if I burst another pipe in the ceiling. In my experience, that tends to ruin the mood.”

Lowly, he laughs and turns on the burner. “Fair enough,” Jungkook says. “If you don’t feel comfortable inside, we can start outside. I don’t mind a little rain if you don’t.”

Unthinkingly, your gaze lowers to where his t-shirt continues to stick to his skin. Obscene how good Jungkook looks in damp clothing.

As though sensing your thoughts, he smirks and flips the food in the pan.

“Okay,” you blurt. “Let’s try that.”

Eventually, you need to take a first step and now seems as good a time as any. Somewhere, somehow, you need to begin. Deep down, you know your fear is holding you back. You’re petrified of losing control, and every time you use your magic, the fear wins, creating new fear in an endless cycle.

By the time Jungkook slides a bowl of noodles towards you, your stomach is growling. Jungkook was right about needing to eat. The last traces of the day disappear while you slurp your noodles, catching each other up on your lost week. As it turns out, Jungkook was equally moody, causing minor trembles whenever he left his apartment.

You describe to him your week, voice trembling when you reach the phone call with your mom. Reaching across the counter, Jungkook grasps your hand tightly.

“It’s okay,” he says. “We don’t have to talk about that right now, if you don’t want.”

Thankful, you nod, and he retreats with your bowls. Bringing these to the sink, he loads the dishwasher and shuts the door with his hip.

“I do want to talk eventually,” you say, hesitant. “Just… not now. It’s too raw.”

“I get it.” He walks around the counter, stopping before you. “It’s hard to think about our parents as real people who also fuck up. Sometimes they do so in ways we can’t forgive.”

Nodding, you down at your hands. “Yeah.” Your brows furrow. “Your parents get it, though. They love you.”

“Sure.” Jungkook speaks carefully. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t hurt each other. Relationships are complicated. It’d be conceited for me to tell you what to do with your mom. Whatever you decide though, I’m here.”

His words spark a fire deep inside you, the opposite of fear and you reach up to pull his mouth down to yours. Surprised, Jungkook’s lips brush once, twice before the kiss becomes hungrier. When his head finally lifts, his gaze remains fixed on your mouth.

“Right,” he rasps.

“Outside?”

Jungkook nods so quickly, you nearly laugh. “Uh-huh, yeah – outside. Hang on,” he says, turning around to head for a closet.

About a minute later, Jungkook emerges with several blankets and a backpack he refuses to open. Handing over a blanket, he leads you by the hand towards the back door.

“Let’s go,” he commands.

Hiding a smile, you follow him into the night. A tiny garden is growing beyond the house, and you marvel at its permanency. You and your mom moved so often that you eventually stopped bothering to put down roots. Jungkook has been the first thing in a long time you’ve wanted to keep.

Lifting the latch on the gate, Jungkook leads you down a small path through the woods. By now, your eyes are accustomed to the semi-darkness. If one can even call it darkness, with the nearly full moon overhead. Your breath catches when the path ends in a meadow bordered on all sides by pine trees.

Retrieving your blanket, Jungkook spreads them both on the ground. Taking a seat, he motions for you to join and waits until you do. Leaning into his side, you stare at the sky.

“See that?” Jungkook points at the woods. “Dad pulled up that boulder to block deer from getting into the garden. Didn’t work. They just go around.”

Your lips twitch in a smile. “Bet your mom was mad.”

“Oh, no. She finds the ongoing battle hilarious. Secretly roots for the deer, I think.”

Even as you laugh, you feel a sharp pang of envy. Your mom has always been adamant your power isn’t something to be shared, something to be laughed at. It must have been wonderful to grow up in a household that used magic without fear.

The moment you think this, you realize you might have that now. Seokjin has always been supportive of your magic. Micah and Taryn suggested you teach a class for Elementals. Jungkook knows what you are, and he hasn’t run yet.

When you face him, Jungkook is already looking. His eyes roam your face, as though committing you to memory.

“Where did you go just now?” he murmurs, his hand inching closer on the blanket. “What were you thinking?”

Slyly, you tilt your head. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering how many ‘shakes the bed’ jokes you’ll let me get away with.”

Jungkook’s lips twitch. “Only one.”

“What about a good ‘you rock my world’ pun?”

“Ugh, zero,” he groans.

“What about –”

Growling, Jungkook falls backwards onto the blankets. “That’s it,” he demands, taking you with him. “That’s the last straw!”

“Stop it!” you gasp, giggling helplessly as he tickles your sides.

Smile broadening, Jungkook flops onto the blanket and goes still. Half-sprawled over his chest, you loop one arm over his waist and stare at the sky.

“You get two jokes,” Jungkook says. “And if they’re not good jokes, I’m allowed to dole out punishment as I see fit.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise,” he says, his smile wicked.

At the look in his eyes, the air between you thickens. Jungkook’s finger hooks under the hem of your blouse, tracing the skin just above your skirt.

Heat flows through your limbs. “Tell me,” you whisper, staring down. “How many other girls have you brought here?”

His low chuckle shakes you. “None.”

“None?” you blurt out. “Teenage Jungkook didn’t pull that rock trick with any youthful paramours?”

“No.” Gently, he lowers you onto your side. “Believe it or not, I was a nerdy teenager. Super into rocks. Loved superheroes. The only ground-shaking happening back then” – sadly, he shakes his head – “was when I lost at Overwatch.”

Your lips twitch in response. “Seriously, though.” Lightly, you drag a finger across his collarbone. “What, um, happens when you…”

Your gaze flicks upward, and you find him intent, focused on you.

“When I do what?” Jungkook murmurs.

“When you… come.”

His gaze has turned molten. “Usually, I can control myself.” Jungkook pauses, then grips you by the waist to pull you on top. A startled noise leaves you, and you steady yourself on his chest. “With you, though… let’s just say, I’m glad we started outside.”

Your mouth goes dry as your body settles to his. Minutely, you shift your hips over his and feel Jungkook’s hands tighten.

“Jungkook,” you whisper.

Reaching upward, he gently cups your jaw and brings your face down to his. The brush of his lips is soft at first, a call and response. When you exhale, his grip on you tightens, his tongue slipping past. Pulling you closer, Jungkook’s hand slides to the back of your neck.

His other hand fists in your blouse, abruptly sitting up to take you with him.

“Oh,” you gasp, arms sliding around him.

“Hey,” Jungkook murmurs, your noses barely touching.

His body is warm and solid beneath you, thighs spilled over his lap to land on either side. Curling one hand into your shirt, Jungkook’s chest rises and falls with yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, and you nod.

Slipping a hand higher, Jungkook lifts your shirt until it comes away. Tossed on the blanket, his hand skims your side before resuming the kiss. His mouth is hungry, savoring the feel of your bare skin with his palm. His touch moves higher, drifting beneath your breast as you shiver.

Rocking forward, you realize how hard he is. Cupping your breast with one hand, Jungkook teases your nipple, and you let out a moan. Swallowing the sound, he crushes your mouth to his. Your hands move to Jungkook’s hair, hips moving more urgently.

“Stop that,” he growls, pulling back. “You’ll ruin me before I have a chance to begin.”

“Seems fair, then,” you say with a smile.

Jungkook smirks, leaning back to observe your tits spilling over the bra. Running his finger along the line, he slips a finger past and tugs your bra down. Sharply, you inhale at the night air on your breast. Jungkook’s mouth is there a second later, nipping, then licking the sensitive bud.

Shifting on top, you arch to get him closer. Jungkook tugs down the other cup, pinching your breast with his fingers. Whimpering, you grasp his hair tightly and roll your hips.

Jungkook grunts in approval, his legs coming up to trap you against him. Switching to your other breast, he teases until you’re frantic, grinding against his fully clothed lap.

Now, you expect him to undress but Jungkook keeps his attention on you. Sliding his hand up your thigh, he slips under your skirt to cup your ass with one hand. Controlling your movement, he kneads your ass with his palm as you rock against him.

“Fuck – Jungkook,” you groan, your head tipped back.

Heated, he trails kisses down the line of your throat. “You’re thinking too much. Want to see you lose control. Let me take care of it.”

Too stunned to be coherent, you tug on his t-shirt. “This. Off,” you demand.

Pulling back, Jungkook grasps the material with one hand to remove. When his chest is revealed, you make a noise in response. Greedy, you drag your palms down his firm chest. His tattoos entwine, a tapestry of ink across his tanned muscle.

Bending, you press a kiss to a lily and feel Jungkook shudder. Continuing your path, you flick your tongue against his brown nipple and are rewarded with a groan.

“Enough,” Jungkook demands, slapping you on the ass. “Up.”

Surprised, you jerk upright. Heat suffuses your skin, radiating from the same spot his palm covers. Seeming to understand, Jungkook massages the same spot over the fabric of your panties.

“What?” you exhale, thoroughly distracted.

Jungkook smirks, both brows lifted. “Stand up. It’s important, I swear.”

Gathering your senses, you manage to stand. Jungkook remains seated before you while he blatantly ogles. Running his tongue over his lower lip, the bulge in his jeans looks painful, although he doesn’t seem to notice.

“That skirt has to go.” His gaze lifts. “Please.”

Without breaking eye contact, you shimmy the skirt down your legs. Stepping aside, you push this away and step back. Lifting himself to his knees, Jungkook grips the skin of your ankles. His hands slide upward with agonizing slowness, hovering when he reaches the top of your thighs.

“Jungkook,” you murmur. “What are you doing?”

He looks up, his gaze dark. Only then does he drag both thumbs back, over your aching center. Although your panties remain, your knees nearly buckle.

“Ah.” Jungkook pauses, then repeats the motion. “Right there?”

“Fu-ck,” you groan.

He does this again, casually touching over your cotton panties. Breasts aching to be touched, you lift your palms to cup their weight with both hands. Jungkook watches, his gaze intent while he watches you tug at your nipples.

Abruptly, Jungkook pulls your panties aside to lean in and lick. Now, your knees do buckle, feeling his tongue slip through your folds. Chuckling darkly, Jungkook sits back and places your panties where they were.

Laying down on the blanket, he motions to his chest. “Kneel,” he says. “You can keep touching your tits if you want, but I need to make you come.”

The kernel of heat in your chest is now a storm, clouds gathering overhead as you kneel on the blanket. The moment your knees hit the ground, his hands find your waist, moving you into position. Turning his head, Jungkook brushes a soft kiss to your thigh.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, tracing his index finger down your soaked center. “Already so wet, and I’ve barely touched you. I thought about this a lot,” he admits, gaze lifting to yours. “Thought about how tight and wet you’d feel around a few of my fingers. Bouncing up and down on my hand to make yourself come.”

“Oh,” you breathe, entranced.

Lips tilted, Jungkook pulls aside your damp panties. His thumb swipes over your clit – once, twice, until he feels you tremble. Grasping your ass, he pulls you lower and makes direct eye contact when he licks.

“Oh, god,” you choke out.

Other men have eaten you out, but it’s usually a pleasant, if unremarkable event. Being with Jungkook is different. No one has ever done this as though you’re the main course, as though they get off on your pleasure as much as their own.

Hand tight on your waist, Jungkook spreads your ass while sucking on your clit. Moaning, you bend to place both hands on the ground. Jungkook grunts his approval, sucking again before pulling back for light licks. You can feel your arousal sliding down your thighs, but he doesn’t seem to notice or mind.

“Yeah.” Jungkook pauses, tracing your entrance with his finger. “That’s so hot, Y/N. You’re so fucking hot.”

Face burning, you can feel the water gathering in clouds overhead. The earnestness in his voice ignites your pleasure to a full-on inferno.

“More,” you demand, wriggling your hips. “Please, Jungkook.”

Eyes gleaming, he reaches up to spread your thighs further. Resuming eating you out, he moves you against him with loud approval. Your panties continue getting in the way until, with a frustrated noise, you hear fabric shred.

Eyes wide, you glance down as Jungkook throws them aside. “I’ll get you new ones,” he says, his voice hoarse, before diving back in.

“Oh – god!” you gasp, gripping his hair when he sucks even harder.

The clouds overhead darken, and rain starts to fall. Jungkook pauses to glance upward, then grins. “That’s it, baby,” he coaxes. “Want you to soak me. Give me everything, okay? Don’t hold back.”

Pulling you down again, his tongue swirls around your clit. Jungkook’s hands remain on your ass, cupping you reverently while you grip his hair. Unapologetic, you start riding his face while he works you open.

Tracing your entrance with his finger, Jungkook gets himself wet before he slips inside. Your entire body clenches, shaking with the impending force of your orgasm. Everything pulses – the rain, your blood, his heart and his tongue.

When he adds a second finger, you cry out, head tipped back. Clenching hard on his hand, shudder after shudder rolls through you as the sky breaks. Sheets of rain drench your skin while Jungkook continues to lick, bringing you down from your orgasm.

Catching your breath, the rain slows to a drizzle. Dazed, you slump forward as Jungkook slides his two fingers out. Grasping you around the waist, he settles you beside him and smiles. Jungkook’s torso is damp with rain and arousal, and you think no one has ever looked so beautiful.

“Jungkook,” you moan. “Why’d you stop?”

Huffing a laugh, he pulls you close to his side. “Did you want to keep going?” he teases.

“Obviously.”

“Hm.” Hand slipping down your spine, he firmly cups your ass. “Maybe you’re tired. Are you sure once wasn’t enough?”

Lifting a brow, drape your thigh over his so he can feel how wet you are. Jungkook’s eyes narrow, fingers digging harder into the curve of your waist. From where you are, you can see the painful bulge in his pants.

“I’m not tired,” you promise. “Are you?”

Rather than answer, Jungkook pulls you down for a kiss. One of his hands finds your knee, sliding higher to skim your drenched pussy from behind. You swallow a moan when his jeans rub your clit. Fingers tracing your entrance, Jungkook spreads your pussy with delicious slowness.

Breathless, you move against him in a helpless bid for friction. Jungkook keeps you still, controlling the motion despite your desperation.

“I want your pants off,” you demand against his lips.

Jungkook chuckles and lays back on the blanket. “Alright.”

Grasping his belt, he unbuckles and pulls the strap through his jeans. Unbuttoning these, he shoves denim past his thighs to cast it aside. When he’s in just boxer-briefs, Jungkook pulls you closer to lay on his chest.

“God,” he breathes, marveling at your skin. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Rain that you’ve called slicks both you and him. Lowering your head, you breathe Jungkook in and rock your hips forward. Jungkook’s fingers trace your center, easing your thighs wider to slip a finger inside.

“Oh,” you moan, slightly breathless.

Beneath you, his cock feels rock-hard. Pushing against him, you feel Jungkook’s finger moving and know that this must be torture. Continuing to tease, you rub your nipples over his chest.

“Jungkook,” you whimper. “I want you.”

Lips twitching, he adds a second finger. “You can barely take two of my fingers. Think you’re ready for my cock?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not,” he drawls, slapping your ass again. “But yeah, take my cock out. Want to feel you.”

Reaching lower, you push his boxers down the best you can. Jungkook’s cock is freed, bobbing between you. You forgot how big he is. Although you’ve seen him twice, both times ended poorly, and you tried not to think about his prettiness afterwards.

And how thick his length is. Swallowing, you eye his girth and wonder if Jungkook is right – you’re not ready. Maybe you never will be.

Gently, Jungkook cups your face to return your gaze to his. “Eyes on me,” he murmurs, thumb beneath your chin. “I’ll get you there. Don’t worry.”

Some of your tension disappears. Nodding, you relax when he lowers his hand to rub your clit in circles. Exhaling, your legs spread further when Jungkook adds a third finger. The stretch feels good, being spread from behind and you lower your head to stare down your body.

Jungkook’s abs end in a v, his cock so hard it hovers above his skin, a thick bead of cum gathered at the tip. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Jungkook,” you breathe. “Want to suck your cock.”

He pauses what he’s doing to look up, heavy-lidded.

“What, baby?” he murmurs.

“I want your cock in my mouth,” you insist, sitting up. “Please.”

His eyes gleam and Jungkook slowly sits up, easing you on top. Pulling his fingers free, he grasps your waist.

“Since you asked nicely.” His smile is crooked. “Go on.”

Inhaling sharply, you scoot backwards. Kneeling over him, you swiftly bend to grasp the base of his length. His cock stands, erect and vascular between muscled thighs.

Your hand barely fits around him, and you clench at the realization he’ll soon be inside. Spreading your thighs, you lower yourself to take him in your mouth. Jungkook groans when you suck, shifting his weight underneath.

His chest rises and falls, watching from lowered lashes as you take him in deeper. Choking a little, you use your spit to make his shaft wet. When his fingertips curl into the blanket, you feel a low tremble in the earth. Emboldened, you relax your mouth and deep throat him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Jungkook groans. “Yes.”

Using your right hand to jerk him off, you suck the tip. Bending further, you drag your tongue lower, teasing and tormenting until Jungkook is sweating.

“Fu-ck,” he mutters, one hand on your neck. “Yeah, Y/N. Yes. Like that. Good girl.”

His hips rise when you deep-throat him, another tremor shaking the world underneath. Suddenly, he grasps your waist and pulls you upward.

“Want to come inside you,” Jungkook demands. “Not like this.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Reaching below, he swipes two fingers through your pussy and brings these to his mouth. Not breaking eye contact, he slowly sucks. “Fuck,” Jungkook breathes, releasing them with a pop. “You’re so wet. You liked sucking my cock, huh?”

Nodding, your arms find his neck when he does it again. Jungkook fingers you slowly before, pulling out, reaches for the backpack. Unzipping the side, he retrieves a condom and lube. Breaking open a packet, he rolls the condom over himself and slicks it up.

“This good?” he murmurs, pulling you onto his lap.

Breathless, you nod, both hands on his shoulders. Slowly, your hips lower until he brushes your entrance. Stifling a gasp, you watch his eyes narrow.

“Don’t be quiet.” Using his hands, Jungkook guides you lower. “I want to hear you, Y/N.”

His cock enters barely an inch, only to stop, your head spinning. Jungkook’s grip tightens, a muscle fluttering in his jaw with visible restraint.

“Oh,” you breathe and look down. “You’re so big.”

“You can take it.” Jungkook speaks as though it’s a given.

Pleasure surges and you lower yourself another inch. It already feels like too much, too full of an already great thing. Cupping the back of your neck, Jungkook holds you against him and moves you slightly lower.

You wait for your body to catch up, muscles relaxing to sink down a bit more. This happens again and again, your body accommodating his thick girth. The lube is essential, easing you open while he takes his time. Jungkook helps you through it, teasing you with his fingers, kissing you deeply until your hips settle with his.

“Oh,” you whisper against his lips.

The position is more intimate than you thought it’d be. Seated like this, you sit face to face and feel his length inside. It’s hard to tell where you end, and he begins. Jungkook shifts, moving deeper and your entire world expands.

“Oh,” you repeat, lifting your hips. Slowly, you drop back down.

Jungkook’s groan is guttural, coming from a place deep inside. Gripping your ass, he helps you ride him – slowly, he moves you up and down on his cock. Each time you feel fuller, his length hitting a place that makes you incandescent. Rain drizzles, then stops, then starts to fall harder.

Neither of you notice, the pace increasing until you find yourself slamming down, fingernails digging into the curve of his shoulders. Grunting, his hand remains on your ass while you move on his cock.

“Fuck, yes,” Jungkook groans, watching your chest. “You’re unbelievable, Y/N.”

“You feel so fucking good,” you whimper, reaching backwards. Gripping his knees, you use these for leverage to fuck up and down.

Jungkook stares at you, dazed, and then surges forward. Bending, he sucks your nipple as you ride him, a loud moan escaping. Chest arched, you beg for more and Jungkook obeys, moving to your other breast. His other hand stays on your ass, guiding the motion of your hips with his.

You think you could do this forever and maybe you could if this weren’t your first time together. Three months of wanting and not having him have turned you desperate. You want more. Deeper. Harder. You want to feel Jungkook undone, and you want that now.

“Jungkook,” you breathe. “I need… more.”

“More?” Lifting his head, Jungkook searches. “How? Tell me what you want.”

Continuing to move your hips, you watch his face slacken. “I you to fuck me, Jungkook,” you pant, the words spilling out. “Want you to make me come without… without worrying.”

His brow lifts. “Is that all? Want me to fuck you from behind like the dirty girl you are?”

“Yes, please,” you gasp.

Lifting yourself from his cock, you ignore the sudden emptiness and turn around. Placing both hands on the blanket, you arch your back and look backwards.

Jungkook stares at you, still and you know what he must see. Legs spread, back arched and pussy on full display. You can feel how wet you are, arousal dripping from your cunt, already stretched by his cock.

“Fuck,” Jungkook mutters, scrambling upright. Getting on his knees, he positions himself behind you. Swiping through your pussy several times, he grabs the lube and dribbles more down your folds.

Dropping this, Jungkook bends and rubs your swollen clit. Positioning his cock at your entrance, Jungkook pushes inside with a single thrust. You go from absolutely nothing to being so full, you cry out his name.

Grasping the blanket, your back arches. Jungkook stays like that for a moment, letting you feel him. One hand grips your ass, sliding up your spine to push you lower. Breathless, you obey and rest both elbows on fabric.

“Just like that.” Jungkook slips two fingers to either side of his cock. Gathering lube, he slips this up and over your asshole. You whimper, turned on by the notion.

Slowly, he pulls his length out and pushes back in. Another noise escapes, fingers scrambling in blankets to push back against him.

“Please, Jungkook,” you groan. “Harder.”

“Harder?” Excruciatingly slowly, Jungkook does it again. “You need to earn it, baby. Let me know that you want this.”

Withdrawing, he pushes in leisurely from behind. He does it again and again until your toes start to curl, ass pushing backwards to take him deeper. Storm clouds roil while your frustration mounts, the need for him inside you a tangible feeling.

Eventually, you snap and turn your head around. “I swear,” you demand, gaze fixed on his. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll find someone who will.”

Jungkook’s eyes dance. “You can try,” he promises, and pulls out again.

This time, Jungkook doesn’t hold back. Rain breaks, soaking the meadow when he starts pounding inside you. Jungkook’s hips slam to yours, over and over while his cock fills you.

Gasping his name, you see stars as you come together. Again and again, until you cry with pleasure and something else – something untethered and new. Reaching between your legs, you push yourself further as the pleasure builds. Feeling you flutter around him, Jungkook growls and chases his own release.

“You first,” he pants, his grip tight. “I can feel how close you are. Such a good girl, soaking my cock like I asked.”

His voice in your ear, his cock deep inside you, pushes you over the edge and shatters you to pieces. You hear the trust in his words, behind every touch while giving you parts of himself. Jungkook thrusts into you harder, shuddering into the condom as the ground shakes beneath you. Miraculously, you aren’t thinking about anything but him – not the storm, not the earth and not even your magic.

Gradually, his hips slow and Jungkook slowly pulls out. Removing the condom, he cleans you both off and pulls you down to the blanket. Stretching your limbs, the rain slows to a drizzle as your eyes open.

Nothing exists in Jungkook’s gaze but happiness, echoing yours. Pressing closer to him, your limbs entwine as you push back his hair. Suddenly sleepy, you stretch alongside him – only to notice the giant crack in the earth.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes wide. “The ground!”

Craning his neck, Jungkook notices the spot. “Oops,” he says sheepishly, turning back. “Guess I got carried away.”

Shocked by his nonchalance, your gaze flicks to his. “Aren’t you… embarrassed?”

Burrowing into your neck, he pulls you closer. “Should I be? I’ll fix it – tomorrow,” Jungkook adds. “That took a lot out of me,” he chuckles, and you feel your cheeks heat.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “That was…”

“For me, too.”

Looking up, your brow furrows. “Do you think that’ll happen every time?”

“What, the giant rainstorm and the earthquake?” Seeing your face, his own softens. “I don’t know. It’s never been like that for me before.”

Something about the way Jungkook says this, almost shy, quiets a voice in your mind. The voice that insists on questioning every good thing. Pressing a light kiss to your forehead, Jungkook lies down alongside you. The two of you stay like that for a while, the clouds parting above to show a velvety sky.

Eventually, your silence turns to conversation. Everything you’ve hidden from each other trickles outward, in slow doses. Jungkook murmurs about his family, his childhood and the times he lost control. You tell him about art, about Taryn and Micah, about the easel being the one place you feel capable of using your magic.

Before long, Jungkook is hard and this time, you pull him on top. You come again – and again, your rain responding in droves. The last time, it's only a drizzle, and Jungkook barely shudders the earth. It helps, knowing what to expect and focusing solely on him.

At some point, you must doze off because you wake in Jungkook’s arms walking through the garden. He brings you upstairs, lending you toothpaste and a t-shirt from one of the bedrooms. Slipping under the covers, you smile at Jungkook when he joins you.

Before, sleeping over was impossible but now, things are different. Jungkook knows who you are. He knows everything about you and loves you anyways. Heart soaring, you trace the panes of his face in the dark. So different from the night you broke up.

Sleepy, he smiles. “Just try and break up with me,” Jungkook mumbles, turning his face from the pillow. “See what happens.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to his chest. “That sounds like a challenge. Are you angling for make-up sex?”

“That part was fun,” he admits. “Everything else sucked.”

“It did.” Your smile fades. “Would it freak you out if I said… I don’t plan on us breaking up for a very long time? Possibly ever?”

Jungkook’s eyes open. Gently, he leans forward and captures your lips with his. This kiss is unrushed, unhurried and you hear the unsaid words. You have all the time in the world together.

“Never sounds good to me,” he murmurs, pulling back. Like that, fully grounded, you drift off into sleep.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: THANK YOU for reading! Have a wonderful day/night, wherever you are :) and stream the new single LOL

[jungkoode]

깡패의 교리 | KKANGPAE GYORI

THE KKANGPAE DOCTRINE

↪︎𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: "It's a simple rule in the gang: avoid attachments. But when it comes to Jungkook, that's easier said than done."

↪︎𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: enemies to lovers, slow burn, gang au, angst with smut, fuck buddies, forbidden love, secret relationship ↪︎𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: here (MUST READ) ↪︎𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jeon jungkook x f!reader ↪︎𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: book 1/3 finished | 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐜: 247k. | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 30/~90ish ↪︎𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬: taglist ↪︎𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐚 𝐚𝐛𝐯. 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: KGPGY

taking a break between book 1 and 2 to outline and write / backlog chapters. <3

⊹･ﾟ✧ plot✧ﾟ･⊹

When you join Kkangpae's Seduction Division, you know the rules: no attachments, no relationships, no exceptions. The consequences are fatal—you've seen them firsthand. But rules become complicated when the Chief of Tactical Assassinations keeps looking at you like you're his next target, and not the kind he takes out with a sniper rifle.

⊹･ﾟ✧ chapters ✧ﾟ･⊹ | *= smut

book 1 : kkangpae (247k) | KGP | completed ao3 | wattpad

In Kkangpae, attachments are a liability—so sex to ease off some tension shouldn’t count.

𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒓:

#00 | #01 | #02 | #03 | #04 | #05 | #06 | #07 | #08 | #09 | #10 | #11 | #12* | #13 | #14 | #15 | #16 | #17* | #18 | #19 | #20 | #21* | #22 | #23* | #24 | #25 | #26 | #27* | #28* | #29 | #30 | #31

book 2 : geumji (~250k) | GMJ ao3 | wattpad

If attachments are a liability, distance feels like the responsible choice. Until it doesn’t.

𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒓:

#00 | #01 | #02 | #03 | #04 | #05 | #06 | #07 | #08 | #09 | #10 | #11 | #12 | #13 | #14 | #15 | #16 | #17 | #18 | #19 | #20 | #21 | #22 | #23 | #24 | #25 | #26 | #27 | #28 | #29 | #30

book 3 : banyok (~300k) | BYK ao3 | wattpad

At some point, following the rule costs more than breaking it. Especially when it shouldn’t have existed in the first place.

𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒓:

#00 | #01 | #02 | #03 | #04 | #05 | #06 | #07 | #08 | #09 | #10 | #11 | #12 | #13 | #14 | #15 | #16 | #17 | #18 | #19 | #20 | #21 | #22 | #23 | #24 | #25 | #26 | #27 | #28 | #29 | #30

⊹･ﾟ✧ drabbles ✧ﾟ･⊹

▷ two graves ▷ lost and found ▷ jeon

▷ catch the rabbit! (taehyung x yunjin)*

⊹･ﾟ✧ extras ✧ﾟ･⊹ ☆ playlist: • the soundtrack ☆ guides: intro guide ☆ moodboards: general • characters • drawings ☆ map: kkangpae castle ☆ asks : ask the disasters (open) | asks about the fic ☆ readers’ requests ➜ through asks! ⤷ pov reversals (requests: open) xxx ⤷ drabbles (requests: open) xxx

☆ disclaimer☆ this is a work of fiction. all characters and gang activities depicted are fictional. bts members are used for visual reference only.

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

banners and dividers by @shadowkoo ( @eerieedits )

[awrkive]

COLD NIGHTS & BLURRED LINES (m) — JJK

jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

GENRE r18+ (explicit smut, fluff, light angst) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

WORD COUNT 26.6k

WARNINGS/MISC fwb!au, college!au, basketball player!jk, kinda secret relationship(?)!au, nerdy!oc but not really she’s just very school-oriented, jk is tatted up here and is very yummy especially in his jersey sighs, hes also rich lol, school journalist!reader, jk calls oc a lot of petnames, basketball stuff im not sure are accurate t-t. multiple sex scenes honestly idek where all of these came from but they include: unprotected sex (this is a fanfiction everything tends to be crazy around these areas don’t do it irl pls omg lol), penetrative sex, creampie, cumplay, car sex, jk’s silver chain hehe, slight cockwarming, oral sex (f and m receiving), jk wears those curvy headbands thing (they look so cute on guys in fact he wore it once), shower sex. if there is anything i left out, pls tell me so that i can add them here. jungkooks visual is jungkook at jitb listening party . 

NOTES if u have been following me you'll know this is a repost haha! i decided to publish this again so you can read it on tumblr if u dont like to read on ao3! also, please pleasssseee send me guys your feedbacks after reading it even a keyboard smash goes a long way anyway ill shut up now i hope you guys enjoy this monster!! last note, pls be gentle with my cn&bl babies <33

[ CN&BL MOODBOARD ] 

The late March weather has been cold these days, so when Jungkook – in his real fuckboy fashion – texted you that his nose could use a heater and he could offer to warm you up in return, you agreed for him to come over even though you pretended to be disgusted by his offer. 

“Hurry,” you whimper as aforementioned man manhandles you to get you off his lap, making you bounce on the mattress.

Just like that, the warmth from being pressed against his body was gone, exchanged by the cold immediately spreading goosebumps through your skin as Jungkook makes quick work of spreading your legs, eliciting a bit of an uncomfortable feeling from you as you feel your cum leaking out.

Jungkook swipes a hand through his sweaty hairline as he kneels inside your spread legs, and you have to fight a moan at the sight. You still feel a little delirious from when he made you cum the second time just a minute ago, still lightheaded from the high of it. But you can’t deny that he always looks so good in all his natural, naked form; chest heaving, toned stomach coated in sheer sweat, his biceps – especially the tatted one – bulging as he reaches for your hips to pull you down so he could enter you once again.

It tears a cry from your vocal chords, him thrusting in and out of your wet pussy, his pace frantic and inconsistent, a tell-tale sign of his impending orgasm. His grunts, together with your pathetic little moans at the feel of his cock touching every part of your pussy filled the room.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he groans, leaning down, and as a result, reaching deeper into you, mouth reaching for your breast to your mouth. The kiss is a sloppy act of both of you just breathing in each other’s mouths, as Jungkook drills your pussy faster, his fingers tightening around your waist. A particular hard thrust got you drawing out a loud mewl and that’s what tips Jungkook over the edge. “F-fuck – shit, where do I cum baby? Tell me, tell me.”

“Inside– fuck. Please cum inside me,”

He lets out a sharp breath and after a few more erratic strokes, you feel his hot release painting your inner walls.

“Shit,” Jungkook hissed as he fell on top of you. You can feel the way he’s heaving as his skin touches yours, but you let yourself relax on the mattress, breathing shallow breaths.

Since he’s way more athletic than you, he got over it soon and you feel him picking himself up to hover over you, beginning to plant kisses all over your chest and the mole in between them; your nipples, your shoulders, your collarbones.

“Kook,” you call softly, your limp hand patting his ass to get his attention. He always gets so preoccupied with kissing your body after sex.

Jungkook hums, but he looks at you. “Yeah?”

You grunt. “I jwashed my sheets two days ago and I don’t want cum stains on them.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he leans down, and even though you were complaining just now, you let out quite a joyful hum when he kisses you. “Let me see first.”

You don’t need to ask what he’s referring to.

Pushing your body back up, Jungkook takes it upon himself to get his body off of you only to watch as you slide two fingers over your pussy, spreading the lips so he can see the combination of your and his cum all over it.

“You need to hurry, Nayeon is coming home in a few minutes.”

He doesn’t even try to look like he’s concerned about the urgency of that matter, just hums absentmindedly and gets his own finger to run over your exposed heat. You shiver at the contrast of the hot feeling of your pussy and the cold feeling of his finger, but it soon turns into pleasure when he gathers your cum and pushes it back into you.

“Are you going to keep it in for me?” He whispers, a thumb now caressing your hip.

“Depends.”

Jungkook looks back up at you, a sly grin spreading on his lips. “On what?”

“If you’re going to be good and say please when you want something.” You grin at him, feeling pretty proud of yourself for catching him off guard. It doesn’t last long very much though as he smirks, but as soon as he opens his mouth, you hear a series of knocks and your eyes widen at that.

You hissed. “Shit, that’s Nayeon.”

You sit up from the bed. Jungkook mirrors your haste, scrambling to find his clothes on the floor and putting them on quickly. You have your robe just nearby so you put just that on, ignoring the tingling sensation of cum trickling down your legs.

“I have to go.” Jungkook whispers, and you nod, walking towards the window on the far end of the room and opening it up widely.

Like usual, Jungkook steps on the frame and easily hauls himself outside. It’s the backside of the building of your complex, and it’s mostly and usually quiet, so it was pretty safe for him to just go out of there without anyone noticing, and most especially at times like this. Because Nayeon can’t know. No one can.

“I’ll see you later, pretty.”

Jungkook winks at you and you playfully roll your eyes, waving him off which earns a laugh from him. He easily saunters through the perimeter though and you find it quite unfair how he still carries a certain graceful energy to him even though he literally just did an exhausting cardio exercise with you for about thirty minutes. Ugh, him and his athletic body.

Nayeon’s voice can be heard across the flat, but before you let her in, you sprayed an unhealthy amount of air freshener on your body and around the room (just in case she enters) and shoved your discarded clothes from earlier in the laundry basket. After that, you finally run towards the door, welcoming Nayeon with a smile as you open it.

“Hi!” You greet rather cheerfully. She immediately hugs you briefly, groaning as she steps back and enters your little abode.

“Class sucked today,” she throws herself on the couch and you give her a sympathetic smile, walking towards the fridge to get water.

“Well, wish me luck. I’m headed out to one.”

“God, I can’t wait ‘til we graduate, I’m tired of this bullshit.” She says, but she’s opening up her laptop for what you could guess as for finishing up an assigned work. “I wish I was having bomb sex like you. Hey, do you want to go to this party on Friday?”

“I – what?”

“Party on Friday? Finals season for basketball starts on Friday and they’re planning a party. We could use free booze and stress-free night.” Nayeon repeats, but you weren’t asking for the party. You tried to ignore it, but you have the tendency to overexpplain yourself so that you do not get misunderstood.

“I’m not having bomb sex.” You say, and that makes her look at you. At that, you realized you shouldn't have taken the bait. Stupid, stupid, stupid you. You could've swerved this topic if you weren't so quick to react at the word sex.

You stare at each other for a solid few seconds until she rolls her eyes.

“Girl, your hair looks like a bird’s nest and your lips are swollen as hell. I might not be having bomb sex in the current moment but I know what I look like after I do the deed,” She wore her eyeglasses and perched it on her nose. “And you kinda smelled like sex when you opened the door.”

“No!” You feel heat coming and spreading through your cheeks. You thought the damn Febreeze would hold up!

Nayeon waves you off. “It’s fine, it’s not like you haven’t caught me before like that.”

“It’s embarrassing.” You insist, stuffing your face with a bread you took from the counter and purposefully not meeting Nayeon’s gaze so you don’t see the teasing smiles you’re sure she’s sending your way.

“That you’re having sex in college?!” Her playful scandalous tone makes you laugh though and that’s when you look at her.

“No, ugh. Just. Sorry. If I smelled like sex. I tried spraying a lot of air freshener earlier.”

She wiggles her brows. “Oh, is that why you took a long time opening the door? Was your sneaky link here just now?”

“Sneaky what?” You say, laughing.

“Sneaky link. You know, a hook up. Wait, is it a boyfriend? Please say no, because I would be extremely offended if you haven’t introduced your boyfriend to me all this time.”

You could swear you felt goosebumps on your nape when you heard the word boyfriend and saw images of Jungkook in your head immediately, as if you were used to associating him to the word.

“It’s definitely not a boyfriend. Just… someone I hook up with sometimes.”

“Interesting. Do I know him?”

The question makes you nervous. She definitely knows. No one not knows who Jungkook is at your campus.

With a shake of your head, you tell her, straight-faced, “Nope.”

“Okay, which department? Does he go to our Uni?” She asks, now seemingly fully invested in this conversation rather than the assignment before her. You’re happy to be a bit of a help to lessen her sour mood from earlier but you shake your head and let out playful tsk-ing sounds,

“Too many questions, babe,” You teased. “My class is starting in twenty minutes.”

You heard her laughing as you carried your clothes to the bathroom to change and to clean up the mess in your nether region. Damn. Jungkook cums a lot these days… he needs to masturbate or something.

“Fine, fine! You don’t want me to know but I’m gonna find out about the mystery guy one way or another!”

Shutting the door to the bathroom, your face contorts at Nayeon’s words.

Yeah, absolutely not. Jungkook and you made an agreement in the first place that everyone should be oblivious of your situationship, and it’s worked for almost four months now.

You can’t fuck it up now.

As soon as you fixed yourself, you bid your goodbye to Nayeon who went ahead and busied herself by hacking away on her laptop, grabbing your bag and heading out and finally walking to your Uni that was just a few minutes away from your complex. Your apartment is almost like a dorm, to be honest. 

The hallway is a little crowded, but you don’t miss a certain brunette in a familiar gray hoodie you’ve had in your closet before. 

You meet Jungkook’s eyes but you quickly change your gaze to his friend, Taehyung, who’s walking beside him as he greets you cheerfully. 

"Hey, ___!” You return his smile, waving. You had a Philo class with Kim Taehyung at one point and found out that despite your preassumptions about him for being a varsity guy, he was a pretty interesting person to talk with. You’re not super close per se, just acquainted enough to acknowledge each other when you meet somewhere like the campus hallways.

You don’t like the attention it draws, though. So you walk straight to your destination.

Varsity guys tend to be famous, and you’ve chosen to steer yourself away from them. Ironic, though, considering that you’re fucking one. Obviously, you’re not doing a very good job at “steering yourself away from them”.

Maybe it’s the sole reason why it’s a secret. Jungkook is the star player of the basketball team together with Taehyung and a few other guys. You know their usual gist. Famous circle, lavish lifestyle, attractive guys who (unfortunately) know it, skillful at the sports they do, too many people fawning over them. And well… not to be that person but you’re just someone dutifully studying here. Someone in the background. And you love that mostly, but sometimes you think that maybe… it’s why Jungkook seems to never entertain the idea of making your relationship public. Not that you would like that yourself. You took part in the secrecy agreement, suggested it yourself, in fact. You would never admit to anyone you’re fucking him. But, well. It’s just weird. 

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Someone’s going to end it eventually and you’re gonna make sure it’s you… just so it’s established that you aren’t the one who’s more willing in the relationship. Yeah, that. Just not now. School is stressful. You like sex with him. 

When you arrive at the lecture hall, your phone vibrates. A text from Jungkook is plastered all over your lock screen.

[1:15pm] Jeon: hi pretty [1:15pm] Jeon: nice skirt :) 

You internally roll your eyes. Him and his literal and figurative skirt chaser tendencies.

[1:20pm] You: Hi.

You get a reply immediately.

[1:20pm] Jeon: wanna grab dinner later

You stare at his text, a little taken aback. 

That’s new. Sure, you had grabbed lunch with him at his stupid fancy Benz like, once. After he fucked you in it to ease your nerves about a class presentation you did earlier that day. He didn’t offer, he just bought you Chinese because you passed by a resto as he drove you to your place. 

Anyway. You don’t know why he would do this all of a sudden. You fucked three days ago, then the day after that, then earlier this day. You’re not complaining but you never predicted your sex life would be so active like this. 

[1:22pm] You: Pass. Studying later

Which is true. You have a Tech Writing quiz tomorrow, though not necessarily hard. Whatever. Your thoughts in the hallway awhile ago are making you feel kind of weird about him right now.

[1:23pm] Jeon: boring [1:23pm] You: ):< [1:23pm] Jeon: cute :) do u want me to order boba ill deliver it to ur place after ur class

Well, that is definitely not new. Jungkook delivers you food, like, every single time.

[1:24pm] You: :))) Yess. Thank you [1:24pm] You: I’m going to venmo you [1:25pm] Jeon: lol yk im just gonna venmo it back to u

True. There’s been a lot of back and forth in that app. One time, he “jokingly” sent you a hundred dollars (a hundred dollars!) after you kept on insisting you pay for the takoyaki he made delivered to you, and that horrified you so much that of course you sent the money back to him, but he made you promise to stop trying to argue with him about the payment thing. It doesn’t mean you don’t feel bad about it still though…

[1:25pm] You: 😤😠 [1:27pm] Jeon: do u also want anything besides boba [1:27pm] You: Noppee, I think Nayeon is going to cook something for us later [1:28pm] Jeon: alright [1:28pm] You: Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you back? [1:28pm] Jeon: nahh it’s alright [1:28pm] Jeon: besides I can think of other ways for u to pay me back without money involved.. ;) 

Ah, there he is. He really couldn’t go on a day without sexual innuendos.

[1:29pm] You: You are infuriating and I’m turning off mh phone  [1:29pm] You: *my [1:29pm] Jeon: you like when I annoy you so .. [1:29pm] You: No I don’t and Im so sore i feel like my brain will leak out of my ears from so much sex  [1:29pm] You: Also please stop using ellipsis in texts [1:29pm] Jeon: hmm [1:29pm] Jeon: who said anything about sex? [1:30pm] Jeon: not me🤔 do u think i just think about sex all the time [1:30pm] Jeon: what’s worng with ellipsis…? [1:32pm] You: Yes you do think about sex all the time 

He reacted to that message with the HAHA emoticon, and you felt yourself having a hard time fighting an eyeroll.

[1:32pm] Jeon: you know me so well [1:32pm] You: Also, nothing wrong with ellipsis they just remind me of how my dad texts  [1:32pm] Jeon: ummmmm im sure ur dad is great so im flattered

You snorted at that.

[1:33pm] You: you do NOT know that  [1:33pm] Jeon: i thought you were turning off your phone [1:34pm] You: I am right now so don’t reply prof is walking to the lecture hall now [1:35pm] Jeon: good luck baby ;)

Nayeon didn’t convince you enough to join her at the party she mentioned before come Friday night. In a weird parallelism, Jungkook also texted you about a party you could come to, and eventually, you’ve come to realize that it was his party. Their party.

Your Uni’s basketball team held a celebratory one because they won the first game of Finals. You only knew when you went to the school’s publication office earlier. The freshman sports journalist, Ryujin, came to you to ask you some questions about her rough draft about said game.

You see, this is one of those times when you are reminded that Jungkook and you really only have a relationship through sex. Sure, you know some stuff about each other. Like how you are an English major, he’s taking Computer Science, you’re the managing director of the school’s publication, he’s a star player in the basketball team; he knows about your favorite takoyaki flavor (it’s smoked bacon) and your boba order, and you know he likes food that you dislike, namely cheese cake and mint chocolate flavored stuff. He also likes Marvel a lot. He knows you’re obsessed with films from the golden age of Hongkong cinema because you mentioned it in passing. (He doesn’t know you particularly love the Wong Kar-wai ones though…)

But somehow, he never really tells you about his basketball games. Sure, he’d mentioned practices before but it’s something he doesn’t bother to include you in. Not that it would matter to you. It’s not like you tell him all about your stuff in school, either.

Your attention is caught by a ping from your phone. 

[12:05am] Jeon: hey you still up? 

The text reads. You type a reply. 

[12:07am] You: Yes, why? [12:07am] Jeon: let’s facetime [12:07am] You: Why [12:08am] Jeon: i want to see your pretty face

Spoken like a true fuckboy. Really?

Before you could respond, his face is taking up your whole screen, asking to facetime you. Without thinking about it too much, you accepted the call, falling back to your bed. 

From the screen, you could see that he’s wearing a black shirt with a long silver chain around his neck. He smiles that adorable smile when you finally make your whole face visible to the camera. 

“What is it?”

The audio from his end is a little distorted, probably from the loud music from where he’s at. That after-game party, most likely. He texted you about it awhile ago. Nayeon is probably there, too. 

“Hi, pretty girl.”

Again with the nickname and the slight way his eyes are hooded as he said it. If you squint enough, maybe you could tell if he’s drunk or not. You’re not sure. But the way that’s his instant words upon seeing you is making you feel a little weird in your stomach. He’s got to stop calling you that. 

“Are you drunk-calling me right now…?" 

He shakes his head and says something, but you don’t hear it, so you informed him so. The screen shows you dark, pixelated images, making you think he’s probably moving his camera around, and you could make out that he’s walking away from the party as the loud music fades out eventually. 

"I’m not drunk.” He says after he settles on a spot. 

“Oh, okay.” You nod. You shifted on your side. “Why did you call me?" 

He laughs at that. "I can’t call you?" 

His laughter intensifies when he sees you roll your eyes. "No. I’m just wondering… aren’t you at a party?" 

Jungkook nods his head. "Yes, but it’s getting boring here." 

"Oh.”

Another beat of silence, but Jungkook is the one to say another word. 

“Hey, do you wanna go out for a drive?" 

Well… that sounds good. You just finished a write-up and did some studying a little earlier and you also planned to order food but forgot about it.

"Sure.”

Jungkook smiles at that.

“I’ve been wanting to show you something. I think you’ll like it." 

Your eyebrow arched at that. This is getting a little too new. He’s driven you around before but it always involved fucking, not done with the intention to show you something. Not that you aren’t expecting sex tonight, though. You would actually appreciate that.

"What is it?" 

You could make out a smirk from Jungkook’s face on the slightly pixelated screen. "I’m going to show you the real me.” The glint of mischief in his tone cracks you up, so you played right into it,

“Ohhh, does it involve dead bodies?" 

He nods with a serious face. "Yes, but you have to promise me you won’t freak out." 

"Yeah, and don’t you freak out if I tell the police about it.” You squint your eyes, trying to give him a scolding look. 

“Ah,” Jungkook leans back. “You would do that, wouldn’t you? You’re always such a good girl." 

It wouldn’t have meant anything if it wasn’t for the way his voice drops, giving you a meaningful look again. You could feel the heat in your cheeks but you shrug it off. 

"I am a good girl, I pride myself for it." 

Jungkook finally laughs this time, finding this conversation hilarious just as you do. "I know, I like it most especially—" 

After all this time, you developed a sort of a Spidey sense for when Jungkook is about to say perverted things, so before he could make such remarks, you cut him off.

"If you’re gonna say something sexual I’m going to end this call.” But even you could tell it was an empty threat.

Jungkook thinks so, too, you know that, but he decides to step back. “I was just going to say that I like it most especially because it does good to the world." 

The mirth in his eyes tells you otherwise. 

"You do not think that.” You say, rolling your eyes. 

He laughs once more, throwing his head back as if you said the funniest joke in the world. Weirdo. 

“Alright, alright. So I’m coming to your place in five minutes to pick you up. How does that sound?" 

"Good. Nayeon’s currently out… just text me if you get here." 

He told you to end the call – which you argued you were just planning to do so and he didn’t need to tell you and it earned a laugh from him, how stubborn you were about such simple things. You just gave him a baleful look.

Just as you pick out a sweatshirt and some sweats in exchange for your pajama dress, you receive a text from Jungkook that he’s arrived and so you grab your wallet and keys and your phone, heading out. 

You spot his car and knock on the passenger’s seat window and Jungkook immediately opens it for you. 

"Hi, gorgeous.” He greets you. “You want to keep the window open?" 

"Hello. Yes, please.” You say, fixing your seat belt. 

He hums and you press on a button to slide the window open. 

“You want to pick up some food?" 

You perked up. "Yeah, I was planning to get some but I was too lazy to order in earlier." 

Jungkook pressed some buttons again you don’t really understand but it got music to start playing, lights in the car moving into the same beat of the tune (his car was really fancy…). Some mellow ones you kind of liked during this drive on a cold night. He saw a food place from around a corner and you both agreed to get food from the shop. 

He parked somewhere for you guys to open up the take-out. There’s some steamed tofu there so you pick it up and start eating. 

"I’ve been obsessed with tofu these days,” you shared absentmindedly, chewing on said food. 

Jungkook looks at the tofu you were eating. “Really? I remember when you said you dislike it." 

"Yeah, but that’s because I cooked it one time and it sucked." 

"I should teach you to cook one of these days…” you refused to acknowledge what that entails and laughed instead.

“You know how?” You said to tease, but you also genuinely can’t believe he knows how.

Jungkook clicks his tongue, a faux offended look on his face, saying, “Why do I always get that reaction? Of course I know how to cook." 

"Huh,” you pondered. “Wouldn’t have expected it from you." 

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But I have this friend who’s a really good cook and I kinda learned through him." 

"That’s cute. Nayeon knows how to cook and I never learned shit from it.” You laugh at your own words, so does Jungkook. “But hey," 

"Hm?" 

"Do you think my boobs got bigger? I think they got bigger.” You put your food down your lap and caress your breasts through your clothes. 

You’ve been thinking about it since last week. Earlier, you saw yourself naked in your mirror and noticed a change in their size. You almost thought you were pregnant but your period literally just ended yesterday. But can that happen with pregnancies? But… you’re very diligent with your pills… so it can’t be. Right? 

You made a mental note to buy a test tomorrow.

“Look the same to me.” Jungkook says, looking at your chest. 

You grab his free hand and put it over a boob. He squeezes it promptly, and you hear an almost dramatic gasp. 

“Oh, they are bigger." 

You remove his hand over you and nod. "Yeah. But I think it’s just due to some hormonal changes. Also I think I’m putting on weight, I’ve been eating a lot these days… but… it’s stupid but I also think my obsession with tofu has something to do with it," 

Jungkook looks over at you curiously. 

"Yeah, they say tofu makes your boobs bigger." You added.

He arches a brow at that. "Really?" 

"Don’t look so excited." 

Jungkook can’t help but huff out a laugh. "I do not!” You roll your eyes. He insists, “I love your boobs the way they are." 

"Geez, thanks." 

You finished your food and Jungkook drove around again. It’s still in the vicinity of your town. The music in his car serves as a lulling noise in the otherwise quiet night. There’s still a lot of cars on the streets, some occasional honking sounds, but you feel really, really nice, most especially when the wind blows a little harsher and it makes your hair go crazy. Jungkook laughs at that too. 

It’s later in the night when Jungkook slowed down somewhere, and soon, he was parking at an abandoned house.

As if on cue, you looked at him and said, "So you really are going to show me your literal skeletons." 

He laughed at that. 

"Nope, sorry to disappoint, princess." 

Jungkook gets out of the car and you follow, immediately shivering at the wind. You wished you wore a hoodie instead of this thin, knitted sweatshirt, but you didn’t expect it would be this cold. It was nearing summer and the weather has been inconsistent for the last month. 

You look at the abandoned house once again. There were wooden planks nailed on the door, plastic covers draped over the windows, and overall, it just looks really old. Kind of creepy, if you were to be honest. 

In your assessment of the house, you don’t notice Jungkook coming to you with two bottles of soju. He brings them up slightly, a grin on his face.

"Drinks?”

“Okay…” you squint your eyes. “Where are we going to do that?" 

He gives you a knowing smirk. "Inside." 

Jungkook went over the fence with ease and you followed his direction but didn’t do the same thing. He looks back at you. "Hey." 

"Are you sure it’s safe?” You ask, looking around, wrapping your arms around your middle because of the cold. 

Jungkook probably notes the genuine concern in your tone, that’s why he sets the soju down and comes forward to you, the fence serving as some kind of dramatic border. 

“Baby, it’s fine. No one comes around here.” He says but you don’t really feel assured just yet. 

“What if someone comes here now? I don’t want to be arrested…" 

"No one’s getting arrested,” Jungkook insists. You still look hesitant. “Come on. Really. I’ve been here lotta times, haven’t ever seen anyone here since then." 

You look at him. He seems to be telling that truth and well, maybe you’re stupid for believing him but he seemed to know this place well and had been going here for a long time and as far as you know, he doesn’t have criminal records, so… 

"Okay, fine.” You give in. 

Jungkook immediately grins. “Nice. Here, let me help you.” He leans forward and takes a hold of your hips as you go over the fence. It’s not that high, really, but you let him carry you over it until you both entered the abandoned property. 

When he puts you down, you tug at his shirt.

“Wait, your car.” you gasp.

“Oh, it’s fine. I parked it at that green house, someone’s just gonna assume it’s theirs.” He says, completely nonchalant about it.

You think he’s being careless about his fucking Benz but whatever. 

Jungkook leads you to the back of the creepy house and the eerie place immediately gives you goosebumps. The cold of the night does not help, either, so you cling to him until he sits on the ground. 

“Jungkook, that’s dirty.” You tell him, trying to tug him up. 

He chuckles. “It’s fine, princess. Come here, I’ll take my jacket off. Sit beside me.” Indeed, he takes off his jacket, and you worry he might be cold with his t-shirt only now but you also really don’t want to sit on the ground… 

“You’re not cold?” You make sure as you sit beside him. Jungkook opens one of the soju and offers it to you. You take it as he opens another one for himself. 

“Nah, it’s fine.” Jungkook starts drinking but even though you have one in your hand, you don’t. He must’ve noticed it as he says, “Hey. Relax.”

“Aside from my fear of getting arrested, it’s also really fucking creepy here.” You retort, scooting closer to him. You got to be honest and admit that you’re more scared of the place than scared of getting arrested. 

Jungkook throws his head back to laugh at that. “Again, we’re not getting arrested. And what do you mean creepy? You don’t like it here?" 

You look around the place more. "Eh, it’s okay. I just can’t help but think what if there are lost souls around here…” you trailed off, giving him a baleful look when that only made him laugh more. They were quiet laughter, though. Probably to not disrupt said souls. 

“You believe those?" 

You roll your eyes. "Okay, cool macho guy." 

"No, no, I’m sorry,” Jungkook still laughs in between his words and you whisked his hand away in an act of lighthearted sulking when it tried to reach you.

Okay. You don’t exactly believe in ghosts but it’s hard not to when it’s in the middle of the night and quiet and cold and you’re in an abandoned house. You avoid horror movies for a valid reason. 

“Alright, let’s cuddle so you don’t get scared.” Jungkook says, but there’s a teasing sound to it.

“Don’t make fun.” You glared at him. 

“I’m serious, come here.” He opens his arms wide and you roll your eyes, not moving to come closer. He laughs when even after seconds passed you still didn’t give in. You thought he was giving up but instead he twisted to your direction and let both his legs crowd you so that you’re in between them. 

“You’re annoying,” you say but you kind of feel oddly comforted by being close to him like that, and Jungkook must’ve known as well because he just gives you a smug smile, chugging on his soju after.

You did the same. You try to throw away your nerves and scary thoughts, letting yourself relax as he said. When you kind of did a moment later, you find that it’s kind of nice, actually. 

“What do you think?” Jungkook suddenly speaks. 

“Hm?" 

"It’s nice here, right?” He arched his brow at you. “Just try not to think about ghosts." 

You pinch his shin through his cargo pants and he gives you a very ingenuine, "Ouch!" 

"Except for the ugly house, it’s nice here.” You reply. As you look up, you see stars scattered across the dark skies. It was quite a view, honestly. Makes you a little surprised because it was so beautiful. You almost missed Jungkook’s words. 

“Yeah. It’s not exactly beautiful here but it’s a great place to think." 

"Think?" 

Jungkook sees your teasing smile and shakes his head. "Yes, baby, I do a lot of those." 

You chuckle at that and drink more of your alcohol.

You don’t exchange more words after that but you find that it wasn’t awkward. It was just… a nice silence. A comfortable one. With Jungkook crowding you with his legs, you feel like you might be the most relaxed you’ve ever been in the past few months. 

You twist yourself so now you’re not facing forward anymore, but to Jungkook. You realize if he’d been looking forward he just had a view of your side profile. You try not to think too much if he just stared at you, although you did feel him do that for a few minutes a while ago. 

"Hey, congrats on the game.” You tell him with a soft smile on your face, placing your drink on the ground. It’s still filled in half. You could finish it but you doubt you wouldn’t be drunk by that time. Your alcohol tolerance is not at all exemplary. 

“Thanks.” Jungkook sheepishly smiles at you. “You watched it?" 

"Ah, no. I just heard about it. I don’t really know anything about basketball so…” you trail off, noting the way he nods at your words. 

“Right. I’ve never seen you watch us before.”

You try to joke, “That’s because you never invite me to any of your games." 

But it looks like that caught him off guard. "I– huh?” The look on his eyes tells you that he was genuinely surprised at your words, those eyes of him looking like a deer’s when it’s caught in the headlights. 

You laugh. “I’m just kidding. I don’t usually watch sports games. Too crowded for my liking." 

Jungkook nodded at that, but he still looked taken aback from your words earlier. You really were just kidding. You hope he didn’t take it seriously. But he agrees with you, anyway. "Yeah, it can get crowded sometimes." 

Silence and then after a few beats, Jungkook speaks again. 

"Hey, let’s make out." 

You arched a brow but didn’t really find any reason to oppose it, so you went ahead and kissed him. 

Jungkook immediately holds your hips. On the other hand, you snake your arms around his neck, kneeling in between his spread legs. The kiss starts slow but he holds the back of your neck and deepens it.

You whimpered when he nudged your legs with his free hand, and your shock made you break away from the kiss. Jungkook took it as an opportunity to start pecking your neck, though, his hand seemingly coaxing you to open your legs. You got the message and finally straddled his waist, Jungkook groaning and you moaning when you feel your crotches connecting at the action.

He was already sporting a semi, and you also feel your panties getting slick from the way he kissed and bit and licked and soothed your neck. 

"Jungkook,” you moaned, searching for his mouth. 

He kissed you again, all tongue and so sloppy, his hand reaching for the hem of your sweatshirt and creeping inside it to find you not wearing a bra. He did think you weren't wearing one when you put his hand on your boob in the car earlier.

“Ah, fuck,” he squeezed your tit in his hand, you whine. “They really are bigger. Can I see them, baby?" 

You nodded, not even giving it a solid thought as Jungkook immediately hiked up your top until your perky breasts were all bare for him to see. 

And devour, eventually.

Jungkook went straight to sucking your boob and squeezing the other to tend to it, massaging it in his huge palm. He licked a nipple and bit at it slightly, making you sigh at his action. Your arms went to his head to fist his hair in your hands. 

His ministrations on your chest encouraged you to roll your hips against his pelvis, and that elicited a grunt from him. Smiling a little at that, you experimented on doing it a little harder, and as a result, Jungkook tugged at your nipple, making you whine a little too loud.

"Behave." 

You pout. "I want to fuck." 

"It’s not so creepy here anymore?” He had the audacity to tease, but his hands were still on your breasts, fondling them. 

“I didn’t say we can fuck here. Just…” you looked around, not really specifically looking for something. 

Now that Jungkook mentioned it again, you get reminded that it really is creepy as fuck here. And you still didn’t trust the ground. There was no way you could stand fucking in this property. And what if something scary happens while you’re in the middle of doing it… 

Just as you were thinking it, a strange sound catches both of your attention.

“I think we should get back in your car.” You decided. 

Probably seeing the flash of fear in your eyes, Jungkook laughs. “Are you thinking of ghosts again?" 

You slap his chest. "No. But I want to cum." 

"So demanding,” he playfully scolds but you just roll your eyes and let your sweatshirt fall to cover you up once again. You immediately cling to him the moment he stands up and help him pick up the soju bottles, anxiously praying you guys hurry up to get out of here. 

“It was just the wind.” Jungkook comforts you once you were on your way to his car. 

As far as you’re concerned, it’s never just the wind. At least those shitty horror movies you and your cousins watched during sleepovers tell you so. 

Jungkook opens the door to the backseat and you go in and he follows after you. 

You immediately straddle him once he’s seated, earning a chuckle from him. 

“Wow, you’re really eager for me to fuck the fear out of you, huh?” He says, sounding smug about the way you reach for the hem of your shirt and removing it from yourself. 

“Hm. Your dirty talk these days have been subpar.” you slide his jacket off of him and he lets you remove his shirt as well, laughing more at your impatience. 

“Can’t think straight when a pretty girl is on my lap." 

Before you could say something about that, he gripped your waist and got you off his lap, manhandling you to lay on the backseat. Your back is against the car door as Jungkook twisted in his seat, hauling himself backwards to pull your sweats down and take off your birkens. Leaning down, Jungkook pressed open-mouthed kisses up your thighs, teasing his mouth on where you need him the most. 

But you didn’t want to feel anything there other than his cock, and you tell him so. 

"Jungkook,” you whine, catching his attention. When he looks up at you, you whine some more, “Just fuck me. I’m so wet already." 

He cursed, caressing the sides of your thighs. "Baby, I need to prep you.”

“There’s no need for that, come on, please. I need your cock." 

Jungkook groans. But then he makes quick work of unzipping his pants, pulling it down with his boxers until his dick is out. It’s plenty hard already, the shiny tip catching your attention. 

You let out another cry at the sight of him gripping his base, pumping it for a few seconds and finally pushing your panties to the side and slipped inside you. True to your words, it was quite an easy slide, but the burn still stings a little bit. His size was on the little above average spectrum and you’ve always found a hard time taking it in smoothly. 

"Oh, god,” you mewl, grasping his bicep while your other hand grips the back seat. 

Jungkook tightened his fingers on your waist, a hand coming up to one of your thighs to wrap it around his middle. You follow his silent command, welcoming the hot kiss he gives you. 

“Should I move now?” He whispers in your mouth, and you nod frantically, throwing your head back with a moan when he does as told. 

His cock was not even pulled out completely before he slipped it in again, slowly, in agonizing deep strokes. Like he wants to feel every corner of your warm hole. 

“So good…” you moaned, tightening your thigh around his body. 

“You like when I fuck you slow, baby?” Jungkook pressed kisses on your chest this time, and you could only nod your head mindlessly as he repeated thrusting out again. 

“I – ah… so good, Kook. I love it," 

The car is cramped and all you could hear are your heavy breaths and the lewd squelching sound of his cock going in and out of your pussy, his chain dangling in between your bodies feels cold when it momentarily touches your chest.

You would tell him to go faster, harder, but the way he was planting fairy kisses on your skin and his tattooed arm popping veins on the side of your head as if he was finding it hard to not fuck you stupid, you found that his deep and precise albeit slow strokes great.

"So pretty,” he says, moving the strands of hair that stuck everywhere on your face. 

“K-kook,” you whimper. 

“Hm? Baby? What is it?” Jungkook looks at you with an uncharacteristically soft gaze, his dick still continuing its slow pace in your cunt. 

“M-my back hurts like this,” you say. 

His eyes look softer at your words, expression gentle. “Sorry, angel.” He caresses your face and kisses you which you welcomed with a sob when his dick hits deeper after he leaned down. “Here, I’ll sit here. Straddle me.” But he doesn’t even wait for you to move as he hauls you to his lap himself, his cock still inside you, feeling it twitching when you sit on it outright. 

“Good girl,” Jungkook squeezes your breasts and laps at them, only to look up at you again. “You okay?" 

You nod, pushing him slightly so that he relaxes his back against the seat. You brace yourself on his chest and begin to bounce on his cock.

Jungkook throws his head back, letting you on your own pace, hands gripping your hips to help you move. 

"So fucking good for me,” he hissed just as when you mewled when his cock hits a particular spot in you. “Take it easy, baby, nice and slow, okay?” He said, taking a hold on the back of your head and pulling you in for a slow kiss.

You followed his words and planted your knees on either side of him, going down steadily, crying out at the way you feel every ridge of his huge cock inside you like this. 

It was so pleasurable, the way he groaned in your ears, squeezing your breasts, tugging at your sensitive nipples, murmuring stupid, sweet nothings, his cock seemingly growing larger in your heat each second passed, and soon, you feel that knot in your stomach ready to burst. 

“I-I’m cumming, Kook, I’m cumming–" 

Jungkook hummed, and when he felt your movements stuttering, he took it upon himself to press his thumb to your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves and fucking his dick up into you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your orgasm snap. 

"So good for me, baby, fuck, you’re such a good girl for me.” He kept rubbing delicious shapes on your clit, and you had to bite back a pathetic sob as the pleasure started to become too much. 

But he was still chasing his high, and you leaned forward to kiss him through it, letting him do whatever he wanted to get himself there. 

And when he did cum, you feel yourself cumming a second time too, Jungkook letting out strings of curses and nonsense as he feels you dripping more juices down onto his cock. 

Your head falls on the crook of his neck, Jungkook caressing your back as he relaxes on the seat. 

For a while, words were not spoken. He kept kissing your hair while you felt him twitching in your pussy. 

“I’m so tired,” you wearily peeled your face from his neck, looking at him. He has his eyes shut close, but there’s a content smile on his face that you leaned down to kiss. You didn’t know what for, you just felt like kissing him. 

Jungkook hums. The mess in your crotch starts to feel sticky and cold and uncomfortable. 

“Let’s stay like this for a while.” He says, as if he could read that you were about to get off his lap. 

You chuckle. “I can literally feel you going soft." 

"Ignore my dick. I wanna feel you a little more." 

"Okay." 

Jungkook does an unexpected thing of kissing your forehead. You choose to ignore the weird tingling feeling in your stomach and the way your cheeks feel hot at the action, just let him slip his fingers through your hair and rest your cheek on his naked chest. 

You eventually got off of each other after a few minutes, and you both were quiet as you dressed yourselves back. Jungkook and you got out of his car so he could drive and you could enter the passenger’s seat. 

The drive to your place was quiet but the silence was nice and comfortable, just like when you were at the back of that creepy old house. Jungkook occasionally sang along to some of the songs playing from a random playlist he pulled up on Spotify, and his voice sounded kind of nice. You wanted to say something about it but decided not to, in slight fear that he would stop.

When he pulled over in front of your complex, there was a soft, gentle smile on his face when he told you, "Sweet dreams." 

Your face mirrored his as you wished him good night. 

You locked the door to your apartment, ignoring the strange feeling in your stomach. 

You found yourselves at that abandoned house again the next night and Jungkook forewent the booze and brought junk food from Wendy’s. You had a swell time just sitting with each other at the back of the house, talking about the most random things you could talk about like some silly childhood memories. You almost shared your joy upon finding out that you weren’t actually pregnant after taking the test earlier that day just like you said you would the other night, but you found it better to keep that to yourself.

Additionally, you ranted to him about Professor Kang for giving you a C+ on a project you thought you deserved a higher grade for. Jungkook showed blind support by roasting your professor’s haircut. You didn’t fuck that night but did it the next night after a few drinks. 

When the day of their second game of Finals hit, your Uni won again and Jungkook ditched the after-game party, picking you up and driving you to that place. Almost like it became tradition. 

This time, you think you went overboard with the drinks, but it was probably just your shitty alcohol tolerance because Jungkook was standing still with his third bottle – which you childishly argued was unfair. 

Jungkook carried you like a sack of potatoes on your way to his car, ignoring how you slapped his ass. But you were all giggles and hushed whispers in the backseat as Jungkook guided your hips, bouncing you on his cock, just like the other night.

"How does it feel, baby?” Jungkook whispered against your mouth while you gripped his shoulders hard to slide up and down his cock, the tops of your feet resting on his thighs.

“S-so good,” you whimpered, speeding up, feeling yourself getting close to your edge. 

Jungkook tightened his hands on your waist but didn’t really do anything to control your movements or pace like he usually would. Like he was just enjoying you on top of him, using his cock to get off. 

You leaned down to kiss him, your moan upon feeling him deeper getting swallowed by the way he immediately reciprocated your touch.

You opened your eyes but then you suddenly caught a glimpse of a car. You pulled away from the kiss, but Jungkook took it as an opportunity to kiss your neck instead. While he was busy lapping up your skin, you narrowed your eyes to see clearer, only to realize that the car you saw was a fucking police cruiser. 

“Jungkook,” you called him, stopping your movements on his lap. 

“Baby,” Jungkook’s voice nearly sounded like a whine, understandably confused at your action– or lack thereof. 

But you only tapped his shoulder a little harder. 

“There’s a damn cruiser in front of us." 

Well, it wasn’t actually in front of you. It was more like, parked across from you, beside that abandoned house. 

Jungkook seemed to realize your panic though. His car wasn’t lit because you immediately got into it the moment he put you in the backseat. It was a little inconvenient especially when you were slipping him in but it turned to be a blessing in disguise because whoever owned that cruiser wouldn't have noticed what you were doing in his car.

"Shit." 

You hastily climbed off of him, quickly finding your shorts on the floor of the car and sliding it on while seated. Meanwhile, Jungkook just tucked his dick in his boxers and zipped up his pants. It was pure luck that you didn’t completely strip each other off earlier because it made for a fast dress up.

"Wait.” Jungkook leaned over the center part of the car and stayed a few seconds hunched over the console. You were just about to ask him what he was doing when the passenger’s seat suddenly reclined back. 

“Oh." 

"We can climb over here so that we don’t have to go out and have a cop seeing us. It would be suspicious.” He suggested, and you quickly nodded and did what he told you with a little bit of his help.

Jungkook pressed a button once again that had the driver’s seat this time leaning back, just like yours did. He climbed over it just as fast, putting on his seatbelt that you remember you needed to do as well so you followed. 

He lit on the car and started the engine. But before he could drive, a knock on his window made you both look at it.

“Fuck.”

You held your breath as you watched his window slowly sliding down, revealing a police decked in his uniform hunching down to see the inside of the car. 

“Evening, officer.” Jungkook greets casually. You didn’t know what to do. You reached for the phone in your pocket and turn it on, ducking down as much as you could so as to hide your face, trying to seem busy and casual.

“Oh, it’s just some kids, Hwang,” The cop turned to the side, and that’s when you heard another set of footsteps coming towards you. “You kids live here?" 

"Yeah. It’s my parents’ house, I’m just about to drive my girlfriend home.” Jungkook answered, referring to the green house he parked at, not a hint of hesitation or even an ounce of nervousness in his demeanor. 

You were too frozen to react to the way he called you his girlfriend. 

The other cop nodded. “Apologies. We were just roaming. Be careful, kid, you got a sleek car. There’s some thief on the loose around the street." 

Jungkook nodded as well, even did a little salute as he said, "You got it, sir." 

The cop patted the top of his car and Jungkook bid them a final goodbye before closing his window again and driving away. 

You felt like your soul just went right back inside you after it got out for a moment there. 

"Holy shit, that was the craziest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Really?”

“Yes!” 

And then suddenly, you giggled. Actually, like, giggled. Because realizing what just happened, you found every single thing fucking hilarious. You got away from cops!

“Oh my god, Jungkook. That was insane!” You said in between your laughter. 

Jungkook looked over at you before training his attention to the road and finally laughing with you, seemingly finding what happened just as hilarious. “Yeah. It was, it was.”

“And they really believed you! I can’t believe it,” you covered your face with both of your hands, your belly starting to hurt with how much you found the whole thing incredulous that it was funny.

“It’s not like we did anything wrong…” Jungkook said but he had a hint of playful tone when he spoke the words.

You snorted. “Well, in between public indecency and trespassing, which do you think they would most likely arrest us for?" 

That got Jungkook to laugh again. 

During the ride to your place, you complained about feeling too cold at one point. Jungkook asked if you wanted him to turn the A/C down but you shook your head and so he offered his jacket instead because you only wore a shirt. In your defense, when he picked you up, the weather was humid even though it was late at night.

You didn’t stop talking and laughing about what happened earlier, though. You found it hard to let go of it just like that.

"You are so drunk,” Jungkook chuckled as he pulled over. “You’re going to regret it tomorrow." 

"It’s Saturday tom–” you cut yourself off with a yawn. 

“You’re cute when you’re drunk.” Jungkook commented, pulling over, indicating that you were near your apartment. You didn’t even notice. 

“Not drunk, just tipsy.” You said, starting to unbuckle your seat belt but you kept on failing. Your tipsiness was starting to kick in again and everything was a little too hazy in your head.

You still definitely are aware about your surroundings, so aware that you felt Jungkook hunching over your side to unbuckle your seat belt for you, so close that you felt his breath fanning your face.

“Thanks.” You smiled, he returned it.

You opened the door yourself this time, though, and was only a little surprised to see Jungkook getting out of his car too.

“Let me walk you to your door."

And honestly, you should be worried about the possibility of Nayeon being at the apartment and seeing you together, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to care when all you could feel was odd content in feeling Jungkook’s presence as you walked towards your place. 

It was quiet but it was comfortable. You noticed how it’s always been like that with him, especially these days.

When you reached your door, you turned to Jungkook who was a little behind you, probably slowed his steps when you neared your place.

“Thanks for walking me." 

"No biggies,” Jungkook grins and then he stares at you for a while.

“What?” You asked. 

He leans down, holds your hip and presses his mouth against your own. 

Surprisingly, you didn’t really make a big deal out of it in your head when you were supposed to because this has never happened before: Jungkook walking you to your door and kissing you before he leaves has never occurred before. 

And yet, it felt so normal. Like it was just something that happens on the daily. Like you were so used to feeling his casual and soft kisses instead of the passionate and hard ones that often led to something. 

“See you next week?" 

You nod, biting your lip as he lets you go. "Yeah." 

Jungkook gives you a one, last small smile before he turns around and goes to his car, entering it and driving away from your complex. 

What a crazy night. 

You did not want to admit it, but maybe the strange feeling in your stomach the other night was goddamn butterflies.

You really weren’t supposed to come with.

But Juyeon, your editor in chief, told you to accompany Ryujin as she goes to interview the basketball team for their second win at the Finals season today. Your responsibility told you that it was fine, which, really is fine because you were used to monitoring freshmen in the club and that was actually one of your official jobs as the managing director but!

You were basically gonna do a babysitting job because Ryujin apparently fucked a guy from the team after she interviewed them the first time and it resulted to a poor article, and as a result, Juyeon is afraid she’s gonna fuck up her future write-ups so you’re the collateral damage of the whole situation. 

Juyeon didn’t tell you that herself, though. Keeping things professional and decent. You heard it from the other members of the club. 

Right now, you have to be at the gymnasium to meet people you’ve never really bothered meeting before and have always avoided for obvious reasons. 

But it was fine.

You checked Ryujin’s questions on the way there and when you arrived, she immediately tried to spot the team’s coach to talk to him about the interview she was gonna conduct. 

Instantly, you felt a prickling sensation on your arms and the back of your neck as the varsity players stopped on their tracks to look at the newcomers. At this hour, you can see no one at the gym seats. You and Ryujin were the only civilians and they noticed that immediately. 

It’s as if you couldn’t help it, but you spotted Jungkook on one of the benches drinking water. As if on cue, he met your gaze, and you could see the little surprise he had on his face seeing you. However, you quickly looked away and walked towards where the coach and Ryujin were.

"I’m here with our managing director, too. She’s here to help me with the interview.” Ryujin told the coach, all smiles. 

“Good day, sir.” You greeted him. He nodded at you in acknowledgement and turned to look at his team. 

“Alright,” The coach loudly said, which got the players to transfix their attention to him instead. You tried not to notice Jungkook looking at you as he walked towards your direction, the other members doing the same. Coach stood straight and elaborated, “The school’s publication is here to interview you about the previous game you’ve had. Practice ends here–” he was cut off by the collective loud cheers from the guys. He shook his head. “But put on your best behavior." 

"Guaranteed, coach.” Someone said but you saw how he sent a wink to Ryujin’s way.

Jesus Christ, where even was the subtlety? It was such a boy-ish thing to do. If you could, you would roll your eyes. Wait – was it the guy she fucked on that interview? Ugh. You couldn’t really bring yourself to care. It was her sex life… just maybe she shouldn’t mix it with her journalism activities… 

“Careful, Kang. I’m gonna make you do ten laps if you don’t give these writers some good material,” The coach warned and some of them snorted. He then turned to both of you and Ryujin. “These guys are very rowdy but you guys will be fine." 

You try to smile at him as he bids his goodbye and leaves the gym. Taejun, the senior sports journalist had already interviewed him so Ryujin only had to do it with the players themselves so they could collaborate on the article. 

Ryujin enthusiastically greeted the team and introduced herself, as well as you. You offered them a small smile and was only a little taken aback when Taehyung chirped your name.

"Hi, Taehyung.” you return his greeting.

He grins at you.

Ryujin looks at you immediately. “Oh, you know someone here?" 

Yeah, technically you knew of some people here. You knew Taehyung though, and you knew Jungkook. But you chose to just nod instead of saying anything. 

Ryujin lets out a happy noise. "That’s so cool!" 

Yeah…

"Hey, surprised to see you here,” Taehyung walked up to you. “I thought you weren’t in the sports section?”

You were surprised to know that Taehyung even remembers what you told him a long time ago. You got to know each other that much during the time you were constantly talking. 

“Well, yes. Ryujin is a freshman, though. I take care of them sometimes, you can say.” You replied. 

Taehyung nodded in understanding. “You’re gonna be here for a while?" 

"We’ll see. But I think the interview will be a quick one." 

Someone from the team called Taehyung and he looked at you apologetically. You nodded with a smile. 

"We always seem so busy whenever we see each other,” Taehyung shakes his head with a laugh. You find that quite funny too. “Hey, do you wanna catch up? Get some coffee around." 

"Oh, yeah, sure. But I bet your sched is crazy these days.” you said, alluding to their constant practices for Finals season. 

“Nah, I can make time. Unless you have a crazy sched too?” He gave you a playful smile. 

You cocked your head to the side, squinting your eyes at him. “Not all of us are trying to get our school a big trophy." 

Taehyung laughed at that and his teammates called for him again, this time it was Jungkook. You both looked at him. He had a strange look on his face but you shrugged it off. 

"Well, I better get going. Ryujin’s starting.” He said and pointed back with his thumb. 

The boys were kind of rowdy in the start, but they eventually scattered around the benches doing their own thing as Ryujin talked to them individually, especially the ones who usually play in court. 

You offered to take some of your own notes, too, were kind of bothered that you didn’t really understand some of the terms used and that this was very unusual territory for you to get a material at for writing an article. You never really dabbled on sports writing. 

Eventually, you felt your bladder looking for relief so you told Ryujin that you would be back in a minute. 

It was a little difficult to find the comfort room but you did see it in the far corner of the hallway, a few steps away from the gymnasium. 

You were washing your hands on the communal sink after peeing when the door suddenly opened, revealing Jungkook in his jersey. 

Hand clutching your chest, you looked at him with a scandalized expression. 

“Jesus,” you squint your eyes. “Why are you here?”

Jungkook closes the door and saunters towards the room. “No greetings or anything?" 

You give him an eyeroll and come back to washing your hands as soon as you get over the initial shock of seeing him. 

You simply shrug.

In a second, Jungkook was beside you.

"We haven’t seen each other in a while,” he said, giving you a playful nudge. 

You whisk your hands, ridding the wetness out of your hands. 

“It’s only been three days." 

You see him smile at you through the mirror, and he has that soft look again on his face. You get reminded of your last night together. When he kissed you good night as he dropped you home. 

"I was surprised to see you there,” Jungkook says, turning around and leaning back on the counter. 

You think he’s referring to seeing you at the gym and that makes you chuckle. Why was everyone surprised to see you at the gym? “Why, you think you guys own the gym or something?" 

Jungkook found your sass amusing, though. 

"Come on, you know what I mean." 

You playfully narrowed your eyes at him but ended up laughing for no reason other than he also laughed. 

"Eh, duty calls. Our EIC had me accompany Ryujin, so...” you see Jungkook nodding. You swerve the topic to the next one. “Your big game starts in, like, five days from now.” You mirror his stance and also lean back on the counter. 

Jungkook watched as you did so. “Yeah.”

His eyes are trained on yours, and you hold a weird, intense stare until he finally peels himself off from the counter and walks to you. You’re surprised that you’ve never thought about him in his jersey but you were able to see him earlier like this before and right now, in your close up view, damn. He looked good. Especially with his tattoos all out like that. You really like them. They looked pretty.

“It’s probably gonna be the last game,” you said, referring to the fact that they’ve won the last two games and if they win this one, it would be the concluding point of the Finals season. “You’re going to make the Uni proud?” You arched a brow at him. 

He shrugged. And finally, he crossed the small distance between you and held your hips. You think you unintentionally let out a happy hum at the contact. You’ve been wanting him to touch you as soon as you saw him earlier. For some weird reason. 

“Sure, but only if you’re there for me to give me my personal reward,” The lewd undertone was not lost on you and it made you giggle. Somehow, he’d gotten even closer, fingers caressing your hips in soothing circles. “You look good, by the way. This skirt is new?" 

It is new. You try not to think too much about what it says about you that you kind of thought of him when you placed the order a week ago. It was just a blip of thought, anyway. You swear. 

"Yes. And you’re kinda sweaty,” He really is. But it doesn’t stop you from looping your arms around his neck and Jungkook is only visibly satisfied at the close proximity. 

“Hard at work,” he leans down, but he only nudges your nose. “Can I see your panties?" 

You would have scolded yourself for giggling like a school girl at that question, but Jungkook must’ve realized how stupid that sounded too as he laughed together with you. 

"I don’t know, you’re gonna have to do it yourself. I think.” You whispered, playing into the joke. 

You saw his smirk before he finally closed the hairsbreadth gap between you and touched your mouth against his. He prodded at the seam of your lips with his tongue and you let him access, his tongue swirling with your own as you shared a rather passionate kiss in the sink.

There was a string of saliva between your mouths when he broke free.

“God, I missed your taste.”

It was his last words before he dove in again, kissing you way deeper now, more frantic as well, as he started getting handsy. At some point, his hands on your hips lifted you up until you were seated on the counter, Jungkook kissing you like it hasn’t only been three days since he had you like this. He squeezed your bare thighs that got you whimpering, your hips, waist. Up, up, and up until he was copping a feel on your boobs through your clothes. 

He was kissing your neck when you suddenly felt him untucking your shirt from your skirt. 

“Wait, no,” You tried to get your head out of your previous headspace and took a hold of his wrists. 

“No?” Jungkook stops, looking at you curiously, lips plump, hair a little wild. And with his stupid basketball uniform, it was extremely hard to discourage his advances. 

But…

“Someone might come in,” you say with genuine worry in your voice, pushing him away slightly. 

“There’s not really a lot of people who come to this bathroom,” he tells you. Which, you think, kind of makes sense. Him and his teammates have their locker rooms and their own comfort room that was an extension of the gym (which you pointedly didn’t go to for obvious reasons) and this part of the campus was a little quiet. 

But then again, you did tell Ryujin you would be back in a minute. And it would be quite ironic if Juyeon told you to monitor her because she fucked someone in the team while you go ahead and fail to do that job because you were fooling around with another someone from the same team. 

Jesus. That’s enough crisis for today. 

“Ryujin’s probably going to interview you soon,” you said, tucking your shirt back into your skirt.

You jump slightly to step on the floor, turning around to fix your hair, seeing Jungkook stepping back through the mirror. “Why did you leave the gym, by the way?" 

Jungkook invades your personal space again and presses himself to your back. "I got excited when I saw you…” he whispers in your ear and your whimper betrays your resistance from literally a few seconds ago as you feel something hard on your ass. 

But at the same time, you look at him incredulously through the mirror. He just shrugs as he sees it, gripping your hips again and burrowing his face on the crook of your neck.

“Kook,” you whine.

Jungkook chuckled and before you can do something stupid like give in to his touch, he leaned back and held his hands up. 

“Fine, fine,” he says, still laughing when you turn around to glare at him. “Can I see you later?" 

You jab at his chest lightly. "For being annoying just right now, you can’t " 

His face contorts and pouts. "Aw, come on," 

You roll your eyes at his dramatic antics. 

"We can’t get into anything tonight. Nayeon is staying at home and I’m nervous about her seeing your car if you pick me up,” you tell him. “Also, we can’t go to that place. That cruiser might be back again." 

"Yeah, yeah,” Jungkook agrees. “We can just go together to my place after this, though? It would be late by the time your friend is finished with the interview."  

You look at him funny. 

He sighs. "Damn, I thought I could finally convince you to fuck at my place." 

You shake your head. "Never.”

From the start, you both agreed to only fuck at your place (whenever Nayeon is not around, of course) per your request. Jungkook lives quite far from the campus, at least far compared to yours, and it was a high complex building. As far as you know, most of the big shots at school live there and he’s neighbors with Taehyung. You don’t want to risk it. 

“Never is a long time..” Jungkook wiggles his brows at you and that breaks you from your thoughts. 

Laughing, you push at him playfully. 

“Gee. You should go. They’re probably now wondering why you’re taking so long." 

"They’re probably thinking I’m taking a shit.” he shrugs. “I think I told Taehyung that before I left.”

“Oh no, is that what they’re going to think about me, too?” You gave him an animated concerned look, making your voice purposely higher in pitch. 

“Wait, what? You take a shit?” Jungkook playing into the joke caused you to laugh and you punched his bicep that he just took with a grin. 

When the laughter died down, Jungkook looked at you seriously.

“When can I see you again?" 

"I don’t know. Sometime this week, maybe? Don’t be whiny.” You smile as you see his pout. “Hey, you really should go now." 

He looked a little hesitant but he didn’t really have a choice. And you were also growing more concerned that someone from the gym might think maliciously about you and Jungkook disappearing at the same time for a long time. Hopefully, no one cared enough to think about it. 

"Alright.” Jungkook says finally and starts to step out. Before he leaves, though, he asks, “Wait, are you going to the game?" 

You hope Jungkook doesn’t see the surprise if it showed on your face. You didn’t expect him to ask that. 

But you try to play it cool, pondering on it. It’s Wednesday, next week, and as far as you knew, there was nothing major in your schedule. You still don’t know about that, though. Maybe some of your profs would drop a big project on your heads come Monday. 

It’s why you were surprised to hear yourself say, "I’ll try." 

Jungkook gave you a wide grin before he left completely.

When you got back to the gym, Ryujin was already talking to him.

Jungkook looked at the door when you entered and did a poor job of hiding a smile to himself, and for what reason, you simply didn’t know. But so as you did not know the reason for why you looked too closely at him to even notice that tiny gesture. 

For someone who was adamant to see you last week, Jungkook wasn’t really able to snuck in time to do so. You shared texts here and there, but he mentioned that they’ve been practicing nonstop since the past few days because they are preparing for a big game, after all. Might be the last one if they come through and win it. 

Come Wednesday, the day of the third game, Jungkook texted you that he got a reserved seat for you at the venue. Your weird giddiness over that was clouded by the worry at the thought of how he managed to do that without anyone suspecting anything about your relationship. You mentally noted to tell him about it later. 

When Nayeon came home after classes, she told you she got two tickets for the game if you wanted to come with. You didn’t really need tickets, though, you could just use your journalist card and they would let you in.

See, you had all these resources to go to the game but the thing is, you have a book review and another assignment due tonight and you needed to get some studying done for a test tomorrow. The game starts at 3 pm and will probably end around 6 or even later than that. It’s not that you never procrastinated in your life but you’ve learned over the years to prioritize more important things over the ones that didn’t really need urgency. And this is why you told Nayeon that you couldn’t come with her because of your packed schedule today. 

But worry looms over you as you remember how excited Jungkook seemed over your texts earlier when you asked him what you should expect at the game. He told you about how it could be chaotic and noisy and crowded but it was gonna be fun and worth your while, especially if – he jokingly said – he scores a shot for you if you were to be there. 

Looking back, you made it sound like you were gonna come but in your defense, you really were going to but these school activities came to you unexpectedly and you didn’t have the luxury of time to set them aside to watch a basketball game first. 

And anyway, was it really a big deal if you didn’t come? You don’t think Jungkook would really mind. Maybe his texts went over your head that you thought he was excited at the prospect of you going to his game. You would tell yourself it didn’t matter, and if Jungkook was going to be shit about it (which you doubt, ‘cause he seemed casual about inviting you) then he was weird for being (hypothetically) weird about it. It wasn’t like this was normal for you both, anyway; you going to his games, that is. 

So around 2 pm, you messaged him. 

[2:06pm] You: Hey, I’m really sorry I can’t go to your game. Swamped with school works, but I wish you good luck :) Go break a leg but hopefully not literally! 

It was hard to focus on writing your book review because you couldn’t help but be agitated as you remembered that they air these Finals games on television and you could literally just turn it on and watch it from there. But the empty document on your laptop was glaring at you, like it was daring you to watch TV instead of finishing it. 

Of course, you chose to tend to the intimidating clean white MS word page instead. As if you really had a choice in the first place. 

At 10 pm, your book review was mostly done and only needed a few touch-ups. You also finished your other assignment so you finally had some time to eat.

You just reheated a leftover pizza from your fridge when you received a text from Nayeon.

[10:11pm] Im Nayeonie: babe im sleeping over at a friend’s so the place is all yours for tonight. don’t forget to lock up ok  [10:11pm] You: Ok! You’ll be back tomorrow morning?  [10:14pm] Im Nayeonie: eh probably around 10am but I’ll see 

You remember that she was at the game earlier. It actually slipped off your mind eventually when you got your head in too deep with finishing your assignments, but now that you’re reminded of it again, you wanted to know how it was.

[10:16pm] You: Hey how was the game?  [10:16pm] Im Nayeonie: oh my ur interested in bb now??  [10:17pm] You: Don’t tease! I just wanted to know if you had fun  [10:17pm] Im Nayeonie: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You snort at the ridiculous emoticon. 

[10:17pm] You: What the hell does that mean?!  [10:17pm] Im Nayeonie: nothing lmaoooo [10:18pm] Im Nayeonie: but the game was fine! it was kinda intense but our uni lost unfortunately): they had a three point difference 

Oh. You usually didn’t care about any sports games that your Uni has but the news deflated you for some reason.

[10:19pm] You: Ah, thats unfortunate

You replied, finding that you didn’t really know what to say. Should you message Jungkook? But what were you going to say? 

[10:19pm] Im Nayeonie: yeah it is it was supposed to be the last game 😖😖 but there’s still 2 more to go anyway im not too worried about it finals went like this last season too [10:20pm] Im Nayeonie: but jungkook’s buzzer beater at game 4 was really insane it’s like all over on twt IK you proly won’t care about it but ill still send you a link HAHAHAH 

Nayeon did send you a link and thankfully you were able to see it even though you didn’t have Twitter, but you looked up "buzzer beater” on Google first. You didn’t understand it completely but slowly did when you played the video she was talking about. 

The camera was a bit shaky and the background was expectedly noisy. The angle shifted to the timer on top of the ring and you could see that there was only ten seconds left. When the lens panned to the court, you saw a player wearing your Uni’s colors and you couldn’t have mistaken Jungkook for anyone when you spotted the tattoo sleeve. He was a bit far from the ring, at that curved line – the three-point line, you learned through the replies – but he successfully shot the ball quite gracefully into the ring and everyone just lost it. Even the person behind the video was cheering exuberantly. You could also make out that Jungkook pumped the air at his own shot in triumph as a buzzing sound overtook the screams before the clip ended. 

Apparently, they were losing in the fourth game, but Jungkook managed to make a three-point shot in the very literal end which got them a chance to play through the fifth.

You scrolled through the comments and found out that it was indeed a tight game and the other team only had a three-point difference with your Uni’s team, like Nayeon said.

It was amazing, in your opinion, but people online could really be shitty.

Some were mocking Jungkook’s buzzer beater in game 4, saying how it was useless and how he could’ve done it again in game 5 but wasn’t able to. You didn’t know shit about basketball but you were very certain it was a rare thing to do in court so the people who were complaining about it could go fuck themselves.

This is why you avoid social media as much as possible. You hope Jungkook doesn’t see those comments. 

You were frowning as you texted Nayeon back. 

[10:26pm] You: That was cool [10:26pm] You: Hey I’ll talk to you soon I’m gonna go eat dinner. Have fun on your sleepover

You weren’t able to see her reply when Jungkook’s name is suddenly plastered all over your screen. You accepted his call on the third ring.

“Hi,” you say. You can’t help but think about the negative comments on Twitter but Jungkook sounded fine when he answered. 

“Hi, baby,” he greeted on his end. “Can I see you?" 

"Sure,” you answer almost immediately. You composed yourself before continuing. “Nayeon will be out until morning. Come over?" 

You can feel his smile through the line as he says, "Nice. Be there in five." 

Per his words, Jungkook did arrive in five minutes and when you heard a knock from your front door, you quickly opened it and ushered him inside. 

"Hey,” you greet him as he removes his stompers off. He slides on your extra fluffy home slippers, your old one that you have been lending him whenever he would come over. You think it’s kind of funny on his feet because the sliders were too small. “I just finished my leftover pizza for dinner so I don’t have any food right now. Do you want me to order in?" 

Jungkook shakes his head. "Nah, I’m not really hungry. Unless you are? Wait, nevermind, I’ll do that." 

He takes out his phone but you stop him. 

"No, no, it’s fine. I actually ordered Chinese while you were on your way so I could beat you to it.” You tease. But you kind of meant it, honestly. He needs to stop paying for everything. But also, the pizza didn’t cut your hunger and you needed to eat rice, anyway, so you ordered in right after your call with him ended.

Jungkook frowned but then shook his head. “Alright." 

"Water?” You asked, going towards the kitchen. 

“Yes, please." 

He followed you on your way there and when you turned around to give him the glass, he snaked an arm around your waist and kissed you. 

It took you by surprise, but you reciprocated immediately. You mirrored his smile when he broke the kiss. He gazed at you, a fond look on his face, and leaned down to press his forehead to yours and said, "Hi." 

You giggle. "Hi." 

Jungkook presses his mouth on you again and you kiss some more for a little while. It was weird because your kisses usually lead to fucking, but this time it didn’t mean anything other than plain kissing, just for the sake of it. You were reminded of that time in high school when you and your first boyfriend often made out (sloppily) in your room because it was all you were ready to do. Jungkook was far more skilled than said first boyfriend, though. And it felt way nicer with him. 

You were the one to pull away, licking your lips and biting the bottom one.

"Do you wanna watch something?" 

"Hm. Hopefully you aren’t going to make me watch Legally Blonde again." 

Your frown is instant. "I thought you liked that movie?" 

Jungkook chuckles and pecks your lips again but you sulk, especially after hearing his next words, "I do, baby. It’s just I’m getting tired of it…” When he sees your frown deepening, he says, “I’m kidding. We can watch it." 

"No, I feel betrayed now.” You break free from his hold and down another glass of water. 

He laughed and was about to say more when your doorbell rang, indicating the food delivery just arrived. Jungkook was the one to volunteer. 

“I’ll go get it." 

You turned on the TV in the living room and sat on the couch.

Jungkook followed almost as quickly after you, placing the bags of Chinese food on the coffee table. 

"Oh, I think we should watch an Adam Sandlers movie. Just something not so serious.” you said just as when Jungkook sat beside you, remembering about his game earlier. You noted that he seemed to be in a good mood when he came in but you never know, maybe he was good at hiding his real emotions or whatever. And, well, maybe you were a little happy to see him laughing like that with you, despite losing an important game.

“I thought you hated him and his movies?" 

You shrug, appreciating that he even remembers that.

"Eh, it’s fine. It's... camp, you know? Sometimes shitty movies are funny because they’re shitty." 

After a while, you get reminded why you don’t watch Adam Sandlers movies. Even Jungkook who laughs at the most stupid jokes didn’t find the supposed punchlines of the movie you were watching funny. But somehow, you found yourselves eventually laughing at how unfunny the film was and only a little surprised when you went through the whole Chinese take-outs not even 30 minutes in the movie. 

"His movies always make my film maker dreams die.” You comment absentmindedly, drinking your water. 

Jungkook looks at you with a surprised expression. “Filmmaker?" 

You try to remember if you mentioned it to him in passing before. By the look on his face, it was probably his first time hearing it.

"Yep." 

"Oh,” Jungkook nods in thought. “I see you didn’t pursue it." 

"Eh, film school is expensive. Also, it’s not a very generous industry for women, so.” You shrug nonchalantly.

It’s a dormant dream for the most part. Sometimes, you want it a lot, but most of the time, not really. Fresh out of high school, you were supposed to major in it but it was way more you could afford, and your family didn't exactly support it. So study education it is. Besides, teaching was a secondary dream that you decided you could pursue, and well, you were doing well with it. These days though, you were planning to go to law school but it's still something you aren't very sure yet.

It’s a drama you don’t want to bother Jungkook with, though. You never had a discussion like this before… and you weren’t really sure if you were ready to open up to someone like that. 

“I did videography in first year,” he shares. You arch your brow at that. Obviously you didn’t know. “I liked it and I was going to major in multimedia arts but dad said it was either be a lawyer or a doctor if I don’t do tech." 

Ah. An overachiever family, you think. His dad owns a really huge tech company – he didn’t tell you that himself, you just heard it from other people in your school. He probably doesn’t even know you knew that. But you wouldn’t be surprised if he told you right now that his family was full of successful professionals. 

"You went with tech.” You say. 

Jungkook chuckles. “I did. But I made a bargain and said I would only take it if he lets me play basketball. He did let me, but he only tolerates it because I’m passing my classes." 

You nodded, relating a bit. you wouldn't say your parents were particularly strict – but they were extremely practical people who wanted practical lives for their children. They weren’t over-controlling that they smother you with decisions you could make yourself. 

"He really hates it, though.” Jungkook continues. 

“Basketball?” You ask. 

He nods. “Yeah. He thinks I’m thinking of going professional after I graduate, he doesn’t want me to do it." 

"Are you?” You ask, curious. “Going professional, I mean.”

Jungkook shrugs. “I don’t know yet. I love playing. I'd also like to do tech after college, but it feels like I’m just following in his footsteps if I do that," And as if you didn't know already, he humbly adds, "My father’s in tech, by the way.” -- as if his dad was just a regular guy in the field.

He didn’t say it directly, but you feel like he’s probably being pressured by his dad to do this and that. And that makes you feel bad. Jungkook was always so easy-going, so laidback in a way that you would think he was just some varsity casanova asshole with zero care about their future because they think their looks could get them by through their lives, but he really wasn’t anything like that at all. He joined basketball because he loves it, maybe he gets a high from people admiring him for it but you could say he does it mostly for himself. That’s why he trains so hard and plays so hard in court. Aside from that, he was also really smart – which gets overlooked quite often because of his jock persona, and you know that because you were one of those who did overlook his intelligence before because he was a varsity. But he was smart, alright. He takes his studies seriously just as basketball. 

Jungkook is admittedly a lot of great things. And it was sad that his family seemed to not support him, the way you see it.

But… 

You didn’t really know what to tell him. Is he opening up? It’s just that… you never really talked about these things before and what he’s saying right now is so far from your usual lighthearted and casual conversations and interactions. You drew a conclusion that he probably has a tight relationship with his dad, but you don’t know what to do with that entirely new information. 

“Uhm, you’re good at it, basketball,” And his studies, too. You wanted to say but didn’t. You add, “I saw your beater buzzer from the game earlier. It was really cool." 

"It’s buzzer beater– hey, how did you know about that?” He says with an amused smile. You feel slightly embarrassed at how you mixed up the term but it was kind of complicated, alright! And you were kind of nervous. You find it comforting that he doesn’t tease you about it, though.

“Oh, well. Nayeon texted me about it. Also, you’re like, trending on Twitter.” You just told what Nayeon said. You actually didn’t know if he was trending because you didn’t have an account in the first place. “But don’t go look there, though, you’ll have a migraine." 

Jungkook chuckles and leans back on the couch, relaxed in that position. "Yeah. People on the net can be real assholes."

That comment makes you frown. That probably meant he saw the negative feedback, right? Was he used to it? That would be… upsetting if he was. You knew about the local popularity of the athletes in your school, especially the football and volleyball and basketball players. Jungkook is obviously included in that circle but you feel bad that he has to deal with unnecessary hate. Jobs really are needed for chronically online people, you think bitterly.

Before you could say anything, Jungkook’s phone rang and you didn’t mean to look at his screen but you saw "Dad”. He declined the call. 

“He’s talking my ear off about the game earlier,” Jungkook shakes his head. “He acts real concerned over my loss for someone who’s very unsupportive of my basketball career.” He was grinning while he said it but you could hear the annoyance in his tone, how he shut down his phone to probably dodge future calls from his father.

You turned to the movie in front of you.

“Hey, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to go.” You said, effectively changing the subject.

“Hm?” You meet Jungkook’s gaze. He smiles a little. “Ah, I read your text earlier, it’s fine." 

You nodded and tried to focus on the movie again, but you haven’t been following the plot and so you had no idea what they’re showing you now. 

Jungkook suddenly speaks. 

"So are you planning to teach once you graduate? Or take law? You mentioned it before."

Oh. Is he…? 

You could feel his genuine curiosity in that question. But you find yourself hesitating to engage in any more deep conversation with him. It’s not that you didn’t want to share… you’re just not that kind of person. Is he expecting you to lay out your personal drama? 

You choose not to.

"Not sure. I don't want to talk about it."

You didn't mean for it to come out the way it did; clipped and annoyed. As if you didn't want to talk to him. And you could see that he was taken aback, surprised at the sudden change of your tone. But why? You didn’t feel like sharing. And anyway, you were only fuck buddies, right? Are you suddenly becoming bestfriends who tell each other about everything? 

You awkwardly shifted in your seat, eyes trained on the screen in front of you but you felt Jungkook’s stare even while you weren’t looking at him, his eyes boring holes in your side profile. 

You decided to not think too much about the awkward silence throughout the next few minutes, but Jungkook suddenly stood up, looking at his phone.

“I... should get going,” Jungkook announces. 

And you didn’t expect to feel so bummed about it. But somehow, you were relieved. There was suddenly a certain strange energy around and you didn’t know if you could take any more of it.

“Ah, yeah, it’s kind of late…” you trail off. 

Jungkook smiles at you but it doesn’t reach his eyes. You delude yourself into thinking it was not fake. He’s never faked a smile with you before. 

“Thanks for the food and for inviting me over.”

“No biggies.” You say as you follow him towards the door. 

It’s silent again when he wears his shoes, and once he was set and ready to go, you could feel that your smile was hesitant as he bid his goodbye. 

“See you around." 

He didn’t offer anything more – he would usually tease you as he goes out, just to rile you up before you part ways. Jungkook just gave a final wave and went on his way.

You had a hard time sleeping that night.

It wasn’t hard to avoid Jungkook all week when he himself seemed to be outdoing you in it.

For the record, you weren’t actually avoiding him for all sense of the word. You needed your space to collect your thoughts from that night and were trying to recover from the awkwardness of the situation because Jungkook and you might not be the best of friends but you’ve never been awkward with each other like that before.

But maybe you should be a little relieved that he hasn’t been texting, or that you haven’t heard from him. Because you weren’t sure if you were able to manage getting out of your shell so soon.

It didn’t mean that it didn’t sting a bit when he didn’t even spare you a glance the other day as you passed each other in the hallways and perhaps you should be celebrating, because yey, he finally did not acknowledge you in some way like meet your gaze and give you a small smile with so many people around that might notice and make a big deal out of it? 

But you wore the black skirt he liked so much! He was supposed to text you something stupid like "nice skirt :) i wanna see it pooled around my lap” by the end of the day but no! No such thing happened. 

Was he mad at you, is that it? Why would he be mad though? Did he seem mad that night? Did you do something that guaranteed this... Whatever this is? As far as you knew, you did not say anything that warranted a silent treatment from him. Did you? Wait, is he actually giving you the silent treatment? 

Ugh. 

When Thursday came, you found yourself watching their fourth game on TV together with Nayeon. You got a slight whiplash because it felt like your first time seeing Jungkook’s face in a long while. Somehow, he looked even better on TV, and he was so serious whenever the camera caught him. You supposed he ought to be, but you’ve never seen him that serious before. He would smile whenever they scored, and maybe it was a little embarrassing for your heart to do a little jump when you saw that toothy grin again, after so long.

You were slow to understand shit about the game, but you got the whole gist of it eventually. 

Unfortunately, though, the tight game resulted to your university losing in the end.

You wanted so badly to text him something, anything, but you felt like you weren’t on texting terms, so you went to your Instagram and sent Jungkook a direct message. 

[11:58pm] ynblips: Hi! I watched the game on TV and it was really tight and you did so well :)

You were mostly not expecting a reply, so you were only a little disappointed when you indeed didn’t get one even after a day passed. But he liked it, only liked it. Which kind of pissed you off.

What was his deal? You’ve gathered that you, apparently, weren’t on speaking terms, for some reason. But this was ridiculous. If he had a problem with you, he should be upfront about it. Not make you guess with this stupid giving-you-the-cold-shoulder thing when you didn’t even deserve it. For god’s sake, you knew that last meeting was awkward but you both usually do a good job of swerving those situations and moving on and acting casual! You’ve been casual for four months! This relationship was supposed to be easy. Smooth-sailing. So what changed now? 

Nayeon noticed your crankiness earlier this day, and it concerned you, how much this whole thing was affecting you.

But you’ve grown tired of not knowing anything. You were tired of guessing why Jungkook was being like this. 

So you were a woman with a mission today. You planned to talk to Jungkook so he could finally be a big boy and talk to you about his obvious problems with you. Because it had to be that, right? He wouldn’t talk to you because he had issues with you. 

Later that day, your quest was made easy when you saw him at the library. 

You’re only a little surprised with yourself when you walk towards his direction with the presence of many people around. Yeah, whatever. 

“Hey,” you called. 

You could see Jungkook’s eyes widening a little as he turns around to see you, his hand stopping from taking notes on his iPad as he looks up at you. 

“Oh, hey,” he greets you, but you can see he is a little confused as he takes out his airpods. You never talked to him on school grounds whenever people were around. He neither did, though. It was a mutual agreement. 

“We need to talk." 

Jungkook looks in between you and the book and notes he was doing, and you would understand if he tells you to fuck off because he was busy – maybe not with those exact words because you’d probably take it to heart and cry about it, but he’s taken you by surprise when he says, 

"Okay. Let me just fix this.” Jungkook closes his book and his iPad, stuffing them in his bag. 

You anxiously tap your shoe on the floor, though not with sound, aware of the people looking at your interaction with the school’s basketball star player. 

“Where to?” He asks as he slings his bag over his shoulder. 

“Just, uh, follow me." 

He surprisingly does without further questions, and you begin to second-guess yourself about being kind of mad at him for seemingly being mad at you. Maybe you were reading too much into these past few days? Maybe he really wasn’t mad at you and you just assumed so because he suddenly stopped texting you? It’s not that you needed an explanation for why he wasn’t talking to you suddenly. He had a life outside having a friends with benefits situation with you and you know that. 

Jungkook stopped when you halted your steps at the far end of the library. It was the old theology section and no one really comes around here anymore so it was quiet and free of lingering, poorly hidden stares from other strangers, who you prefer to not be included in this conversation you are about to have.

Shit, should you have just texted him and told him to come over so you could talk more in private? But you doubted he would reply, and anyway, Nayeon would be home so you had no private space to do that. 

"Okay,” you start. “Let’s talk." 

Jungkook quirks a brow, leaning back on a cabinet. 

You look at him one more time and sigh. 

"You’ve been avoiding me.” You didn’t really mean to say it in such a heavy tone, but it came out that way and you couldn’t take it back. 

Jungkook is caught off guard. 

“Huh?"

You frown. "You’re avoiding me. And I don’t know why and I couldn't care less, usually, but I'm confused and I don’t want to guess anything with you so just say it now." 

There, you’ve blurted it all out. 

Jungkook took a long time, but you feel yourself getting angry when he only says, "I’m not upset with you." 

Really? Really?! Is he really planning to to do this right now? What’s next, is he going to call you crazy for thinking that he was mad at you because he suddenly stopped talking to you altogether? Un-fucking-believable. 

"I know you are, just say it.” You say, trying to balance your emotions. He really is gonna call you crazy if you lash out. 

“I’m just busy with practice.” but the way he said it so dismissively, like he wanted to be anywhere but here right now, makes you frown even harder. 

“You can’t even text me?” You called out. You didn’t know why you said that, because you did just tell yourself it wasn’t a big deal if he didn’t text you. But it doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt when he confirmed it.

“I don’t owe you an explanation."

You bite back your tongue. Wow, is he going for asshole today? But it hurt, because it was true. He didn’t need to give you an explanation. You weren’t anything important, and nor was he in your life, in any way, so why are you genuinely hurt by this?

When Jungkook noticed your silence, a flash of conflict in his expression, he decided to add, "Look…” he trailed off, as if not really having any idea what to say next. When he gave you that placating look, you knew he was about to say something that will completely piss you off.

“Is it about the sex? I’m sorry we haven’t been able to do that the past few days. Do you want to have sex today?”

You felt anger boiling in your chest as soon as he said that.

He really is going for asshole today.

What in the actual fuck? He thinks you’re confronting him because you haven’t been having sex? Why would he say that like you were just some desperate whore frothing in the mouth to bed him? Does he think of you so low like that? Did he not consider that maybe you were just genuinely concerned of feeling so distant to him right now? 

You swallow the lump in your throat and scowl at him. 

“You know what, fuck you. I asked you nicely what’s your problem with me.”

Jungkook was visibly surprised with your outburst, and you were disappointed in yourself to even show an ounce of reaction to that bullshit he just said.

But he just looks away, eager to avoid the look on your face. “You didn’t ask that, you went ahead and accused me of avoiding you when you’ve been doing the same thing." 

"Oh, so you are admitting to avoiding me. What’s the issue? Say it.” You demanded. But Jungkook wasn’t having any of it. 

“I don’t have a problem. What’s your problem? Why are you acting so upset about all of this?" 

To even throw that on your face was cruel, and you think you saw a flash of hesitation on his face when he said that, but it was blank after a split second. It’s blank until now, like he doesn’t really give a shit. 

Great. 

"I just want you to talk to me if you’re upset with me about something.” You say, even though that wasn’t really what you intended to say. It felt like defeat.

You feel pathetic all of a sudden, remembering his words. Why are you so upset about all of this? Because clearly, you care. And apparently, he did not. He didn’t have to put that to words. He didn’t have the right to hurt you like this. 

“Talk?” Jungkook repeats. “The last time we did that, you didn't seem to want to." 

His words have a bite to them, like he means more than that. And that night flashes in your head. When he was opening up to you, and you chose to disengage by being cagey and avoiding it all together because you felt weird about it. 

When you don’t answer, Jungkook sighs. 

"I have practice in five minutes. I’ll see you around." 

He doesn’t even say goodbye or spare you a last glance when he walks away. 

You are a turtle. 

Obviously, not literally. But turtles, when bombarded, reflexively duck their heads inside their shells to protect themselves before any damage could be done to them. And the same could be said about you. 

You avoid problems like a champ. It’s the only sport that you’re really great at. 

Growing up, you’ve never really had a lot of friends. You had a small circle in high school but you didn’t see a significant value in your connection. Maybe because you grew up in an environment where love was non-existent and the relationships in your house were transactional at best, still are. Until now, you have no idea if your parents loved each other at one point or if they were always like that; like two different strangers working jobs during the day that just happen to have the same house to go to at night so you and Jini have some people to call "mom” and “dad”. You guessed you’ll never know, but it was hard not to think that their relationship has always been the latter. Your relationship with your sister mirrors that of your parents’, though, so you can’t really criticize them for not acting like partners enough.

When you were young, you hated the way you approached friendship or any sort of relationships a lot. You hated how it was so easy for others to befriend one another, how it was easy for girls your age to have a life outside of studying. You hated how easy it was for other people to not build these sturdy walls whenever someone approached them. But you just kind of grew into it along the way… 

Social networking is important for college, though, and you were forced to have friends but you did make friends willingly along the way. It was not that you are a total sociopath, nor do you think you are one. Nayeon was a sweetheart who was very likeable and you’ve had the pleasure of being roommates with her for two years now. You are close to a certain point, but it wasn’t like you were best friends. She was two years older than you and was on her last year of college and had her own close circle of friends. The closeness was a result of living a domesticated life with each other because you lived in the same house. But you genuinely like her.

And you’ve actually met more people you genuinely liked when you went to college, not just her. Like Taehyung. He was a fun conversationalist, and you feel like you could totally hit it off only if you weren’t too hesitant to befriend him. Juyeon is probably the most hardworking woman you’ve ever met, and most of your liking towards her has a lot to do with the respect and admiration you have for her. And then there was Namjoon. A guy two years your senior during your sophomore year who you've had a short fling with. He was a great guy whom you actually saw yourself dating, but it was a bit complicated. And then Jungkook…

Well… he was everything you imagined him not to be.

You still remember the first time you saw him during orientation day. He wore this huge white sweatshirt and light-washed cargo pants with some stomper boots, hair curly and so fluffy as he slung his bag over his shoulder, talking animatedly with a friend. You’ve had crushes in high school (like that one senior guy from the debate team who turned out to be an asshole so you got over it pretty quickly) but it was the first time you’ve ever felt so strongly like that. Your crush faded eventually though when you learned he was a jock.

However, the universe made different plans. You both had the same code for your first term Philo class and got partnered on a project, and unexpectedly, he turned out to be smart, kind, witty, so unbelievably handsome and attractive and actually wasn’t an asshole like you thought he was when you found out he played in the varsity team. That was the start of your pathetic minor pining over the guy and then four months ago happened.

You hit it off at a random party Nayeon told you to come with her to. Had enjoyable sex. And then another. Until you both talked about the agreement – the stupid agreement that you have now still. 

You like him a lot. Always have. In more ways than one. 

You were an expert at hiding your feelings so it never really got in the way. And anyway, you aren’t ready for a relationship so the arrangement has always been perfect for you. 

But you hated that. Because, really? This part of your life feels like some pages taken out of a shitty young adult fiction book. Falling for the popular jock at school at the same time your fuck buddy. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. You weren’t supposed to like him more than you already have because you were both clear at what you wanted when you started it. But it happened and all those fun times with him at the abandoned lot and the soft kisses and gentle smiles and fond gazes and funny conversations and his stupid teasing are most likely going down the drain because you hurt him with your inability to face your feelings. 

You aren’t stupid. You know Jungkook likes you too. You know the past few weeks have been dangerously teetering outside the line of being fuck buddies but you went along with it because who wouldn’t? What were you to do, anyway? Confront it? You’ve never been confrontational. 

So when Jungkook tried to get to know more than your outer surface by opening up to you about things that probably no one other than you knew, you cowered. 

You cowered because you were afraid of what that would entail.

You’ve never done it, opening up to people. You’ve never known anyone to a point like that. You just weren’t the type to get too close to others, them letting them you in their lives just as you let them in yours. That wasn’t who you were and you’ve always been contented with that for most of your life.

But it wasn’t fair to Jungkook and it wasn’t fair to you. It wasn’t fair to Jungkook because he deserved to know that you care. He deserves to know that you want to know him, too. You want to be close to him more than just the physical, sexual aspect of your relationship. You want to know his intentions behind the overly kind, almost special way he treats you, his caring words, the meaning behind his soft kisses after sex, the purpose behind those kisses that didn’t lead to sex.

And lastly, you want him to know that you were sorry for the other night.

So when another Friday rolled, you finally mustered up the courage to go to his game. It was the last one, after all. You wanted to show up. 

The venue was crowded and chaotic and you wanted to ditch but you decided it was fine. You were gonna endure it if it meant you finally got to see Jungkook physically in court. 

And saw him, you did. Even though you were in the middle row seats and wearing a cap because you oddly felt unwelcomed and didn’t want to be seen by him – as if he would even want to see you. But it was whatever. 

Jungkook was… amazing. That was really the only adjective you could use to describe how he was. Maybe you were a little biased but he was the greatest out of all the ten people running around the court. He just stood out, even when someone else did the good job of scoring. 

And people around you seemed to think so too because whenever he did get to score or was the one holding the ball or his face got shown on the huge screen, everyone just lost it.

The match was tight again so it bled into five games. Your Uni just needed to win the last one and they would successfully bring the trophy home.

You found yourself silently cheering for your team, specifically Jungkook, though it felt strange to you because this was your first sports game, after all. But it felt good to do it. It also felt good to see other people so passionate at cheering him on as well as his team, especially after you read all that hate against him on the internet the other week.

And it felt especially great when they did win in the end of it all. 

The stands went wild as the game finished with your Uni scoring a solid 105 and 96 for the other. 

You’ve stayed long to see Jungkook being awarded the MVP title, but not long enough to find it difficult to get an Uber as you went home. 

Nayeon got to your place later than you, but you learned that she wasn’t at the game earlier but was in a study group instead.

You ordered dinner for the both of you, just some Chinese that you quickly finished up. 

By 11 pm, you were panicking. 

You had a solid plan yesterday. You were supposed to go to Jungkook and apologize to him and whatever but how the hell were you going to do that when you had no idea where he was now? Ugh. You should’ve approached him after the games earlier! But you didn’t feel comfortable doing that with so many people around… 

You saw your phone on your night stand and got an idea to just text him. But you didn’t know if he was going to respond. If he was going to tell you to fuck off, you at least didn’t want to receive that through text. 

So you opted for the last and craziest option you’ve got. 

[11:08pm] You: Hello, Taehyung! I know we haven’t talked in a while and I’m sorry for texting you now, I just have some questions if you don’t mind :) Congrats on winning Finals by the way, it was a great game.

You anxiously wait for his reply that you received not even a minute after you sent your text. 

[11:08pm] K. Taehyung: hi __ HAHAHHA im a bit surprised to see your name on my phone!! we’ve never gotten around having that coffee 😅 but thank you for the congrats! hit me with those questions i don’t mind  [11:09pm] You: It’s a real bummer that we’ve both been so busy ):  [11:10pm] You: But I was wondering if you know where Jungkook is? Last week he lent me a jacket when he saw me pour a drink on myself at some cafe, haha. So I was thinking I should give it to him now but I have no idea how to

Listen, it wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a complete lie either. You indeed needed to find Jungkook, and he lent you a jacket weeks ago which you needed to return but you forgot about it and conveniently remembered it just earlier when you were trying to conjure up an excuse to see him.

[11:10pm] K. Taehyung: oh i was actually just talking to him awhile ago. he wouldn’t go to the after-game party. said he was gonna stay up all night to play overwatch or something  [11:10pm] K. Taehyung: I can text you his address if you want to come over like right now

You feel like you aren’t supposed to just give your friends’ addresses away like that but it is flattering to think that Taehyung must trust you enough to not assume you were a psychopath serial killer or something. 

[11:11pm] You: Yes, please. Thank you so much, Taehyung. Catch up on that coffee hang another time

You got an Uber to drive to his place. You tried not to think too much about the fancy complex and how there were elevators instead of just stairs like yours but you managed to get to Jungkook’s place through Taehyung’s text. 

You pressed a button upside the knob. It created a loud buzz and you tighten your fingers around the ribbon handles of the paper bag that got his jacket inside. 

It was the perfect excuse. You did need to return it to him. And if you got too flustered or scared to talk to him further, you were just going to leave right after he takes it from you and just accept the fact that he probably really hates you now because you were mean and—

The door opens, revealing Jungkook. A shirtless, wet Jungkook. 

“Oh." 

Jungkook has a hint of shock in his eyes when he comes face to face with you. You’ve never been here, for the record. And he was probably wondering how the hell you got his address.

"Uh,” you start. You thrust the paper bag towards him. “Here. It’s your jacket from weeks ago. I washed it already. Thanks for lending me it.”

You see his hesitation when he takes it from you, and it makes your nerves go haywire. 

Jungkook mumbled a little thanks. He stood there for a moment, probably still not getting the shock out of his system. As each second passed, you felt the need and the urge to go, but his voice cut that idea in your head.

“Uh. Do you wanna come in?" 

"Yes.” Maybe it was too much of an immediate answer, but you needed to. If you were to stand outside much longer, your courage will wear down and you might miss an opportunity to talk to him. 

Jungkook stepped aside and further invited you in. Your steps were a little shy as you followed him inside, watching as he took a pair of Nike sliders and offered it to you as you removed your birkens off your feet.

“Thank you.” You tell him, sliding your feet on the slippers that were definitely too big for you. 

He gave you a small smile in return. That gave you a bit of hope that it would go well tonight. 

“I’m just gonna go and change into something. You can sit here,” You followed behind him into the living room of his rather huge flat. Really, this was more of a condo unit than an apartment. “There's– sorry. I wasn't– it’s kind of messy here right now but I was busy the past few days. It’s not usually like this here." 

Jungkook hastily arranged the scattered throw pillows on the couch. You even hear him hissed as he picked up a bowl and some take-out trash on the coffee table. He reached for something in the tight corner of the couch, holding up a remote awkwardly for you.

He quickly looked away from you though, turning to his huge TV (it was literally a jumbotron) and making it light up. It showed some kind of game on pause.

"I’m sorry, I was playing something earlier. Uh, do you want to play anything? I have a lot of games.” He continued to say.

And you realized Jungkook was panicking. He was rambling, talking words over his own words, jumping from one thing to another and hastily cleaning up the space in the living room.  

It was… adorable. The way he was kind of scrambling… to accommodate you? Eh. But it was nice. Nice to know that you aren’t the only one panicking.

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t really play anything.” You say honestly. You don’t like gaming. It’s stressful. 

“Oh…” Jungkook trails off then his eyes set on the kitchen. “Oh shit wait, do you want water? Tea? I don’t think I have tea but I think I can look for something?" 

You couldn’t help the laugh that came out from your mouth but you quickly cut yourself off. 

"Sorry. Uhm. No. I don’t want anything.” Truthfully, you wanted water but Jungkook needed to change into something immediately. You may not exactly be talking talking right now but his body and tattoos were nice to look at and you didn’t want it to distract you too much. It felt wrong to admire him like that when you were not exactly in great terms. 

“You sure?” When you nodded, Jungkook did the same too, but more like to himself. “Okay. I’ll just get to my room." 

You sat on his nice leather couch and looked around as Jungkook changed.

It was such a nice place. You could see that it was indeed expensive. The space was definitely, like, three times larger than your own and it even seemed to have another room on the far end. You didn’t know if Jungkook lived alone, he never mentioned anything about it. 

You still didn’t find yourself completely relaxed as Jungkook emerged from his room. 

The fringe of his bangs are still wet from his shower, but he’s now changed into a grey hoodie with matching shorts. 

"Hey,” he said as he walked towards you and sat on the couch. The distance was far but not totally that you end up being on the opposite sides. 

“Hi,” you greeted him back. “You have a nice place." 

He smiles. "Thank you." 

The atmosphere was incredibly awkward, you could feel that. But you pushed yourself to go through it. 

"Congrats on the game earlier.” You tell him sincerely. 

“Ah… thanks." 

"I went there." 

"Really?” You could see the understandable surprise in his face after hearing your words. “I didn’t see you." 

You chuckle lightly. "Hm. You were too serious and busy in the court to see me.”

Jungkook shyly looks away. 

“I– well. You should have told me. I could’ve gotten you a nice seat. Did you get a nice seat?” The sentiment was cute but surprising at the same time. After that time in the library, you wouldn’t have expected him to get you a nice seat. 

“It was okay." 

It didn’t look like he would say anything more, but you were a little relieved to have a break from the atmosphere when the door buzzed again, indicating someone coming. 

You feel your heart jump.

You didn’t know why your mind went to such dark places like him having someone over to do– what? Ugh. Jungkook wouldn’t do that, would he? Honesty was what you agreed on when you started this agreement. You promised to tell each other right away if you start sleeping with other people because of health reasons. 

"That must be the pizza.” Jungkook murmurs as he stands up.

You almost sigh in relief.

Okay. So no other women coming over. 

Jungkook comes back a moment later with three boxes. 

“I thought we could eat something,” he said as he sat on the couch again, this time a little closer than earlier. He looked at the TV, still on that game he was playing. He placed the pizza on the table and took the remote to exit out of his game, pressing some buttons on it and eventually the screen loaded to Netflix. “You wanna watch something?" 

That would be nice, actually. 

"Yep." 

"Okay… uh. Legally Blonde?" 

You couldn’t help your eyebrow from raising. 

Jungkook laughs a little. You’re a little surprised to hear it. It felt like eons ago since you’ve heard it.

"I like it a lot.” He shrugged and then looked it up on Netflix, clicked the movie poster and pressed play.

You start eating the pizza on the couch. You were obsessed with Legally Blonde probably an abnormal amount but this time, its entertainment didn’t affect you full force because at the back of your head, you’re still trying to figure out how to speak up the words you really wanted to say to Jungkook. 

“Hey…” you suddenly speak. You hesitate for a while but then let out a heavy breath. Jungkook looks at you because of that. “I’m sorry." 

His confusion was anticipated. He face looks like he was ready to ask, but you continue, 

"About the other night. Uh. When you went over. I’m sorry. I made you feel like I didn’t care but…” you train your gaze to the remote on the corner of the couch. “But I do, Jungkook. I care about you. It’s just that, it freaked me out, you know? People never felt comfortable enough with me to share such personal things and I’ve always been okay with that because I’m not exactly—” you cut yourself off, trying to organize your thoughts. But you give up because there was no use in doing such. You wanted to be honest as much as possible. “I know I don’t exactly strike people as someone who can care. And, well, that’s true, you know? People always tell me that I almost function like a robot. So, uh, I freaked out, because I thought you trusted me enough to do that and I felt like I didn’t deserve it, your trust I mean. And so I acted like that because I didn’t know what—”

“Hey,” Jungkook stopped you before you could go on a full spiral. You didn’t notice because of your rambling earlier but he was closer this time. “Breathe. It’s fine. I have all the time to listen to you." 

It was such a sweet sentiment, paired with his charming smile. You feel your heart jump and look away from his gaze. 

"Baby," 

There. He’s calling you that name again. Has he forgiven you? Were you both on that terms again? But he couldn’t have forgiven you that fast! 

"Baby, look at me,” you did, because he held your face in his warm hands, making you look at him. You could feel your cheeks tingle in his hold. “I’m actually so glad you came here tonight. I appreciate your apology, and I accept it.” He says, voice sounding so sincere.

You looked down, feeling like you don’t deserve it at all. 

“I’ve been thinking, you know?” Jungkook lifts your chin up with his fingers, smiling, such mirth behind it that you think he was probably thinking you were going to tease him about his words. But you didn’t feel like joking with him right now. “I totally didn’t think things through that night. I shouldn’t have told you all about my personal drama—"

Oh, no. That’s exactly what you thought you made him feel that night, and for him to verbalize it, it hurts you. Because you knew you truly made him feel that way. It wasn’t your intention but you knew your reaction –or lack thereof– threw him off. 

"No, no. I should have—" 

"No, ___, I shouldn’t have dumped all of that onto you expecting you to have a say about it and be disappointed and extremely hurt when you didn’t. We don’t know each other a lot, I know that." He gives you a sheepish smile. "I guess I just... I wanted us to know each other a little better you know? But I must’ve freaked you out instead and made you uncomfortable with me telling you all about those when we made it clear that this relationship was never going to be like that, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for dumping. I kind of… realized that... maybe you just wanted some lazy time with me that night. So I’m sorry. I believe you're also apologetic about it, but I’m saying don’t be. It was all on me." 

Jungkook’s words were a jumbled mess in your head that you were surprised to even get them. 

"I–no, no. Kook– I… told you, I care about you. I—” you felt a metaphorical block in your head, and it made you cut yourself off. But then you remember his words and so you continue, “I didn’t just– look. It was unexpected, and I told you I just freaked out because I didn’t know where we stood and I just felt like I wasn’t deserving to know you like that. But I care a lot about you.”

Jungkook was quiet for a while, and you feared he was contemplating and thinking you were just lying to get over everything with. But then his face softens at your words. “I care a lot about you, too,” He says, and then it contorts a little, as if he remembered something. “That’s why I’m also… I’m also sorry about that time at the library. I was a complete asshole to you. I wanted to be mean because I was hurt but none of it was your fault. I really am sorry." 

Your head takes you back to that time in the library. He did hurt you with the harsh words he’d spoken, but his apology sounded sincere and you believe it. 

"Yeah. Uhm. I’m sorry about cornering you there. I should’ve texted you that I wanted to talk but I wasn’t sure if you were going to reply." 

Jungkook looked a little shameful for reasons that you couldn’t think of. 

"I’m sorry about that. I acted like such a boy about the whole thing. You don’t deserve to be ghosted suddenly because you hurt my feelings without you even really knowing why. I should’ve talked to you properly." 

You bite your lip, feeling like you were suddenly going to cry.

You know it was the bare minimum, and even though he said you had nothing to be sorry about, you still feel oddly emotional about someone apologizing to you. You’d never been apologized to sincerely even when a lot of people have done you wrong and hurt you before. They always thought you didn’t care or just got over things quickly because apparently, people had the impression that you weren’t the type to feel anything. 

"I like you a lot.” You blurt out. 

It was stupid. It was so stupid to say that in the middle of this conversation, but your mouth was running faster than your brain and you couldn’t help it. 

“Really?” Jungkook grins, and it was quite big. Your heart beats faster in your chest. “I really like you, too. Like, a lot. Probably more than you do.”

You meet his eyes finally. They hold such fondness for you, and you’ve always noticed. But you brush it away just as it shows. Regular, old, __. Always pushing away people who like her.

Right now, you’re berating yourself for pointedly ignoring that before, but his dark eyes serve as a distraction. They were so ominous and so big and looked like they had the stars in them. And he was so handsome. Suddenly, your gaze falls to his lips and quickly trains to the mole under the bottom one. You’ve always wanted to kiss it but never did so because… because, well. It would be weird, right? But then you remember that Jungkook always kisses that mole in between your chest... 

You blush at the thought and look away. 

“That’s nice.” You said, not really knowing how to respond. 

Jungkook chuckled and twisted himself to look forward again, at the TV playing Legally Blonde. 

It was like that for a while and you found that the weight you’ve been carrying all week on your back felt like it’s been lifted, finally. 

This night was going really, really well. 

And so well it went.

Legally Blonde ended and you and Jungkook somehow ended up being closer. So close that his arm just found its way around your shoulders, your leg across his, his other arm wrapped around that leg to pull you impossibly closer to him onto the next film. 

It’s been half an hour into the new movie but if you were honest, your brain wasn’t really on it. It was on how Jungkook held you delicately, his mouth pressing kisses on the crown of your head occasionally, almost absentmindedly. Your thoughts were filled with the soft, gentle caresses of his hand on your leg, and how you would feel his eyes even when you weren’t looking. It was all so tender and just so, so incredibly nice. 

When you yawned, Jungkook immediately checked on you with a light chuckle. 

“Sleepy?” He asks. 

You shake your head but another yawn forced its way out of your mouth again. You let your head fall dramatically on his chest as he laughed. 

“I gotta go…” you said, thinking that it’s probably late as hell and dark outside. But you found that you really didn’t want to. The material of his hoodie was so soft and his presence was so calming and it sounded undeniably cheesy but you wanted to be held by him a little more. 

“You could stay." 

That made you look up at him. 

"Huh?" 

"You can stay here, if you want. Sleep over." 

"Oh." 

A flash of hesitation on his beautiful face.

"Only if you want to, of course. I’ll drive you home if you wanna go.” He offers quickly, as if embarrassed to even suggest the thing he said earlier. 

But you did want to stay. But… he never stayed over at your place. You didn’t let him and he never expressed a little bit of desire to do so, anyway. Would it be unfair if he never slept over at yours but you would at his now? What did your conversation today change? When he said “I like you”, did that mean it was okay for you to stay the night? 

“Uhm, I’d like to stay here, if it’s okay with you.” You said, throwing your inhibitions away. There was no room for more denials in your heart. 

Jungkook’s bright grin made your worries subside. He definitely wants you to stay as much as you do. 

“Okay." 

"It’s okay for you? Sorry, I don’t have a lot of pillows…” Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck and looked at you sheepishly. 

You waved him off. “It’s fine. Hey, come here now." 

Jungkook did a poor job of hiding a big grin again as he slid on the bed with you.

When you twisted yourself so your back was facing him, about to reach for your phone on the night stand to see if Nayeon replied to your text telling her you wouldn’t be home until morning, Jungkook also did the same and wrapped his arm around your waist, basically spooning you. 

And you realized that oh, he’d mistaken you for wanting to be a little spoon… 

But it was cute. And you really like him holding you, so you pretended it was your intention all along and mentally noted to check your phone tomorrow morning.

"You smell good.” He said against your ear. You smiled at the way it tickled a bit.

“I don’t think I do anymore, but thanks.”

You showered right after coming home as the game ended but that was many hours ago, so surely Jungkook must just be speaking nonsense. And anyway, he was the one who smelled nice because he did just get out of the shower. He smelled like that certain apple scent he always did. 

“No, really. Like flowers. I always liked that about you." 

"Eh, it’s probably just my bath and body works body wash." 

"Really?” You felt him sniff up your arm and you giggled. That reaction encouraged him to do it more until his nose reached your armpit. It tickled so much that you thrashed and turned and bit his arm. His laughter got louder as you did so, but you only pouted at him. 

“Okay, sorry, sorry,” Jungkook said but he didn’t look like it. You didn’t expect it but he suddenly kissed your forehead. Your eyes reflexively closed at the feel of his lips on your skin. 

You open them once again only to see Jungkook staring into your eyes again, quite intensely that you feel like he was there looking right into your soul. 

“I missed you.” He whispered, his hand that was around your waist tightening, the other clearing up your face from stray hairs. 

“I really missed you too.” you said as sincerely as you could. Because you really did, and you hope he could feel it and believe it just like you did his words. 

A few seconds after and then his lips finally touched yours and it was such a relief that you sighed against them. It was a slow kiss. Sweet and too short but you didn’t really mind when Jungkook looked at you again like you hung the stars in the sky. 

“Let’s sleep baby, turn around for me again.” He said and you wanted to reprimand him for ordering you around but you didn’t really feel like you needed to. You didn’t really have complaints about being the little spoon in this cuddling session, anyway.

It was only about a minute of silence when Jungkook suddenly spoke.

“Babe, I know I’m probably going to ruin this wholesome moment but can I hold your boob while we try to sleep?" 

And you couldn’t help but laugh because who wouldn’t. 

"Go for it.” You said, settling against his chest, getting more comfortable. Jungkook was only too happy to let you, letting out a low happy hum as he held you tighter, another hand wandering inside the worn out shirt you were wearing that he lent you for the night. 

The contact was cold to the touch at first, but when he gave you a squeeze and finally rested his hand over there, it got warm eventually.

Having a weight on top of your boob while sleeping was definitely a new concept for you, but you found that it was oddly comforting.

There was nothing sexual to it, not really. And you thought Jungkook didn’t really have any sexual intentions to begin with. 

It was just nice to have his hand on your breast. 

“So soft,” Jungkook whispered at some point and you just chuckled in between putting yourself in slumber.

It’s been hard to settle in bed peacefully the previous nights after that debacle weeks ago, but that moment, you slid to dreamland quite easily; and you were certain it was due to Jungkook’s warm body all over yours.

EPILOGUE

( ONE MONTH LATER )

You have awoken in a feverish feeling brought by the dream of a certain man drawing all kinds of shapes on your clit with his skillful tongue. At first, the sensation felt far away, like it was just a distant memory, but you suddenly feel a seemingly too real grip on your thighs and a tentative swipe over the length of your nether region. 

When you blearily open your eyes, the sunlight intruding through the seams of your room, you caught a sight of a very real man’s head in between your legs, his dark hair pulled by a headband as he determinedly pleasures your pussy.  

“Jungkook,” you sigh, blindingly reaching for his head. 

He hums in your pussy, and it sends a jolt right up your spine. He felt you jumping a little, and that earned a chuckle from him. The vibration of it in your aching heat made your legs quiver. 

“Good morning, baby." 

It was a little disorienting to wake up to Jungkook eating you out so early in the morning, but the pleasure overrode it as you throw your head back on your soft pillows, twisting your face to the side and burying it on the fluffy material as Jungkook sucks on your clit, his finger teasing over the lips of your pussy. 

”Ah, that feels so good…" you moan, thrashing on the bed at the delight brought by his tongue. But Jungkook’s strong hold kept your legs wide for him to have complete access to your wet cunt which he’s licking like it was a meal he’s always wanted to have. 

“Wanna make you feel good,” he said, beginning to place open mouthed kisses on your pussy that delivered delirious shivers all over your body. He emphasized his sentiment by bringing two fingers in your hole, sliding them in and out quite easily as you felt yourself gushing every second from his actions. “So wet. You love this, angel? You like what I’m doing?" 

All you could give him was a pathetic little whimper that you hope he understood as he didn’t bother to wait for your response and proceeded to wrap his mouth on your clit again, his tongue flicking the sensitive bud with the steady way his fingers slipped in and out of you, lewd squelches filling the otherwise quiet room except for the chirping bird outside.

And it sounded oddly poetic. 

So peaceful. Oh, to wake up like this everyday. 

Your grasp on his hair tightened, bringing his face closer to your pussy that you even got a hold of his headband, but you didn’t care. All you could think about was how delicious Jungkook is speeding his fingers in your entrance, long and bony digits touching every ridge of your pussy, slowly but surely sending you to your edge. Your breath quickened every second passed, and now you could say you were fully awake. 

Jungkook broke away from you and you were just about to reprimand him about it when he suddenly licked a long, slow stripe over the wet length of your entrance and you cried out.

You were nearly brought to tears when he dove in your core again to repeat his actions from earlier, but this time, he went for messy. So sloppy; his head moving around your pussy, sucking your juices with enthusiasm and making your arch your back on the mattress, his finger rubbing your clit to bring you to your orgasm. 

And he did successfully bring you to it. He did with what seemed to sound like a painful groan of your name from his throat, a husky sound that made your pussy and legs quiver. But that didn’t stop Jungkook from lapping at the cum that dripped out. 

You let out a big breath, making yourself bounce on the bed as you fell to it. Exhausted. Spent. 

"Kook,” you nudged Jungkook with your foot to his bicep because he was doing that thing again. 

“Wanna clean you up." 

You roll your eyes. It was so counterproductive but you let him be for awhile, relaxing on your back as he quite literally slurped the gush that came and is still coming out from you. That was why him "cleaning you up” was useless. 

“Let me suck your cock.” You said, nudging him again. Jungkook peeled his head from between your legs and looked at you, and you nearly moaned at finally seeing his face. He looked insanely hot with his hair around his sweaty hearline pulled by that head band, but the sheen gloss all over his mouth to his chin made you feel just a little shy. 

“Really?” Jungkook asked again, eyes wide, like he was a kid about to receive his gifts from Santa on Christmas morning.

You only hummed, bringing your body in a sitting position. Jungkook grabbed your waist, about to kiss you, but you pushed him on the bed and slid your leg over his thighs, leaning down to make quick work of pulling his boxers down that had a little wet patch on the front and a huge boner that was just begging to be freed. 

Jungkook sighed when you get a hold of his length, not wasting time to tease because as much as you wanted to, you were impatient to taste him and make him cum. 

“F-fuck,” Jungkook curses as you pumped his cock, your thumb pressing on his leaking tip. “You’re so pretty, baby."

His groan is elongated as you finally put him in your mouth. You make yourself comfortable by kneeling inside his spread legs, leaning down closer to his crotch and twisting your head to the side so that you could gather your hair in one side. It was always hard to reach deep, but you make do of your hand, twisting your fingers around the remaining length that your mouth could not take. 

It didn’t take too long for Jungkook to shake and start speaking sweet nonsense in the wake of his impending orgasm, probably because he had been holding back since he ate you out. But you worked as hard, sucking on his tip, brushing your fingers over his balls here and there, pumping his wet cock in your hand, ignoring the tears that’s forming in the corners of your eyes. 

“Baby, I’m cumming,” he warned, holding the back of your head to try and get you off but you insisted and let him release in your mouth. 

Jungkook hissed, and you leaned back to jerk his cock for any more cum, swallowing the one in your mouth that you felt had gotten to some parts of your face so you try to lick over your mouth, tasting cum there. He was still cumming, though, just a little, it spurting on your chest and chin. 

You giggled as Jungkook groaned. When you were sure you milked him dry, you let yourself flop on his naked body, draping yourself over it even though he was kind of sweaty and sticky… but you don’t really mind. You were just gonna shower later. 

“You’re a minx.” He said, chuckling, his arm going around your waist and the other resting over one bare ass cheek. 

“I live to make you suffer.” you replied, rubbing your cheek against his chest then pressing kisses to it. 

“You’re winning." 

That made you laugh. 

After a while, you remove your head on his chest and look down on him. He arches a brow, waiting. And then you dropped your mouth to the mole under his bottom lip. You giggled because Jungkook wasn’t expecting it, shown by the confusion on his face. Before he could say anything, you lock your lips with his, sighing when he reciprocated your kiss right away. 

The kiss takes a U-turn as Jungkook flipped you over so he was the one hovering over you now, hands roaming around your body sending tingles all over your spine to your toes and heat between your legs as he squeezed your breasts. 

He squished the both of them in his huge palms, and you feel his cock twitch against your thigh when he did so, so as the gush of wetness coming from your pussy as he finally dropped his mouth to suck on your pebbled nipples. 

”___, are you—oh my god I’m so sorry!“

Jungkook and you quickly looked over your door, catching Nayeon just as she scrambled to close it. 

"Shit.” You hissed.

Jungkook looked at you. And then you both get off of each other, him going for the sweats he’d folded on a swivel chair in your room, and you putting on your robe and messily tying your hair in a bun with a hair tie. 

“I’m just gonna go outside and talk to her…” you trail off, watching as Jungkook puts his pants on. 

“Okay,” he went over to you, holding your face and leaning down to kiss you. “Sorry." 

You licked your lips as he broke the kiss, couldn’t help but smile.

"It’s fine." 

When you went out, Nayeon is at the kitchen drinking water. When she saw you, you gave her an awkward smile. 

She frowned. "I’m really so, so sorry, ___. I swear I didn’t know you had someone over. I just got back from the overnight study group I texted you about last night and it’s 8 am so I thought I could wake you up for class." 

You find yourself smiling genuinely at her explanation. You wave her off and went over to grab a drink of water as well. 

"It’s fine. Our prof actually emailed us last night that our 8 am class was gonna be cancelled today so technically my first class is gonna be at 10. But I’m also supposed to be getting ready, so…" 

Nayeon hummed and drank more of her water.

You were just waiting for it. You knew she was so gonna ask you about it. You were kind of nervous but you found that you actually didn’t care that much to tell her all about Jungkook. 

So when she finally did ask, you only looked sheepish. 

"So, Jeon Jungkook, huh?" 

You nod.

"I should’ve known!” Nayeon exclaimed. “You were suddenly interested about basketball and– no, I’m not gonna lie. I did not expect that." 

You bit your lip as you hid half of your face behind the rim of the glass. "Yeah…" 

Nayeon suddenly narrowed her eyes at you, and you hold yourself to prepare for what’s next. 

"He was your sneaky link all this time?" 

Your eyes widened. "No!” But then you quickly remembered that, technically, he was. But… “but not really. I mean, not anymore?" 

You weren’t sure, though. Your relationship with Jungkook for the past month had undergone a shift. You were purely fuck buddies before, and now you fuck and see each other for more than that. You sleep over almost twice a week at his place, have movie nights. He let you know about this game Animal Crossing and you’ve been obsessed since so sometimes you really just go over his place to play it. (Your island was seriously becoming pretty.) Also, you started grabbing lunch regularly these days in his car and go on what you can call dates if both your schedule aligned and it’s not that you were actively keeping other people from knowing about this sudden change in your relationship, including Nayeon, it was just — your time together was really just spent for pure enjoyment with each other. It was just like: if people saw, then they do. 

Despite that, a label still wasn’t put to it. 

You don't mind.

"Oh, so–your boyfriend?!” Nayeon’s tone is laced with surprise, and you flinched at hearing the word boyfriend but you shrugged it off. 

“Uhm, it’s very new.” Was what you replied. It was the only thing you could offer, honestly. 

Your friend looked at you for a few seconds and then nods, as if understanding – what? you have no idea – and then turned to the direction to your room. 

You see Jungkook popping out from your door when you looked over. 

“Hi, Nayeon." 

When he emerged, he’s fully dressed and it was a bummer that he’d taken out his head band. Whatever, you’d make him wear it later. It was really cute when he wore it. 

"Ohh, here comes the sexy man." 

The casualty of it threw you off a bit but then you suddenly feel grateful to Nayeon for not making a big deal about the whole thing.

So you laughed and joked, "Don’t say that! You’re going to stroke his ego." 

Nayeon’s right eyebrow raised. "Oh, his ego is definitely getting stroked, alright." 

Even Jungkook burst out laughing at the crude implications of her words, and you found the whole thing atrocious. Nayeon only shook her head, but she was smiling. 

"Sorry for interrupting your time together, lovebirds. I brought something for breakfast but I don’t think it’ll be enough for two people.” She said, pointing towards a take-out bag on the kitchen counter. 

“It’s fine, thanks Nayeon." 

She waved you off. "I’ll just be in my room. Eat first before you do cardio, guys." 

You huff out a laugh at her words again, and so did Jungkook. He walked towards you as Nayeon disappeared in her room, and you smiled at him as he did so. 

Jungkook held your waist and pressed you a little to the refrigerator, but you have no complaints in the way he leaned down to share a slow and soft kiss with you. 

"Breakfast?” He whispered, kissing your cheek. And then your nose. 

You giggled, circling your arms around his neck. He hummed at the contact, like he’s always so content and peaceful whenever you touch him.

“I think I’ll just get coffee on my way to Uni.” you told him. 

That made him frown, though. “That’s really not…” you arched your brow as you wait for him to finish his words. He sighed. “Okay. But at least eat some toast? I’ll make it for you." 

You nod. "Okay. I’m gonna go shower first, though. I stink." 

As if prompted, Jungkook quickly buried his face to the crook of your neck and whiffed out your scent, dramatically smelling you and then peeling his face away, saying, "Nope, still smell like flowers to me. But I agree, we need a shower." 

"We?" 

He gives you a serious look. "Yes. Water conservation is one of my goals this year." 

You jab on his chest lightly. So stupid. But so handsome and cute that you can’t help but pull him close to you and kiss him again. 

Suddenly, Jungkook grabbed your thighs and make you hold on to him as he carried you across the living room. You stopped your own squeal before you could scare Nayeon with it. Jungkook laughed at that and you slap his chest in retaliation.

He went straight to the bathroom and put you on the counter with all the intentions to keep making out with you by the way he was swirling his tongue deliciously against yours, hands squeezing your sides. 

But you really had to shower. 

He whined when you put your hands on his shoulders and broke free from his kiss, pushing him away a little. 

"Don’t be a baby. Let’s shower,” you said, giving him a stern look. He looked petulant for a while, but then suddenly smirked. You narrowed your eyes, pretty sure he had dirty things in his head right now. “No funny business. You literally have class in an hour." 

"I could make you cum in less than that." 

"Jungkook!" 

He laughed, kissing you. "I’m kidding.”

“Behave. Nayeon is here." 

He only nodded and began taking his clothes off. You also removed your robe from your body, going over to the towel rack to hang it there. Jungkook stopped in his tracks and shamelessly ogled your naked form and you rolled your eyes, not waiting for him as you stepped in the shower first. He followed right after, smiling at you as he offered to wash your body. 

Jungkook assured you he had no funny business in mind, but you didn’t really mind when his hands suddenly got grabby, when he told you that his hands could lather your body wash more effectively than your loofah just so he could massage your boobs in his soapy palms, staying a little too long over there. But you didn’t complain when his finger ghosted over your pussy, and you absolutely weren’t mad when he kissed you hotly as the shower ran and water soaked the soap suds out of your body. 

In fact, you enjoyed it a lot when he pressed you against the wall while his strong arms held you tight as he fucked you open, gasping in your mouth, grunting about how pretty you were and how much you were such a good girl for him. 

He spoke more nonsense in your ear when he turned you around, an arm tight around your breasts, his other hand gripping your waist as he slid his engorged cock in and out of you from behind while you tried to minimize the sound of your cries until you both came. 

You know Jungkook knew his goal to conserve water was doomed from the very start, especially when you ended up taking a second shower because you felt sticky and just unclean. 

But it felt great to come out of the bathroom and have Jungkook dressed the same time as you with the clothes he left in your closet from the other times he’s spent over here. 

"I’ll see you later.” He pressed a quick kiss on your mouth. 

“Okay,” he smiled and you failed to resist the urge to kiss him again for the last time. “I’m coming over to play Animal Crossing." 

"You only like me for my Nintendo…” Jungkook jokingly narrowed his eyes at you and you laughed. 

“It took you a long time to figure out?”

Jungkook pouts. “As long as you curl up in my lap while you play it, I can accept that.”

“You’re cute, baby. But you’re late to class, go scram.” You shooed him and he chuckled. 

“Okay, kiss me again?” You did. Jungkook smiled and kissed you but on the forehead this time. “Bye, pretty." 

You leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed as you watched him slowly disappear from your pathway with (certainly) a fond look on your face. 

Blurring the lines with your fuck buddy might be cliche, and confronting it might have been hard, but you did it. And he was just as willing and honest with you about his feelings.

And it was worth it.

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[jks-lipring]

I love this fic sooo much… like is it weird to say I would love to live in this fantasy?

[pjminii]

WONDERBOY —전정국

the story of jeon jungkook, the boxer, and your relationship with him as a high-achieving ballerina. did the big fight really change your bond?

pairings. jeon jungkook x female reader

word count. 17k

tags. fluffsmutangst. friends-to-lovers. boxer x ballerina. tearful rekindling. soft!koo. virgin!reader. mutual pining

rating. explicit MDNI

warnings. descriptions of bruising and blood, miscommunication, kinda angsty fight but they obviously sort it out, jungkook is kind of an idiot but it’s because he’s so in love, explicit smut, fingering, oral pleasure (f!receiving), penetrative sex, fools in love, creampie, tender aftercare.

You’ve never used the term perfectionist to describe yourself. And that’s honestly because you think ‘perfection’ is bullshit. It’s just an illusion. Something to keep artists from giving up, a hope that sparks their creativity. The teeny tiny voice in the back of their heads that say; this could always be better. 

Because it’s true. Nothing is ever good enough. So what keeps the wheels spinning is the hope that one day, you’ll be satisfied. Sadly, you never are, so you push yourself to limits that leave you bleeding and bruising… which has ultimately lead you to the top of your class. 

But as the cliche goes on… as every tortured artist before… you’ve just hit a wall. There’s a blockage, forcing your mind to blur and wipe away the routines you thought were etched into your memory. And the blockage isn’t just a mental, psychological wall that only exists inside your head. It’s just a few doors down the hall, pounding away at a heavybag. 

The reason for the immediate attraction you felt towards Jeon Jungkook was your similar mindsets. He too bleeds and bruises for his passion, however that’s the usual outcome of a boxing match. 

It all started with a completely innocent meet. About three months ago, he had stumbled upon the practice room you were in, lured in by the soft music. The door was slightly ajar, just enough for him to take a quick look inside. And there you were, polishing an already great choreography. Your hair was slightly tossed, tiny strands slipping out of your bun, framing your flushed face. 

The choreography wasn’t anything outstanding or groundbreaking, but for the untrained eye, it looked breathtaking. Jungkook pushed the door a bit further open with the tip of his sneaker, watching how you moved to the glittering music. He admired the way you were so immersed by the moves that your eyes never drifted to him. You hadn’t even noticed he was there. 

You just stared back at your own reflection, watching over as your body folded, then arched, toes pointed and light. There weren’t any abrupt pirouettes, you just tiptoed lightly across the floor, your lips parting as small exhales made their way out. 

When the melody softened, so did you. Your steps slowed, and your body folded once more, into a grand, quiet motion. You stood before the mirror, eyes closed, arms hugging your body, as you breathed out and let the music die down.  Jungkook thought it was the most precious thing he had even seen. 

Until you turned around.

You weren’t really startled that someone was watching you practice, it was common for people to feel drawn to the gentle melody and take a quick glance inside. What struck you was him, the fact that Jeon Jungkook, the brutal boxer, was watching you with an expression that could only be read as admiration. 

Everyone at the academy knew him, knew how ruthless he was. The best there was, truly, an undefeated boxing champion that was praised by the entire administration. He had talent, and he was going somewhere. 

But what you didn’t know was the inner battle Jungkook was constantly fighting. How he wished things would’ve been different, that people felt safe, maybe even comforted by his talent, instead of frightened.

Boxing wasn’t exactly something he was forced to do, but something he knew he couldn’t give up. There was too much pressure now, for him to become the best the country had ever seen. It was sad, feeling trapped in a sport he once fell in love with as a child. It spoke to him at a young age, and quickly became a way to release all his pent up aggression. But as he grew older, the thought of pounding recklessly away at someone until their vision wiped out seemed more and more like a horrible coping mechanism. 

That is why watching you, Jungkook felt a curl bloom in his stomach. Seeing someone move so freely, seemingly without being tied down… it was wonderful. He thought there was this blissful beauty to it, like nothing except you and your weightless body mattered once the music played. You had later on tried to explain that ballet is one of the roughest forms of art there is, but it’s hard telling that to a boy with a broken nose and bleeding knuckles. 

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he lowered his neck in a subtle bow, trying to appear as small as possible in the doorframe, which was almost swallowed whole by his broad figure. 

You stood facing him with your feet still in position, pointing outwards, the ribbons digging into the soft flesh of your calves. Your chest moved up and down underneath the sheer wrap, and you realized you were suddenly at loss for words. 

He had been wearing a large hoodie, the zipper open to reveal yet another black piece of clothing. It looked like he was covered in sweat, so you gathered he came from training himself. It was late at night, and all the other students were already buried deep underneath warm blankets back in their dorms, something apparently both you and Jungkook took advantage of. The perfect time to be alone in the practice rooms. 

You inhaled deeply, placing a hand on your hip as you steadied your breathing, “No harm done,” you said, swiping away a drop of sweat falling from your temple. 

“Is that for a performance?” Jungkook pointed his finger towards you, now leaning against the doorframe. Your brain worked unbelievably slow as he questioned you. The fact that you were now a person of interest in the life of the boxing prodigy before you had your thoughts mushing together. He wasn’t at all what you expected. His voice was a lot softer in person, and he seemed almost flustered. 

You nodded, your nostrils flaring as you breathed in, “Mhm, yeah. Just needs some polishing,” you said, turning around to the cassette player behind you, which had now gone completely silent. Jungkook’s eyes never left you. He stood tall by the door, fingers twitching at his sides, all too nervous to take a step further into the room. And he just kind of stood there for a beat, breathing in and breathing out before settling, looking over at you through thick lashes.

“… Do you mind if I watch?” 

The two of you instantly connected after that first meet. You think it was your mutual passion for passion. Even though you already had friends to attend to, you made room for him in your everyday life, letting him watch you stretch and practice late at night. Every night. He never spoke during your routines, never picked up his phone, never disturbed. He simply stayed quiet, admiration blooming in pink flush on his cheeks. 

It bothered you at first that he never let you watch him fight. You were allowed to watch him from outside the ring when all he did was train, but never once had he let you attend any of the events that turned physical. But you realized he wanted to shield you from just that part, so you let it go. 

Jungkook never told you why. He didn’t want you to know he worried that much. He wasn’t shielding you because he didn’t want you seeing him bruised and blood-covered, you had seen that before. He hid that world from you because he was willing to do anything in his power to keep you from seeing him hurt others. 

“Don’t you think it’s a fucked up hobby?” he muttered, sitting in a lotus position on the soft mat of the ring, re-applying the bandages covering his hands and wrists. 

You were leaning forward against the ropes, eyes narrow as you had just watched him spiral over not moving his feet quickly enough. It always hurt you seeing him beat himself up over the smallest imperfections, but you stayed quiet about it. You knew you act the exact same way, and that he’s just more aggressive.

“This, like, beating people up for fun?” his words were said silently, more to himself than you. 

The ring ropes dug into your elbows before you decided to pull them apart, lowering your body to step inside, and walking over to Jungkook who kept his eyes glued to his wrists as he wrapped himself up. “It’s not for fun, though,” you reassured, your lips curling into a stiff smile. “It’s more like a job? Right?”

He still didn’t bother looking up at you, and you weren’t really sure whether he was actually looking for you to answer or not. You stopped before him, standing tall above his hunched body. His hair was a mess, wet tangles forming in long waves over his eyes, dripping sweat down onto the soft ground. The black compression shirt had almost melted with his chiseled figure, and you watched his plump chest heave with every intake. 

You lowered yourself onto the sweat covered mat, using your hands to steady yourself as you copied his posture, folding one leg inward over the other. You let your hands rest in your lap. 

“People work at the morgue too,” you tried searching for his eyes, but you remained unsuccessful. You hated when he did this, when he got all in his head. You wanted to brush his hair back, cup his face, ask where are you? But you didn’t. Instead, you tilted your head, listening to the way his breathing slowed. “It doesn’t make them any worse than others. It’s just a job.”

It went silent after that, the only sound being the soft click of the overhead clock above the entrance. He nodded, you nodded. And he went on about his training, letting you slip out of the ring once again to observe him. Strained hisses slipped from his lips with every jab of his first, every swing of his arm. Sweat covered his temples, running down the sides. 

And things stayed like that for a while. Your relationship was gentle and intimate, completely different from all the other friendships you had made before. You met with your friends on the weekends, he met his, and you didn’t really talk or interact in groups. No one had so much as a hunch that you knew each other. Which made it all the more precious, a friendship built on late night meetups, revolving around what the two of you loved the most in the whole wide world. 

So why did he have to tear it apart?

The time shows 11:34 pm. You’ve been at it for almost three hours now, your body aching as you push it to the furthest limit possible. You have no idea if it’s to keep your mind from wandering, or to punish yourself. 

Your reflection stares back at you, perfect lines, perfect posture, but the eyes that meet yours look different. Startled and out of place… a deer caught in headlights. You exhale sharply, rolling your shoulders back to prepare your body. It knows this choreography better than your own heartbeat. You execute it flawlessly… and still, your chest tightens.

Again.

You repeat the sequence, slower this time. You land a turn so clean it should have satisfied you… but it doesn’t. Your mind can’t seem to let you rest. It works you open, tearing you to shreds as you stand there in the practice room; alone for the first time in months. 

Why. Why did he have to be so mean?

It’s not easy practicing when your mind has traveled outside your body and physically tries to drag you back to the moment that led up to this tension. You try shaking your head, try telling yourself out loud “no”, but there’s no helping it. 

You try again. You flex your aching feet, rising once more onto pointe, your muscles trembling with strain from being pushed too far. You work through the routine again… and again… and again until you feel yourself get dizzy. Your ribbon digs deeper and deeper into the soft flesh of your back, and you realize you’re having a hard time breathing.

“Fuck!” you hiss, stopping completely in your step, hands flying up to cover your face. Your hair has fallen completely out of your bun, loose strands falling over your shoulders, hugging you as you tremble. You can’t get him out of your head. You were fine before, happy, even. 

But now… you’re losing it. 

It hadn’t struck you as odd when Jungkook had suggested going for a walk around the campus. It was late at night, and maybe he just needed a break. You knew he wasn’t usually one to rest, neither were you, but you agreed. Wanting him to finally breathe out, to roam around freely without any further thoughts. This was maybe three days ago? A week? You have no idea. The days have started blurring together ever since. 

He stood waiting for you outside your dorm, telling you he wanted to walk to the pavilion centered in the park. For a moment the two of you walked silently through the hallway, side by side. Jungkook had never been much of a talker, unless he was completely freed of nerves, which had usually been around you. But tonight, Jungkook seemingly had a lot on his mind, so you let him stay quiet. 

You tried stealing quick glances of him, but his profile was swallowed by a large, black hood. All you could see was the tip of his nose, slightly red. You felt him shift a bit when you turned to him, tugging on the hem of his hoodie, his fingers curling around the thick fabric. You knew he had an upcoming fight this week, but you’d never seen him like this. He’d usually be more energetic, thrilled even, so this was completely unknown territory for you.

“Who are you fighting on Friday?” you asked, breaking the gentle silence between you. He muttered a name you didn’t recognize, still not looking at you or giving you any form of attention what so ever. You huffed out a laugh. “You sure? Seems like you might have to fight some inner demons before that.” 

“I’m kinda working on it right now,” he finally laughed, a gentle sound rumbling in his chest. 

The summer breeze wrapped around you as you exited the housing complex, and it was colder than you expected. You hugged your arms tightly against your chest, shivering a bit as your thin sweater tried blocking the wind. But you didn’t say anything, you just kept walking.

But in the crook of your eye, you saw Jungkook reach for his zipper. 

And without asking, without letting you brush away his kind gesture, he let his black hoodie slip off his shoulders before gently handing it to you. He didn’t even meet your eyes, it seemed almost like a subconscious effort. And it kind of was, he usually did things like this without thinking. Opening your gym bag for you when you reached for it, closing it again when you were done. Finishing your sentences when you searched for words, not to rush you but to help.

“Thanks,” you pulled the large jacket on, still walking, the fabric swallowing your frame. Your eyes darted to his now exposed arms. Goosebumps had already started blooming there, tiny strands of hair rising on his forearms. He noticed and immediately hid them behind his back, one hand holding onto his own wrist. 

The path curved, widening into the stretch that led through the small campus park. You looked more at the ground than the path before you, watching the rhythm of your shoes and his heavier ones scuffing next to you. Your steps were somehow synched. “Is Simon still giving you a hard time?”

Simon, Jungkook’s coach, a mean bastard, had been trailing him for the past few weeks. Non stop, scolding him for apparently not being in the right headspace to fight. He was ruthless, an extremely impatient man, and Jungkook had told you just how mean he could be. Telling him that it takes a special form of dedication to become the best, and that Jungkook’s had seemingly started to fade. 

You had tried reassuring him, telling Jungkook that Simon only wished the best for him. That he knew just how stubborn Jungkook could be, and that rough words were the only way to get through to him. And Jungkook had been a bit distracted lately, picking away at himself for messing up. So you couldn’t really blame the desperation in his coach’s scoldings. Jungkook was the best the academy had ever trained, so it really was crucial for them not to lose him.

“Yeah, now more than ever,” he scoffed, staring ahead through the silken fringe that brushed loosely over his forehead, almost covering his eyesight. 

A gust of wind swept across the open lawn you had reached, pushing a loose strand of hair across your cheek. Before you could tuck it behind your ear, you heard Jungkook’s hand shift halfway out of his pocket, like he was going to fix it for you… then thought better of it. He stopped the motion right away, fingers curling back inside. “That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.”

The wooden boards creaked under your shoes as you stepped into the pavilion. You slipped your hands out of the thick sleeves, running your thumb against your palm, trying to look as casual as possible, even though the anticipation was killing you. Jungkook stayed a few steps behind you, then finally moved forward, avoiding your eyes. 

His hair moved with the wind, and you finally saw it.

A bruised slit down his eyebrow. A blue spot blooming on his cheekbone. It shouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary, you’d seen him bruise before. But only after fights. And to your knowledge, his last one was two weeks ago. This seemed fairly recent, not yellow in a healing way, but dark red. 

He didn’t give you any time to react. The second your eyes settled on his face, Jungkook shifted, angling his body half away from you, pretending to check the railing of the pavilion as if it suddenly needed his attention. You sighed, letting your shoulders drop low. 

“Jesus, Kook, this is starting to get really weird,” you groaned, turning your body away from him, walking over to the built-in bench of the pavilion. Before you turned to sit down, you tilted your head, watching over as Jungkook shifted shyly in his stance. “You can’t even look at me.”

“You’ll get mad.”

“No, this is making me mad. Just look at me and talk to me like I’m a normal person.” 

He did, turning his body to face you. The state of him had your stomach turning. 

His eyes pierced through you, glistening with a soft gloss that made them seem even rounder, softer. His pupils looked a little blown, staring over at you as he stood a few feet away. The muscles around his eyes were tense, pulled slightly inward, giving him this fragile, almost pleading expression he probably wasn’t aware of. 

Your eyes darted down to your feet, giving your head a slight shake before looking up at him again. This was unlike anything you’ve seen from him before. It was strange seeing this big, beefy boy stand before you, looking so lost. It tugged on your heartstrings, and you instinctively shifted in your seat, making room for him beside you. 

“Come, sit.”

His body settled heavy beside you, and you finally felt a brush of his shoulder against yours. He was shivering a bit, but it could just as well have been from the cold. You were wearing the jacket that was supposed to shield him from the wind. 

His hands fell into his lap where his thighs were parted. He twiddled with his fingers, and you looked down at his dark knuckles. They were always like that, split and swollen skin, dark bruises melting with his tattoos. But they didn’t usually twitch like this. 

He sighed beside you, his loose t-shirt moving in gentle waves with the breeze. You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, looking over at him through your lashes. His hair was flowing similarly to the way the fabric of his shirt was, he pinched one eye together when his bangs got in the way. Your eyes drifted to the two tiny dots on his lip, the marks that were left behind from his piercing. He would usually take it out when training or fighting, to prevent more damage. Same with the one in his eyebrow. 

Your eyes moved further up his face, to the dark slit that laid between the soft hairs of his brow. But you noticed he was still wearing his piercing. Weird. He was usually so cautious about removing his jewelry before engaging in a fight. Maybe this one came out of the blue. 

“Didn’t you say you wanted to talk about something?” you nudged his shoulder, your lips curling into a soft smile as you kept your eyes locked on his face. He sighed again, nodding just once before looking up at you. With those wet, puppy-dog eyes. 

“Yeah sorry—I’m just…” he said, his eyes flicking over your face trying to detect if any of the anger from before was still there. “Coach has fucking… been on me lately.” 

He huffed, his fingers twitching in his lap. You didn’t blink as you held his eyes, breathing in and out deeply. His eyebrows curled together just the slightest on his forehead as he sensed you were inspecting his face more than just looking at him. 

“Did he do that?” you tipped your chin towards the bruising on his cheekbone, and by the looks of it the damage was pretty recent, given the fact that his skin was pulsating underneath. He rolled his eyes with a loud sigh, his gaze drifting from you. You scoffed, a bit affronted by his gesture. “I’m not worried, I’m just asking!”

“That’s not for you to care about.”

His tone was so distant and casual you almost didn’t register what he said. Ouch. Why was he acting like this. You backed up a bit, letting out a laugh that was mostly a just a short breath of confusion and disbelief. Your mouth hung open, lips parting as if you were about to say something, but you were too flustered. He had been short at times, sure, dismissing. But it was never directed towards you. 

Jungkook clicked his tongue, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His hands came up to his face, dragging his down his forehead before letting his fingers run through his hair. You were still just looking at him, completely lost, extremely confused as to why this weird tension in him was suddenly poured out on you. He didn’t speak for a while, and neither did you. 

“Sorry, fuck, it’s just—” his head tipped down, the muscles underneath his large t-shirt moving in waves as he hunched his back further. “I’ve been all in my head lately.” 

It didn’t feel like you needed to add anything to that, so you stayed quiet, waiting for him to finish. You watched over as his face came to rest on his knuckles, breathing in once before continuing. “And I have this big tournament next week.”

Yeah, you knew all about that. He couldn’t stop talking about it. It would be the first time he’d be able to show off his skills to an international audience, possibly landing deals with companies big enough to take him anywhere. He had always been humble, but when talking about this tournament it seemed like modesty didn’t matter. It would be his time to shine, and he unapologetically took it. 

“… and coach can’t have me acting like this.”

“It’s just a mental block, Koo,” you tried reassuring, leaning a bit forward and searching for his eyes. He still didn’t look at you, he kept his eyes glued to the tall, dark trees outside the pavilion. 

“Not according to coach.”

“He’s just trying to make you realize that all this in-your-head stuff is eating away at you,” your palm slid to his back, caressing the twitching skin and muscle. He really was gone. You knew just how weird he could get when pressure took ahold of him. You thought maybe this was the case now too. That he was so nervous about showing himself off to a new world, that his mind was fogging. 

“Well, he’s being fucking unreasonable.” he said, breathing out through his nose. 

“He’s older and more experienced… he’s your superior,” your other hand fumbled forward, reaching for Jungkook’s face. Your tiny palm cupped his soft cheek, angling him towards you. And his eyes finally found yours. “I think you should just listen to him. He knows best.”

A twinkle appeared in Jungkook’s eyes, just a flash of sparke across his soft pupils. He nodded, looking up at you as was he still hunched forward, with only his head facing you. “But you’ll hate me.”

You shook your head, giving him a comforting smile. There was no way you could hate him, your bond was the purest form of friendship there was. You were certain nothing could break it. Although you did stutter a bit over his words. Why would you hate him?

He sighed, moving his head away from where it laid in your palm, straightening his back. His hands were still in his lap, but this time they weren’t twitching, he wasn’t fiddling with them. He just looked down at the ground, firm posture. And spoke.

“I’ll have to give this tournament, the fight on Friday… everything from now on… my all.”

You watched the back of his head as he spoke, straightening as well, sort of subconsciously copying him. Your eyes fell to the trees before you, and you stayed silent as Jungkook continued. 

“And since I’ve been so weird these past weeks…” he stopped halfway in his sentence to breathe out. You continued looking straight ahead... until he finished. “I have to distance myself from all distractions.”

Your vision blurred. The trees before you turned into dark green fog, the starlit sky disappearing. Your head tipped down before your brain could catch up. Of course. You’ll hate me. 

The next inhale Jungkook took was more shaky, but you didn’t even notice. All you could hear was the ringing in your ears, the three words repeating themselves over and over and over. You’ll hate me. Oh, Jungkook.

“… that means you.”

You had already gotten to that part by yourself, thank you very much, but hearing him say it out loud made your stomach turn. Jungkook saw you as a distraction. What a cliche. You tried shaking your head, still looking down at your feet, who were now curling inwards. You’d never felt more dumb in your life. Here you thought you had made a real connection with someone, over something so gentle as being in love with your two sports. Sharing the hope that one day you’d be the best there is. Apparently you just stood in his way.

There wasn’t much to say to that, really. What do you say in that situation? You can’t beg him to choose your friendship over his future, that’s not only an extremely unrealistic expectation, but also inhuman. You can’t change his mind, telling him you’re nothing but a supportive spectacle in his life. He needed you to stay away, so why was it so hard to accept that?

“You’re not allowed to have friends anymore, that’s what this is?” you stared straight ahead, your tone humorless, even though a breathy laugh accompanied your words. “You’re gonna isolate yourself, be a loner? A tortured poet? That’s what this is?”

“Fuck—I’m allowed to have friends, jesus,” Jungkook’s face flew to his palms, dragging them down his eyes, his cheeks, resting them at his chin. He inhaled deeply before his next words, to prepare both himself and you. “It’s just that… you’re—you’re not like my other friends.”

Your stomach curled, thinking you already knew where this was headed. 

“You know, all my other friends they’re… they’re guys, mostly boxers. You know? They don’t distract me. But you’re… you’re just a—“

Huh? Your mind stilled, but you kept staring forward, eyes almost twitching with restraint. Apparently this wasn’t going where you thought it would be. 

“… you’re just some girl, you know?” 

You could feel tears pricking in the corner of your eyes, you could practically see the drops blurring the edges of your vision. It was like all the organs inside you had been wrung out and torn open from within you. You couldn’t move. You actually couldn’t move a single bone in your body. So now you were forced to sit beside him, trying to push the tears down, even though all you wanted to do was to scream out. 

Once again, Jungkook tipped his head down, the weight of his forehead pressed flat against his palms. He sighed, a bit shaky, a hurtful sound. But you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

“I’m sorry… but I’ve only known you for a few months. This—” he stretched his hands out slightly, gesturing toward the campus, “—is my life. My whole life.”

What on earth were you supposed to say to that? Just some girl? It was like everything you thought you knew about your relationship was flushed down the drain. The boy that had been so kind, so attentive, suddenly vaporized beside you, and what was left behind was this cold shell of a man. And when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, when you had decided you had heard enough, he kept going. Digging himself even deeper into the mess he had started. 

“And we both know we don’t have anything in common. I mean… it’s not fair of me to burden you with my fights when you’re supposed to focus on your cute dances.”

Your head turned to face his, abruptly enough that your hair flew across your face, a few strands sticking to your glossed lips. 

“My cute dances?”

“You know—” he stills, “I have to focus on what’s serious… I can’t spend time looking at you twirling around. You know what I mean.”

You didn’t. How could he, after seeing you strain yourself day in and day out, only view what you care for the most in this world… as twirling around? That did it. You had no intention of trying to shove any sense in his head, there was no reason to. If this was how he wanted to end your friendship, then fine by you. 

With a groan you brushed away the remaining hair stuck on your face and pushed yourself from off the bench. 

“I’ll make this easy for you, then,” you hissed as you got up, your bones nearly vibrating with anger and frustration. You turned to get a last look at him, but he couldn’t even bring himself to meet your eyes. He was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees while his head was tipped down, dark strands of hair covering his face. Maybe not seeing his eyes made it easier for you. “I don’t want to see you again. Even when you realize what a dick you’re being and feel the need to apologize. I don’t want you near me.”

He remained unmoving, it didn’t even look like he was breathing. Maybe he felt bad, but you didn’t care. If there was human decency still left in him, of course he would feel bad. But that wasn’t for you to attend to, all you wanted to do was to get as far away from him as possible. 

“Hope the fight on friday doesn’t knock you brain-dead.”

You spun around so fast you almost got a head rush. Or it might’ve just been the blood in your veins traveling at an extreme speed. Even though your ears were ringing, you still tried clearing your head. Hoping to hear his voice one last time. Hoping that he might call out your name and apologize, explain what he really meant. But he didn’t. There was no other sound than your own breathing, some distant chatter from further down the park. 

And there was nothing left to say. You don’t even remember walking out of the pavilion. Your feet just carried you, hurried your body away from him. The boards groaned under your steps, then there was grass, then gravel, then the open stretch of the park swallowing you whole.

Your fists curled deep inside the sleeves of the hoodie you had been given. His hoodie. It seemed so strange how he could suddenly turn so cold, acting like a complete different person than the boy you thought you knew so well. The thought of it burned in your chest, your feet moving in a frantic pace. You could’ve just as well have been running. 

But as you reached the path lined with lampposts, something within you started to give. The anger and frustration suddenly wasn’t all that prominent when you were all alone. And you realized how hurt you were, how incredibly painful it was to be dismissed by the one person in the world who you thought understood you. 

Sadness hit you without warning. A full, suffocating wave that rose up from inside your throat and made it impossible to swallow. A breath caught, then another, and before you knew it, your vision blurred once again.

There was no way of stopping it. You kept walking while tears just… slipped out. Silent streams that burned your cheeks on their way down before disappearing into the fabric of the hoodie. It was embarrassing, extremely hurtful. You tugged the hood over your head, pushing it low enough to hide half your face. With a strained exhale, you dragged both sleeves up to your face, trying to blot everything out as fast as it appeared. It did no good.

New tears kept falling, streaking even harder the more you tried to stop them. You buried your hands deep within the fabric of the hoodie, and trying to stop sounds from leaving you, you put one sleeve over your mouth, muffling your cries. And that’s how your night ended. A complete disaster, the cherry-on-top being the insufferable loneliness you felt as you were walking, down the familiar path, completely alone, crying ugly tears into the sleeves of Jungkook’s hoodie. It still smelled like him, which almost instinctively made you gag. 

The pavilion was long gone behind you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look back. You knew he was still sitting there, probably exhausted, slightly embarrassed by his choice of words. What you didn’t know, and what you didn’t see, was the single, wet tear falling from his thick, dark lashes. The trembling of his chin before letting it all out. Of course he waited until you were gone.

And now, as you’re back in the training room, you’re left as stupid pieces of broken, fragile porcelain scattered all over the floor, unable to recall any of the moves that before came so naturally. You find it almost humorous that Jungkook went on and on about how distracting you were, only for him to ruin your concentration completely. 

It’s almost like you can’t recognize the girl that’s staring back at you in the mirror. Her hair is the same, her clothes and body look the same. But it’s her eyes you can’t recognize. A pair of heavy, dark eyes staring back at you. 

Fuck Jeon Jungkook. 

You tell yourself, alright — one last time, and you get into position. Your feet rise onto pointe, but your ankles tremble harder than they should. You exhale through your nose, force your posture straight with a roll of your shoulders, and continue the sequence. But it doesn’t last long, you manage maybe six counts before your chest tightens and your mind wanders… again. 

It’s not that you feel lonely, now that he’s not here watching you. It’s knowing he’s just down the hall, so close, yet he doesn’t want anything to do with you from now on. He could easily, just by taking a few steps out the door of his practice room, be right here. He could be standing in the doorway, like the first night you met, looking at you with big, stupid, wet eyes. But he has chosen not to. 

All because you’re a distraction. All the while you thought the two of you were equals, but apparently you weren’t all that similar after all. Because he’s a fighter, a champion. About to be world renowned for his work. Whereas you’re just a glittering obstacle without any real significance. Just watching from the sidelines. 

Your ankle twists, and you stumble in your steps, hair flying to cover your shoulders, “Fucking—” you yell out, trying to ground yourself by crouching down, burying your face between your knees. Your chest heaves, and the music sounds muffled and strained around you. The ribbon digging into your back aches, and breathing suddenly feels all too hard. 

That bastard has your brain fogging, only for him to remain blissfully unaware of the war that’s going on inside your head. And he’s right there… so close. 

Fuck. 

Your feet move before your brain can register it. They take you to the stereo, and your fingers press down, cutting off the music. The silence that follows is soon interrupted by your hurried footsteps, moving towards the door. But you still for a moment. Your pointe shoes hurt like hell, it’s like they’re trying to melt into your skin and become one with your body… that’s how tight they are. You can’t let them throw you off, so you bend over, loosen the ribbons and rip the shoes off. They’re thrown away carelessly, landing wherever, somewhere inside the practice room. 

It doesn’t take long before you reach the door, push it open and embark on your journey down the hall, toward the familiar muffled sound of fists slamming into canvas. 

The door opens with a loud slam, and you follow right after. Your eyes pierce through the dimly lit gym, gaze going straight to the ring that stands alone in the center. Inside Jungkook stands, frozen in his step. 

He had been mid-combo, fists flying, shoulders tight, sweat dripping from his jaw onto the mat, but the second the door bursts open, he stops cold. His chest is rising and falling heavy, his hair damp, sticking to his forehead and temples. And at his sides, his hands are wrapped, the peeling tape revealing a pair of red and swollen knuckles. Looks like he’s been at it for a while. 

Slowly, almost humorously slow, he turns to you, eyes wide and blood-shot. 

“You had no right being that mean.”

Your words come out shaky, even though you really are doing your best to keep it together. Your fingers twitch at your sides, and you curl them around the hem of your sheer skirt, gripping onto the pale fabric just to keep your hands from shaking. It doesn’t hide much of your spiral, as you unwillingly pout, your chin giving a tiny tremble, enough to betray you. 

As Jungkook turns to face you fully, straightening his back, looking over at you from a distance, you take note of the beige bandage that covers up the bruise on his cheekbone from the day before. Or maybe it covers up a new cut, a bleeding one. You don’t want to think about it, this isn’t the time for you to feel bad for him. So before he has time to process anything, you move. 

Your steps are quick, almost frantic, carrying you straight towards the ring, and you stop just before the ropes, staring up at him through heavy lashes. 

It’s ruining you, looking at him like this, knowing it was you who broke, you who’s now seeking him out first. Jungkook still doesn’t move, he just stands a few feet away from you, trapped inside the ring, sweat dripping down his temple. But his eyes move, flicking over your flushed face, to your heaving chest, then back up to meet your eyes. His eyebrows rise just slightly, softening his look. And your stomach curls. 

There’s no helping it, your eyes water, and your voice falters, “Why were you so mean to me?”

You try pushing the tears away, but one manages to slip out, gliding down your cheek. It’s pathetic standing below him, crying over being dismissed, but it hurts. And it doesn’t help seeing the change in Jungkook’s face. 

His nostrils flare, his lips parting only to quiver, and you can tell he wants to explain, but that he’s holding back. You wish he wouldn’t, you wish he could just muster up the courage to tell you what’s going on. But instead, his head tips down, a drop of sweat falling from his forehead and onto the soft mat below him. “I’m sorry.”

“Just shut up for a minute,” your voice trembles, but you push through it. You try ignoring the way his pupils dilate, his eyes turning into black, glittering voids. “You owe me that much.”

Jungkook looks back up at you and swallows, after comes a gentle pout, one that makes him look like a sulky little boy. Normally, you would’ve thought it was the most adorable thing ever. Right now it’s just downright insufferable. But he at least nods, letting you take the lead of the conversation, mentally taking a step back. 

You tug on the sheer fabric that’s bunched in your hands, “You said this didn’t really matter since we haven’t known each other for that long,” you start, the tone of your voice more stable now that you’ve gotten accustomed to his flustered state of being. “But I don’t know, I kinda treasured what we had?”

The way Jungkook gently sways back and forth in his place, almost unconsciously, has your stomach turning. He really is just the same, restless boy that you’ve grown to care so much about. 

“And sorry if I’m wrong but I really thought you did too.”

“I’m sorry,” his nostrils flare once again, a pleading expression blooming across his face, but you hastily dismiss it. 

“Don’t make me feel bad for you,” you hiss, taking yet another step forward, standing just below the ring, while he still hovers a bit in the middle, a few beats away from you. “That’s not fair.”

The ring ropes stand tense before you, forcing you to look at him through the gaps. Jungkook’s chest heaves, the tight fabric of his white tank sticking to his sweaty torso, hugging his chiseled figure with every intake. His hands hang loosely from his sides, the tape around his wrists and knuckles ripping at the edges. His fingers twitch just once before he lets you continue, breathing in deeply. 

“You could’ve just said you thought we would be better off without each other — I could maybe live with that,” your breath wavers, and you narrow your eyes as if you’re trying to bore the next words into him. “But you had no right being that belittling.”

A flash of glisten wavers in his eyes, something just short of tears, you think. It makes you want to vomit, seeing him so hurt. But he did this to himself. You’ve been in a far worse state these past days, so this only serves him right. “You know how hard I work. You were in that practice room with me every night. Still you have the fucking nerve to make me feel that small.”

“I said I was sorry!” he’s getting desperate now, throwing out his hands before him almost like he’s begging for you to accept his apology. But you can’t, you’re hurting too much.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

“What the fuck do you want me to say then, huh?” he yells out, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence. You still, your head retracting just an inch as your breath catches. Jungkook’s eyes flick over your face, from one side to the other, before he continues. “You want me to say I still can’t focus? Huh? That I can’t fight anymore?”

His hands fly down to his sides again, and it seems like the desperation has turned into surrender instead. And when he speaks again, you’re afraid your knees might buckle.

“Want me to say I can’t fight because I see you everywhere?” his voice has still that cracked, defeated sound, the sound of it vibrating in your eardrums. “That the only thing I can think of when I break in people’s skulls are your eyes?” 

A single tear, that’s all you give him. You try holding it back, but it slips out anyways, falling down your cheeks, leaving a stinging mark. 

Jungkook continues, almost out of breath now, “That I can’t fucking live with the thought of you seeing me like that. Being around someone like that. Someone who causes other people that much pain.”

You don’t know what you were expecting, but it most certainly wasn’t that. Your throat clogs, a tight and stinging pressure building in it, the kind that makes it hard to swallow. The fallen tear reaches your chin, and rests there for just a moment before dropping onto the ground. And it’s almost like the sound of it is enhanced by the silence, the tiny droplet meeting the soft mat and sinking into the surface. 

He looks straight into your eyes, never leaving, his bottom lip quivering with restlessness. And you can’t bring yourself to speak. So he does instead.

“Coach said it would be better if I didn’t tell you. If I just shoved you away,” a drop of sweat falls from his temple, landing on the mat with a soft, muted pat. Jungkook never takes his eyes off you, his soft, puppy-dog eyes glued to yours. His shoulders have dropped a bit lower, rising along with his chest with every breath he takes. “I just… I’m sorry I was so rough. I just thought it would be better if you hated me than missed me. Maybe you’d see it as good riddance.”

A shaky breath follows his words, as if it’s leaking out of him rather than being released. His shoulders slump further, and for a moment the undefeated champion in him is nowhere to be seen. There’s something so soft with him like this. You’ve always seen him as a soft and gentle guy, completely different from his boxing persona. But now he seems more vulnerable, and it eats away at you. He’s hurting just as much as you are. 

Your fingers twitch around the hem of your skirt, and then you move. 

You step closer until your knees brush the edge of the ring. The ropes are right in front of you, stretched tight, dividing the two of you. Your hand lifts. 

The ropes give under your palm, elastic and warm from the light overhead. You slide your other hand beneath the top rope and pull it upward, parting them just enough for your body to slip through. And at seeing this, Jungkook’s breath catches. 

The soft mat dips slightly under your weight, the feel of it warm and gentle… and you suddenly remember that you’re barefoot. Your feet tap lightly against the ground as you near him, trying to walk as gently as possible even when it feels like your knees are about to buckle. 

Jungkook doesn’t move, he doesn’t make a sound. His chest rises sharply, then falls in a trembling exhale. Sweat glides down the side of his neck, tracing the line of his collarbone before disappearing into the fabric of his tank. And he lets you get closer. But you stop just a foot from him. 

“I’m not this fragile little thing you have to protect,” a trembling pout appears on your face, a completely involuntary expression, but you can’t help it. 

His head tilts, and a tiny wince follows along with the click of his tongue, “I know, I just…” his head tips down, and for the first time, he avoids your eyes. His hair falls in wet tangles in front of his eyes, and you see the veins in his shoulders spasming underneath his soft skin. “I… I wish I could be someone else for you.”

You shake your head before you realize he can’t exactly see you when his head has dropped this low, so without even thinking any further, you reach for him. Your palm cups his soft, warm cheek, lifting his face gently to meet your gaze. You’re standing a bit away from him, and your arm stretches out as far as it can for you to be able to reach him. He finally looks back at you, towering above you, his broad figure blocking out the light beaming from the overhead lamp far behind him. 

Once again, you give your head a small shake, “But the thing is; I already kinda like this guy,” you say, your lips curling into a comforting smile. “I just wish you could see it yourself.”

Jungkook’s eyes flicker, fast and barely noticeable, but you catch it. Again, that short-of-tears look, where his eyebrows rise and curl on his forehead. His lips part, not enough to speak, just enough to breathe. The feel of you touching him so gently makes his whole face twitch with restraint. And his gaze drops to your mouth for half a second before snapping back up, guilty and unsure. 

“I didn’t mean a word of what I said that day… I—” he stops, his throat working and brows twitching. “I hope you know that.”

“Now I do. But you still hurt me,” you whisper. Your thumb drags softly along the edge of his cheekbone, brushing over the warm skin near the bandage. Jungkook exhales again, shakier than before, his shoulders sagging and his entire posture collapsing inward. Finally letting himself feel how exhausted he really is, tired of restricting himself. 

“I’m sorry…” his eyes shut close as he’s breathing in slowly. Preparing himself for his next words. “The truth is… if it’s between boxing and you… I’ll choose you. Every time.”

Your eyebrows crease, and your breath is stolen from you. Thankfully, Jungkook continues instead of expecting you to answer.

“But coach didn’t really like that idea,” he angles his head, making you stare up at the pale bandage covering the bruise on his cheekbone. He winces as you press a soft fingertip against it, breathing out when you retract. “I never wanted to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want.”

His eyes move over your face in slow sweeps. He takes in your flushed cheeks, your baby hairs sticking to your damp temples, the nervous tug at your lower lip. He looks absolutely ruined by it. His pupils are blown wide, pleading and defeated, flicking over your face in nervous, frantic swipes. 

“Then don’t make me leave,” you breathe out. 

Your words have Jungkook’s eyes widening even further, flicking over your face again. Like he can’t believe what you just said. You just nod, caressing his soft cheek, letting your words sink into him. And when they do, he breaks.

He leans in a breath’s worth, just enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him… but he stops himself. His nose twitches, his jaw tightens, and you can practically see the internal battle tearing through him.

He wants to… he’s scared to. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

You close the distance just a little more, stepping into the space between you. Your hand slides from his cheek to the side of his jaw, fingers resting against the curve of his neck. His breath stutters at the touch, a tiny inhale that sounds like he’s fighting not to crumble.

“Kook,” you murmur, barely audible.

His eyes snap to yours, and with it time stretches thin… until he leans forward. The move is slow and searching, and it keeps until his forehead hovers just inches from yours. You feel his breath fan across your lips. He hesitates one last time, holding absolutely still, waiting for any sign that he’s misread this.

But there’s no chance he has, because you don’t step back. You don’t dare to let go. And before you, Jungkook’s gaze flickers down to your mouth again, and he exhales, a tiny, broken sound that gives him away completely.

Then, like he’s testing the waters, he nudges his nose against yours. Barely there, just a faint brush. His lips ghost over yours without actually landing, the lightest possible contact, and you feel his eyes close against your skin, the tingle of his eyelashes fluttering shut brushing against you. 

You breathe out shakily against his mouth, he feels it… and that’s all it takes.

His lips meet yours in the softest, most careful kiss imaginable, and you’re not even sure if your knees will be able to keep you stable anymore. You stand completely still, eyes still wide open, and it feels like your heart is about to leap out of your chest.

Jungkook’s hands hover at his sides, wrapped fists trembling, because he doesn’t trust himself to touch you yet. That is of course until your eyes flutter shut, and you kiss him back. 

The moment you do, everything in him changes. His breath hitches, his shoulders shudder, and a small, almost relieved sound slips from the back of his throat. His hands rise, settling lightly at your waist, fingertips barely grazing fabric. And with his touch, the kiss deepens. 

It starts soft, but there’s a hunger beneath it, months of restraint cracking all at once. The gentle press of his lips turns firm, then needy, until his tongue pokes through. You feel the shift in him as if a switch has been thrown. Jungkook pulls you closer by the waist, and you stumble into him with a soft gasp, your hands sliding instinctively up his chest. He walks you back slowly, blindly, like he’s not even thinking about where he’s taking you, only that you’re in his arms now and he’s never letting go.

The mat gives a muted squeak under your bare feet as he guides you back with steady steps. The kiss grows more desperate, teeth grazing lips, breathes mingling, his chest pressed tight to yours. Your back meets the ropes with a soft thump, the tension of the cords stretching behind you as your weight leans into them. He cages you in, forearms braced against the ropes on either side of you, every muscle tight with restraint.

But his mouth show no such signs, it work you over relentlessly. It’s a beautiful kind of madness, the way he kisses you, open-mouthed and shaky. His lips part yours again and again, tongue brushing, sighs shared between broken kisses. He groans softly against your lips, a deep sound from somewhere in his chest, and you react by gasping into him, fingers climbing to tangle in his damp hair, tugging gently. And thats when he breaks.

His arms slide around you, fully now, pulling you into his body; one arm tight around your waist, the other sliding up your back, palm flat against your spine. You can feel his heart hammering against your chest, the tremble in his arms, the way his breath hitches every time you shift even a little against him. You arch into the contact, your hand slipping under the edge of his tank top, meeting bare, sweat-warmed skin. His whole body jolts, and he chases your mouth harder.

“Fuck,” he breathes between kisses, his voice wrecked and hoarse, lips brushing yours with the word. “Never ever do as I say again. Don’t leave me again.”

You barely manage a sound, a soft whimper caught between your lips, and that only pushes him further. The ropes creak behind you, tension growing as he presses you gently into them. But he doesn’t hurt you… he never could. Even as he cages you in, making it impossible for you to move, his hands are careful, trembling in soft spasms. 

Jungkook pulls back just slightly, barely a breath of distance, and it’s just enough to look at you. His eyes scan your face with a rawness that guts you, wet and dark eyelashes, his lips swollen from kissing, parted with breathless awe. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, almost to himself. “Never leave me.”

Your hands cup his jaw again, thumbs brushing the sweat-slicked edges of his cheekbones, and you giggle involuntarily. “Don’t be corny,” you whisper. “Just fucking kiss me.”

He makes a sound, something that borders on a whimper, and kisses you again. This time, there’s no hesitation like the first meet of your lips. His large hands splay across your back, pulling you against him as if he can fuse you to him. The desperation of his kiss grows, and he parts your lips to let his tongue slip in, meddling with yours. You feel his hand slip from your back, trailing slowly down your side, fingertips grazing the curve of your waist through the thin fabric. The touch makes you shiver. And it doesn’t help when his fingers dip lower.

Only his knuckles are covered in tape, and his fingers are free to travel down your body. They ghost along the edge of your hip, skim over the flare of your skirt, and then, kind of hesitant, he finds your thigh.

Your breath catches instantly. It hitches hard in your throat, and your body tenses under his hands.

And when Jungkook feels it, he freezes. He pulls back just an inch, his forehead still resting against yours, but his voice comes out low and wrecked, full of restraint, “Is this okay?” he says, he’s barely holding it together, but still so gentle, not wanting to overstep any boundaries you might have. 

You’re not exactly sure how you’re gonna answer this. Because you don’t really know… you’ve spent your whole life focusing on ballet, and along the way, you’ve forgotten men and pleasure. How on earth do you tell him you’ve never experienced anything like this? How on earth do you tell him you’re a virgin? You exhale shakily, lips brushing his as you answer.

“Mhm,” you hum, voice trembling with permission. “It’s just...” your eyes flutter shut, and you brace yourself for his reaction. “I’ve never… done this before.”

Jungkook stills completely.

“You…” his voice breaks, his tone more high-pitched than usual. “You’ve never…”

You give your head the smallest shake, looking up at him with a wide, doe-eyed expression. With it, Jungkook’s lips part, but nothing comes out, just a gentle groan. His hand slowly retracts from your stocking-covered thigh, only for it to tremble at your side. And after a loud swallow, he continues. “Any of it?”

Once again, you shake your head. Your hand stays on his jaw, fingers flexing gently against his skin. And as you breathe through your nose, a small sound escapes you, making Jungkook’s eyebrows twitch high on his forehead. 

His eyes are wide now, pupils blown, his whole expression swimming somewhere between being completely flustered and impossibly turned on. He lets out a long, shaky exhale, and his forehead dips back to yours. “Shit, that makes this…” he murmurs, lips brushing yours again. And at that, you feel his fingers make their way back to your thigh, rubbing slow circles into the soft stockings. “… fucking impossible for me.”

When his hand tightens slightly around your thigh, you whimper, and the sound that slips from him in return is something between a breath and a groan. You feel his other hand drift down your back, splaying wide across the base of your spine, anchoring you to him. The space between your bodies vanishes as he pulls you in, flush against his chest, every inch of him trembling with the restraint he’s trying so hard to hold on to.

You lean in to kiss the crook of his mouth, then his chin, then the edge of his jaw, “Don’t hold back, Kook,” you breathe out alongside your gentle kisses. “I’m not so fragile.”

He shudders at the mixture of your silken voice and soft lips against his skin. His fingers trail slowly up the outside of your thigh, tracing the soft line of your covered skin, then down again, smoothing over the back of it in taunting strokes. You feel the ripping edges of the tape that’s wrapped around his knuckles, the feeling causing you to shiver. Never once had you imagined his touch to be so gentle, such a large contrast from the way his hands usually act. 

Jungkook’s mouth returns to yours, this time with more heat. The kiss turns messier and deeper, but it’s less more claiming than desperate now. He tilts his head, opening you up for him, and you let him take and take, because you’re giving just as much. Your fingers tighten in his damp hair, pulling him closer, letting him in. 

He presses his thigh between yours, and that’s when you feel it. The outline of him, the large, bulking outline straining in his shorts, pressing into you. It draws a soft gasp from your mouth into his, the sensation completely new and unexplored. 

“I’ll take it slow,” he breathes into your mouth, voice cracked, already unraveling just from being this close. He wants you to know he’ll be good, even though it pains him to hold back as much as he is right now. “And you tell me when to stop.”

You want to tell him no, say you want all of him, but you only shake your head, kiss him again, breathe out against his mouth in a soft moan as he presses into you once more. The ropes behind you groan under the tension, your body arched between them and him, but you don’t care. You’re not going anywhere. Whatever it is you’re feeling when his erection brushes against your hip, that blooming ache in your lower belly, you want more of it.

His lips drag down from your mouth to your jaw, slow and scorching, brushing kisses along the underside of it. You tilt your head, offering him more of your neck. His nose skims your skin, then his mouth opens against the delicate space beneath your ear, and you shudder.

As your head tips back and your lips part in a gentle breath, Jungkook’s hand shifts, sliding down your thigh, fingers curling under your leg… and before you can even process it, he lifts.

You gasp, your hands flying to grip his shoulders for balance as your leg bends at the knee, your thigh hitching up against his side. He supports the weight easily, his strength effortless, like you weigh nothing to him. The new position presses you closer, hips aligning in a way that sends heat rolling up your spine. 

But it’s the next move that truly steals your breath. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs again, pushing your skirt higher. The fabric flutters uselessly around his wrist now, no barrier at all. But this time, he feels the resistance. His brows furrow when his fingers glide up and meet the sleek, elastic edge of your stockings.

A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest, and he smiles against your lips, “Why do you ballerinas always have to wear so many fucking layers?” 

You would’ve laughed if your whole body wasn’t shaking with need. So you kiss through his smile, tiny and desperate pecks against his parted lips, brushing over his teeth, his chin, the crook of his smile. A softer laughs escapes from him as he senses your cute starvation, but the sound turns into a frustrated groan as his fingers fumble uselessly for the hem. 

He pulls at the garter line, then slides down to your thighs again, trying to slip his hand between the fabric and your skin, but the resistance only makes him more frantic. You can feel it in the way his breath stutters against your cheek.

But you’re honestly no better… you might be worse. You feel fevered, hands twisting in the soaked fabric of his tank, hips twitching against his grip, nerves frayed from the tension. The silk and mesh clinging to your legs isn’t just slowing him down, it’s slowing you down. You need more. You need him, in a way that kind of concerns you. You’ve never had this feeling for a man before. You didn’t even think you were that much of a sexual person… but with Jungkook here, that thought goes flying out the window. 

So you lean in, lips brushing his ear, breath hot and trembling. “Just rip them off,” you whisper. “Tear them apart. It’s okay.”

Everything stills. Jungkook’s entire body freezes, completely, and you feel the sharp intake of breath against your neck. And when you pull back, you see it on his face; disbelief and restraint collapsing all at once. His jaw tightens, his eyes flicker, wide and blood-shot, then drop to your legs, the delicate fabric stretched tight against your thighs.

“You’re serious,” he says, voice low, stunned.

You nod and shake your head all at once, lost in desperation, biting down on your lower lip gently before you speak. “I don’t care. I just want you.” your voice comes out softer and needier than you’d like, but you’re too far gone to get embarrassed by it. And by the looks of it, the gentle tremble and high-pitch of your voice is what sends Jungkook over the edge. 

His hand slides back up, gripping the hem of your stocking where it cuts high across your stomach, and with one hard pull, he rips. 

The sound is sharp. The fabric splits at the seam with a jagged tear, slicing up and inward, and the air hits your skin immediately. You feel the rush of cool against your now-exposed skin, the torn stocking peeling back around the hole he’s made. Your panties show through, suddenly bared to the flickering gym light. And Jungkook apparently stops breathing.

His gaze drops, locking onto the sight of you, half-dressed and ruined by his hands. The silky pink of your underwear framed by the tear in the stocking… a mess he made. His mess.

“Fuck,” he whispers, reverent and broken, his lips brushing your cheek, your jaw. “Fuck, you look…”

You whimper softly, pulling him closer, your hands tangled in the fabric of his tank. And then you feel it… his hand, slow and sure, gliding up your thigh through the torn opening, testing just how much you’ll let him touch. But you let him have your all. Quite frankly, you’d let him do anything he’d like at this point. So you shift against him, restless and needy.

When you move, Jungkook rips the other side just the same, another hole splitting the opposite stocking, tearing a hole that ripples through the hem, opening you fully to him. 

He breathes out an unsteady breath against your lips, before his mouth ghosts along your cheekbone, lower, to your jaw, then to the soft space beneath your ear. Your breath hitches just the slightest as you feel his hand move again, never stopping. 

It slides higher, over the part of your thigh that’s now exposed, fingers splayed wide, his palm hot and trembling against your skin. His voice falters, a beautiful whimper releases from him. With it, his fingers dip, seeking the edge of your panties. And when they find it, the delicate band of lace clinging to your heat, his breath stutters against your throat. 

Your head tips back, and you’re so tense from anticipation that your stomach coils in tight knots. You breathe out, close your eyes, and his name falls of your tongue softly. 

“I know, don’t worry,” he exhales, and you feel his eyes flutter shut against your neck, his eyelashes tingling against your skin. His lips gently suck down on your throat before he speaks again. “I’ll make you feel good.”

Jungkook exhales, slowly, and slides his tattooed fingers beneath the lace.

The contact instantly has you moaning, the unknown feeling so electric that your muscles tense unwillingly. It feels so incredible different from your own fingers, Jungkook’s long and thick digits sliding in between your plush folds, brushing against the spot that aches and pulses for him. 

It’s incredible. His fingertips barely graze the wetness gathered between your legs, and your body jerks, the muscles in your stomach contracting tight, your hips twitching into his touch on instinct. Your eyes widen with the shock of it, the smallest touch, and yet it feels like a flame has just been lit low in your belly.

“Fuck…” Jungkook breathes, voice shredded and low. “You’re soaked.”

You whimper, your soft lips parting as your head tips forward, and he shudders at the sound, his forehead dipping to rest against yours.

The first stroke is slow. One finger, sliding up your slit, dragging deliberately through the slick heat. But Jungkook takes his time, and it’s killing you. He just watches you, watches how your lashes flutter, how your lips part, his gaze flickering from your face to where his hand is hidden between your thighs.

His eyebrows furrow, concentration blooming on his face, and his fingers run through you once again. A second pass from your entrance and all the way up, stopping at the swollen bundle of nerves he finds there. When he circles it, just once, experimentally, your thighs tense around him and a small gasp tumbles from your lips. The noise seems to wreck him.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, more to himself. “Just like that…”

He rubs slow, deliberate circles over your clit, mapping every tiny reaction he draws from you with the pads of his fingers. Your back arches into him, your hands clutching at the fabric of his tank, and your breath quickens. The sensation is maddening, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. It should be embarrassing how you’re holding onto him for dear life, how he steals needy moans from you by just flicking his index finger over your sensitive clit… but you can’t help it. It feels absolutely wonderful. 

But he grows bolder… and lowers his hand, finding your entrance again, leaving your clit spasming and neglected. He groans as he maps out your sopping hole, and with a slow stroke, he presses in.

You inhale sharply as his finger slides inside, slowly, so carefully. The stretch is supposedly small, you should barely feel it, but your walls flutter tight around him, unused to the feeling. He moans at that, one of the most beautiful and sinful sounds you’ve ever heard, muffled against the skin of your neck.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he whispers, almost in disbelief. “Jesus…”

He doesn’t move at first. He just stays there, his tape covered knuckles covered in your slick, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust, letting your body grow familiar with him. You feel your muscles pulse around him, but he eases you through it, kissing the hollow beneath your jaw to soothe the tension.

Then, slowly, he starts to move. In and out in gentle motions, his finger gliding inside you in a rhythm that builds gradually, each curl dragging against that sensitive spot deep inside you that makes your breath catch. You realize you might’ve never figured out there was any pleasure to find back there if it wasn’t for Jungkook, his fingers so much longer than yours, reaching places you could only dream of. 

He adds pressure with every thrust, curling deeper, testing angles. The sound of it, the wet, quiet slick of your arousal around his finger, fills the space between your bodies, obscenely intimate. He leans back to look at you, and the expression on his face is devastating.

Eyes half-lidded, lips parted, sweat clinging to his temple. But more than that… he looks awestruck. Like touching you like this has undone something in him. His thumb drifts upward again, brushing lightly over your clit in tandem with the movement of his finger, and when the sensations overlap, the slow curling inside with the teasing flicks above, your legs nearly give out.

“Oh—oh my god,” you moan, soft and high, and your head drops forward to rest against his shoulder.

“Does that feel good?” he breathes, still working you open. His eyes never leave yours, and he studies the way your face crinkles with pleasure. He presses his lips together, breathing through his nose, causing his nostrils to flare. 

You nod frantically, too wrecked to form words, your eyebrows creasing, eyes growing into soft, pleading voids. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, dragging his thumb in a tight circle that makes your thighs shake. “You like how I touch you, baby?”

Your hips rock into his hand now, tiny desperate movements that he mirrors, meeting you stroke for stroke. You feel the tension mounting fast, white heat curling low in your stomach, every muscle clenching as your pleasure begins to build.

“Want more?” he asks, voice cracked.

You nod again, breathless. “Please…”

Jungkook’s lips part, a shiver rolling through him, and then he gives it to you. Without hesitation, he adds a second finger, and the stretch makes your breath hitch, your thighs trembling against his hips. But it’s good… god, it’s so good. He moves with both now, curling them inside you in slow, deep thrusts, his palm grinding gently against your clit with every motion. The pressure is overwhelming, a delicious, aching fullness that you didn’t know you could crave.

“You’re taking me so well,” he pants, fingers buried deep. “It’s not to much, baby?”

You whimper as you shake your head, hips bucking into his hand now, and he groans in response, the sound of it wrecked and helpless. His fingers move faster, building a rhythm that matches the desperate rock of your body. Your breath stutters, your eyes roll to the back of your skull, and your knees buckle. He catches you with one large arm around your waist, holding you steady, his other hand still working you with relentless precision.

“Don’t—please don’t stop, Koo,” you cry out. You’re close. So close that stars have started to blur your vision. If this is what real pleasure is like, then dear god let this become your everyday life. You’re so close that you’re dripping all over his hand, soaking the bandage that covers his knuckles. 

Jungkook knows you’re on the edge. He can feel it in the way you squeeze around him, feel it in the way your gasps catch and your thighs tremble. And so he leans in, lips brushing your ear, “Cum for me.”

And with one last curl of his fingers, one perfect circle over your clit, you do.

The orgasm rips through you like a wave, your body clenching tight around his hand, breath stalling in your throat before bursting out in a cry that echoes softly through the gym. Your legs quake, your hands claw at his back, and through it all, Jungkook doesn’t stop. He slows just enough to help you ride it out, coaxing every last pulse of your orgasm with his skilled fingers.

“Fuck,” he groans, watching you unravel in his arms. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

You collapse into him, boneless, face pressed to his neck, and he holds you. Just holds you, arms around you, fingers finally still, lips pressing soft kisses into your hairline. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. He just rocks you gently, your body still trembling with aftershocks, shivering in his touch. 

After you’ve caught your breath, Jungkook pulls back just enough to see your face again, flushed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling like you’ve run miles. But you see his eyes widen, his eyebrows rising, and a flash of sparkle brushes over his wet gaze. He swallows hard, jaw flexing once, twice… and his eyes drop to your thighs.

He takes in the state of them, still trembling. Still parted for him. Still pulled up around his waist. His breath hitches, “Let me…” His voice cracks, but he tries again. “Please. Let me have you.”

Before you can ask what he means, he’s already moving, slowly at first, afraid you’ll tell him to stop. His hands slide down your hips. He lowers himself, shoulders dropping, eyes never leaving yours until he absolutely has to.

And then, to your surprise… he sinks to his knees.

Right fucking there… in the ring… before you. His hands bracket your thighs, spreading you gently, looking up at you like a boy who’s about to cry. And your spasming, overstimulated pussy leaks at the sight of him. Here you thought you were needy and embarrassing, but this might take the cake. 

His head dips forward, his forehead falling to rest against the inside of your knee for a moment, breath trembling against your skin. He looks up at you from the floor again, eyes dark, pupils blown, expression nothing short of worship.

“Tell me I can,” he whispers, voice hoarse, breath hot against the tender skin of your thigh. “Want to taste you.”

Your breath is shallow, chest heaving as you look down at him, this undefeated fighter, kneeling for you, begging to have his lips on you. His hands tremble where they hold your thighs, just looking up at you waiting for your answer. He doesn’t even move, he just stares at you with those dark, burning eyes. 

It’s insane to you. Just a few minutes ago, the only thing that had breached you were your own fingers… the thought of Jungkook’s tongue following seems so incredibly distant from before. But of course you can’t resist it. Not when he looks like that, a boy in full surrender, his large palms cradling the back of your thighs. 

“Mhm,” you whisper, the hum torn from your throat. “Yes, please…”

His exhale is sharp, almost like a sob, complete relief… and he lets himself move. 

His mouth presses to the inside of your thigh, soft at first… a gentle kiss. Then another, and another, slow, his lips trail upward, open and wet, a line of heat up your skin. You feel the scrape of his teeth once, just a graze, just enough to make your breath catch and your hips jolt.

You feel the softness of his lips, the heat of his mouth, the whisper of breath he exhales every time he presses closer to the apex of your thighs. And then he stops. Just before your center. His nose nudges the lace of your soaked panties through your torn stockings. 

He breathes in sharp. A shudder rocks through him, and you feel the tension ripple down his arms. His grip tightens around your thighs, grounding himself after letting the scent of you sink in.

Then comes the slow slide of his fingers curling into the waistband. He peels both your ruined stockings and panties down so slowly it’s almost cruel, dragging the soaked fabric down your thighs, letting you step out of them until the fabric hits the mat below you. His eyes follow every inch of your newly exposed skin, and when the lace clears your core, a thick, reverent sound escapes him, somewhere between a moan and a growl.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked, and you can feel his hands tighten as he tries to control himself. His lashes flutter as he lowers his head again, mouth parting, breath washing hot over where you ache for him.

And now that you’re bare, he presses in, taking his time before he’s just a breath short from you… he kisses you. Soft, small pecks over your heat, on your thighs, everywhere except where you need him the most. He feels you shiver above him, gasping for hair, and smiles devilishly before diving in… licking you. 

A long, deliberate, devastatingly slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, his tongue flat, broad, and hot. The sound you make isn’t human. Your whole body jolts, your hands flying to grip the ropes behind you, knuckles straining as your legs shudder against his shoulders, “S-shit.”

Humorously enough, Jungkook groans like he’s the one overwhelmed. Like the taste of you is dragging him under, drowning him. He licks again, a little firmer this time, flattening his tongue and dragging it up the same path, slow and thorough, letting it spread your slick. At the top, he pauses, then licks across your clit, barely brushing the swollen bud, just enough to make you flinch and gasp.

Your hand flies to his hair, burying in the damp strands as he licks again, deeper now, more confident, the flat of his tongue sliding through slick heat like he’s starved. He groans against you, the sound sending vibrations through your core, and your hips jerk forward again, but he doesn’t let you move far. 

As you try moving, Jungkook grabs ahold of the back of your knee, hooking your leg over his shoulder, opening you further for him. Your balance is unstable, but his grip is strong enough to keep you in place. He follows your twitching hips, tongue circling your clit, teasing, then flicking precisely where it makes you gasp. His nose presses against you, breath hot and wild, and his mouth moves messily against your soaking pussy. 

The ropes behind you creak again as your body fights to stay upright, your leg shaking where it rests over his shoulder. But Jungkook is strong, too strong to falter, keeping you in place so you can’t run away. And when he sucks your clit into his mouth for the first time, you cry out helplessly.

His eyes snap open at the sound, looking up at you, watching your face twist with every flick of his tongue. He moans into you, the vibration making you clamp down around nothing, desperate and aching.

“Jungkook—” your voice breaks, “Please—don’t stop—”

Of course he doesn’t, he wouldn’t dream of it. Instead, he moves faster, tongue flicking and sucking in a rhythm that feels unbearable. His grip on your thigh tightens, pinning you in place. His other hand slips around and presses just above your mound, right where you’re throbbing. It adds pressure, forces every sensation to sharpen.

“Oh god, don’t stop!” you wail, scrambling for purchase, your fingers ending up tangled in his hair. 

He chuckles against your pussy, amused by your surrender, before he licks lower, tracing down to your entrance, and you feel the heat of his breath there… followed by the wet glide of his tongue pushing inside. And he fucks you with it. The textured heat of him slides into your soaked core, and the intrusion is overwhelming. But it’s not exactly the stretch, it’s the fact that it’s him. The fucking rawness of being opened and filled by his tongue.

You let out a sob, and he groans like your sounds feed something inside him. His nose presses against your clit as his tongue pushes deeper, and the combination makes you shake. He dips his head back and forth, his tongue thrusting inside you as he nudges his big nose against your swollen nub, again and again. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, legs trembling. “Jungkook, I—”

You can’t even finish. Because his tongue pulls out, and before you can catch your breath, his mouth closes around your clit again. He doesn’t hold back this time. His tongue moves fast, tight, slick flicks against the swollen bud of nerves. He sucks you in between every flick, the suction making your toes girl and vision white out. He circles faster, alternates pressure, and you feel yourself rising again. Pleasure coiling hot and fast at the base of your spine, winding tighter with every pass of his tongue.

And Jungkook is fucking restless, he doesn’t fucking pause. Not even once. He doesn’t even come up for air. He just keeps going, licking you like a starved man, groaning into your pussy like he’s addicted. His hair is damp against your thighs, sweat and heat rolling off him, and he doesn’t care. His whole mouth is soaked with you, and all he does is lick deeper, suck harder.

He pushes two fingers back inside without warning, and the gasp you let out is almost a sob.

“Jungkook—fuck, I can’t—”

“You can,” he breathes against you, fingers curling inside in perfect sync with his mouth. “You’re doing so good, baby. But i need you to cum on my tongue.”

Your legs lock around his shoulders, your body arching into him. You can’t even hear a word he says, the pulse in your ears so loud that everything else is muted around you. Your climax builds like a wave, higher, higher, dangerously high, and he doesn’t let up. His tongue licks relentlessly until it finally hits.

You come with a cry, every muscle clenching, your body snapping tight like a drawn bow finally let loose. Your hips grind against his mouth, helpless, and he moans into you, holding you there, sucking your sensitive clit into his wet mouth. 

Your orgasm crests and crashes, but Jungkook doesn’t pull away. He licks through it, coaxing you down with gentle, adoring strokes, his tongue easing the tremors in your thighs, his lips pressing soft kisses to the oversensitive nub of your clit.

It’s the greatest thing you’ve ever felt, almost like a ruse. Your vision can’t make out anything all that clearly, until you feel Jungkook’s mouth retract, and you see a large silhouette rise before you. 

Your leg slips down from his shoulder, and he catches you before you can fall, one arm around your waist, the other cradling the back of your neck. His forehead presses against yours, his breath still ragged, lips swollen and slick with your taste.

His hand tightens on your thigh, hitching it back up around his waist, and your breath stutters against his lips. His forehead rests to yours, his chest heaving with restraint. And you feel him again, hard and flushed, pressed right against your core. 

Your fingers knot into his hair, dragging him close again. Even though your brain is fogged by your two previous orgasms, you know you need all of him. Need to please him. “I want you,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I want to feel all of you, Jungkook. I can’t wait anymore.”

His breath catches, and for a second, he just stares at you, eyes wide, chest rising, his body shaking against yours. Upon seeing the pleading, helpless expression on your face, his lips crash into yours with such force it knocks a gasp out of you. His kiss is fevered and rough, his tongue rolling in soft waves against yours.

Your back presses harder into the ropes as his body cages you in completely, his hands gripping your thighs, your hips, your waist, everywhere at once. The ropes dig into your back, stretched taut under your weight, but it only adds to the tension, the pressure you’re drowning in.

You tighten the grip of the leg that’s hooked around his hips, pulling him flush against you. The shift draws a low, wrecked sound from his throat. He leans into you, grinding his hips forward, and you feel him drag right over your exposed and overly sensitive pussy, so close to being inside that your head tilts back with a cry.

“Feels so good,” you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. “Please, Kook. Need more.”

Instead of giving in to the desperation tearing through both of you, he finds your mouth with a kiss. His hand slides down your thigh, cupping beneath it, lifting your leg higher so your hips surge forward, tilted open for him. The sheer fabric of your skirt is still bunched at your waist, clinging uselessly to your skin. His other hand ghosts down the small of your back, slipping just beneath the hem of your wrap-top where sweat has collected. 

“Think you can take me?” he whispers against your lips. Then he grinds forward, dragging the length of himself against you, through the thin fabric of his shorts. 

Your entire body jolts, “Jungkook—”

“Shit—I’ll be good,” he mutters, voice guttural, breath catching as he does it again, digging further in, dragging the covered length of him through your fluttering folds. “I’ll be so fucking good to you.”

You gasp, hands clinging to his shoulders, back arching further into the ropes. Every inch of his cock presses against your center, teasing and torturous as he slowly rocks his hips forward. The way the swollen head of him catches on your clit through the ruined fabric, and it’s unbearable. Your hips chase his movement, breath faltering with each teasing grind, your thighs trembling.

“Please,” you beg, lips brushing his. “Don’t tease me—”

Jungkook doesn’t move for a long moment. Not until your fingers are curling into his damp tank, not until your hips shift forward, pressing your heat against the rigid length of him, thick and aching between his thighs.

He groans softly against your mouth, the sound barely human, and when he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are wild, but still holding onto that thread of control he’s so close to losing.

“You don’t…” he rasps, swallowing hard. His voice edged with panic. “I’m not small, baby. You’ve never done this, and I—”

“Don’t care,” you whisper, your voice trembling but sure. “Can’t wait anymore. I trust you.”

His face twists, his jaw locking so tight it looks painful. His hand flexes at your waist, “I’m gonna go slow,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing to yours. “So fucking slow. You tell me the second it hurts, and I’ll stop.”

You nod, but he doesn’t move. Not yet. Because he’s scared… so scared of hurting you that his whole body trembles. But then you look at him, deep into his eyes, and something soft flickers in your gaze. Your hands cup his face again, thumbs brushing over his damp cheeks, and you smile so gently that it breaks him. “Kook,” you breathe. “Please.”

That’s when he moves. With shaking fingers, Jungkook reaches between you, dragging his shorts lower. And then… you feel it. The hot, heavy press of him against your bare slit, and your breath stops entirely.

He’s… massive. You’d felt it before, against your thigh, gliding through his shorts, but nothing compares to the heat and weight of him now, bare and pulsating. The thick crown of his cock rests against your entrance, already leaking, and the rest of him is just… obscene. You can feel it without seeing it, the kind of size that makes your heart stutter with something between awe and terror.

You inhale shakily. “Shit…”

Jungkook’s voice is breathless. “You okay?”

You nod, breath catching in your throat. “You’re… really big…”

He chuckles, because of course that’s something every man loves to hear. But still, he eases you. “I know,” he pants. “I know, baby. That’s why I’ll go slow—just—just hold onto me.”

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, trembling, as he brings a hand down to guide himself. You feel the broad tip of him nudge against your entrance, and everything in your body tenses.

“Relax,” he whispers, brushing a kiss to your temple. “It’s just me. You’re good. Perfect.”

Slowly… he starts to push in. The pressure is immediate, the tip of him stretching you open, breaching you for the first time. Your walls resist instantly, muscles fluttering involuntarily, and it’s not even pain, but the sheer size of him makes your body lock up with tension. He barely presses in half an inch before your nails dig into his shoulder.

Jungkook stops instantly, “Breathe,” he murmurs, forehead against yours, his voice shaking as he holds himself still. “Just breathe, baby. You’re doing so good.”

You exhale shakily, humming with a nod of your head, forcing your body to relax. Your thighs fall open a little more, your hips tilt, and that’s all he needs… a soft, aching invitation. He pushes in again, just a little deeper, and you feel the stretch grow. The thick crown of his cock slides in slowly, inch by careful inch, and the fullness is overwhelming.

You gasp, body going taut again, eyes clenching shut as the feeling of fullness crashes down on you. 

“I know,” he pants. “I know, baby. You’re so fucking tight…” His voice trembles, and when you glance up again, his jaw is clenched, his brow furrowed in tortured restraint. Sweat beads at his temple, his whole body shaking with the effort not to slam into you.

“I c-can take it,” you whisper, breath hitching as your muscles flutter around him. “Please… ‘need more.”

He kisses you again, and then he slides in deeper. The stretch is sharp now, bordering on painful. Your walls are straining to accommodate the thick width of him, your body fluttering and twitching as he inches further inside. You’ve never felt so full in your life, and he’s not even all the way in yet. Jungkook groans against your mouth, trembling all over. “So tight, baby. So fucking tight. Trying to keep me out…”

You whimper at the punched sound of his voice, the strain behind every syllable. His hand slides behind your thigh, lifting your leg higher around his waist to open you wider, tilting your hips. And when he thrusts forward again, slow and deep, he sinks further.

You cry out, not in pain exactly, but in pure overstimulation. Your fingers dig into his arms, clutching him, and he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your throat, “Taking me so good,” he breathes, voice cracked. “I’m almost there, baby. Just a little more—just—fuck—you’re doing so good for me—”

Your breath hitches as his hips finally press flush against yours, and you realize… he’s in. All of him. Inside you. And you feel stretched to the point of breaking, the dull, constant ache of fullness throbbing low in your belly. Your breath stutters in your chest, your legs trembling where they wrap around his hips.

He’s not moving… he can’t. He’s buried to the hilt, completely surrounded by your tight, untried pussy, and his entire body is shaking with restraint.

“Holy—fuck—” he gasps, his face buried in your neck. “I’m inside you…”

You nod against his shoulder, unable to speak. The sensation is too much, too big, too deep, and you think you might actually lose it. You feel every twitch of him inside you, every heartbeat echoed in your core.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “Is it okay? Is it too much?”

“You’re—so deep,” you breathe, dazed and aching. “So full… I can’t think.”

He kisses your jaw, slow and trembling. “I know, baby. I know. I’ve got you.” He doesn’t move right away, he just holds you through it, lets your body adjust, lets the stretch settle until you’re able to breathe out comfortably. His hand caresses your side, your thigh, your hip, grounding you. And then, when your breathing evens out, when your fingers loosen just a little on his shoulders… he pulls out.

Not all the way, just a few inches. So slow and torturous that you feel the heavy drag of him against your soaked, fluttering walls, and low in your belly. But before you’re able to cry out at the retraction, he slides back in. You gasp insanely loud, your entire body jolting at the push. Your thighs try to close but he keeps you open, whispering soft praise in your ear.

“You’re taking me so good,” he murmurs. “So perfect. So tight for me…”

His pace is slow, impossibly gentle. He moves beautifully, mapping out every inch of how your body molds around him with his large palms. And for every shallow stroke, you feel the friction build, a heat that tightens your belly, coils through your spine. You cling to him, moaning soft and breathy. The stretching ache is still there, but it’s turning into something else entirely. A blooming, hot pleasure that’s completely unknown to you, a euphoria you’ve never before experienced.

Every deep thrust brushes somewhere new, and your body responds instinctively, rolling your hips to meet him, welcoming him, “Oh my god,” you gasp. “I—Kook, you feel so—”

He groans raggedly, burying his face in your neck. “Yeah? Not too much? Like my dick inside you?”

You nod as his thrusts grow firmer, still careful and controlled, but deeper inside you, hitting a spot you’ve never been aware of before. The slick and wet sounds of your bodies meeting fill the quiet space of the gym, underscored by your soft cries and his desperate, broken groans. You wrap both arms around his shoulders, holding him close as you try to stable your faltering knee that’s not resting around his waist. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers again, pressing a kiss to your lips. He holds you tight to him, not letting you go even for as much as a second, your bodies melting together. “I’ve got all of you.”

When you whimper at his words, his thrusts start to shift. Each stroke more precise, dragging the full length of his cock through your tight, slick pussy before pressing all the way back in, his hips meeting yours with a low, rhythmic slap that echoes through the gym.

You’re soaked, arousal dripping from your core and down to his thick cock, covering him in slick… and it only seems to make him more desperate. He watches the way your lips part, the way your eyes flutter shut and your nails dig into his shoulders as you moan beneath him. His jaw clenches, his entire body humming with restraint. He’s trying to take his time. He’s trying to be good. But you’re clenching so tightly around him, soft and trembling and still adjusting to every inch of him, and it’s driving him insane.

“I’m not gonna last,” he groans into your skin, his breath ragged against your neck. “You feel too fucking good—look so adorable like this—”

You whimper, your hips rolling up to meet his, and the friction of it, your soaked, sensitive pussy dragging over every swollen vein on his thick cock, makes you shudder.

“I’m close,” you breathe, eyes rolling to the back of your head, your voice turning needy and pathetic. “You f-feel so good, Kookie.”

The sound of his nickname undoes him. His hands tighten around your thighs as he drives into you deeper, faster. The ropes behind your back groan. His grip is still gentle, but the power behind his thrusts is growing, because he can’t help it. The pleasure is overwhelming now, buzzing like lightning in his spine. 

“Look at me,” he pants, his voice shaking. “Let me see you when you cum.”

Your eyes flutter open, just barely, but when they lock with his, it’s like the world narrows to a single thread. He’s above you, panting and flushed, sweat running down his jaw. His hair is damp and messy, stuck to his forehead. But it’s his eyes that break you, his beautiful bunny-eyes blown wide with awe. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, voice cracking. “My little doll…”

Your breath catches.

“You look so pretty like this. All stretched out on my dick—dripping all over me…”

Your back arches at his words, the heat inside you cresting into something unbearable. Your walls flutter around him, clenching tight and milking him, causing him to gasp, his hips stuttering. “Shit—just like that—” he moans, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re so close, I can feel it—”

“Fuuck,” you gasp. “I’m gonna—Kook, please—”

He cuts you off with a kiss as his fingers slide between your bodies again. They find your clit, slick and swollen, and he rubs you in tight, perfect circles that make you cry out into his mouth. “Want us to cum together,” he breathes against your lips. “Can you do that for me, baby? Hm?”

You nod frantically, already shaking, your walls clenching and pulsing around him. The pleasure is white-hot now, curling through your spine, your belly, building into a sensation that wipes out your vision and makes you cry out into his mouth. 

Your beautiful moans has Jungkook completely ruined. His thrusts grow erratic, his cock hitting the perfect spot again and again, dragging along every sensitive nerve until your entire body is coiled tight. “Cum with me,” he groans. “Come on, baby—let me feel it. Let me feel your little pussy clench around my dick.”

His words are all it takes. The orgasm slams into you, your entire body locking up, your mouth falling open in a broken moan as your climax rips through you. Your thighs shake, your stomach tightens, and your pussy clamps down around him so tight it pulls a ragged cry from his throat.

“Shit—baby I can’t hold it anymore… please—can I cum inside you?” he pants, his eyebrows furrowing as his concentration falters. 

You cry out through your orgasm, your soft pussy spasming and milking him dry, “Fuck—yes, Kookie—need your cum in me so bad!”

“Fuck—fuck, I’m—” he chokes out, hips snapping forward once, twice… then he follows. His release hits like a punch to the gut, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he spills himself with a loud, desperate groan. He stays buried in you, pressed as deep as he can go, his arms locked tight around your waist, holding you through it, as if he could anchor you to him forever.

You feel every hot wave of it, every twitch, every pulse. Your body spasms with the aftershocks, overwhelmed by the stretch, the fullness. You’re both breathing hard, your bodies trembling, clinging to one another while your chests heave against each other. 

Jungkook shudders against you, his head dropping to the nape of your neck, growling and panting into your skin. You instinctively let your hand come to the back of his head, pulling him closer, caressing the wet strands of hair. His grip tightens around your waist, before his hands travel further.

He still doesn’t pull out of you, he just lets his hands roam, until they find the back of your thighs. In a swift motion, like you weigh nothing, he picks you up and meets your eyes before leaning in to kiss you once more. 

It’s a soft kiss, the two of you humming and whimpering as you’re still connected and sore. And to be honest, your core is burning with pain, so overstimulated and stretched out that the feel of him picking you up, widening you even more, has you whimpering against his lips. 

“You did so good,” he breathes, one hand traveling up your spine, finding the back of your neck to pull you in, deepening the kiss, while his other hand stays underneath your thigh. You clamp your legs together, let your arms fling over his shoulders, trying to steady yourself around his waist, moaning softly at the feel of him being buried balls deep inside you. 

His hand under your thigh moves to the small of your back as he feels you clinging to him, pressing you further against him. You’re both so sweaty and warm, but the feeling of having him still buried inside you is so wonderful that you can’t think of anything else. You feel the mixture of your slick and his hot cum dripping from you, coating his abdomen and your ass in warm ropes. 

“Don’t ever leave me again,” he says between his kisses, the intensity of them turning into small kitten licks against your swollen lips. “Even if I lose my mind and tell you to… please don’t go. You’re the most beautiful, precious thing I know.”

Your hands come to cup the back of his neck, fingers running upwards and into his hair, tugging at it so the kiss deepens. You breathe out shakily against him, your eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

taglist. @emixlyn @lvnderdreams @purplelanterns @ellushic @jibjoilij @ttanniett @jkkk9197 @kookiesgiggles @darknesswithstars @jazzyb22 @watermelonyo @petalsofink @meyyxzx @rkive994

[curryshesus]

kim namjoon fics that need to be injected into my veins

long time no see lovelies! this list has been in my drafts for so long so i thought why not release it into the world finally. as always if u enjoyed any of these recs pls support the authors other members

➺ ghostin him by - @adonis-koo

summary: life is nothing more than dull colors for you, your world shattered and laying in the shards of what once was rather than focusing on what is. That is until you meet Kim Namjoon, who is immediately taken by you without realizing you’re a girl with a whole lot of baggage, through tears and many sleepless nights you’re faced with a choice of hanging on with bleeding hands, or accepting what is, and letting go.

➺ half a heart by - @jamaisjoons

summary: you and namjoon have always been the best of friends; who just happen to be in love and are refusing to do anything about it.

➺ song of the sea by - @jamaisjoons

summary: captivated by the sight of you, he can’t help but watch you swim around his home. and when you turn to leave, he doesn’t know what overcomes him - but as if spellbound - he finds himself following you back to land.

➺ prohibido by @personasintro

summary: namjoon is an art himself. Shame that he’s forbidden - he’s your brother’s best friend. And your colleague.

➺ hammer it home by @gukslut

summary: “the FBI doesn’t care about your porn preferences.”

➺ give me love by @hueseok

summary: you’ve been in a relationship with your boyfriend for over five years now, yet the talk of marriage has never been initiated between the two of you. of course, you try to somehow squeeze it in from time to time, but it seems like no matter what, namjoon just won’t take the hint.

➺ emotions of the soul by @oddinary4bts

summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

➺ bloom by @hobidreams

summary: family is who you kill for. Who you die for. In this society, you and your kin are shadows, clinging to the darkness to obey orders absolute. But when such orders command you to abandon what little honor remains for wealth and notoriety, you find yourself lost in lonely uncertainty about the only vocation you’ve ever known. That is, until you meet a man with gentle hands, a poet’s heart, and a love for coaxing the world into bloom.

➺ how i love you by @ahundredtimesover

summary: sometimes distance isn’t a space between two people, but cracks and crevices that build up over time. It’s what you learned after being married to Namjoon all these years. But all it takes is a trip back home and the acknowledgement of what your relationship has become, and the realization that it might be the final puncture that would make everything else break.

➺ new parent syndrome by @1kook

summary: you love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.)

➺ the interpretation of dreams by @ppersonna

summary: he’s the man of your dreams, the an you’ve spent over 6 years pining over.  and he’s also your Ph.D. mentor and in charge of your very future.

➺ the sleeping hours by @effortandmore

summary: namjoon thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you.

[ahundredtimesover]

This is How We Break | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader 

Genre/Tags: exes au; angst, fluff, smut (18+)

Warnings: foul language, alcohol consumption, motorcycle driving under the influence, motorycle accident, break-up and post-break up pain, sexual content (unprotected sex but be safe please!), JK has a tattoo sleeve and eyebrow piercing (18+)

Word count: 20.6k

Summary: There are things you prepared for coming back home and that includes seeing your ex-boyfriend, but helping him design his apartment isn’t one of them. From meetings over coffee and lunches with your friends, you both learn more about the time in-between, and what you find out leave you heartbroken, wondering if there’s enough of you left to try to get back what you’d lost.

“You know what they say about past lovers remaining friends? It’s either they never loved each other to begin with, or they still do. And we all know how much they loved each other, don’t we?”

A/N: Another exes AU? Where someone leaves then comes back?? 🤔 YUP!! I wasn’t supposed to write this so soon but things are hard and I needed an outlet.

~~// These italics refer to flashbacks // ~~

Listen to: Two Ghosts and Falling by Harry Styles

Keep reading

[jeongi]

tell me your lies | jjk (m)

↣  𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | ceo!jungkook x reader

↣  𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 | angst, smut, fluff 

↣  𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | explicit language and sexual content. 18+ to read.

↣ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 22.9k

↣  𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you thought you could escape the past but jeon jungkook doesn’t know how to let go. 

↣ sequel to tell me no lies ↢

↣ playlist

The trees flitter and shake between the howls of wind that gust through the nipping air. Somewhere between the chaos of blooming fall and the almost setting sun does a young man walk down the concrete path. He walks with a limp, a cane in his right hand guiding his steps. Trees stand stout yet tall on each side of the path that leads up to the hospital doors. The man pauses, a boxy smile peaking on his face as he cranks his face towards the window on the 5th floor, 6 windows to the right. 

He pats the breast pocket of his black suede trench coat. There, he pulls out a pair of brown thick-rimmed sunglasses and fits them just above the broad end of his nose bridge where they sit snug over his chocolate eyes. He takes a forefinger to the left side of the temple where the screw holds the rim attached. His thumb rests on the apple of his cheek as the side of his index finger lightly turns the screw. He hears the soft buzz of the zoom, his vision through the sunglasses adjusting closer to the window. It’s his luck that the room is lit and the blinds haven’t been closed quite yet. He sees you, a tray in hand as you walk towards the man in the hospital bed. He continues to watch, observing the way the man smiles back at you when you set the tray of food down on the table that sits between the window and his bed. The observing man readies himself. His index now moves to the top of the screw where a button is present. He sees you face the window now, stretching your arms to the top of the curtains. The man hovers over the button, pressing down only halfway for the image to come into focus. For a moment, he thinks you may have seen him when it seems like you’re looking directly at him. He promptly presses down on the button, a quiet click sounding as it would on an actual camera. 

“I’ve got you now.” He says to himself, his smile growing to an eerie grin as he watches you drape the curtains closed. 

Time moves fast in hospitals– or at least it feels that way to you, sitting in the Doctor’s office with your legs crossed, glass panes gleaming and sunlight too bright to bear. It's been over a year since Jungkook walked out of your apartment and into the autumn night. Some days it feels like yesterday; most days it feels like a lifetime ago.

“I swear time couldn’t go any slower right now,” Namjoon drags out the words laced in frustration. You sit in stunned silence at how he protests to even your inner thoughts. He leans back in his chair with a groan, the toe of his shoe tapping impatiently against the sterile tile floor. The clock above the door ticks loud enough to grate on your nerves, each second dragging longer than the last. You try to count them, but lose track somewhere past thirty, your eyes drifting instead to the maze of reflections in the glass panes.

Just as Namjoon opens his mouth to complain again, the door finally clicks open. The doctor steps in, clipboard tucked under his arm, his face carefully arranged in that unreadable mask you’ve come to dread.

He offers a polite nod. “Sorry to keep you both waiting,” he says, settling into the chair across from you. 

Namjoon exhales through his nose, a strained smile barely covering his impatience. “What do you have for us, doc?”

The doctor gives a sympathetic dip of his head before glancing down at his notes. His voice softens. “The experimental treatment given to Mr. Jung Hoseok was… mostly successful.”

“What do you mean mostly?” Namjoon almost hisses. 

"Well– the first dose of the trial medication stabilized his vitals, but the results weren't as consistent as we had hoped." The doctor shifts in his chair, tapping the edge of the clipboard. "As you know, we were only able to identify the mass during the third round of imaging, it took us far longer than we'd have liked. The treatment has slowed its progression, but there are side effects and we won't know the extent of them for another few months. For now it's fatigue, muscle weakness… but he is awake."

The words hang in the air, heavy. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until it rushes out. You lean forward. “Awake?” Your voice cracks. “A-as in- he can talk to us?”

The doctor nods once. “He’s conscious, responsive. Though he’ll need assistance for now.”

And that was enough for you all, until it wasn’t anymore. 

The months that followed blurred into a rhythm of hospital visits and hollow routines. You moved through them the way you moved through water. It’s slow, heavy, and you never quite reach the surface. Some nights, you didn't reach it at all.

You think if you close your eyes hard enough, maybe just maybe you’d cease to exist. 

3.

2.

1.

You let out all the air in your lungs, and your eyes bulge out. When the panic settles, you’re at complete and utter peace. But it doesn’t last for too long. Just as your vision goes dark and you let the water fill your lungs until there is nothing left of you, you wake up with a loud gasp.

“Woah, bad dream?” The voice seems distant yet all too familiar. It’s the voice of your very dear friend. It’s the voice of Hoseok. 

You remember where you are again when your eyes hit the panelled ceiling. The metal grids give way to beaming lights subdued by frosted plastic, reminding you of the place you have basically called home for the last year. For as much money as it is to keep him here, you would be the first to admit Hoseok definitely has the best room in this hospital.

“I guess.” You let out a shaky breath and push up, palms flattening against the mattress as you swing your legs over the side. Bittersweet. Hoseok watches you with that careful tilt of his head, like he’s cataloguing your frayed edges. You don’t know that he’s wondering when your spirits had gotten so low. To him, you’ve always been the light of the group, though little did he know, you’d think the same of him. 

You sigh once more and face towards him, brows now strewn together, a serious expression crossing your face until a question lodges in your throat.

“Are you afraid to die?” 

It’s a heavy subject you’ve introduced, and you feel the room grow silent as Hoseok ponders over your question. Perhaps it’s because he’s so close to death itself that he doesn’t have to give it much thought for too long. He simply purses his lips and shakes his head ‘no’ in response. Maybe proximity to the edge makes it easier to answer; maybe he’s already rehearsed this. 

Not a day has gone by since he woke up that you haven’t thought about how to say goodbye to Hoseok. Your friend is still very ill. Maybe that’s why you’ve grown so much resentment towards the world. It’s hard to wrap your head around but you try not to think about it often because he’s here right now, conscious and most importantly alive.

Hoseok’s hospital bed is quite different from the hospital bed the nurse put in the room for you. It’s quite different from yours as it’s actually hooked up to something- a lot of somethings at that. A nasal cannula is stuffed up his nose, attached to two giant tanks of oxygen and for a brief moment, it pangs you to see him like this. You’ve lost count of the wires that seem relentlessly stuck to his body, working tirelessly just to keep him afloat. Sometimes you wonder if it would have been better to let go than to see him struggle like this. But you’d never share this thought out loud, shuddering at yourself for even thinking it just now. 

“It’s inevitable, _____.” A weak hand waves in the air as he tries to continue explaining his thoughts. “If not now, it’ll happen eventually- to all of us, so why be scared?” His voice is airy, quiet and less vibrant than you remember it being. 

“The after-stuff,” you prompt. “What do you think happens after?”

He smiles the kind of smile you remember from before the sickness. It's small, stubborn and heart-shaped. “The after-stuff is whatever you want it to be.”

It’s then that Namjoon chimes in as he walks into the hospital room, a tray of hospital food in his hands. You already know whatever he’s about to say will be utter rubbish. “Well, _____ some people swear you’ll wake up in paradise, rivers of milk and honey, endless peace. Others think you’re reborn, spinning through life again and again until you finally get it right. There are even people who say we just…merge with the light, some kind of cosmic energy.” He pauses, smirking as he shifts the tray in his hands.

“Or if you’re like me, you know that there’s nothing waiting. There’s no heaven, no reincarnation…just dirt and silence.” It’s said in poor taste, and you see Hoseok frown in response.

“I didn’t realize I was asking you.” You say, deadpan at how ridiculous he sounds. Leave it to Namjoon to kill the mood. “And I didn’t realize the Christopher Hitchens was a part of our friend group.” To this, Hoseok snorts weakly and reaches over for the remote that controls his bed. You watch as he pushes a button that allows the headboard to elevate, letting him sit up in bed. Namjoon strides towards him, swivelling the tray attached to the hospital bed in front of Hoseok before placing the steaming bowl of rice porridge on the tray. A side of white kimchi follows, but Hoseok merely pushes it aside. Your stomach growls in response, realization setting in that you haven’t had anything to eat today. Granted, you haven’t had much of an appetite for a while.

Namjoon simply ignores you and stretches out a hand. “Come, _____, we’ll grab you something to eat too.” You reluctantly agree and take his offering hand. Though your stomach is angry, rumbling the weight of Thor’s hammer itself. You can’t find the strength to leave Hoseok alone for even 10 minutes.

It strikes you as you walk the hallway that it's only two of you now. The halls feel wider without Jimin's nervous energy filling them. He stopped answering the group chat three months ago. He moved cities, changed his number, and you don't blame him, not really. After the heist, the guilt ate at all of you differently. Jimin just let it swallow him whole. You just regret not thinking of doing it first. Then again, you don't think you'd be able to leave even if you tried.

When you reach the hospital’s food court with Namjoon, it hums with the low chatter of visitors and the clatter of trays. By the windowsill, Yoongi sits hunched over his laptop, brows furrowed and a tongue pressed against his cheek. You know that it means he’s deep in code or trouble– maybe even both. He’s always damn up to something. He hasn’t noticed you yet, fingers tapping in sharp, relentless bursts. A knot of unease coils in your chest.

Namjoon doesn’t hesitate, steering you toward him. “C’mon,” he mutters, nodding at the empty chairs. Yoongi glances up as you approach, eyes narrowing briefly before he snaps the laptop half-shut. You can't help but notice it's like he’s guarding secrets. Still, he kicks out a chair with his foot in silent invitation.

Namjoon orders a big bowl of pasta for you, sliding a tray into your hands before you can protest. It’s a rose cream pasta and the first bite is so rich and velvety it almost knocks the air out of you. For a brief moment, you forget everything. You forget Hoseok’s laboured breaths, the sterile walls and the gnawing fear. You just sit there savoring the food. Who knew hospital chefs could cook up a mean pasta? Enough about the pasta. You tell yourself as you stab into it. Then you look at Namjoon, at Yoongi, at the two constants who’ve dragged you through hell and back, and you can’t help the bitter thought: it’s crazy that you still keep these sacks of shit as your friends after everything they’ve put you through.

You twirl another forkful of pasta, pretending not to notice how Yoongi keeps one hand planted on the lid of his laptop. What has him guarding it like a vault? Curiosity prickles at you.

“So…” you start carefully, tilting your head. “What’s got you looking like you’re about to declare war on that keyboard?”

Yoongi smirks faintly but doesn’t answer you right away. He leans back, eyes flicking to Namjoon. “She doesn’t know?”

Namjoon sighs, running a hand down his face. “Not yet.”

Your fork clinks against the bowl. “Know what?”

Yoongi drums his fingers on the table, weighing his words. “Another job.”

Your stomach lurches. “You’ve got to be kidding.” And just like that, you’ve lost your appetite. The pasta might as well be ash on your tongue. You shove the bowl forward, porcelain clattering against the tray, and the screech of your chair rips through the food court as you push back in one frantic motion. A few heads turn but you don’t care as you grab your tote bag and storm off past the rows of tables, through the automatic doors, and out into the back courtyard. The air hits different here. It’s crisp, carrying the faint scent of disinfectant masked poorly by trimmed hedges and damp grass. Patients wheel slowly along the paved paths, loved ones trailing beside them with soft voices and careful hands. It's a cruel contrast to the storm churning in your chest. 

You drop onto a bench beneath a bare tree, the tote bag slumping against your feet. You feel sick. 

“_____!” You groan out loud, the sound ripping from your chest as you shove yourself up from the bench. Twisting toward him, you see Namjoon striding across the courtyard, hands jammed into his pockets like he’s trying to anchor himself.

“Are you fucking serious, Namjoon?” The words spill out harsher than you intend, but you don’t reel them back. “After everything? After the mess you dragged us into already? Are you out of your fucking mind?” A couple nearby patients turn their heads, but Namjoon doesn’t slow. His jaw tightens and his footsteps steady until he stops just a few feet away from you.

“We need the money.” Namjoon’s voice is flat, but there’s a tremor under it.

“Fuck the money!” You snap, springing to your feet. Your palms ball into fists at your sides. “No wonder Jimin fucked off to wherever the fuck— I’m surrounded by a bunch of selfish—”

“Selfish?” Namjoon’s voice rockets up to match yours, and suddenly neither of you gives a damn who’s listening. He takes a step forward, chest heaving. “You’re calling me selfish? After everything? After the nights we slept in shifts keeping him breathing, after the loans we sold our souls for? Everything we’ve done has been for each other. For Hoseok. Just because your little fling got complicated doesn’t change that.”

You point, the finger shaking. “Hoseok is dying, Namjoon!“ Silence drops between you. It's heavy and oh. so suffocating. It's only broken by the squeak of a wheelchair rolling past and the low murmur of a caregiver. You think you'll be kicked out of here soon if you guys keep talking like this so publicly. But you can't help it. How else are you supposed to react? “The money didn’t fix him before and it’s not going to fix him now.” You hate that you’re a crier when you’re angry and you hate it even more that you’re now crying in public as the words spew without reason. “And don’t you dare minimize what happened. You’re lucky Jungkook didn’t put us in jail.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Namjoon snaps back, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. “Do you remember what the oncologist said? The treatments found what's been killing him and they slowed it down, yeah and guess what? He’s awake. Has been for 8 months. Time and medicine cost money. This isn’t about some adrenaline rush anymore. This is about buying him time to be lucid one more week, one more month. You’d rather let that slide because what? You feel guilty about Jungkook?” 

Your shoulders sag and your bottom lip quivers as you look at him, defeated. 

“I’m not minimizing it,” he says quieter, too tired to keep yelling. “But does that mean we bury Hoseok because we can’t live with our choices? Is that the line you’re gonna draw?”

“So we become worse thieves for one life?” You sit back down, dragging the heel of your hand across your cheek to wipe the tears away. “We used to have purpose. Now it’s just… wrong. All of it. We’re clutching at a thread that’s already frayed.” You meet his eyes. “I can’t do it anymore, Namjoon.”

For the first beat, something like shame flickers across his face. Then he clasps his hands together like he’s trying to hold himself in. “It’s not logic,” Namjoon admits and the words are raw. “It’s desperation. And yeah, maybe it’s stupid. Maybe it’ll ruin us. But if I had a choice between sitting in this courtyard pretending we did the right thing or giving him a chance to walk again– I’ll take the chance.” 

Around you, a nurse huffs past pushing a cart. Yeah, you're definitely going to get kicked out. Life goes on indifferent to how you break. You want to argue until your voice shreds, but the furious words dissolve into air. The truth is bitter, small, and undeniable. It settles between you both and the reality is that you’re all out of clean options. Hoseok is dying, and Namjoon’s grasping at straws to save his best friend. 

Namjoon straightens, jaw clenched. “I can’t promise it won’t hurt us more. I can’t promise anything but we have to try. We do this one right, and then we get out. No more risks after. I swear it to you.”

You look at him. In his face you see sleepless nights, math done in the dark, the same stubborn loyalty that once made him the one you could lean on. It’s not enough to make you agree. But it’s enough to make your anger hiccup into a different kind of ache.

“How much money is it this time?” You ask, your voice small.

“Half a billion dollars.” 

Your mouth goes dry.

“How the fuck are we going to do that?”

An hour later, you're back in the hospital room, sitting by the window across from Namjoon, who's excitedly bouncing back and forth as he explains.

“It’s this thing called Obsidian and this shit, _____, it works. It really works, and the best part is, it’s completely untraceable.” 

You nervously look over at Hoseok, who's sound asleep in the center of the room. You don't understand why this is being discussed right now but here you are. You can't lie, his excitement is undeniably contagious but despite it all, it's crazy.

Yoongi, who'd been quiet until now, looks up from where he's been fiddling with his phone. His tone is flat. "No one gets a magic bullet. Obsidian adds obfuscation layers, but there are still technical limits, market realities, people trying to map transactions. Nothing's foolproof."

Namjoon waves his hand as if swatting at Yoongi’s caution. “Still. Compared to bank transfers or the usual rails, this is the closest thing to disappearing a trail. If we move smart, if Yoongi can work the ledger-side…we can buy ourselves distance.”

You stare at them both, the words twisting in your chest. Hope and dread tangle when you realize the plan feels like a lifeline and a razor at once. Hoseok shifts faintly in his sleep, machines humming softly around him. 

“We’d be gambling on a lot more than just code,” Yoongi says finally. “Half a billion moves markets. There are legal heats, exchanges, and people who make a living unpicking this stuff. What I'm trying to say is that it won’t be clean.” The uncertainty in his tone makes your stomach drop.

Namjoon swallows and, for the first time, his bravado flickers. “We don’t have clean options,” he says, quiet. “Not anymore. This is just…our best shot.”

Silence settles over the room. It's thick and so suffocating, your head feels like it's caving in on itself.

You drag a hand down your face before looking back up at them. “So what’s the plan?” Your voice is steadier than you feel. “Because we can’t afford messy. Not with this kind of money.” You glance at Hoseok, then back at them. “Jail would be the least of our problems.”

Namjoon and Yoongi exchange a quick and loaded look. 

“It’s not a smash-and-grab,” Yoongi says. “It’s a transfer. It has to be quiet and scheduled.” He taps his phone, then turns it so you can see a grid of timestamps, nodes- something far too complex to fully grasp. “There’s a window. It's eight minutes or maybe less but it's where their system mirrors itself for auditing. That’s the gap.”

Namjoon leans in, voice dropping. “It’s happening during a private event. It's invitation-only and high security. It’s the kind of place no one questions money moving because everyone there has too much of it.”

Your brows knit together. “What kind of event?”

Yoongi hesitates for just a second.

“A gala,” Namjoon answers instead. “Investors, executives, elites…people who think they’re untouchable.” He laughs a bitter laugh. "Who knows, maybe they are untouchable." He's not doing any favours absolving the uncertainty.

A bad feeling creeps up your spine. “And we just…walk in?”

Namjoon doesn’t answer right away.

Yoongi does. “We don’t all walk in.” His eyes lift to meet yours. “We need one person inside. Someone who can blend. Someone who won’t get flagged. Someone who’s invited.”

The room feels smaller. “And you think that’s me?”

Namjoon’s silence is answer enough.

Your stomach drops. “Why me?” The question comes out sharper than you intend. It feels like déjà vu, and you’re so damn tired of being the guinea pig in their plans.

Another look passes between them and this one you don’t miss.

Yoongi exhales through his nose. “Because of who’s hosting it.”

Your pulse spikes. “Who?”

Namjoon finally says it.

“Jungkook.”

The name hits like a physical blow. For a second, you swear the machines in the room grow louder. Hoseok shifts in his sleep, completely unaware of the way your world just tilted.

Oh god. Oh no, no, no-

Namjoon presses forward and now there's urgency bleeding into his voice. "After the Gemini merger went through, GFC exploded. He's not just running a production company anymore– he's sitting on a media conglomerate. The gala is for his parent fund. He's tied to the company moving the funds, front-facing, the whole deal. What matters is you have a way in that none of us do."

“A way in?” You let out a hollow laugh. “I stole nearly three million dollars from him– actually, we did, Namjoon– and now you want me to steal from him again?” Your voice rises despite yourself before you force it back down. “Are you guys out of your damn minds?”

“Exactly,” Yoongi mutters. “Which means he remembers you.”

“That’s not a good thing!” You snap, exasperated.

“It means you won’t be invisible,” Namjoon says. “And right now, invisible people don’t get into rooms like that. Plus he sent an invitation.”

You stare at him, disbelief morphing into something sharper. “So your plan is to walk me into a room full of elite, powerful people– his room– and hope he doesn’t decide to ruin my life on the spot?” And you think why would Jungkook invite you? Is this a humiliation ritual? Are you dreaming again?

Namjoon doesn’t flinch. “My plan is to get you close enough to access what we need. Eight minutes. That’s all.”

“Eight minutes,” You repeat. “We failed last time. How can I trust you this time? And what if he recognizes me?”

“He will,” Yoongi says bluntly. Your throat goes dry as your gaze drifts back to Hoseok.

Your fingers curl against your sleeve as you watch him breathe. The idea hits you before you can stop yourself from speaking.

“…Then I have a condition.”

Namjoon stiffens. “This isn’t exactly–”

“It is,” you cut in, quieter now, but firm. “If I’m doing this, I’m not doing it your way.” Quite frankly, you're allowed to ask for this.

Yoongi studies you. “What do you want?”

You don’t look at them when you say it.

“Hoseok comes with me.”

The silence that follows is different from the others. It's not heavy with guilt or grief but bewildered and almost offended. You can feel Namjoon's stare boring into you without looking.

"He can barely stand," Namjoon says slowly, as if explaining something to a child.

"I know what he can barely do." You snap, your sharp eyes finally meet his. "But if I'm walking back into that man's life to rob him again, Hoseok is going to know exactly what we're doing and why. No more secrets. No more pretending this is noble while he sleeps through it." Your voice doesn't waver. "He deserves to see what his life is costing us. And if he tells us to stop, we stop."

Namjoon opens his mouth and then closes it. His jaw works like he's chewing on glass.

Yoongi is the one who speaks. "That's a hell of a condition."

"It's the only one I've got."

It takes you three days to work up the nerve.

Three days of rehearsing speeches in the shower, of mouthing words into the bathroom mirror that dissolve the second you try to hold them. Three days of sitting at Hoseok's bedside, watching him sip broth through a straw, laughing weakly at whatever variety show is playing on the mounted TV and swallowing the confession each time it crawls up your throat.

On the fourth morning, you arrive earlier than usual. The hallway is quiet and the nurses mid-shift change. You carry two cups of vending machine coffee that you know Hoseok isn't supposed to have. It's a peace offering or maybe a bribe. You're not sure there's a difference anymore.

He's already awake when you nudge the door open with your hip, propped up against the elevated headboard with his eyes fixed on the window. The morning light catches the hollows of his cheeks, the sharpness of his jaw that used to be softer. He looks like a pencil sketch of the person you grew up with, with all the right lines but now, thinner.

"You're early," he says without turning. His voice carries that raspy quality it has before noon.

"Couldn't sleep." You set both cups on his tray table, nudging one towards him. He eyes it, then eyes you, with a lifted brow.

"Is that coffee?"

"It's a vending machine's best interpretation of coffee."

He takes it anyway, wrapping both hands around the paper cup like it's something precious. You watch his fingers as they appear thinner than they should be, the knuckles more pronounced. He catches you staring and you look away too quickly.

"You've been weird," Hoseok says.

You blink. "What are you talking about?" You say it with a scoff.

"Weird. Weirder than usual." He takes a careful sip, wincing at the taste but drinking again anyway. "You keep looking at me funny. And you chew your lip when you're holding something back– you've been doing that since high school." He gestures vaguely at your mouth with the cup. "You're doing it right now."

You release your bottom lip from between your teeth. Damn him.

A silence stretches, filled only by the rhythmic beep of his heart monitor and the distant squeak of a cart rolling down the hallway. You pull the chair closer to his bed, the metal legs scraping against the floor. When you sit, your knees are almost touching the bed rail.

"Hobi," you start, and the nickname alone shifts something in the room. His expression doesn't change, but you notice the way his fingers tighten around the cup. "I need to tell you something. And I need you to let me finish before you say anything."

He regards you for a long moment, lips pressed together, before he gives a single nod.

You don't start where you expected to. You thought you'd begin with the plan, with Namjoon's blueprints and Yoongi's flash drives and the clinical structure of it all. Instead, what comes out is Jungkook's name.

"I fell in love with someone." The words feel foreign and familiar at once, like a language you used to speak fluently. "His name is Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. He's– he was my boss. CEO of a film production company." You pause, tracing a scratch on the bed rail with your thumbnail. "I was supposed to be a distraction. That's all. And those were Namjoon's word, not mine. Just get close, earn his trust, keep his attention somewhere else while Yoongi and Jimin did their thing."

Hoseok's brow furrows, but he stays silent to honour his promise.

"But I fell for him, Hobi. Completely. Stupidly. The kind of falling where you don't realize it's happening until you're already at the bottom." You swallow hard. The coffee in your hand has gone lukewarm but you grip it tighter. A breath shudders out of you. "He told me he loved me, and I said it back, and I meant it. I meant every syllable."

Something akin to a mimicking ache shifts behind Hoseok's eyes.

"And then I robbed him."

The words drop like stones into still water. You watch the ripple cross Hoseok's face. It’s confusion at first, and then a slow, dawning understanding that rearranges his features entirely.

"We took two and a half million dollars," you continue. Your voice feels flat and mechanical because if you let yourself feel it now, you'll never finish. "The Gemini Pictures merger… Jungkook's company was about to become one of the biggest production firms in the industry. We stole the deal. Yoongi hacked the system, Jimin and I broke in at night. I used a secret entrance Jungkook had shown me in confidence. I used his password, which was the date we first met, to access his computer." You pause. "He'd changed it to that date because it mattered to him. And I used it to steal from him."

Hoseok's jaw tightens. He sets the coffee cup down carefully, deliberately, the way you set down something when your hands need to be free.

"He found out with security cameras we missed. He showed me the footage over a dinner I cooked him– sat across from me with flowers and an envelope and watched me unravel." You're not crying yet, which surprises you. Maybe you've cried it all out. Maybe the numbness has finally won. "He didn't press charges. He just… left."

The heart monitor beeps and in the silence that fills between the both of you, it beeps again.

"Why?" Hoseok's voice is barely above a whisper. It's the first word he's spoken, and it cuts deeper than any sentence could.

You look at him, really look at him. At the nasal cannula, the oxygen tanks, the constellation of wires that tether him to the machines keeping him alive. At the boy who used to outrun all of you, who danced until his shoes wore through, who laughed so loud it filled whatever room he was in.

"For you."

The next onslaught of silence that follows is not like the others. It doesn't settle, it detonates. Hoseok's face doesn't crumble the way you expected. It hardens into something ugly. You watch something cold move across his features, something you've never seen directed at you in all the years you've known him.

"For me," he repeats. There's no question mark attached to it, only a plain statement.

"Your medical bills were–"

"I know what my medical bills are." His voice is quiet, but the edges of it are bladed. "I see the invoices. I'm sick, _____, not blind." He shifts in the bed, the movement costing him visible effort, and you instinctively reach forward to help. He stops you with a look. "Don't."

Your hand hovers, then retreats.

"So let me get this straight." Hoseok's breathing has quickened, the cannula hissing faintly with each inhale. "You, Namjoon, Yoongi and Jimin— my best friends— decided to become thieves. To steal from people. To ruin someone's life." He holds up a trembling hand when you open your mouth. "I said let me finish."

You press your lips shut, the irony of your own request being turned against you.

"You fell in love with this man. And then you robbed him. While he was falling in love with you." He lets the words breathe, each one more clipped than the last. "And the whole time, I was unconscious. You just decided—all of you— that my life was worth more than your souls and you never once thought to ask me if I agreed."

The tears come now. Of course they do.

"Hobi–"

"Who asked you to do that?" The question snaps out of him with a force that startles you both. The heart monitor spikes briefly and a nurse peeks through the window before Hoseok waves her away with a shaking hand. He waits until the footsteps recede before he speaks again, quieter now, but no less sharp. "Who asked any of you to do that for me?"

"Nobody had to ask!" Your voice breaks open. "You're our family, you were dying, Hoseok, and we couldn't just–"

"You turned yourselves into criminals for me," he says, and the way he says it is almost disgusted and that disgust mirrors itself in you. "You destroyed a man who loved you. For me. And I didn't even get to have a choice."

A sob wracks through you. It's so ugly and uncontrolled. You press the heel of your palm against your mouth, trying to contain it, but it spills through your fingers like water. Hoseok watches you cry. He doesn't reach for you. He doesn't soothe you. For the first time in your friendship, he lets you sit in it.

When your breathing steadies to something resembling functional, Hoseok speaks again. "And now?" He tilts his head, eyes narrowing with a sharpness that reminds you he was always smarter than any of you gave him credit for. "You didn't come here just to confess. There's something else."

Of course he knows. The realization almost makes you laugh– a watery, broken thing. You drag your sleeve across your face.

"Namjoon has another plan. And it’s bigger, way bigger." You force yourself to hold his gaze. "Half a billion dollars. And it’s tied to Jungkook's company." You watch his eyes widen, his lips parting. "I told them I wouldn't do it unless you knew. Unless you were there. And unless you had the right to tell us to stop." You tell him everything about the plan, as much as you can remember from Yoongi's technical terms to the fact that there's a gala hosted by Jungkook they want you to attend.

Hoseok stares at you for a long time. Long enough for the light in the room to shift, the morning sun climbing higher past the blinds, painting warm stripes across the foot of his bed. His jaw works, lips pressing and releasing. You can see the war behind his eyes and the fury wrestling with something else, something softer and more complicated.

"You want to take me to a gala," he says slowly. "Me." He gestures at himself with the wires, the tubes, the hospital gown. "Looking like this."

"I don't care what you look like."

"That's not the point and you know it." He exhales, the sound rattling in the way that makes your stomach clench. He looks towards the window. "Do you still love him?"

The question catches you off guard, an ambush from a flank you hadn't defended. Your mouth opens and then closes. You think of the carnival, the Ferris wheel, fireworks reflected in Jungkook's dark eyes. You think of Lyara the penguin, waterlogged and drenched on your apartment floor. You think of the blue plastic ring.

"Yes." It comes out barely audible and the confession itself even startles you. You haven't been able to even admit it to yourself. "I don't think I ever stopped."

Hoseok closes his eyes. The heart monitor beeps its steady rhythm, indifferent to the weight of what's unfolding.

"Then you need to know something." He opens his eyes, and when they meet yours, the anger has dimmed. What remains is the Hoseok who held your hair back at parties, who proofread your essays at 3am, who once drove four hours in a thunderstorm because you called him crying. "If I let you do this… if I agree to be part of whatever the hell this is– it's not so you can steal from him again."

Your brow creases. "Then what—"

"It's so you can tell him the truth." His voice is firm despite its fragility, carrying a conviction that his body can no longer match. "About me. About why. About everything." He holds your gaze, unyielding. "You said he asked why, and you couldn't answer. This is your answer, _____. I am."

The simplicity of it winds you.

"If we walk into his world," Hoseok continues, "I'm not going as your alibi or your excuse. I'm going so he can see what you were trying to save. And then he can decide for himself whether it was worth what you took from him." He pauses, chest rising with a laboured breath. "That's my condition. Not Namjoon's money. Not Yoongi's code. The truth."

You stare at him, this man held together by machines and sheer will, and you realize that in trying to save his life, you forgot to account for who he actually is. He’s not a cause nor a justification but a person. One with more moral clarity in his deteriorating body than the rest of you have managed with your healthy ones. It's the Hoseok you've been fighting to keep alive.

"And if I tell him the truth," you say quietly, "and he still hates me?"

Hoseok's expression softens. For the first time since you started talking, you see the ghost of his heart-shaped smile but it’s not the full thing– just the scaffolding of it.

"Then at least he'll hate you for who you really are. Not for who he thinks you are."

You exhale. It feels like the first real breath you've taken in a year.

"And if Namjoon…"

"I'll deal with Namjoon." There's a glint in Hoseok's eye, something almost mischievous buried beneath the exhaustion. "He's not going to like it. But the last time I checked, it's my life you're all wagering with. I think that earns me a seat at the table."

You look down at your hands. They've stopped shaking. When you look back up, you reach for his hand gently, careful of the IV line taped to his wrist. He lets you take it this time. His fingers are cold, but they tighten around yours with surprising strength.

"I'm sorry, Hobi." The apology sits differently now. It's not the performative kind you've been rehearsing. It's genuine.

He squeezes your hand once. "I know." He regards you carefully and you wonder what he must be thinking. "But you owe that apology to someone else more than you owe it to me."

You nod, because he's right. He's so devastatingly right.

Outside the window, behind the curtains neither of you can see past, the autumn wind picks up. Somewhere on the path below, a young man in a black suede trench coat tucks his camera glasses into his breast pocket and pulls out his phone.

He dials and the line picks up on the second ring.

"She told him everything," he says, his boxy smile pulling wide. He pauses, listening. Then: "No, not yet. But she will."

A voice on the other end is quiet.

"Understood, Mr. Jeon. I'll keep you updated."

The line goes dead. Kim Taehyung pockets his phone, adjusts the grip on his cane, and walks back towards the parking lot. The first leaves of autumn skitter across the concrete behind him, carried by a wind that seems to know exactly where it's going.

Namjoon doesn't take it well.

You expect this, of course. You've known him long enough to read the weather patterns of his anger. The tight jaw comes first, then the nostril flare, then the deadly calm that precedes the storm. What you don't expect is for Hoseok to be the one holding the umbrella.

It happens the following evening. You're the one who texts Namjoon, a simple 'come to the hospital.' With no context. He arrives within the hour, Yoongi trailing behind him with his hands buried in his hoodie pockets and his laptop bag slung over one shoulder. They enter Hoseok's room expecting a logistics meeting. Instead, they find Hoseok sitting upright in bed– truly upright, not the half-reclined slouch he usually settles for. The TV is off and the overhead lights are turned to full. It feels less like a hospital room and more like a courtroom.

"Sit down," Hoseok says.

Namjoon glances at you. You're already seated by the window, arms crossed, offering nothing. It feels like when you're younger and your sibling is about to get in trouble. You can only watch from a distance and although it will be satisfying, it will also suck. He pulls up a chair, the legs squealing against the tile. Yoongi claims the far corner, perched on the windowsill with his legs dangling.

"She told me." Three words. Hoseok lets them land without a cushion, watching the impact register on Namjoon's face. To his credit, Namjoon doesn't flinch. But you see it, the barely perceptible tightening around his eyes and the way his fingers flatten against his thighs.

"Told you what?" Namjoon asks. It's not denial. It's a test– he wants to know how much.

"Everything." Hoseok holds his gaze. "RED Hotel. Jungkook. The two and a half million. The fact that four people I'd take a bullet for became thieves while I was unconscious, and nobody thought to mention it once I woke up."

The room goes vacuum-sealed. You hear the oxygen tank hiss beside Hoseok's bed, marking time in soft, mechanical breaths. Namjoon's jaw works. You recognize the motion as he's building an argument, assembling it brick by brick behind his teeth.

"Hoseok–"

"I'm not done." Hoseok's voice carries an authority you haven't heard from him in years. It's faint, sure and it’s carried on compromised lungs and thinned breath. But the steel in it is unmistakable. Namjoon's mouth closes. "I know why you did it. I understand the reasoning. I even understand the math." He gestures faintly toward the machines flanking his bed. "Trust me, nobody in this room is more aware of what it costs to keep me alive than the person it's actually costing."

The guilt hits all three of you simultaneously. You see it in the way Yoongi's gaze drops to his sneakers and Namjoon's throat bobs with a hard swallow.

"But you didn't give me a choice." Hoseok's eyes are glassy now, though nothing falls. "You decided my life was worth whatever it cost and you took that decision away from me." He pauses, the effort of sustained speech visible in the rise and fall of his chest. "I'm the one dying, Joon. Don't I get a say in what people destroy to keep me here?"

Namjoon leans forward, elbows on his knees, head dropping between his shoulders. For a long, terrible moment, you think he might cry. Namjoon doesn't cry. You've seen him through breakups, through his father's funeral, through the night Hoseok collapsed and the ambulance took twenty-three minutes to arrive. He didn't cry then. He’s organized, he’s planned, he’s calculated. Crying was a luxury he never permitted himself.

He doesn't cry now either. But it's close. When he raises his head, his eyes are red-rimmed, his voice stripped of its usual command.

"What was I supposed to do?" The question is so raw, so unlike the Namjoon who always has an answer, that it physically hurts to hear. "Watch you die? Sit in that waiting room and count ceiling tiles while they told us you had weeks?" His voice cracks on the last word. He catches it, swallows, presses on. "There was no version of this where I did nothing. I couldn't– I can't do nothing. Not when it comes to you."

The confession unpins something in the room. Yoongi turns his face toward the window, his reflection caught in the glass with a tight jaw and distant eyes. You wonder if he's thinking the same thing you are: that Namjoon never once framed this as anything other than a mission, a plan, a stratagem. Never once admitted that underneath the blueprints and the bravado, it was just a man terrified of losing his best friend.

Hoseok exhales a long, thin whistle through the cannula. "I know," he says, and there's no anger left– just a bone-deep weariness. "I know you can't sit back and do nothing. It's the most annoying thing about you." There's the faintest crack of a smile but it's gone as quickly as it appears. "But here's what's going to happen."

Namjoon straightens. You see him shift instinctively into listening mode, the same posture he adopts when a plan is being laid out. Old habits.

"I'm going to the gala," Hoseok says as if he's announcing he's going to the cafeteria. It's so matter-of-fact and decided, it surprises you again. "Not as a prop. Not as your sick friend who justifies everything. I'm going because _____ owes someone the truth and she's not going to do it alone." His eyes find yours and hold. "And I'm going because if this is what my life is costing, I want to look the price in the face."

Namjoon opens his mouth–

"I'm not finished." Hoseok's hand raises, trembling but firm. "The job goes forward. I'm not going to pretend I can stop you, you're all too stubborn and too stupid for that." The faintest ghost of warmth in his voice. "But the truth comes first. Before Yoongi touches a keyboard, before anyone transfers a single won, _____ tells Jungkook why. She shows him me. And if after he knows, if after he sees what you were trying to save, he still wants us gone? We go. We walk away. No arguments. I don't want to hear it."

"That's—" Namjoon starts.

"Non-negotiable." Hoseok meets his stare, unflinching. "You stole two and a half million dollars from that man to pay for my heartbeat. I think the least I can do is show him the heart."

The silence that follows is so absolute, you can hear the fluorescent lights humming above you. Namjoon sits motionless, eyes locked with Hoseok's. Something passes between them that you've only ever witnessed a handful of times. It’s a form of communication that predates the rest of you, rooted in a friendship that started before any of yours did. They were friends first. Before the group, before Jimin, before Yoongi, before you. That foundation carries a weight none of you can overrule.

Namjoon's shoulders drop but not in defeat, in concession. He nods once. "Okay." The word costs him more than the half a billion ever could.

Yoongi speaks for the first time. "For the record," he says from his corner, still facing the window, "I think this is the best idea any of us has had in two years." He turns, and there's something close to respect in his gaze when it settles on Hoseok. "You should've been calling the shots the whole time."

Hoseok smiles and it’s the real one this time, heart-shaped and warm, though it sits on a face too thin to hold it properly. "Yeah," he says. "I should've been."

Two weeks before the gala, your life becomes a choreography of preparation and pretense.

Yoongi sets up a command center of sorts in Hoseok's hospital room, much to the displeasure of the nursing staff. His laptop occupies the guest table, flanked by two additional monitors he smuggled in inside instrument cases. The wires snake across the floor like veins, taped down in haphazard lines that one particular nurse has tripped over three times. You've started leaving her apology chocolates at the nurses' station.

"The system mirrors for exactly seven minutes and forty-three seconds," Yoongi explains one afternoon, pointing to a diagram on his screen that looks like a subway map designed by a lunatic. The lunatic being Yoongi. "During that window, the auditing protocol creates a duplicate ledger. We intercept the mirror, redirect the funds through a series of Obsidian wallets layered on the platform’s blockchain, and by the time the mirror collapses, the money's been scattered across so many nodes it would take a forensic team six months to trace a single transaction."

"And you can do all of that in seven minutes?" You lean over his shoulder, squinting at the screen.

"Seven minutes and forty-three seconds," he corrects. "And no. I can do it in four."

"Then why do we need eight?"

"Because four minutes is for the transfer." He taps a second diagram. "The other four are for you."

You frown. "Me?"

"You need to physically access a terminal at the event. The system requires biometric confirmation from an authorized user to initiate the mirror. A fingerprint scan." He looks at you over the rim of his glasses. "Jungkook's fingerprint."

Your stomach bottoms out. "You want me to get his fingerprint."

"I want you to get him to touch a screen," Yoongi clarifies, pulling up an image of what looks like an ordinary phone. "This. It's a modified device, looks like a standard tablet. The screen captures biometric data on contact. All you need to do is get him to interact with it. Hand it to him, show him something on it. Thirty seconds of contact is all I need."

"You want me to hand Jungkook, a man I robbed and whose heart I broke— a tablet. And have him casually press his finger to it."

"Ideally his thumb." Yoongi's tone doesn't change. "Index works too."

You stare at him until he has the decency to look uncomfortable. From across the room, Hoseok snorts.

The suit fitting happens on a Tuesday.

Namjoon arranges it through a contact, someone who doesn't ask questions and makes house calls to hospitals. The tailor arrives with a rolling rack and a measuring tape draped around his neck like a stethoscope. The irony isn't lost on any of you.

Hoseok hasn't stood unaided in months, but he insists on being upright for the measurements. It takes both you and Namjoon to help him from the bed, his arms draped over your shoulders, legs finding the floor like a newborn colt. The tailor politely pretends not to notice the IV stand trailing behind his client.

"Charcoal or navy?" the tailor asks, unfurling fabric swatches.

Hoseok studies them with more intensity than a dying man should reasonably dedicate to colour theory. "Black," he says finally.

"Black wasn't an option," Namjoon mutters.

"It is now." Hoseok stands a little straighter, the effort whitening his knuckles where they grip the bed rail. "If I'm going to a party to show some billionaire what his money paid for, I'm not doing it in charcoal."

You press your lips together to keep from laughing, but the sound escapes anyway, a wet, breathy thing that's half humor and half grief. The tailor measures him with clinical efficiency: inseam, shoulders, waist. Each number feels like a subtraction, a quantification of how much of Hoseok has been whittled away. His waist is narrower than yours now. The tailor doesn't comment.

When it's your turn, the process is quicker. Namjoon has procured a gown that’s floor-length, deep emerald, with a neckline that suggests elegance and a back that suggests intention. You try it on in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror under fluorescent light that does no one any favours.

You barely recognize yourself, and it’s not because of the dress, but because of the eyes staring back at you. They're harder than you remember. You wonder if Jungkook will notice. You wonder what will happen when you see him again and if you truly are prepared. You're most likely not but whatever, you're used to flying by the seat of your pants.

When you step out, Hoseok is back in bed, but he wolf-whistles, breathy and weak and absolutely ridiculous. And for a single, perfect moment, it feels like old times.

"Stunning," he says. "He won't know what hit him."

You smooth the fabric over your hip. "That's what I'm afraid of."

The days leading up to the gala pass in a strange twilight of hyperactivity and dread. Yoongi runs simulations, Namjoon drills contingencies and Hoseok practices walking.

This last part guts you more than anything else. Every morning, you watch him grip the parallel bars the physical therapist set up along the length of his room, knuckles bone-white, jaw set, legs quaking beneath him as he forces one foot in front of the other. The cannula trails behind him, the oxygen tank wheeled alongside by a patient nurse who's learned to match his agonizing pace. Ten steps the first day. Twelve the second. By the end of the first week, he makes it to the door and back.

He doesn't complain. Not once. Not about the pain, not about the exhaustion that collapses him back into bed afterward, not about the indignity of a twenty-six year old man celebrating the fact that he walked fourteen steps. When you catch him grimacing after a session, he flattens his expression the instant he notices you watching.

"Stop looking at me like that," he says one evening, breathless and sheened with sweat.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm going to break."

You hold his gaze. "Are you?"

He considers this for a moment, genuinely, then shakes his head. "Not yet."

By the second week, he can manage twenty steps with a cane. It's enough. It has to be.

Fifty kilometres away, in a penthouse suite that overlooks the city from the forty-second floor, Jeon Jungkook stands at the floor-to-ceiling window with a glass of whiskey he hasn't touched.

The city below pulses with light and arterial reds of brake lights, the gold spill of storefronts, the cold blue wash of office buildings still lit past midnight. It's beautiful in the way that expensive things are beautiful: perfectly maintained and utterly soulless.

He hears the elevator chime behind him but he doesn't turn.

"She told him," Kim Taehyung's voice carries across the marble floor, accompanied by the rhythmic tap of his cane. "Everything. The first heist, you, the money. All of it."

Jungkook's reflection stares back at him in the glass, translucent, ghostly against the cityscape. He's changed in the year since he walked away from her door. His hair is shorter, cropped close at the sides and pushed back from his forehead. The softness that once rounded his cheeks has sharpened into angles. He looks older. Not in years but in something harder to quantify.

"How did he react?" Jungkook asks. His voice is even, controlled. It’s the voice of a man who's spent twelve months learning how to discuss her without flinching.

Taehyung settles onto the leather sofa behind him, stretching his bad leg out with a wince. "Angry. He didn't know any of it. They kept him in the dark the entire time." He pauses.

Jungkook is quiet for a long time. The ice in his untouched whiskey has melted, the amber liquid diluted to pale gold.

"He's dying. Has been for a while." Taehyung's voice loses its professional edge, softening into something more human. He and Jungkook are friends before they are business associates and have been since Taehyung took a bullet in Busan five years ago that left him with a permanent limp. Jungkook paid for his rehabilitation without being asked. Loyalty between them is a currency that predates money. 

Jungkook closes his eyes. Behind his lids, he sees her. What he doesn't see is the woman who sat across from him at the dinner table, leafing through surveillance photos with trembling hands, but the woman he fell in love with ice cream on her lip, laughing at something he said. 

"I hired you to find out why she did it," he says quietly. "I hired you to get them close enough so I could look her in the eye and understand. That's all I wanted. An answer." He finally lifts the glass, taking a sip of the watered-down whiskey. It's weak and bitter, and he grimaces but drinks again anyway. "I didn't plan for this."

"For what?"

"For a reason that makes sense." He sets the glass down on the sill, harder than necessary. The sound pings across the silent penthouse. "It was supposed to be greed. Something I could be angry at.” He swallows. "Not a dying man in a hospital bed."

Taehyung watches him carefully. "Does it change anything?"

Jungkook doesn't answer immediately. He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out— a small, circular object that catches the city light. A bright blue plastic ring. The paint has faded, chipped in places, but he's kept it. This entire time, he's kept it.

He turns it between his fingers, studying it the way one studies a relic from a past life.

"It changes everything," he says finally. "And nothing. She still lied." He pockets the ring again. "But now I know she had a reason. And that might be worse."

"Worse?"

Jungkook looks at Taehyung, and for the first time, the mask slips. Underneath is not the CEO, or conglomerate head- hell, it's not even the man with his name on buildings and gala invitations. Underneath is a boy with doe eyes who fell in love with the wrong person and hasn't figured out how to fall back out.

"Because I could've helped her." The words land like a confession of their own. "If she had just told me about her friend, about the money, about any of it— I would've helped. I had the resources. I had the means. She didn't have to steal from me." His voice frays at the edges. "She chose to rob me instead of trust me. And I don't know which one hurts more."

Taehyung is silent for a long time. "The gala is in six days."

"I know."

"Namjoon's team is prepping. Your security detail has their profiles. We can intercept at any point."

"No." Jungkook turns from the window, eyes hardened with resolve. "Let them come. I need them to do this for me.” 

Taehyung nods, rising from the sofa with a lean on his cane. He studies Jungkook for a moment, then turns for the elevator. He stops halfway, speaking over his shoulder. "For what it's worth," he says, "I don’t think you’ve left her mind."

"Maybe." Jungkook's voice is barely a whisper. "But eventually she’ll have to leave mine."

The elevator doors close. Jungkook stands alone in the penthouse, the city sprawled beneath him like a circuit board, every light a connection, every dark space a severance. He thinks of a password he once set: eight digits, a date, a beginning. He wonders if endings have dates too.

The night of the gala arrives the way all inevitable things do, too quickly and not quickly enough.

You're in Hoseok's room, the emerald gown pooling around your feet as you sit on the edge of his bed, holding a tube of lipstick you can't seem to apply with steady hands. A garment bag hangs from the curtain rod, Hoseok's black suit pressed and waiting.

Namjoon arrives in a charcoal suit that fits like an apology. He hasn't said much in the days since Hoseok laid down his terms, operating with a quiet efficiency that you've come to interpret as his version of penance. He runs through the plan one final time with Yoongi over comms, voice low and clinical, stripped of the bravado that used to characterize these briefings. Something has changed in him. The desperation is still there, but it's been tempered, reined in by the leash of Hoseok's conviction.

"Comms check," Yoongi says from behind his monitors, an earpiece tucked into his right ear. He'll be stationed in a service van two blocks from the venue, running the operation remotely. "Radio silence unless absolutely necessary. _____, your frequency is channel 3. Namjoon is on standby at channel 7. If anything goes sideways—"

"It won't," Namjoon interrupts. He meets Yoongi's stare. "It can't."

Yoongi holds his gaze for a beat, then nods.

The hardest part is getting Hoseok ready.

It takes forty minutes. You help him into his shirt first, guiding his arms through the sleeves with the gentleness of handling something irreplaceable. Namjoon handles the trousers, steadying Hoseok's legs as he steps into them one at a time, both of them pretending it's not a struggle. The jacket goes last, and when Hoseok is finally dressed, standing between the two of you in his black suit, cane in one hand, cannula removed for the first time in months, you almost lose your composure entirely.

He looks beautiful. Devastatingly, impossibly beautiful. The suit hangs on his diminished frame in ways the tailor couldn't fully compensate for, the shoulders a touch too wide, the waist pinched with an extra fold of fabric. But his face– his face is alive. His eyes are bright, focused, burning with a determination that his body has no business supporting.

"How do I look?" he asks, adjusting his cuffs with fingers that only shake a little.

"Like hell," Namjoon says.

Hoseok grins fully, heart-shaped and radiant. "Perfect."

A portable oxygen concentrator has been arranged that’s small enough to fit in a bag and discreet enough to pass unnoticed. The doctor fought against this expedition with considerable force, relenting only when Hoseok signed a release form with the calm resignation of a man who's already made peace with every possible outcome. The nurse attached a pulse oximeter to his finger with a look that said everything her professionalism wouldn't allow.

The car waits at the hospital's rear exit. Namjoon drives. You sit in the back with Hoseok, his hand in yours, his cane propped between his knees. The city slides past the tinted windows in streaks of light and shadow. None of you speak. The silence is too full for words and weighted with everything you're about to do, everything you've done and everything that can't be undone.

Hoseok squeezes your hand once. You look at him.

"Whatever happens in there," he says quietly, "you just need to tell him the truth." His eyes hold yours, steady despite the exhaustion pulling at their edges. "Promise me."

You squeeze back, a nervous smile settling across your face. "I promise."

The car pulls to a stop and your heart beats louder. This is it.

Through the window, you see it, the Grand Meridian Hotel. Its façade bathed in gold light, a procession of black cars depositing glittering figures onto a red carpet that bleeds into the lobby. The building reaches into the night sky like a monolith, its upper floors disappearing into low-hanging clouds. Security lines the entrance in tailored suits, earpieces catching light.

Namjoon kills the engine. In the rearview mirror, his eyes find yours.

"Eight minutes," he says. "That's all we need."

You hold his gaze. "No," you say quietly. "That's all you need."

You step out of the car first, the autumn air biting through the silk of your gown. You turn and offer your hand to Hoseok. He takes it, rising from the car with a controlled effort that costs him more than anyone watching would ever guess. His cane clicks against the pavement. He steadies himself, lifts his chin, and for a moment, just a moment, you see the Hoseok from before. The one who lit up every room. The one who made you believe that sheer force of joy could outrun anything, even death.

The two of you stand together at the base of the steps, staring up at the golden doors. Music drifts out with a string quartet, something classical and expensive. Laughter follows, the tinkling kind that belongs to people who've never had to choose between rent and groceries.

Hoseok glances at you. "Ready?"

You think of Jungkook somewhere inside those walls. Of the love you once shared, although now one-sided. You don't know how you're holding your composure but it's now or never.

"No," you answer honestly.

He smiles. "Good. That means you care."

Together, you climb the steps. Hoseok's cane taps a steady rhythm against the stone, one, two, one, two- a metronome counting down to something neither of you can predict. Your hand stays on his arm. The doorman opens the gilded entrance without a word.

Warmth engulfs you. Light, sound, perfume, the shimmer of crystal and the murmur of a hundred conversations layered over strings. The ballroom opens before you like the throat of some magnificent, glittering beast. Chandeliers hang like frozen constellations. Men in tuxedos and women in gowns orbit each other in practiced elegance, champagne catching light in their hands. It’s the kind of wealth that you only see in the movies. 

A waiter materializes at your elbow with a tray of champagne flutes, and you take two without thinking, pressing one into Hoseok's free hand. He accepts it with a look that says he has no intention of drinking it and every intention of using it as a prop.

"Smile," he murmurs, lips barely moving. "You look like you're calculating an exit route."

"I am calculating an exit route."

"Do it while smiling."

You smile. It feels like something you're wearing, like the gown, like the earrings that are already beginning to pinch. Hoseok's arm is warm beneath your hand, and you focus on that, on the solidity of him, as you move deeper into the ballroom's current.

The room works the way these rooms always do, pulling people into its orbit through some unspoken social gravity. A couple drifts past you, trailing perfume and quiet laughter. A man in a tuxedo gestures broadly at nothing, making a point no one will remember. Somewhere to your left, a woman's necklace catches the chandelier light and throws small stars across the ceiling. You feel so out of place walking amongst the wealth like an imposter that you get caught off guard mid thought when your ear piece goes off.

Yoongi's voice arrives in your ear, low and even. “Perimeter looks clean. Security rotation is every four minutes on the east corridor. Namjoon's in position near the main stairs. You have time.”

You search the crowd of elites and suck in a breath when you see him.

Across the room, half-turned from you, a glass of something dark in his hand. His hair is shorter than you remember, pushed back from his forehead in a way that sharpens the line of his jaw. He's mid-conversation with a silver-haired man, nodding at something being said, his posture carrying the easy authority of someone who owns the room and every wall around it.

Your body responds before your brain can intervene. Heat blooms across your chest, your pulse spiking in places that have nothing to do with fear. You know this reaction, in fact you know it intimately. You know it from every time he walked into a room, every time his hand found the small of your back and every time he had you pinned underneath him with slow, deliberate drags of his– no. You can’t go there. A year of distance has done nothing to rewire it. Your body still recognizes him as something it wants, and the betrayal of that recognition makes your skin burn.

Your breath catches and your fingers tighten around Hoseok's arm.

Jungkook hasn't seen you yet. Or maybe he has. You can't tell from here whether the slight tension in his shoulders is for you or for the conversation. That is before a woman joins in. She’s breathtakingly gorgeous, a red gown ten times more luxurious than the one you’ve adorned. Her dark hair falls behind her open back in curls, and what takes you most aback is the way Jungkook lights up when he sees her- gently placing a small peck against her cheek. 

Something sharp and ugly twists in your chest. You have absolutely no right to feel it, and you feel it anyway.

Hoseok follows your gaze across the room. He studies the man who funded his heartbeat without ever knowing it. The man you robbed, loved, and lost. Or you suppose, loved, then robbed and then lost.

"He's tall," Hoseok observes quietly.

You can't bring yourself to respond. Your heart is hammering so violently, you're certain Hoseok can feel it through your arm.

And then, as if summoned by the weight of your stare, Jungkook turns.

As you loosen your grip on Hoseok’s arm, you’re met by the vibrant and bright chocolate doe eyes of Jeon Jungkook while he holds her the way he once held you. 

And the world goes quiet. The music fades. The chatter dissolves. There is only the distance between you, forty feet of marble floor, a year of silence, and every unspoken word that fills the space between.

The look he gives you isn't anger but isn't warmth either. It's the look of a man taking inventory of something he lost. His gaze traces from your eyes to your mouth, lingering there for a beat that makes your skin prickle, before dropping to the emerald neckline and back up. You feel it like a physical thing, like fingers dragging across your collarbone or how soft and careful his kisses were, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

He doesn't move. Neither do you.

The woman in red places a hand on Jungkook's arm, saying something you can't hear. He doesn't look at her. His eyes stay on yours, and whatever she says dissolves into the noise of the room, unanswered.

"You should go," Hoseok says.

"I'm not leaving you standing alone."

"I'm not alone." He nods toward the column. "I have this very sturdy piece of architecture." A beat passes. "And Yoongi will talk my ear off if I ask him to."

“He's not wrong,” Yoongi says in your ear, and you almost laugh despite everything.

You look at Hoseok for a moment longer than you mean to. He's watching the room with those bright, tired eyes, his cane resting against the column, champagne held loosely in one hand. He has spent so much of these last months becoming smaller, quieter, reduced by increments. But here, in this borrowed hour, he has made himself enormous again through sheer will alone.

You squeeze his arm once, and he nods without looking at you, and that's enough. You turn. You begin to move through the crowd.

You catch Namjoon by the main stairs as Yoongi mentioned. He's not just standing there; he's working. You catch him mid-handshake with a man in a navy blazer, his smile sharp and practiced, and as the man turns away, you see Namjoon's left hand slip something small and flat into his inner jacket pocket. A cloned access badge. He's already halfway through his own mission, running a parallel track you can only glimpse in fragments. His eyes cut to yours for half a second with a flicker of acknowledgment, a silent status report and then he looks away. The sight of it settles something cold in your chest, the reality of it all.

Eight minutes, he'd said.

Your heels click against the marble. One step. Then another.

Jungkook watches you come.

He moves before you've fully decided to. Or perhaps you move first. Later, you won't be able to say with certainty. What you'll remember is that the distance between you simply begins to close, pulled shut by something older and more stubborn than either of your intentions. And then there are only a few feet of marble between you, and then there are none.

Up close, he is worse.

That's the only word for it. Worse. More real. The year that stretched between you like an ocean has done nothing to blunt the specific way he occupies space, the breadth of his shoulders, the slight asymmetry of his mouth, the way his eyes catch light and hold it longer than they should. He is exactly as you remember and entirely different and both of these things are devastating in their own register.

The woman in red has drifted away. You caught the movement in your periphery, some acquaintance pulling her into a separate orbit, laughing at something, her dark curls disappearing into the crowd. She doesn't know she's given you anything. She doesn't know there is anything to give.

Jungkook's glass is still in his hand. He hasn't looked away from you since you started moving.

"You’re here," he says.

It's not what you expected. You don't know what you expected, something cooler, something with more architecture to hide behind. But those two words come out slightly uneven, fractionally too quiet for the room, and you watch him register that he's said them wrong before his expression closes over it like water over a stone.

"I was invited," you say.

Something moves behind his eyes that you can't quite read. Then again, it's been a while. "You were." 

The space between those words and his next ones is too long. He fills it by dropping his gaze briefly, just a half-second, taking in the emerald gown, the earrings, the lipstick you finally managed to apply with shaking hands in the car. When he looks back up, his jaw is set in a way you recognize. It's the look he gets when he's decided to be careful.

"You look—" He stops and starts again. "It's good to see you." It isn't what he was going to say. You both know it.

The string quartet shifts into something slower. Around you, the room continues its elaborate performance of itself, glasses lifted, laughter rising and falling in practiced waves, none of it touching the two feet of charged air between you and the man you robbed. The man you loved. The man who is watching you now, like he's trying to solve something.

Your pulse is very loud and you want to ask him why he invited you but instead you call to him.

"Jungkook," you begin, because you promised Hoseok, because there is a clock somewhere running down eight minutes that has nothing to do with why you're really here, because the truth has been sitting in your chest for a year, and it is very heavy. "There are things I need to say to you."

His chin dips slightly. An acknowledgment that isn't quite permission.

"I know," he says.

Something in his tone stops you. Not the words, but the texture of them.

Your eyes search his face. "What do you know?"

He holds your gaze for a beat that lasts too long. His fingers shift around his glass. In another life, in another version of this night, you think he might have reached for your hand instead.

"That you're here," he says finally. "That's enough for now."

It's not an answer. You file that away somewhere and let it sit, because Yoongi's voice is a low murmur in your ear, reminding you of timelines. And across the room Namjoon is still performing his own careful theatre, and Hoseok is leaning against a column with a champagne glass he won't drink from, and you made a promise.

But Jungkook is looking at you the way he used to, underneath the composure, underneath whatever careful thing he's built around himself this past year. Like you are something he thought he'd finished grieving. You feel like you might break under his gaze. The onslaught of emotions hit you harder than that night he left your house. And you can’t help but crave his touch again.

You look away first. You have to.

There's a pillar to your left and you fix your gaze on it for exactly two seconds, long enough to find the floor beneath your feet again.

Then you look back at him, because you promised.

"Can we go somewhere quieter?" you ask. The ballroom feels like it's shrinking, the string quartet and the laughter and the perfume collapsing inward.

Jungkook studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he tilts his head toward a corridor beyond the grand staircase. "There's a terrace."

You nod, and he moves first, setting his glass on a passing waiter's tray without looking. You follow a half-step behind, close enough to catch the scent of his cologne. It’s different from what he used to wear– it’s something darker and woodier. You hate that you notice.

As you pass the staircase, your eyes catch Namjoon's. He's watching you move toward the corridor, his jaw tightening. You give an imperceptible shake of your head of a "not yet". His gaze holds yours for a beat too long before he turns back to his conversation, the tension in his shoulders broadcasting everything his face won't.

"She's moving to the east terrace," you hear Yoongi murmur through the earpiece, talking to Namjoon rather than you. "Timeline still holds. Let her work."

The corridor narrows, the noise of the ballroom dimming behind you like a radio being dialled down. Jungkook pushes through a glass door, and the autumn night hits you, sharp and clean against the heat of the gala. The terrace overlooks the city from a height that makes everything below look insignificant.

Jungkook walks to the stone railing and rests both hands on it, his back to you for a moment. You watch the way his shoulders rise with a breath, then drop. When he turns, he leans against the railing, arms crossed, and the posture is so deliberately casual it hurts. He's armouring himself.

"So," he says. "Talk."

The word is blunt but underneath it, you hear the thing he's actually saying: I've been waiting a year for this. You straighten your spine. You think of everything, every version of the speech you've prepared but you go off pure gut instinct.

"The night you came to my apartment," you start, your voice thin against the open air. "You showed me the photos. You asked me why." The memory is a blade. You distinctly remember his flowers, the envelope, the surveillance stills scattering across the table. "I couldn't answer you then."

"I remember." His voice is flat but his eyes aren't. There's something deep and restless moving behind them.

"I'm answering you now."

Jungkook doesn't speak. He waits the way a man waits for a verdict he's already tried to accept.

"His name is Jung Hoseok." You say it clearly, giving the name its full weight. "He's my best friend. He's been my best friend since we were fourteen years old." You take a breath that shakes more than you'd like. "He got sick two years ago, and nobody knew what it was. The doctors ran every test, every scan, and came back with nothing. Then the bills started. You can't imagine what it costs to keep someone alive when medicine doesn't even know what's killing them."

Jungkook's expression hasn't changed, but you see the shift. There’s a fractional loosening around his jaw, like a door being unlocked without being opened.

"We were drowning," you continue. "Student loans, medical debt, the cost of keeping him in a hospital that could actually help. Namjoon– you remember Namjoon?" You don't wait for an answer. "He came up with the plan. The first one. Then the second." You swallow. "The second one was you."

A muscle feathers along Jungkook's jaw. His arms stay crossed.

"I was supposed to be a distraction. Get hired as your assistant, keep your attention occupied while they handled the technical side." You force yourself to hold his gaze. "That's all it was supposed to be."

"But it wasn't." His voice is quiet. 

"No." The word catches in your throat. "It wasn't. I fell in love with you. I fell in love with the way you held doors open and remembered dates and how you loved me without condition." Your eyes are burning, but you refuse to blink. "I didn't plan on any of it. I didn't plan on you."

Jungkook uncrosses his arms. His hands find the railing behind him and grip it, knuckles whitening. The movement pulls his shirt taut across his chest, and you hate yourself for noticing and hate that even now, even mid-confession, some traitorous part of your brain is cataloguing the way his jaw catches the moonlight, the column of his throat above his loosened collar. You're telling him about the worst thing you've ever done, and your body is remembering the best things he's ever done to it.

The silence between you is different from the ballroom silence, from the hospital silence, from the silence that fell when Jungkook walked away from your apartment a year ago. This silence has oxygen in it. It has room to breathe.

"March 14th," Jungkook says, very quietly.

"March 14th," you repeat. "I typed it into your computer to steal from you, and I hated myself for knowing it." You look towards him. "He's here," you say. "Hoseok. He's inside."

Something crosses Jungkook's face that you can't fully read; surprise isn't quite it because it moves too quickly. It's quickly replaced by something more complex. Recognition, maybe. Like a piece sliding into a puzzle he's been working on in the dark.

"He signed himself out of the hospital to be here tonight. He can barely walk. He has a cane and a portable oxygen concentrator in a bag, and he's wearing a suit that doesn't fit because his body is half of what it used to be." Your voice breaks on the last part, but you keep going because you promised. "He's twenty-six years old, and he's dying, and he's standing in your ballroom right now because he thinks you deserve to know that his heartbeat is the reason I broke yours."

The wind picks up, carrying with it the faint sound of the string quartet from inside, something melancholy, something in a minor key that has no business being this appropriate. Jungkook's chest rises with a deep breath, his fingers releasing the railing.

"Where is he?" he asks.

The question shocks you into stillness. You expected him to still be angry, cold or even dismissal. You expected the same venom that lacerated you at your dinner table a year ago. You had prepped yourself to brace for impact. Instead, he's asking where Hoseok is.

"By the east columns," you manage. "Near the entrance."

Jungkook pushes off the railing. He takes a step toward the door and then stops to turn back to you. The city lights catch the silver of his cufflinks, the sharp line of his jaw, the look in his eyes that you've never seen before. 

"I would love to meet him," he says. "Not for you. For me."

He holds the terrace door open for you, and you walk through it feeling as if you've just stepped off the edge of something with no certainty of where you'll land.

As you pass him in the doorway, the space is narrow enough that your arm grazes his chest. The contact lasts less than a second. It’s silk against cotton, your bare arm against the warmth of him– and you feel it everywhere. His breath catches. Or maybe yours does too. You don’t look at him. You can’t. If you look at him right now, with your defences stripped and his chest warm against your skin, you will do something you can’t take back. You keep walking as he follows. 

Yoongi's voice returns in your ear, sharper now. "Fifteen minutes to mirror. _____, where are you? I need confirmation you're moving to the terminal."

"I need a minute," you say to both of them, though only one can hear you.

The ballroom swallows you both back into its machinery. Jungkook walks beside you but not with you, a deliberate distance maintained. You're aware of every inch of it.

You're halfway across the floor when it happens. A sharp voice cuts through the ambient noise.

"Wait– don't I know you?"

You freeze. The woman in the red dress you saw earlier with Jungkook has stepped into your path, head tilted, eyes narrowing with the specific intensity of someone rifling through their memory. She's even more beautiful up close with expensive jewellery and the kind of face that attends a lot of industry events.

"You worked at GFC, didn't you?" she says. "Jungkook's assistant?"

Your blood goes cold. Beside you, Jungkook stiffens almost imperceptibly.

"I think you're mistaken," you manage, your voice remarkably steady for someone whose heart has just relocated to her throat.

The woman squints harder. "No, I'm sure of it. The holiday party, two years ago? You were handling the guest list. I remember because you—"

"Mrs. Ahn." Jungkook's voice slides in, smooth and warm, and the interruption is so seamless. He steps forward with a smile that reaches exactly as far as it needs to. "I'm so glad you could make it tonight. Have you met the team from Hana Ventures? I believe your husband was asking about their sustainability portfolio. They're just by the bar." Oh. She’s married. You can’t help but feel relief. 

It's a redirection so elegant it borders on art. Mrs. Ahn's attention pivots to Jungkook entirely, her recognition of you dissolving into the social gravity of a CEO's full attention. She brightens, adjusts her necklace, and allows herself to be guided toward the bar with a delighted "Oh, wonderful!"

Jungkook glances back at you over his shoulder as he walks Mrs. Ahn away. The look lasts one second. In it, you read: Stay. I'll be back.

You press your back against the nearest column, heart hammering, and wait. Jungkook returns within two minutes, his composure fully restored.

"Thank you," you breathe.

"Don't thank me yet." The words carry a weight you don't fully understand. "Come on. Show me your friend."

You navigate the remaining distance to the east columns. Hoseok is where you left him, still propped against the column with his untouched champagne. His cane is hooked over his forearm while he's watching a couple dance. His expression carries a wistfulness that makes your throat close. From this distance, in this light, in that suit, you could almost forget he's sick.

Hoseok senses your approach. His gaze shifts to you, then past you to the man walking in your wake. His eyes sharpen. He straightens with a conscious effort, drawing every reserve of energy he has to meet this moment upright. He sets the champagne glass on the column's ledge, frees his cane, and faces Jungkook fully.

The two men regard each other across a narrowing distance. You step to the side, because this isn't yours anymore. This is between the man whose life was bought at another man's expense and the man who paid the price without knowing.

Jungkook stops three feet from Hoseok. He takes him in, the ill-fitting suit, the too-sharp cheekbones, the way he leans on the cane with practised subtlety. You watch Jungkook's eyes trace the details the way he used to study you. It’s as if he’s cataloguing, absorbing, trying to understand.

"Jung Hoseok," Hoseok says, extending a hand that trembles just slightly. His voice is steady despite it. "I believe you've been keeping me alive.”

You see the impact land on Jungkook's face like a wave of something cresting and breaking behind his careful composure. He looks at Hoseok's extended hand. He then takes it warmly.

"Jeon Jungkook," he replies, and his voice is thick. "I wish we'd met differently."

"So do I." Hoseok's grip tightens before releasing. "But if we'd met differently, I'd probably be dead. So I'll take this."

The bluntness catches Jungkook off guard. You watch him blink to recalibrate. Hoseok does that to people and has always done that. Even diminished, even tethered to machines and measured in borrowed months, he has a way of cutting straight to the marrow of a thing.

Hoseok shifts his weight onto his cane, glancing at you briefly before returning to Jungkook.

"You're quite handsome," he says conversationally. "No wonder she's in love with you."

The floor drops out from under you.

"Hoseok!" His name comes out strangled.

"What?" He turns to you with an expression of perfect innocence that has absolutely no business existing on a man in his condition. "It's true."

You look at Jungkook who is already looking at you. You look away with flushed cheeks and another wave of warmth spreading across the back of your neck.

"He's been on an extraordinary amount of medication," you say to no one and everyone. "Practically braindead. Medically speaking."

"Medically speaking, I have excellent observational skills," Hoseok replies, entirely unbothered. He takes a small sip of the champagne he was never going to drink and grimaces at the taste.

Jungkook lets the silence sit for exactly long enough that you feel every degree of it against your skin. Then, with a grace that costs him something you're certain of, he lets it go.

He turns to Hoseok.

"How are you feeling tonight?" The question is genuine, stripped of the social reflex that usually props up that particular phrase. He means it. You can tell he means it by the way he waits for the answer.

Hoseok glances around the ballroom, at the chandeliers, the gowns, the ancient indifferent wealth of it all. "Great. I haven't been anywhere in months, years some would say. Everywhere starts to look like a hospital ceiling after a while." His eyes return to Jungkook. "This is a very good ceiling."

Jungkook looks up despite himself. The chandelier throws fractured light across his face.

"It is," he agrees quietly.

Something passes between them that you don't entirely have access to. Two people negotiating the strange territory of a connection that has no map, no precedent and no name for what they are to each other.

"I wanted to meet you," Hoseok says. "That was the other reason I came tonight." He pauses. "She didn't know I was going to say that. She'd have talked me out of it."

"I absolutely would have," you confirm.

Jungkook's gaze moves to you then, briefly, warm in a way that undoes something small and load-bearing inside your chest, before returning to Hoseok. "I'm glad you did."

Hoseok nods slowly, as if this confirms something he suspected. He studies Jungkook for a moment with those bright, tired eyes, the same way he studied the ceiling of his hospital room on bad nights.

"You should talk," Hoseok says, looking between you both. "Really talk." His eyes flick almost imperceptibly toward your earpiece before coming back. "Because you owe it to each other."

A chill rolls through you. Time is ticking and quite frankly, you can’t think of how you’re going to pull this off. 

"I'm going to find a chair before my legs stage a mutiny," Hoseok says, straightening with effort. He gives Jungkook a final look. It’s warm with a shot of exhaustion he can no longer mask. "Thank you for meeting me. Whatever you decide…about her, about all of this, I wanted you to know that your money bought time. And I used that time to wake up." He smiles, the heart-shaped one. "That's not nothing." He turns, cane tapping a steady beat against the marble, and you watch him walk toward a chair near the far column. A waiter approaches and Hoseok waves him off politely. 

You turn back to Jungkook. He's watching Hoseok too. His expression is caught between something shattered and something mending.

"Jungkook–" you start.

"Not here." His voice is rough. He drags his gaze from Hoseok's retreating figure back to you. His eyes are wet. "Come with me."

He doesn't reach for your hand. He simply walks, and you follow.

Jungkook takes you through a service corridor that the guests don't see. It’s past stacked chairs, and folded tablecloths, and the muted clatter of the kitchen beyond a swinging door. The noise of the gala dims to a muffle. He stops in a narrow hallway lit by bare bulbs.

He turns to face you. In this light, stripped of the ballroom's gilding, he looks younger. Closer to the boy you met on March 14th. His collar is still open, and in the bare light you can see the faint sheen of sweat at the base of his throat. You wonder if its nerves, or the heat of the ballroom, or something else entirely. You force your gaze upward.

"I need to tell you something," he says. His voice is steady but his hands aren't. You see them at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling. "And you're not going to like it."

Your blood cools. "What?"

He meets your eyes. "This gala. The invitation. You being here tonight." He pauses for a moment. "It wasn't coincidence."

Your stomach folds in on itself. "What are you talking about?"

"I know about Namjoon's plan." The words drop like stones against marble flooring. "I've known for weeks. The Obsidian transfer, the eight-minute window, the biometric scan. All of it."

The corridor tilts. You feel the wall at your back before you realize you've stepped into it. "How?"

"Because I'm the one who gave it to them."

Silence. It’s the kind that has a sound with a high, ringing pitch that fills your skull.

"I hired someone," Jungkook continues, his voice measured and careful. "After that night at your apartment... I hired a private investigator. I needed to understand why. You couldn't tell me, so I went looking for the answer myself." He swallows. “He found your team. He found Namjoon."

Your mind races, tripping over itself. "Namjoon doesn't know," you say, the realization bleeding through the shock. "He thinks this job is real."

"It is real." Jungkook's jaw tightens. "The funds exist. The transfer window is genuine. Everything Yoongi built, everything Namjoon planned, it works. I just made sure I was on the other end of it."

"Why?" The word comes out shredded. "If you knew– if you've known this whole time…why let us get this far? Why let me walk in here and–" Your voice breaks. "Why let me tell you about Hoseok like you didn't already know?"

Jungkook flinches. It's the first true crack in his composure, a visible wound. "Because I needed to hear you say it." His voice drops. "I needed to know if you'd actually tell me the truth this time. Or if you'd just steal from me again."

The words land like a hand against your cheek. It’s not a violent slap per se, more devastatingly soft. Like the way he used to cup it before planting a kiss on your lips. 

You stare at him, tears sliding silently, and the worst part isn't the betrayal. The worst part is that you understand. You understand because you would have done the same thing. Maybe you already did.

"So this whole time," you say slowly, "you've been watching us. Watching me. Planning this the same way Namjoon planned the first heist." A bitter laugh escapes you, wet and fractured. "You out-heisted the heist."

"I didn't want to." The urgency in his voice surprises you. He steps closer, and the distance between you shrinks to something dangerous. You can feel the warmth of him, smell the cedar and something underneath it. It’s something that's just him, unchanged and achingly familiar. Your back is against the wall and he's close enough that if either of you breathed too deeply, you'd touch. But neither of you breathes too deeply and neither of you steps back.

"I didn't set out to trap you," he says, and his voice is low enough that you feel it more than hear it. It’s a vibration that moves through the small space between your bodies. "I set out to understand you. And then Taehyung told me about Hoseok, and how you sleep in a bed next to his almost every night." His voice wavers. "And I realized you weren't a thief. You were desperate. The same way I was desperate to know why."

His eyes drop to your mouth just for a second. It's just long enough for you to feel it like a physical touch. You press your back harder against the wall, as if the concrete can anchor you, because every nerve in your body is screaming at you to close the distance and every rational thought is screaming at you not to.

"There's more," he says, pulling his gaze back to your eyes with visible effort. "The half billion you came here to steal, it's not mine."

You blink. "What?"

"The parent fund, GFC Capital,” he starts. “My name's on it. Every press release, every letterhead. But the money inside it isn't clean." His jaw tightens with controlled fury. "Three board members have been siphoning funds through shell companies for two years. Foreign accounts, fabricated invoices, phantom subsidiaries. By the time my forensic auditors flagged it, they'd already moved close to $400 million through channels I couldn't touch without exposing the entire fund which includes the legitimate investors who'd lose everything."

"Your own board has been stealing from you."

"From everyone. Pension funds. Institutional investors. People who trusted GFC Capital with their futures." His voice is cold now, but the coldness isn't aimed at you. "And I couldn't go public because the moment I do, the fund collapses, the stock craters, and thousands of people lose their retirement savings. The corruption has to be excised without killing the patient."

The medical metaphor isn't lost on you.

"So you need someone to move the money," you say slowly, the architecture of his plan assembling itself in your mind. "Someone outside the system. Someone untraceable."

"Someone who's already proven they can get in, take what they need, and disappear." He holds your gaze. "I didn't pick your team because of our history. I picked them because they're good. Yoongi's Obsidian protocol is better than anything my security consultants could design. And Namjoon's operational planning is…" He pauses, a reluctant admission pulling at his mouth. "Annoyingly brilliant."

"So we're not robbing you."

"You're robbing the people who robbed me. And the $500 million you redirect through Obsidian doesn't vanish. It gets funnelled into a forensic trust that my legal team uses to build a case. Every transaction Yoongi routes becomes evidence, every node, every wallet, every timestamp." You realize it's a paper trail that looks invisible from the outside but reads like a confession from the inside.

You stare at him. The magnitude of it settles over you in layers. First, it’s the relief that you're not betraying him again, then the fury that he manipulated you into it, then the grudging, bone-deep recognition that it's exactly what you would have done.

The relief that floods through you is so disproportionate to the moment that it embarrasses you. You press your lips together, looking at the ceiling, and you hear him exhale.

Jungkook’s expression sobers. He reaches into his jacket pocket. His hand passes close enough to your hip that you feel the displacement of air, and what he pulls out makes your breath stop.

A bright blue plastic ring. It's faded, chipped and absolutely ridiculous that it's here in front of you. It's the one you won him at the carnival, the one he wore for the rest of the night because it matched his shirt.

He holds it between his thumb and forefinger, studying it in the bare light. You watch his hands, the same hands that held you, turn it slowly, and your throat tightens with something that isn't only grief.

"I could've helped," he says quietly. "If you had told me about him from the start, I would have helped." His voice frays. "You just had to trust me."

"I know," you whisper. Because what else is there? He's right. He's been right this entire time, and the most excruciating part is that some desperate, frightened version of you from two years ago knew it too and chose theft over trust anyway. That's what it was at the end of the day, pure desperation.

His hand rises almost involuntarily and his thumb grazes the edge of your jaw. It's featherlight and barely there, gone before you can lean into it. The touch lasts less than a second, but it sends a current through you that buckles your knees. He pulls his hand back like he's been burned, fingers curling into his palm.

"Sorry," he says. He doesn't look sorry. He looks wrecked.

"Namjoon and Yoongi," you manage, dragging yourself back from the edge. "Are you going to—"

"Nobody's getting arrested." He says it firmly. "I told you before, it was never about the money. It's still not." He exhales. "But the transfer needs to happen tonight. The way Yoongi designed it."

In your ear, Yoongi's voice returns, oblivious. "Four minutes to mirror window. _____, I need you at the east wing terminal. Where are you?"

You close your eyes.

"What do you need from me?" Jungkook asks you. He looks at you for a long time. The bare bulb flickers once, casting his face in a brief strobe of shadow.

You look down at the purse hanging off your shoulder and unclip it open. From there, you pull out the small tablet Yoongi placed earlier with the calibration screen already on display for his fingerprint. 

“Preferably your thumb or index finger.” You repeat Yoongi’s words.

As Jungkook registers his fingerprint, you stare at him. You stare at the ring still in his fingers, the boy underneath the CEO, at the man who kept a worthless piece of plastic in his pocket for over a year because it was the last honest thing you’d given him. 

"Go," he says softly, turning the tablet back to you and creating space between you as he steps back. "Clock's ticking."

You go but before you do, Jungkook grabs your wrist and spins you toward him and then his mouth is on yours and every carefully constructed thing inside you comes apart at once.

It isn't gentle. It isn't the kind of kiss that asks permission or makes apologies. It is a year of silence compressed into something urgent and graceless and completely beyond either of your better judgments. His free hand comes up to cup the side of your face with a pressure that says stay even as everything around you is screaming go. You feel the cold of his ring against your jaw and it undoes you further.

You kiss him back. Of course you do. You kiss him back like you've been holding your breath for over twelve months and he is the only available air. Your fingers twisting into the lapel of his jacket, pulling him closer.

He makes a low sound against your mouth. His hand slides from your face to the back of your neck, thumb tracing the line of your jaw on its way. It’s unhurried despite the chaos assembling itself on the other side of the ballroom. You feel the warmth of his palm against your bare skin and your brain goes briefly, completely white.

Then his forehead drops to yours. Both of you breathing, the fraction of space between your mouths charged and unbearable.

His jaw tightens. "I couldn't make myself believe you were only that."

"Jungkook–"

"Go." His voice comes out rough at the edges. He pulls back, not far, just enough to look at you, and what's on his face is the full version of everything he's been carefully not showing all evening. Raw and steady and terrifying in its patience. Like a man who has decided he can wait a little longer now that he knows there's something worth waiting for. "Come back when it's done."

It's the come back that breaks you open.

You release his lapel. You smooth the fabric with your palm out of some automatic instinct toward repair, and his hand falls from your neck slowly but his fingertips last. It's like he's reluctant to confirm the absence.

You step back. Then another step. Your heels find their purpose again.

"When it's done," you repeat. A promise shaped like an echo.

His eyes hold yours until the crowd swallows you.

The east wing terminal is exactly where Yoongi's schematics said it would be, tucked behind a service door at the end of a corridor branching off the main ballroom. Namjoon is already there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his charcoal suit jacket unbuttoned. He straightens when he sees you.

"Where the hell have you been?" His voice is a controlled hiss. "Yoongi's been—"

"I know." You cut past him and approach the terminal. A sleek console is embedded in the wall, its screen dark waiting. "I'm here. Let's go."

Namjoon studies you and you hope he doesn’t notice the distinct flush of your cheeks. He has that look, the one that precedes an interrogation. But there isn't time.

"Yoongi," you say into the mic. "I'm at the terminal."

"Finally." His relief is audible. "Placing the tablet on the scanner now, biometric should authenticate in three… two…"

A soft chime. The screen illuminates, casting blue light across your face.

[BIOMETRIC AUTHENTICATION: ACCEPTED]

"We're in." Yoongi's voice accelerates, the flat effect giving way to focused energy. "Mirror sequence initiating. Seven minutes forty-three seconds. Starting the Obsidian routing, first tranche moving through Node Alpha." Whatever he said is all gibberish to you as you watch numbers cascade down the terminal screen too fast to comprehend. 

Your palms are slick against the console's edge. A bead of sweat tracks down the back of your neck, disappearing into the fabric of your gown. Every sound is amplified, the hum of the terminal, your own breathing and the distant echo of the ballroom.

Then you both hear footsteps in the corridor behind you. 

You spin. Namjoon's hand shoots to your arm, pulling you behind the terminal alcove. You both press flat against the wall, heartbeats competing. Through the crack in the service door, you see a security guard pass with an earpiece in, flashlight sweeping in a lazy arc. He pauses at the junction, tilts his head like he's listening to something on his radio, then continues down the opposite corridor.

You don't breathe again until his footsteps fade.

"Security sweep, east wing," Yoongi reports, his voice tight. "Routine. You're clear. Five minutes remaining."

Namjoon steps back to the terminal, eyes fixed on the screen. "It's working," he breathes. For the first time in months, you hear something in his voice you'd almost forgotten. It’s unguarded, uncalculated hope. "It's actually working."

You feel sick.

"Namjoon," you say quietly, your eyes still on the screen. The numbers keep cascading. Four minutes left.

"Not now."

"It has to be now."

Something in your tone makes him turn. His brow creases, then furrows, then drops into the expression you've come to associate with the moments before everything goes wrong.

"What did you do?" he asks.

"It's not what I did." You finally look at him. "It's what Jungkook did."

The name hits him like a slap. His eyes narrow. "What about him?"

"He knows, Joon." You say it plainly, the way Hoseok told you the truth deserved to be said without cushion. "He's known the whole time. The job, the Obsidian protocol. He's the one who set it up."

Namjoon goes very still. It’s not the calculated stillness of a strategist processing variables its the stillness of a man whose operating system has crashed.

"That's not possible," he says.

"The investigator who fed you the job, he works for Jungkook. Has been the whole time."

You watch the sequence unfold on Namjoon's face. It's disbelief, analysis, and fury. Each phase is distinct and each lasting exactly as long as it takes for the next to overwhelm it. His hands ball into fists at his sides.

"He played us." The words come through his teeth.

"He guided us." You echo Jungkook's word deliberately. "Namjoon, the money we're moving right now is not Jungkook's. It belongs to corrupt board members who've been embezzling from his fund for years. We're not robbing him. We're helping him clean house."

"I don't give a damn whose money it is!" Namjoon's voice rises, bouncing off the corridor. "He manipulated us and he used us like fucking tools—"

"The way we used me?" The question leaves you before you can measure it, and it lands with surgical precision. Namjoon's mouth snaps shut.

Two minutes left. The numbers keep falling.

"He's not pressing charges," you say. "He never was. He built this so we could do what we're good at and so the people who actually deserve to be caught get caught."

Namjoon's chest heaves. He looks at the terminal, at the cascading numbers that represent everything he's spent months planning, and you watch the terrible realization settle over him: his masterwork was never his. Every contingency he mapped, every variable he accounted for, every sleepless night spent perfecting the plan– all of it ran on tracks that Jungkook had laid first.

"Ninety seconds," Yoongi reports. "Third tranche routing clean. No flags."

Namjoon stares at the screen. His fists unclench, finger by finger.

"Does Yoongi know?" he asks quietly.

"Not yet."

He nods. Something shifts behind his eyes. "The board members," he says. "Who are they?"

"Jungkook has the details."

"Of course he does." A bitter exhale. Then, quieter: "Is the evidence actually solid? If this goes to prosecution–"

"He has a forensic team. The Obsidian routing creates the trail. Every transaction we move tonight becomes a timestamped record."

"Thirty seconds," Yoongi's voice. "Final tranche clearing now."

Namjoon watches the last numbers fall. When the screen flashes [TRANSFER COMPLETE — MIRROR SEQUENCE CLOSING], he lets out a breath that seems to carry years in it.

"So we just helped a billionaire take out his own trash," Namjoon says flatly.

"We helped a man who could've sent us to prison choose to give us a second chance instead."

Namjoon's jaw clenches. He doesn't look at you when he speaks again.

"I want to talk to him. Directly."

"He's in the ballroom."

"Fuck. Okay." Namjoon pushes off the wall, buttoning his jacket with sharp, precise movements. He pauses at the corridor entrance before half-turning to you.

"For what it's worth," he says, his voice stripped of its usual command, "I'm sorry. For putting you in the middle of this. For making you the weapon." He swallows. "You deserved better than that."

Before you can respond, he's gone.

You stand alone in the corridor. The terminal screen has gone dark. The earpiece is silent, Yoongi running post-transfer protocols in focused quiet surely.

You lean against the wall and close your eyes.

When you return to the ballroom almost thirty-five minutes later, the scene that greets you is one you couldn't have predicted.

Hoseok is seated at a table near the east columns, his cane propped against the chair beside him. Across from him sits Jungkook, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He's listening to whatever Hoseok is saying that has Jungkook's complete attention. It’s not the typical polite, half-engaged attention of a CEO at a networking event, but the focused, full-bodied attention of a person hearing something that matters.

And Hoseok is laughing.

It's not the full, room-filling laugh you remember from before. It's thinner, breathier, punctuated by pauses where his lungs catch up. But it's real. And Jungkook is smiling. An actual smile, slightly crooked, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

You stop mid-step, afraid that moving closer will break whatever fragile thing is happening between them.

Hoseok spots you first. He waves you over, and as you approach, you catch the tail end of whatever story he's been telling.

"—and she just stood there with spaghetti sauce on her face, trying to convince Namjoon that Italian cooking was her hidden talent." Hoseok wheezes slightly on the last word, pressing a hand to his chest. "She burned the garlic bread so badly the smoke detector went off twice."

Jungkook's eyes flick to you as you reach the table, and the amusement in them is so unexpected it winds you. "Sounds familiar," he says, and there's a warmth there that has no business existing tonight. "She tried to make me dinner once. I think I'm still recovering."

"Slander," you manage, sinking into the chair between them. "Both of you."

Hoseok's laughter fades into a cough but it’s just one and it's enough to remind everyone at the table of the stakes. He waves off your concern before it reaches your face.

Then Namjoon appears.

He approaches the table with the measured stride of a man who has reorganized his entire worldview in the span of a hallway walk. His eyes move from Hoseok to you to Jungkook, where they settle.

"Mr. Jeon," Namjoon says. His voice is level.

Jungkook rises from his chair. He stands a full inch shorter than Namjoon, but the height difference isn't what fills the space between them. It's everything else.

"Kim Namjoon," Jungkook says. Neither extends a hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Apparently not as much as you already knew."

A moment passes. Then, impossibly, the corner of Jungkook's mouth twitches. "Your operational planning is impressive. Taehyung's words, not mine."

"I'll be sure to thank the man who conned me," Namjoon replies, dry as bone. But there's no venom in it- just pure exhaustion and grudging respect.

Jungkook gestures to the chairs. "Sit down. We have a lot to discuss."

Namjoon glances at you. You nod.

He sits.

And from his chair, cane resting against his knee, oxygen concentrator humming quietly in the bag beneath the table, Hoseok watches the architect of his survival sit down across from the man whose money built it.

He reaches for his water glass, takes a slow sip, and closes his eyes.

For the first time in a very long while, he isn't counting breaths, he's just breathing.

Jungkook speaks quietly. "The board members, Park Chansik, Lee Minho, Kwon Jaesung– my legal team has everything they need as of forty minutes ago. The Obsidian routing created a clean timestamped trail. Prosecution is already in motion." He looks at Namjoon evenly. "No one at this table will be contacted by law enforcement. That was never the intended outcome."

Namjoon is quiet for a long moment. His hands are flat on the table. You watch him work through it, the last of the resistance, the pride that has kept him upright through years of operating in margins and shadows. You watch him set it down.

"You could have done this without us," Namjoon says.

"Yes."

"But you needed someone who wouldn't leave a trail back to you."

"I needed people who were good at what they do," Jungkook says. "There's a difference."

Another silence. Then Namjoon exhales through his nose, slow and controlled. "If you ever need anything," he says, each word measured, "done legitimately." He pauses. "You know where to find me."

It isn't quite gratitude. It isn't quite an apology. It is, you think, the closest Namjoon has ever come to either in a single sentence.

Jungkook nods. "I do."

Namjoon stands, straightening his jacket. He looks at you and something passes across his face that's complicated, brief and genuine.

"Take care of yourself," he says.

Then he's gone, swallowed by the ballroom's glittering current, and you think that wherever he ends up next will be somewhere worth being.

Jungkook turns to Hoseok.

He doesn't ease into it. You've come to understand this about him, that he reserves gentleness for his delivery, not his honesty.

"I'll be covering your treatment going forward," he says. "Full continuity of care. Whatever the next stage requires." He holds Hoseok's gaze. "No debt and no condition attached to it."

Hoseok is quiet. The ballroom moves around you three in almost slow motion. 

Then Hoseok slowly nods in the way you'd accept something you'd almost stopped believing was possible. His jaw works briefly and then steadies. His eyes are very bright but nothing falls.

"Okay," he says softly. The same word Jungkook gave you earlier, carrying the same impossible weight. There's no reason to say thank you. What's done is done and he can only be internally grateful.

Jungkook nods back. The matter is settled in the way that only truly important things are, in the space between two people who have decided to mean what they say.

Under the table, you find Hoseok's hand and press it once. He squeezes back and doesn't let go for a long moment. He’s going to be okay. 

You take Hoseok out through the east corridor, away from the crowds, his cane tapping its familiar rhythm against the marble. At the rear exit, where the town car is already waiting, you both stop.

The autumn air is sharper now. Hoseok tilts his face up toward the sky, eyes closing briefly, and you watch him breathe it in deliberately.

"Hoseok—"

"Don't," he says gently, eyes still closed. "Don't do the thing where you cry and then apologize for crying."

"I wasn't going to cry."

"You absolutely were." He opens his eyes and looks at you, and the smile that follows is the full radiant one, the one that has survived everything. "Go back inside. Yoongi will ride with me." As if summoned, your earpiece crackles.

“Already on my way down,” Yoongi says, flat and fond in equal measure. “Go back inside.”

You look at Hoseok for a long moment. At the ill-fitting suit and the too-sharp cheekbones and the eyes that are still, despite everything, the brightest thing in any room he enters.

"You planned this," you say quietly. "All of it. Getting me here, saying what you said to him."

"I have limited time and unlimited audacity," he replies serenely. "It seemed efficient."

A sound escapes you that is almost a laugh. You step forward and press your forehead to his, carefully, the way you handle things that matter. His free hand comes up to the back of your head and holds you there for a moment.

"Go," he murmurs. "Be happy. That's an order."

You pull back. You smooth his lapel and he lets you.

The ballroom has thinned. The late hour has winnowed the crowd to its most committed members, small clusters of people with nowhere better to be. The string quartet is replaced by something low and recorded. The chandeliers are still burning but they feel softer now.

You find him where you somehow knew you would. Not waiting dramatically or posed. He’s simply there, standing near the tall windows at the far end of the room, looking out at the city below with his jacket unbuttoned and his glass long since abandoned. Like a man who has finished the work of the evening and is simply existing in what remains of it.

He hears your heels before he sees you. You watch his shoulders shift slightly, just a fraction, the body registering something before the mind catches up.

When he turns, his eyes find yours immediately.

"Hoseok?" he asks.

"With Yoongi. And Namjoon."

His expression softens. "Good.”

He looks at you across the remaining distance, and there is nothing careful in it anymore. The composure that has been doing its careful architectural work all evening has finally, quietly, stood down.

"My suite is on the fourteenth floor," he says.

It isn't a question and it isn't quite an invitation. It is simply a fact, offered plainly, leaving the rest entirely to you.

You cross the distance between you.

"Then take me there," you say.

The elevator ascends in silence.

You're aware of everything. The warmth radiating off him where your arm almost touches his. The slight unevenness of his breathing. Your own reflection in the mirrored doors, the emerald gown and the lipstick worn down to almost nothing. It’s the evidence of a night that has taken you apart and put you back together in a different order.

His hand finds yours somewhere between the eighth and ninth floor. It’s not dramatic but it does knock some kind of breath out of you. It’s the way his fingers slide between yours like they belong there and they remember the divots.

You look down at your joined hands. You don't say anything and neither does he.

The doors open.

His suite is at the end of a quiet corridor, all muted carpet and low light. He unlocks the door and holds it open and when you step through, you hear it close behind you. The sound of the latch catching feels like the period at the end of a very long sentence yet your heartbeat quickens. You can’t believe you’re here with Jungkook. After everything, the year of inner turmoil and hospital stays. 

You turn and Jungkook is already looking at you. 

And then there is no more careful distance. No more city full of people between you and this.

He reaches you in two strides and his mouth finds yours, and it's nothing like the kiss downstairs, which was urgent, surprised and compressed. This is slower and more devastating, his hands cupping your face with a pressure that says I have been thinking about this for a very long time and his mouth moving against yours like he intends to be thorough about it.

"I've thought about this," he says against your mouth, low and rough at the edges. "More than I should have."

"Tell me," you breathe. His mouth feels so good on you.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and intent. What's on his face is the unguarded version, the one with nothing between you and it.

"Every version of how it should have gone," he says. His thumb traces your jaw, slowly, deliberate. "Every version where you stayed."

Something in your chest cracks cleanly open.

You pull him back to you.

He finds the zip at the back of your gown with careful hands, drawing it down slowly, like he's unwrapping something he plans to take his time with. The silk loosens around you and he peels it from your shoulders with a patience that borders on unbearable, pressing his mouth to each inch of skin he uncovers. He starts at your shoulder then moves along the curve of your neck to the line of your collarbone.

The gown pools at your feet.

He looks at you. Really looks, in the low warm light of the suite, with an expression that makes your skin feel like it belongs to you differently than it did before.

"God," he says softly.

You reach for his shirt buttons. Your fingers are steadier than they were this morning with the lipstick and you're obscurely proud of this, working each button open while he watches you with that lustful, patient attention. His hands rest at your hips as if he's restraining them.

You push the shirt open and run your palms flat up his chest, feeling him pull in a slow breath.

"Your turn," you say.

It seems as though his patience reaches its limit as something shifts in him. 

He walks you backward to the bed, not roughly but with a decisive authority that makes your breath catch, his mouth finding your neck, your shoulder, the curve of your ear, cataloguing you the way he always did.

When the backs of your knees meet the mattress he lowers you onto it and follows, bracing above you. The weight of him bracketing you feels like the answer to a question you've been carrying for over a year. 

"I missed you," you say. The words come out unplanned. 

He goes very still above you. His doe eyes find yours in the low light.

"I know," he says. And then, quieter, his forehead dropping to yours: "I missed you every single day."

The words dissolve whatever was left of the distance. 

What follows is desperate in the way that only reunion can be, the kind of desperate that isn't frantic but deep, the satisfaction of finally filling a space that has been hollow too long. 

He starts at your throat.

His mouth drags slowly down the column of your neck, and you feel the graze of his teeth at your pulse point before he soothes it with his tongue. Your fingers go into his hair automatically, the muscle memory of a body that never forgot him even when you were trying to. He makes a low sound of approval against your skin that vibrates all the way down your spine. His hands map you like he's reclaiming territory. Palms sliding up your sides, thumbs tracing the undersides of your ribs, learning the topography of you with an unhurried thoroughness.

He cups your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra and watches your face when he does it, taking in your reaction with those dark intent eyes.

"Still the same," he murmurs, more to himself than to you, unclasping your bra and drawing it away. He looks at you in the low light of the suite for a long moment, chest rising and falling. It’s like he’s learning you back like a language he was afraid he'd forgotten. He then dips his head and takes one nipple into his mouth and you arch off the bed with a sharp inhale.

He is not merciful about it. He takes his time, his tongue circling and his teeth grazing, one hand attending to what his mouth isn't. By the time he moves lower, your hands are fisted in the sheets and you have entirely abandoned any pretense of composure.

His mouth traces down your sternum, your stomach, pausing at your hip to press a kiss to the bone that is soft enough to undo you in an entirely different way. His fingers hook into the last of your underwear and draw it down slowly. He looks up at you from where he is and the expression on his face is dark, patient and wanting. It makes your breath stall completely.

"Jungkook—"

"I've got you," he says quietly. And then his mouth finds the most sensitive part of you and every coherent thought you had evaporates.

He is meticulous. Devastatingly and deliberately meticulous, like he has all night and intends to use it. His tongue works in slow controlled strokes against your clit while his hands hold your hips with a firmness that makes it clear he'll set the pace, not you. You try anyway, your hips rolling, chasing, but he presses down until you still beneath him.

"Stay," he says against you, the word more felt than heard.

You make a sound that is almost his name.

He takes you apart with a patience that borders on cruel, bringing you to the edge twice and pulling back. He reads your body with an attention to detail that makes you feel known like he did back then. By the time he finally lets you fall over it, you've said his name so many times it's lost all meaning and found a new one.

You're still catching your breath when he kisses his way back up your body. He tastes of you when his mouth finds yours and you feel it everywhere. His weight settles over you and you reach between his legs, wrapping your hand around the thick and warm cock. You feel him shudder against your throat. 

And then you flip him.

He lands on his back with a slight exhale of surprise and you rise over him with intent. There’s a look on his face when he registers what you're doing. Surprise cedes to something darker and more interested, sending heat flooding through you all over again.

You take your time the same way he did, because you have your own year's worth of thinking about this. Your mouth traces his chest, his stomach and the deep cut of muscle below his hip until his hand fists in your hair and his breathing has gone ragged.

"_____." His voice is strained. A warning and a plea at once.

"Stay," you say against his skin, throwing his own word back at him.

He says something under his breath that might be a curse.

You take him into your mouth and his whole body goes taut, the hand in your hair tightening. A low broken sound escapes him that you feel in your chest like a struck chord. You are thorough about it in the same way he was thorough about you. You're being carefully slow and attentive. You're entirely in control. 

His grip in your hair tightens further and he pulls you up with a firmness that makes it clear the balance of power has shifted again.

He rolls you back beneath him in one fluid motion.

"Enough," he says roughly, and his voice has lost all its careful edges. He looks at you with his hair disheveled and his chest heaving and every last layer of composure completely dismantled. He truly is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. "I need to feel you."

"Then feel me," you say.

He does.

The moment he presses into you for the first time you both go very still. His forehead drops to yours. Your hands grip his shoulders. The room is completely quiet except for both of you breathing.

"Okay?" he asks softly.

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes."

He begins to roll his hips back before thrusting forward. 

It's slow at first, deep and measured with each movement deliberate. You haven’t had sex in so long, it feels like the first time again. The uncontrollable way your skin buzzes with need makes your hands slide down his back and pull him closer. It’s urgent and he obliges, the pace building in increments that winds you tighter with every thrust. 

His mouth finds your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. He says your name once, quietly, like it's something he's been holding carefully for a long time. You can’t help the onslaught of moans that bleed past your lips. Feeling him like this again is so sinfully beautiful. 

Then the slowness runs out.

What replaces it is urgent, consuming and entirely mutual. His hands grip your hips and yours grip him back, both of you chasing the same thing with equal desperation. The headboard and the low sounds he makes against your throat is everything that has been held tightly finally, completely releasing. You feel it building at the base of your spine, tightening. He must feel it too because his hand slides between you and finds exactly the right place to be. You shatter with his name in your mouth and your fingers in his hair as he drags his thumb in circles around your sensitive bud. 

He follows moments later, his whole body going rigid, your name broken apart on his lips as he buries himself deep and holds there. 

The feeling of it, of him, of this, of all the right pieces finally back in place, is so complete that your eyes sting with something that has nothing to do with sadness.

Afterward the room settles around you like an exhale.

He gathers you against his chest without a word, one hand moving slowly through your hair. Your ear is pressed to his heartbeat and you count it without meaning to. It's the way you've been counting Hoseok's breaths for months, the habit of holding onto proof of life.

His heartbeat is steady and real and yours again. 

The suite holds you both in its quiet, the city burning silently beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, all that distant light doing nothing to touch the stillness in here. His hand moves through your hair in slow, absent strokes. Your fingers trace idle patterns on his chest without deciding to.

This is the part you didn't let yourself imagine. Not the wanting, you'd lived inside that for twelve months without permission. But this. The after. The specific peace of lying in the wreckage of everything that was held too long and finding it habitable. Finding it, impossibly, like home.

"I have something to tell you," he says eventually. His voice is low and unhurried. It's the voice he uses when he's simply finding the words for it.

You tilt your head up to look at him.

"Tonight at the gala" he says, his eyes on the ceiling. "When you walked across that ballroom toward me." A pause. "I'd been planning every variable for months. Every possible outcome." His jaw shifts. "And then you were just…there. In that dress. Walking toward me like it cost you something, and I couldn't remember a single thing I'd prepared."

You're quiet for a moment. "Good," you say finally. "That means you care." Echoing Hoseok’s words. 

He looks down at you. 

He exhales something that is almost a soft laugh, and presses his lips to the top of your head. You feel him settle more completely into the mattress beneath you, some last residual tension finally locating the exit.

"I want to do this properly," he says. "Whatever comes next. I want to do it right."

You think about what right means, after everything. After the theft and the year of silence and the gala and Hoseok. After Namjoon's careful penance and Yoongi running an operation from a service van two blocks away because that's simply the kind of person he is. After all of it.

"Right doesn't look the same as it did before," you say carefully.

"No," he agrees. "It looks like this. Like whatever this is." His arm tightens around you slightly. "I just want it to be honest."

You press your palm flat against his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath it.

"Then we start there," you say.

He turns his head and finds your mouth in the dark, slow and soft. It’s the kind of kiss that isn't going anywhere because it doesn't need to.

You fall asleep before you mean to, somewhere between one breath and the next, his heartbeat counting you down into something that feels, for the first time in a very long time, like genuine rest.

Spring arrives quickly, the days in winter blurring into one giant thing.

Hoseok's new facility is twenty minutes from the city center, close enough that you can visit twice a week without rearranging your life around it. The room has a window that faces east, which he requested specifically because he has developed strong opinions about morning light now that mornings are something he's decided to keep having.

He looks different. Not restored to before but present in a way that was once uncertain. The sharpness has softened back into his face by degrees. He laughs fully now, the room-filling version, and his lungs mostly cooperate.

Today he's sitting up in the chair by the window when you arrive, a book open in his lap and Jimin cross-legged on the floor beside him, arguing about something with the comfortable ferocity of people who have known each other long enough to mean nothing by it. That’s right, Jimin is back and his hair is blond now. It came as a text on a random Tuesday to let him into your house and he never left again since.

"She's here," Jimin announces without looking up. "Tell him he's wrong about the ending."

"I'm not getting involved," you say, setting the takeout containers on the table.

"You're already involved," Hoseok says. "You brought food. That's a political statement."

Jungkook arrives twenty minutes later, still in his work shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The sight of him in this room, standing in the doorway of the place his money is keeping lit and warm and full of morning light, does something to you that nine months hasn't made ordinary.

He crosses to you first. Presses a kiss to your temple. His hand rests at the small of your back like it lives there, because it does now.

Hoseok watches this with the expression of a man who has been right about something for a very long time.

"I'm not going to say I told you so," he announces to the room.

"You absolutely are," Jimin replies.

"I told you so," Hoseok says serenely.

Yoongi arrives last, because Yoongi always arrives last, sliding into the remaining chair with a convenience store coffee and the flat affect of a man who finds this entire situation both deeply chaotic and exactly correct. He looks around the room. At Jimin on the floor. At Hoseok in the light. At you and Jungkook and the space between you that has finally, completely closed.

He takes a sip of his coffee.

"Good," he says simply.

And it is. It genuinely, completely is.

Namjoon sends a message that evening, while you're in the car going home with Jungkook's hand over yours on the console. A single line, no context, typical of him.

Started something new. Legitimate. Thought you should know.

You show it to Jungkook. He reads it and smiles.

"Good for him," he says.

You lean your head against the window. The city moves past in its familiar blur of light and shadow. Jungkook's thumb traces slow circles on the back of your hand.

Nothing was returned to its original shape. That's not how any of this works. People don't unbreak, they rebuild differently. The seams show, and that's fine. That's more than fine.

You turn your hand over from under his and lace your fingers together.

Outside the window the city burns on, brilliant and ordinary and alive.

So do you.

all rights reserved © jeongi

[A/N]" *taps mic* is this thing on??

it's been a long wait my friends but i hope it was worth the 6 year wait. i hope this closes a chapter you all have been waiting for and as always, i hope you enjoyed tmnl jungkook again (: i promised it would be a happy ending xx

thank you for your patience and thank you for continuously supporting me after all this time. i love you to no end ♡

[awrkive]

[ masterlist of series the love prognosis by awrkive ]

legend

❀ ; fluff ♡ ; smut ✧ ; angst

main masterlist

↳ warnings are stated in the link of each chapter itself as well as on this navi page — all of my works are 18+ so minors, DNI !!

summary for as long as you can remember, you've always been a hopeless romantic. the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.

tags medical!au, surgeon!jk, surgeon!(fem)reader, corporate lawyer!mingyu, rommates!au, f2l(?)

status; completed

total word count: 90.9k words (excl. drabbles)

moodboard • playlist • tlp!jk visual

tlp tag ( fic discourse ) • taglist ( CLOSED ) • tlp extras ( texts + social media shenanigans) • amm ( ask the characters anything )

drabble #3: in which jungkook meets oc for the first time

drabble #7: in which jungkook just wants a little bit of attention

drabble #1: in which doyeon confesses to jungkook in med school

drabble #2: in which taehyung figures jungkook out

main story;

𓍯 the love prognosis

one: in which you give another romantic relationship a try again after four years

↳ genre & warnings: ❀ ; ♡ ; ✧ ; explicit sexual content: cunnilingus, dry humping, making out ; mature language ; alcohol consumption ; slight angst: arguments

two: in which everything is suddenly not the way they are anymore

↳ genre & warnings: ❀ ; ✧ ; mature content: making out ; mature language ; alcohol consumption ; angst

three: in which you navigate the possibility of a completely different relationship with your best friend, jeon jungkook

↳ genre & warnings: ❀ ; ♡ ; ✧ ; explicit sexual content: mature language ; alcohol consumption ; unprotected sex ; protected sex ; multiple sex positions ; multiple orgasms ; oral sex (f&m receiving) ; angst ; fluff

drabble #8: in which you and jungkook try out bdsm ( ♡ )

drabble #4: in which you find jungkook in loose plaid boxers incredibly hot ( ♡ )

drabble #5: in which jungkook proposes

drabble #6: in which you get a baby fever ( ♡ )

[ faq about tlp story ]

ask #1: jk and mingyu undergrad days

ask #2: tlp timeline

all right reserved © awrkive, 2024. no reposts, translations, modification, and copying allowed. if you enjoy my work/s and have the extra means, please consider supporting me on ko-fi <3

[dreamersparacosm]

when did you get hot? ᯓ★ jeon jungkook

— a dreamersparacosm 7k special .ᐟ.ᐟ

SUMMARY. Life after high school has been pretty mundane. Give or take a few breakups, a few quarter life crises, you’ve done well for yourself. Enter Jeon Jungkook: a blast from the past and your ex-Chemistry tutor, except now, it seems he's traded in his glasses and textbooks for a lip piercing and tattoos. The universe is clearly testing you... or maybe it's giving you one last shot to get it right.

pairing. jeon jungkook x reader

word count. 21.7k

warnings/genre. ex-cheerleader!reader, oc used to be a mean girl, ex-nerd!jungkook, jungkook used to be OBSESSED with oc, like clinically obsessed (what is wrong with him), slight sexting (kinda maybe) alcohol consumption, jimin instigating but what’s new, making out in dirty club hallways, fingering in an uber, he’s HUNGRYYY, he has a d*ck piercing!, oral (f receiving), you bounce on it, he fucks you while carrying you, idk read the rest they have sex, he cums inside you

note. WE NEED TO BRING BACK THE DYING ART OF A 10k+ WORD ONE-SHOT. the concept of publishing a 7k celly when my 6k celly hasn’t even been posted yet… i hate me too. i hit 7k a few days ago but this has been in the works since man’s best friend dropped. i’m quite proud of this, if i do say so myself. also before anyone yells at me, this was NOT on the to-do list but when there’s a will, there’s a way (or in my case, if you get a little tipsy, your brain starts thinking of ex-nerd!jungkook and this happens). this is just a fun little thing. porn with plot! but anywho, thank you all for following me, for engaging with my work, for continuing to give me a platform to share my passions. i love you all. here’s to many more celly’s!

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| when did you get hot? by sabrina carpenter

banner creds | masterlist

Saturdays. 3 PM. Brunch. It’s been carved in stone since the day you met Park Jimin during your freshman year at Yonsei University, when he was still closeted and you were still treating every night like your last on earth.

Today, he’s on a rampage about his fiancé of two years, Kim Taehyung.

“Do you know what he did? He bought a twelve foot cactus. Twelve. Fucking. Feet. And guess where it is now?” Jimin waves his fork dramatically, almost stabbing two nearby patrons in the process. “In the middle of our beautifully crafted living room. He’s lost his fucking mind.”

You hum, twirling a straw in your iced latte, half-listening and half-focused on the couple next to you who seems to be arguing. “So sorry, Jiminie. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Thank you.” He sighs. “It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen when I inevitably walk into it. You know, when I told Tae to pursue art, I didn’t think it meant this.”

Taehyung and Jimin have the kind of love story that makes romantic comedies look documentary-level realistic. By comparison, your love life is a blooper reel that never made it to air. They’ve been disgustingly in love since senior year of university, and you’ve been their trusty little third wheel. While it’s comforting to hang out with a couple that has a dynamic as healthy as theirs, you do have to fight the pang of jealousy that hits you everytime. 

“Last week it was the sculpture made of kitchen utensils. This week, desert plants. Next week? Probably something with a blow torch,” Jimin carries on, poking at his salad mercilessly. 

You snort. “Tae doesn’t know how to work a blow torch.”

“He could, is my point. He’ll try anything once.” Jimin’s eyes light suggestively, and the gag reflex hits fast and mercilessly. “Like that one time he wanted to try out suspension and—”

“Jimin. Please. I am trying to enjoy my coffee,” you plead. 

He rolls his eyes. “Like you don’t love us.”

“I do,” you reply quickly. “But please spare a girl the details of your sex escapades.”

“Maybe you’re bitter because you need some sex escapades of your own.” Jimin shrugs. He’s not saying it to be rude—the man doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, unless someone’s rude to his fiance. 

Poor Park Jimin has been running a one-man campaign to get you laid for months. The last time you remotely showed interest in a man was a year ago, and that catastrophe ended with you sobbing on their couch for 72 hours straight while Taehyung made you soup and Jimin burned sage to ‘cleanse the toxic energy.’

You have no interest in any of it.

Sure, sex is cool and all, but the idea of the emotional turmoil that comes with the territory seems like something you can do without. 

“What did I say about bringing up this topic again?” you groan. 

“C’mon, please tell me you have something new that’ll make me feel better about my cactus situation.”

Your fingers collect the condensation on your plastic cup, pretending to be deeply engrossed by it. “I have nothing.”

“So as exciting as my cactus?” 

Your foot kicks his ankle under the table and the noise he makes in retaliation is enough to get dirty looks from the other patrons. “Jesus Christ. Aren’t you a ball of fucking sunshine?” he moans in agony. “This is why you need to have sex. You get all crabby and violent when you don’t. When’s the last time you had sex again?”

Okay—there was that guy from the marketing conference in March…. No wait. That was last year. February? No, that was the guy who ghosted you after two dates. January? You weren’t even in the country in January. December feels like a decade ago but that was... oh god, was that really eight months ago? Nine? The guy with the man bun who worked at the bookstore and couldn’t find your— 

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Yikes.” He gives you a dramatic side-eye, one that screams you are a pathetic loser, but lovingly. “You need to stop getting coffee with me and go get coffee with a man.”

You frown. “Well, you’re a man?”

He rolls his eyes. “A man who doesn’t enjoy the good ol’ cock up his ass.”

Fair play. Jimin leans back in his chair, studying you intently. Never a good sign. “You know what your problem is?”

You pick up your latte, taking a few sips. “Enlighten me, Park Jimin.”

“You’re too picky.”

Coffee snorts out of your nostrils, landing right onto the table. Jimin flings napkins at the mess, disgusted. “I’m sorry, have you met me? I’ve went out with some weirdos.”

“No, no, not the weirdos.” He waves a hand in the air. He;s about to go on one of his famous monologues, and all you can do is sit back in horror and watch. “I’m talking about the good ones. The ones you actually like. You find one tiny flaw and suddenly it's ‘oh, he chews too loud’ or ‘he uses the wrong there, their, they're.’ Like, relax. Nobody’s perfect.”

“Really? Says the guy currently plotting his fiance’s death over a home decor choice.”

“That’s different.” Jimin’s pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, something he truly only does when you’ve exhausted his last nerve. “Taehyung and I are past the point of no return. We're in too deep. You, my dear sweet angel, are sabotaging perfectly good opportunities because you're scared.”

Of course, you’ve had this conversation with your therapist numerous times, and you’ll do anything to avoid the topic in your personal life.

But before you can open your mouth to argue, a voice cuts through. It’s low but polite, maybe a little uncertain. 

“Jimin-ssi?”

You don’t bother looking up to see who it is. Jimin knows everyone and their mother, their cousin, probably their dog too. Walking down the street with him is no easy feat, considering half of Seoul stops to talk to him. So, you do what you always do: focus on your phone and ignore the small talk about someone’s new job or whatever mundane life update they’re dying to share.

You scroll through Instagram, half-listening as they exchange pleasantries. Something about the gym, mutual friends, weekend plans. Standard small talk that you've heard a thousand times. 

“Yeah, bro, it’s been forever,” Jimin’s saying. He sounds happier than he normally does when he talks to these people. “I saw your LinkedIn update. How’s the new job treating you? Still insane?” 

“Better now that I’m settled in,” the mysterious voice responds, and there’s something familiar about it that tickles the back of your brain, but you’re too busy watching someone's Instagram story about their breakfast to pay attention. “The team’s chill, and I don’t have to be on call on weekends anymore.”

“You deserve it after all that overtime hell,” Jimin laughs. “Oh, hey, you should totally meet my friend [YN] here. [Y/N], this is Jeon Jungkook.”

Your head snaps up. Your phone falls to your lap. 

What. The. Fuck. 

You haven’t heard that name since high school. 

High school you, to put it mildly, was kind of a bitch.

You were a cheerleader, top of the social food chain. Naturally, you failed a few classes because you were too busy making out with Kim Mingyu behind the bleachers and planning which party to hit up on Friday night to care about things like academic integrity. 

When your GPA started looking tragic enough to threaten your spot as cheer captain, the guidance counselor assigned you a tutor. And since the universe loves to have fun with you, you were paired with Jeon Jungkook. Lanky, awkward Jeon Jungkook, with messy brown hair that looks like he cut it himself with safety scissors, thin silver glasses that slid down his nose every five seconds, and wide, innocent boba eyes. 

All that to say—you did what any mean girl would do and took advantage of him. Batted your eyelashes, laughed at his terrible jokes, and suddenly your chemistry homework was getting done without you having to lift a finger. 

Tests? He'd leave his answer sheet just visible enough for you to copy. 

Lab reports? Practically wrote themselves, if by ‘themselves’ you mean Jungkook wrote them while you filed your nails and complained about how boring science was. 

So, this? This has to be a comedic joke. This is a prank. Jimin is pranking you—it’s an elaborate one, you'll give him that. That's the only logical explanation because there is absolutely no way that the scrawny, stuttering kid who used to turn tomato red everytime you asked him to explain a chemistry problem is now standing here, towering over your table. 

The man who stands before you has a lip piercing, one that hugs the curvature of his pink lips. A sleeve of tattoos that curls down his arm in vivid ink. His hair is perfectly tousled, dark chestnut locks falling into each other. 

And most importantly, those arms. Biceps. He could probably bench press you. Why are you thinking about him bench pressing you? Stop thinking about him bench pressing you. Oh god, you're staring. You're definitely staring. Say something. Anything. Be cool.

He is—there's no other word for it—buff. Like, really buff. 

And he's looking right at you with dark eyes that definitely weren't that intense in high school, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“[Y/N] [Y/L/N]...” His voice has a deeper timber to it, with a confidence that high school Jungkook could never have. His tone alone is enough to send a shiver down your spine. “It’s been a minute.”

“Uh, I—yeah,” you gulp down a quarter-sized lump that magically appears in your throat. “It has.”

Smooth. Incredibly smooth. Someone needs to hand you a medal for conversational excellence. 

His eyes narrow into slits, like he’s analyzing you and your pathetic life. Sizing you up to discover that you’ve lost all importance in the world, and are now just another girl in the world. 

Jimin, completely oblivious to everything, beams at the two of you. “Amazing! You two already know each other.” He claps his hands together. “Jungkook, you should sit. [Y/N] and I were just catching up on her sad little love life.”

Damn you, Park Jimin. 

Maybe ten years ago, you wouldn’t have cared if he knew about your romantic failures, but with the black shirt hugging his biceps so perfectly, you resent Jimin’s openness. 

“I was not—” you protest, but Jungkook’s already got a hand on the empty chair between you two, plopping into it. 

“Was she now?” Jungkook tuts, looking over at you expectantly. “How sad is sad?”

“Okay, not sad.” You roll your eyes. “It’s just… quiet.”

His eyes dance with amusement, and you sink into the chair. “I can’t imagine you having trouble in this department.”

If only he knew the half of it. 

You open your mouth to combat the embarrassment, maybe to come up with some elaborate lie about how you have three dates lined up tomorrow night, but a server interrupts you before you get the chance. She smiles at Jungkook, and you can't help but note how her eyes twinkle when she realizes how utterly attractive he is. You sink one inch lower into the chair. 

Please don’t order, Jungkook. Ordering means staying and your brain (or your ego, for that matter) can’t take a second more. 

She asks what he wants, pearly whites on display, and he replies smoothly, “Just a black coffee is fine. Thanks, sweetheart.” 

He turns back to you and Jimin, smiling lightly. Behind him, the server trips over her own two feet a bit before adjusting her shirt and walking off. You watch the whole exchange with a weird feeling in your chest. It's not jealousy—you have no claim to be jealous. But it's something. Maybe annoyance that she was so obvious about it. Maybe annoyance that he didn't seem to notice. 

“So, how do you two know each other?” Jimin’s smile resembles a mischievous cartoon villain who just tied someone to railroad tracks. Vibrating with joy, eyes gleaming, the whole nine yards. You don’t even need to hear him speak to know what he’s thinking. 

“High school.” 

You and Jungkook both say in unison, surprising even yourself. He glances over at you before elaborating. “I was her Chemistry tutor.”

The memory alone sends shivers of disgust down your spine. You can still picture it so clearly: high school you in your cheer uniform, sitting across from him in the library with phone in hand, texting Mingyu about whose parents were out of town that weekend while Jungkook explained electron configurations. He’d push his glasses up his nose, stumble over his words when you’d sigh and lean forward, watch him turn crimson red and stutter through the rest of the explanation. 

Evil. Pure, unadulterated evil. 

“You needed a tutor in high school?” Jimin snorts, taking a long sip of his drink. 

“Hey, that shit isn’t easy.” You push his shoulder playfully. 

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, leaning forward in his chair. “Definitely not easy when you’re too busy with cheerleading practice to study.”

“And you were a cheerleader?” Jimin gapes.

“Okay, that’s enough reminiscing for today.”

Jimin raises his hand. “I’m not done reminiscing. I want to hear more about cheerleader [YN].”

Your face falls flat. Luckily, before Jungkook can embarrass you more with tales from a decade ago, the server comes back with his coffee, making sure to toss him the widest smile her pearly whites can muster. 

Jungkook’s lips wrap around the cup. Your eyes just so happen to fall on the movement, on the way they hug the rim. Were they always that kissable or did he get lip filler?

He meets your gaze.

Shit.

You turn back to Jimin, who’s eagerly awaiting more from Jungkook. “What else don’t I know about high school [Y/N]? She’s never told me anything.”

“Well,” Jungkook starts, and by the way his lips curve upwards, you can tell the next anecdote won’t be endearing. “She did ask me once if we could ‘skip the math parts’ of chemistry.”

Jimin bursts out in laughter. “You’re kidding me.”

“In my defense, chemistry is like, ninety percent math,” you retort. “That’s a reasonable request.”

“It really wasn’t,” Jungkook counters, and his grin widens. There’s something almost… predatory about it. Like he’s enjoying watching you squirm. “But then again, you always did think the rules didn’t apply to you.”

For a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at him. This confidence, this self-assured way he’s teasing you without a hint of anxiety that used to color every interaction, is foreign. 

The absolute worst part of it all is that if he wasn’t currently roasting you for being a shallow human being, this might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever witnessed. 

The eye contact, the slight smirk playing at his lips, the veins poking out of his biceps. All of it both excites and confuses you. 

“What do you mean?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence. 

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, laughs to himself. “Just that some things never really change.”

A pregnant pause fills the space. Jimin’s eyes dart between you two like he’s at the US Open and this is the match of the century. 

“You know, she also once asked me if atoms were contagious," Jungkook adds, turning to Jimin like you’re not even there. It’s a fucking power play—one that high school you invented—and you hate how effective it is. 

A long exhale leaves your mouth, and you have to bite back a thousand venomous words in retaliation. Jimin laughs. “Oh, don’t worry. In college, she asked me if square roots were plants.” 

Okay, so math wasn't your strongest suit. Sue a girl. 

Jungkook’s hands wrap around his cup, taking a quick sip. They’re bigger than you remember, rougher, with calluses to match. 

Truthfully, everything about him is just… more. Bigger, broader, bolder.

You shift gears, clearing your throat to interrupt whatever powwow Jungkook and Jimin have going on regarding your academic life. “What do you do now?” 

“Software development.” Jungkook almost seems surprised that you have an interest in his life. “Started at a startup, but I just moved to a bigger company.”

“What kind of software?” you ask mindlessly, happy to have the attention finally off you. 

“Mobile apps. Some web development.” Jungkook shrugs like it’s nothing, but you catch the hint of pride in his tone. “Nothing crazy.”

Jimin chimes in, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, [Y/N] works in marketing for a tech company. You guys probably have tons in common now.”

You want to sink through the floor. Actually—scratch that. Sinking through the floor isn’t enough. You need the floor to open up, swallow you whole, digest you, and then launch whatever remains into the sun. 

You can see exactly what's happening here. You can see the gears turning in Jimin’s pretty little head. He’s planning your wedding, probably picking out centerpieces. He thinks this whole encounter is fate, some kind of romantic star-crossed lovers nonsense where the nerd gets the girl who was too stupid to notice him the first time around. 

He’s going to be insufferable about this. Probably loop Taehyung into this delusion as well. There will be betting pools on when you finally hook up with Jungkook. 

Which—okay, fine—you wouldn’t be completely opposed to. Hypothetically. In theory. 

“How’s that going for you?” Jungkook turns to you. 

“Good. I’ve been at my current company for a few years now. I just got promoted last year.” Your chest puffs out a little. There’s nothing you need to prove to him. But it doesn’t hurt, especially as he validates your words with a slight nod in approval. 

“That’s awesome. I’m happy for you.”

Not said with even an inch of malice. 

“Thank you.” You flip your hair over your shoulder. “See, and I didn’t even need math or chemistry to be successful.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough.”

“I know how emotionally tolling it was to tutor me, so at least your efforts didn’t go to waste,” you joke, and he cracks a smile at that, bunny teeth poking out. 

“It wasn’t that emotionally tolling.” He shrugs, lifting his coffee to his lips. “It was fun. Y’know, when you weren’t texting that guy you used to date.”

He maintains eye contact with you as he takes one, two sips, and you have to clench your thighs to ignore the second heartbeat that’s beating in your vagina. 

Jimin opens his mouth—probably to ask approximately eight thousand invasive follow-up questions about your high school love life—but his phone buzzes violently against the table, the vibration loud enough to rattle his fork. 

Glancing down at his phone, his expression shifts from pure glee to actual panic. “Shit, I need to head out. Taehyung’s making dinner and if I’m late, he’s gonna put that weird purple pesto in it again.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Purple pesto?”

“You know how he is, babe.” Jimin frantically flags down the waiter, motioning for the check. 

You and Jimin always split Saturday brunch. It’s a tradition, one that you don’t plan on breaking. You reach for your wallet in your bag, prepared to pull out your trusty debit card.

But before you or Jimin can get too far, Jungkook smacks his AMEX Platinum card down like it’s nothing. 

You blink at the shiny metal. “Jimin and I always—”

“I’ve got it,” he says, all casual, like dropping 100,000 won on lunch for three people is normal for him. 

To your left, Jimin has the biggest shit-eating grin of all time. “Thanks, Jungkook. You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s my treat. It’s nice to run into old friends.” He tosses you a side glance when he says the word friends, because that’s hardly what you two ever were. 

Jimin’s phone buzzes again, and his eyes widen as they scan the new message. “Oh no. No, no, no.” 

“What?!” You lean forward, trying to peek at his phone. 

“Yeontan threw up all over the new rug. Taehyung just sent me a picture, it’s…” He makes a sour face. “I gotta go. Code red dog situation.”

“Is he okay?” you ask, because despite Jimin’s dramatics, that little ball of fur is your ray of sunshine. 

“He’s fine.” He stands, shrugging on his thin sweatshirt. “He probably ate something he should have. This was great though! We should all hang out again soon!”

And then he’s sprinting out of the cafe, leaving you all alone at the table with none other than Jeon Jungkook. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d say Jimin planned this. Although, to be fair, you do know better, and he one hundred percent planned this. You're going to kill him. You're going to actually murder your best friend.

The waiter comes by, charging Jungkook’s card while you sit there awkwardly, twiddling your fingers. You don’t know what to do with yourself, quite frankly. 

“Jimin isn’t very subtle,” Jungkook says, signing the receipt and placing it aside. 

“Jimin doesn’t do subtle.” You fidget with your napkin. “He probably planned this.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, really? You think so?”

“I know so. He’s been trying to set me up with someone for months.”

Crossing his bulky arms over his chest, he leans back in his chair. “How’s that working out for him?” 

“Well,” you begin, “Considering the last attempt was one of his coworkers who turned out to be married, I would say pretty terrible.”

“Jesus.” 

“I’m not really into the whole polyamory thing,” you joke. 

Jungkook laughs and stands, and you follow suit, realizing how much taller he is than you. Not that he hasn’t always been tall, but now he has the ego to match it. 

“Want me to walk you to your car?” he asks. 

You bashfully look down at your feet. In your years of living in Seoul, you’ve never once been embarrassed about taking the bus before. The Korean bus system is efficient and better for the environment. But Jungkook, with his fancy tech job, probably has some sleek car that makes the bus system look like a clown car. 

“I took the bus, actually.”

Immediately, without so much as a second thought, he goes, “I’ll drive you home.”

“You don’t need to—”

“I know I don’t need to.” He strolls towards the exit, holding the door open for you to glide through first. “I want to.”

Wait. Is he… is he flirting? That was definitely flirting, right?

If he is very specifically flirting with you, that means he either has a terrible memory or some kind of revenge plot in the works. Both options seem likely and panic-inducing. 

When you finally get outside, the crisp afternoon air dances across your skin. The autumn leaves crunch beneath your feet. You keep a few inches for God between you and Jungkook, and he falls into a comfortable pace beside you, matching you. 

His hands are nestled into his pockets, kicking leaves as he walks. Now that you two are alone, he’s returned to some of his old habits, like being quiet around you when there’s nothing to fill the noise with. 

“How do you like your job?” he finally decides upon asking, and your head lifts to peer at him. He’s gazing at you intently, clearly waiting for an answer. 

“I like it. Most days, it’s creative, but we do a good amount of analytical work too.”

“Why did you choose marketing?” He seems genuinely interested in your answer, which sends tingles down your spine. It’s been a while since someone has cared enough to ask about your life beyond the standard two questions. 

“Well, you know I suck at math,” you start, and he laughs at that. A deep sound that reverberates in his chest and makes your insides mushy. “I also hate science, so that wasn’t an option. I like being creative, and I’m a visual person. I took an intro class and it stuck.”

He nods, soaking it in. “Was college you the same as high school you?” 

You know what he’s asking. Was college you also the biggest bitch alive, or did you grow out of that phase?

“Nah.” You shake your head. “I’m not as shallow… or annoying.”

He smiles. “Good to know.”

You reach his car—a black BMW that looks like it was ripped right off the set of Fifty Shades of Grey—and he unlocks it with a soft beep. 

“Your car is nice,” you note, and his cheeks turn a soft pink at the compliment. 

“Thanks. I figured I should probably upgrade from the bus at some point.” He opens the passenger door for you, causing you to almost trip getting in at the sheer thoughtfulness. 

You frown. “Hey! I still take the bus.” 

He raises his hands up in surrender. “Not hating on the bus. I took that bad boy for years.”

Jungkook closes your door, rounding the car to the driver's seat and hopping in. the inside of the vehicle smells like leather, mixed with the faint scent of his cologne. Your brain can’t help but go a little fuzzy—scents are your weakness. Any man who smells good deserves to get their dick sucked, period. 

“Address?” he asks, starting the engine. 

You give it to him, and he inputs it into the GPS. Fifteen minutes, it spits back. Fifteen minutes in a car alone with Jeon Jungkook, the most confusing blast from your past. 

Peeking over at him, you take his appearance in. His jaw is defined and sharp. Could probably cut glass on that thing. His nose juts out, big enough for you to wonder if he’s ever let a girl sit on his face. God, you really need to get laid. You’ve resorted to sexualizing the man you used to tease in high school like some kind of medieval man who just saw an ankle for the first time. 

The guilt of your past sits heavy in your chest, but your body doesn’t seem to care. It wants what it wants, ethics be damned. 

You don’t deserve to be this turned on by someone you treated like human furniture for two years. But here you are, wondering about the logistics of his face between your thighs, and maybe that makes you exactly as terrible as you’ve always suspected.

Your eyes wander down to his biceps, down to his arms that are cluttered with tattoos. Different designs snake down his skin, some with color, and it takes all your might not to reach out and trace them. Fuck, now you’re thinking about his hands gripping the steering wheel. The veins. Those long fingers— 

“You have a lot of tattoos,” you blurt out. 

His eyes remain on the road, but his lips curl upwards. A little bit like a smirk. “I do.”

“When did you start getting them?” you wonder aloud. 

“College. I started with one, but then I got addicted and kept going.” He glances at you for a second before turning his attention back to the road. “You disapprove?” 

“No! No, they’re… they look good. Really good.” You want to die. “But it is different from what I expected from you.”

His gaze hardens. “A lot of things are different from high school.” 

Silence fills the air as you two continue along the highway in the direction of your neighborhood. Your town is quaint, not too far outside of the main downtown area of Seoul. It’s so peaceful that your neighbors are two elderly women who treat you like their daughter. 

You wonder where Jungkook lives. If you had to guess, he probably lives in Gangnam, the upscale area  in Seoul. Fancy tech job, fancy car… he must have a fancy house to match. Or a fancy girlfriend. 

“Do you live near here?” you ask, hoping to sound as casual as possible. Although, realistically speaking, there is nothing casual about interrogating your ex-Chemistry tutor. 

“Not too far. I’m about ten minutes by car.” His grip loosens on the wheel a little. “Near Hannam-dong.”

So, you were kind of right. Hannam-dong, where all the celebrities and rich people live.

Before you can stop yourself, you say, “Do you live alone, or…?”

It’s possibly the least subtle question in the history of subtle questions, but you need to know.

Jungkook’s grip on the wheel tautens, and when you look over at him, there’s a scarlet flash creeping up his neck. “I—yeah. Alone. It’s just me.”

Is he… blushing? 

“Oh, cool.” You try not to sound too pleased by the information. “That’s really cool. I mean, not cool that you’re alone if you don’t want to be alone, but cool that you have your own space and— y’know, everything.” 

Nailed it. 

“It’s—yeah, it’s good.” He clears his throat, and suddenly, you get a glimpse of the man you remember in high school. Less like the confident, macho guy from the cafe, and more like the boy who used to stumble over his words when you asked him questions. “No one to, uh, bother me or anything. Not that having anyone would be bothering, I just meant—I live alone. No girlfriend or—”

He stops himself, like he’s just realized what he’s saying, and the flush spreads to the tip of his ears. Oh my god. He’s flustered. Jeon Jungkook, with his tattoos and lip ring and his whole sexy confident energy, is flustered because you asked if he lives alone.

The ex-mean girl in you rises to the surface, bubbles in your throat. It’s been a while since you’ve activated her. Not since college, that one time when Park Eunji threatened your spot as sorority president. That version of you knew exactly what to do: touch his arm, squeeze once, watch him stutter. Make him want you so badly it hurts, then pull away. It's muscle memory, this kind of manipulation. You hate that it's still there, your instinct to weaponize attraction.

You want him to be nervous around you. It’s a sick, twisted thought you have, and you don’t know where it comes from, but you want it. “No girlfriend,” you repeat, trying to hide your smile. Reaching out, you place a small hand on his bicep, squeeze once. His bicep is firm under your palm, and the second you make contact, you realize what you've done. That was flirting 101. High school you would’ve done that without thinking twice, but current you? Current you doesn’t have that kind of game anymore. Abort mission. Abort. 

You yank your hand back to your lap like he’s made of volcanic ash. 

“I didn’t—that’s not—” He runs a hand through his locks, messing it up even more. “I’m just giving context about my living situation.”

“No, I got it.” You keep your eyes trained on the road, even though your heart is doing somersaults in your chest. “Though, I have to admit, I’m shocked.”

He gulps thickly. He pulls up to a red light, finally looking over at you directly. There’s vulnerability in his expression, polar opposite to his earlier reactions to you. “Are you making fun of me?”

Huh. You don’t know why, but the fact that old, anxious Jungkook still lives somewhere deep within him makes your stomach backflip. “I would never,” you reply dramatically, waving your hand for emphasis. “I’m just speaking aloud.”

Jungkook hums at that, focusing his attention back onto the street. It’s quiet again, if not for the sound of the engine purring and the awkward tension that’s loitered in the car since you stepped inside. 

He doesn’t need to ask you anything else anyway, since Jimin did a good job of outing you as the most single girl in the history of single girls. He might as well have just admitted you’re a born again virgin. 

The familiar road of your neighborhood looms ahead, and a pit of despair swallows your stomach whole. You really don’t want to get out of the car that smells like him. It would be embarrassing how you’ve begun to thirst over him, but after not getting laid in a while, you’re about ready to unzip your pants and jam your fingers in there. 

“Is it the building up ahead?” he questions, pointing to the cream apartment complex that you reside in. You nod sweetly, smiling brightly. You dial up the ol’ high school charm. 

“Thanks, Jungkook. I really appreciate it.” Another quick flutter of your lashes as he puts the car in park, taking a deep breath and angling his body to look at you. 

“Of course. Anytime.” His face remains stoic, probably hoping to not look like you affect him anymore than you already have.

Your fingers land on the handle, pushing it open to let the brisk air in, replacing the suffocating tension in the car. “Well, I wish you the best. It was nice running into you today.” 

Maybe you should invite him to come up. Maybe you should invite him for a nightcap? Granted, it is midday and there’s no actual alcohol in your home, but you can think of something real quick. 

But he doesn’t move toward you, or show any other inclination of interest. In fact, you’re feeling kind of slutty right about now. He probably thinks you’re some kind of embarrassing gold digger—which like, yes, you might be. For him only. 

Quietly, he says, “You too,” and that’s the end of that. 

And just as you’re about to slam the passenger door shut and head upstairs to scream into your pillow, Jungkook abruptly speaks. “[Y/N].”

You whip around as fast as your body will let you. “Yeah?” 

His big eyes twinkle under the sunlight rays reflecting on the car, two bunny teeth poking out as he sheepishly smiles. You’re going to have fantasies about that mouth later. 

“Just so you know, today wasn’t planned. But I’m really, really happy I ran into you.”

Huh Yunjin’s birthday bash has never been an easy feat. Every year, without fail, there’s a table bought at an exclusive club, and your entire friend group blacks out within the hour. You’re not sure how she gets away with it, but your love for her and mild fear of disappointing her clearly gets her very far. 

Hence why you’re standing in a shopping mall at 3 PM, trying to decipher what makeup product she would like best. Her birthday gift needs to be top notch, because you’re up against Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin, and those two have some kind of gaydar for gift-giving. Last year, Taehyung got her a vintage Chanel bag he “just found” at a thrift store. The year before, Jimin surprised her with tickets to see Beyonce. You’re operating at a disadvantage here.

You pick up another lipstick, eyeing the two intensely. A salesperson loiters over your shoulder, waiting to pounce at any given moment. In the end, you opt for a sleek red lip gloss, one that you know will pair well with her peachy skin. The relief that washes over you at finally securing her gift is endless. 

Pushing past the doors of the shop, you blend into the rest of the mall-goers. It’s pretty packed for an afternoon, but you figure it has something to do with the sales going on. 50% off for shoes… hm. Across the way, you see a sign for 25% off scarves, and you squint to try and make out the tiny writing. Buy one, get one free—

“Oof!”

Your body collides into something firm, something warm. It’s fleeting, and you jump back several feet, immediately armoring yourself with numerous apologies. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going—”

A deep chuckle. “I’m not mad about it.”

You know that voice. That voice has been haunting your wet dreams and your poorly-written mental fanfiction.

When you were ten, you got chosen to attend a unicorn retreat. It was a glorified horse camp, but it was five days of pure magic. Horses walking around with plastic horns on their head, offering unlimited rides to anyone who wanted one. Magical doesn’t even feel like the proper word to describe it. 

You thought that was the most enchanting moment of your life. But this… this rivals any stupid pony. This makes those ponies look like donkeys. In fact, with the luck you’ve been given, you might rent a unicorn and a castle. 

In front of you stands Jeon Jungkook, looking somehow more scrumptious than he did a few days ago. Defying the damn laws of hotness. You’d spent a good few hours tossing and turning in bed, dreaming about his lips, his eyes, his veiny hands. He looks like he stepped straight out of your wet dream, adorned in a zip-up sweatshirt and black t-shirt, fluffy hair askew. 

His eyes still carry that same twinkle from the last time you saw him, and you wonder if they’re like this all the time, or if it's just for you. 

“Hi,” you exhale breathily. 

“Hello.” He smiles at you, and it’s sweet, just a little dopey, and so decidedly adorable that you want to gnaw on his cheeks like a dog with a chew toy. “Must be my lucky day to run into you again.”

“Clearly.” He is flirting. Sure, there were doubts in your mind before this, but anyone who says those kinds of things, is someone who wants to be balls deep inside you. “I don’t normally treat pedestrians like bumper cars, though.”

Jungkook laughs at that, a melodic sound that sends vibrations from your head to your toes. “If I was a better man, I might’ve moved out of the way to make room for you.”

“Well, then I guess it’s my lucky day you’ve decided to not be a better man,” you counter, and he takes a step closer to you, allowing the people behind him to filter around. A mom of three tosses him an evil glare, but you could care less. 

“I was actually hoping to talk to you again so I could ask you a question.” His eyes bore into you, the eye contact making the walls of your vagina contract incessantly. His confidence from the cafe has returned with a vengeance, and you’re not sure what’s gotten into him, but you hope it never leaves. 

“I might have an answer,” you tease. 

His lips quirk upwards into a soft smirk, one that would normally disgust you but doesn’t whatsoever. “I was thinking you and I should get dinner sometime. Maybe catch up one-on-one.”

If this were a game of tennis, you just won match point. He served, you returned, and now the ball’s sitting in his court while he watches it roll away. Checkmate. Victory. Crowd goes berzerk. 

But you know how to play this game. Even though you’re a little out of commission, you still invented half the rules in high school. And rule number one: never let them see you sweat. Rule number two: make them work for it. 

Tilting your head, you pretend to consider it like you haven’t thought about what underwear you would wear to this hypothetical one-on-one time. “Maybe,” you say, drawing out the syllables. “I’ll have to check my calendar.” 

Your calendar is wide open. Your calendar has been wide open for months. Your calendar is begging for plans. Your calendar is weeping with joy at the possibility of having something on it besides ‘therapy 2 PM’ and ‘don’t forget your lexapro.’

But here’s the thing: if you say yes immediately, if you're too eager, too easy, he’ll figure it out. He'll realize you're still that girl who only wants things because they're shiny and new, who gets bored the second the chase is over. Except this time, the thing you want isn’t a spot on the homecoming court or the captain of the basketball team’s attention—it’s him. 

“Maybe?” He’s grinning now, full teeth, like he’s finally been let in on how the game works. “I pour my heart out and I get a maybe?” 

“You didn’t pour your heart out. You asked to get dinner.”

He scoffs, “Same thing.”

“Not even remotely close, lover boy.” You migrate an inch backwards, so miniscule he hardly notices.

Something flickers across his face at the nickname—amusement, or something darker, more interested. His eyes track your movements like a predator watching prey. 

“I feel like you’re just testing fate at this point,” he jokes. You can see the gears turning in his head, shifting and transforming to try and get to his end goal: you. 

“It’s worked once before already.” You shrug, taking a few more steps back. 

“Alright, well, can I at least get your number? Not really feeling like leaving it all up to the universe.” The color drains from his face slowly as he realizes you’re really, truly, going to walk away. His voice raises a little at the end of the sentence. 

“I’ll see you around, Jungkook.”

With that, you turn on your heel, bags in tow, and make your way towards the exit of the mall with what you hope exudes confidence, and not like someone who’s about to sprint outside and scream into the void. His eyes burn into your back the entire way. Don’t turn around. You’re doing so well. You’re a mysterious enigma. You’re unattainable. 

You trip over your own two feet and have to do some weird stumble-hop recovery move just so you don’t eat shit in the middle of the mall.  

Okay, so maybe not entirely mysterious. But you do make it outside with a goofy grin on your face, caught in some kind of daze, all because your ex-Chemistry tutor has made it abundantly clear he wants to see you again. 

The following Saturday, you and Jimin cozy up at a nearby cafe—a different one than last week’s. You suggested it over text a few days ago, after you had run into Jungkook, because there was some perverse thrill to testing fate and the universe’s weird way of working. Jimin, who could care less where he got his cup of coffee, agreed with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“So, tell me again why you didn’t give him your number,” Jimin furrows his brows, picking at his limp salad in disgust. He’s trying this new diet that only allows for 1000 calories a day, and it’s made him even more judgmental than usual. “Walk me through your thought process here.”

You sigh. “Jiminie, I told you already. I’m playing the game.”

“The game… I hate straight people.”

“Hey, you did the same thing with Tae when you guys first started out,” you frown, taking a prolonged sip of your iced latte. Senior year, Jimin refused to see Taehyung more than once a week in fear of seeming too desperate and clingy, even though he texted him every five minutes anyway. 

Jimin lets out a long-suffering sigh, pushing the soggy lettuce into the corner of his plate. “Tae and I are different. We’re homosexuals. There’s no rules when society already hates you anyway. But you are playing a dangerous game with him.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “I’m not. I’m playing hard to get.”

“How do you know he won’t get bored?” It’s an innocent question that, when asked, makes you want to bash your head into a concrete wall. “I mean, you’ve seen the guy. He probably has a roster of girls throwing their phone number at him.”

You pause mid-sip, straw frozen against your lips. You… hadn’t actually thought about it like that. In your mind, this whole thing has been about you trying to regain an inch of the upper hand, about making Mr. Cocky work for it. But Jimin's right—Jungkook isn’t the same nerdy kid who would wait around forever for a crumb of your attention. You’re also not the cheerleader that everybody’s dying to get their hands on. He could have anyone, and yet his sights are set on you (or well, as far as you know).

“Then I guess we’ll just have to see how into me he is.” You shrug, but no ounce of you feels calm. 

Jimin quirks an eyebrow. “Really? Off of one conversation after ten years, he’s supposed to be magically in love with you?” 

“Okay, first of all, it was two conversations, and second of all, do you have no faith in your hot and sexy best friend?” You swish your hair for good measure, but Jimin doesn’t buy it for a second. Your charms have no effect on his gay self. 

“I do have faith in you. However, I can’t recall the last time you’ve successfully kept a guy around after the first kiss…” he trails off, pretending to count on his fingers. You gasp, appalled by the insinuation. 

“Park Jimin,” you scold. He bursts into a fit of laughter, wiping faux tears from his eyes, and you really can’t help but follow suit at the hysterics of it all. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m honest, babe,” he says through another fit of giggles. “You hate to see it.”

“Jimin? [Y/N]?” 

The laughter dies down within a millisecond. Somewhere in the distance, you swear you hear a record scratching. 

Tentatively, you crane your neck upwards. Lo and behold, Jeon Jungkook stands before your table, holding an iced coffee and looking between you and Jimin in bewilderment. He must have a tracker planted inside you, because although you had daydreamed about this scenario approximately ten times in the past few days, never did you actually think it would come to fruition. 

“Why are you here?” you blurt, and Jimin throws you a glare, facepalming. You slap a hand over your mouth. You have the sudden, embarrassing, debilitating urge to vomit. 

Jungkook laughs, and you notice the tip of his ears turning pink. “I could ask you the same thing. This is my regular spot.”

“This is—” You glance around the cafe, like the answer will appear written in invisible ink. “Since when?” 

“Since I moved to the area?” He’s donning a massive grin now, one that lights up his entire face. 

Your face falls flat. In your frantic search for a new cafe, you neglected the fact that the new spot you selected is located in Hannam-dong. Exactly where he told you he lived last week. 

Jimin’s completely forgotten his salad, jumping in to save you from the depths of shame. “Jungkook! Join us.” He’s already pulling out an empty chair before he can protest. 

Jungkook shakes his head, the hoop earrings in his ear moving with him. “I don’t want to interrupt—”

“Don’t be silly,” Jimin retorts quickly, shooting you a look that both screams: you’re an idiot and this is fate knocking at your door. “Come, sit here.”

Jungkook hesitantly sets his drink down, sitting down in the chair. “So, what were you guys laughing at before?” 

You blink a few times, utterly speechless. There’s no universe in which you admit to Jungkook what you two were discussing before his appearance. 

“Nothing crazy,” Jimin starts, and he has this glint in his eyes he only gets when he’s about to do something so diabolically crazy you’ll have to second-guess your friendship. “She was just telling me about this guy she’s playing hard to get with. Real shame, honestly. He sounds great.”

What the fuck is going on? you ask yourself silently. Your mind is shooting blanks. 

Jimin sips his water nonchalantly as if he didn’t just throw you under the bus. 

You finally muster up the courage to speak. “Jimin’s being crazy,” you say, trying to recover some dignity. “There’s no guy.”

“Really?” Jungkook’s smirk is unrattled. “At the mall, you said you had to check your calendar. It sounds like you’re pretty busy.”

Oh, he wants to play this game.  

“I am busy.” You lift your chin in defiance. 

“Doing what?” Jimin chimes in. After this lunch date, he’s lucky if you ever respond to one of his texts ever again. “You texted me yesterday saying you were bored.”

“I hope you die, Park Jimin,” you mutter.

He turns to Jungkook, a conspiratorial grin plastered on his face. “She’s playing hard to get. I told her it's a terrible strategy, but does she listen? No.”

Jungkook’s eyes don’t waver from your face. “Hard to get, huh?” 

“That is not what I’m doing,” you huff, even though that’s exactly what you’re doing, and all parties present at the table know it.

“No, it makes sense.” Jungkook nods, leaning forward in his chair. “After all, you have that busy calendar… you know, the one you need to check.”

“Exactly,” you agree. 

“And have you? Checked it, I mean?”

You stare blankly at him. 

“I’ve been meaning to.”

“Mm,” Jungkook hums, sipping his coffee. The white t-shirt and grey sweatpants combo he’s wearing today makes you feel like a rabid animal who’s been deprived of food for too long. “Who’s the lucky man?” 

“Get this,” Jimin jumps in eagerly. “She met him at the mall.”

“The mall?” Jungkook asks incredulously, dropping his chin into his open palm. 

“And she didn’t even give him her number.” Jimin continues this charade as if you’re not even sitting there. Which, you really wish you weren’t. In fact, you might just bury yourself six feet under this cafe after everything’s said and done. 

“Wow,” Jungkook tuts. “I hope that guy gets her number somehow.”

“Seems like a long shot.” You shrug, fiddling with your straw. 

“Right. I mean, we can’t forget about fate, because fate’s probably working in that guy’s favor.”

It hits you square in the chest, that Jungkook really does know exactly what he’s done, that he is perfectly aware of the effect he has on you. 

​​There's a pause. A long pause. Jimin is grinning like the Cheshire cat, and you're seriously considering faking a medical emergency.

Jungkook’s biceps strain against his shirt, tongue darting out to play with his lip ring. “You know what I think?” His voice drops several octaves, low enough for you and Jimin to hear. “I think this guy should just show up at your door. Skip all the games.”

“That would be weird,” you quip. 

“Would it?” Tilting his head, Jungkook observes you. Feels like he’s seeing right through you with x-ray goggles. “Even if you’ve been thinking about him too?” 

You’re painfully aware of how close he is, how his knee is almost touching yours under the table, how his eyes keep dropping to your lips. Your brain is short-circuiting. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except stare at him and wonder what would happen if you just gave in.

“There’s rules to be followed,” you finally mumble. 

“Rules for what?” Jimin snorts. 

In hindsight, that probably wasn’t the smartest excuse you could’ve conjured up. No one seems to understand the dying art of playing hard to get anymore. 

But, really, it was only a matter of time before you lost your temper and threw in the towel. You were never good at winning anything besides cheerleader championships, anyway. “The game, Jimin. The fucking game I explained to you already. Just so we’re all clear, by the way, I was trying to enjoy my lunch before you two decided to gang up on me, so thank you both very much.”

Jimin and Jungkook deadpan, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. 

Embarrassment courses through your veins, choking your throat. It’s not like you meant to have an outburst and openly admit you’re playing the game with Jeon Jungkook, a man who you used to ignore as if he were invisible. Sometimes a girl gets sexually frustrated and it manifests in interesting ways. 

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you grumble. You speed-walk as fast as your legs will take you, all the way to the restroom, locking yourself in one of the stalls and plopping down on the toilet. You can’t pinpoint why you’re suddenly overcome with some silly desire to win this ‘game’ you conjured up in your head, why you won’t just give in to what he so clearly wants to offer you. 

But maybe—and you don’t want to admit it—there’s a residual guilt that lives deep inside you. One that when you really face, reminds you of just how cruel you were to others in high school. There was a time in your teenage life where you thought being the queen bee of high school meant you were at the apex of the universe. Now that the tables have turned, and you’re not as big as you once were, maybe you don’t deserve what the universe is trying to offer you. 

Maybe you don't deserve what Jeon Jungkook is trying to offer you.  

It’s Sunday, but it’s hardly peaceful or restorative. Saturday night was spent partying with Yunjin and Chaewon at some club in Gangnam that served drinks comparable to battery acid, which is why you’re currently battling the worst hangover of your entire life. Your head is pounding so hard you can hear your heartbeat in your eyeballs. And you're pretty sure you're still drunk, which means the real hangover hasn't even hit yet. 

There’s no one to blame but yourself. Your brain was a broken record last night: Jungkook, high school, the game. The only way to stop the endless loop was to wash it down with copious soju shots.

Groggily, you roll over and unplug your phone from the charger. A quick scroll through your missed notifications and it’s the usual suspects: Jimin, Yunjin, Taehyung…

Wait. 

Your eyes squint into slits, trying to make sense of the unknown number that sent you one message at 8 AM. You don’t recognize it. Spam, probably. Or maybe someone from last night asking if you got home okay. You don’t remember giving your number to anyone, but then again, you don't remember much after midnight.

You unlock your phone, rub your eyes, and adjust to the bright white light of your messages. 

[phone] waited ten years to run into you again, [Y/N]. im not really interested in waiting another ten to see if fate brings us together a fourth time

It doesn’t take much time for you to put together the puzzle pieces. 

You gasp, nearly flinging yourself off your bed at the realization. You reread the message one, two, three times, just to confirm he really said your name in it. You try to do a little excited kick under your covers, but your legs are tangled in your sheets and you nearly fall off the bed.

After yesterday’s temper tantrum, you had exited the bathroom to see Jeon Jungkook no longer present at the table. Jimin shrugged, said ‘he was tired, so he went home,’ and that was the end of that. You were under the impression that you ruined the entire charade, that you wouldn’t have to worry about the game because you already lost anyway. 

But here he is, in your messages, contradicting your worst fears. 

you who’s this?

Squealing, you throw your phone to the side, but within a few seconds, it lights up again with a new message. 

[phone] wild guess?

you my amazon package?

You snort as you watch him read it and begin typing. 

[phone] close. even better 

An unwarranted smile sneaks its way onto your face. 

you enlighten me

[phone] it’s your ex chemistry tutor from high school. that weird dude 

you weird dude is how you’re choosing to introduce yourself?

[phone] trying to be humble 

[phone] so about yesterday

Your hangover creeps back into your skull, your head pounding to the beat of a drum.

you we don’t need to talk about yesterday

[phone] why not?

you because i embarrassed myself?

[phone] you didn’t. thought it was cute

[phone] may have also told your best friend i needed your number in the name of saving you from your drought, so you’re not the one who embarrassed themselves 

Staring at the message, your alcohol-riddled brain struggles to make sense of the words in front of you. Heat spreads from your chest to your neck to your cheeks. The guilt tries to claw its way up—you don’t get to feel this giddy, not about him—but your body overrules it with a decisive vote. Your hangover is completely forgotten now, replaced by a warm flutter in your stomach that has nothing to do with last night's tequila.

It’s so unlike him, the polar opposite of what Jeon Jungkook used to evoke in you, but the mere thought of him ending your sex drought sends a tingle down your spine. 

You’re grinning like a foolish schoolgirl now, dignity be damned. You save his number to your contacts, makes it official in your brain. 

you are you offering to get me out of my drought? 

You fling your phone to the opposite side of the bed, and scream into your pillow. 

The buzz causes you to shoot back up, heart thumping in your throat as you read his response. 

jungkook possibly 

Somewhere in the sky, your guardian angel is doing backflips. 

Hands shaking, heart pumping blood erratically, you type back:

you take a girl to dinner first

The three dots pop up almost immediately, and then: 

jungkook tried that already. the girl ran away from me :/ 

Technically, he’s right. You did run away. And now he’s resorted to joking about it, like it doesn’t bother him. But it should bother him. Should annoy him that the girl who didn’t acknowledge his existence in high school is now playing games with him like she has any right to. 

You don’t know how to let him be nice to you, how to let him want you, when all you can remember is a younger you rolling your eyes while he patiently explained molecular bonds. You were cruel. Mostly in small ways that probably hurt more than massive shows of dismissiveness, but harsh nonetheless. 

Guilt sits burdensome in your chest, a thorn in your side. Deep down, you’re terrified that when he finally sees you clearly—really sees you, not the filtered version you're trying to present—he’ll realize what you already know. That you were never worth the wait.

Your fingers loom over the keyboard, twiddling. The guilt is there, always there, always a dark cloud hanging. You were cruel to him. Casual about it, even. Used him like a tool and never once considered that he was a person with feelings that could be hurt.

But maybe—and this is the thought that's been needling at you since the cafe—maybe the worst thing you could do now is waste his second chance on you by playing games. Maybe the cruelest thing would be pretending you don’t want this when you so obviously, desperately do.

On the one hand, honesty is terrifying and vulnerability makes you nauseous. 

But, on the other hand…

you well maybe the girl wants to see if you’re full of shit or not 

Your heart speeds up behind the confines of your ribs. 

jungkook i’m not the same guy from high school. i don’t play about what i want 

With bated breath, you type your response. It’s a question that you know the answer to, and you don’t know why you need him to say it, but he will anyway. 

you and what is it that you want?

jungkook you. 

The night of Huh Yunjin’s birthday creeps up slowly on you, amidst a week busied with work, adult errands, and most stupidly, thoughts of Jungkook. The thoughts of him play, pause, tape spooling, and then rewind on a constant loop, unrelenting in their nature. 

You hadn’t spoken to him much after your last exchange, minus some ‘good morning’ texts from him that you responded to politely. It’s foreplay, if nothing else, because even a few words from him are enough to leave you giddy for days to come. 

You fully intend to take him up on his offer, you just don’t know when. . 

Sinkhole is packed to the brim, sweaty bodies colliding in an attempt to feel human intimacy. A disco ball hangs loosely from the ceiling, transmitting silver light across the dance floor. The DJ is spinning up cringy Top 40 hits you haven’t heard since college, but the amount of soju shots you’ve consumed within the past hour masks the embarrassment you feel. 

“Cheers to my 28th!” Yunjin yells in your ear, raising her shot glass in the air. Jimin abandons making out with Taehyung in favor of lifting his shot glass with hers, and you can’t help but join in on the festivities. 

Yunjin keeps toasting to things that get progressively more unhinged. ‘To being 28! then ‘To my IUD!’ then ‘To tax evasion!’ 

You're not sure she's even joking on that last one. 

You’ve lost count of how many you’ve taken, but the liquor burns less with each passing shot. 

“Happy birthday, baby!” Jimin leans over the table you’re all perched at, pressing a chaste kiss to Yunjin’s cheek. She giggles in delight, smiling brightly in the way only a drunk person could. 

“Oh, why thank you, Jiminie,” she laughs. “And thank you, Tae and [Y/N] for buying the table!”

It was 75% Taehyung and 25% you, but you’ll accept her gratitude. Buying a table at the club with unlimited alcohol was also part of your master plan to get absolutely obliterated and halt all thoughts of Jungkook, at least for the night. 

“[Y/N], we need to find you a hot guy tonight. That dress is doing insane things to your legs,” Yunjin whines, pushing your shoulder. “There’s soooo many boys here.”

Jimin and Taehyung share a meaningful look, one that you don’t miss. Rolling your eyes, you say, “I’m not looking for anyone tonight. I want to spend it with you.”

“Booooring.” She pokes your side, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of Usher. “If you ditch me on my birthday to fuck a hot dude, I won’t be mad.”

“But I don’t want to fuck a hot dude—”

Jimin clears his throat. “Well, actually, you do. He’s just not here right now.”

There goes your vow to ignore all Jungkook thoughts this evening. 

“Jimin.”

“What? It’s true,” he giggles, cozying up into Taehyung’s side. “The guy practically sexted you last weekend.”

Feeling caught, you busy yourself with the hem of your black bodycon dress. “Whether I fuck him or not is nobody’s business but my own,” you mumble. 

“Oh, please,” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “You’ve been needing to get laid for months. We’re your best friends, which makes it our business.”

“She’s just upset that she ignored him in high school and now he’s this big, hunky guy,” Jimin snickers. 

Taehyung frowns. “Bigger than me?” 

“Okay, enough,” you snap, pouring more soju into the empty shot glasses. “I just wanna get drunk and enjoy my night.”

“I’m sure you would enjoy your night more if you had a big, sexy man to take care of you. I know I would,” Jimin chuckles. Not in a mean way, but your heart does sink a little as you watch him give Taehyung an open-mouthed kiss. 

Yunjin turns to you. “Why haven’t you fucked him?” 

You don’t know when this became an intervention, but everyone seems arduously interested on whether or not you fuck Jeon Jungkook. 

You shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t want to—trust me, I do—I just… feel a little bad about how I treated him in high school.”

Your friend snorts, rolling her eyes with an affectionate smile playing upon her lips. “If he felt bad about how you treated him, he wouldn’t be pursuing you.”

“She’s right,” Jimin jumps back in, and you fight the urge to slam his head into the table. He picks up a soju shot. “It’s kinda cute how desperate he seems for your attention. That’s a guy who’s gonna eat you out like his life depends on it.”

The mental image of his moist, plump lips wrapping around your clit has your thighs trembling under the table, but you clamp them before anyone can notice. 

“I’m gonna fuck him,” you promise. “I swear.”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “I hope you do, before someone else snatches you up.” He tilts his head in the direction of a man eye-fucking you, and your stomach queases. 

“He’s cute,” Jimin takes his shot, and you follow suit. There’s no way you’re getting through this night without getting absolutely obliterated. 

“Oooo, there’s a really cute guy over there. 12:00,” Yunjin leans into the group, whispering as lowly as she can over the sound of Kesha. 

You refuse the desire to look. Taehyung, however, lets his eyes wander to who she’s talking about. Luckily, Jimin is too entranced by pouring himself another soju shot to care. “Oh fuck me. He’s fucking sexy. I would let that man give me a rimjob.” 

You slump into the chair. Somehow you have a feeling you’re about to undergo the world’s least subtle setup. 

Jimin’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his skull. Slowly, he angles his body to see who his boyfriend is talking about. “He can’t possibly be that hot—oh my god. Oh my god.”

“What?” you and Yunjin say in unison. If you had to guess, based on Jimin’s track record and the specific tone of that ‘oh my god,’ he’s either spotted a celebrity, a firefighter in uniform, or someone from his legendary whore phase. And given that you’re at a nightclub, you're betting on option three. Jimin’s whore phase is the stuff of legend—a six-month period during sophomore year where he worked his way through half of Seoul's gay club scene. He doesn't talk about it often, mostly because Taehyung gets a very specific look on his face when it comes up, but every once in a while someone from that era will resurface and Jimin will make that exact noise.

“Who is it?” you press on, heart thumping in excitement. 

Jimin’s blonde hair sways as he turns to look back at you. “Okay, don’t panic.” 

Furrowing your brows, you start, “Don’t—”

“That’s Jungkook, you idiots. The fucking guy from [Y/N]’s high school we’ve been talking about,” he says in a hushed tone, punching Taehyung’s shoulder. 

There’s a warm feeling hugging your chest, your body feeling as though it’s been lit on fire. It might be the alcohol, or the sheer joke of it all. Out of all the scenarios you’ve conjured up in your daydreams, this wasn’t one of them. 

You turn your body to track where your friend’s eyes were just a minute ago. Even though Jimin already confirmed it, there’s a tiny part of you hoping his eyes deceive him. But there he is, Jeon Jungkook, in the flesh, talking to one of his equally attractive friends. He’s wearing all black—black t-shirt that sculpts his biceps, black baggy jeans that sit tightly on his slim waist. His hair is ruffled, hoop earrings dangling from the holes in his ear. And really, the most sickening part of it all: he has two lip rings instead of the usual one. You’re gonna be sick.

“Earth to [Y/N]...” Yunjin waves a shot in front of your face, and without preamble, you take it from her, swallowing it in one easy sip. The alcohol travels down your throat, but you barely feel the burn. 

“You good?” Taehyung raises an eyebrow. 

“Just peachy,” you lie. You smile at your friends, but they don’t seem convinced. 

Jimin guffaws, leaning back in his chair with an evil grin. “Is that why you just downed another shot?”

“I’m thirsty.”

“For alcohol or for Jungkook?” Yunjin bursts into a fit of giggles, high-fiving Jimin across the table. 

Groaning, you let your head fall into your hands. “I hope all of you die a slow and painful death.”

“He’s gotten even hotter since the last time I saw him,” Jimin notes, sipping his untouched margarita. “How is that possible?”

“Can we please talk about anything else?” You reach for the soju bottle, pouring the last of the clear liquid into your glass. Your second in thirty seconds. A new personal record.

“We will do no such thing,” Jimin’s eyes are gleaming with elation. “You need to go talk to him.”

You nearly choke on the liquor. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“Go. Talk. To. Him.” Jimin enunciates each word like you’re a toddler. 

“Are you insane?” you deadpan. “Like, actually stupid? Have you suffered a brain injury I don’t know about?”

Both Jimin and Taehyung share another unspoken look. “I’m trying to help you.” 

“But I don’t want help—”

“[Y/N].” Jimin doesn’t often get very serious, but the expression on his face makes you squirm. “I’m not letting you fuck this up.”

“I;m not fucking anything up by staying exactly where I am.” You cross your arms over your chest. Realistically, you know he’s right. If you were more drunk, maybe you would bite the bullet, march over there, and plant a kiss right on those lips you haven’t stopped thinking about. But you’re not, so at the table you will stay. 

“This is fate. This is the universe putting him a few feet away.” Jimin gestures vaguely at Jungkook. 

“The universe can fuck off, honestly.”

He sighs, “I’m doing this for your own good.”

And before you can process his movements, a lag in your brain, Jimin turns in his seat, arm raising in a wave, mouth opening to call out his name. 

“No!” You lunge across the table, knocking over Taehyung’s drink, causing him to groan. You latch onto Jimin’s arm, yanking it down forcefully. “Don’t you fucking dare, Park Jimin—”

It’s too late. 

Because in your desperate scramble to stop Jimin from committing social suicide on your behalf, you've made a scene. Swiveling your head slowly, you see Jungkook staring directly at you. 

His eyebrows are raised, a hint of a smirk playing upon his lips. His tattooed fingers toy with the straw in his drink. It feels as though time drags on for hours, as if the hands of a clock are being lugged through molasses. 

You slowly extract yourself from on top of the table, slinking into your chair with as much dignity as you can muster. Your hand comes up in the world’s most awkward, tentative wave. The tiniest flutter of your fingers. 

Jungkook’s lips stretch wider, raising his hand in return. It’s a proper wave, filled with that newfound confidence of his. Then he turns back to his friend, resuming their conversation. It’s not like you expected him to drop everything for you—or well, you kind of did.  You exhale a deep breath. “Oh my god.” You slump in your chair. “That was horrible.”

“That was… bad,” Jimin tiptoes around the word, twiddling his thumbs. 

“I’m going to have to fake my death and move to a different country—”

“Stop being a drama queen,” Yunjin cuts in, sliding a shot towards you. You don’t even know or care where it spawned from, but all you know is you need it. “He waved back. He probably thought it was cute.”

Sighing, you shake your head. “There is nothing cute about what just happened.” You down the shot, and you’ve completely lost count at this point of how many you’ve ingested. 

“Okay, new plan,” you announce, slamming the glass down. “None of that happened. We enjoy Yunjin’s birthday. We do not make eye contact with Jungkook, we do not speak about Jungkook.”

“Yeah, about that,” Jimin trails off, eyes glued to somewhere behind your shoulder. “It’s too late.”

“Too late for what?” 

“He’s coming over here.”

Your entire body halts all movement, rigid like a statue. “What?”

“He’s coming here. Right now,” Taehyung repeats, and your heart drops to your feet. A hornet’s nest of anxiety swarms your stomach, filling your body with buzzing fear. 

You shake your head frantically. “Please say you’re messing with me.”

Yunjin turns to see where Jimin and Taehyung are staring, and the moment she touches your arm, you realize you’re trapped. There’s no way out but through. 

“[Y/N]. It’s nice to see you here.” 

His voice is deeper, a low timbre that makes your brain go all fuzzy around the edges. He stands in front of the table, and you peer through your eyelashes to look up at him. 

Fuck. Fuck, he looks even better up close. 

The two lip rings catch the light of the disco ball. A silver chain dangles from around his neck and you briefly wonder what it’ll look like hanging over you while he pounds into…God, get a grip. You can catch a whiff of his cologne, something citrusy and woodsy that causes a pool of arousal in your underwear.

“Hi,” you manage a smile, struggling to hold the intense gaze he’s sporting. 

He breaks it for a moment, turning to your best friend, nodding. “Jimin, good to see you again.”

“You too, Kook. You should join us!” He scooches closer to Taehyung, patting the minimal space beside him. Jungkook stares at it, then looks back at you with a hunger in his eyes that almost has you keeling over. 

“Actually,” Jungkook begins, “I was hoping I could steal [Y/N] for a drink. If that’s okay with you all?”

He wants to... what? Steal you? For a drink? Alone? You turn to Yunjin, eyes pleading. Help me. Save me. Make up an excuse. But she was never going to let you escape where he’s involved. She looks you dead in the eye, smiles sweetly, and says, “No, she’s all yours.”

You’re going to remember this. You’re going to bring this up at every possible opportunity for the rest of her natural life.

Jungkook’s hand extends towards you, palm up, awaiting yours. For a brief second, you stare at it, at his long fingers, at the veins running down his forearm, at the silver rings stacked on his nimble fingers. The hand that's now being offered to you, in public, in front of all your friends.

You can either take his hand and let whatever this is happen, or you can make up some excuse and run away for the fourth time.

Your heart starts cartwheeling in your chest. You can’t look away from his hand, the one you desperately want to take. Jungkook watches patiently, confidently, like he knows just what you’re deciding between. 

Fuck it. 

You place your hand in his, let your fingers intertwine with his warm ones. It’s secure, and his fingers tighten around yours as if to remind you he has you. Jungkook pulls you to your feet gently. He doesn’t let go as he guides you through the crowd toward the bar, and you’re trying very hard not to think about how right it feels, how you never want him to let you go. 

He parks you at the bartop, where a woman who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else is serving alcohol to a group of minors. Jungkook pats the stool beside him, and you’re more than grateful to take the chair. Your heels have been hurting like a bitch all night. When you sink into the chair, his eyes follow the way your dress hugs your thighs, revealing more skin than your old cheer uniforms. You debate tugging it down, but a warm feeling is flooding your insides at the thought of him wanting to see more of you.  He towers above you, his AMEX hanging loosely from his deft fingers. 

“What do you like to drink?” He leans down, whispers it directly in your ear. The heat of his breath makes your entire body feel like molten lava. 

The bartender begins to make her way over, eyes gleaming when she spots Jungkook. If you were less tipsy, you might come up with a witty response, but your current state only allows you to say, “A dirty shirley, please.” 

He doesn’t make a face at the girly drink, nor bats an eyelash when the bartender touches his arm four times while he recites his order. You can only watch in awe as he hands over his card and turns his attention back to you, body angling toward you as if to shield you from every other patron who might be able to see you. The slight possessiveness he’s exhibiting would normally make you hurl, but he’s so unapologetic about it that you could care less. You hope he puts his mark on you so no man will ever speak to you again. 

Jungkook fiddles with his fingers on the counter, unsure where to put them. The only glimpse of high school Jungkook you’ve seen in days. His hand hovers near your thigh, then his jeans pocket, then back to the counter. For all his cockiness over text and possessiveness, still lies a man who’s intimidated by the thought of truly having you. 

The soju in your body hums through your veins, making everything feel hazy and like a really good idea. Liquid courage, Yunjin calls it. Liquid stupidity, sounds more precise. 

But right now… you’re thinking liquid courage might be onto something. 

Because he’s standing so close you can smell his cologne, something that smells like grapefruit and lemon. Because he angled his body to block out the rest of the bar like you’re the only person here. Because his hand is right there, inches from you, and looks like he wants to touch you so badly it’s causing him physical pain. 

And you’re tipsy enough to think: yeah, liquid courage is real. 

Before the sober, anxious part of your brain can intervene with a thousand reasons why this is a horrible idea, you reach out. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, and his eyes snap to yours, surprise written across his features. 

You don’t utter a word, just simply guide his hand until his palm settles at the small of your back. Every place where his skin connects with yours seems to tingle. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice low and chest rumbling with the sound. Again, his mouth is right by your ear, and you can’t think, can’t breathe, can't hear anything but him. 

“Would I have moved it there if I wasn’t?” 

His thumb strokes once against your side. “Just making sure.” 

“I’m tipsy, not drunk,” you clarify, only because you need him to know this is a choice. This is something you tried to talk yourself out of over and over again, but you want this. Liquid courage is making you brave enough to admit out loud what you only ever thought to yourself sober. “I know what I’m doing.” 

“And what are you doing?” His breath hits your cheek, the side of your mouth, and it’s laced with peppermint and whiskey, and you’re dizzy with need. 

“Giving you the green light,” you say, tilting your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are hooded, trained on your lips that are coated in shiny gloss. “That okay with you?” 

His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you incrementally closer. He doesn’t need to say anything. 

“Very okay,” he murmurs into your hair. 

The bartender returns with your drinks, but Jungkook doesn’t move his hand. He takes your dirty shirley with his free hand, passing it off to you. His grip becomes more secure, more selfish, like now that you’ve given him permission, he’s never planning on letting go. 

Good, you think. You don’t want him to. 

Jungkook’s hand wraps around the glass of whiskey, taking a slow sip. “Seems like fate was on my side tonight.” 

You take a gulp of your dirty shirley, the sweetness coating your tongue. “I’m starting to think you might be stalking me.” 

His eyebrows raise, a tiny upward twitch in his mouth. “How do I know you’re not stalking me?” 

“Oh, you would know.”

“Really?” He leans in, brown eyes sparking like pools of chocolate. “And how’s that?” 

“Because I’d be better at it,” you proclaim, emboldened by the alcohol. “You wouldn’t catch me three times in two weeks. I’d have a whole system. Disguises, a wig collection..”

He laughs loudly. You notice that his dimples pop when he does so, eyes crinkling. “A wig collection.” 

“At minimum. Maybe some fake glasses and a trench coat.” 

“Clearly, you’ve thought about this,” he hums. 

You raise your hands in defense. “I’m just saying, if I were stalking you, you’d never know it unless I wanted you to know.” 

“Should I be concerned?” he questions, but he’s grinning. 

“Depends,” you tilt your head. “Are you worth stalking?” 

His fingers spread across the expanse of your spine. “I’d like to think so.” 

“Confident.” Another sip of your dirty shirley snakes down your throat, your lips toying with the straw as you peer up at him. 

His gaze never leaves yours. “Besides, you’re the one who guided my hand to your back. If anyone's being forward here…” 

That almost makes you choke on your sugary drink. “I was just—”

“Giving me the green light,” he finishes. “I remember. Trust me, I remember.” 

Your mind stumbles, then short-circuits. 

You resort to drinking more alcohol, needing something to do with your hands that’s not touching him. “This is crazy, right? Us, here?” 

“Crazy how?” 

“You know how. I mean, ten years ago, I was copying your chemistry homework, and now you’re so… you’re…”

There’s not a single English word that properly describes what present day Jeon Jungkook does to you, with his tattoos and lip rings and expensive cologne and platinum credit card and… fuck. 

“I’m what?” He leans closer, waiting, expecting. 

“This.” you say helplessly. “All of this.” 

“Is there something wrong with.” he uses his free hand to motion over his toned body, “this?”

“No. Nothing. That’s the problem.” It slips out before you can stop it. “It would be easier if something was wrong with it.” 

The hand not looped around your waist moves from the bartop to your dress, fingers finding the hem where it’s ridden up on your thigh. He plays with the fabric absentmindedly, rolling it between the pads of his fingers. “If no one’s told you, by the way,” he mutters just loud enough for you to hear him over the music, “this dress looks insane on you.” 

The wind is knocked out of your chest, a jolt of electricity flashing through your core. “No one’s told me yet. You’re the first.” 

His eyes drag up from where his fingers are flirting with your dress, traveling up your body until they meet yours. “You look fucking gorgeous,” he says. “There. Now I'm the second to say it.” 

It’s hard to breathe, hard to swallow. Even harder to find words, or form a coherent sentence. 

“You—I—you can’t—”

“Can’t..?” His hands don’t dare move from your dress, knuckles occasionally brushing against your thigh. “Can’t tell you the truth?”

“You know what you’re doing, Jungkook.” 

“I do,” he agrees. “Is it working?” 

You want to lie. Want to play it cool. Want to maintain some semblance of the upper hand. 

But your downfall was inevitable, right from the moment you saw him standing in the cafe. Like a champagne bottle that someone shook a little too hard, a balloon pressed against a thumbtack. It was always meant to explode. 

“Yes,” you admit. 

“Good.” Both of his hands move to grip the side of your barstool. In one smooth movement, he turns you to face him completely. His legs spread, creating space, and he guides the stool forward with his toe until your thighs slot between his.  He’s caging you in, hands landing atop your thighs, palms warm against your bare skin. 

You’re practically pressed against him, his face level with yours, “Is this okay?” he asks again, fingers digging into the flesh. 

Suddenly, it’s like you’re painfully aware of all the places where he isn’t touching you. Your faces, your chests. You want more, need more. 

“Stop asking me that,” you mumble, looking away, but he guides your gaze back with a finger under your chin. 

“I need to know, princess.” His tone is serious, but you want to smile from the pet name. “Tell me if it’s too much.” 

“It’s not,” you whisper. “It’s not too much.” 

“No?”

“No.” 

His hands slide up your thighs, hiding underneath the fabric, pushing a boundary that hasn't been tested in a long time. “What about now?’ 

You’re going to combust. Right here, in the middle of  Sinkhole, surrounded by people, you're going to burst into flames.

“Still okay,” you exhale. 

For one exhilarating second, his eyes drop to your lips, and you think you’ll get what you’ve been seeing in your dreams the past few nights. You need to get out of here. Away from the crowd, away from the noise, somewhere you can actually hear yourself think—or not think. Preferably not think.

“Do you want to…” you start, then hesitate. The words die on your tongue. 

He cocks his head, hair flopping into his eyes. “Do I want to…” 

Your heartbeat reverberates in your throat. “Talk somewhere more private? It’s loud here.” 

His composure shifts, and you watch the realization hit him. What you're suggesting. What that implies.

“Private,” he repeats. “To talk.” 

“Yes.” 

“About?” 

You deadpan, brain racking for a subject, any subject. “Stuff,” is what you come up with.

A dry laugh escapes him. “And maybe things as well?” 

You pout. “Important stuff.” 

“I’m sure.” His smile is lopsided, goofy and full of light.  He pulls you up from the barstool until your feet touch the ground again. His hand finds your fingers, easily lacing them. “Whatever you want, princess.” 

Where the fuck did that come from? When did he become the type of person to use pet names? And why is it working? Why is that single word making your entire nervous system light up like a Christmas tree?

Tugging you through the crowd, he peers behind him every few seconds to make sure you haven’t floated away. His hand is firm around yours, guiding you through the mass of bodies, and you try and catch a glimpse of any of your friends. 

Unfortunately, you do spot Jimin and Taehyung, pressed against a wall, entranced in a makeout session so intense that they’re definitely not coming up for air soon. At least you won’t have to explain to them where you went. Yunjin is nowhere to be found, probably on the dance floor or already home with one of her many flings. 

Jungkook pulls you through another section of the crowd, leading you down a side hallway that’s mercifully empty. The music is muffled, bass still thumping through the walls but not deafening anymore. You lean back against the cold concrete, the chill a shock against your overheated skin. The wall vibrates with each bass drop, humming in your chest. 

Jungkook stops in front of you, and you have to tilt your head back to see his face. “What did you want to talk about?”  

Your mind shoots blanks. In this dim hallway, you’ve become aware of how completely the tables have turned. Ten years ago, you held all the cards. You were the girl who made him nervous, who had him stumbling over words, who could get him to do anything with a smile and a flutter of your eyelashes. But now you’re the one who’s heart is racing, who feels like you might explode from a single touch. He has the upper hand, utterly, entirely. And you handed it to him willingly. Put his hand on your waist, guided him here, and now you’re putty in his hands and he knows it. 

“You make me nervous,” you blurt out. 

The silence that engulfs you feels like punishment. Your mouth goes dry, palms sweating under the guise of his stare. 

He takes a step closer. There’s little to no space between you. “That’s interesting.” 

“Why is that interesting?” Your back is pressed against the wall. Nowhere to go. 

“You used to make me nervous,” he says, bracing his hand on the wall. His bicep strains and you have to fight the urge to ogle at them. “For years.” 

“That was different, Jungkook.” 

“Was it?” He studies you. “In what way?” 

“Well, because now you’re you, and I’m—“

“I’m me?” His eyebrows raise an inch, lips curling upwards in a smirk. “What does that mean?” 

Why did you drink so much alcohol? Why, why, why? Maybe if you hadn’t, your lips wouldn’t be so goddamn loose. Your filter would still be in tact. You wouldn’t be staring at him like you want to devour him whole. 

You peer up at him, eyelashes fluttering. His cheeks are flushed from the amount of drinks he’s consumed, and he’s close enough that you can see the moles that litter his face. The one under his lip. The one on his nose. You want to kiss each and every single one of them. Map them out with your lips until you have them memorized. 

You give up on any pretense of playing it cool. “You know you’re hot, Jungkook.” 

“Do I know?” The smirk on his face grows tenfold, and god, you want to kiss it off him. “You’ve never told me this before.” 

“High school was different.” 

“You’ve said that a lot, but it’s actually not that different,” he murmurs. 

“Hm?”

His gaze drops to your lips for the hundredth time tonight. “Because I’m still so fucking unbelievably, out of my mind, attracted to you.”

Your brain struggles to process it—that he’s felt this way for years. That it never went away. That all the confidence and cockiness is built on top of the same desire that made teenage Jungkook stutter around you.

“You’re just saying things,” you whisper. But you’ve known. You’ve always known. 

His hand falls from the wall to cup your jaw. “You think I begged Jimin for your number because I was just being polite? You think I showed up at three different cafes hoping fate would bring us together because I’m casual about this?”

“But you said that cafe was your regular spot—”

He fights to hide the smile creeping onto his face. “I’ve wanted you since I was a teenager.” His thumb brushes across your cheekbone. “Somehow, impossibly, I want you even more now.” 

Your heart is trying to break out of the confines of your ribcage. “Jungkook.” 

His forehead is almost touching yours. “What’s different is that now I’m not terrified to tell you.”

You don’t know what else to say to him, so you smile as brightly as you can, letting your happiness live on your face. 

“How many drinks have you had tonight?” he asks. 

You scrunch your brows together. “A lot of soju. That dirty shirley. Why?” 

Bluntly, he says, “Because I want to kiss you. But not if you’re too drunk to remember it tomorrow.” 

You squeak, back slightly arching off the wall. You’ve never wanted anything more, never ached to feel someone the way you do him. Heat travels through your veins, burning you to your core. 

“I told you, I’m tipsy,” you rush to protest. “I’ll remember this tomorrow.” 

It should be embarrassing how quickly you reassure him, how the words tumble out of your mouth. 

His forehead presses against yours, and it’s a miracle you don’t dissolve into a puddle. “Then can I—”

“Yes,” you interrupt. If he doesn’t kiss you in the next five seconds, you might actually die. 

“I didn’t finish the question.” His lips ghost over yours, a gentle taste of what you yearn for. 

“I don’t care what the question is,” you exhale. “The answer is yes.” 

And then his lips are on yours. 

Never in your high school years did you imagine how Jeon Jungkook kissed. Never thought about how his lips would feel against your own. Never cared to think about it. 

This past week, however, you’ve spent more time imagining this exact scenario than you’ve spent breathing. But reality is superior to whatever your brain could conjure up. Your imagination could never describe Jungkook’s demanding kiss, or the way his lips melt into yours with utmost certainty. His hand slides from your jaw to your cheek, cradling it. The other hand finds your waist, pulling you flush against him. 

A mix of a gasp and a moan falls from your lips, and he swallows it wholly. Your fists find his shirt, tugging on the fabric, pulling him closer even though there’s no space between you. His lip rings are cold against your mouth, a contrast to the heat of his lips and the heat between your thighs. Parting your lips, his tongue sweeps in, tastes just like you smelled earlier—whiskey and peppermint. Your lip gloss is definitely everywhere at this point—on him, on you, probably on the wall behind you—but you couldn’t care less.

His strong hand travels from your cheek down, down, fingers wrapping loosely around your throat. Claiming, holding. The possessiveness of the gesture sends heat pooling low into your stomach. Jungkook’s thumb presses into your pulse point, feeling how your heart is racing. 

And when you do finally pull away, your heart is still going berzerk. His lips are shiny with your gloss, pink and swollen and thoroughly kissed. You can't help but giggle at the sight. 

“What?” he asks, breathless. The tips of his ears are tickled pink.

“You’re wearing my lip gloss,” you giggle again, reaching up to wipe it with your thumb. But he doesn’t let you get far, catches your wrist and presses a kiss right where your flowery perfume is sprayed. He takes a deep inhale and smiles back at you like you hung the moon and stars. Your heart is pumping so wildly you’re worried it might actually burst out of your chest.

Then his lips are on your neck, trailing down to your exposed collarbone, finding every sensitive spot with ease like he already knows you, like he holds the map to your body. He holds you tight to him, grounding—and thank god because your legs are shaking so badly that you're not sure you could stand without him holding you up.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, and he hums against your skin. His mouth finds your jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to pass out. Your fingers thread through his unruly dark brown locks, tugging slightly at the nape. 

And you can’t really help the intrusive thoughts that leap in your mind, the tidal wave of desire that keeps lapping at your core. He’s insatiable, and you feel gluttonous. “Do you wanna—” you start, but his teeth graze your pulse point and your brain turns to mush. “maybe—ahh—go to mine?”

He halts, pulls back enough to look at you. “Is that what you want?” His voice is strained, the thread of self-control growing weaker and weaker. 

Your brain is fuzzy from alcohol and kissing and the feeling of his hands on your waist, but you know what you're saying. You know what you're offering. You’re done fighting whatever decade-old guilt lives inside you, because you deserve him. Maybe you’re finally ready to accept it. To trust that you’ve grown, that you’re growing, that you’re not done growing and thats okay. You deserve all the good that Jeon Jungkook has to offer. “Yes,” you breathe, “I want—I want you.”

His eyes search for hesitation. “You’ve been drinking, and I don't want you to feel like you need to—”

“I’m sure.” Cupping his face in your hands, you cut his sentence in half. Don’t even let it slip between you. “I know what I want.”

Somehow, his eyes have gone darker, fingers tightening for purchase. “Say it again,” he murmurs. 

“I want you, Jungkook.” Your thumb brushes against his bottom lip, catching on his lip rings. “Take me home.”

“Fucking hell,” he practically moans, and then his lips are on you again with an urgency that wasn’t there before. “We should probably tell your friends we’re leaving.”

“Jimin’s busy.” If you had to guess, he’s on his knees at home, getting topped by Kim Taehyung. “And Yunjin will understand. Your friends?”

“They know who you are.”

A swarm of butterflies kick up in your stomach. 

You tug on his shirt. “Now can we please go before I lose my mind?” 

His answer to that is another quick kiss—but still thorough, because who is he if not a man starved—and he pulls you through the hallway, back into the club, into the thick of the chaos still lingering this late in the night. You hardly register any of it. The lights, the bass of the music, the bodies pressing against you as you squeeze by. None of it matters. 

You feel like you’re floating, like your feet are moving but you can’t feel the ground, like you’re walking on clouds. His hand is wrapped around yours, pulling you forward, and you’d follow him anywhere right now. To the ends of the earth. Off a cliff. 

Once the crisp night air hits your skin, Jungkook is already scanning the street, hand raised to hail a taxi. One pulls up within seconds—it’s got to be fate, or the universe supporting your agenda to get laid—and he opens the door, ushering you inside with a hand on the small of your back. 

Jungkook shuts the door forcefully, immediately snuggling into your side, leaving little to no room for you to create space between you two. Not that you wanted to, but you want to giggle at how utterly fearful he seems of distance from you. 

“Where to?” the driver asks, eyeing Jungkook in the rearview. 

You rattle off your address, and the cab pulls off into traffic. Seoul at this hour is never quiet—in fact, it’s usually more lively, since clubs stay open until the wee hours of the morning. But all you can really focus on is Jungkook beside you, his thigh pressed against yours in the cramped backseat. His fingers lace through yours. An innocent, sweet gesture, a complete contrast from what was happening ten minutes ago against that hallway wall.  

You look down at your intertwined hands—his so much larger than yours, rings cool against your skin. A smile bestows upon your lips. When you glance up at him, he’s staring at you with this fond expression that makes your heart stutter.

“What?” you ask, giddy. 

“Nothing,” he replies, but the smile on his face doesn’t disappear. “I just can’t believe this is happening.” 

“Me neither,” you admit sheepishly. 

His hand reaches over, tugging the hem of your dress down where it’s ridden up your thigh. The action would be chivalrous, if not for the way his fingers linger, if not for the way his jaw clenches, if not for the way his fond expression darkens into something sinister. 

“You need to stop moving,” he says, a deep exhale following his words. 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not even moving.”

“Your… dress is moving.” His hand remains on your thigh, holding the fabric down. “I can’t hold it together if this dress rides up any more.” 

“Oh.” 

He shifts in his jeans, clearly uncomfortable. You have to fight not to avert your eyes to his crotch. 

“Do you know how long it’ll take to get to her apartment?” Jungkook asks the driver. You snort loudly. 

He shrugs. Clearly, the man has never shared Jungkook’s predicament, because he looks unbothered by the urgency in his voice. “About twenty minutes.” 

Jungkook groans, leaning back into the seat, closing his eyes for a second. When he opens them again and catches your gaze, he has to close them to calm his friend down there. And it does make you giggle again, but what you want more than anything is to feel him. For him to give you a part of him that you didn’t know you needed until now. 

You whisper in his ear. “I don’t want you to hold it together.”

His eyes fly open, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Don’t tempt me right now, [Y/N].”

“Why not?” And you pull out your tricks—you bat your eyelashes, tilt your head down, lick your lips to wet them. His face grows pale. 

“Because we’re in a cab,” he murmurs, staring at your lips. “And I’m trying to be respectful.”

“Maybe I want you to disrespect me right now.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he's kissing you again. His hand leaves your dress to cup your face, angling your head so he can kiss you deeper. 

The cab driver clears his throat. You both ignore him, too hypnotized by the other to think about stopping. He pulls you as close as he can, and a frustrated noise escapes from your lips. There’s too many layers, too much distance, and he smiles knowingly against your lips. 

He seems to know just what you need. 

Jungkook’s large hand lands on your knee, caressing the supple skin. 

“You know how to be quiet, baby?” 

You nod meekly. 

His voice brushes against the shell of your ear, hand traveling up your thigh to mask itself under the fabric of your dress.  “Good girl. Spread your legs for me.”

Eyes widening, you stare up at him blankly. There is no way on this planet, Jeon Jungkook, the man who you were sure—up until now—never had his first kiss, is about to finger you in a taxi. But his hand moving near your lace panties says otherwise. You jolt forward at the feeling of his deft fingers swiping at the fabric as discreetly as possible. You gasp, and he tosses you a look before you slap your hand over your mouth. Luckily, the taxi driver seems more focused on the fastest route to your apartment than whatever debauchery is occurring in his backseat. It’s also dark in the car, impossible for the naked eye to see Jungkook’s movements. 

He presses against the wet spot on your underwear, and heat creeps up your neck at the realization of just how turned on he’s had you since the hallway. Maybe even before then, if you’re being honest. He smiles at the revelation. 

Your nails dig into the leather seat of the cab. Jungkook’s tattooed fingers push aside your underwear, his pointer finger collecting the arousal. A whimper escapes you, and when you look at him, the look on his face sends another round of wetness dripping down his finger. “God, baby, you’re so fucking wet,” he whispers into your ear, letting two fingers ghost over your clit, gently pushing the bundle of nerves. “Didn’t know public sex turned you on so much.” 

You bite back a moan. The teasing pace he’s set over your clit would be fun, if you had a constant stream of sexual endeavors, but unfortunately, you’re as desperate as a raccoon sifting through trash. Gripping onto his wrist, you push him onto you fiercely. “Needy, aren’t we?” he mutters. 

All you can reply with is a quick nod. He chuckles softly, rubbing circles on your clit with the pad of his pointer and middle finger. Your head falls back on the headrest, eyes squeezed tight, tight, tight as you try to calculate how he found your clit so fast. It’s so wet, dripping onto the seat, his hands, that you could cum just from the stimulation of it all. 

“What do you want, princess? Hm?” Somehow, it sounds like he’s far away from you, like you’re caught on your own cloud of bliss. You want to ask for more, need more like it’s oxygen. His rhythm slows just a tad, enough to have your eyes flying open. “I asked you a question.”

Oh. Oh. So he’s that kind of guy. 

“I want—I want your fingers,” you whisper feebly. 

“Yeah? Where, princess? I’ll give you whatever you want.” he kisses your shoulder, your jaw, and it makes your brain fuzzy around the edges. 

The tantalizing pace he’s set on your clit makes it hard to speak. “W-want you to fuck me with them.”

His lips curl upwards, eyes blazing. “You like my fingers?” Another nod. He removes his fingers from your clit, slipping back out underneath your dress. You’re about to protest, maybe even kick him out of the car, until you watch him make direct eye contact with you, and place his fingers in his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around the digits. You blink. What the actual fuck have you gotten yourself into?

“Please, Jungkook,” you beg, your nails scrambling to dig in his clothed thigh. He chastises you, laughs at you, before slithering under your dress again, plunging his fingers directly into your sopping entrance. You gasp, loud enough to make the driver look in the rearview, but you bite your bottom lip before any more can escape. “I know you can take it. If you can take that douchebag Kim Mingyu, you can handle me. Although, after I’m done with you, my name might be the only name you moan for the rest of your life.” 

You should hate that. You really, really should. But clearly, your dignity has taken the night off, and in its place is a woman who is so endeared over being degraded by Jeon Jungkook. 

His fingers pump in and out, achingly slow, making you feel every inch. You’re gripping his thigh so tightly you swear there’ll be claw marks. Your head rests on the back of your seat, chest heaving. If not for the sound of traffic outside, the driver might be able to hear the way your pussy squelches with each movement. 

Jungkook’s lips press against your jaw, litter around your neck. “More,” you mumble, sounding drunker than you did in the club. 

“God, you’re so fucking wet. I can’t wait to be inside you. Gonna fuck you all night.” Lewd words continue to spill from his lips. Sending waves of arousal onto his fingers, more for him to play with as he picks up his pace. He curls his fingers upwards, reaching that sensitive spot that far and few men have ever found. Your body trembles, thighs shaking, and Jungkook’s hand lands on them to try and steady you. 

His thumb finds your clit, rubbing sloppy circles as he brings you to the brink of your orgasm. Your eyes fight to stay open, looking over at Jungkook—and holy hell. His arm veins are popping out, mostly from the amount of effort he’s putting into fucking into you to completion, his dark hair flopping over his face. His silver chain bounces off his chest, reflecting on the city lights outside. 

And you don’t even realize how quickly you’re about to cum, tears brimming your eyes from the way his fingers pump in and out you wildly, thumb matching his pace over your clit. “So tight around my fingers, princess. You gonna cum?” 

There’s no way you can be quiet about this. Not with how fucking good he looks, not with how easily his fingers slip in and out you, hitting your sweet spot. You bury your head in his neck, moaning into his warm skin, trying to muffle the sound as much as possible. “Fuck, Jungkook.” 

“Want you to cum on my fingers, princess. Can you do that for me?” You nod into his neck. 

Your walls clench around his fingers one last time, to the point where he can hardly move them, his thumb working you through the orgasm that ripples through your body. Your fingers claw at his arm, teeth biting at his neck. You can feel yourself lose control, heart beating erratically in your chest. 

Jungkook’s fingers halt inside you, thumb coaxing you through the rest of your orgasm. “It’s okay, princess. I’ve got you.” 

Your body completely slumps into him, still feeling full with his two fingers inside you. 

Finally, after he allows you a moment to catch your breath, he pulls them out of your pussy, soaked with your creamy arousal. “Open,” he says gently, but when you look up at him, his gaze is hardly sympathetic. Your lips part for him, and he places his fingers on your tongue. You swirl it around, tasting yourself, sweet and salty and warm, foreign to you. Jungkook’s eyes never leave yours. 

“Good job, baby,” he says as he removes his fingers, pressing one, two chaste kisses on your lips. 

All things considered, you’re in absolute shock. Somewhere between high school and now, Jeon Jungkook learned how to kiss like he’s trying to ruin you for all other men. Where did he learn all this? Who taught him to do that thing with his fingers? How does he know exactly where to put his hands, exactly how much pressure to use to make you lose your mind?

The thought of him practicing on other people—other girls—makes something ugly twist in your stomach. 

You’re an evil, evil girl. “Where’d you learn all that?” 

He raises an eyebrow, tucking a strand of your loose hair behind your ear. “Are you asking about my sexual history now?” 

“No.”

“You are,” he teases. “You’re not jealous, right?”

If only he knew how ill you felt at the idea of another girl knowing how his fingers can easily find their g-spot. 

“I am not jealous.” You feign indifference, but your voice comes out all defensive and petulant, which kind of ruins it all. “Just asking a question.” 

“You want to know who I've been with?” he asks, clearly trying not to laugh. 

“Never said that.” 

He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “There’s been other people. I’m not going to lie about that. But that’s not a big deal.” 

You furrow your brows. “Why?” 

His thumb traces circles on your thigh. “Because I thought about you during all of it. I wondered what you’d feel like, wondered what sounds you would make. So, yeah,” he continues. “I learned some things. But I only ever wanted to use them on you.” 

You kiss him again because you don’t know what else to do with the feeling expanding in your chest. Because he’s looking at you like that and saying things like that and your heart is fluttering out of your body. God, if that doesn’t make you want to drag him upstairs immediately.

The cab pulls up to your building and Jungkook is already pulling out his wallet, throwing bills at the driver without checking the amount. "Keep the change," he says, and then he's out of the cab, pulling you with him.

Your legs are unsteady when you stand—from the alcohol, from the kissing, from everything—and his arm wraps around your waist, steadying you. “I’m not done with you yet, princess.” 

And, really, he’s not joking because he’s on you the second you step through the door to your apartment. Barely even crosses the threshold before his lips are colliding with yours passionately, slamming your spine into the wall by your entryway. His hands cup your cheeks entirely. He can’t get enough of you, like opposite poles of a magnet attracting. Shortly after his affair with the entryway, Jungkook moves a little more down your hallway, but you’re too focused on kissing him to direct him. Your shoes are discarded, purse on the floor, and then your back finds another cool wall to rest against. 

Jungkook assaults your neck, leaving a trail of bruises that are going to take a hell of a lot of explaining tomorrow. Your apartment probably sounds like the set of some cheap porno, what with Jungkook’s whimpers and your moans, and neither of you are even naked yet. Your hands run over the front of his chest, feeling his sculpted body underneath his shirt. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs into your collarbone, where he’s leaving hickeys in his wake. His hands wander over your chest, cupping them over your dress. Without another word or warning, he yanks down the top of your dress, your breasts spilling out. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you as he manhandles you, his lips coming to wrap around your hardened nipple. His tongue swipes over the sensitive nub, eyes peering up expectantly, watching every facial expression that contorts on your face. 

Your eyes squeeze tightly, a kaleidoscope of color blooming behind your vision. “Jungkook,” you moan, carding your fingers through his unruly hair. 

Without preamble, Jungkook kisses your nipples one last time before dropping to his knees on your hardwood floor with a resounding thump. 

You open your eyes. The sight in front of you is fucking ungodly. If you look closely, you can see Jungkook from high school, expectantly looking up at you with puppy dog eyes, pushing your dress up to hang around your waist. 

“W-what are you doing?’ you ask. 

He looks drunk. “Need to eat you out. I want to taste you, princess.”

You don’t remember the last time a man has looked so needy to feel you, to taste you. Actually, you can’t remember a time this even occurred. 

You exhale. “Yes. Yes, please.” 

That’s all he really needs. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment more in burying his face between your folds as though it’s his last meal on earth. His fingers come to spread your lips open for him as he flicks his tongue over your nub, sending you bent over as you scramble for purchase in his hair, his shoulders, anything. “Oh, fuck, Jungkook, right there.” 

He notices your struggle to stand upright, and then he’s guiding your leg over his shoulder, toes dangling. He moans into your pussy, a breathy little exhale that sends fire shooting through your veins. Jungkook’s strong arm holds your leg in place over his shoulder. His tongue fucks inside of you shallowly, your eyes rolling backwards. “Tastes so sweet, so fucking heavenly, baby,” he mutters but it barely makes its way into your ears. You can feel his lip rings swiping over your arousal, the cool metal causing your thighs to quake uncontrollably. 

And then you’re just babbling profanities, a mantra of his name, curse words. A litany of praise. Some other embarrassing things you hope he never remembers. 

“I feel g-guilty. For the way I treated y-you in high school,” you stammer, quivering against his face as he licks another stripe up your slit. 

You don’t know why it’s all coming out now, but it is. God, you were such a bitch in high school. Such an egotistical brat who was too caught in her own ways to ever see that there was more to life than social status and cheerleading. 

His tongue encircles your clit, one of your hands flying to his hair to tug. “Don’t feel guilty,” he murmurs. “That’s not what I want you to feel right now. I want to make you feel good.” 

His tongue travels from your hole to your clit, and normally the rhythm would throw you off, but he’s so skillful about the whole thing that you’re teetering on the brink of an orgasm. And he must know, must be able to read your body like it’s something he spent years studying, because he’s sucking on your clit, letting his tongue flick over it repeatedly, maintaining a rhythm that has you screaming, “Oh fuck, oh shit, I’m gonna—Jungkook, I’m gonna cum.” 

That doesn’t deter him the slightest. Spurs him on like he’s entered in some kind of pussy-eating competition. You’ll spend years talking about this experience, you think. 

Your fingers tighten in his hair, tangling, tugging, and your entire body vibrates as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. He fucks you through it, keeps going until you’re pushing him away with your toe forcefully. When he finally gives up, he says from between your legs, “Better than Kim Mingyu?” 

Maybe you shouldn’t care about high school anymore, but you can’t help but laugh, smile at him. “He never even ate me out, Koo.” 

His face softens— whether that’s because of the nickname you adorned him with or the fact that Mingyu was an asshole, you’ll never know—and he’s standing up, pressing a dirty kiss to your lips. It’s messy, sloppy, tongue over teeth, but so undeniably him that you cling to him like a koala. “He’s the biggest idiot of all time to miss out on that.” 

“Hmm,” you hum against his lips. They taste just like you, and it sends another gush of arousal pouring out of you. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist, your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. You’re drowning in him—his taste, his smell, the way he’s kissing you like he’s been starving for it. You can feel his length poking against your thigh, and your heart skips at just how large it al;ready feels through his jeans. 

Your hands roam down his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his shirt, tracing lower until your fingers find his belt. You fumble with the buckle, fingers clumsy with desire. Jungkook looks down at your manicured fingers, easily working, speaking to how much experience you have. His cock throbs at the thought. 

You’re about to get on your knees, return the favor, but he stops you as soon as you lower an inch. 

Jungkook simply says, “The next time I want you to cum, is going to be on my cock.” 

Okay, yes sir. He’s all dominating and commanding and it makes your pussy clench around nothing. 

His forehead drops against yours, breath punching out of him. “Fuck, I need to be inside you.” 

The metal clinks as his pants drop to the floor, his Calvin Klein boxers doing little to hide how big he is. Jungkook kicks them off, eager to remove as many layers as possible. Your mouth salivates, and you’re positive a sliver of drool is slithering out of your mouth. His hands tighten on your hips, bruising the skin. 

You kiss him again, but this time, it’s rougher, faster, hand slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, and he makes a sound between a groan and a whimper that makes you feel powerful.  Your hands roam, searching, until—

Holy shit. You gasp into his mouth, feeling his length. He’s big, no doubt about that. But it’s the fucking girth of it that has your mouth watering. He’s thick, and you can feel the veins that decorate his cock. 

Jesus Christ. This is what your Chemistry tutor was hiding under his pants. A fucking anaconda. 

But you’re not about to admit that. 

No shot in hell. 

“Mhmm, I feel like you’re kinda small,” you tease, battling your eyelashes at him as you stroke his hardened length dangerously slow. 

His nostrils flare. “Yeah? Think I’m small, baby?” 

“Tiny.”

Your thumb drags over his tip, and then you feel it. A piece of metal. Jeon Jungkook has a fucking dick piercing. 

His eyes set ablaze as he realizes that you know. “Fucking hell, you’re still the same brat you’ve always been.”

Jungkook’s lips collide with yours, and he kicks off his boxers urgently. “Fuck,” he breathes against your mouth. Suddenly his hands are gripping the backs of your thighs, lifting you up like you weigh nothing. You gasp, legs wrapping around his waist as your back hits the wall harder. The new position puts you at eye level with him, head spinning. He reaches down between your bodies to let his cock sit in between your wet folds, ever so teasing. 

Your fingernails dig into the nape of his neck, head lolling back against the wall. “Please fuck me, Koo. Wanna feel you inside me.”

“Oh, now you want to beg? After you called me tiny?” He hisses as he swirls the tip over your clit, the cool metal of his piercing sending shockwaves down your spine. 

“Please,” you beg. “Pleasepleaseplease.” It’s slurred when it leaves your mouth, breath catching when you look down and see the way the metal reflects off his soaking tip, encased in your juices. “I need it.” 

With that, he pushes into you, all inches of his length, squirming in his arms. You scramble to hold onto something, opting for his biceps that are straining with the weight of holding you up. A moan leaves both of your mouths. He waits until you’re fully adjusted, taking every inch of him. “Feels so good, princess. So tight and warm, holy shit.” 

“Jungkook,” you pant. You’re so full of him, he’s everywhere. Stopping is the last thing on your mind. You’re a woman made of greed. “You’re so—fuck—big.” 

He smiles triumphantly and takes that as his sign to move. He uses his arms to slide you up and down his cock, slamming you onto him, your clit meeting his pubic bone. The piercing drags against your walls with each thrust, hitting the sweet spot inside you that has you screaming a litany of crude words that’ll have your neighbors knocking your door down tomorrow morning. His head falls to the crook of your shoulder, burying himself in your scent. 

It’s more than you’ve ever taken, beyond any sex you’ve ever had in your life. You’re going to be ruined for all other men and you haven’t even made it to the bedroom yet. Your past lovers are about to become a footnote. A distant memory. Ancient fucking history.

The sound of your pussy squelching with each rough thrust fills the room, Jungkook’s hairline beading with sweat as he furiously pounds into you, tits bouncing in his face. He begins to babble, “Used to cum so hard thinking about you, baby. You in that—fuck—cheer uniform, with your nipples hard. I wanted to push it to the side and fuck you.”

You moan at the thought. “Yeah, why didn’t you? I would’ve rode your face with your glasses on.” 

He presses a sloppy kiss on the side of your mouth. “Bet you would’ve loved that, huh? Deflowering the nerd?”

The mental image flashes through your mind—seventeen-year-old Jungkook, all awkward limbs and nervous stammering, those thick-framed glasses sliding down his nose while you sat on his face in the library after hours. You would’ve been so mean about it too. Would’ve made him beg, would’ve had him so desperate and eager to please that he would’ve done anything you asked. Would’ve probably given him the best night of his teenage life and then ignored him in the hallway the next day because you were dating Mingyu and had a reputation to maintain.

“I would’ve made you cum—ahh, shit—so hard.” You try your hardest to maintain eye contact, but everytime you do, your walls flutter around his cock. “You would’ve been obsessed.”

“I was already obsessed,” he groans, nipping at your jaw. His balls slap against your ass, adding to the horrific amount of sounds eliciting from your apartment. “It couldn’t have gotten much worse.”

He has a very fair point. 

You thread your fingers through his hair, already on the brink of another orgasm. Everything about him—his scent, the way his tattoos glisten with sweat, how his bottom lip is tugged underneath his front teeth—sends your mind into delirium. He’s fucking you with enough force to have your head bouncing off the wall every few thrusts, that you feel it resound along your bones. 

“Fuck, I don’t wanna cum yet,” he whimpers into your skin. “But god, I don’t think I’ll be able to last.”

Neither will you, but an idea sparks in your pretty little head. You crook a finger under his jaw, making him look at you. His expression is completely fucked out, lips swollen, cheeks ruddy. His thrusts slow, enough so that he can pay attention to your words. “I want to get on top. Let me fuck you, Jungkook.” 

He nods, and then he’s readjusting you in his arms, with you clinging to him like a newborn baby. You giggle as he frantically tries to find your bedroom, pausing every few moments to press a few kisses to your cheeks and lips. 

Finally, he locates your room, plopping you down on the bed, and you moan at the sudden emptiness you feel with his cock gone. He tosses his t-shirt over his head. 

Jungkook sits up against the headboard, gently stroking his length as he watches you move to bracket his thighs, settling over his tip. “Ready for me, princess?” 

Eagerly, you shake your head in approval, and you sink down inch by inch onto his length. For some reason, in this position, it feels like he’s stretching you out more, your walls sucking him in greedily. Your hands come to rest on his beefy chest, nails digging into the skin. 

There’s not many things you're good at, but one thing you are insanely talented at? Riding cock like it’s your god given right. Your hips undulate wildly, bouncing up and down to accommodate his full length. Jungkook watches in awe, in a trance, as you cream his cock. His hands come to sit at your hips, guiding you the best he can. His head rests against the headboard, lazily watching as you play with your tits. “Ride my cock,” he groans, “just like that, princess.”  

“You stretch me out so good, Jungkook,” you moan, thighs trembling with each movement. He can feel you getting closer to the edge, already riled up from the previous position. Your walls clench around him, sucking him in. His thumb falls to your clit again, finding it so easily after so many rounds. “Right there, baby,” you chant, eyes closed. “Right fucking there.”

“Jesus, I'm so close,” he grunts, beginning to thrust upwards into you as your own pace slows. The sounds are beyond obscene—his cock plunging into your wetness, headboard slamming against the wall. You don’t care about any of it, not one bit, as long he keeps fucking into you. 

It was always obvious from the moment he kissed you at the club that neither of you were going to last long, anyway. 

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” you practically scream, which would have you embarrassed, but he seems just as ruined as you. 

Your orgasm washes over you, legs shaking as your mouth tears open around a sound that might be his name, might be something else entirely. Your walls flutter around him, and Jungkook can’t help himself anymore. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum too. Can I—fuck—can I cum inside?” 

You nod like a broken bobblehead. Thank god for modern medicine. 

He empties into you, bruising your hips with his hold. He’s so attractive when he finishes that you almost orgasm again from the sight. His bare chest heaves, a slight sheen of sweat layered on the skin. 

For a few moments, you two catch your breath, letting his cock soften entirely inside you. He looks worn, eyes drooping. 

But after an eternity, you finally roll off him. You’re not sure what you were expecting in terms of aftercare, but your heart flutters when he lazily wraps his arms around you, tugging you into his side to rest your cheek on his chest. It’s comforting, with his hands playing with your hair, his own heart thumping along in his chest. Reminding you that you’re here with him, and this is real. 

Silence has never been so peaceful. 

You think you’ll fall asleep like this, but then he says, “I want to see you again.” 

Your heart softens around the edges, at the notion that he believes you’ll never speak to him again after this. You can’t blame him for it. It’s exactly what high school you would’ve done. 

But you’re not 17 anymore, and you deserve all the good he has to offer you. No more silly little games. 

“I would really like that,” you whisper back. 

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Mind checking your calendar for me?” 

You grin like a lovesick idiot. “Yup. Checking right now. And it looks like I’m free this whole week.” 

“Thursday, then. Dinner at 7,” he confirms. “You’re not going to, like, make me beg for a real answer this time, are you?”

Giggling, you respond, “Maybe I should check that calendar again…”

He sits up, pouting. “Don’t. Don’t you dare,” he warns, and then his hands are moving to tickle your sides. 

You squeal, squirming away, but he just pulls you back against him. The laughs that escape you are so full of sunshine that you hardly recognize them. You’ve been living under a fog for so long that when it lifted, you forgot how bright life could be. 

“Okay, okay!” you gasp, and his fingers still. “Thursday. 7 o’clock.”

“There we go.” He kisses your forehead. “Was that so hard?”

“Hardest thing I’ve ever done,” you say dramatically, resuming your post, nestled into his side. 

“Liar.” His fingers resume playing with your hair. “You like me.”

You feel like a kid in kindergarten, caught passing a note in class with “do you like me? check yes or no” scrawled in messy handwriting. Like you’re on the playground at recess, heart racing because your crush smiled at you across the monkey bars. But it’s got you just as giddy. “I guess I do.” 

Jungkook reaches over to pull the blanket over you two. “So what happens now?” you wonder aloud. It’s an innocent question, but somehow loaded with more intent than you realize. 

“Now?” he yawns. “Now you let me stay the night. Then tomorrow I’m gonna make you the most fire breakfast of all time. Then Thursday, I’ll take you to the best dinner of your life. And then—”

“There’s more?” Your eyes widen in sarcasm. 

“And then I keep taking you out until you realize you’re in love with me too.”

Your heartbeat is quick but steady in your chest. “Pretty confident about that, hm?”

“Extremely so.” Jungkook yawns again, voice getting drowsy. “I’ve got years of romcom knowledge. I’ve read those Tumblr fanfics. You don’t stand a chance.”

He’s probably right. You don’t stand a chance. In fact, you didn’t from the moment he stood in front of you at that cafe. 

Before you close your eyes and float off into sleep, you mumble out, “God, when did you get so hot?” 

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 @m4aimm @Bangtansfav-7 @secretspam699 @Seolhyuningg @ot7girl4l @writesvani @xsyruhh @songbyeonkim 

[kookooluvr]

MADE OF HONOR | JJK

you gained a lot from university; a law degree catching dust in your attic, countless arguments with your roommate about laundry schedules, and a best friend whose biggest fear in life is commitment. in essence, jungkook's world gets flipped upside down when you take a trip to london and he finally realizes his feelings for you...only to find out you've come back with a fiancé.

pairing: jungkook x (fem) reader x namjoon

genre: fluff, angst, smut, f2l au, strangers to lovers au, love triangle au, bestfriend!jungkook, fuckboy!jungkook, baker!reader, photographer!namjoon

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !

w/c: 63k

warnings: chaotic meet cute, lots of friendly banter, emotional constipation from jk, impulsive decisions made by oc and joon, BRITISH NAMJOON, some unrequited love at one point (right person wrong time), jealousy jealousyyyy, jk does some questionable things for love LMAO, fear of dying alone, some emotional cheating, yearninggggg, crashing a wedding, explicit sexual content; two separate sex scenes, kissing, dirty talk, handjob, oral (m. & f. receiving), breastplay, bigdick!joon, sub!joon, lightdom!jk, switch!reader, unprotected sex, wedding night sex, cowgirl, missionary, creampies.

a/n: FINALLYYYYY HALLELUJAH IT'S HERE Y'ALL 😩😩😩 this fic took me longer than i anticipated but i'm really happy with how it turned out and i hope you all love it as much as i do !!!! it's super duper long and i had to split it into four because of the 1k block limit (which is annoying but it's okay) so sit back and grab some popcorn y'all !! these characters are all a bit flawed and that's okay so please bear with them 🙂‍↕️ i'd love to hear all of your thoughts and opinions on moh pleassse send all your lovely asks so we can chat because i always love interacting with you guys. and don't forget to like, comment, reblog and ENJOY !! i love you soooo much !!! & banner creds to the lovely and talented @voyter 🫶🏼

main masterlist moodboards spotify playlist moh extras

It's Halloween night on campus, which means three things: a really loud, obnoxious party filled with really loud, obnoxious people, drunk hookups that no one will remember in the morning, and you've locked yourself in your room to avoid all of the above.

The entire university is pulsating with the energy of drunk frat boys in capes, girls dressed in skimpy lingerie calling it their costume, and at least three professors who are far too old to be dressed up amongst the students. You, however, are in your true element: large hoodie, fuzzy socks, a half-eaten Snickers bar on your nightstand, and a thick law textbook open in front of you.

Parties aren't your thing. You'd rather be sued than make small talk with a guy dressed as a ketchup bottle. While your roommate, Jieun, spent hours hot-gluing rhinestones onto her platform space boots for her "sexy astronaut" outfit, you politely declined all invitations and instead declared war on your midterm readings. The only spooky thing in your life right now is the growing realisation that you don't actually want to be a lawyer, the thought that you'll probably die single, and knowing you'll be buried in student debt by the time you graduate.

And honestly? That's still more appealing than the campus party.

You take a break from studying around 2am and finally decide to turn off the light and get some rest. Until the door of your dorm room creaks open.

You pause, blinking your eyes open in the darkness of your room. Maybe Jieun forgot her phone. Maybe she brought back a stray alien from the party. Either way, you don't move, not until the unmistakable dip of the mattress under your legs almost sends your soul flying from your body.

Someone just climbed into your bed.

Your eyes widen to the size of saucers, your heart racing in your chest. It's pitch black, the only light coming from the little slit under the door.

"Jieunieee," the voice whispers, smooth and far too seductive. "Are you ready for the best dick of your life?"

That's it.

You scream as loud as you can, springing straight up. You grab the bottle of Chanel perfume on your nightstand and spray it directly into his eyes.

"AHHH—WHAT THE F—!"

The stranger falls out of your bed with a loud thud, hitting the floor dramatically like he's been shot in a Western.

"What the hell?!" he groans, writhing on the floor with a hand covering his eyes and the other holding his head. "You maced me!"

"That was perfume!" you yell, feeling your heart in your throat, the perfume clutched tightly in your hand, holding it out in case you have to spray him again. "And why are you in my bed, you psychopath?!"

"I was looking for Jieun!"

"You can't just crawl into beds like a raccoon in the night!"

"I thought this was her bed!"

"Do I sound like Jieun?!"

He blinks rapidly on the floor, his voice strained through his agony. "I don't know, it's dark and I was promised a sexy astronaut!"

You switch on the bedside lamp with the force of a woman ready to kill.

And there he is.

Black leather pants. Tight black shirt. Fake bruises and cuts on his face, presumably made with makeup. An eyebrow piercing. Tousled hair. Ridiculously attractive even while clutching at his eyes like he's just been gassed in battle.

Your brain fills in the blanks before he even says it.

"You're Jeon Jungkook, aren't you?"

He lowers his hand just enough to smirk at you. "And you're ___. The infamous roommate I've heard so much about."

You sigh, flopping back against your headboard in disbelief. "Of course she's hooking up with you of all people."

Jungkook is a campus legend. The boy whose reputation includes at least two streaking incidents, three girls who dropped out of the university due to their heartbreak, and a tongue that's done unspeakable things according to the word on the street.

And now he's on your floor, still very much looking like the kind of man your mother warned you about even after being sprayed in the eyes with perfume.

He sits up, rubbing his eyes. "For the record, I've had a lot of entrances, but that was definitely my worst."

"You scared the crap out of me!" you exclaim, tossing your pillow at him. "Who just walks into a dorm and climbs into an unfamiliar bed?!"

"I didn't walk," he scoffs, catching the pillow with an insufferable grin. "I strode."

You glare at him.

He grins wider. "Come on, that was funny!"

"You have a concussion, don't you?"

He wipes his eyes with the heels of his palms, settling on the edge of your bed. "Honestly? If you weren't so terrifying, I'd be impressed."

"Excuse me?"

"You're terrifying," he deadpans. "You sprayed me in the eyes and insulted me all within five minutes. That's worse than most of my Tinder dates. Not by much, but still."

You fold your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him. "Maybe don't go crawling into beds with strangers."

"Technically, you're the stranger," he quips, pointing a finger at you. "And you've maced and verbally abused me. That's a lot for a first impression."

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "Unbelievable. Are you always this irritating?"

"I like to think of myself as…persistently charming," he smiles.

You give him a dry look, your eyes narrowing. "You're the human equivalent of an unsolicited dick pic."

"Oof," he winces, placing his hand over his heart. "Okay, that one hurt. But also...kinda hot that you're this mean."

You blink at him. "Do girls actually fall for this crap?"

"Usually," he shrugs.

"Well, congratulations," you scoff. "You've officially found the girl who's immune to your bullshit."

He holds up his hands in surrender, laughing softly. "Okay, you've made your point. I'm sorry I invaded your bed. I didn't mean to scare you like that. I apologise."

Your face softens ever so slightly, giving him a curt nod. "Thank you."

"But also," he adds, leaning back on his hands, "you're hilarious. And clearly not afraid to defend your space. We should be friends."

You stare at him. "What?"

"Friends," he repeats, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "You and me. I'm serious."

You narrow your eyes once more. "You literally came here to hook up with my roommate."

"Which clearly isn't happening anymore," he sighs, lounging on your bed like he's at a beach club. "But now I've met you. And I like you."

You scoff. "You don't know me."

"I know you don't care about going to a hot party and hooking up on Halloween night, and would absolutely tase someone if you had the chance. Right?"

You pause. That…is not incorrect.

"I also know that girls like you usually avoid guys like me. Which is fair. But still…" He swings his legs off the bed, standing up. "I want to be friends."

"Why would we do that?" you ask, genuinely curious.

He grins. "Because you're the first girl who's actually told me I'm full of shit to my face."

You open your mouth, then close it again, and he takes that as a win.

"Anyway, I'll see you around," he smiles, walking toward the door. "If Jieun asks, tell her I tested positive for an STD or something."

You roll your eyes. "Get out!"

He's halfway out when he turns back and winks. "Nice meeting you, ___."

"Likewise, Satan," you grumble, gesturing for him to shut the door.

He laughs, loud and boyish, and disappears down the hall. And just like that, your quiet Halloween night turned into something totally unexpected.

You met Jeon Jungkook. And he wants to be your friend.

God help you.

The library is dead silent, but your soul is screaming.

You've been staring at the same paragraph in your property law textbook for the past eleven minutes and it's starting to feel unbearable. You've underlined the phrase "freehold estates" three times in three different colours, and it still means absolutely nothing to you. Your highlighter is on life support, your brain is fried, and you'd sell your soul for caffeine.

But instead of caffeine, you get Jungkook. Perfect.

"Hey, bestie."

You flinch so hard your pen skitters off the desk.

He slides into the seat across from you like he owns it, as if you invited him. As if this is a casual meet-up instead of a sacred study bubble you built with blood, sweat, and overpriced stationery.

"Why," you whisper, your eyes narrowing, "are you here?"

He blinks innocently, shrugging. "Checking on my friend. You did say we'd be friends."

You raise a skeptical brow.

He leans in closer, his voice mock-offended and far too loud for the library. "Which is interesting, because I've texted you three times this week and you haven't replied once."

You open your mouth, then close it, unable to come up with a valid excuse.

"I had to force you to give me your number last week when we ran into each other in the cafeteria," he continues, his arms crossed over his chest. "Do you always ghost your friends, or am I just special?"

You groan, rubbing your temples. "I've been busy, Jungkook."

"You probably didn't even save my contact," he mumbles dramatically. "I'm still just a number. I feel so objectified."

You blink at him, fighting the chuckle threatening to bubble up your throat. "You're so dramatic."

"And you're so avoidant. Classic enemies-to-friends arc," he muses. "We're already ahead of schedule."

You roll your eyes, glancing back down at your textbook. You really don't have time for this, but Jungkook props his chin on his hand and looks at you with that annoyingly charming smile of his, like he's got nowhere else to be. Like being here, distracting you, is the most important thing in the world.

You hate how disarming it is.

"You done soon?" he asks.

"I have a property law test tomorrow," you mutter dryly. "So, no. I will never be done. I will die in this library and haunt the footnotes of this stupid textbook."

He laughs loudly, earning a 'shhhh!' from a student two tables away. "What if I bribe you with coffee?"

You look up, contemplating it for a second before going back to the dreaded textbook.

"Not interested," you mutter lowly, though it's not even convincing to your own ears.

"You're clearly tired," he scoffs, raising an eyebrow. "And cranky. And there's a weird twitch in your left eye. Come on, ___. Take a break with me."

You purse your lips, letting out a deep sigh. The twitch is real. And your head is pounding. And caffeine does sound like heaven right now.

"You're really annoying," you mutter. "I mean it."

"I've been told," he grins, rising from the chair like he's already won. "Come on. Twenty-minute coffee break. Your brain cells will thank me."

Against your better judgment, and possibly because you might actually fall asleep in your chair, you shut your textbook and drag yourself to your feet, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"Fifteen minutes," you grumble. "If I fail this test, I'm blaming you."

"Fair," he shrugs, grinning as he holds the library's door open for you. "But at least you'll have had the best coffee of your life, so it'll be worth it."

The café is warm and noisy, filled with the comforting smell of espresso and baked goods. Students sit hunched over laptops. A barista is arguing with the espresso machine. Someone's crying in the corner over what sounds like an econ midterm.

You're halfway through the line when Jungkook turns to you, holding two fingers in front of the glass display.

"Okay," he huffs dramatically. "Crucial decision. Strawberry muffin or banana cinnamon walnut?"

You blink up at him, your eyes narrowing. "What?"

"I can't decide," he confesses, peering at them like they're ancient artefacts. "I want both but I can't get both. That's too much sugar and fat and I'll lose my abs. A girl licked whipped cream off my abs two days ago. I need them."

You snort, taking a step forward as the line starts moving again. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm serious," he whines. "Pick one for me. I trust your judgment for some reason."

You sigh in resignation. "Do you want nuts?"

"I don't like nuts," he mutters with a grimace. "But I also don't like not liking things. Feels like I'm limiting my potential."

You stare at him like he's actually insane.

He stares at the muffins.

"Banana walnut it is," you nod.

He looks at you like you just sentenced him to death. "Really? I was kinda hoping for strawberry."

"You said you don't like not liking things. Expand your horizons. Live a little. Face your fears. Eat the nut muffin."

He lets out a groan like he's being tortured. "If I hate it, this is on you."

"Oh relax, you'll live," you scoff, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What if I die?"

"If you die, I get that expensive laptop of yours."

He nods solemnly. "Deal."

After a long wait that's most definitely over fifteen minutes, you sit down at a corner table by the window, both of you nursing warm drinks. He watches you take the first sip of your mocha like you're some sort of science experiment.

"You were desperate for this, huh?" he chuckles.

"Don't judge me."

He laughs and takes a bite of the banana walnut muffin. He chews slowly, his face unreadable.

You watch him, waiting for the verdict.

He swallows, licks a crumb off his thumb, and looks pleasantly surprised. "…Woah. This is amazing."

You smile, sipping your coffee. "Told you."

"Who knew I liked nuts?"

"I did. You're welcome."

He leans back in his chair and smiles over at you. It's soft, genuine, not the usual grin he uses when he's being annoying.

"I'm starting to think we're meant to be," he quips.

You nearly choke. "Over a muffin?"

"Yeah. You just made a decision that changed my life. This is fate."

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks heat up nonetheless.

He nudges your foot gently under the table, slowly sliding the muffin over to you to taste.

"Thanks for coming with me."

You take a little bite of the muffin, nodding at the taste. "Thanks for the invitation."

And just like that, it starts. A small, insignificant tradition that might mean more some day, but for now, it's just comfortable and easy.

Just…friendship.

—

The kitchen is a mess. There's flour on your cheeks, frosting on your elbow, and a criminal amount of cupcake batter missing from the mixing bowl. Your cousin asked you to bake a batch of vanilla cupcakes for her bridal shower and of course, the new pain in your ass decided to come over to your dorm to 'help'.

"Jungkook," you warn, pointing your spatula at him, "if you eat one more spoon of raw batter, I will throw you out. And no, that's not a threat, it's a promise."

"I'm not eating it," he mumbles, his mouth full. "I'm...quality testing."

"You're gonna get salmonella and die."

"I'll die a happy man because this batter's really good," he grins.

You sigh, scraping the last of the creamy batter into the cupcake liners while Jungkook leans against the counter, licking the spoon you gave him to keep him busy. He has cake batter on the corner of his mouth, and somehow he still looks good. Ridiculously good. Stupidly, unfairly rude levels of good. You pretend not to notice.

"You're supposed to be helping," you sigh.

"I am helping," he says proudly. "You said these are for your cousin's bridal shower. What better way to show my support of the union than selflessly sacrificing my digestive system?"

"You don't have a logical bone in your body."

He grins, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "And yet, here I am, in your kitchen, helping a friend who desperately needed me."

"You invited yourself," you deadpan. "As usual."

He shrugs. "You didn't say no."

You sigh and slide the tray of cupcakes into the oven before setting the timer. The warmth of the kitchen hums around you. It smells like vanilla and feels like a comforting hug in the midst of exams and stress and the impending doom of early adulthood.

Jungkook hops onto the counter, swinging his legs to entertain himself now that the fun part—eating raw batter and watching you stress over quantities of baking powder—is over.

"I still can't believe you made all this from scratch," he murmurs, looking genuinely impressed. "These are, like…actual, professional cupcakes."

You wipe your hands on a dish towel, chuckling. "My cousin's paying me, so that's kinda the point."

He tilts his head, watching you intently. "You're really good at this."

Something in you blossoms at the compliment. He says it so casually, like it's obvious, like it's a fact. It feels good, something you're not sure you've felt before.

You smile faintly and sit down at the little table in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the mess around you; edible flowers, mixing bowls, an empty packet of cupcake liners.

"It's what I love," you murmur softly, a look of tenderness blooming in your gaze.

He raises a brow. "Baking?"

"Yeah," you nod. "Always have. Even when I was a kid. I used to make these terrible little chocolate chip cookies that were more like…burnt rocks...but I'd still force everyone in my family to eat them."

He laughs.

You don't.

"I used to dream about owning a bakery," you add, your voice a little softer, more vulnerable. "Still do, I guess."

There's a pause. He watches you, remaining quiet, waiting for you to elaborate without making a silly comment. You don't look at him, but you can feel it, the shift, his attention going from teasing to genuinely trying to understand you a little deeper.

"But…" you sigh, leaning your chin on your palm. "My parents want me to be a lawyer. That was always the plan. It's respectable. Stable. It makes sense."

"Do you want to be a lawyer?" he asks, his eyebrows knitting together.

You hesitate, letting out a deep sigh. It's as if a gate has opened inside your chest because you don't seem to hold anything back.

"No," you scoff. "Not even a little."

The confession feels heavier than you expected. It feels like you're finally being honest with yourself, which is far scarier than being honest with him. You can ignore his teasing remarks, but you can't ignore that little mocking voice in your head that tells you your dreams probably won't work out anyway.

Jungkook doesn't say anything right away. He just keeps swinging his legs slowly, tapping his fingers against the edge of the counter.

Finally, he asks, "Then why are you doing it?"

You roll your eyes, looking anywhere but his eyes. "Because…I'm good at it apparently...and they expect it. I don't want to disappoint them."

He nods slowly, his eyes downcast.

"You know what would be more disappointing?" he murmurs, his smile barely reaching his eyes.

You tilt your head, looking over at him.

"Waking up ten years from now and hating your life," he deadpans. "And never even trying."

Your chest tightens, your head racing with endless possibilities of a future you thought was already set out for you.

"You're so good at this, ___," he smiles, gesturing to the cupcakes in the oven, the kitchen, the part of you he wants to explore further. "Like, actually good. Not just hobby-good. This is your thing."

You swallow thickly, remaining silent. You don't usually tell people this stuff. You don't usually let yourself say it out loud because then it feels too real. Too scary. But for some reason…with him, it doesn't. You've come to realise he makes you feel seen, which is weird, considering he usually forgets girls' names and faces after a single encounter. This is different, though. You're not a girl he wants to sleep with. You're ___, the girl he wants to hang out with at 2am just because. You're the girl he genuinely wants to spend time with because he enjoys your company, your friendship. You like that. It makes this all feel more genuine.

There's a long beat of silence before you begrudgingly admit the thoughts plaguing you. "You can be really sweet when you're not being an idiot."

He laughs, his nose scrunching up in that way that makes your stomach feel tingly and fluttery. "Don't spread that around. I have a specific brand to maintain."

You laugh, loud and sincere.

"I think you'd make a great bakery owner," he murmurs softly, flicking some leftover flour in your direction.

You wave him off like it's nothing and check your cupcakes, but for the first time since you started studying law, you finally believe you're capable of more than settling, all thanks to the boy on your counter with flour in his hair and sincerity in his eyes.

—

It's almost midnight when Jungkook's phone buzzes on the nightstand. He's half-asleep, sprawled out on his bed, wearing nothing but his boxers, one sock missing. He squints at the screen through bleary eyes, seeing your contact name.

He's awake in an instant.

"Hello?" he croaks, already sitting up, his hair sticking up in all directions. He hears the catch in your voice before you even say a word.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, sniffling. "Did I wake you?"

His heart drops. "Are you okay?"

"...Seungcheol...he cheated on me."

Jungkook is already pulling on sweatpants before the word 'cheated' leaves your lips.

Of course. Fucking Seungcheol. You weren't even really looking for love when you met him. He was just a friend of a friend in one of your classes—a smooth talker who carried around a leather briefcase like he was already a full-time lawyer instead of a sleep-deprived undergrad. Jungkook never liked him, always thought he was a bit pretentious, but of course he wouldn't burst your bubble. Looks like he was right about the dick after all.

"I'll be there in ten."

You open your dorm door in your pajamas, eyes red, nose pink. Your expression crumples the moment you see him, and he doesn't hesitate, just wraps you up in his arms, no questions asked.

Even after just seven months of friendship, you cling to Jungkook like a lifeline, like he'll put all your broken pieces together again. Sure, your relationship with Seungcheol only lasted two months but that means a lot to an eighteen-year-old, so there are still a lot of broken pieces nonetheless.

"He said he didn't mean to," you mumble against his chest while you lie in bed together, willingly this time. "Like that makes it better. Like I should be grateful that it only happened once."

Jungkook exhales hard, like he's trying not to yell. "He's a fucking idiot."

"He said I made him feel…small. That I was trying to outsmart him. That I was too independent. That I...made him feel like he couldn't 'be the man', whatever that means."

Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes fierce, his hands cupping your face.

"You are smart. And independent. And so beautiful. And funny. And you make the best desserts in this entire goddamn city. If he couldn't handle that, it's not because you were too much. It's because he just wasn't enough."

Your eyes well up again, tears silently slipping down your cheeks.

"He cheated with a really pretty girl. Blonde. Really big boobs," you grumble.

Jungkook's voice softens, his thumbs stroking your wet cheeks. "Don't compare yourself to some other girl. You are...so fucking gorgeous, by the way."

You snort, shaking your head. "Shut up."

"I'm serious." His thumb brushes away another tear. "You walk around like you're not insanely beautiful, and you think no one notices. But I do, ___."

You stare at him, stunned into silence.

He shrugs, pulling you closer to rest your head against his chest. "Just saying. Don't cry over some knock-off loser when you're literally you."

He stays wrapped around you for as long as you need, one hand gently running through your hair. You sniffle into his neck, your eyes eventually fluttering shut from the warmth and safety of it all.

Eventually, you fall asleep against his chest, breathing steady, a hand loosely clutching his hoodie.

Jungkook remains still, simply looking at you, admiring you in all your glory. Memorising the curve of your cheek against his collarbone. The way your lips part ever so slightly when you dream. The way your fingers curl, even in your sleep, like you're afraid to let go.

He's not the guy who stays for too long. Not the guy who commits. He's built his whole identity around not being that guy, but holding you like this, he kinda wishes he was.

He stares up at the ceiling and sighs, a quiet, hopeless sound.

"I wish I could be the man you need," he whispers into the dark. "But I'm not there yet. I don't know if I ever will be."

And even though you're fast asleep, you still mumble something soft and unintelligible into his chest. You still hold on, and so does he.

—

Your dorm room is lit by a single lamp, the soft yellow glow contrasting violently with the hyper-pink DVD menu of Legally Blonde looping on your laptop. You've watched it a million times before but it's a Friday night and you're having a movie night with Jungkook, so naturally, you're introducing him to one of the classics.

Jungkook is sprawled across your bed, legs crossed at the ankles, one hand buried in a bowl of popcorn and the other dramatically thrown over his forehead as if he's on his deathbed.

"I swear I don't deserve this," he groans. "I mean...I know I call her Number Three but she didn't have to ghost me just because I wouldn't be exclusive with her. I was actually planning on seeing her again and then calling it off, like a gentleman."

You blink, glancing over at him. "Number Three?"

He sighs. "We've been over this, remember? The girl from the accounting party. Short. Cute. Gave me a hickey shaped like a continent. I think South America?"

You stare at him, slowly shaking your head. "You're insufferable."

He brightens. "Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"You say that," he grins, grabbing another handful of popcorn, "but I feel like you secretly admire my dedication to the craft."

"What craft?" you deadpan. "Being a man-whore?"

He gasps, clutching his chest. "You wound me."

"And you wound women," you chuckle.

"Wow. That hurt, ___."

You toss a pillow at him but he dodges like an athlete. Of course he does. Jackass.

Eventually, when the popcorn is half finished and your patience is half gone, you nod toward the laptop screen. "I'm honestly surprised you're not out tonight."

He blinks. "What do you mean?"

"It's Friday," you deadpan. "Your natural habitat is...I don't know...bars, random beds, broom closets. Anywhere but here watching Legally Blonde with me."

He pouts, actually pouts.

"Hey, I like hanging out with you. I cancelled plans to hang out with you."

You scoff, visibly unconvinced. You secretly feel very special and quite flattered, but that has to be too good to be true, right?

He continues casually, "I'm not completely heartless, you know. I have layers. I'm like an onion. A sexy onion."

You snort. "Please never say 'sexy onion' again."

"But it's true!" he insists, nudging your calf with his foot. "I really like hanging out with you. You're fun, easy to talk to, and you don't pretend to be someone else around me."

"And your other girls do?"

"They pretend to like whatever I like, dislike whatever I dislike. It gets boring listening to them just agree with whatever I say."

You roll your eyes. "Poor baby."

He rolls his eyes right back, as if you don't understand how hard it all is for him.

"You know what your problem is?" you ask, adjusting the laptop and pressing play.

"Oh, here we go."

"You don't believe in romance. Or in actual relationships. Or in…anything that requires feelings."

That's not entirely true, but he shrugs anyway. "Feelings are messy. Hookups are simple. Everyone wins."

"Not everyone," you mumble under your breath, your eyes trained on the laptop screen.

He tilts his head, his mouth stuffed with more popcorn. "What's that supposed to mean?"

You ignore his question and push on. "I just…I don't get it. How can you have meaningless sex with someone? Doesn't it feel empty?"

"Actually when I do it, they usually feel very full," he smirks.

You throw a balled-up pair of socks at his face and he catches it one-handed. What a show-off.

"Look," you clarify, sighing, "I'm just saying, I personally...want something real. Someday. Something that actually matters. A person who actually matters."

"Happily ever after, huh?" he teases.

"Maybe," you mutter, growing defensive. "Why not?"

He makes a face as if you just told him the Earth is flat. "Uhmmm...because that doesn't exist."

"You're so dramatic, yes it does."

"You're the dramatic one!" he argues. "You act like the universe is going to drop Prince Charming out of the sky."

"Maybe it will."

"It won't," he laughs.

You sigh, your eyebrows furrowing in annoyance. "You don't know that."

"I do. I know love ends in heartbreak ninety-nine percent of the time."

"So what? You avoid the one percent just in case it hurts?" you challenge.

"Yes," he chuckles carelessly. "And I'm thriving."

You stare at him for a long moment—this beautiful, aggravating, confusing man who can make you laugh until your ribs hurt and then say something that makes you want to shake him.

He has no idea what he does to people.

Especially you.

Especially because lately you've been catching yourself staring at his hands more when he gestures, or the way his hair falls into his eyes while he plays video games, or the sweet, sincere smile he gives you right before he ruins the moment and says something stupid.

You refuse to acknowledge any of it. Crushes on Jungkook are a disease, and you are absolutely vaccinated.

You distract yourself with the movie. Elle Woods is about to confront Warner. Great scene. Then—

His phone buzzes on the bed. Just once.

You don't mean to look but your eyes flick down instinctively while he rambles absentmindedly about the scene playing out on screen.

There's an unanswered text still waiting on the screen from his friend, Seokjin, asking about some business admin assignment. He didn't bother to respond yet. You're sure Seokjin is used to him taking forever to respond to texts, considering they've known each other since high school and now share a few classes together, which you found out on a tipsy Wednesday night when Jungkook decided to share his whole life story with you.

That's not the text that matters right now. The second text is the one that really catches your eye. The number isn't saved, but you don't have to be a genius to know that it's one of his hookups.

xx - xxx [10:32pm]: i had a lot of fun tonight. same time tomorrow ??

He slept with someone. He had sex with some girl literally right before coming over.

Your stomach drops. It shouldn't—not when you've known him for almost a year and you know him to be this way—but it does anyway. It drops because he said he cancelled plans to be with you, but it turns out you're just leftovers.

And now he's here, laughing with you, acting like you're such good company, when in reality you were the afterthought once again. The backup plan. The safe, comfortable option when he's done with whatever girl came before.

You clear your throat. "Your, uhm...your phone buzzed."

"Oh?" he mutters lazily, not even reaching for it. "Probably Jin. He's obsessed with me," he jokes.

You look back at the laptop screen before he can see your face. Your voice is neutral when you murmur, "You should probably respond. Maybe it's important."

"Nah," he shrugs. "I'm here. I'm hanging out with you."

You nod, forcing a smile.

Something inside you clicks—a silent, sharp realisation. This is who Jungkook is. This is who Jungkook will always be. He's funny, and charming, and a little bit addictive, if you're being completely honest.

But Jungkook will never be yours.

He will never be the perfect man for you. He will never be your one percent. So, you bury the tiny, blooming crush before it can grow roots, and you decide firmly, painfully, that a friend is all he'll ever be to you.

And you're sure you can live with that.

Ten years later...

If someone had told you back in university that the chaotic intruder you maced with Chanel perfume would become your favourite person, you would've recommended they seek help urgently.

And yet, ten years later, here you are.

Somehow, despite Jungkook's questionable life choices, endless line of women, and the fact that he once tried to microwave ramen without water, the two of you grew into something solid. Something constant. Something quietly threaded into every part of your adult life.

You grew up together.

Late-night study sessions turned into late-night grocery runs. His hangovers turned into your "you have to stop being so irresponsible" lectures. Your heartbreaks turned into his "give me his address" threats. You were there to celebrate with him when he landed his first high-paying corporate job and he was there to support you when you were grieving your dad's passing.

You became inseparable. A matched set. A pair of platonic soulmates. And in the past ten years, your life took a path younger you would've fainted over.

Sure, you graduated with your law degree and your family was proud, your grandmother bragged to her knitting group, and you spent several months pretending you were totally thrilled to be entering a profession that slowly devoured human souls.

But the truth? You hated it. The corporate offices. The endless contracts. The panic attacks you had in bathroom stalls pretending everything was fine. Law was stable and respectable, but it sucked the life out of you.

Your dream had always smelled like sugar, butter, and rising dough, so one day, with the determination your professors once called "excessive," you quit your job, emptied your savings, fought with your mom for a full year about your life choices, and opened the bakery you always wanted.

Honey & Hearth Bakery; your pride and joy, your entire heart with an overpriced oven attached. The tiny cake shop that eventually grew into a beloved neighbourhood spot with warm lighting, mismatched mugs, cozy booths, and the smell of fresh bread always lingering in the air.

And Jungkook? Well, he painted the walls baby-pink with you at 1am and drilled shelves with no prior experience. He showed up to your grand opening with an extravagant flower bouquet, three balloons that were far too big and dramatic for a bakery opening, and a promise to always support you and your happiness.

He's been your most loyal customer ever since.

Which brings you to now.

The bell above the front door jingles at 8 on a Thursday morning and you don't have to look up to know who it is.

"Morning, superstar," Jungkook calls out, his voice warm and annoyingly bright for a man who has a meeting to attend in an hour. Working in the corporate world isn't the most thrilling profession in life, but he earns the big bucks and he looks hot wearing a suit, and that's enough for him.

You grin without turning around, already whipping up his coffee. "You're late."

"It's 8," he scoffs, winking at a random woman that walks past him.

"Your usual time is 7:20."

"Sorry. Morning sex happened," he sighs, sliding onto his usual stool at the front counter. "That girl from the bar stayed the night and don't get me wrong, she's hot, but I had to explain the whole 'no overstaying your welcome' rule."

"Is that a part of your 'no back-to-back sex' rule?"

"Yes, exactly," he sighs.

"Isn't that basically the same thing as your 'no more than once a week' rule?"

"No, the 'no more than once a week' rule specifically only works from Monday to Friday."

You scoff. "Oh, so theoretically you could sleep with someone on Sunday night and it wouldn't break the rule if you slept with them again on Monday morning?"

"Now you're getting it," he nods.

You finally glance over your shoulder, listening to him go on a long tangent about his recent sexual endeavours. He's completely different from the mischievous boy who crawled into your bed a decade ago…yet somehow exactly the same. Older now, bigger, broader, jaw sharper, hair perfectly styled. Still stupidly handsome in that infuriating, effortless way.

"Pick one for me," he grins, looking over at the pastry case.

That little tradition certainly didn't end in university. In fact, it's become an every-morning thing. He comes in before work and insists you surprise him with a new pastry to try. Apparently it keeps him on his toes, which he believes is very important in life.

You lean against the counter, your arms crossed. "Hmm. What's your vibe today?"

"I don't know," he sighs, pretending to think. "Handsome. Dashing. Maybe a little mysterious."

"Delusional," you chuckle.

"See? This is why this works," he smiles. "You keep me humble."

"What about a slice of apple and cherry crumble?"

"Nah, I had that one last week," he shakes his head.

"Lemon butter cream cup maybe?"

"Not really feeling a cream cup today," he shrugs.

"Hmmm..." You scan the display of desserts, pursing your lips. "Pistachio croissant?"

"___, come on. You're losing your touch," he teases.

"Okay, okay, uhmmm..." You scan the display once more, picking a popular new item on the menu. "Okay, today you're getting the honeycomb and lavender custard tart."

He lights up instantly, like a puppy being offered a treat. "Yes. Excellent choice. I knew you'd pick that."

"You didn't know anything," you scoff, plating it for him.

"I had a feeling."

"You always have a feeling."

"And it's always right," he grins.

The bell rings at the front door and you quickly turn your attention to the cash register to serve one of your regular customers, Mrs. Park—an elderly woman who always makes pleasant conversation and compares you to her granddaughter. She's incredibly nice and always compliments you on the frilly dresses you wear.

"What will it be today, Mrs. Park?" you smile sweetly.

"My usual, dear," she chuckles warmly. "One of those lovely chocolate eclairs of yours. My daughter tells me I should stop eating them so much because of my blood sugar but what she doesn't know won't hurt her."

You chuckle, wrapping one up for her in a little pastel-pink box, taking her cash with a polite bow of your head. "My lips are sealed," you wink.

She laughs and takes the box before walking off with a little wave of her wrinkled hand.

That brings you back to the man waiting for his breakfast.

"Here," you murmur, sliding the plate and mug of coffee toward him. "Eat and try not to break anything. You already broke two mugs last month and I'm seriously going to start charging you for them."

He takes a big bite of the mini tart and groans in delight. "God, marry me."

"You literally just told me about how you were balls deep in some girl from the bar," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "Besides, you fake-propose to me every morning."

"And I mean it every morning."

You snort. "Please. You'd never."

He leans an elbow on the counter. "Only because you'd divorce me for eating in bed and getting crumbs on the sheets," he sighs, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Correct," you nod, wiping down the counter. "I have standards."

He sets down his mug and straightens up, getting to what he's been meaning to discuss this morning. "So, you busy this Saturday?"

You shrug, mentally checking your schedule. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"Because I need you."

You pause. "You do?"

"It's an invitation actually."

"Okay…" you murmur sceptically, narrowing your eyes at him. "To what?"

"My father's engagement party. Shocker."

Your rag pauses mid-swipe across the counter. "Which one?"

"Engagement or father?" he grins.

"Both."

"Engagement number ten. Father number one."

You blink. "Ten?"

"Ten," he repeats, like it physically pains him. "She's twenty-three, gorgeous, has a skincare routine that could bankrupt nations. I think she was in diapers when my dad got married the third time."

You gape. "Wait, who's the one that sold protein powder on Instagram?"

"That was number eight." He takes another sip of his coffee. "This one does yoga retreats in Bali and says things like 'alignment is a mindset'. Ridiculous, I know. And she only wears bags that are made from real baby alligator, allegedly."

"That's disgusting and inhumane," you grimace. "So...why do you need me?"

"Because," he groans, "he's having some fancy dinner-slash-engagement party and he wants me there, and I am not suffering through that circus alone. And my dad likes you. And you make me look balanced and emotionally stable."

"That's a lot of responsibility for one woman," you tease.

He shrugs. "You used to handle lawsuits for fun."

"Yeah but I don't do law anymore," you deadpan.

"You still look like you could send someone to jail," he grins, taking another bite of his dessert. "Anyway, you know how these things go. Everyone's going to ask why I'm still single, and I'll end up getting irritated because my dad's fiancée—who's younger than me—insists on calling me 'sweetie'. I need backup. Please come, ___. I'll owe you forever."

You laugh softly, leaning across the counter. "You already owe me forever, Jeon."

"Yeah, but this time I'll actually admit it," Jungkook mumbles, meeting your eyes with that boyish half-smile that hasn't changed in a decade.

"Fine. I'll go," you sigh, tossing the rag into the sink.

Jungkook beams, and you pretend your stomach doesn't flip.

"You're amazing," he grins and claps once, pushing off the counter with a mouth full of custard tart. "I'll pick you up at seven on Saturday. Wear something fancy. And also maybe emotionally prepare yourself."

"For what?" You chuckle.

He grimaces. "Stepmom Number Ten is…a handful."

You chuckle. "Aren't they always?"

He points at you as he backs toward the door. "Exactly why you're coming with me."

The bell jingles again as he leaves, and your day continues with familiar customers while he rushes through the morning traffic.

Jungkook's father's estate is something you would never be able to afford even if you opened ten more bakeries. Calling it a house would be like calling the Titanic a canoe. There are fountains—yes, plural. There is a driveway long enough to train for a marathon. There's valet parking and a floral arch made of white roses that look like they cost more than your entire bakery.

And there are people. A lot of people. Champagne clinks in the air, soft jazz plays somewhere in the distance, and laughter rolls in every direction.

You exhale, adjusting the strap on your dress. "I always feel very commoner-in-the-palace when I'm here."

Jungkook tucks your hand into the crook of his arm, pulling you closer as he leans in, looking dapper in his black tux. "Relax. You're one of the only sane people here. That automatically makes you royalty."

"Does it?"

"Yes," he smiles confidently. "And when my father inevitably lets me inherit this place, which I'll force him to do, then I'll make you queen of the fountains."

You snort. "I don't want to be queen of the fountains."

"Too late. You've been coronated." He taps your forehead with his finger. "Boop."

You roll your eyes, but your chest warms. He always does that; makes you feel like you belong wherever he is.

Inside, the party is in full swing. There are waiters weaving between people, guests mingling in glitter and silk, the future bride squealing in a voice that sounds like it's powered by helium and Mr. Jeon himself proudly showing off the engagement ring on her finger that could double as a murder weapon. There's even a towering cake on display, five tiers of gold-trimmed extravagance that you can't wait to recreate in your free time.

Jungkook grabs two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and hands you one, taking a big gulp.

The moment his father spots the two of you, his entire face lights up.

"There's my favourite duo!" Jeon Jaehyun sweeps you both into a hug—more you than Jungkook. Jungkook gets a pat on the back like a border collie. You get an affectionate double cheek kiss and a squeeze.

"Mr. Jeon," you greet with a polite bow and a soft smile. You've always liked him. He makes questionable choices when it comes to women, but he's nice and he always treats you like you're a part of the family. It's also clear where Jungkook gets his good looks from, not that you ever look for too long or else he'd make you Wife Number Eleven.

"You look stunning tonight, sweetheart," he beams. "I tell you, if I were thirty years younger—"

"You'd still be making terrible decisions, dad," Jungkook cuts in, unamused.

Jaehyun clicks his tongue. "I'll have you know, son, that marriage is an unpredictable thing."

You glance at the fiancée across the room, who is taking a selfie with the champagne tower, not noticing that she's flashing half the guests.

"Unpredictable, huh?" you echo with a soft smile. Sure.

The fiancée, Seulgi—with a gorgeous face, waist-length extensions and breasts that defy gravity—bounces over.

"Kookieee," she sings. Her voice is airy, like her brain has never had to carry anything heavier than a single thought.

"Kookie?" you whisper.

He grimaces. "Don't."

"Oh my gosh, is this your girlfriend?" she asks, looking you up and down like you're a lost child she found at the mall. "I didn't know my future stepson has a special lady!"

"This is ___," he sighs. "My best friend. Strictly platonic."

Seulgi nods, smiling like she understands exactly none of those words, before turning her attention to her future husband. "Love-muffin," she coos, kissing Jungkook's father on the cheek. "The guests are asking when we're cutting the cake."

Jungkook leans toward you, whispering, "My dad's nickname for her is Sugarpuss."

You almost choke on your champagne. "No."

"Yes," he grins sarcastically.

His father pats her waist affectionately, grabbing your attention. "Isn't she wonderful?"

She smiles. "I got my nails done for today."

She wiggles her fingers in front of your face. They're pink and sparkly and probably cost more than your monthly grocery bill.

You smile, nodding. "Very pretty."

"Thank you!" she squeals. "I got them done at—oh look, champagne!" She wanders away mid-sentence.

Jungkook closes his eyes, groaning. "My latest stepmother, ladies and gentlemen."

Jaehyun gives you both an apologetic smile. "Listen, she's...youthful. Nothing wrong with that."

"She probably can't even spell 'youthful', dad," Jungkook deadpans.

Before Jaehyun can respond, another round of shrieking laughter erupts from Seulgi's direction. Jaehyun sighs deeply, chuckling.

You squeeze his arm, a soft smile settling on your face. "Congratulations. I really hope you're happy, Mr. Jeon."

He softens at that, looking between you and Jungkook. "With people like the two of you around? Hard not to be."

Jungkook, knowing how much of a sap you are, drags you away before you can tear up, but that doesn't stop you from clutching your chest like your heart might physically burst right through it.

The buffet tables are the size of actual battle stations. You and Jungkook each grab cake slices and slip outside, where fairy lights glow over small round tables. You sit at one, kicking off your heels with a relieved sigh.

"Vanilla for you," Jungkook says, sliding your plate over. "Chocolate for me."

"And we share," you remind him.

"We always share."

You scoop a bite of chocolate from his plate. He steals some vanilla from yours. It's instinctual.

While you eat, you glance out at the dance floor. Couples are slow dancing under the lights, chins tucked against shoulders, fingers intertwined, faces soft with something that makes your chest ache a little.

"I love that," you murmur softly.

Jungkook follows your gaze. "What? Dancing?"

"No," you scoff, taking a small bite of the vanilla cake. "The...closeness. The comfort. You know, two people who actually like being around each other."

He snorts, stuffing his mouth with cake. "Boring."

"You literally treat dating like a casual sport," you mutter, rolling your eyes. "You can't even do something as simple as cuddling."

"I could cuddle if I really wanted to," he mumbles defensively, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Jungkook, you once pushed a girl off your chest because she said your heartbeat sounded like a lullaby."

He points his fork at you. "Okay, but after I pushed her off of me, I played her an actual lullaby on Spotify, so..."

You laugh so loudly someone glances over at your table.

He leans back in his chair, studying you. "You should be more spontaneous. You fall in love too quickly and you assume every boyfriend is the one. You ever think maybe you'd have more fun if you didn't plan out every part of your life?"

"I'm not planning," you argue, eating a forkful of the chocolate cake. "I just...I like security and stability in life."

"Or," he counters, "you're waiting for this perfect man who doesn't exist."

You shrug, absentmindedly poking the cake with your fork. "I'm not looking for perfect; I'm looking for someone who sees a future with me, not a guy who 'goes with the flow' because he doesn't know how to commit. Someone I can build a life with."

He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you. "One; that's kinda delusional. Two; you're twenty-eight, you still have time for all that later in life."

"Not according to my mom. She believes I should have been married and had babies by now."

"That's insane," he scoffs. "I'm thirty and I'm perfectly fine the way I am."

"We're very different people with very opposing views on relationships, Jungkook," you murmur gently. "And besides, I do kinda agree with her to a certain extent. I want to build something soon and not waste time dating men who only want a weekend. I'll die alone if I don't get a move on."

He softens, almost imperceptibly. "You don't have to rush. It'll happen with the right person when it's meant to be."

You nod down at your plate, dragging your fork through some frosting. "Yeah. I guess."

"Besides, do you want to get married just for the sake of being married? Look at my father who's on his tenth marriage and soon, his tenth divorce."

"Don't be so negative," you murmur with a faint smile. "Maybe this one will be his person."

"My mom was supposed to be his person," he grumbles, picking at the vanilla cake. "This one is just another mistake to add to the list."

"Jungkook," you smile. "Even if you know it's a mistake but it's not your place to intervene, you simply say, 'I'm happy you're happy' and move along."

"Yeah, yeah," he scoffs, bringing his fork up to his lips. "You're always right. I hate that."

You chuckle, taking another bite of his slice of cake. The moment settles between you, and you take it as an opportunity to share something with him that's been on your mind lately.

"Speaking of being spontaneous…"

"Oh no," he teases. "That tone is never good."

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. "No, it's not anything crazy, it's just...I've kinda been thinking about going to London for the summer."

His fork freezes halfway to his mouth, his eyes growing double its size. "London?"

"Mhm. For a short pastry course," you explain. "Three months at this prestigious culinary institute. It's kinda a dream opportunity."

Jungkook is silent, his fork gently clinking against the plate as he sets it down.

"When were you gonna tell me?" he asks softly. He's not upset, just very caught off guard.

"Just now," you shrug. "I was on the fence about it for a while."

"Wow," he swallows thickly. "Three months?"

You nod.

He forces a small smile, the kind of smile he uses when he doesn't like something but refuses to ruin things for you. It's a smile that tells you he doesn't know how to live without you for that long, but he'll pretend like he's totally fine.

"That's…wow, that's amazing, ___."

"Yeah." You pick at your cake some more. "But I don't know. It's expensive and I'd be away from the bakery for months, and I've never been out of the country alone before, and—"

"Hey," he smiles, softly nudging your knee under the table. "You can do it."

"I don't know," you mumble. "It feels like…a big jump."

"You like big jumps."

"No, you like big jumps. I like stable ground, a clear path and preferably a railing."

He grins. "I'll install a railing in London."

You glare at him but your laughter slips out effortlessly.

His smile softens even more. "Seriously. If you want it, go for it. The bakery will survive. The other staff can run it. And you should do things for yourself for once. You're always taking care of everyone else."

You open your mouth to argue, then shut it when you realise you don't have an argument. You hate that he's not wrong.

"I'll miss home," you mutter quietly.

"Home will always be here, ___, it isn't going anywhere," he shrugs. "Seoul will always be your home. Three months in London won't magically change that."

You want to tell him that you'll miss him as well, but saying that you'll miss home is close enough. It's one in the same anyway.

"And," he adds, "if you get lost, I'll fly over and find you."

You roll your eyes. "Right, because you're definitely responsible enough for that."

"Hey, I'd bring a GPS."

You chuckle, leaning back in your chair as warm air settles around you, the fairy lights flickering overhead and Jungkook licking frosting off his fork like it's nothing.

"You think I'll do well?"

"Of course," he smiles, nudging your shoulder. "It's you. You're gonna shine. And I'll visit, or we'll video call...or I'll just break into the institute and steal you back."

You laugh, but your chest tightens. He's trying so hard to be happy for you. You can tell.

"You sure you'll survive without me?"

He scoffs dramatically. "If anything, I'll thrive. I'll become stronger, faster, a new man."

"Right," you chuckle. "You'll last three days before you start texting me pictures of pastries and asking which one to buy."

"I give it two," he admits in defeat.

You laugh, the last of the tension easing as the music swells in the distance. Your face slowly melts into a tender smile, your eyes softening ever so gently. It all feels so warm and intimate, and strangely bittersweet.

"Thank you for always supporting me," you murmur quietly.

"Always," he smiles before feeding you a piece of cake on his fork.

You're mid-bite into your cake when Jungkook's entire face suddenly drains of colour.

"Oh no," he whispers.

You pause, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What?"

He doesn't answer in words. Instead, he subtly tilts his head toward the patio doors.

You follow his gaze. A woman in a tight pencil skirt and glasses, hair in a too-tight bun, is clutching a binder to her chest like it's a bible and she's about to testify. Her eyes scan the place with an intensity that could cut steel.

"Uhm…who is that?" you whisper.

"One of my dad's senior analysts." He swallows, setting down his fork. "Her name's Yuri."

"She looks...friendly," you tease.

"She made a blog about me," he hisses.

Your eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

"A blog. It's called 'All Things Jungkook'. Can you believe that?"

You snicker, covering your mouth so you don't get cake everywhere. "You're kidding."

"I wish."

You laugh too loudly and Jungkook shushes you frantically before it can catch Yuri's attention.

"She wrote an entire essay analysing my facial structure," he whispers. "Like, paragraphs. There were diagrams."

You bite your bottom lip to keep from cackling, your face contorting with amusement. "Diagrams?"

"She compared my jawline to Renaissance sculptures," he mutters miserably. "Sculptures, ___."

You wheeze.

"At least she doesn't think my nose is too big or my arms are too scrawny," he adds under his breath, pouting.

You stop laughing, your smile fading.

"Who said that?"

He stares at you.

"You did," he scoffs. "Back in university."

You gasp. "I did not say that!"

"You did," he nods solemnly. "You also said my top lip is too thin."

You slap a hand over your mouth, horrified and amused all at once. "Okay, to be fair, I was an extremely critical eighteen-year-old who was drowning in law textbooks, so I didn't really have a nice thing to say about anyone."

He looks in Yuri's direction, who is still scanning the crowd like a Terminator. "She's gonna see me. She's gonna corner me and ask if I read her four-page analysis about my eyebrows."

You're already laughing again.

"___," he begs, grabbing your wrist. "Dance with me."

"Wait, what?"

"Please," he hisses. "If I'm on the dance floor with someone, she won't approach me."

You arch a brow. "You want me to publicly claim you as occupied?"

"Yes."

You chuckle faintly but stand anyway. "You so owe me."

The music has shifted to something smooth and slow—a romantic melody playing that makes older couples sway like they're reliving their youth. Jungkook places a hand lightly on your waist as you join the crowd. It's familiar but warmer than usual. Or maybe it's the champagne going to your head.

You rest your left hand on his shoulder and your right hand in his palm as you both begin to sway, your faces a lot closer together than they usually are.

"Okay," you smile, "which part of your face did she analyse the hardest?"

"My jaw," he mutters. "Apparently it has a 'mathematically perfect slope', or something like that."

You smile, letting him sway you to the music. "Well, she's not wrong."

He does a double take, staring at you like you said something completely crazy.

"What?" you chuckle.

"What did you just say?" he asks, leaning in closer.

"I said she's not wrong," you shrug.

He squints at you. "You used to call me a pretentious dick."

"That was also true."

He shakes his head. "You're unbelievable."

You grin, then hesitate just a fraction, but he notices.

"What is it?" he asks softly.

You shouldn't say it. You really shouldn't say it, but the music is soft, and the lights are warm, and you're pressed just a bit too close to a man you trust more than anyone in the world, so you blurt it out before you can stop yourself.

"I always thought you were...cute. You know, back in the day. I might've...had a little crush on you..."

His entire body goes still, his eyes growing wide.

"You what?"

"It was a teeny tiny...stupid crush," you clarify. "Very small and insignificant. Microscopic, actually."

Jungkook continues to stare at you, his lips parting in disbelief. "You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"You..." he scoffs, smiling. "You had a crush on me?"

"Don't say it like that," you chuckle, growing flustered.

"No, I'm just..." He searches your face, bewildered and—although he tries to hide it—quite pleased. "I thought you hated me in university."

"Oh, please. If I hated you, I wouldn't have wasted my time insulting you."

He laughs, loud and delighted.

"So, all those insults were, what? You flirting?"

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "Calm down, Jeon."

"You secretly pined for me," he grins smugly, gently twirling you around until you're facing him again.

"Pined? Relax. It lasted, like, two weeks."

"Mhm, sure," he teases. "I bet you were doodling my name in all your notebooks and imagining what our children would look like."

You give him a deadpan stare. "Don't push it. That ship sailed a long time ago."

His smile falters just enough for you to notice if you're really paying attention, but he recovers quickly, tugging you a little closer as the music swells.

"Right, of course," he mumbles softly, looking past you while you sway to the music.

You clear your throat, feeling desperate to redirect the conversation before the air gets heavy.

"So…London," you murmur softly.

He hums, twirling you around once more before pulling you in close. "London."

"I think it'll be good for me," you admit. "A break. Something new."

He studies you—the bright excitement in your eyes, the uncertainty underneath, the hope, and something flashes in his expression that you don't catch, something soft and affectionate.

"Well," he smiles, his voice quieter than before, "I guess I'll have to see you off at the airport, huh?"

You smile, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

He closes his eyes, savouring the moment, his voice coming out just a tad louder than a whisper. "Fuck, I'm gonna miss you."

You roll your eyes, feeling a warmth bloom deep within your ribs. "You're a sap like me now."

He smirks, the earlier tension slipping away. "Don't tell anyone."

"Your secret's safe with me."

He dips you playfully, the two of you laughing, brushing shoulders, standing closer than friends should—close enough that the air between you buzzes with something you both feel.

Outside the dance floor, Yuri is still circling like a shark, but Jungkook doesn't look her way once. Not when he's looking at you.

Incheon Airport buzzes with summer chaos; children dragging suitcases bigger than their bodies, couples taking teary selfies, businessmen speed-walking like their lives depend on it. In the middle of it all, you stand with your luggage, passport, and a rapidly beating heart.

Jungkook is beside you, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

"So…" he mumbles, rocking back on his heels, "I guess this is it."

You nod, clutching the handle of your suitcase. "Three months."

"Three months," he echoes.

There's a brief moment where the airport noise fades and it's just you and him and ten years of friendship sitting between you.

He reaches out and flicks a piece of fluff from your sweater, even though you're ninety percent sure there never was any fluff to begin with. "You'll text me when you land?"

"I'll text you as soon as I get WiFi," you nod.

"And you'll video call me?"

"Only if you don't answer while you're at the gym and make me look at your sweaty forehead again."

"That was one time," he chuckles.

You grin. He grins back, but his fades first.

"Go be brilliant, okay?" he murmurs softly. "London's waiting for you."

Your chest warms. "I'll miss you."

Something flickers in his eyes but he blinks fast before you can question it.

"Yeah," he sighs. "Me too."

You smile, lightly punching his arm. "I love you, idiot."

He rolls his eyes, his lips twitching at the corners. "Yeah, yeah, I love you too. Now go."

When you finally walk toward the gate, you don't turn around, but Jungkook stays in place, watching until you disappear. When he finally walks out of the airport, he tells himself the heaviness in his chest is pride, not anything else.

Definitely not. It couldn't be.

—

London greets you with fresh summer air, the faint smell of rain, and immediate sensory overload. The taxis are louder, the buildings older, and everyone talks like they're narrating a BBC documentary.

And you feel more alive than ever.

Your first day at the culinary institute feels like stepping into a whole new world. The kitchens gleam like they've been polished a thousand times. The finest plates await your creations. The ovens are fancier than anything you could ever dream of using.

You learn laminated dough, the perfect method for chocolate tempering, advanced patisserie techniques, all things you used to watch on YouTube while telling yourself you'd perfect someday.

Now 'someday' is here and it's better than you anticipated.

You snap pictures of everything—your flaky pastries, your fancy meringues, your messy apron—and send each and every one of them to Jungkook, even if he responds hours later because of the time difference or his busy schedule.

Between classes, you make the most of your London summer. You buy dresses and blouses that make you feel like a character in a Bridget Jones movie, you carry around flowers wrapped in brown paper that will sit in the middle of the coffee table in your hotel room, you sip tea at cute cafés and buy souvenirs for Jungkook every chance you get.

A vintage Beatles t-shirt.

A Big Ben keychain.

A tiny corgi plush.

Your classmates take you in immediately and within your first month, your nights are filled with dinners at pubs where everything is fried, rooftop wine with the funny Brazilian girl from your pastry group and late-night tube rides where you and the others fall asleep leaning on each other. You make memories that will last a lifetime, and at one point, you don't even think about everything waiting for you back in Seoul.

It's a quiet Saturday afternoon when you find yourself wandering through the sculpture gallery of the Victoria and Albert Museum. There's a hush in the air, as if the marble statues are asleep and everyone else is just trying not to disturb them.

You stop in front of Canova's "Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss."

It's breathtaking. It's delicate and romantic and heartbreakingly intimate, like stone brought to life. Cupid leans over Psyche, gently cradling her as if she might shatter. You've seen it in pictures before, but seeing it in person makes it that much better.

You step closer, completely mesmerised, but a shutter clicks beside you, catching you off guard and pulling you from your daze.

There's a man standing next to you, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a dark cardigan and round glasses that slide slightly down his nose. His hair is dark and frames his face, and a film camera hangs from a strap around his neck. He's just taken a photo of the sculpture, and when he notices you looking, he offers a warm, slightly sheepish smile.

"Sorry," he murmurs in a low, honey-smooth voice, the British accent doing something tingly to your insides. "Didn't mean to interrupt your moment."

You smile politely. "You didn't, don't worry about it."

He turns to look at the sculpture again, tilting his head. "It's beautiful, isn't it? There's something timeless about it." He glances back at you. "Makes you believe that it's worth it to wait for a love like that."

Your eyebrows raise, feeling a bit taken aback by the rather romantic stranger.

He laughs softly. "Sorry. That was…dramatic."

"No," you shake your head, smiling wider. "It was really nice...and true."

"I guess that means I'm not being overly sentimental."

"Or we both are," you smile.

"Could be worse," he shrugs. "I'd rather be overly sentimental than chronically indifferent."

You let out a soft laugh. "That's a good line."

"Thank you, I read it in a book once," he smiles down at the ground, fidgeting with his camera.

You both turn back toward the statue, standing in comfortable silence for a beat, watching how the late afternoon light casts golden shadows on the white stone.

"I'm Kim Namjoon, by the way," he says after a moment, holding out a hand.

"___," you smile, shaking it.

"You're not from here, are you?"

You shake your head. "Seoul, South Korea."

His eyes light up. "Really? Me too...well, kinda. My parents are Korean but they met here in England while they were both studying at Oxford. They moved back to Korea after getting married. That's where I was born, but we moved back to England when I was about five. I haven't been back in a while."

You nod, your interest piqued. "And now you…take pictures of sculptures for a living?"

He chuckles. "Not exclusively. I'm a photographer, mostly travel and editorial, but I come here a lot on my days off. It grounds me."

"I get that," you murmur. "Bakeries do that for me."

He looks over at you, his eyebrows raising. "You're a baker?"

You nod. "I own a small bakery back in Seoul. It's kinda why I'm here, actually. I'm doing a summer course at a culinary institute nearby to brush up on my skills. I'm only here for three months."

"That's incredible." His smile is genuine, his eyes shining under the museum lights. "Honestly, I think bakers are like magicians. You turn flour and cocoa into happiness. It's very impressive."

You laugh, nodding along. "That's very nice of you to say, thank you."

"You're very welcome, Miss ___."

He looks back at the sculpture for a moment, then turns back to you, a little more tentative this time.

"I know this is a bit forward, but…do you perhaps have plans after this?"

You feel your heart pound harder, your head shaking almost too excitedly. "No, not really."

He smiles, clearly a little nervous, like he's not used to doing this. "Would you maybe want to grab a coffee with me? I could show you around London if you'd like. There's a place just down the road; very tiny and unassuming but the coffee's good and they have these absurdly large cinnamon buns that are to die for."

He's handsome, has an accent that makes your thighs clench, and he wants to take you to a café. You don't even have to think about it.

"I'd love to."

His face softens, looking like he didn't quite expect you to say yes.

You chat while you walk out together, side by side, stealing one last look at Cupid and Psyche, and somewhere deep in your chest, you wonder if he is a part of the fresh start you've been craving.

—

It all starts with a simple coffee date.

After the museum, you and Namjoon tuck yourselves into a quiet corner of a café near Hyde Park, where he stirs his cappuccino with one hand and nervously fidgets with the strap of his camera with the other. He asks thoughtful questions, listens like he genuinely cares and laughs with the cutest expression that makes your cheeks flush every single time. He walks you home that night—hands brushing, hearts pounding—and from there, it all blossoms at the speed of light.

Your second date is dinner at a tiny Italian restaurant where you end up talking for hours, sharing pasta and trading childhood stories. He shyly admits he once cried when his favourite bakery shut down, and you know then and there that he's your type of person.

On the third date, you sit beside the Thames at sunset, barely an inch between you, and when your head falls against his shoulder, neither of you move. Your first kiss happens in the rain after a trip to a vintage bookshop, hesitant at first—until it isn't. Until his hands are warm on your waist and yours are in his hair, time melting into the taste of his mouth.

You start to crave his presence, his voice, his intellect wrapped in a British accent and kind eyes.

One night, after too much wine and too many loaded glances, you kiss him breathlessly in his hallway and let him lead you to his bed. It's slow and sweet, and he makes you feel like the most beautiful woman he's ever laid his eyes upon. That happens quite often after the first time. You have sex in the shower, the backseat of his car, on the floor of your hotel room, and it's always better than the last.

By the start of August, Namjoon is a fixture in your London summer. He waits for you after class. He carries your shopping bags without a complaint. He reads books aloud when you can't sleep, chuckles at your terrible attempt at a British accent, and takes endless sneaky photos of you mid-laugh just because he loves the way you look when you're at your happiest. He even drives you out to the English countryside to have dinner with his parents.

Somewhere between the late-night talks and stolen kisses, you fall for him harder than you ever meant to. And the scariest part isn't how fast it happens…it's how disappointed you are that it's all temporary.

—

Namjoon unlocks the door to his flat, stepping inside with the same subtle confidence you've come to love. He holds the door open for you—always a gentleman, even when his fingers were just threaded through yours all the way home from the pub, even when his lips were pressed against your neck as you waited for your Uber, even when his voice had dropped into that low, breathy register that made your knees weak.

You step into the warmth of his space. It smells like him, which you've come to love as well. The lights are dim, a large bookshelf lines the wall, vinyl records stacked neatly near a player and a blooming houseplant stands tall in the corner.

He toes off his shoes and reaches for your jacket. "Here," he murmurs softly, pressing a kiss to your cheek from behind.

You slip your jacket off your shoulders, your pulse jumping as he hangs it up with care. He rests his hands in his pants pockets, watching you as you turn to face him. His eyes flick over your lips, your neckline, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear like you're totally not still nervous around him.

"Wanna watch a movie?" he offers.

You shake your head, smiling.

He nods slowly and takes the hint, cupping your face in his large hands. The kiss that follows comes easily, mouths moving languidly, your fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt. You've kissed Namjoon a million times over the past three months—on couches, in doorways, on sidewalks lit by streetlights—but this time it feels far more gentle and intimate.

By the time he breaks away, you're breathing in shallow little waves.

"C'mon," he murmurs softly, taking your hand in his. He leads you down the hall, into his bedroom. It's minimalistic, very clean. There's no pretence, just him.

He doesn't pull you into bed. Not yet, at least.

He stands beside the low bookshelf near the window, arms folded loosely, watching you run a hand through your hair.

"Is this really just for three months?" he asks softly. "You being in London? You're really going back to Seoul?"

You sigh, realising you'd have to have this conversation eventually. "Yeah. I mean…that's always been the plan, Joon."

He nods slowly. He just needed to hear you confirm it. "Right. Just…three months."

You sit down on the edge of his bed, your hands resting in your lap. "I just...didn't think I'd actually…meet someone here. I just came to bake things and buy overpriced souvenirs for my best friend."

He smiles at that, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

You tilt your head, your eyebrows furrowing. "Why do you ask?"

Namjoon exhales and smiles. "I guess I've just been thinking about it a lot more than I expected to."

He walks toward you slowly, kneeling down so he's at eye level, his hands resting on your knees with the utmost tenderness.

"___, I know we've only known each other for a short while," he murmurs, keeping his voice steady. "But..."

You swallow thickly, sensing a shift in the air.

Namjoon pulls out a small velvet box from his pants pocket.

You freeze, completely at a loss for words. "Wait. Namjoon, is that...?"

He nods and opens it, his eyes moving from the little box to your face. Inside is a simple, vintage ring; an oval-cut diamond set in an antique band. It's timeless and stunning.

"Kim Namjoon, you're insane," you whisper, letting out a soft, breathless chuckle. "You actually bought a ring?"

He smiles up at you, shaking his head. "I didn't buy it."

Your head tilts in confusion.

"It was my grandmother's," he explains. "She wore it for over fifty years. My mum kept it after my granny passed…and last week...I asked her for it."

Your throat tightens, your eyes widening. "You…asked for it?"

He nods, glancing down at the ring. "I called her and told her that I'm serious about you. I told her that you make me feel like I'm a better version of myself just by existing next to me."

You press a hand to your mouth, feeling overwhelmed with a whole mixture of emotions.

"She told me I was a little nuts," he adds with a chuckle. "That no sane man proposes to someone he's only known for three months."

You laugh, nodding. "Your mom's smart."

"She is." His smile melts into something softer, more serious. "But I'm in love with you. And I don't want to wait."

There's a beat of silence, just the sound of your heartbeat roaring in your ears, the hustle and bustle of the city outside his window, and the impossible weight of the moment sitting in your chest.

"I know it's really fast," he says gently, "but when I look at you, it doesn't feel fast or crazy. It feels like I've been waiting for you my whole life without even knowing I was waiting."

You don't say anything right away.

This man wants to marry you. This man who instantly took a liking to you when he met you. This man who's intelligent and kind and effortlessly elegant. This man who just presented you with his grandmother's wedding ring like it was meant to be yours all along.

Namjoon watches your expression carefully, waiting patiently.

Then, cautiously, he smiles.

"Will you marry me?"

—

At first, it all just feels like a mild inconvenience for Jungkook.

You're in a different country, in a different time zone, and of course it's normal that your texts come through while he's asleep or his calls are missed because you're stuck in class. Days pass where your voices never reach each other, just fragments—missed calls, unread messages, half-finished voice notes.

At first, he tells himself it's normal, maybe even healthy. You're living your best life halfway across the world, and he refuses to be the needy friend who holds your back. Still, he finds himself reaching for his phone too often, typing things and deleting them, falling asleep with your chat left open like maybe, somehow, it will make you feel closer.

He goes out a lot in June.

He texts you at 2am after coming home from drinks with Jin and two girls he doesn't remember the names of. The text says, "Miss your dumb face," followed by a blurry selfie. You don't answer until seven hours later with a laughing emoji because you just finished rolling a million croissants and you're too tired to ask how his night went.

He smiles at his phone like an idiot every time your name pops up on his screen, but the more time passes, the more the silence starts to hurt.

In July, he hooks up with a girl he met at a rooftop restaurant. She's beautiful, super tall, wears a silk dress that shows off just enough to have him on edge. She calls him "handsome" and laughs at all the right moments. Her perfume is strong, her lip gloss sticky. He pulls her into his apartment and they undress in a haze of clumsy heat, getting straight to the point of the evening—sex.

Jungkook grunts and squeezes his eyes shut as he thrusts into her in missionary, his head spinning as he desperately tries to focus on the task at hand and not the text he sent you a few hours ago that still hasn't been answered.

When he opens his eyes again to kiss her, he's completely thrown off his game when it's not her face he sees contorting in pleasure—it's yours.

It's the familiar curve of your smile.

It's the sparkle in your eyes when the two of you slow danced at his father's engagement party.

It's the look of longing you had on your face when you said goodbye at the airport.

Jungkook stops moving, his hips halting mid-stroke. The girl moans something but he doesn't hear it, far too distracted by your eyes fluttering in his head. He closes his eyes once more, his breathing ragged, his heart hammering. Once he finally gets it together, he forces himself to finish but it just feels hollow now.

When August arrives, Jungkook decides to soldier on until you eventually get back to Seoul.

He meets up with a different woman on a random Monday afternoon—a friend of a friend. They get coffee, then lunch, then dinner a week later. She's cute and easy company. She asks about the meanings of all his tattoos, kisses slow and rides him fast.

She seems genuinely interested in him, so on their fourth hangout—which he insists on calling it instead of a date because he doesn't want her to get the idea that he's serious about her—he takes her to your bakery.

It's his safe place and it smells like you. It's comforting, and warm, and always welcoming. And maybe he takes her there because some part of him just misses home.

The display case is full of your signature work; dainty cupcakes decorated with edible flowers, fluffy cinnamon donuts rolled into perfect spheres, sticky toffee buns that always taste better each time he eats them.

Jungkook stares at the options, his hands in his pockets. "I can't decide what to get," he sighs, testing the waters. "Pick one for me."

She blinks, her pretty doe eyes filled with confusion. "Why?"

"I don't know, it's kinda fun," he smiles. "Just choose something for me."

She raises a brow, looking at the array of desserts. "Okay…a cookie."

He pauses, glancing at her. "No, like...be specific."

"Okay." She stares at the case, then smiles over at him. "A really big cookie?"

He smiles, but it's so fake it almost physically hurts. "Right. Sure."

She doesn't get it, of course she wouldn't. It's not about the dessert. It's so much more than that.

They end up leaving with one cookie for her and nothing but disappointment for him.

—

The days blur and the nights stretch endlessly.

He scrolls through your texts again and again, reading old ones just to be reminded of how funny you are. He reads the ones where you got into a debate about 'sex weather', in which you insisted that rainy weather is always the best time for sex, or rather "making love" as you put it, because you hate being sweaty while trying to be romantic. He listens to the voice note where you tried to explain a French baking term and got so flustered when you lost your train of thought that you ended it with, "Anyway, I'm a fraud, bye."

He plays that one three times, chuckling to himself in bed like a crazy person.

He wants to call you, to hear your voice and listen to you ramble about oven temperature settings and undercooked soufflé.

He wants to say...well, he doesn't really know what he wants to say. He just knows that no one else makes him feel whole the way you do.

That everyone else feels like a filler. Like static. Never you, though. You feel like home.

He tosses his phone aside and stares up at his bedroom ceiling, running a hand through his hair with a huff. It hits him gently, like a slow wave that unexpectedly knocks him off his feet and drowns him in an instant:

You're not just his best friend or the girl he jokingly flirts with out of habit. You're more than just someone who knows how he likes his coffee or which songs make him cry or why he hates sleeping in certain positions because it hurts his back.

You're it.

You're the one he'll always look for in a crowd of people, the one he still wants to talk to at the end of every stressful, shitty day. The one he hasn't stopped thinking about since the moment you walked through that departure gate—hell, since the moment he accidentally stumbled into your bed ten years ago.

And he doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to do with that.

The thud of the basketball echoes through the gym as Jungkook dribbles, sweat clinging to his skin, his heart pounding from exertion. Seokjin's guarding him—kinda lazily—and Wonwoo's near the free-throw line, his sleeves rolled up and jaw set with focus. Mingyu's off to the side, taking his sweet time sipping water and pretending like he doesn't play the most aggressively of all four of them.

Jungkook fakes left, cuts right, and lands the shot. It bounces once, then rolls in.

"Still got it," he grins, jogging back as Mingyu throws him a towel.

"You've got cardio," Wonwoo pants. "Not game."

"Don't need game when I'm playing against geriatrics," Jungkook shoots back.

"Hey!" Seokjin wipes his forehead. "I may be a father now, but I could still outrun you with one baby strapped to my chest and another in the oven."

"You're not even the one with the oven," Mingyu snorts.

"My point still stands," Seokjin shrugs.

They keep playing—passes, dodges, light-hearted trash talk—but somewhere between defence drills and free throws, Jungkook finds himself zoning out. He leans against the padded wall, bouncing the ball absentmindedly, his thoughts far from the gym.

Seokjin notices first.

"You good?" he asks, tossing his friend a water bottle.

Jungkook catches it, hesitates, then nods. "Yeah. Just thinking."

"That's suspicious," Mingyu scoffs. "When you think too much, you start texting your exes."

"No," Jungkook mutters quietly, shaking his head. "Not this time."

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, walking over. "What's going on?"

Jungkook rolls the ball along the floor with his foot, sighing. "I think I'm in love with ___."

There's a silence that stretches just a second too long, the guys all shooting each other a look.

Seokjin's eyebrows furrow, his hands resting on his hips. "Wait, what?"

Mingyu whistles, patting Jungkook on the back. "Holy shit. That's not what I was expecting."

Wonwoo just leans against the wall and crosses his arms, his expression unreadable.

Jungkook shifts, scratching the back of his neck. "I don't know. It just hit me all at once. I've been trying to date, distract myself. I took a girl to the bakery the other day and asked her to pick something for me like ___ always does…and she picked a fucking cookie. Just said 'a big one'," he snorts humourlessly. "Didn't even get the point."

"You do realize she's not ___, right?" Seokjin chuckles. "How would she know what you meant?"

"Exactly. That's my point," Jungkook groans. "No one's her, dude. I've been around her for ten years, and I think I convinced myself I'd always have time to figure it out, but now she's in London, living her dream, probably flirting with a bunch of British guys."

"Let's not spiral," Wonwoo mutters.

"I just…" Jungkook exhales sharply. "I don't want anyone else. I want her. And...I actually want to do something about it."

The guys pause before Seokjin grabs his shoulder, smiling. "Well, shit! That's called growing up."

"You're not wrong," Mingyu mutters, grabbing the ball to dribble again. "But don't ask me to relate. I'm good with casual sex and no one touching my closet space."

"You say that now," Seokjin scoffs. "Then one day you're holding a baby while your wife cries watching dog rescue videos and suddenly it's the best moment of your life."

"Wow," Wonwoo deadpans. "That got oddly specific."

Jungkook laughs quietly, glancing down at the floor. "I never thought I'd want that. Not the marriage thing or the kids. I thought I'd stay the way I was forever. Just…you know, vibing."

Seokjin smiles, fond and a little smug. "Now 'just vibing' feels kinda empty, huh?"

Jungkook nods.

"She's different," he murmurs softly. "She makes everything feel like it matters. Without her, everything feels off."

Mingyu makes a dramatic gagging noise. "Can we go back to basketball now? This sappy talk is giving me indigestion."

Seokjin chuckles, giving Jungkook a hard pat on the back. "Tell her when she gets back. Don't wait."

Jungkook nods, determination setting in as he jogs over to play another round.

He's not sure how you'll react to all this, but he's done running from his feelings. He's finally ready. He just hopes you are too.

—

Jungkook listens to your voicemail multiple times when he gets home from work Friday evening.

"Hey…I'm back in Seoul! I've missed you so much. Can we have dinner tonight around 7? I was thinking of going to our usual restaurant. I have so much to tell you. It feels like I've been gone forever. Let me know, okay? Okay, I love you, bye!"

Your voice is bubbly, laced with excitement. You sound like you dialed his number as soon as you got off the plane, the airport noise in the background a clear giveaway.

Jungkook doesn't waste a second. He showers, sprays himself with his most expensive cologne and pulls out a navy suit he usually reserves for weddings and important meetings. He doesn't usually go out of his way to look good for a woman because he's him—he doesn't have to try, but this is you and he wants to leave a lasting impression when he tells you his feelings. Tonight is different. It's significant, and he doesn't want to screw it up.

On his way to the restaurant, he stops at a street vendor and buys a bouquet of peonies—your favourite. He might not be the most conventionally romantic guy on the planet, but he knows you hate roses because you think they're cliché and typical. He knows that you prefer fish over red meat, and that you hate big gatherings because they make you anxious. He knows you better than anyone else on Earth, and he loves you.

The restaurant is buzzing when he walks in—dim lights, quiet chatter, the smell of red wine and garlic butter thick in the air. He spots you immediately, perched at the bar at the far end of the restaurant, laughing at something.

His breath catches at the sight of you.

You look like London. That's the only way he can describe it. You're glowing, your cheeks rosy, your lips stained red. It's different but still you, like something bloomed while he wasn't looking.

He starts walking toward you, a smile pulling at his lips.

But then he sees him.

A tall man standing beside you, dimples on full display like someone's paying him to smile that brightly. He leans in close, says something in your ear, and presses a quick kiss to your lips. It's all a bit too casual, too familiar.

It stops Jungkook in his tracks. When he starts walking again it's fast and panicked. So much so that he doesn't see the waiter passing by until it's too late.

"Sir, excuse m—"

There's a loud crash, a blur of limbs flying about as Jungkook collides into the poor guy carrying a full tray of glasses. Water, wine, forks, the tray itself, it all goes flying as both men go down in a heap right in the middle of the restaurant.

"Shit—!"

"Oh my goodness—Jungkook?!"

You're off your stool in a second, rushing over with wide eyes. The man beside you joins you just as quickly, crouching down to help both Jungkook and the waiter up.

Jungkook winces, pushing himself up to sit.

You're already reaching for him, pulling him up to his feet. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? You just...you slammed into that guy—"

"I'm fine," Jungkook mutters, straightening up, brushing water off his sleeves. He glances down at the scattered bouquet now lying halfway under the barstools.

You crouch to pick it up, glancing up at him.

"And you bought flowers?" you ask with a hopeful glint in your eyes.

Jungkook freezes, glancing at the flowers. He clears his throat, then grabs the bouquet and abruptly shoves it into the startled waiter's hands. "No. These are his."

The waiter is taken aback, and so are you.

Jungkook claps the poor guy on the back, offering him a fake smile. "Congratulations on your...anniversary or whatever."

You raise an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Mhm," Jungkook nods, his voice tight. "Just clumsy, I guess. Classic me."

You exchange a look with the man Jungkook is still unsure of, who offers your best friend a faint smile. The three of you start walking toward the table—your table, the one you and Jungkook always request when it's just the two of you.

Jungkook doesn't say anything. He sits across from you and watches as the other man pulls out your chair like he's done it a dozen times before, which makes Jungkook's jaw twitch.

And he waits.

Waits for you to explain.

Waits to figure out why he suddenly feels like the only person in the room who didn't get the memo.

You smile and gesture toward the man beside you, your face lighting up at you look at him, a look Jungkook hasn't seen on your face in a really long time.

"Jungkook, this is Kim Namjoon. Namjoon, this is Jeon Jungkook; my best friend I've been telling you all about."

Namjoon leans over with a warm smile and extends his hand to Jungkook. "It's really nice to finally meet you, Jungkook. I've heard so much about you from this lovely lady."

Jungkook forces a smile, reaches out, and shakes it. "Yeah. Nice to meet you too."

His voice sounds normal but his chest feels hollow.

"I've been trying to picture you this whole time," Namjoon continues in that British accent that makes Jungkook's bile rise in his throat. "___'s mentioned you in almost every story she's told me."

You laugh, your cheeks turning pink. "I might've overdone it."

"No," Namjoon murmurs softly, gazing at you like the rest of the world has vanished. "I loved it. Felt like I already knew him."

Jungkook looks down at the table, wishing he could gouge out his eyes with the silverware. "So…what's the deal with you two? You met in London?"

Your smile widens as you nod. "It was so random! I was at a museum, just minding my business, and I was standing in front of this gorgeous sculpture, and then Namjoon just appeared next to me with a camera."

Namjoon chuckles. "She was so focused on the piece, I wasn't even sure if I should say anything."

"But he did," you grin. "He struck up a conversation, and we ended up at a little café for cinnamon buns and coffee, which was amazing, by the way."

"You had cinnamon buns with a stranger?" Jungkook murmurs, trying to sound amused, not crushed.

You wave him off. "Oh please. It just felt so natural. And after that, we just kept seeing each other. Museum dates, dinners, exploring the city. We couldn't stay away from each other."

Namjoon affectionately rubs your back with his palm. "I couldn't help myself, she's irresistible."

Jungkook watches the gesture, taking note of how you lean into it like muscle memory. "Sounds like it all happened fast."

"It did," you admit, your smile softening. "But it felt so right."

He nods, staring at the breadbasket in the middle of the table, and wishes he could crawl into it and disappear.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asks, his voice quieter than before. "I mean…I know we missed a lot of calls but I would've wanted to hear about this."

You shift in your seat, your expression falling slightly. "I wanted to, I really did. But things just got so hectic. Classes ran late, we were always on the move, and then the time difference made everything harder. I drafted messages and forget to send them, and after a while, I figured…I'd tell you everything properly when I got back."

You look at him with so much honesty that it only hurts him more.

"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner."

He nods, offering you a faint smile. "It's okay."

It's anything but okay, but he'll suck it up and bite his tongue for you.

Namjoon clears his throat, shifting forward. "I know it's probably a lot to take in all at once, but I wanted to tell you myself. I asked ___ to marry me."

Jungkook's eyes flick up to meet his, his face unreadable.

"And I said yes!" You smile and lift your left hand, showing him your ring. It glints under the restaurant lights, sitting delicately on your finger, mocking him.

Jungkook swallows thickly, a pleasant mask glued to his face. "Wow. It's…beautiful."

You beam. "Isn't it? It was Namjoon's grandmother's."

Namjoon takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. "I figured it could be lucky for us."

Jungkook lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, glancing between you and Namjoon. "Yeah. Guess so."

He smiles at all the right moments, pretends like his chest isn't caving in, nods as if he's really listening when you tell him all about your summer with Namjoon, but all he feels is regret and bitterness that some other guy gets to take you home tonight instead of him.

You're in love. You're engaged. You're sitting across from him glowing like a woman who's found her forever. And Jungkook is just the best friend—the one who waited too long to be ready for you.

"So…" you begin, your voice light but a little nervous, glancing at Namjoon. "We've actually already started planning the wedding."

Jungkook looks startled, looking between you two. "Already?"

Namjoon nods, smiling. "We figured there's no reason to wait."

Jungkook's eyebrows furrow, looking back at you. "But…you just got back."

"I know," you murmur. "But we're getting married in England in a church Namjoon's dad helped build. It's near their home in the countryside. It's perfect, Jungkook."

"Mm, it's right across from the distillery," Namjoon nods.

Jungkook looks between the two of you, trying to process. "Distillery?"

"Yeah," you say, brightening. "Namjoon's parents own a whiskey distillery."

Of course they do. Of course his parents own a distillery and build churches and probably rescue injured animals in their free time.

"And the wedding is in a month," Namjoon adds.

Jungkook's eyebrows shoot up, his eyes practically popping out of their sockets. "A month?"

You nod, resting your head against Namjoon's shoulder. "We didn't wanna drag it out. It just makes sense, you know? Why wait when we're sure?"

He doesn't answer. He's too busy trying to remember how to breathe. And then, as if the conversation hasn't already taken a sledgehammer to his heart, you turn to him with a hopeful smile that just about finishes him.

"Anyway, I wanted to ask you something," you murmur. "I know it's sudden, and maybe kinda weird, but…Jungkook...would you be my maid of honor?"

His brain flatlines, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find something to say that won't be totally offensive right now.

"I mean," you add quickly, laughing, "knowing our relationship, you'd probably want me to be your best man someday, right? So, it's only fair."

Namjoon laughs softly, clearly charmed by the idea. "I think it'd be perfect, actually. You two clearly have such a strong bond."

Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. Instead, he stands too fast, knocking his thigh into the edge of the table and spinning sideways just in time to collide for the second time that evening with the same poor waiter from earlier.

The tray clatters to the ground once again. The waiter lets out a yelp of disbelief, flat on his back. Jungkook stumbles, caught between horror and absolute emotional overload.

"Dude, are you serious?!" the waiter yells, throwing a dish towel at his chest.

Jungkook mumbles something that might be an apology, but you're already scrambling to help, wide-eyed and flustered.

"Again?! Jungkook, what is wrong with you tonight?"

Everything is wrong.

Everything has gone so terribly wrong.

—

It's a sunny Monday afternoon in the middle of Seoul and the park is alive with movement—joggers passing through, street vendors preparing fresh teokkbokki, and office workers on their lunch break scattered across benches in a sea of undone ties and styrofoam containers.

Jungkook is sitting on a bench with a hotdog in one hand and a death grip on his dignity in the other.

Seokjin takes a massive bite of his chilli dog, glances over at him, and swipes ketchup off his cheek with a napkin as he prepares to tackle the shipwreck sitting next to him.

"So…" Seokjin mumbles, his mouth full. "You gonna tell me why you've looked constipated since we sat down? I only have ten more minutes left of my break and my boss is already on my ass."

Jungkook stares down at his hotdog, his appetite barely there. "___ asked me to be her maid of honor."

There's a short pause before Seokjin chokes on a laugh, quickly covering his mouth to avoid spraying onions all over the bench. "I'm sorry, her what?!"

"Maid of honor."

Jin is full-on wheezing now. "God, I hope the dress makes your ass look good. You've been squatting for this moment your whole life."

Jungkook slumps further in his seat. "This isn't funny, Jin."

"It's hilarious, dude," Seokjin laughs.

"I'm dying, hyung. She gets back from London and all of a sudden she's getting married."

Seokjin finally reins in the laughter, wiping the corners of his eyes. "Okay, okay. Sorry. It's just...you gotta admit, that's a hell of a plot twist."

"I was going to confess," Jungkook mutters flatly, his voice low. "I showed up in a suit. With her favourite flowers. And then I walked in and watched her get kissed by her fiancé and knocked over a waiter in the process."

Seokjin winces. "Yikes."

"She's getting married at a church across from her new fiancé's family whiskey distillery, in a month." Jungkook groans and drops his head back against the bench. "She even showed me the ring. It was his grandmother's."

Seokjin lets out a soft whistle, nodding. "Yeah, that's a lot."

"I feel like I missed the entire movie and just showed up for the credits."

They sit in silence for a moment, birds chirping merrily around them like little assholes.

Then Seokjin finishes his hotdog, balls up the wrapper, and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "Listen, it sucks, I'm not gonna lie. But this doesn't have to be the end."

Jungkook gives him a side glance. "You realise she's engaged."

"And you're the maid of honor." Seokjin grins. "Which means you're right there, centre stage. You're planning the whole thing, hearing every detail. You're literally the man behind the scenes."

"You make it sound like I'm in a heist movie."

"You are," Seokjin shrugs. "Except instead of robbing a bank, you're trying to steal a bride."

Jungkook snorts despite himself. "That's so dumb."

"Love is dumb, man," Seokjin scoffs. "I proposed to my wife in a Pikachu onesie, and now we have a kid who chews on HDMI cables. But I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Jungkook stares at the sky, feeling unsure. "You really think I should stay close? Not back off?"

"I think," Seokjin says, "if you're really in love with her and not just having a meltdown because someone else got there first, then don't give up on this. You be her best friend. You support her. And if there's even the tiniest crack in her heart, she'll know you were there the whole time, waiting."

Jungkook lets that settle for a moment. He takes a slow bite of his hotdog, chewing thoughtfully. "Okay," he sighs. "But I'm not wearing a dress."

"I will pay you money to wear a dress," Seokjin laughs. "Like, real money. I want full lace. And cleavage."

Jungkook stuffs his mouth with the hotdog to avoid swearing at his friend, but when he leans back again, squinting up at the sky, the weight in his chest feels just a little bit lighter at the reminder that this isn't over yet.

When Jungkook arrives at your apartment Saturday morning, he's met with the familiar comfort of your sweet scent, frilly pillows scattered across the couch, and little trinkets decorating the shelves.

He's spent countless nights here—binging your favourite shows, eating endless amounts of cake as his way of helping you with new recipes, sitting patiently as you give him a faux fashion show of the millionth pair of shoes you bought—and yet this time is not like any of the rest. This time he's here to help you plan your wedding.

"You rang, future Mrs. Kim?" he calls out, kicking off his shoes in the entryway.

You pop your head out from the kitchen with a smile. "You're late, Jeon. You said you'd be here at 8. It's 10."

He takes off his leather jacket and hangs it on your coat rack, rolling his eyes. "You've been engaged for five minutes and you're already a bridezilla."

You scoff, making your way over to greet him with a hug.

He grins at the short embrace, pulling away to get a proper look at you. "Damn, your hair looks good today. Is that a new thing, or is it just the 'I'm-getting-married' glow?"

You roll your eyes, but your smile shows how flattered you are. "Such a suck-up."

"I'm your maid of honor," he says, smiling smugly. "Sucking up to you is literally my job now."

He walks into the living room and settles onto your couch. It feels normal but there's a certain nervous energy in the air today. It's officially the start of preparations for the wedding party, and he's not sure how ready he is for all that. But today isn't about him. It's your day, and he'll support you even if it slowly kills him.

"The bridesmaids are almost here," you murmur, sitting down with him, turning to face him.

"Do I know them?"

"Well, there's Mina," you smile, knowing how well they get along.

"Mina's great, I like Mina," he nods, scooting a bit closer to you.

"And Jeongyeon. You haven't met her yet but she's really chill, you'll love her."

"Okay, who else?" he asks, reaching out and absentmindedly twiddling a strand of your hair between his fingers.

"Uhm..." You sigh, preparing yourself for his reaction. "And Lisa."

His face falls, his fingers pausing in your hair. "Are you serious? She hates me."

"I had to, Jungkook. She's my cousin," you sigh. "And I mean, can you blame her? You had sex with her then ghosted her the next day."

"She almost broke my nose," he groans.

"It was an accident," you chuckle, rolling your eyes as he goes back to playing with your hair.

"She literally punched me in the face," he deadpans. "I told her it wasn't anything serious and she agreed. I can't help that she caught feelings for me."

You smile in amusement, shaking your head at how truly humble he is. "She's wanted to be my maid of honor since we were little, so she hates you even more now."

The doorbell rings right on cue.

You grin and rush over to get the door, welcoming them in. Jungkook isn't sure if the loud entrance is your bridesmaids greeting you at the door or a pack of hyenas cackling. He lets out a huff and stands up as they enter, plastering a smile on his face.

Mina hugs you first; your bakery manager and unofficial work wife. She's organised as ever, carrying a stack of bridal magazines that she's probably had since forever.

Then Jeongyeon, your friend from high school. She's less organised than Mina but equally as excited for you.

And finally…Lisa, your beloved cousin.

Jungkook fights the urge to roll his eyes when he sees her, forcing a smile to remain civil.

She freezes when she sees him, her eyes narrowing into slits.

You smile, choosing to ignore the tension between them for your own sanity. "Jungkook, you remember Lisa, right?"

Jungkook clears his throat, nodding as he sits back down on the couch. "Yeah. Of course. Hey."

Lisa offers a sweet, pointed smile that could kill him if she really wanted to. "Oh, trust me, I remember Jungkook."

The tension is very palpable.

Mina, sensing the shift, gives a diplomatic little nod and walks over to the couch. "Well, we should probably get started, hm?"

You clap your hands together, trying to regain control of the room. "Okay! So, thank you all for coming. Please, sit. I'll go get some snacks then we can start going over fittings, schedules, things like that."

"Can't wait," Jeongyeon smiles, getting comfortable on an armchair while you head to the kitchen.

"I already know this is going to be chaos," Mina chuckles, sitting next to Jungkook, watching as Lisa stabs him with her eyes.

"Some of us thrive in it," Lisa mutters. "Don't we, Jungkook?"

Jungkook scoffs, shooting her a pointed look. "Are we doing that already?"

"Doing what?" Lisa smiles, feigning innocence. "I just meant you're probably used to this; being around a lot of women, multitasking."

You return to the living room before they can start going at each other, carrying a tray of sandwiches and some iced tea before grabbing your wedding binder and sitting down with everyone else, getting right to business. You start listing off dates and logistics—dress fittings, the bridal shower, the family brunch the morning of the wedding—but the air is already charged. Jungkook asks too many questions, honestly, and Lisa's patience visibly deteriorates with every clueless comment.

"Wait, is the brunch before the church rehearsal thing?"

Mina shakes her head, jotting some things down in her planner. "No. The brunch is the morning of the wedding. We've been over this, Jungkook."

"Oh, right. Right."

Lisa laughs under her breath. "God help us."

Jungkook turns to her, raising a brow. "Got something to say?"

Lisa shrugs, taking a glass of iced tea from the coffee table. "Not really. Just wondering how someone who can't even follow a calendar is supposed to help plan a wedding."

"Lisa," you mutter, shooting her a look that says 'behave, please'.

"Well, I didn't know I was going to be graded on my maid-of-honor performance," Jungkook grumbles.

"Well, just fyi, I'd give you an F," she shoots back.

"Settle down, you two," you sigh, gently placing a hand on Jungkook's arm.

Jeongyeon smirks into her drink. Mina, smiling calmly, jumps in before the room ignites.

"Cut him some slack, Lisa. I'm sure he didn't grow up dreaming about tulle and seating charts."

"Yeah, no kidding," Jungkook mutters.

"Exactly," Mina smiles. "So, let's all just be cool."

Lisa takes a slow sip of her iced coffee and doesn't say anything else, but Jungkook catches the flicker in her eyes that says she should've been your maid of honor instead of the man who clearly doesn't know what he's doing.

Your phone rings on the coffee table, Namjoon's name lighting up the screen. "Sorry, I have to take this," you murmur shyly. "It's Joon."

Your bridesmaids all swoon at the mention of your future husband, and Jungkook has to resist the gag threatening to spill from his lips.

As soon as you excuse yourself to take the call in the next room, Lisa jumps into action.

"I've been a MOH six times before, so I'll organise everything that needs to be done, even though I'm not the MOH here," she mutters, crossing one leg over the other.

Jungkook's eyebrows furrow, clearly clueless. "What's a MOH?"

"M-O-H," Lisa mutters pointedly.

"It stands for maid of honor," Mina smiles over at Jungkook. "That's you."

"Oh, yeah, of course," he chuckles, ignoring the eye-roll from Lisa.

"Okay, so we've got the bridal shower coming up that Jungkook will plan, our bridesmaid hair and make up trials, shopping for ___'s trousseau," Mina lists off, reading from her planner in her lap.

"Trousseau?" Jungkook's eyes narrow, leaning over to peek at Mina's planner. "What is a trousseau?"

"It's lingerie for her wedding night," Lisa deadpans, looking fed up with his questions that she feels are completely unnecessary. "How do you expect to be a good MOH if you don't even know that?"

"Oh wow, look, she's actually talking to me," Jungkook quips.

"No, I'm not," Lisa mutters quickly.

"You just did."

"Oh, my bad, Jungkook," she smiles sarcastically. "Did I break one of your rules?"

"Okay, that's enough!" Mina whisper-yells. "Can you two stop and think about ___? She's happy with an amazing guy, so could we all please, for ___'s sake, just get along, put a smile on our faces and pretend like everything is perfect?!"

"Okay, fine," Jungkook mumbles, holding his hands up in surrender.

The tension in the room is thick, but you don't notice, too giddy after hearing that deep British voice tell you how excited he is to get home to you later. You return after the call with Namjoon, turning your attention back to the ladies—who seem perfectly fine after Mina's little pep talk, all of them smiling brightly.

"Okay, I'm back," you grin, getting comfortable. "So, while we're all over there, we'll be staying at the Kims' holiday home."

Lisa's brow arches, her interest piqued. "Holiday home?"

"Yeah," you murmur while flipping through your binder. "Namjoon's family has this gorgeous house out in the countryside. I swear it's like something out of a Jane Austen novel. It's got over enough guest rooms for everyone. The garden even has an actual maze."

Jungkook blinks. He opens his mouth, closes it, then clenches his jaw in silence.

Of course Namjoon's family has a spare country mansion lying around. Why wouldn't they? Probably stocked with limited-edition wines and antique candleholders. Maybe even a butler named Charles who plays the violin at breakfast.

He forces a tight smile. "Wow. A holiday home. That's nice."

Lisa snorts. "Bit of a step up from your one-bedroom apartment, huh?"

Jungkook slowly looks over at her, smirking. "You'd know. You've been in my bedroom."

You sigh, taking a big gulp of your iced tea. Jeongyeon's eyebrows hit her hairline, finding this all too amusing.

Lisa gives him a razor-sharp glance, crossing her eyes over her chest. "Yeah. Once. Unfortunately."

Mina cuts in with perfect timing, like she's trained for this. "I think this is all amazing, ___. I mean, talk about a dream wedding."

Jeongyeon nods. "Seriously. And Namjoon seems so thoughtful. You guys make a really sweet couple."

You smile bashfully, your cheeks heating up. "I think so too. It all feels like it was meant to be, you know?"

Lisa hums. "Mhm. Must be nice to be that in love."

Jungkook's lips press into a thin line as he stares at the coffee table, remaining silent.

When you flip through wedding magazines with Mina, gushing about colour swatches and invitation templates, he finds himself tuning you out, not because he doesn't care, but because he cares too much.

Wedding planning has his iced tea tasting more like acid than anything else.

due to the 1k block limit, you can read the rest of the story HERE

[ggukivrse]

MASTERLIST !

✮ - reader’s favourite. ᰔ - personal favourite.

MIN YOONGI

── series

CRAVING YOU — coming soon

summary. when you & yoongi strike up a mutually satisfying deal, it’s supposed to stay simple; blood for sex, sex for blood. but the longer you keep feeding off each other, the harder it gets to tell hunger & need from… something deeper — (s) (f) (a)

── oneshots

ᰔ FALLING FOR YOU ( 5.5k )

summary. you and yoongi have been best friends since childhood, and you pride yourselves in knowing everything about each other. well… everything except the quiet, growing warmth neither of you dare to name — (f) (a)

── drabbles

coming soon…

JEON JUNGKOOK

── series

✮ THE ART OF PRETENDING — completed

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend — (a) (f) (s)

── oneshots

STUDY BREAK ( 1.4k ) | PART TWO ( 1.8k )

summary. in which you’re all distraction and no remorse, and jungkook keeps coming back for more — (s)

✮ JUST THIS ONCE ( 5.1k )

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no. after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once? — (s) (f?)

› JUST THIS… TWICE? ( 8.3k ) — (s) (f) (a)

› THIRD TIME’S THE CHARM ( 7.7k ) — (s) (f) (a)

MOVED ON ( 3.8k )

sunmary. in which it’s been two years since you left, but jungkook’s aching heart still can’t grasp the fact that you’ve moved on — (a)

── drabbles

HENNA KISSES ( 0.6k )

summary. in which you're stuck waiting for your henna to dry, and jungkook takes full advantage to pepper you with kisses — (f)

note — please let me know if you like my fics! i love hearing your thoughts, and feedback really helps me improve my writing for future projects <3

© ggukivrse, all rights reserved.

[cosmicdreamgrl]

𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘫𝘬 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴: (98/?)┃𝘤𝘳: 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥

[jkvjimin]

(154/∞) the perfect nose for butterflies to land on it ♡ cr. @jung-koook

[jung-koook]

[253/547] — until we meet again, jungkook ♡

[cosmicdreamgrl]

𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘫𝘬 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴: (86/?)

[jung-koook]

[211/547] — until we meet again, jungkook ♡