when the stoic and devastatingly handsome sir jeon jungkook is appointed as your personal knight, sworn to guard your royal highness with a will forged from steel, you quickly discover that his greatest strength may also be his most infuriating trait, he is utterly immune to you. no matter how tightly you lace your corset, he remains the perfect knight, eyes respectfully averted, jaw set like stone. but while sir jungkook may be a man of steel, you are a princess accustomed to getting what you want, and with every sinful intention of discovering whether even the realm’s most loyal knight could be brought to his knees for you.
⎯⎯ pairing: knight jungkook x princess y/n
warnings: erotica, forbidden medieval fantasy au, porn with plot, age gap, yearning, size difference, oral fixation (f.), unprotected sex, the princess is very horny, cold,dom!knight, bigdick!knight, breeding, pregnancy trope, war brutality, motherhood, subtle angst
word count: 20.5k
The great hall of the royal palace echoed with the murmurs of the assembled court. The King sat upon his throne, his stern gaze sweeping over the line of elite knights who had come to compete for the highest honor in the realm, becoming the personal protector of his only daughter, the princess, you.
The position was coveted for many reasons, but none more obvious than the princess herself.
Beauty had always been your burden as much as your blessing. Tales of it traveled farther than merchants and faster than ravens, crossing borders until even distant courts spoke your name with a mixture of admiration and longing. Princes penned verses in your honor without ever meeting you. Even seasoned knights, men hardened by war and duty, often found themselves disarmed by nothing more than a smile.
With your coronation fast approaching, the kingdom stood on the brink of celebration. It would be the grandest event seen in decades, drawing princes, dignitaries from every corner of the continent. Some would arrive seeking alliances. Most would arrive seeking you.
The prospect amused you more than it excited you.
“Protecting my daughter is not merely a matter of strength,” your father’s voice boomed through the hall. “It demands unyielding discipline and absolute loyalty. You will each face three trials. The princess herself will accompany you, so that you may prove your worth in her presence.”
Your eyes swept slowly across the line of knights standing before the throne, a faint mask of boredom kissing your beautiful face, certain that none of them would truly be able to handle you.
For years, entertaining yourself at the expense of knights had become something of a pastime. A lingering touch against a gauntleted hand, a mere whispered compliment that left disciplined warriors suddenly forgetting their own names. Watching them struggle to maintain their composure was endlessly amusing.
You had notoriously toyed with men like this, living wildly beneath the weight of your royal title, and your father knew this better than anyone. That was precisely why he had designed these trials.
He wasn’t simply looking for the strongest sword arm. He wanted a knight with sharp intellect and the rare ability to withstand your constant attempts to live life on your terms rather than as a perfectly mannered princess.
A small, intrigued smile played on your lips when the first few knights stepped forward. They were impressive in brute force, but you could already tell they would crumble the moment you decided to play.
Then he stepped forward.
Sir Jeon Jungkook.
Even fully armored, with only his dark, piercing eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet, once his unflinching gaze met yours for a brief second, a strange spark ignited low in your belly. You tilted your head, studying those dark eyes with growing interest.
The first trial took place that very evening in the smaller banquet hall. Only a select few courtiers were present. You sat at the high table beside your father, sipping from a jeweled goblet.
Unknown to the competing knights, the King had arranged for one of the wine pitchers to be laced with a powerful sleeping draught. Harmless, but potent enough to leave the princess disoriented and vulnerable. Only the King, a few trusted advisors, and the princess herself knew of the plan.
The knights had been given only one instruction: protect the princess. No further details.
As the evening progressed, the effects of the draught began to take hold. Your thoughts grew pleasantly hazy, movements slower. The jeweled goblet nearly slipped from your grasp once before you caught it. A second time, you laughed at something that had not been particularly funny.
Several knights noticed. Some were too busy trying to appear vigilant, eyes constantly scanning the room for imaginary assassins.
A few noticed your condition and drew dangerously close. One insisted on helping you stand despite the fact that you had not asked for assistance. Another rested a hand against your lower back almost inappropriately while guiding you through the room. One knight even smiled when he realized how heavily you leaned upon him after stumbling.
The courtiers watched everything. So did the King.
You were beginning to feel genuinely annoyed when a tall figure stepped silently between you and yet another overeager knight.
Sir Jeon Jungkook.
Unlike the others, he had not hovered around you all evening. He had remained where a royal protector belonged, close enough to intervene, distant enough to respect your space.
Dark eyes studied your face through the narrow opening of his helmet. “The princess has had enough wine,” he declared.
The knight beside you scoffed. “She seems perfectly fin—”
“She does not.”
You watched surprise flicker across the other knight’s face.
Sir Jungkook’s hand briefly closed around your forearm as you swayed, steadying you before immediately letting go the moment your balance returned.
Within moments he had summoned two ladies-in-waiting to accompany you back to your chambers. When another knight offered to carry you himself, Sir Jungkook declined on your behalf before you could even answer.
“Her reputation is as important as her safety.”
For the first time all evening, genuine curiosity stirred within you.
Most men saw opportunity when they looked at you. Some saw beauty, a few saw a future crown. Yet somehow, Sir Jeon Jungkook seemed to see only his duty.
As the ladies guided you toward the doorway, you glanced back over your shoulder.
“How noble of you, Sir Jungkook,” you teased, voice softened by the draught. “Are you always so resistant to temptation?”
His gaze never wavered. “My duty is to protect Your Highness.”
For reasons you could not quite explain, that response lingered in your thoughts far longer than any flirtatious remark ever had.
The final trial was, by all appearances, the simplest.
After weeks of staged attacks, hidden tests, the remaining candidates expected one final demonstration of skill. Some anticipated a duel. Others believed they would be sent to defend the princess from another fabricated threat. Instead, the King announced that the last trial would consist of a single week of personal duty beside the princess. No further explanation was offered.
The knights were disappointed.
You, however, knew exactly what your father was doing.
The trial was not designed to test strength or intelligence. It was designed to test restraint.
Most of the candidates failed within days. Some became overly eager whenever you requested their company.
Others ignored palace protocol the moment you suggested bending the rules. One knight allowed you to wander through the city market without informing the royal guard because he was too eager to please you. Another accepted an invitation to share wine in one of the palace balconies despite knowing perfectly well how improper it appeared. Every failure was carefully observed and quietly recorded.
Only one knight remained infuriatingly impossible.
Sir Jeon Jungkook.
The more you watched him, the more determined you became to discover his weakness. Surely he had one. Everyone did.
At first, your attempts were harmless. During walks through the palace gardens, you lingered beside him instead of remaining ahead as protocol dictated. During meals, you directed most of your conversation toward him. More than once, you deliberately brushed your fingers against the steel of his gauntlet while speaking. Other knights would have turned crimson. Some would have stumbled over their own words.
Sir Jungkook merely stepped aside and continued his duties as though nothing had happened.
Perhaps it was the way every other knight had spent the past weeks attempting to impress you, the King, or the court.
Where others sought favor, he sought only to fulfill his duty. And thus, when the day of the final judgment arrived, the outcome surprised absolutely no one.
Your father rose slowly from his seat.
“Sir Jeon Jungkook,” he declared, voice echoing through the hall. “You have successfully completed all trials. You have shown not only strength and intellect, but the rare ability to anticipate danger and resist… temptation.” His gaze flicked briefly to you. “From this day forward, you are hereby appointed as the princess’s personal royal knight and protector. Guard her with your life. And may the gods help you.”
A murmur rippled through the court.
You turned toward Sir Jeon Jungkook, stepping just close enough that your crimson gown brushed his armor.
“Welcome to my service, Sir Jungkook,” you whispered so only he could hear. “I do hope you’re prepared. Resisting me may prove to be your greatest trial yet.”
His dark eyes held yours with unshakable strength. “I was under the impression I had already passed that one, Your Highness.”
—
Having Sir Jeon Jungkook follow you around all day wasn’t ideal.
It had not even been three months since his appointment as your royal knight, yet his constant, silent presence had already begun to grate on your nerves. He was always a towering shadow in dark armor, never more than a few steps behind. What annoyed you most was his utter lack of reaction.
No matter how boldly you flirted, no matter how you tightened your corset in front of him until your breasts nearly spilled over, no matter how many times you “accidentally” brushed against him, he remained perfectly composed.
What bothered you most of all was that you still had no idea what he looked like. Only those dark, intense eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet. The rest of him remained hidden behind steel, a constant, frustrating mystery.
The journey to the neighboring kingdom for the grand alliance celebration had been long and stifling. You rode in the royal ornate covered carriage borne by four strong horses and guarded on all sides. The extravagant gown you wore was beautiful but suffocating, the tight corset pressing against your ribs and making every breath feel like a struggle. Boredom weighed on you like lead.
Your dearest friend, Lady Isolde rode beside you in her own litter. She was to be wed in a month, and the two of you had spent the journey giggling like girls again, whispering behind silk curtains.
“He’s so tall,” Isolde teased, peeking through the gap toward where Sir Jeon Jungkook rode steadily beside your litter. “And those eyes… I wonder what the rest of him looks like under all that steel. Do you think he’s handsome, or just another brute?”
You laughed softly, though your gaze lingered on the narrow slit of Jungkook’s helmet, where those dark, intense eyes remained fixed forward.
“As if,” you replied, laced with mock boredom. “He’s far too proper. I could tighten my corset until my breasts nearly spill, and he wouldn’t even glance.”
Isolde giggled. “You should try. For science.”
Sir Jungkook’s eyes flicked toward the litter for the briefest second before returning forward. You smirked. Annoyed as you were by his constant, unflinching presence… you were also undeniably intrigued.
That night, after the feasting and music had died down and the royal party made camp near the forest’s edge, you slipped away, desperate for even a moment of peace, and determined to test just how far his restraint could stretch.
The air had grown chilly, carrying the faint bite of early autumn as you made your way to the forbidden stretch of the deep bend where the river water ran swift and dangerously deep. No one was permitted here after dark, especially not the princess.
You knew he would follow.
The heavy footsteps of armor soon echoed behind you on the rocky bank.
“Your Highness,” Sir Jungkook’s deep voice rang out, firm. “This area is strictly prohibited at night. The currents are treacherous and the water is far too cold. We must return to the palace at once.”
You barely looked at him. Your eyes were fastened upon the vast expanse of the river, moonlight dancing across its dark surface like scattered diamonds. You wanted nothing more than to feel the cool waves kissing your bare skin, to swim freely under the moon with no eyes judging you in, except his.
A small, unusually kind smile touched your lips as you turned toward him.
“Why don’t you join me, Sir Jungkook?” you asked softly, your voice carrying on the gentle night breeze. “Just for a little while. The water looks so peaceful tonight.”
Sir Jungkook stood like a statue in his dark armor. “Your Highness… that would be highly improper,” he replied, voice low. “I am here to protect you, not to… bathe with you.”
You let out a soft, melodic laugh and began walking toward the river’s edge, the hem of your gown brushing the grass.
“Well, I suppose then…” you bit your lip, your fingers moving to the laces of your gown with aching slowness. “I shall swim, and you will stand guard like the loyal knight you are.”
You could feel his intense eyes watching through the narrow slit of his helmet as you loosened the ties. The rich fabric slid from your shoulders like liquid silk, pooling at your feet.
Completely bare under the moonlight, you wore nothing beneath. Your skin glowed luminous and your full breasts rose and fell with each breath, nipples already stiff from the cold night air. The curve of your waist flared into soft hips, and the smooth, delicate skin between your thighs was on full display.
Sir Jungkook immediately turned his head sharply away, staring fixedly into the dark trees.
“Your Highness!” His voice was strained. “This is highly inappropriate. I cannot allow—”
“You don’t have to allow anything,” you cut him off, dripping with defiance. “You’re not permitted to touch me while I’m bare. So you’ll just have to stand there.”
You waded into the river with a soft gasp. The icy water bit into your skin, but the thrill of rebellion pushed you forward. You swam out deeper, the cold making your body hypersensitive.
You glanced back at the bank. Sir Jungkook stood like a statue, head turned away, refusing to look at your naked form even once. His armored fists were clenched tightly at his sides.
A thrill of satisfaction ran through you.
You felt exhilarated. Free. And wickedly aware that the most disciplined man in the kingdom was standing on the bank, fighting not to look at you.
“Are you really going to stand there all night, Sir Jungkook? The water feels wonderful… and I’m all alone out here.” You swam further out, the cold water caressing every inch of your bare skin. A soft, content sigh escaped your lips.
It would be a plain lie if you said you weren’t at least a little relieved that he had followed you. The deep bend was no joke. its treacherous currents and deadly depth were feared even by The King. Yet here you were, aching to tear down the walls of the knight who refused to bend to your charms.
You floated lazily on your back, letting the moonlight kiss your bare skin. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you took your chance.
Once a subtle current tugged at your legs, you gasped dramatically, flailing your arms and letting out a soft, helpless cry. “Oh—!”
You fought back a giggle, pretending to be a damsel in distress, knowing the current wasn’t strong enough to truly endanger you. You wanted to see if you could finally crack his composure.
But the gods had other plans.
Without warning, a far more treacherous undercurrent slammed into you like a living beast. It dragged you under violently, twisting your body, filling your mouth and nose with icy water. Real panic surged through you as you lost your breath and sight in the black depths.
“Jungkook!” you screamed, the sound barely coherent as water rushed into your lungs. This time, it was no act.
Sir Jeon Jungkook did not hesitate for even a fraction of a second. He plunged into the river fully armored, cutting through the violent current with powerful strokes. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, yanking your naked body against his steel chest as he fought the river with raw, expert strength. You clung to him desperately, coughing and gasping as he dragged you back to the rocky bank.
The moment he pulled you ashore, his helmet caught on a low hanging branch and was ripped clean off.
You lay on the grass, gasping for air, when your eyes finally focused on the man hovering above you.
And you forgot how to breathe.
Sir Jeon Jungkook was devastatingly, unfairly handsome.
Wet raven black hair clung to his forehead and sharp, sculpted cheekbones. Water droplets traced the strong line of his jaw and dripped from sensual lips. His dark eyes, now fully exposed, were intense and beautiful, framed by long lashes and thick brows. A faint scar graced his left eyebrow, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise perfect masculine beauty.
Before you could speak, he swiftly grabbed his crimson cloak and draped it over your naked body, covering you completely with careful reverence. His gaze remained locked strictly on your face, never once drifting to your exposed skin.
“Are you okay, Your Highness?” he asked, voice rough with concern. A faint blush colored his cheeks as he noticed the way you were staring at his now-bare face.
You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The combination of the dangerous current, the shock of nearly drowning, and the overwhelming sight of your knight’s true face left you dizzy and speechless.
Your vision blurred. You passed out in his arms.
Sir Jungkook pulled you closer against his armored chest, one large hand gently brushed your wet hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly tender. He lifted you effortlessly, cradling you like a warrior carrying his lady, your head resting against his broad shoulder, body wrapped securely in his cloak, legs draped over his arm as he carried you back to his mare.
He mounted carefully, keeping you nestled safely against him as the horse began the journey back to the palace through secret paths.
You woke briefly as he laid you down on the thick rug before the hearth in your royal chambers. The fire was already roaring. You were still wrapped in his cloak, beneath it only a thin silk bandeau now clung to your body, the delicate material barely containing your breasts, pressing them together in a deep, soft cleavage that rose and fell with each shaky breath.
You trembled from the cold and the lingering shock of the river.
Sir Jeon Jungkook remained kneeling by the fire, his movements precise as he stoked the flames. Water dripped from his raven hair onto his armoured shoulders. Then he rose to his full, imposing height, towering, broad shouldered.
Without a word, he reached for his helmet, which rested upon a nearby oak chest, clearly intending to conceal his face once more.
“No,” you whispered, your voice soft yet commanding as you pushed yourself up on one elbow. “Do not put it back on.”
The knight paused, gloved hand hovering above the helm. His dark eyes met yours, intense and conflicted.
“Your Highness… it is not fitting for me to stand before you unveiled,” he said, his voice carrying the formal cadence of a sworn knight. “I must maintain the dignity of my position.”
You sat up fully, the cloak slipping slightly from one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin and the edge of the silk bandeau. Despite the cold still clinging to your bones, warmth bloomed low in your belly as you gazed upon his face, truly beheld it for the first time.
“Come closer,” You rose to your knees on the rug, the cloak parting further as you reached for him. “Let me see you properly.”
He hesitated, every line of his powerful frame taut with restraint. Yet he obeyed, lowering himself once more to kneel before you. Even on his knees, he remained nearly at your eye level, so tall and broad was he.
You lifted a delicate hand and brushed your fingers through his damp raven locks, pushing them back from his forehead. A contented sigh escaped your lips.
“You are far too pleasing to look upon, Sir Jungkook,” you whispered, almost in awe. “I had wondered what lay beneath that steel. Never did I imagine such a face.”
Sir Jungkook remained perfectly still on his knees before you. His hands rested tensely on his armoured thighs as he fought to keep his gaze fixed on your face and not the way your breasts strained against the thin silk bandeau.
“You flatter me, Your Highness,” he replied, voice low. “But I am your knight. Nothing more. Please allow me to restore my helmet.”
You shook your head slowly, refusing to let him hide again. Instead, you leaned closer, your fingers still buried in his damp raven hair.
A new, overwhelming wave of admiration and obsession washed over you. This man... this mature, hardened, breathtakingly handsome knight was kneeling before you like a devotee. The realization sent a fresh rush of heat between your thighs.
“You’re older than me, aren’t you?” you murmured softly, continuing to caress his hair with gentle strokes. “Hardened by battles and years I haven’t yet seen.”
You wondered how many more scars he carried beneath that heavy armor hidden across his broad chest, his strong back.
“I am twenty eight, Your Highness,” he answered quietly, his deep voice carrying that disciplined tone you were growing addicted to.
“Tell me something personal,” you said, your voice turning playful yet curious. Your fingers trailed from his hair down to trace his cheekbone once more. “Have you ever been with a woman, Sir Jeon? Truly been with one?”
His jaw tightened visibly. The question crossed every boundary a knight was sworn to respect.
“Your Highness… such questions are not appropriate for me to answer,” he replied. You leaned in even closer, still stroking his hair tenderly, your breath brushing against his skin.
“But I want to know,” you whispered. “Have you ever touched a woman the way a man touches a lover? Ever kissed one?”
Jungkook’s breathing grew slightly heavier. His dark eyes stayed locked on yours with iron discipline, though you could clearly see the storm brewing behind them.
“I have not, Your Highness,” he finally answered, voice low and honest. “My duty has always come first.”
A thrill ran through you at his confession. You let your fingers drift lower, brushing along his sharp jawline. “And if a woman wanted you… desperately?” your voice dropped to a near whisper. “If she wanted your mouth between her thighs… your tongue tasting her, would you deny her?”
The impure question hung heavy in the air between you. You shocked even yourself with how boldly it slipped out, but the vivid image, his devastatingly handsome face trapped between your legs, mouth glistening with your arousal made the heat bloom even more slick between your thighs.
Sir Jungkook’s hands clenched tighter on his armored thighs. A faint flush colored the tips of his ears and neck, but he remained on his knees.
“Your Highness,” he said, reverently, “I am sworn to protect you. Not to… indulge in such thoughts.”
You smiled softly. Then you leaned back on the bed, letting the crimson cloak fall open completely. The thin silk bandeau was the only thing left covering you, and even that felt too much now.
“Then I command you,” You looked down at him, this powerful knight on his knees before you, and felt a rush of pure need. “I want your mouth on me, Jungkook. Right now.”
“Your Highness, I—”
“Touch me,” you breathed, cutting him off. “Please, Jungkook…”
You reached down and grabbed his gloved hand, bringing it to your chest. Slowly, you pressed his large palm over the thin silk bandeau, letting him feel the soft, heavy weight of your breast. Your nipple was already painfully hard beneath the fabric.
Sir Jungkook’s breath hitched sharply. His entire body tensed, the muscles in his arm flexing under the armor as he fought against every instinct.
You didn’t stop there, dragging his hand lower, sliding it down your stomach until his fingers rested between your thighs. You were soaked. your petals slick and hot against his gloved fingers.
“Feel how damp you make me,” you whispered, voice shaking with need.
Sir Jungkook let out a low, strained groan. His dark eyes were fixed on your face, but you could see the violent war happening behind them.
The most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on — the princess, the future queen, was laid out before him in nothing but a flimsy silk bandeau, legs spread, pressing his hand against her dripping cunt.
“Your Highness…” he rasped, albeit desperate. “This is beyond forbidden. You are royalty. I am sworn—”
“I don’t care,” you whimpered, grinding slowly against his gloved fingers. “I need you. I’ve never felt this way before. Touch me now, my knight. Please.”
His hand trembled. For a long moment, he simply rested there, feeling your wetness soak through the leather of his glove. Then, with a broken exhale that sounded like surrender, his fingers moved.
He stroked along your soaked folds, parting the delicate petals of your most secret flower. And what a flower it was... a lush, glistening rosebud blooming only for him. Your outer lips were soft and swollen with need, flushed deep, delicate like the first blush of dawn.
As he gently spread you open, the inner petals revealed themselves: silky, and impossibly tender, layered like the finest rose in full bloom after a summer rain. At the center lay your sweetest nectar, dripping and honeyed, flowing abundantly from your aching entrance.
The knight didn’t know what came over him, but your pulsing heat and slick, puckering folds had him utterly entranced. His breathing grew ragged. You could see the way his throat worked, the way his tongue unconsciously darted out to wet his lips. He was drooling.
“May I lick you, Your Highness?” he asked hoarsely, voice thick with barely contained hunger. “Please… allow me to taste you.”
The desperate plea from such a disciplined man sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you.
“Yes,” you breathed, spreading your thighs wider for him, your voice trembling with raw need. “Use your mouth on me, Jungkook. Lick your princess until she cannot think.”
The moment the words left your lips, something in him broke. Sir Jungkook leaned in and dragged his hot, wet tongue slowly up your soaked slit. The first full taste of you pulled a deep, guttural groan from his chest. You were intoxicatingly sweet and dripping with arousal. He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every slick fold as if he were drinking the finest wine in the kingdom.
You cried out sharply, back arching off the bed as overwhelming pleasure flooded your body. The sensation was brand new, so intense it made your legs twitch violently.
“Oh... Jungkook!” you moaned, fingers digging into his raven hair.
The knight’s tongue circled your swollen clit before sucking it gently into his mouth, then plunged inside your tight heat, ravishing you with slow, deep strokes. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth eagerly eating you echoed through the chamber, obscene, and shameless.
The most beautiful woman he had ever known, the future queen, was thrashing beneath him, legs shaking uncontrollably around his head, soft whimpers and loud moans spilling from her pretty lips.
Your hips rolled desperately against his face, coating his tongue, lips, and chin with your sweet release. Sir Jungkook drank every drop you gave him, groaning against your cunt as his own cock strained painfully against his armor.
He had never tasted anything so addictive.
You were already twitching, gasping, legs trembling so hard they threatened to close around his head. The pleasure was too much, too new, too overwhelming for your body.
Suddenly, Sir Jungkook pulled back slightly, his lips glistening with your juices. His dark eyes looked up at you, breathing ragged.
“Should I continue, Your Highness?” he asked hoarsely, voice thick with lust and devotion. “Tell me… do you want more?”
You could barely form words. Your body was shaking, pussy throbbing, dripping onto the mattress beneath you.
“Please don’t stop,” you whimpered desperately. “Keep licking me... please...”
The knight obeyed instantly. He buried his face back between your thighs and attacked your clit with relentless strokes of his tongue. Two thick fingers pushed inside you, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot while he sucked hard on your swollen pearl.
The pleasure hit you like a storm.
Your entire body seized up. A loud, broken scream tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you violently. Your thighs clamped around his head, hips bucking wildly against his mouth as you gushed on his tongue. Wave after wave of intense pleasure ripped through you, leaving you shaking uncontrollably, vision blurring at the edges.
You nearly passed out from the sheer intensity of it. body twitching, chest heaving, soft cries still falling from your lips as the pleasure refused to let go.
Sir Jungkook stayed between your thighs through every tremor, drinking down every last drop of your release like a man who had finally found salvation.
When your body finally went limp, trembling and oversensitive, he gently kissed your inner thigh before pulling back, his handsome face flushed and glistening with your arousal.
You could barely speak, still catching your breath as you stared at the sight of your proud, disciplined knight with your release shining on his lips.
—
“The Princess requires her knight’s escort to the eastern tower for stargazing.”
The message was innocent enough on paper. But the court had begun to notice how often you summoned Sir Jeon Jungkook for these private “duties.” Some whispered that the Princess trusted no one else. Others envied the knight who had earned such unwavering favor from the realm’s greatest beauty.
They had no idea what really happened once the tower door was bolted.
In the eastern tower under the stars, you would push Sir Jungkook against the cold stone wall and demand his mouth on you again. He always hesitated at first, “Your Highness, we mustn’t…” but the moment you looked at him with those wide, needy eyes and whispered “Please, Jungkook… I ache for you,” his resolve crumbled.
He would drop to his knees in full armor, push your skirts up to your waist, and bury his face between your thighs. The sounds he made while devouring you were filthy and desperately loud. wet slurps and deep groans as he drank every drop of your arousal. You quickly learned to muffle your loud moans against your own arm or his shoulder, thighs shaking violently around his head as he brought you to shattering orgasm after orgasm.
He never asked for anything in return at first. But one night, after he had made you come so hard you saw stars, you dropped to your knees in front of him, hands trembling as you freed his thick, aching cock from his breeches.
You had never seen the knight fully bare, but you had tasted him.
You took him into your mouth with clumsy but eager hunger, sucking and licking until he was groaning your name like a prayer, his gloved hand gently cradling the back of your head. When he spilled down your throat, you swallowed every drop, looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes.
The tension between you only grew hotter, more forbidden.
You began creating excuses just to be close to him.
You “accidentally” wandered into dangerous parts of the forest during hunts. You “lost” your way in the palace corridors at night. You deliberately teased foreign dignitaries until they grew too bold, all so Sir Jungkook would have to step in, pull you protectively against his armored chest, and hold you there while scolding you with his low voice.
Each time, you nestled your head against his chest plate, breathing in his scent, feeling safe in a way you had never felt with anyone else.
One quiet afternoon in the royal rose gardens, while the other knights kept their distance. The summer blooms were at their peak, rows upon rows of crimson roses spilling over marble trellises in a riot of color and fragrance. Courtiers often compared them to you. You had heard the comparison so many times throughout your life that it had long since lost all meaning.
Your attention was elsewhere when Sir Jungkook paused beside a rose bush heavy with crimson blooms. Reaching out, he selected a single flower and turned it thoughtfully between his fingers before approaching.
“A gift?” you asked.
“If Your Highness would accept it.”
The answer surprised a smile from you.
He stepped forward and tucked the rose behind your ear. His gloved fingers lingered only for a second before withdrawing, but even that brief touch seemed to affect him more than he wished to admit.
When you looked up, his gaze was fixed upon the flower. “Beautiful things are dangerous,” he said quietly.
You laughed. “I believe roses are dangerous for everyone except gardeners.”
His expression didn’t change.
“I wasn’t speaking about the rose.”
Your heart fluttered so violently you had to look away. it was becoming impossible to deny how deeply you were falling for him.
The kisses grew sloppier, more desperate with every stolen moment.
In the abandoned library, your knight would press you against the bookshelves, helmet removed, and kiss you like he was drowning, tongue sliding against yours, hands gripping your waist as if afraid you might vanish. You kissed him back just as hungrily, tugging at his hair, moaning softly into his mouth while your hand palmed the hard bulge in his breeches.
Your hunger for him was insatiable. You ached for his presence constantly. The court noticed how you lit up when he entered a room, how you instinctively moved closer to him during gatherings. They saw devotion, they saw trust.
They never saw the way you both held each other’s eyes like lovers who knew their time was stolen.
The relationship was utterly forbidden. Your father would banish him, or worse, if he ever discovered the truth. But neither of you could stop. Something real was blossoming between you.
The knight admired your wild, rebellious spirit. You admired his quiet strength and unwavering honor. In the darkness, you were no longer just princess and knight. You were becoming each other’s secret salvation. And it was only a matter of time before the tension finally snapped.
—
The Coronation.
The kingdom was in full celebration. Banners of the finest gold flew from every tower. The greatest event in decades had arrived, your coronation as Queen.
Princes from across the realms had come in droves, each more eager than the last to win your hand and the throne beside you. They brought lavish gifts, performed in grand tournaments, and showered you with compliments. The entire court watched with bated breath, waiting for you to choose.
You sat upon the raised dais in a breathtaking gown of white, looking every bit the ethereal queen-to-be. But your eyes kept drifting to the tall, armored figure standing silently behind your throne, Sir Jeon Jungkook.
He had become even more composed in public, yet you could feel the storm raging beneath his helmet. Especially when you decided to play your cruel little game.
Prince Min of Veina leaned close during the feast, whispering sweet nothings about your beauty. You laughed brightly, placing a hand on his arm, letting your fingers linger, leaning in just enough for your neckline to offer him a generous view of your breasts.
From the corner of your eye, you saw Sir Jungkook’s gloved hand tighten around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.
Another prince, a golden haired lord from the eastern isles, offered you a rose during the garden promenade. You accepted it with a coy smile, twirling it between your fingers while glancing toward your knight.
Sir Jungkook’s dark eyes burned behind the helmet. You could feel his jealousy like a living thing, hot and barely contained.
That night, after the feasting and dancing, you summoned him to the eastern tower under the usual pretense.
The moment the door closed, he was on you.
The knight pinned you against the cold stone wall. The single rose you’d been idly twirling between your fingers, a gift from one of the many princes, fell forgotten to the floor.
Sir Jungkook’s dark eyes burned with something almost feral.
“You will be wed off soon?” he growled dangerously, breath hot against your ear.
You looked up at him, heart racing. Your long, wavy hair had finally been let down after the long day, cascading over your shoulders and hips like dark silk. The tight corset of your white coronation gown was already loosened, the fabric slipping slightly off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin.
“What do you think about Prince Min?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head. “I think he’s quite lovely. So charming. He even said he would worship me every night once we’re wed.”
Sir Jungkook’s jaw clenched so hard you heard it crack. The jealousy that had been simmering all day threatening to explode.
“Doesn’t it drive you mad, Sir Jeon?” You leaned in closer, letting your breasts brush against his armored chest. “Knowing your princess, the one you’ve been secretly devouring every night, is wanted by so many powerful men? That they all dream of putting a ring on my finger and taking me to their beds?”
“It is exquisite torture, Your Highness,” he growled, eyes burning. “Watching them look at you like they have any right to you. Knowing I’m the only one who’s ever tasted you, the only one who’s ever made you scream.”
His raw honesty sent a sharp thrill through you. You bit your lip, loving the way jealousy sharpened his features, making his dark eyes appear even more intense. He was possessive and barely holding himself back. And you wanted to push him further.
You stepped away from the wall with a teasing smile, walking over to the tall, gilded mirror that stood near the fireplace. The white gown still clung to your body, hair cascading in long, wild waves down your back. You picked up a silver brush and began slowly running it through it, watching him in the reflection.
Sir Jungkook followed you like a shadow, stopping just behind you. His tall, powerful frame loomed in the mirror, twice your size, radiating heat and restrained fury.
“Does that bother you, my knight?” A teasing smile played on your lips. “Knowing that soon I might have to let another man—”
You didn’t get to finish. Sir Jungkook’s large hand closed around your wrist, stopping the brush mid stroke. He plucked it from your fingers and set it down with a deliberate clack. His other hand gripped your hip, pulling your back flush against his armored chest.
Your breath hitched. The playful boldness you’d been wielding all night vanished in an instant.
“Enough,” he growled low against your ear, “You’ve teased me enough tonight, Your Highness.”
His dark eyes burned into yours through the mirror. The intensity there made your knees weak. This wasn’t the restrained, obedient knight anymore. This was a man who had finally reached his limit.
He reached around you and slowly began unlacing the rest of your corset. The white gown loosened further, slipping down your shoulders. You watched in the mirror as he tugged it lower, exposing your full breasts to the cool air and the warm firelight. Your nipples were hard, flushed, and sensitive.
Sir Jungkook’s hand cupped one breast possessively, squeezing it as his thumb brushed over the stiff peak. You gasped, arching into his touch.
“Look at yourself,” he ordered quietly, voice rough. “Look how beautiful you are. How perfect. And yet you let them think they could ever have this.”
He pinched your nipple, rolling it between his fingers until you whimpered. His other hand slid down, gathering the fabric of your gown and pulling it up to your waist, fully exposing your bare cunt in the mirror.
Your face bloomed bright red as you instinctively tried to close your legs, suddenly overwhelmed with shyness at the sight of yourself so lewdly displayed, flushed and completely bare in the golden firelight.
But Sir Jungkook wouldn’t allow it. His large hand gripped your thigh firmly, spreading you open again as he pressed his body harder against your back.
“Don’t hide,” His dark eyes met yours in the mirror, intense and commanding. “Look how filthy and wet you are for me.”
You shivered, unable to tear your eyes away from the reflection. The contrast was obscene, your ethereal white gown bunched around your waist, breasts exposed and heaving, legs spread wide while his armored body loomed behind you like a dark, possessive shadow.
Sir Jungkook’s hand returned between your thighs. Two thick fingers slid through your slick folds, parting them slowly so you could see everything in the mirror. You whimpered at the sight, embarrassed yet unbearably aroused.
“So beautiful,” he breathed as he circled your swollen clit with his fingertip. “This is what belongs to me. Not to any prince. Not to anyone else.”
He pushed two fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as he began ravishing you with slow, deliberate strokes that made wet, obscene sounds echo in the quiet tower.
You tried to close your legs again, overwhelmed, but he held them open with ease, his grip firm and unyielding.
“Watch,” he ordered softly, voice dark with lust. “Watch how easily I can make my princess fall apart.”
Your eyes stayed glued to the mirror as his fingers plunged in and out of your soaked cunt, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your cheeks were flushed deep crimson, lips parted in shameless moans, breasts bouncing slightly with every thrust of his hand.
The pleasure built fast and merciless. Your legs started shaking, thighs trembling violently as you fought to stay upright.
Sir Jungkook’s fingers curled deeper, stroking that perfect spot inside you while his thumb pressed firm circles on your swollen clit.
You came hard with a broken cry, arousal gushing down his wrist and dripping onto the stone floor beneath you. Your head fell back against his armored shoulder, body convulsing as wave after wave of intense pleasure tore through right after.
The knight dragged his arousal coated fingers from your pulsing heat and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean while his dark eyes stayed locked on yours in the mirror. The obscene sight made you whimper, legs pressing together instinctively. This time, he allowed it.
You pulled away from him shyly, legs unsteady as you walked toward the wide couch near the fireplace. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover your bare breasts, suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment.
Sir Jungkook approached you ever so slowly. His heart was pounding. you could see it in the rise and fall of his broad chest. The way your flushed cheeks and shy posture made you look so adorable only made his desire burn hotter.
He stopped in front of you, towering over your smaller frame. Without a word, he gently uncrossed your arms, exposing your breasts again. You tried to cover them once more, but he caught your wrists softly.
“You’re too beautiful to hide, my love.” he murmured, voice low.
He leaned down and took one sensitive nipple into his hot mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder. You gasped sharply, hands flying to his shoulders as overwhelming sensitivity shot through you.
“Jungkook... it’s too much...” you whimpered, lightly pushing at his shoulders, cheeks burning with shyness.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark with lust and affection. “You’re so sensitive here,” he whispered, almost in awe. He flicked his tongue over your nipple again, watching your reaction closely. “So angelic when you tremble like this.”
He sucked harder, alternating between your breasts, licking and biting softly until you were a whimpering mess, pushing at him weakly while your body arched into his mouth.
You grew frustrated at the unfairness, nearly naked while he was still fully armored. With a small, determined huff, you pushed him back slightly and began tugging at the straps of his armor.
“It is not fair,” you muttered, cheeks still flushed. “You get to see all of me, but I still haven’t seen you.”
The knight let you undress him, helping you remove piece after piece until he stood completely bare before you for the first time.
Your breath caught.
He was magnificent. Broad shoulders, powerfully sculpted chest marked with old scars, some long and faded, others newer. A few dark tattoos adorned his left pectoral and ribs. His abdomen was ridged with muscle, leading down to narrow hips. His cock hung heavy between his legs, thick and already hard.
You stepped closer, running your hands over his bare chest, tracing every scar with reverent fingers, exploring the strong lines of his back, more scars mapping his battles. He stood perfectly still, letting you admire him, though his breathing had grown heavier.
“You are… so manly, my knight,” you breathed, barely coherent, as your hands returned to his chest, sliding down the hard ridges of his abdomen. “So big… so perfect.”
The room had grown hotter, heavier. The air between you felt charged with months of suppressed longing. Your breaths mingled as you stared into each other’s eyes... yours wide with awe and desire, his dark with barely restrained hunger.
Sir Jungkook’s control finally snapped. He lifted you and laid you down on the wide couch near the fireplace, pinning your exploring hands above your head with one large hand, holding them there firmly before his body hovered over yours, powerful and imposing, thick cock resting heavy against your inner thigh.
“Look at me,” he commanded, voice low and rough.
You did, heart hammering.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, eyes burning into yours.
You squirmed beneath him, aching and desperate. “Take me,” you pleaded, trembling. “Please, Jungkook… give it to me. I need you inside me.”
Sir Jungkook let out a low groan at your words. He positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against your soaked folds. He was big, almost intimidatingly so. You felt the stretch even before he pushed in.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Your Highness,” he whispered, voice strained with worry and barely contained lust. His dark eyes searched yours, torn between desire and restraint. “You’re so tight...”
You trembled beneath him, legs parted wide around his hips. “Please,” you begged softly, cupping his face. “Don’t hold back. I need you. All of you.”
The knight exhaled shakily and began to push inside.
The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply as the thick head of his cock breached you, slowly forcing your walls open. Inch by thick inch, he sank deeper, filling you in a way you had never experienced before. It burned sweetly, bordering on too much, making your nails dig into his shoulders.
“Ah... Jungkook…” you whimpered, tears pricking your eyes at the overwhelming fullness.
He paused halfway, breathing hard, jaw clenched tight. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, rough. “I’ll stop. I swear it.”
But you shook your head, wrapping your legs around his waist.
“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, voice breaking. “I need you deeper… please.”
With a low groan, he pushed the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt. The fullness was devastating. You felt so stretched, so completely claimed, that for a moment you could barely breathe.
Sir Jungkook stayed still, letting you adjust, pressing soft kisses to your tear stained cheeks.
“You’re taking me so well,” he murmured, voice filled with awe and lust. “Such a good girl for me.”
When the burn finally melted into aching pleasure, you rolled your hips experimentally.
“Move,” you whispered. “Please… ruin me.”
That was all it took.
Sir Jungkook’s control snapped completely. He pulled back and thrust into you hard, setting a deep, punishing rhythm. Jealousy and months of pent up desire fueled every powerful stroke. The wet, filthy sound of his thick cock slamming into your soaked cunt filled the tower, mixing with your loud, broken moans.
He was a knight sworn to protect the crown, now utterly ruining the very sovereign he had pledged his life to shield.
“Mine,” Sir Jungkook growled, biting down on your neck hard enough to leave a dark mark. “Not theirs. Never theirs.”
He ravished you relentlessly, claiming you, marking you. His mouth was everywhere: sucking bruises into your breasts, biting your collarbone, licking the tears from your cheeks. He pinned your wrists above your head again, hips snapping against yours with raw need.
You came hard the first time, screaming his name as your walls clenched violently around his thick length. But he didn’t stop. He took you through it, then flipped you onto your hands and knees, on the wide couch.
First, he worshipped.
The knight dropped to his knees behind you, his large hands spreading your cheeks reverently. He leaned in and pressed slow, open mouthed kisses along the curve of your royal backside, lingering presses of his lips that made your breath hitch. He kissed lower, then lower still, until his tongue dragged hot and wet over your soaked folds from behind.
“So beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot and heavy. “So divine. And yet I am going to ruin every sacred inch of you.”
Then the worship turned into ruin.
He rose, gripping your hips with white knuckled force, and thrust into you from behind in one deep, devastating stroke. You cried out sharply at the stretch, the thick length of his cock forcing your walls open, filling you so completely it stole your breath.
You sobbed in pleasure, fingers clawing at the cushions as he drove into you relentlessly. The power he exerted over you was intoxicating. this hardened warrior, dominating you utterly while still worshipping every tremble of your body.
“You belong to me,” he rasped, ruining you with slow, devastating strokes now. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” you whimpered, voice breaking. “Only yours, Jungkook... ahh!”
By the third round, you were a sobbing, whimpering mess, tears streaming down your face from overwhelming pleasure, body covered in his marks, cunt swollen and dripping with your combined release.
He took you in every way he could: against the wall, bent over the couch, riding him as he sat on the edge of the seat, then finally on your back again with your legs over his shoulders as he drove impossibly deep.
All night long, the tower echoed with your moans, his deep groans, the obscene wet sounds of your bodies joining. He claimed you utterly and completely devoted.
When he finally came for the last time, buried deep inside you, he held you tight, spilling pulse after pulse of hot seed into your womb, filling you until you felt impossibly full, claimed from the inside out.
Sir Jeon Jungkook pressed his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against yours with every word.
“You command the entire kingdom, my lady,” he whispered reverently, “but here in this hidden place… you are mine to ruin.”
You could only tremble in his arms, utterly spent, legs wrapped around his waist, heart pounding wildly as the fire crackled beside you.
The weight of what you had just done, and what it meant for both of you settled uncomfortably in the air. But in that moment, wrapped in his powerful arms, marked and filled by your knight, nothing else in the kingdom mattered.
The days that followed were a delicate illusion of peace.
It was late morning when you found yourself in the secluded royal bathing pool fed by a gentle river, surrounded by floating lily pads and white blossoms that drifted lazily on the current. The water was warm, scented with rose and lavender oils poured in by your maids. Sunlight filtered through the overhanging willow branches, casting soft, dappled light across the surface.
You leaned back against the smooth stone edge, your long dark hair floating around you like ink in water. Your body still carried the secret marks of the previous night, faint bruises on your hips, love bites hidden beneath the waterline, and a persistent, delicious ache between your thighs that reminded you with every shift who had claimed you so thoroughly.
Your maids, Elara, Verra, and old, wise Selyse moved around you carefully. They had raised you since you were a babe, more mothers than servants. They knew you better than anyone.
Elara poured another stream of warm water over your shoulders, her sharp eyes catching the faint flush that still lingered on your cheeks.
“You are glowing again this morning, my lady,” she said lightly, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “One might think the moon itself had kissed your skin.”
Verra, younger and bolder, laughed softly as she massaged oil into your scalp. “Or perhaps a certain tall, dark eyed knight has been keeping you… well attended.”
You felt your face heat, but you couldn’t stop the small, secret smile that curved your lips.
Selyse, the eldest, clicked her tongue but her eyes were soft with affection. “Hush, you two. Our princess has always been radiant. Though…” she tilted her head, studying you, “there is a new light in her eyes these days. And a certain weariness in her step that speaks of long nights.”
You bit your lip, sinking a little lower into the water as lily pads brushed against your skin.
“It is nothing,” you murmured, though the flush in your cheeks betrayed you.
“Nothing?” Vera teased, wading closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially.
“We have seen you grow from a wild little girl into this breathtaking woman. We know your heart. And we know it does not belong to any of those puffed up princes parading through the halls.”
You reached out, squeezing Elara’s hand, then Verra’s, your voice dropping to a shy, trembling whisper.
“It is true,” you confessed, cheeks burning hotter than the midday sun. “I have given myself to Sir Jeon. Body and heart. He is the only man I have ever wanted. The only one who has ever touched me.”
For a heartbeat, silence fell over the bathing pool. Then came the gasps.
Elara’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth. Verra let out a delighted little squeak, nearly dropping the oil vial. Even old Selyse, usually so composed, looked momentarily stunned before her face broke into a warm, knowing smile.
“Oh, my sweet girl,” Elara breathed, scandalized, thrilled. “You wicked little thing! With your own knight? Right under the King’s nose?”
Verra giggled uncontrollably, splashing water playfully in your direction. “And here we thought you were simply fond of him! All those late night ‘stargazing’ trips… you minx! Was he gentle? Was he… big?”
“Verra!” Selyse scolded, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. She turned to you with motherly affection. “Though I must admit, we have suspected for some time. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching… that man is utterly gone for you, my lady.”
You buried your face in your hands, mortified but unable to stop the shy, giddy smile spreading across your lips. Your gaze drifted across the river to where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard a respectful distance away, half hidden among the willow trees.
Even from here, you could feel the weight of his stare. He stood tall and imposing in his armor, but his dark eyes were fixed on you with a quiet, burning intensity that always made your stomach flutter.
You bit your lip, still flushed from both the warm water and the memory of his mouth, his hands, his body claiming you so thoroughly the night before.
“He is… everything,” you whispered dreamily, more to yourself than the maids. “Strong. Honorable. And when we are alone… he worships me like I am his entire world.”
Verra let out another delighted laugh. “As he should! Our princess deserves nothing less. Though if the King ever finds out…”
Selyse gently squeezed your shoulder, her voice softening with both love and concern.
“Then we will protect your secret as fiercely as we have protected you all these years,” she said. “You deserve to love who you love, my dear. Crown or no crown.”
You looked back at Sir Jungkook again. He hadn’t moved from his post among the willow trees, tall and steadfast in his armor, but your heart ached with a sharp mix of fear and wonder.
If The King ever discovered the truth, he would not spare your knight. Sir Jungkook would be banished, or worse. And you… you would be married off immediately to seal the wound.
The thought disturbed you deeply.
You turned back to the water, forcing a smile for your maids, but the warmth of the bath could no longer chase away the chill settling in your chest.
—
The rumors had begun to spread like fire through the palace corridors.
A lesser knight claimed he had seen “suspicious movement” near the eastern tower. One of the visiting princes mentioned, with a sly smile, that the Princess seemed unusually attached to her personal guard. Nothing concrete, nor proven. But the whispers were growing louder.
Your maids noticed your distraction immediately. During your morning dressing, Verra fastened the laces of your gown with unusually tight pulls, her voice urgent.
“My lady… you must be more careful,” she whispered. “Some of the king’s men have been asking questions about Sir Jeon. They say he spends too many nights away from the barracks. And one of Prince Min’s retainers swears he saw a tall figure slipping into your wing after midnight.”
Elara’s hands paused on your hair. “The knight is being cautious now. He avoids being seen with you as much. But you… you still look at him like he hung the moon. It is only a matter of time before the King hears something he cannot ignore.”
Selyse placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her eyes full of love and worry. “You are playing with fire, sweet girl. And fire does not care how much you love it.”
Your heart clenched with fear. You hadn’t seen your knight alone in a week. He had been deliberately distant, protecting you both by keeping his distance. The absence gnawed at you like hunger.
That night, you sent for him under the pretense of needing extra security for a private walk in the inner courtyard.
The moment the hidden door to your chambers closed behind him, you were on him.
You pushed Sir Jungkook against the wall, frustration and fear pouring out of you in a desperate kiss. Your hands fisted in his tunic, tugging him closer.
“Where have you been?” you demanded between kisses, voice shaking. “I was scared. I thought something had happened to you. I thought my father had already—”
“I’m here,” he whispered against your lips, rough with emotion. He pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you. “I’m right here, my love.”
But then he pulled back slightly, forehead pressed to yours. His dark eyes were filled with pain.
“I cannot stay,” he said quietly. The words hit you like a blow. “Your father has ordered me to lead a company to the western borders. There have been reports of raiders. He says it is to prove my devotion to protecting the realm… and you. He also made it clear I can no longer linger so closely around you. The rumors are growing too loud.”
You stared at him, heart shattering.
“No,” you whispered, then louder, “No. You cannot leave me. Not now. Not after everything.”
Tears stung your eyes as the hurt poured out.
“After our first night, you pulled away. You kept your distance like I was poison. And now you’re leaving entirely? What if something happens to you out there? What if I lose you forever? I can’t take it, Jungkook. I won’t survive it.”
Your hands moved frantically, tugging at the straps of his armor with desperate, angry fingers.
“I don’t care about the king. I don’t care about the borders. I only care about you.”
Piece by piece, you stripped him. The armor fell to the floor with heavy clangs until he stood completely bare before you, broad chest, scarred skin, powerful frame looking every bit of the warrior he was. You shoved him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.
Sir Jungkook’s hands moved instinctively to the laces of your corset, trying to free you fully, but you slapped his hand away, tears already glistening in your eyes.
But the knight was patient. He sat up slowly, your legs still wrapped tightly around his waist, and gently cupped your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed away the tears on your cheeks with heartbreaking tenderness.
“My love,” he whispered, voice soothing, “Let me worship you. Let me take care of you tonight. Please.”
He leaned in and captured one of your sensitive breasts in his mouth, sucking slowly. His tongue swirled around your stiff nipple, drawing a shaky moan from you. He moved to the other, giving it the same devoted attention, sucking and licking until your back arched and fresh tears slipped down your cheeks, this time from overwhelming sensation and emotion.
Holding you close, then gently but firmly, Sir Jungkook leaned back, gripping your hips and guiding you upward. In one rapid motion, he pulled you over his face, settling you directly onto his waiting mouth. Your soaked folds pressed flush against his lips and tongue, your thighs framing his head as he looked up at you with pure hunger.
“Use me,” he growled against your dripping folds, the vibration sending sparks through your core. “Pleasure yourself on my tongue love. I want to drown in you.”
You hesitated for half a second, still shy and nervous, cheeks burning hot even as your body screamed for more. But the frantic ache between your legs won out. You lowered yourself more fully, your slick cunt sliding over his mouth, his nose buried against your clit. He groaned loudly, the sound muffled and obscene as he immediately speared his tongue deep inside you, licking and sucking at your juices like a man starved.
You started moving almost desperately, grinding down with frantic little rocks of your hips. Shyness still flickered in your chest, making you whimper and bite your lip, but the pleasure overrode everything. Your hands braced on the headboard as wet, filthy sounds filled the room, the slick slide of your cunt over his tongue, his eager slurping and moaning, the way he sucked your swollen clit between his lips and flicked it mercilessly.
“Oh gods...” you gasped. Your thighs trembled around his head as you grew bolder, grinding harder, smearing your arousal all over his face. He gripped your cheeks, spreading them, holding you down so you could use him exactly how you needed. His tongue ravished in and out of your dripping hole, then flattened to lap broad strokes from your entrance to your clit, devouring every drop.
But it wasn’t enough.
You lifted off his face with a wet pop, strings of your arousal connecting you to his glistening mouth. His eyes were dark, lips swollen and shiny with your juices. Before he could speak, you slid down his body impatiently.
You straddled his hips, wrapped your hand around his thick, throbbing cock, and sank down onto him in one frantic motion.
The stretch made you cry out, but you didn’t stop. You rode him hard, bouncing on his length with frantic, emotional need, your breasts bouncing heavily with every harsh drop of your hips.
“Don’t leave me,” you sobbed, riding him faster, tears falling onto his chest. “Please, Jungkook… I can’t lose you. Not after this. Not after you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”
He thrust up to meet you, matching your desperate rhythm, his strong hands gripping your hips to guide you deeper.
“I don’t want to go,” he rasped, voice breaking with the same pain. “But I must. Your father commands it. I have to prove my loyalty… so I can stay by your side.”
You leaned down, kissing him messily through your tears, riding him like you could keep him here forever if you just moved fast enough.
“Then stay inside me,” you begged, voice cracking. “Fill me up. So deep that a part of you stays with me even when you’re gone. I want to carry you with me when they try to take you away.”
Sir Jungkook groaned deeply. His hands tightened on your hips as he suddenly flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath his powerful body.
He made love to you then, with deep, devastating strokes that reached the very core of you. His mouth never left your skin, sucking marks into your neck, whispering promises between every thrust.
“You are mine,” he breathed against your lips, hips rolling deeply. “I will come back to you. I will fill you again and again until you swell with our future.”
You wrapped your arms and legs around him, clinging desperately as another orgasm built inside you. When it finally crashed over you, you sobbed his name, walls pulsing tightly around his thick cock.
Sir Jungkook followed right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a low, guttural groan. He came hard, flooding your womb with thick, pulsing ropes of his seed, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge your souls together.
Even after, he stayed buried inside you, pressing soft kisses to your damp forehead, your cheeks, your trembling lips.
“I don’t want you to go,” you whispered, small and broken. “I love you too much.”
Sir Jungkook pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his arms never loosening. “I know, my love,” he murmured. “And that is why I must return to you. No matter what.”
The weeks following Sir Jungkook’s departure had stretched into an endless gray fog.
You moved through your royal duties like a ghost wearing a crown. You sat through council meetings with a straight spine and a hollow smile, listening to nobles bicker about alliances, trade routes while your mind wandered back to your knight’s strong arms. Every night since, your bed felt too large, too cold. You would press your face into the pillow he had once used and fight the ache in your chest.
You missed him with a desperation that bordered on madness.
This morning was no different. You had barely kept your breakfast down before the maids helped you into a heavy velvet gown the color of deep wine for yet another assembly with potential suitors. The princes and lords from neighboring kingdoms were growing impatient. Your coronation was only a month away, and the pressure to choose a consort was mounting like a noose around your throat.
By midday, the nausea returned with a vengeance. You barely made it through the formal greetings before excusing yourself to the private solar, hand pressed to your mouth.
Elara followed quickly with a basin. You retched violently into it, eyes watering.
“Your Highness…” she whispered, rubbing gentle circles on your back.
“I’m fine,” you rasped, waving her away. “Just… something I ate.”
But it wasn’t.
Later that evening, after the day’s obligations were finally over, Vera and Selyse insisted on the usual massage to ease the tension in your shoulders. They helped you out of your gown until you lay on the wide cushioned table in nothing but a thin silk shift.
The moment Selyse’s skilled hands moved over your breasts, the older maid froze.
Verra, who was working on your legs, also stilled.
“…Your Highness,” Selyse said carefully, “Your breasts… they are fuller. Tender, yes?”
Your breath hitched. You had noticed it days ago but had tried to ignore the swelling, the sensitivity. The way even the softest fabric sometimes made you wince.
Verra’s hands gently pressed against your lower belly, not quite a touch, more an assessment. “And the sickness every morning… the fatigue… the way you’ve been crying in your chambers…”
Your eyes filled with tears. You turned your face into your folded arms, shoulders shaking.
Selyse knelt beside the table, taking your hand gently. “My lady… are you with a child?”
You didn’t answer at first. Then a broken sob escaped you.
“I think so,” you whispered. “I… I don’t know for certain, but the timing…” Your voice cracked. “It would be his. Sir Jungkook’s.”
Both maids exchanged a heavy glance. This changed everything.
Verra spoke softly, “My lady... with your coronation approaching. The lords are already circling like vultures, pushing their sons at you. If this comes out before you choose a prince…”
“I know,” you said, voice muffled. Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks. “I know what it means. But I can’t… I can’t just marry one of them. Not when I’m carrying the child of the only man I’ve ever loved.”
You sat up slowly, clutching the silk shift to your chest, arms wrapped protectively around your still flat stomach.
“My dear knight...” you sniffled. “He is out there fighting gods-know-what, and I’m here pretending to be the perfect princess while my body betrays our secret.”
Selyse brushed a strand of hair from your face with motherly tenderness. “We can hide it a little longer, Highness. Looser gowns. Ginger tea for the sickness. But you must decide soon what path you will take. The child… it will not stay hidden forever.”
You nodded, but your heart was breaking all over again. The thought of choosing one of those cold, ambitious princes while carrying Sir Jungkook’s child made you feel ill all over again.
Selyse pressed a kiss to the top of your head, her voice firm with loyalty. “We pray he returns soon, my lady. And until then, we will guard you and this little one with our lives.”
—
The weeks blurred into months as winter settled over the kingdom like a heavy white shroud. Snow blanketed the towers and gardens, turning the world soft and silent, yet inside your chest, the storm only grew louder.
Sir Jeon Jungkook had not returned.
Your belly had swelled noticeably now, a gentle but undeniable curve that marked the life growing within you. With the help of Elara, Verra, and Selyse, you hid it beneath layers of loose, flowing gowns and heavy cloaks lined with fur.
The rich fabrics concealed the truth for now, but you could no longer ignore the way your body changed, the tender fullness of your breasts, the occasional flutter of movement beneath your skin, and the constant, bone deep exhaustion.
You had begun excusing yourself from the suitors’ assemblies more frequently, claiming headaches or matters of state. But the King, grew increasingly impatient.
In the grand throne room one frost laced afternoon, he fixed you with a stern gaze as snow fell outside the tall windows. “You cannot delay any longer, daughter,” he spoke, heavy with royal command. “Prince Min of Viena is a strong candidate. The coronation is weeks away. You must choose a consort soon. The realm needs stability.”
You bowed your head, hands clasped tightly over your hidden belly beneath the voluminous velvet. “Yes, Father,” you murmured, the lie tasting like ash. Inside, your heart screamed for the only man you wanted.
Every few days, with your maids’ help, you sent letters. Verra would sneak them to a trusted rider, sealed with your private wax. You poured your soul onto the parchment; how much you missed him, the way your body was changing, the secret you carried, your love that only deepened with every passing day. Yet no responses ever came. The silence gnawed at you, feeding nightmares of him lying wounded on some distant battlefield or worse.
The worry became unbearable.
One bitter winter morning, wrapped in a thick hooded cloak that concealed your swollen middle, you slipped away from the castle with only Elara and Selyse accompanying you. The three of you rode through the snow dusted forest to a modest stone cottage on the outskirts of the kingdom, the home where Sir Jungkook had grown up.
When the door opened, an older woman with kind eyes and streaks of silver in her dark hair stood before you. Sir Jungkook’s mother. She froze at the sight of the princess on her doorstep, her hand flying to her chest.
“Your Highness…?” she whispered, stunned. “Surely I do not deserve to be blessed with your presence at my humble door. Please, come inside before the cold takes you.”
She ushered you, Elara, and Selyse quickly into the warm cottage, the scent of pinewood and baking bread wrapping around you like an embrace. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth as she helped you remove your snow dusted cloak. Only when you were seated by the fire did her gaze drop to the unmistakable swell of your belly beneath the loose gown.
You took a steadying breath, your hands resting protectively over your rounded stomach.
“I carry his child,” you said softly, trembling with emotion. “Your son’s. Sir Jungkook’s. He does not know yet… he has not returned, and I… I needed to feel close to him somehow.”
Jungkook’s mother, Maera, stood completely still for a long moment, her eyes wide with shock. Then her hand flew to her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes.
“Oh… gods above,” she breathed, her voice cracking. “A grandchild…? From my Jungkook?” Fresh tears flowed freely as she dropped to her knees in front of you, taking your hands in hers with deep reverence. “My lady… my princess. You honor me beyond words. You honor my son. To think that you, a royal daughter, would carry his child… I am stunned. Truly stunned. And so deeply moved.”
She pressed her forehead to your knuckles, weeping quietly with pure joy and emotion. When she lifted her head again, her eyes shone with fierce affection.
“You are already family to me,” she whispered. “Come here, sweet child.” She rose and pulled you into a warm embrace, cradling you gently as if you were made of glass. “You must be so frightened, carrying this secret alone while he is away. But you are not alone anymore. Not while I draw breath.”
You felt safe in her arms, the weight on your heart easing just a little as winter wind howled softly outside the cottage walls.
After composing herself, Maera wiped her tears and fetched a small wooden chest from a shelf. She sat beside you, opening it with trembling hands.
“Look,” she said tenderly, pulling out several treasured items. She showed you a faded sketch of a chubby baby with dark, serious eyes —Sir Jungkook as an infant. Another portrait showed him as a sturdy little boy of four, holding a wooden sword with determination. There was even a lock of his soft baby hair tied with a ribbon.
“He was always so intense, even as a babe,” she said with a watery laugh. “Strong and quiet… but when he smiled, the whole world lit up. Just like I imagine your little one will.”
You traced the portraits with gentle fingers, tears slipping down your own cheeks. Seeing these glimpses of him as a child made your love for the knight swell even deeper. You could so clearly picture your baby with his eyes, his strength, his rare smile. The thought made your heart ache with both joy and longing.
Maera kept one hand over yours, cherishing you openly. “Thank you for coming to me,” she murmured. “For trusting me with this precious news. We will wait for him together, my daughter. And when he returns, he will be the happiest man alive.”
The two of you sat by the fire for a long while — his mother and the mother of his child, talking softly as snow continued to fall outside, bound by love for the same man.
The days after your visit to Maera’s cottage only deepened the ache in your soul. Winter grew harsher, and so did your impatience. Every morning you woke with your hands on your swelling belly, feeling the strong kicks of his child, and the longing became unbearable.
One evening in the royal chambers, you fell to your knees before the King, tears streaming down your face. “Father, please… I beg you. Bring Sir Jungkook back. I need him. I cannot do this without him.”
The King frowned, confused by your desperation. “Daughter, he is leading my forces on the border. The realm needs him there. Why this sudden insistence on one knight?”
You could not tell him the truth. “I just… need him,” you whispered brokenly. “Please.”
He did not relent. The pressure to choose a suitor only intensified.
And then the sickness took hold.
Your body ached constantly. deep soreness in your back, hips, and breasts that made every movement painful. The baby’s kicks, once a comfort, now left you breathless. You grew feverish and weak.
Elara, Verra, and Selyse rarely left your side, forcing herbal teas and bitter medicines down your throat while piling warm blankets over you. For nearly a week you were bedridden, barely able to leave your chambers, hidden away from the court under the excuse of a winter chill.
One cold, silent night, as snow tapped gently against the window panes, you drifted in and out of a fevered haze. The herbs made the world soft and blurry around the edges.
You thought it was a dream when the heavy door to your chambers opened with a quiet creak and a tall, familiar figure stepped inside, shedding his snow dusted cloak. The firelight caught on his sharp jawline and those intense dark eyes.
Strong arms slipped beneath you, lifting you carefully as he climbed into your grand bed. A warm, calloused hand gently cradled your swollen belly. You felt the press of soft, reverent lips against the curve of your stomach.
“My love…” The knight’s deep voice whispered against your skin, rough with emotion. “I’m here. I finally came back to you.”
“Jungkook…?” you murmured drowsily, eyelids heavy, unsure if this was real or another cruel dream born of longing and medicine.
“It’s me,” he breathed, pulling your body flush against his solid chest. He was real. warm, solid, smelling of snow, leather, and the faint scent of campfires. “I’ve been aching for you every single day. Your touch, your voice… it kept me alive out there.”
His large hand stroked slow, soothing circles over your rounded belly, feeling the baby shift and kick beneath his palm. He lowered his head, pressing his lips directly to the taut skin.
You let out a tired, broken sound. “You left me… You promised you’d come back sooner. Look at me… I’m so sore, so heavy with your child, and you weren’t here…”
Sir Jungkook chuckled softly, the sound warm against your skin, even as his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I know, my princess. I deserve your scolding. I’m deeply sorry.” He kissed your belly again and again, soft open mouthed presses wherever he could reach. Then he trailed his lips higher, attaching his mouth gently to the swollen, aching curve of your breasts, sucking lightly and kissing away the soreness with such care that you whimpered in relief.
His hands never stopped moving, massaging the deep ache in your lower back, cupping and gently holding your heavy breasts to ease their weight, stroking your hips and thighs. He intertwined his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly as if afraid you might vanish.
“You are unreal, my love.” he murmured, voice hoarse with awe as he looked at you. “Your glow… it’s deeper now. The way pregnancy has changed you… you’re beyond anything I could have imagined. You shine like starlight. Carrying our child has only made you more radiant, more mine.”
You clung to him weakly, drowsy but desperate for his touch. “The baby… it kicks so much. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl… but it feels like you. Strong and stubborn.”
Jungkook smiled against your temple, one hand still resting warmly over your belly. “This child is the product of our love. A piece of both of us. I already love them more than life.” He kissed you deeply, slowly, pouring months of aching into it. “Every battle, every cold night, I thought only of coming home to you like this… holding you, feeling our baby move, worshipping the body that’s creating our future.”
He continued kissing every place that ached... the sides of your breasts, the curve of your belly, the inside of your wrist, his mouth soft and devoted. You melted into him, the pain easing under his gentle care as he held you close.
“Stay…” you whispered tiredly, already slipping back into sleep.
“I’m here right now,” he promised, lips brushing your ear. “Sleep, my love. I’ve got you both.”
When morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, you woke slowly, body still aching but strangely comforted.
The bed beside you was cold. No warmth lingered. No cloak on the chair. No scent of him on the pillows. Only the faint memory of strong hands, whispered words to your belly, and soft kisses remained.
You touched your swollen stomach, feeling another firm kick, and tears filled your eyes.
Was it a dream? A fevered hallucination woven from medicine, longing, and love? Or had Sir Jungkook truly returned to you in the dead of night… only to disappear again before dawn?
The herbs and medicines your maids prepared worked their magic. The fever finally broke, the deep soreness in your body eased into a manageable ache, and the constant nausea faded. Though you were still tired, your strength slowly returned. Your belly continued to grow rounder and heavier, the baby’s kicks becoming more insistent and lively.
One quiet winter evening, when the moon hung full over the snow covered palace, your maids turned your chambers into a secret sanctuary.
Accompanied by Sir Jungkook’s mother, they had worked together in absolute secrecy. No one outside your trusted circle knew. They had decorated the large private solar adjacent to your bedroom with soft candlelight, evergreen boughs, and winter white roses. Warm furs and silk pillows were arranged in a luxurious nest near the hearth. Incense of myrrh filled the air, and a small table held gifts wrapped in fine cloth.
They helped you into a loose, flowing gown of the softest ivory silk that draped beautifully over your swollen belly, leaving your shoulders bare. When you stepped into the room, all four women bowed their heads in reverence.
Selyse took your hand and guided you to the center of the soft pillows. “Tonight we celebrate you, my lady. And the precious life you carry. No one else will know of this blessing. It is ours alone.”
They treated you with deep adoration, as though you were sacred.
Elara gently massaged your feet with warm scented oil while Maera brushed your hair until it shone. Verra offered you sweet honeyed fruits and warm spiced milk, foods meant to nourish both you and the baby. Selyse laid her hands lightly on your rounded belly and spoke soft blessings for a safe birth and a strong child.
Selyse, ever wise, placed a small crown of dried herbs and winter berries on your head. “You are the vessel of love and life,” she murmured. “Even in these uncertain times, you bloom. We honor you as our princess… and as the mother of Sir Jungkook’s heir.”
You felt tears prick your eyes as they presented their secret gifts: tiny embroidered blankets, a soft knitted cap in deep green, a small silver pendant shaped like a blooming rose, a symbol of motherhood.
Vera leaned her cheek against your belly for a moment, grinning when the baby kicked in response. “He or she is strong already. Just like their father.”
You placed both hands over your swollen stomach, feeling another firm flutter. The warmth of their love and the secret celebration soothed the constant ache of missing your knight.
“Thank you,” you whispered, “All of you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Elara kissed your temple. “We will keep you and this little one safe until Sir Jungkook returns. And he will return.”
The warmth of the secret celebration lingered on your skin as you returned to your chambers that night. The maids had just helped you out of the ivory silk gown when a royal messenger knocked urgently.
“The King demands your presence immediately, Your Highness. In his private study.”
You had no time to prepare. Still glowing from the love and blessings of your maids, you wrapped yourself in a heavy velvet robe that concealed your very swollen belly and followed the messenger.
The moment you entered the study, the atmosphere turned icy. Your father stood behind his desk, several of your letters spread before him.
“Daughter,” he spoke, controlled. “I have given you time to come to me yourself. I know you have been sending letters to the front lines. To Sir Jungkook, specifically.” He turned to face you, his expression stern but not yet furious. “I know of your… admiration for him. Speak truthfully now. What is this attachment?”
Your throat tightened. This was the moment. With your belly heavy with his child and your heart aching, you could no longer hide everything.
“Father…” you began, voice trembling as you stepped closer. “It is more than admiration. I love him. Sir Jungkook is the only man I want.” Your hands instinctively moved to cradle your stomach. “And I… I am carrying his child.”
Silence crashed over the room.
The King’s eyes widened, then narrowed sharply as his gaze dropped to the unmistakable swell beneath your gown. His face darkened with shock, then rage.
“You what?” he hissed. “A knight’s bastard? While I have been parading princes before you? While the entire realm waits for you to secure the throne with a proper alliance?”
“Father, please,” you begged, tears filling your eyes. “It is his. Our love is real. If you would only let him return, we could—”
The King’s face twisted with fury. “You dare speak such filth to me? A royal princess swollen with a common knight’s bastard?”
You rebelled, voice shaking but defiant. “It is not filth. It is love. I will not marry Prince Min. I will not let you use me as a pawn for alliances while I carry the man I love’s child.”
“Enough!” The King slammed his fist on the table, making you flinch. “I have been patient with your childish infatuation, but this is treason against your bloodline. You will do as you are told! Your fate is sealed. You will marry Prince Min before the month ends.”
Later that same night, before your maids could even calm you, you found your most trusted rider in the stables. With tears streaming down your face and snow falling around you, you whispered your final message: “Tell him… tell Sir Jungkook that I will wait for him. No matter how long it takes. My heart is his alone. I will wait.”
The rider bowed and galloped into the night. No response ever came.
The next weeks were a nightmare.
Prince Min visited often, his eyes raking over your body with open lust and infatuation. He complimented your “ethereal glow”, clearly aroused by your pregnant form, but his arrogance disgusted you. He spoke openly of claiming the throne through you, of bedding you the moment you were his. You hated him with every fiber of your being.
You fought your father harder than ever, refusing to attend meetings with Prince Min, screaming that you would rather die than marry him. But the King had reached his limit.
One brutal afternoon, he summoned you again and placed a bloodied cloak and a forged letter before you.
“Sir Jeon Jungkook is dead,” he said flatly. “He fell in battle two weeks ago. This is proof.”
The world shattered.
You collapsed to the floor, a guttural sob tearing from your throat. The baby inside you kicked as if sensing your pain. From that moment, you broke completely.
You refused to eat. You barely slept. You stopped speaking, even to Elara, Verra, and Selyse who begged you through tears to think of the child. You lay in bed for days, staring at nothing, your once radiant glow fading into pale exhaustion. Your maids feared for both your life and the baby’s.
Despite how numb you had become, when your maids gently suggested taking you to Maera’s quiet home on the edge of the forest, you agreed without protest. You were taken there in secret under the cover of night.
Maera, a strong but grieving woman with the same dark eyes as her son, took you in without question. She cared for you with quiet hands and even quieter words. You didn’t speak much to her either, but you accepted her care wholeheartedly. After all, she was mourning the loss of her son, and you were mourning the loss of your lover and the father of your child.
The King, despite his fury, still sent guards to watch over you from a distance. You were still royalty, still carrying what he believed might be his grandchild. But you could only think of the protection you once had... the strongest, safest pair of arms that had ever wrapped around you.
You mourned deeply. But you couldn’t be completely selfish with a baby on the way, restless and eager to come into the world.
The labor came on a stormy night.
The pains started suddenly and violently. Maera and your maids worked frantically around you as you screamed and cried, gripping the sheets until your knuckles turned white. The King himself had ridden out in secret when he heard you had gone into labor, standing outside the cottage with a face pale with rare fear.
He didn’t know how to comfort you. He only knew one thing, his daughter was calling for her knight in her delirium.
Even though he viewed the child as the product of a sinful affair, something in him softened at the sound of your broken sobs. He could not lose you.
Inside the cottage, you gave birth to a baby girl.
She was small, chubby, with a shock of raven hair and big, dark eyes that looked exactly like her father’s. The moment the midwife placed her on your chest, fresh tears streamed down your face.
“She looks like him…” you whispered, hoarse and broken. “My little love… she has his eyes.”
You held her close, sobbing softly as the pain and grief mixed with a fragile, overwhelming love. Even in your exhaustion, you couldn’t stop crying. You believed Sir Jungkook was dead. The thought that your daughter would never know her father tore you apart.
Maera wept beside you, gently stroking your hair. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Just like her mother.”
Outside, the King stood in the rain, waiting.
When the door finally opened and the midwife stepped out, he demanded to know if you and the child were alive. Upon hearing they both were, something in his hardened heart shifted.
He turned to his captain without a word and gave the order.
“Send riders to the western borders at once. Bring Sir Jeon Jungkook back. Tell him… his princess has need of him.”
It would take time. The borders were far, and the roads were muddy from the storms. A week, perhaps a month.
In the quiet warmth of the cottage, you held your newborn daughter against your chest, wrapped in soft linen.
You rocked her gently as she fussed against your breast, nursing hungrily. Your maids and Maera moved around you, bringing broth, fresh cloths, and ever soft words. But you barely spoke. The grief had hollowed you out.
“I wish you could meet your father,” you whispered to the baby one quiet night, voice cracking. Tears slipped down your cheeks as she latched on again. “He would have held you so carefully. He would have loved you more than anything in this world. He would have protected us both…”
Maera sat beside you, her own eyes red from mourning. She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He would have been so proud,” she said softly. “Of both of you.”
You could only nod, throat too tight to speak. The emptiness inside you felt endless. Every time the baby cried, every time she looked up at you with those familiar dark eyes, the pain returned like a fresh wound.
The King demanded your return to the palace, as you were still royalty, still bound to your father’s will despite carrying a child out of wedlock. He wrote letter after letter insisting you resume your duties and prepare for the inevitable marriage to Prince Min. You refused to answer most of them.
Your maids tried their best to comfort you, but even they could not reach the depths of your sorrow. The only light in your world was your daughter. Tiny, perfect, with Jungkook’s dark eyes and a tuft of raven hair. You held her constantly, whispering stories about her father, singing lullabies with a voice that often broke halfway through.
You mourned him deeply. The King had not even granted him a proper funeral. No rites. No chance to say goodbye. Just a bloodied cloak and a cold declaration.
One quiet evening, Maera left the cottage to fetch groceries from the nearby village. Your maids had been called back to the palace on the King’s orders, duties they could not refuse. For the first time in weeks, it was just you and your baby in the small, warm cottage.
You sat by the window, cradling her in your arms. She cooed softly, tiny fingers wrapping around yours as you gently rocked her. For a few precious minutes, you allowed yourself to smile a real, soft smile as you played with her little hands and kissed her forehead.
“My baby,” you whispered, “The loveliest babe. Don’t tell the queens and princesses, I think they’d be terribly jealous.”
The baby blinked up at you. “Oh, yes,” you continued solemnly. “Especially of those cheeks.”
You leaned back in the chair as exhaustion eventually won over you, your eyes growing heavy. With your daughter nestled safely against your chest, sleep claimed you quickly.
When you woke, the cottage was awfully quiet.
Your arms were empty.
Panic slammed into you like a physical blow. You shot upright, heart hammering wildly as you looked around the room.
The baby was gone.
“No… no, no, no...” you gasped, stumbling to your feet, voice rising into a broken sob. “Where is my baby?!”
You searched frantically, under the blankets, behind the chairs, near the hearth, terror clawing at your throat. Your mind spun with nightmarish possibilities. Had someone taken her? Had the King sent men to steal her away?
Then you saw him.
A tall figure standing near the doorway, cradling your daughter gently in his strong arms. She was sleeping peacefully against his chest, tiny fist curled into his tunic.
Your knees buckled.
It was Sir Jungkook.
He looked exhausted, travel worn, mud on his boots, shadows under his eyes, but he was alive. Real. His dark eyes met yours, filled with unbearable love and pain.
You stared at him, trembling violently, refusing to believe what you were seeing.
“No…” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, no, this isn’t real. You’re dead. They told me you were dead. This is another dream. You always come in my dreams and then you leave me again—”
Your voice cracked into a sob as you backed away, hands clutching your chest.
“You left me,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “You left me and our child. I mourned you. I almost died mourning you. Please… don’t do this to me again. I can’t take another dream. I can’t wake up to find you gone again.”
Sir Jungkook’s face crumpled with anguish. He took one careful step forward, still cradling your daughter like the most precious thing in the world.
“My love,” he said hoarsely, voice breaking. “It’s not a dream. I’m here. I’m real. Your father… he lied. He sent me away to the borders to keep me from you. But I came back the moment he allowed it. I rode without stopping.”
You shook your head harder, tears falling faster, refusing to believe it even as your heart screamed at you to run to him.
“You’re dead,” you repeated, voice small and shattered. “You have to be dead… because if you’re not, then you let me believe it. You never answered my letters. Not one. I wrote to you every single day, pouring my heart out, begging you to come back to me, to our child… and you never...”
Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as the pain twisted deeper.
“You were in on it, weren’t you?” you whispered, voice breaking. “You let my father tell me you were gone. You left me here to rot in grief while I carried your child alone. How could you?”
The knight’s face crumpled with agony. He took a step forward, but you flinched, and he stopped immediately, hands trembling at his sides.
Before he could speak, your daughter stirred in his arms. As if sensing the suffocating tension in the room, she let out a sharp, hungry cry, her little lips puckering, tiny fists waving.
You moved without thinking, reaching for her. Sir Jungkook gently handed her over, his hands lingering for a moment as if afraid to let go. You turned away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed and loosening your dress to feed her. The baby latched on eagerly, her cries softening into small, contented sounds.
The knight stood there, watching you in silence. He looked lost, this battle-hardened soldier, returned from war, now completely unsure how to comfort the woman he loved. He slowly lowered himself to his knees in the middle of the room, head bowed.
“I wrote to you,” he admitted hoarsely. “Every chance I had. Your father… he made sure none of my letters reached you. He wanted you to believe I was gone. I fought every day to come back to you. I almost died trying to get word to you.”
You didn’t look at him. You kept your eyes on your daughter, tears falling silently onto her soft hair.
“I mourned you like a widow,” you whispered, voice thick with pain. “I almost died. And now you’re here… acting like you didn’t abandon me when I needed you most.”
The words cut awfully deep. Sir Jungkook’s shoulders slumped, but he stayed on his knees, silent and respectful, giving you the space your wounded heart demanded.
Your daughter stirred in your arms, letting out a small, distressed whimper as if she could sense the storm raging between her parents. You rocked her gently, pressing a kiss to her soft raven hair.
“Shh, my sweet one,” you cooed softly, “Mama’s here. You’re safe.”
Sir Jungkook’s hands twitched at his sides, aching to reach out, to touch you, to hold both of you, but he remained still, jaw clenched tight. He was no longer in full armor, only a worn tunic and breeches, his appearance shambled from the long ride, fresh bruises blooming across his knuckles and jaw.
You turned away from him, focusing on the small tasks that had become your life in the cottage. The rain outside grew heavier, pounding against the roof like a relentless drum.
You moved about the space, stirring the pot of stew over the fire, folding fresh linens, anything to keep your hands busy and your mind from breaking completely.
Hours passed in heavy silence. When your daughter finally grew fussy again, you nursed her by the hearth until her little eyes fluttered shut. You laid her gently in the wooden cradle Maera had prepared, stroking her cheek one last time before covering her with a soft blanket.
Only then did you notice movement near the door.
Sir Jungkook was standing there, cloak in hand, quietly preparing to leave.
Something inside you fractured. You stepped toward him, voice cracking. “You’re leaving again?”
He turned slowly, eyes filled with torment. “I was only going to check the perimeter. The rain is heavy, and I… I didn’t want to burden you further.”
You stared at him, this warrior who had survived hell just to return to you, and the dam finally broke.
“Come here,” you whispered.
He obeyed without hesitation.
You led him to your bed and with trembling hands, you began removing his tunic, revealing the damage the war had left behind.
New bruises painted his ribs and shoulders in shades of purple and blue. Fresh scars, still healing, cut across his chest and abdomen. He looked harder, a man who had walked through fire and barely returned.
Your lips trembled, but you forced yourself to stay steady. You turned away briefly, gathering clean linen strips, salve, and a bowl of warm water. When you returned, the knight stood perfectly still, letting you see all of him, the bruises, the brutal evidence of everything he had endured just to return to you.
You began tending to him in silence, your hands gentle as you cleaned a particularly nasty cut along his side. But the more you looked, the more the dam inside you cracked.
“What have they done to you, Jungkook?” you whispered, voice breaking. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you carefully wrapped a bandage around his ribs. “You’re… you’re covered in pain. All of this… just to come back to me?”
He stood motionless, letting you care for him, but his dark eyes never left your face.
“I would go through it a thousand times more,” he said softly, “if it meant coming back to you and our daughter.”
You shook your head, fresh tears falling as you pressed a bandage over another wound. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that. I can’t bear thinking of you suffering like this. I thought you were dead. I thought I would never see you again, and now you’re here… broken because of me.”
Sir Jungkook slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of you, even though you were still trying to tend to him. The powerful knight, the man who had survived war, knelt before you like the loyal protector he had always been.
“Your Highness,” he murmured, head slightly bowed, voice thick with emotion. “I failed you. I wasn’t here when you needed me most. I wasn’t here when you carried our child. I wasn’t here when you gave birth. I wasn’t here when they told you I was gone. Forgive me.”
You dropped the bandages and pulled him into your arms, holding his head to your chest. His arms wrapped around your waist instantly, clinging to you like a man who had almost lost everything.
A broken sob tore from his throat.
Your knight, your warrior, the strongest person you had ever known, cried against your chest like a child. Deep, shuddering sobs that shook his powerful frame as his arms tightened around you.
“I thought I lost you,” he choked out, voice muffled against your skin. “Every night on the border, I prayed I would make it back to you. To both of you.”
You held him tighter, fingers threading through his raven hair, your own tears falling onto his head.
“You’re here now,” you whispered, rocking him gently. “You’re here. You came back to us. That’s all that matters.”
For a long time, the only sounds in the cottage were the rain outside, the crackling fire, and the quiet, heartbroken sobs of a knight who had finally returned to his princess.
—
The rain had not eased by the middle of the night. It hammered against the thatched roof like an impatient army. You had fallen asleep in Jungkook’s arms on the narrow bed, your daughter nestled safely in her cradle beside you. For the first time in months, your sleep was deep and dreamless.
A sharp knock on the cottage door shattered the peace.
Sir Jungkook was awake in an instant. He slipped from the bed silently, pulling on his tunic and reaching for the sword he had left by the door. His body was still tense from war, every muscle ready for threat.
“Stay here,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “I will see who it is.”
But you already knew.
A cold certainty settled in your chest. You rose, wrapping a shawl around your shoulders, and followed him despite his warning. Your daughter stirred but remained asleep.
Sir Jungkook opened the door, sword half drawn, rain pouring behind the figure standing outside.
It was the King.
Your father stood in the downpour, cloak heavy with water, face pale and drawn. Guards waited at a respectful distance, torches flickering weakly in the storm. His eyes moved past your knight and landed on you.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then the King stepped inside without invitation, water dripping onto the wooden floor. His gaze softened when it fell on you — his only daughter, still pale from childbirth, carrying the weight of grief and motherhood.
“My child,” he said, voice rough. “You must return to the palace. You are still royalty. Still my blood. You do not belong in a cottage like this.”
You stood straighter, even as exhaustion and lingering pain made your body ache.
“I belong where I choose,” you replied quietly, but firmly. “And I will not return without Sir Jeon. He is my knight. He is the father of my daughter. He stays with me.”
The King’s jaw tightened. He glanced at Jungkook, who stood tall and silent beside you, sword now lowered but ready.
“I know what you are to each other,” the King said heavily. “I have known for some time. Prince Min is a fool and a coward, but his bloodline is strong. The alliance—”
“I will not marry him,” you cut in, voice steady despite the tears gathering in your eyes. “I will return to the palace. I will perform my duties as princess, as future queen. I will be the ruler this kingdom needs. But only if Sir Jungkook remains at my side. As my knight. As the man I have chosen. As the only man with any right to me.”
The King looked at you for a long time. He saw the woman you had become, not just his rebellious daughter, but a figure of quiet strength. The people in the surrounding villages spoke of you with reverence. They told stories of the princess who helped common women, shared food during hard winters, who listened to their troubles as if they mattered as much as any noble’s.
The King exhaled slowly, defeated but not broken.
“Very well,” he said at last. “Sir Jeon will return with you. He will remain your personal knight. But this… affair… must remain hidden from the court. For now.”
You nodded once, relief flooding through you.
The King’s gaze drifted to the cradle where your daughter slept. He had not yet seen her. You had kept her away from him, protecting her with every fiber of your being.
He took one hesitant step toward the cradle, then stopped, as if afraid.
The King’s shoulders sagged. For the first time in years, he looked truly old.
“Bring her home,” he said quietly. “Both of you. We will find a way.”
When the heavy door of the cottage finally closed behind your father, you let out a huge, shaky sigh. The weight of the conversation pressed on your chest like a stone. You turned and walked to the cradle, gently lifting your daughter into your arms. She stirred but settled quickly against your chest.
Sir Jungkook followed silently behind you, his presence warm.
“I would not trust him,” you whispered, voice laced with bitterness. “My father lied. He did all of this, told me you were dead, kept us apart, made me believe I had lost you forever. How can I believe a single word he says now?”
Jungkook stepped closer. He gently wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on the top of your head as you held your daughter.
“Petal,” he murmured softly, the old endearment slipping out like a balm. “Your father is a hard man, but he is not as cold as he pretends to be. He sent for me the moment he learned you had gone into labor. He could have kept me away forever. But he didn’t.”
You turned slightly in his arms, eyes wide with disbelief.
The knight continued, low and calm.
“There was one night… when you were still heavy with our child and very sick. I rode through a storm to reach you. Your father allowed it. He let me see you. I held you while you slept, fevered and restless. I whispered to you. I kissed your forehead and promised I would return. But I had to leave before dawn. He made me swear not to wake you. He said it would only make the pain worse when I had to go back to the borders.”
You stared at him, stunned. Tears welled up again.
“That night… it was real?” you whispered. “I thought it was a dream. I thought I imagined your arms around me.”
“It was real,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I was there. And I have regretted leaving you every single day since.”
You turned fully toward him, still cradling your daughter. The baby had woken and was fussing softly. You loosened your dress and began to feed her.
Sir Jungkook watched the two of you with such open love and longing that it made your chest ache.
“She has your eyes,” you said softly, brushing a finger over your daughter’s cheek. “So dark and beautiful. Just like yours.”
Sir Jungkook’s expression softened further. He reached out, gently stroking the baby’s tiny hand.
“And she is as beautiful as her mother,” he murmured. “I hope she grows to be as strong as her. As kind. As full of fire and love.”
For a while, the only sounds were the soft suckling of your daughter and the rain pattering against the roof. Sir Jungkook stayed close, one arm around your waist, the other lightly resting near the baby.
Eventually, after your daughter had fallen asleep again, you made the decision.
“We will return to the palace,” you said quietly. “Together. As a family. I will not hide anymore.”
The next morning, after tender farewells to Maera, who hugged you both tightly and kissed her granddaughter’s forehead with tears in her eyes, you left the cottage.
—
Three Months Later,
The palace had transformed around you.
After your return, the finest healers in the realm were summoned, learned men and women versed in herbs and ancient remedies. They tended to you with the utmost care, restoring the strength you had lost in grief and childbirth. Slowly, the hollow exhaustion faded. Color returned to your cheeks. Your body healed, and with it, your spirit bloomed once more.
You were treated not merely as royalty, but as something sacred. The people whispered that the Princess had returned more radiant than before, as if the earth itself had blessed her.
Your maids, Elara, Verra, and Selyse, were beyond ecstatic to have you back. They fussed over you constantly, brushing your long hair until it shone, dressing you in the finest silks, and whispering prayers of gratitude for your safe return.
The kingdom now knew the truth: the child was Sir Jeon Jungkook’s. The scandal had spread like wildfire, but instead of outrage, most of the people embraced it. They saw their princess glowing, and fiercely protected.
Prince Min had tried to slander you upon his return, calling you impure, unfit, a disgrace for bearing a knight’s child out of wedlock. Sir Jungkook had nearly killed him in the great hall before the King’s guards pulled him back. Prince Min was expelled from the kingdom that very day, the alliance shattered. No one mourned his departure.
It was a warm evening when you returned to the royal bathing pool, surrounded by floating lily pads and fragrant white blossoms. The water shimmered under the sunlight as your maids helped you undress. Your daughter, now three months old and full of life, babbled happily in Elara’s arms, reaching for you with chubby little hands.
“Come here, my sweet,” you cooed, taking her into the warm water with you. She immediately nestled against your bare chest, tiny fingers grasping at your long, wavy hair as you gently rocked her. She was a needy little thing, always wanting her mother’s warmth, her scent, her voice.
Verra smiled as she poured scented oil over your shoulders. “She adores you, my lady. Look at those big, bejeweled eyes.”
You glanced toward the far bank where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard, as always. He was no longer forced to hide. He remained your personal knight, ever watchful and devoted. His gaze met yours across the water, soft with love and quiet pride. He had become even more protective since your return, rarely leaving your side unless duty demanded it.
The King had grown strangely silent on the matter of your relationship. Seeing you flourish and beloved by the people, had turned him into something of a coward when it came to opposing you.
He doted on his granddaughter in private, though he still struggled to fully accept the circumstances. Yet he no longer pushed for any other marriage. He had seen what happened when he tried to separate you from your knight.
Bit by bit, your beauty had deepened into something almost otherworldly, skin luminous, eyes bright with life, a gentle fullness to your figure from motherhood that only made you more captivating. You moved through the palace performing your duties with grace while still finding time to help the common women who came to the gates seeking aid. You had become more than a princess.
At night, when the palace slept, Sir Jungkook was yours completely.
He would slip into your chambers, shed his armor, and worship you with slow hands and mouth. He made love to you like a man who had walked through hell and returned only for this. You clung to him every night, whispering how much you loved him, how you had chosen him long before the crown ever mattered.
Your daughter babbled softly, pulling at your long hair again with her tiny fist, drawing a soft, delighted laugh from you.
“Oh, my little one,” you cooed, gently untangling her fingers from your waves before pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. “You are going to pull Mama’s hair right off if you keep that up, aren’t you? Such a strong little flower.”
She giggled in your arms, reaching up to pat your face with her small, uncoordinated hand, her big dark eyes, exact replicas of her father’s, sparkling with pure joy. The resemblance was almost startling even at such a young age. She was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
Elara sighed dreamily as she poured warm water over your shoulders. “Look at her, my lady. She is perfection. She already has the whole palace wrapped around her tiny finger.”
Verra nodded, gently massaging oil into your hair. “And you, my princess. You glow like the sun itself these days. Motherhood suits you more than any crown ever could.”
Selyse, ever the wise one, glanced toward the bank where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard, fully armored but with his helmet removed today. A small, teasing smile tugged at her lips.
“And that one over there… he can’t take his eyes off the two of you. Look at him, standing there like a lovesick fool in steel. Our fierce knight, brought to his knees by a baby and her mother.”
The knight’s ears turned faintly red, but he didn’t deny it. His gaze remained soft, locked on you and your daughter with quiet awe and devotion.
Later that evening, in the royal rose gardens where he had once walked beside you as your new knight, Sir Jungkook carried your daughter in his arms.
He was still in full armor, crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders, but he held her with such careful gentleness it made your heart melt. The baby was dressed in the softest cream colored gown embroidered with tiny golden flowers, a little bonnet tied under her chin. She looked like a living doll against his armored chest.
She reached up with both hands, grabbing at the edge of his armor, babbling excitedly as she tried to pull herself closer to his face. When he leaned down, she patted his cheek with a wet, sloppy kiss.
Sir Jungkook’s entire expression softened into something almost boyish. He smiled, genuine and devastatingly handsome.
“My little love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
You walked beside them, heart full as you watched your daughter play with the buckles on his armor. Every time he lowered his head to let her see his face, she lit up. But when he playfully put his helmet back on for a moment to tease her, she immediately fussed, letting out a small, indignant cry and reaching for him with both arms.
“No helmet,” you laughed softly. “She hates it. She wants to see her father’s face.”
Sir Jungkook removed it immediately, tucking it under one arm while cradling her with the other. He leaned down so she could press her tiny palms against his cheeks and give him another sloppy kiss on the jaw.
The maids watching from a distance cooed and teased him lightly.
“Look at that,” Verra whispered loudly enough for him to hear. “Who would have thought the man who survived the western borders would be brought down by tiny hands and gummy smiles?”
Later that night, the heavy oak door to your royal chambers was barred, only the soft glow of candles and the low fire in the hearth illuminated the room.
You stood before the tall mirror, slowly changing into your nightgown. The fabric whispered against your skin as it slid down your body. Your gaze caught on the beautiful ring on your finger, the one Sir Jungkook had slipped onto your hand in secret weeks ago, a quiet promise between the two of you. You turned it gently, a small, private smile touching your lips.
Your daughter lay nestled against your bare chest, warm and content, her tiny fingers curled around the edge of your loosened gown. She babbled softly, her big dark eyes full of adoration for her mother.
Sir Jungkook stood a few steps behind you, fully armored except for his helmet, watching the two of you with quiet awe. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting every healed scar and the lingering shadows of war that still clung to him.
You gently laid your daughter in her ornate cradle, pressing one last kiss to her forehead as she drifted into sleep. Then you returned to the mirror, picking up the silver brush to run it through your long, wavy hair.
Sir Jungkook followed without a word. He stopped behind you, his large hands resting lightly on your waist. Slowly, he leaned down and began pressing soft kisses along your bare arms, from shoulder to wrist, as you continued brushing your hair.
You giggled softly, cheeks flushing with that familiar shyness even after all this time.
“Jungkook…” you murmured, breathy. “You ought to distract me.”
“Good,” he whispered against your skin, kissing the curve of your shoulder. “I have missed you all day. I need my darling.”
He dropped to his knees behind you with a quiet clink of armor, bowing his head in his familiar, devoted way. You turned to face him, running your fingers through his raven hair, then tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the faint scars that remained on his face.
You saddened for a moment, remembering the brutality he had endured.
But he looked up at you with such pure worship that it took your breath away. To him, you were more than a princess. you were his salvation, the very source of life that had healed him.
You pulled him closer, and he rose, lifting you effortlessly into his arms and carrying you to the grand bed.
The knight laid you down gently, then began to worship you with slow, reverent hands. He unlaced your nightgown with painstaking care, peeling the silk away until you were bare before him. His mouth found your breasts immediately, sucking softly on one sensitive nipple, then the other, drinking the sweet milk that flowed for him with deep, grateful groans.
You moaned softly, fingers threading through his hair as he fed from you, his tongue swirling, lips sealed tight around your peak. He drank like a man who had been starving for you, savoring every drop as if it were the very essence of life itself.
Sir Jungkook groaned deeply against your breast, the sound vibrating through your chest as he drank almost desperately. His large hand cradled the soft weight of your breast, squeezing gently to draw more from you while his other hand stroked your side with reverent tenderness.
“So sweet,” he whispered against your skin, voice hoarse and worshipful. “You give me life, my petal. You heal what war tried to break.”
You whimpered, arching into his mouth, overwhelmed by the intimate, sacred act, fresh heat blooming between your thighs.
When he finally released your nipple with a wet pop, his lips glistening, he looked up at you with dark, adoring eyes.
“You are my salvation,” he murmured, kissing the valley between your breasts before moving lower. “The mother of my child. The light that brought me home.”
When he finally moved lower, he spread your thighs with firm hands and settled between them. He looked up at you once, eyes dark with devotion, before lowering his mouth to your core.
He worshipped your flower, seeking nectar with slow, deep licks that made your back arch, followed by gentle suction on your swollen clit. His tongue delved inside you, tasting every inch, groaning at your sweetness as if it were the most sacred thing he had ever known.
You whimpered and moaned, hips rolling against his handsome face as pleasure built in waves. He was relentless yet tender, bringing you to the edge again and again before letting you tip over.
When you finally begged for him, voice trembling with need, Sir Jungkook rose above you like a knight before his altar.
He did not rush. Instead, he sat back on his heels, dark eyes drinking in every inch of your bare, flushed body with such raw hunger that it made your skin burn. You felt vulnerable and impossibly desired under that gaze. A shy, breathless giggle escaped your lips as heat flooded your cheeks.
Sir Jungkook reached out with one large, calloused hand and traced a single finger slowly down your body, from the delicate line of your throat, between your heaving breasts, over the soft curve of your belly, and down to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The touch ever so feather light, yet it left fire in its wake.
“You are a goddess made flesh,” he whispered, voice hoarse with awe. “And I am but a mortal who has been granted the honor of kneeling at your feet.”
He leaned down and pressed his forehead to your thigh in a gesture of pure worship, eyes closed, breath warm against your skin as if he were praying to the only deity he had ever believed in.
Then he moved over you, settling between your spread thighs. His thick cock pressed against your entrance, hot and heavy. He looked into your eyes as he slowly pushed inside, inch by thick, stretching inch, filling you so completely that your mouth fell open in a silent cry.
You dug your nails into his back as he began to move, first slow and loving, then harder, deeper, claiming you with every thrust.
“I love you,” he groaned against your neck, hips snapping forward. “I love you more than life itself.”
When you came, it was with his name on your lips and tears of overwhelming pleasure in your eyes. Jungkook followed moments later, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a low, broken groan, filling you with pulse after pulse of his release.
In the quiet that followed, with the knight’s arms still wrapped around you and the weight of the world momentarily forgotten, it was strangely easy to remember the day he had first knelt before the throne.
The impenetrable knight clad in steel, sworn to protect a princess draped in silk. and protect you he would, as though it had been carved into the marrow of every breath he would draw, for eternity.
editing thid in a few hours. thankyou so much for reading!! comments and reblogs are very much appreciated mwah love you all 🫶💋
You thought you’d moved on. You had Heeseung now, sweet, safe, perfect. Sunghoon had Sooha, bubbly, convenient.
But the fire between you never died. It only waited.
One rooftop party, too much alcohol, and a slow R&B song was all it took. Now you’re grinding on your ex’s hard cock in the middle of the crowd, his fingers knuckle-deep in your soaked pussy while your boyfriend chats nearby. From there? A locked bathroom, messy blowjob on your knees, getting fucked raw and creampied over the sink like the desperate little slut you are for the one man you shouldn’t want.
Old habits fuck hardest.
pairing: ex!sunghoon x reader !
warnings: cheating (both hoon and reader) betrayal strong language possessiveness jealousy alcohol infedilty complete mess for their exes porn with no plot
warnings (smut): cheating (reader on Heeseung, Sunghoon on Sooha) risky semi public sex heavy sexual tension consented sex even if drunk mutual masturbation blowjob fingering grinding doggy style mirror sex creampie tit play nipple play choking multiple orgasms degradation praise
playlist: Drive You Insane by Daniel Di Angelo [] Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood [] Call Out My Name by The Weeknd [] Into It by Chase Atlantic []
likes and reblogs for a cookie!
☆ WORD COUNT: 5.2k!
(Masterlist)
YOU AND PARK SUNGHOON HAD BEEN TOGETHER FOR ALMOST TWO YEARS BEFORE IT ENDED.
The breakup was mutual but painful, two young, passionate people who burned too hot and too fast. Careers, schedules, jealousy, and the weight of keeping everything secret had worn you both down. One rainy night in his dorm, after another argument about time and attention, you both agreed it was better to let go. The last kiss you shared tasted like salt from tears. Heeseung, Sunghoon’s best friend, had been there through the aftermath, listening to you vent late at night when the pain felt unbearable. Slowly, comfort turned into something deeper. Six months after the breakup, you and Heeseung started seeing each other. It felt right, safe, warm, steady. Heeseung was attentive, funny, and deeply caring. You fell for him hard.
Meanwhile, Sunghoon started dating one of your close friends, Sooha. She was sweet, bubbly, and had always gotten along with him during group hangouts. Seeing them together at first stung like hell, but you told yourself it was for the best. Everyone moved on. Or so it seemed.
The problem was the friend group. You all ran in the same circle, mutual friends from the industry, trainees, dancers, and staff who loved throwing parties, dinners, and weekend getaways. No matter how hard you tried, you and Sunghoon kept crossing paths. At first, it was awkward. Polite nods, short conversations, avoiding eye contact. But the tension never died. It only grew.
Every time you saw him, memories flooded back. The way his large hands used to grip your hips. How he’d pin you against the wall and kiss you until your knees buckled. The low groan he made when he was deep inside you. The way he’d look at you with those sharp, dark eyes right before he made you come. And you knew he felt it too. You’d catch him staring at your legs in short dresses, or the curve of your ass when you bent over. His jaw would tighten, and he’d quickly look away, especially when Heeseung was right beside you with an arm around your waist, or when Sooha was laughing and clinging to his arm.
The air between you two was always thick, charged and dangerous.
It started small. A house party six months after you and Heeseung became official. Sunghoon and Sooha had been dating for three months. The music was loud, drinks were flowing. You were in a tight dress that hugged every curve. Sunghoon couldn’t stop glancing at you. When you passed each other in the narrow hallway on the way to the bathroom, your bodies brushed. Just shoulders and hips, but it was enough. You felt him, hard, warm, familiar, and your breath hitched. He froze for half a second, eyes darkening, before muttering a low “sorry” and continuing. That night you rode Heeseung like you were possessed, but it was Sunghoon’s face you saw when you came.
Another time, at a beach trip with the whole group. Sunghoon was shirtless in the water, water dripping down his toned abs and sharp v-line. You were in a bikini. Heeseung was building sandcastles with friends, Sooha was napping under an umbrella. You and Sunghoon ended up wading in the shallows at the same time. The waves pushed you closer. His hand accidentally grazed your waist as he steadied you. Electricity shot through your body. Your nipples hardened instantly under the thin fabric. You saw the bulge in his swim trunks grow. Neither of you said a word. You both swam away, hearts pounding, bodies aching.
These encounters kept happening. Birthday parties, award after-parties, late-night karaoke sessions. Every time, you’d leave the function wet and throbbing, panties soaked, thighs clenched. You knew he was going home hard too, probably fucking Sooha while thinking about you. The guilt was there, but the desire was stronger.
One particular night, it became unbearable.
It was a small, intimate gathering at a friend’s luxurious apartment. Only twelve people. Heeseung was there, sitting beside you on the couch, his hand resting possessively on your thigh. Sunghoon and Sooha were across the room. The lights were dim, music soft. Someone suggested truth or dare. Stupid idea. When it was your turn, someone dared you to sit on Sunghoon’s lap for three minutes. The room erupted in laughter. “For old times’ sake!” they joked, not knowing how deep the cut went.
You hesitated. Heeseung chuckled and nodded, thinking it was harmless. Sooha looked a little uncomfortable but played along. Sunghoon’s eyes met yours, dark, warning, hungry.
You sat on his lap.
The moment your ass settled over his crotch, you felt him. He was already half-hard. As the timer started, his hands rested lightly on your hips to “steady” you. His cock twitched beneath you, growing thicker and harder against the thin fabric of your dress and his pants. You were wearing nothing but a tiny thong underneath. You could feel every inch of him pressing right against your clothed cunt. Heat flooded you. Your clit throbbed. You shifted slightly, “accidentally,” grinding down on him. He exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers tightening on your hips. His cock was fully hard now, thick and long, the same shape you remembered so well. You were soaking through your thong, your juices starting to wet the front of his pants.
Three minutes felt like eternity. Torture. Bliss. When the timer ended, you stood up on shaky legs. Sunghoon’s eyes were nearly black. A small wet spot was visible on his thigh where you’d been sitting. He quickly adjusted himself. You excused yourself to the bathroom, locked the door, and leaned against it, breathing hard, your pussy was dripping, you wanted to cum so badly it hurt.
That night, after the party, Heeseung fucked you in his car before you even got home. You came twice, but it wasn’t enough.
Two days later, you were alone in your apartment. Heeseung was away for a schedule. The memory of sitting on Sunghoon’s lap had been haunting you. You took a long shower, trying to calm down, but your body was on fire. After drying off, you opened your drawer and found it, the pale pink satin slip Sunghoon used to love.
It was short, silky, with thin straps and a deep neckline. The hem barely covered your ass. There was a high slit on the left side that went almost to your hip. He used to push the strap down, suck on your tits while fucking you in it. You hadn’t worn it since the breakup.
Tonight, you slipped it on. The fabric felt cool and luxurious against your heated skin. Your nipples were already stiff, poking obviously through the thin material. You stood in front of the full-length mirror in your bedroom, dim lights on. The slip clung to your body, the hem riding up to show the bottom curve of your ass.
You climbed onto your bed, heart racing with guilt and excitement. This was wrong. So fucking wrong. Heeseung was your boyfriend. Sunghoon was his best friend. He was dating Sooha, your friend. But you couldn’t stop.
You lay back against the pillows, knees bent, legs slightly spread. Your hand slowly trailed up your body. You cupped one breast through the satin, squeezing it gently. A soft moan escaped your lips. You imagined Sunghoon’s large hand instead, bigger, rougher. You pinched your nipple, rolling it between your fingers the way he used to. The sensation shot straight to your core.
“Oh god…” you whispered.
Your other hand slid down, pushing the hem of the slip higher. The slit on the side made it easy. You parted your thighs wider, exposing your bare, dripping pussy. You were soaked. Your fingers brushed over your swollen clit, and your hips jerked.
In your mind, it was Sunghoon touching you.
You pictured his sharp jaw, his intense eyes looking down at you. The way he’d smirk when he felt how wet you were for him. You imagined his long fingers replacing yours, two thick digits sliding inside you while his thumb circled your clit. You pushed two fingers into your tight heat, moaning louder. The slick sounds filled the room as you pumped them slowly, curling them just right.
Your other hand kept playing with your tits, pulling the strap down so one breast spilled out. You pinched and tugged your nipple harder, imagining Sunghoon’s mouth on it, sucking, biting, licking.
“Sunghoon…” you breathed, even though you knew you shouldn’t say his name. It felt too good. You added a third finger, stretching yourself, fucking yourself deeper. Your hips rolled, grinding against your hand. The satin slip bunched around your waist now. You were completely exposed, legs spread obscenely, fingers plunging in and out of your creamy pussy.
You thought about that night on his lap. How hard he’d been. How big he felt. You imagined pulling his cock out right there in front of everyone, sinking down on it, riding him while the party continued. You imagined him bending you over in the bathroom after, slamming into you from behind, hand over your mouth to keep you quiet while he filled you up.
Your fingers moved faster. The heel of your palm rubbed your clit with every thrust. Your other hand switched to your other breast, squeezing hard, twisting the nipple. Pleasure built rapidly, hot and intense.
You were so close.
In your fantasy, Sunghoon was on top of you, thrusting deep, whispering how much he missed your tight pussy, how no one fucked him like you did. You imagined his hips snapping harder, his balls slapping against you, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside.
“Fuck—Sunghoon—yes—” you moaned, voice breaking.
Your orgasm crashed over you violently. Your back arched off the bed, thighs shaking. Your pussy clenched hard around your fingers, gushing wetly. You kept fingering yourself through it, drawing it out, riding every wave. Juices dripped down your ass onto the sheets. The slip was ruined with sweat and your arousal.
Even after you came, you kept your fingers inside, gently stroking as the aftershocks rolled through you. Your chest heaved. Guilt tried to creep in, but the pleasure was too strong, too addictive.
You knew you’d do this again. You couldn’t help it. The tension between you and Sunghoon was only getting worse. Sooner or later, something was going to break.
But for now, in the quiet of your room, wearing the slip he used to love, you let yourself drift in the fantasy of him, your ex, your boyfriend’s best friend, your friend’s boyfriend, fucking you senseless the way only he knew how.
—
A few weeks had passed since that night you spent alone in your apartment. The guilt had lingered for days afterward, especially when Heeseung came back from his schedule and kissed you so sweetly, completely unaware of whose name you’d moaned. But the ache between your legs never fully went away. Every time you saw Sunghoon in the group chat or caught a glimpse of him at a quick schedule overlap, the memory of his hardened cock pressing against you during truth or dare flooded back.
Tonight was another mutual friend’s birthday party, held at a spacious rooftop venue. The city lights glittered below like scattered diamonds, and the air was warm with late spring humidity. Fairy lights and soft neon accents bathed the space in a seductive glow. Music pulsed from hidden speakers, R&B and deep house tracks that made bodies move instinctively. About thirty people were there: dancers, idols, staff, and close industry friends. The drinks flowed freely, champagne, soju cocktails, whiskey on ice.
You arrived with Heeseung, dressed in a dangerously short, deep burgundy silk dress that clung to your curves and ended high on your thighs. The thin straps left your shoulders bare, and the low back dipped dangerously close to the curve of your ass. Heeseung had complimented you endlessly in the car, his hand sliding up your leg the whole ride. But the moment you stepped onto the rooftop, your eyes found Sunghoon across the crowd.
He looked devastating. Black button-up shirt with the top few buttons undone, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbones and the beginning of his toned chest. Tailored black pants that hugged his long legs and narrow waist. His dark hair was styled messily, falling over his sharp eyes. Sooha wasn’t there, she’d texted the group earlier saying she felt sick and was staying home. Heeseung, oblivious as ever, spotted Jay and Jake almost immediately and gave your waist a quick squeeze. “I’ll be back in a bit, baby. They want to talk about the new choreography.” He kissed your cheek and disappeared into a group of guys near the bar.
You were alone, and Sunghoon noticed. The tension started immediately.
You felt his gaze like a physical touch the second you walked toward the open bar. When you turned to order a drink, a strong soju cocktail with peach, he was already watching you from a few meters away, leaning against a high table with a glass in his hand. His eyes dragged slowly down your body: lingering on the way the silk hugged your breasts, the exposed skin of your thighs, the way your hips swayed when you walked. You met his stare boldly, heart racing, and took a long sip. The alcohol burned pleasantly down your throat.
For the next hour, it was a game of stolen glances and near-misses.
You danced with some girlfriends on the makeshift dance floor, laughing as you moved your hips to the rhythm. But every time you turned or dipped low, you felt him. Sunghoon stayed on the edge of the crowd, talking to a few guys, but his attention never left you. You caught him staring at your ass when you bent slightly to adjust your heel. His jaw clenched. When you licked a drop of drink from your lower lip, his eyes darkened.
You grew tipsy. Then drunk. The cocktails hit harder than expected, warmth spreading through your veins, loosening your limbs, making your skin feel hypersensitive. Your cheeks flushed. Your pussy already felt warm and slick just from the weight of his gaze.
Heeseung was still deep in conversation with Jay and Jake on the far side of the rooftop, laughing loudly, safe, distracted.
Sunghoon finally moved closer during a slower song. You were at the bar getting another drink when he appeared beside you, ordering a whiskey. His arm brushed yours. The contact sent electricity shooting through your body.
“Looking dangerous tonight,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear. His breath ghosted over your bare shoulder.
You turned your head, lips parted. “You’re one to talk.”
Your eyes locked. The air between you crackled. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the party disappeared. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lower, watching your chest rise and fall. You pressed your thighs together, already feeling yourself getting wet.
The night blurred deliciously after that.
You danced again, this time with a mixed group. Sunghoon joined casually, keeping a safe distance at first. But the music grew slower, more sensual. Bodies moved closer. You swayed your hips, feeling the alcohol make you bold. Every time you turned, your eyes met his. He watched the way your dress rode up your thighs. You watched the way his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders when he moved.
Another song, you danced near him, shoulders brushed, then hips. He smelled like whiskey and that familiar cologne that used to drive you crazy, your head felt light, body hot.
Finally, the moment broke. A slow, heavy R&B track started playing. The kind that made people grind without shame. Most of the group had paired off or were lost in their own conversations. Heeseung was still occupied. Sunghoon stepped behind you without a word.
You didn’t resist. His tall frame pressed against your back as you both started swaying to the music. Your ass nestled perfectly against his crotch. Even through the layers of fabric, you could feel him, already semi-hard, thickening rapidly as you moved together.
“Fuck…” he breathed against your ear, so quietly it was almost lost in the music.
His hands settled on your hips at first, guiding you. The dance was filthy. You rolled your body against him, grinding slowly, deliberately. His cock grew fully hard, long and thick, pressing right between your ass cheeks through his pants. You bit your lip to hold back a moan.
The crowd around you was drunk and distracted. No one was paying attention to the exes dancing far too intimately. Sunghoon grew bolder.
One of his hands trailed down your side, fingers brushing the hem of your short dress. He leaned his head down, lips grazing the side of your neck. Not quite kissing, just hot breath and the faintest brush of his mouth. Your skin erupted in goosebumps.
“You’re driving me insane,” he whispered, voice rough with lust. “Been hard since I saw you in this dress.”
You pushed back against him harder, feeling his cock throb. “Then do something about it.”
His hand slipped lower. While your bodies continued swaying sensually to the slow beat, your ass grinding in slow circles against his erection, his fingers crept under the hem of your dress from behind. The rooftop was dimly lit here, and his tall frame mostly shielded you.
He found the edge of your tiny black lace panties. You were soaked. Dripping. His middle finger traced the wet fabric covering your pussy, pressing lightly against your swollen folds through the lace.
You gasped softly, knees weakening.
Sunghoon’s lips finally pressed against your neck, open-mouthed, hot and wet. He sucked gently, then harder, teeth grazing your skin as his finger pushed the lace aside. The pad of his long finger slid directly along your slick pussy lips, parting them, collecting your arousal.
“Shit, you’re drenched,” he groaned quietly against your neck, voice vibrating through you. “This pussy still gets this wet for me?”
You nodded frantically, biting back moans as you kept swaying with him, pretending it was just a dance. His cock was rock-hard, grinding slowly against your ass in time with the music.
He pushed one thick finger inside you without warning. Your walls clenched around it instantly, sucking him deeper. The wet sound was faint but filthy under the music. He added a second finger, stretching you, curling them perfectly against that spot he knew so well.
His mouth worked on your neck, kissing, licking, sucking hard enough to leave marks you’d have to hide later. His free hand gripped your hip tightly, holding you against him as he fingered you deeper, faster. His palm rubbed against your clit with every thrust of his fingers.
You were trembling. Pleasure built rapidly, hot and overwhelming. Your juices coated his hand, dripping down his wrist. The silk of your dress bunched up further. Anyone looking closely might have seen, but the risk only made it hotter. “Sunghoon…” you whimpered under your breath.
He bit your earlobe. “Missed this tight little cunt. Missed how you fall apart for me.”
His fingers pumped faster, curling relentlessly. The heel of his hand ground against your swollen clit. Your orgasm crashed into you without mercy, hard, sudden, devastating. Your pussy spasmed violently around his fingers, gushing slick arousal down his hand and onto your thighs. You moaned softly, body shaking as he held you upright, still swaying slowly to the music like nothing was happening.
He didn’t stop. He kept fingering you through it, drawing out every wave until your legs felt like jelly. When it finally subsided, he slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth behind you. You heard him suck them clean with a low, satisfied groan.
The song ended. You turned in his arms, flushed, breathing hard, eyes glassy with lust and alcohol. His eyes were nearly black with desire, lips parted, chest rising fast. His cock was straining obscenely against his pants. Neither of you spoke. The tension had finally snapped.
You both knew this was only the beginning of the night.
The song faded out, but the heat between you didn’t. Your legs were still shaky from the orgasm he’d just pulled from you on the dance floor. Sunghoon’s chest was pressed flush against your back, his breath hot against your ear as he spoke in a low, rough whisper.
“We need to go somewhere private. Right now.” His voice was strained with barely contained lust. “Before I bend you over in front of everyone.”
You didn’t even hesitate. The alcohol and adrenaline made you bold. You gave him the smallest nod, and he immediately took your hand, guiding you through the crowd with purposeful strides. Heeseung was still laughing with Jay and Jake near the bar, completely unaware. Sooha was safe at home. No one noticed as the two of you slipped inside the luxurious indoor section of the venue.
The bathroom was a single, spacious unisex room, dimly lit, marble counters, a large mirror above the sink. The second the door clicked shut and locked, all restraint vanished.
Sunghoon was on you instantly. He spun you around and pulled your back flush against his chest, positioning both of you in front of the mirror. Your eyes met in the reflection, his dark and feral, yours glassy and desperate. His hands were rough with urgency as he yanked the hem of your short burgundy dress up over your hips in one swift motion, bunching the silk around your waist.
“Fuck,” he growled, staring at your reflection. Your tiny black lace panties were soaked through, the fabric clinging obscenely to your swollen pussy lips.
His right hand slid down immediately, fingers slipping under the waistband of your panties. Two long, thick fingers dragged through your slick folds, parting them, coating themselves in your wetness. He pressed them against your clit first, rubbing slow, firm circles that made your hips jerk.
A broken moan spilled from your lips. “Ah—Sunghoon…”
He relished it. His eyes darkened further in the mirror as he watched your face contort in pleasure. “That’s it. Let me hear you moan for me again.”
He pushed those two fingers deep inside you without warning, burying them to the knuckle in your dripping heat. Your walls clenched hard around the intrusion, still sensitive from the earlier orgasm on the dance floor. He curled them instantly, stroking that perfect spot he knew better than anyone.
Your head fell back against his shoulder, another loud moan escaping you. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers pumping into your soaked pussy filled the bathroom.
Your hands moved behind you with frantic need. You palmed the massive bulge straining against his tailored pants, feeling how hard and hot he was. Sunghoon hissed sharply as you squeezed him through the fabric. With trembling fingers, you tugged his zipper down, reaching inside to pull his thick cock out.
He was rock hard, veins pulsing, the head already glistening with precum. The familiar weight and girth made your mouth water. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking from base to tip in long, firm pumps exactly the way he liked it.
“Shit—yes,” he groaned, hips bucking into your fist. His fingers fucked you harder, faster, plunging in and out while his palm rubbed relentlessly against your clit. The mirror gave you both a perfect view of everything, your flushed face, your tits nearly spilling out of your dress, his hand disappearing between your thighs, your smaller hand working his cock desperately.
You pumped him faster, twisting your wrist at the head, spreading his precum down his shaft. Every time you squeezed him, his fingers would thrust deeper into you, like a filthy feedback loop. Your moans mixed with his low grunts.
“Look at yourself,” he demanded, voice hoarse. His free hand came up to grip your jaw, forcing you to watch your reflection. “Look how fucking desperate you are for me. Dripping all over my fingers while your boyfriend’s right outside.”
The words only made you wetter. You whimpered loudly, stroking him quicker, feeling his cock throb and twitch in your hand. His fingers curled and scissored inside you, stretching you open, hitting that spot over and over until your thighs started shaking.
You were both lost in it, driven by pure, pent-up lust. The sound of his fingers plunging into your creamy pussy mixed with the slick sound of your hand jerking his cock. Your juices were dripping down his wrist and onto the marble floor.
“I’m gonna—fuck, Sunghoon—I’m close again,” you gasped, eyes half-lidded in the mirror.
He leaned down, biting the side of your neck hard as his fingers sped up. “Cum for me, baby. Cum all over my fingers like the dirty little slut you are for your ex.”
Your orgasm hit you like a freight train.
Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, then a loud, broken moan tore from your throat as your pussy clenched violently around his fingers, gushing slick arousal all over his hand. Your knees buckled, but he held you up, still fucking you through it with his fingers while you frantically stroked his cock.
Sunghoon groaned deeply, hips stuttering as your orgasm pushed him over the edge too. Thick ropes of cum shot from his cock, spilling over your hand and onto the sink counter as he came hard. For a few long seconds, the only sounds were heavy breathing and the faint bass of the music outside.
You both stared at each other in the mirror, flushed, messy, and still hungry.
This wasn’t going to end here. The bathroom air was thick with the scent of sex, your arousal and his cum. You were both still panting, staring at each other through the mirror. Sunghoon’s fingers were still buried inside you, lazily stroking through the aftershocks while your hand was covered in his release.
Without a word, you slowly turned around and sank to your knees on the cool marble floor in front of him. His cock was still hard, glistening with cum and your spit from earlier strokes. You looked up at him with hazy, lust-drunk eyes as you wrapped your fingers around the base.
You leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his swollen tip, tasting the salty remnants of his orgasm. Sunghoon’s breath hitched sharply, one hand immediately threading into your hair.
“Fuck… you’re really gonna do this?” he rasped, voice wrecked.
You answered by parting your lips and taking him into your mouth. You sucked on the head first, swirling your tongue around it, cleaning every drop of cum. Then you sank deeper, relaxing your throat to take as much of his thick length as you could. The familiar stretch of your lips around him made you moan around his cock.
Sunghoon groaned loudly, hips twitching. “That’s it… just like that, baby.”
You bobbed your head, sucking him eagerly, hollowing your cheeks. Your hand worked what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, stroking him in time with your movements. The wet, sloppy sounds echoed obscenely in the bathroom as you deepthroated him again and again, eyes watering, spit dripping down your chin.
He watched you through the mirror above, the sight of you on your knees in that tiny burgundy dress driving him crazy. His grip tightened in your hair as he started fucking your throat gently.
“Missed this pretty mouth so fucking much,” he growled.
You moaned around him, the vibration making his thighs tense. You could feel him throbbing against your tongue, growing even harder. His breathing turned ragged.
“Shit—I’m gonna cum again—”
You didn’t pull away. You took him as deep as possible, looking up at him with teary eyes. Sunghoon cursed loudly as he came down your throat, thick spurts of hot cum shooting straight into your stomach. You swallowed every drop, milking him until he was shuddering and oversensitive.
He pulled you up roughly by your arms and spun you around, bending you over the marble sink. Your hands braced against the counter, eyes locked on your own reflection, flushed face, swollen lips, messy hair. Sunghoon yanked your dress up again and ripped your soaked panties down your thighs in one motion.
He rubbed his still-hard cock between your dripping folds, teasing your entrance. Then he pushed in, one long, powerful thrust and he buried himself to the hilt inside you.
Both of you moaned loudly at the same time. “Oh my god! Sunghoon…” you cried out, the stretch overwhelming after so long apart.
“Fuck—your pussy… still so tight,” he groaned through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut for a moment. The feeling of your warm, velvety walls clenching around him made his knees weak. “I missed this so fucking bad.”
He gave you only a second to adjust before he started moving, deep, hard strokes that slammed into you with every thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the bathroom as he fucked you against the sink. Your tits bounced heavily inside your dress with every powerful snap of his hips.
Sunghoon reached around and yanked the front of your dress down, letting your breasts spill free. His large hands immediately grabbed them, squeezing and kneading roughly just like he used to. His fingers pinched and rolled your sensitive nipples, tugging them as he pounded into you harder.
“Look in the mirror,” he demanded, voice low and filthy. “Watch how I’m fucking you.”
You obeyed, eyes glazed with pleasure as you watched his reflection. His sharp jaw was clenched, dark eyes burning into yours through the glass. One hand stayed on your tit, playing with it possessively, while the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise.
He fucked you relentlessly, cock dragging against every sweet spot inside you. The angle had him hitting so deep you felt him in your stomach. Your moans were loud and broken, impossible to hold back.
“Sunghoon—ahh—fuck, you’re so deep—”
He leaned over you, biting your shoulder as he played with your tits and slammed into you. “This pussy is mine. Always been mine.”
The pleasure built fast and brutal. Your second orgasm ripped through you without warning, your walls fluttering and clenching around his cock like a vice. You cried out his name as you came, juices dripping down your thighs.
The feeling pushed Sunghoon over the edge right after you.
With a deep, guttural groan, he buried himself as deep as possible and came hard inside you. Thick ropes of cum flooded your pussy, filling you up completely. He kept thrusting through it, pushing his load deeper, claiming you in the most primal way.
For a long moment, you both stayed like that, his cock still buried inside you, his hands still groping your tits, both of you breathing heavily as you stared at each other in the mirror.
Reality slowly crept back in. Heeseung was somewhere outside. Sooha was waiting at home. But neither of you could bring yourselves to care yet. Sunghoon pressed a messy kiss to the back of your neck, still twitching inside your cum-filled pussy.
“We’re not done tonight,” he whispered darkly. “Not even close.”
➴ childhood bsf trueform!sukuna x f!reader
[heian era canon adjacent au] - ongoing series
❝ the world is an unjust beast. it claws and tears until nothing remains but those cursed with the greatest gift of all; power. in another world, ryomen sukuna is the strongest sorcerer in history, capable of an evil no one can dream. but he was once a boy, and you were once a girl. now a devil with docked horns and an angel with tattered wings, you walk this world together, your curse to navigate side by side. ❞
➴ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. dark themes surrounding my interpretation of sukuna's upbringing and how it affects you both. graphic depictions of blood, gore, death, dismemberment, mutilation, and hunted animals. character death. themes surrounding poor mental health. poor coping mechanisms. arguments. best friends to lovers. toxic codependency. child abuse & neglect. self-hatred. attempted self-mutilation. bigotry & period-accurate misogyny. eventual smut after both characters are over 18. angst. hurt/no comfort. eventual hurt/comfort. tragic lovers with a happy ending. dddne.
➴ wc ; 7.1k.
➴ a/n ; please heed the warnings for this chapter.
main masterlist || series masterlist || ⇤ prev || next ⇥ - coming soon
“Straighten your shoulders.”
You follow Sukuna’s instructions, rolling your shoulders back.
“You’re leaning too much on your back foot.”
Your shoulders fall forward as you face him with an aggrieved expression. The bow and arrow fall, one to each side, as you pin him in place with frustration. “You’ve been correcting my posture for ten minutes. Can I shoot already?”
A couple of years ago, he might have smiled at your quip. Now, the almost-twelve-year-old stares at you with equal stubborn challenge in his eyes. “Your posture’s been wrong for ten minutes.”
All the patience in the world couldn’t help you deal with your friend. With a shake of your head, you adjust your stance, bringing the bow steadily back up. Your feet crunch over the remnants of the late autumnal snow as you let out a breath and adjust your stance, using every bit of training Sukuna has taught you. Your breath billows ahead of you, but the cold doesn’t penetrate your thick clothes.
You draw the string back, feeling the tension reach the point Sukuna taught you to hone your senses to feel rather than see, holding steady as you concentrate on the carved target on the tree ahead.
Your dad would kill you if he knew you weren’t making snow sculptures again.
“You need to–”
Ignoring Sukuna’s commentary, you let the arrow fly, embedding itself in the second ring carved into thick bark.
Four eyes stare at the spot where you completely outmatched his last shot, which fell just short of the target’s outer circle. He clicks his tongue, eyes narrowed like the fact irks him. You can practically hear how Saya would have poked fun at him for being beaten by someone who isn’t getting formal archery lessons.
She would be proud of you.
“That was pretty good,” he grumbles in defeat. You puff your chest out in pride. “Your stance is still messy though. It could just be luck.”
“You’re so stubborn.”
He nears the tree to pull both arrows from it, his gaze thrown over his shoulder towards you. His lip curls up just slightly as he shoots you a look with narrowed eyes, receiving a giggle in return. He would have smiled wholeheartedly at that sound not so long ago.
You often feel like you’re chasing what once was, rather than what’s in front of you. It’s not like you don’t care for Sukuna, that couldn’t be less true. He’s your best friend, through and through, but you long for the times where he seemed more willing to indulge his childishness. It’s been so long since you’ve played games that most of your time bonding is spent training.
“Ryo? Can we build a snow castle?”
He casts his gaze over his shoulder again, fiddling with one of the arrows. All four eyes blink. “Why?”
You pout. “For fun.”
His face contorts into a scowl. You can’t make out whether he’s upset or contemplating your question. It’s been painfully common as of late that you can’t make out what he’s thinking. Every time you think you have something pinned, he surprises you.
It’s frustrating when he can read you like a book. Especially when there’s scarcely a moment you aren’t together. Between the search for a new shrine attendant and the constant need for a perimeter guard, your parents and Murata aren’t around as often.
You can’t say whether Saya’s mother joins them. She spends much of her time with Imai these days, helping to care for his sons as if they’re her own. It doesn’t sit right with you when her daughter’s two closest friends are painfully isolated, but you’re old enough to know now that the world isn’t kind.
Still too young to see why, though. Sukuna may stand out amongst other children, but to you he’s just Ryo. He’s the little boy born with a few extra features. It’s cool. You once told him he could fire two arrows at once– which, anatomically, no– but it still stuck with him how much you uplifted him.
His muscles relax as the memory resurfaces and he finds himself nodding. “Okay.”
Setting the bows against the tree, he jogs to your side, kneeling as you begin balling up the sparse snow. It’s been warm enough that much of it has melted and what you’re left with is fairly dirty, but neither of you care too much. As you begin making the base of your first archery tower, your friend trudges around gathering what snow is still scattered around the area.
Once there’s enough snow to comfortably build something, even if it isn’t a full fortress, your friend takes a seat across from you. He builds a second archery lookout tower, but it’s half-hearted. It leans to the left, somewhat precariously.
Your head tilts as you offer a handful of snow. “I think your tower needs some reinforcement.”
His expression falters as you hold the snow out to him. The hardened scowl softens, and he packs the snow into a more reliable tower. Your smile broadens as he relaxes in your presence, even going so far as to slip his lower arms through his sleeves. You can hear a seam pop, but Sukuna pays it no mind as he shaves extra snow off the tower with a finger.
“Are your parents coming home tonight?” He queries quietly in that low tone that you know means he doesn’t want you dragged away to be scolded for training.
Home. At some point, the walls that surround the place you live stopped being known as such for you. You can’t say whether you’d give that title to any one place now. You haven’t known real safety in over a year. Not since the loss of Saya that keeps you up at night, particularly those away from your best friend.
Using your palm’s heel to pack snow down into a wall-ish shape, you shrug. “I don’t know.”
One pair of eyes glides towards you while the other continues on with his snow building. You always find yourself wondering how he manages to pay attention to two things at once when something as simple as chatting has you temporarily pausing your motions.
Sighing as you now have his attention, you shrug again. “Last night my father said a Zen’in sorcerer is coming to help.” The second pair of eyes glides to you now, his back straightening at the mere mention of the faux heroes. “They found some burnt trees a bit south and they think the fire Gojo sorcerer is nearby.”
The boy’s entire demeanor changes as you impart the information, something not unlike the very fire caused by the sorcerer burning behind his eyes. His expression harshens as two hands ball into fists, the others still holding snow. “We should practice more.”
Resigned, you shake your head as you watch him adamantly get to his feet and move towards the bows. “Ryo, we can’t fight a sorcerer.”
“We can,” he decides, facing you with a stark determination that’s so bull-headed you’re positive it’s a piece of Saya that he picked up over the years. “We have to.”
“We’re kids.”
“So?” His jaw is clenched, a desperation lingering behind his eyes that you’re just now catching as you stand up to follow his steps towards the tree.
“We should leave that to the adults,” you murmur, reaching out for the bow he’s now got clasped between his hands. You give it a little tug, but his lower hands stay firmly planted. “Murata-san is home tonight anyway, right? We’ll be safe with him.”
“He was home the night of the fire!” Your friend insists, tugging the bow back hard enough to tear it from your grip. “That didn’t save–”
He hasn’t been able to say her name since the night you taught him how to pay respects.
As he falters, you watch the shift in how he carries himself. His shoulders fall, the determination becoming forlorn as if he knows you’re right but abides by his stubbornness. “I could have done something if I’d just–”
He couldn’t have. Even as he stares at the very hands capable of calamity, he knows he can’t turn back time. If he could, he wouldn’t be the cursed child, would he? He would be a hero. It doesn’t make it easier to grapple with when he sees the way he’s so often stared at, either.
The mere thought has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, and his head whips up suddenly, staring past you where he sees the faintest hint of movement. His lower eyes shut and he drops the bow, struggling to pull his lower arms back into the cover of his clothes, but it’s too late.
A pair of eyes a couple of years older is staring at him intently from behind a tree. Another pair pops out, followed by one more. All three bear the same features as their carpenter father, which includes the scorn that makes your skin crawl. The oldest’s lip curls as Sukuna attempts to hide his arms.
“We already know, there’s no point in hiding them.”
With one elbow partially pulled into his sleeve already, Sukuna freezes, scowling as he faces the boys. The oldest who you know as Noboru– as well as the boy your age whose name escapes you– both emerge from the trees, moving towards Sukuna. The youngest trails behind, watching more than he chooses to participate.
Sukuna is bigger. He’s taller, standing over a head above Noboru, but there’s a stark difference in the way they face one another as Noboru confidently approaches.
Sukuna is on the defensive, and startlingly conscious of the fact that you’re here. Too close, and too dear to him. Static brews in the air like electricity. It shoots from his chest to the tips of his fingers, but it remains there, within his grasp, where you can’t catch a stray slice, nor this life that he treasures. Hackles raised, two hands ball into fists, while the other two are held up defensively, with his forearms protecting him.
Noboru, on the other hand, moves with the confidence only a child of Imai could. At fourteen, the boy is still of a smaller stance than your four-armed friend, but the way he carries himself makes him feel bigger. The look in his eyes, the unadulterated hatred fueled by ignorance, is the sort of propaganda you’ve seen mirrored in Imai before.
Stepping up to Sukuna’s side, your fingers clasp around his sleeve in an attempt to push him behind you. You, the shortest of the bunch, trying to defend the very curse that caused your village to fracture.
If ever Sukuna needed proof he still has a heart, this moment stands as it. His chest clenches, but before he has time to process how quickly you stepped up for him, Noboru is already stepping forward.
“Why are you playing with him anyway?” Noboru’s attention turns to you. “You shouldn’t even be learning archery, it’s not your job.”
Frustration simmers under your skin with how often you hear that. From Noboru, it makes your blood boil. “I can do what I want!” You insist, hands balled into fists at your side. “Just leave us alone!”
“Not until he leaves!” The middle child calls out, pointing at Sukuna. There’s an air of innocence to him that Noboru doesn’t retain, like he’s simply following the leader and this situation holds no real stakes for him.
You inch in front of Sukuna again, your short posture barely coming to his chin. “I’m not doing anything wrong,” he grumbles out, his frustration restrained by your presence.
The eldest scoffs. “You’re what’s wrong. You know my dad said you ate your twin in the womb?”
For the briefest of moments, Sukuna averts his gaze. It’s a moment too long, confirming the statement.
“It’s true!” The middle child points out his blunder.
Sukuna’s breath fans the crown of your head behind you when his breathing stutters. “I didn’t– I wasn’t–”
“You didn’t,” Noboru mocks in a faux whining tone. “You’re a mistake,” he growls out with no regard for your friend. “You got everyone killed! It’s all your fault!”
For as hardened as Sukuna has gotten over the years to the constant cautious glances and hateful stares, the verbal assault still gets under his skin. It slips through the cracks and embeds itself in the way he clenches his fists and grinds his teeth. He swallows hard, lip curled as he tries to push back in spite of his vision going white at the edges with red hot anger. “I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t even awake,” he grits out.
“I wish they got you instead of papa’s sister,” the youngest murmurs from the back, peering out behind his brothers.
Horror twists itself through your chest at the fact that the coldest statement thrown at Sukuna could come from someone so young. Sukuna’s breath fans the top of your head again as the words grip him in ways he could never prepare for. Barely audible is the way he breathes out at the dreadful way it slips beneath his skin, colder than the late autumn air.
“Stop!” Your voice breaks and you’re forced to steel yourself when Noboru is already scoffing. You hold your hands out protectively in front of your friend, casting your concern over your shoulder. He’s visibly shaken, for as much as he tries not to let anything affect him, it doesn’t change that he’s just a kid. “That’s not fair. You don’t have to be so mean.”
“Get out of the way,” he huffs. “This isn’t about you. I thought your dad told you to stop being around him anyway.”
The revelation comes as news to Sukuna, whose shoulders fall as his attention flicks to you. There’s a minute change in your stance, like the reminder is something raw and painfully real. It’s a knife to the chest and he’s certain that’s what Noboru wants, but it’s equally a reminder that you choose to remain by his side against your father’s wishes.
Against everyone’s wishes, he’s certain.
Even Murata hardly seems to tolerate him these days. He spends most of his time out of the village or holed up in a corner enacting Murata’s sudden need for secrecy. The only exception to this rule is archery or reading with the limited material the village has available.
But you only allow that raw shift in stance, giving away the truth for a brief moment before stiffening, building walls of brick to keep Noboru’s harsh words out.
You chose Sukuna. Again.
His gaze flickers back up to Noboru, brows drawn together to a tent to compliment the troubled frown he bears.
“It doesn’t matter,” you mutter in reply. “He’s my best friend. Just leave us alone.”
“Just get out of the way,” Noboru hisses, hand closing around one of your outstretched forearms as he wrenches you behind him into his two brothers. You collide with the middle of the three, whining as Noboru’s grip burns your skin as his palm twists around it. Before you have a chance to run back to Sukuna, who’s already charged forward to help as he calls for you, the middle brother’s arms close around you.
You throw your weight at his arms, but it’s not enough to break through his grip. The cold reality is that he’s stronger than you, but you don’t easily give up, wrenching against his arms that have closed around you.
Sukuna reaches for you, and in spite of his greater size and strength, he falls just short when Noboru gets a hold of his upper left arm. He pulls at just the right angle that the cursed child yelps, reminded of the sensation of the very same arm hanging loosely out of the socket when he was just three. Recoiling, Sukuna holds the arm close, having narrowly avoided the same fate as he faces Noboru with a scowl twisted with pain and uncertainty.
“I just want to be left alone,” the child mutters, cradling his arm.
“I want you to leave the village alone.”
“Don’t listen to them, Ryo!” You call, wrenching your body to the side and finally breaking free of the middle son’s grip. You stumble forward, narrowly catching yourself from falling face-first into the ground when you’re jerked back by your arm. Your body collides with the hard mix of mud and old snow, your head snapping back against the rough bark of a tree. You blink deliriously, looking up as the world spins around you and air finds your lungs once more after the rough landing.
You can hear them talking. You can make sense of Noboru’s intense sense of egoism passed down by his father. You hear Sukuna’s voice, smaller in spite of the fact that he should have the upper hand. He’s stronger than them, of that you’re sure, and you know he’s holding back out of fear of being left behind by the village.
You can sympathize with his need to stay in the one place he’s ever found a home, but you wish he’d fight back. You wish you couldn’t hear the way his voice wavers as Noboru’s words slip through the cracks. Ice forms within the boundaries of Sukuna’s being, the cold and bitter wind biting and gnawing at his mind until it leaves nothing behind.
Because that’s how someone like Noboru wins. Not through strength, but through cowardice and words.
And he knew it from the moment he emerged from behind the tree.
You blink, shutting your eyes tightly and rubbing at them as you attempt to make sense of what’s going on before you.
When your eyes open once more, Sukuna’s hardened expression isn’t one of rugged self-defense. His walls have crumbled, and the single step back he takes from the group is enough that all three boys jump him, assaulting him with the sort of vicious words only the cruel know while they attempt to restrain his arms.
“You’re disgusting.”
“Everyone is dead because of you.”
“You don’t deserve to live.”
“I bet your parents got rid of you!”
“I know Dad would have.”
They have the gall to laugh on top of it all.
Blinking hard, when the world stops spinning enough that your vision comes together, you’re able to finally make sense of what’s happening.
Sukuna is silent throughout it all, unwilling or unable to fight their cruel words. His chest heaves, eyes glossy as he attempts to keep his weak shoulder away from them, all the while enduring every pull and scratch at his arms and face. He doesn’t fight so much as simply trying to defend himself from the onslaught and it pains you to think it might be because he believes a word they say.
Your words don’t come together as well as you wanted, nausea tipping the scales away from your favor. “Ryo!” You call, tumbling clumsily from your lips. It catches his attention, even as he tugs and pulls his arms away. “They’re wrong!” Just slightly, his movements all stutter as the boys are almost able to restrain him fully while he holds his most vulnerable arm away. “Don’t let them hurt you!”
By the grace of whatever god listens, your words push him to use his strength. He sends the middle child flying back into the grass, forcefully wrenching his other arms away from the youngest and eldest. He stumbles back once he’s free from their grasp, a delirious and shaken expression on his panting face.
What really breaks you is the way he doesn’t seem to be all there. His eyes pass over you like you’re a part of the background of the scene, flickering around as he heaves for air. Whatever state he’s in, he clearly can’t make sense of what’s going on.
So he runs.
“Ryo!”
He stumbles forward the first few steps, his breathing audible as he struggles to put himself together, before he’s gone into the distance.
You push up onto your hands and knees on the chilly earth, your head still pounding as your vision starts at last to come together. It’s still white at the edges, fuzzy in ways that make you desperate to take a seat, but you can’t stay near the three boys.
You push up onto your feet, clinging to the tree you fell against as you look back at Imai’s boys, gathering themselves after the fight as they help the middle child back up. Turning away, you stumble back towards the village, rubbing your eyes repeatedly. The spot where your head collided with the tree is already swelling, an ebb to the way it aches as you walk. You hug yourself tightly, checking over your shoulder to make sure the boys aren’t following but you don’t spot them again.
As you near Sukuna’s home, you rub your eyes once more, grateful that the world is no longer spinning and your hearing is clear again. Your head still aches and some movements make your stomach churn uncomfortably, but overall you’re able to walk steady for the time being.
Your fingers curl around the bamboo perimeter of Murata’s door, gliding it open without thinking too hard. Slowly, you make rounds through the corners of the house that’s far larger than yours, but neither Sukuna nor his guardian are present. You know Murata is at the shrine rebuilding today, but you figured your friend would have retreated here.
Standing stagnant in the center of the small area, you wrack your brain for areas he may have gone, but it just has you pressing the heels of your palms into your forehead as you draw a blank. You passed the burial plot and he wasn’t there. He wouldn’t have gone to your parents’ or Saya’s, not since the attack.
Where the hell could he be?
Sliding the door shut behind you, you squint beneath the overcast sunlight, still too bright for your pounding head. You look left and right, but there are no signs of your friend to be found and the snow in this area has completely melted. You round the house to the field, pushing through the first layers of crops in hopes that you might find him hunched over somewhere, but it does no good.
The field’s too big, and he refuses to answer when you call out for him. Returning to Murata’s home in defeat is when you find something at last.
But it makes your heart drop to the pit of your stomach like a rock. It rocks your body with more nausea at the sight of crimson staining the white-speckled ground. It’s only one drop, it could be nothing, but as your eyes rise to the wooden exterior where Murata resides, you catch movement in your peripherals.
Your body goes rigid, frozen to the spot like it knows before your mind catches up. It doesn’t let your eyes move faster than a drag as he comes into sight, staring down into the very rain barrel that once reflected a flower crown back at him. Now, that feels like a distant past.
His lower arms have run red, the water beneath him slipping from a natural translucence to something far more agonizing as it ripples under tears and bloodshed in equal parts. His breathing is a wheeze between sobs, pained as his trembling upper hands dig a small iron dagger into the point where his lower arms protrude from his torso. The wooden handle is stained the very color of his eyes as he presses the weapon in deeper, exposing more flesh with each jagged movement.
He winces, his voice too high with each sob, too strained. It shakes you to your very core, more than your young mind can process.
Your limbs feel as though they’re being pulled down by tar. Every attempt at movement is heavy, leaving you feeling like a spectre out of your own body. Like you’re a passenger along for the ride in this life, unable to prevent those you love from getting hurt.
But it’s that very same thought that reminds you that this time, you do have autonomy within this situation. And you’ll fight tooth and nail to prevent the scenarios in your head from playing out.
“Stop.” It’s barely a murmur at first as you press forward, breaking through the barrier keeping you in place. “STOP!” You cry, startling your friend as you move towards him at last. He jolts, the dagger falling with a muffled thump to the dirt below. Tears blur your vision as you take in what’s happening, shaking your head in an effort to keep yourself conscious when fear, nausea, and your injury from earlier all collide.
You hold your hands out in front of you, trembling violently as they hang in the air before the sobbing boy still staring at his reflection. His jaw hangs open in despair, having gone silent as he grapples with the pain. His vision swims, and although he heard you, it’s clear that everything is a blur.
Nothing could have possibly prepared you for this moment, and you’re at a complete and utter loss at what to do.
“Ryo, please.” Your melancholic plead is all that you can manage, throat tight as you barely manage to keep yourself upright. But he needs you. So you press forward, hugging him tightly. He’s still and rigid in your arms, and painfully cold. “Stop, please stop,” you beg, hiding your face in his chest as you sob too.
You can’t say whether it’s his adrenaline draining or the lack of blood, but he slumps forward after a moment, barely managing to keep himself upright against you. To your relief, he finds it in himself to wrap one pair of arms around you. Your laboured breaths mix until you can’t make out where his ends and yours begins.
You can’t tell which of you is shivering harder, but his state takes a turn for the worst when his knees give out, sending you both to the ground.
“Why?” Your head pounds as you hit the ground under his weight. “Why did you do it?”
He coughs around a painfully dry throat. It takes a moment before he can manage to push out any semblance of words. “I don’t feel good,” he utters, head lolling forward onto your shoulder.
“Ryo? Ryo!” You shake him hard enough that his eyes flutter open. “I don’t know what to– I have to–” When you try to get a look at him, he slumps back onto the snow-covered dirt. His lower arms have splayed out beside him without movement, cold and irregularly pale with a blue hue. You don’t know the first thing about medicine, but you know it’s wrong.
You’ve seen your father bandage small wounds before, and use what information you’ve gathered from that to wrap his arms to the best of your ability with your outer kimono as you shrug it off. To your horror, it stains a dark red so quickly that a new wave of panic floods you.
“Hold on Ryo,” you mutter, hesitating as you get to your feet. Ignoring the pain in your head, you bolt down the path, past Imai’s boys to the shrine. Your legs carry you faster than you’ve ever moved as you nearly collide with Imai himself, holding up a beam being placed into a hole dug in the ground.
Scouting the space out for Murata, you bolt in the direction of familiar robes.
“MURATA-SAN!” You scream, earning his immediate attention and concern. As he whips around with wide eyes, horror fills his expression when he’s faced with a little girl covered in dried bloodstains.
He addresses you by name, moving towards you with urgency. “What’s going on?”
Terrified that your best friend won’t be cause enough for Murata to chase after you, you simply grab his wrist and pull with all of your might.
And it’s enough. He doesn’t question it as you lead him past Imai, past the three children, and behind his own home.
He audibly sucks in a breath at the sight that greets him.
You were here only a few moments ago, and yet it still strikes you to the bone to see him splayed out in stained snow. His chest rises and falls so shallowly that you fear it’s fate to lose the people who mean the most to you. You thank every god, every spirit, anyone who will listen that Murata moves into action faster than you do, moving aside your clumsily tied outer robes in an effort to get a look at what’s happened.
“Go get Arai.”
Your afternoon is a blur. Your evening is a blur. Your night is a blur.
The moon hangs in the sky like a taunt that the world will keep going, even if it chooses to leave behind the people who matter most to you.
The light that greets you in the morning when you wake up at Murata’s is too harsh on your pounding head, a forgotten relic of a terrible day.
But what matters most is that at some point in the hustle of saving your best friend, he stabilized. His breathing, although shallow, remained even all night, and his wounds were packed well enough that the lacerations cauterized.
Even if it came with a cost you have yet to learn about necessity, command, and bias.
Because Arai is not your ally, regardless of what he did for the young boy.
For now, that’s a distant thought.
For now, you focus on the boy laying awkwardly under a pile of blankets with a worn and weary expression. You’ve always thought that one should look peaceful when they sleep, yet evidence is pointing elsewhere when it comes to Sukuna.
Rubbing your eyes, you slip out from under the blankets, squinting in the intense light as you move closer to your friend’s bedside. Your palm hesitates as it hovers over the upper hand laying over his blankets. His blankets move steadily over his chest, but some part of you fears that when your hand meets his skin it might bear a cold that seeps to the bone like an ill omen.
You blink at the sight of his wrists. In the years since you met, you’ve never known Sukuna to have markings over them. His wrist bears a band, black as coal. Like ink, yet it doesn’t seem to be that, too settled in the skin to be fresh. It looks as though he’s worn the markings for years. You glance at the other one, chalking it up to delusion and a lack of sleep. You would have noticed if he had them before. You would have noticed if Arai or Murata had marked his wrists somehow, it would have taken too long given the evenness of them.
You brush it off as best you can, figuring it’s a puzzle for when your head feels as though it’s on straight and your heart feels as though it can beat steadily.
When you lower your hand, relief floods you as warmth curls into your fingertips. You let out a sigh of relief, slumping back as you lean on your free palm.
You can’t say how long you sit there. The sun moves across the sky, but you’re in and out of consciousness so often that time doesn’t touch you. Your hand never moves from his, though.
Sometimes you tell him stories. Sometimes Murata comes to check on him.
But only when his fingers twitch and close around your smaller hand, does your nervous system allow itself to shut down as you fall asleep on the floor beside him.
–
Your name is called with equal anger to what you feel as you slide the door shut behind you with force. The bamboo clacks hard as it collides with the exterior of your home. You can practically feel your father’s disappointment, but at twelve years old, you can’t be bothered to care.
Sukuna is leagues ahead in both archery and now reading with what little material Murata has been able to gather. He joins his guardian on small hunting trips held between only the two of them, while you’re left learning to weave with your mother.
You hate it.
You hate the household chores.
You hate the way you’re belittled for being a girl.
You hate the way you don’t get to read.
But most of all, you hate that the hobbies you’re meant to have are more or less chores too. Weaving, foraging, telling stories.
Why is it that you can’t stand alongside Sukuna and protect the village, too?
Now you can’t even read?
Trudging across the thick mud left behind by last night’s cold rain, you make your way to Murata’s, where you know Sukuna will be in the shadows nearby.
Things have changed since his recovery.
Your friend can rarely be found around others. He prefers to spend his time in solitude, save for your company and Murata’s teachings. He sticks to the shadows when he leaves, often guiding you through the field and far deeper than ever before into the woods to spend time with one another. He doesn’t sleep in his bed anymore, and you rarely see him return home for dinner either. His archery has improved enough that he can feed himself, keen eyes honing in on prey before you’ve even identified the possibility of it.
It’s a strange feeling to watch your friend excel in all the areas you wish to, while you’re taught to weave. The sensation of being left behind is stronger than ever these days, particularly when you find Sukuna leaning against the back of his home, knees bent as he studies the language strewn across a prayer scroll.
He doesn’t react upon your arrival, already keenly aware of your presence.
He looks bulkier these days, and while you know he did hit a growth spurt and has been training, you also see the awkward way he carries himself. It’s not so simple as outgrowing his own clothing, his robes are stuffed with hemp fabric. The severe nerve and muscle damage in his lower shoulders and arms causes them to sit wrong, no longer wrapped easily around his torso. The lack of feeling in the majority of both of them make it difficult for him to maneuver them, while one entirely lacks the strength to hold itself at such an angle altogether. He has to stuff his robes with fabric if he hopes to fake a semblance of normalcy.
You’re willing to bet it’s uncomfortable, but he never complains. He moves about his day like it’s just another fact of life.
But you see it, in the moments when midnight is a distant memory and the sun kisses the frost-bitten grasses. He’s tired. He’s angry.
He wants so badly to be normal.
When you plop down at his side, your shoulder brushing his arm, he lowers the scroll, his bottom eyes shut as he regards you with a contemplative frown. “Your father?”
“I hate that it’s predictable,” you grumble, pulling your knees to your chest as you rest your chin atop them.
He might have given you a wry laugh over that when you were younger. Instead, he’s quiet, blinking as he watches the way you eye the rain barrel to your left. He wonders if it’s subconscious, or if the pale remnants of a horrible day still staining the wood has drawn your attention. His throat tightens, shifting all four of his arms as his shoulders grow uncomfortable, but he can’t find a position that feels right.
“I’m practicing reading if you want to join,” he offers a distraction, holding the scroll out.
You turn your attention to his neutral gaze, unguarded as he only knows how to be around you. “My parents won’t teach me.”
One of his black-banded wrists that you never found answers for turns the scroll towards you, pointing out what he’s able to in an effort to explain its significance. Slowly but surely, you unwrap your arms from around your knees, pointing to different characters as you learn with Sukuna, who tilts his head at some of them. Still, as the sun begins to set over the horizon, you have the majority of the scroll memorized.
“Do you have any more?” You query, motioning to the paper.
He shakes his head. “No. The shrine keeper used to keep religious texts at the shrine, but they all burned up.”
You nod, but it’s a start that you’re thankful for regardless. Whether it’s the teenage rebellion your parents insist it is, or a denial of the world you were born into is yet to be determined, but you won’t let your father stop you.
Your gaze shifts to the left, staring at the stained rain barrel. Everything is only a termporary distraction when you subconsciously lean into your friend like he might disappear at any moment. Images of crimson deeper than his eyes stain every part of your brain until the question is unavoidable. “How are your arms?”
Sukuna’s hackles raise, his walls fortifying. “Fine.”
You know better than to expect more, but it’s frustrating nonetheless. You know his clothes are stuffed with additional materials to make the awkward way his arms sit less obvious. You were there when he first decided to do it, yet he still won’t talk to you about it as he remains carefully guarded.
He may shut you down quickly, but he doesn’t move away. The shared silence is one you welcome, in fact. Wheat stalks rustle in the wind, chill as winter quickly approaches. Snow feels imminent with the amount of frost that clings to the trees every morning.
“Ryo?”
“Mm?”
“Do you think someday we could really both be archers for an army?”
Sukuna raises a hand to push it back through his spiky pink hair, but he stops when the ball of his palm brushes the protruding cartilage of the right side of his face. The answer is plain as day, one of the many reasons that not only will Sukuna not be an archer for an army, but he won’t be anything to anyone someday.
“I think you could.” He fails to understand what could stop you. Your father’s word isn’t law, and although he’s now aware women aren’t commonly a part of any armies, it’s not impossible.
You’ve grown more keen over the years, no longer oblivious to Sukuna’s mistreatment, nor his own self-esteem issues. “What about you?”
His gaze flickers to you, although his head remains straightforward. It flicks back after a moment of stifling silence. “Maybe.”
He might agree, in some way or another, but the fact is that his tone and his body language give him away. He doesn’t believe there’s a place for him on the good side of history, doomed to be nothing more than the monster people make him out to be.
You catch his attention when you grab his upper shoulder, careful not to shake it too hard and disturb his still-healing wounds. “Don’t let Noboru get to you. He’s just mean because he can be.”
But Sukuna’s brow furrows now, his frustrations brought to light as you keep pushing for goodness in the world when he fails to find it anywhere but within you. You’re an exception, not a standard in this cruel world. “Stop,” he grumbles, shrugging you off his shoulder. “I know you want to think life is easy and things will work out because you want them to, but it’s not. It doesn’t work like that.”
“Come on Ryo, you can’t think like that. We can be better–”
“Noboru is the proof that things won’t get better!” He snarls, though the lilt to his voice is one of hurt and outward frustrations not necessarily directed at you. The reality of his situation is that he doesn’t get to leave any situation unscathed, while Imai’s boys don’t even get a slap on the wrist.
Life isn’t fair in ways you both have yet to comprehend, no matter how much you beg and cry for something to be done about Imai on Sukuna’s behalf.
Your brow tents as he lashes out and shifts away. His body twists awkwardly as he’s unable to hold his weak arm against his torso and it hangs at an angle that clearly bothers him. He huffs in frustration, rolling his upper shoulders and tugging the arm back into place.
“What if he isn’t?” You push up onto your knees as you face his retreating form.
“You can’t seriously think that Noboru is the different one here,” he deadpans, his lip curled into a phantom of a snarl.
“Saya and I–”
Something painful flickers in his eyes at the mention of your old friend. “Don’t bring her into this!” He pushes to his feet, glancing away as his jaw hangs open while he parses for words. “Just because one other person didn’t hate me–”
“What about Arai?” You interrupt with hopeful insistence, still seated on your knees with thumbs twiddling in your lap.
“Arai told me I would have been better off without my arms.”
Your shoulders drop at the revelation. You’ve spent much of your time at Sukuna’s side since that day, but you must have been asleep or gone when that took place. Your lips part in disbelief as you stare up at the vulnerable boy who refuses to look at you upon imparting that information.
“He’s wrong.”
Sukuna’s expression doesn’t change. The air that hangs around you isn’t without the tension of a hurt child, but you don’t let it stop you from providing comfort in the only way you’ve learned ever helps him. You push to your feet and envelop him in a hug. He stiffens, staring down at you with a stubborn frown.
“Don’t let them win,” you murmur into his chest, careful when you squeeze him not to jostle his wounds. “We’ll find our own way to be archers.”
He stares down at you, an intense frown curling his lips. He wants to believe you, he really does. The world just doesn’t have space for someone like him. His teeth grind as he lets the moment exist too long for your comfort without so much as a twitch of a finger.
“You’ll keep teaching me, right?”
There’s an anxious edge to your voice that crashes through his resolve. He shuts his eyes, swallowing hard as he shoves aside his doubts. He’ll make space in the world for himself, if it means sticking by your side.
“Yeah,” he agrees, his muscles loosening as he lets out a breath and envelops you in his upper arms. He leans down, not daring to leave the one good piece of his life with any doubts. You stay like that for a long time, clinging to one another like it’s all you have. “I promise.”
And it very well might be.
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➴ a/n ; thank you for reading <3 you might recognize some inspiration from hellboy b.p.r.d. 1948 and angel's origin in x-3 the last stand. unfortunately i see sukuna's situation as being vastly similar to theirs in many regards, as much as it pains me to put him through it.
as a note, please never be afraid to reach out to a crisis hotline if needed.
please continue to heed the warnings for the following chapter.
⚔︎ Chapter Ten: Copperhead
Pairing: Taehyung x Reader
Other Tags: Assassin!Taehyung, Assassin!Reader, Assassin!Jimin, Dad!Jimin, Assassin!Yoongi, Gang Leader!Yoongi, Assassin!Namjoon, Swordmaster!Hoseok, Chef!Hoseok, Pimp!Seokjin
Genre: Assassins! AU, Exes!AU, Lovers to Enemies, Action, Comedy, Suspense, Martial Arts, Drama, Thriller, Romance (if you squint), Heavy Angst, Violence, Age Gap, 18+ only
Word Count: 16.4k+
Summary: A former assassin awakens from a four-year coma after her ex-lover Taehyung tries to kill her on her wedding day. Driven by revenge for the loss of her unborn child and stolen life, she creates a hit list and embarks on a ruthless mission to take down everyone responsible.
Warnings: strong language, violence, murder, guns, fist fights, blood, body mutilation, violence against women, children, shit talking, threats of violence, knife fight, gun fight, anger, gore, fist fight, death in front of children, stalking, trauma, crying, emotional, double life, let me know if i missed anything...
A/N: Welcome back, Black Mamba.
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Y/N’s boots scraped against the cracked pavement as she made her way toward the house, each step sharp and deliberate, echoing faintly in the quiet afternoon air. The world around her seemed distant, children’s laughter from down the street, the low hum of traffic, a dog barking somewhere far away. All of it faded to a dull murmur, as though the world itself was holding its breath. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting in the truck before she finally got out. Time had stretched, melted. She’d stared at the house so long it stopped being a house and became something else, a monument to everything she’d lost, and everything she’d tried to forget.
A light breeze shifted, bringing with it the scent of wisteria and citrus, soft and sweet. The smell hit her like memory itself, uninvited and inescapable. It wrapped around her, dragging her back to a time she’d buried deep, a life that refused to stay gone no matter how far she’d run. The house stood before her exactly as it always had in her mind, unchanged, unmoved, stubbornly permanent. It had waited for her, and now that she was here, she wished it hadn’t.
Her fingers ached when she finally realized she was still gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white. She released it slowly, feeling blood return to her hands, her fingers stiff and cold. How long had she been frozen like that, trapped somewhere between past and present, watching the minutes crawl by as if through glass?
She didn’t know why she’d come. The drive had felt inevitable, a slow drift toward a place she’d sworn never to see again. Maybe she’d wanted closure. Maybe revenge. Maybe just proof that the past was real. But now that she stood here, she understood the truth, there was no going back. Whatever had pulled her here wouldn’t let her leave until it was done with her.
She started walking. The yard was the same, only older. A small red tricycle leaned on its side, one handlebar twisted at an odd angle. A beach ball lay deflated near the steps. A stuffed bear, missing an eye, sat slumped against the porch rail, its fur faded by sun and time. Every detail felt like a ghost of something pure that had been left to rot. These weren’t just toys, they were fragments of a life she had once been close to. A life that now felt obscene in its normalcy.
The mailbox read THE BELLS, the letters painted neatly in black. Through the front window, she could see picture frames lining the hallway. The light caught their glass, turning each one into a little mirror. She couldn’t see the faces clearly, but she knew them.
Jimin Park.
The name rose unbidden, heavy on her tongue. Her heart stuttered in her chest, a sharp, painful reminder that she wasn’t as hardened as she pretended to be. She could still remember him, his laugh, the warmth in his eyes when they were alone, the way he’d talked about his mother with quiet reverence. Before it all curdled. Before the betrayal. Before everything burned.
Her breath shook. She hated herself for feeling anything at all. Years of guilt and anger had settled in her bones like cement, and she’d carried that weight everywhere she went. She had told herself she was free of it. That she was over him. But standing here now, the truth hit her hard, some ghosts never stopped breathing.
The wind picked up, tugging at her hair, but she didn’t move. The house loomed over her, its soft pink paint peeling, the wood warped from rain and time. It looked harmless, but she knew better. It wasn’t a home, it was a tomb.
Her body moved before her mind caught up. Shoulders squared. Chin lifted. She started up the steps. Her pulse thundered in her ears, but it wasn’t fear anymore, it was something sharper, colder. Purpose. She’d run long enough.
The door was old, the paint chipped, the brass handle dulled by years of use. She didn’t bother to knock. This place had been waiting for her, and she could feel it in the air, thick and electric. She raised her hand, her fingers trembling, not from fear, but from the muscle memory of violence. The silver ring on her finger caught the light as she pressed the doorbell.
Ding-dong.
The sound echoed through the house, bright and ordinary, mocking her. Inside, she heard movement, a shuffle, a voice she knew too well.
“Coming!”
Her breath caught. The doorknob turned. The door opened a few inches, then wider.
“Sarah, I can’t believe you’re early—”
Jimin Park stood in the doorway, framed by the sunlight behind her. He looked older, the boyishness stripped from him, replaced by sharp edges and quiet control. The white shirt, the rolled sleeves, the calm confidence, he looked like every suburban husband in every good neighborhood. But she saw past it. The tension in his shoulders, the flicker in his eyes, the predator still lived there, just buried deeper.
For a second, neither of them moved. His eyes locked on hers, recognition flaring like a struck match. The breath left his chest, and his composure fractured, if only for a heartbeat.
Y/N didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The silence between them said everything. Years of unspoken words, of pain and betrayal, hung in the air so heavy it seemed to press the walls inward.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out. Whatever excuse or apology had formed in his head died before it reached his lips.
And in that small, suspended moment, she saw it, the flicker of memory in his eyes. The chapel. The blood. The laughter. His laughter. Her pain. The betrayal that had shattered everything. She saw him remember too.
Something inside her snapped.
Before Y/N even registered the decision, her body was already moving. The world narrowed, sounds warped, and time fractured into raw instinct. The door exploded inward as she slammed against it, the wood cracking under the force. They hit each other hard, two bodies colliding in a violent blur that sent them stumbling through the doorway. A lamp crashed to the floor, the bulb bursting in a spray of sparks and glass that scattered like shrapnel.
Her fist connected first, clean, hard, and deliberate. The sound of it meeting his jaw echoed through the house like thunder, deep and final. She didn’t think, didn’t feel. Every ounce of her rage, her grief, her years of silence poured into that single hit. Jimin staggered but caught himself, his face snapping back toward her, teeth clenched, eyes wide.
He shoved her, hard, but she didn’t give him space. She lunged again, driving him backward until his heel caught the edge of the coffee table. The wood split beneath their weight, the crash deafening. Splinters and shards shot across the room, littering the carpet like evidence of something that could never be undone.
Jimin’s elbow rammed into her ribs. Pain flared white-hot, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Her next punch landed squarely against his cheek, her knuckles screaming as bone met bone. He grunted, blood flying from his mouth. For the briefest moment, she saw the recognition in his eyes, he knew she wasn’t holding back.
Then he kicked her. The blow to her stomach was brutal, precise. Air rushed out of her lungs in a single, strangled gasp. She stumbled back, clutching her side as a side table tipped and crashed, scattering unopened mail and a ceramic dish that shattered on impact. The house, once tidy, domestic, was now unrecognizable, a war zone built on memories.
But she wasn’t done. Y/N surged forward, slamming into him again with everything she had. The two of them hit the bookshelf with a hollow, metallic groan. The frame buckled and gave way under their combined weight. Books poured down around them, heavy thuds filling the room as pages tore and spines cracked. Photographs followed, frames hitting the ground, glass splintering, faces of a happy life falling face-first into the dirt.
Among them, one photo slipped free and twirled through the air like a leaf caught in wind. When it hit the floor, Y/N saw it.
His mother.
Her throat tightened. That black-and-white photo, the one he used to keep folded in his wallet, worn at the corners from how often he touched it. She remembered sitting with him years ago, back when they’d both still believed in something. He’d shown it to her late one night, voice low, eyes glassy. “She was fifteen when the soldiers came,” he’d whispered. “She didn’t make it out.” He had cried then, quietly, and she had held that photo for him until the shaking stopped.
Now it was split clean down the middle, the glass cracked through her mother’s face.
But the moment passed as fast as it came. The fight didn’t wait. The bookshelf gave one last groan and collapsed completely, sending both of them to the ground in a cloud of dust and debris.
For a breath, there was only stillness.
Y/N’s chest heaved, her pulse pounding in her ears. Jimin was beside her, blood on his lip, a deep bruise already forming along his jaw. Her fingers curled instinctively, brushing against the jagged edge of broken glass. She raised her hand to strike again, but before she could move, Jimin’s head snapped forward. His forehead slammed into her knuckles. The crunch was sickening. Pain shot up her arm, but she bit it down, forcing herself to stay upright.
He staggered back first, stumbling toward the kitchen, his movements jerky but purposeful. Y/N wiped at the blood trickling from her nose, the metallic taste flooding her mouth. She knew that sound before she heard it, the scrape of metal on wood, the hiss of a drawer opening.
He was arming himself.
Jimin reappeared in the doorway, breath coming fast, a butcher knife gleaming in his hand. The blade caught the light, its edge bright and cold, the reflection slicing across his face. His grip was steady. His eyes were not.
Y/N’s pulse kicked up, though her expression stayed calm. She’d seen worse. She’d survived worse. Slowly, she slid her hand under her jacket. The familiar weight met her palm, solid and reassuring.
Click.
The sound of the lock disengaging was soft but carried through the room like a heartbeat. She drew her SOG knife from its sheath, the blade whispering as it came free. The metal shimmered faintly, balanced perfectly in her grip. She gave it a single spin, not to show off, but to feel its weight, to remind herself that she was still in control.
Across the wreckage, Jimin watched her. His shirt clung to him, damp with sweat, his breath shallow and uneven. He looked like a man at war with himself, part of him still trying to be the husband, the father, the man who fixed things around the house. The other part, the one she knew too well, was the trained killer. The one who didn’t hesitate.
They faced each other in the ruins of their past. Shattered glass glinted beneath their feet. Blood smeared across the floor. Dust hung thick in the air. Between them lay the broken photo of his mother, the woman’s eyes staring up through the crack as though watching what they’d become.
Neither spoke. The silence was its own language, one made of grief, anger, and the ghosts that refused to die.
Then Jimin’s lips parted, and his voice came out low and raw. “Come on, bitch.”
He lunged. The knife sliced through air, close enough for her to feel the rush of wind against her neck. She leaned back, fluid, her movements practiced and precise. He swung again, a wide, desperate arc. She stepped aside, blade held close, her breathing steady.
He was slower now. Softer. Too careful. She wasn’t. Y/N moved like a shadow, every motion born of muscle memory, every strike an echo of survival. She could see the doubt in his eyes now, the regret that dulled his edge. And in that instant, she knew she would win.
She took a step forward, ready to finish it.
And then a sound split the air. A long, drawn-out hiss. Not a scream. Not a strike. Not the clash of steel. Air brakes.
Both froze, the noise cutting through their fury like a blade. Their heads turned almost in unison toward the window.
Outside, a yellow school bus rumbled to a stop in front of the house, releasing a final hiss of steam. The doors folded open with a creak, and a small figure stepped out, sunlight catching her hair. Noelle. She was humming softly, her backpack bouncing against her shoulders as she started up the walkway, unaware of the blood and ruin waiting behind the door.
Jimin’s expression changed instantly. The fight drained from his face, replaced by sheer panic. His hand trembled around the knife. His gaze snapped to Y/N, and in it she saw something that wasn’t fear for himself, it was for her. For the girl.
Please. Not here.
He didn’t say it out loud, but he didn’t have to.
Y/N’s knife stayed raised for one long, motionless second. Then her eyes met his, and something shifted, not forgiveness, not mercy, just recognition. A line drawn silently between them.
She exhaled, slow and quiet.
Okay.
The front door swung open, spilling sunlight into the wrecked living room. The brightness cut through the chaos like a blade, casting gold across broken glass and upturned furniture. It wasn’t just light, it was innocence, raw and unguarded, invading a place that had forgotten what it felt like.
“Daddy, I’m home!”
The voice was small and pure, the kind that made your chest ache before you understood why. A child’s voice. Soft, high, full of trust. It didn’t belong here, not in this house thick with blood, dust, and silence.
Y/N froze. So did Jimin. It wasn’t fear that held them still; it was something heavier, like time itself had stopped to see what they’d do. The air shifted, the violence retreating to the corners of the room, hiding beneath the wreckage like a wounded thing.
Noelle stepped inside, her sneakers squeaking against the floor. Her pink overalls were smudged with dirt, the knees green from grass stains. A cartoon monkey smiled from her pocket, the thread frayed and worn. In one hand she carried a plastic lunchbox, fingers gripping it tight, knuckles white. Whatever was inside, stickers, pebbles, treasures only a child could see, she held it like it was everything.
She took a few steps forward, eyes wide. The room swallowed her small frame. Her gaze drifted from the shattered lamp to the cracked TV, the table split in two, the couch half off its legs. A picture frame dangled crooked on the wall, another lay shattered on the floor, the image inside torn through the middle.
Something caught her attention.
Y/N followed her eyes and felt her stomach knot. Among the debris, half a porcelain dish lay face-up, its surface painted with a woman in a hanbok. The woman’s face was cracked clean down the bridge of her nose, one painted eye still visible, calm and unblinking, the other lost in the shards.
Noelle clutched her lunchbox tighter. Her shoulders tensed. The box was her armor, her small defiance. She took another step, and the air thickened until it felt like the whole house might collapse under the weight of it.
“Daddy…” Her voice trembled, barely more than a whisper. “What happened to you? And the TV?”
The question landed like a stone dropped in still water. The ripples went out in every direction, touching everything. Y/N said nothing. Her knife hung loosely at her side now, no longer a threat, just a shadow in her hand.
Jimin’s breath came slow and deliberate. She saw the shift in him immediately, the way his shoulders straightened, the way his eyes softened just enough to fool anyone who didn’t know him. The transformation was seamless. His voice came out calm, even friendly, the kind of tone he must have used every morning over breakfast.
“Oh, that good-for-nothin’ dog of yours,” he said with a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Got into the living room and acted a damn fool, that’s what happened.”
Noelle blinked, studying him. Doubt flickered in her small face, quick but unmistakable. “Barney did this?” she asked quietly.
Y/N’s gaze slid toward Jimin. Her face gave nothing away, but her silence said enough.
Noelle took another step, and Y/N’s voice broke the stillness. “Baby,” she said softly, steady but firm, “you can’t come in here. There’s glass all over the floor. You’ll cut yourself.”
The girl froze mid-step, her toes curling just above a shard. Her head lifted toward Y/N. Their eyes met. For a moment, everything else fell away.
Y/N felt that stare like a hand pressed against her chest, curious, unguarded, almost too knowing. There was no fear in it. Just… understanding. The kind children weren’t supposed to have. Noelle’s gaze traveled lower, tracing the blood smeared at Y/N’s lip, the dirt along her jacket. She didn’t recoil. Didn’t look away.
She was just trying to make sense of it.
Jimin moved first. His voice cracked slightly, then smoothed into something too quick, too controlled. “This is an old friend of Daddy’s,” he said, smiling again, his tone overly bright. “Haven’t seen her in years.”
Y/N lowered herself slowly, her knees aching, her ribs burning with every breath. She crouched so she was at Noelle’s level, careful to hide the knife behind her leg. Her movements were deliberate, precise, the way someone moves when they know one wrong twitch can destroy everything.
“Hi, sweetie,” she said quietly. The words came gentle, but her tone carried something else underneath, age, exhaustion, the echo of loss. “I’m Y/N. What’s your name?”
Noelle didn’t answer. She just stared, her wide eyes flicking between Y/N and Jimin.
Jimin filled the silence too quickly. “Her name’s Noelle,” he said, almost like he was afraid Y/N might say it first.
Y/N nodded, repeating the name slowly. “Noelle,” she said, letting it settle. “That’s a beautiful name. For a beautiful girl.” She gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How old are you, Noelle?”
Still nothing. The silence pressed close again.
Jimin’s jaw flexed. “Ellie,” he coaxed softly, but there was tension creeping into his voice now. “Y/N asked you a question.”
Noelle’s eyes moved from Y/N to him. The change was subtle, but it was there, something in her gaze hardening, a flicker of quiet resistance. Then she spoke.
“I’m four.”
Y/N blinked. Her expression didn’t change much, but something in her eyes did, a flicker, quick and deep, like a memory striking a nerve. Jimin saw it. He always noticed.
“Four years old,” Y/N murmured, voice thin, distant. “You know… I once had a little girl.” Her throat tightened around the words, but she didn’t stop. “She’d be about your age now. Maybe you two could’ve played together.”
The silence that followed was unbearable. It wasn’t empty, it was thick with grief and anger and everything they’d never said.
Jimin swallowed hard. His hand twitched once, curling and uncurling at his side like he couldn’t decide whether to reach for her or for something that might still keep him grounded. “Now, baby,” he said finally, forcing a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Me and Y/N have some grown-up things to talk about, alright? Why don’t you go to your room until I come get you?”
Noelle didn’t move. Her brow furrowed, small and uncertain, but not afraid.
“Go on, Ellie.” His voice sharpened as the facade began to crack. He snapped his fingers, one short, crisp sound that broke the air between them. “Now.”
The word hung there, cold and final.
Noelle blinked, her shoulders dipping under the weight of something she didn’t understand. She nodded once, her lips pressed tight, and turned away. Her Mary Janes tapped softly against the floor, the steady rhythm of her small steps almost unbearable in the silence. The lunchbox at her side bumped against her leg with each step, the faded Disney princesses scratched and dulled by time. Their pastel smiles looked tired now, like they, too, had seen too much.
She picked her way through the wreckage with delicate precision, careful not to step on the glass. The crunch beneath her shoes sounded almost normal, but it wasn’t. It was the sound of a home quietly breaking. She passed her father without looking at him. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark. She passed Y/N too, taking in the smudges of dirt, the blood along her chin. But she didn’t ask. She didn’t speak. She just kept walking.
At her bedroom door, she turned the handle slowly and slipped inside. The click of the door closing was soft, but it hit like a gunshot.
The silence she left behind was heavy, suffocating. It pressed down on both of them. Y/N’s hand tightened on the knife, not to strike, not even in threat, but as if holding it kept her from unraveling. Jimin exhaled slowly, the sound hollow and low, a man coming undone without wanting to show it. The mask dropped from his face, leaving him exposed, tired, older, and somehow smaller.
They stood there in the aftermath, motionless. She held the weapon that had defined her life; he held the weight of every decision that had brought him here. They faced each other not as enemies or allies, but as two people bound by the same ruin. The fight was over, but the wound it left behind still bled quietly between them.
Neither spoke. The walls, the broken furniture, the shards of glass scattered across the floor, those were their words now.
Then, after what felt like a lifetime, Jimin finally broke the silence. His voice was quieter than she remembered, almost fragile. “Want some coffee?”
Y/N blinked. Her fingers loosened around the knife, the smallest shift. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Sure.”
He moved toward the kitchen, each step deliberate, slow. She followed a few seconds later, their movements muted and strangely domestic. He slid the butcher knife back into its drawer without hesitation, as if shelving a weapon after breakfast. She sheathed her own blade with a faint scrape of metal against leather, her hand steady even though her ribs still ached. Neither of them looked at the carnage behind them. They just walked away from it.
Outside, the faint jingle of an ice cream truck drifted through the open window, bright, tinny, too cheerful for the weight of the moment. The world, it seemed, kept moving forward, even when they couldn’t.
The kitchen greeted them like a photograph, tidy, framed, pretending at normalcy. Ceramic frogs smiled from the windowsill, each wearing a tiny hat. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and bleach. The table was clean, polished to a shine that belonged to a life carefully maintained. Bananas rested in a bowl on the counter, their skins freckled and sweet with age.
Y/N sat down at the table. The chair creaked under her, its sound too loud in the quiet. Her hands rested flat on the surface, fingers spread wide, as though she needed to feel something solid beneath them.
Jimin moved through the motions like a man performing muscle memory. Mug. Mug. Coffee. Pour. It was the same rhythm he had probably done every morning for years. The small, practiced motions of a man who had learned to keep living even when the past clawed at his back. He didn’t tremble. Didn’t speak. Just poured.
Y/N watched him. Her gaze wasn’t angry, it was distant, searching, full of something that might have once been love or pity or both. He looked so much like the boy she’d known, and yet nothing like him at all. That boy had laughed easily. He had trusted her. They had survived together once, side by side, in a world that never gave second chances.
Now they sat in the ruins of what came after.
He turned and met her eyes for the first time since Noelle had left the room. “Cream and sugar?”
“Both,” she said quietly.
He nodded, stirring the cups with careful precision. When he placed hers in front of her, the faint clink of porcelain against wood felt almost tender. She wrapped her hands around it, though the heat didn’t seem to reach her skin.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
The kitchen looked ordinary, but the air between them wasn’t. It was thick with ghosts, the kind that didn’t haunt through sound or sight, but through memory.
Y/N sipped her coffee. It was strong, too sweet, the way she used to take it. The taste sat heavy on her tongue. Across from her, Jimin leaned against the counter, his arms folded, his gaze fixed on her like he was waiting for something he didn’t know how to ask.
The silence between them said everything.
They were both pretending this was just coffee. But they knew better. This was a wake. A final ritual for everything they’d destroyed together, and for everything that was still left to lose.
“How’s Loretta?” Y/N asked at last. Her voice wasn’t curious; it was weary. The kind of question that comes from needing to fill silence, not from wanting an answer.
Jimin blinked, and something flickered behind his eyes, quick, small, but unmistakable. He recovered fast, too fast. “She’s fine. Works too much. You know how she is.” The words came out smooth, almost practiced, but the rhythm was wrong.
Of course he was lying. She could hear it in the spaces between the syllables, in the way he didn’t meet her gaze. He wouldn’t tell the truth, not here, not now.
And in the quiet that followed, the old voice inside her stirred again, that familiar whisper that never really left her. It spoke in the language of dossiers and aliases, the kind of details that stick when you’ve spent too long living in shadows.
This man’s name is Marcus Bell. Suburban homeowner. Pasadena, California. Married to Dr. Loretta Bell, pediatric oncologist. Two cars. Clean mortgage. Good credit. PTA volunteer. Lavender in the yard. Kombucha brewing on the counter.
A picture-perfect life. One built to hide what he used to be.
But she knew better. Once upon a time, this man had been Jimin Park. Code name: Copperhead. And once, before the lies, before Loretta, he had been hers, not the way Yoongi was hers, but in that rare, unspoken way survivors belong to each other. They’d lived side by side in Taehyung’s compound in Mexico, bound together by blood and secrets and the constant hum of danger.
Yoongi had been her storm, her lover, her reckoning. But Jimin, Jimin had been her mirror. The one who could look at her and see everything she tried to hide. The one who carried the weight of her darkness when she couldn’t.
She remembered pushing him toward Loretta during that job in Los Angeles. Teasing him. “Go on,” she’d said, grinning, nudging his shoulder. “She’s gonna love you. Maybe you’ll finally stop sleeping with a gun under your pillow.”
He’d blushed, back then. Smiled that rare smile of his, boyish and dangerous. And he’d gone. And she’d let him. Because she cared, too much, maybe.
And now, years later, here they sat across from each other, drinking coffee in a house that wasn’t his, pretending they hadn’t both ruined each other in ways that could never be undone.
Jimin’s mug sat on the counter, a cartoon owl fading from too many washes. Y/N’s was chipped along the rim, its glaze dulled by time. They looked like relics from two different lives that had collided and broken in the same place.
The room around them wore normalcy like a costume. Ceramic frogs grinned on the windowsill, their paint chipped. The fridge hummed softly, plastered with crayon drawings and magnets shaped like fruit. A stick-figure family smiled from one page, a crooked sun shining over their heads. The kind of scene meant to make the world believe that everything was fine.
But Y/N could feel it, the rot underneath.
She set her mug down gently, her fingers still warm from the ceramic. The heat didn’t reach her chest. The air between them was thick, almost tangible. It wasn’t intimacy. It was tension, sharp and waiting. The kind that comes before something breaks.
Jimin stared into his coffee like it might offer him an escape. His reflection shimmered faintly on the dark surface, warped and small.
“Were you expecting me?” Y/N asked. Her tone was even, quiet.
Jimin leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming a soft rhythm against the table. His gaze stayed low. “Yes and no,” he said finally. “Taehyung reached out after your… incident in Korea.”
Y/N didn’t react. That was Taehyung’s way of sanitizing things. To him, she was “unstable.” “Lethal.” Words that kept people at a distance. Words that stripped the truth of its humanity. He never understood her rage or her survival. He only documented it.
She said nothing, and the silence that followed was thick enough to drown in.
Jimin exhaled through his nose, a long, heavy sound. “So I guess it’s too late for an apology, huh?”
Y/N’s eyes lifted to meet his. Her face didn’t move, but the corners of her mouth shifted just slightly. “You suppose right.”
For a second, they just looked at each other. The kitchen dissolved, replaced by another room, another time. The chapel. The betrayal. The strike that had sent her to the floor. The way he had looked at her, half sorrow, half conviction, as if hurting her had been a necessity, not a choice. That look had followed her through every night since.
“Even if I meant it?” he asked softly. There was no armor left in his voice now. Just the raw scrape of a man stripped bare.
Y/N’s lips curved, but it wasn’t kindness. It was something colder, sharper. “Oh, I’m sure you do mean it,” she said.
The words hovered between them like smoke. Then she let them fall, her tone cutting through the stillness like a blade. “Now.”
The sound of that single word broke something in him. Jimin’s jaw tightened; his composure faltered. For the first time, his voice lost the polished calm he’d been holding onto. “Look, bitch,” he snapped, his tone cracking into something raw, desperate. “I just need to know if you’re gonna start any more shit around my baby girl.”
Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Her eyes narrowed, calm and deliberate, her focus so precise it made him flinch. “You can breathe,” she said finally, her voice quiet but heavy enough to fill the room. “I’m not going to kill you in front of your daughter.”
Jimin barked out a short, broken laugh, no humor, just release. “That’s more rational than Tae made you out to be.”
Her head tilted slightly. “That’s because Taehyung doesn’t know a goddamn thing about me,” she said flatly. “Never has. Never will.”
Y/N leaned forward, the light catching in her eyes, turning them to something dark and reflective. “It’s not rationality I lack,” she said, each word deliberate, crystalline. “It’s mercy. Compassion. Forgiveness.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Neither of them moved. The air between them pulsed with quiet danger, thick enough to taste. Y/N’s voice, when it came again, was soft, too soft. The kind of softness that carried more threat than a scream ever could.
“I’ll wait,” Y/N said, her tone calm but final. “For now. I’m giving you the dignity of choosing where and when we finish this. Somewhere far from Ellie. You’ll hear from me again.”
Jimin didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed, a subtle twitch that betrayed everything he was trying to contain. The silence between them stretched, the air too thick to breathe. He was still, but she could see it, the shift in his shoulders, the faint pulse in his temple, the way his hand trembled before he forced it still. She had always been able to read him, long before he learned to hide.
The clock on the wall ticked loud and steady, slicing through the quiet like a metronome marking time until someone broke. Y/N let it count a few more seconds before she spoke again.
“I could’ve just hit you,” she said, her voice level, unhurried. “But I didn’t. I expect respect for that.”
She leaned back slightly, her hands folding neatly on the table. The motion was smooth, deliberate, elegant even. But beneath it was the weight of danger, the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly how much power she carried just by sitting still.
“Since this isn’t a hit,” she continued, her tone sharpening into something precise, “consider it a duel. And as two former Deadly Vipers, we’ll observe Viper protocol.”
The words hung between them, heavy and sharp. A ghost from their past that neither of them had said aloud in years.
“One-on-one,” she said. Her gaze fixed on him, steady and unflinching. “No help. No buckwhacking. One weapon of choice.”
Jimin’s breath stuttered, a near-silent catch that betrayed him. His eyes dropped for a second before he forced them back up. When he finally exhaled, it came rough, like it hurt to let the air go. His face, once sharp, charming, invincible, looked older now. Softer in the wrong ways. Tired.
He whispered her name. “Y/N…”
But she cut him off before he could find the right words.
“I’m not done.”
Her voice sliced through the air, and he went still again. She leaned forward, the light catching the edge of her cheekbone, her expression unreadable.
“Failure to keep our date,” she said quietly, “or any kind of duplicity…” She paused, then leaned in closer until their faces were inches apart. Her next words came soft, almost intimate. “…will result in me putting a hollow-point into the back of your skull. From a window across the street from Ellie’s elementary school.”
The room went still. The words didn’t echo; they just sank, heavy and cold. There was no rage behind them, no fire, just precision. A statement of fact.
Then she smiled. It wasn’t warmth or cruelty, it was colder than both. It was the kind of smile that preceded violence, practiced and patient.
“XOXO,” she murmured, sweet as poison.
She leaned back again, her arms folding loosely across her chest. The stillness returned, but now it had weight. The kind of quiet that crushes everything in it. She didn’t look at him like a woman anymore. She looked at him like judgment.
Jimin swallowed hard, the sound rough and dry. He leaned forward, his forearms on the table, his face drawn and hollow. For the first time since she’d arrived, the facade was gone. What was left was a man stripped bare, regretful, cornered, exhausted.
“Look,” he said finally. His voice was hoarse, almost breaking. “I know I fucked you over. Bad. I betrayed you in a way that can’t be undone.”
He didn’t make excuses. Didn’t try to soften it. The words just fell, heavy and raw.
“I wish to God I hadn’t. But I did. And if I could go back, if I could somehow fix it, I would. I swear I would. But I can’t.”
His breath shuddered on the exhale. The strength in his voice faltered. His hand clenched into a fist and opened again, a man wrestling with his own ghosts.
“All I can tell you is…” he said quietly, “I’m not the man I was back then.”
Y/N’s face didn’t move. She didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator. When she finally spoke, her voice was flat. “I don’t care.”
The words hit harder than anything else could have. Jimin’s eyes flickered, the pain showing before he could hide it. He blinked rapidly, and when a tear finally escaped, he wiped it away with the back of his hand, quick and angry.
“Be that as it may,” he said, his voice cracking, “I know I don’t deserve mercy. Or forgiveness.” He hesitated, then forced himself to continue. “But I’m asking anyway. Not for me. For my daughter.”
Y/N’s voice came sharp and immediate, cutting him off before he could breathe. “Bitch, you can stop right there.”
He froze. His mouth hung open, the rest of his plea dying before it reached the air.
Y/N leaned forward, elbows on the table, her posture loose but lethal. She didn’t move like someone bluffing. She moved like someone who’d already made peace with what she was capable of.
Her eyes locked on his, steady and cold. The silence thickened again, pulsing between them. The hum of the fridge, the ticking of the clock, it all faded until there was only the sound of their breathing.
Her next words came slow, deliberate, each one cutting clean. “Just because I decided not to kill you in front of your daughter doesn’t mean using her name is going to buy you even a second of mercy.”
Jimin’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak. His pulse fluttered at his throat.
Y/N leaned in closer, so close he could feel her breath against his skin.
“You and I,” she whispered, her tone a low hiss, “have unfinished business. And not a single goddamn thing you’ve done in the last five years, including knocking up your wife, is going to change that.”
Her words didn’t rise or break. They flowed, cold and controlled, every syllable heavy with truth. Rage lived in them, yes, but deeper than that, something older. Betrayal left to rot too long, finally finding its voice.
Jimin had always known this moment would come. He had seen that look in her eyes before, years ago, in the days when chaos had been their currency and violence their second language. But this time was different. There was something colder about her now, something finished. She wasn’t just dangerous anymore. She was untouchable.
He swallowed hard, the sound too loud in the stillness of the kitchen. His throat worked once, twice, fighting against words that wouldn’t come. His hands rose slowly, palms up. It wasn’t surrender. It was caution, the movement of a man who understood exactly what sat across from him. A predator who’d once shared his table, his trust, his war.
“You have every right to want to get even”
“Wrong.”
The single word cut him in half. His eyes snapped to hers, startled, but she didn’t give him a chance to breathe. Her voice came low and precise, stripped of warmth, the voice of someone who had spent years perfecting the art of restraint.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Jimin.”
She stood, slow and deliberate. Even the air seemed to bend around her as she rose. The light from the window caught her in pieces, her outline dark and sharp against the fading orange glow. The shadows stretched long behind her, like something alive.
“To get even,” she said, her tone cold and measured, “I’d have to kill you. Then I’d go into Ellie’s room, slit her throat. And when Loretta came home from the hospital, I’d kiss her on the cheek and blow her brains out with her daughter’s blood still drying on my hands.”
Her words didn’t rise or shake. They dropped like stones into still water, slow, heavy, final. There was no fury in them, only clarity. The kind that comes from living too long with ghosts.
“That,” she said softly, “would be even.”
The silence that followed was unbearable. The room itself seemed to shrink around her voice. The hum of the refrigerator faltered, the clock ticked too loudly, and the world outside the window faded to nothing.
Y/N’s eyes flicked toward the hallway where Noelle had disappeared minutes before. The doorway stood empty, a dark mouth swallowing what little innocence the house had left. When she spoke again, her tone was almost tender, but that softness was sharper than a blade.
“But no,” she murmured. “That’s not how this ends. Not for me. And not for you.”
Her voice carried grief now, grief buried so deep it sounded like steel being bent.
“My unborn daughter…”
She stopped. The air held its breath. She didn’t need to finish the sentence. The weight of what she didn’t say filled every corner of the room.
“…she’ll just have to be satisfied with your death at her mother’s hands.”
The words landed like a verdict. The kitchen went cold. Even the air conditioner seemed to hesitate, the hum of the house dying into silence. The room became a tomb, two ghosts seated across from each other, the light slicing through the blinds in fractured bars. The last breath of the sunset painted them in orange and shadow, like the aftermath of a fire that had long since burned out.
Jimin stared at her, pinned to the moment. There wasn’t fear in his eyes yet, just understanding. Recognition. This wasn’t a surprise. Somewhere deep down, he had always known it would come to this. He had made his choices long ago, built a life from them, and now he was finally standing in the rubble.
It wasn’t surrender out of fear. It was surrender out of inevitability.
The man sitting before her wasn’t Marcus Bell anymore. The careful suburban mask had slipped away, leaving behind the ghost of Copperhead, the killer she had once trusted with her life. And across from him stood Black Mamba, unflinching, cold-eyed, and patient.
“When do we do this?” Jimin asked finally. His voice was low, raw, stripped of everything but truth. He didn’t look away. He didn’t beg. There was nothing left to protect. “When do we finish it?”
Y/N didn’t move. Her eyes never left his face. When she finally spoke, her tone was quiet, almost casual. The kind of voice people use when they’ve already made peace with the outcome.
“That depends,” she said. “When do you want to die? Tomorrow? The day after?” Her lips curved slightly, not a smile, but something like it. “That’s about as long as I’ll wait.”
The words hit him hard, not because they were cruel, but because they were certain. The end had already been decided; all that was left was the scheduling.
Jimin’s chest tightened, his breath catching as if the air had thickened around him. His hands curled into fists on the table, knuckles whitening with the effort to stay calm. The muscles in his forearms trembled. His jaw locked, the vein in his temple beating slow and hard, a countdown neither of them could stop now.
Something broke inside him, a wire snapping deep in the dark, the sound of restraint giving out. His last thread of patience unraveled all at once. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and sharp, the edge of a snarl undercut by something raw and trembling.
“How about tonight, bitch?” he said.
Y/N’s mouth twitched, just enough to bare the hint of a tooth. It wasn’t a smile, not really. It was colder than that, an acknowledgment of what was already written.
“Splendid,” she murmured, her voice slow and silken, every word stretched like wire about to snap. “Where?”
There was no hesitation. He already knew. He’d known from the moment she walked in. The plan had been forming behind his eyes the whole time, the same way old habits come back when you wish they wouldn’t.
“There’s a baseball diamond,” he said, his tone too calm. “Little league field. About a mile from here. Two-thirty in the morning. We wear black. You tie your hair up. We bring knives.”
He said it the way someone orders a drink, casual and detached, his voice too steady for what he was promising. The mask of Marcus Bell had cracked completely now, Copperhead had crawled out from underneath, stretching old muscles that had never really gone soft.
“We won’t be bothered,” he added.
Y/N didn’t react. She just watched him, quiet and still, as he moved through the kitchen like a man pretending the world hadn’t just ended. The contrast was almost absurd, the hum of the fridge, the faint ticking of the clock, and him reaching for a cabinet like any husband fixing breakfast before work.
His movements were careful, automatic. Open the door. Reach in. Find the bowl. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t speak. Just lifted a small plastic cereal bowl decorated with cartoon astronauts smiling against a sea of blue. The kind of thing a father picks without thinking.
“I have to fix Ellie’s cereal,” he said.
The words landed flat, small and final. He set the bowl on the counter. The sound of it touching down was soft, but in the quiet, it felt like a door closing.
Y/N’s eyes stayed on him, unblinking. Her coffee had gone cold, a thin film darkening on the surface, forgotten like everything else between them. Her fingers brushed against her jacket, feeling the hilt of her SOG knife beneath the fabric. She didn’t draw it. Not yet.
“Tae told me once,” she said finally, her voice low but clear, “that you were one of the best he ever saw with a blade.”
Jimin’s hand froze mid-motion. The tension in the air shifted, thickened. He didn’t turn to face her. His jaw twitched. Then he reached for another cabinet, pulling open a door lined with cereal boxes, bright colors, cartoon faces, fake cheer. He grabbed one with a red background and a grinning clown plastered across it: Kaboom!
He set it down with a hard thud.
“Fuck you,” he muttered, not looking at her. “He didn’t qualify that shit, and you know it. You can kiss my motherfucking ass, Black Mamba.”
His words were sharp, but there was no strength behind them. Just exhaustion wearing the mask of defiance. He tore open the box, the cardboard ripping like a scream in the quiet.
“Black Mamba…” he repeated, almost to himself. His laugh was bitter, hollow. “I should’ve been fucking Black Mamba.”
But his hand wasn’t after cereal. He reached deeper, past the sugary loops and garish colors, fingers brushing metal instead of cardboard.
Y/N tilted her head slightly, her voice soft but edged with something knowing. “Weapon of choice?” she asked. “If you’re still hung up on that butcher knife, I won’t stop you.”
His laugh came again, short, rough, broken. “Very funny, bitch,” he said, almost fondly. “Very funny.”
Then the world detonated.
The gunshot tore through the air, deafening and close, the flash bursting from the Kaboom! box like lightning from a storm cloud. The sound was enormous, violent, final. The bullet screamed across the kitchen, shredding the quiet into pieces.
Y/N didn’t think. Her body just moved. The mug in front of her shattered as the bullet hit, splattering cold coffee and ceramic shards across her face. She was already in motion, diving sideways, hitting the ground hard but rolling through it. Her ribs screamed, her shoulder burned, but she kept going.
Another shot cracked, splintering the tile where she’d just been. The air filled with the smell of gunpowder and burnt linoleum.
Jimin’s grin split across his face, wild, feral, unhinged. The pistol was in his hand now, gleaming faintly in the fractured light. His eyes were too bright, feverish, the look of a man who’d stopped pretending to be sane.
Y/N ducked under the table, her body fluid, automatic. She kicked out hard, sending the table crashing forward. The wooden edge slammed into his chest, pinning him against the counter with a heavy crack. Magnets fell from the fridge. A drawing of a stick-figure family fluttered to the floor, the paper smudged by grease and time.
Jimin grunted, the wind knocked out of him, but the gun stayed in his grip. His breath came ragged.
Y/N’s hand shot to her belt. Her fingers curled around the handle of the SOG. One clean pull, one breath, one motion, and the blade was free.
The sound it made cutting air was quiet, but it was enough.
The knife found him. The impact was dull and wet, followed by a gasp that tore through the air like a dying engine. His body seized. His legs buckled. He hit the ground hard, the gun clattering beside him.
For a second, everything was still. Then the blood came, dark and thick, spreading across his shirt, soaking the linoleum in slow, widening pools. His breaths came shallow and wet. He tried to speak, but nothing made it past his lips. His hand twitched, not toward the gun, not toward her, just out.
Y/N stepped closer, her movements measured, her face unreadable. Her pulse hammered, but her breath was steady. There was no triumph in her expression. No relief. Just quiet.
She crouched beside him, her knees bending with slow control, her shadow falling over his face. The knife dripped in her hand, the sound soft as rain.
Their eyes met, and for a single heartbeat the years between them disappeared. The world around them, the blood, the wreckage, the ghosts, fell away. They weren’t Black Mamba and Copperhead anymore. Not killers. Not enemies. Just two people who had once shared the same sky, the same dust, the same scars. She could almost see it again, the heat of the Mexican sun, the quiet evenings when they sat side by side, passing a bottle between them, trading laughter that never reached their eyes.
Now, staring down at him, Y/N could still see traces of the man he’d been, the one who had pulled her out of the dirt, who had made her laugh when she thought she never would again. It was all still there, just buried under time, lies, and the choices that had ruined them both.
Jimin’s lips moved, his eyes glassy, searching for her face. His breath came shallow and uneven, a wet rattle that made each word a struggle. “Sorry…” he rasped, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. “’Bout the bushwhack.”
His hand twitched, fingers scraping weakly against the tile. It wasn’t clear if it was an apology or surrender, or if he even knew the difference anymore.
“Please don’t…” His voice cracked. “Don’t…”
Y/N didn’t pull away. She reached down, taking his hand. Her grip was steady, firm, not gentle but not cruel either, just real. The kind of touch that existed when there was nothing left to say.
Her voice came low, almost a whisper, but weighted with grief. “Do to your daughter what you did to mine.”
Her fingers tightened once, final and sure. “I won’t.”
His chest rose once, then again. Then it stopped.
The stillness that followed was deafening. Jimin’s eyes stayed open, his face slackening into something almost peaceful. The man she’d known was gone, leaving behind only a hollow shape, a body cooling on the kitchen floor, surrounded by the fragments of the life he had built to hide from what he was. Copperhead was dead.
She stood over him, breathing slow, steady. It didn’t feel like victory. It didn’t even feel like closure. Just the quiet ache that came after too many goodbyes. He had mattered, and that made it worse.
The refrigerator hummed in the corner, oblivious. Its steady mechanical whir was the only sound, filling the silence with something too normal for the moment. The absurdity of it almost made her laugh. A machine humming along in a room that had just turned into a tomb.
Jimin’s death hadn’t come with the violence she’d expected, no cinematic final stand, no blaze of glory. It was a whisper. A slow, inevitable unraveling. The kind of death that didn’t burn but settled deep, dull and heavy.
He had been so many things to her once, comrade, shield, friend. The man who made her laugh when laughter was dangerous. The one who held her together when the rest of the world had fallen apart. And now he was just another ghost. Another body on the long road she’d been walking for years.
Y/N straightened. The leather of her coat creaked softly as she moved. Her fingers brushed the handle of her SOG knife, still slick with blood. She pulled it free, the sound of steel sliding from its sheath low and wet. It was the sound of endings.
She didn’t look away as she wiped the blade clean with the old white handkerchief she kept tucked inside her coat. The stitched initials, T.A.E., were faded now, the corner forever stained a dark brown. She dragged the cloth along the edge of the knife until it gleamed silver again, streaked faintly red in the weak kitchen light.
Grief stirred in her chest. Not the burning kind that had consumed her when Yoongi died, but something deeper, quieter, an ache that settled and stayed. The silence pressed down until it almost hurt. Then came the faint sound of porcelain shifting on tile, followed by a small creak.
Y/N turned, every muscle tightening.
In the doorway stood Noelle. Barefoot. Small. Wearing mismatched socks. She held a stuffed rabbit in her arms, its fur worn thin and patchy from years of love. Her eyes, dark, wide, and much too old, fixed on Y/N. She didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. She didn’t even look at her father’s body. Her gaze stayed locked on the woman standing over it.
Y/N’s chest constricted. She reached into her coat, pulling out the same handkerchief she’d just used. Her hands moved on instinct, slow and deliberate, wiping the last traces of blood from the blade.
Her voice, when it came, was rough and low. “It wasn’t my intention to do this in front of you.” She paused, her throat tight. “For that, I’m sorry.”
The knife slid back into its sheath with a click that echoed too loud in the quiet.
“But take my word for it,” she said, her tone flat and final. “Your father had it coming.”
Y/N stepped forward. The soles of her boots crushed ceramic and spilled cereal beneath them, the sounds small but sharp. Her shadow stretched across the floor and over the child, long and thin under the cold kitchen light.
Noelle didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Y/N stopped in front of her and knelt, the stiffness in her knees matching the weight in her chest. Up close, the girl’s face was heartbreakingly young. But her eyes, those eyes, belonged to someone who already knew too much about loss.
“When you grow up,” Y/N said softly, “if you still feel raw about it…” She held her gaze, steady and unflinching. “I’ll be waiting.”
Y/N stood again. Her legs felt heavier than before, her breath thick in her chest. She turned toward the side door, her hand closing around the handle. The metal was cold against her skin.
When she opened the door, the world outside hit her all at once. The air was too clean, too bright, as if it hadn’t just absorbed what had happened inside. The sky stretched wide and blue, perfectly untouched. Birds sang from somewhere unseen, their small voices cutting through the stillness like nothing in the world had changed. A sprinkler ticked down the block, its rhythm steady, mechanical, almost mocking. The scent of jasmine drifted on the breeze, sweet and alive, a cruel reminder that life went on, even here.
Y/N stepped out, boots landing heavy against the driveway, leaving faint smudges of blood in the dirt. Each step was slow, deliberate, as if she were testing the ground beneath her feet, making sure it still existed. She walked past a tricycle tipped on its side, one wheel bent, past a sun-bleached plastic dinosaur half-buried in the lawn. Ghosts of a normal life. A family. A home that had never really been hers.
Her truck sat where she’d left it, unapologetic, ridiculous, the same bright yellow beast she’d driven across deserts and through hell. Pussy Wagon blazed across the tailgate in garish pink cursive, still loud, still defiant. It was absurd and out of place in this quiet Pasadena street, yet it fit her perfectly. The sight of it stirred something bitter and familiar. She almost smiled. Almost.
Instead, she climbed into the cab. The heat inside wrapped around her immediately, pressing close, clinging to her skin. It smelled like sweat and leather, old smoke and oil, home, in its own way. She shut the door, the solid thunk echoing in the silence like a punctuation mark.
Her gaze dropped to the glove box. She reached out, opened it, and pulled out the battered spiral notebook resting inside. The edges were bent and worn soft from years of use. She didn’t need to look at the cover; she knew what it said.
DEATH LIST FIVE.
She flipped it open. The first few pages were filled with names. Some crossed out in thick black lines, others still waiting. She touched the first one, tracing the letters out of habit. She didn’t need to read it to remember. Snow, silence, Yoongi. The ache of his name lived somewhere deep, a wound that had never healed. She looked down the page.
Jimin Park – Copperhead.
Her chest tightened. For a moment, she just stared. The name looked harmless now, just ink on paper, but it carried the weight of an entire lifetime. The laughter they’d shared, the battles they’d fought, the betrayal that had broken them. He’d been a friend once. Then an enemy. And now, nothing. Just another line on a page.
She uncapped the black marker, the smell sharp and chemical. Her hand didn’t shake. The line she drew through his name was dark and final, slicing through years of history with a single stroke.
2. Jimin Park – Copperhead.
She sat there for a moment, staring at it. The silence inside the truck was thick, the only sound her own breathing and the faint tick of the cooling engine. Then she turned the key.
The engine roared to life, loud and alive, rattling the frame around her. It filled the emptiness with sound, vibrating through her chest like a heartbeat. She gripped the wheel, shifted into gear, and pressed the accelerator.
The truck rolled down the street, its tires scraping the pavement, engine growling in protest. The suburban world around her stayed eerily calm, rows of sleeping houses, neatly trimmed lawns, the faint flicker of TV light behind closed curtains. Pasadena slept peacefully, unaware that death had just passed through.
The last of the sun had bled away, leaving behind a bruised orange glow that lingered along the horizon. It painted the rooftops in fading warmth, a dying light over a perfect world. Sprinklers hissed, their arcs cutting silver lines through the air. She passed by manicured lawns, potted plants, fences wrapped in fairy lights, small illusions of safety that had nothing to do with the truth.
A child’s toy lay overturned in a driveway. A pink flamingo stood crooked in a patch of grass, its paint faded to a pale ghost of what it once was. Y/N’s jaw tightened. This world had no idea how fragile it was, how easily it could break.
Tomorrow, these people would wake up to their routines. They’d sip coffee, walk their dogs, wave to their neighbors. None of them would know what had happened a few doors down. None of them would ever know.
She passed the park, the one where the Little League diamond sat in its perfect square of green. For a heartbeat, she almost looked. Then she didn’t.
Somewhere behind her, an ice cream truck rolled through the neighborhood, its jingle light and cheerful, the kind of sound that used to mean summer. Children’s laughter drifted faintly through the open windows of her truck, carrying a note of innocence so pure it made her chest ache.
The Pussy Wagon thundered past, its ridiculous pink lettering glowing under the streetlights like a taunt. It was loud, crass, impossible to ignore, like her. The sound of it cutting through the quiet felt obscene, but it was real, and it was hers.
She glanced in the rearview mirror. The street behind her blurred into distance, the houses, the ice cream truck, the laughter. All of it fading, swallowed by the dark.
She pressed her foot down harder, the truck surging forward, engine rumbling deep and steady beneath her. The houses gave way to open road. Streetlights thinned until there were none. Pasadena fell away behind her, shrinking into the kind of memory she’d learned not to look back on.
The highway stretched ahead, long and empty. Somewhere down that road waited Hawthorne. Then Texas. Then Namjoon.
The night swallowed everything but the hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of her breath. The road ahead shimmered faintly in the heat, endless and open. She didn’t know what she’d find at the end of it. She only knew she had to keep driving.
Loretta sat alone in the small interview room, its walls a dull gray that seemed to close in the longer she stayed. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead filled the silence, mixing with the sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant that clung to everything. She could still smell it, Mark’s blood. It was dried into the fabric of her blouse, dark and stiff against her skin. She hadn’t changed. She couldn’t. The idea of washing it off felt like erasing him completely, as if letting go of the last trace of him that still existed on her.
Her hands rested in her lap, trembling so badly she pressed them together to make it stop. It didn’t. Her fingers felt foreign, her body hollowed out, as though she were watching all this from somewhere far away.
When she finally spoke, her voice came out thin and brittle, scraping against the quiet. “He must have been attacked,” she said. “Someone broke in. Someone who knew him. Or thought they did.” She swallowed hard, forcing the words through the dryness in her throat. “Mark must’ve tried to fight back. I didn’t even know he had a gun. He never told me. We didn’t keep one in the house, not with Noelle around. He wouldn’t.”
The detective across from her didn’t say anything, just watched her over folded hands. The silence pressed against her chest.
Loretta kept going, her thoughts tumbling faster now, trying to make sense of what refused to make sense. “He must’ve known something was wrong. Maybe he saw someone outside, or maybe he let them in, God, why would he let them in?” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she bit her lip to keep from breaking down again.
She covered her face with her hands for a moment, trying to steady herself. When she looked up again, her eyes were red, her skin pale and waxy under the harsh light. “Noelle said it was a man,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. “A tall man with a beard. She said he looked like he knew Mark, but she didn’t remember his name. Or his voice. Just that he looked… disappointed. Angry, but not like a stranger.”
The detective nodded slightly, jotting something down in his notebook. The scratching of his pen filled the silence.
“She said Mark told her to go upstairs. Told her I was coming home soon. That he needed to talk to the man.” Loretta’s words came slower now, careful, fragile. “She said she heard a gunshot. And when she came back down…” Her voice faltered. She took a long, shaky breath. “He was already on the floor. And the man was gone.”
The words hung in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating.
“She told them all of that,” Loretta went on softly. “They showed her pictures, everyone we know. Friends, coworkers, neighbors. Even the delivery drivers. She didn’t recognize any of them.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “None of them were the man she saw.”
She leaned back in the metal chair, her body sinking under the weight of exhaustion. Her gaze fixed on the cold surface of the table, the scratches in the steel forming lines that led nowhere. “I don’t understand,” she said finally. “Mark was good. He was kind. He’d give his coat to a stranger if they needed it. Who could hate him enough to do this? Who could walk into our home and…” She stopped herself, her voice breaking apart before the words could finish.
The detective’s pen stilled. He closed the notebook slowly, setting it aside. The sound of it hitting the table was small, but Loretta flinched.
The room felt smaller now, the air heavier. Every question felt like a blade turning in her chest.
Days blurred after that, endless interviews, police cars outside the house, neighbors whispering through fences. She barely ate. She barely slept. At night, she sat awake in Noelle’s room, her daughter’s small body curled up in bed beside her, trembling through restless dreams. Sometimes Noelle woke screaming, crying about the man with the beard, the man who looked at her father “like he was sad.”
Loretta would hold her until the sobs faded, brushing hair from her damp forehead, whispering, “It’s okay, baby. You’re safe now.” But she wasn’t sure she believed it.
And every time the girl spoke, something inside Loretta twisted. The details never changed, the tall man, the beard, the voice that sounded almost familiar, but deep down, Loretta knew. There was something off about the way Noelle told it, the way her eyes darted when she said his name.
Loretta never said it aloud, not even when the police pressed her. But the truth lingered in the back of her mind, cold and undeniable.
Her daughter was lying about who had really been in that house.
The air in the room felt thick, almost alive, like it had decided to stop breathing. Incense burned slow in the corner, the scent of green tea curling through the air, soft and calm, trying and failing to hide the darker undertone beneath it. Gun oil, steel, and something sharp enough to cut through the quiet. Outside, thunder rolled far off over the city, the kind of distant rumble that promised a storm was coming. Inside, the silence was heavier than any sound could be. Shadows flickered across the walls from the candlelight, stretching and twisting, never sitting still, as if the room itself was restless.
Taehyung sat in the center of it all, surrounded by weapons laid out with almost obsessive precision. Pistols. Blades. A rifle, half-cleaned. Every piece gleamed under the low light, their metal reflecting back his face in warped fragments. He worked with slow, steady hands, wiping down the slide of a pistol like he was handling something sacred. It wasn’t just maintenance. It was ritual. A kind of prayer for men like him, the only one that ever seemed to matter. The smell of sandalwood mixed with the metallic tang of oil and metal. Holy and profane, both at once.
Light filtered through the half-closed blinds, slicing across the room in narrow stripes. The shadows landed across Taehyung’s face like bars on a cell. He looked carved out of the dimness, calm, unreadable, the faintest flicker of movement in his eyes the only thing betraying thought.
“If Yoongi was the first,” he said quietly in Korean, his voice low and even, “then unless she’s playing games, Park Jimin is second.”
It wasn’t a guess. It was certainty, cold and absolute. The way he said it left no room for argument.
Across from him, Jungkook leaned against the wall, a dark shape half-swallowed by shadow. His arms were crossed, muscles tense beneath his shirt, the faint rhythm of his jaw moving as he chewed a piece of gum. Every snap of it broke the silence like a warning. He wasn’t fidgeting; it was control, tight deliberate control.
Taehyung kept talking, voice smooth, detached, almost thoughtful. “She and Yoongi were close. Closest. That’s why she started with him. Or maybe because he would’ve seen her coming. And if he had…” His voice trailed off, unfinished, but the implication hung heavy in the air.
He looked up then, eyes meeting Jungkook’s. They were calm, but not soft. Deep, black, unblinking. Eyes that had seen too much and didn’t bother pretending otherwise. “You don’t just walk into Yoongi’s territory and make it out alive,” he said finally. “Unless you’re willing to die for it.”
Jungkook didn’t move. Didn’t blink. The gum popped once between his teeth, a sharp, dry sound in the stillness. “Where is Park Jimin?” His voice was low, flat, stripped of anything human.
Taehyung tapped the butt of his knife against his knee twice, the sound a soft, steady rhythm that filled the space where words didn’t. He smiled faintly, a thin, dangerous thing that never reached his eyes. “Los Angeles,” he said. “Pasadena. But she won’t stay there. She never does. If she’s smart, and she is, she’ll be holed up near the airport. Somewhere cheap. Somewhere quiet. Hawthorne.”
The silence that followed stretched long enough to make the air hum. Even the storm outside seemed to hesitate, holding its breath.
Then, pop.
The gum snapped between Jungkook’s teeth, loud and clean, like the breaking of a bone. He grinned, slow and crooked, the kind of grin that didn’t reach his eyes. It was amusement, but it wasn’t joy. It was the thrill of something inevitable. “California, huh?” he said, the words lazy but his tone sharp enough to cut. “Guess it’s time to pay a visit.”
The grin lingered for a second, then faded. What replaced it was colder. Focused. Dangerous. He pushed off from the wall, his movements fluid, almost graceful, like a predator shifting from rest to motion. The floor creaked once under his boot, a quiet protest, and then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him with a soft, final sound.
Taehyung didn’t move. The incense burned lower, the smoke curling in lazy spirals. Somewhere outside, thunder rolled again.
The night air wrapped around Jungkook as he stepped out onto the street, heavy with the weight of rain that hadn’t yet fallen. The city was still awake; distant traffic murmured somewhere beyond the alleys, lights flickered against the damp pavement, but it all felt far away, muffled, as if the world was holding its breath. He pulled his phone from his pocket, the glow from the screen washing his face in cold blue light. One name stared back at him, Kiko.
He pressed call.
The line barely rang before her voice slid through, smooth and low, with a hint of static cutting through it. “Still breathing, huh?” she teased, her tone somewhere between affection and challenge.
Jungkook’s mouth curved into a slow smile, sharp at the edges. “You know me,” he said, his voice steady but roughened by something darker. “Got a job to finish.”
Kiko laughed softly, a sound like silk tearing. “You’re a monster, Kookie,” she purred, the nickname curling off her tongue like smoke. “But you’re my monster.” There was a pause, a flicker of silence that felt heavier than words. “What’s the plan?”
Jungkook’s eyes narrowed as he stared down the empty street, neon bleeding into puddles at his feet. “I’m heading to California,” he said. “She’s been running too long. This time, she won’t make it far.”
He didn’t have to say her name. Kiko already knew who he meant. His voice dropped, quieter now, raw at the edges. “She killed my brother, Kiko.” He swallowed hard, the ache in his throat barely contained. “He took care of me when no one else did. He’s the reason I’m still breathing. And now…” His breath caught, the sentence hanging unfinished. The silence after said everything.
Kiko’s voice returned, dark and velvety. “You know how I feel about revenge,” she murmured, her tone laced with pleasure. “You don’t need to ask twice. I’m in. Let’s make her disappear.”
Her words hit him like a spark thrown onto gasoline. That familiar rush, rage, grief, anticipation, pulsed through his veins, igniting something feral. Kiko was the only person who could match him, the only one who didn’t flinch when things got ugly. Together, they didn’t just survive the fire. They became it.
Jungkook exhaled slowly, his grin widening, sharp and wolfish. “Good,” he said, his voice low. “Book the flight. I’ll handle the rest.”
“I already am,” she replied, that dangerous playfulness threading through every syllable. He could hear her moving on the other end, the soft clatter of a keyboard, the click of a lighter. “You’ll have your seat by midnight.”
He stopped at the corner, watching headlights sweep past. His pulse thudded hard in his chest, a steady drumbeat of purpose. “Don’t take too long,” he warned. “She’s already moving. And I don’t plan on chasing her forever.”
Kiko chuckled, soft and dangerous. “Relax, my love. I wouldn’t keep you waiting.”
The line went dead.
Jungkook slid the phone back into his pocket and raised a hand to hail a cab. The city felt smaller now, shrinking around him as the first drops of rain began to fall. When the taxi pulled up, he climbed in without a word.
“Gimhae International,” he said. His voice was flat, unfeeling. The driver nodded, and the cab rolled away from the curb.
As the lights of the city blurred past the window, Jungkook leaned back, his reflection staring back at him in the glass, tired eyes, clenched jaw, the faint smirk of a man already halfway to war. This wasn’t a mission. It was something personal.
By the time he reached the airport, Kiko had already worked her magic. The ticket was waiting for him, a single seat on a midnight flight. No crowds. No questions. Just silence and distance.
He passed through the terminal like a ghost, the world around him a blur of polished tile and fluorescent light. The smell of disinfectant and fast food hung in the air. He grabbed something to eat, a burger, a handful of fries, but the taste didn’t land. He chewed out of habit, not hunger. His mind was already somewhere else, tracing old memories that hurt to touch.
When his phone buzzed again, Jungkook didn’t need to check the name. He lifted it to his ear, already knowing who it was. “Still with me?” Kiko’s voice was soft, teasing, the kind of tone that could disarm you if you weren’t careful.
“Always,” he murmured.
They talked for hours while he waited to board, their words flowing easily, aimlessly. Music. Old movies. Stupid memories from nights that blurred together in smoke and laughter. She made him laugh once, really laugh, an unguarded sound that startled him as much as it seemed to please her. It felt foreign, that kind of warmth, like something borrowed from another lifetime. Kiko never asked about his brother, or Yoongi, or the crew. She didn’t need to. She understood that some silences weren’t meant to be filled.
Their bond wasn’t born out of comfort. It was built in the wreckage, two people who knew what it meant to lose everything and still stand there, bleeding, daring the world to take more. They didn’t fix each other. They just didn’t flinch at what the other had become.
Kiko had seen him at his worst. She’d seen him drunk, furious, reckless. She’d cleaned the blood off the floor when things got out of hand, patched up his knuckles when he split them open against someone’s face. She’d watched him fall apart and hadn’t tried to stop him. She didn’t want to save him; she wanted to witness the fire. And maybe that was what made her dangerous. She didn’t see his destruction as a flaw. She saw it as art.
But this time was different. There wouldn’t be blood on their floor or broken glass in the sink. This wasn’t another night gone wrong. This was purpose. A hunt. And Kiko, in her own twisted way, loved him most when he had purpose. Revenge, after all, had always been her favorite kind of love story.
As the clock ticked closer to boarding time, neither of them mentioned it. The airport hummed around him, voices over loudspeakers, the shuffle of people, the clatter of rolling suitcases, but in his world, there was only her voice. The calm before everything went to hell.
When his boarding group was finally called, Kiko’s voice softened, a smile hidden somewhere in the words. “Bring me a souvenir, Kookie.”
He smirked faintly, sliding his phone into his jacket. “She’d like some pictures.”
He stood, adjusted his coat, and started toward the gate. Outside, the storm that had been threatening all night finally broke, rain streaking down the glass in long, slow lines. The engines of the waiting plane rumbled like distant thunder. Jungkook moved with quiet certainty, carrying nothing but ghosts and a promise that would not go unfulfilled.
In first class, he sat back, legs stretched, his posture loose in a way that suggested control rather than comfort. He didn’t belong to any particular class, not the polished elite or the lost souls in the back. He existed somewhere in between, in that strange gray place where rules blurred and morality didn’t apply. His clothes reflected it too: a layered polo that pretended at respectability, a soft gray V-neck that whispered of luxury but not pride. Faded jeans that clung like old regrets. And the white Converse, battered, frayed, stained in ways that couldn’t be explained without telling too much truth. Those shoes had been places that left marks deeper than the leather could show.
He looked like a man born into privilege who had decided one day to spit it out, to choke on the taste of it and trade it for something real. A man who’d seen his future paved and shining, and chose instead to burn it down just to see the smoke. The rebellion suited him. It clung to him like the faint scent of cologne on his skin, expensive, reckless, unrepentant.
When the plane touched down at LAX, the morning light hit him like a slap. California sunlight was different, too bright, too alive, like it was trying to burn away the night. Everything outside the window was drenched in gold, but not the kind that felt warm. It was harsh, raw, almost sickly, as if the world had turned up its brightness just to blind him.
Jungkook didn’t rush off the plane. He never rushed. His movements were slow, measured, like each step was choreographed. The crowd seemed to part around him without realizing it, pulled aside by something they couldn’t name. He didn’t glance around for directions or check his phone; he didn’t need to. He moved like a man who already knew the ending.
The air outside hit him thick and dry, the city already sweating under the sun. He found his way to the car lot in Van Nuys, a graveyard of forgotten machines baking in the heat. The asphalt cracked beneath his shoes, the air humming with the metallic scent of rust and gasoline. A salesman appeared, too tan and too eager, all grin and desperation. He started talking fast, torque, horsepower, fuel economy, but Jungkook wasn’t listening. His eyes were already locked on what he wanted.
Convertible. Red. The kind of red that didn’t ask for attention; it demanded it. It was bright, violent, unapologetic. The salesman followed his gaze, words faltering. Jungkook didn’t say a word. He just nodded once. That was enough.
Minutes later, the engine roared to life. The car fit him like it had been waiting, like it knew it was being chosen for something more than just a drive. He tore through the Hollywood Hills, the wind screaming past him, the sky cracking open with light. His laughter cut through it all, sharp, wild, untamed. It wasn’t happiness. It was release. The kind of sound that made the world pause for a moment to listen.
By the time he reached the city, his pulse was still racing. The adrenaline clung to him like sweat, thrumming in his veins. He wasn’t running from anything anymore. He was chasing. And for the first time in a long time, he felt alive.
Somewhere across the city, Kiko would be watching. Tracking flights, checking names, waiting for his signal. They were getting closer. Closer to her. The woman who had started it all. The one who had taken everything.
Jungkook didn’t rush to the hotel. There was no need. The day was still young, the air warm and restless, buzzing with that unmistakable Los Angeles energy, the kind that made everything feel just a little too alive. The city pulsed around him, loud and chaotic, but not in a way that bothered him. He had time to spare, and for once, nothing to chase. Not yet. There would be time for revenge later, but right now, he was content to just exist, to breathe the same air as strangers and let the city move him wherever it wanted.
The hotel was sleek and modern, all glass and chrome, sunlight flashing off the windows like knives. Inside, it smelled faintly of perfume and polished floors. He checked in without paying much attention to the lobby or the smiling receptionist. His thoughts were already outside, with the noise and motion waiting for him beyond the doors.
Upstairs, he dropped his bag on the bed and left it untouched. He wasn’t here to settle in. The room was just a place to leave things behind. He grabbed his Polaroid camera, an old, beat-up thing that hung comfortably from his shoulder, the strap worn smooth from years of use. He liked the immediacy of it, the way it captured moments without pretense. No filters, no edits. Just truth, frozen in time. Kiko would love that. She liked things raw, unpolished. The real kind of beautiful, the kind you couldn’t fake.
The thought of her made him smile, faintly, almost without realizing it. She’d laugh at the pictures he’d take, he knew that. She’d pin them to the wall or tuck them into a drawer, keeping pieces of him close in the way only she could. Maybe it would stop her from worrying so much. Maybe it would stop him from drinking so damn much when he got back.
Outside, the sunlight hit him hard. The city looked different up close, less glamorous than the postcards, more alive. Everything shimmered under the heat, a mix of glass and grit, the kind of beauty that came from being a little broken. The air tasted like smog and coffee and something sweet from a food truck down the block. He breathed it in and kept walking, no direction in mind.
He let the streets take him where they wanted. Past the billboards, the palm trees swaying too lazily for how fast the traffic moved, the endless lines of tourists craning their necks for something worth remembering. Jungkook didn’t bother with the usual sights. He aimed his camera at what most people ignored: graffiti tucked into alleyways, a cracked bus stop with someone’s story scribbled across it, an old man feeding pigeons beside a trash can. Click. The photos slid from the camera warm and faintly chemical, curling in the sunlight as they came to life.
He wandered farther, down Sunset, the light shifting as the day started to fold into evening. The sun had turned everything gold, that kind of burnished glow that made the world look softer than it really was. He stopped for a moment, leaning against a railing, camera in hand. He framed the skyline through the lens, the sprawl of buildings and power lines, the halo of sunlight just before it gave up to dusk. Click. Another snapshot, another quiet moment trapped in time.
For a second, he let himself forget. Forget why he was here. Forget what was coming. The city around him hummed with life, and he felt, strangely, at peace. But peace never lasted long. Not for him. The memory of Kiko’s voice, the plan that waited beyond this small pause, crept back in like smoke curling under a door.
He snapped one last photo of the sunset bleeding into the horizon, then slung the camera back over his shoulder. His fingers lingered on it for a moment, gripping the worn leather strap like it was an anchor.
By the time he turned toward the street again, the city had changed. The heat of the day had given way to something cooler, but no less alive. Streetlights flickered on, the smell of food and exhaust filling the air. He passed a small market, the sound of sizzling oil and laughter spilling out from behind open stalls. He caught the scent of roasting meat, the sweetness of grilled onions, the spice of something fried and heavy. It hit him all at once, the hunger, the noise, the motion. This city was a living thing, all pulse and rhythm, and for once, he didn’t mind being swallowed by it.
He lifted the camera again, snapping a picture of a street vendor laughing with a customer, of a couple walking close together, their fingers brushing, of a stray dog weaving through the crowd. The couple’s photo developed in his hand, the colors blooming slowly. The girl’s head was tilted back mid-laugh, the guy looking at her like the rest of the world had gone quiet. Jungkook stared at it for a moment longer than he should have.
Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe it was nostalgia. Or maybe it was just the quiet recognition that moments like that, real and fleeting, didn’t last in cities like this.
He slipped the photo into his pocket and kept walking, disappearing into the crowd as the last light of day gave way to night.
Jungkook’s pace slowed as he weaved through the crowd, watching people move around him like a living current. Everyone was chasing something here, fame, love, redemption, maybe just survival. The air itself seemed charged with want, thick with dreams both dying and newly born. It was the kind of city that promised everything and delivered only to a few. He wondered, absently, how many of these people would still be here in a year. How many would disappear without anyone noticing.
His hand brushed the worn leather of his jacket, grounding him. A reminder of where he came from, of what he’d left behind. The scent of grilled corn and roasted peanuts caught his attention, rich and smoky. He stopped at a street vendor, handed over a few bills, and bit into the corn, its sweetness cutting through the heat of the day. Around him, Los Angeles moved with a rhythm that felt almost alive, car horns, laughter, music bleeding from open windows. Tourists wandered by with cameras and wide eyes; locals passed them with practiced indifference. And above it all, rising from the hills like a mirage, the Hollywood sign watched over them.
Even from this distance, it was impossible to ignore. The sun hit it just right, making the white letters gleam like something divine. To most, it was a symbol of arrival. Of success. But to Jungkook, it looked more like a warning, something bright and hollow that stood too high above everything else. He felt it tug at him anyway, that strange pull of curiosity or defiance. Maybe both. The thought came without meaning to: Come see for yourself. See what it’s really made of.
He hadn’t planned to go, but plans had never meant much to him. So he started walking.
The further he got from the city center, the thinner the crowds became. The noise softened, fading into the hum of distant traffic and the steady sound of his boots on pavement. The air shifted too, cooler, sharper as he climbed. Buildings gave way to winding roads and low hills, the asphalt bending in long, lazy curves that seemed to lead nowhere and everywhere at once. For a moment, it almost felt cinematic, the way the late afternoon sun painted everything gold.
He caught himself smiling at the thought. Visiting the Hollywood sign, it was cliché. Almost laughably so. But there was something right about it. Like closing a loop he didn’t realize had been open. He wanted to stand there, to look out over the city and know he had seen it with his own eyes. Not as a tourist, not as an outsider, but as someone who had earned the right to be here.
The road stretched on, the sun dipping lower, shadows growing longer across the hills. He lifted his camera, snapping a photo of the narrow trail ahead. The picture whirred softly, sliding out into his hand, the colors slowly bleeding to life as he kept walking. The rhythm of his steps settled into something meditative, the climb pulling him into a quiet trance.
Each step closer to the sign felt heavier, as if he was moving through layers of meaning, ambition, failure, decay. The city’s noise had fallen away entirely now, replaced by the whisper of wind and the faint rustle of dry grass. The letters loomed ahead, bright and pale against the darkening sky. From a distance, they had seemed flawless. Up close, they were anything but. The paint was chipped, the metal rusted in places. Time had left its mark.
Jungkook stopped a few feet from the base of the first letter, tilting his head back to take it all in. The sign was massive, almost absurdly so. A monument to everything people chased and everything they lost in the process. He snapped a photo, the camera clicking in the quiet like a heartbeat. The film developed slowly in his hands, the image ghostly at first, then clearer, a perfect symbol of what the city really was: beautiful, broken, and trying too hard to stay relevant.
The closer he looked, the more he saw it for what it was, a relic. Not of hope, but of the cost of wanting too much. To most, the sign was a promise. To him, it looked like a tombstone. A grave marker for dreams that had burned too bright and died too fast. He could almost hear them, those echoes of ambition and desperation that lingered in the dry wind.
He stood there for a long moment, hand stuffed in his pocket, eyes tracing the jagged edges of the letters. His mouth curved, not a smile, exactly, but something close to it. A smirk, maybe. The kind that carried more understanding than amusement. For the tourists below, snapping selfies and pretending they were close enough to touch it, this place was sacred. But for Jungkook, it was proof of everything he already knew: that fame rots, beauty fades, and every light eventually burns out.
The sun slipped lower, the sky turning the color of blood and smoke. He lifted his camera one last time, framing the sign against the dying light, and pressed the shutter. The click echoed softly in the stillness. He didn’t watch the photo develop. He just slipped it into his pocket, where it joined the others.
That one wasn’t for him. It was for Kiko.
Jungkook stood outside Grauman’s Chinese Theatre with an oversized cowboy hat balanced crookedly on his head, the brim too wide, the crown slouched like it had given up halfway through the day. It looked ridiculous on him, but he wore it like it mattered, like it was armor instead of cheap felt bought off a street vendor. Maybe it was. He’d bargained for it, flashed that easy grin of his until the vendor dropped the price, and now it was his. A souvenir. A joke. A small claim on a city that didn’t belong to anyone.
He crouched beside the faded handprints of Roy Rogers, spreading his fingers wide over the old cement, pretending to measure the space like it was something worth comparing. Someone nearby laughed and raised a phone, and Jungkook turned toward them, grinning for the picture, tossing up two finger guns in a playful, exaggerated pose. For a heartbeat, he looked like he belonged there, just another tourist chasing ghosts down Hollywood Boulevard. But the glint in his eyes said otherwise.
The tourists loved it. They always did. The swagger, the grin, the effortlessness that came from years of knowing exactly what people wanted to see. They didn’t know him, didn’t recognize the edge under the smile, and that was fine. He wasn’t performing for them. Not really. But it was amusing, watching them believe in the version of him they wanted to photograph.
He made his rounds like he was following a script. Posing for another picture beside a forgotten actor whose glory days were long behind them. The man’s smile was strained, the kind of expression polished by years of trying too hard. Jungkook slung an arm around his shoulder anyway, laughing like they were old friends, two veterans swapping stories about battles fought under brighter lights. The cameras flashed. Jungkook tilted his chin just slightly, eyes half-lidded, all practiced ease and subtle detachment. To anyone watching, it looked spontaneous. To him, it was precision. Every movement, every smirk, a calculated note in the larger composition he was writing.
When he drifted behind the velvet ropes at a movie premiere, he blended in without effort but somehow still drew the eye. His suit wasn’t the sharpest, but it didn’t need to be. He carried himself like he owned the space, or like he was there to steal it. The red carpet shimmered under the flash of cameras, all those perfect smiles and gleaming faces. Jungkook’s smile cut through them, quieter but more dangerous. The photographers didn’t know who he was, but they snapped his picture anyway, pulled by that spark that couldn’t be faked. It didn’t matter that no one asked for his name. They would, eventually.
The night bled into chaos, lights, noise, music that felt too loud and too empty. Somehow, between it all, he ended up strapped into a roller coaster, metal bars locking him in place as the machine lurched forward. He didn’t remember buying a ticket. Maybe he hadn’t. The climb was slow, the city sprawling below him in a sea of neon and smog. When the drop came, he threw his hands into the air, not in joy but defiance. The wind tore at his face, but he grinned through it, teeth flashing like a dare. The camera caught him mid-fall, laughing, unflinching, the perfect image of someone who didn’t care if the ground ever came.
Disneyland came after, bright and hollow, the smell of sugar and nostalgia thick in the air. A plastic dream made real, polished to perfection. Jungkook knelt beside Captain Hook for a photo, one knee bent, the camera dangling from his wrist. His eyes moved constantly, over the crowd, the exits, the angles. He didn’t believe in magic anymore. The rides, the music, the forced smiles, they were all part of the same illusion. He smiled for another picture, this time with Chip and Dale, his arms draped across their oversized costumes. The grin on his face looked convincing enough, but his eyes were ice. Empty. Detached. It wasn’t joy he felt, it was observation.
He watched people move, studied them without really meaning to. Parents wrangling kids, couples holding hands, teenagers pretending not to care. Every one of them caught up in the show, and none of them seeing what was underneath it. Jungkook saw it all, the cracks in the paint, the exhaustion behind the laughter, the desperation in the way people clung to happiness. He wasn’t here for the spectacle. He was here for the pattern. For the architecture of it all.
If someone asked, they’d call it sightseeing. He could even play along, pose for a few pictures, wear the wristbands, buy the shirts. But beneath the surface, he was taking notes. Each flash of the camera, each practiced smile, each place he lingered, they weren’t souvenirs. They were coordinates. Markers. The city was a puzzle, and he was mapping it piece by piece.
By the time he got back to his hotel, the day’s weight sat heavy in his chest. The room was dim, the neon outside spilling in through the window. He tossed the cowboy hat onto the bed, watching it land upside down like a punchline. For a moment, it almost made him laugh. Almost.
He sank onto the edge of the bed, kicked off his shoes, and pulled out his phone, a battered old Nokia, scratched and unremarkable, but reliable. The screen blinked to life, and there it was: Kiko’s name. One new message.
BM otw 2 LA.
He stared at the words for a long moment, the letters settling in his gut like stones. It wasn’t a surprise; he’d known it was coming, but reading it made the air in the room shift. The game was moving forward now. He typed back two quick words:
Thx <3
Then he set the phone down beside him and leaned back, staring at the ceiling as the city’s hum pressed against the windows. Somewhere out there, people were still chasing stars. Laughing, drinking, believing in something that didn’t exist. He could hear it faintly, the echo of their dreams.
But Jungkook wasn’t chasing anymore. The time for pretending was over. The city wasn’t a playground. It was a stage.
And soon enough, Black Mamba would walk right into the spotlight.
Your heart and mind seek him for reasons no words could describe — an irony not lost on you, a writer, a weaver of words. And yet, when it comes to him, even you fail to stitch together the language to explain his existence in your life.
⊹₊ wc; 13.2k
Nobleman!Choi Beomgyu x Noblewoman!afab!reader
chapter tags: regency-inspired setting with loosely adapted historical accuracy, heavy slowburn continues, mutual pining reaching concerning levels, they should not be trusted in confined spaces together, forced proximity done wrong in all the right ways, beomgyu is one step away from losing his entire composure (and dignity), taehyun continues to ruin everyone’s peace unintentionally, suggestive tension through proximity and touch (nothing explicit but deeply charged)
warnings: overheard conversation about a young woman’s passing, mc inadvertently (and very much willingly) intercepting information tied to an ongoing investigation
i had to cut the chapter in half because it was becoming far too lengthy WAHAHAHAH i love this chapter a lot btw because i got to torture lord choi <//3 it is proofread but there might still be some errors!
i also wanna thank @yvampyr for motivating me to publish another chapter through her constant praises of this series ily yvro
Story ml .☘︎ ݁˖ Previous chapter .☘︎ ݁˖ Next chapter
The ton often mistakes affection for possession. How unfortunate.
For there exists a far rarer form of devotion, one that asks for nothing and seeks no acclaim. It simply delights in seeing another smile and, having achieved such a feat, considers itself richly rewarded.
This author wonders how many hearts have been lost to that particular vice.
The golden ribbon of dawn had just begun its ascent across the horizon.
Your adrenaline coursed with conspicuous vigour. It had been some time since your blood had carried such brightness through your veins. The act itself was no novelty. You had long since grown adept at slipping beyond the eyes of the aristocrats and at dissolving into thoroughfares where lineage commanded little notice. You had done so countless times.
This morning, however, differed in one irreducible particular. This time, you were not alone.
In what had once been your private and faintly scandalous indulgence, there would now be Choi Beomgyu’s presence.
You found yourself pondering how his hand would feel if it closed around yours to steer through a crowded crossing. To traverse markets and narrow lanes beside him unencumbered by titles and unobserved by matrons introduced an element that painted the undertaking brighter.
It felt perilous in ways that had little to do with discovery because this no longer resembled an excursion between like-minded allies. It felt nearer to flight — a departure into a world you would not mind remaining in, so long as he stood within it.
“You have been smiling since you opened your eyes,” Maya mused, separating the strands of your hair with nimble fingers before weaving them into a single braid. “It is most distracting.”
You lowered your eyes at that, attempting severity and failing to maintain it. “Must you always chaff me?”
“I say it because it is true,” she replied. “You carry your thoughts so heavily most days. This morning, you do not. I would keep this version of you, if I could.”
Warmth crept higher along your cheeks, unassisted by powder or paint. It appeared so thoroughly that it could fool anyone into assuming you had done some touch up.
“Perhaps I have grown soft,” you said quietly. You folded your hands in your lap, then unfolded them again. “It is not foolish, I hope?”
“Foolish?” Maya stepped around you and lifted your chin, studying your face with open affection. “No, my lady. It is human.”
You allowed a small smile. Maya returned it to you brightly. She returned to secure the braid at the nape of your neck and coiled it into a modest knot, fastening the final pin.
“There! Entirely unremarkable. Which, for once, is precisely the aim,” she beamed.
You rose and adjusted the bodice, drawing the laces taut and tying them. The fabric lay plain against you; no ornament distracted from the simplicity of the attire for the obvious part. You regarded your reflection only briefly before your gaze fell again.
“Maya.”
“Yes, my lady?”
It was a bit ironic how you — a weaver of words — failed to weave the very words upon your tongue when it came to Beomgyu. Your delayed attempt at speech formation did not go unnoticed by her. Instead of urging you, Maya waited.
You took a deep breath, then let it out. “I have always walked alone in these paths of mine. I have never had anyone take a genuine interest in the pursuits that occupy my mind, nor have I encountered one who regards the world as I do.” — but in the end, words did end up flowing naturally, and talking about him always brings upon a real smile on your lips.
Maya’s features softened. She took your hands before you could withdraw them and enclosed them within her own. “What troubles you?” she asked.
“I find that I want him there,” you confessed. When you lifted your eyes, hesitation tempered your expression. “More than I should, perhaps. Is it wrong to desire his company so much?”
Maya exhaled fondly. She rubbed her thumbs across your knuckles, as though warming them from cold. “My lady, there is no fault in wanting the presence of someone who makes your heart lighter,” she answered, giving your hands a gentle squeeze.
“I know,” you whispered.
“You have denied yourself companionship for long enough. You may keep a little joy for your own sake,” she continued, adjusting the fall of your shawl over your shoulders. “Go to him. See what becomes of it.”
They were mere words, but the brightness in your heart turned incandescent with joy upon hearing them. You rose from the chair and drew her into an embrace. Her hands pressed warmly against your back. The contact steadied your breathing.
“I shall be back soon,” you murmured near her ear, tightening your hold for a brief moment before stepping back.
“You shall return content,” she replied, patting your arm once and releasing you. “And you shall tell me whether he proved worthy of that smile.”
Beyond the window, dawn had grown brighter; the estate would soon stir in earnest. You turned toward the door and carried that warmth with you.
The old butler, Mr. Austen had long ceased to be merely a servant within the household; he occupied a station closer to stewardship. Beyond Maya, there existed no other soul to whom you entrusted your more unconventional enterprises.
It was he who had priorly secured a carriage — which was not one of yours or bore a crest that might betray affiliation. He had given an impression to the hired coachman that one of the attendants required conveyance to the church situated at the far end of town. The explanation met with no skepticism.
When the appointed hour arrived, you descended the side staircase with your bonnet drawn low to obscure the greater part of your face. Mr. Austen assisted you into the carriage with care that bordered upon paternal instinct. Throughout the journey, no passerby gave the carriage a second glance. To them, it bore the insignificance of countless others that traversed the thoroughfare each day.
By the time the church spire came into view beyond the clustered rooftops, your passage had been accomplished without incident. The carriage drew to a halt near the back wall, removed from the main square where foot traffic gathered in scarce number. Mr. Austen descended first, then turned to offer his hand once more.
You accepted it and stepped down upon the cobbled ground, lifting your skirts to avoid the damp between the stones. Once clear of the carriage, you reached up and adjusted your bonnet, ensuring it cast sufficient shadow across your features.
“Mr. Austen,” you said warmly, “I ought to thank you more properly. You always assist me, even when my requests are troublesome.”
He regarded you from beneath brows that had grown more expressive with age. “If I complained every time you made life difficult, I should have no breath left for anything else.”
You startled into a laugh. “So you admit I am troublesome!”
Mr. Austen’s smile was concealed under this grey mustache, but the crinkles around his eyes were an evident of it. It in return lifted the apples of your cheeks.
“I jest,” he said. “Though I must admit with pride that you have inherited both your parent’s resolve for greater pursuits.”
You tilted your head and allowed a hint of levity to enter your voice. “I keep wondering how you have not grown weary of me, or insisted to betray my secrets in the interest of your own tranquillity.”
At this, he exhaled through his nose and removed one glove, lifting his hand to rest briefly upon your head. The gesture was gentle.
“Betray you?” he said, lowering his voice in a parental rebuking tone. “I have served this household since before you could form a sentence. I carried you through those corridors when you could not walk. I have bandaged your knees and hidden your broken teacups. Do you suppose I would begin betraying you now?”
“When you list it so plainly, I sound incorrigible.” Your smile softened.
“You were an energetic child,” he corrected, drawing his glove back on. “You are now an energetic young lady. I know your mind. I know when you act with purpose.”
You lowered your gaze. “Even so, I must try your patience.”
“You try nothing of the sort,” he answered. His gaze moved past you toward the narrow street that curved away from the church. “Take care while you are out there. Keep to the streets we discussed and return by the hour agreed upon.”
“I shall.” You inclined your head in acknowledgment.
He stepped back to allow you passage toward the entrance, yet his eyes remained upon you until you reached the shelter of the stone archway. Only then did he withdraw to the carriage.
No passerby occupied the lane that led to the churchyard at this hour. The structure had endured many seasons without devoted care; ivy gripped the outer stonework, and long green climbers wound their way along cracked mortar and weathered arches. Moss had gathered between the flagstones of the path.
You crossed the yard with brisk steps, gathering the edge of your skirt so it would not brush the damp growth along the wall. The wooden gate yielded beneath your hands with a subdued groan. You slipped inside and drew it back into place behind you, the iron latch settling with a hollow echo that traversed through the small vestibule.
The church received you in tempered light. Tall windows of stained glass admitted slender shafts of colour that descended across the rows of aged pews and wandered over the stone floor. Dust stirred faintly in the air where the sunlight touched it.
The hush within bore the solemnity of a place accustomed to confessions declared with trembling breaths and parting words spoken with tearful eyes. A sanctuary for lovers brought together by fate and here, beneath these very windows, they had stood hand in hand to bind their futures together before witness and blessing.
Within that broad expanse, he sat several rows ahead with a book in his hands. The stillness surrounding him gave the impression that he had been waiting for some time. You hadn’t taken three steps before he turned his head.
His gaze found you.
It was a wonder he did not drop the book, or how he had managed to preserve even the outward appearance of a gentleman. Nearly every rational thought had abandoned him, leaving only a tumult of sensation that defied decorum.
He could not reconcile the image before him with the world he occupied. There existed no refinement of language that could render you into adequate description within his mind. It was a theft from fortune itself that he should be granted this sight of you — heaven sent — in a place that had borne vows of eternity.
How undeserving he was, and yet how impossibly fortunate, to know you at all. To have encountered you in this lifetime was a miracle he could scarcely bear to acknowledge without trembling. He, who had done nothing to earn such grace, found himself granted it all the same.
He pressed the book shut with his thumb and set it aside upon the bench without once glancing away. Rising soon after, he remained where he stood and did not dare step forward to meet you. Any further claim upon your presence might verge upon excess.
The path you walked on had seen brides being led forward beneath veils.
You reached up and untied the ribbons beneath your chin, slipping the bonnet free and lowering it to your side. Filtered sunlight brushed across your features; you were unaware of the devastation your simple gesture wrought upon the man who watched.
With no witness but the silent church and its ancient walls, Choi Beomgyu found himself wholly, helplessly, and madly in awe of you.
Meanwhile, each step along the aisle was taken with a steadiness that belied the faint quickening beneath your ribs. Once standing before him, your lips parted in an aberrantly shy greeting.
“Hi.” — the greeting emerged so softly that it scarcely disturbed the hush surrounding you.
He forgot every prepared greeting he had carried with him into the church. He had spent the better part of the morning considering what he might say upon seeing you again but none of it survived.
"Hi,” he returned after a short moment. He stepped forward a pace, the faintest tremor betraying the effort it took to hold himself upright. “Did you have a safe journey here? I hope it was not troublesome to avoid the eyes."
You laughed, a delicate sound that rolled through the air and set his heart skittering.
“This is hardly my first venture of the sort, Lord Choi,” you said, a trace of mirth touching your lips. “You needn’t worry on my behalf.”
He pressed his lips together, his eyes closing briefly as he recalled the forgotten detail. He inclined his head in a gesture that carried apology — one that seamlessly delivered that he had disciplined himself for even daring to dismiss something from his mind about you.
“Yes—yes, of course.” His voice softened, almost conceding the ground with care. “Forgive me. I remember now that you have done this many times before.”
Your smile deepened. “Apology accepted.”
You moved together toward the rear of the church where there was a door set behind the last row of pews. He reached ahead of you to pull it open, then stepped aside to let you pass through first. The faint freshness of the season’s turn kissed the skin beneath your eyes.
A slim path stretched ahead, bordered by overgrown hedges and low-hanging branches that filtered the daylight into shifting patches upon the ground. Beomgyu lifted one hand to guide a stray branch away from your path before letting it fall back into place. He walked beside you, though never too near. You wished he did.
“After a short while, a man will pass here with his cart. We will join him and reach the town without a hitch,” he explained, glancing down the road ahead.
You tilted your head, curiosity brightening your features. "Are you friends with this man, Lord Choi?"
"He has been the one to get me in and out of town during these escapes of mine." His gaze carried a secretive fondness. The next moment, however, he gave you a look. “Though I must warn you, he sometimes let his tongue outrun his wit.”
You hummed, eyes tracing the patterns of sunlight through the branches. The faint stir of leaves above lent a softness to the moment. “It is lovely , isn’t it, Lord Choi?” you said after a pause, “to have friends who look out for you so, without question.”
You thought of Maya, and of Mr. Austen — whose loyalty had never once wavered despite the liberties you so often took. It was indeed the greatest gift in knowing that one was not alone in one’s ventures, however ill-advised they might appear to others. You were comforted to know that Beomgyu was not solitary in his wanderings; that beyond the confines of expectation, he too was sustained by hands willing to guide and guard his passage.
“You need not call me that.”
During the passing silence between you, in which the sound of your footsteps mingled with the whispering leaves — his low voice tickled your ears. The sensation travelled all the way down to your arms, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps whose reason of origin were too specific to be blamed upon the morning breeze.
Your feet slowed of their own volition. “Whatever do you mean?”
“‘Lord Choi’,” he said, meeting your gaze. “You do not need to keep using the title with me.”
“And what should I call you, then?” you jested, the question light upon your tongue. “Mr. Choi?”
That drew a different look from him. The smile that curved his lips deepened, and he held your gaze with a gravity that pulled at your senses. He allowed the meaning of his words to settle — and understanding came to you in a gradual unfoldment.
"Oh," you murmured, the single syllable tasting of revelation.
“We are not within society’s bounds here. If you continue to address me so, it may draw notice.” He wished to hear his name from you alone — stripped of rank and shaped only by your voice, entirely kept apart from every other claim upon him. It seemed, in that moment, an unnecessary barrier — one he could not bring himself to tolerate. “Use my name.”
You held your gaze on him, feeling a giddiness unfurl within your chest that made your pulse reckless. He was looking at you with expectation, a tender touch of patience, awaiting the very thing your heart ached to give. Your breath caught in a minuscule falter before you turned your face aside, conceding the moment without granting it its full due.
“You ask for liberties, Lord—” The title slipped out of habit; you halted, then amended with care, “—then I should expect the same from you, should I not?”
Beomgyu smiled in full, no withholding. “You may always expect from me what your heart permits, and far more besides.” — then he said your name.
He stepped closer in thought, if not in body, his words bending the social rules only to fold entirely around you.
You had grown so accustomed to hearing him say “my lady” to address you that the notion of your own name claimed by his voice had never crossed your mind. Now, confronted with your title’s absence, you found yourself wholly unprepared. Would it be improper to coax him to repeat your name? Though you doubted whether you could ever request it again without succumbing into a breathless whisper.
“Oi! Choi Beomgyu!”
You turned in tandem. An old man was approaching you with a slow, rolling gait on a haycart.
“Didnt expect you to show up today!” he called, squinting at Beomgyu beneath the brim of his worn hat. “Thought you’d lost your nerve this time.”
“I gave you my word, uncle Park,” Beomgyu replied, stepping nearer as the cart drew close for him to lay a hand upon its side. His fingers closed around the wooden rail, steadying the slight jolt as the horse was brought to a halt. “You might consider granting me a measure of patience.”
“Patience?” Uncle Park barked, striking the side of the cart with a resounding slap. “You vanish for weeks on end and return with talk of patience? I ought to charge you interest for every day you kept me waiting.”
“Come now, do not begin reciting my faults before I have even greeted you properly,” Beomgyu drawled. The tilt of his mouth carried a trace of mischief that seemed ill-matched with the poise he otherwise wore. “You would have me condemned before I could attempt a defence.”
The change may have been miniscule but it did not escape your notice. It was, you thought, a sight to behold — to witness him thus.
“Well now, and who might this be?” The old man’s attention veered from Beomgyu with abrupt curiosity. He regarded you with frank appraisal before his brows rose and his grin widened into something altogether knowing. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and found yourself a sweetheart. Took you long enough, boy. I thought you meant to wander alone till your bones gave out.”
Oh, it was another sight to behold — to see such a bright shade of red adorning his face.
“No—no, you’ve mistaken it entirely,” Beomgyu spluttered, the denial arriving with such haste that it threatened coherence. “She is—we are acquainted. A friend.”
Uncle Park’s expression did not alter in the slightest. He let out a low hum, drawing the sound out as his gaze passed between you both again. He was unconvinced in the most evident manner.
“A friend, is it?” he repeated with skepticism. “Well, a friend with the look of her, I’ll grant you’ve done well for yourself.”
A trace of pity found its way through you for him. So you stepped forward before Beomgyu could further knot himself in needless explanation. Inclining your head in greeting, you offered Uncle Park a civility he had not anticipated.
“Good day, sir,” you said, hands gathered neatly before you. “We remain indebted for your assistance.”
He blinked with bafflement. Then he let out a small chuckle, scratching at his jaw. “No debt worth speaking of. Any friend of his is welcome enough.”
“I have heard you have been aiding him in reaching town,” you said once settled upon the cart’s wooden bed, Beomgyu following close behind. “Though I begin to suspect I have been introduced into a history far more elaborate than I was warned of.”
Beomgyu released a breath through his nose, turning his head aside as he ran a hand through his hair as though it might restore some fragment of dignity. “You have been warned sufficiently,” he muttered, though his glance betrayed a flicker of reluctant humour. “It is not my fault you chose to ignore it.”
“Was I now?” you returned, the question light but you were evidently chaffing.
“Warned?” Uncle Park echoed, taking up the reins and guiding the horse forward. “Now that is a detail I should very much like to hear. What, pray tell, have you been saying about me, boy?”
“Nothing that would survive your hearing,” Beomgyu replied without missing a beat, though the faint colour rising along the line of his cheek rendered the retort less convincing than he might have wished.
Uncle Park released a loud laugh, head tipping back in delight as the horse gave a mild flick of its ear in response. “Ah, so you do possess a tongue when pressed!”
You turned your gaze upon Beomgyu then, interest brightening your expression as the exchange had offered you a private amusement worth savoring. “It seems I had formed a rather different impression,” you said, lightly.
Beomgyu’s gaze narrowed with a flash of protest that did not quite disguise the reluctant curve threatening his mouth. “You can change your opinion of me if you want,” he returned. “But I would advise against placing too much faith in this man’s testimony.”
“Dangerous counsel,” Uncle Park interjected. “Encouraging a lady to doubt me at our very first meeting. You’ll have her convinced I am a scoundrel before I’ve even had the chance to prove it.”
“I suspect that you would require no encouragement at all in that regard,” you replied, your tone turning pleasantly contemplative.
A stunned beat passed over the air punctuated only by the sounds of the hooves. Not long after, the old man threw his head back and laughed again, wholly delighted.
“Oh, I like her,” he declared, pointing a crooked finger in your direction. “You’ve brought me someone with sense, Beomgyu. That alone earns you forgiveness for your many disappearances.”
“I am relieved my standing has been restored on such merciful terms,” Beomgyu said dryly.
Uncle Park clicked his tongue, casting him a sideways look. “But do not grow complacent. A man who makes promises and neglects them is of little use to anyone, least of all himself.”
The remark had teeth underneath the jovial tone which altered the look in Beomgyu’s eyes. As much as it was miniscule, it was still perceptible. There was little room left for defence when the accusation aligned too closely with his own assessment of past conduct. For a brief stretch of thought, he allowed no rebuttal to form but his fingers tightened against the rail’s rough grain before he inclined his head.
“I am here now,” he said.
The words were few, but they carried an undercurrent of finality that admitted no further censure.
Uncle Park stared for a passing moment, the remnants of his earlier levity giving way to a more considered regard. He gave a short nod and returned his attention to the road.
“Aye,” he conceded. “That you are.”
You offered no interruption through it. There were conversations that did not belong to you, and you possessed enough discernment to leave them undisturbed.
The wind had found its way into Beomgyu’s hair and tousled it in the most wild manner; a stray leaf remained stuck near his temple. Wordlessly, you reached forward and removed it, and upon feeling your touch on his skin, Beomgyu relaxed as he faced you.
You lifted the leaf between your fingers, a faint smile touching your mouth as you held it out for him to see. He did not need to know that it had served as your excuse to touch him and to offer a moment of solace. He remembered your words of affirmations from the riverside. They were called forth with little effort, softening whatever had remained of the previous exchange. He said nothing.
From the front, uncle Park glanced back once more, his grin returning in full force. “You’ll have to tell me her name, at least,” he called. “Can’t keep calling her ‘friend’ all the way to town.”
Beomgyu’s expression tightened into a reluctant frown. “You may mind the road, and leave the rest to me.”
“Aye, I’ll mind it well enough,” the man replied, though satisfaction coloured his tone. “But I’ve eyes, boy. And I know what I see.”
The cart drew to a halt at the edge of the town, where the worn road gave way to a livelier thoroughfare beyond. Beomgyu descended first and his hand rose in instinctive assistance — though he paused just short of presumption, allowing you the choice of accepting it.
A soft laugh slipped from you, touched with fond exasperation as you accepted his offer. Even now, he held himself apart, careful to grant you space you had never asked him to keep. You had never objected to his hand — had, in truth, found yourself inclined to accept it whenever it was offered.
You were more than willing to take his and only his hand.
Uncle Park watched the exchange with unabashed interest. Once you had offered your thanks and moved ahead, he turned toward Beomgyu with a pointed sound of disapproval.
“A friend, he says,” he remarked, shaking his head. “If that is friendship, I should like to see what he calls devotion.”
Beomgyu shot him a look that might have served as a warning in any other circumstance. Here, it merely provoked further delight.
After bidding him farewell, the two of you moved toward the town proper. What awaited you upon entry bore little resemblance to the subdued bustle you had anticipated.
Colour adorned every visible corner and banners stretched between buildings in bright swathes, fabric stirred by the passing air; lanterns hung in careful rows, their glass catching the sunrays in fractured gleams. Myriads of laughter carried through the streets with a buoyancy that stirred even the most indifferent passerby.
“Have we arrived in the midst of some celebration?” you asked, gaze moving from one detail to the next before looking up at him. “Were you aware of this?”
His expression was shaped by honest surprise. “I had no knowledge of it,” he said, almost to himself, before his features eased and a smile found its place. “Still, it is rather fortunate. We should make use of it while we are here.”
He lifted his arm toward you in invitation.
You looked at the gesture, then at him. Had it truly slipped his consideration that any display of formality in such a place might draw unwelcome attention, when he had been so insistent elsewhere that you abandon it and call him by his name? Surely, it would not hurt to return a fraction of that boldness now, simply to see whether it might touch him the same way it had undone you.
You placed your hand into his, bypassing the offered formality entirely. His breath faltered.
You leaned closer, lowering your voice so that it reached him alone. “We cannot follow etiquette here, can we?” you murmured, tilting your head in a small indication toward the passing crowd.
The words were meticulously delivered with a soft provocation that sought him out and held him there. Beomgyu exhaled, the sound uneven before he gathered himself, his fingers closing more securely around yours. It was no longer tentative in their claim. You beamed.
“You have not yet eaten, have you?” he asked. “There is a place ahead I would like to show you. Their breakfast is worth the visit.”
Beomgyu led you through an alley tucked between bustling storefronts until the sight of a weathered wooden sign drew recognition from you. You had visited this establishment more times than you could count during your private excursions through the town. Little about it had changed since then.
The old matriarch still presided over the shop with formidable vitality, directing her children and grandchildren from behind the counter while pots simmered and trays passed rapidly from hand to hand. Age had touched her hair and the bend of her back, though not a single soul beneath that roof appeared foolish enough to mistake her for frail.
The entire household erupted into a chorus of greeting the moment Beomgyu stepped through the doorway.
“Mum, Choi Beomgyu came back!”
“You finally remembered us?”
“Sit down before your face grows any thinner!”
One of the younger boys abandoned his errand entirely to throw his arms around Beomgyu’s middle, nearly causing him to stumble backward with startled laughter spilling from his mouth. An older woman emerged from the kitchen carrying a basket of bread and clicked her tongue at him before cupping his cheek in both hands, scolding him for his long absence while her eyes shone with unconcealed affection.
It was one matter to know Beomgyu as you did. It was another matter entirely to witness the traces he left behind within the lives of others.
What stood before you was not simply a man who was well-liked, but a man who had left impressions upon people so deeply fond that they reached for him — actually reached for him — with happiness made visible on their faces. This was something you had no tidy word for, which meant it was, in all likelihood, the truest thing about him. Looking at him made the brightness in your heart alight with joy.
The family ushered the two of you toward a crowded table beside several townspeople midway through their breakfast. There was more food than you can reasonably eat as they jumped at the opportunity to feed you when they noticed Beomgyu brought you along. Fresh bread still warm from the oven, butter softened beneath the morning heat, roasted potatoes seasoned generously with herbs, thick stew fragrant enough to draw sighs from nearby tables — the varieties only kept increasing.
“Please,” you finally laughed after another bowl was placed before you. “Surely there are others here who must also eat.”
Every attempt to refuse additional servings was met with scandalised disbelief. You had easily eaten to the comfortable limit of your capacity and settled back with the satisfaction of a meal properly honoured. Beomgyu leaned forward at your side and studied your expression with poorly concealed anticipation.
“Well?” he asked. “Was bringing you here a wise decision?”
You exhaled contentedly and brushed a stray crumb from your fingertips. “Very wise. This reminds me of meals back home. There is far more soul within food prepared this way.” Your gaze wandered briefly toward the rear counter where kettles released curling streams of steam into the air, and said, almost to yourself, "I wonder if they carry tea."
"They do," said Beomgyu, and paused in a way that told you the sentence was not yet finished. "Though I find myself compelled to ask something first. Have you ever had coffee ground fresh and prepared with any degree of honest care for the result?"
You raised your brows to show you were thoroughly interested in the subject. “Do you consider yourself an authority on the matter?”
“I consider myself tragically burdened with superior taste.”
A laugh escaped you. “I prefer tea,” you admitted, affording him the candour the question merited. “Though I have had coffee on occasion and found it perfectly—”
"Agreeable?" he supplied.
You rested your chin briefly upon your hand, smiling. "Is that not sufficient?"
Without another word, he rose and extended his hand toward you. There existed an eager brightness about him then, one that stirred immediate curiosity within your chest.
“Come,” he said. “Allow me the opportunity to change your opinion.”
You placed your hand into his and permitted him to lead you toward the back portion of the establishment where shelves lined with jars and tins occupied the walls. The younger women there greeted him with visible delight before moving aside to grant him access to the preparation space, clearly accustomed to this intrusion.
“Do you do this often?” you asked while watching him roll the sleeves of his shirt slightly higher.
The fabric gave way to forearms exposing elegant lines and the faint rise of veins beneath golden skin. It took you a while to tear your gaze away before you forced yourself to follow the movement of his hands instead.
“Often enough that they have stopped questioning it,” he answered, sounding rather pleased with himself as he reached for a bag of beans.
“I cannot decide,” you said, stepping closer to the counter and folding your hands behind your back, “whether that reflects well upon your skill or poorly upon their judgment.”
He glanced over his shoulder at you, and pressed a look of mock grievance into his expression. “You wound me before I have even begun.”
The remark drew another soft laugh from you. He turned away shortly after, though not before you caught the fleeting brightness crossing his features.
“Shall I be of any help?” you asked, leaning lightly against the counter’s edge.
Beomgyu set the grinder down and turned fully toward you, raising his brows in consideration. He then snuck a glance briefly toward the woman at the far end of the room before motioning toward the stool set with a tilt of his head, the corners of his mouth already betraying him.
“My lady,” he said, lowering his voice into a murmur meant for you alone, “only needs to sit pretty for me.”
For one treacherous instant, your mind abandoned you entirely.
You lowered yourself onto the stool with far more composure than you truly possessed, one hand curling against the edge of the wooden seat. A small lopsided smile touched your mouth in spite of every effort to contain it.
My lady only needs to sit pretty for me. Such shameless words, spoken beneath his breath.
The remark had already entered your chest with ruinous effect, carrying that infuriating mixture of sweetness and confidence he seemed capable of summoning so deftly whenever he chose to turn his attention wholly upon you. He just created a dangerously intimate air.
You turned your face away under the pretence of examining the shelves beside you, though the aim proved entirely futile once you caught sight of him again from the corner of your vision. The faint curve still threatening his mouth from your reaction alone conspired against your attempt at indifference with astonishing success. Beomgyu looked thoroughly pleased by his own effect upon you.
He selected the beans himself, inspecting them with surprising care before pouring them into the grinder. Morning light poured through the nearby window and scattered across him in fractured bands of gold, catching against the dark fall of his hair when he moved around. The rich fragrance of freshly ground coffee slowly wafted through the room, enveloping you little by little while Beomgyu continued his work with visible fondness for the task itself.
Watching him in such a setting — attention devoted wholly toward preparing a simple cup of coffee for you — awakened a longing you scarcely recognised. It was not excitement, nor infatuation, nor any of the foolish sentiments novels delighted in exalting. It was the sudden desire to preserve the moment exactly as it was and return to it whenever the world became unkind.
Beomgyu added milk and sugar only after pausing to ask how you preferred it, and when you answered that you trusted his judgement, his fingers faltered briefly against the spoon. You pretended not to notice. He pretended equally hard.
Then, at last, he poured the hot liquid into a cup and set it before you. The anticipation upon his face nearly made you laugh. You lifted the porcelain carefully and took your first sip.
The coffee carried none of the bitterness you had long associated with it; instead there came a depth to the flavour that unfolded gradually upon the tongue, mellowed by sweetness and softened further by the warmth of milk he had added for you. It filled you from within in a manner strangely comforting.
"Oh," you said.
It was not your most eloquent expression of sentiment. It was, however, entirely sincere.
"Well?" Beomgyu asked softly.
You stared down into the cup for another moment before looking back at him with open astonishment. “Lord Choi, this is extraordinary.”
Relief flooded his features so swiftly that you nearly laughed again. “Is that approval I hear?”
“Approval?” You chuckled softly before taking another sip, savouring it without the slightest attempt to disguise your delight. “I think you may have altered the course of my life.”
The younger woman arranging cups nearby covered her smile behind her hand at your reaction, though you scarcely noticed her. Your attention was held by the rich taste of coffee, which had far more depth than any of the ones you had previously endured out of courtesy during formal visits and social calls.
“I am glad it is to your liking,” he replied, watching you with such transparent fondness that it became difficult to look anywhere else for long. “You sounded displeased by bitterness, so I thought—”
“No, you do not understand,” you continued, stepping closer without realizing it. “I have never tasted coffee this good before. I shall return home intolerably dissatisfied with everyone who attempts to prepare a cup thereafter.”
“I would gladly make it for you myself,” he answered at once.
You looked at him and found that he had, at some point, abandoned any pretence of attending to his own cup. He was watching you — had been watching you — so thoroughly gratified by the simple fact of your reaction that it surpassed, by some considerable distance, anything you might have readied yourself to receive. He looked at you the way a person looks at something they have long wished to share with someone, who has at last been granted the occasion.
"You are not even drinking yours," you observed, glancing pointedly at his cup.
"No," he agreed, without a shade of contrition.
“You won’t be able to enjoy it once it loses its warmth.”
“Watching you enjoy yours appears to satisfy me far more.”
You smiled into the rim of the cup before lowering it again, entirely incapable of concealing your pleasure.
And standing within that humble little kitchen, surrounded by roasted coffee and morning sunlight, Beomgyu found himself thinking that he would willingly spend every remaining day of his life chasing that look upon your face if only to witness it again.
The remainder of the morning passed beneath a gentler pace.
You stayed far longer than either of you had planned, seated near the open window enjoying the cool breeze as you carried on conversations. At some point, Beomgyu suggested venturing further into town while the festivities still endured. Before your departure, you asked the elderly shopkeeper what precisely the occasion celebrated.
Spring, she had told you warmly. Renewal. The casting away of winter’s dreariness in favour of brighter days ahead.
You found the sentiment rather lovely.
The town had grown even more animated with the advancing afternoon. Children darted between merchants with sugared fruits clutched in their hands while musicians occupied crowded corners with fiddles and drums, their melodies spilling through the streets amidst merchants calling out to passing patrons. The crowd of people pressed nearer with every turn through the market, enough that Beomgyu’s hand remained securely around yours from the moment you stepped back into the thoroughfare.
You noticed that he no longer appeared startled by the contact.
In truth, it was you who kept drawing nearer whenever the crowd thickened while the two of you wound between stalls laden with flowers and embroidered ribbons. Every now and then a vendor would greet Beomgyu by name, and each greeting only deepened your fascination with the life he possessed beyond society and scholarly distinction.
You kept getting reminded how beneath the open sky and amongst townsfolk who adored him without reservation, he appeared touched by a brightness that made him painfully beautiful to behold.
“You are very loved here,” you remarked softly after yet another merchant pressed free sweets into his hands despite his protests.
Beomgyu glanced toward you, faint embarrassment touching his features. “They are merely generous people.”
“No,” you replied, tightening your hand around his. “They are generous to you.”
Deeper colour touched the tips of his ears immediately thereafter, though salvation arrived in the form of a nearby fruit stall before either of you could dwell within the aftermath for too long.
“Wait here,” he murmured.
You watched him exchange a few coins with the vendor before returning moments later with a pear resting within his palm; golden-skinned and ripened beneath the season’s warmth to the point where droplets of juice already gathered near the stem. He wiped the fruit against the sleeve of his shirt and held it toward you expectantly.
“For you.”
You looked from the pear to his face, then smiled slowly before inclining your head forward and biting directly into the fruit while he still held it.
The skin broke beneath your teeth with a soft crack. Sweetness flooded your mouth instantly, rich and sun-warmed, and a thin trail of juice slipped carelessly down your chin before you could stop it. A startled laugh escaped you at that.
“Oh, that is wonderful—”
You lifted your hand toward your chin, though he caught your wrist gently before you could wipe the juice away yourself. His thumb brushed beneath your lower lip in one slow motion, collecting the droplet there before releasing you entirely.
“Sweet, isn’t it?” he asked, voice lowered by a tenderness that rendered your pulse uneven.
You could only nod.
Then, still holding your gaze, he lifted the pear and bit into the very place your mouth had touched.
You blinked as your breath caught so abruptly at the sight that it did not escape Beomgyu’s notice, the corner of his mouth curving faintly around another bite.
“You appear scandalised, my lady,” he mused.
“You are behaving scandalously,” you returned, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed any attempt at reproach.
Right then, a burst of applause erupted from somewhere farther down the street, followed almost immediately by the lively sweep of fiddles and tambourines. The interruption arrived with merciful timing. You turned toward the source of the commotion while several townsfolk hurried past in excitement, and Beomgyu released a soft breath through his nose that suggested he, too, recognised salvation when it presented itself.
“Let us go,” he said, glancing back at you over his shoulder and catching your hand. “I wish to see what has gathered such enthusiasm.”
The street opened into a bustling square awash with performers and festival-goers. Everyone clapped along to the music surrounding them, skirts swirling across cobblestones as partners spun one another beneath the bright spring afternoon. Whenever a step went poorly, the offender merely laughed harder before beginning again.
Everyone appeared so radiant in their carefreeness. You could not stop smiling as you watched.
Beomgyu watched you instead of watching them. “Do you like it?”
“How could I not?” you replied, gaze wandering across the square. “There is far more life here than within half the ballrooms I have attended.”
He hummed, crossing his arms. “Nobody here cares whether their footwork impresses a duchess.”
You laughed, gosh — how many times had he already made you laugh today? Beomgyu relished every second of that sound before extending his hand toward you.
“Come here.”
Your brows lifted instantly, taking his hand. “That is hardly a proper invitation.”
“You refused my last proper invitation,” he reminded you, stepping closer. “I saw little benefit in repeating myself.”
Memory returned at his words; the winter ball from weeks prior, the hand he had offered then with the hopes of a waltz with you. You hadn’t indulged him back then. Instead you had given a vague promise of next time.
Since the formal approach failed last time, this was Beomgyu trying a different one now.
Your smile curved slowly afterward. “You remember that?”
“I remember nearly everything regarding you.”
You felt comfort in knowing that your passing remarks did not vanish into the ether when spoken to him. He appeared intent upon remembering you.
Appreciation had always existed as a distant and complicated thing within your life; admired beauty invited possession, admired intelligence invited challenge, admired status invited ambition. You were desired endlessly, yet so few had ever looked upon you with genuine regard for the woman standing before them rather than the advantages attached to her name.
To be cherished without demand had remained foreign to you for far too long.
With Beomgyu, that foreignness dissolved so naturally that you could no longer recall its absence. He simply looked at you as though your happiness alone possessed the capacity to enrich his world. Somewhere along the way, affection had ceased feeling like a bargain awaiting its price. In his company, it arrived freely and remained freely given. The wariness that had accompanied tenderness for so many years found itself slipping away piece by piece until trusting him felt no more difficult than turning your face toward sunlight.
Your gaze drifted back toward the dancers circling the square, your smile softening faintly at the sight of them.
“I am not certain I could do that,” you admitted after a moment, watching one particularly exuberant couple stumble into laughter after missing several steps entirely.
Beomgyu followed your line of sight before turning back toward you with raised brows. “You believe yourself incapable of moving in a circle?”
“No!” you laughed. “I meant—the dance steps. I do not know the steps.”
A low laugh escaped him. Beomgyu stepped closer and lifted your joined hands between you, giving them one small encouraging sway to the music drifting through the square.
“You need not know the dance,” he said. “As I have said, nobody here does.”
“That is hardly reassuring.”
“It should be.” His smile deepened. “Look around you.”
You did.
A little girl stood atop her father’s boots several feet away while he guided her through clumsy turns. Of course it was not perfect, but they were happy. Nearby, two elderly women clapped along to the melody without even attempting the steps, and one poor gentleman had nearly collided into a flower cart moments prior only to receive applause for the effort.
The entire square overflowed with joy untouched by embarrassment. That was the radiance you had admired just moments prior. Your uncertainty had no moment to resurface after that.
Beomgyu gave your hand another gentle pull. "All you need to do is follow my lead."
He began simply at first, coaxing you into the beat of the music without surrendering fully to the dance. One step. Then another. A turn barely deserving of the name while he guided your movements with slow encouragement.
“There,” he murmured once you managed the timing correctly. “You are already succeeding.”
You gave a sardonic roll of your eyes, chuckling. "You need not lie."
“I am being truthful.” He smiled.
Gradually, laughter found you again. It slipped free without reservation each time you missed a step and Beomgyu caught you before you could stumble into disaster, and every burst of mirth from your lips appeared to affect him profoundly that he basked in his own delight.
All of a sudden, he stopped altogether and winked. Before you realised his intention, Beomgyu drew you fully into the dancing circle.
A startled laugh escaped you immediately when he spun you beneath his arm, your free hand catching against his shoulder for balance. “Lord Choi—”
“Hush,” he murmured, pulling you nearer amidst the swirl of dancers before leaning close enough that his breath brushed against your ear. “No titles today.”
The intimacy of his voice sent a shiver licking up down your spine. You bit your lip because you weren't sure what you would have said anyway. You weren't sure you were capable of forming language at all right now. So you let him lead you through the dance, pretending his words hadn’t set flames through your veins.
There existed no graceful structure to the dance itself. It took several attempts before you found the tempo hidden within the music, and even then you frequently stepped where you ought not, though neither of you cared in the slightest. The mixed informality made the moment far more intimate than any waltz performed beneath chandeliers could have achieved.
Breathlessness overtook you quickly beneath the exhilaration of movement and music, your chest rising rapidly while delight coursed through you with almost intoxicating force. Your skirts swept against his legs whenever he drew you nearer, and every time laughter escaped your lips, Beomgyu felt an absurd desire to gather the sound and keep it.
You had not realised joy could feel so boundless.
Strands of your hair had loosened from their arrangement during the dance, and when the wind carried them across your face, Beomgyu tucked them gently behind your ear. It was such a small act of care, easily forgotten by anyone else. But you found yourself wishing for the moment to lengthen, if only by a few heartbeats more.
The earlier exuberance surrounding the square had mellowed into a slower melody carried by violin strings, while pairs gradually abandoned spirited turns in favour of swaying movements beneath the lanterns now glowing overhead. Your pulse had yet to recover from the dance, and every muscle protested pleasantly from exertion.
His gaze dipped toward your hands and remained there for a brief moment before returning to you. Slowly, almost reverently, he lifted one of your hands and guided it upward toward his shoulder. Then the other followed, his touch so gentle that you almost melted beneath the tenderness of it. When your arms settled loosely around his neck, Beomgyu did not hold you immediately afterward.
His eyes searched yours, the remaining space between you diminishing inch by inch under the sway of music. He simply wished for your willingness to meet his own, restrained only by the final thread of permission he sought from you before surrendering himself fully to the moment.
By then, you had begun to understand him far too well.
Your smile was his answer — and Beomgyu’s breath visibly faltered at the sight of it.
His hands settled at your waist at last, and the movement carried such care that it nearly distracted you from the realization that he had drawn you closer. Amid the slow turning of dancers around you, your awareness became occupied by one curious detail.
Beomgyu looked almost dazed by you.
His thumb moved faintly against the fabric gathered at your waist while your fingers brushed against the hair at the nape of his neck, and for several precious moments neither of you spoke at all. Words would only diminish it. Slow dancing, wearing smiles of soft wonderment of two souls discovering, perhaps in a long, long while, how lovely it felt to be cherished without fear.
By the time the sun had begun its gradual descent across the western hills, the jubilance of the festival no longer possessed the feverish exuberance that had greeted your arrival that morning.
You spent the remaining time with Beomgyu visiting through dockside markets where fishermen shouted over one another beside crates of silver-scaled catches still glistening beneath the sun, and through narrow craftsmen rows crowded with pottery, embroidery, and tiny carved trinkets suspended from strings overhead. Eventually the clamour of it receded behind the two of you altogether.
The road drew the two of you away from the town’s centre, where sound gave way to open air and the press of bodies thinned into scattered footsteps along the edges of quieter lanes. Wild grass leaned in from either side of the path, and trees rose in loose clusters overhead, their branches shifting with the passing breeze. Beyond them stretched rolling fields bathed in molten gold, and farther still stood distant hills softened beneath a pale spring haze.
You were content purely to walk beside one another while your footsteps scattered softly across the dirt road beneath.
"You know," you said, nudging a loose stone from the path with the tip of your shoe, "I was convinced this town was rather charming before today."
The remark caught him, and he glanced toward you with a small furrow between his brows — genuinely concerned, turning the words over as though searching them for whatever had soured your opinion. “Before today?” he repeated. “That sounds suspiciously ominous.”
You merely continued walking.
“My lady,” he pressed, falling half a step closer, “have I somehow managed to diminish the reputation of this town within a single afternoon? That would be a devastating indictment of my abilities as a guide.”
A smile threatened at the corner of your mouth.
“I was biased,” you informed him with impeccable seriousness. “It appears considerably more charming when viewed beside you.”
You had all the time to enjoy your success before it became plainly evident upon his face. Beomgyu laughed — which was a short, fractured sound and he turned his face partially away, rubbing the back of his neck while doing a remarkably poor job of concealing how flustered he was.
"You," he said, still laughing beneath his breath, "live up to your reputation as a weaver of words, my lady."
You had spent the better part of the day subjected to Choi Beomgyu's relentless talent for rendering you speechless. Witnessing the favour returned proved deeply gratifying.
With the most earnest expression you could produce, said, "I meant it."
He released a breath through a helpless smile as he looked briefly skyward in what appeared to be a wordless appeal for fortitude.
"Thank you," you said, after a moment, "for showing me your world."
Beomgyu lowered his gaze back to you, and his expression gentled almost imperceptibly. He let you talk instead of sharing his words.
“I only now realise that I never truly allowed myself to exist among these people during my visits here.” A faint laugh escaped you then, touched by self-awareness more than embarrassment. “I observed them endlessly. Their joys, their griefs, the indignities they endured—I carried all of it home and turned it into ink upon paper. Yet I remained apart from them all the while.”
The breeze swept loose strands of hair across your cheek. You tucked them back absentmindedly, turning toward him as you did.
“Today felt different.” Your smile softened. “So thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for bringing me here and teaching me how to live within moments such as these.”
“You say as if I accomplished a great feat,” he said at last, exhaling a faint laugh. “I merely wished to spend time with you. The fact that you enjoyed yourself already feels reward enough.”
Your smile deepened at that, coaxing him to mirror it. He was so, so helpless.
“How long have you been coming here?” you asked. “The people seem remarkably attached to you. That grandmother nearly pushed her own grandson aside to embrace you.”
A reluctant grin crossed his face. “I suspect she likes me more than her grandson.”
“Oh, she absolutely does.”
Looking at him stirred another thought within you. Beomgyu had only returned from his studies abroad the previous autumn. Barely months had elapsed since he first appeared within your world, and yet he moved through these streets with an affection so thoroughly at home in him that it seemed to predate his arrival entirely. You wondered whether this attachment had begun only recently or whether the inclination toward places such as these had lived within him far earlier than you realised.
“It truly has not been very long,” he admitted. “Do you remember when I told you I used to teach children?”
You nodded.
“After returning here, as you already know, I found society rather…” He paused briefly, searching for a charitable description before abandoning the attempt altogether. “Suffocating.”
You let out an utterly unidentified sound — a snort — behind your palm before clearing your throat. With a lingering smile, you passed him a little, “Sorry.”
“I knew you would understand, my like-minded ally.” The title rolled from his tongue with unconcealed pleasure. “One can only survive gentlemen reciting dreadful poetry and debating inheritance disputes for so many evenings before seeking refuge elsewhere.”
You hummed, indulging him with a very serious nod. “So this became your refuge?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He glanced toward the distant fields. “I began spending time here whenever obligations allowed it. One visit became several. Eventually the people stopped treating me as an outsider and started forcing food into my hands whenever I appeared.”
“That explains breakfast.”
“You have not yet witnessed Mrs. Han during winter.”
“But how did you even find the time?” you asked in wonder, still smiling. “You tutored my brother, attended every social gathering the ladies insisted upon, and somehow still managed to build an entirely separate existence beyond all of it.”
At this, Beomgyu cast you a sidelong glance touched by boyish satisfaction.
“I had my ways.”
You slowed your steps before narrowing your eyes at him. “That sounds suspiciously evasive.”
“Does it?” His smile widened further. “I had hoped it sounded mysterious.”
“You sound incriminating.”
Beomgyu laughed, lowering his head — and you found yourself thinking that perhaps no place in the world had ever suited Choi Beomgyu half so beautifully as this one.
The two of you had barely reached the narrower end of the path when an elderly shopkeeper peeked out halfway through the doorway of a cramped little bookshop. “Beomgyu? S’that you, son?” His spectacles slipped low along his nose as he called toward Beomgyu in relief. “Come look at this for me before I lose what remains of my eyesight.”
Beomgyu glanced toward the worn pages being waved impatiently through the air before turning to you with an apologetic smile.
“I shall only be a moment.”
You looked past him toward the shaded area beside the shop where ivy climbed the old stone walls in thick cascades, the cobblestones dappled beneath the sway of overhanging branches. You decided staying here would serve you far better than following him.
“Go ahead,” you said. “I will wait here.”
He studied you for another second regardless. He was entirely unwilling to depart without making certain you truly did not mind, before finally relenting and stepping into the shop at the old man’s urging.
Left alone, you wandered farther into the lane at a leisurely pace, fingers brushing lightly across the ivy as your gaze traveled absently across the sunlit road ahead. It was then that a fragment of conversation drifted toward you from farther beyond the bend.
“…found her body only days ago, they say.”
It caused a drop so sudden at the pit of your stomach that you stood motionless for a moment. Your attention honed instantly.
Two older men stood down the adjoining path with baskets hanging from their arms, their voices subdued beneath the rustling of leaves. They seemed unaware of your presence.
“They found her near the riverside,” the first spoke again with a sigh heavy with age and sorrow. “Poor child vanished weeks ago only to return home dead.”
You moved nearer quickly, stopping beside the protruding stone wall of a nearby building.
“Aye,” the other replied gravelly. “And after all that, the physicians claim it was merely disease that took her.”
“Well, what else would it be? There were no signs of harm upon the body. Fever, perhaps.”
A missing girl.
No marks.
No explanation beyond illness.
These were the very details you remembered hearing from Taehyun before; women disappearing without trace only to be discovered afterward beneath circumstances too peculiar to dismiss outright. The resemblance fit too neatly beside the next for coincidence to feel entirely convincing. Could this girl have been one of the victims tied to the very matter Taehyun had been investigating? This could be your opportunity to uncover a lead.
You remained where you were for another moment, listening carefully in hopes that one of the men might reveal further particulars worth remembering.
“You heard about Sol, did you not?" One of the men lowered his voice further, though not enough to escape your hearing. “She keeps insisting the physicians overlooked it. The girl has convinced herself her sister was murdered.”
The other shook his head with a weary sigh. “Grief has driven her toward madness, that is all. Folk do not think sensibly after burying their own blood.”
But footsteps approached behind you then, forcing you to turn away from listening further. Beomgyu emerged from the bookshop carrying faint traces of ink upon his fingers, entirely unaware of the tension gathering beneath your composure.
“My sincerest apologies,” he said upon reaching you. “It required more time than I anticipated.”
“It is quite alright,” you assured him seamlessly, offering him a small smile untouched by suspicion. Your gaze drifted briefly toward the men still standing conversing beneath the trees.
“Do you wish to head back home now?” he asked, earning your attention.
“The cobblestone paths here are rather lovely,” you remarked lightly. “Would you mind walking through the alleys with me for a little while?”
Beomgyu followed your gaze down the path. He gave a little nod. “I could hardly refuse you after bringing you all this way.”
Unfortunately, by the time you guided Beomgyu toward the adjoining lane, the two elderly men had already drifted apart, each disappearing toward separate corners of the town until no trace of their conversation remained behind save for the unease now stirring within you. A faint disappointment settled across your thoughts at losing the trail so swiftly, though you still carried one valuable fragment away from the exchange.
Sol.
Your next venture into this town under borrowed anonymity would no longer concern manuscripts or observation. You would find this Sol yourself, and perhaps through her uncover more of the truth concealed beneath these strangely bloodless deaths.
The subtle change in your bearing from being deep in thoughts did not escape Beomgyu. His hand found your elbow with a gentleness that made no demand of you, and his voice had dropped to match it. “Are you alright?”
The touch drew you from your reverie. You looked up at him, startled by how swiftly he had discerned the alteration within you, and inwardly reproached yourself for allowing your mind to wander so visibly in his presence. Of all things, the last thing you wished was for him to believe you had ceased enjoying the day after every ounce of care he had poured into it solely for your happiness.
You released a breathless laugh and shook your head lightly. “I am positively alright,” you assured him. “I was merely thinking… I think I shall miss today rather terribly once it ends.”
“My lady.” Beomgyu ducked his chin, searching for your eyes. “I see no reason for remorse, then.”
You blinked. “No?”
“We can return together whenever you wish,” Beomgyu spoke in the same gentle cadence, lifting his hand to caress away a leaf stuck above your ear. “If you desire to see the town outside your work, I shall accompany you. If you wish for more dreadful coffee from my hands, I shall make it for you again. Whatever you ask of me, I will do it.”
His words were sobering. It swept aside the earlier unrest within your thoughts so completely that for several moments you could only look at him in silence, overcome by the simple enormity of being regarded with such wholehearted devotion.
“I know,” you murmured, not shying away from his touch. Your gaze fell briefly from his face afterward, though the smile remained. “I think…”
“Yes, my lady?”
A small breath escaped you. “I like the word together when it belongs to you and me.”
Beomgyu felt the words hit him somewhere with no name for it. Every yearning thought he had spent months concealing now surged violently beneath his ribs, flooding through him until even the tips of his fingers ached with it. Your name filled his mind entirely; he was choked with tenderness for you and there existed no room for anything beyond you.
You.
Always you.
He stopped walking so abruptly that you nearly collided against him before catching yourself, your brows lifting in surprise at the sight of him standing utterly motionless in the middle of the lane. The breeze stirred through the branches overhead, scattering fractured light across his face, yet Beomgyu scarcely appeared aware of the world surrounding him anymore.
Your name slipped from his lips in a voice touched by reverence so naked that it stole the breath from your lungs little by little.
His hand twitched faintly at his side before curling inward upon itself. He was just about to speak —
— and then your attention darted past his shoulder.
Every trace of warmth vanished from your expression.
At the far end of the lane, two mounted officers stood beside a flower-lined storefront engaged in conversation with the shopkeeper stationed outside. The sight itself should not have troubled you. Law officers wandering the town warranted no alarm.
But one of the men was none other than Kang Taehyun.
Your cousin sat scarcely twenty yards away from you. He had the exact capability of dismantling every fragile layer of anonymity surrounding the two of you within seconds if his gaze merely wandered in your direction.
You cursed under your breath.
The sheer agitation you showed was so wholly unlike anything Beomgyu had witnessed from you throughout the day, that it alerted him almost right away. He followed your gaze and turned around in search of the cause of your distress. Instinctively at the same time, he stepped before you to shield you from whatever danger he thought you sensed.
It took him only a few seconds to understand why you reacted that way.
“We need to hide,” you said quickly, pulse thundering hard enough to make your voice uneven.
It was so unlike you to have your rational thoughts abandon you under pressure. Whenever complications arose, you were the person others relied upon to remain composed. This, however, was a catastrophe of an entirely different nature. The consequences of being discovered here were not danger, scandal, or social disgrace.
The consequences were Taehyun's interrogation method.
Endless questions.
Questions layered upon questions until one felt tempted to fling oneself into the nearest river simply to escape them. Because there existed no force upon earth more relentless than Kang Taehyun after discovering information he believed himself entitled to know.
"Hide?" Beomgyu repeated, looking a bit mortified.
"Yes, hide." Your fingers closed around his wrist. “If Taehyun sees us here, I shall never hear the end of it. Do you understand how many questions he will ask? How many conclusions he will draw? I refuse to endure that conversation.”
A reluctant smile threatened the corner of Beomgyu's mouth. The urgency written across your face prevented it. You were entirely serious.
Turning sharply, you surveyed the opposite side of the lane, only for fresh frustration to seize you. The road stretched far too openly ahead, stripped of any meaningful cover, and fleeing now would draw precisely the notice you wished to avoid. They possessed a considerable advantage with their horses over fleeing pedestrians besides. It would take very little for Taehyun to notice.
You looked back at your cousin’s direction again and saw that they exchanged farewells with the shop owner.
"Oh, for heaven's sake."
There was no longer time to weigh possibilities, nor to devise an elegant solution. Acting upon pure instinct, you seized Beomgyu by the arm and pulled him after you, your eyes catching upon a narrow passage concealed behind several wine barrels and a haphazard stack of wooden crates wedged between adjoining houses.
Cramped stone walls pressed inward on either side while creeping ivy descended from above in tangled curtains, swallowing the street's brightness beneath a canopy of green. What had appeared from the street to be a convenient refuge revealed itself, upon closer acquaintance, to be hardly large enough for two people to occupy comfortably.
Unfortunately, you discovered this only after dragging him into it.
Beomgyu stumbled after you with scarcely enough room to regain his footing, and in the same breath his hand braced the wall behind your head to prevent the both of you from colliding with the stone. The action happened so swiftly that neither of you possessed the opportunity to reconsider it, and when the rush of movement finally settled, there existed no worthy space between your bodies.
The front of your dress brushed against his shirt with every breath you drew. Even the slight rise and fall of his chest had become impossible to ignore within such constrained quarters that only seemed to shrink with every passing heartbeat. His hand still remained trapped within your grasp, and somewhere amidst your frantic concern over Taehyun, you failed to notice what that proximity was doing to the poor man before you.
Beomgyu felt perilously close to losing every sensible thought he had ever possessed.
Throughout the course of the day there had been stolen moments he had treasured beyond reason. Even during the dance you had stood close enough for him to count the gold flecks hidden within your eyes and when he had held your waist as you swayed, he believed he would return home convinced no greater trial could possibly exist than that.
What extraordinary arrogance.
That had been entirely nothing compared to this.
This — with your breath warm where it grazed the open collar of his shirt and strands of hair displaced by the hurried retreat still framing your features in gentle disarray. He was a gentleman and he possessed honour to act with propriety regardless of circumstance — but the smell of jasmine reached him.
It had always been jasmine, that fragrance which clung to you and which had tormented him for days on more than one previous occasion, proving sufficiently disastrous for his peace of mind. He believed himself afflicted already. Now he understood he had merely been receiving warnings.
In this cramped plae with no air between you worth speaking of, it was not a threat so much as an accomplished siege. It overwhelmed him entirely, filled every corner of his senses until he could not think past it, could not locate the edges of his own good judgement through the dizzy, lightheaded daze of it. His honour, he noted distantly, was hanging upon a very single and very insufficient thread.
Outside the alley, hoofbeats sounded against cobblestone.
Both of you stilled instantly.
Beomgyu took advantage of that opportunity to look over his shoulder toward the opening while keeping himself wholly before you, shielding you from view beneath the cover of his body and shadow. But you caught his face in both your hands before he could complete the motion.
It brought him back to you entirely. Face to face, so close that the dim light caught the precise arrangement of his features and held them there before you with an intimacy so abrupt that the air went out of your lungs. You realised, in the same instant he did, what you had done. The nearness left no refuge from the intensity gathering within his gaze now. Your hands dropped from his face at once and you turned your eyes away.
Beomgyu remained frozen exactly where your hands had placed him, looking down at you and — oh, you were divine — that was the only word his mind produced and it produced it with damning conviction, divine in the half-dark with ivy shadows crossing your face and your eyes averted and your breath still uneven against his throat.
He could not look away.
He needed to look away.
"I must apologise," you whispered, your eyes still carefully directed elsewhere. "I had to act quickly."
His gaze dropped to your lips as you spoke. It was involuntary and it was catastrophic and he wrenched his eyes heavenward with an exhale that did not come out nearly as collected as he required it to. He stayed there, jaw tight, staring upward at the tangle of leaves and the narrow strip of sky beyond it.
From this distance — and it was not a distance, it was nothing, it was the mere suggestion of space between two people — anything could happen if any of you just leaned in a bit. His thoughts were getting out of hand and he exhaled again, shakily, and continued to look at anything that was not you. His heart was beating wildly.
"No need to be nervous," you said softly, and he heard the effort in it — heard that you were furnishing words into the silence because the silence had become a living thing between you and required managing. "My brother is not so frightening as all that."
They were empty words and rang hollow even to your own ears. Because it was not your brother that had reduced your thoughts to scattered, ungovernable things. It was the warmth of him — so deeply comforting that you feared you were about to be addicted to it. How thoroughly you already wished to.
"Yes, my lady," Beomgyu said, and his voice had abandoned him almost entirely.
He closed his eyes. Kept them closed for a breath, and then another, and then opened them and looked down at you and did what he had to do — he took your hand from where it had come to rest against his chest, and with painstaking care brought it down to your side and held it there.
He could not bear your touch upon him right now. The jasmine was already more than sufficient to unravel what remained of every sensible intention, and your hand against his chest was a trial he had not the resources to endure.
In spite of all the warnings his better judgement could produce, Beomgyu leaned forward.
Your eyes went wide and every word you had been reaching for dissolved entirely. You could not move, watching him close the distance between you with an expression so stripped of its usual composure that you barely recognised it —
— then you felt the whisper of his hair against your cheek, the barely-there graze of it, and the eventual weight of his forehead coming to rest upon your shoulder.
You went entirely still beneath him. The exhale that left you was entirely involuntary.
He was breathing in shallow increments, not even daring to inhale a chestful of your scent. The hand he had braced against the wall beside your head curled tighter against the stone. The solidity of it was the only negotiation available to him.
Another set of hoofbeats sounded beyond the alley entrance.
"Are you—" you began, keeping your voice to barely a breath of sound. "Is it the confined space? Is it too much?"
His fingers found your lips before you could draw another word. The touch was feather-light, the tips of his fingers resting against your mouth with a gentleness that managed nonetheless to silence you. He still had not lifted his head from your shoulder.
"Please," he said. Then, as though the word alone had not sufficiently conveyed the full measure of what he was asking — "Just allow me this. Only a moment."
You stood perfectly motionless there in the shdaows and did not speak, because there was nothing in you that wished to deny him. The pressure of his fingers against your lips vanished shortly thereafter, hand falling to his side with a limpness like some bones have fallen off from their places.
From beyond the alley came Taehyun's voice as he issued instructions to the officer accompanying him. But within the shelter of barrels and tangled greenery, you heard only Beomgyu's breathing and it began to eclipse everything else. One bewildering thought, however, continued to circle through your mind.
How, precisely, had you managed to find yourself here?
With your cousin only streets away, your heart racing for reasons that had very little to do with being discovered, and Choi Beomgyu hiding his face against your shoulder as though the mere sight of you had become too much for him to bear. In a way, you had brought this upon yourself. If only you had thought of a better solution, you wouldn’t have put yourself in this position — or him.
Time passed in a strange haze thereafter. The voices outside gradually diminished, until the sound of departing horses finally carried through the lane and dissolved into the broader noise of the town.
Beomgyu remained where he was for another fleeting while, gathering whatever composure had abandoned him, before at last drawing back and lifting his head.
Colour had risen high across his face. He seemed wholly incapable of meeting your gaze, choosing instead to stare at a weathered crate whose existence suddenly seemed to fascinate him greatly.
“I believe,” he said eventually, clearing his throat, “your cousin has departed.”
You looked toward the mouth of the passage before returning your attention to him. Your lips curved despite yourself.
“How fortunate for us.”
“Quite.”
Your entire body still carried the imprint of his nearness; the heat of him remained beneath your skin, refusing to relinquish its hold no matter how fiercely you attempted to reclaim your composure. Some traitorous part of you noted the precise distance between your hand and his, seized by an almost absurd desire to reach for it and close the space between you again.
But Beomgyu still looked dazed — whatever battle had transpired within him had plainly not concluded. For that reason alone, you thought better of your own desires for his sake, and kept your hands where they were.
“We should leave,” you said at last.
Beomgyu nodded immediately, perhaps a shade too quickly.
He emerged first, casting a glance along the lane to ensure the way ahead remained clear. Only when he gave a small nod did you step out from the shadows. You felt the spring breeze greet you and renewed the air in your lungs, drying the sweat that had clung to your skin.
Somewhere overhead, the wind moved through newly awakened branches and sent a scattering of petals adrift across the afternoon. You followed their descent before your gaze returned to the man standing before you, who had not moved far, who stood at the edge of the road with the breeze moving through his hair and the same dazed quality still present in his eyes when they met yours.
Though you could not have named the exact moment it happened, winter no longer seemed capable of reaching you.
pairing ⟡ vampire!sunghoon x f!reader & husband!jake x f!reader
summary ⟡ Despite the night terrors that have haunted you for years, you’ve achieved everything a God-honouring woman should want: a husband who loves you dearly, a white picket fence, and the certainty of a perfect future together in your new quiet little town. However, a certain pale-faced neighbour reminds you a little too much of the eerie presence that plagues your restless nights.
18+ mdni ⚠︎ smut with plot, gothic horror/thriller, angst, hurt/comfort, small town au, established relationship (jake), vampire/human relationship (sunghoon), implied major character death, religious imagery & trauma, bible quotes, traditional gender roles & marriage, purity culture critique, loss of faith, slightly patronizing partner dynamic, night terrors, ambiguous ending, sexually repressed reader, infidelity, soul bonds, mildly obsessive love, dubcon: sexual coercion (via soul-contract), biting, blood drinking, physical restraint, vampire venom as aphrodisiac, animal death mentioned, predator/prey dynamic, multiple smut scenes, p in v sex, unprotected sex, handjobs, fingering, loss of virginity, slight somnophilia, dacryphilia, choking, rough sex, praise kink, mild degradation kink
FEAT. niki as a vampire lore-obsessed teen
wc ⟡ 31.6k
inspo & creds ⟡ thank you so much to my lovely mutual @seongjesdoll who inspired me with their fic right here please go read it! this fic is also heavily inspired by Nosferatu.
a/n ⟡ this is very different from what I usually write but I adored experimenting with horror/thriller as a genre! this idea hit me like a truck months ago. this has been in the works for a while so I’m soso glad to finally share
please note ⟡ if you are uncomfortable with heavy subject matter such as dubcon, horror, death, themes of religion and purity culture… do not read this!
"...in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, do you promise to be faithful? To love him and to honour him all the days of your life?"
"I do."
You'd waited for it since you were a young girl. To walk down the aisle, daylight seeping through stained-glass, in a dress of pure white. You'd imagined your hand in his, fingers intertwined, warmly encompassed in safety and certainty—your shared kiss in the chapel, a declaration of your promise not only to him, but to God.
A husband, a family, love. The life every good girl prayed for. You prayed for it too, with your hands folded, head bowed, voice steady.
But what you imagined most, in the silence after the amen, was the thing no prayer could sanctify.
"...But each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed. Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death."
Your Sunday school teacher had read the verse aloud with the patient severity of someone delivering a warning she hoped you'd never need. She'd looked at you, it seemed, and said that desire was a seed planted in the heart, that what began as a thought could grow into something monstrous, that a woman who let lust take root would one day reap a harvest of ruin.
You'd nodded, hands neatly folded on the desk, terrified by the image of something dark and living growing inside you. You'd tried not to think about the heat already stirring in places you had no name for, the tiny seed you could already feel pressing against the soil of your heart, waiting to split open.
The truth was that while other girls spoke of their desires for true love, for the miracle of childbirth, and motherhood, you desired something too shameful to say aloud.
Your mind always drifted to the impure. Instead of exchanging vows, you dreamed of how your future husband would lay you down the night after your wedding. You'd thought of how his hands would feel pressed against your bare skin, always hidden under long skirts and sleeves—his lips, worshiping you in places no good girl should dream of. How he'd relieve that ever present ache between your legs that never seemed to dissipate and claim your innocence.
You'd thought of it so much, it began to rot you from the inside.
Many times, you'd held back tears during Sunday service, ashamed of the filth that plagued your mind in the holy place of worship of all places. The hymns would rise around you—Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus Dominus Deus Sabaoth—and you'd mouth the words while your thoughts drifted to the heat of an imagined touch, the weight of a body you'd never felt. You'd clench your thighs beneath your Sunday dress and beg God, silently, desperately, to scrub your mind clean.
In your sleepless nights, to avoid temptation, you'd rise from the bed, hands clasped together in prayer before your bedroom window. You'd leave it wide open, in hopes that the frigid wind would cool down the heat inside you. And though you trembled in your nightgown, goosebumps on every surface of your skin, it could never quite quell the fire that never burned out.
At first, you prayed for it to stop. You prayed for purity. Then, you prayed for numbness, believing you'd rather feel nothing at all. Alas, God granted neither, and you began to question which of the two dawning terrors was more catastrophic: the possibility that He wasn't listening at all, or the possibility that He simply did not care.
You knelt until your knees were bruised, you whispered prayers until they turned into sobbing pleas for mercy. There was only so much you could take until you began to lose faith—not just in God, but in yourself.
It was only then, in a moment of desperation, of utter helplessness, that you pleaded for something else:
"I beg of you," you whispered into the night, and whether it reached God, or for something else entirely, you did not care anymore. "If you cannot make this feeling stop, then I beg for relief."
Through the white curtains, you felt a presence. There was no face, no silhouette, no sound other than the howling wind. Yet, you looked up, as if to meet someone's gaze. As if something stood there, watching you.
A chill ran down your spine, and not as a result of the winter air seeping into your bones.
You don't remember a voice. You do, however, remember a silent promise: relief, in exchange for you, eternally.
Eternity. You knew what it meant. Heaven. Hell. The soul's unending life before God or in exile from Him.
You were old enough to know better. Desperate enough not to care.
Every night, then after, he came to you in dreams. You envisioned bits and pieces: a tall silhouette, cold fingertips, an ever-present stare. You saw visions of your own blood dripping down your neck, staining your night clothes. You felt his sharp teeth pierce your flesh as he ravaged you, corrupted you, made a sin of your body and had you begging for more every single time.
Your eyes rolled back in ecstasy, your fingers curled around your bedsheets, and when it finished, you awoke in a cold sweat. You, alone. Your window, closed. And your body, still untouched, still sacred despite the obscene wetness between your thighs, and the way your body trembled from the aftermath of your high.
Relieved, you were, to no longer repress your lustful urges. Horrified, you were, to realize you'd given into your darkest desires, pleasure coaxed out of you by the hands of something sinister.
"Look at you. My beautiful wife."
Jake hovers atop you, the cross at his neck hovering just above your face. Everything was as god intended. Two untouched children of the lord, about to make love on their marital bed, in a home they should hope to raise a family in. For the first time in many nights, the moonlight didn't feel so unholy.
"My beautiful husband," you mirror his adoration, heart beating so fast you fear it might leap out of your chest. "I love you."
His fingers lace with yours, his palms clammy and shaking. He's nervous, as are you. He'd told you as much before you even reached the bed.
"I love you, too," he whispers.
He leans down to kiss you, different from the kiss you shared in the chapel. No longer did you have to settle for quick, chaste pecks. You feel his tongue, his desperation, years of pent-up desire reaching its limit.
Hand still interlocked with yours, he enters you slow and restrained, a gasp leaving his lips, as it does yours.
Everything is as it should be. As God said it should be. You should be overcome with joy. The world should still around you, heaven should open, and some sacred part of you should be remade forever.
It doesn't. The reality is much quieter. A body receiving another body, and nothing more.
Instead, you feel discomfort—sharp and immediate. And it’s not just the physical kind that mothers warn their daughters about before their wedding nights. Your skin crawls, your stomach tightens, and suddenly the world is collapsing. Everything aches. Your head, your heart, the space between your thighs where your body refuses to yield, refuses to feel, refuses to let you forget even for a moment that you belong to something else.
You can't help but think that your husband, basking in his euphoric glow, deserves someone untainted.
Tears stream down your cheeks before you can choke them back, and at the immediate sight of it, he pulls out of you. Cradling you in his arms, he soothes you, gently asks if he’s hurt you. If there’s anything he can do. You shake your head, your sobs turning to whispered apologies.
He holds you close all night, and you cling to him like you're trying to crawl under his skin, hoping Jake will shield you from the inevitable terrors of the night. Because you know, deep down, even after all of this, you'll still feel its presence in your dreams. Its cold, harsh grasp, its teeth, its predatory gaze.
But tonight, the boundary between dream and waking feels thin. As you lie awake, Jake softly snoring at your side, you feel it. That presence. That feeling you've never been able to explain, something better described as an instinct or a sixth sense.
Through the window, half-lidded and drifting, you search for reassurance. Instead, you find a pair of eyes in the dark. A shadow, watching you. You jerk upright, heart hammering, but in the blink of an eye, with a flicker of movement, you find nothing.
“Sweetheart?” You hear Jake's groggy voice at your side, an arm tugging at yours, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just…” Your breath rises and falls, watching the tree branches drift with the howling wind, watching the snow pile up on the edge of the window. “Thought I saw something.”
He pulls you back down to the bed, kisses pressed to the back of your neck. You allow yourself to relax in his arms, the weight of slumber pulling you under.
You make it through the night. You always do. And this time, you wake up in a pair of warm, loving arms, rather than the shivering cold of your childhood twin bed, which you'd been accustomed to for years. You're thankful at least that in spite of your nightmares, your husband is a daydream.
A week was all you had for a honeymoon, if you could even call it that.
You'd told each other you didn't need a vacation. A honeymoon seemed frivolous when you already had everything you wanted: a house, a ring, a future together. You told each other there would be time for travel later. You have forever, after all.
So, straight into your new home you were, ready to build your life together. Your two weeks of time together were mostly spent unpacking boxes and pretending to help your husband build IKEA furniture. Really, you were mostly there to gawk at how attractive he looks when he gets mad at poorly designed instruction manuals.
Though the time slips through your fingers, and suddenly there are no more late mornings tangled in his arms, slow afternoons with nowhere to be, and evenings fumbling in the dark, learning the strange and sacred shape of intimacy.
You'd come to depend on the safety of his presence, the way his breathing beside you kept the dreams at bay. Selfishly, desperately, you did not want to lose it.
"Please don't leave," you whine like a child, rising from the bed.
He adjusts his tie in the full-length mirror at the corner of your bedroom, and your hands snake around his waist from behind, fingers clawing into the fabric of his shirt. You bury your face into his back, just breathing in his presence before you knew it'd inevitably slip away.
"And miss my first day at the office?" He chuckles, an amused smile playing at his lips.
Finished with his tie, he takes your hands, twirling you once before pulling you against him. His mouth finds your neck, then your jaw, then your lips. You melt into the shape of him, this body you're still learning, still marvelling at. But he pulls away all too soon.
"I can't support my wife and our future kids if I get myself fired."
"I know," you pout, following him out of the room, into the hall, hand still grasping his. "But what am I supposed to do here all alone?"
The question is smaller than the fear beneath it. While it is true that here, alone in a new neighbourhood without any real housework to be done yet, you're at a loss with what to do with your time, you both know the real reason why you're gripping his fingers like a child at the school gates: Your terrors, your anxieties and your skittish nature, once soothed and coddled by your parents, had now become Jake's responsibility to tend to, and you are petrified of being alone with your thoughts for the first time in your life.
"You could call your family?" He glances back at you as you both descend the stairs, his hand sliding along the banister.
"My mom has called me every day since the wedding," you deadpan.
He huffs a laugh and turns into the front hall. You reach the coat rack before he does, fetching his coat while he sits on the bench to lace his boots.
"You could go into town?"
"By myself?" You try to make it sound like a joke. It doesn't work.
He stands. You hold the coat open behind him, and he slides his arms in with a small, grateful sound. Then his gaze drifts past you, through the glass of the front door, to the house across the street. A mother is sending her children off, their school bags bright against the white, snowy morning.
"What if you go around and meet the neighbours?"
It isn't a terrible idea. In fact, trying to make new friends in the neighbourhood is what you should be trying to do, as a new couple looking to start their life there. And though ideally, you'd prefer to have your much more socially competent husband alongside you to do the task, you suppose it's about time you start facing your fears alone.
One messy kitchen and a batch of cookies later, you're wrapping up a small bag for each house on your small, quiet street, smiling behind your wool scarf as you ring the bell to the house across the street.
The first house is easy. A middle-aged couple, grateful and brief. The second is an elderly man who mistakes you for a door-to-door salesman. The third, a woman with six cats and one furious white Persian that hisses at you through the screen door until you retreat.
It all blurs together until you reach the end of the street, with only one bag and one house remaining.
You'd be lying if you said you hadn't saved this house for last. Something about it triggered that feeling inside you that you'd grown used to. A dark curiosity that you'd come to fear.
It isn't just the architecture either. Every home on this street is old. That was part of the appeal, why you and Jake had chosen to live here. You preferred something real, something with history. This one, however, feels like the kind of history you don't want to pry into. The kind of spookiness that children sense from the sidewalk and dare their friends to go up to, just to knock on the door and run before anyone answers.
It towers over the neighbouring roofs as if to assert its dominance, shouldering them aside. You don't like the way the entire premise was encompassed by a black, metal gate, and you like it even less now as the sun begins to set—one of the many unfortunate parts about winter; how the sun sets late afternoon, allowing the dark to creep up on you too soon. You hate the dark.
It's all just in your head, surely. Every house in this neighbourhood has an older look and feel, and you're certain that the people living in there are nothing but normal—perhaps even kind. All you have to do is ring the bell, give them the cookies, and leave. It's no big deal.
You nearly laugh at yourself out loud. You're a grown adult, for god's sake, there is no reason to be scared.
With a falsely confident stride, you push past the gates, walking across a jagged cobblestone path. Though you tremble with each step.
Something doesn't feel right, but you remind yourself it's as real as your nightmares—which is to say, not real at all. Your nightmares, the years of psychological torment, it's all in your head. It always has been.
With the sun just about dipping below the horizon, you ring the doorbell, standing before the heavy double doors. You then knock and, for a second, you are relieved to hear nothing back until the doors open with a loud groan. Though you don't see anyone at all, eyes carefully scanning the dimly lit entryway. Your hands curl around the bag in your hands.
"Hello?" You call out, not yet taking a step. "I'm the new neighbour from across the street.”
Silence.
“I… I made cookies.” Your voice echoes into the hall, and you swallow your nerves. “But, if you don't want to be bothered, I totally understand. I can just leave here and be on my way."
You wait a few seconds, hovering in the doorway, and the silence stretches.
You want to leave. Every part of you is screaming at you to turn on your heel and run far, far away. But they'd opened the door for you. You'd made your presence known already. You're standing right there with the cookies in your hand, for God's sake. You can’t just leave now.
Briefly, you wonder what Jake would do. He'd probably walk in with a confident stride and a smile. He'd charm them easily, have them laughing in minutes and get swept up in conversation for hours.
Stupid, you think. You're fine. Completely fine. Just go inside.
You glance around again. The shoe room is empty, save for a small table that stands just beside the door, close enough. And in a split second, you devise your plan: You’ll set them down and immediately leave with your obligations fulfilled, and avoid seeming like a rude, doorbell-ditching neighbour. It’s perfect. Foolproof. Simple.
You step forward, arm extending toward the table, already planning your retreat.
Then the door slams shut behind you.
"Welcome."
The voice comes from directly behind you. You spin, a strangled sound catching in your throat, and there he is—a silhouette pooled in the darkness beside the doorframe, so close you don't understand how you missed him. He must have opened the door. He must have been standing there the whole time, shielded by the shadow of the door, watching you step past him.
"My apologies," he says, stepping aside, the candlelight giving you a proper view of his face. "I've just woken up, and my eyes are sensitive to the sun. I did not mean to startle you,"
Though your heart is pounding through your chest, and you feel like your legs will give out at any moment, you are oddly comforted by his the sight of him. A young man, tall and pale, not much older than yourself and quite strikingly beautiful. You've never seen his face before, though you think it looks strangely familiar, as if you've known him a long time. You’re staring. And though you are aware of it, you don’t tear your gaze away.
"Are these for me?" He looks down at your hand, where you hold your cookies close to your chest.
Wordlessly, you nod, extending your hand. Though you don't expect him to lower his head, his face dipping towards your outstretched hand, the tip of his nose barely grazing the pulse at your wrist.
He inhales.
The sound is soft, barely audible, and his eyes close for a fraction of a second.
They open again, and they find yours, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. There’s a sharpness to his gaze, and it cuts straight through the cold, a dull, traitorous warmth blooming in your lower stomach.
"Smells delicious."
"Thank you," you squeak, shrinking under his gaze.
"My dear," his head tilts, brows furrowing, "You're trembling. You must've been out in the cold a while."
"Yes, well..." You glance toward the door. "Well, I—"
"I would hate to send you back out there." He takes the bag from your hands before you can finish, the motion smooth, unhurried. "Why don't you stay for tea?"
"Oh! Gosh, no, I couldn't possibly impose—"
"I insist."
As if he were commanding you, you find yourself staying, seated on an old-looking couch, the fireplace cackling, warming your chilled hands. Though it does nothing to ease your trembling. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks every second.
Soon, a small teacup is set down in front of you, as he pours both of you a cup from the pot. You look up as he sits himself across from you, face to face, and your palms dig into the couch cushion.
"I must admit, I'm quite delighted to have a visitor," he crosses one leg over the other, his posture upright, poised. It makes you straighten yourself out, embarrassed by your poor manners. "It's been a very long time. You said you moved here across the street?"
"Ah, Yes. My husband and I just moved." You raised your hand to show your ring finger. "Actually, we also just got married."
"Newlyweds. Congratulations," his voice is smooth, "What made the two of you move here?"
"Well, we're not from too far. Just across the southern river. And we looked at houses closer to home but... Something about this neighbourhood felt right. So we decided to start our life here." you smile briefly at the memory, "It's quieter here. Better for raising children—well, eventually, of course. Hopefully."
You falter, the mention of children suddenly feeling far too intimate for a conversation with a man you met three minutes ago. There's a brief, expressionless pause before his mouth curves into a smile.
"It is a nice neighbourhood." He hums in agreement, "Very safe."
"Exactly."
The conversation lulls, and you use the moment to glance around the room. It's grand, immaculate, every piece of furniture polished to a dark gleam. There's no clutter. No photographs on the mantle. No second mug drying on the drainboard. The silence of the house surrounds you, deep and undisturbed.
Your eyes drift back to him. His hands were folded neatly around his teacup. Pale, long-fingered, ever so still. No ring.
It catches you off guard. A man like this, who is wealthy, well-spoken, and irrefutably beautiful in a way that makes your stomach feel strange, and yet he lives alone in a house like this. There should be a wife. There should be children.
Unless there's something wrong with him.
The thought surfaces before you can stop it. You're being judgmental. He's been nothing but polite. He invited you in from the cold. He made you tea. If he's a bachelor, that's his business. Maybe he's shy, maybe he prefers solitude, maybe he's simply never found the right person.
You don't ask. A married woman doesn't comment on another man’s status. The whole line of thought is dangerous, a door you shouldn’t open.
His eyes are on you now, steady and watchful. Too watchful.
You drop your gaze to your untouched teacup to distract yourself, and the grandfather clock ticks.
Then, he laughs. Sheepishly, you watch as he takes a sip of his tea.
"I did not poison it, I promise,” he says, setting the cup down with a clink.
"Oh!" You gape, "No, no. I did not think—I mean, I did not mean to offend you, Mr. ...?"
"Please, call me Sunghoon."
"Sunghoon, then," you let out a sigh, "I'm sorry. I'm easily startled or, as my husband would say, 'a bit of a scaredy-cat,' but I really do appreciate you inviting me in."
"No offence taken. I understand. This is a pretty scary house," he laughs lightly, his voice dropping ever slightly, "and you are a vulnerable young lady."
You laugh nervously at his last comment, certain that he intended well. But it only makes you feel uneasy. Instinctively, your hand goes to the dainty cross at your neck. A habit you'd developed over the years.
"That is to say, you have every right to have your suspicions. And if I were your husband, I wouldn't take your safety so lightly." You don't miss the way his eyes move from you, down to your neck, "He is a very lucky man."
His eyes remain on your throat. You can feel them there, cool and steady, like a fingertip resting just above your pulse. The cross seems to warm under his attention—or perhaps that's your skin, flushing with a heat you don't want to name. Your fingers stay wrapped around the little gold chain, clutching it as if it can shield you from something you can't quite see.
Stop it, you tell your body. Stop it, stop it, stop it.
You hold it so tightly the edges bite into your palm. A penance. A reminder. You are a woman of God. You are pure. You are—
"A woman of faith, I see."
The fire pops, and a log shifts, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. You flinch. He doesn't react. In fact, you aren't sure that you've seen him move at all, his body as still as a statue.
"Of course," you reply as naturally as you can sound, "...aren't you?"
"If I say I am not," he raises a brow, "What then?"
You pause, drawing a breath that feels too shallow and force your lips into something resembling a smile.
"Well," you swallow, "God did say to love your neighbour."
"Ah, Mark twelve, verse thirty-three." Sunghoon's smile doesn't waver. "To love him with all your heart, with all your understanding and with all your strength, and to love your neighbour as yourself is more important than all burnt offerings and sacrifices."
The verse hangs in the air, complete and precise, and the tension in your shoulders eases, if only a little.
"So you are a believer."
"I believe in many things." His voice is soft, almost musing. "I believe in life after death. I believe in sinners and saints. I believe some of us, while we may try to convince ourselves otherwise, do not belong in the light."
He then pauses, and you swear you watch his smile curl into something wicked, before he continues.
"I believe prayers can be answered. Especially the ones laced with shame, whispered breathlessly in the night."
Your teacup rattles, the sound too loud in the quiet room. You set it down, but your fingers are shaking so badly the porcelain nearly slips. The cold that has been hovering at the edges of you since you walked through the door now settles deep in your bones.
You look at Sunghoon, your eyes meeting his lingering, far too intense stare. The horrible ache inside of you, the one you've come to know all too well, the one that has haunted your dreams for years, begins to wake from its slumber.
Something is wrong. His demeanour. The way he doesn't seem to breathe or blink or move at all. His presence. The way he looks at you like he owns you, and how that look makes your thighs clench, an inexplicable heat overtaking you.
You nearly jump out of your skin when the grandfather clock strikes the sixth hour.
"Oh!" You laugh nervously, an attempt to conceal the small yelp that escaped you. "Look at the time! I should really go."
"So soon?"
"Yes! My husband should be arriving soon, so..."
You are scrambling for the door, heart thumping in your chest as he follows close behind. Picking up the pace, you grab your coat from the rack near the door. But before you can grab the knob and swing the door open, you feel his presence behind you, cold and seemingly lifeless. You turn.
"It was lovely meeting you," he takes your trembling hand in his, "I hope to see you again, soon."
He lifts your hand as if to kiss it. Though he doesn't. Not yet.
You hear the soft sound of an inhale, barely there, but unmistakable, a slow, shuddering breath. His eyes flutter half-closed, and you blink, frozen in fear, wondering for a brief second if your mind is playing tricks on you, or if he really just sniffed you like some kind of animal.
He then kisses your hand, his lips just barely grazing your knuckles, featherlight. You should feel horror. You should feel disgust. Both are there, you suppose, but beneath it lies something far more shameful.
In the still, empty silence, you let out the tiniest, neediest whimper.
It lingers long enough for both of you to process what exactly you had just done.
He looks up at you through his lashes with a grin, like the most beautiful predator you'd ever laid your eyes on. And, though you can't quite tell in the dim candlelight, you think the canines peeking out the edge of his smile look rather sharp.
With that look permanently etched into your mind, you run. No other words exchanged, no farewell. You’re sprinting back down the street to your place, as fast as your feet can take you, not sparing a single glance behind.
A sigh of relief, though it sounds more like a sob, escapes you when you see Jake’s car in the driveway.
Your hands tremble so violently the keys skitter against the lock, and when the door gives, you throw yourself inside, slam it shut, press your spine to the wood like you're holding back a flood. You breathe in and out. In and out. Chest rising and falling with every breath. Exactly how Jake had taught you to do every time your fears crept up on you too quickly.
"Jake?"
The house is completely dark, and only the silence whispers back. You take off your boots, your coat, throwing them to the side without care as you move. The floorboards creak beneath your feet, and the panic you had only just quelled begins to rise again.
"Jake, where are you?" You try again, this time a bit louder.
You check the living room. The dining room. The kitchen. Then, on shaky legs, you carry yourself upstairs, hand sliding against the railing as you make your way to the bedroom. Still, not a soul to be found. Your hands grip the doorway, nails digging into the wooden frame as you choke down your heavy breaths, blinking away the tears that threaten your eyes.
A pair of arms wrap around you from behind, and the scream that leaves you is almost inhuman.
"It's just me!"
You thrash around in his grasp, and Jake immediately lets go.
He steps back, palms raised, face slack with shock and guilt. You're shaking violently now, heaving as a single tear falls from your eyes.
"Just me, sweetheart." His voice drops, taking your hand in his and guiding you to the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have scared you like that. That's my fault, I'm—"
You don't let him finish. You collapse into him, and he catches you without hesitation, his arms folding around your trembling form as you curl into his lap. He presses his lips to the crown of your head.
"Don't ever do that again."
"I won't." He murmurs into your hair, "Cross my heart, I never will."
You're sobbing into his chest as he whispers I'm sorries and I love yous—Over and over, until the words blur into a rhythm as steady as his heartbeat beneath your ear. You latch onto him like he's your lifeline. He is warm and solid and alive, and you cling to him with a desperation that should embarrass you but doesn't.
Only when your breathing steadies do you finally find the strength to speak.
"I missed you so much."
"I missed you, too."
"I missed you more." Your voice cracks on the last word, and you feel the tears threatening again.
"Shh. It's okay. I'm right here. It's okay." He smooths a hand down your hair, your back. "What happened, sweetheart? Did something happen? Why were you outside?"
"I..." you trail off, unsure how to even proceed as you sniffle. "I went to meet the neighbours... and... the house at the corner. The man there, he..."
It sounds ridiculous when you try to rationalize it in your head, and would probably sound even more ridiculous if you tried to say it out loud.
Sunghoon didn't technically do anything wrong. He only looked at you in ways that made you feel wrong. He said some things that could be interpreted as threatening, though he said it in a polite tone. He kissed your hand and had maybe sniffed you, if you even remember it properly, or if that's just your terrified, panicked brain making things up. He also made you whimper, but that certainly isn't something you can tell your husband.
The memory of it makes you let out another sob, feeling utterly pathetic and ashamed in his arms.
"Hey, talk to me," his voice drops, "What did he do?"
Swallowing your guilt, you pick up the pieces of the truth you can stomach to say aloud.
"The way he was looking at me, it was—he kissed my hand, and—" you stammer, "I don't know. I don't know how to explain."
You can feel Jake exhale.
"Okay," he says calmly, matter-of-factly, taking in the information, "A creepy neighbour tried to hit on you? Is that it?"
Hitting on you. The phrase doesn't quite capture the feeling of being hunted, like a lamb who wandered aimlessly within a predator's reach.
You don't correct him, though. You nod your head, breathing heavy into his grasp as he smooths down the back of your head, holding you tight.
"I'm sorry," you feel the vibration of his voice against his chest. "You want me to talk to him? Scare him off, a bit?"
You picture that predatory gaze, the eyes of something sinister—something demonic. Then you look to your husband: warm and bright and too good for this world. Your husband is the safest, strongest, and most capable man you know. Still, you are strangely terrified at the thought of letting him go there alone.
"I just want you to stay here. With me." You say, simply, "That's all I want."
"I'll always be here. Forever," he hums, circling your wedding ring, dragging your palm flat along his chest until it rests just above his heart, "That's what I promised to you. 'Til death do us part."
You close your eyes. You try to let the steady thrum of his heartbeat drown out everything else. Safe, you tell yourself. I'm safe. He's here. I'm safe.
It doesn't work. What exactly are you safe from? From a man who only looked at you? From a feeling that had started long before you ever set foot in that house?
The heat is still there, coiled low in your belly, waiting. It doesn't care that you're in your husband's arms. It doesn't care that you want it gone. It's been awakened, and it won't be going back to sleep.
You press your thighs together. You're still hot. Too hot. Jake doesn't notice right away, holding you in his arms, his hand still covering yours above his heart.
Your husband pulls back, cupping your face in his hands.
"You're burning up." He says gently, brows furrowed in pure-hearted concern. "You're really warm. Are you getting sick? You were out in the cold for a while, weren't you?"
You open your mouth to answer, but he beats you to it.
"Maybe we should just order takeout tonight. You should rest. I'll warm you a bath, and we can rent a movie. How does that sound?" His thumb traces the curve of your jaw, his eyes searching your face for clues he doesn't know how to read. "I can call in sick tomorrow, and—"
"Jake."
Your eyes drop to his lips. You're still curled in his lap, your breath shallow, your thighs pressed together beneath your skirt. It takes him a second or two for his expression to shift.
Your mouth is on his before he can speak, hot and heavy, desperate to suppress the dark, deviant desire that refuses to leave you alone. You can't help yourself. Not when you're sitting in his lap like this, your arousal and guilt unrelenting.
He goes rigid, a startled sound catching in his throat. This isn't how you kiss. You never kissed him like this before you were married, and you certainly hadn't after, either.
Every night you've shared so far has been nothing but gentle and loving, always handling you with the care one would give a porcelain doll. He had learned of your fragility and your fears long before he ever learned your body, and made love to you the only way he knew how: carefully, tenderly. As if your pleasure was a gift to be earned and not a hunger you already carry.
Tonight, though, you kiss him with the kind of hunger a sexually repressed Catholic boy can only dream of—the kind he was taught to repent for, to pray away. You moan against his lips, the sound raw and almost wounded, clawing open his shirt and grinding against his hips like it's the only thing you need right now.
"Hey—hey, slow down." His hands close gently over yours, stilling them. His eyes search your face, wide and careful. "We don't have to—are you okay? You were just crying, and I don't want you to feel like—"
You shake your head. All you want is that horrible ache inside you to be gone, fucked away by the man you love, the man you married. You pull your hands free and push him back onto the bed. He goes willingly, propped on his elbows, still watching you with that tender, uncertain concern.
"Baby, I'm serious." Jake's voice cracks. His hands hover at your waist, twitching and uncertain. "I don't need—ah—are you sure you want this right now?" The words tumble out of him, broken and breathless, even as his hips rise to meet yours. His body knows what it wants. His mind is still catching up. "You don't have to do this for me—"
"It's for me." Your voice is low, almost like a growl, and his eyes widen.
You reach for the hem of your own dress first and pull it over your head. The fabric catches for a moment on your ear, on your elbow, and the clumsiness of it makes you want to scream. Then it's gone, discarded somewhere on the floor, and you're working at the clasp of your bra while Jake stares up at you with parted lips and dawning disbelief.
He reaches up again, hand hovering a moment before moving to yours, trying to still or slow your moments, but this time you slap them away. Your hands make quick work of his pants, as you do your own, and without a second to spare, you're staring down at his half-hard length, holding the weight of him in your clumsy, still inexperienced hand. You carefully watch his expression, brows knitted, lips parted, and when you tighten your grip ever slightly as you stroke him, he's thrusting up into your hand.
"Shit." He breathes.
You shift forward, lining him up with your entrance. Your underwear is still on—you realize this too late, and the awkwardness of shoving the damp fabric aside makes your face flush. But you don't stop. You sink down onto him, and the stretch steals your breath.
You sigh at the stretch, not used to taking all of him so quickly—not used to being on top, either, and your eagerness momentarily subsides, taking a moment to adjust. Then, with the awkwardness you'd expect of two adults who only started having sex a few weeks ago, you start to move, hands pressed down against his chest. He gazes up in awe, hands twitching at his sides before moving to your hips.
"Holy shit," he manages, the words repeating in broken moans, desperately containing himself from falling apart right there as he watches you, his gorgeous wife, take him with a newfound hunger. He looks wrecked already, his jaw tight with the effort of holding back. "If you keep moving like that—"
His hands tighten, slowing you. He's trying to pace you, trying to protect you from yourself, and the unbearable, oblivious tenderness of it is the last thing you can stand.
"Jake." Your voice comes out sharp, breathless, a frown tugging at your lips. "For God's sake. I'm not going to break. Just fuck me."
There's a moment of pure shock that lingers, and he goes still. Very still. A part of you almost regrets it. Maybe you frightened him. Maybe you've shown a side of yourself that you were never supposed to show, and now he'll never look at you the same.
He exhales a long, shaky breath.
His hands slide from your hips to your waist, then down to your thighs, gripping with an ownership he's never allowed himself before. He thrusts up into you once, testing, and when you gasp, he does it again. Harder. Your head falls back. A moan spills from your lips, and the sound seems to unlock something in him.
"Fuck," he breathes.
His fingers dig into your skin as he moves you, setting a rhythm that is no longer careful, no longer restrained. You try to match it, but you're still clumsy, still learning, and after a few desperate, off-beat thrusts, he makes a low sound in his throat and flips you onto the mattress.
Your face falls into the pillow. His hand presses between your shoulder blades, arching your back, and then he's inside you again—deeper this time, fuller. The moan you let out is almost a sob. He pulls back and slams into you, and you feel the curve of his grin against the shell of your ear.
"You like this?" His voice is low, but still laced with that concern he always wears. There's a genuine curiosity to his question, a disbelief that lingers. "You like it rough?"
"Please," your desperate voice is muffled in the pillow, "harder, please."
He makes a sound, something between a laugh and a guttural groan, and his hand spreads warm across the small of your back.
"Look at you," he murmurs, almost to himself. "God, look at you. My wife."
He pulls back slowly, letting you feel every inch of him leaving you, and the anticipation is its own kind of torment. When he thrusts back in, it's deep and full, and the gasp you let out is his name. He does it again. And again.
His hand fists the sheets beside your head. His forehead drops to the curve of your neck.
"Fuck—" His voice is ragged, almost disbelieving. "You're really—I can't—"
His thrusts grow deeper, harder, his hand pressing into the arch of your back as he drives into you with an indulgence he's never allowed himself. You can feel the tension, the pressure building. His name falls from your lips in fragments, and he answers with his body—faster, deeper, more.
"That's it," he breathes, and the pride in his voice is new, too. He's proud of this. Proud of what he's doing to you. Proud of you. "I've got you."
You clench around him, crying out when he hits that spot inside you just right, clawing at the pillows beneath you. The orgasm seizes you and doesn't let go, and he feels it. Every pulse, every shudder. His rhythm falters and then breaks entirely.
His voice cracks, high and wrecked, and he buries himself to the hilt and stills, his whole body going rigid against your back. Then he's coming, too. Deep inside you, his hips jerking with each pulse, his groan a long, ragged thing that vibrates through you. He keeps thrusting, fucking his cum back into you, riding it out until he's shaking, until he's spent, until his forehead drops to the nape of your neck and his breath comes in great heaving gasps against your sweat-damp skin.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. He's still inside you, and you can feel his cum between your thighs, still draped over you, his chest pressed to your back so you can feel the hammer of his heart. Your body hums. The world is quiet. The only sound is your breathing, slowly finding the same rhythm.
Then he laughs.
It starts as a breathless little thing against your neck, almost disbelieving, until it blooms into something utterly delighted. His arms slide around your waist, and he pulls you with him as he rolls onto his side, still buried inside you, his face pressed to the curve of your shoulder.
"Who are you," he breathes, "and what have you done with my wife?"
He's grinning. You can feel it against your skin. His hand is flat across your stomach, holding you close, and he presses a kiss to the crook of your neck.
"Seriously. What was—what's gotten into you?"
You turn in his arms, just enough to see his face. He's flushed, pleased, his eyes half-lidded and warm.
You snuggle into his chest, pressing your cheek to the warm plane of his sternum, and his arms fold around you automatically.
"Missed you," you whisper.
"Clearly." The word is thick with satisfaction, his voice still rough and low. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. "Must've been real lonely, huh? Waiting for me to come home."
“Never leave again. Please."
He laughs softly, pulling you tighter against his chest. The sound rumbling through his chest beneath your ear. His hand moves in slow, soothing strokes down your spine.
"Sweetheart, if this is what I come home to, you couldn't drag me out that door." He presses a kiss to your hair. "I'll quit tomorrow. Become a stay-at-home husband. Live right here in this bed forever."
His breathing deepens, slows. His hand stills on your back. Within minutes, he's asleep, his lips still curved in the ghost of that grin, his body warm and heavy and trusting against yours.
You don't sleep. You can't. The satisfaction is already fading, replaced by the old familiar ache—a low thrum beneath the surface, waiting. You know the dreams will come tonight. You know what waits for you in the dark. But for now, you let yourself be held. For now, his heartbeat under your ear is louder than the guilt. For now, that's enough.
Like clockwork, the dream arrives. Tangled in your husband's arms, you glance to the window, feeling that same presence you always do, tainting your mind with lustful images you could not escape.
Except that tonight, the shadow has a face.
You've never seen a face in your dreams before. For years, the presence has been nothing but sensation—cold hands, sharp teeth, a voice without sound. A silhouette at the edge of your sleeping vision, tall and still. Never eyes you could look into.
Sunghoon's face materializes out of the dark. First the eyes, dark and depthless, then the sharp planes of his face, then the mouth that curved against your knuckles and made you whimper. He looks exactly as he did in the candlelight. Beautiful. Predatory. Waiting.
Why him? You wonder, visions of his lips at your neck invading your mind. Why now?
Though in your dreaming state, you don't have much time to ponder such questions. You're too consumed by the image of those sharp canines that you swore you saw, sinking into your flesh, his hands wandering the length of your body. You don't flinch. In the dream, you arch toward him. You offer him your neck. You come undone with his name on your lips, only a whisper in the night.
You wake with a gasp, still tangled in your husband's embrace, slick between your legs. Though Jake doesn't stir. His breathing is deep and even, his body warm and trusting against yours.
The ghost of your dream lingers, and you press your palm to your mouth to hold back the sob building in your chest.
Dawn comes pale and grey through the curtains, but you're already awake. You couldn't go back to sleep, no matter how hard you tried. So you stop trying. You slip carefully from the bed and pad barefoot to the shower.
You rinse yourself under scalding hot water as if scrubbing every inch of yourself could wash the dream away. You fold Jake's work clothes into a neat pile on the dresser—a reminder that you are a loving, faithful wife and not whatever your dreams make you out to be.
In the kitchen, the coffee machine clicks and hisses. You stand at the window with your empty mug in your hands, and before you've made the conscious decision to look, your eyes have found it. The house. His house.
Just looking at it makes your blood run cold.
You can't help but wonder why every curtain remains drawn, despite the large, beautiful windows. You wonder why he mentioned having "just woken up," though you'd visited him late afternoon—almost evening—yesterday. You think of the way he looked at you, sharp, calculated, like a predator who'd caught its prey. And those teeth, which now that you're thinking back, most certainly had to be sharp, like the ones in your dreams.
Curtains drawn. Cold hands. Sharp teeth.
"Morning, baby," Jake's groggy voice is heard from the hallway, heavy footsteps pattering into the kitchen.
You turn to greet your husband with a broken smile. He chases your lips for a kiss, hands at your waist as they slide down the length of your nightgown with a newfound ease—remnants of last night's confidence still lingering in his touch. You jump in his grasp, a sound of surprise caught in your throat, but you both turn your heads at the beep of the coffee machine.
He pours you a cup first, and you try to focus on his words, you really do. However, his complaints of a passive-aggressive boss and abundantly vague emails fall on deaf ears as your hands tighten around the warmth of your coffee mug, eyes unwillingly and unhelpfully drifting to the window every few seconds.
You hear your name on his lips, but only process it once his hand reaches out to rest atop yours.
"You're spacing out." His thumb moves in slow circles over your knuckles, "Everything alright? Or am I just talking your ear off?"
"Just... tired."
"That makes two of us," he smiles, the two of you sharing a playful look. But he's still watching you, still reading the tension in your shoulders. "Talk to me, sweetheart. I'm here."
Your thumb traces the rim of your mug, and then, before you can talk yourself out of it.
"Do you believe in supernatural things?" You start hesitantly, "Not just God, obviously, but... other things...?"
Your husband takes a slow, pensive sip of his coffee.
"This is about your dreams again, isn't it?"
He gives you that look. The same one your mother and father used to give you at the mention of your nightmares. Sympathetic, but doubtful.
You look down, and he sighs, lifting your hand to his lips. The kiss is gentle and warm, though you shudder regardless.
"Remind me. How long have you been having these dreams, again?"
"Years."
"Years," he echoes, "And how many times, in all these years, have any of your dreams ever hurt you? Really hurt you?"
You sigh, shoulders slumping, a quiet relief blooming in your chest at the sight of his easy, gentle smile. The sunrise peeks through the window just enough to cast a golden glow across his face. His brown eyes and honey skin, now illuminated, were warm and familiar like the fresh cup of coffee in front of you that you had yet to touch.
"They haven't."
"Then I think it's safe to say that whatever it is you're afraid of, that's just your extra creative brain coming up with new reasons to freak out." he taps your head, and you roll your eyes, cracking a smile of your own. "None of it is real. It can't hurt you."
You kiss him goodbye at the door, your worries soothed momentarily as you watch his car disappear around the corner. But soon after, as you're reaching into the sink to work on a day-old pile of dishes, you can't help but watch the house at the corner. You watch all morning. Not a single soul exits or enters the home.
The town library is exactly what you'd expect. The air is stiff, the scent of old books and dust, and an old woman behind the front counter glares at you over the rims of her glasses, like she’s waiting for a reason to shush you.
You hadn't meant to come here. You were going to do errands. That's what you told yourself, anyway. But your feet carried you straight past the grocery store and straight through the heavy oak doors of the town library. And now, you wandered aimlessly through the aisles, unsure of what exactly you're looking for.
Dreams. You find a nonfiction book on dreams. You pull it from the shelf and flip to a chapter on nightmares. The author theorizes that our deepest fears materialize in our sleep, that the subconscious paints faces onto the things that frighten us most. A stranger who unsettled you. A presence that made you feel unsafe. The brain takes what it can't process during the day and works through it at night.
It makes sense. It's rational. He frightened you with that unsettling look in his eyes and his words, and your dreams gave him a form. It's a natural psychological response.
Then the book goes on to list common nightmare archetypes. The falling dream. The dream of being chased. The dream of being naked in public. Nowhere does it mention the dream where a stranger touches you between your legs, their lips on yours, then at your neck, or why you might envision them sinking their teeth into your flesh and drinking your blood. Nowhere does it account for the way your body responded.
Snapping the book shut and shoving it back on the shelf, you continue drifting with a little more purpose now. Past Town Records. Past Local Histories. Past a whole shelf of sermon collections by long-dead Reverends. Your fingers trail the spines, but you don't stop.
You turn down a narrow aisle in the back corner, away from the windows, away from the light.
The titles swimming into focus are older, darker, their spines cracked and their pages yellowed. Supernatural Histories. The Undead: A Historical Overview. Vampires Among Us.
Your hand reaches for one before your mind can stop it, failing to notice the pair of legs, long and lanky, stretched across the aisle, which blocks your path.
"Oh—!" You nearly trip, steadying yourself against the shelf.
A teenager is wedged between the shelves and the wall. He doesn't even look up. His head is bowed over a thick, hardcover book that looks older than time itself, and the sound of heavy drums and electric guitar bleeds from the headphones clamped over his ears. His school uniform is rumpled, tie loose, blazer nowhere in sight. His hair is jet-black except for a single bleached strand.
You clear your throat.
Nothing.
You clear it again, louder.
He turns a page.
"Excuse me…." You say a little more sternly this time, hands at your hips. "Shouldn't you be in school...?” You pause, glancing at his open backpack, at the name on his notebooks. "…Niki?"
He takes his time glancing up, eyes dragging over you with the lazy, unimpressed scrutiny only a teenager can manage. He takes in the sensible skirt. The ironed blouse. The cross at your neck. One pierced eyebrow lifts a fraction. He pulls his headphones down to his neck, his music a low hum.
"Shouldn't you be in the erotica section, or something?" He retorts, rolling his eyes.
"What?" You gape.
"Just saying." He gestures vaguely at you. "You've got the whole... repressed housewife look."
"You—" You give up halfway through your sentence, deciding your time shouldn't be spent exchanging comebacks with a boy who hasn't even graduated yet.
He goes back to his book, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You step over his legs, which he doesn't move an inch, and try to ignore him, scanning the shelf in front of you until you find the book you had your eyes on before. Locating it, you reach.
"Isn't the occult, like, the devil to you people?"
Your hand stops mid-air, and you turn. He's watching you now, the book in his lap forgotten.
"I'm just looking."
"Sure. Just looking." He closes his book finally, giving you his full attention for the first time, and you immediately wish he hadn't. "Listen, lady. Vampire smut's two aisles down. No judgment. I'm not your pastor."
"I already said—" The flush crawls up your neck. "I'm not—I would never—"
"You'd never," he repeats, flat. "Right. So what are you looking for in this section? A cookbook?"
Your hand is still frozen in the air, fingers hovering over the spine of a book with a lurid, painted cover. A woman in a torn nightgown, fainting into the arms of a dark figure with glowing eyes.
"I wanted to... research something.”
"Research.”
You nod weakly.
He pauses a moment, like he’s analyzing you. Then his whole expression shifts.
"Wait. For real? You're not just messing with me?" His eyes are wide now, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. It makes him appear even younger than he is, his mood brightening with childlike excitement. "You're actually researching vampires? Like, the lore? The real stuff? You're not just looking for sexy billionaire novels?"
"I don't know anything about sexy billionaires—"
"Oh my god." He scrambles to his feet, all gangly limbs and sudden, startling height, and you take an instinctive step back. His face is absolutely alight. "Oh my god, that's sick. That's actually so sick. Nobody in this town cares about this stuff. Everybody here just thinks I'm some freak who—" He stops himself, clears his throat. "Okay. Okay. So. What do you want to know?"
He's already pulling books off the shelf before you can come up with an answer, scanning spines with the practiced eye of someone who has memorized every title.
"Okay, so. First of all, don't touch that one." He jabs a finger at the book you'd been reaching for. "Complete garbage. The guy just makes stuff up. Zero sources."
"You've read it?"
"I've read everything on this shelf." He says it with pride and a slight shrug. He pulls down a thick volume bound in dark blue cloth, its cover embossed with a faded silver symbol you don't recognize. "You want this one. Written by a Victorian occultist. Genuine primary sources. He gets into the super niche stuff most modern books ignore."
"Niche stuff?"
"Yeah, like. The running water barrier—they can't cross it. Like rivers and lakes. Which is wild. And the mirror thing? It's not that they don't have reflections, it's that old mirrors were backed with silver, and silver's purifying. So the reflection was there, just corrupted. Sort of." He's talking faster now, words tripping over each other. "And then there's the soul-contract stuff, which is the real deep lore. Most people don't even know about it."
"Soul-contracts?"
"Oh, you have to hear about this." He grins, clearly delighted to have an audience. "Okay, so—vampires need blood, right? And most of them have to hunt for it. Every meal. Every night. That's a lot of work. So some of them, the older ones, the smart ones, they figured out a more... efficient system."
He flips through the book, looking for a page.
"They find a human who's desperate. Like, really desperate. And they make a deal. The human offers themselves up—their blood, their life force, whatever—and in exchange, the vampire gives them something that they want."
Your stomach tightens.
"Oh! That's..." You struggle to find your words, but force your voice to stay steady. "What kind of something, exactly?"
"Anything. Revenge, protection, a cure for some disease. Whatever the human needs so badly, they'd trade their soul for it." He finds the page, runs a finger down the text. "But the key thing is, the vampire can't just take. The human has to give permission. Willingly. Otherwise, the bond doesn't form. Hence, the contract part of the soul-contract."
"The bond?"
"Yep. The bond is formed only if it is totally, one-hundred percent mutual. The vampire is tied to the human just as much as the human is tied to the vampire. It's not a master-servant thing. It's..." He pauses, searching for the word. "Permanent. The connection can never be broken, like some eternally messed-up, toxic situationship."
Your hand has found the cross at your throat. You don't remember reaching for it.
"What I don't get," he continues, frowning at the page, "is how the whole thing starts. Like, how does the vampire hear the human in the first place? The book says it answers a call. Not literally a call, though. The words are weird. It says: 'A plea uttered from the deepest well of the soul, often in a state of such desperation that it transcends the mortal sphere.'"
"What kind of plea?" Your voice comes out as a whisper.
"Doesn't say exactly. But the book keeps comparing it to..." He squints at the footnote, then pauses, turns the page. "Huh. That's weird."
"What?"
"The language it uses. It says 'a prayer inverted.'" He traces his finger down the margin. "'Not all prayers reach the kingdom of heaven. Some are intercepted by hungrier ears.' Spooky, right?"
You can't breathe.
The cross burns against your palm. You press it harder, trying to ground yourself, but the world narrows to a single point: a memory. Your bedroom window. The winter wind on your wet cheeks. Your knees bruised against the floorboards.
I beg of you. If you cannot make this feeling stop, then I beg for relief.
"Hey." Niki's voice cuts through the static in your head. "You good? You look like you're gonna, uh... hurl. Or pass out."
"I'm fine."
"Yeah, no." He sets the book aside, straightening up, eyes narrowing. "You're definitely not fine. Was it something I said? I have a habit of—I mean, my mom's always telling me I don't know when to shut up, so if I—"
"You didn't do anything." You shake your head, swallowing hard. "I just need some air."
“Wait!”
You step back, your heel catching on the leg he's stretched across the aisle again. You stumble, and he scrambles to his feet, catches your elbow—a quick, awkward gesture.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to—I just—" He pulls back immediately, shoving both hands in his pockets like he's been burned. He drops his voice to a whisper, then he stares straight at you. “You’ve met a vampire, haven’t you?”
You blink.
"No." You shake your head too fast, an unconvincing laugh escaping your lips before you ramble on, "What? No. That’s ridiculous. Vampires aren't real. Aren’t you too old to believe in these things? Please.”
“But—”
“I'm just... I'm bored. And…” You swallow, “I need to get home before my husband is back."
There’s a pause. A long one.
"Oh… I get it.” He gives you a knowing look. “You can't tell anyone. Vampire confidentiality. Right?" He shifts his weight, suddenly looking less like a brooding delinquent and more like a kid who's spent too many lunch periods eating alone. You open your mouth to protest, but he continues. "Then, if you do see one. Hypothetically. Could you... ask something for me?"
You take in his wide-eyed, hopeful stare.
"The garlic thing. Is it true? Everyone's always arguing about it, but I think it's just complete crap.”
You let out a sigh.
"I'll keep that in mind."
He beams, looking like he’s about to jump up and down with joy, but quickly reins himself in, dropping his voice an octave and shrugging the excitement away.
"Cool... cool. Alright. I'll see you later, then, vampire research lady. I'm always here, so come and find me whenever you wanna, like. Hang out or something...You'll come back, right?"
You don't process any of it. Still shaken, you turn and walk. Past the shelves. Past the desk, where the old librarian still watches you with narrowed eyes. Past the heavy oak doors and into the cold, gray afternoon.
Not all prayers reach the kingdom of heaven.
You pull your coat tighter and start walking, not home just yet. You need to let yourself breathe before you go back to the house with the kitchen window that faces his door, before you have to look your husband in the eye and pretend the conversation you just had never happened.
Teenagers believe anything. You tell yourself with every heavy step, fresh snow crunching underfoot. None of it is real. It can't hurt you.
A thick snowfall arrives on a Friday afternoon, the following week. Schools and stores close, and a company-wide email advises everyone to stay inside. Jake stood at the bedroom window when he read it, watching the storm howl past the glass, and felt two things at once: a quiet disappointment that winter is nowhere near its end, and a much louder, much more immediate gratitude that he doesn't have to leave you today.
He's been worried about you. That's nothing new, actually. He's been worried about you since the day you met, when you laughed at one of his jokes only to screech at the sound of a twig snapping under your step two seconds later. He recognized something in you then.
To call it skittishness would be an understatement. There was a weight behind your wide-eyed stare. The look of someone who has been carrying something heavy for a very long time and has never asked anyone to help her hold it. You told him about your night terrors a month into the relationship. Sat him down, explained it like a warning, as if it could ever scare him off from pursuing you. He wanted to be the one to help. He still does. It's the quiet purpose of his life.
He was foolishly optimistic back then. The reality of what it means to live with you, alongside your fears, is not an easy responsibility to carry. You smile when you're sad. You deflect when he asks questions. You say I'm fine and change the subject and slide into his lap, and he lets you, because he loves you, because he doesn't always know the right thing to say, and maybe because some part of him is afraid that if he pushes too hard, he'll be devastated to find there's far more he doesn't understand about you than he realizes.
He holds you in the ways you ask him to. He soothes your fears without knowing what they are. He plays the role he's resigned himself to—husband, protector, warm body in the dark—and tries not to notice the moments when your eyes go distant, when your hands tremble for no reason, when you stare into nothing like something else is there, staring right back.
It wears on him. He doesn't resent it. He could never resent you. But there are nights when he wakes up beside you, listening to you stir in your sleep and feels a loneliness he can't explain. Sometimes it feels like there is a part of you he cannot reach, a room inside you where he is not invited.
So he does what he can. He goes to work. He comes home. He holds you when you let him. He prays for you, even on the days when his own faith wavers. And when you reach for him, pulling him into bed with that desperate, devouring hunger that has become the new rhythm of your marriage, he gives you everything you ask for. He gives you more. Because in those moments, you are fully present—your attention is on him and not lost somewhere else. In those moments, he is not your caretaker or your protector. He is simply yours.
It's a relief he didn't know he needed. To be wanted. Not needed—wanted. There's a difference.
Jake's always been good at being needed. Being helpful. At smiling, nodding and letting others feel heard. It's something he carried into adulthood. Into his faith. Into his marriage, where his wife's fragility gave him a role he recognized: the steady one. The unneedy one. The one who holds and is never held.
But desire—real, shameless, take-me-now desire—was never something he imagined being on the receiving end of. He was taught that sex was a service a wife provided to her husband. A duty. A kindness. Something to be accepted with gratitude and restraint. He was prepared to be grateful. He was not prepared for you.
These past weeks, you've become something else entirely. You pull him in by the belt before he's shrugged off his coat. You beg him to be rough, to be merciless, to stop treating you like something fragile. The first time you said it, after the initial disbelief subsided, he nearly wept from relief. From the sudden, staggering realization that you wanted him the way he had always secretly wanted you. That the hunger was mutual. That he was allowed to be hungry at all.
He's been enjoying it more than he probably should. He knows that. Some old, stubborn guilt stirs in him every time he pins your wrists above your head, every time he hears you moan his name like a prayer. He used to repent for thoughts far milder than the things you do together now. But the guilt is quieter than it used to be. Quieter than the sound of your breath hitching. Quieter than the way you say harder and please and fuck me right now.
He assumes it's a side effect of your clinginess. You spend all day alone, trapped by the cold, left to the mercy of your own thoughts. Of course, you reach for him the moment he walks through the door. Of course, you want to be touched, held, filled with something other than the silence of an empty house. He's happy to be that for you. He's happy to be whatever you need.
He doesn't understand the whole of you. He'll never understand what keeps you up at night, and why it does. But he understands the curve of your hip, and the sound of your laugh, and the way your body answers his in the dark. And for now, with the snow piled high against the windows and the fire crackling in the next room and you warm and real and wanting in his arms, that is enough. It's more than enough. It's everything he didn't know he was allowed to ask for.
The neglected part of his heart that spent years believing desire was something to be managed, not felt—that accepted loneliness as the price of being steady, that tucked itself away in the front pew and never asked for more—that part is wide awake, and it reaches for you helplessly.
All of that to say is: being holed up with you inside on a cold evening, he does the only thing that makes sense. He finds you in the kitchen, wraps his arms around your waist from behind, and presses his lips to the curve of your neck.
You giggle, leaning back into him, the wooden spoon still in your hand.
"You want me to burn dinner?"
"I want you," He punctuates each word with a kiss to your shoulder, your jaw, then your neck. "Want you all the time. Everyday. Every second."
"You're insatiable." You swat at his arm, but your voice is fond. "And a distraction."
"What's wrong with being distracted?"
"Jake." You roll your eyes, your tone playful but stern, "Go find something else to do."
"Like what?" He pouts, resting his chin on your shoulder, peering down at the pot.
"Maybe, shovelling the driveway?"
He groans. "I'll do that in the—"
"Morning? You sleep like a log. Besides..." You turn in his arms, your free hand coming up to toy with the collar of his shirt, and a suggestive grin tugs at your lips, "You won't have the energy to."
"Oh?" His eyebrows lift, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Well, if that's the case..."
He presses a kiss to your cheek and pulls away.
"Don't miss me too much," He calls out as he makes his way down the hall, dreading having to bundle up for the cold.
"No promises."
He dreads it even more once he's actually outside, scrunching his nose as the icy cold hits him, like little needles against his skin. But seeing you move about the kitchen from where he shovels makes it all worth it. It's always worth it.
He's watched you sleep enough nights to know how hard you fight just to stay still. The way you squirm and pant and clutch at him, sweat beading at your brow, tortured by something he can't see and you can't name. He's learned not to wake you—it only makes it worse. So he holds you instead.
But morning always comes. You always smile at him over coffee, tired and brave, pushing through the day like the night never happened. Like you haven't spent eight hours running from something he can't fight for you.
So, really, the least he could do as a husband was shovel the driveway without complaining. Even if his back was beginning to ache as if he were a middle aged dad. He can clear a path. He can make one thing easier for you, even if it's just the driveway.
"Hello."
Jake lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched scream and nearly topples over into the snow, managing to brace himself with his shovel. He turns, letting out a sigh of relief when his eyes land on the tall, pale-looking man, who greets him with a closed-mouth smile.
"Man, you scared the crap out of me," Jake laughs, which dissolves into nervous laughter when he notices how the man does not laugh with him. He stands still, almost statuesque.
"My apologies. Jake, yes?"
"That's me." He adjusts his grip on the shovel and extends his free hand, tilting his head. "Do we know each other? I'm sorry, I'm terrible with faces."
"Sunghoon." The hand that meets his is cold, even through both their gloves. The grip is brief and precise. "A pleasure. I live at the corner. Your wife made my acquaintance last Monday."
Jake pauses a moment, his hand freezing mid-shake.
The house at the corner. The weirdo. The hand-kissing, too-long-staring, made-you-uncomfortable neighbour you'd come home crying about last week.
His brows furrow at the realization that this was the guy you were talking about. Although he was imagining someone much older and creepier. Not a polished, perfectly composed, and frankly quite handsome—if Jake is being honest—guy his own age.
"You're the neighbour, huh?" Jake deadpans, shoving his shovel into the snow and standing up straight. He looks Sunghoon up and down, taking his time, letting his gaze drag. Sizing him up. He's taller. That's annoying.
"Yes. We had a lovely conversation. I wish to extend my gratitude."
"How kind. But not necessary."
"Oh, but it is."
"But it really isn't."
"I insist."
"Okay. Look, man. I'll give it to you straight," Jake frowns, eyes narrowing, "I know my wife is beautiful and perfect and all. That's why I married her. You got that? So, I think it's best if you leave her alone."
Sunghoon stares, wordless and expressionless, for a moment. Jake holds his ground, though the silence is starting to get uncomfortable.
Maybe he'd been too confrontational. Too harsh. Of course, you and your safety are his number one concerns, but from the way the man's face softens so earnestly, the fear of having possibly misjudged the entire situation starts to creep up on him.
"My apologies. It seems I gave you the wrong impression," His tone is bashful and all too disarming, and he clears his throat as he reaches for his pocket. "You see, ever since I lost my wife, I've become a bit of a hermit. But for a pair of friendly neighbours, I thought I might try getting myself out of my shell."
Jake's frown drops. He stands there in the snow, feeling like a complete and total asshole. He'd been ready to defend your honour, all puffed up and protective and righteous, and instead he'd just threatened a lonely widower who was only being kind. His mother would be appalled. His pastor would probably have words: Lord, we lift up Jake, who apparently forgot every single thing we taught him about loving thy neighbor.
Sunghoon extends an envelope, wax-sealed and dignified, held out with a leather-gloved hand.
"Oh." Jake takes it, and the wax seal feels like a personal indictment. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I didn't mean to—I wasn't trying to—really, I just—I'm so sorry."
"It was a long time ago." Sunghoon waves him off with a gentle grace that makes Jake feel even worse, somehow. "I take no offence. I was also quite protective in my first year of marriage."
Jake nods, grateful for the absolution, and sighs.
"When you really love someone, it’s like you'd do anything for them. You know. Move mountains. Fight a bear. Or—" He gestures at the shovel, at his own puffed-up posture. "Accost a stranger in your own driveway, apparently."
"It's true." Sunghoon's mouth curves. "I once threatened a man on the street because he looked at my wife too long. She was mortified. I was unrepentant."
Jake laughs. "And she scolded you for it, I'll bet."
"Absolutely." Sunghoon's expression is something fond, something distant. "But you know..."
"The wife is always right," they say in unison.
"But we love them anyway."
"We do."
Jake smiles. It's the first time since moving here that he's felt something like this. The kind of easy conversation he used to have with friends back home, before the marriage, the move, the new job.
Sunghoon. An odd neighbour. He speaks as if he could be from another generation, hands out wax-sealed letters, and lives in a mysteriously large house all on his own.
Jake could understand why it might be off-putting. But Jake also remembers when you used to scream at the sight of your own shadow. When you'd cling to him at social gatherings in college and glare at every person in the room like they were trying to hurt you.
You've always been afraid. Of the dark. Of strangers. Of everything. He's learned to calibrate for it, to filter the world through the lens of your anxiety and adjust accordingly.
It's not intentionally dismissive. He listens. He tries to. But this time, he should've known that when you crawled into his arms crying over a neighbour who only did so much as look at you, that it would be what it always is: another false alarm.
A part of him still ponders what he could possibly mean by "a long time" when the man before him doesn't look a day over thirty. And even if he were, say, in his mid to late thirties... late thirties...? That's still too young to have lost a wife and had plenty of time to get over it. He does not dare to ask, though. You know, considering he's already accused the guy of hitting on his wife. Following that up with so, exactly how long has your dead wife been dead? feels like it might not improve the situation.
Sunghoon's gaze drifts. Past Jake, over his shoulder. Jake follows it to the kitchen window, where the curtain twitches. There's a flash of movement, quickly stilled. You've been watching the entire time.
"She mentioned being a bit timid," Sunghoon smiles a little, gaze torn away from the window. "If not both of you, perhaps just yourself? I would be glad to host regardless."
"He's weird, sure. But he went out of his way to invite us. I think he's just trying to be friendly in his own, you know, awkward sort of way." Jake rambles to himself over dinner. "A lot of the other couples on this block are a lot older than us. It would be nice to make friends with a guy my own age."
The dinner invitation sits open between you on the kitchen table, its wax seal broken, its cursive script elegant and old-fashioned. You stare at the words on the page, and all you can see is the way he looked at you through the window. The slow, knowing smile. The way his eyes had found yours through the glass, like he'd known exactly where you'd be.
"I think we should accept." Jake's tone of voice is unfortunately optimistic. And a part of you cannot believe half of what you're hearing, but the other part of you knows this is who you married: Jake, a man who assumes the best in everyone, who never enters a room expecting danger, who extends undeserved kindness to every stranger he meets. "Worst case, we learn to stay away. Best case, you have nothing to worry about. Either way, it will put your mind at ease."
Put your mind at ease. You nearly snort aloud. As if an evening in that house with that man could do anything but the opposite. Jake doesn't notice. He's already picturing the dinner party, already imagining a new friendship.
"...I'm not sure. Maybe we should think on it."
His smile falters. You know that look. It's the closest Jake ever gets to exasperation.
"Come on." He sets his fork down, and you feel the weight of his stare. "He lost his wife, and he lives in that creepy mansion all alone. Don't you feel a little bit bad?"
You offer no response, picking at your food. He gives you a few seconds, letting the tension-filled silence linger, and when it becomes clear you're not going to budge, he sighs.
"Well." He picks up his fork again, his jaw set with a gentle stubbornness. "You can think on it. I'm going."
"What?" Your fork is clattering against the table. "No. You can't go alone."
He blinks at you, fork hovering halfway to his mouth, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and the beginnings of a laugh. His brow furrows.
"Didn't know I needed supervision." The words come out light, almost teasing, but his eyes are still searching your face. He's trying to find the joke. When the smile doesn't come, the teasing edge fades from his voice. "I'm just going across the street, baby. What do you think is going to happen to me?"
"I'm just being cautious."
"Cautious?” He scoffs, “What, you think he’s an axe murderer or something?”
He waits for you to laugh, to roll your eyes, to admit you're exaggerating.
"Sweetheart.” His voice drops, frustration building up. “Be realistic. Seriously."
"I am realistic. He told me I looked vulnerable. Like it was a threat. Like I was in danger, I...” Your words are tumbling out faster now, more frantic, “He sniffed me. That's not normal, Jake. He—”
“Sure he did.”
It lingers in the air a moment, and you stare, suspended in disbelief at how he’s looking at you as if you are a child describing a monster in the closet.
“You think I’m making it up.”
The dismissal is worse than the doubt. He's not even taking it seriously enough to disbelieve. Your hands are trembling. You press them flat against the table.
"I didn’t mean it like that,” He starts, “Sweetheart—”
“You don’t believe me.”
"I believe…" He stops, taking a moment to reel in his thoughts. He lowers his voice to a tone that's more gentle and patient, acutely aware of how your breathing is growing uneven. "Maybe these nightmares are warping your perception of the people around you. Which is making you act a little judgmental."
He reaches across the table. His palm hovers over your knuckles, an offering. But you swat his hand away before it lands. It's a small gesture, but the impact of it lingers.
"You don't believe me." You repeat.
His frown is no longer patient.
"Do you even believe yourself?"
Jake looks at you, searching for something neither of you can name. For an answer. For understanding. For anything at all. You can't help the shame that creeps up on you, rotting you from the inside.
You don't know what you believe. All you know is that your dreams have a face now. The face lives at the end of your street and has invited you to dinner.
It would be so easy to say you're afraid of him. It wouldn't be a lie. But the truer explanation is also the most shameful: you want your neighbour. You've wanted him since he looked at you in the candlelight and made you feel like prey that was begging to be caught. But admitting that would mean admitting that the rot inside you was never his fault—That all of this has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the woman you've been trying not to be since you were old enough to know better.
You don't let yourself finish the thought. You never do.
Through the corner of your eye, through the kitchen window, a passing car's headlights reveal the sight of something in your yard. Something red, in contrast to the stark white snow, and you freeze.
"Listen, I’m not trying to argue. I'm really not. I'm just trying to help. You can’t be afraid of every stranger you—"
"I just saw something." The words leave your mouth before you've decided to say them. "Out there."
Jake stops. His eyes follow yours to the window, where the dark has settled back over the yard like a curtain drawn shut. When he looks back at you, his frown is firm.
Holding Jake's hand, you walk with him through ankle-deep snow, his flashlight flickering ever so slightly. The beam is weak but steady enough to catch the trail he's tracking: small animal footprints, evenly spaced, leading toward the hedge at the edge of the yard.
"There," you whisper, though you don't know why you're whispering. "Behind the bush."
He angles the light. For a moment, the snow is just white and clean and untouched. Then the beam catches it. A bright splash of red, vivid against the pale. It's fresh. Still wet.
"Oh my god." Your hand flies to your mouth.
Jake crouches, his jaw tight, and pushes aside the lowest branch. The cat lies curled beneath the hedge, its fluffy white coat matted with blood. Its neck is torn, and two small punctures sit just above the collar, neat, precise, too deliberate to be random. You'd seen it in movies. You'd seen it in the book Niki flipped through at the library.
That night, after Jake calls the old woman across the street and breaks the news that her beloved house pet lies lifeless in your front yard, you find yourself curled up against Jake's chest. Your violent shaking and panicked breathing had now simmered down into quiet breaths and subtle trembling.
"There were no other footprints around."
"Hm?" His voice is thick with the sleep he's been fighting off.
"The cat."
Jake doesn't sigh, but the way his chest rises and falls tells you he was hiding his frustration for your sake.
"It was dark." His hand resumes its slow circles on your back. "We probably just missed it."
"I know what I saw."
"What do you think it was then, hm?" He teases lazily, thoughtlessly. "A scary cat-killing monster with no footsteps?"
He means it as a joke. Mostly. But you don't miss the edge in his voice, how it's sharper than it would have been an hour ago, before the argument at the kitchen table, before the cold trek through the snow to find a dead cat in your yard.
"A vampire."
The word lands in the dark between you and just sits there. Jake goes still. Then, slowly, he shifts upright, disentangling himself from you. The loss of his warmth is immediate.
He looks at you. Really looks at you.
"Okay. What is going on with you?"
"You don't think it could be?" You try, “Two marks, side-by-side, at its neck. What kind of wild animal does that?”
"Is that a serious question?" He blinks at you, "Baby. Look at me. Please tell me you aren't serious."
You don't answer.
This time, he does sigh loudly, and with a small "come here," he's pulling you in his arms again. He settles back against the pillows, tucking you against his chest.
"Let's pretend, hypothetically, that your little conspiracy theories are real. All the vampires and the cat-killing monsters and the creepy neighbours with sharp teeth..." His voice is warm and tired and almost teasing. But mostly just exhausted. "Then I promise I'll protect you from all the big, bad, scary things out there. Okay? Does that make you feel better?"
It should. But all you can think about is the cat beneath the hedge. The two neat punctures above its collar. The way Sunghoon looked at Jake, curious and patient, eyes at his neck when he wasn't looking.
You don't need Jake to protect you. You need him to stay the hell away from that house. You need him somewhere the monster can't reach.
But he won't stay. He's made that clear.
"Jake?"
"Mm?" He's already drifting, the exhaustion finally pulling him under.
"I'll come with you."
You walk the short distance to the house at the corner hand in hand with your husband, his palm warm and steady around yours. The snow has stopped falling, leaving the street hushed and still, though you feel anything but peace. Jake's thumb traces small circles over your knuckles, a nervous habit he doesn't seem to notice.
"You're squeezing," you murmur.
"Am I?" He loosens his grip, shooting you a sheepish smile. "Sorry. I just want this to go well."
You know why. It's not just about making a good impression or redeeming himself for the confrontation in the driveway. He's trying to give you peace of mind, even if he has to manufacture it. A successful evening means a normal neighbour. A normal neighbour means your fears were just fears. He needs that to be true. For you and for himself.
The gate groans when Jake pushes it open, the iron scrollwork black and wet with melted frost. The cobblestone path is uneven beneath your boots, the same path you fled down some time ago with your heart in your throat and the phantom heat of a stranger's lips still burning on your knuckles. The house looms above you, every window dark, the curtains drawn against the fading afternoon light.
"Nice place, right?" Jake says under his breath. It's such a desperately optimistic read of the looming dark house in front of you. You'd call it a generous lie if you didn't know your husband any better.
The heavy double doors open before Jake can knock.
Sunghoon stands in the shadow of the threshold, tall and pale and composed. His smile is closed-lipped, polite, his eyes moving from Jake to you with an unhurried grace.
"Welcome." He steps aside, gesturing you in. "Please, come in out of the cold."
"I'd shake your hand, but my fingers are still thawing." Jake laughs, "Seriously though. Thanks so much for having us."
"The pleasure is mine. It's been a very long time since this house has had guests." Sunghoon guides the pair of you inside, and you don't miss the way his hand brushes your back. His gaze flicks to you, and the corner of his mouth lifts just slightly. "Welcome back."
You murmur something that might be thank you. The warmth of the foyer wraps around you as the door swings shut, but it does nothing to stop the chill working its way down your spine.
"Man, this place is insane. You could fit our whole house in this entryway." Jake is still shrugging off his coat, glancing around the foyer with wide, earnest eyes. He elbows you gently, grinning. "Why didn't we buy a creepy old mansion, babe?"
You don't answer, shedding your own coat, avoiding Sunghoon's stare.
"It's too much house for one person, I'm afraid. But it does have its charms." Sunghoon turns, gesturing toward the hall ahead. "Shall I give you the tour?"
"Yes, please." Jake nods enthusiastically, following him into the hall.
You trail behind.
Each room is just as beautiful as the last. The parlour with its heavy velvet drapes and furniture draped in dusty sheets. The study, lined floor to ceiling with books, a massive oak desk sitting dark and unused in the center. The dining room, where a long table has been set for three—candles flickering, silver gleaming. The formality of it all makes you feel like you've stepped into another century.
"My wife had a fondness for entertaining," Sunghoon says, noticing your gaze. "I'm afraid I've let the tradition lapse. You'll have to forgive me if I'm out of practice."
"Are you kidding? This is incredible." Jake claps him on the shoulder, already at ease. "Our dining table is just a couple of sad IKEA chairs."
It's in the music room that Jake stops dead in his tracks.
The grand piano sits in front of the large, draped windows. It's an ancient-looking thing, the legs intricately carved and the body engraved with winding patterns, with candelabras on either side, their wax frozen mid-drip. The ivory keys are yellowed with age, but the dark wood gleams, suggesting it's been properly maintained over the years.
Jake drifts toward it. His hand lifts before he seems to realize it, hovering just above the closed lid.
"No way," he breathes. "You play?"
"Occasionally. Though my wife was far better. It belonged to her." Sunghoon comes to stand beside him. "And you?"
"No, no. I just..." Jake runs a reverent hand over the closed lid. "I used to play guitar. Nothing fancy. Mostly in youth group, you know? Worship nights, that kind of thing."
"Ah, yes." Sunghoon's smile deepens. "A man of faith. Your wife mentioned it."
"Born and raised." Jake glances back at you, his expression bright with the pleasure of finding common ground. "Actually, I used to sing in the choir too, back when I was a kid. Drove the conductor insane because I could never remember the Latin verses."
"A church choir. Now that brings back memories." He hums, soft and almost wistful, "I sang as a child, too. Soprano, if you can believe it. Before my voice dropped and they had no more use for me."
"No way." Jake laughs, delighted. "Small world, huh? What denomination?"
"The details blur after a while." Sunghoon waves a hand, "Though I'm afraid my faith hasn't weathered the years as well as yours."
"Hey, I get it. Life has a way of testing you." Jake's hand finds yours, squeezing, as if to say, see? He's just a guy. A normal, lonely guy. "But the door's always open, right?"
"So I've heard."
You stand a few paces behind them, your hand limp in Jake's grip, listening to the easy rhythm of their conversation. It should be a comfort—your husband, making a friend, building the life you'd both imagined for yourselves in this new town. But all you can feel is the way Sunghoon's gaze keeps drifting toward you even as he speaks to Jake. The way his smile never quite reaches his eyes.
You drift away, taking in the rest of the room while their voices fade behind you.
The bookshelf is built into the far wall, floor to ceiling, packed with old volumes in dark, cracked leather. You let your eyes trace the spines without really seeing them—something to do, somewhere to look that isn't the two of them. Most of the titles are in languages you don't recognize. Latin, maybe. Something older.
Then your gaze snags.
A book bound in dark blue cloth, its cover embossed with a faded silver symbol you recognize instantly. You've seen it before. In the narrow library aisle, in the hands of a bored teenager. Instinctively, your hand reaches.
"Have you read it?"
The voice comes from directly behind you, close enough that you feel the words stir the hair at the nape of your neck. You flinch, spinning on your heel, and find Sunghoon standing less than an arm's length away. You hadn't heard him move. You hadn't heard anything at all.
You look around frantically. Jake. Where is Jake? Where did he—?
"It's local history, mostly. Folklore. Old superstitions." He reaches past you, his sleeve brushing your shoulder, and pulls the volume from the shelf. He turns it over in his hands, long pale fingers tracing the embossed symbol. "You don't strike me as the type to believe in such."
"I don't." You say too quickly, "I just find it interesting. The stories. The history."
"So you have read it."
His eyes meet yours. The candlelight catches them strangely, deepening the dark, and for a moment, you can't look away. You don’t want to. Nor do you want to keep trying to convince yourself that the way he looks at you is anything normal.
"What about you?" You tilt your chin up. "Do you believe any of it is real?"
"I think I’ve told you before. I believe in many things." He slides the book back onto the shelf. "They say curiosity is a dangerous thing. It can be. Though I think a curious mind, who is drawn to things they cannot explain, is putting themselves in far more danger by resisting their nature."
"One might call it resistance. One might also call it none of your concern."
The words come out sharper than you intended. Sunghoon smiles, slow and knowing.
"The scaredy cat has claws." He doesn't step back. His gaze doesn't waver.
Against your will, your mind flashes back to the cat in your front yard, lying bloody and lifeless in the snow. A shudder runs through you.
Jake's footsteps echo in the hallway, and Sunghoon steps back, the space between you reasserting itself as if it had never closed.
"Anyway." Sunghoon's voice lifts, smooth and easy, perfectly timed to Jake's reappearance in the doorway. "It's quite an interesting read, even for a skeptic."
"Sorry about that." He says, expression half sheepish. "I kind of got lost on the way to the bathroom. This house is—yeah. What'd I miss?"
"Your wife was admiring my library," Sunghoon replies. "She has excellent taste."
The three of you sit at one end of the long dining room table, silverware grasped in your unsteady hands, your wine glass untouched. Sunghoon brought out the first course—something rich and dark, red wine sauce pooling on porcelain. It smells delicious, and you watch Jake dig into it thoughtlessly. You move the food around your plate instead. Your mother would scold you for bad table manners, but you don't owe this man any manners. Not when he’s charming your husband to his face, and cornering you when he’s out of sight.
"So only a few weeks," Sunghoon says, refilling Jake's glass with a bottle that had no label. "Married, moved in, new job. You've been busy."
"Busy doesn't even cover it." Jake is already reaching for his glass, his shoulders loosening with each sip. "I barely have time to do anything like this anymore. Socializing, I mean. As much as I love being cooped up with my other half..." He shoots you a wink. "This is nice. Really nice."
"It is." Sunghoon hums in agreement. "I remember what it was like. The demands on a new husband can feel endless. The pressure to build something lasting, to be enough for someone who's given you everything."
"Yeah." Jake exhales, something in his posture softening. "Exactly. It's a lot sometimes."
Sunghoon's gaze drifts to yours.
"Of course, it's hard on the wives, too. I'm sure." He says. "The adjustment can be difficult. Old habits. Old fears. They don't disappear just because there's a ring on your finger."
Jake doesn't seem to notice how you shift in discomfort. He’s already nodding, already raising his glass in a loose, tipsy agreement. He doesn't hear the implication. He doesn't see the way Sunghoon's eyes haven't left your face. He doesn’t listen to you when you tell him to stop drinking, either.
One bottle turned into two, and you don't know how many glasses you've watched your husband down, but you know with certainty that he's far gone as you sit in the living room, stiff and silent while the men chat away. You don't listen. You're too busy noticing how your heart beats faster than the ticking grandfather clock in the corner, eagerly waiting to leave.
The fire has burned down to embers, a low red pulse that makes the shadows stretch along the walls. The record crackles to life, piano drifting through the air. Something slow and minor.
"My wife adored Chopin's nocturnes, but I preferred his sonatas. Though one could argue that everything he composed was excellent." Sunghoon places the record sleeve down, the edges worn. "I used to listen to this one to clear my head."
Jake stirs against you, lifting his head with visible effort.
"Oh yeah?" His voice is thick, syrupy. He squints at the record sleeve in Sunghoon's hands, then back at you. "I know someone who could use that."
He looks straight at you. His eyes are glassy, fond, and painfully oblivious. You glare.
"I'm just teasing, baby." His hand finds your thigh, squeezing. A drunken peace offering. It doesn't help at all. "Just teasing."
"Careful." Sunghoon's voice is closer now, light and teasing as he slides into the couch across from you two. "You'll end up sleeping on the couch tonight."
Jake snorts, and you watch something loosen in his shoulders—watch him lean into the camaraderie of it, the easy, too-easy understanding that passes between them. He gestures with his glass, the dregs of wine sloshing against the crystal.
"She wouldn't let me. Who else is going to protect her from all the scary monsters and the dark?" He rolls his eyes, affectionately dismissive.
"Jake." It comes out as a whisper, a plea.
"You're scared of the dark?"
"She's scared of everything." Jake interrupts, his words slurring. "Scared of the dark. Scared of being alone. Scared of herself, even." He raises his hands in surrender, palms out, the gesture loose and exaggerated. "Don't ask me why. Nobody knows why. I've been trying to figure it out since we met, and I've got nothing."
He lets his hands drop, gazing at you with a sad, broken look in his eyes. Something only alcohol could drag out of him, and something he'll hate himself for in the morning.
"I don't know how to help." He continues, "I don't know what to do. I never know what to—"
"Jake, stop it."
He blinks at you, the awareness that he's crossed a line he definitely shouldn't have dawning on him all at once. His shoulders hunch, invisible weight pressing down on him.
"Right. I should shut my mouth. I know, I know." He sets his glass down on the side table, clumsy, the stem rattling. His hand finds your knee and pats it twice, a sloppy apology. "I don't know what I'm saying. I'm not trying to be mean, sweetheart. I just… don't understand you."
"I know."
"I try. I promise, I try."
"I know you do." You soothe him, feeling his weight press against you. You turn to Sunghoon. "I think he's had too much to drink. We should probably—"
"I try, just..." He exhales, long and slow, the last of the fight going out of him. "Just... can't..."
His head dips forward. His shoulders go slack. The weight of him against your side becomes dead weight, heavy and still.
"Jake?" Your hand moves to his chest, shaking gently. Nothing.
His breathing remains deep and even, but there's no flicker of consciousness beneath his eyelids, no reflexive squeeze of his hand where it lies slack in yours.
"Your husband." Sunghoon hasn't moved from his chair. The firelight catches the pale angle of his jaw, the dark gleam of his eyes. "He's lovely."
"He is." The words come out defensive.
His gaze then drops to your throat.
Your hand twitches up. Beneath your blouse, the cross rests against your heated skin. You wore it like this on purpose, tucked away so you wouldn't be tempted to reach for it, so he wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing you clutch it like a shield. Still, your muscle memory betrays you.
"Though, not quite as lovely as you."
You dart your gaze away immediately, redirecting your attention to Jake. You shake him with less care and more urgency.
"Jake." You hiss his name under your breath, a prayer and a plea. "Jake, wake up."
He returns nothing. Not a twitch. Not a flicker of consciousness.
"Please." Your voice is rising now, shedding its careful composure. "Please, Jake—"
"He's not going to wake up."
Sunghoon's voice is certain.
Your hand stills on Jake's shoulder.
"What did you do to him?" Your voice is low. Gone was the politeness you'd faked for your husband's sake.
He smiles.
"Nothing. He drank my wine. Enjoyed good company. That's all." Sunghoon states plainly, "He's exhausted. You've noticed it, haven't you? The dark circles. The way he collapses the moment he's home."
Your gaze drops to Jake's face. To the shadows pooled beneath his eyes. The way his hand, even in sleep, rests on your thigh like he's still trying to anchor you. Your throat tightens. You've done this to him. Your fears. Your clinging. And—
"And the nightmares," Sunghoon continues, his head tilting. "The things you call nightmares. They must be so tiring for him to tend to."
A slow, creeping horror spreads through your chest as you stare back at him.
"But they're not really nightmares." His voice drops, low and intimate. "They never have been."
You move before you can think.
"Jake." Your hand closes around Jake's arm. You pull, trying to drag him upright, trying to haul his dead weight off the couch. "Jake, get up. We're leaving. We're leaving right now—"
His body is heavy and uncooperative, slumping against you, and you're not strong enough, but you try regardless. You try because you can see Sunghoon start to rise from where he's seated from the corner of your eye.
You reach to set down your wine glass. You need both hands. You need to grip Jake properly and drag him out of this house, even if you have to crawl. But your hands are shaking, and the glass comes down too fast.
It shatters.
The sound is obscene in the quiet—a bright, crystalline burst, shards scattering across your hand, across the coffee table and onto the carpet.
Immediately, the pain rises through your palm, and you hiss, jerking your hand back. You watch the blood well up—dark in the low light, beading along the cut and spilling over, sliding down the curve of your wrist.
A single drop falls to the carpet.
Then you hear it. A low, ragged inhale, shuddering and deep, as if the air itself has become something to be devoured. Your head lifts before you can stop it.
He's already above you, his presence caging you into the couch, and the expression on his face has changed. His eyes are dark. His lips have parted. His whole body is still, but it is not the stillness of composure. It is the stillness of a predator in the moment before the strike.
He reaches down. Takes your wrist. The motion is nothing gentle, but there is a restraint in his grip that makes your pulse hammer against his fingers. He draws your bleeding hand toward his face, eyes fixed on the red tracing its way down your palm. He lowers his mouth to it.
"Sunghoon—"
He inhales, and the groan that escapes him is low and guttural, pulled from somewhere deep in his chest. It is pure hunger, pure want, and it makes your thighs press together where you sit, a traitorous heat blooming low in your belly that you cannot control.
"What are you?" Your voice is a mere whisper, weak and trembling. "What do you want from me?"
"You know what I am. You've known me a very long time." His fangs catch the firelight, sharp and unmistakable. He turns your wrist over, watching a bead of blood trace down your palm. "As for what I want... All I've ever wanted is what you promised me all those years ago."
The memories come back to you all at once: The dreams. The cold hands on your bare skin. The sharp teeth sinking into your neck while you begged for it, night after night, year after year. The presence at your window that was never a nightmare at all.
It's always been him.
"For so long, I've waited." He shudders, and the sound is almost pained. "For even just a taste of what is mine."
You watch, frozen, as his lips close around your fingers. His tongue moves against your wounded hand, lapping at the blood with a hunger that feels obscene. His eyes flutter shut. A tremor runs through him, and you feel it echoed in your own body.
Your husband lies sleeping three feet away, a monster is drinking from your hand like a man dying of thirst, and you cannot speak. You cannot do anything but watch and feel the shameful heat pooling between your thighs, the ache you've spent a lifetime trying to pray away now so acute it nearly doubles you over.
A whimper catches in your throat. You try to swallow it back, but it escapes anyway, small and utterly pathetic. His eyes open at the sound, fixed on yours as you watch the slow movement of his throat as he swallows. Your breath is coming short, and you nearly forget how to breathe entirely when his knee comes up to the couch, just between your thighs as he leans over you. Your free hand is pressed flat against your thigh to keep it from reaching for him.
When he finally pulls his mouth from your fingers, a thin strand of saliva, stained with your blood, connects his lower lip to your skin.
"Just a taste..." he breathes, the words ragged. His grip on your wrist tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to make clear he is holding himself back by a thread. "It's not enough."
"Please," You shake your head. "Please, I don't—"
"Don't you remember? The way you kneeled before me. How I answered your call." His voice drops. "I promised you relief—in exchange for you. For your blood. Your flesh. Your soul. Your innocence. We made a deal."
The soul-contract.
Permanent. Mutual. Even if the vampire dies, the connection doesn't break.
You had hoped it was all folklore. Even after you saw his fangs, after he tasted your blood. Some small part of you clung to the belief that the promise you made at your window was nothing more than a desperate girl's cry into the dark.
But the deal was real. Your marriage, your faith, your husband's gentle love—none of it could change what you'd already given away.
"Why now?" Your voice cracks. "Why me. Why—"
"You have no idea how torturous it was. To be bound to someone I could not reach." His voice is ragged now, stripped of its usual composure. "To feel your wanting every night. Your dreams, your shame. To be unable to touch you. To be unable to drink you. Unable to even stand at your window and watch you."
His eyes find yours, and the hurt in them is so raw, so genuine, that for a moment you forget he's a monster.
"And then you moved across the river. Across the street. I thought—finally. Finally, she's come to me." His expression hardens. "But you came with him. You let another man touch what was already mine. How could you do that to me?"
The running water barrier—they can't cross it.
You remember when you viewed the house in this neighbourhood. The unmistakable, almost unsettlingly strong pull you'd felt. You'd taken it as a sign from God that this place was right. That your future belonged here.
So you left your childhood home behind. You crossed the southern river. You brought yourself within his reach, and you brought your husband with you.
God. He hadn't been the one to answer your prayers. He hadn't guided you on the right path, either. Perhaps you'd let him down too many times. Perhaps your faith was too bleak, too fragile. Or perhaps he'd stopped listening altogether the night you knelt at your window and begged for something He couldn't give.
"I felt everything. Every touch. Every kiss. His name on your lips." His gaze cuts to Jake's sleeping form, a strange sort of understanding surfacing beneath his frown. "I even felt your love for him."
He is quiet for a long moment, and so are you. Then, his gaze returns to you.
"I cannot understand how you could love someone else. Though, I also cannot blame you for needing someone in my absence."
His mouth is at your throat now. You feel the graze of his fangs against the thin skin over your pulse, the place where your blood beats closest to the surface.
"But I am here now. Do not deny me any longer." His voice is a murmur against your neck, each word a brush of cool lips. "I've been so patient, my love."
Your pulse is racing, warm and alive under his cold touch. Your blood sings to him, practically begging to be taken. Though he doesn't bite.
You remember why before you can question it: The soul-contract requires permission.
Your body is screaming for you to give in. Your hand wants to curl into his hair and press him closer to your neck, to offer yourself and enjoy every second of it, the way you have done so in every dream you've ever had of him. You are trembling with the effort of holding yourself still as you imagine the pleasure, the relief.
Then you look to Jake, the peaceful look on his face, his soft breathing.
"Don't."
His hand stills. Then it withdraws entirely. The loss of contact is almost worse than the touch—your skin aching where his palm had rested, your pulse hammering against nothing.
His expression shifts, tenderness replaced with something wounded.
"That night." Your voice trembles, but you force the words out. "It was a mistake. I was young. And desperate. That's all it was."
"You can lie to your husband. You can even lie to yourself. But you cannot lie to me." He frowns. "I can smell your desire from down the street. It reeks."
"I don't desire this. I don't. I don't want it. I just want to be left alone." You shake your head as the words fall out, painfully unconvincing. The tears come before you can stop them, spilling over your cheeks. "Please. Please leave me alone."
He watches you weep, ever so still and silent. Then, his hand rises, near your face. For a moment, you let yourself lean into the possibility of the touch, the cold comfort of his fingertips.
"These tears." His voice is barely a whisper as a single finger traces the track of your tears. "You only cry because you continue to deny yourself."
You sniffle. Blink. Meet his gaze through the wet blur of your lashes.
"You've tormented me for years." You try to sound angry. Your voice doesn't obey. "You've ruined me. And now you're ruining my marriage."
"Tormented?" His brows furrow, and he studies your face—the parted lips, the flushed cheeks, the wet gleam of your eyes. His hand remains at your cheek. His touch is cold. It soothes, momentarily, the all-consuming heat inside you. "You have it all wrong. I've loved you for years."
"Love." You'd laugh if you weren't crying, "You're not in love. You're hungry."
"Hunger is the purest form of love. It doesn't think. It doesn't negotiate. It simply wants." He tilts his head. "You know that. You've been hungry your whole life. You hunger for something only I can give you. Something only we can share."
You think of the ache. The one that never goes away. The one you've tried to pray away, fuck away, hide away in the deepest part of yourself. It pulses now, insistently, and you know he could make it stop.
You pull away regardless. Your body screams, but you ignore it. You will not give in to temptation. You will resist.
"Stay away from me."
His expression doesn't change, but the air between you feels as if it does. He looks at you for a long, unreadable moment. Then he inclines his head.
"Very well."
The firelight catches his face—his terribly beautiful face. It hurts to even look at him.
"You're stubborn." His hand drifts from your neck, his gaze longing. "So was I."
He brings his palm to your forehead, and your eyelids grow heavy. The weight of slumber threatens to pull you under, and you try to fight it, but your body is no longer yours to command. It hasn't been for a long time.
"But you know, my dear..." His voice is the last thing you hear, "A vampire still needs to feed."
His gaze shifts past you. Toward the couch. Toward Jake.
You aren't able to protest.
The record still plays, the second sonata in its third movement, and it lulls you, allowing the darkness to swallow you whole.
You wake slowly, your body rising before your mind can follow. The first thing you register is warmth. The second is wetness, a slick, shameful heat between your thighs that tells you the dreams have come again even if you can't remember them.
The third is the press of your husband's body against your back. Hard. Insistent.
"Shit, baby." Jake's voice is rough, his arm tightening around your waist. "You're killing me."
Your husband.
You lurch forward, twisting in his grip, your hands finding his shoulders and pushing him flat against the mattress so you can climb over him. Your heart is pounding from the images that linger at the edge of your memory like a flickering candle flame. His face. His teeth. Your blood on his lips. The way your husband slumped against the couch, and how he moved towards him.
"Jake!" The name tears out of you. Your hands cup his face, thumbs pressing into his cheekbones, tilting his head left and right. "Jake, you're alive."
He blinks up at you, squinting against the pale morning light. His hair is a mess, flattened on one side, and there's a crease from the pillow pressed into his cheek.
"Ugh. Barely." He groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. "How much did I drink last night? I feel like I got hit by a truck."
Your hands are still on his face, your eyes still searching.
"Do you... do you remember anything?"
"Uh..." He hums, his brow furrowing with the effort of recollection. "The meal was amazing. And the wine. A lot of wine. And..." He shifts, adjusting himself with a wince. "I remember thinking our neighbour's a really cool guy."
Your heart drops into your stomach.
"I could see myself being friends with him."
Friends. With him. With that monster. You bite your tongue.
"Do you remember anything else?" You ask a little quieter this time.
"Should I be remembering something else?" He props himself up on his elbows, his expression shifting from groggy to concerned. "Did something happen?"
"Do you remember passing out on his couch?"
His eyes widen.
"I did? Shit. That's... so embarrassing." His hands come up to his face, a half-groan, half-laugh leaving him. "It was fun, though. You had a good time too, right?"
You don't answer. Your gaze drifts to his neck, to the skin just below his jaw. There they are. Two small punctures, red and slightly raised, the skin around them faintly bruised.
A vampire needs to feed.
You reach, your fingertips brushing the wounds. Jake flinches.
"What is that?" He twists away from your touch, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and stumbling toward the mirror above the dresser. He tilts his chin, squinting at his reflection. "Huh. Looks like mosquito bites or something. Weird time of year for bugs."
"Vampire bite."
Jake's eyes meet yours in the mirror. For a moment, his expression is unreadable—caught somewhere between confusion and a smile, like he's waiting for the punchline. Then his face settles into something flatter. Tired.
"Ha. Yeah, right. Very funny." He turns from the mirror, reaching for a T-shirt on the floor. "Don't tell me you're still serious about that."
"I am serious."
He pauses, one arm in his sleeve, the other still free. He turns to look at you over his shoulder, his expression wholeheartedly, genuinely, bewildered with disbelief.
"Baby." He pulls the shirt the rest of the way on. His voice is groggy, too tired to give your seeming absurdity any real argument. "Come on."
"You don't understand, you—" At the fuzzy recollection of the previous night—the glass shattering in your hand, and the wound he licked clean, you scramble to show Jake your hand, holding out your right palm. "Look. I cut my hand and he..."
Your voice trails off, seeing your hand. You turn your hand over, flexing your fingers. You know you didn't imagine the pain of the glass piercing your skin. You know you watched him devour the blood from your open wound. And yet, there isn't a single mark. Not even a faint scar. Not a trace of proof to show him.
"Sweetheart. Look at me." Jake says slowly, calmly. "Are you actually suggesting that our neighbour—who, by the way, invited us into his home and made us dinner—is a vampire?" He waits, watching you. Watches how you don't answer, how you ignore him and continue to inspect your hand for proof that isn't there. "You can't be serious. Vampires aren't real. They're Halloween costumes. They're shitty movies. They're— "
"Jake. Just—look at your neck." You gesture, and his hand flies up instinctively to the wound. "It's literally right there. We're both looking at it."
"These are—I don't know what they are. An allergic reaction. A spider bite. I don't know. But it's not..." He stops himself, shaking his head. "You believe this. You actually, genuinely believe that Sunghoon is a vampire?"
"He is."
Neither of you moves.
Jake stares at you. You stare back. And for a long, strange moment, you're both just standing there in your bedroom looking at each other like you've each just discovered the other is speaking a foreign language.
"I don't..." He passes a hand over his face. "I don't even know what to say to that."
"Say you believe me."
"I don't." He exhales, long and slow. "Baby, you're asking me to believe in actual, literal monsters who drink blood and sleep in a coffin and turn into bats."
"He doesn't turn into a bat, or—"
"Oh, well, that's reassuring. Thank you for clarifying." He scoffs. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. I can't—it's too early for this."
"Jake," you plead, "I know it sounds crazy. But I know what I saw."
"What did you see?"
The question hangs in the air between you. He poses it the same way he always does, when he asks about your nightmares. And you realize, with a sinking, gut-wrenching clarity, that there is no answer you can give that he will believe.
You could describe the fangs—sharp and white and gleaming in the firelight. You could describe the sound he made when he smelled your blood, animalistic and starving. You could describe the way his mouth closed around your fingers, the way his tongue moved against your skin as he drank from your hand.
You could spend hours, talking in circles, trying to explain it. It doesn't matter. Jake didn't see it. He would only look at you with those patient, loving eyes and say you had a nightmare or you were scared and the wine got to your head.
"Hey." His voice softens. He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed beside you, his hand finding yours. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad."
"I know."
"Where is this coming from?" He asks, "The vampire talk. Is it your dreams?"
You nod. It's true, even if not the whole truth.
"Tell me about them." His thumb traces your hand. "I know you don't like talking about your dreams. But I can't help you if you don't tell me."
Jake waits. When nothing comes, he squeezes your hand.
"Please. I want to understand. Please give me something." His fingers lace through yours, intertwined with his hand, "I'm your husband. You can tell me anything."
The words are right there. My dreams, my sins, the things I prayed for in the dark, the monster that answered. But they don't come. Saying them out loud means admitting what you'd done, what you brought into your marriage and haunts the space between your thighs when you wake in the dark. What you still, in the deepest and most secret part of yourself, want.
He wouldn't see the woman he thought he married. He'd see filth. Sin. Your rotting, corrupted soul. A woman who begged evil to touch her.
"I don't think my dreams are just dreams anymore." The words come out barely a whisper. You can't bring yourself to tell him the rest. "I'm so scared, Jake."
The sob that follows is ugly and raw. You crawl into his lap like you did a few weeks ago, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, your face pressed to the warm hollow of his throat. And he holds you. Like he always does. Like he's come to expect.
"Okay," he murmurs into your hair. "Okay. I've got you. It's okay."
But it's not okay. Even now, with his arms around you and his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you feel it. That hunger. A ravenous void inside you, hot and insistent and utterly indifferent to the tears still drying on your cheeks. It never leaves. It's always there.
Your hand moves before you can stop it. Sliding up his chest. Curling into the collar of his shirt. Your mouth finds his.
He lets you kiss him, his lips parting under yours, a small sound of surprise caught in his throat. His hands come up to your waist, steadying you, and for a moment it's like every other time—the familiar heat, the familiar hunger, the familiar way your body presses into his like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.
You climb deeper into his lap, your knees bracketing his hips. You roll against him, a slow, desperate grind, chasing the friction that might quiet the ache for even a few seconds.
You need him to be enough. You need him to be the answer, the cure, the thing that scares the monster out of you.
"Baby." His voice is breathless, his hands tightening on your waist. "Slow down."
You don't—you can't. Slowing down means thinking, and thinking means remembering the cold hands, the sharp teeth, his mouth on your fingers while your husband slept three feet away. So you kiss him harder. You grind down against the pressure in his underwear, a desperate little sound escaping your throat.
"Hey." His grip shifts, trying to tame you. "Hey, slow down. Just—"
Your hand drops to grasp him, but he's quicker than you. He closes around your wrists, and your back hits the mattress, his weight settling over you, his knees bracketing your hips. He keeps your hands pinned down on either side of your head, breathing heavy above your form.
You thrash. Not playfully, either. Not with a smile or a giggle or a pout. It's a full-body thrash, fuelled by a sharp and sudden frustration, verging on genuine anger. You twist beneath him, trying to free your hands, trying to arch up into the heat of his body.
"Stop." His voice is quiet. "Just stop. For a second."
You thrash again. You hiss his name, and you even try to kick him, but he shifts his weight enough to keep you fully restrained. He doesn't budge. His grip on your wrists is secure, his weight solid and unmovable.
It's only when you feel your tears sliding from your temples into your hairline that you realize you're still crying. You must look insane. You must look like exactly what you are: a woman trying to fuck her way out of her own damnation.
"Please." The word comes out broken, barely a whisper. You don't know if you're asking him to let go or to never let go.
"No." He shakes his head. "We're not doing this."
"Why not?"
"Every time you get scared, or something upsets you, you climb into my lap and kiss me. I don't know what you're trying to do or why, but..." His voice isn't quite as steady as it usually is. A hitch in his breath, a flicker of something else. He swallows. "I can't just fuck the hurt out of you. It's not right."
"It helps." Your voice cracks. "Please. Just help me."
He stares down at you. His eyes are so tired. So unbearably, impossibly tired. And beneath the exhaustion, there's something you've never seen before.
"Sweetheart." He whispers. "You're scaring me."
Your body goes slack beneath him, but his grip doesn't loosen. He still holds your wrists against the mattress, still keeps his weight braced above you, still watches you with those wide, careful eyes. Like you've gone rabid.
He shouldn't have to hold me down, you think. A good wife doesn't need to be restrained.
A good wife doesn't claw at her husband while she's still crying. A good wife doesn't grind against him like a bitch in heat, chasing a relief he can't give her, chasing a hunger that has nothing to do with love. A good wife doesn't show her burning desire. Desire belongs to the husband. It's his to wield and use, and for her to accept it.
But here you are. Pinned to your own marriage bed for all the wrong reasons, your face wet with tears you can't explain, your body still aching with a want he didn't ask for—a want to be consumed, to be devoured without shame, without guilt. Of course he doesn't know what to do with it. You crave something he cannot give you.
The fight drains out of you all at once, leaving nothing but the hollow ache and the shame and the terrible, traitorous thought that rises up before you can stop it.
Sunghoon wouldn't stop.
Sunghoon wouldn't be scared. He would see the hunger on your face and recognize it. He would give you exactly what you were asking for. He would pin you to the mattress and sink his teeth into your throat and make the ache disappear. He wouldn't try to save you. He would let you drown.
"Baby?"
Jake's voice cuts through the dark. You blink, and the fantasy recedes, with Sunghoon's face dissolving, the cold hands retreating, the sharp teeth fading back into the shadows where they belong.
Your husband is still there. Still hovering over you with that furrow between his brows, that gentle, worried look he's been wearing for weeks. He's been talking. You haven't been listening.
"I think I know what's going on."
You look up.
"We haven't been to church in weeks. Either of us. Ever since the wedding, we've just... let it slip." His voice is so certain. "You're losing touch with God, and it's scaring you."
Losing touch.
Your eyes land on the cross around his neck, catching the pale light from the window. It's the same one he was wearing when you met him all those years ago. You've never seen him without it.
Jake is a good Christian. He always has been. His faith has never wavered, never faltered, never turned its back on him the way yours turned its back on you.
Foolishly, you'd once hoped that his goodness might rub off on you, that marrying a man who loved God so easily might help you remember how to do the same. Now you wonder if you're doing the opposite. If you're the one dragging him away from the light.
"I'm not saying it's the whole answer. I'm just saying... maybe it's a start." He presses a kiss to your head. "Let's go. Together. It can't hurt, right?"
The hope in your chest is as steady as a single lit candle in the wind. Somehow, it still burns—It flickers, it wavers, but it still burns. You don't know if it's because you're too stubborn to let it go out, or if you only cling to it because it's the only thing you know.
"Yeah," You nod. You try a smile, though it feels stiff against your cheeks. "Let's go."
The church is small and quaint, an old-fashioned-looking chapel. Stained glass windows filter in colour from the grey winter light, and the air smells of incense and old wood and the faint, sweet perfume of the elderly women who fill the front pews.
You sit near the back, and Jake holds your hand throughout the opening prayers, his thumb tracing those same familiar circles. When the choir rises to sing, he glances at you with a small, encouraging smile. See? the smile says. This is where we belong.
You try to feel it. You close your eyes. You bow your head. You let the Latin verses wash over you, the same ones Jake joked about forgetting as a boy—Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis—and wait for the peace that is supposed to follow.
The prayers feel hollow in your mouth, words without meaning. The hymns rise and fall, but they bring you no peace. The stained glass saints stare down at you with flat, judgmental eyes, and you feel the weight of their disapproval.
You don't belong here. You are sitting in the house of God with the stain of your dreams still fresh on your skin, with the memory of a monster's eyes and sharp teeth and the wet heat of your own arousal clinging to you beneath your skirt. You are filthy.
Jake squeezes your hand, and you flinch.
"You okay?" he whispers.
You look at him, his smile, his earnest concern.
You don't belong. You are filthy, you are damned. But you are trying. God help you, you are trying.
Returning the squeeze of his hand, you nod.
The service drags on. The priest's homily is about faith in times of trial, about holding fast to belief when the world grows dark around you. You sit with your hands folded in your lap, your spine rigid, listening to the words but taking in none of it.
When the final blessing is given, and the congregation rises to leave, you feel like you've been holding your breath for an hour and only just now remembered how to exhale.
"See?" Jake says, his arm slipping around your waist as you walk toward the doors. "That was nice, right?"
"Hey, lady!"
The voice echoes through the vestibule, bright and unmistakable, and you freeze. Jake turns, his arm still around you, and you watch his expression shift from confusion to surprise as a lanky figure in a rumpled button-up shirt comes bounding toward you through the thinning crowd.
Niki. From the library. The collar of his shirt askew. His hair looks like it hasn't seen a comb since last Sunday. And he's grinning like you're the most exciting thing to happen to him all week.
"Hey, lady! And sir—" He glances at Jake, giving him a quick, awkward nod. "Lady's husband. Hi."
"We need to go," you say quickly, your hand tightening on Jake's arm. "Sorry, Niki, we're—"
"What's this?" Jake's free hand has already reached out, plucking a slim paperback from the boy's grip before either of you can react. He turns it over, reading the cover. "Vampire lore, huh?"
Jake turns the book toward you. The cover shows a shadowed figure with glowing eyes, looming over a sleeping woman. The Old World Vampire: A Study of Belief, Burial, and Blood.
"I keep it in the Bible during service," Niki grabs it back, oblivious to how Jake's expression flickers with all the shock, scandal, and the distant horror of a youth group alumnus at the thought of someone tucking something so unholy between the pages of Scripture. "Please don't tell my mom. She'd kill me if she knew I was reading this stuff in church."
Jake doesn't respond to Niki. He's looking at you now, and the lightness in his voice is a thin veneer over something sharper.
"Sweetheart." He waits until you meet his eyes. "How exactly do you know this kid?"
"We met at the library. A few weeks ago."
"Dude." Niki is staring at Jake now with unbearable sincerity. "Your wife is so cool."
Jake blinks, the exhaustion in his face flickering. His brow lifts almost imperceptibly as he glances at you, a question forming at the corner of his mouth. Something in his expression is almost amused.
"She's the only person in this entire town who cares about this stuff. My mom literally tried to get the pastor to purify me one time because of my 'satanic theories' but she—" He jabs a finger toward you, his face alight. "She gets it."
The amusement dies.
"What stuff?"
You can feel Jake's stare now, the weight of it pressing against the side of your face. You don't return it.
Niki opens his mouth to answer, but Jake raises a hand.
"I'm asking her."
The silence that follows has Niki's grin faltering. He looks at you, then at Jake, just catching up to the tension in the room.
"History. Folklore." You swallow, "The occult—"
"Vampires." Jake finishes for you, flatly. Then turns to Niki. "My wife talks to you about vampires, is that it?"
Niki blinks, nodding enthusiastically. "You're so lucky, man. Seriously. I've got no one to talk to about this stuff and you just, like, get to be married to her. That's insane."
"Yeah. Lucky me."
"We should go," you say quickly. "Goodbye — "
"Wait!" Niki is already digging in his pocket, his fingers closing around a crumpled scrap of paper. "I wanted to give you this. My Discord."
He points at the username scrawled across the paper:
xX_vampK1_Xx
"I kept waiting for you to come back to the library, but you never did, so..." He thrusts it toward you, his expression almost painfully eager. "Message me? Please?"
From the distance, a woman's voice calls out. "Niki! Car. Now."
"That's my mom." He shoves the paper into your hand, his fingers cold and quick. "Okay, bye lady! Bye, lady's husband!"
And then he's gone, swallowed by the crowd of departing church-goers, leaving you standing in the vestibule with a scrap of paper in your fist and your husband staring at the side of your face.
The drive home is quiet.
Jake doesn't speak until you're through the front door, until his keys are tossed onto the hall table and his coat is shed. You shed yourself of your own coat, the small paper Niki had handed you still folded in its pocket.
"When I said go out to town and make friends," he says, his voice carefully level, "I didn't think you'd go befriending... emo teenagers."
You don't answer. You smooth the sleeve of your coat, align it on the hanger and close the closet door with a soft click.
"Kid gave you his Discord in front of me. At church. Ballsy, I'll give him that." A laugh, but there's nothing funny about his tone. "Must've really charmed him with all that vampire talk."
"Don't tell me you're jealous of a high schooler." You turn to face him finally, your back against the closet door.
"You know that's not it." His arms cross over his chest. "You never told me you went to the library. You never told me you were—what, researching? Talking with some kid who hides monster books inside his Bible?"
You push off the door and walk past him, into the kitchen. Away from the hurt in his eyes that you can't quite bear to witness.
"You're keeping secrets from me." He raises his voice ever so slightly, not enough to startle you, but enough to be heard from down the hall. "You're not going to explain yourself?"
His footsteps trail behind you. You reach the sink and turn on the faucet, letting the water run for no reason at all. Just sound. Something to drown out the shame.
"I went to the library to read about vampires. Because I thought—Because I know our neighbour is a vampire." You say, "And I didn't tell you because I knew you would look at me like... this."
Jake exhales, a long, measured breath.
You turn off the faucet, eyes glued to the tub of hot water, but you don't reach for any dishes.
"You don't believe me. So why would I tell you?"
His hands find your shoulders, warm and steady, and he turns you gently away from the sink. Away from the dirty dishes and the pretense that any of this is normal.
"I believe that you believe it." His thumbs trace the curve of your shoulders. "I believe you're scared. I believe something is wrong. I just don't think it's what you think it is."
"That's not the same thing."
"No. It's not."
He's quiet for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he guides you. His hand finds the small of your back. He pulls out a chair at the kitchen table and waits until you sit. Then he sits across from you and takes both your hands in his.
"Don't keep things from me." His voice is low, but it sounds like a plea. "I don't care how crazy it is. Even if you became a madwoman, I would never leave you. Never." He squeezes your hands. "Please. Don't hide. Don't push me away."
"I'm sorry," you look down at your joined hands. "I'm sorry that I'm like this. I'm sorry I can't just be normal."
"Stop. Don't apologize." He lifts one hand to your chin, tilting your face up until you meet his eyes. "I love you. I'll love you 'til the day I die."
You nod, sucking in a breath. You think you would be crying if you hadn't already shed all your tears earlier that morning.
"I love you too."
He nods, but the furrow in his brow doesn't smooth. His thumb traces a slow arc across your knuckles, and you can feel him preparing himself for whatever he's about to say.
"I want you to see someone. A therapist, or a counsellor. Someone who can actually help you work through all of this.” His voice is gentle, but there's no hesitation in it. He's been thinking about this. Maybe for a while. "These fears. The nightmares. It's not healthy. You can't spend the rest of your life like this."
A therapist. Your eyes drop to Jake's neck, where you know a vampire's bite hides beneath his collar.
"It won't help."
"It might." He squeezes your hands, willing you to meet him halfway. "You don't know unless you try. Even if it doesn't, at least we tried."
He lifts your hands to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles. His eyes are full of love, but tired. So very tired. You can see it in his movements, in the slight hunch of his shoulders.
You could argue. You could try to explain why it's a waste of money and time. But that's not what he needs to hear.
"Okay." You say. "I'll go."
His eyes widen, like he'd braced himself for a fight and doesn't quite know what to do now. Then he pushes back his chair and stands, pulling you up with him. His arms wrap around you before you've even found your footing, one hand splayed across your spine, the other cradling the back of your head. You feel his breath against your hair, warm and unsteady, and you feel his smile.
"Thank you," he murmurs. "Thank you."
He pulls back just enough to kiss your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the bridge of your nose, clumsy and reverent, and you almost laugh despite everything. He's already talking about a counsellor his mother knows, a name he'll look up, a number he'll call in the morning, but the words blur together, lost in the rhythm of his heart against your ear.
Being held is not the same as being saved, but you close your eyes and accept his embrace anyway. His arms are warm, and his heart is steady, and for now, that's enough. It's all you have left.
The call comes Monday afternoon.
You've been at your laptop for the better part of an hour, filling out a self-assessment form for the counsellor Jake's mother recommended.
On a scale of one to ten, how often do you feel overwhelmed by daily tasks?
Do you experience intrusive thoughts?
Have you ever felt disconnected from reality?
The last question is taking you longer than it should, when your phone buzzes against the kitchen table. The number is one you don't recognize, and you almost let it ring. But then you look back at your screen, and decide you'd rather do anything else than pick out numbers on a scale that can't measure what's actually wrong with you.
"Mrs. Sim?"
Your hand tightens around the phone. Jake's boss explains something about how he looks terrible, how he nearly collapsed getting up from his desk, how someone needs to come get him immediately.
"I told him he should have stayed home," the boss's gruff voice says over the phone, "He kept saying he didn't want to let anyone down. Is he always this stubborn?"
You find him at his desk, pale and half-slumped, a coworker hovering uncertainly at his elbow. Between the two of you, you get him to the car. He doesn't argue. That's how you know it's bad. And you watch him from the corner of your eye the whole drive home, his head against the window as he fights his own exhaustion.
"It's nothing. Really." His words slur together as you guide him down the hall, his arm heavy across your shoulders. "Probably just a cold. I'll be fine in the morning."
You ease him onto the mattress. He sinks into it, his body going slack the moment his head touches the pillow. His eyes close. His breathing evens out, shallow but steady.
You bring him soup, which he doesn't eat. You bring him water, which he barely sips. You sit on the edge of the bed and watch the shallow rise and fall of his chest, and the whole time your mind is spinning through the past few weeks like a reel of film you can't stop.
Every night you've woken gasping from dreams you can't confess to. Every morning he's held you through the aftermath, whispering reassurances into your hair while the shadows under his eyes grew darker and darker. Every time he's said I'm trying, baby, I'm trying so hard—and you've let him. You've let him carry you, let him comfort you, let him pour himself out trying to understand something you can't explain.
And what have you given him in return? Tears. Secrets. A hand squeezing his at church while you both pretended everything was fine. Late nights where he held you instead of sleeping, early mornings where he made you coffee and asked gentle questions and got nothing back but silence.
You look at him now, with his work shirt still half-unbuttoned, his face slack, his fingers twitching faintly against the blanket and feel the guilt settle over you. He's spent every ounce of himself trying to save you from a monster he doesn't believe in.
"I'm sorry," you whisper to the quiet room. He doesn't stir.
The next day, he is worse.
You can't get him to lift his head for more than a few seconds. The medicine you brought sits untouched on the nightstand. His skin has taken on a translucence that makes your blood run cold, and when you press a cool cloth to his forehead, he barely seems to register the touch.
"Just need to sleep," he murmurs, the words slurring together. "Don't worry. You worry too much."
You don't leave his side.
You watch the hours crawl past, the gray morning fading into a grayer afternoon, the light at the window never quite brightening, and try to convince yourself it's a fever. A winter bug that hit him harder than most. But even as you tell yourself these things, your eyes keep drifting to the collar of his shirt, to the pale skin beneath, to the two small marks you know are there, still healing. You don't see any other marks, but the thought lingers.
By the third day, he can barely open his eyes.
You've stopped leaving the room except to refill the water glass he can't drink from. You've stopped pretending this is something you can fix with soup and cold compresses and whispered prayers. You sit in the chair beside the bed, your knees drawn up to your chest, and watch him fade.
It's around noon when you notice it. The sun is high in the sky today, not a single cloud, and the light illuminates the blood stain on his pillowcase, clear as day.
A small stain, rust-brown and drying, near the nape of his neck. Your hands are shaking as you reach for him, as you ease him onto his side and lift the hem of his shirt.
The marks are everywhere. Some are fresh—bright red, the skin around them inflamed and angry. Others have scabbed over, dark and ugly and bruised. Bite marks. Dozens of them. Clustered between his shoulder blades, and trailing down like a map of slow consumption.
You don't realize you're crying until a tear falls, mingling with the dried blood on his skin.
The sound you make must wake him, because his fingers twitch against the blanket, and his voice, thin and weak, drifts up from the pillow.
"Hey." A long pause. He doesn't have the strength to turn his head. "Don't cry."
You help him lie back against the pillows, your hands trembling so badly you can barely manage it. His eyes find yours—still that same warm brown, still impossibly gentle, even now, even after everything—and the tears come harder. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but doesn't. Whether he can't find the strength or the words, you aren't sure. But you aren't about to let him finish, even if he could.
"I have to tell you something." You say quick and certain, though you feel anything but. "Please just listen."
He blinks, slow and heavy. Barely aware, barely awake.
"When I was younger. Before I met you. Before I even knew what I was doing. I prayed for something God couldn't give me. Something sinful. Something—" You swallow, force yourself to continue. "Lustful. Shameful. Every night. Every prayer. It was consuming me."
Jake's brow furrows. His hand moves across the blanket, searching for yours.
"My prayers were answered," you keep going. "But not by God. By something else. Something evil. These nightmares didn't appear out of nowhere. They're the consequence of what I did. It came to me in my dreams. It tempted me. It tainted me. For years. And now..."
You can't look at him. You stare at the blanket, at the pattern of the quilt, at the pale shape of his hand still reaching for yours.
"I've dragged you into the darkness with me." You grip his hand, "I'm sorry, Jake."
Silence. A long, stretching silence, broken only by the rasp of his breathing.
Then his fingers find yours.
"Baby."
You look up. His eyelids are heavy, his brow furrowed with an effort that seems to take everything he has left. The slow, laboured machinery of a mind trying to surface and failing.
"Baby, you are the light of my life." His voice is barely a whisper now, each word an effort. "I know you. I know your heart. It's pure. The purest of them all. Don't say scary stuff like that."
"You don't understand." You shake your head, the tears sliding hot and fast down your cheeks.
"I know." A ghost of a smile crosses his lips. He strokes the back of your hand, the motion so familiar, so tender, that it makes your chest ache. "But you understand me either."
The room is quiet. The light through the window has shifted—the gray afternoon giving way to the pale gold of a winter sunset, slanting through the glass and spilling across the bed.
Jake's gaze drifts to your face, and something in his expression changes. Softens. Opens.
"If only you could see yourself right now." His voice is barely audible, but there is a warmth in it that remains. "The way the light hits you. You're so beautiful." His fingers tighten around yours. It's the last of his strength, poured into a single gesture. "You look like an angel."
Your heart swells.
He doesn't see it. Even as you confess words you'd never dared to even think about out loud, he doesn't see the rot, the sin, the stain that has been spreading through you since long before you ever met him.
"You should see yourself," he murmurs again, his eyes already drifting closed. "So pretty. My pretty wife. I love you so much."
"I love you more." You whisper, watching the rise and fall of his chest.
He doesn't understand what you've told him. Or maybe he does. Maybe the truth is too big, too impossible, too far outside the world he believes in. All you know is that even now, when your sins are quite literally bleeding him dry, he looks at you and sees something worth loving.
You lay your head against his chest, closing your eyes. You listen to the fading rhythm of his heart, like a ticking clock.
You will not let time run out.
"Hello? Who is—wait." A pause. A sharp inhale. "Lady? Is that you? You actually made a Discord!"
Niki's voice crackles through your laptop speakers, tinny and incredulous. In the background, you can hear the faint, distorted blast of music, which cuts off abruptly as he slams a button. A desk chair creaks.
"This is amazing. I didn't think you'd actually call me. I mean, I hoped, but I've been checking my Discord every day since church."
You stare at the Discord interface, feeling decades older than you are. Jake lies down the hall, silent and still. You made sure he was asleep, though that wasn't hard to ensure. He hadn't done so much as open his eyes since the afternoon.
"I need your help."
"Help. Yeah. Okay. Um. Help with what, exactly?" His voice drops to a theatrical whisper. "Is it a vampire thing?"
You take in a breath.
"I need to know how to kill one." The silence on the other end stretches so long you think the call has dropped. Then you add, "Hypothetically."
"Oh. My. God." A drawer opens. Pages ruffle. "Okay. So. Classic methods. A wooden stake through the heart works, but the wood matters—hawthorn, ash, some sources say rowan. Decapitation is more reliable, but that's hard to pull off unless you have a sword, which I'm guessing you don't."
"I don't."
"Sunlight. Direct, full exposure. Not just a cloudy day—like, dawn, clear sky, no shade. Fire works on basically everything, but you'd have to trap it somehow." He's speaking faster now, the words tumbling over each other. "There's also holy water and consecrated ground, but the research on that is mixed—"
"That's enough. Thank you."
"What? No. Wait. I have so much more. I have an entire notebook. I have—" He stops. His voice changes, sharpens. "Wait a second. Why do you need to know this?"
"Goodbye, Niki—"
"No, hang on—You're literally asking how to kill a vampire." His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, the words still returning with a squeak as they come out in a rush. "Holy shit. You do know a vampire. I knew it. Is it in town? Is it drinking people's blood? Did it attack you? Are you in danger?"
You sigh, a hand to your temple. He's talking so fast, you can't find a proper opening to leave, and though you know you should probably just hang up, some part of you doesn't want to leave the poor boy in a state of panic.
"I’m not in any danger. I'm—”
"I can help, you know. I'm not just some kid. I know so much about this stuff. More than anyone. I've read every book in that library twice. I've read books that aren't even in the library. I know lore that isn't even translated yet. You need a vampire taken down? I'm your guy. I mean, I've never done it, but I could probably figure it out."
"That's sweet of you, really, but—"
"And you're just a housewife—not saying that housewives can't kick ass! I'm sure you could. Maybe. But you're not exactly, like, a vampire hunter." He sucks in a breath so sharp you hear it whistle through his teeth. "Wait. Shouldn't your husband be protecting you? Why isn't he—does he even know about this?"
You close your eyes.
"He doesn't know," Niki gasps in horror. His voice drops to a horrified whisper. "That's why you were asking about soul-contracts in the library. That's why you looked like you were going to throw up when I read that passage. You're in a soul-bond with a vampire, and your husband doesn't know."
Your head is in your hands now, his voice rambling through the laptop speaker.
"That's—that's insane. That's literally insane." He sputters, the words tangling in his mouth. "Isn't that like—I mean, a soul-contract, isn't that kind of like—isn't that like cheating? Like, spiritually? Eternally? Your husband thinks he's married to you, but you're already—"
"I have to go."
"Wait!"
You end the call.
The laptop screen glows, Niki's profile picture still visible in the corner—some anime character with a stupid hairstyle, smirking at nothing. A notification pops up. Then another. Then a string of them, rapid-fire, the little red badge counting up.
xX_vampK1_Xx: wait
xX_vampK1_Xx: pls dont hang up
xX_vampK1_Xx: or die
You don't read them all, closing the laptop instead.
Wooden stake.
Fire.
Sunlight.
You wait for him.
Curtains drawn back, the window open. The winter air slips through the gap, cold enough to make you shiver in your nightgown, but you remain there, facing the open night. You wait the way you used to wait—on your knees, on the floor, praying for something that God refused to give you.
Down the hall, Jake lies in the guest bedroom. The room you'd once hoped would become a nursery. It seems like a distant dream now, a life that belonged to someone else. You'd moved him there before the sun had set, his body heavy, unconscious, and blissfully unaware. He doesn't know what you're about to do. You hope he never will.
When the silhouette appears, it's almost a relief.
He steps through the parted curtains, and the moonlight reveals him. He's too pale, too still, his dark eyes already fixed on you before you've even found your voice.
He's beautiful. He's always been beautiful, and you hate that he is. It would be so much easier if he were grotesque—if his skin were rotting flesh and his eyes were hollow and vacant pits belonging to something long dead, you could recoil. You could run. Instead, you stare, almost forgetting your true intentions for a moment.
"Now, this brings back memories." He looms over you, unmoving. His eyes drift to the bed, where your husband is absent. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"You're killing my husband."
He doesn't flinch. Of course he doesn't. He stands there in the center of your bedroom, hands at his sides, and regards you with an expression that teeters on amusement.
"Believe me." His gaze drops to your throat, to the cross trembling against your collarbone. A faint smile tugs at his lips. "I would much prefer to have you."
There's a silence before you scoff.
"Taking the life of the man I love won't make me want you."
"Indeed, it won't. You already want me. Yet foolishly, you continue to deny yourself."
He is silent for a moment as he watches you clutch helplessly at the cross at your neck.
"Look at you. You waited here. Alone, in the dark, to face something that could destroy you in seconds. And you still clutch that thing." His lips curls into a frown. "As if God could ever save you."
He takes a few steps forward, leaning down until his lips are at your ear.
"But you're a smart girl. You know that He can't." He says, leaning down. One hand reaches for your chin, lifting it to properly meet his gaze. "That's why you prayed to me instead."
"I prayed to God." You hiss.
"And as always, God did not answer."
He drops your chin. Then he moves past you, toward the window. His fingers brush the curtain, and he looks out at the dark street, the bare trees, the distant glint of the river just visible beyond the rooftops.
"I was once like you." He says, "I prayed. I prayed for her to heal. I prayed every waking hour at her bedside."
His wife. You assume that's who he means. You think of the house he keeps tidy in her memory, the piano that stays tuned for her, but you don't ask. His tone tells you the grief is old, smoothed by the centuries past, no longer a wound but a scar.
You swallow the bitter taste in your throat. Selfishly, you dislike the idea of him loving anyone else. The thought is irrational, and deeply shameful, but it surfaces before you can push it back down.
"Please do not fret, my love." He says it all too quickly, as if he sensed the shift in you before you felt it yourself. "It was a very long time ago."
You open your mouth to protest but the words die on your tongue. He's looking at you with that quiet, knowing expression, and you realize there is no point in lying to a creature who can read your emotions before you've even named them.
"I was merely a fragile human. Hopeful enough to offer God everything. Foolish enough to believe he would answer with anything other than silence." The breeze howls past the window, brushing his hair from his face. "So I found another way. And I have been what I am ever since."
"You were once human, too?" Your voice is soft, curious, and more sincere than you wish it was.
He finally turns to face you again, this time with a hint of a smile.
"We are more alike than you know." he holds out a hand to you, and you take it. You let him help you stand, your nightgown catching the wind as you look up at him. "I can smell the shame in you. I've always been able to. It's the same shame I carried centuries ago."
A monster, comparing himself to you. You should feel offended by the way he looks at you, right through you, past the skin and bone, into the soul you've spent a lifetime trying to scrub clean. Though, you suppose he's earned the right. He's been in your dreams for years. He's seen every thought you tried to drown, every aching desire you tried to bury, and how it rots you from the inside. He's seen all of it, and he does not recoil.
A man can judge you. A monster cannot.
You're horrified to find relief in that thought.
"The difference between you and me, however, is that I've stopped pretending to be something I'm not."
Your eyes wander to the door briefly, knowing your husband lays peacefully down the hall.
"Jake still looks at me as if I'm pure. As if I'm worthy of his love. Even after everything I've done." Your eyes burn, and you blink hard against the sting. "That's all I have, and you're taking it away."
"Because I needed to feed. Because you have not given me permission. I cannot take what is mine unless it is offered freely. So I took what was available to me. Your scent on his skin. Your proximity." His eyes hold yours. "Do you understand what that is like? To be bound to someone, to feel their wanting every night, to taste it in the air, and to not be allowed to have them? The blood of animals does nothing. The blood of your husband is unsatisfying. I am ravenous."
He steps closer. The space between you shrinks to almost nothing.
"It is not merely blood that you promised me. You offered me your soul. Your life. Your eternal presence. That is what I hunger for—not the taste of you on my tongue, but the whole of you, bound to me as you were always meant to be." His voice drops to a whisper. "Every second I have waited has been a small death. I have died a thousand times since you made your promise."
You know what that hunger feels like. You've carried it your whole life, coiled low in your belly, hot and insistent, never fully quieted. You tried to fill it with prayer. You tried to fill it with your husband's body. Nothing worked. Nothing ever works.
"He is innocent." Your voice splinters. "He doesn't deserve this."
Sunghoon is silent for a long moment. Then he sighs—a soft, tired sound.
"Innocent. Pure of heart. Kind—too kind for a human, if you ask me." He says. "You're terrified of what he'd think. You don't believe his love is unconditional."
"How could anyone love this?"
A tear slips down your cheek. You had no idea you were on the verge of crying, but you feel it now. The uncontrollable trembling of your body, the sob threatens to escape your throat. Sunghoon's hand rises. His fingers brush your jaw, cool and smooth, tilting your chin upward. You open your eyes.
It's the first time you've seen him this close, the moonlight casting a soft glow over his features. His expression is nothing cruel. It's something almost tender, which is far more devastating.
"I do." He says. "I love your scent. Your shame. The way you whisper my name in the dark."
Your lower lip trembles, and his thumb traces it, feather-light. In fact, all of you trembles. You've stopped trying to decide whether it's out of fear, want, or the draft of winter air.
"You offered me your soul long before you ever gave him your hand. That is a promise no ring can compare to." His eyes hold yours, unrelenting. "I love you eternally."
His hand trails down your throat. His fingers curl, lightly, around the column of your neck, just holding it, just relishing your pulse beneath his fingertips. The cross dangles between you, and you feel his gaze flicker to it.
"Please understand. I have only ever wanted you. He was merely the vessel I drank from because I could not drink from you." his voice drops to a murmur. "Give me what you promised me. What you've been promising me every night for years. I'm patient. I've waited long, and I can wait longer. Your husband, however..." his eyes drift to the door, an acknowledgement of his fading life down the hall, "He doesn't have the luxury of patience."
"If I refuse, he dies."
Sunghoon doesn't blink. "Yes."
No hesitation. The truth, cold and simple. You feel your hands tighten into fists at your sides.
"That's not a choice. That's not 'asking for permission.' That's a threat."
He only laughs in response.
"You made a deal with a monster. Did you expect him to play fair?" Sunghoon tilts his head. "I'd argue I've been rather generous. I could have drained him on your wedding night, when he laid hands on what was already mine. Could have left him in your bed, cold and lifeless. But I didn't. I let him live. I even offered him my wine."
He wears the slightest grin, cruel and merciless, and his fangs catch the light. "Aren't I kind?"
"You are vile." You spit. "You are despicable. Awful. And—"
"And you still want me."
The space between you shrinks as he leans closer, until you can feel the chill radiating off his skin, until you can see the faint gleam of the moonlight on his pupils.
"He is not the reason you will say yes."
His voice is quieter now.
"You will say yes because you have been starving for as long as you can remember. Because you have tried to fill that hunger with prayer and penance and the body of a man who loves you but cannot understand you. Because you knelt at your window and begged for relief, and I am the only one who has ever offered it to you. I am the only one who can give it to you."
His fingers brush your jaw. Feather-light.
"So, go on." He nods, "Tell me what you want."
"I want you to leave Jake alone." You hiss. It only makes him grin. You expect nothing less.
"And what else?"
"I want you to stop making me feel like this."
"How do you want me to do that, exactly?"
You open your eyes. He's so close now. Your body is trembling—not from the cold, not from fear, but from the unbearable, humiliating effort of holding yourself back. Your thighs press together beneath your nightgown, a needy, restless friction that does nothing to ease the ache. Your pulse hammers in your throat. Between your legs, you're soaked.
You've been soaked since he stepped through the curtains.
Every inch of you is screaming for relief. Every inch of you has been screaming for years.
It's not really a choice. If you pull away, you're letting your husband die and spending the rest of your life mourning a man you loved but couldn't save.
Regardless, your body doesn't want to pull away. It made its own choice the moment you knelt at your window all those years ago. Everything since then has been the long, torturous process of coming to accept it. The prayers. The shame. The dreams you woke from, wet and wanting. All of it leading here. To him.
"I want you to touch me," you whisper. The words come out ragged, half a sob, half a plea. "I need you to relieve me from this torment. I can't—I can't take it anymore. Please."
His hand tightens just barely at your throat.His hand rests at your throat, cool and steady. His touch remains ever patient, and his eyes flicker from yours to your neck like he cannot decide which is more precious to him in this moment.
"Say it properly."
And you do.
"I give you permission. My blood. My body. My soul. Take it. It's all yours. It's always been yours."
He exhales—a shuddering, both reverent and ravenous sound.
His hand tightens around your throat, fingers digging into the vulnerable flesh, feeling the pulse hammering beneath his touch, the rush of blood through your veins. He dips his head into the curve of your neck, and the breath he takes in, the groan that rumbles against your skin—they are not the sounds of a man. They belong to a predator who has caught its prey at last and is trying very hard not to devour it all at once.
Your eyes flutter shut.
"If only you could smell yourself right now." His voice comes out rough, almost like a growl, "Your terror, your desperation. Your arousal."
He lifts you in a single, clean sweep, as if you weigh no more than a feather. Your feet are off the ground, your body helpless in his grasp, and you don't have the time to react as he throws you down on the marital bed with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs. You barely have time to register the impact before his body is over yours. His knee rises between your thighs, spreading you open beneath him and his hand fists your hair, tilting your head back, baring your throat to the moonlight and his teeth.
His gaze drifts down the length of your body, catching on the way your nightgown has ridden up your thighs, on the rise and fall of your chest. He leans forward.
"My stubborn, sinful girl. You were never meant for heaven." His fangs press against your pulse, not yet sinking in, but with enough pressure that it makes your breath catch and your body go rigid beneath him. "You were always meant for me."
One hand grips your throat, fingers digging into the flesh just beneath your jaw, holding your head in place with a force that borders on bruising. The other rests over your heart, palm flat, enough to feel the frantic rhythm.
"So fearful that nobody could love you in the dark, when I have loved you for years."
His fangs sink into you, and a cry is torn from your throat, gasping into the dark and your body arches into him without your permission. The sounds he makes are equally as ungraceful and unrestrained— a growl that sounds like it belongs to an animal, a groan that sounds so guttural and almost pained, as if tasting you after all this time is a relief so profound it hurts. You writhe beneath him, but his body holds you steady, his grasp so harsh that it's sure to bruise.
The pull of his mouth is rhythmic, hypnotic, each draw of your blood sending a fresh wave of heat spiraling through your core. You are dizzy with it. You are alive with it. You are his, and you have always been his, and the acceptance of that truth is the single most liberating thing you have ever felt.
Disgust is a distant flicker, extinguished before it can catch. The pain is already gone. In its place, a pleasure so sharp and bright it borders on agony races through your veins. You shake with it, every inch of you raw and exposed, the sheets a torment against your feverish skin. Your hands find his back and hold on, clawing at his shirt.
"What is—?" Your voice is a whiny, pathetic sound, piercing through heavy, laboured breaths. The ache between your legs from before is now throbbing with a sort of want you couldn't even begin to describe. Something unnatural, feverish and all-consuming. "Why do I feel like—?"
"It feels good, doesn't it?" His fangs retract, but his mouth stays, kissing the wound he left behind, lapping up every last drop of your blood. "The venom. It immobilizes prey. Turns pain into pleasure. Though you didn't need much convincing, did you?"
A broken sound tears from your throat as his tongue drags down the column of your neck, chasing a stray bead of blood. His hand rips your nightgown higher, baring you to the cold air, and he finds you soaked. You can feel his grin at your neck.
"You were begging to be fucked long before I ever bit you," he whispers, "Long before your nice little husband ever put his hands on you."
"Please, Sunghoon," The words tumble out before your pride can catch them. It's wrecked, shameless, and entirely honest. "Just touch me. Please."
He obliges without a word. Your panties are eased down your thighs, the cold air a brief shock against your overheated skin, and then he finds you—slick and aching and desperately ready. A single, long finger slips inside with no resistance at all, and the sound that escapes you is almost a sob. You might cry from just that alone, graciously accepting any kind of touch at this point. You might already be crying, though you don't have the sense to think about it. You're lost in the sensation, clenching around him, your hips rolling forward of their own accord, chasing more.
"It feels so much better when you give in." His voice is soft, almost crooning, as his finger moves inside you with excruciating slowness, a rhythm designed to tease rather than satisfy. "When you stop denying yourself."
A frustrated sound catches in your throat. Your hips lift, chasing his hand, and he hums in quiet approval. Then a second finger slides in beside the first, stretching you, and the cry that escapes you is louder than before. Your head falls back against the pillow. Your fingers twist in the sheets.
And then his fangs are at your throat again—a sharp, searing sting that melts almost instantly into heat. He drinks as his fingers move inside you, a slow, devastating counterpoint: the pull of his mouth, the thrust of his hand, the weight of his body pinning you to the mattress. You are caught between pleasure and surrender, and you have stopped caring which is which.
"My sweet little sinner." He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips stained, his breath cool against the wound he left behind. His fingers curl inside you, finding a place that makes your vision blur.
"What would he think if he saw you like this? His fragile, innocent wife, offering herself to a monster, begging for more." He thrusts deeper, and your back arches off the bed. "Would it break him? Would it shatter that pure, simple love he carries for you?"
The tears come before you can stop them, spilling down your temples and into your hair. A sob tears free, raw and ugly, and you shake your head against the pillow.
"No?" His voice is soft, almost tender. His thumb traces your cheek, smearing the tears there. "Use your words, my love."
"I don't care." The words rip out of you, jagged and desperate, louder than you intended. Your hips are still rolling against his hand, chasing the climax he keeps just out of reach. "I don't care what he thinks. I just want this."
You feel the pressure building, the tightening in your belly, rushing toward the edge faster than you can outrun it.
"Please." The word is barely a whisper now, your voice wrecked and trembling. "Please take me. I can't—I need—please."
His fingers still inside you. You cry out at the loss, at the empty ache he leaves behind, and when you open your eyes, he is looking down at you with something like awe. Something like triumph. Something like love, if a monster is capable of love, as he claims.
He grabs the front of your nightgown and rips it open. The fabric splits with a sound like a scream. You gasp, arms flying up to cover yourself, but he seizes your wrists and wrenches them away. Forces your hand down between your bodies, pressing your palm against the hard, aching length of him.
He releases you to tear at his own clothes. His shirt. His pants. Then he is bare above you, and the sight is almost too much—the blood on his mouth, the pale plane of his chest, and his eyes, how they devour the sight of you whole, looking at you in all your filth and finding you holy.
"I'm going to ruin you." You feel the tip of him at your entrance, and your body stiffens. His eyes hold yours, dark and depthless and full of terrible tenderness. "Just like you begged me to."
He sinks into you in one slow, devastating thrust, and your mouth falls open on a sound that might be his name, but before it can escape, his lips find yours. He swallows your cry the way he swallowed your blood, consuming it, claiming it as his own. His tongue sliding against yours, and you taste your own blood on his lips. His mouth never leaves yours, as if he would drink every sound you make, as if there is no part of you he does not intend to devour.
You start to cry. Not because it hurts. Not because you're being ruined, though you are, though you've wanted to be. You cry because it's better than your dreams ever were. Because every fantasy you spent years repenting for, every shameful vision that drove you to your knees at the window, was a pale shadow of this.
He pulls back to look at you, and the expression on his face is rapture. His hand is wrapped around your throat, holding you steady for each forceful thrust, pinning you to the mattress, to the moment, to him. The rhythm of his hips is relentless and perfect. Every drag of him inside you eases the ache you've carried for so long it has become a part of you, and at the same time deepens it, feeds it, stokes it into something insatiable. The venom only heightens the feeling—pleasure easing your hunger, each stroke pushing you closer to an edge you no longer want to escape.
He is the most beautiful creature you have ever seen.
You think it without flinching. You think it while tears stream down your temples and into your hair, while your body arches to meet his, while you give yourself over to the monster who answered when God wouldn't. He is beautiful. He is yours. You are his. And you have never felt less like pretending otherwise.
He fills you in a way your husband never could. It's terrible and entirely the truth. You have spent weeks trying to use Jake as a remedy—his body, his love, his gentle, faithful hands—and it worked, for a few hours at a time. But the hunger you carry was never something he could satisfy. He was never meant to. That was never the deal you made.
This is what you bargained for. What you knelt at the window and begged to feel.
You lose yourself in the rhythm of him. The thick, unrelenting drive of his cock. The weight of his body pinning you to the mattress. The way he takes and takes and takes, and still watches you like you are something sacred. His dark eyes hold yours with something that looks like awe. Something that looks like devotion. Something that looks, impossibly, like love. If you even believe that a creature like him can feel love. Though love is the furthest thing from your mind right now.
"That's it." His voice is a low growl, rough with pleasure and hunger and the effort of holding himself back. "Cry for me. Let me see you fall apart."
Your nails rake down his back. Your thighs tremble around his hips. The tears are still falling, streaming into your hair, but you don't hold them back. You don't try to hide. You let him watch. You let him see all of it. The surrender, the pleasure, the relief at last.
You finish, your high crashing through your body in pulses that leave you gasping, clenching around him, your back bowing off the bed. You cry out his name, and he groans as he feels you break around him, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he drives deeper, harder, more.
You barely have time to come down before his fangs find your throat again. The bite is sharp and sweet, and the venom floods your veins anew—reigniting the fire that had just begun to go out, pulling you back toward the edge you just tumbled over.
"More," you plead. The word is raw, scraped clean of pride. "More."
He gives you more. He gives you everything. And you take it all of it with your eyes open and your soul laid bare beneath him.
More. More. More.
The night folded in on itself, a long, delirious rhythm of hunger and satiation, of teeth and hands and the slick press of bodies moving together in the dark. He would drink until you grew faint, then pull back, laving the wound with a tenderness that made your chest ache, and wait for your eyes to flutter open, for your hips to lift in silent, desperate invitation. And then he would begin again.
You lost count. It didn't matter. Time had become a thing that happened to other people.
You remember, dimly, the sound of your own voice sobbing his name into the hollow of his throat. You remember the weight of him, the cold press of his skin slowly warming with each swallow of your blood. You remember his mouth tracing the length of your collarbone, his fingers mapping the dip of your waist, his voice murmuring things against your flesh.
The window stood open through all of it. The curtains drifted. The winter air slipped in, cooling the sweat on your skin, but you never felt cold. You felt nothing but him. Nothing but the slow, spreading heat of the venom and the terrible peace of finally letting go.
The pale, gray light starts to rise in the distance. The hush of early morning. The distant, muffled quiet of a world still half-asleep.
He is still inside you. Still moving a slow, grinding rhythm, more reflex now than urgency, the last shivering aftershocks of a night that had no end. His face is buried in the curve of your neck, his lips parted against the wound that hasn't closed, and his hips roll against yours in a lazy, hypnotic pulse that feels less like fucking and more like breathing.
Your hand is in his hair. Your fingers are tangled in the dark silk of it, your thumb tracing the shell of his ear, and the gesture feels so natural, so intimate, that your throat tightens with something you refuse to name.
Then the light shifts.
It spills through the open window, pale gold, the first true ray of a winter dawn. It creeps across the floorboards, slow and searching, and climbs the edge of the bed. It touches your bare ankle. It warms the tangled sheets. It reaches, like a blessing or a blade, for the man in your arms.
You watch it happen.
It finds his shoulder first. The light glistens, a luminous sheen on the marble of his skin catching the ridge of his shoulder blade, the curve of his spine, the place where your nails have left their marks across his back. He doesn't notice. His mouth is still at your throat, his body still moving against yours, lost in the rhythm of consumption.
"Sunghoon."
He lifts his head.
His eyes are black, pupils blown, the irises reduced to thin rings of dark amber. Your blood is on his lips. Your blood everywhere. All over your own lips, all over your neck, your chest and the sheets beneath you. And his skin, his beautiful, terrible skin, is beginning to gleam in the morning light.
Every plane of his face limned in gold, the sharp angle of his jaw, the impossible symmetry of his features. He looks like something that fell from heaven and landed wrong.
He looks at you. And you see the moment he understands.
The light is spreading. It touches his temple. The curve of his ear. The column of his throat. And where it touches, his skin begins to change—taking on a strange, crystalline shimmer, like the surface of fresh snow catching the first light of dawn. It starts to unmake him.
He doesn't move. He doesn't flee. He just looks at you, old and tired and almost, almost human.
Your hand is still in his hair. You don't pull it back.
A broken growl, low but softened, escapes him, and his forehead drops to yours. His eyes close, and for a long, suspended moment, you lie there together in the path of the rising sun.
It starts at the edges, before the shimmer spreads a slow, glittering dissolution, like diamonds fracturing along the surface of him. The places where the sun touches him turn luminous, iridescent, and then they begin to separate. He is coming apart in fine fragments, a mist of dust that catches the light and holds it, suspended, before drifting upward on the morning air.
His eyes find yours one last time. There's no fear in them. No anger. Just that same dark, depthless devotion. That same hunger.
Your body is still humming with the aftermath of pleasure, your thighs slick, your throat aching with the memory of his hands around it.
You close your eyes. They're too heavy to keep open.
"More."
The last thing you feel is his hand returning to your neck, and his teeth sinking into your flesh once more. The last thing you hear is the sound of his growl as he savours his last meal.
Tangled with death, you lay, lips parted in pleasure.
Genre/Tags: café owner! jungkook x ceo! reader, exes to lovers, divorced au, co-parenting au, angst, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, slow burn
Summary: Months after a devastating divorce, you and Jungkook find yourselves trying to navigate a life that no longer looks the way it once did. Between unresolved emotions, stubborn feelings that just don’t want to disappear and the shared custody of your angel-like son, Yejun, the two of you are left standing in the wreckage of everything you once were. And somewhere in between coexisting and letting go… you are forced to ask yourselves if the love you shared is something meant to be left behind in all of your yesterdays.
Word Count: 20.6k+
Series Warnings: PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION AND GO THROUGH ALL THE WARNINGS BECAUSE THIS FIC CONTAINS SOME VERY TRIGGERING TOPICS; mature language, yearning, use of jeongguk instead of jungkook, dad jungkook !!!!!!, reader & jungkook have a flexible coparenting schedule, mentions of sleeping pills, unhealthy sleeping habits, insomina, nightmares, reader is flawed because of all the baggage she carries so pls be nice to her, some yearning, reader is a self destructive person, fear of abandonment, past/childhood trauma, lots of deflection, mentions of orphanages, inaccurate business & company stuff (i'm sorry just think of reader as a really big ceo of a huge luxury jewelry brand), a little bit of yearning i think, flashbacks and dream sequences in italics, some jealousy, there's lots of reminiscing, heavy angst, mentions of pregnancy, fear of motherhood, mentions of food wastage, fainting, starvation, lots and lots of detailed emotions, they’re slightly “our beloved summer” couple coded & one scene is distinctly inspired by the “10 things i hate about you” episode from OBS (iykyk), did i mention yearning, use of petnames like baby, honey, jagi/ jagiya, explicit content, MORE TO BE ADDED WITH FUTURE CHAPTERS
//
part 2
6 months ago
Jeongguk looks down at Yejun’s sleeping figure, his chest tightening painfully at the sight in front of him. Even in his sleep, tiny hiccups still leave the little boy every now and then, remnants of the heartbreaking crying fit he had exhausted himself into barely 20 minutes ago.
It had taken almost an hour to calm Yejun down. An hour of carrying him around the penthouse, kissing his tears away, promising over and over that his mama was coming soon.
But 4 year olds didn’t understand delayed meetings, exhausted schedules or business emergencies. 4 year olds only understood absence and tonight, all Yejun could understand was that his mother hadn’t come home for his birthday.
Jeongguk waits another moment, just to make sure Yejun’s breathing has finally evened out properly before he slowly rises from the bed and pulls the blanket higher over his son’s body and quietly steps out of the room, gently clicking the door shut behind him.
It was around 10pm as Jeongguk drags a tired hand down his face and steps into the living room of the penthouse, his gaze immediately landing on the decorations still scattered around the space.
Blue and silver balloons still floated near the ceiling and the little paper banner that read “HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUN !!” hung slightly crooked now after Yejun had accidentally tugged on it earlier while crying.
And right in the center of the coffee table sat the untouched birthday cake with the tiny candle shaped like the number four melted into wax beside it.
Jeongguk remembers reminding you about today.
Multiple times.
He remembers mentioning it over breakfast three days ago while you skimmed through emails on your tablet. He remembers bringing it up again last night when you were half asleep beside him, exhausted from work while he quietly asked you to come home early tomorrow because Yejun had been talking about his birthday all week.
And you had promised.
But lately, promises had started losing their meaning to you.
For the past few months, it felt like pieces of your life were constantly slipping through your fingers no matter how tightly Jeongguk tried helping you hold onto them.
Movie nights with Yejun that got cancelled because meetings suddenly ran overtime, dinner date reservations forgotten completely until Jeongguk sat alone at the restaurant pretending not to care when the waiter asked if he still wanted to order, the parent meeting you swore you had written down in your schedule only for Jeongguk to sit there alone while all the other parents arrived together.
At first, he truly tried to understand.
And he did understand.
Valerra was flourishing in ways he had never imagined. Your luxury brand was taking over the market, investors wanted meetings with you, fashion magazines wanted interviews, international buyers wanted collaborations, every collection sold out faster than the previous one.
You had worked for this with blood in your lungs and exhaustion stitched into your bones.
Nobody knew that better than Jeongguk.
Nobody had seen the sleepless nights, the breakdowns, the rejection emails, the self doubt, the relentless perfectionism the way he had. He knew exactly how much this dream meant to you because he had watched you build it from nothing with your bare hands.
And god, he had been so proud of you.
Still was.
But somewhere along the way, it had started feeling like your family was becoming something you tried fitting into the empty spaces left behind by your ambition instead of the other way around.
And the worst part was that Jeongguk could never even fully blame you for it because beneath the frustration and disappointment, he understood you too well.
He understood the pressure crushing down on your shoulders. He understood your fear of losing everything you worked so hard for. He understood why you pushed yourself until there was almost nothing left of you by the end of the day.
He understood all of it.
But god… he missed you.
So fucking much.
Because lately, Jeongguk felt like he was grieving someone who was still standing right beside him.
He closes his eyes briefly before letting out a tired sigh and reaching up to carefully pull down another decoration from the wall. At this point, it wasn’t just Yejun aching from your absence tonight…. Jeongguk was aching too.
The forgotten date nights, the anniversary you accidentally let pass a few weeks ago until Jimin wished the two of you over text and you froze in horror because you had genuinely forgotten. The nights he stayed awake waiting for you just to hear the front door open at 3 in the morning.
He tried so hard to be understanding through all of it.
But tonight hurt differently because no matter how many times Jeongguk gently explained it, no matter how softly he tried comforting him, Yejun simply couldn’t understand why his mother was not there to sing him happy birthday.
The sound of the front door unlocking suddenly echoes around the penthouse and Jeongguk’s movements instantly come to a stop as he slowly turns over his shoulder… and there you are.
You step inside looking exhausted with your coat hanging loosely off your shoulders as you walk in with hurried breaths.
Your hair is slightly disheveled like you had been running your fingers through it all evening and there are dark circles sitting beneath your eyes that even your expensive makeup can no longer properly conceal.
“Shit… I’m so sorry.” The apology leaves your mouth immediately, before you even properly look at him. You drop your purse and car keys onto the dining table with a soft clatter before quickly rubbing both your hands over your face.
“The investors from Paris pushed the meeting back by 2 hours and then one of the production managers completely messed up the shipment numbers for next month’s launch so I had to stay back and fix everything because apparently nobody there knows how to do their goddamn job properly.” Your words tumble out rapidly. “I tried leaving earlier but then the press team kept stopping me because they wanted approval for the campaign revisions and my phone died halfway through the evening and—” you stop abruptly before finally looking up at him properly. “Shit… please don’t tell me Jun went to bed already.” you murmur, your voice suddenly quieter as your eyes land on the half removed decorations and the untouched birthday cake sitting abandoned on the coffee table.
“It’s past ten.” Jeongguk says lowly without looking at you. “Bedtime was at eight.”
You stare at him in disbelief before quickly shaking your head. “No…” you breathe out softly, panic creeping into your expression. “No, no… Honey wait…”
Jeongguk says nothing as he turns back around, reaching up to pull another decoration from the wall with his jaw clenched so tightly it hurts.
“You should’ve tried keeping him up.” you murmur quickly, almost desperately. “Just for a little longer.”
And that’s what finally does it as Jeongguk whips around so fast the paper banner slips right from his hands onto the floor. “Y/n, he waited for you !!” he snaps sharply. The sudden raise in his voice makes your eyes widen immediately because Jeongguk rarely yelled.
Rarely.
“He tried really fucking hard to stay awake.” he says as his chest rises and falls unevenly and he can literally feel the months of frustration suddenly clawing their way out of him all at once. “He kept asking every 5 minutes if mama was home yet.” he continues, voice cracking slightly despite how angry he is. “He wouldn’t cut the cake without you. He wouldn’t open his presents without you. He waited for you until he cried himself sick because he thought maybe if he stayed awake long enough you’d finally walk through that door.”
“Jeongguk, I told you the meeting got delayed, I couldn’t just leave in the middle of—”
“In the middle of work?” he cuts you off harshly. “Yeah. I know because it’s always fucking work lately.”
“Do you think I wanted this to happen?” you ask, blinking at him in complete disbelief and Jeongguk lets out a hollow laugh that holds absolutely no humor in it. “I honestly don’t know what you want anymore.” he says.
For a second, Jeongguk almost regrets saying it. Almost.
“Excuse me?” you whisper. “You heard me.” he snaps back immediately. “Because lately it feels like nothing matters to you except that company.”
“That company?” you repeat in disbelief before suddenly laughing bitterly yourself. “That company?” you say again, your voice rising. “Jeongguk, you know exactly what that company means to me.”
“I know it means more to you than anything else apparently.” The words are cruel the moment they leave his mouth.
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” you fight back. “That company is the reason we have this life!” you gesture wildly around. “This penthouse. Yejun’s school. Everything we built. Everything!”
“And what’s the point of any of it if you’re never actually fucking here to live it?” Jeongguk fires back immediately. Your breathing turns uneven as you stare at him like you can’t believe what you’re hearing. “That’s unfair.” you whisper.
“Is it?” he asks sharply. “Tell me honestly, Y/n. When was the last time you sat through dinner without checking your phone? When was the last time you spent one full day with us without work interrupting it?” He watches you open your mouth immediately and then close it again because he knows damn well you don’t have an answer to that question.
“And this isn’t just about Yejun.” he continues, throwing his hands up helplessly now. “What about us?” he asks as his voice cracks slightly on the word us. “God, do you even remember the last time we had a proper conversation?” he asks brokenly. “Like really talked?”
You look away immediately, your eyes squeezing shut for a brief second like even hearing this hurts.
“I haven’t held you properly for more than ten minutes these past few months.” Jeongguk laughs bitterly under his breath. “It’s always new collection this, investor dinner that, fashion week preparations, overseas meetings, campaign shoots…” he rambles as his breathing grows uneven. “And even when you’re physically beside me, you’re not really there anymore.”
You swallow hard, arms wrapping tightly around yourself.
“Do you know how many nights I’ve fallen asleep waiting for you?” he keeps going. “How many mornings I wake up and your side of the bed is still cold because you decided to sleep in the office again?”
“Jeongguk…” you whisper weakly.
“No.” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “No because, why does it feel like I have to compete with your work just to get ten fucking minutes with my own wife?” he sighs before dragging a trembling hand through his hair. “God…” he mutters. “I’m so fucking exhausted.”
“Well, you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into when you met me.” you suddenly snap and Jeongguk’s head lifts immediately. Your eyes are glossy now, but there is something sharp sitting beneath them… something defensive. “You have always known how much Valerra means to me.” you continue, voice rising with every word. “So don’t stand there acting surprised now, like this wasn’t always going to happen.”
Jeongguk stares at you in complete shock.
“You fell in love with someone ambitious.” you spit harshly. “Someone obsessed with succeeding… someone who made it very fucking clear from the beginning what her priorities were.”
“Y/n…” he tries but you shake your head. “No.” you cut him off. “You don’t get to throw this in my face now just because reality doesn’t look pretty anymore.”
Jeongguk’s breath visibly hitches now as he sees the anger in your eyes.
“Did you think I’d suddenly wake up one day and stop caring about the one thing I built entirely on my own?” you ask bitterly. “Did you think marriage and motherhood were magically supposed to make me smaller?”
“THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M SAYING !!” Jeongguk snaps. “THEN WHAT ARE YOU SAYING??” you shoot back instantly. “Because right now it sounds a lot like you resent me for becoming successful.”
His face twists immediately at your words. “Don’t do that.” he whispers.
“Do what?!”
“Twist this into something it’s not.” he says, voice breaking now. “I have supported you through everything.”
“And I never asked you to!” your words slice through the room so viciously that Jeongguk physically recoils and his entire expression falters like something inside him just shattered. “You act like I forced you to stay beside me while I built my career!” you continue harshly, your voice trembling now from the sheer force of everything spilling out of you at once. “You should’ve just walked away when you had the chance, Jeongguk!”
Jeongguk’s eyes widen at your words.
“You should’ve left the moment you realized what kind of person I was!” you snap, tears now rolling freely down your cheeks.
“Y/n—”
“No, because what did you expect?” you laugh bitterly, wiping your tears angrily before they can fall properly. “You met me when I was working myself to death trying to build something out of absolutely nothing. You knew exactly how obsessed I was with this dream.” you say pointing a finger at him. “You knew I was never going to be the kind of woman who’d happily sit at home and play house all day.”
“That’s not what I wanted from you and you know it!” Jeongguk fires back immediately. “Then WHAT?!!?” you ask. “What do you want from me, Jeongguk?”
He opens his mouth but you keep going before he can answer.
“Because no matter what I do lately, it’s wrong. If I work too much, I’m failing my family. If I try to slow down, I’m failing everything I spent my entire life building.” your chest rises sharply as another sob escapes you. “I can’t split myself into two people!” you cry. “And nobody asked you to put your entire life around mine!”
Jeongguk watches you unravel in front of him and despite his anger, despite his hurt, all he can see is exhaustion pouring out of you from every direction. But he’s hurting too… god, he’s hurting so badly.
“Well it isn’t just MY life!” Jeongguk suddenly explodes. “What about Yejun’s?” he asks brokenly, his chest heaving. “What about our son, Y/n?”
The tears in his eyes finally spill over as he gestures helplessly towards the hallway leading to Yejun’s room. “Because he’s the one crying himself to sleep while you’re too busy building an empire to notice what’s happening right in front of you.”
Jeongguk sees the exact moment your expression cracks apart as another tear slips down your cheek and suddenly, the anger in Jeongguk’s chest starts curdling into something far worse.
Guilt.
Because despite everything, despite how hurt he is, seeing you look that devastated still destroys him.
He exhales shakily before dragging both hands through his hair, pacing back a few steps. “You know what…” he mutters breathlessly. “I can’t… I can’t do this right now.”
You look at him immediately but Jeongguk avoids your gaze this time because if he looks at you for too long right now, he thinks he might either completely fall apart or say something even crueler. “Let’s just…” he swallows hard, rubbing tiredly at his face. “Let’s just talk about this tomorrow.”
And just like that, Jeongguk walks away to the guest room.
Throughout your relationship and marriage, the two of you had argued countless times before. Back when you were dating, Jeongguk still remembers how you would dramatically break up with him in the heat of the moment over the smallest things only to take him back the very next day.
Sometimes the fights were over silly things that seemed ridiculous in hindsight and sometimes they were over serious things that took longer to sort out. But no matter how ugly the fights got, Jeongguk had never once slept away from you especially after you started living together.
Even after the worst arguments, he would eventually crawl back into bed beside you sometime in the middle of the night with sleepy apologies mumbled against your shoulder and sweet kisses against your neck because neither of you really knew how to stay apart for long.
But tonight, it was different.
Jeongguk lies awake in the guest room, staring blankly at the ceiling while the argument replays over and over in his head like punishment.
Your voice. Your tears. The way your face crumbled.
He drags a hand over his face with a shaky exhale.
God… he knows tonight hurt, he knows Yejun was devastated, he knows he had every right to be angry but he also knows you.
Knows the version of you nobody else really sees.
He knows the woman who wakes up three times in the middle of the night just to check Yejun’s temperature whenever he had even the slightest cold, the woman who memorized every single one of his allergies before he even turned one, the woman that loves so deeply it almost destroys you and maybe that’s why this hurts Jeongguk so much, because he knows you didn’t forget tonight because you didn’t care.
You forgot because somewhere along the way, you started carrying so much on your shoulders that you convinced yourself you had to survive it all alone.
And suddenly all Jeongguk feels is exhausted heartbreak because beneath all the frustration, the truth is painfully simple.
He misses you.
Even while living under the same roof, he misses you terribly and tonight it all just came out the wrong way.
The next morning, Jeongguk wakes up with burning eyes and a dull ache in his temples. For a few seconds, he stares at the unfamiliar ceiling in confusion before he remembers how he slept away from you last night, in the guest room.
He exhales quietly before sitting up and rubbing tiredly at his face.
As he steps out of the guest room and walks across the hallway, he notices Yejun’s bedroom door slightly cracked open and through the small opening, he hears hushed murmurs.
Jeongguk slows in his steps as he inches closer to the door, peaking as his eyes land on the sight inside.
You’re sitting against the headboard with Yejun curled up against your chest, his tiny face tucked securely under your chin while your fingers slowly comb through his soft hair again and again.
“Mama won’t do it again, okay?” you whisper softly, pressing little kisses against his hair. “I’m really, really sorry, bug.”
Yejun sniffles quietly, his eyes still swollen and puffy from all the crying he did last night. “You promised…” he murmurs sadly, his voice still thick with sleep and Jeongguk watches the way your entire face crumbles at those two tiny words. “I know.” you whisper shakily. “I know, baby.” Your fingers gently cup his little cheek, carefully making him look up at you. “Mama messed up.” you admit softly, your glossy eyes searching his tiny face like you’re desperate to make sure he still loves you the same. “But I need you to know something, okay?” you continue. “There’s nothing in this whole world more important to me than you.”
Jeongguk instantly feels his throat tighten at the sincerity in your voice and watches the way Yejun blinks up at you slowly. “Not even work?” he asks innocently. You let out the smallest broken laugh before immediately pulling him closer against your chest, your palm rubbing softly up and down his back. “Not even work.” you whisper without hesitation. “Not even a little bit.”
Yejun stays quiet as you continue stroking his back. “It’s just…” you murmur gently. “Mama’s brain gets super busy sometimes.” You lightly tap your temple, making Yejun look at you curiously. “There’s always too many things running around in here all at once.” you explain softly. “And sometimes when grown ups get too busy and too tired, their brains become a little messy and forget stuff they really, really don’t mean to forget.”
Yejun frowns slightly. “Like when daddy forgets where he puts the TV remote?” he asks and a tiny laugh escapes you despite everything. “Exactly like that.” you nod. “Only mama’s brain is much worse.”
Jeongguk can’t help but laugh under his breath as he continues watching you two.
“But I promise I’m gonna try really hard, okay?” you whisper as Yejun snuggles closer. “Like… super duper hard.”
“So Mama won’t forget again?” he asks quietly. “No.” you whisper firmly. “I’ll try really, really hard not to.” your voice trembles slightly at the end and Jeongguk can physically see how much you mean it. How guilty you are. How badly you wish you could undo last night entirely.
“I promise I’ll make it up to you.” you murmur again before kissing the top of his head. “Promise?” Yejun looks up at you. “Promise.” you repeat, before kissing the tip of his nose, making him giggle softly.
And suddenly Jeongguk remembers that despite everything, despite the tears and disappointment from last night, Yejun is still only four. Four year olds don’t know how to hold grudges the way adults do because their hearts are painfully simple. All they really want is love, reassurance, and the comfort of knowing the people they love are still there.
“Then you have to get me the giant shark robot.” he hears his son say very seriously and you stare at him before bursting into another quiet laugh before kissing his nose again. “Of course, my love.” you agree without hesitation. “I’ll get you that giant shark robot.” you smile and Yejun beams instantly. “Anything for my baby.” you giggle softly as he happily buries his face back into your chest.
And standing there quietly outside the room, Jeongguk suddenly feels absolutely horrible.
The argument from last night suddenly feels ugly and unnecessary and cruel in a way he can’t stomach anymore because after everything he screamed at you, after all the accusations and anger he threw at you, all he can see right now is a mother who looks like she would tear herself apart piece by piece if it meant her son would never feel unloved for even a second.
God, he feels like such a fucking jerk.
He steps away from the door, deciding to leave this moment entirely to you and Yejun before he heads towards the kitchen. His chest still feels tight and uncomfortable from last night, but the anger has faded now and all that remains is guilt.
Maybe he could fix this over breakfast.
Maybe once Yejun got distracted with his cartoons, he could sit you down at the table and finally say everything properly this time, tell you he never meant to yell at you like that last night, tell you he never meant those awful things in the way they came out.
Because he would never resent your success. Never.
God, how could he?
Nobody apart from you, had loved your dream more fiercely than he did and the problem was never your ambition.
He just missed you.
Missed his wife in a way that had slowly started aching inside him for months, missed feeling like the two of you were still moving through life together instead of merely existing around each other and that was all he’d been trying to say.
As he quietly starts making breakfast, he hears you and Yejun head towards the bathroom together. A few moments later, faint giggles echo through the penthouse followed by your voice telling Yejun to stop splashing water everywhere as you struggle to give him a bath.
About 15 minutes later, you finally step into the living room with Yejun beside you, freshly bathed and fully dressed.
“Good morning, Daddy!” Yejun beams the second he sees his father behind the kitchen counter before immediately running towards him and Jeongguk effortlesslyscoops his son up into his arms, pressing a kiss against his warm cheek. “Good morning, baby.” he murmurs softly. “Someone smells nice.” He nudges his nose against Yejun’s cheek playfully, making the little boy squirm and giggle in his arms. “Mama used the strawberry soap today.” Yejun says proudly. “Ah…” Jeongguk hums dramatically. “That explains it.”
Yejun bursts into another fit of giggles and that’s when Jeongguk’s eyes instinctively lift towards you, but you never look back at him as you quietly turn around and head back towards the bedroom instead. Although disappointment settles heavily in his chest, Jeongguk tells himself not to push for now.
Of course you were hurt after last night. Of course you needed space.
He could give you that for a few hours.
Tonight after work, once the both of you had gotten enough time to cool down, he would talk to you again. He would apologize the right way this time and explain everything without anger getting in the way.
He would tell you that he never meant those awful things the way they sounded, tell you that he loved you more than anything and that he simply missed you terribly.
And the two of you would fix this like you always did.
That’s what he keeps telling himself the entire day at the cafe.
And maybe that was the biggest mistake Jeongguk had ever made in his life because that night, when he finally returned home, instead of accepting the ridiculously oversized bouquet of lilies from his hand, you were handing him something he never thought he’d see in his life.
Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.
“Jagi…” The word leaves him with a horrified shudder and for a moment, Jeongguk genuinely thinks he might throw up. “No…” he breathes out faintly as he slowly lifts the papers in his trembling hands. His eyes scan the words again and again as if maybe they’ll somehow change if he looks long enough but when they don’t, he looks back up at you.
“Jagi, what…” his voice cracks. “What is this?”
You don’t answer immediately and somehow your silence is even more terrifying. Your face remains eerily calm, but Jeongguk notices the tiny details like the way you’re biting the insides of your lower lip, the way your fingers tremble on the dining table, the way your breathing is slightly uneven.
“We can settle everything privately.” you say quietly after a long moment. “There’s no need to drag this out.”
Jeongguk just stares at you like he physically cannot process the words leaving your mouth. “What?” he laughs weakly, eyes already turning glassy. “No… no, baby, what are you talking about?”
He leans forward against the table desperately, waiting for you to crack, waiting for you to suddenly tell him this is some horrible joke but you only look away from him. “We’ll do shared custody.” you continue numbly. “We can work out schedules depending on our availability and make things stable for Yejun.”
“Stop.” His voice breaks instantly as tears spill down his face before he can even stop them. “Please stop talking like this.” he begs shakily and your jaw clenches tightly, but you still avoid his gaze.
“Y/n…” Jeongguk stands abruptly, chair scraping harshly against the floor as he quickly walks around the table towards you and grips the back of your chair and gently but desperately turns you towards him.
“Is this…” his breathing stutters violently. “Is this because of last night?”
You don’t answer and that only intensifies the panic crawling through his system.
“Baby, listen to me.” he pleads instantly, dropping onto his knees beside your chair as he grips your arms carefully. “I was angry and frustrated and I said things I shouldn’t have said but I swear to God I didn’t mean them like that.”
Still nothing.
Jeongguk feels his throat tighten so painfully it almost hurts to breathe. “We had one bad fight.” he whispers shakily. “One.”
“It wasn’t one fight.” you finally say and your voice sounds hollow. “It’s been building up for a long time.” And Jeongguk knows exactly what you mean. All the little arguments from the past few months come rushing back to him at once, most of them revolving around the same issues in one way or another, except last night had been a million times worse.
“No, it hasn’t.” he still says, shaking his head desperately. “We’ve just been stressed and busy and… and disconnected lately but that doesn’t mean…” He exhales shakily, tears falling faster now. “Divorce?”
You swallow hard before finally looking at him for half a second and the sadness in your eyes terrifies him more than anger ever could. “You don’t have to compete with my work anymore.” you whisper softly. “You don’t have to keep waiting for me to become someone different.”
His face crumples instantly. “That’s not what I want.”
“But it’s what you deserve.” you continue quietly, almost like you rehearsed this conversation a hundred times already. “We can just focus on being good parents for Yejun.” you say and he catches the way your lips tremble slightly despite your efforts to stay composed. “I’ll focus on being a better mother to him instead of trying to balance everything and failing at all of it.”
Jeongguk stares at you in complete disbelief. “Jagiya…” he whispers helplessly, his voice hoarse. “Why are you talking like this?”
“You’re unhappy.” you say quietly. “And honestly…” your voice cracks for the very first time since this conversation started. “I think you’ve been unhappy for a while now.”
Jeongguk shakes his head immediately. “No.” he tries but you don’t let him continue. “So let’s just…” you swallow hard, unable to finish for a second before forcing yourself to continue anyway. “Let’s just go our separate ways and focus on Yejun.”
The sentence completely destroys him. “No.” he says again, this time shakier, more desperate. “No, baby, stop saying things like that.”
You finally pull your arms out of his grip and Jeongguk physically feels dread claw up his throat at the loss of contact. “Y/n, please.” he breathes out quickly, standing up right after you. “Please just sit down and talk to me properly.”
But you shake your head once. “There’s nothing left to talk about.”
“How can you say that?” Jeongguk asks brokenly. “How can you possibly say that after everything?” he cries but you still don’t answer. Instead, you start gathering the papers on the table with trembling fingers, refusing to look at him no matter how desperately he tries to catch your eyes.
“Baby, please look at me.”
Nothing.
“Y/n.” His voice cracks harder this time. “You can’t just decide this on your own.”
“I’m not deciding it on my own.”
“Yes, you are!” he snaps. “Because you’re not even giving me a chance to fix this!”
You inhale shakily before finally speaking again. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life waiting for you to resent me.” you whisper. “Resent you?” he repeats in disbelief. “Baby, what are you talking about?”
“You’re tired of me.”
“No, I’m not!”
“You literally said you were exhausted!” you shoot back. “You literally meant you were tired and lonely and that you missed your wife because she’s never around!”
“Because I love you!” Jeongguk cries out desperately. “How are you hearing any of this and thinking I want to lose you?”
Your lips tremble violently for a second and for one tiny moment, hope sparks inside his chest because you finally look like you might break too, but then the walls go back up again. “I can’t do this.” you whisper and before Jeongguk can stop you, before he can say another word, you turn around and walk away.
Just like that.
And exactly a week later, Jeongguk finds himself sitting across from you in a lawyer’s office with swollen eyes and trembling hands while some middle aged man calmly explains shared custody agreements and visitation schedules.
“…primary residence arrangements can remain flexible depending on the child’s schooling schedule…”
Jeongguk barely hears any of it as the lawyer’s voice becomes distant background noise, fading further and further away beneath the violent ringing in his ears because all he can focus on is you.
You sitting across from him with your hands folded neatly in your lap like this is some ordinary business meeting instead of the complete destruction of both your lives.
He keeps staring at you silently.
Begging.
Begging for you to look at him properly… to hesitate… to suddenly burst into tears and say this was a mistake… to tell the lawyer nevermind… to tell Jeongguk to take you home.
But you never look up.
Not even once.
And Jeongguk thinks that hurts the most.
Not the argument, not the papers, not even the fact that his marriage is actually ending.
It’s the way you just won’t look at him anymore.
//
The divorce replays in Jeongguk’s mind over and over again as he stands alone in the cafe’s back kitchen, absentmindedly turning his wedding ring between his fingers. He doesn’t know why he still carries it around with him. It’s probably because a part of him still can’t comprehend the fact that he’s no longer your husband or because taking it off completely feels too final like admitting the life the two of you built together is truly gone.
So instead, he keeps it in his pocket every single day, only pulling it out during moments like this when all he can do is just think about the past.
Being in a relationship with you was never something that could be explained simply.
Loving you was easy… god, loving you had been the easiest thing Jeongguk had ever done in his entire life. It happened as naturally as breathing, as naturally as his heart continuing to beat.
Understanding you, however, was something else entirely.
You weren’t someone who could ever be fully known all at once because you unfolded slowly… in fragments and in contradictions. One day you would let him so far into your heart that he would feel drunk on the feeling, fully convinced there was nobody in the world luckier than him and then the very next day, you would retreat so deeply into yourself that he would start wondering if he had imagined that closeness altogether.
You were never difficult in the cruel or exhausting sense people usually meant. You were… layered. The kind of person who carried entire oceans inside herself while only allowing people to cup handfuls of water at a time.
And Jeongguk had honestly loved that about you.
He had loved the mystery of you, the way every year together still felt like discovering new rooms inside the same person. He loved how deeply you thought about things, how carefully you loved despite pretending you didn’t know how to.
He loved the rare moments where your walls slipped completely and he got to see the softest, most tender parts of you hidden underneath all that sharpness.
Being loved by you felt precious exactly because it didn’t come easily and every vulnerable piece of yourself you handed him felt earned. It felt sacred.
Loving you wasn’t easy in the sense that it was simple. It was easy in the sense that no matter how complicated things became, Jeongguk never once wanted to stop.
Not once.
But after the divorce, when Jeongguk was desperately trying to survive the aftermath of losing you, he realized he needed something to hold onto besides love.
He wanted to hate you.
And maybe that sounded immature, maybe even cruel, but he needed something other than the devastating love he still carried for you after everything because loving you this much even after losing you felt unbearable… it felt humiliating like his heart hadn’t received the memo that you were gone.
He needed something that would make the ending easier to live with, something that would hurt less than missing you every second of the day, something to dull the grief.
People liked to say that when you truly love someone, even their flaws become lovable. That love softens the sharpest parts of a person until even the habits that should irritate you begin to feel strangely endearing simply because they belong to the person you love.
And after almost a decade with someone, you inevitably learn every version of them.
Not just the beautiful parts.
You learn the ugly things too… the habits that hurt, the words that wound during arguments, the parts of them capable of breaking your heart wide open.
Love doesn’t make someone flawless. It simply makes you willing to hold their flaws gently for far longer than you probably should.
So when the divorce happened, Jeongguk tried desperately to find something inside himself that hated you enough to finally let go. Something solid, something sharp enough to cut through the grief, something cruel enough to drown out the love that still clung stubbornly to every part of him no matter how badly he wanted it gone.
So one night, sitting alone in his newly rented 2 bedroom apartment, the one he had to force himself to move into after everything ended, Jeongguk decided to point out your flaws and make a list of the 10 things he hated about you.
First, you were selfish.
You always chose your ambitions first…your goals, your vision, the life you were building with your own two hands while everything else always seemed to come second to you. Sometimes it felt like you were always running towards a finish line only you could see.
Second, you were cold.
He remembers the day his cafe got featured in a few local magazines and newspapers. It wasn’t anything massive, but to him… it meant everything. It felt like proof that all those long hours, all the exhaustion, all the doubt he and Jimin had before opening the cafe had finally amounted to something real.
He had shown up at your place that evening, with the magazines and newspapers in his hand, flipped it open to the page, pointed at the small paragraph written about him and Jimin and the photo of the place, absolutely excited to see your reaction.
But you had only taken one magazine, skimmed through it for a few seconds, and said “That’s nice. It’s good exposure.” And that was it… nothing more.
Third, you were harsh.
Your words didn’t always soften themselves before leaving your mouth. Jeongguk remembers how you called his picnic date by the han river idea “stupid” and also that one time when he showed you matching couple shirts, you looked at him like he was crazy and called the whole concept of matching couple items “cringey.”
Fourth, you were confusing.
God, Jeongguk genuinely didn’t think he’d ever met someone moodier than you. Some days you would practically melt into him, letting him hold you for hours while you lazily played with his fingers and demanded attention every five minutes and then other days you would look at him like his mere existence within a five foot radius was irritating enough to start a war over.
In short, there were times Jeongguk couldn’t even tell if you wanted a kiss or wanted him legally removed from the premises.
Fifth, you were stubborn.
Once you made up your mind about something, moving you was like trying to physically redirect a mountain. Jeongguk still remembers spending almost six months trying to convince you to let him pay for literally anything during your early dating days because you refused to rely on anyone financially for even a second.
Sixth, you were distant.
You kept people at arm’s length so instinctively that sometimes Jeongguk wondered if you even realized you were doing it. It took him nearly two years to learn about your fear of thunderstorms and it took even longer for him to realize you only slept curled against him on particularly difficult nights because physical closeness was the only thing that quieted your anxiety enough to let you rest.
Seventh, you were way too particular.
God, your level of particularness bordered on insanity sometimes. Jeongguk remembers how you spent 12 consecutive days choosing kitchen tiles for the penthouse because you were simply convinced that choosing the wrong one would lowkey mean the end of the world.
12 days. Over fucking kitchen tiles.
Eighth, you were unfair.
You always made huge decisions alone, like purchasing the penthouse without telling him, like booking your honeymoon trip to New Zealand before discussing it with him, like filing for a divorce without ever giving him the chance to understand.
Ninth, you were heartless.
At least that’s what Jeongguk tried forcing himself to believe because otherwise, how else was he supposed to justify the terrifying calmness in your eyes the night you handed him those divorce papers? How was he supposed to understand the way you walked away from him while he begged you to stay? How was he supposed to survive believing you still loved him after that?
And the tenth reason?
Jeongguk hated how easily it seemed like you erased him from your life while he still carried pieces of you in everything he did.
And yet… when Jeongguk tried to hold onto those 10 reasons, his heart betrayed him because for every single one of these reasons, there was something else, something that didn’t fit the version of you he was trying so desperately to believe in.
So he made another list. Not of the things he hated about you… but of the things that proved he never really could.
First, you weren’t selfish.
Because he remembers the way you used to quietly transfer money to the orphanage you spent most of your life in without ever mentioning it to anyone, the way you funded entire renovations and still acted like it was nothing.
He remembers the nights you stayed up designing pieces not for your brand, but for charity auctions, the way you’d exhaust yourself for causes that had nothing to do with your own success.
Second, you weren’t cold.
Because he remembers how the very next day after he had shown you those articles, you randomly showed up at the cafe with each and every single article and photograph carefully cut out and neatly framed so that he and Jimin could put it up on the walls all around the cafe.
Third, you weren’t harsh.
Because he remembers how your “stupid” and “cringey” comments never really meant what they sounded like on the surface.
You called his picnic idea stupid, but still showed up and even made the sandwiches yourself despite being an objectively terrible cook. Jeongguk remembers how one of them had way too much mustard, another somehow had sugar instead of salt and one was so unevenly cut it looked like you’d given up halfway through. He still ate them with the biggest smile anyway.
You called matching couple items embarrassing, but three weeks later he found a small bag left outside his front door with a pair of brand new sneakers inside along with a simple handwritten note that said “i got the same ones :)”
Fourth, you weren’t confusing.
Because slowly, over time, he learned that when you went quiet, it wasn’t because you didn’t want him. It was because something inside you felt too much and you didn’t know how to express it.
He learned that your clingy days were the days you felt safe, and your distant ones were the days you needed him the most even if you pushed him away.
Fifth, you weren’t stubborn.
Because the same girl who refused to let him pay for literally anything was the same girl who eventually learned how to lean into him.
He remembers the first time you let him take care of you without arguing. The way you looked almost uncomfortable, like you didn’t know what to do with being loved so gently. You didn’t resist because you were stubborn, you resisted because you had never been given the option to rely on someone before.
Sixth, you weren’t distant.
Because he remembers the first time you told him about your mother, about how you ended up at the orphanage, about what it felt like to be left behind without fully understanding why.
He remembers how you didn’t look at him much while you spoke and the way your fingers kept fidgeting with the sleeve of your sweater. You were never distant… you just needed time to feel safe enough to open up.
Seventh, you weren’t particular for simply no reason.
Because the kitchen tiles mattered so much to you only because the kitchen was one of the places you knew Jeongguk would spend most of his time in.
He was the better (only) cook between the two of you, that much was obvious, but more than that, you knew how it was always one of his greatest passions. So every detail you obsessed over, every option you reconsidered, every tiny difference you refused to overlook… it all came from that…. from wanting to make that space feel like his as much as possible.
Eighth, you weren’t unfair.
Because even when you made decisions on your own, you always carried him within them.
The penthouse you purchased had the best view of the sunset, not because it mattered to you all that much, but because you knew how much Jeongguk loved watching the sun set. You booked your honeymoon trip to New Zealand only because he had briefly mentioned on your 3rd date about wanting to see the glowworm caves there someday.
And even the worst decision… the one that broke him the most… the divorce.
Jeongguk doesn’t know how to justify that one. He doesn’t know how to fit it into the same pattern without everything inside him falling apart but a part of him still thinks… maybe it wasn’t fair to you either.
Ninth, you weren’t heartless.
Because he remembers the way your fingers trembled that night, the sadness in your voice, the way you refused to look at him… not because you didn’t care, but because you cared too much almost like if you’d looked at him properly, you might not have been able to walk away at all.
And the tenth reason?
You didn’t erase him because if you really had… there would be nothing left of him in your world. But there was Yejun… living, breathing proof of everything the two of you had once been.
Jeongguk knows this isn’t exactly healthy… the way he keeps bending the truth, softening the edges of every memory, turning every sharp thing about you into something he can still hold onto without bleeding. He knows he shouldn’t be justifying you like this, shouldn’t be searching for gentleness in places that once hurt him.
It’s almost like… for every reason he gives himself to hate you, he finds two more that undo it.
And truthfully, Jeongguk has no idea how to stop this because he doesn’t think there’s a single part of him, not a bone, not a breath, not a single fiber of his heart, that’s even remotely capable of hating you.
You loved in ways that contradicted themselves. You were close and distant, warm and cold, careless and painfully intentional all at once.
You drove him insane more times than he could count, left him confused, left him questioning where he stood, left him chasing something he could never fully understand and yet… you made him feel alive in a way nothing else ever had.
And he knows, deep down, that no matter how it ended… he will never ever hate you… but still… is it so wrong that a part of him aches? That a part of him wishes he hadn’t been left standing in the wreckage of something he’d believed would last forever?
Jeongguk lets out a quiet sigh before shoving the ring back into his pocket and turns towards the oven, carefully pulling out a fresh tray of caramel pecan danishes. His eyes flick to the small digital display on the oven where the time reads “12:23 a.m.”
By the time he steps out into the main cafe with the danishes transferred to a cooling tray, the place is already packed as usual.
It’s a Thursday afternoon, and a long line snakes all the way from the register to the glass entrance doors, customers chatting amongst themselves while Jimin moves quickly behind the counter taking orders with the espresso machine hissing and the milk frothers whirring nonstop in the background while soft jazz plays through the speakers overhead.
Jeongguk carefully carries the tray over towards the display case near the register. He crouches slightly, arranging each danish neatly behind the glass.
The part timer finally slips behind the counter to replace Jimin for a while and almost instantly, Jimin makes his way over to Jeongguk. “What time do you have to leave again?” he asks, leaning against the counter as Jeongguk adjusts the tiny handwritten label just beneath the pastries.
“I need to be at Jun’s school by 3.” Jeongguk answers. “So I’ll probably head out around 2.” he adds as Jimin nods. “You going straight there?”
Jeongguk shakes his head lightly. “Nah. I’m gonna stop home first, shower, change… maybe grab the camera too.” he says, lips curving faintly.
“Record his whole performance for me, okay?” Jimin instantly says. “Like I’m serious… don’t miss even a second.” he says sternly as Jeongguk nods. “Don’t worry, I will.” he chuckles. “I’ll send you the video later.”
There’s a brief pause before Jimin speaks again. “So..” his voice trails off. “Y/n’s coming too?”
Jeongguk’s movements slow for the smallest second before he nods once. “Yeah…” he says quietly. “She is.”
Jimin hums softly, folding his arms over his chest as he watches him. “Jun’s probably been counting down the days for this then.” he says with a small smile. “Kid gets so excited whenever both of you show up.”
“Yeah.” Jeongguk agrees softly. “He does.”
And it was true. Yejun always glows a little brighter whenever both of you are in the same room together, like some part of him still sees the three of you as one unit instead of fractured pieces trying their best to function separately.
Jeongguk wasn’t oblivious to the effort you’d been making lately either, especially after the divorce.
You started showing up more… rearranging schedules, cancelling meetings, making time in ways you hadn’t before and it was clear that you no longer wanted to keep hurting Yejun, even unintentionally snd Jeongguk was grateful for that… he really really was but beneath that gratitude he just wished that it hadn’t taken losing everything for this to happen… that he didn’t have to go through a whole divorce just to see this version of you.
//
“The legal team has finalized the partnership drafts for your approval, and the quarterly financial reports have been sent to your inbox.” Haeun reports as you nod along to her words.
“And your strategy review with the Tokyo team has been moved to tomorrow morning, and the board presentation has been pushed to next week.” she continues, eyes moving swiftly across her tablet. “Also, Mr. Choi will be here at 3 to pick you up and drop you off at your son’s school.”
At that, you give her a small, appreciative smile. “Great. Thanks, Haeun.” you say, offering a slight nod and she takes the cue immediately, bowing politely before turning to leave your office.
Once she’s out, you let out a soft sigh and lean back in your chair, turning slowly towards the floor to ceiling window that overlooks the wide stretch of Seoul.
You narrow your eyes slightly against the brightness of the afternoon sun, letting it sit on your face for a moment before turning back to your desk and your gaze lands almost immediately on the small frame beside your monitor.
It’s a picture of you and your son.
Yejun’s laughing in the picture, cheeks chubby and eyes crinkled into crescents as you hold him close, looking at him with nothing but adoration in your eyes.
Your lips curve instinctively, as you gaze at the frame but your smile fades just as quickly as it came as your eyes lower. Your hand moves almost without thinking, reaching for the drawer beneath your desk and you hesitate for a full minute before pulling it open.
Your breath hitches just slightly as you look at the two frames that sit tucked neatly inside.
One is a family photo where Jeongguk stands beside you with Yejun between the two of you, his tiny face squished slightly as both of you press kisses to his cheeks at the same time.
The other… is your wedding photo... just you and Jeongguk.
You’re standing beside him, dressed in white, his hand wrapped securely around yours. He’s looking at you like you’re something he never wants to lose while you… you’re smiling at the camera in a way you haven’t seen in a long time.
Your fingers tremble slightly as you reach for that frame, pulling it out carefully. A slow breath leaves you as you bring it closer, your head tilting just a little as your eyes linger on every detail, like you’re trying to memorize something you already know by heart.
And just like that, like a broken record… the voices from that night come rushing back all at once, so vivid it almost feels like you’re standing in your living room again and your eyes squeeze shut, your grip tightening around the frame until the edge presses uncomfortably into your palm.
Everything comes back… everything he said… everything you said.
The words collide into each other, louder and louder until you can’t even tell which one came first. His voice or your voice or the accusations or the defenses.
You know things escalated that night. You know you said things you didn’t mean, things you hate yourself for even now, words you wish you could just… take back, swallow whole, erase completely.
But there’s one thing that refuses to fade into the background, one particular sentence he said that keeps replaying louder than everything else.
“I’m so fucking exhausted.”
You don’t know what it was exactly… maybe it was the way his voice cracked just slightly at the end or maybe it was the look on his face or maybe it was the way he didn’t even try to take it back or maybe it was because the words themselves felt far too familiar because it wasn’t the first time someone had said that very sentence to you.
And somehow, that was what made it hurt most because at that point of argument, he sounded less like your husband and a lot like someone giving up on you.
Because suddenly, you could see it… his exhaustion, his frustration, the way he’d been desperately trying, over and over again, to make you understand, to reach you, to hold onto something that kept slipping through his fingers while you had just stood there, unable to meet him halfway, unable to give him what he was asking for, even when you knew he deserved it.
All you could feel in that moment was how small it made you, how guilty and pathetic you felt like you were standing there watching something break, knowing you were a part of the reason it was breaking and still not knowing how to stop it and that’s exactly when that quiet, suffocating fear you had buried so deep for so long began clawing its way back to the surface, wrapping around your thoughts until it was all you could hear.
The fear that maybe… your husband was finally starting to see you as someone impossible to love.
And a fear so ugly, had always known how to turn itself into anger inside you because it was that exact moment when everything inside you started unraveling. All the things you’d never even thought of saying, the things you didn’t know you were capable of thinking, came spilling out before you could stop them.
And when he chose to sleep away from you that night, something he had never done before, it felt like the last straw, like all your fears were simply solidifying.
You remember sitting there on the bedroom floor long after the door to the guest room had closed, your back pressed against the side of the bed with your hands lying uselessly in your lap as you simply stared at nothing.
For the first time, you truly felt like Jeongguk was done with you and maybe that’s how you concluded the demise of your marriage.
You sat there and let it all consume you because you didn’t know what else to do. You didn’t know how to fix something that you thought had already begun to fall apart.
And somewhere in the middle of all that fear and helplessness, a thought took root. It didn’t come out of clarity, or from strength… it wasn’t logical or fair or even something you were proud of, but it felt necessary in that moment.
You couldn’t bear the idea of him leaving you first. The thought of just standing there and watching him walk away, of hearing him say that he was done, felt far more unbearable than anything else because being left had never just been about heartbreak to you.
It was your history.
And then there was Yejun.
Because if falling in love and marriage had always terrified you, motherhood was something else entirely.
You had never been one of those women who daydreamed about children or imagined herself naturally stepping into motherhood. You never really saw yourself as maternal, not because you didn’t know how to love, but because you had never been shown what a mother’s love was supposed to look like.
How were you supposed to become something you never truly had?
But when Yejun came into your life unexpectedly and you held him for the very first time, you wanted to give him everything.
Everything you had never received. A home that felt safe, a love that didn't disappear, a mother who stayed… a mother who chose him, every single day.
Which was exactly why Jeongguk’s words shattered something inside you because when he called out your carelessness, your constant absence, you didn’t just hear concern, you heard failure… you heard confirmation of every fear you'd spent years trying to outrun.
That maybe no matter how hard you loved your son… you were already becoming the very woman you had sworn you would never resemble.
And that thought terrified you more than anything because you could survive anything, but you couldn't survive being the reason Yejun ever felt even a fraction of what you had felt as a child.
You never wanted him to cry himself to sleep wondering why his mother felt distant, never wanted him to feel like he had to beg for affection, never wanted him to question whether he was enough, never wanted him to… even for a single second, think his mother was slowly drifting away from him… or worse, abandoning him altogether.
So your mind did what wounded hearts often do when they are too overwhelmed to think clearly… it chose sacrifice.
If you couldn’t be everything at once, then maybe you had to choose. Maybe being a better mother meant pouring every broken piece of yourself into Yejun before it was too late, maybe trying to hold onto your marriage while drowning in guilt and fear would only make two people miserable and maybe Jeongguk… Jeongguk became the easier loss.
Not because you loved him less.
God, if anything, you loved him too much.. too much to watch resentment grow in his eyes, too much to imagine him waking up one day and realizing life might have been easier without you in it… too much to risk becoming another burden he had to carry.
So maybe you were running, maybe you were protecting yourself, maybe you were deflecting or maybe you were drowning too deeply in fear to tell the difference between survival and self-destruction but all you knew was, you couldn’t bear to feel like that 7 year old girl who helplessly watched her mother drive away and disappear into the storm, again.
So instead of waiting for that moment to come sooner or later, you decided to take it into your own hands. You told yourself it would hurt less that way, that if you ended things first, you would at least have some control over how it all fell apart.
But now, 6 months later, as you sit here, staring at a frame that holds everything you once had, you can finally see how wrong that thought was because it didn’t hurt any less. If anything, it hurt in ways you’d never prepared yourself for because now, you’re not only left with the ugly ache in your chest, but also the knowledge that you were the one who let go first.
//
“Please let me know if you would like me to return for you once you’re done, ma’am.” Mr. Choi says, turning slightly from the driver’s seat. You offer him a polite smile, dipping your head in a small nod. “Thank you, Mr. Choi.”
With that, you step out of the car, your heels clicking against the pavement below. Once you shut the door, the afternoon breeze catches loose strands of your hair, brushing them across your face and Mr. Choi starts the car behind you, merging back into the road, leaving you alone by the sidewalk.
You reach up, pushing your sunglasses down as the harsh sunlight spills across the school grounds ahead, forcing your eyes to narrow just a little. Your gaze lifts towards the entrance ahead, already crowded with people. You smooth a hand over your outfit almost absentmindedly before beginning to walk in the direction of the school gates.
A large, slightly crooked banner stretches across the entrance, hand-painted in bright, uneven colors. “Welcome to Songrim School’s Talent Show” it reads, the letters outlined with little stars and doodles.
Parents are gathered in small clusters near the gate, some holding bouquets of flowers and others juggling phones and cameras. There are children running around in half-finished costumes, some wearing oversized hats or capes that drag behind them as they laugh and chase each other across the courtyard.
A group of teachers stand near the entrance with clipboards in hand, trying to maintain some kind of order as they call out names and direct students towards the auditorium. Every now and then, a child breaks away from the line, rushing towards their parents with excitement, only to be gently ushered back again.
As you move further into the courtyard, your gaze drifts across the crowd as you try to spot the precious little boy you came here for.
“Y/n—!” The sudden sound of your name cuts through the noise, making you stop in your tracks and you glance over your shoulder, your eyes narrowing slightly behind your sunglasses as you search for the source of the voice.
And then you see him.
Jeongguk’s waving at you as he jogs over from the direction of the parking lot, weaving his way through the crowd.
“You’re… you’re here.” he breathes out when he finally reaches you, slightly bent forward, one hand resting on his knee as he tries to catch his breath with a faint sheen of sweat lining his forehead. “I—sorry… did… did I keep you waiting long?” he adds, words coming out in short, breathless fragments between inhales.
You don’t answer right away, deciding to take him in instead. His video camera bag slings across his shoulder and his fuzzy brown coat sits perfectly over his frame. “I just got here.” you simply say and Jeongguk studies you for a second, trying to catch your eyes behind the dark lenses, like he’s searching for something he’s not sure you’ll let him find.
But you’ve already looked away, adjusting your purse over your shoulder and crossing your arms over your chest. “We should go find Yejun.” you say as you begin walking again and Jeongguk swallows, before nodding to himself and follows a step behind you.
The two of you move through the crowd side by side but not quite together, your eyes scanning the courtyard filled with people. There are too many faces, too many small voices overlapping at once, making it harder than it should be to find the one you’re looking for but then—
“Mama!! Daddy!!”
Both of you turn at the exact same time, almost instinctively, and there Yejun is, standing in line with his class, practically bouncing on his toes as he waves at you with both hands now, like he can’t contain himself.
He’s dressed in the most adorable little sea-themed costume… soft blue overalls with shimmering fabric stitched along the sides to look like waves, a tiny plush whale sewn onto his chest, and a pair of fin-like sleeves that wobble every time he moves. There’s even a little headband sitting slightly crooked on his hair with a felt dorsal fin sticking up, tilting to one side from all his excited movement. His cheeks are dusted with a bit of glitter and there’s tiny little bubbles painted along the side of his face, though one of them is already smudged.
At the front of the line, a teacher stands with a clipboard, calling out names, trying to keep the children from drifting out of place as they fidget and chatter among themselves but Yejun doesn’t look away from his parents for even a second.
You giggle, instantly removing your shades and lift your hand, waving back at him and beside you, Jeongguk instantly whips out his video camera with the proudest smile as he quickly starts recording. “Yejun-ah!” he calls out and Yejun immediately perks up at the sound of it, turning his full attention towards the camera. His little body straightens, and then he starts posing… throwing up peace signs, puffing his cheeks, even doing a tiny spin that makes the fin on his headband wobble dangerously to one side.
You coo softly at the sight, your smile only growing wider but the moment doesn’t last long as the teacher at the front begins ushering the children forward, guiding the line towards the auditorium and Yejun is pulled along with the rest, though he keeps glancing back at you, still waving until he disappears past the doors.
Jeongguk lets out a small sigh as he lowers the camera, his thumb already moving to replay the footage with a fond smile as he watches it back and while he watches his son, you find yourself looking at him.
Jeongguk had always been a good father, even before Yejun was born.
God, you remember how terrified you were when you first found out you were pregnant. For someone who had spent most of her life convincing herself she would never fall in love, never get married, never build a family… it all felt unreal now that these things were actually happening in your life.
But with Jeongguk beside you… it never felt as unbearable as you thought it would be.
Apart from the fact that it was the bare minimum any man who called himself a father should do, Jeongguk still went out of his way to do more, to make everything easier for you in ways you hadn’t even realized you needed.
He was there through everything… every appointment, sitting beside you with your hand in his, asking questions you hadn’t even thought to ask.
Every time morning sickness got the better of you, he’d instantly bring you some warm ginger tea or lemon water, something he had looked up and memorized just to ease the nausea and sit beside you on the bathroom floor, carefully holding your hair back while his hand rested gently against your back, rubbing slow, soothing circles until it passed.
On nights when your body would get too restless, he’d stay awake with you without hesitation. Sometimes he’d talk softly about his day, about random little things just to fill the silence and other times he’d just sit there with you, occasionally kissing your neck and temple as his fingers stayed intertwined with yours.
No matter what time of the day or night it was, if you so much as mentioned wanting a bulgogi rice bowl, he’d be in the kitchen without hesitation, with his sleeves rolled up and tattoos on full display. And every day, without fail, he’d bring you something sweet from the cafe, something he baked himself.
When your body ached, he was always there before you could even ask. He’d massage your shoulders, rub your feet, kiss your body all over.
Most nights he’d lay on your chest, with one hand gently stroking your bump as he spoke to your baby like he was already here. He’d tell him about his day, about how much he couldn’t wait to meet him, about how strong his mama was, how beautiful she looked even when she thought she didn’t and how lucky he was to have you.
And in every moment when you felt like you didn’t know what you were doing, when doubt crept in and made everything feel overwhelming, he never once made you feel like you were falling short. If anything, he made you feel like you were doing something extraordinary.
And after Yejun was born, something about him softened even more.
He memorized Yejun’s cries within weeks, could tell if he was hungry or just needed to be held. He learned how to burp him properly, figured out which pacifier Yejun preferred after trying 3 different ones, insisting there had to be a difference even when you told him they all looked the same.
He learned how to swaddle him just right, adjusting the blanket over and over until it was snug enough to make Yejun calm down instantly.
There were nights when you would stir at the faintest sound, only to feel the empty space beside you and find Jeongguk already up, gently rocking Yejun in his arms, whispering soft words into his hair until the tiny hiccups of crying settled into quiet breathing. He’d even fall asleep like that sometimes, sitting upright on the couch with Yejun curled against his chest, one hand protectively cupped around his tiny back.
In the mornings, he’d let you sleep in without ever saying a word, moving around the house as quietly as possible, warming milk, changing diapers, humming softly to keep Yejun entertained. And when you’d finally wake up, you’d find them both in the kitchen as Jeongguk balanced Yejun in one arm while trying to cook with the other hand and occasionally kissing the top of his son’s head when he’d get too fussy.
Bath times became little routines with Yejun gripping onto his father’s fingers while Jeongguk exaggerated every movement just to hear him giggle. He’d wrap him up in a towel like a little burrito afterward and press small kisses against his damp hair while murmuring how perfect he was.
Now that you think about it… you don’t think you ever really had to worry about anything else back then other than breastfeeding your son (something Jeongguk would have gladly taken over without hesitation if it were biologically possible).
And when it came to you, it felt like Jeongguk had started seeing you in a different light.
After watching you endure hours of pain to bring Yejun into this world, the way he looked at you changed. It wasn’t just love anymore, it was something almost reverent like you were something stronger than everything he’d ever known.
He knew it hadn’t been easy for you… not the months of carrying a literal life inside you, not the exhaustion that clung to you, not the way you would sometimes stand in front of the mirror a little too long, your hands resting over your body like you were trying to recognize it again.
He noticed everything, every hint of insecurity, every hint of tension and he made sure to never let you sit with that feeling for long. He made it his purpose to remind you, over and over again, just how much he loved you for all of it in more ways than one.
Not despite it, but because of it.
“Y/n?” Jeongguk’s voice abruptly snaps you out of your trance as you stiffen slightly, suddenly aware of how long you’d been staring at him. “Oh… um…” you falter, your gaze dropping almost instantly as you try to compose yourself. “We should probably head inside.” you say, gesturing vaguely towards the auditorium doors ahead.
“Yeah… yeah.” he agrees, shifting the camera strap on his shoulder. “They’ll probably call the parents in once all the kids are lined up anyway.” There’s a brief pause as he looks at you again. “We might as well wait near the entrance.” he adds and you nod, a little too quickly. “Right.”
As the two of you step forward, making your way towards the auditorium, a shrill voice cuts through the noise of the courtyard before you can get very far.
“Jeongguk-ssi !!”
Your jaw tightens almost instantly as you turn alongside Jeongguk, already knowing exactly who it is before you even see her.
Kim Yuna.
The hot single mom and fellow parent whose son, Woojin, happens to go to the same school and is very good friends with Yejun. She’s someone you have encountered often enough to recognize not just her face, but her… patterns and it would be fair to say you have some history (one sided, but still) with her.
Back when Jeongguk was still your husband and the two of you were making a genuine effort to be friendly with the other parents whose children would share a part of your son’s life, you had tried to be polite with her.
You had smiled, introduced yourself properly, asked her about her son, about school routines, about the small things people usually talk about in these situations.
Yuna, however, had very little interest in what you had to say because conversations with her always seemed to reroute themselves, somehow, inevitably, towards Jeongguk.
You would begin a sentence and somehow she would end up responding to him, you would ask a question and she would answer it while looking at him and she had the most annoying habit of talking over you rather than to you and it was subtle enough to be deniable, but consistent enough to be impossible to ignore.
And your sweet husband, for all his strengths, had been painfully oblivious to it… to the exaggerated flutter of her lashes, to the way her hand would linger on his arm, to the not-so-subtle wardrobe choices that felt slightly excessive for something as mundane as a primary school pickup… nothing overt enough to call out, but not nearly as innocent as it pretended to be.
Over time, though, you had managed to calmly convey to Jeongguk that you weren’t particularly fond of this woman.You didn’t know what her intentions were, didn’t know if this was simply the way she carried herself, but something about her had just never sat right with you.
Jeongguk, to his credit, hadn’t questioned you, didn’t brush it off or make you feel unreasonable. He had simply taken note and from that point on, he kept his distance like the loyal husband he was. No unnecessary conversations during drop-offs, no lingering politeness during pick-ups, no acknowledgment beyond what was required at school events. It was never made into a big deal, but it was handled.
But now things are different.
Jeongguk isn’t your husband anymore, and your divorce, inconveniently, is not something that stayed private for long. With you being a public figure and all, it had made its way into headlines and hit the tabloids barely a week after your separation, dissected and speculated on by people who knew nothing about what had actually fallen apart between the two of you.
So as Yuna finally stops in front of the two of you, slightly breathless, her attention already locked onto Jeongguk, lashes fluttering so aggressively you’re half convinced they might actually detach and fly off, you can’t help but think she probably assumes this as her opportunity… her moment… the perfect, neatly timed opening to finally get close to Jeongguk in a way she never quite could before.
And what makes it worse is the unsettling possibility that it might not even be an assumption anymore because what if Jeongguk notices it this time and what if, instead of brushing it off like he used to, he lets himself sit in it for a second and realises he actually likes it. What if he doesn’t mind being wanted like this anymore, what if he’s open to it, open to moving on, to letting someone else step into a space that once belonged only to you. What if, this time, he doesn’t step back, doesn’t draw that line he used to hold so firmly. What if he lets himself be taken in by it, not because he doesn’t know better, but because he no longer has a reason to resist it
And just like that… you feel that familiar, unwelcome twist in your chest. Only this time, you’re not sure if you have the right to feel like this anymore, especially when the man standing beside you is no longer yours.
“Oh my god, hello Jeongguk-ssi!!” Yuna beams, her voice bright and just a little too eager. Jeongguk hesitates for half a second, his eyes instinctively flickering towards you first, a faint crease forming between his brows like he’s already a little thrown off.
When you don’t meet his gaze, he recovers, offering a polite, restrained smile. “Yuna-ssi, hello.” he says, his fingers tightening slightly around the strap of his camera bag, shoulders squaring in that subtle way you’ve learned means he’s trying to keep things neutral.
Yuna doesn’t seem to register it… or maybe she does and simply chooses not to care. “Wow, it’s been a while.” she says, stepping just a little closer. She doesn’t even look at you, not once, and not that you’re particularly eager to speak to her, but it’s almost impressive how thoroughly she manages to pretend like you’re fucking invisible.
“You look really good… have you been working out more?” she adds with a soft laugh, her hand coming up to brush his arm in that same way you’ve always hated. Your fingers twitch where they’re tucked against your own arm, getting the urge to just whack her stupid hand away.
Jeongguk stiffens just slightly at the contact, his shoulders pulling back a fraction as if on instinct. “Ah… not really.” he says, giving a small, awkward smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “And I feel like we keep missing each other during evening pick-ups…” Yuna continues, tilting her head playfully. “I don’t see you anymore. It’s kinda disappointing.” she adds with a pout.
You nearly scoff but instead, you settle for rolling your eyes and tightening your arms over your chest as you turn your gaze away from her.
Jeongguk lets out a quiet breath, clearly unsure where to look before his gaze flickers towards you for a second again. “I usually just… pick Yejun up and leave.” he says, rubbing his nape now. “I don’t really stay around much.”
“Oh? That’s such a shame. You should stay a little longer sometimes.” Yuna grins. “It’d be nice to actually talk to you properly.”
He gives a short, awkward laugh at that, shifting his weight slightly. “Yeah umm I… don’t really have the time for that these days.” he says, his tone polite but edged with discomfort, his eyes flicking towards you again but you don’t spare him a single glance.
Instead, you keep your gaze fixed ahead, letting it skim over your surroundings and just then, the auditorium doors swing open again and a steady stream of people begin to move inside so you take it as the perfect excuse to remove yourself from whatever this is.
“I’m going in.” you say finally, your tone almost bored as you adjust your purse on your shoulder. “You can come when you’re done… catching up, I guess.” you say shooting Jeongguk a sharp look and without waiting for a response, you step forward and walk past them, your heels clicking softly against the ground as you make your way towards the auditorium, slipping into the crowd.
Jeongguk watches you go, his expression tightening almost instantly as he takes a step forward to follow you. “Y/n, wai—”
“Jeongguk-ssi, wait.” Yuna says quickly, both her hands wrapping around his bicep before he can move any further and Jeongguk reluctantly stops, his brows drawing together immediately at the contact while his body goes stiff. “We should sit together.” she suggests, her tone excited. “It’ll be more fun that way.” she giggles and Jeongguk blinks at her, clearly caught off guard, his expression shifting into something closer to disbelief than hesitation. “Oh, no, I—”
“Come on.” she interrupts with a soft laugh, her grip tightening around his bicep just slightly. “Wouldn’t it be awkward to sit with your ex-wife?” she adds coyly. Jeongguk’s expression hardens almost immediately at that, his jaw tightening as he glances towards the auditorium again, catching the last glimpse of you disappearing inside.
“Yuna-ssi.” he starts, turning back to face the woman who’s still holding him, his voice polite but noticeably firmer now. He brings his hand up to peel her hands off his arm. “I have to go.”
Yuna’s smile falters at that as her hands hesitantly fall back to her sides but Jeongguk gives her a small, restrained smile, already taking a step back to put some space between them. “We’re both here for Yejun today.” he says. “And I’m pretty sure he’d appreciate it if both his parents were sitting together.”
And before she can say anything else, he turns and makes his way towards the auditorium, his pace quickening just slightly as he follows the path you took.
Jeongguk weaves through the crowd, his gaze lifting every few seconds as he tries to spot you over the sea of heads filling the auditorium. The place is louder inside, packed with parents settling in and teachers calling out instructions somewhere near the stage.
He shifts from one foot to the other, clearly impatient as the line ahead of him barely moves, families taking their own sweet time choosing seats. He exhales under his breath, running a hand through his hair before stepping forward again murmuring a quiet “excuse me” here, a slightly more rushed “sorry” there as he squeezes past people.
His eyes keep scanning, searching, until finally, he spots you seated somewhere in the third row.
So he starts moving faster, weaving through the remaining rows with a string of hurried “excuse me, sorry, just— thank you” until he finally reaches you and instantly notices the empty seat right beside you.
For a second, he just stands there, catching his breath, his eyes lingering on the empty seat. He tells himself not to read into it, because frankly, it isn’t actually a big deal but still… he’d like to think you saved it for him.
You don’t look at Jeongguk when he stops beside you. Even though he knows you’ve noticed him, your posture doesn’t change as your gaze stays fixed straight ahead on the stage.
“Uh… hey.” he says under his breath, shifting awkwardly before he clears his throat and slowly lowers himself into the seat beside you, careful not to brush against you, like even that might be crossing a line. “Nice seats.” he tries again, forcing a small, unsure smile as he glances at you, then quickly back at the stage when you don’t return it. “I’m pretty sure Yejun will be able to see us from up there.” he adds with a soft chuckle.
You sit there, arms crossed neatly over your chest and legs crossed at the ankle, your attention fixed ahead like he isn’t even there. Jeongguk shifts slightly in his seat, his hands settling awkwardly on his lap before he rubs his palms together, then stills them again, clearly unsure of what to do with himself.
He glances at you once more, like he’s debating whether to say something else, whether to try again.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he exhales quietly and leans back just a little, his gaze drifting from the stage to the rest of the auditorium as his fingers continue fidgeting with his camera. His eyes move absentmindedly, until they settle on you once again… more specifically, your legs.
Your skirt has ridden up slightly from how you’re sitting, and he instantly notices the faint goosebumps scattered across your skin, probably due to the cool air coming from the overhead vents.
He hesitates for half a second but before he can think too much of it, he carefully sets his camera down on his lap and shrugs off his fuzzy coat. Without a word, he leans forward just slightly and drapes it over your legs, adjusting it so it sits properly, covering you comfortably. That finally pulls a reaction out of you as your eyes widen, your composure breaking as you look down at the coat, then up at him, absolutely confused. “I don’t need—”
“It’s fine.” he cuts in gently, offering you a small smile. “I was feeling warm anyway.” he shrugs, pursing his lips. It’s a poor excuse… both of you know it, but he doesn’t take it back. Instead, he leans back into his seat again as his gaze returns to the stage and you gulp as you look down at the coat resting over your legs as your fingers brush lightly against the fuzzy fabric.
Eventually, the entire auditorium begins to settle as parents find their seats and teachers move along the aisles, making sure everything is in order and the lights dim gradually.
A few minutes pass before the curtains part, and the show begins.
A group of slightly older kids finish their performances first, some singing and some dancing while parents around the auditorium laugh softly and clap a little too loudly. A few more acts pass like that, each one a little clumsy, a little off-beat, but so full of effort and earnestness that it makes everything feel impossibly endearing.
Evebtually, the music shifts to a more funkier tune and a teacher steps forward to announce the next segment.
The fashion show.
You straighten up almost immediately, knowing this is Yejun’s segment. Your fingers quickly reach for your phone to snap pictures while beside you, Jeongguk already has his camera ready, the record button pressed before the first child even steps onto the stage.
One by one, the children walk onto the stage, dressed in colorful, theme-based handmade costumes, clutching tiny props.
A few wave far too enthusiastically at the crowd, little hands flapping with excitement as they forget they’re supposed to keep walking. Others take their role very seriously like they’re on a real runway with their chins lifted and shoulders squared. Some are shy, but even then they manage small, nervous smiles that make the audience melt all the same.
And then, finally, it’s Yejun’s turn.
He walks onto the stage with small, careful steps, his outfit the same one you saw earlier, but under the stage lights, it looks even more adorable.
For a moment, he looks almost too serious, concentrating hard as he walks forward, like he’s determined to get it just right and then he looks up and you can see the exact second his eyes begin scanning the crowd, searching, a little uncertain at first.
Until they land on you and Jeongguk.
His entire face lights up instantly, breaking into the brightest, most cutest smile.
You don’t even realize you’ve already started taking pictures, your thumb tapping rapidly against the screen. Beside you, Jeongguk lifts his camera slightly higher. “Yejun-ah!” he calls out, his voice warm and almost proud as he flashes his son an enthusiastic thumbs up.
You find yourself lifting your hand too, waving at your son without thinking.
Yejun beams even wider at that, his steps growing just a little more confident as he reaches the center of the stage. He attempts a spin, a slightly exaggerated one that makes his little feet stumble for a second, his arms flailing just enough to make the audience let out a collective “awww” before he steadies himself. Undeterred, he plants his feet firmly, places his hands on his hips and lifts his chin just a little too high, clearly convinced he looks incredibly cool.
It’s so earnest and so ridiculously adorable, that a wave of soft laughter ripples through the auditorium and you laugh too, but it catches somewhere in your chest as you feel your eyes stinging because it suddenly dawns on you that your baby is growing up so fast.
“He’s so cute.” Jeongguk fondly murmurs beside you but you don’t hear him at first because you’re too busy watching Yejun, too busy trying to memorize everything about this moment before it slips away.
“I still can’t believe…” Jeongguk starts again, his camera still trained on your son. “That we made something so perfect like him.”
At that, your finger pauses mid-tap on your phone screen, your gaze flickering towards him for just a second. There’s something in his expression, something soft and almost disbelieving, like he’s seeing Yejun for the first time all over again.
“Yeah.” you breathe out with a tender smile as your eyes drift back to the stage, to your son. “At least, we did something right, didn’t we?”
Jeongguk doesn’t reply to that. Instead, his eyes linger on you, on the delicate curve of your smile, on the way your expression softens when you look at Yejun.
He wishes you hadn’t said it like that.
At least.
As if that’s all there was… as if everything the two of you had been, everything you had built together, could be reduced to just one thing that survived.
//
“Mama!! Daddy!!” Yejun calls out as he comes running out into the courtyard, his small hand slipping free from his teacher’s grasp the second he spots the two of you.
It’s much darker now as the late evening air brushes past you. Parents linger in small groups, some chatting, some crouched down to greet their children who are promptly dropped off by their respective teachers.
Yejun’s still in his costume, though the headband is gone now and the faint smudges of face paint on his cheeks look like they’ve been hurriedly wiped away, leaving behind soft streaks that only make him look even more endearing.
“Did you see me?” he asks breathlessly the second he reaches you, practically bouncing on his feet as he looks up. You’re already crouching down before he even finishes the sentence while behind you, his teacher exchanges a few words with Jeongguk, smiling as she mentions how excited Yejun had been to find the teo of you in the crowd.
“You were amazing, bug.” you say, your hands immediately finding his little shoulders as you pull him closer to press a soft kiss against his cheek. “You were the best one up there, you know that?”
Yejun giggles at that, his nose scrunching slightly as he leans into you without hesitation. “Mama and Daddy couldn’t stop watching you.” you continue, your fingers slipping to his sides as you give him a light tickle. “We were so, so proud of you.”
He lets out a burst of giggles, squirming in your hold as he tries to wiggle away, only to end up leaning right back into you again as his small hands clutch onto your sleeves. “Did you see my spin?” he asks with wide eyes, his words tumbling over each other. “I almost fell, but I didn’t!”
“Oh really?” you laugh softly, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. “I barely even noticed. Maybe you just recovered like a pro.”
Yejun beams at that, his little chest puffing up with pride, clearly taking your words very seriously.
“That’s right, buddy.” Jeongguk finally joins in as the teacher excuses herself and steps away. He crouches down right beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost brush. “You were amazing, Jun. Daddy got the whole thing on camera. Every second of it.” he smiles, making Yejun’s eyes light up instantly, his excitement somehow doubling as he looks between the two of you, practically glowing under all the attention.
Soon enough, your son slips his small hands into both yours and Jeongguk’s, naturally placing himself right in the middle as the three of you begin walking out of the crowded courtyard.
He swings both your arms a little as he walks, his steps turning bouncy as he immediately launches into a story he’s been dying to share. “Mama, you know what happened today?” he starts, looking up at you and then at Jeongguk, making sure he has both of your attention before continuing.
“What happened?” you ask gently. “We all got stickers from Miss Han so that we can be brave before going on stage…” he begins. “I got a shiny star. It was really big… and glittery.”
Jeongguk hums softly, smiling as the three of you continue walking.
“But then…” Yejun continues. “Minjae didn’t get a star. He got a smiley one… but I think he liked mine more.” he explains. “So even though he didn’t ask… I told him we could trade and I gave him my star… and I took the smiley sticker instead.”
“Aw baby, you gave him your star?” you ask and Yejun nods, proudly. “Yeah, because he looked a little sad…” he says, his little shoulders lifting in a small shrug. “And Miss Han said all the stickers are for being brave anyway… so it didn’t matter which one I had.” He pauses for a second. “I just wanted Minjae to feel happy.”
For a brief moment, both you and Jeongguk glance at each other. “Hey…” Jeongguk says gently, looking back at Yejun. “That was really kind of you, buddy.”
Yejun beams instantly at the praise, his steps turning even bouncier as he swings both your hands again.“I just did what you and Mama do.” he says proudly, and for a second both you and Jeongguk look at him with furrowed brows, a little confused. “What do we do, Jun?” Jeongguk asks.
“Like when we order fried chicken and you give Mama all the drumsticks because she likes them more.” he says, glancing up at Jeongguk before turning to look up at you. “And when we order pizza, you always give Daddy the slices with more cheese and pepperoni because he likes those the best.” he adds, tilting his head.
Both of your steps slow down as you take in your son’s words.
“You both always give the better things to each other… without even asking.” he finishes, squeezing both your hands a little tighter. “So I did that too because I wanted Minjae to feel happy.”
And just like that, your heart feels like it’s been pulled apart and put back together in a completely different way because there’s something almost disarming about how much children notice, how they gather meaning from the smallest, most insignificant moments. What feels incidental to you becomes foundational to them. What you do absentmindedly, they remember with intention.
Children don’t understand love in the way adults try to define it, but they recognize it in its purest form. They see it in the little exchanges, in the unconscious generosity, in the way care reveals itself without ever needing to announce its presence.
And somehow, without ever being taught, they learn that this is what love looks like.
Before you or Jeongguk can even gather yourselves enough to respond, Yejun is already speaking again. “I miss eating together though…” he confesses, his voice much softer now as the three of you finally come to a stop near the school gates, where the crowd has noticeably thinned out.
“Like… all of us…” he adds, tilting his head up to look at the both of you, his grip on your hands tightening just a little. “At the table… when we share.. and when Daddy would make funny faces when Mama wasn’t looking…” he continues, with a little grin as he looks at Jeongguk. “Like… he’d puff his cheeks and cross his eyes at me like this…” he demonstrates poorly, his tiny face scrunching in an attempt to recreate it. “And then I’d laugh and Mama would be like, ‘what happened?’” he giggles.
There’s a small pause again as Yejun lets out a tiny breath. “Can we do that again, Mama?” he asks, his voice careful in a way that shouldn’t belong to someone his age. “I was good today, right…?” His fingers tighten around yours, just a little. “So… can we do that again?” he continues, looking up at you with so much hope in his sparkly eyes. “Can we have dinner, tonight? All three of us… together.”
The minute the words leave his mouth, you feel your heart splintering. It’s the way he says them, the way he asks like it’s something he has to earn… like it’s supposed to be a reward for being good.
Jeongguk snaps his head towards you almost instantly, but you don’t look at him as your eyes stay on Yejun.
You had prepared yourself for the divorce to be difficult. You had told yourself it would hurt… that it would hurt Jeongguk. You had prepared for the endless nights spent convincing yourself that leaving first was somehow safer than waiting around to be left behind.
After the divorce, everything was divided into arrangements and co-parenting schedules that were meant to make things easier and there were barely any moments where the three of you existed in the same space for more than an hour at most.
You and Jeongguk simply learned for 6 long months how to coexist around Yejun without ever really being together anymore but somewhere in that separation, you hadn’t realized what it must feel like for your son.
His world hadn’t just changed, it had been split into parts he didn’t know how to put back together. There was no language for it, no explanation that could make sense to him… only the confusion of why something that used to be whole, now comes to him in pieces.
And now here he is, trying to glue it back all together, in his own little.
Not with questions or with complaints, but with a small, hopeful request, held out in both his tiny little hands like something he has to beg for, like something he can earn by being good, like something as simple as behaving well might be enough to bring both his parents back to the same table again.
You feel the guilt surging through your veins as you continue staring down at him. It isn’t just regret, it’s the realization that your fear, your need to protect yourself from a heartbreak you hadn’t even faced yet, had created a different kind of hurt for someone who never asked for it.
“Can we, Mama?” Yejun asks again, snapping you back to reality and for a second, all you can do is gulp down the lump in your throat and press your lips together before forcing out a small smile. “Of course, bug.” you say softly. “Of course we can.”
Yejun’s face lights up instantly, like the answer alone is enough to fix something inside him and only then do you lift your gaze up to Jeongguk who’s already looking at you. “Is that… “ you hesitate. “...okay with you?”
Jeongguk’s brows pull together slightly, like the idea that he would say no to something like this, doesn’t even make sense to him. He glances down at Yejun, who’s already looking between the two of you with barely contained excitement.
“Of course it is.”
//
According to the initial plan, Yejun was meant to stay with you for the next few days anyway, right up until the end of the week.
When he asked for dinner together, both you and Jeongguk had instinctively suggested going out, offering up the idea of a nice restaurant but Yejun had simply shaken his head and said he wanted to go home and not just that. He wanted fried chicken too.
And neither you nor Jeongguk could question it or have the heart to deny him because both of you understood that this wasn't really about the food anyway. So that’s how, right now, Jeongguk finds himself easing his car into the underground garage of your penthouse building with you in the passenger seat and Yejun in the back, strapped to his car seat.
“You mind ordering the chicken…” you say, glancing back at Jeongguk as the three of you step inside. “I’ll go bathe him.”
“Oh yeah…” Jeongguk nods quickly. “Yeah, of course. Go ahead.” he says, shrugging off his coat. Yejun tugs at your hand immediately, leading you down the hallway as he starts rambling about how he wants “extra crispy” and “the one with the sauce Daddy likes” and Jeongguk just stands there for a second, watching the two of you disappear down the hallway, with a soft smile he can’t really hide.
About 40 minutes later, you stand in front of the mirror in your nightgown with the robe hanging loosely over your shoulders, running the brush through your hair and by the time you step out, Yejun is already at the table, his hair still a little damp from the bath you gave him. He’s dressed in his turtle themed pajamas and his little legs swing under the table while Jeongguk stands nearby, carefully setting the plates and you don’t miss the three boxes of fried chicken sitting right in the middle.
The second Yejun spots you, his whole face lights up. “Mama, mama come fast, the chicken is here!” he calls out, practically bouncing on his chair as he waves you over.
Jeongguk’s head snaps up at his son’s voice and the moment his eyes land on you, he’s convinced he’s forgotten the mechanical basics of human respiration because, oxygen? Yeah, he’s never heard of her.
He’s always had a dangerous weakness for your post-shower state… that dewy glow that literally makes you look like something out of a dream… and then there’s those godforsaken nightgowns and silk robes Jeongguk has come to hate after the divorce, because back when he actually had "unrestricted access", dealing with them was a sport because he vividly remembers the satisfaction of pulling you close and using his teeth to slide that robe and those silk straps down your shoulders… but now? Now that those straps are strictly “look-but-don't-touch” territory, he’s basically forced to stay in the trenches.
You’re completely oblivious to the way Jeongguk’s gaze is practically scorching the air between you as you glide towards the table and pull out the chair directly across from Yejun.
God, his son is sitting right there, while Jeongguk’s thoughts are drifting into dangerous territory, imagining a version of this very moment where Yejun isn’t present and he could just push all these plates aside, hoist you onto the table and feel your thighs wrap around his waist.
He’s staring at the curve of your neck, remembering the exact taste of your skin when you’re all flushed and breathless, and it takes everything in him not to reach out and reclaim what used to be his right then and there.
“Daddy, the chicken’s gonna get cold!” Yejun whines, breaking Jeongguk’s trance and snapping him back to the present. “Right.” he breathes out, more to himself than anything, as he finally pulls out the chair and sits down beside Yejun.
The moment he opens the boxes, Yejun leans forward immediately, practically vibrating with anticipation as he peers into the box. You smile at the sight and just when you’re about to reach forward, fingers already moving to pick out a piece for him, Jeongguk beats you to it, but he doesn’t serve Yejun first, instead he serves you, placing a piece on your plate.
A drumstick.
You look up at him immediately, a little caught off guard, even though it isn’t exactly unfamiliar. If anything, it’s too familiar and now it’s almost impossible to ignore especially with the way your son had just spoken about specifically this earlier.
Jeongguk doesn’t meet your eyes because he’s already looking away and reaching back into the box to pick out another piece that he places onto Yejun’s plate next. “Careful, it’s still hot.” he says, gently nudging Yejun’s hand away from grabbing it too quickly, and the little boy simply huffs a little in protest but listens anyway.
Eventually, the three of you begin eating and Yejun talks through most of the meal, barely pausing between bites, his words tumbling over each other as he recounts yet another story from his day.
You listen, smiling softly, occasionally reacting at the right moments, while Jeongguk sits beside him, carefully separating the meat from the bones, making sure there’s nothing sharp or messy left before placing small portions onto Yejun’s plate and every now and then, he nudges a piece closer to him or reminds him to slow down.
For a brief, fragile moment, it feels like nothing has changed… like this is still what your evenings look like, sitting across from each other, laughing at the same silly things your son says and it’s all so so so familiar it almost tricks you into forgetting the state of how things are now.
Almost.
Once the plates are cleared, Yejun wastes no time, dragging Jeongguk towards his bedroom, wanting his father to read his nightly bedtime story tonight and Jeongguk, powerless against his son’s pout, offers a soft smile that says he wouldn't be anywhere else.
You retreat to the living room, seeking refuge in a glass of wine as you decide to go through your emails for a bit when Jeongguk finally steps out from your son’s room and you look over your shoulder, immediately setting your glass and laptop down on the coffee table and stand up, smoothing out your nightgown.
“He’s out like a log.” Jeongguk chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck as he walks a little closer. “Didn’t even make it past the part where Max tames the wild things this time… I think the day finally caught up to him.”
You hum softly, nodding as you fold your arms loosely across your chest, offering him a small, tight smile which Jeongguk mirrors almost unconsciously and before either of you can even process it, you’re both just… standing there.
Facing each other.
With nothing to say.
The silence stretches between you and it’s funny because 6 months should have made this easier but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s only made you both more aware of how to exist around each other without crossing any invisible lines.
You glance towards the kitchen for no real reason, while Jeongguk shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His fingers brush against the fabric of his jeans, fidgeting slightly, like he doesn’t quite know where to place his hands anymore.
These kinds of moments have always been awkward over the past few months, but you had learned how to handle them. You’d learned how to recover quickly, how to keep your expression composed, your tone even, your distance intact. You’d gotten good at not letting Jeongguk see it, at not letting him feel the vulnerability, the hesitation, the heartache that lingers underneath.
But tonight… feels different.
You’re not sure what it is exactly. Maybe it was the way he had draped his coat over your legs or the way Yejun had unknowingly held up a mirror to something you’d been trying not to look at too closely.
Maybe it was sitting across from Jeongguk again, at the same table, sharing a meal with Yejun like you used to, like nothing had ever broken in the first place or maybe it was something as small as the drumstick he placed on your plate just like he used to.
Whatever it was, you can’t quite put your finger on it. You just know that something in you feels… different tonight. Like the walls you’ve carefully built over the past months have started to crack and it’s unsettling because for the first time in a long while, you don’t feel in control of it.
When the silence stretches just a little too long to ignore, both of you speak at the same time.
“—So—”
You stop, he stops and a quiet, awkward breath leaves both of you almost in sync.
“You… you go.” Jeongguk mutters, giving a small nod towards you as he presses his lips together. “No, it’s fine.” you shake your head quickly. “I just—” You pause, the words catching somewhere halfway, before you realize there isn’t really anything meaningful to dress this up with. “So…” you try again, your voice a little steadier this time. “You’ll pick him up on Sunday, right?”
Jeongguk blinks, like he hadn’t expected that to be the thing you chose to say. “Oh… yeah, definitely.” he nods. “Around 10’s okay? I was thinking of taking him fishing with the guys.”
“Oh um… yeah, that sounds good.” you nod because you know how much Yejun loved those little outings and how he got to trail behind Jeongguk and his friends, calling them all “uncles” like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Just… keep an eye on him, okay? He gets a little too excited near the water.” you say, despite knowing how responsible Jeongguk is when it comes to your son. “I know.” he chuckles, glancing down briefly before looking back at you. “I’ll keep him close, don’t worry.” There’s a small pause after that and this time, it’s not exactly uncomfortable, but not exactly easy either. “Maybe I’ll send you a picture.” he adds after a beat. “If he catches something. Or… even if he doesn’t, honestly.”
You nod, your fingers tightening slightly against your arms. “I’d like that.”
And just like that, the moment dips again into silence before Jeongguk clears his throat lightly. “Right then…” he breathes out, raking his fingers through his hair. “I should probably head out. It’s getting pretty late.”
You purse your lips at that, before forcing yourself to nod and he gives you a lingering look before turning towards the front door.
You don’t usually follow him. Most days, you keep your distance, but tonight… your feet move before you can really think about it and you trail after him slowly, stopping near the entryway as he reaches for his coat.
He slips it on, adjusting the collar absentmindedly, before turning back to face you. “Tonight…” he starts as you look up to meet his eyes. “It was nice.” he says and you don’t miss the faint smile on his lips as the words leave his mouth. “Haven’t seen Yejun that happy in a while.” he admits and to that you nod, because you’ve been thinking the same thing all evening. “Yeah.” you breathe out. “Me neither.”
Jeongguk inhales slowly, then lets it out before adjusting his coat again. “Anyways… I’ll see you.” he says, turning back towards the door and just when his fingers reach for the doorknob, your lips are already moving. “Text me when you reach.” the words slip out and you freeze almost instantly as they echo back to you.
You haven’t said something like that in a long time, especially not after the divorce since your texts with Jeongguk were limited to co-parenting schedules, school updates and photos of Yejun.
Jeongguk stills at your words before slowly looking at you over his shoulder. There’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes, and then, just as quickly, he reins it in as a small, lopsided smile pulls at his lips. “Alright.” he breathes out letting his gaze linger on you for a few seconds. “Goodnight, Y/N.” he finally says , slowly twisting the door knob, with his head still turned towards you.
He hesitates before vaguely gesturing towards the living room, where your laptop still glows on the coffee table. “Don’t stay up too late.” he adds and before you can nod, he’s gone.
//
“…and if we look at the high jewelry segment, the average spend per client has increased by nearly 18% this quarter.” Rowoon, your senior brand strategist, explains, as he gestures towards the screen where the slide shifts seamlessly, revealing a spread of numbers layered over charts, alongside close-up visuals of intricate pieces.
“Particularly within custom diamond sets and rare stone acquisitions, we’re seeing a clear shift towards more exclusive, one-of-a-kind commissions…” he goes on, glancing briefly around the room to ensure everyone’s following.
At the far end of the conference table, you sit with your back straight and fingers lightly pressed against the surface, trying your very best to stay focused but the numbers and the graphs blur before your eyes, no matter how hard you blink them back into place. Your brows knit together faintly as you try to steady your gaze, but it doesn’t help because it’s impossible to ignore the dull heaviness behind your eyes.
You shift slightly in your seat, fingers coming up to tug at the collar of your blouse, like that can somehow ease the discomfort pressing against your skin and you inhale quietly, blinking your eyes again.
Focus.
“If we maintain this trajectory, our top-tier clientele alone could account for over 40% of total revenue by the end of the year.” Rowoon adds, as he looks across the table at all the department heads, analysts, senior associates and everyone else who all seem to be taking notes, following along.
From her seat positioned diagonally across from yours, Haeun nods along, fingers moving swiftly across her tablet as she keeps up with the ongoing presentation before her eyes absently flicks towards you. She instantly catches the way you’re sitting a little too stiff, desperately trying to focus and her eyes don't miss the subtle sheen of sweat on your temples and along your neck.
Her fingers still over her screen and her eyes instantly shift towards Rowoon and it’s perfectly timed as he instantly catches the signal and his voice trails off, stopping mid sentence before following Haeun’s line of sight, landing on you.
Haeun leans forward slightly. “Ms. Min.” she calls out, gently drawing your attention to her as everyone around the room looks at you. “Would you prefer that we pause here and reconvene later?”
Her words instantly make you realise just how out of it you've been and you quickly exhale, closing your eyes for a brief second to steady yourself. When you open them again, you’re acutely aware of the silence in the room and the way everyone’s looking at you.
“No.” you say, shaking your head lightly. “Please continue.” There’s a small pause before you glance towards Haeun again. “I’ll step out for a bit.” you add, more quietly. “Could you share the minutes with me afterward? I’ll review everything once I’m back.”
“Of course.” Haeun nods without hesitation though you can still see the concern in her eyes. “I’ll make sure to send you everything.”
You give a small nod in return before pushing your chair back and Rowoon straightens almost instinctively, offering you a respectful nod as you rise, and one by one, the rest of the room follows suit before you finally step out.
You’ve been feeling like this for the past few days.
You weren’t entirely sure what to blame it on. Maybe it was the stress from your work with all the endless meetings, agonizing conference calls or that frantic 2-day work trip to Tokyo earlier this week. Or maybe it was just the lack of sleep. The pills hadn’t been kicking in lately and on the rare occasions they actually managed to drag you under, the same nightmares would wake you right up.
Then there was the food situation, or lack thereof. Half the time you forgot to eat because your schedule was a tyrant and the other half, your stomach decided to skip straight to nausea before hunger could even introduce itself. It had gotten so bad that you’d actually given your cook, Junhee, a paid vacation because it felt entirely too criminal to watch her beautifully prepared meals go completely untouched day after day. You only ever called her back into service when Yejun was staying with you, mostly because you knew your son couldn't survive on black coffee and your nonexistent culinary skills, which usually peaked at burning toast.
Your knees feel wobbly as you make the long trek back to your office, passing a handful of employees who bow respectfully as you walk by. Usually, you’d offer a polite nod, but today, just keeping your spine straight takes every ounce of energy your body has left.
The moment you step inside your office, you shut the door close and practically lunge for the thermostat, cranking the AC down to its absolute lowest setting, desperate for the cool air to shock your system but even as the cool air begins to fill your office, it does nothing to reduce the feverish heat trapped beneath your skin and it almost feels like trying to put out a house fire with a water gun.
With an irritated breath, you tug at your collar again and reach for the claw clip sitting on the edge of your desk. You twist your hair up messily, clipping it back just to get the strands off your neck.
Then you walk towards the deep leather couch on the other end of your office and hastilyslip your heels off, letting them clatter onto the hardwood floor before plopping yourself down and sinking into the cushions as you throw your forearm over your eyes.
A few seconds of absolute silence pass just like that as you lie there, listening to the steady hum of the AC blasting a freezing gale over your body but it doesn't last long when your phone suddenly vibrates making you let out a soft sigh, every fiber of your being wanting to ignore it, but you still find yourself reaching into your pocket and pulling your phone out to check the message you just received.
[5:24 PM] Jeongguk: Just picked up Jun from daycare.
[5:24 PM] Jeongguk: I know I was supposed to drop him off at your place tonight, but we just got this last minute coffee truck order for a movie set nearby, so I might have to stay back late and help prep everything.
Just as you finish reading his messages, another one pops up.
[5:25 PM] Jeongguk: Any chance you could swing by the cafe and pick him up from here instead? He's already asking for you.
//
While Jimin and the rest of the part-timers handle the hectic evening rush at the front of the cafe, Jeongguk stays in the back kitchen, his sleeves rolled up his forearms as he preps a massive batch of brioche dough for the coffee truck order.
Once the dough is tucked away to rise, he checks on the fresh batch of lemon blueberry scones he had put in the oven earlier. He pulls them out, transfers them on a cooling tray and steps out into the main cafe, sliding the fresh bakes into the glass display case to refill what the afternoon crowd had wiped out.
He stands up straight once he’s done and his eyes naturally wander to the corner table of the crowded cafe where his son is seated, entirely absorbed in his coloring book. Jeongguk smiles, absently wiping his hands on his apron as he walks over to Yejun.
Yejun doesn’t look away from his drawing as Jeongguk slides into the chair beside him, taking a moment to just breathe while the cafe continues to bustle around them. He pulls out his phone to double-check if he missed any important notifications as it had been a little while since you replied with a quick "Be there in 20" to his texts.
He shoves his phone back into his pocket before affectionately ruffling his son’s hair only to earn a soft grumble from Yejun as the boy swats weakly at his hand before returning to his coloring without much care. Jeongguk huffs out a chuckle before absentmindedly looking towards the large glass storefront just in time to catch your car pulling up smoothly along the curb outside with Mr. Choi seated behind the wheel.
His lips part into a soft smile as he starts to rise from his seat, watching you open the back door to step out. Jeongguk is literally opening his mouth to tell Yejun that his mama is finally here, but just then he sees you stumble on your feet slightly as your hand blindly reaches out to grip the roof of the car for leverage and the words die in his throat.
He furrows his brows, about to move from his spot and step out of the cafe when suddenly he sees your hand slip from the metal as your knees buckle completely, and you collapse onto the hard sidewalk.
Jeongguk’s eyes widen in sheer terror and for a second, he forgets about everything else as he bolts straight towards the entrance, throwing the heavy glass door open with enough force to rattle the frame.
By the time he hits the pavement, Mr. Choi is also stepping out of the car, his face pale with shock. Jeongguk drops to his knees into the space beside you, sweeping your shoulders off the cold concrete while he cradles your head against his chest.
"Y/n? Hey.” he calls out, tapping your cheek, desperate for even a flutter of your eyelids, but you remain completely unresponsive and a small crowd of concerned pedestrians begins to form on the sidewalk while Mr. Choi hovers over the scene, terrified at the way you barely move.
“Y/n… hey, Y/n.” Jeongguk tries again, his voice edged with panic as he gently pats your cheek. “Do you hear me?” he asks and only then does it register to him how fragile you feel in his arms. Your body feels far too limp, your lips are nearly colorless and your skin looks so pale.
"Let… let me call an ambulance.” Mr. Choi fumbles, his fingers slipping against the screen of his phone as he desperately tries to dial.
The commotion draws Jimin outside, letting the part timers take over the cafe for a bit and the second he steps out, his eyes expand in horror as he takes in the sight of you limp in Jeongguk’s arms. "Gguk, holy shit… what… what happened?"
"Hyung, I…I don’t know, she just collapsed." Jeongguk’s voice cracks, but he’s already shifting his weight, carefully hooking one arm beneath your knees to lift you off the ground.
“I…” he starts, finally looking up at Jimin with pleading eyes. "I’ll take her to the hospital myself, it’ll be faster.” he says quickly glancing towards Mr. Choi who nods. “And hyung…” he breathes out looking back at Jimin. “Can you please just… just watch Yejun? Don't let him see her like this. Just... please, hyung."
Jimin is already nodding at his words. “Absolutely Gguk… Don’t worry about anything here, just get her to the hospital ASAP, okay? I've got Jun."
//
— please drop a like, reblog or comment !! it would make me feel motivated and i would to love to hear your thoughts <3
Genre/Tags: café owner! jungkook x ceo! reader, exes to lovers, divorced au, co-parenting au, angst, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, slow burn
Summary: Months after a devastating divorce, you and Jungkook find yourselves trying to navigate a life that no longer looks the way it once did. Between unresolved emotions, stubborn feelings that just don’t want to disappear and the shared custody of your angel-like son, Yejun, the two of you are left standing in the wreckage of everything you once were. And somewhere in between coexisting and letting go… you are forced to ask yourselves if the love you shared is something meant to be left behind in all of your yesterdays.
Word Count: 23.9k+
Series Warnings: PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION AND GO THROUGH ALL THE WARNINGS BECAUSE THIS FIC CONTAINS SOME VERY TRIGGERING TOPICS; mature language, yearning, use of jeongguk instead of jungkook, dad jungkook !!!!!!, reader & jungkook have a flexible coparenting schedule, mentions of sleeping pills, unhealthy sleeping habits, insomina, nightmares, reader is flawed because of all the baggage she carries so pls be nice to her, some yearning, reader is a self destructive person, fear of abandonment, past/childhood trauma, lots of deflection, mentions of orphanages, inaccurate business & company stuff (i'm sorry just think of reader as a really big ceo of a huge luxury jewelry brand), a little bit of yearning i think, flashbacks and dream sequences in italics, some jealousy, there's lots of reminiscing, heavy angst, mentions of pregnancy, fear of motherhood, mentions of food wastage, fainting, starvation, lots and lots of detailed emotions, they’re slightly “our beloved summer” couple coded & one scene is distinctly inspired by the “10 things i hate about you” episode from OBS (iykyk), did i mention yearning, use of petnames like baby, honey, jagi/ jagiya, explicit content, MORE TO BE ADDED WITH FUTURE CHAPTERS
cher's notes: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEE AHHHHH i've dropped part 2 along with this chapter and will drop part 3 in a few mins (still in the middle of some editing lol) and i am SO excited abt this mini series. it was originally supposed to be a simple little oneshot but clearly i have no self-control and i ended up falling way too deep into this story and now here we are. also... i'm hopelessly in love with this jungkook and i cannot wait for all of you to love him too. and omg i tried incorporating specific vision boards for certain scenes throughout the story :3 there might be a few tiny errors, inconsistencies, plot holes, missing brain cells and other miscellaneous author disasters scattered throughout the story so i'm kindly asking you all to look away respectfully ANYWAYS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE lmk your thoughts and whether you're looking forward to the upcoming chapters because i genuinely love reading all your reactions 🫶
//
part 1
The pointed heels of your louboutins click against the polished marble and almost instantly the conversations around the room falter.
One by one, heads turn in your direction. Some guests watch openly, others more discreetly, but all of them seem to be hoping for the same thing… a glance, a nod, any small acknowledgment that you’ve noticed them.
But your gaze remains fixed only on the stage ahead, your expression composed with a hint of the faintest smile playing on your lips. The deep ruby shade and the stones embroidered all over the fabric of your dress catches the light with every step you take down the hall.
The Valerra pop-up store, your largest and most anticipated showcase to date, was in full swing.
Every detail had been curated to perfection, not just to display jewelry, but to immerse every guest into the world you’d built and tonight, the world was drenched entirely in ruby.
Tall glass display cases stand in clean, symmetrical lines, stretching across the room with each case illuminated from within, casting a soft glow that contrasts beautifully against the deep red hues surrounding it.
The jewelry inside looks less like products and more like pieces of art.
Diamond necklaces rest against velvet cushions in rich crimson tones, each stone catching the light in subtle flashes that seem to follow you as you pass by, rings arranged neatly, spaced just enough to give each one its own presence and bracelets curved over sculpted stands draped in red silk, their polished surfaces gleaming under the lights as they reflect soft ripples of gold and silver across the glass.
Above it all, grand chandeliers hang low with their crystals refracting warm light while cascading red drapes frame the venue, flowing effortlessly from the ceiling like liquid silk as fresh roses in deep scarlet arrangements adorn every corner with other pieces of luxury decor you had picked out yourself.
To your left, a string quartet plays, the soft music weaving seamlessly into the low hum of conversations and the occasional clink of champagne glasses. Waiters move through the crowd with silver trays balanced in their hands as they offer crystal flutes of champagne and curated hors d’oeuvres.
Haeun, your assistant, follows just a step behind you. Close enough to intervene if necessary, yet distant enough to remain invisible to everyone else. Her expression stays perfectly composed, but her sharp eyes miss nothing.
She tracks the movement of the staff, the positioning of the guests, the subtle hesitation of a waiter who lingers a second too long before approaching a group. She mentally notes which influencers and celebrities have arrived and which haven’t, who was already capturing photos, who needed to be guided closer to the main display for better visibility.
Nothing slipped past her… nothing ever did.
As you move deeper into the space, the lighting subtly shifts, guiding attention towards the center of the room where the stage stands waiting. It wasn’t extravagant, but it didn’t exactly need to be. Sleek metallic panels framed the backdrop, catching the warm ruby tones of the venue and reflecting them in a way that elevated everything else just the way you wanted it to. At the very center, partially concealed beneath a deep red velvet cloth, was the highlight of the night.
Your new collection, hidden just enough to build anticipation, to make people wait, to make them want.
The announcer stands poised on the stage, dressed in a custom-made, shimmering gown designed by your dear friend Kim Taehyung, created exclusively to align with the vision you had carried for this evening in your head for months.
“Ladies and gentlemen…” Her voice cuts cleanly through the room, drawing attention back to the stage. “Please join me in welcoming the visionary behind tonight’s showcase.”
Guests gathered near the stage instinctively step aside as you approach, creating a clear path without needing to be asked.
“The mind behind the brand… the force redefining modern luxury…”
Your heels meet the first step leading up to the stage and behind you, Haeun comes to a halt because she knew this moment wasn’t hers to manage. It was all yours.
“Please welcome her…” The announcer’s voice lifts as you fully step onto the stage, and just like that, every eye in the room finds you. “Please welcome the founder, creative director and CEO of Valerra… Min Y/n !!!!” she cheers as a loud applause breaks out, filling the space and rising in waves while cameras start flashing.
Now that you were finally standing in front of the entire crowd, you let your smile widen just a fraction as your eyes sweep across the room. Rows of familiar faces, strangers, admirers, people who had followed your work, invested in your name, believed in your vision. They were all here, exactly where they were supposed to be.
And still, you let your gaze linger, just for a second longer than it should have.
Because even though you knew better, even though you had told yourself a hundred times before walking in that he obviously wouldn’t be here, a part of you still searched because… as stupid as it may sound, it was almost instinct, as if somewhere in the crowd, you might catch a glimpse of the one pair of eyes that used to always find you.
You don’t find them… of course you don’t but you look anyway, because sometimes, that’s all you can do.
The applause swells around you while the cameras continue to flash as people lean forward, completely captivated by you, by what you’ve built, by everything you represent in this very moment.
And you stand there, at the center of it all.
Valerra, your life’s work, your relentless pursuit, the very proof that every sacrifice had meant something, had brought you exactly where you were meant to be and this… this was everything you had ever wanted.
And yet, at this point, somehow… it felt like nothing, because no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore the gnawing emptiness in your chest because he wasn’t here tonight.
Eventually, the rest of the evening slips past you in a blur.
The unveiling of the new collection became the turning point of the night, as expected. The velvet drape was drawn back slowly, revealing pieces that had only lived in your mind for months before they ever took form. It was everything you had envisioned, and it was being received exactly the way you had hoped.
After that, the night became a sequence of expectations you knew by heart. Conversations, introductions, familiar faces approaching with admiration tucked neatly into rehearsed compliments. Cameras flashed as you posed beside your pieces, beside guests, beside people who wanted to be seen next to you just as much as they wanted to be seen by you.
You smiled when needed, spoke when required, listened just enough and somehow despite being at the center of it all, it all felt slightly… distant.
When you’re finally left by yourself for a very brief second, you let out a quiet exhale to yourself as your gaze briefly drifts across the room. At a distance, Haeun stands exactly where she needs to be, looking as composed as ever. Her attention never wavers, her focus split between the room in front of her and the updates filtering through her earpiece every now and then.
Everything was under control… Everything always was.
“Well, well, well… if it isn’t the woman of the hour herself.” A familiar voice suddenly cuts through your thoughts as you instantly turn over your shoulder, and for the first time this evening, you allow yourself a genuine smile. “Tae.” you acknowledge as he inches closer and without hesitation, pulls you into a brief hug. “Look at you…” he chuckles, pulling back as his hands rest lightly on your arms. “I wonder who made you that dress to make you look this stunning.” he grins.
You let out a small chuckle, tilting your head as you glance down at the gown, your fingers brushing lightly over the rich ruby fabric that hugs your frame perfectly. “I’m glad I went with this…” you admit. “I can’t believe I was actually second-guessing it.” you say looking back up at him.
“Yeah imagine second guessing me.” he scoffs lightly, feigning offense as he straightens just a little. “That’s bold. Very very bold, Min Y/n.”
You roll your eyes, but the smile doesn’t leave your face. “I had a vision in my head…” you counter, crossing your arms loosely. “I just… wasn’t sure if this would match it… Like you know how particular I get when it comes to these things…”
Taehyung chuckles at that, shaking his head.“When have I ever not understood your vision?” he cocks up a brow. “I get what you want before you even fully figure it out yourself. Come on, you should know this by now.”
You giggle softly, playfully rolling your eyes again.
“Anyways…” he breathes out, stepping away just enough to stand beside you now, shoulder to shoulder as both of you face the room. His gaze drifts across the venue, taking in the way people admire what you’ve created. “Looks like this pop-up was a massive success. Everyone seems to love the new collection.”
You hum softly in agreement, nodding with a small smile and somehow Taehyung is quick to notice the way it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly, his eyes fixed on the side profile of your face. You let out a quiet sigh, shaking your head almost instinctively. “It’s nothing… I guess I’m just… exhausted. You know how stressed I was about this.” you explain as you keep your gaze fixed ahead.
Your words don’t even convince yourself and you know damn well that it definitely doesn’t convince the man beside you either. Taehyung presses his lips together slightly, studying you for a brief second before slipping his hands into his pockets. He turns his gaze back to the room, almost mirroring your stance.
A few seconds pass, just enough for the noise of the room to settle between you before he speaks again. “First pop-up store event without him, huh?”
You swallow at his words, like there’s something caught in your throat that refuses to go down and you’re quick to steady the faintest tremble in your lower lip, but you don’t dare turn to look at him. “Yeah.” you breathe out.
“How’s everything been? How… have you been?” he asks gently, after a moment and there’s a pause, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “And… how’s Yejun?” he adds, even softer this time.
Your lips tremble again, more noticeable now, and for a brief second you close your eyes, gathering yourself before anything slips through. “Yejun’s fine.” you answer quietly. “He’s… he’s spending the weekend with me.”
It’s a safe answer… a contained one but Taehyung isn’t oblivious to the way you sidestep the rest of his questions, the way your voice only finds certainty when it comes to your son… but he doesn’t push and just like that, a few minutes pass before you’re approached again, this time by a cluster of familiar faces who easily slip into conversation, not just with you but Taehyung as well.
After all, Taehyung wasn’t just anyone. He carried a presence entirely of his own, a name and reputation that stood just as strong as yours. He wasn’t simply accompanying you… he belonged in rooms like this, especially as one of the most influential figures in the fashion world.
You straighten slightly, your expression falling back into that polished composure as you greet the group, exchanging pleasantries and eventually, the group disperses, replaced by others, then others again, until time almost begins to blur.
By the time another hour passes, the initial excitement around the venue has somewhat settled. The room is still alive, still buzzing, but your role in it has already been fulfilled.
You turn slightly, your gaze landing on Haeun across the room and she notices immediately, as she always does, quickly making her way over without needing to be called.
“I think I’ll call it a night.” you say quietly once she’s in front of you. Her brows lift ever so slightly, though she doesn’t question it because she understands. You’ve done everything you needed to do. You showed up, made your presence known, unveiled the new collection, entertained the right people and well… the rest can carry on without you.
“Make sure everything wraps up neatly.” you add. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Yes, of course.” she nods, already mentally running through what needs to be handled. You turn to leave, but her voice stops you gently. “Do you want me to call Mr. Choi?” she glances at you, referring to your driver who’s always prepared, always waiting just a call away.
You shake your head lightly. “No, it’s fine. I’ll drive myself tonight.” you assure her. “Don’t worry, I didn’t touch the champagne.” you chuckle and a small smile appears on her lips. “Alright.” she nods, stepping back slightly. “Please get home safely.”
You give her a brief nod in return before she bows her head respectfully, already shifting back into her role as she turns away to oversee the rest of the evening.
And just like that, you step out of the venue, making your way to the private parking and the moment you slip inside your car, you just sit there for a brief second… breathing, like you’re letting the weight of the night catch up to you.
As a few seconds pass, you slowly reach for your phone. The lockscreen lights up in the dim interior as the time reads 9:54 p.m but you barely register it because your eyes are already fixed on the picture, like always.
Yejun’s small, mischievous smile fills the screen, specks of paint smeared across his nose and cheeks.
The memory comes back so vividly it almost feels like you’re standing in it again. He was barely 3, freshly introduced to the concept of finger painting at play school. Of course, his fingers seemed to have completely misunderstood the assignment because the paint ended up everywhere… his face, his clothes, somehow even the walls… everywhere except the paper but none of that mattered… not when he was having the time of his life.
A quiet smile tugs at your lips at the memory, and only then do you unlock your phone, scrolling briefly, checking if you’ve missed anything important only to come across a few messages, nothing urgent, nothing that needs you right now at least.
Once you set your phone back down, you close your eyes again, just for a moment. For reasons you don’t quite want to admit, the thought of going back to your apartment doesn’t appeal much to you right now.
Yes, you left the event early because you wanted to call it a night, but this isn’t the kind of quiet you were looking for… not the kind that waits behind the doors of your empty penthouse.
You don’t want to walk into that kind of stillness, into a home that feels far too big for just one person, where even the quietest sound seems to echo back at you, where memories of the life you once lived, linger like ghosts in every corner.
And yet, as much as you dread it, you don’t quite have it in you to go anywhere else either. It’s a strange, exhausting contradiction… wanting to be alone, even when you hate the loneliness that comes with it… wanting silence, but not the kind that reminds you of everything that’s missing.
It doesn’t make sense, but then again, when have you ever been simple enough for it to? So you don’t try to untangle it, you simply just sit with it and then, quietly, you give in as you start the car and without thinking too much about it, you begin driving towards your penthouse, towards a space that’s yours, even if it doesn’t quite feel like it anymore.
//
Jimin reaches up and flips the sign on the glass door from “open” to “close” before turning around to face the now quiet cafe. The late evening rush has long passed, a few chairs sit slightly out of place, crumbs scattered here and there, the faint smell of coffee and baked goods still hanging in the air.
He exhales, running a hand through his hair, taking in the sight of the part-timers near the counter as they move quickly, wiping down surfaces and stacking up trays, plates and cups.
His gaze drifts lazily before his eyes land on a small figure hunched over one of the tables by the window on the other side of the cafe and his expression softens instantly, his exhaustion melting into something far more fond as he makes his way over.
“What’ve you got there, buddy?” he chuckles, gently ruffling the little boy’s hair before pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down.
Up close, he watches the way Yejun’s tiny fingers grip a red crayon with serious determination, his whole body leaning into the table as he scribbles quickly across the paper.
“My dream car.” Yejun replies immediately, not even bothering to look up. His brows are furrowed in deep concentration, lips slightly parted as he continues dragging the crayon across the sheet of paper.
As Jimin continues to watch the little boy with an adoring smile, he can’t help but notice for the millionth time just how much this baby resembles his father.
The look Yejun’s got right now reminds Jimin of Jeongguk behind the counter, carefully piping cream onto one of his pastries, usually the strawberry cream choux which is somewhat considered a best seller at their cafe.
He chuckles to himself as he continues observing Yejun. It’s the same slight furrow in his brows, the same almost stubborn need to get it just right, the same look.
Just smaller.
“It’s super fast.” Yejun adds suddenly, still focused on his drawing. “Faster than Daddy’s car. And it can fly too… so traffic can’t catch it.”
Jimin lets out a giggle, resting his chin in his hand as he brings his focus to the drawing. The wheels are far too big, the windows are scattered wherever Yejun thinks they belong and somehow, it really does look like it might take off any second.
“Looks pretty cool.” Jimin murmurs, his smile growing just a little fonder and Yejun hums proudly at that, finally glancing up for a split second. “Daddy can sit here.” he says, pointing at a random spot on the paper. “And I’ll drive.”
At that, Jimin raises a brow with a playful pout forming on his lips. “And what about Uncle Chim, huh?” he asks, tapping the table lightly. “No seat for me?”
Yejun pauses, looking back down at his drawing like this is a very serious problem. He squints at the paper, then quickly scribbles another tiny circle somewhere near the edge of the supposed car. “You can sit here.” he decides, nodding firmly. “But you have to be quiet. No talking because I need to focus on driving.”
Jimin lets out a soft, offended gasp before breaking into a grin. “Wow. Not only are you kicking me off to the side, but you’re also silencing me?? I see how it is.” he narrows his eyes but all Yejun does is give him a shy snicker before going back to his drawing.
Jimin’s smile lingers as he watches the little boy for another moment before his gaze flickers towards the counter. “Where’s your dad?” he asks, brows knitting slightly. Yejun barely hears him, far too invested in perfecting his dream car and Jimin doesn’t really expect an answer anyway. He pats the boy’s head once more before pushing himself up from the chair.
He walks around the counter, past the part timers and pushes through the door into the back kitchen. The low hum of the refrigerator instantly replaces the sounds coming from the cafe and it doesn’t take Jimin long to find who he’s looking for.
Perched on a stool beside one of the steel prep counters with his back turned to Jimin, sits the co-owner of the cafe. From the way he hasn’t even noticed Jimin walking in, it’s obvious he’s far too absorbed in whatever he’s watching on his phone.
Jimin pauses for a second, watching him before he slowly inches closer, his footsteps barely making a sound against the tiled floor. Once he’s right behind him, he slightly leans over, narrowing his eyes to catch a glimpse of the screen over his partner’s shoulder.
“Still keeping tabs on the ex-wife, I see.” he grins.
A sharp gasp escapes Jeongguk as he instinctively slams his phone against his chest as if that would somehow hide it and whips his head around to face Jimin with wide eyes and a scandalized expression. “What the hell, Hyung!” he breathes out, still trying to steady himself, his grip tightening instinctively around his phone like he’s been caught red-handed.
“Hey, hey… I’m not judging.” Jimin chuckles, lifting both his hands up in mock surrender, though the amusement in his eyes gives him away completely. “It’s the first time you’re not with her at one of those pop-up events. I don’t blame you for feeling like you missed out.”
Jeongguk rolls his eyes at that, the reaction coming a little too quickly, a little too defensive. He turns away, switching his phone off before dropping it onto the prep counter beside him. “I’m not feeling…. missed out or anything. ” he mutters. “It just… I don’t know… showed up on my feed.”
The excuse sounds flat even to his own ears, because of course, it didn’t just show up. Especially not with the way his very own fingers had typed out the keywords “Kim Y/n. Valerra pop-up store.” in the search bar almost out of habit… a habit that hadn’t left him.
He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew that within seconds of typing those words into the search bar, his screen would be filled with nothing but you. Fragments of the night from a hundred different angles, paparazzi clips catching you mid-step, influencers zooming in on your dress, celebrities posting glimpses of the event along with pictures where they’re all posing with you.
Anything that would let him catch even the smallest glimpse of you.
And he had watched it all… more than once, more than he should have. Long enough for the details to settle into him in ways he couldn’t shake off like the dress that hugged you perfectly, the way you carried yourself, the way you smiled at people who weren’t him.
And truthfully, it shouldn’t have mattered, not after all this time… not after six months, to be precise.
But unfortunately for Jeongguk, it did.
Jimin watches him quietly, reading him far too easily. He knows exactly where Jeongguk’s mind has gone, what he’s been sitting with, what he’s trying to brush off like it doesn’t weigh on him but he doesn’t call him out on it. He knows it isn’t necessary because sometimes… some things don’t need to be said out loud to be understood.
All he can really do is sympathize and maybe soften it a little with just some light hearted teasing here and there.
“Fine…” Jeongguk exhales. “I searched it up, okay? I was just… curious. It’s the first pop-up thing she’s doing without me and I don’t know… I just…” He pauses, briefly running a hand through his hair. “I was curious, I guess. Just wanted to see how things were going.” He shrugs, like it’s something small, something insignificant.
But Jimin doesn’t miss the slight tremble in his voice and the way the words don’t come out as steady as he wants them to. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Gguk.” he says softly, stepping closer and placing a hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder.
“Anyways… did you book your flight to Jeju?” Jimin asks, arms folding loosely over his chest as he leans back, clearly attempting to steer the conversation somewhere else. However, it doesn’t work… if anything, the question only makes Jeongguk sigh louder. “Yeah.” he still answers. “I did… Last night.”
Jimin’s eyes flicker over his face almost immediately, not missing the loud sigh and the way his jaw tightens. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly, though he might already have a rough idea. “I don’t even wanna go.” Jeongguk admits with a bitter laugh as his gaze drops to the floor for a second. “I think the last place I should be in right now is someone else’s wedding… when my own marriage didn’t even survive.”
Jimin exhales, an awkward chuckle slipping out as he shakes his head. “Gguk… you’re literally Hobi hyung’s best man.”
“Yeah, and she’s Bomi’s maid of honor !!” Jeongguk snaps back almost instantly, his head lifting to meet Jimin’s eyes as the frustration finally shows in full. “And we have to walk down the aisle together…” he continues, dragging a hand harshly down his face before letting out a short, incredulous laugh and shaking his head because this entire situation is just sooo fucking ridiculous. “Like actually walk down the aisle…” he repeats, slower this time. “Side by side…. in front of everyone.” His lips press into a thin line before he scoffs quietly. “Like yeah, sure, There’s nothing weird about that at all. Just me and my ex-wife, playing happy for someone else’s wedding like our own didn’t completely fall apart.”
Jimin presses his lips together as he takes that in and for a second, he doesn’t say anything, because yeah… there’s no good way to spin that.
“I get it.” Jimin says finally. “But you’re Hoseok’s best friend and she’s Bomi’s.” he states. “You both agreed to this like 3 months before the divorce…” he shrugs lightly, though there’s sympathy in his eyes. “No one saw this coming, man.”
Jeongguk exhales quietly, his gaze shifting away again because none of this is new information to him. He already knows all of it, has gone over it in his head more times than he can count, but knowing does nothing to make it any easier.
Because just the thought of attending a wedding right now, just being there as a guest, is enough to make him feel like throwing up.
The idea of standing there and watching two people promise each other forever, smile for pictures, raise glasses to love and commitment… it all feels unbearably suffocating when he knows, all too well, how fragile that “promised forever” actually is. He has stood in that exact place before, made those exact promises, believed in them with everything he had and yet somehow, it still hadn’t been enough.
And the worst part is, he doesn’t even have the luxury of fading into the background for this particular wedding. He can’t sit this one out with some half-hearted excuse about being busy or unwell because he isn’t just another face in the crowd… he’s literally the groom’s best man.
He has a role to play, a place to stand, words to say, a smile to wear whether he feels like it or not.
Often times, when you’re in a long term relationship with someone, your circles overlap, your worlds intertwine until it’s impossible to separate one from the other. Friends become mutual, memories become shared and suddenly, even after everything ends, you’re still tied together in places you didn’t even think would blow up right in your face after everything’s over.
Hoseok had been one of Jeongguk’s closest friends since college, the kind of friend who had stayed constant through years of growing up, through some very questionable decisions, through endless late-night conversations and through every version of Jeongguk that existed before he became the man he is now.
Naturally, when Jeongguk started dating you, Hoseok met you too, and somewhere along the way, that connection extended to Bomi, your best friend at a small, casual gathering. It was just one of those in those in-between moments, passing interactions where they were just… there.
At first, they hadn’t paid much attention to each other beyond polite conversations but somehow, in the middle of the constant overlaps, something had suddenly clicked between them that it almost felt inevitable and by the time your wedding came around, everything had already begun to change, though no one had fully caught onto it yet.
Jeongguk’s best man, Hoseok and your maid of honor, Bomi were secretly hooking up.
No one really noticed… not you, not Jeongguk, not the rest of your shared friends until months later, they just randomly announced they were official.
Jeongguk vividly remembers watching it all happen in real time. You had both been genuinely happy for them because there had been something very special about watching two people you cared about fall into something so natural, something that felt almost meant to be.
And most of all, it had felt nice, in a strange way, knowing that the two of you had played some small, accidental part in bringing them together.
Back then, Jeongguk had adored them. He had rooted for them without hesitation, teased Hoseok about how whipped he was for this girl and would constantly pester him about when he was going to propose and genuinely looked forward to the day they would finally tie the knot… but now, everything feels different.
Because now, with the roles sort of reversed, with time having shifted things in ways he never saw coming, it’s impossible not to notice the irony of it all. Unlike Hoseok, Jeongguk has a lot of history with the maid of honor of this wedding.
He feels pathetic for it, truly. It’s his best friend’s wedding in less than 2 months, something that should feel like a celebration, something he should be wholeheartedly happy about but instead, it feels like his heart is still stuck 6 months in the past, still drowning in something it hasn’t quite managed to climb out of.
The joy he knows he should feel is there somewhere, buried under layers and layers of heartache and it just feels impossible to reach it fully.
Still, he knows none of this is about him.
Hoseok and Bomi don’t deserve to have their special day ruined because of this. They’ve spent months planning this wedding and they had absolutely no idea things would turn out this way when they asked Jeongguk to be the best man and you, the maid of honor.
So realistically speaking, there’s really no option of bailing out now because that would just be a total dick move on Jeongguk’s part and the last thing Hoseok and Bomi deserve is for their happy day to be tainted by the bitterness of the best man who couldn’t hold onto his own forever.
Jeongguk lets out a quiet sigh again, his shoulders dropping just slightly. He nods once, more to himself than anything, like he’s trying to gather whatever composure he has left. “Anyways… I should head home soon.” he mutters, glancing down at the time on his watch. “Need to get Yejun to bed… cause I have to drop him off early in the morning… at… you know…” his voice trails off and Jimin nods immediately, understanding without needing anything more.
“Go ahead.” he says, giving his shoulder a small squeeze. “I’ll wrap things up here.”
Jeongguk hums in acknowledgment, pushing himself up from the stool as he reaches behind to untie his apron. He folds it absentmindedly and sets it aside before grabbing his phone and slipping it into his pocket. Then he heads towards the small staff area tucked at the far end of the back kitchen, the one they used to change and keep their belongings. It’s a simple space with a row of lockers, a narrow bench and a mirror that’s seen better days.
He moves quickly, shrugging into his coat as his fingers work through the buttons. For a second, he pauses, glancing at his reflection. It doesn’t linger long, it never does these days. Then he turns and heads out.
The moment he steps back into the cafe, his eyes find Yejun almost instantly who’s still seated at the same table he left him at, still completely absorbed in his little sketch and a soft smile takes over his lips before he can even think about it. “Hey, champ.” he calls gently, making his way over. “Ready to head home?”
Yejun looks up at the sound of his father’s voice, his entire face lighting up in an instant. The crayon drops from his hand without a second thought as he nods eagerly with a wide grin stretching across his face. Jeongguk lets out a chuckle, reaching out to ruffle his hair before crouching down to help him gather his things. “Okay, okay, let’s go.” Jeongguk murmurs, before slipping his arms around the boy and lifting him up, settling him comfortably against his side.
Yejun immediately wraps his small arms around Jeongguk’s neck. “Okay Jun, say bye to everyone.” Jeongguk says softly, turning slightly so they’re both facing the counter and Yejun doesn’t need to be told twice.
He waves enthusiastically at the part-timers, his tiny hand moving back and forth with far too much energy for such a small gesture. Then, as if that isn’t enough, he starts blowing exaggerated flying kisses across the cafe, making loud little mwah sounds with each one.
The staff burst into soft laughter, a few of them waving back while others pretend to catch his kisses mid-air. “Ahhhh we’re getting so many today.” Chaewon, one of the part-timers, teases while Jimin, who’s leaning against the back kitchen’s door, crosses his arms with a grin. “Save some for tomorrow, kid.” he calls out.
But Yejun only doubles down, throwing even more kisses, leaning forward dramatically in Jeongguk’s arms as if it’s a full performance. Jeongguk can’t help but laugh softly as he gently steadies his son. “Alright, alright, that’s enough.” he murmurs, though there’s no real strictness in his tone.
After one last, very serious final kiss, Yejun finally settles down like he’s satisfied and Jeongguk finally gives everyone a small nod before walking out of the cafe. Once they make it to the car, Jeongguk opens the back door and carefully helps Yejun into his little car seat. He makes sure the straps sit right, not too tight, not too loose as he adjusts them.
He closes the door softly before walking around to the driver’s side and sliding in. When the engine hums to life, almost immediately, Yejun’s voice fills the car.
He’s already talking… something about his school friend Haru, about a toy they fought over, about how he won because he was faster. The words tumble out of him in a rush as he moves his hands and shakes his legs animatedly and Jeongguk listens.
He always listens.
Even when he’s tired, even when his mind is somewhere else, he hums at the right moments, nods slightly, glances at him through the mirror, making sure Yejun knows he’s being heard.
When they stop at a signal, the car finally falls into a brief silence and Jeongguk finds himself looking up at Yejun through the rearview mirror again. “You excited to spend the weekend at your mom’s, champ?” he asks softly and he quickly catches the way Yejun’s face lights up instantly as he nods eagerly. “Mama told me she’s taking me somewhere special this weekend!” he chirps, his voice bubbling with excitement as a small giggle escapes him.
“Oh really?” Jeongguk smiles. “Where’s she taking you?” The question comes out easily, but for some reason it instantly leaves a sick bitter taste on his tongue.
Because he hates this… not the question itself, but what it means.
He hates that he has to ask his own son about you like this. Like you’re just… someone else in his life… like you’re simply “Yejun’s mom” and not the woman who used to be his entire world.
His wife.
The person he shared everything with, now reduced to vague updates passed through a 4 year old.
He hates the way this has become normal. The routines of it… packing bags, dropping Yejun off, picking him up again. Weekends split, days divided, time measured in schedules and arrangements instead of something whole.
But even as he hates it, even as that bitter taste on his tongue begins to settle into something that almost feels like poison, even as he can feel his heart splintering beneath it all, at this very moment he keeps his smile intact.
For Yejun.
Because what could a 4 year old possibly do about any of this?
“I don’t know actually…” Yejun admits after a moment. Jeongguk glances at the mirror again before the light turns green, watching the way his son’s brows pinch slightly as he thinks. “She just said it was a special place.” he adds, like that alone is enough to make it exciting.
“Well, I hope you have lots of fun, buddy.” Jeongguk says softly with a smile as he takes a left turn. “So… what do you want Daddy to make for dinner?” he asks, casually changing the topic.
Yejun hums immediately, like this is a very serious decision that requires proper consideration. His tiny fingers come up to his chin, tapping it thoughtfully and Jeongguk watches him for a second, his smile never leaving his lips.
“A bulgogi rice bowl!!” Yejun suddenly announces after a few seconds, his face lighting up as if he’s just made the best decision in the world which makes Jeongguk let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Of course.” he murmurs.
God… Yejun was just like his mother.
Of course the two of you would share the same comfort food… the same favorite dish.
Jeongguk can’t help but think the reason behind this traces back to before Yejun was even born, back to when you were pregnant.
When everyone kept warning him about odd cravings that would make no sense, about late night demands and sudden aversions, he had prepared himself for all of it. But you had been… different.
You didn’t ask for anything strange, didn’t send him out at odd hours or complain about wanting something he couldn’t find immediately.
You just kept coming back to one thing. Bulgogi rice bowls… and not just any bulgogi rice bowls, but specifically the ones he used to make.
Morning, afternoon, late at night when you couldn’t sleep… you would lean against the kitchen counter with your arms crossed or your palm cradling your belly, watching him cook and waiting like it was the only thing that could settle you and he would make it every single time without any hesitation, adjusting the flavors just slightly depending on what you felt like that day, making sure it was perfect before placing it in front of you.
And God… he had loved everything about it. Loved taking care of you like that, loved how something so simple could make you happy, loved how, for those small moments, everything felt right.
Now, as he drives with the memory swirling in his brain, his mind inevitably drifts back to you, like it always does and for some reason, tonight he thinks about the very first time he saw you.
He remembers it like it was yesterday.
>>
9 years ago
Jeongguk keeps his eyes focused on the latte art forming beneath his hands. The thin stream of milk slowly slips into the espresso, blooming into a soft rosette that he’s made a hundred times before and maybe that’s why his wrist seems to have a mind of its own.
Around him, the faint hum of the cafe envelopes him…low conversations overlap in soft murmurs and cups clink gently against saucers. Beside him, Jimin pulls a tray of freshly baked blueberry muffins from the oven while a part-timer carefully plates a slice of tiramisu, dusting the top with cocoa for a waiting customer.
Just then, the bell above the door rings, indicating the arrival of a new customer and almost without thinking, Jeongguk looks up like he always does.
And in that exact moment, everything in him stills. He doesn’t know how it happens or why it happens but he swears the way his chest tightens, the way his breath stops and the way his heart seems to have forgotten its rhythm is nowhere near normal.
The latte in his hand is long forgotten as his wrist, that apparently had a mind of its own, stops moving, letting the thin stream of milk continue to pour into the espresso, distorting the rosette as it dissolves into something totally unrecognizable but he doesn’t even notice as he just stands there.
He’s heard people talk about it before.
Love at first sight.
He never believed in it because frankly, it never made sense to him. He always thought it was something silly, something people dressed up in pretty words because it sounded romantic enough to believe in because if we’re actually being logical, how could you feel something so intense… so certain, without time, without knowing, without anything to hold onto except a single moment?
The first sight.
But right now, as Jeongguk’s eyes stay fixed on the woman dressed in a fitted blouse that’s tucked neatly into a pencil skirt that falls just above her knees, with her hair flowing freely behind her, with a presence and beauty so impossibly hard to ignore, he wonders if what he’s feeling in his chest right now is anything close to love.
As you step further into the cafe, he feels himself gulp and before the part-timer beside him can step forward to take your order at the counter, Jeongguk moves, blocking the part-timer.
Jimin notices the sudden movement and his brows lift slightly as he glances at the other staff, but no one says anything as Jeongguk steps up to the counter just as you reach it.
“Hi.” you say softly as your gaze lifts to the huge menu boards hanging behind him as you scan the options.
Up close, it’s worse. Or maybe better. Jeongguk can’t really tell.
There’s something about the way the light falls across your face, the way a few loose strands of your hair shift slightly under the cool breeze of the air conditioner, the way your expression changes so subtly as you try to figure out what you want.
“Can I get a vanilla latte… and…” you pause mid-sentence, taking a small step to the side as your gaze shifts towards the glass display case beside the counter, where rows of pastries and other desserts sit neatly arranged. You lean in just slightly, narrowing your eyes as you scan through your options. “Oh and one of those chocolate ganache tarts?” you smile, gesturing lightly towards it as your finger hovers just enough to point it out without touching the glass.
Jeongguk just stands there, looking at you like a fool because if he’s being honest, he didn’t hear a thing you just said. All he can do is just focus on the way your lips move, the shape of your words forming in slow motion and the quiet cadence of your voice reaching him like it’s coming from somewhere just out of reach.
“Excuse me?” you tilt your head at the lack of response from the man behind the counter, a faint crease forming between your brows and that’s what breaks the trance Jeongguk is so stupidly stuck in.
He blinks, snapping himself back into reality as he inhales sharply. “I… I’m sorry.” he stumbles, as he quickly looks down at the register, fingers hovering uncertainly over the keys. “Could you… could you please repeat that?”
He swallows as he hears your order again and forces his attention back to where it should be. But even then, even as he types in your order and tells you to wait by one of the tables for a waiter to come serve you, he can still feel it.
That feeling in his chest.
As Jeongguk watches you make your way towards one of the tables by the window, he barely registers the world around him. A second later, he feels Jimin nudge his shoulder. He turns just slightly, catching the way Jimin is already grinning at him and wiggling his brows in that all-too-knowing way.
Jeongguk clicks his tongue under his breath, brushing him off without a word, but it does nothing to stop the way his attention drifts right back to you.
The cafe continues moving as it always does and Jeongguk forces himself to fall back into rhythm. His hands move on their own, wiping the counter, adjusting cups, finishing orders… but his eyes… god his eyes keep finding you.
Again and again.
And despite the effortless beauty you carry, there’s something else that holds his attention even more. You seem… nervous.
It’s subtle, but not enough to miss if someone’s really looking. Your fingers fidget against the edge of the table, tapping lightly before stilling, only to start again moments later. You close your eyes briefly, inhaling as if you’re steadying yourself then nod faintly, like you’re repeating something in your head, like you’re reassuring yourself, like you’re bracing yourself for something.
And Jeongguk really doesn’t want to seem like a creep, though his actions are quite frankly saying something else entirely as his gaze lingers a second longer than it should and for reasons he can’t quite explain, he feels something squeezing in his chest.
Are you waiting for someone? A date, maybe? A blind date, perhaps? It would make sense to be honest… the nervousness, the way you keep glancing towards the door without fully turning your head, the way your posture shifts every few seconds like you can’t quite settle.
And for some reason, he doesn’t like the thought. He doesn’t understand it, doesn’t question it either, but it sits there even though he knows he doesn’t have the right to feel this way.
A few minutes pass.
One of the waiters brings your order over, as you thank him softly, but even then, you don’t seem fully present. Your lips move faintly, almost like you’re talking to yourself, rehearsing something under your breath. Your fingers trace absent patterns against the table as you shift in your seat, your nerves refusing to settle.
Jeongguk watches all of it, without meaning to and god only knows how badly he wants to approach you and ask if you’re okay.
Just then, the cafe door opens again as the usual bell chimes softly but this time, he doesn’t look away from you.
And that’s when he sees two men, dressed sharply in tailored suits approach your table and the moment you notice them, something in you changes and Jeongguk seems to notice it almost immediately.
You’re on your feet with your hesitation gone, replaced by something far more… confident. You smooth your posture as you extend your hand towards them with a smile.
Once the men accept your handshake with equally polite smiles, they take their seats and Jeongguk finds himself moving before he can think too much about it. He grabs his notepad and walks over, telling himself it’s just part of the job. After all, someone needs to take their orders, right?
He glances at you briefly before smiling at the men. They quickly state their orders and Jeongguk seems to take his own sweet time with it, his handwriting slower than usual, stretching the moment just enough.
And that’s when he hears you.
“I’m very glad we could finally arrange this.” you say, your gaze fixed on the men ahead. “Thank you both for taking the time to meet with me today.”
Jeongguk pauses, just for a fraction of a second even though he knows he shouldn’t linger, knows he has no reason to stand there any longer than necessary, knows he needs to return back to the counter now, especially if he doesn’t wanna be seen as some creep who’s eavesdropping on his customers but he just can’t help but notice how right now, you don’t seem nervous at all, not even a little.
The hesitation he had been witnessing just minutes ago is gone and there’s confidence in the way you speak now and… it’s different.
And as he forces himself to tear his gaze away, finally stepping back towards the counter, he realises he wants to see more of you. Not just the version of you that sits poised and confident across that table, not just the one who fidgets with her fingers when she thinks no one is looking, not just the one who closes her eyes for a second too long just to steady herself… he wants to see all of it.
Every side. Every face. Everything in between.
He wants to understand you in a way that goes beyond this fleeting moment, beyond stolen glances and fragments of a conversation that has nothing to do with him. He wants to know what drives you, what steadies you, what makes your voice soften, what makes you laugh, what makes you smile.
And god, if you would just let him… if you would just give him the smallest chance, he knows, with certainty, that he would do anything to be allowed into that world of yours.
Eventually, he tries to immerse himself back into work. He moves through the cafe, slipping into his routine. He carries trays from table to table, refilling cups before they’re empty, he steps back into the kitchen to check on a fresh batch of donuts, he wipes down counters that are already spotless, aligns stacks of cups that don’t need straightening, adjusts cutlery that no one had disturbed.
Anything to keep his hands occupied, anything to keep his eyes from drifting.
But it doesn’t work, because no matter what he does, no matter how much he tries to focus on what he’s supposed to be doing, his attention keeps slipping back to you.
Every time he passes your table, he catches fragments of your voice and snippets of your ongoing conversation with the two men.
“…long-term scalability…”
“…a distinct, independent design identity…”
“…Valerra isn’t just a brand, it’s—”
He doesn’t understand all of it… not really. The pieces don’t come together clearly, not when he’s only catching bits and parts of a conversation that exists far outside his world but he doesn’t need to understand every word to know how important whatever you’re discussing is to you.
He sees it in the way you speak, in the subtle movements of your hands like you’re shaping your thoughts into something tangible, in the way your eyes don’t waver, in the way your voice carries so much conviction, completely unlike the nervous energy he had witnessed just minutes before.
There’s so much passion there and god help him because he can’t help but find it so incredibly sexy and the funny thing is, he knows how ridiculously absurd and downright creepy that sounds.
If anyone could peer into his thoughts right now, catch even a fraction of what’s running through his mind, they’d probably think he’s lost it a little because how does this even happen? How does a stranger walk into his cafe, sit down, speak to someone that isn’t even him and suddenly occupy this much space in his head?
He doesn’t even know your name yet, for fucks sake. Not a single, solid thing about you beyond the fragments he’s overheard and the way you carry yourself, and yet… here he is, completely thrown off balance, watching you like you’re something he’s afraid to look away from.
Like if he blinks, he might miss something he’ll regret missing. It’s absurd, truly, because for a split second he almost swears he can hear something ridiculous in the back of his mind… wedding bells of all things.
He nearly scoffs at himself for it because he just feels sooo foolish standing there and gawking like a loser, letting his attention drift back to you again and again like he has no control over it.
If Jimin were to catch him right now, he just knows he would get decked the fuck out with the way he’s so obviously distracted and unfocused.
But apart from all that self awareness and disbelief at himself, there’s also something else. He doesn’t know how or why, but there’s some kind of… certainty in his heart, like it’s already decided something for him.
He wants you.
Not in a fleeting, passing way, not in the way you look at someone once and simply move on. No, he wants a chance… an opportunity… the space to step into your world and see if you’d let him stay.
So for the first time in a long while, Jeongguk finds himself doing something he hasn’t done in years. Almost sheepishly he looks up at the ceiling of his cafe and closes his eyes briefly as he sends up a prayer to anything that might be listening… hoping, just hoping, that you’re single and maybe, if he’s lucky enough… willing to give him a chance.
Around 40 minutes pass like that, slipping by without him noticing until eventually, when he glances over again, he sees the three of you standing and almost instantly he wonders if whatever discussion or meeting was going on, is over.
He sees you extend your hand once more as you shake theirs, followed by a brief exchange, a final nod, and then the men turn around and walk towards the door to leave.
And just like that, you’re alone again.
Jeongguk watches as you slowly sit back down and there’s a pause. You close your eyes for a brief moment, and he immediately notices the slow breath you let out and the way your shoulders drop ever so slightly.
And then, it happens.
The most beautiful smile he’s ever seen.
It breaks across your face so suddenly, so brightly, that it almost catches him off guard, like a flash of sunlight he wasn’t prepared for. For a second, he just stands there, completely still, as if his body hasn’t quite caught up to what his eyes are seeing.
He’s seen you smile a lot today but somehow this… this is entirely different. It’s real and it’s… it’s unguarded. It reaches your eyes, softens every line of your face, transforms you in a way that feels almost… intimate to witness, like he’s seeing a version of you that isn’t meant for just anyone.
And it makes you look so impossibly beautiful. No wait… not beautiful. He thinks that word feels too small and way too ordinary.
Maybe… radiant.
No to be honest, even that doesn’t quite capture it.
You look like something that was never meant to be described in the first place, something that exists far beyond the limits of any language and by anything as ordinary as words.
No matter how hard he tries, nothing he knows feels enough, nothing feels worthy of you. It’s almost frustrating, the way every word falls short before it even reaches his lips.
And as pathetic as he already seems, he can’t help but think that if he ever wanted to do you justice, he would have to start from scratch by tearing apart every dictionary ever written, discard every overused definition of beauty, and build something entirely new.
Like maybe a language of his own, one where every word is shaped around you and made meaningful only because you exist because nothing that already exists could ever come close since you’re not something he can simply describe.
You are something he would spend a lifetime trying to.
So, Jeongguk keeps watching because at this point, that’s all he’s been doing. He notices you reaching for your purse as you rummage through it for your phone. There’s excitement in the way your fingers move, in the way you unlock it and bring it to your ear.
Jeongguk doesn’t think, he picks up a tray and walks past your table yet again, even though he doesn’t need to and then he hears your voice again.
“Ms. Baek…” Jeongguk hears you breathe out the moment the call connects and he’s quick to notice the way you sound a little breathless. You press the phone closer to your ear and he sees the way your smile seems to widen. “I got it… I… they agreed. They actually agreed.” There’s a soft, disbelieving laugh that escapes you and somehow an unconscious smile makes its way to Jeongguk’s lips as he stands near the table a few feet away from yours, pretending to wipe it clean.
“I secured the investment.” you say again, a little quieter this time, like you’re trying to convince yourself it’s real. “After all those drafts, all those rejections, all those nights reworking the designs and the pitch… they said yes. They believe in it. They believe in Valerra.”
Jeongguk briefly moves around the table so that he can look at you better and sees the way your eyes flutter shut for a brief second.
“I’m actually going to build it…” he hears you continue. “From scratch… the atelier, the first collection, the production line… everything I told you about… it’s finally happening.” you giggle. “I’m going to make Valerra big, Ms. Baek. I promise I am.”
>>
There’s a faint smile on Jeongguk’s lips as he takes another turn, guiding the car into the driveway of his apartment complex. Though his hands move on instinct, his mind is far from here, caught somewhere between a memory and something that is somehow comforting but also painful to hold onto.
So much has happened since that day.
Nine years have passed. Nine years have passed since you stepped into his cafe for the very first time. Nine years have passed since you stepped into his life for the very first time.
Sometimes it still leaves Jeongguk a little baffled, the way everything began so simply. The way he had been right there, in his very own cafe, watching something extraordinary take its very first step without even realizing it.
He had been a silent (and maybe slightly creepy) witness to a turning point so significant in your life… the beginning of your dream turning into reality.
But what lingers with him even more is the fact that it wasn’t just your life that had been altered that day… it was his too, because while you were there, laying the first stone to build your dream that would one day become your empire… your brand… your legacy… Jeongguk had been standing just a few feet away, building something of his own.
Not an empire… not a brand… not a legacy… but you.
You… had become Jeongguk’s dream.
And he remembers how unsettling that was, not in a bad way of course, but it was just so shocking that something so certain took root inside him before he even had the chance to question it because from that moment on, no matter how hard he tried to look at things logically, to ground himself in reason, there was one truth he just couldn’t ignore.
Every version of his future… had you in it.
It didn’t matter what path he imagined, what direction he tried to take in his head, what kind of life he pictured for himself. Somehow, in every single one of them, you were there. Not as an afterthought, not as something optional, but as something constant.
As he approaches his designated parking space, his gaze lifts to the rearview mirror once again, and there you are, reflected in a different form.
Yejun softly hums a random children’s song to himself with his tiny legs swinging slightly against the car seat and Jeongguk can’t help but let his smile linger a little longer because right there, in that backseat, is the very evidence of everything that came after.
Everything that was built, everything that was lost.
And suddenly, it all feels so close like it all happened just yesterday.
Just yesterday, the most beautiful stranger he had ever laid his eyes on had walked into his cafe for the very first time.
Just yesterday, he had been standing right there, gawking like an absolute fool, trying to make sense of the way his heart was feeling.
Just yesterday, you had walked into his cafe a second time, then a third time and then again, until he had realised you lived somewhere in the same neighborhood.
Just yesterday, he had gathered whatever courage he had to finally ask you out, only to be turned down because, apparently, you “weren’t looking for anything right now.”
Just yesterday, he had asked you out a second time, and then a third, each attempt met with a different excuse of a rejection. One day you didn’t want a relationship, another day guys with piercings and tattoos weren’t your type.
Just yesterday, he was still trying, still chasing after you like some desperate persistent loser because the way you kept coming back to the cafe, the way you kept hiding that little smile every time he tried to flirt over the counter or the way you’d let him brush his fingers against yours as he passed you your coffee made him feel a little too giddy.
Just yesterday, after far too many attempts and far too much patience, you had finally given in, just a little, just enough to let him take you out on a date for the first time.
Just yesterday, he was sitting across from you in a dimly lit restaurant, barely tasting his food because all he could do was just sit there and memorize everything about you. The way you spoke, the way you smiled, the way you laughed, the way you carried yourself, the way you were trying, in your own quiet way, to truly let him in.
Just yesterday, he was holding you close as you cried happy tears into his chest, because Valerra’s first ever collection was a massive hit with everything selling out faster than you expected.
Just yesterday, after multiple dates and persistent flirting with free pastries, donuts and americanos (all without Jimin knowing) along with cute little notes on your coffee cup, did you finally let him be your boyfriend.
Just yesterday, you had broken up with him for the very first time (one of the many other dramatic break ups in your eight year relationship) all because of an argument due to a certain regular at his cafe who’d flirt with him far too boldly while he would just stand there, painfully and almost offensively oblivious to it all.
Just yesterday, he’d shown up at your door after what was probably your sixth “final” breakup, with a ridiculously oversized bouquet of lilies that nearly swallowed his face in one hand, and a neatly packed box of your favorite caramel brûlée cheesecake bars that he had baked himself, in the other.
Just yesterday, he was down on one knee on the quiet shores of his hometown, Busan, with the ocean stretching endlessly beside him as his fingers trembled just slightly around the little velvet box in his hands.
Just yesterday, you were walking down the aisle towards him, dressed in white and looking so angelic that he couldn’t help but wonder if he was dreaming, because how could he ever get so lucky in life.
Just yesterday, he was standing right outside the bathroom in your shared bedroom with a small stick in his trembling hands as he stared down at the faint positive sign with his heart pounding against his ribs.
Just yesterday, he was looking down at a baby so small, barely the size of his forearm as tiny fingers instinctively curled around his thumb.
Just yesterday, your home had been filled with love, with life, with laughter, with late nights and early mornings and everything in between.
Just yesterday, the arguments started getting louder, harsher with words slipping out in anger that neither of you could take back no matter how much you wanted to.
And just yesterday, he was sitting across from you, desperately fighting tears and signing something that felt like the end of everything he had ever known.
God… so much had happened…. so much had changed.
And somehow, despite all of it, despite the way your lives had split into something unrecognizable… a part of him still feels like he’s standing right there in his cafe, looking at you for the very first time, completely unaware that you would become everything to him.
“Careful, buddy.” Jeongguk chuckles softly as he helps Yejun out of the car, steadying him with a gentle hand before taking the little backpack and slinging it over his shoulder and Yejun continues humming the same little song under his breath as they walk towards the elevator with his small hand tucked inside Jeongguk’s.
Soon, they step inside and once the doors slide shut, Jeongguk presses their floor number.
“Daddy…” Yejun suddenly calls out, and the tone alone has Jeongguk glancing down with a soft hum and a faint smile already tugging at his lips, half-expecting a question that could go absolutely anywhere… probably something about sea creatures, or if he was allowed to skip bath time tonight.
Yejun tilts his head, leaning a little closer, his shoulder brushing against Jeongguk’s leg. “How long… will I have two houses?” he asks and Jeongguk’s fingers tighten around his son’s without meaning to as his smile fades just a fraction.
He knows exactly where this is coming from. He’d been bracing himself for something like this for months now. Six months of preparation, of telling himself he would know what to say when the time comes and yet as he stands here now, looking down at his son, he feels completely unprepared. “What… do you mean, buddy?” he questions gently even though he knows exactly what Yejun means.
Yejun looks down at his shoes, nudging one against the other as he tries to frame sentences with what he’s feeling. “Like… Daddy’s house… and Mama’s house…” he murmurs. “When does it go back to just one house… like before?”
Jeongguk’s breath hitches and for a second, it feels like something caves in inside his chest because to Yejun, to a 4 year old, it really is that simple.
Something changed, so it can simply change back to the way it was.
“Heeju says…” Yejun continues softly, glancing up again and Jeongguk instantly recognizes the name as one of the kids from Yejun’s daycare. “Heeju says her mom and dad live together because they love each other.” His brows knit together like he’s confused. “So… you and Mama don’t love each other anymore?”
Jeongguk sees the hesitation and the careful way Yejun chooses his words and he knows this isn’t a sudden thought, this is something the little boy has been carrying for a while, something he probably didn’t know how to ask until now.
Jeongguk is well aware that kids notice everything. The small changes, the silences, the absence of things that used to be there and this… this isn’t something small.
This is Yejun’s whole world, split into two.
He crouches down immediately, bringing himself to his son’s level, his hands coming up to gently hold his small arms. “Hey… no.” he says softly. “It’s not like that.”
Yejun watches him, trying to understand, but the confusion does not fully leave his face. “Then why…” he hesitates. “Why don’t you stay with her? Why… don’t we all stay in the same house anymore… like before?”
Jeongguk swallows hard as he watches it happen in real time, the confusion on Yejun’s face slowly blending into something sadder. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks suddenly, his voice small… like he’s scared and Jeongguk shakes his head almost instantly, a little too quickly, like he needs to erase the thought before it settles any deeper. “Baby, what? No.” he says softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” he denies but Yejun barely seems to hear him.
“I can be better…” he says innocently. “I won’t make a mess… I’ll eat all my vegetables… I’ll clean my toys…” He pauses, thinking hard, his tiny face scrunching up as he searches for more things he thinks he needs to fix. “I’ll even sleep early…” he adds, eyes widening like it’s his strongest offer… his best bargain. “Then we… we can all stay together again, right?”
Jeongguk exhales softly as he shakes his head again, a little slower this time, as if he’s trying to calm not just Yejun, but the thoughts running through that little mind.
“Hey…” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing softly over Yejun’s arms. “No… none of that, okay? You’re already perfect.” he says as his hand comes up to cup Yejun’s. “You don’t have to change a single thing, buddy… not for me, not for Mama…. not for anyone.”
Yejun looks down for a moment, then back up again. “I just… used to like it more when it was one house.” he confesses softly and god, Jeongguk feels it… every bit of it and for a second, he wants to say it… wants to tell his son that he feels the same way, that he understands that ache far too well, that there isn’t a day he doesn’t think about what it all used to be like.
But he doesn’t… he can’t.
So instead, he exhales softly. “I know…” he murmurs, his thumb brushing gently over Yejun’s hand now. “I know, baby.”
As if sensing the sadness in his father’s voice, Yejun leans forward and wraps his tiny arms around Jeongguk’s neck in a sudden hug like he’s trying to fix something he doesn’t understand and Jeongguk pulls him close immediately, holding him tighter than usual with one hand cradling the back of his head as he presses a soft kiss into his hair.
“You know Daddy and Mama love you more than anything, right?” he murmurs and he feels Yejun nod quickly against his shoulder. He pulls back slowly, cupping his son’s face gently. “And… even if we have two houses…” he continues. “That doesn’t change…. Not even a little.”
Yejun watches him, trying to understand and Jeongguk knows it’s not quite the answer he wanted because to a child, love is supposed to live in one place. Together.
He stands slowly, guiding Yejun as the elevator doors open and they step out into the quiet hallway.“I know it’s different…” Jeongguk says softly as they walk down the long path leading to his flat. “I know it’s not the same as before.”
Yejun stays close to his side, his small hand still wrapped tightly around Jeongguk’s fingers.
“But think of it like this…” he continues. “You’ve got two homes that love you. Two places where you’re always wanted.” His thumb brushes lightly over Yejun’s knuckles. “And no matter where you are… you’re never really alone, okay?”
Yejun keeps walking, his little brows slightly furrowed, clearly trying to make sense of it all, trying to fit his father’s words into a world that still feels too simple for something like this.
Jeongguk exhales softly, slowing his steps before crouching down in front of him again, making sure their eyes meet at the same level. “Hey…” he says gently. “Do you remember your favorite blanket?”
Yejun blinks, a little confused at first, but then nods slowly.
“The one with the little fishies… and sea shells… and crabs…” Jeongguk continues, a fond little smile touching his lips. “The one you used to carry everywhere… even when it got too small for you.”
Yejun’s lips curl just a little, like he remembers and Jeongguk’s gaze instantly softens. “Do you remember how one day… it tore a little… right in the middle?” he asks, making Yejun knit his brows together as he thinks and then he nods again, slower this time.
“We tried to fix it, right?” Jeongguk murmurs, his fingers tracing invisible lines in the air between them. “We stitched it back together… really really carefully… But it didn’t stop being your favorite, right? It didn’t stop making you feel safe, right? It just… changed a little.”
There’s a small silence before he speaks again, more carefully now. “Daddy and Mama…” he says slowly, choosing each word like it matters too much. “We’re a little like that blanket.”
Yejun’s lips part slightly, like he wants to ask something, but he doesn’t, letting his father continue.
“We tried to fix things…” Jeongguk whispers. “Daddy tried to stitch everything back together… just like we did with your blanket.” His voice falters just a little before steadying again. “But some things… they don’t go back to how they were before.” he breathes out. “But you know what didn’t change?” he asks quietly as Yejun’s eyes stay on him. “How much we love you.” he smiles as the words come out steady, even if his chest feels anything but.
“That part didn’t tear…” Jeongguk murmurs. “That part didn’t come apart at all.” he says as Yejun blinks slowly, taking it in. “It’s just that sometimes… grown-ups have some problems that are harder to fix… things that are a little harder to just stitch back together the same way.” he exhales quietly. “It doesn’t mean we stopped loving each other completely….” he explains carefully. “It just means… we couldn’t stay together anymore… like maybe… the thread isn’t strong enough to hold all the pieces together.” he gulps, pursing his lips as a way to hide the way his lips tremble a little.
“So now…” he starts again. “It’s like we’re two blankets instead of one.” he smiles and Yejun’s lips part slightly as he blinks at his father. “But we’ll still keep you just as warm.” Jeongguk whispers. “Just from two different sides.”
Yejun looks at him for a long second, still thinking, still trying to understand in the only way a four-year-old can while Jeongguk stays right there, holding his gaze and hoping that somehow, for now, this is enough.
//
A soft groan escapes you as you shift slightly on the mattress, the morning light slipping through the narrow gaps in the curtains of the tall floor-to-ceiling windows of your penthouse. It presses insistently against your eyelids until your brows knit together, forcing you to slowly pry them open.
You blink a few times, trying to adjust your vision before letting out a quiet sigh as you push yourself up. Your body feels heavy in a way sleep isn’t supposed to feel because it doesn’t feel like you rested at all.
Your gaze drifts towards the nightstand as you squint at the small digital clock, the numbers reading 9:04 a.m, and almost immediately your eyes shift to the little translucent amber bottle placed right beside it.
Your tongue clicks softly against the roof of your mouth as you shake your head, bringing both your palms up to cover your face, pressing them in as if you could somehow push the grogginess out of your system. You drag your hands down slowly, pushing your hair back before swinging your legs over the side of the bed.
For as long as you can remember, sleep has never come easy to you.
There were years where it felt like a constant battle. Some nights it was insomnia and other nights it was the nightmares.
But then, for a while, it had gotten better. Not on its own of course, but because of a certain someone.
Someone who would make you chamomile tea every single time before bed… someone who would hold you close through the night… someone who would absentmindedly trace patterns along your arms and your back until you drifted off… someone who would press the gentlest kisses to your forehead every time you so much as stirred in your sleep.
With Jeongguk… sleep had not felt like something you had to fight for.
But now that he was no longer a part of your life, it feels like you’ve been dragged right back to where you started because the silence feels louder, your thoughts are harder to control and it feels like the nights stretch endlessly with each hour blending into the next until time itself starts to feel meaningless.
And after years, you found yourself reaching for things you once swore you would never go back to.
Last night, it was sleeping pills. Other nights, it’s wine and sometimes it’s something with a little more kick in it… something enough to make your body give in even when your mind refuses to.
Sometimes there are nights where you let exhaustion take over in the worst ways, skipping meals, pushing yourself through work until your body aches, just so there’s a slight chance you might collapse into sleep without thinking.
Anything that might force your body to shut down, anything that might resemble rest.
And you hate it… you hate how easily it has all come back. How quickly you have slipped into patterns you worked so hard to leave behind because it almost feels like your body remembers everything you tried to forget.
You had tried so hard not to depend on these habits again. Not just because of what they might do to you in the long run, but because of how draining it is to live like this…. to wake up just as tired as you were the night before… to dread going to bed because you don’t know what kind of night you’re going to have.
And for the past few months, it’s been relentless. The insomnia… the nightmares…. both of them finding their way back to you, as if they had only been waiting for the right moment to return… as if they knew you would not be able to keep them away forever.
A few seconds pass by as you head towards the bathroom. You splash your face with cold water, brush your teeth, smooth your hair back, and for a brief moment you find yourself staring at your reflection.
You shake your head briefly before reaching for the towel to pat your face dry and walk out to the living room.
Your eyes instantly land on the covered food laid neatly across the dining table and a soft sigh leaves your lips. Junhee, the cook you had hired around 6 months ago, must have come in early again like she did every other morning and prepared you, your breakfast.
You aren’t particularly hungry, but you know you need some fuel in your system especially for the day you had planned, so despite the lack of hunger, you force yourself to sit down and eat.
By the time you finish eating, nearly 10 minutes later, the bell rings and you already know who it is.
You run your fingers through your hair and fix your silk robe over your body as you make your way towards the front door.
“Mama!!” Yejun beams the second you swing the door open and just like that the heaviness and grogginess clinging to you instantly fades away. You crouch down to his level without thinking, wrapping your arms around his tiny body. “Hi, my love.” you laugh softly, closing your eyes as you feel your son hug you back and press your cheek into his hair, breathing him in gently.
Yejun pulls away with the brightest smile on his face. “Mama, do you remember?? You said you were taking me somewhere special today?” he talks fast, his small body practically bouncing on his feet. “Of course I remember, honey.” you giggle, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek.
Jeongguk simply watches you from where he stands, just a few feet away. There’s just something about the way you hold Yejun… the way your arms wrap around him so easily, the way your voice softens without even trying, the way your entire face seems to light up in a way he has not seen up close in months.
It’s so achingly familiar that for a second, his body almost forgets that he isn’t exactly a part of it anymore.
For a second, it feels like he could just step in… like he could just close that small distance, join you and wrap his arms around you and Yejun just like he used to without thinking… like this is still his home, still his life, still his.
But he doesn’t move… he can’t…so he stays where he is, rooted to the spot, just watching, because that’s all he can do right now, standing on the outside of it, like a visitor who knows the place too well.
You giggle to yourself softly as you look over your shoulder watching Yejun run off inside before slowly rising to your feet and when your eyes land on the figure still lingering right outside your door, the smile on your lips fades.
Not exactly out of intention, but because you simply don’t know what to do with your face anymore when it comes to your ex-husband.
There was a time when looking at him came easily. When your expressions did not need to be thought through, when your face would soften without permission, when your eyes would give you away before you even realized it. But now… now every reaction feels misplaced like a smile feels like too much… indifference feels like a lie and anything in between feels painfully inadequate.
So your face settles into something uncertain… something awkward.
Jeongguk looks into your eyes as he holds onto Yejun’s little backpack that’s hanging loosely over his shoulder and for a moment, neither of you speak but your gazes drift and it almost happens without thought.
It’s hesitant at first, as if both of you are quietly giving in to the same unspoken urge.
To look.
To take each other in… because right now, that is all you are allowed.
Jeongguk feels his breath falter as he takes in the sight of you standing there in your nightgown, the silk robe loosely tied around your waist. It’s a sight he knows all too well… one that he used to admire on the regular and just looking at you now vividly reminds him of the softness of the silk beneath his hands… the way it would crumple so easily beneath his palms when he would pull you closer by the waist… the way the fabric would ride up your body when you’d let his touches and kisses escalate.
And for a fleeting, dangerous second, he almost moves… almost reaches for you like his body still believes it has the right to.
But he doesn’t.
On the other side, your gaze lingers just as long. It starts at the hoodie he’s wearing, a familiar beige one that sits loosely on his frame... one of the many you used to steal without asking and even at the distance you’re standing in right now, you can vividly remember the scent it used to carry… the scent of him.
Your eyes travel upward slowly, settling on his face now… on the little lip ring he nervously plays with and the way his hair falls messily over his forehead, partially concealing the eyebrow piercing beneath the dark strands and that’s when you feel your fingers twitch faintly at your side because for a brief second, you imagine just stepping forward, reaching up, and brushing his hair away from his eyes.
It’s such a simple gesture… something you used to do without thinking back then but now, it feels like something you are no longer allowed.
So neither of you move and you just stand there, holding onto the moment in the only way you can now, through these quiet glances and memories that feel a little too real.
Jeongguk’s grip tightens slightly around the strap of Yejun’s bag as he forces his gaze away from you, away from the places his mind is trying to linger on.
It makes him feel foolish, almost unfairly so, because despite everything that has happened, despite the way things ended, despite the way his heart had been left in pieces months ago, none of it seems to matter to the part of him that still looks at you like this… like you’re the most beautiful woman to ever walk this earth.
You clear your throat awkwardly, before stepping aside from the doorway and walk further into the penthouse, already knowing he will follow.
This had become the shape of your relationship now. Something in between strangers and something that once meant everything, like a fragile middle ground where both of you moved carefully, avoiding things that still lingered beneath the surface and forcing yourselves to keep conversations limited where words were chosen with caution because there was too much history in the things you were not saying.
So you both held on to what you could… what was still steady… what was still yours to share without breaking.
To what mattered. To who mattered.
Yejun.
Jeongguk steps inside the penthouse, the same penthouse he used to share with you, the same penthouse where he built a life with you. He closes the door behind him and walks further in not hesitantly, not like a guest… but not like he belongs either.
He watches you walk into the kitchen and grab a glass as the quiet stretches between the two of you. “So…” he begins, deciding to break the ice first as usual and you don’t turn around at his voice but simply move towards the sink, turning the tap on and focus on the rising level of water in your glass.
“Jun’s been raving about this ‘special place’ you’re taking him.” he continues with a faint chuckle as he steps further in the living room, slipping Yejun’s backpack off his shoulder and placing it on the couch. “Where…” he starts again even though you still don’t turn around. “Where are you taking him?”
“Ms. Baek’s.” you simply answer, taking a slow sip of your water, still not facing him.
“Oh…” he breathes out as the realization hits him instantly and he nods to himself. “That’s… that’s nice.” he murmurs, his eyes still on you as you tilt the glass back and finish your water in one go. “Wasn’t he just 2 the last time we took him there?” he suddenly says again after a small pause. “Ms. Baek is going to be really happy to see him.”
You choose not to respond. Instead, you place the glass down on the counter because somehow, even something as small as a shared memory… anything that still carries the word “we” in it has a way of cracking your chest open wider than you’d like to admit.
So you decide to move past it. “So I’ll drop him off to school Monday morning, and you’ll pick him up after, right?” you ask, changing the topic to just schedules… just arrangements.
Jeongguk gulps softly, his gaze dropping before he looks away altogether. There’s just something about the way you speak to him, the way you don’t even look at him most of the time. “Yeah… yeah, as usual.” he replies, his voice quieter than before. “Oh and…” he starts again. “Jun’s talent show’s on Thursday…. It starts around 4—”
“I remember.” You cut him off before he can continue and this time you finally look at him as you stand across the kitchen island with your arms folded loosely over your chest. “I already told you.” you continue. “I’ll meet you there at 3:30.”
There’s nothing more to it, no room for discussion and Jeongguk can’t help but nod a little too quickly. “Right… yeah, okay.” he breathes out as he moves his hands, wiping his palms against the back of his jeans, a small gesture that betrays the awkwardness he’s trying to hide. “Then… well… I guess… I should get goi—”
“Mama! I’m readyyy !!” Yejun comes running out of his room, dressed in a fresh outfit, his loud voice and bright energy cutting straight through the tension in the living room and both your gazes shift to him instantly.
And the second you spot him, a smile effortlessly spreads across your face. “Bug, your cardigan’s on the wrong way.” you laugh softly, already moving around the island to get closer to him. “Come here.” you murmur as you crouch down to his level and gently slip the cardigan off his shoulders.
You carefully flip the cardigan around before guiding his arms back through the sleeves properly and your fingers smoothen the fabric down his arms, adjusting it neatly before tugging it lightly into place. “There we go.” you smile. “Now you look perfect.”
Jeongguk finds himself smiling as he clears his throat softly, stepping forward. “Alright, champ.” he says gently. “Daddy’s gotta head out now… think I can get a goodbye kiss before I go?”
Yejun doesn’t hesitate as he pulls away from you instantly, little feet pattering against the floor as he runs straight into his father’s arms. You rise to your feet as you watch the way Jeongguk bends down and lifts his son up with ease. “Come here.” he murmurs fondly, turning his face just enough and Yejun cups his father’s cheek with both his tiny hands and plants a loud, exaggerated kiss against it.
“Bye, Daddy.” he says brightly, his eyes crinkling with a smile and you notice the way Jeongguk’s expression softens even more. “Bye, baby.” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Yejun’s cheek in return. “Have lots of fun today, okay? Be good for Mama.” His hand comes up to ruffle his hair gently. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
Yejun giggles at the ticklish brush of his lips and the way his father’s nose nudges against his cheek, squirming slightly in his arms before wrapping them loosely around Jeongguk’s neck for one last quick hug.
And just like that Jeongguk is out the door.
//
You smile softly to yourself as your gaze drifts to the rearview mirror, catching the sight of Yejun fast asleep in his car seat with his head tilted slightly to the side, lips parted just enough and his small chest rising and falling. Your gaze lingers on him for a second longer before you look back at the road ahead. It’s been about 40 minutes since you started driving towards this “special place” you had promised to take your son.
When you finally slow the car down and press the brakes, the tires crunch softly against the gravel as you come to a stop and your eyes lift towards the view outside your window.
A large iron gate stands ahead with a curved metal sign board arching right above it, bearing the name “Haesol Children’s Home”.
Within seconds you’re out the car, already inching towards the backseat, carefully opening the door. “Junnie… wake up, honey.” you murmur gently, your fingers caressing his cheek. “Come on, baby… we’re here.” you smile before leaning to press a soft kiss to his hair.
Yejun stirs slowly, sleep still clinging to him as his lashes flutter open. His eyes blink a few times, before he looks around, parting his lips slightly as he smacks them together in that sleepy way. You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you as you gently unbuckle him and guide him out of the car, setting him down on his feet. He leans into you instinctively, still half asleep, his small hand finding yours without needing to look.
“Where are we, Mama?” he asks, his eyes drifting towards the gate ahead as you shut the door behind him. You follow his gaze with the same smile still lingering in his lips and then you crouch down in front of him, your hands coming up to fix the collar of his sweater, fingers smoothing it down before settling gently around his arms. “This…” you begin softly. “This is a place Mama used to live in when she was little.” you explain, watching the way he tries to understand and process your words in his own small way.
“Come on.” you say gently, straightening up, but before heading towards the gate, you turn towards the trunk of your car instead.
Yejun waits patiently beside you, his small hand brushing against your leg as you unlock it and open the trunk, revealing two neatly packed cardboard boxes.
Before you can reach for the boxes, one of the young guards stationed near the gate notices you and recognition flashes across his face instantly. He moves without hesitation, opening the gate before jogging towards you, stopping just short as he offers a respectful bow.
You return it with a soft smile, dipping your head slightly before nudging Yejun beside you. “Say hello, baby.”
Yejun glances up at you for a brief second before quickly mimicking the gesture, his bow a little clumsy but sincere as his tiny voice follows through with a soft greeting that makes the guard smile. Then, his eyes shift towards the trunk, landing on the boxes. “Ms. Min, please… let me help you.” he offers, already stepping forward. Before you can protest, he stacks them on top of each other and lifts them. “Thank you, Minhyuk-ah.” you smile while he nods politely, adjusting his grip as he holds the boxes securely.
Beside you, Yejun’s attention is completely captured, his curious gaze following the movement of the boxes as his head tilts slightly. “What are those, Mama?” he asks. You hum thoughtfully, closing the trunk before reaching your finger to gently tap the tip of his nose. “Just a little gift.” you smile. “For the people we’re about to meet.”
His eyes brighten at that, like the idea itself excites him, and he nods as if that is more than enough explanation.
With the boxes now taken care of, you guide him back towards the entrance, slipping your hand into his once again as the other guards hold the gate open for you, all of them greeting you with bows.
In front of you, the narrow stone pathway stretches ahead, but it branches out into multiple smaller paths, each one leading to different parts of the grounds.
To your right, the courtyard unfolds in layers. There’s a large tree at the center that spreads its branches wide, casting soft, dappled shadows over the ground. Around it, low wooden benches and small tables are arranged, some occupied by young children, maybe around Yejun’s age, who are all busy drawing with crayons scattered everywhere and their heads bent down in concentration.
A little further down, a cluster of swings and a slide stand as a few children take turns, playing amongst themselves.
To your left, there’s a long stretch of an open field where a group of older children are gathered, kicking around a slightly worn football as they run across the space shouting and laughing with each other.
The main building stands further in, much larger than it first seemed. It’s not just one structure, but a series of connected wings forming a gentle U-shape around the central yard with the walls painted in soft, muted tones, pale cream and warm beige and windows lined evenly across each floor.
“Look, Mama!!” Yejun suddenly calls out, tugging at your hand as the two of you continue walking across the pathway with Minhyuk following right behind. Yejun bounces on his feet as he points at a group of children sitting in a circle, tossing small stones into the air as they play a game of gonggi. “They’re playing over there… can I play too?”
“Of course you can, bug.” you say warmly. “But first, we need to meet someone, okay?”
He agrees immediately, like the sweetest child he is, his small hand tightening around yours even as his gaze lingers on the children playing.
Soon enough, you find yourself climbing the wide staircase that leads into the main building as Yejun keeps a firm hold on your hand while following you.
The familiar scent of polished wood and something faintly sweet, maybe from the kitchen down the hall, wraps around you the moment you step inside and right there, standing by the tall double doors at the entrance hall, is a face you would recognize anywhere.
“Y/n-ah!” Ms. Baek’s voice rings out before you can even fully take her in and her entire face lights up, her conversation with the volunteer in front of her forgotten in an instant as she steps forward, hands already reaching out as if she cannot quite believe you are actually standing there.
“What a pleasant surprise.” she squeals as she wraps her arms around you, greeting you with a warm hug and when she pulls away, her gaze drops to the little figure tucked beside you. “Oh my goodness…” she gasps, her eyes widening. “And is this who I think it is?” her voice softens as she leans down slightly, trying to get a better look at him.
Yejun, on the other hand, freezes for a second under the sudden attention and his grip on your hand tightens before he instinctively steps half behind you, peeking out from your side. “Don’t be shy, baby.” you laugh, gently nudging him forward, your hand resting lightly on his back as you guide him just enough for him to be seen properly.
“This is Ms. Baek, Yejun-ah.” you smile. “She’s like a mama to me.” you say without hesitation as Yejun twists his head to look up at you. “Come on, greet her.” you encourage and he instantly bows down at her giving her a shy smile.
Then you glance back up at Mrs. Baek. “You’re getting old, you know,” you tease lightly, narrowing your eyes slightly as if inspecting her more closely. “I’m starting to see more and more white hair on that head of yours.”
Ms. Baek lets out an incredulous scoff, her eyes rolling immediately even as a smile tugs at her lips. “This girl…” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head. “Still as cheeky as ever… not a single bit of respect after all these years.” she glares at you, but there’s no bite to her words… only fondness.
Her attention drifts back to Yejun almost instantly, her expression softening again as she crouches slightly to meet his eye level. “And you…” she says gently, her voice lowering as if she doesn’t want to overwhelm him. “You’ve gotten so big already.”
Yejun blinks at her, still shy but no longer hiding, his fingers loosely hooked around yours as he watches Ms. Baek.
“Oh and…” you suddenly add, turning slightly as you gesture towardsMinhyuk, who has been standing patiently with both boxes still in his arms. “Here’s some snacks for all the kids.”
Ms. Baek’s eyes widen again. “Y/n-ah, you didn’t have to!” she says quickly, shaking her head. You only roll your eyes at her with a small grin tugging at your lips. “Please…” you reply lightly, brushing it off like it is nothing. “You’ve already done so much for this place.” she insists.
“Minhyuk-ah…” you call gently, ignoring Ms. Baek’s protests. “Could you keep the boxes in the kitchen? We can hand them out later.” you say and he nods immediately, adjusting his hold before heading off down the corridor.
//
“Thank you.” you mumble softly, offering a small smile as one of the volunteers hands you a warm cup of jasmine tea before passing another to Ms. Baek. You wrap your fingers around the porcelain as the delicate scent of jasmine rises with the steam.
You drift towards the large window of the multipurpose activity room, a space you remember far too well. The room is lined with low shelves filled with books, board games and neatly stacked art supplies.
The wooden floors carry faint scuff marks from years of children running through it and the walls are decorated with drawings taped up in uneven lines. The window stretches wide across one entire wall, giving a full view of the playground outside.
You take sip, keeping your eyes fixed on Yejun as you watch him run alongside a few children his age. Every now and then, he pauses, glancing around as if searching for you, and the moment he spots you through the window, he breaks into the brightest grin before running right back into the game.
Beside you, Ms. Baek takes a sip of her tea, her gaze not on the playground, but on you. “How have you been, Y/n-ah?” she asks softly and you don’t miss the way there’s a carefulness in her tone. “You’re looking much better than the last time you were here.” she adds gently.
Your fingers tighten ever so slightly around the cup because you know exactly what she means. The last time you were here, it had been the same night you signed your name onto something that ended your marriage… 6 months ago.
And Ms. Baek remembers it as clearly as if it had happened just yesterday.
The storm had been relentless that night with the rain crashing against the ground, wind howling through the trees, the kind of night where no one expected visitors.
She had opened the large double doors at the main entrance only because she thought she had heard something through the noise of the rain but there you were, standing at the entrance, completely drenched with your clothes clinging to you and your hair soaked and sticking to your face.
Water had been dripping from every edge of you, but it was not just the rain… your tears had blended so seamlessly with it that there was no way to tell where one ended and the other began.
And for a moment, all Ms. Baek could see that night wasn’t the woman you had grown into, but the little girl she remembers all too well from years ago.
The one who had once stood at the very same doorstep, with the same look, the same tears and almost the same kind of pain.
That night, you hadn’t said a single word… you didn’t need to. The moment she pulled your shivering body into her arms, you collapsed right into her, your fingers desperately gripping onto her sweater for dear life.
You had cried into her shoulder without explanation, your body trembling with everything you had been holding in and she had simply held you, just like she did when she had seen you for the very first time… when you were no older than seven.
Ms. Baek had watched you grow up piece by careful piece, like someone tending to a fragile thing that refused to bloom too quickly. You had always been a guarded child, the kind who learned early on to keep her thoughts tucked away, her emotions folded neatly where no one could reach them.
While the other children in the orphanage laughed loudly, fought easily and forgave just as quickly, you had been different.
You spoke when necessary, smiled when it was expected but rarely let anyone see beyond that.
You did have friends, of course. A small circle… a few children from the orphanage who had learned to understand your silences rather than question them, and later, a handful from school, three at most, out of which Bomi was the most memorable one.
Even then, you never gave all of yourself away. There was always a part of you that remained untouched, as if you were constantly holding something back, protecting something no one else could see.
Ms. Baek had seen it all. The way you would sit by yourself with sketchbooks, your fingers smudged with pencil lead as you traced delicate designs over and over again. Intricate pieces…. earrings shaped like falling petals… rings that curved like they were meant to hold something precious… necklaces that looked less like accessories and more like stories waiting to be worn.
You had always loved creating and she had assumed that was where all your love would go…. into your work, into your ambition, into the dream you carried so fiercely that it almost seemed like nothing else could ever matter as much.
You had mentioned boys, once in a while. Passing comments in high school, a few names in college, stories that never quite held weight when you told them… nothing that lingered, nothing that made your eyes soften or your voice change and so Ms. Baek never thought much of it.
Love, for you, had always seemed like something distant. Optional, even.
And then came Jeongguk.
The first time you brought him to the orphanage, you had simply introduced him as “just a good friend” who owned a cafe in the same neighborhood as your apartment, with your expression carefully neutral like always.
But Ms. Baek had known better. She had lived long enough to recognize the quiet shifts in people, the subtle changes that words could never fully hide.
It was around the time your dream had finally begun to take shape, when Valerra was no longer just an idea scribbled into sketchbooks, but something real… something breathing. You had secured your first investment, your designs had started finding their way into the world and for the first time, there was proof that everything you had sacrificed was actually leading somewhere.
You had been relentless in that phase of your life. Every waking moment was spent refining, perfecting, building. Your hands were always busy with sketches, your mind always running ahead to the next collection, the next possibility, the next step closer to the life you had always envisioned for yourself.
There was a certain fire in you back then, something unyielding and almost intimidating, like you were afraid that if you slowed down even for a second, everything you had worked for might slip right through your fingers.
And yet, somehow, in the middle of all that… there he was.
Ms. Baek had met Jeongguk a handful of times, but it had been more than enough to understand him in ways you had spent years trying not to be understood.
He was transparent in a way you had never allowed yourself to be. His emotions lived unguarded in his wide starry eyes and he carried his heart on his sleeve with a kind of honesty that felt both rare and terrifying.
And from the very first moment she saw him, she knew. The way he looked at you… god it was devotion in its purest, most unrefined form. The kind that didn't try to hide itself, the kind that didn’t know how to.
Even when you were curt with him, even when your words carried that sharp edge you used to keep everyone at arm’s length, he never once recoiled. He would only smile, as though none of it could touch him as long as he was allowed to just stand beside you.
Ms. Baek had seen many kinds of love in her lifetime. Quiet love, careful love, love that hesitated, love that calculated, love that protected itself before offering anything away but this… this was something entirely different.
It was reckless in its sincerity… almost foolish in the way it gave itself so freely. The kind of love that didn’t keep count, the kind that would offer everything it had, without ever thinking to ask for something in return.
And she had known, even then, watching him stand beside you like the world began and ended in your shadow… that he was already gone for you.
Completely, hopelessly, irreversibly gone.
And for the first time, she had seen something shift in you too. It was subtle, almost invisible to anyone who didn’t know you the way she did, but it was there. In the way your shoulders relaxed just a little when he was around, in the way your voice softened without you realizing it, in the way you allowed him to stand closer than anyone else ever had.
It had made her heart feel full in a way she couldn’t quite explain because the little girl she had once known, the one who had built walls so high that no one could reach her, was finally letting someone in. She had believed then that you had found something rare… something that would stay.
Which is why, the night you showed up at her doorstep, trembling under the weight of the rain and something far heavier, it had shattered something inside her because she knew, she knew how much you loved him and more than that, she knew how much it must have taken for you to love him in the first place.
You keep your gaze fixed on Yejun through the window, who’s laughing his heart out with the other kids before letting it fall to the cup in your hands. “I’ve been… okay.” you answer quietly. “My new collection just dropped.” you continue. “So I’ve been busy with that… and just… everything else that comes with it.” your shoulders lift in a small, almost dismissive shrug. “You know how it gets.” there’s a pause before you turn to look at her with a small, apologetic smile. “That’s why I haven’t been able to come down and see you.”
She nods in understanding as she lifts her cup, taking a slow sip before her gaze drifts to the window, settling on the playground outside. “Yejun is so adorable.” she points out softly with a fond smile. “He was so little when I saw him the last time.” she chuckles, shaking her head and you smile at her words, nodding slowly. “He’s got your smile.” she continues. “And god… those eyes…” she adds, her voice dipping just slightly. “It’s almost scary how much they resemble Jeongguk’s.”
Your grip on the cup tightens just a fraction at the mention of his name because you already know what was coming next. Ms. Baek lets the silence sit for a moment, as if weighing her words, before she turns her head slightly towards you again. “How is he?” she asks quietly.
You let out a slow breath and for a moment, you say nothing. “He’s… alright, I think.” you finally murmur. “I wouldn’t really know.” you continue. “I just see him sometimes… you know, because of Yejun.” you explain as your thumb drags along the rim of the cup, again and again.
“How has it been?” she asks after a moment. “The whole… co-parenting situation?”
Your lips part, then press together again as you look away, towards the window. “It’s been…” you start, your voice trailing off as you search for something safe. “Challenging.” you settle on.
“Challenging?” she repeats with a slight tilt of her head. You huff out a faint breath, almost like you’re surrendering because it has never been easy to hide things from Ms. Baek, let alone lie to her, not when she knows you the way she does.
After all, she was the one who raised you.
“It’s just…” your shoulders lift slightly before dropping again. “It’s awkward. All the time… We talk, but only about Yejun. We stand in the same space, but it feels like there’s something… blocking everything else.” your voice trembles slightly as you gulp to yourself. “We don’t say what we actually want to say. We don’t ask the things we want to ask…. so, it’s like we’re both pretending this is normal.” you add, your brows knitting faintly. “Like this is how it’s just meant to be now.” you sigh. “But it’s not like we have a choice…” you continue as Ms. Baek listens without interrupting. “We have to keep seeing each other, you know… we just have to figure it out… for Yejun.”
Ms. Baek hums softly, taking in every word, every pause, every crack you’re trying so hard to hide. “And how do you feel about it now?” she finally asks after a beat. “The divorce.”
You blink, slightly caught off guard, your head turning towards her a little too quickly. “The divorce?” you echo, your brows pulling together. “What do you mean how do I feel about it now?”
She shrugs lightly. “Do you regret it?” she asks, her voice careful. “Do you ever think… maybe you could have handled it differently?”
You don’t answer immediately as your jaw tightens. “I don’t know how else I would’ve handled it.” you breathe out after a moment. “It would have ended the same way.” you say lowly. “He would’ve left me first anyway.”
Ms. Baek’s face softens as she notices the way your lips tremble. “You don’t know that.” she says softly, stepping just a little closer.
“Well I do!” you suddenly burst out, the words breaking free before you can stop them. “I could see it, okay?” your voice shakes even more now. “I could see it happening.” the words tumble out of you as your chest rises and falls unevenly.“It was getting harder for him to stay. I… I could feel it.” your brows pull together as your vision blurs faintly. “I could see how I was disappointing him.” you continue. “How I kept choosing everything else. Work, deadlines, my stupid need to have everything under control…” a weak, breathless laugh escapes you. “I didn’t even realize how much I was taking him for granted until it was already too late.” you say, shaking your head slightly as you feel your throat tightening.
“And I couldn’t just sit there and wait.” you whisper, your voice already beginning to splinter beneath the weight of everything you’ve been holding in for months. “I couldn’t just sit there and wait for him to slowly fall out of love with me and then leave.” A tear slips free before you can stop it, rolling slowly down your cheek as your eyes squeeze shut for a brief second, like you’re ashamed of being seen like this.
“You know me…” you murmur weakly, your glossy eyes finally lifting to meet hers. “You know I’m not built for that.” your lips tremble faintly as you inhale shakily. “You know I wouldn’t have survived if he abandoned me first.”
Ms. Baek watches you quietly, her own heart aching at the sight in front of her… you look so small suddenly. “So…” she says softly after a long moment. “You abandoned him first?”
Your face crumples slightly and all you can manage is a tiny nod before looking away immediately, like even acknowledging it out loud makes you feel sick. “I thought it would hurt less that way…” you whisper hoarsely. “...If I did it first.” a bitter laugh escapes you. “God, that sounds horrible.” another tear slips down your cheek and this time you wipe it away harshly, almost angrily.
“He’s not your mother, Y/n.” Ms. Baek suddenly says as your head snaps towards her at once, eyes widening faintly and for a second, something defensive flashes across your face. “What does she have to do with any of this?” you ask quietly, though the crack in your voice gives you away immediately because deep down, you already know. “Everything.” she says gently and you look away again almost instantly.
“You think I didn’t see what that did to you?” she continues softly. “You think I haven’t watched you spend your entire life preparing yourself for people to leave?” she places her palm gently on your arm. “You were just a little girl, Y/n.” she says. “A little girl who learned far too early that love could disappear overnight.” she adds and suddenly the tears burn hotter now.
“You stopped relying on people because you thought depending on them was dangerous… You stopped asking for too much because you convinced yourself people leave when you become too hard to carry.” Her eyes glisten faintly as she looks at you. “And you spent years building walls so high around yourself so that nobody could ever hurt you like that again.” she exhales as you keep your trembling lower lip between your teeth.
“I watched you keep everyone at arm’s length…” she says quietly. “Friends…. People who cared about you…. Boys who liked you.” A sad smile touches her lips briefly. “You always left first emotionally, before they could.”
You shake your head weakly, tears falling faster now. “No…” you whisper, though it sounds more like pleading than denial.
“But then Jeongguk came along…” Ms. Baek murmurs. “And for the first time… you let someone all the way in… You let him see every part of you that you spent your whole life hiding.” she says softly. “And that terrified you.”
A broken breath leaves your lips as you lower your head because Ms. Baek is right.
“You loved him so much that the thought of losing him became bigger than the love itself…” she whispers and as the tears continue to flow down your cheeks, your shoulders shake faintly. “And somewhere along the way, you convinced yourself that him leaving was inevitable. So you chose to leave first because at least that way… you could still pretend you had control over it.”
You let out a strangled sound at that, quickly covering your mouth with your hand as another sob threatens to escape. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this…” you cry quietly. “I didn’t…” your voice breaks apart completely. “I didn’t want to lose him.”
Ms. Baek immediately moves closer, carefully wrapping her arm around your shoulders. “I know.” she whispers.
“I just…” you choke out painfully. “I loved him so much and it got so terrifying because one day I realized he had the power to completely destroy me if he wanted to.” your breathing stutters. “And I know Jeongguk would never intentionally hurt me but… people leave… they… they get tired… they wake up one day and realize they deserve better and then they just… go.” Your voice turns smaller with every word. “And I kept thinking…” you whisper brokenly. “What if one day he looks at me and realizes loving me is exhausting too?”
And as you finally break apart in front of her, Ms. Baek does the only thing she has ever known to do when it comes to you… she holds you.
She quietly reaches over to set both your half finished cups of jasmine tea onto the small table beside her before pulling you closer again, one hand smoothing slowly over your hair while your tears soak into the fabric of her blouse. Her heart aches unbearably at the sound of your crying… not because it’s loud, but because it’s not. You cry like someone who spent years teaching herself how to do it silently.
Ms. Baek closes her eyes briefly as she listens to your uneven breathing, your quiet little gasps for air between every attempt to steady yourself. She wishes more than anything that she could reach inside your chest and pull every fear out of you with her bare hands.
She wishes she could somehow make you understand that Jeongguk was never going to leave you the way you feared he would… but she also knows wounds like yours are not logical.
Fear like yours does not listen to reassurance.
It settles deep inside your bones and convinces you that love is temporary, that happiness always comes with an expiration date attached to it.
But god, the way that boy looked at you.
Ms. Baek doesn’t know if love can truly be measured through glances alone, but if it could, then Jeongguk had loved you more honestly than most people ever get to experience in an entire lifetime and every single time, his expression carried the same thing.
Wonder.
As though he couldn’t quite believe someone like you existed and somehow chose him back.
Ms. Baek remembers thinking then that Jeongguk looked at you like a man terrified of losing the only home he had ever truly found. That boy would have burned himself alive just to keep you warm if you had asked him to.
Not because you demanded it, not because he was forced to but because loving you seemed as natural to him as breathing.
And maybe that is why this hurts so much to watch now because she knows you spent your entire relationship preparing yourself for an abandonment that was never actually coming.
You loved a man who would have stayed through every version of you, even the difficult ones, even the broken ones, even the versions of yourself you could barely stand but your fear got there first.
And now all Ms. Baek can do is hold the little girl inside you who mourns the life she destroyed trying to protect herself from losing it.
//
“Mama look, me and Misun made this!” Yejun beams proudly as he runs towards you with a paper origami turtle clutched carefully between his tiny fingers. The folds are uneven and one of the little flippers is slightly bent, but the excitement shining in his eyes makes it look perfect anyway. “Oh my god…” you gasp dramatically, as you take the tiny paper turtle into your hands. “This is amazing, honey.”
Yejun giggles at your reaction, cheeks puffing slightly with pride while beside him, the little girl you had learned was named Misun shyly hides half her face behind her hands.
“And Misun helped me with this part.” Yejun explains seriously, pointing at one of the folds. “Because mine kept looking ugly.”
“Yah.” Misun protests with a tiny pout. “I didn’t say ugly.” she says and you can’t help but giggle at the offended look on her face.
“Well, I think both of you are origami geniuses.” you declare confidently before gently tapping the tip of Yejun’s nose as the kids giggle to themselves. Then, just as quickly as he had come running over, Yejun grabs the turtle back carefully before tugging Misun’s sleeve. “Come on.” he says excitedly. “Let’s make the frog now.”
The two children immediately scurry back towards the low craft table, their heads already bent together as they start arguing over colored paper.
It was almost late evening now and you had spent the entire day here, at the orphanage.
From breaking down in Ms. Baek’s arms in the morning to sitting with the children during lunch, listening to their endless little stories and watching Yejun mingle with everyone so naturally made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t explain.
After your conversation with Ms. Baek, you had quickly pulled yourself together, fixing your makeup and wiping away every trace of the tears you had shed before heading off to meet some of the volunteers around the orphanage, many of whom had once been children here alongside you.
Including Seri, your former roommate.
The same girl who used to sit beside you while you sketched jewelry designs into old notebooks instead of sleeping. Now she worked as a successful lawyer who came back almost every weekend to volunteer at the orphanage.
“You know…” you murmur thoughtfully, sitting cross legged on the floor with your back resting against the wall. Ms. Baek sat beside you on one of the floor cushions, gently cradling a sleeping baby against her chest while across from the two of you, Seri sat peeling mandarins for the children, occasionally tossing the peels into a small paper bag beside her.
You watch Yejun from across the room for a moment longer before speaking again. “I’ve been thinking about building a swimming pool for the kids.”
“Yah.” Ms. Baek narrows her eyes instantly. “You’ve already spent enough money on this place. Stop it.”
And you know, she wasn’t exaggerating. The orphanage was still the same, but it now looked a lot different from the place you had grown up in.
Once Valerra began flourishing and your life transformed into something you once only dreamed about, you made it your mission to give back to the one place that had held together what remained of your childhood.
You had renovated entire sections of the building, installed proper heating systems during winter, funded better quality meals, rebuilt the library, added a music room, upgraded the medical facilities, replaced some of the old furniture, redesigned the children’s bedrooms and even improved security.
“Oh, come on.” you huff dramatically, waving her off. “It’ll be nice for the kids.” you say but Ms. Baek continues glaring at you. “They’ll have fun,.” you insist. “And learning how to swim is important… It’s literally a survival skill.” you say as Seri snorts beside you. “Only you would try to justify a giant swimming pool by making it sound educational.”
“It is educational!” you defend immediately. “What if one of them becomes an Olympic swimmer someday?” you say looking at both of them as Ms. Baek pinches the bridge of her nose with a tired sigh.
“This girl…” she mutters under her breath. “You really think money grows on trees.” she clicks her tongue while you grin shamelessly. “Good thing I have a lot of trees then.”
Seri bursts out laughing while Ms. Baek looks moments away from smacking you with a cushion.
Still, despite her scolding, her eyes soften as she looks at you because she knows exactly why you do this. You give and give and give to this place because a part of you still remembers what it felt like to have nothing and maybe this is your way of making sure no child here ever has to feel that emptiness the way you once did.
Soon enough, you find yourself glancing at the time and realizing with a small sigh that it was finally time to call it a day.
You gently reach for Yejun’s hand, your fingers wrapping around his tiny ones as you softly announce that it was time to head home and almost instantly, a chorus of tiny protests fills the room.
“Already?”“Yejun-ah, you have to come again!”“We didn’t finish making the lego set!!”
You can’t help but laugh quietly at the way your son looks completely torn, his eyes darting between you and the little group of children surrounding him like he genuinely can’t decide who to disappoint.
“Go on, baby.” you smile softly, lightly nudging his shoulder. “It’s time to say goodbye to your new friends.”
Yejun sighs softly, clearly disappointed but he still looks up at all the other kids with a bright smile.“Bye everyone!” he says loudly. “I’ll come back!” he adds as Misun pouts at him dramatically. “You better.”
“I will!” he promises with complete seriousness and you can’t help but smile sweetly at the sight.
Before leaving, you stop to hug Ms. Baek tightly once more, the older woman smoothing a hand over your hair affectionately while reminding you to eat properly and stop overworking yourself.
After saying goodbye to Seri and a few more volunteers and children lingering around the hallways, you finally make your way out towards your car with Yejun practically skipping beside you.
The moment you help him into the backseat and begin fastening his car seat straps securely across his chest, he bursts with excitement all over again. “Mama!” he calls out. “I had sooo much fun today!”
“I’m glad, my love.” you smile warmly, gently fixing the collar of his cardigan after buckling him in. “Can we come here again?” he asks hopefully, tilting his little head at you. “Please?”
“Of course, baby.” you say softly without any hesitation as you lean down to press a kiss against his forehead. “We’ll come again.”
//
“Ma… where are we going?” Your tiny voice trembles softly through the darkness of the car, nearly drowned out by the violent storm outside.
Rain crashes relentlessly against the windshield, so loud it almost sounds like the sky itself is screaming. The wipers move back and forth desperately, but it barely helps as everything outside remains warped and blurry beneath the heavy downpour.
You sit curled up in the passenger seat, your small fingers tightly clutching the worn bunny plushie resting on your lap. One of its ears is half torn at the seam and its fur is rough from years of being held too tightly, but you hug it closer anyway, pressing your cheek against its damp little head.
Your mother keeps driving with both her hands locked tightly around the steering wheel… her jaw tense and her eyes fixed ahead.
She doesn’t answer your question… not even a hum, not even a glance and for some reason you could sense that the silence in the car felt strange tonight.
Usually silence with your mother feels normal… expected, even. But tonight it feels like something evil is sitting between the two of you but you’re just too young to understand what it is.
You look down at your bunny again before asking her another question. “Are we going far?”
Nothing.
You shift uncomfortably in your seat, your tiny sneakers swinging nervously above the floor mat and your wet little socks stick uncomfortably against your skin.
Outside, thunder rumbles so loudly it shakes the windows slightly and you flinch instinctively… still, your mother says nothing and somehow, at seven years old, you already knew not to push further when adults act like this, so you stay quiet and just sit there hugging your bunny while streetlights flash briefly across your mother’s face every few seconds, illuminating the exhaustion carved into her features before darkness swallows her whole again.
The drive feels endless… too long… too dark… too quiet, until eventually, the car slows.
Then stops.
You blink sleepily through the rain smeared windows, confusion immediately knitting across your tiny face as you stare at the huge unfamiliar building ahead and for some reason it looks terrifying to you because you’ve never seen this place before.
Your mother grabs an umbrella and steps out of the car quickly. The moment the door opens, the sound of the storm becomes deafening and you flinch hard. A few seconds later, your own door is yanked open as the cold wind immediately slaps against your face.
“Come out.” Your mother says flatly and you look up at her hesitantly. “Ma…” you call out softly, looking absolutely confused. “Come out.” she says again and this time your tiny body obeys automatically.
The moment your shoes hit the ground, they sink slightly into the wet mud as ice cold water splashes up your legs and you gasp softly at the freezing sensation.
Your mother grabs your hand firmly as she slams the door close, before pulling you along beside her.
You struggle to keep up as she walks quickly towards the building. The umbrella barely protects either of you from the rain and your sweater is already getting soaked around the sleeves while water drips down your forehead and into your eyes.
You clutch your bunny tightly against your chest, trying desperately to shield it from getting wet too.
“What is this place, Ma?” you ask quietly.
No answer.
“Why are we here?”
Still nothing.
You stare up at her face through the rain, trying so hard to understand what is happening but your mother doesn’t look at you once and suddenly you feel very, very scared.
By the time the two of you climb the stairs towards the unfamiliar giant double doors, your tiny legs are trembling from trying to keep up with her pace.
Finally, beneath the small porch roof, she stops. Rainwater pours heavily around the edges of the shelter while thunder growls somewhere overhead while you stand there shivering violently, soaked almost head to toe with your tiny fingers numb around your plushie.
Then your mother kneels in front of you and your heart lifts instantly because finally… finally she was going to explain, finally she was going to protect you from the scary thunder, finally she was going to tell you everything’s okay.
“Ma has somewhere important to go.” she says instead and your smile falters immediately. “I’m going to leave you here for a little while.”
Your entire face crumples in confusion. “What?” you ask, but she doesn’t explain further. “You need to knock on these doors after I leave, okay?” she continues as you stare at her blankly because the words don’t fully make sense yet.
“Where are you going?” Your voice comes out small and so, so frightened. “Why can’t I come with you?” you ask again with tears already filling your eyes.“I wanna come too.”
But like always, your mother doesn’t answer and stands back up too quickly. “Kids aren’t allowed.” she simply states. “So stay here and be good.”
And then she turns around.
Just like that.
Your brain can’t process a single thing as you stare at her back as she starts walking down the stairs again beneath the umbrella. For one horrifying second, your body freezes completely and then panic explodes through you all at once.
“Ma?” Your voice cracks violently but she keeps walking. “Mama.” you call out again, taking a shaky step after her and suddenly your bunny slips from your arms, falling forgotten into the rain soaked ground but you barely even notice.
“Ma wait!” You run after her immediately, tiny sneakers splashing through puddles while cold rain lashes against your face. “Please don’t leave me here!” you scream out, but she keeps walking.
Your sobs become uncontrollable now, wrecking through your tiny chest so hard you can barely breathe between words. “I’ll be good!” you cry desperately, little legs struggling to keep up with her long hurried strides as mud splashes against your calves.
“I promise I’ll be good this time!” At seven years old, being good feels like the only thing that might make someone stay, but still, your mother doesn’t stop.
Not once. Not even an ounce of hesitation.
The storm roars around you, swallowing your cries whole, but you scream anyway. “Mama please!” And suddenly… for the first time, she stops… so abruptly that your tiny body nearly collides into her and hope rushes through your chest so fast it almost physically hurts… simply because she stopped.
Your mother stands there under the umbrella with her back still facing you as thunder cracks violently overhead, shaking through the sky and straight into your ribs.
Water drips steadily from the edge of her umbrella while you stand behind her, completely drenched, shivering so hard your teeth nearly chatter. She doesn’t say anything for a few long moments as you stare at her back with your chest heaving.
Then, just when you take the smallest hopeful step towards her, you hear her mutter beneath her breath. “God, I’m so fucking exhausted.”
At seven years old, you don’t even know what that means. Exhausted?
You continue staring at her through blurry tears, shivering violently under the rain as your mother slowly turns around, and the moment you see her eyes, whatever hope had sparked inside you dies instantly.
“You just don’t know when to stop, do you?” she snaps, her voice sharper than the thunder roaring above. You hiccup violently as rain continues to drench you, soaking your hair flat against your forehead and running down your cheeks with your tears while she doesn’t move even an inch closer.
She doesn’t lower the umbrella above you… she doesn’t shield you from the storm. She just lets you stand there to get drenched while she remains dry.
“I can’t breathe with you around me.” she spits. “Do you understand that? Every day it’s crying, needing, following, asking, begging… always something. Always you.”
“Ma…” you whisper brokenly as you try to take another shaky step closer, her words barely making any sense to you. You don’t understand what you did wrong. You only know she sounds angry, and maybe if you get closer, maybe if you cry softly enough, maybe if you apologize enough, she’ll stop sounding like this.
“Shut up.” she spits and at that your sobbing catches painfully in your throat. “I’m so tired of carrying something I never asked for.” she says.
You don’t understand… not fully, but somehow your body understands enough to start shaking harder.
“You’re the cruelest curse I have ever had in my life.” she grits her teeth as she says it and something inside your chest caves inward. “Do you have any idea how hard you are to love?” she continues. “Because every time I look at you, all I can think about is the life I was supposed to have.” she scoffs, looking away for a second like even meeting your eyes is unbearable.
“You… ruined everything.” she whispers and your tiny face crumples completely, tears spilling faster now, but she doesn’t stop. “You always ruin everything… and I never even wanted you.” she says, shaking her head as her eyes meet yours again.
“I tried.” she goes on. “Maybe not enough… maybe badly… but I tried.” she lets out a sharp breath, almost like a humorless laugh, before taking a small step back.
“But I’m done now.” she shrugs weakly, like she’s talking about something ordinary instead of splitting your world apart. “I can’t…” her voice falters for half a second. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep waking up every day feeling like I’m drowning inside a life I never even wanted.” she takes another step back.
“So consider yourself lucky...that I’m leaving you in this place and not somewhere on the streets.” she finishes, giving your soaking little frame one last look, and what hurts most isn’t the anger in her eyes but the emptiness.
There’s no softness there, no love, no visible regret… just exhaustion so deep it almost resembles hatred before she turns around again.
“Ma…” you can’t help but call out for her again, because somehow your little brain forgets every cruel dagger she’d just shoved into your chest…. because she’s still your mother… because none of those words hurt more than watching her walk away.
Your feet move before you can even think. “Mommy, please!” you start sobbing again, already stumbling after her, trying desperately to catch up. “I don’t wanna stay here!” you cry harder, rain and tears making everything shake and smear together while your tiny legs struggle helplessly to match her long hurried steps.
“Please!” your voice turns shrill with terror. “Please take me with you!” you keep begging but your mother only walks faster, like she’s escaping you, like she can’t wait to get away quickly enough.
Your feet slip suddenly against the wet mud as your knees crash violently into the ground and pain explodes through your legs and palms. A broken scream tears from your throat but even through the pain, you immediately look up towards your mother and what you see nearly kills you.
She was already climbing back into the car.
“No.” your voice comes out strangled. “No no no no—” you scramble up desperately despite your bleeding knees. “MA!” You scream so loudly your throat burns and the sound simply echoes through the storm.
But the car engine starts anyway.
“No please!” you beg again and again as you run towards the car with frantic uneven steps. “You forgot me!” your tiny voice shatters completely. “Ma please come back!”
The headlights cut through the rain as the car starts moving. “MA PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!” you beg, now chasing after it while sobbing hysterically with your lungs aching, your chest feeling like it was ripping apart from the inside. “I’M SORRY!” you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for. “I’LL BE BETTER!”
The taillights grow farther away… smaller and smaller.
“PLEASE COME BACK!” you keep screaming until your throat feels raw enough to bleed and just like that, the car disappears completely into the storm.
//
Your eyes snap open violently as a sharp shudder tears through your body and for a few horrifying seconds, all you see is darkness. Your chest rises and falls unevenly as panic still clings to you like something alive, your lungs struggling to catch up while your heartbeat pounds so loudly it almost drowns out everything else.
You blink rapidly, a bit disoriented, your damp hair sticking to the side of your neck as sweat trickles slowly down your temple.
The nightmare still feels real. Too real.
You can still hear the rain, still hear your own tiny voice screaming for your mother to come back, still feel the burning scrape of your knees hitting the wet ground.
A shaky breath leaves you as you force yourself upright against the headboard before quickly reaching over to switch on the bedside lamp.
Your hands tremble slightly as you drag them over your face.
“Fuck.” you mutter, squeezing your eyes shut for a second, trying to separate the dream from reality… trying to remind yourself that you’re not seven anymore, that you’re not standing alone in the rain waiting for headlights that will never come back.
But somehow, the nightmares only seem to get worse lately… more vivid, more cruel. You’re starting to think the sleeping pills are somehow making them stronger because every single time the nightmare returns, you remember something new.
Some tiny, meaningless detail from that night that your brain had apparently buried somewhere deep for years only to cruelly hand back to you piece by piece.
Tonight it had been the color of your mother’s nails… a chipped dark red. You remember staring at them while she gripped the steering wheel.
Last week, it had been the smell of her perfume mixed with the cigarette smoke lingering inside the car. Before that, the sound of her bracelets clinking softly beneath the storm whenever she moved her hand… the way her umbrella had tilted slightly to the left because one side was broken, the muddy water soaking through your socks, the freezing feeling of rainwater dripping down the back of your collar, the exact way the taillights looked disappearing into the storm.
It scares you sometimes, how much your mind remembers.
You exhale a shaky breath before slowly pushing the blankets off your body and getting out of bed.
The penthouse is silent as you step out of your room and quietly make your way down the hallway towards Yejun’s room.
You carefully push the door open, not wanting to wake him up.
A soft amber glow spills across the room from the little octopus-shaped night lamp resting beside his bed, its tiny silicone tentacles lighting up faintly in warm pastel colors meant to keep the dark away from your son who’s scared of the monsters under his bed.
The glow paints his room in gentle shades of gold and peach, illuminating the scattered toys on the carpet, the half-open picture books beside his pillow, and the tiny socks abandoned near the foot of the bed.
And right there in the middle of it all is Yejun sleeping peacefully.
You sniffle softly, blinking rapidly as your eyes begin to sting again. For a moment, you just stand there by the doorway, staring at him and then quietly, so quietly, you step further into the room.
The mattress dips slightly beneath your weight as you carefully slide into the bed beside him, trying not to disturb his sleep but the moment your arm slips around his tiny body, Yejun lets out the faintest sleepy whine before immediately curling closer into you, his small hands grabbing onto the front of your nightgown while his warm cheek presses against your chest.
Your breathing trembles as you hold him tighter, burying your face into his soft hair that still smells faintly of baby shampoo. A tear slips silently down your cheek before disappearing into his pillow beneath your head as you press a trembling kiss against his forehead.
“I’m here, baby.” you whisper brokenly, even though he’s asleep as your fingers gently move through his hair while Yejun unconsciously snuggles even closer. “Mama’s here.”
//
— please drop a like, reblog or comment !! it would make me feel motivated and i would to love to hear your thoughts <3
⤷ finding out about his secret from someone else hurts more than expected. you’ve always hated lies, and he knew it, which made it even harder. his intentions were never meant to hurt you; he just wanted to be seen for who he truly is. despite it all, your heart burns for him. you’ve never loved anyone this intensely, but are you truly ready to trust him again?
— pairing: jungkook x fem. reader
— genre: strangers to lovers, ceo au, biker au, slow burn, angst, fluff, and smut
— rating: 18+
— words: 25,294
— warnings: arguing, lying, swearing, trust issues, hurt, a looot of alcohol consumption, mention of heartbreak, conflicted feelings, our super oc gets drunk, mention of death, mention of divorce, implied cheating, crying, nervousness, some awkwardness, mention of insecurities, teasing, some sexual tension, strong language, a lot of make out, mention of sex, nipple sucking, dirty talking, fingering, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, riding (if we can even say it), multiple orgasms, creampie, and mention of grief
— author’s note: the final part is finally all yours! ✨thank you very very much to all of you for showing love to this little series ❤️ i truly hope you’ll enjoy this last part and don’t hesitate to let me know what you think of it ❤️ if something isn’t clear, let me know ✨love you all 💕
SERIES MASTERLIST | PART I
“He’s the head of the Jeon Group and CEO of Jeon Pharmaceuticals,” John says. “Apparently, he wants to buy the company.”
To say that you’re shocked is an understatement. There are no words to describe what you’re truly feeling. Betrayed? Maybe. Lied to? Obviously. Hurt? Still need to figure that one out.
By reflex, you type his name on Google, and it’s with no surprise that you see tons of pictures and articles about him. How didn’t you find out about it sooner? Why didn’t he say anything? He had many opportunities to tell you, but he never did.
Your eyes quickly scan all the pictures, as if they’d disappeared when you stop looking. Then you grab your phone, unlocking it to open your chat with him. Your shaky fingers try to type something, but your mind is unable to put down all the millions of thoughts flying around.
You conclude that this can’t be discussed over messages, and even though this is all a mess, you don’t want to distract him during his meeting. He said it was important, and you’d feel bad if it all went wrong. You take a deep breath and focus again on your work, which turns out to be complicated.
The meeting between your boss and Jungkook stretches for hours, and you even have the time to leave before him. As planned, you still ordered pizzas from his favorite place and went back home, patiently waiting for him.
When he finally steps inside your place, your heart drops. Seeing him with that damn suit makes it more real. Somehow, this is the final proof you needed. A contagious smile appears on his tired face.
“Hi, love,” he says while stepping closer to you.
However, the hurt makes you step back. There’s no way you’re going to greet him with a ‘hi, love’ when he clearly lied to your face for six months. What else did he lie about? God knows what else he hid from you.
His eyebrows furrow while his hands close the door behind him. Jungkook doesn’t come any closer, respecting the distance you purposely created between you.
“How was the meeting with NovaTech?” you ask him, crossing your arms.
“Shit,” he mumbles, closing his eyes for a second.
Jungkook unties his tie as if it’s suffocating him right now.
“Yeah, shit,” you say, turning your back to him as you make your way inside your apartment.
Your boyfriend takes his shoes off but doesn’t leave the entrance. Your heart is beating crazily inside your chest while you stop in the hallway. Of all the people, you never imagined Jungkook hiding something so big from you. Being the head of the Jeon Group and CEO of Jeon Pharmaceuticals isn’t a small thing. It’s actually huge.
“Look…” he begins, his footstep echoing behind you.
“Why didn’t you tell me anything?” you ask without screaming as you turn to face him. The pain in your voice is loud and clear.
“I don’t know…” he runs his hand through his fluffy hair.
“That’s not an answer, Jungkook,” you say, as you throw your hands in the air. “I found out through a coworker that you’re a damn CEO and head of a huge group.”
This isn’t about him being rich as fuck and leading companies. This is about him lying to your face for months.
“I’m sorry for that, love,” he says. “It wasn’t my intention.”
He closes his eyes for a moment, clearly trying to find the right words to explain himself.
“For the first time in my life, someone didn’t recognize me,” he begins. “I thought you were pretending at first, but I slowly realized that you truly had no idea who I was. And call me selfish if you want, but it felt great.”
Right now, you blame yourself for being stupid and not knowing. How on earth didn’t you see anything for the past six months? Well, truth being told, you’re not the kind of person who spends hours on her phone. You’d rather watch a movie than scroll endlessly through social media.
“So, I found myself wanting you to see me for who I truly was, and not the CEO of Jeon Pharmaceuticals. I didn’t want my status to define our interactions,” he continues to explain, and you feel your heart drop. “You’re the first and only person who ever really and truly saw Jeon Jungkook.”
This is devastating to hear. Even though his lie breaks your heart, knowing that people only looked at him for his status hurts. This man has a wonderful soul, and he honestly deserves all the love in the world.
“When were you expecting to tell me?” you ask. “When we were going to get married, and I couldn’t run away?”
The pain on his face shatters you more than you want to admit.
“No, I would have never done that,” he shakes his head. “I was planning on doing it before my brother’s birthday.”
Oh yeah, right, his brother’s birthday! It had completely disappeared from your mind, but if you’re not wrong, it’s next week.
“Still, it doesn’t change the fact that you never said it in six months…”
He closes his eyes, evidently upset by the conversation.
“Who knows what else you hide…” you whisper.
“Nothing else,” he instantly replies. “I swear.”
“How am I supposed to trust you?”
The words sound harsher than you intend them to be, but it reflects how you feel. No answer comes from his mouth, and it just hurts you even more.
“You knew I hate lies and secrets,” you continue.
“I know…”
“It feels like you don’t…” You reply.
The way your ex hid from you that he was talking and seeing the girl he had a crush on devastated you. From the very beginning, you told the story and said to Jungkook how much you hated lies. And then, here you go—being lied to all over again.
A heavy silence settles between you, and you absolutely hate it. This one doesn’t feel safe like usual. Jungkook exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair.
“I never lied about who I am,” he says quietly. “I just didn’t tell you everything.”
You let out a short and humorless laugh.
“That’s still lying, Jungkook.”
He simply nods, not fighting back, and somehow it makes it worse.
“It was never about tricking you,” he says. “It was the only way I knew how to be normal.”
Your head tilts, “Normal?”
“Yes,” he says, his voice softer now. “You never expected anything from me as the entire world does, and you never looked at me differently the second you heard my name. Nobody ever looked at me like you did.” He pauses for a second. “With you, I could be myself.”
Your heart squeezes, and you hate that it does. What he says makes sense. You probably can’t understand him because you’re not the daughter of some wealthy man—you’re just a regular employee.
“But you still decided for me what I got to know and what I didn’t,” you reply. “If you had told me, even that night under the stars, I would have embraced it. Maybe it would have taken some time, but I still would.”
Gosh, you’re desperately trying to hold back the tears.
“Because I would have heard it from you.”
Jungkook could have done this completely differently, but he chose to hide it from you, which isn’t fair.
“And you let me trust you without giving me the full truth,” you add.
That might be the hardest part for you. You trust him. You really do, but right now, you don’t know if you still do.
“I know,” he says. “And I hate that I hurt you.”
At least, it’s a good start that he realized he hurt you. This definitely isn’t easy, and you never pictured yourself having this conversation with him. Of course, you knew there would be tense moments when arguments would appear, but you never imagined that one of them would be because he lied to you.
“You really did,” you whisper.
“I know,” he says for the millionth time. “I wasn’t trying to lie to you,” he continues. “I just didn’t want to lose what we had before it even had a chance to exist.”
You’re torn between your pain and the one he clearly has. Growing up under the spotlight and the expectation that you’d be as good as your dad in business probably wasn’t easy. And you don’t even want to think about how it feels to be recognized everywhere you go.
“Jungkook…” you whisper before taking a step in his direction. “Sooner or later, I would have found out.”
He closes his eyes, and now that you’re closer, you notice his shaky hands.
“I was going to tell you, I promise.”
He doesn’t attempt to close the distance between the two of you. Your throat tightens at the thought of what you’re going to say.
“I need space and time,” you confess.
Jungkook nods, and it just breaks your heart to see him like that. You still deeply love him, but you really need space to think properly. You don’t want to make any rushed decisions right now. It will only make it worse.
“Your pizza is on the kitchen counter, you can take it,” you tell him.
Despite it all, you don’t want him to starve.
“You can keep it,” he replies.
“No, I bought it for you, so please take it,” you basically beg.
“Okay,” he says, nodding.
His shoulder brushes yours as he walks toward the kitchen. Inevitably, you close your eyes. Your body and soul still crave him desperately, but for once, you need to listen to your brain. When he comes back, the pizza box rests in his hands. In absolute silence, he puts his shoes back before he looks back at you.
“I’m really sorry,” he says.
Another silence settles between you. There’s nothing more that needs to be added—you’ve already said everything.
“Goodbye, yn.”
He opens the door, looking back at you one last time.
“Goodbye, Jungkook.”
Seeing him leave hurts more than expected, because it almost feels like he’s leaving for good. Is it what you truly want?
After sending a “I need your help” text to Hyunri and Juhee, the three of you organized a little dinner together at Hyunri’s place. They were more inclined to do it in a restaurant, but you insisted on not doing so. They don’t know it yet, but you clearly don’t want anyone to hear you. God only knows who doesn’t know Jungkook…
So, right now, you’re casually drinking a glass of wine in Hyunri’s kitchen while you’re preparing dinner together.
“So…” Juhee starts speaking, her eyes shifting from the tomatoes she’s cutting to you. “What’s going on?”
You bite your lower lip, trying to think how to express out loud the turmoil going on in your head.
“Do you know Jungkook’s job?” you then decide to ask.
She’s married to Jungkook’s best friend; she must know. She frowns, somehow confused by your question. Hyunri looks between the two of you.
“Who doesn’t…” she replies.
This all confirms everything. Now the real question is, why didn’t she say anything… She’s your best friend; she could have told you.
“Me,” you admit in a small voice.
“How didn’t you know?” Juhee asks. “The guy is literally everywhere.”
“I don’t know,” you reply.
Their expressions go from confused to kind of sad.
“Wait, so all this time, you were with him, totally ignoring who he was?” Juhee asks, and you nod.
“Girl, how??” Hyunri dramatically asks. “I truly thought you knew. Half the reasons I was encouraging you were because he’s huge and wealthy as fuck,” she explains. “The other half was because you had someone interested in you, finally, but that’s not the point here.”
A little silence stretches between the three of you, and you blame yourself even more for not noticing.
“I hadn’t recognized him at first, but when Juhee said his name, I immediately understood who he was,” she adds.
This makes you feel even more stupid. Everybody realized who he was, except for you.
“He’s like the most wanted man,” Juhee adds, then pauses for a second. “Somehow, he always managed to keep his private life very secret, which is why nobody ever knew about his ex-wife, and based on Yoongi’s words, it was one of the many causes of their arguments,” she focuses back on cutting the tomatoes. “The second he was seen with a famous woman, people were speculating they were together. She’d hate it and asked him a ton of times to kind of make their marriage official, but he always refused.”
God, hearing her talk about him being known makes it even more real, as if it wasn’t already.
“He wanted to protect her,” she continues.
This really sounds like him, or at least the version of him you’ve gotten to know over the past six months.
“How did I not know?” you sigh in disbelief.
You’re still trying to understand how you didn’t.
“He never mentioned anything?” Hyunri asks.
You shake your head before saying, “That’s why I need your help. I found out two days ago when he showed up at my workplace for a meeting with my boss, and I was so angry and hurt.” You pause for a moment, your eyes moving between your friends. “It wasn’t because he’s a CEO or whatever, but because he never said it. He just hid it and kept entertaining this fantasy as if I wouldn’t find it out one day.”
Juhee sighs before resting a hand on your shoulder.
“Look, you have all the rights to be mad about it,” she begins. “But you should also consider his side. I might be biased because I know him, but I for sure know very well how he hates the attention he gets.”
You take a deep breath, remembering his words from two nights ago. Somehow, you wanted to hate him, but you can’t. For sure, lying to you wasn’t his best move, but he had very solid reasons.
“For a while, he was hiding behind his dad's shadow, but even like that, he’d still manage to get some attention. However, when his mom passed, his dad decided to retire fully. Jungkook took everything over, and since then, it’s been crazy. He’s not really used to it,” she continues saying. “So, I can only imagine how it must have felt when the woman you’re into doesn’t know you.”
Hearing this from someone other than him reassures you in some ways.
“He mentioned it felt great,” you tell her. “And that he wanted me to see him for who he truly was.”
“See,” Juhee says.
“It might be wrong what he did, but one thing is sure: he loves you,” Hyunri steps in. “The way he looks at you and how he is with you says a lot about what he feels for you.”
“It’s not about him loving me or not,” you reply. “It’s about him lying when he knew how my ex hurt me with all his lies. He knew it and still decided to do the same. Right now, I don’t trust him.”
Your words might sound harsh, but they reflect how you feel at this precise instant. They feel sorry for you; you can tell by the way they look at you.
“His reasons might be solid, but they still don’t excuse the fact that he chose to live in his delulu world and hide it from me.”
Juhee nods. “Give yourself maybe a couple of days to think about it, and then talk to him again. This caught you both by surprise. Maybe if you let things cool down a bit, the conversation will be more constructive, and you’d both understand each other’s perspective.”
Right now, you don’t know. Your thoughts are just rushing, making it hard for you to function. Everything that you do keeps reminding you of Jungkook. It’s just hard.
“We have his brother’s birthday this weekend,” you inform them. “He had already told his family he’d come with me, but now, I don’t know what to do.”
Your hands run through your face as you feel completely lost. Honestly, you were so excited to meet his family, especially his brother, since he always talks about him so much. But now… You’re not even sure you want to be around him.
“You should go,” Hyunri tells you. “It will give him another chance to explain things to you. I truly believe you should talk and not let time settle between you and destroy the beautiful story you’ve built together so far.”
Jungkook is the reason you built something beautiful. He’s been more than patient with you, as you clearly struggled with being with someone all over again.
“I’ll see,” you reply honestly. “I’ll let you know in any case what I decide.”
You’re grateful to have them by your side, and you value their advice. The thing is, since Juhee knows Jungkook, you can’t help but feel like her advice will never be a hundred percent objective. She gets to see both sides, and it can be cool, but she can understand the two of you, which right now doesn’t feel helpful.
In any case, you’re going to think about it and see if you’ll go to Jungkook’s brother's party.
With a beating heart, you push the bottom with Jungkook’s name on it. In the end, you decided to follow your friends’ advice and still go to his brother’s birthday. You haven’t told him anything about it, which may not have been the greatest idea. He might not be home anymore, but you’re still trying.
“Yn?” you hear his voice through the intercom.
“Hi Jungkook,” you tell him with nervousness.
He unlocks the door, letting you in, and a couple of seconds later, you’re standing in front of him. As usual, he looks so freaking good in his grey suit pants and white shirt. Could he just stop for a second to be this handsome? He’s only making it harder for you.
His face can’t hide his surprise, and honestly, you’re even astonished by yourself. Any sane person would have stayed away from the person who hurt them, instead of running right to their place.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you,” he says.
“We have your brother’s birthday,” you tell him.
As a matter of fact, you’ve tried to pull out an outfit that would seem fit to meet high-profile people. The dresses or skirts from your closet didn’t seem good enough, so you opted for black classy pants with a white top. The look is completed with a brown belt and a beige handbag.
“I thought that after what happened, you wouldn’t want to come,” he mumbles with his eyebrow furrowed.
Damn, he looks too cute for his own good, and you fight the urge to run your fingers over his adorable face. However, you can’t help but notice the prominent dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t had any decent sleep in a while.
“I highly considered it,” you explain, “but you promised your family I’d be there, and I would feel bad not to come.”
Although your friends convinced you to come, not coming would have also made you feel terrible.
“I could have made up some random excuse,” he replies.
“It’s fine,” you shake your head.
Jungkook runs a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes never once leaving yours. Despite it all, you still love having his gaze on you as if he were completely mesmerized by you.
“You should have called or texted me,” he then says. “I could have picked you up.”
You thickly swallow. This is something you highly considered and even started typing, but you needed time to prepare yourself mentally to face him again. Coming on your own allowed you to just think properly.
“No,” you reply. “It’s better like this.”
Jungkook nods, “Let me just finish preparing, and we can leave.”
He steps aside, letting you step inside his place. Since you don’t want to take your shoes off, you remain at the entrance, waiting for him. For a second, he hesitates to speak, but quickly gives up and disappears into his large apartment.
Now that you’re aware of his status, his apartment doesn’t seem so big as it used to. The first time he brought you here, you wondered how much he was earning to afford paying for something this huge. Today, knowing who he is makes this look so small.
Seconds later, he reappears fully ready. Your heart skips a beat when you see him, and you definitely hate how things are right now. You constantly have to fight the urge to just hold him. However, you still need time.
Naturally, you step aside to let him put his shoes on before the two of you leave his place. On your way to the parking, none of you truly speaks, which feels extremely weird. It’s like you’re complete strangers when in fact this man holds your heart in the palm of his hands.
The same silence follows you through the car drive, the music filling the background as your eyes are locked on the city. Nonetheless, you can feel his eyes on you from time to time, but you ignore it with your entire being. You’d completely surrender if you even take a look at him.
When you reach the destination, you can’t help but notice that the event is taking place in a hotel. Somehow, you’re sad because you would have loved to see where Jungkook had grown up. But it is what it is.
Jungkook is nothing but a gentleman, opening the car door for you. Not once does he touch you, which saddens you a lot, but you’re thankful for it. It would make things a lot more complicated.
“We don’t have to hang out together,” he tells you as you both walk towards the entrance. “I can introduce you to my dad and brother, and you can do what you want.”
You simply nod, not sure what to say. Even though you walk side by side, there is still a certain distance between you. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s there. As soon as you step inside the reception room, all the faces turn to look at you. It’s like you have a huge target on your head. However, you know they aren’t looking at you.
They’re looking at him.
It’s so strange. You’re not sure you’d ever be able to get used to a world where he catches everybody’s attention with his presence only.
“Jungkook,” a man almost screams as he walks toward you.
Instantly, your gaze shifts to Jungkook, trying to read him. A bright smile stretches across his face, and when you look back at the man, you can’t help but notice their resemblance. Since he looks young, you’d say that’s his brother.
“Junyoung,” Jungkook says, taking a step toward the man’s direction.
They hug each other, and you can’t help but smile. It’s definitely an adorable moment. They whisper some words to each other, and you stand there, looking at them. For a moment, you look around, trying to see if you recognize anybody, but those are all strangers. The only thing they have in common is how gorgeous they look.
When they separate, they turn to you. Jungkook’s eyes sparkle with joy, which melts your heart instantly.
“Junyoung, this is yn,” Jungkook introduces you to him. “And yn, this is my brother.”
“It’s finally a pleasure to meet the girl who stole my brother’s heart,” Junyoung says as he extends his hand.
You shake it with a smile on your face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well,” you say. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Hopefully, only good things,” he replies.
“He never said anything bad about you.”
Somehow, you can’t picture Jungkook speaking poorly of someone. Even when he talked about his dad being absent, it wasn’t in a bad way. It was still gentle despite the fact that he had hurt him in the past.
“Good to know,” he says with a smile.
“And happy birthday,” you tell him before you completely forget why you’re here in the first place.
“Thanks.”
The three of you talk together for a moment, and as you speak, you take a glass of champagne. Surviving this night with Jungkook is definitely going to be tough. He doesn’t leave your side, but doesn’t touch you either. Speaking with him and his brother as if nothing ever happened isn’t easy too. It’s like everything is just fine between you, when it’s not the case.
Junyoung is a natural social butterfly—he speaks a lot. He has so many great stories about him and Jungkook, and the way he tells them only makes them funnier. Through it all, you imagine a younger version of Jungkook, which melts your heart over and over again.
As you keep talking and drinking, you find yourself leaning naturally against him, his body brushing against yours. His warmth feels comfortable, as usual.
Other people start joining you, and Jungkook introduces you as his girlfriend to all of them. Your heart squeezes every time he says girlfriend, which you still are, but somehow, it scares you that maybe you won’t be anymore. But you push that thought away. You’re here to celebrate his brother, not overthink your relationship status.
“Dad, this is yn,” Jungkook says when his father joins you.
“Hello yn,” the older man says with a big smile. “I’m Minju, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Hello, Mr. Jeon,” you reply. “It’s also an honor to meet Jungkook’s father.”
It’s more than an honor to meet one of the most influential and wealthiest men on earth. It’s the first time that you’re standing in front of someone that huge—if we don’t consider Jungkook. You’ve heard and read so many things about him, and it feels surreal to have him in front of you.
“Please don’t call me Mr. Jeon, it makes me feel old,” he says, and it makes you chuckle. “Minju is more than enough, especially if you’re my son’s girlfriend.”
Again, your heart squeezes. Right now, you just wish things were different between you and him, so this wasn’t hard to hear. As discreetly as possible, you finish your fourth—or maybe fifth—glass of champagne before putting it down on the table next to you.
“We’re somehow like family now,” he adds.
You simply nod, too scared to say something you’d regret. You’d hate yourself if you ever say or do something that’ll embarrass you and Jungkook. He has a reputation, and you wouldn’t want to ruin it just because he hurt you. That wouldn’t be fair.
The conversation keeps flowing naturally, and his dad is honestly very nice to you. He raises questions, tries to learn some things about you, and tells you some stories about Jungkook. Through the conversations with him and Junyoung, you get to discover a side of him you haven’t seen, which is totally normal, as you’ve only known him for six months.
At some point, you lay your head on his shoulder, and you feel him tense against you. For sure, he wasn’t expecting it, but right now, with all the alcohol you’ve had—you’ve stopped counting the glasses of champagne and wine you’ve drunk—, you don’t care. If you have to pretend that nothing happened between you, let’s do it correctly.
And for the first time, he rests his hand on your back. His touch sends electricity through your entire body, but you choose to ignore it. It’s better like that. A smile appears on his dad’s face when he notices the sweet, affectionate moment between you and his son.
“Are you okay?” Jungkook whispers to you.
“Yeah,” you nod. “Just need to rest my head a bit.”
“Do you want to go home?” he asks with concern.
“No, no,” you reply. “It’s fine.”
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and you both stay like that as people chat around you. You don’t hear anything they say, too caught up in Jungkook’s warmth. His strong cologne is the only thing you can smell right now, and his body is the only thing you want to feel—not in a sexual way. Being away from him this past few days makes you realize how much you missed him.
You close your eyes, enjoying this moment between you two.
When you open them again, Jungkook is pouring water into a glass, and then hands it to you. You look up at him, trying to read his face, but it’s in vain—he’s totally unreadable. The only thing that truly strikes you is how tired he looks.
“Here, for you,” he whispers.
“Thanks,” you say as you take the glass.
Your body straightens before you eagerly drink the water. You didn’t even know you were this thirsty, but he did. Of course, he did! He always notices every little thing, which infuriates you a bit right now. You excuse yourself, disappearing into the bathroom to take a breather.
For a little while, you just remain seated on the toilet bowl. You rest your head in your hands, trying to gather yourself for a bit. It’s not easy, and the fact that you’ve been drinking a lot throughout the night isn’t helping at all.
“What have I done?” you mumble to yourself. “Why did I find someone like him?”
The fact that he’s sweet, prevenient, and a gentleman makes it extremely hard to be mad at him for his lie. Despite everything, he still remains the same. He’s still the Jungkook you fell in love with.
Your phone buzzes in your handbag, which instantly distracts you from whatever is going through your mind. When you take it out, your heart stops. It’s a message from Jungkook.
jungkook 🏍️: everything’s fine?
you: yeah
You put the phone back inside your bag and leave the bathroom. If you stay any longer, he’ll start worrying, and that’s not what you want. You’re not a sadist. When you reemerge in the venue, your eyes scan the room, looking for the man of your dreams. The second you spot him in the room, he’s already looking in your direction.
A little smile appears on your face, and he returns it.
Before you even have the time to realize it, he’s already walking towards you, and you decide to meet him halfway. Jungkook is clearly worried; you can tell from the way he looks at you. It breaks your heart to see him like this. It has never been your intention to worry him.
“Yn,” he says once you’re standing face to face. “Are you really sure you’re okay?”
You’re not sure if the alcohol in your blood inhibits all your senses, but you find yourself putting your hands on his sweet face.
“I think I drank a bit too much,” you confess. “But don’t worry, it’s okay.”
“I noticed it, but you don’t look okay,” he tells you.
“Well…” you begin, but you’re not sure whether to keep going. “Alcohol and hurt aren’t a good combination.”
The softness in his gaze almost makes it hard to look at him. His hands fall over yours, his thumbs stroking your skin.
“I told you that you didn’t need to come,” he whispers.
“I didn’t want to disappoint your family while I still figure things out,” you admit.
“You wouldn’t have disappointed anybody, yn,” he tells you with a tenderness that clutches your heart. “If anything, it was understandable if you wouldn’t come.”
For a moment, you close your eyes, enjoying this proximity after everything that happened. From an outside perspective, this moment looks like a cute one between you, and it kind of is. However, it fully isn’t.
“But they don’t know,” you whisper as you open your eyes.
“They don’t need to,” he replies instantly. “This is between you and me, and if you hadn’t come, it was my problem, not theirs.”
Damn, you hate the way he looks at you, and you’re the only one to blame.
“Let me drive you home,” he adds.
This time, you nod. Maybe it’s best if you go home and sleep. His strong hands take yours away from his face before his right hand holds yours. His fingers don’t intertwine, which saddens you a bit, so you decide to do it. Jungkook guides you through the people to join his brother and dad.
“We’re going home,” he informs them. “She isn’t feeling well.”
They wave you goodbye, telling you they hope you’ll get better soon. They also mention how glad they were to meet you and hope to see you again. It pains you not to be able to answer them, but you can’t say you’ll see them again when you’re not even sure what to do with Jungkook.
The ride to your place begins in pure silence, none of you knowing what to say. It feels peaceful at first, but you quickly realize that you don’t want to go to your place. You actually don’t even want to sleep alone tonight. It’s a bit fucked up, but honestly, you’re not really able to think properly.
“Can I sleep with you tonight?” you say, breaking the silence.
His hands grip the steering wheel tightly before his eyes quickly glance at you.
“It’s not a good idea, yn,” he replies.
“Why?” you pout.
“You perfectly know why,” he says. “I hurt you.”
You sigh, knowing damn well that it’s a lost cause. He’s not going to say yes, not even in your wildest dreams. And his answer hits you like a punch in your stomach. Jungkook pulls the car to the side a bit further and looks at you.
“Believe me, I’d love to sleep with you,” he finally says. “But you’re drunk and hurt.”
You cross your arms against your chest, listening carefully to what he says.
“It doesn’t feel right if we do it when you’re like that.”
He’s right, you shouldn’t be doing this, but you don’t care, honestly. All you want is him.
“I know it…” You’re really trying to remain strong. “But right now, all I want is to feel you next to me,” you reply with a shaky voice.
Jungkook closes his eyes, his fingers running through his perfect hair.
“You’ll regret it tomorrow,” he says, his eyes opening.
“We don’t know…” You reply.
“Love…” he whispers, and the way he says your nickname sends shivers down your spine. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”
“I just want you tonight, Jungkook,” you mumble with a sadness that could break anybody’s heart.
The fact that he’s honestly thinking about your well-being and how you might feel tomorrow melts your heart, and it might even make you love him even more. Damn, you already love him so much.
“And we can talk even tomorrow about everything,” you add.
“Really?” he asks with surprise.
You nod, “I’m not saying it because I’m drunk and desperate to be with you,” you begin explaining. “I really want to speak with you because we really need to. I can’t just decide after a conversation we had in the heat of the moment.”
For a moment, a silence stretches between you two, and his gaze remains on your face as if he’s trying to check if you’re lying. You’re not. You really thought about what Hyunri and Juhee told you; you really need to speak with him again, and let him explain things better.
“You’re sure?” he breaks the silence.
“I am,” you reply.
“I don’t want you to regret it,” he adds.
“I won’t,” you say with certainty.
Jungkook nods and starts the car again, driving you to his place after you told him you don’t want to go to your place. He didn’t even argue with you, simply agreeing. Your gaze remains locked to the city passing before your eyes.
Once you reach his place, he remains behind you as you walk to his bedroom. This distance will eventually break you, but you can understand that he doesn’t want to push you, that he’s giving you the space you need—the space you clearly asked for.
“I still have the pajama you left,” he tells you. “It’s in the dressing room.”
Your gaze shifts to the door in his bedroom leading to his dressing room. It isn’t a huge place, but it’s honestly already unique to have one. However, the thought of him being wealthy as hell comes back, reminding you that this might be totally normal for him.
“I’ll leave you alone and sleep on the couch,” he adds.
“No,” you reply.
His eyebrows furrow as he looks taken aback by your answer.
“I asked to sleep with you, not with a ghost,” you continue.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t even fight, simply nodding. After that, you both change clothes and get into bed together. As expected, he tries as much as possible to distance himself from you, but you don’t push it. You’ve already asked too much from him tonight.
The next day, when you open your eyes, you instantly notice the emptiness next to you. Jungkook isn’t there anymore. For a moment, you remain in bed, giving yourself time to adjust to the brightness of the sun crossing through the window.
After a while, you stand up, your feet guiding you first to the bathroom. All the alcohol has been filtered by your body and needs to be evacuated. When you clean your hands and face, you take a quick glance at yourself. You look like a complete mess.
The smell of coffee and toasts guides you to the kitchen, and you find Jungkook—fully clothed, obviously—preparing breakfast. For a moment, you stand there, looking at his back. It’s hard to be angry when he’s nothing but thoughtful with you.
“Good morning,” you say, finally letting him know you’re here.
He turns, a small smile tucking on his lips when he sees you.
“Good morning,” he says. “I’ve prepared breakfast.”
As he says it, he places a plate with toasts and a mug on the table.
“This is for you.”
“Thanks,” you reply, walking towards it.
Seconds later, he sits in front of you with the same breakfast. Through it all, you eat in silence, avoiding as much as possible looking at him. It’s not that you don’t want to, but it’s easier, especially since you know you’ll have a tough conversation.
“You still want to talk?” he asks once he finishes his breakfast.
“Yes,” you nod before taking the last bite of the toast.
Jungkook takes a deep breath, clearly as frightened as you to go through this again.
“I want to fully understand why you did it, knowing perfectly well how much I hate lies,” you continue.
His eyes close for a second, his hands shaking slightly as you patiently wait for his answer. Even though he already explained why he did it, you need the full picture.
“As you know now, I’m Jeon Minju’s son and Jeon Sungki’s grandson,” he begins. “My grandpa created Jeon Pharmaceuticals, and my dad brought it to his now-recognized fame. I was born into a powerful family, and everybody knew my name and legacy as soon as I was born. Expectations were always high. My dad and grandpa wanted me to take over the company, and from a very young age, they included me in anything related to the company.”
The story behind the company is quite well-known today. His grandpa created something that his dad turned into something bigger.
“Honestly, continuing what they started always interested me, so I never minded at all. On my end, I created the Jeon Group while my dad was leading Jeon Pharmaceuticals. It was my dream to build something from scratch, as my grandpa did.”
Wow, you never knew that he was the one who created the group. After spending hours reading articles over articles, it made you think Jungkook simply took over what his dad and grandpa did. You never once considered that he might have created it, especially considering how the group is one of the biggest to this day. And somehow, your chest swells with a certain pride.
“My first purpose was to provide the funds and help other pharmaceutical companies to continue my family’s legacy, but very quickly, I found myself wanting to help some small startups,” he continues. “As you can imagine, being a Jeon and creating the group brought a certain fame I never asked for.”
Well, you perfectly know it now. After finding it out a week ago, you started googling his name and reading things about him. It’s crazy what has been said about him. It’s like they were talking about a man you’ve never known but who carries the same face and name as your boyfriend.
“When I was young, my grandpa protected me a lot, but as soon as Jeon Group began existing, things changed. People were starting to recognize me, companies would reach out to me out of the blue to help them, and women started to look at me differently.”
From what you’ve read, he’s like very wanted by women. They’d even kill to have a simple conversation with him.
“When I met my ex-wife, she already knew who I was, and if I’m totally honest, she chased me. Eventually, I fell in love and even married her. Now that I look back, I see that maybe she wasn’t into me. She was into the prestige of my name,” he says.
Through it all, Jungkook never looks away from you, and you don’t either. It’s like you both need to read each other’s expressions.
“When my mom died, my dad stepped completely back from the company, and I took it over, as he and my grandpa wanted. It wasn’t easy to become its CEO while I was grieving my mom, but it was what I always wanted, so I did my best.”
And you don’t even doubt that he did great.
“After that, things became crazier. My face was everywhere, people were chasing me, and every single person I’d meet would know me. Before they even got to see me for who I truly was, they already had an image of me, so I always felt like I needed to meet their expectations. I was never myself, except with my friends and family,” he continues to explain, and this honestly breaks your heart. “What became harder to deal with was all the rumors. Whenever I was seen with someone a tiny bit famous, headlines about a potential relationship were out the next day. My ex-wife hated it and wanted me to reveal our marriage, which I refused.”
“To protect her,” you add, to which he nods.
“All the unwanted attention and my failing marriage were becoming too much. Things eventually fell apart with my ex-wife, and I was really convinced that I would never find someone who’d see the real me, not the version the media created.”
Imagining how he must have felt is heart-crushing. Hearing all of this makes you see the whole lie completely differently, and maybe, you can understand why he did it.
“I tried to date here and there, but I’d regret it almost instantly. I ended up giving up on it until I met you,” a little smile appears on his face as he says the last sentence. “Yoongi had already mentioned your name a couple of times because you’re Juhee’s best friend. He always spoke highly of you and felt sorry you were alone.”
Juhee and Yoongi always said they found you beautiful and wanted to help you find someone, which they struggled with. In the end, they unintentionally succeeded.
“He would even ask us if we knew someone to introduce them to you,” he adds. “But when I saw you at his birthday, I remember thinking how lucky I was to have the prettiest girl in front of me. I couldn’t keep my eyes away from you.”
Since the very beginning, Jungkook never hid from you how beautiful he found you, and it always made you feel special when he said it.
“And when you told me your name, I quickly realized why he so desperately wanted to find someone for you,” he pauses again, but his eyes never look away from you. “Honestly, I thought you had recognized me, but pretended you hadn’t. The feeling was exhilarating—it was new and addictive. After like two days, it was clear as day that you didn’t know.”
For the past week, you’ve wondered what it would have been like if you knew him. Would you even be together today? Would you be hurt now? Those questions will forever remain unanswered, and maybe it’s best like that.
“I knew it was wrong to hide it, especially after you talked about all the bullshit your ex did to you. But I found myself enjoying way too much what we have. You had no expectations of me, except for treating you better than the idiot who broke your heart,” his voice becomes even softer now. “You’re the only person who saw me for who I am. You’re the only person who knows who Jeon Jungkook truly is.”
Honestly, knowing that feels unique, like nobody else has had the opportunity to meet the man you fell in love with.
“I was scared that my status would change the way you perceived me, and I didn’t want to change what was blooming between us. Eventually, I realized I couldn’t do it forever. I knew I had to tell you, but I never found the courage to,” he explains. “Then, my brother’s birthday party was around the corner, and I needed to tell you.”
At this precise instant, you just feel sorry for him. It doesn’t sound like he had it easy because of his name.
“I didn’t know you were working at NovaTech,” he continues. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have even reached out to the CEO to buy it.”
“We never truly talked about work,” you tell him. “I can’t blame you for that.”
Work wasn’t really a topic of conversation between you. All he knew was that you had changed jobs less than a year ago, and that you weren’t Juhee’s coworker anymore. Otherwise, he would have known where you’d be working.
“I know…” he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m just truly sorry for how everything went wrong and for hurting you. It wasn’t my intention. It never was. I was just so caught up with your love, and it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Surprisingly, you place your hand on top of his.
“Look, I understand you—I truly do,” you begin saying. “But it’s not easy to find out through a coworker that your boyfriend is literally one of the most powerful and wealthiest men on earth, especially when you had six months to say it.”
Jungkook turns his hand so he can hold yours.
“I literally got mad at you for throwing money out of the window, and you could have just said it there,” you continue. “But what hurts the most is that I don’t know if I can trust you.”
He swallows thickly, your eyes following the movement of his Adam’s apple. Honestly, without sounding too kinky, you always find that part of a man’s anatomy very sexy. And it’s better not to ask why.
“You intentionally hid that for six months, so who knows what else you’re not saying… Maybe I’ll find out in six months that you have a secret child, or that you’re still married, or who knows what,” you say with clear frustration in your voice.
“I promised that outside that, I’m not hiding something else,” he adds. “We still have a lot to learn from each other, but there’s no other huge secret I’m keeping from you.”
Right now, you wish you could believe him, and a part of you does, but the other doesn’t. Jungkook had picked up the pieces your ex broke, and he ended up doing the same. The circumstances are completely different, and Jungkook clearly isn’t flirting with another woman under your nose. But his lie implicates way more.
“I know Juhee tells you things,” he continues. “You know I’m fully divorced, and no secret child is hidden under the rug.”
For sure, if there was a child or if he was still married, you’d have known it by now, and most importantly, she wouldn’t have probably encouraged you to keep seeing Jungkook. Those are very important things to her.
“I blame myself for not knowing it,” you confess, your head looking down to hold back the tears. “You’re so huge and super known, and I don’t know how I didn’t see it while everything was under my nose.”
His hand squeezes yours, trying to comfort you in some way.
“Hey,” he says as his other hand lifts your chin up. “This is not your fault, and there’s nothing to blame yourself for. I’m the only one you should blame.”
“It’s easy for you to say when you’re not the one finding out about this,” you reply, a tear running down your cheek.
“Love…” he whispers. “I don’t want you to blame yourself for something I did.”
His thumb strokes your chin in a comforting way, sadness written all over his face.
“I hadn’t been with someone in years, and I don’t know how to deal with this,” you admit, as more tears stream down your face. “I’d like it to be easy to hate you or something like that, but all I constantly want is you, even though you hurt me.”
“I’m so sorry, love,” he says. “Believe me, I hate myself enough for putting you in this position. My sole intention was to always make you feel loved, nothing else.”
And you believe him—you really do. Jungkook stands up before pushing you into his arms, and you just cry. You wrap your arms around his waist, soaking his shirt as you let yourself evacuate what has been in your heart for days. It hurts—way more than you even thought possible.
For a moment, you stay like this, pouring your heart out as he holds you close. Jungkook doesn’t move or speak, and you’re grateful he doesn’t. It’s better like this. You’ve both spoken, and now, you have to figure out what you want. Do you let him in and trust him again? Or do you shut him out?
After the emotionally intense conversation with Jungkook, your views on the situation have changed. Yesterday morning, before going to work, you sent him a little ‘good morning’ message, to which he replied almost instantly. Some other little messages were sent as well, most of them being him making sure you were fine.
This morning, he was the one who sent you the ‘good morning’ message, and you’re not going to lie, it warmed your heart. For sure, you don’t know where this is going, but still talking a bit with him makes you feel good.
In a couple of minutes, you have a meeting with your team, and you booked a meeting room some days ago as required by procedure. As usual, you head there a few minutes early to settle everything and be ready by the time your coworkers arrive. On your way, you pass in front of your big boss’s office, and he’s speaking quite loudly.
“Jeon wants to withdraw his offer,” he basically screams.
Your entire body freezes. You remember Jungkook mentioning he would’ve never tried to buy NovaTech if he knew you were working here, but you never thought he’d step out.
Before anyone notices you, you basically rush to the meeting room, close the door behind you, and sit down in a chair. You pull your phone out of your pocket, heading directly to your conversation with Jungkook. Without thinking, your fingers press on the phone icon, calling him.
“Hi, Jungkook,” you say when he picks up.
“Hi, yn,” he replies. “Everything’s okay?”
His concern warms your heart.
“Yeah, yeah,” you reply. “Are you abandoning NovaTech’s purchase?”
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, but you can hear him moving around on the other side of the phone. Whenever he does that, he usually runs a hand through his hair. By now, you’ve learned to recognize the habit. He’s nervous, you can tell it.
“Yes,” he finally breaks the silence.
“Why?”
Your heart starts beating faster as you wait for his answer, even though you already know what it’s going to be.
“Because of you,” he replies instantly without any hesitation.
You take a very deep breath, thoughts racing through your mind. Despite how flattering it might sound, you wish you hadn’t heard it.
“Professional decisions shouldn’t be made based on your private life,” you tell him.
The pace of his feet seems to increase, and you find yourself biting the nail of your thumb.
“In this case, it has to,” he ends up replying. “I never liked to mix my professional life with my personal one.”
As you work on the finance side of NovaTech, you know certain things, like you and Jungkook would never meet or have any subordinate link. Normally, Jeon Group will only acquire the company and make decisions at a very high level. Your big boss should remain—unless Jungkook decides otherwise—and he’ll be the one leading the company.
“But we’re both aware it won’t be the case,” you say.
“Yn…” he mumbles. “You’d work in a company part of the Jeon Group. I consider that mixing both lives.”
Somehow, he’s not wrong, but he can’t decide what to do based on where you work. If he made an offer, it’s because he was interested in the company. He can’t just step out because of you.
“Do you really want to buy?” you ask.
“It’s not the point,” he replies.
“Listen to me,” you tell him. “I really don’t want you to give up on something because of me. If you really like the company and want to buy it, just do it—don’t hold back because of me.”
On the other side, Jungkook sighs, and you know that this is all uncharted territory for him.
“It’s not that easy,” he begins to explain. “As the new shareholder, I’ll be very involved in everything related to the company, especially at the beginning. Every decision will ultimately be accepted or rejected by me. Whatever I decide will inevitably impact you, so I won’t ever be impartial, because I’ll always think first about how it will affect you.”
Well, you’ve never seen things like that, but he’s the head of the Jeon Group, so he knows better than you how things work. Still, you feel bad that he steps back from his initial desire.
“I would have never made an offer if I knew you worked there,” he adds.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble.
“Don’t be, it’s fine,” he replies. “I won’t die because NovaTech isn’t part of my group.” Jungkook pauses for a second. “I’d rather lose a deal than lose you.”
A smile finds its way to your face at his words. Right now, you wish you could be with him; you’d simply hug him as tight as possible. For a moment, you remain silent, too scared to say something you’d regret.
“I need to get back to work,” he says, breaking the little silence. “But I’m here if you need anything.”
Surprisingly, you find yourself saying, “I miss the bike rides. Do you think we could do one soon?”
His reply is instant, “Let me know when, and I’ll take you on a ride.”
Your heart clenches. Despite it all, he’s still there, not forcing and simply letting you set the pace. The way he speaks and acts clearly indicates that he doesn’t want to lose you, but he still lets you choose the outcome. He fully acknowledges that he did wrong, but shows you that he loves you.
“Thanks,” you reply.
“Have a nice day, love.”
The call ends there with your heart full of hope. Deep down, you know you can trust him, but you need some time.
Over the following week, your relationship with Jungkook improved, even though you still struggle with the trusting part. There hasn’t been a day without him texting you. And a couple of days ago, he sent flowers to your place after a hard and intense day at work.
The NovaTech deal was completely given up on, which deeply frustrated your boss, and let’s just say that he hasn’t been the happiest lately. You can bring yourself not to feel guilty, because without you working there, Jungkook would have continued with the deal. So, work hasn’t been particularly easy.
For obvious reasons, you haven’t talked again with Jungkook about this, and whenever work is too intense, you avoid explaining it in too much detail. You don’t really know how he’ll react, and you also don’t want to worry him or make him feel guilty.
Tonight, Juhee invited you over for a little dinner. Some other friends were invited as well, but she didn’t mention Jungkook, which made you believe that he wasn’t invited. Deep down, you wish he were because being apart from him for the past week hasn’t been easy, and it’s also a very new concept for you, after the past six months spent with him always around you.
Somehow, you’re convinced that she didn’t invite him because of what happened. She doesn’t know yet how things are going between you and him. You’d rather just take your time and truly consider by yourself what you want. What you don’t need now is to have everybody’s opinion.
“Hi, girl,” she says with open arms when she sees you.
Naturally, you lean into her embrace, holding her as tight as possible. It’s good to be with her.
“Hi, Ju,” you reply in the crook of her neck.
When you step inside, Bora, Juhee’s daughter, is sitting on the living room floor, looking straight at you with a bright smile. That little girl is honestly the cutest. Juhee and Yoongi created the perfect little girl.
“Look who’s here,” you say, heading straight to Bora.
Strange noises that sound like giggles escape her little mouth while she claps her hands excitedly. You kneel on the floor to be at her level.
“Hi, little Booboo,” your fingers poke her round cheeks.
Bora just moves with a contagious happiness while babbling nonsense, which only makes her even more adorable.
“You’re so so cute tonight with your little blue dress,” you tell her, even though she might not understand a damn thing.
Bora is the perfect mix of her parents. For example, the way she’s smiling now is very similar to Yoongi’s smile, but the way her eyes sparkle with happiness reminds you of her mother. Whatever she might do will always remind you of Juhee or Yoongi.
You press a gentle kiss on top of her head before gently arranging her messy hair. By the looks of it, she probably already ran her dirty hands a million times on her head, putting whatever she found in her hair. Juhee might have already had several heart attacks, especially if she tried to arrange it. She already expressed a ton of times how frustrating it can be.
When you look up, your heart drops instantly as your gaze meets the man you love. Jungkook.
For a moment, you’re not able to look away, too caught up by his intense gaze. Saying you didn’t miss him would be a complete lie. Although you spoke every day through messages, seeing him in person is a whole other thing. A sincere and genuine smile spreads across his face, and you can’t help but do the same.
In the end, it seemed like you had it all wrong. Juhee still invited him, which you feel honestly grateful for, because this is the perfect excuse to see him again. You’ve been dying to propose it to him, but you never felt quite ready for it. Now, he’s here.
“Hi, yn,” he says with the softest voice you’ve heard coming from him.
“Hi, Jungkook,” you take a step in his direction as you speak.
Even though you’re happy to see him, you don’t really know what to do. Should you kiss him on the cheek or on the lips? Or maybe you should just hug him? Why are you being so awkward all over again?
Jungkook doesn’t really let you dwell on whatever is going through your mind as he wraps his strong arms around you, pushing you into a tender embrace. The rhythm of his heart instantly echoes against your ear, the warmth of his body completely wraps you, and the scent of his cologne tickles your nose. You missed this. More than you anticipated.
“I missed you,” he whispers before placing a kiss on top of your head.
Inevitably, your arms swathe his upper body, and your eyes flutter shut. Behind you, Juhee is tenderly looking at the two of you with Bora in her arms. For sure, you’ll have to thank her for this moment, together with bringing Jungkook to your life and guiding you through everything.
Your insecurities have reached the roof since the moment this man stepped inside your life and heart. Even if you love him and want him near you, it’s not always easy. Sometimes, it just feels overwhelming, a feeling that freezes your body entirely. This is by no means his fault—it’s yours, and you think it explains why you struggle so much with his lie.
“I miss you too,” you mumble.
The two of you break apart to gaze at each other all over again. The first thing you notice is his new haircut, which looks good on him. He didn’t do anything spectacular, but his hair is a bit shorter than before. It looks as short as it used to when you met.
“Did you cut your hair?” you instantly ask.
“Yep,” he nods.
“It suits you well,” you tell him.
The doorbell cuts your conversation short. Both of you look at the door before Hyunri shows up with the brightest smile on her face. Her fiancé, Beomseok, is right behind her with a bottle of wine in his hand. There’s no doubt you’ll drink a couple of glasses—hopefully, not too many. Let’s try to remain sober throughout the entire night.
“Giiiirl,” Hyunri screams after she greeted Juhee and Bora.
As she walks towards you, you notice the way she wriggles her eyebrows with the silliest smile on her face. There’s no doubt that she’s doing it because she sees you next to Jungkook. The roll of your eyes says it all, which only makes her giggle.
She takes you in her arms and presses a kiss on your cheek. “Seems like your man is here too,” she teasingly whispers in your ear.
“Hyunri,” you warn her.
Your best friend doesn’t give a shit about your warning, but it’s nothing new. However, she makes you feel absolutely embarrassed when she suddenly screams that it’s a couple’s night. Beomseok, her fiancé, has never met Jungkook and has probably heard of all your problems with him.
Yoongi, behind you, laughs, and his wife tries to hold it back. Hyunri really knows how to turn a moment into an awkward one. You briefly glance at Jungkook, who smiles while shaking his head. The sight squeezes your heart as you’ve never seen somebody looking this effortlessly ethereal.
“You must be Jungkook, yn’s boyfriend,” Beomseok extends his hand to him.
With a heart pounding extremely fast, you watch the two men interacting. Will Jungkook correct him? Or will he just pretend he didn’t hear it? This weird situation between you and him leaves you constantly worrying about what you are to each other. Can you still call him your boyfriend?
“Yes, that’s right,” Jungkook takes his hand to shake it. “And I guess you’re Beomseok.”
Hyunri’s fiancé nods with a bright smile on his face. Yoongi joins them before the three men start ranting about whatever is going on in their lives. Your two best friends get closer to you, and the three of you watch them.
“Never thought I’d see them interact,” Hyunri breaks the little silence there was between you.
“Me neither,” Juhee adds. “To be honest, I never imagined Jungkook ever be with us. Like, he pertains to Yoongi’s group of friends, and I didn’t think he’d join our group of friends one day.”
Sincerely, you agree with her, but more in the sense that it is weird to see him with Juhee, Yoongi, Hyunri, and Beomseok. All these years, it’s always been the four of them with you, and nobody else. But tonight, there’s an extra guest. A guest who for sure already knows Yoongi and Juhee, but one who owns your heart.
“What is he doing here, then?” you ask with curiosity. “You all know what’s going on between us…”
“Yoongi,” Juhee simply replies. “He has many more updates on you and Jungkook than I have.” Her words kind of break your heart. “But don’t worry, no one’s blaming you here,” she corrects herself when she notices your sad expression. “It’s just that Jungkook has been telling Yoongi how happy he is that, despite it all, you still talk to him.”
“You’re still talking to Jungkook?” Hyunri asks.
Leaving Hyunri in the dark, especially since Juhee has been informed of everything, feels wrong, so you tell her everything. After Junyoung’s birthday party, you didn’t dwell too much on the details of how it went, because you needed your time to think and absorb everything he said to you. They both listen to you carefully.
“So, in the end, it’s a good thing he’s here tonight,” Hyunri concludes.
“I don’t know…” you mumble while pushing your hair back. “We won’t really be speaking about any of this.”
“Maybe that’s what you need,” she replies. “Maybe all you need is to interact together without particularly speaking about whatever is going on.”
“We all know he’s never going to push it unless you bring the topic up,” Juhee adds. “So, just don’t think about it for now and enjoy the night.”
She’s not wrong. Tonight shouldn’t be about trying to go through what you feel, but more about having fun. There’s no need to speak first about it before enjoying some time together. Maybe this will allow you to put things aside for a night.
After that, Juhee invites you all to sit down, and not so surprisingly, you end up next to Jungkook. Feeling his presence all over again is honestly soothing. Neither of you creates a certain distance. Actually, his knee touches you while his arm brushes yours. Not once do you look at him as if it’ll kill you.
Juhee and Yoongi bring the dinner they prepared for you, as the conversation flows naturally. Bora is sitting at the extremity of the table in her high chair. She’s excitedly eating her carrot maize puffs, and she just looks adorable with her orange mouth.
As you joyfully eat and discuss with everybody, your left arm unintentionally brushes his, and his right thigh never stops pressing against yours. If you’re being honest, you absolutely love this proximity.
“Want some more?” Jungkook suddenly asks you with the bottle of wine in his hand.
For the first time since the beginning of the dinner, your gaze meets his. Your heart instantly misses a beat at the intensity of his glare. This brings you back to the moment you first met him, to when he wouldn’t look away from you while you were still strangers.
“Yes, please,” you nod.
Without waiting another second, he pours a bit of wine into your glass, and your eyes follow his every movement as if he’d disappear if you look away. When his gaze shifts to you once more, a little smile brightens his face. Jungkook leans slightly closer.
“You look stunning tonight,” he whispers near your ear.
His deep voice sends shivers down your spine, and your body temperature instantly increases. Damn, hearing him complimenting you definitely does things to you. You fight back the urge to look at him, too scared you might betray yourself if you do so.
“Thanks,” you reply. “You don’t look bad either.”
A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest. If he keeps doing things like that, he’ll have you weak on your knees before the end of the night. It’s honestly not fair the effect he has on you. Jungkook turns his attention back to the table, one of his arms resting behind you. He’s close enough for you to feel his warmth through your long-sleeve top.
You bring your glass to your lips, hoping the wine will somehow calm the sudden warmth spreading through your body.
“Your hands are shaking,” he suddenly murmurs near your ear.
Your eyes shift to your hands that are definitely shaking, but you’re definitely not admitting it. “They’re not.”
A quiet chuckle leaves him, low enough that only you can hear it. However, you can feel your friends’ eyes on you. They’re definitely checking whatever is going on between you and Jungkook.
“Right,” he whispers.
You finally dare to glance at him, only to find him already looking at you. His expression remains perfectly calm, almost innocent, but there’s something in his eyes that completely betrays him. And the worst part? He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
His fingers briefly brush against yours when he reaches for the bottle of water right in front of you. The contact lasts less than a second, yet your entire body reacts to it, and Jungkook notices, as he always notices everything when it comes to you.
But instead of teasing you about it, he simply pours water into his glass before leaning back in his chair, his glass in hand, as if he hadn’t just completely ruined your ability to focus on anything else.
The rest of the night just passes by at the speed of light as you’re too caught up in the conversations. Jungkook doesn’t really tease you anymore, but his arm remains behind you, his fingers brushing your shoulder from time to time. Not once do you push him away, loving this proximity between you way too much.
When Hyunri and Beomseok leave, it feels like it’s your time to leave as well. Since you came by bus, you already know it’s way too late to catch one now, and also, you wouldn’t have risked taking one at this time. So, the taxi seems to be the last available option.
“How did you come?” Jungkook suddenly asks you, your eyes shifting up to him.
“Bus,” you reply.
“Do you want me to drop you off?” he offers.
For a second, your glance moves to your best friend sitting right across from you. With a simple nod, she encourages you to accept Jungkook’s offer, and a small smile appears on your face. She’s right, you should go with him. The night has been great so far, and maybe you should enjoy it until the end, meaning letting him take you home.
“You took your bike?” you ask when your gaze moves to him.
“No,” he shakes his head.
Perfect! You don’t have your helmet with you, so it would have been complicated—and, yes, you still have the helmet at home. It’s too hard to give it back to him for now.
“Okay,” you then say. “If you don’t mind, then I’ll accept the ride home.”
His eyes quickly scan your face, a bright and genuine smile stretching across his lips. “I would never mind dropping you off wherever you want.”
And you know it’s true—he’s been doing it for the past six months. There hasn’t been a time he said no, and you’d sometimes feel guilty because you knew he was busy, but he’d just drop everything off for you.
After waving goodbye to Juhee and Yoongi and leaving their place, you find yourself walking beside Jungkook through the quiet street. The night air feels fresh against your skin after the warmth from your friends’ place, but somehow, being next to Jungkook still makes your body feel overheated.
The walk is silent, none of you trying to break it at any moment. It isn’t uncomfortable, it’s quite the opposite. It settles naturally between you, while the sound of your footsteps echoes lightly on the pavement. Every now and then, your shoulder almost brushes his arm, and each near contact makes your heartbeat react embarrassingly fast.
Once you reach his fancy car, he steps ahead of you before unlocking the passenger door and opening it for you. You thank him before sliding inside the car and sitting down on the leather seat.
The familiar scent lingering inside the car wraps around you almost immediately. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but his scent has already become comforting to you. Every time it surrounds you, your body relaxes, as if it instinctively recognizes him as somewhere safe to rest.
Your fingers smooth over the fabric of your pants while you take in the inside of his car. It feels like it was an eternity ago when you last saw it, but it wasn’t that long ago.
A few seconds later, the driver’s door opens, pulling you out of your thoughts. Jungkook slides into the seat beside you with effortless ease, one hand briefly adjusting the sleeve of his jacket before settling comfortably behind the wheel.
Your eyes drift toward him. The soft lights from outside illuminate the sharp lines of his face just enough to make him look unreal. Jungkook slowly turns his head toward you, his eyes meeting yours instantly. A small smile appears on his lips, and it makes warmth spread through your entire chest.
Jungkook starts the car while resting his hand on the steering wheel. At first, the silence remains between you two.
“How have you been doing?” he cuts the silence short.
The question startles you, leaving you speechless for a split second. There are so many possible answers to that question, and a good part of them could hurt him, which you absolutely don’t want to.
“Well…” you begin, hesitating. “I’ve known better days.” At least, you’re being honest without sounding like a mean girl. “Work has been very intense,” you continue. “My—” you stop before you even continue. If you keep going, you’ll end up telling him everything about how bitchy your boss has been since Jungkook stepped out of the deal. “Never mind.”
Jungkook quickly looks at you, raising one of his eyebrows in confusion.
“Tell me,” he sharply says with a deep voice.
“No, it’s fine…”
Suddenly, the sight of the city before your eyes seems more interesting, and you bite your lower lip. You fucked up, and knowing Jungkook, he’s never going to let go until you tell him what’s going on, especially when it comes to work.
“Yn…” he whispers. “You can tell me everything, you know?” he then asks with a softer voice.
“I just—” you stop for a moment, trying to think of the best words to use. “This is related to you, and I just don’t want to hurt you or something like that…” you mumble, your gaze moving from the city to Jungkook.
You can’t help but notice the way his grip tightens around the steering wheel. Fuck, you already feel guilty… You should have controlled yourself a tiny bit more and avoided mentioning work. It would have been best like that.
“You won’t,” he softly says.
“You don’t know…” you reply.
His glance briefly shifts to you before he focuses back on the road. For a tiny second, you admire the man driving you home as if it’s the first time you're truly seeing him. And yet, you’ve already seen so much of him.
“The only thing that could hurt me is you being hurt,” he flatly confesses.
Jungkook has this habit of just throwing things like that as if it’s absolutely normal. It’s like those words don’t carry a weight that melts your heart in so many ways.
“That can’t be true,” you instantly reply.
“Try me,” he dares you.
At that moment, the car stops at a red light, his attention then fully settling on you. His eyes are soft, filled with an intensity that twists your stomach and squeezes your heart. How can he look at you like that?
“My boss has been a nightmare since you withdrew from the deal,” you end up admitting.
“How?” he simply asks. Your eyebrows narrow, not sure how to understand his question, and he seems to pick it up as he rephrases his question. “Has he done something to you?”
“No,” you shake your head. “At least, not to me directly, but he rejects every single proposal we send, makes us work overtime, and gives us unrealistic deadlines,” you explain. “It’s been like that with every single department, not just the finance one.”
Jungkook exhales, his hand running through his hair. This nervous habit of his somehow makes him extremely more handsome as he pushes his hair back, revealing more of his face.
“Sorry,” he says. “It wasn’t my intention to make it harder for you.”
“It’s okay,” you reply. “He’ll eventually realize he’s being an asshole and calm down.”
“That’s not okay, yn…” he tells you with a soft voice. “He shouldn’t be unloading on his employees.”
“But what can we do?” you genuinely ask. “Unless you come back, he’ll just remain pissed off.”
The change of the traffic light to green illuminates the car. Jungkook doesn’t say a thing as he focuses back on the road and resumes driving through the city. Right now, you wish you could infiltrate his mind to hear his thoughts.
“I can’t take the NovaTech deal,” he finally says, his eyes never once looking away from the road. “Not until you’re still working there.”
This is something you clearly and fully understand, and you’ll never ask him to take back NovaTech’s deal.
“But I can try to find another acquirer,” he continues.
“You know it won’t be the same,” you reply. “He’s been saying how it would have been an honor and a privilege to be part of the Jeon Group. No matter how many offers are sent his way, he probably won’t even consider them.”
The way Jungkook sighs makes it clear that this whole situation bothers him, and you feel more than sorry to have put him through this.
“I’m sorry, Jungkook,” you add. “If I had told you—”
“Don’t apologize,” he cuts you off. “This isn’t your fault by any means.”
Even though you’re fully aware of that, it doesn’t change how sorry you feel. This whole situation could have been avoided if you had ever mentioned you worked at NovaTech, and for sure, your boss wouldn’t be an asshole right now.
“What did you tell him when you withdrew your offer?” you ask with curiosity.
“That, after thorough consideration, the company wouldn’t be a fit for the Jeon Group.”
Yeah, for sure, after saying that, he can’t really come back, and anyway, knowing him, he won’t ever change his mind.
“Well, that also explains his terrible mood,” you say.
“That’s highly unprofessional of him,” he mumbles.
“But you can also understand him,” you somehow try to defend your boss, even though you’re trying not to. “The company isn’t particularly doing well. He then manages to have the Jeon Group be interested in him, but in the end, the founder of the group tells him his company isn’t a fit.”
Jungkook sees this all from another perspective, and you’re convinced he should, just for a second, put himself in your boss’s shoes. It isn’t easy for him to hear that. And the worst is that you know why Jungkook stepped back. It has nothing to do with the company, and you feel guilty.
“It doesn’t change how unprofessional it is,” he reinforces his position. “If I did that every time something bad happens at Jeon Pharmaceuticals, the company wouldn’t even exist anymore.”
“It’s not the same…” you whisper.
“How so?” he asks while raising an eyebrow. “I’m a CEO just like him, and I’d never unload my stress and frustration on my employees.”
For a moment, you remain silent to gather your thoughts and think of the best way to formulate them. For sure, Jungkook is used to being on top, but you see things from an employee’s perspective, which is totally different from his.
“Look, I’ve gotten to read many many things about your company and group over the past few days, trying to understand everything. Jeon Pharmaceuticals has been leading the market for years now. Your group became one of the biggest through all your hard work, and honestly, it’s admirable on many levels,” you begin to explain.
You can’t help but notice the little smile on his face. It must feel special for him to hear you say all of that, but as you did your research into what he does, you have felt pride and admiration for him. You’ve already heard all of that from him, but reading it through others’ words accentuated it.
“NovaTech is a small company that has been trying to grow, and yeah, it’s been working for sure, but it doesn’t mean the CEO faces financial struggles. He has ambition for his own company, just like you had when creating the Jeon Group.”
It’s honestly not super easy to pour out your thoughts, but you’re trying your best.
“It’s any company’s dream to be acquired by your group due to its huge prestige. My boss was more than happy to have you even interested in his business, but then hearing he isn’t fit anymore must have felt like a failure. For sure, he’s probably unprofessional, but you can’t compare yourself to him, not even for a bit.”
Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a while, and it definitely seems like he’s deeply thinking about your words. Something you deeply love about him is the fact that he carefully chooses his words when something bothers him, especially with you.
“We definitely have different views on this,” he finally speaks with his deep voice. “I understand what you mean, but I don’t condone his behavior, especially when it impacts you. I don’t like it.”
If he wasn’t driving, you would have hugged him. Instead, the biggest smile grows on your face.
“If it’s about me you’re worried about, don’t be,” you tell him. “I’ve dealt with bosses way worse than him. I’ll survive.”
A quiet chuckle leaves Jungkook. “You’re not making this sound any better,” he says. “What kind of people have you been working for?”
“Don’t know,” you shrug. “Maybe I should ask you for recommendations instead.”
His gaze briefly flickers toward you before returning to the road, but not before you catch the small smile pulling at his lips.
“I’ve got a few recommendations,” he replies almost immediately. “Preferably places where people actually treat you properly.”
The answer catches you off guard as you weren’t expecting him to say it. You were expecting some teasing, or maybe one of his usual smooth comments, but you definitely didn’t consider this.
“Really?” you ask, unable to hide your surprise.
“Yeah,” he nods. “I’d more than happily do it.”
Your heart warms, and for a moment, you have to look away. Knowing you can count on him for everything means more than you’ll ever be able to express.
“If I could, I’d hire you myself,” he softly adds.
“I guess that’d be a terrible idea,” you mumble more to yourself, but he hears it.
Working with him would definitely make you happy, but you’re the type of person who strongly believes that directly working with your loved ones is an absolute bad idea. If anything goes wrong, it’s your relationship that is impacted, and drawing the line between your professional and personal lives seems impossible.
For sure, your friendship with Juhee was born at work and flourished into this beautiful relationship. In the end, you worked with a loved one, but it’s different here. Work is what created this bond between you, and over time, you stopped working together until you eventually resigned and started working at NovaTech.
As your eyes really take in the view outside, you realize your place is right around the corner, meaning this ride is almost over. It’s not something you want, but you can’t stay with him eternally. When the car is parked near your place, the two of you leave it, walking towards the main entrance in silence. Jungkook remains next to you, not too close but not too far as well. Honestly, you don’t really know what to say. Your mind keeps going through all the potential topics, but nothing seems right.
Once you reach the entrance, you turn around to look at him finally—the night air feels cooler after being in the warmth of his car, and some goosebumps appear all over your body. As your eyes shamelessly roam over his toned figure, his beauty just takes your breath away. His eyes don’t look away, not even for a second.
And god, the way this man looks at you is becoming dangerous for your sanity, especially after tonight.
“Thanks for dropping me off,” you tell him softly.
“No problems.” A small smile appears on his lips. “I’d do it anytime. It’s always a pleasure to spend time with you, love.”
Your heart reacts instantly to his words, the nickname sending way too many shivers down your spine.
“It was good to see you again,” you admit.
“It was,” he nods, his hands finding their way to his jacket pockets.
Silence slowly settles between the two of you, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. If anything, it feels heavy in the softest possible way. Throughout this silence, none of you dares to look away, as if you’re both hypnotized by the other.
Jungkook takes one small step closer to you. It’s barely anything, but your entire body notices it immediately. Your breath catches slightly when his gaze drops to your lips just for a second before returning to your eyes. The look alone sends warmth spreading through your chest, and your heartbeat instantly increases.
He’s close enough now for you to notice every little detail about him, like the faint scent of his perfume, the strands of hair falling across his forehead, or even the little scar on his cheek. But what strikes you the most is the way he looks at you. It’s as if you’re the most precious thing in the world.
And that’s what completely ruins you.
You try to think of what you could say or do, but instead, your body moves before your brain can catch up. You step closer, your eyes moving from his eyes to his lips, and you find yourself pressing your lips against his.
Jungkook instantly stills, completely startled, as if he genuinely didn’t expect you to be the one initiating this. And for a short moment, you panic. Maybe you shouldn’t have done this. Maybe it was too soon. Or maybe it just feels off to kiss him right now.
Then his hand suddenly slides to your waist, pulling you closer against him as he kisses you back. And damn, the feeling is even better than you imagined. His lips move softly against yours at first, careful in a way that makes your chest ache. It’s like he’s trying to make sure this is really happening.
But when your hand comes up to grip the front of his jacket, something in him shifts. The kiss deepens naturally. Jungkook exhales quietly against your lips before tilting his head to kiss you better, and the simple motion sends shivers down your spine. Damn, you’ve missed this so freaking much.
His thumb brushes lightly against your waist beneath your jacket, barely touching your skin through your clothes, and yet, somehow, it feels intimate enough to make your heartbeat completely lose rhythm. You melt against him without even realizing it.
The hand resting on your waist tightens just slightly, enough to keep you close, while your fingers curl more firmly into his jacket. You can feel his heartbeat too now. It’s fast, almost matching yours. The realization makes warmth spread all the way to your cheeks.
When you finally pull away, neither of you moves. Jungkook’s forehead nearly rests against yours, his breathing just as uneven as your own. His eyes remain closed for a brief second before opening them again slowly. And the way he looks at you afterwards… You’re absolutely fucked.
A chuckle leaves him. “Never imagined a night out at Yoongi’s would end up this way,” he whispers quietly, his thumb still absentmindedly against your waist.
A laugh escapes your lips. “Neither did I,” you confess as you close your eyes for a second.
Honestly, if you knew beforehand how the night would end up, maybe you wouldn’t have shown up. The thought of facing Jungkook while still figuring things out was kind of frightening. However, this night proved that you don’t need to be afraid. He’s still the same. He still loves you the same way, and your heart still beats stupidly for him.
“I’m happy we got to spend some time together,” he adds, his nose rubbing against yours.
The gentle feeling of his skin against yours makes you melt instantly. Damn, you’ve really missed him.
“We could spend some more,” you admit out loud.
“Only if you want, love,” he murmurs softly while his thumb keeps rubbing against you.
“I really want to,” you reply. “Even though I needed this space, I really enjoy being with you like we did tonight.”
A smile appears on his face, and he gently takes a step back, but his hand never leaves your waist.
“I really would love to repeat more nights like this one,” he confesses.
“If you want, tomorrow, we can meet again,” you offer as a little smile stretches your lips.
Being honest, you’d actually want for him to go upstairs with you and sleep with you—without any sexual activities, of course—but it’s best not to. You’re scared it’ll ruin this moment, so you'd rather propose to do something tomorrow.
“I’d love nothing more than that,” he whispers.
With your hands on his jacket, you push him closer again before kissing him passionately all over again. Jungkook immediately responds this time. His hand slides higher along your waist, holding you against him while his lips move slowly against yours. Your fingers tighten slightly against the fabric of his jacket as his thumb brushes your skin in a comforting way.
Slowly, your hands slide from his jacket to the back of his neck, your fingers brushing lightly against his skin. Jungkook’s breathing instantly falters at the contact, and the realization alone makes your heartbeat lose control.
When your lips part, the two of you open your eyes, looking right at each other. Being seen by him always makes you feel so special. For sure, you’d never grow tired of having his burning and intense gaze on you. If anything, you’d beg for it.
“I missed you,” you whisper.
This time, he presses the gentlest peck on your lips.
“Not as much as I did, love,” he murmurs as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Your body finally collides against his, your arms wrapping around his strong body and hugging him with an intensity you never thought possible. Being apart from him is something you’d never want again, because if there’s one thing you learned these past few days, it’s how in love you are.
The very next day, as you work through another report for your boss, you receive a message from Jungkook, distracting you while it’s the absolute last thing you need right now.
jungkook 🏍️: when do you finish work?
Usually, at work, he doesn’t really text you, and when he does, it's very minimal. At first, you thought it was because he didn’t want to distract you, but now you kind of doubt that’s not the full reason. As the CEO, he must actually be pretty busy.
you: hopefully at 6pm
With how much of an asshole your boss has been lately, you’re not even sure you’ll finish by 6 pm—you can only hope so. But based on how the past days have been going, there’s absolutely no way you’ll be done by 6 pm.
jungkook 🏍️: okay
For the rest of the day, you don’t hear more from him, which definitely helps with the finalization of this report. Honestly, you and your coworkers are so proud of the final result. However, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re stressed as hell when you hand it to your boss.
Before you even get the chance to knock at his door, whispers around you catch your attention. Your eyes instantly widen as you see none other than your boyfriend walking towards you. Your heart instantaneously beats faster in your chest. What the hell is he doing here?
A smile tugs on his face, his eyes sparkling with joy, while he walks with breathtaking confidence. This man doesn’t even remotely look like your boyfriend. His hair is pushed back—except for a couple of strands falling across his forehead in a very sexy way—his hand rests inside his suit's pants, and the jacket graciously falls over his shoulders.
Jungkook breathes a charisma you never got to see over the past six months. Usually, he softens around you in a way that clenches your heart. Even at his brother’s birthday party, he didn’t even remotely get into this version of him.
Your entire body freezes while your gaze can’t seem to look away. Your hands hold the laptop tighter, and you swear you feel them shaking. At this precise instant, the world around you disappears. There’s just Jungkook. Not even your colleagues from the finance team standing next to you matter anymore.
“Hello,” he says, extending his hand to you once he’s in front of you. “I’m Jeon Jungkook.”
Seeing him pretending not to know you definitely breaks your heart, but Juhee’s words echo in your mind. He protected his ex-wife as much as he could. If he did it with her, he’d repeat it with you. Somehow, you can understand how she wanted the world to know they were married, because let’s be real, the way women look at him is sometimes very unsettling.
Jungkook seems to notice your hesitation, which makes him arch an eyebrow. Your heart races even faster. Fuck! Are you even able to pretend he’s a total stranger? Well, you have to. There’s no way your colleagues ever find out about the nature of your relationship with Jeon Jungkook.
“Hello, Mr Jeon,” you finally say while shaking his hand. You introduce yourself, and relief seems to instantly spread across his face.
Your boyfriend also introduces himself to your colleagues next to you. They all seem as impressed and confused as you, but you honestly don’t care, too focused on following his every movement. It’s so strange to meet the CEO, because all you’ve seen is the lover. He’s intimidating while also very charismatic. It’s like he owns the room.
“Were you about to enter Mr. Sang’s office?” he politely asks.
“Yes,” your colleague replies, nodding.
Jungkook’s gaze moves between you and your colleagues.
“Would you mind if I step in first?” A little smile grows on his face as his eyes land on you. “I’d like to discuss something very quickly with him.”
He doesn’t look away for a second when your colleague replies that there’s no problem. His gaze becomes intense for a hot second, as it’s usually the case when he’s with you. It’s quick and subtle, but enough for you to notice it. Hopefully, nobody else picks it up.
Jungkook thanks you before entering your boss’s office. Finally, your gaze shifts to your colleagues with a heart beating way too fast. Interacting with him in another setting is strange, especially when it’s one he’d like to protect you from.
If you had first met him like this, you would have never given him a chance. Like, how could a man so powerful like him ever love someone who’s a simple employee in an average company? It’s the kind of scenario coming straight out of a romcom.
“What is he doing here?” you ask with confusion.
“I don’t know…” you colleague replies. “I thought he had withdrawn his offer, but seems like he probably changed his mind.”
Well, you know for a fact that he hasn’t. So, his presence here makes it even more confusing. There’s no valid reason for him to be here. Unless… No, it can’t be. You truly and deeply hope that he’s not here to tell Mr. Sang how much of an asshole he has been. He can’t do it because if he does, it’ll just blow everything.
“I hope he does,” another colleague adds. “Mr. Sang has been horrible.”
Since none of you knows what to do, you all remain there, waiting for Jungkook to leave. Your mind races with thoughts while your colleagues whisper about this situation. Your grip on your laptop is strong, as if you need to hold onto something.
From where you stand, you can hear Mr. Sang and Jungkook’s voices, but you can’t tell whether they’re talking joyfully or the opposite. Curiosity is creeping through you, even though a part of you would rather not know what they’re discussing.
After a couple of minutes, Jungkook opens the door, his gaze falling right on you. Instant warmth heats your cheeks, and your heartbeat suddenly rises again. It’s not fair how breathtaking he looks with those strands of hair on his face.
“Mr. Sang is all yours,” he says before stepping out of the room.
Your colleagues immediately rush into the office, and before you can move, Jungkook softly grabs your elbow.
“I’ll be waiting for you at the entrance,” he whispers, so you’re the only one hearing his words.
Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What?” you ask in a heartbeat.
“Just meet me there once you’re done, okay?” he says before letting you go.
Jungkook walks away from you through the corridor, not once looking back. For a second, you just watch him as you try to process what he just said. How can he so peacefully wait for you at the building entrance while pretending not to know you at this precise moment? This doesn’t make any sense.
You don’t dwell too much on it and get inside your boss’s office. The look on his face is absolutely different from the one he had hours ago. Whatever Jungkook told him, it definitely shook him up. Nobody really mentions it before you proceed to explain the report you prepared.
For thirty minutes, you go over the report together with your coworkers, and your boss listens. He even takes notes, which kind of surprises you. Lately, he doesn’t even bother to pretend to listen, so this comes as a surprise. And now, you really want to know what the hell your boyfriend said to him.
At the end of the presentation, Mr. Sang only asks you to send him the report to give him some time to study it deeply. All of you leave the room, confused, but honestly, it feels good to finish the day without him yelling and complaining about every single detail of the report.
In pure silence, you head to your desk to gather your belongings and leave the office. This whole situation startles you, and you honestly don’t know what to think about it. This is troublesome. Without any rush, you walk to the elevator with your bag on your shoulder, your jacket on your arm, and your phone in your hand.
Surprisingly, Jungkook didn’t text you at all.
The elevator is empty as it makes its way to the ground floor. When the doors open, your eyes meet Jungkook’s, and without hesitation, he steps inside, not letting you leave. He takes place right next to you after he pressed the parking button, his arm brushing against yours.
“How did it go?” he asks, his eyes glued on you.
You take a deep breath, not daring to look at him.
“Where are we going?” you ask instead, ignoring his question.
“To my car,” he replies.
“Aren’t you scared—”
Jungkook doesn’t even let you finish your question. “Nobody will see us. All accesses have been blocked until I leave it.”
Wow, he’s so wealthy that he gets to prevent people from reaching their cars in a building he doesn’t own. You don’t know if you should be mad or impressed. Since you’ve met him, he hasn’t pulled out his wealthy as fuck card, or maybe he did, but never in front of you.
“So, you get to do that…” you whisper.
“I can do way more than that, love,” he says as he gets closer to you, but still, you don’t look at him.
“I guess it’s the perk of being a Jeon,” you reply.
The doors open to the parking floor, leaving no space for your boyfriend to reply. As expected, nobody is wandering around as you make your way to his car. You abruptly stop yourself on your track and can’t help but bite your lower lip.
“Will it always be like that?” you ask while he turns around to look at you.
Confusion is clearly painted all over his face. “What?”
“Will you always pull out things like that?” You rephrase your question.
“Yes,” he straightforwardly replies. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.”
“Like you did with your ex-wife…” You mumble.
Jungkook takes a step in your direction, his hand reaching out to yours. You take a deep breath as your eyes lift to meet his. There’s something in his gaze that squeezes his heart. He’s visibly concerned, as if he understands that something is truly bothering you.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s just weird…” You admit. “I’ve never seen this side of you.”
His eyes instantly soften, his thumb brushing against the skin of your hand. “I get that, and believe me, if I could avoid this, I would,” he begins saying. “But I also want to be with you.”
“We managed to do it before without any trouble,” you pout.
His free hand moves to your cheek, stroking it gently. This melts you right then and there.
“This is your workplace, and I wouldn’t want to create you any problems,” he explains.
You lean against his hands and close your eyes for a moment. Honestly, you’ve missed him so damn much. You don’t even know how you went more than a week without him, his touch, and his love.
When you open your eyes, he guides you both to his incredible and expensive-as-hell car. In less than five minutes, you’re out of the building and on the road. Your eyes look out the window, noticing the men blocking the accesses to the parking. Somehow, it feels wrong, but you know that you'd better get used to it if you stay with Jungkook.
“What did you say to Mr. Sang?” you suddenly ask, your gaze shifting from the window to him.
“I talked to him about how unprofessional he’s been,” he says after taking a deep breath.
Your eyes instantly widen with disbelief. In the end, you weren’t wrong; he really did it.
“No, you didn’t do that…”
“I had to,” he replies, his gaze quickly moving to you. “I couldn’t let that man overwork you because of some fucking frustration.”
“You shouldn’t have, Jungkook,” you softly reply while shaking your head.
“I told him I knew my withdrawal had probably caused a lot of stress and frustration,” he explains. “But I also advised him to contact Mr. Kim Seokjin, a friend of mine who’s interested in acquiring NovaTech.”
You frown. “You contacted a friend?”
“I did,” he replies.
He wasn’t joking when he said several times before that he’d do anything to see you happy. Even though this doesn’t feel right, you can’t help but feel like the most special girl in the world for having him.
“Thanks,” you murmur before gently resting your hand over his on the steering wheel.
A smile appears on his face as he feels your hand on top of his. For a moment, you remain both in silence, as it is clear that you both need it. At least, you absolutely need it because everything that has happened in the past few minutes truly puts everything into perspective.
Almost two weeks ago, you shockingly discovered he was one of the most influential and wealthiest men on earth through his roles at Jeon Pharmaceuticals and the Jeon Group. Being with him means accepting the pros and cons that come with it, but you’ve absolutely no clue what they are.
Since you’ve met him, he’s been an absolute normal guy, and it makes you believe it could continue like that. However, now that you know it all, you can’t look at him the same. And today is proof. He literally went to see your boss to tell him to calm down and blocked the access to the parking to be with you.
Now, letting Jungkook inside your life is bigger than you ever anticipated.
The real question today is whether you’re truly able to accept it all. And fuck, the answer has been there since the very beginning. You’ll take whatever for as long as he loves you. Nobody has ever made you feel like he does. The love you have for him is already so intense.
Jungkook has always been present, always letting you set the pace, and adjusting himself to you. He has never made you doubt his love for you. It has been loud and clear. There’s no way you’re letting that go away. For sure, things might be scary, but as long as you have him, you know he’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.
And that is the only reassurance you need.
“Where are we going?” you break the silence.
“My place,” he replies. “I’ve prepared a little something.”
You narrow your eyes, trying to read his face for a hint at what he has prepared, but it’s useless. Jungkook knows how to turn himself into an unreadable book. No emotions pass through his adorable features.
“Now, I’m curious…” You say.
“In a couple of minutes, you’ll have your answer, love.”
The way your nickname rolls in his tongue sends shivers down your spine. Gosh, how are you supposed to survive this man? Very discreetly, his hand finds its way to your thigh, resting on it like he always does—well, except for when you went to his brother’s birthday. This genuinely warms your heart, and you can’t help but rest your hand on top of his.
For the rest of the drive, you casually talk about your day. Your boss isn’t mentioned anymore, which is best to ignore for now. He already caused some arguments between you, and you absolutely don’t want that.
Once you’ve reached his place, he pulls into his parking spot. Honestly, it is well located on the underground floor, but it now leaves you wondering if he didn’t choose it on purpose. It’s like hidden, which allows him some privacy and not to be seen.
When he cuts the motor off, his hand on your thigh caresses it softly. Your eyes meet, and absolutely everything around you disappears. Your world narrows on him, and him only. You totally ignore how long you remain like that, but you don’t really care. Then, his eyes move to your lips, and his hand gently squeezes your thigh, as if he needs something to control him.
Naturally, your gaze drops to his lips before your teeth grab your bottom lip. The tension between you is slowly but surely growing, turning the air in the car absolutely thick. Will one of you surrender?
His face leans closer to yours, and in a heartbeat, his mouth crashes against yours. The kiss is nothing like the soft ones you shared lately. This one is desperate and almost hungry, as if the distance that had existed between you for the past few days had suddenly become unbearable.
Jungkook’s free hand instantly slides to the side of your neck, holding you firmly against him while his lips move feverishly against yours. A shaky breath escapes you when his teeth gently catch your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue right after. God, the simple feeling nearly destroys your ability to think straight.
Your fingers grip his jacket as the kiss deepens even more, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sends heat rushing through your entire body. Everything about him feels overwhelming: the warmth of his mouth, the way he holds you like he’s terrified you might disappear, and the quiet sound of his breathing mixing with yours between kisses.
Jungkook kisses you like someone who has been holding himself back for far too long, and maybe that’s exactly what’s happening. His hand on your thigh squeezes you once more, which makes a soft gasp leave your lips. The sound seems to affect him instantly because another deep kiss follows right after, slower but somehow even more intense.
His tongue brushes against yours again while his thumb strokes your neck, the contrast between the desperation of the kiss and the softness of his touch making your chest ache. Neither of you seems capable of slowing down.
“Guk,” you whisper against his lips, your fingers gripping his jacket tighter.
“Mmm,” he mumbles.
If you don’t stop right now, you both know how this will end up. Him inside you while you both moan each other’s name. And let’s just say that this is not the most appropriate place to do it.
“We’re in your car,” you say as you open your eyes.
A deep groan rumbles in his chest, which ironically makes you smile, and his forehead falls to the crook of your neck. Your hands instantly run over his hair, playing with it while he peppers your neck with hot, wet kisses.
“Guk,” you call for him laughingly.
“Let me just kiss you properly, love,” he mumbles against your skin.
A particular kiss has you arching your back and moaning, and your fingers pull his hair. It definitely seems like he’s not going to stop.
“We need to stop, Gukkie,” you whisper breathlessly. The nickname makes him groan once more; you know he adores it when you call him like that. “Someone could see us.”
Even though the thrill of being caught excites you, you just can’t be seen. Nothing good will come of it if it happens, and you particularly don’t want your name making headlines because you got freaky with Jungkook.
As if he suddenly realizes the extent of it all, he pulls back, and damn, he looks like a hot mess. His hair is all messy, his lips swollen from the kisses, and his eyes filled with lust. If you weren’t in the car, you’d let him have you right here.
In seconds, he takes you both out of the car, heading straight to the elevator. Inside, he holds back the urge to touch you, and man, you wish he wouldn’t. Right now, you don’t know who’s the most desperate, you or him?
When you reach his apartment, your mouths are all over each other again, needy and desperate as you walk through his place to reach his bedroom. Tonight, sex isn’t going to be like it’s been so far. This time, it’ll be desperate, especially after this time apart. You crave each other with all your souls.
Jungkook maneuvers you both until you’re lying on his king-size bed, his body covering yours, and he pins you down with his hand on your wrists, placing them above your head as his mouth claims yours in a desperate kiss. His tongue makes its way inside your mouth to glide along yours.
Fuck, this is absolutely messy.
His hand lets go of your wrists, allowing you to place them on his shoulders while his mouth leaves a trail of burning kisses along your jaw, neck, and collarbone. Your nails dig into the muscles of his shoulder over his suit jacket, his name rolling out of your lips.
“I need more,” you whisper.
His head looks up at you with a lust that could give you an instant orgasm. Even if you’ve been intimate with him for a couple of months, everything is still very new to you. For sure, you’ve gotten to know what turns you both on and what makes you come in seconds, but sometimes, a simple touch can bring you right to heaven’s doors.
And you feel like you’re a damn teenager all over again.
You don’t know if you should be embarrassed or not, but it always seems like he doesn’t care. With him, it’s like you can come in the blink of an eye, and he’d just keep going, making you come more and more.
Jungkook stands up to strip himself of his jacket and shirt before removing every single piece of clothing from your body. Being naked in front of him doesn’t feel uncomfortable anymore; if anything, it feels fucking good. The way his eyes roam over your body makes you feel so damn desirable.
“Fuck,” he swears under his breath. “I missed you, love.”
The desperation in his voice has your core clenching. His lust-filled gaze finally meets your eyes, and damn, it’s harder to resist the temptation of coming right there. His body settles on top of yours, hovering over you before he kisses you more softly. He nips your plump lower lip between his teeth, swallowing your little gasp.
His lips move down your body all over again, and his hands don’t lose any time when they squeeze your breasts, making you moan softly. Your hands find their way to his hair, tugging at some strands, which causes him to groan against your collarbone.
“You’ve no idea how fucking desperate I’ve been,” he whispers, your eyes rolling back when his tongue swirls around your nipple slowly, and his tongue flicking against that sensitive spot. It’s something he has learned since you started being intimate. “My hand couldn’t even make me as hard as your voice alone can do.”
His fingers slide down your body, finding your weakest spot and swiping up and down your folds. Your back arches instantly against him, pressing your chest against his. “Gukkie…” you moan as your very sensitive nipples graze against his burning skin.
“God,” he swears as two of his fingers plunge inside you, your walls spasming immediately around them. “Say that again.”
Those past few days, you never said that nickname, as it felt like you had forgiven him when you didn’t even know what to do with yourself. But now that you’re letting him in again—and that he has you fully wrapped around his fingers—you can’t help but say it.
Jungkook curves his fingers inside you, making you arch your back even more. How can he drive you this crazy with his fingers only? He kisses your lips as his fingers fuck into you, and the stretch makes you ache.
“So fucking tight…” he whispers as he plays with your cunt. “It’s embarrassing the amount of time I’ve fucked my fist to the thought of you,” he admits when he looks down at you, breaking the kiss.
“Don’t say that,” you say out of breath.
“It’s the truth, love,” he says, his fingers never once stopping to move inside your cunt. “I’m so damn addicted to you.”
His eyes are glued to your face, watching you contorting with pleasure below him. You’re so fucking wet and needy. Naturally, your legs open wider to let him settle even more between them. His body is pressed flush against yours, and you swear you can feel his bulge against your thigh. Moans fall out of your mouth at an impossibly fast pace. By the end of the night, you’ll lose your voice.
Jungkook keeps kissing down on you, getting lower and lower. His hot breath against your skin makes you shiver, and your hands tug even harder at his hair. Not once has he stopped moving his fingers inside you. You’re very very close, and he knows it.
When he reaches the bottom of your stomach, he switches to your inner thigh, pressing hot and wet kisses. “God, your scent drives me crazy,” he mumbles in between kisses.
“Guk, what are you saying?” you manage to say with a ragged voice.
He places a kiss on your dripping entrance, his eyes looking up at you.
“You look so fucking pretty, love,” he says before kissing you again.
The pleasure shoots up your body, making you even weaker. You’re so damn close, and he’s showing you no mercy. His tongue flicks against your core to gather the drops of your arousal falling down.
Your moans get louder and louder as his mouth and fingers torture you in a way that makes you forget your own name. By now, you’re sure his neighbors are fully aware of what is going on in his bedroom.
Jungkook buries his face in you, his mouth hot and messy as he drinks up every bit of the juices pouring out of your pussy. His tongue flicks your clit, and he groans as he parts your folds. You’re basically crying out by now, your fingers pulling his hair.
“Guk…” you moan. “I’m so… I’m close.”
You’re quivering, your thighs threatening to close with how intense and overwhelming everything is. The way his tongue is torturing you almost feels like he’s worshiping you.
“Come for me, love,” he says softly against your core, his fingers exquisitely curving inside you.
And then, the orgasm hits you violently, a loud and guttural moan falling from your lips. Your back is impossibly arched while you close your eyes in ecstasy. The orgasm is so intense that it makes you see stars. Without realizing, your legs close around him, squeezing him as your entire body spasms and traps at the same time his fingers inside you.
When you finally open your eyes, your gaze instantly meets his. He’s intently looking at you, watching you fall apart under his ministration. He doesn’t move his fingers anymore, giving you time to come down from your high. His tongue, however, doesn’t stop lapping at your dripping wetness.
Jungkook stops torturing you before hovering over you all over again. His lips shine with your juices, which, honestly, is a massive turn-on. Without giving you the time to realize whatever is going on, he kisses you passionately. His tongue in your mouth allows you to taste yourself, and it makes you moan. This is so filthy, but you absolutely love it!
He steps back to remove his pants and underwear, leaving him bare in front of you. He looks hot, like super hot. His entire body is a work of art, but you know that behind it, there’s a lot of work. Jungkook didn’t just wake up one day with that toned body. He spends countless hours at the gym, and you admire him for his dedication.
Before meeting him, you’ve tried to go to the gym, but after a month, you gave up. It’s not for you. But it’s not just the gym. You’re the type of person to start something, and after a while, you just stop. So, you’ve already tried tons of things, but none of them ever stuck.
Well, but that’s not important right now. You’re about to have sex with your boyfriend, and it isn’t the right time to dwell on that.
“You’re okay?” Jungkook suddenly asks with concern.
“Yeah, yeah,” you nod. “Just thinking about how sexy you look,” you say before offering him a smile.
The prettiest smile stretches his lips, brightening his entire being. Every time you compliment him, it’s like you offered him the moon. His entire being lights up every single time, and you can’t help but find him extremely adorable.
Jungkook steps closer to press the gentlest kiss on your lips. “Let me go grab a condom,” he mumbles against your lips.
“No need,” you say while grabbing his arm.
Your boyfriend frowns. “You’re sure?”
Right after you had your first time together, you both decided to get tested. On your end, it wasn’t needed since you hadn’t done anything in years, but you still did it. Jungkook was visibly worried about his results because throughout his entire marriage, he didn’t use protection and was scared that he had contracted something from his ex-wife. If it were the case, honestly, she’d be a complete bitch.
Thankfully, the results came back negative, which reassured the two of you. Jungkook had proposed that you’d receive his results and he yours. It was a cute gesture because at least none of you could lie, but you were sure it wouldn’t have been the case.
However, you still decided to use condoms. It was a mutual decision because you expressed very clearly that you wouldn’t take the pill. You had tried it years ago and absolutely hated it. There was no way you’d get back on that. The gynecologist suggested other contraceptives, but none of them seemed right.
Jungkook never forced you, which, to you, is honestly the most romantic gesture one could do. Instead, he proposed using the tracking app, Flo. He took the premium version, which also gave him access. It’s very simple. You indicate whenever your period starts, and based on that, the app can estimate when you ovulate.
On his end, he gets to see it too and even has some advice on how to help you through every single cycle. It’s honestly one of the best things you’ve ever seen. So, thanks to it, you know you’re not ovulating right now, and the chances of getting a surprise are very low.
“Absolutely,” you nod. “We’re both clean, and I’m not ovulating.”
“Right,” he says. “I just want you to be a hundred percent sure, love.”
“I am,” you cup his face in your hands. “I want this.”
He presses a gentle peck on your lips, which makes you melt. Obviously, it makes you a bit nervous because, yeah, you can get pregnant, and you also tend to overthink everything. However, you know everything is going to be alright. The chances are very low, and no matter what, you’ll have Jungkook.
“Alright then,” he says with a smile. “But I want you to ride me.”
“Oh,” you basically gasp.
“It’s torture listening to you repeating you want a ride on my bike,” he begins explaining, “especially when my mind takes me to unholy places.”
You chuckle. “Could have asked before.”
“Didn’t want to pressure you,” he tells you. “I wanted you to trust me enough before trying this.”
“I’ve trusted you since the first time, Guk,” you reply.
“I know, but…” he pauses for a second, his dark gaze still on you. “You hadn’t done anything in years, and I just wanted to do things right.”
Damn, how can he be adorable in the middle of this wild moment? He’s always so thoughtful and lets you set the pace on everything. Sometimes, you even wonder how he can handle that without desiring to rush things off.
“How do you do that?” you genuinely ask.
His eyebrows furrow. “Do what?”
“You always do things at my pace, never rushing anything,” you explain.
“Oh, believe me, sometimes it’s hard,” he chuckles. “But it’s all worth it. I get to be loved by the prettiest woman walking on this earth.”
Without giving it too much thought, you press your lips hard on his, kissing him with a passion you never imagined you had. Jungkook falls over you, hovering over your body all over again, but damn, you love this man so so much. The two of you laugh as his body collides on top of yours.
“Love, do you want me to kill you?” he says against your lips while still laughing.
“Maybe,” you reply.
The sound of his laugh echoes louder in the room, and damn, you’d give your life to keep hearing it forever. He presses another kiss on your lips before wrapping his arms around you and effortlessly pulling you up with him. In seconds, he’s sitting on the bed, his back pressed against the headboard.
Jungkook taps his legs, inviting you to sit on his lap. “Come here, love.”
You don’t even hesitate, crawling on top of him, his cock brushing against your core. The sensation snatches a moan from the two of you. His hands rest on your sides as you grab his shaft and slowly sink down on him. Jungkook fills you up so good, and you swear you can feel him everywhere.
When he’s fully inside you, he holds you down for a moment. “Don’t move yet,” he whispers, looking up at you. The confusion in your eyes betrays you, and he adds, “You feel so good, and I don’t want to come yet.”
You chuckle. “Seems like you really wanted this ride,” you tease him.
“Don’t make fun of me,” he says before gently biting your shoulder.
Even though you really want to move, you remain still, giving him all the time in the world. He looks absolutely cute when he tries to hold himself back, and you don’t resist the urge to run your fingers through his hair, pushing it back to take a proper look at him.
After a moment, he lifts you up and slams you back down without any warning, making your wetness rub all over him.
“Guk,” you whine with absolute surprise.
Your whining doesn’t stop him at all, his hands pressing tighter into your body, and you suck for deep breaths. You’re absolutely not riding him at all, he’s just fucking up into your cunt, showing how damn desperate he is. Your fingers get completely lost in his fluffy hair as you’re trying to brace yourself.
His cock glides in and out of your mess faster and faster. Usually, you tend to close your eyes when you get all freaky with Jungkook, because the feeling of him inside you always gets so overwhelming. However, today, you look at each other deeply, seeing just how the other falls apart.
One of his hands moves down on your body, finding your core, and he runs his thumb on your clit. The second he does do, you come instantly. Damn, the way he already knows how to have you come on him blows your mind. It’s like he’s studied your body for the last couple of months.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, pressing a gentle kiss on your neck.
Through your high, he lifts you up and down on him while you’re clenching around him. Jungkook doesn’t stop, trying to give you another orgasm and chasing his own. His lips find yours, swallowing every single sound that leaves your pretty lips. Your thighs are twitching on either side of his hips.
Slowly but surely, you can tell that he’s getting closer. In a teasing attempt, you roll your hips, which makes him close his eyes for a second. His cheeks are flushed pink, and a deep groan rumbles from his chest.
“Fuck,” he moans when he opens his eyes again. “I’m so close.”
Those words make you feel so damn proud of yourself.
“Where do you want me to come?” he asks.
For a moment, you hesitate. Should he come inside? Or is it safer if he pulls out? Honestly, you’d like to experience feeling him coming inside of you, at least once in your life. Since the risks are very low, you believe it’s the right time.
“Inside,” you finally say as your hands move down to his neck, gently playing with the hair at his nape.
“Sure?” he asks.
You nod, and after a couple of thrusts, his cock pumps you full. The feeling of your walls being coated with his cum makes you see stars. In seconds, you join him, moaning like a complete mess. Your mouth finds his to kiss him desperately, your body shaking completely as your teeth click together, and saliva dripping from your mouths.
It’s so damn filthy.
His head falls on your shoulder, his cock twitching inside you. “Fuck,” he whimpers in your ear as he holds you tight. His arms wrap your waist, his hips thrusting up and fucking more cum inside you. Jungkook has never come that much. “It feels so good.”
For a moment, you remain in this position, slowly getting down from your highs. This was definitely intense. Juhee had told you many times before that make-up sex is usually the most mindblowing one, and you struggled to believe her. But now, you do.
After a while, he looks up at you. “Well, this wasn’t the surprise I prepared, but damn, this was so good,” he confesses.
“It was more than good,” you admit.
He smiles at you before pressing a kiss on your lips.
“Now let’s get cleaned so we can get to that surprise,” he gently slaps your ass.
You chuckle and slowly stand up, the mix of your cum instantly running down your pussy to your legs as you ease off from him. Jungkook takes you in a bridal style, your arms wrapping around his neck, as he walks to the bathroom.
The two of you shower together with a lot of giggles and kisses, cleaning each other and removing every proof of the steamy sex you just had. Being with him genuinely fills your heart with an outburst of happiness you never thought possible. His lie seems absolutely ridiculous now.
After the shower, Jungkook hands you a helmet, one of the many that he possesses. You’ve stopped counting them because it feels like new ones keep popping up. Now that you know he’s wealthy as fuck, you believe that buying new ones isn’t necessarily a problem for him.
“We’re going on another ride?” you teasingly ask.
A smirk appears on his face as he nods. He also gives you one of his large leather jackets that covers almost your entire body. With a glance at the mirror in his dressing room, you can’t help but smile when you see yourself dressed from head to toe in his clothes. Under the jacket, you’re wearing a white Calvin Klein t-shirt, together with Nike track pants. They’re super large for you, but man, you love to wear his clothes.
“You look hot in my clothes.” His broad body appears behind you, his arms wrapping around you while his head rests on your shoulder. “Could take you all over again right here, in front of the mirror,” he whispers in your ear before kissing the spot right behind it.
“Guk…” you almost moan at the thought of him fucking you in front of the mirror, but you need to leave. Otherwise, you’ll spend the whole evening wrapped around him. “We need to leave. You promised me a surprise.”
“Right,” he presses a kiss on your cheek before stepping back, letting you turn to face him. You press a gentle peck on his lips.
“Can’t wait to see what you prepared.”
The two of you leave his place, jump on his bike, and he drives you all over again through the city. Nothing will ever beat the feeling of being pressed against him on his bike. Going on a ride with him always makes you feel so damn alive. Whenever you find yourself inside his car, you almost regret it.
He also looks fine as hell with a helmet.
As you look around, the houses and streets seem oddly familiar. A sudden sadness spreads through your chest, and you realize where he’s taking you, which makes you hold him tighter. You’re heading straight to that spot you first went to together. The spot that healed your broken heart in so many ways.
Since that day, you haven’t come with him, but have done a couple of times by yourself. Saying you didn’t cry those times would be a total lie. Remembering your best friend brought back many memories, good and bad. You still miss him deeply, and now, you wish he could have met Jungkook. You’re absolutely certain he would have loved him.
Jungkook stops his bike exactly where he did six months ago. He climbs off the bike, extending his hand to help you out. With some hesitation, you take it.
“What are we doing here?” You weakly ask.
“Let me show you,” he softly says before freeing his head from the helmet, and you do the same.
His fingers intertwine with yours as he guides you both to your spot. Your heart is beating way too fast, scared to find or see something that might devastate you. Jungkook squeezes your hand as if he understands how nervous you feel.
When you reach it, a new bench has been placed at the exact spot you always stay, which surprises you a lot. Jungkook stops right in front of it, his hand still holding yours very tightly. The two of you stand before it, his eyes moving from the bench to your face.
“I know this is where you come when the pain is overwhelming, or when the grief becomes suffocating,” he begins saying, and you inevitably look at him. “I also know you’ve been back quite frequently since we started dating.”
Oh, he did notice. This clenches your heart, and you have to hold back the tears, even though you already know it’s a lost cause.
“At first, I felt guilty, thinking it was my fault, but then, Juhee and Yoongi made me realize that our relationship really affected you emotionally,” he marks a tiny pause. “The last time you were in one, Lucas was still alive, but he isn’t anymore. Your struggles about our relationship weren’t just about you being alone for so many years; it was also about your grief.”
Juhee spoke to him about it… In a heartfelt moment, you confessed to your best friend how being with Jungkook messed you up on a lot of levels. It brought back the suffocating memories of the time you lost Lucas, because as he just said, the last time you were in a relationship, he was still alive. Now, he isn’t anymore, and you had to navigate this all without him.
“All I’ve ever wanted was to make you feel loved and help you to ease your life, especially after everything you went through four years ago,” he continues explaining. “I’ve been thinking about the many ways to make this place a better one for you. I know this right here is what helps you with the pain, and I also know you spend hours on end here. So I thought you could have a little bench to rest when staying up becomes too hard.”
Tears start streaming down your face, but what truly gets you to cry is the engraving in the bench. ‘In loving memory of Lucas’ with his birth and death years. Jungkook did all of this for you. He did it while you were still trying to navigate his lie. The small things he’s been doing since knowing you are priceless.
Jungkook doesn’t scream or shout how in love he is. He shows it. And every single thing he does makes you fall even more for him. Sometimes, it feels like it is all a dream, and that a man like him can’t possibly exist. But he does.
And this right here means so much to you.
If, four years ago, someone had told you what Jungkook just did for you, you would have laughed in their face, not believing a single word. How could you even believe them? Elliott had just broken your heart, and Lucas had just passed. You were more than a mess back then.
“Guk,” you whisper before falling into his embrace.
You completely fall apart in his arms, crying as if you had just learned Lucas was gone. Your fingers hold onto him with desperation, and he just holds you there.
“I got you, love,” he mumbles against your hair. “I’m right here.”
One might think that grief gets easier over time, but it’s a lie. One day, you might be just fine, and the next, you might cry until your entire soul is drained. Grief isn’t linear. It’s filled with ups and downs, but it never leaves you. It’s always there because the emptiness left in your heart can’t ever be replaced. A piece of your heart was ripped apart and will never come back.
Grief is painful.
Remembering Lucas isn’t always easy, and this gesture is beautiful and agonizing at the same time. Your best friend would have loved Jungkook for sure, because who on earth does this?
It becomes even more evident that you can’t let him go. Jungkook needs to be part of your life. Nobody else would ever do half of the things he’s done for you. And this is just the beginning of your story.
The following days have honestly been the best. Jungkook treats you like an absolute queen—nothing new—and the amount of time you’ve had sex is frankly ridiculous. It’s like you can’t keep your hands to yourselves, or like you’re trying to make up for the time lost, even though you’re sure you’ve already done it by now.
You’ve also been going to your little spot quite often, sitting on the bench for hours. Without realizing it, Jungkook healed a part of you that you never thought needed healing. Somehow, being there brings you more peace. Every time you run your fingers over your best friend’s name, you never leave without pressing a kiss on your fingers to press it on his name.
Juhee told you she was aware of what he did. Jungkook actually reached out to her for the details of Lucas’s birth and death years. She was also the first person to see the bench, because he wanted to do things right for you.
“The view is still breathtaking,” Jungkook says when he sits next to you on the bench. “Especially at night.”
“How did you know I’d be here?” you ask as your eyes meet his toned figure.
“Intuition,” he mumbles with a little smile.
For a moment, you allow yourself to properly look at him. He’s still wearing his working clothes, meaning that he came straight after work. It leaves you wondering if he went to your place before coming here. Probably.
“Shouldn’t you be holding some boards or whatever a CEO is supposed to do?” you ask.
“I was,” he replies, “but they’re over.”
Jungkook leans his back against the bench, his gaze shifting from you to the city. You do the same, and the view before your eyes is simply marvelous. For sure, not as pretty as Jungkook, but it’s still a very beautiful view.
“I’m not a CEO 24/7,” he continues. “I’m also a boyfriend, if I can still be one.”
Your heart beats loudly inside your chest. Even though things are a lot better and seem to be back to where they left off, none of you has truly dared to bring the topic to the table. For sure, it’s clear you’ve forgiven him, but maybe it’s better to say it out loud and make it clear for the two of you.
“I’m sure plenty of women would dream of dating you,” you teasingly say.
Somehow, you’re trying to lighten the mood because seriousness right now would be too heavy to deal with.
“I’m not interested in all of them,” he chuckles. “You know it better than anyone else.”
True. It’s something he has made quite clear over these past months.
“You’re the only person who truly matters to me,” he continues without looking at you. “And I’m so sorry that I messed it all up. I’ll do anything to get to hear you say again that I’m your boyfriend.”
Your eyes shift from the city to him. Jungkook always tends to look composed, as if nothing can ever affect him, but tonight he seems vulnerable.
“I love the man that I am when I’m with you,” he confesses. “I’m not Jeon Jungkook, or a CEO, nor the son of Jeon Minju. I’m just Guk.”
Your heart misses a beat at his words. He’s never hidden from you that you’re the only person who truly got to see him for who he is, and that, honestly, has always made you feel quite special. Like you’re someone who got VIP access to the all-mighty Jeon Jungkook—the man every woman desires.
“Just hearing you call me that turns me on, like I’m a damn teenager in heat,” he chuckles, and you can’t help but get closer to him. Your hand instantly finds its way to his neck, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the hair at the nape. Even like that, Jungkook still doesn’t look your way. “And it was pure torture not to hear it for a couple of days.”
“Unless you’re hiding something else, I won’t ever stop calling you ‘Guk’,” you tell him.
His head finally turns, his gaze landing on you. Even in the dark, you can see the softness in his eyes, and it makes you melt.
“I swear I’m not,” he promises. “There’s nothing else about me to uncover. You know every side of who I am.”
His hand rests on your cheek, his thumb delicately stroking your cheek. The intimacy of this moment prevails over any sex you’ve ever shared. You’re the kind of person who values way more moments like this than sexy times. For sure, both are part of a relationship, but the weight they carry is very different for you.
“Well, I still need to know better Mr. CEO,” you reply with a smile. “He seems a bit too full of himself.”
A bright smile spreads across his handsome face.
“It’s better if you know him superficially,” he replies. “He’s not really a cool guy.”
“I still want to,” you admit. “He was very sexy when I met him at NovaTech.”
“Oh,” he pauses for a second. “Might need to bring him out more often.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” you reply. “You’re hot when you try to protect me.”
His smile grows wider, and you can’t resist the urge to press your lips against his. The kiss is slow and passionate—a mirror of what you feel right now. His tongue swipes against your lower lip, inviting you to open your mouth, which you do.
“I thought you had a personal preference for the biker,” he whispers against your lips.
“I sure do,” you offer a smile as you take a gentle step back to look at him. “But the protective boyfriend is somehow better.”
Jungkook mirrors your facial expression, and you swear his smile reaches his eyes. He’s so adorable.
“Boyfriend, huh?” He asks.
“Unless you have some objections, I believe you’re still my boyfriend,” you play with his hair, trying to calm your nerves.
“I have none,” he replies.
Jungkook kisses you again, and you melt into the kiss. Now, it’s absolutely clear where you both stand. Despite it all, you’re still boyfriend and girlfriend, and there’s nothing else in the world you’d like more.
After that, you both head to his place to spend the night together. Needless to say, the neighbors might have heard how freaky you got in bed, but you don’t care. What matters most is that you get to spend time with him.
The next morning, Jungkook takes a shower while you get dressed for work. Lately, you’ve been spending a lot of time at each other’s place, so you’ve decided to keep some clothes in order to avoid going around before work. It saves a lot of time—time that can be used together. However, you can’t help but notice he bought you some extra clothes that he keeps in his dressing room. It makes you smile like an idiot, and the thoughtful gesture melts your heart.
Can he just stop being adorable?
To surprise him, you try on the red shirt, together with a white pair of classic pants. They fit you all perfectly, as if Jungkook had studied your body. For a second, you look at yourself in the mirror, and you instantly smile. The outfit is honestly cute.
“Love,” you hear Jungkook calling out for you.
“Coming,” you scream to make sure he hears you.
In a rush, you head to the bathroom. Your boyfriend is standing in the middle of the room, a towel covering his lower body, and his hair is fully damped. He’s hot. Your eyes shamelessly roam up and down his body, while you bite your lower lip.
“Don’t look at me like that, love,” he smirks.
“Can’t help myself,” you teasingly say.
Jungkook shakes his head before saying, “I need your help with my hair.”
Last night, he told you he has rather important meetings today. Apparently, he’s signing a new deal, also has a board to discuss the future of a company, and other important stuff at his family’s company. A quite heavy day awaits him today.
Jungkook shows you the Dyson Hairwrap resting next to the sink. Of all things, you never pictured your boyfriend owning one. For sure, he’s very careful with his image, but you always imagined that if he needed help with his hair, he’d have a hairdresser or something like that. You never thought he’d do it by himself.
“How come you have this?” you ask.
“My brother bought it the other day because apparently it’s easier, but I don’t know how to use this shit.”
You laugh, your eyes quickly looking at it. Junyoung gifted his brother with the pink edition, and this is absolutely funny. Right now, you’d even say that he bought it to tease his brother, not help him.
“It’s not funny,” he says.
“It absolutely is,” you instantly reply.
Even though this is absolutely funny, you’ll help him out. By any means, you aren’t a hairdresser at all, but the simple fact that he asks you to help him out melts your heart. There’s no way you aren’t doing his hair.
“Let me help you,” you add.
You turn your back on him to set it all up. As you go through the little box, you check which brush to use. Jungkook watches you from behind you, as if he’s trying to study your every move. Once ready, you turn around to face him with the Hairwrap in your hand.
“Come closer,” you order him, and he does so without complaint.
You’ve never done anybody’s hair before, so it’s a first time for you, and you’ll try your best. The sound it makes when you turn it on surprises Jungkook.
“This is loud,” he instantly says.
You chuckle, nodding, and then start doing his hair. Jungkook doesn’t move at all, his eyes only watching you while you get him ready.
“Don’t you have hairdressers?” you ask him.
“If I need to,” he replies.
“Then, why don’t you reach out to one?”
“If you can help, I don’t need them,” he instantly explains.
You simply smile and focus back on your task, but you can’t ignore the way your heart squeezes inside your chest. Honestly, if he keeps asking you this every day, you’ll just do it. After all, he’s your boyfriend.
“This outfit looks great on you,” he says at some point.
“Thanks for buying it,” you smile at him, your gaze quickly shifting to him. “You didn’t need to.”
“I’d buy an entire store for you, love,” he nonchalantly says.
You chuckle. “It’s not needed. This is perfectly fine.”
This whole I-have-a-lot-of-money shit is something you’ll need time to adjust to. It’s still very new to you, and you’ve gotten to notice how he’d gladly throw his money away for you. You don’t want it, but it won’t be easy to convince him otherwise, as he’s quite stubborn.
Jungkook doesn’t reply, letting you continue with styling his perfectly soft hair. You absolutely adore the feeling of it in your fingers. He definitely takes good care of himself.
“Okay, I’m done,” you say once you’re proud of the final result, your fingers quickly running through his hair for a final touch.
While you put down the brush and unplug it, Jungkook looks at his reflection in the mirror behind you. He doesn’t touch or try to rearrange it. Then, he looks at you, his body trapping you against the sink. His hand lands on your lower back, pulling you closer.
“It’s perfect, love,” he whispers against your ear before nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck.
His hair tickles your throat, and a chuckle escapes your lips. By pure reflex, your arms wrap around his neck. Your eyes flutter shut to enjoy this gentle but soft moment. If this is what eternity will feel like with him, you’ll gladly take it. In his arms is the place you’d forever want to be.
“Thanks,” he mumbles.
“Any time,” you reply as you press a kiss on his shoulder.
Falling for this man wasn’t in your plans, but man, it’s the best thing that has ever happened to you. Letting him go now is absolutely out of the question. For sure, you didn’t make it easy for him, and you’re absolutely certain that it will continue. Being on your own all these years taught you that you could do it all, but now you have someone by your side who’s ready to do it all.
It’s not always simple, but you’re ready to work on yourself. You’re so madly in love with him that you’d do anything to keep him. This whole lie also made you realize that he just wanted you to love him truly, which was the case. If you had found out earlier about who he was, maybe things would be completely different today. Maybe he wouldn’t even be part of your life.
Through it all, you’re grateful for his patience. He has never once pushed you out of your comfort zone to fit into his expectations. In fact, he has shown you over and over again that he’s there if you need him and even when you think you don’t.
Jungkook has taught you that love is easy and uncomplicated.
Life seems better since he has unexpectedly appeared, and you wouldn’t trade him for anything else in the world. He can even buy you the moon if he wants, but you wouldn’t care, because all that matters to you is him. You can’t wait for what life has in store for the two of you. In the end, you were made for loving each other.
synopsis: an unexpected collaboration with jungkook was the last thing you wanted. he’s frustrating, impossible to read, and somehow always finds a way to get under your skin. but as your resentment slowly transforms into something far more dangerous, you begin to realize there’s more to him than you’ve ever been able to understand.
genre/warnings: jungkook x f!reader, idols au, explicit sexual content (mdni), smut, reader is a brat, forced proximity, perfectionism, alcohol consumption, f! masturbation, kissing, teasing, neck kissing, hickeys, marking, oral sex (m! receiving), cum eating, nipple play, a little dry humping, rough sex, obsession, orgasm (m! and f! receiving), overstimulation, squirting, unprotected sex (don’t do it pls)
w/c: 23.4k
a/n: sorry i haven’t updated in so long, i’ve been really busy lol, anyway thank you so much for 200 followers! this fanfic is my way of saying thank you, so i hope you enjoy!
the speakers of the dance studio were blasting music loudly—your group’s latest song buzzed around all over the room, thumping in every corner. it was late at night, and you had lost the track of how many times you had practiced that song.
the other four members of your group had left the studio long ago—it was just you and the melody echoing under the harsh, white lights in the black-walled room. you looked at your reflection in the big mirror hanging on the wall, making sure all of your movements were impeccable
it wasn’t weird to see yourself staying late in the studio, dancing until your body was completely numb and the only thing you remembered was the counting—it wasn’t a secret to anyone that you were a perfectionist.
you’ve been in this industry for years now, your fans have grown up with you and know every detail of you, so you couldn’t dare to disappoint them—given that you have such a loyal fan base you had to give them something back in exchange, right?
and that was never failing to give a perfect performance to them, you left your heart and soul in the stage. despite already having what people call natural talent, the fear of not being good enough and never reaching your full potential is constantly haunting you.
the song finally came to an end, the last move a pose thrown to a crowd that wasn’t there—tonight, the only one you were trying to impress was yourself. you were left panting, your heart beating rapidly and you basically couldn’t feel your legs anymore
you slowly walked to where your bag was and grabbed your bottle of water, finishing it in a matter of seconds. exhaustion filled every inch of your soul; all you wanted was simply go to your apartment, take a shower and go to bed.
you packed your things more than ready to leave, but as soon as you opened the studio door to step out of the room, you bumped into someone—your manager
“god… you scared me” you said as you pulled away from her after your soul left your body for a second, it wasn’t common to come across with someone at the building so late at night
“sorry, i’ve been calling you for hours and couldn’t find you, you need to come with me now.” she rushed with a serious expression on her face
“i apologize, i was practicing and had my phone on silent… is everything okay?” you asked slightly nervous.
“yeah… just come with me” she replied as she began to stomp away, you following from behind
both of you walked down the long hallways in complete silence, there was something unsettling hanging in the air—what could possibly be happening? and was this so serious they couldn’t wait until tomorrow to say it? it was the middle of the night and all you wanted to do was just go to your house, but of course something urgent had to pop out…
you were now standing in front of the ceo’s office, the sight of the dark door with his name printed in it only making you more nervous. your manager opened the door, and your eyes met with the last person you wanted to see at that moment
jeon jungkook.
jungkook was lazily sitting in a chair, his chin resting in his hand. next to him, was his manager as the ceo sat at his desk in front of all of the people present in the room
you looked at your manager in confusion, and all she did was nod her head at you repeating that everything was fine. you turned around and jungkook respectfully stood up and bowed at you, with you following after
“is everything alright…?” you asked while being absolutely lost about what was happening
“yes, everything is fine. we just called you to talk about what would you think about doing a collaboration” the ceo said with a calm voice
when he spoke, you noticed how tired he looked—at least more tired than usual, with dark baggy eyes hanging in his face.
“what? with who?” you asked even more confused than before
“well… with jungkook of course” the ceo answered you
everyone in the room was looking at you waiting for an answer. was this some kind of nightmare or what? you tried to keep it as a secret, but jungkook wasn’t your favorite person in the world to be real…
yes, he was an amazing artist and such a nice person too—actually you and him have plenty of things in common; both of you are the youngest of your group, main vocals and dancers too. most of the people would think you would have a nice relationship with him, but not precisely.
since the first day you met him, when both of you were still young and had no clue in the world, there was something in him that you didn’t like. it was the way he made everything look so effortless, like all the hours you spent practicing until your body became numb were useless, it seemed so easy for him
jungkook flashed that perfect smile through things without breaking a sweat. the way he danced the hardest choreographies without missing a single step while singing like an angel at the same time, would always get on your nerves
there was a fine line between admiration and a bit of jealousy of what you felt towards him, a weird mixture of respect and rejection. he was one of the most talented people out there and you could admit that without a doubt, but you hated the way he always made you feel small
it would be an honor to collaborate with jungkook if you didn’t compare yourself with him so much, and the worst part is that comparing yourself with someone else from a male group was completely ridiculous.
to make things better, it’s very well known by everyone that there is quite a big community of fans that ship you with jungkook—even though you have never had a proper conversation with him, it only took a single glance from you two to make fans go insane
people said there was a lot of tension between you and him, but it isn’t the one they think. they even make theories and speculations about you and jungkook having a secret relationship, and that only makes your dislike to him grow even more.
seriously, whose idea was this?
“you both are one of the best vocalists i’ve ever heard and would make such a good combination, the fans would go crazy and the views would be through the roof” the ceo kept speaking
jungkook just nodded his head at him and looked stupidly unbothered. you, on the other hand, were in absolute shock and about to blow up in anger—you prayed this wasn’t obvious on your face.
“well, what do you think?” they asked you and you genuinely had no idea about what to say. the ceo had a point; fans have been begging for a collaboration between you and jungkook for years and you did make a good combination, but you just don’t get along with him and that could be a problem
“umm, i should talk about this with my manager, right? i would love to but i already have a ton of work and it would be a bit complicated…” you explained hoping they would immediately cancel this project
“but she told us your schedule is pretty open, you only have your group projects and some other events, right?” jungkook added, you glared at him with dark eyes; you didn’t want to be mean, but wasn’t it obvious you didn’t want to do this at all?
a minute of tension lingered in the air, jungkook was looking at you with a calm expression plastered on his stupid face, almost as if he knew how much this bothered you
“oh yeah… i forgot.” you lied while you looked at him deeply in his eyes “well then, let’s do this” you agreed hesitantly with a clear fake smile
“great! you only have to sign a few papers and it will be all done” the ceo said as he handed both of you a pen and a pile of files to sign, this night couldn’t really get any better.
after what felt like an eternity, you finished signing all the papers with a storm of doubts clouding your mind. there was something so weird in all of this—what were jungkook, his manager and the ceo doing at the building so late at night? and why did this happen so quickly? usually it takes months to organize a collaboration between idols as famous you and jungkook, but all of this happened in the blink of an eye and in the middle of the night.
“done, now may i be excused?” you said handing the papers back to the ceo with a blank expression
“of course, have a good night!” he wished you as you stood up to finally leave that goddamn room
how could he wish you a “good night” after having probably the worst night of your life? this was the most out of hand thing that has ever happened you and minutes before, when you were dancing at your studio, you could have never guessed what was coming
as soon as you stepped out of the room, you began walking to the exit of the building and called your best friend who was also a member of your group, hyeri. the phone rang a couple times before she answered.
“girl, do you have any idea what time it is?” she spoke with a raspy voice, you had clearly interrupted her sleep but that didn’t matter for you now
“hyeri, i’m literally going to cry” you said as you grabbed the bridge of your nose in frustration
“what’s wrong? how many times have i told you you shouldn’t push yourself too hard and stay up so late practicing?” she asked worried, the sleepiness in her voice fading instantly
“no… it’s not about that” you clarified “i have a collaboration”
“oh. but that’s good, right? did you mean you were about to cry of excitement or what?” hyeri replied slightly confused
“no, it’s not good. i have a collaboration with fucking jungkook…” you confessed as you finally left the building
suddenly there was just pure silence, you didn’t even hear her breathing anymore. maybe you accidentally hung up
“hyeri? are you still the-“ you didn’t even get to finish the sentence when you heard an uncontrollable laughter on the other side of the phone, she was laughing at you when you were literally on the verge of ending your career just to avoid working with jungkook
“you think this is funny?” you asked a bit angry annoyed at her, you already had enough with all that had happened with jungkook and she has the audacity to laugh at you?
“i’m sorry…” she managed to say between her loud laugh “i’m so sorry…”
“hyeri, take a damn breath and then talk please” you said serious
“it’s just that, it’s a little funny to see how crazy jungkook drives you” she explained you while taking a breath “please don’t get mad at me”
“jungkook doesn’t drive me crazy. i just…
really don’t want to work with him” you defend yourself trying to sound honest but failing miserably “and don’t you think it’s weird? they told me just now, in the middle of the night and we already signed the papers!”
“well, i don’t agree about the jungkook thing, but there is something weird about this… why did it happen so fast?” hyeri wondered just as confused as you were
“right! what the hell is everyone’s problem? like me and jungkook have never had a full conversation ever, and now i have to do a fucking song with him?” you were venting to your friend as you were walking to your car until someone touched your arm
you jumped in surprise, almost dropping your phone and when you turned around, you met with the last person you wanted to see. jungkook was right in front of you with that usual look he had in his eyes, sweet but annoying for you
“sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you” he quickly apologized while you ended the call with your friend
“what do you want?” you asked completely avoiding eye contact with him, you thought if you looked at him you might actually snap in anger
“i just wanted to ask you which days we can meet to start with our song” jungkook explained you “i think we should meet on-“
“i’m sorry, but i don’t really have time for this now, can’t you just text me which days work better for you?” you rushed trying to end this conversation as soon as possible, plus you actually didn’t have the energy for this
“oh sure, i don’t have your number though” he said calmly “you can write it here” jungkook handed you his phone confidently
you wrote your number swiftly, sliding your fingers through the screen as he kept looking at you with his dark, brown eyes. you wondered why was he staring at you so much, but didn’t have the energy to confront him.
“done.” you returned his phone with annoyance
“thank you, i’ll text you later” he answered with a soft smile as you entered your car without even saying goodbye, you just wanted to go home and never see his face again—even though you would have to see it more often now
you started your car and drove away immediately, leaving jungkook standing there alone. you honestly didn’t care about it at the moment.
…
you had finally gotten to your sweet home, you left your shoes on the entrance and went to the bathroom, you desperately needed a warm shower. before stepping in the shower, you grabbed your phone to explain to hyeri why you had hung up out of nowhere when you noticed you had one message from a new number “jungkook”
“good night :)”
could this man just leave you alone for once?
“i didn’t give you my number for this” you replied dryly
“sorry” he simply wrote
“night.” you answered because you felt a little bad for being so mean, but not enough for wishing jungkook a good night.
you turned off your phone and threw it somewhere in the vanity and finally hopped on the shower, having your well deserved warm shower for once
as the hot water ran down your aching body due to the extra hours of practice you had, the pain slowly faded away—but now you had a new worry.
you slid your fingers through your face in frustration. there were thousands of other artists or groups who would die to even have an interaction with jungkook, why did you have to do a whole song with him? you could already imagine all the rumors and comments people would make when the company announces this
and let’s not get started about the fact that you now have to work with one of the persons you compare yourself with.
even though you would rather do anything other than this, you would have to cope with it and end this as quickly as possible.
the next morning you woke up in the worst mood ever, and were seriously considering in begging the ceo to cancel the collaboration with jungkook even though both of you had already signed all the papers
but your pride would never let you do that, because that would mean he had won. you were being harsh, rude, and probably dramatic—but you weren’t a quitter.
so you got out of bed, determined to not give up. you sent a text to jungkook saying that you could meet up every day; after all, the more time you spend working together, the faster this will end. he just answered with a simple
“great, should we start today?”
he did seem very excited to work with you, didn’t it bother him the way you treated him last night? you just agreed with a short reply.
…
“so, what do you want this song to be about?” you asked jungkook with a dry tone in your voice
he was sitting calmly in a chair next to yours, wearing his usual black hoodie and a pair of grey sweatpants that suited him perfectly. that’s another thing you despised about jungkook—he could throw the first thing he found and would still look stunning
he had his hoodie rolled up to his forearms, letting you see part of his tatted arm on full display. you traced every single tattoo with your eyes, completely forgetting that he was still there and you were staring a little creepily at him
“love” jungkook spoke out of nowhere
“excuse me?” you said confused, that word sounded particularly different when it came out from his pierced lips
“i’m talking about the song, what do you think about love?” he explained you while he leaned back in his chair, slightly spreading his legs to get more comfortable
you shifted in your place at the question “i don’t know, i’ve been making a lot of love songs lately” you replied trying to sound as confident as possible
“yeah, but not with me” jungkook shot back in a lower voice
the room suddenly felt smaller and the air thicker, you had never noticed how stubborn he could be. for a second too long, he was staring deeply into you with something unreadable in his eyes
“fine, what kind of love?” you said while rolling your eyes a bit, you didn’t really have the energy to question him
“hmm, i was thinking about forbidden love” jungkook suggested with a grin plastered across his face
“forbidden love, huh? i don’t think it’s bad…” you told him as you looked away from his eyes to think about it
“i’ll take that as a compliment” he giggled softly at your comment
“i just said that because i’ve never made a song about that before.” you clarified “so, any ideas for this forbidden love song?”
“actually, i have some” jungkook said “i want to talk about a love that even though is wrong—it burns in silence, where the looks speak louder than words and when it’s so addictive… you can’t stop it”
you were suddenly aware of the short distance between you two—jungkook was now so close your elbows were brushing faintly and you could smell his strong yet fresh masculine scent
“that can be a little problematic… don’t you think?” you murmured softly, feeling your skin burning and heart beating faster nervously
“you know i like trouble” jungkook spoke in an even lower voice, husky and deep at the same time
“i don’t really know you, jungkook…” you said while looking at his darkened eyes without backing off, when in reality you were on the edge of breaking
“well this is a perfect chance to get to know me, right?”
“umm, i think i need some fresh air… could you excuse me for a second?” you muttered, somehow trying to hide how tense you felt from him.
you didn’t even give time for him to say something before opening the door and literally bolting out of the room, face colored a bright shade of red and sweaty hands
your heart was racing as you rested your hands on your hips with frustration, walking side to side trying to brush your panic away. you two had only had a simple conversation, so you couldn’t find an explanation for the sudden raise of heat in your body—maybe you had a fever?
unexpectedly, the door cracked behind you with jungkook’s tall frame stepping out. your nervousness must have been painfully obvious, because at the first sight of your flustered face, his eyes widened instantly with concern
“are you okay…? you look a little flustered” jungkook read you as if you were a simple book, studying you from head to toe
“yes, i’m perfectly fine…” you rushed way too quickly “it’s just that i’m hot…”
“you’re hot?” jungkook asked with that classic teasing grin of his
your jaw clenched with annoyance as you glared at him “not like that, jungkook. i mean i’m boiling, i don’t know what’s wrong with me”
“oh, maybe you have a fever” he said as his smile instantly faded away to be replaced with a worried expression
without a warning, the back of his hand was getting closer to your forehead, clearly an attempt to take your temperature. as if it was second nature, you pushed his hand away a bit too harshly—if you were already like this just by a simple talk, you didn’t want to know what would happen if he touched you.
“please don’t touch me… i think i have to leave” you blurted out somehow feeling worse “i’ll text you later to keep talking about the song, see you” you added while walking away, leaving him standing there all alone once again.
desperate for advice, you drove all the way to your best friend’s house—but as soon as you got there and she opened the door, you knew that wouldn’t happen. because she laughed at your face, again.
“what the hell happened to you? you look so flushed” hyeri giggled at your expression as if it was something funny
“jungkook happened to me, and quit making fun of me.” you explained while stepping inside her apartment
“don’t worry, i would be like that too if i had to work with him” finally your friend was comforting you for once and for all
“right?! i don’t mean to be rude, but sometimes he can really be a pain in the ass”
“no i don’t mean that” hyeri looked at you confused “i mean he’s too handsome to not be blushing all the time like you”
you paused for a moment, turning around while glaring her with a piercing look. a minute of silence that felt more like an eternity followed
“you know, you are really starting to piss me off.” you warned her
“but it’s the truth! there’s nothing wrong with having a crush on him…” she defended herself
“but i don’t have a crush on him, i don’t know where you are taking that from!” you said widening your eyes with irritation “i came here for you to help me and you are only making things worse…”
“alright, i’m sorry. but seriously, what other explanation could there be for you to be like this only by talking to jungkook?” hyeri asked you
“i don’t know, maybe he just made me nervous… i would feel like this if anyone else got as close as he did today, right?” you replied while really stopping and thinking about it
“right.” she said suspiciously sarcastic “but for now i think you should go home and relax a bit, you are clearly too overwhelmed to deal with this”
“yeah, i’ll just talk to jungkook later i guess…”
…
despite not wanting to do any of this, you would never dare to put no effort into your work, especially when your fans had been begging for this for such a long time—plus you have never made a song about a prohibited romance
so that’s how now you were sitting in your desk chair with your notebook open, where you wrote all your lyrics and concept ideas. the page was filled with crossed-out lines, odd sketches and messy, almost unreadable handwriting—mirroring the chaos in your mind.
you took your time with your song, even coming up with some lines for it. you wrote it carefully, building it piece by piece mindfully. as you worked through your ideas slowly, you were shaping it so it would fit jungkook’s style too. you just felt completely lost when it came to the title, nearly tearing your hair out trying to think about it
you leaned back in your chair, running your hands over your face while taking a deep breath in frustration
you couldn’t help but overthink about it, because for some reason the thought of jungkook disliking your ideas made your chest heavy. the fact that you didn’t like him didn’t mean you didn’t want to do your best.
you kept staring at the page, absentmindedly dragging your pen across it, doodling a line. that’s how all of this felt, as if there was a line between you and jungkook that didn’t allow you to reach your full potential, one you couldn’t cross even if you wanted to…
you froze for a second. that was it… a line, a redline. it fit the song perfectly, a love where there’s a redline you can’t cross even if it’s the only thing you want in the whole world
as if by magic, you felt a sudden burst of inspiration—the lyrics written by your hand almost effortlessly, the words just flowing out of you naturally while you pictured the choreography all at the same time. you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel a bit of excitement now.
before you knew it, you already had a whole draft of your song. you smiled softly while looking at your work, you felt proud of it and that wasn’t something common for you at all
now all you had to do was just show it to jungkook and hopefully he’ll like it and won’t dismiss the hours of effort you poured into it.
you grabbed your phone to send him a text saying that you finished writing a sketch for the song, and to your surprise, he had already sent you a message
“hey, let me know if you’re okay, you looked pretty tense earlier”
my god, were you seriously that obvious? you could feel your face heating again while you remembered your very particular interaction with him moments before
“yeah, i’m fine. i don’t really know what got to me” you replied, not even a second after jungkook had already read your text and started typing
“that’s good to hear, but i really wished we had spent more time together to keep talking about the song” he texted back
you didn’t pay much mind to what he said except for the song thing, not wasting any more time to tell him you already had some ideas for it
“speaking about the song, i have some ideas for it written in my notebook and would like to show them to you”
“that’s great! i didn’t know you could write lyrics that fast, you’re good at this” jungkook complimented you
“so when can we meet again so i’ll show the to you?” you replied completely ignoring his praising
“is tomorrow morning good for you?” jungkook asked you
“sure, i guess i’ll see you then” you answered
“good, see you tomorrow :)” he sent you and you caught yourself scoffing at his text, you just thought it was curious how unbothered he seemed to be towards your dry texting and mean attitude, was he like this with everyone?
maybe you were just discovering new sides of him you had never taken the time to notice—not that you wanted to make some time for that anyway. but getting to know him a little better was intriguing in someway. it felt like you wanted to know every single detail about his personality, except that you would probably dislike him even more, because he is jungkook after all…
…
the next morning you finally woke up after turning off all of the alarms you had set, getting out of bed with the last one. you squinted your eyes still half-asleep, why did you accept to meet up so early? you couldn’t even think straight at this time of the day but you still agreed to it with no second thought.
lazily dragging your feet against the cold floor, you walked slowly to the kitchen. you couldn’t start your day without your daily warm cup of coffee, with such an unhinged amount of sugar that all you tasted was its sweetness
you poured a little milk in your favorite mug, warming it up in the microwave to the perfect temperature. everything was ready, you just needed the coffee. but when you opened the cabinet, you were surprised to find that you had no coffee left.
you had been so clouded with all the sudden work you had with jungkook, you hadn’t remembered to restock the most important thing in your life. now you were left with just a simple cup of milk and an empty stomach, and of course you were already running late because of all the alarms you had ignored
it seems like you would have to go through your morning without your beloved coffee
running to the bathroom, you got ready as quick as you possibly could. you packed the notebook into your bag while you brushed your teeth at the same time.
you drove to the building like a maniac to get there dangerously fast. you hated people who were always late, so you didn’t want to be like that with someone—even if it was jungkook
“sorry, did i keep you waiting for too long…?” you spoke almost breathlessly when you finally got there because you had run all the way to the studio
“morning, don’t worry i got here just a couple of minutes ago” jungkook greeted you with his usual kind smile, the metal in his lip piercings shining under the light
“good, should we get started?” you asked as you took a seat in a chair near his
“yeah, before that i bought you some coffee” he said as he handed you a cup “if you are usually grumpy, i don’t want to find out how you are in the mornings” jungkook joked
you just looked him in the eye for a second, it was as if he had known that was exactly what you needed beforehand
“i don’t find that funny, but thank you” you fumbled a bit stunned by the coincidence
you wasted no time in taking a sip of it, and as soon as you tasted the warm foam in your mouth, you realized that somehow he had gotten your order exactly right. he must have noticed your confused expression because he chuckled a bit at your face
“how did you know this is how i like my coffee?” you asked with your brows furrowed in confusion
“i don’t know, a hunch maybe” he replied not taking his big brown eyes off you for a second
a soft laugh escaped your lips without you even realizing, and for a moment, you saw a spark light up in jungkook’s eyes. this was probably the first time he got to hear your laugh in his life, so he must be a little surprised.
“anyways, yesterday i wrote some ideas for the song in my notebook” you continued as you took it out of your bag “tell me what you think”
jungkook kept looking at you as if your laugh had hypnotized him and put him in some kind of trance. his brown eyes sparkled while you handed him your notebook—but he remained completely stiff, without even seeming to blink
you coughed lightly to drift his attention back to earth. he quickly snapped out of it and grabbed the notebook as he apologized. jungkook’s eyes were now focused on the lyrics you had written in a burst of inspiration yesterday, they scanned the words with curiosity in them
but when his brows furrowed just a bit, you immediately noticed it. the thought of him not liking your ideas and tossing them out, invaded your mind once again. you didn’t even know why this affected you so much, you didn’t even want to do this at the beginning.
you could feel your heartbeat rising in nervous anticipation, he was probably just really focused and nothing weird…
not even a minute after, jungkook pressed his tongue against his cheek while he leaned back in his chair. doubts about everything you had written hit you like a wave, you unconsciously started biting your nails as he
kept reading.
“is everything alright…?” you blurted out not being able to hold your uneasiness anymore
he took a second too long to answer, an uncomfortable silence lingering in the air “yeah… it’s just-“
“if you don’t like it, it’s fine. i can rewrite or think of another concept” you rushed just to avoid hearing jungkook say something you didn’t want to hear from him
“no, it’s not that” he clarified as a scoff escaped his lips “this is so good, i’m impressed”
“wait, seriously?” you asked confused
“seriously. i had written some stuff too, but i think this is just on a whole other level” he explained as he kept analyzing the lyrics you had scribbled
“it’s just a draft anyway” you said trying your best to hide your excitement at his compliment
“but the concept you worked on is perfect for the song, a redline is exactly what i wanted to talk about” jungkook said brightly “and the lyrics are amazing too…” he added almost as if he couldn’t believe his eyes
all you could do was sit there, completely stunned by his comments “i also have some ideas for the choreography, if you want to hear them”
“of course” jungkook replied with a kind smile
“well, i was thinking that since the song is about a line that can’t be crossed, it would be a good idea if in the choreography we get really close but never actually touch”
“that’s interesting…” he said while he slightly tilted his head up thinking “it would be as if there literally was an invisible line between us, it would build so much tension”
“exactly, what do you think?” you asked jungkook, a bit eagerly because he understood your idea
“i think you are really smart.” he confessed with a serious yet honest expression “i don’t know how you came up with all of this in just one day, it’s perfect”
“it’s not that big… just something that popped up in my mind” you answered with your cheeks tinged a faint shade of red. by this point you didn’t even care how obviously flushed you looked
“no really, most people don’t get what i want to talk about in my songs, but you understood it immediately” jungkook spoke with sincerity as he smiled
all you could do was simply look at him with bright eyes, you felt so happy one of the persons you admired the most was complimenting you like this—it almost felt unreal. you felt something funny in your stomach and your rapid heart rate was beginning to be something to worry about
jungkook stared at you too; his smile making his cheeks round while his big brown eyes sparkled, causing him to look ridiculously cute. him being this close allowed you to see tiny details of his that people couldn’t notice; the scar on his cheek, the tiny moles all over his skin and his soft, plump lips that looked even prettier when you were this close
“are you okay?” he interrupted your daydreaming without a warning, you couldn’t recall when he stopped looking at you
“yeah, absolutely—i was just thinking that… we may be a good team…” you lied awfully obvious
“wow… i didn’t know you had a kind side” he joked, completely ruining the moment
you sank into your chair with your usual attitude returning. all he did was simply laugh at you as if your face was the funniest thing he’d ever seen, what the hell was wrong with him? one moment he can be the kindest man you’ve met, and the next, the most insufferable one.
that’s how the following days went—blurry and exhausting rehearsals, studio sessions, long hours spent analyzing lyrics and melodies. your schedule was practically consumed by jungkook
but somewhere between glances that lasted longer than necessary in the studio mirror, and quiet moments sitting side by side, things started to shift in an unusual way—you were actually enjoying this…
you realized this one night that you had stayed late practicing once again, just like the one you found out you would have to work with jungkook. you walked alone through the building’s long hallways, the only thing on your mind being just your comfy bed, when you suddenly heard loud music coming from far away
you could recognize it anywhere, that melody could wake you up from a coma; it was the redline instrumental. you followed the music with curiosity, and when you got to the room where it came from, you weren’t really surprised.
the door was slightly open, but it was enough to let you see jungkook dancing just like you had been a couple minutes ago. he was putting so much energy into it and was so focused he didn’t even notice when you cracked the door open to have a better view
his skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, causing his dark hair to stick to his face and soaked shirt clinging to his very toned body. you could admire every muscle in his huge back and all the veins in his forearms with so much detail it should be illegal.
and let’s not get started with how he dances; every movement he does appeared to be perfectly calculated and unrealistically precise, he made every step seem so swift and beautiful. you were hypnotized by the way he moved
“enjoying the view?” jungkook pulled you out of your own world with his classic teasing tone
“i was just watching how you dance” you quickly explained yourself a little embarrassed
“so, how do i dance?” he asked already knowing the answer, he just wanted to hear it from you
“i didn’t know you stayed practicing until late, thought i was the only one” you ignored his question with no shame at all
“i always do” jungkook replied as he grabbed his bottle of water and took a long sip, you were mesmerized by the way his adam’s apple bobbed with every swallow “are you nervous?” he asked all of a sudden, you must have been staring a bit creepily for him to ask that
“you think you make me nervous?” you chuckled at his delusion, even though he did in fact make you nervous
“i’m talking about the collab announcement in a few days.” jungkook clarified with a knowing smirk, almost as if he knew how hard it was for you to concentrate with him looking like that
“oh. well not really, what would i be nervous about?” you said feeling a little humiliated after you terribly misunderstood his question
“c’mon, you know people love to ship us”
you widened your eyes and felt your blood boiling under your skin after hearing him say that. of course you knew your fans shipped you with jungkook—it was one of the things that annoyed the most about him, even though it wasn’t even his fault. it was just weird him saying that right in front of you, he seemed really aware of the rumors anyway…
“people love to talk, and they will always no matter what. so no, i’m not that nervous” he nodded in agreement at your thoughts about it
“don’t you think it’s weird that they paired us for a collab anyway? i mean everyone knows about the ship thing” you asked wanting to know what his opinion was
“not really. you said it the other day, we are a good team” jungkook replied calmly with a soft smile on his face, and even though you didn’t like to admit this, he was right.
you and him were a perfect couple (for singing, of course). every rehearsal ended with people looking for too long even after it had ended long time ago, it was how naturally perfect you performed as a duo
your voices sound heavenly whenever you sang in unison. they contrasted fantastically; different enough to stand out but similar enough to blend together too. and both of you moved like you had practiced together for years, matching each other’s movements even in the hardest parts of the choreography.
it was nothing but pure chemistry
“i guess so…” you confessed, thinking that what you had said as a lie a couple days ago, may actually be true “but anyways, i have to go, i’m dead on my feet”
“yeah, me too” he added as he packed his stuff ready to leave too. you turned around to walk away, not before pausing for a moment and looking over your shoulder to see him one more time
“good night” you simply said with a gentle smile, jungkook looked astonished at your kind gesture. it was kinda funny how surprised he reacted to the most simple things you did, his eyes would visibly widen and lit up with a cute brightness—you knew he really noticed how much your attitude changed
before giving him time to get out of his trance you walked away, leaving him frozen in place with his mouth slightly open. you had to hold back a laugh because of how stunned he looked just by you saying “good night”
later that night, when you were peacefully laying in bed, your mind kept drifting back to jungkook. you couldn’t help but think how maybe you and him had more similarities than differences
when you saw him dancing all alone in the practice room, sweat clinging to his body and heavy breathing, he reminded you a little of yourself. you had always thought it didn’t take much effort for jungkook to be as perfect as he was, but now that you were working with him, you realized you were terribly wrong.
you had spent so much time trying to find every kind of flaw and excuses to be annoyed by him, you had never stopped to actually get to know him a little better. after spending almost every day with him, now you could say that jungkook wasn’t as effortlessly perfect as you thought, he worked so hard for it just like you
he was hardworking yet kindhearted at the same time, pouring his heart into everything he did but never losing his passion—and all of this only made that funny feeling in your stomach grow even more intense
…
a few days had passed, and today was finally the day redline would be announced, precisely at midnight. the company had been teasing the song for weeks before the official announcement dropped
the campaign was almost cruel for the fans; first it was mysterious countdowns with no explanation, then short glitchy clips of you and jungkook’s blurred silhouettes dancing under flashing red lights, and lastly, a ten second clip of just a black screen with heavy breathing sounds of both of you in the background, a red light flashing occasionally in it
without even actually revealing that much, the fans were already going mad. they tried to connect the dots and find out what this whole thing was about, even trying to predict the song name, concept and who would be in it—you and jungkook giggled watching all of this, a collaboration between you two seemed so impossible for them, nobody had guessed anything right.
now he was sitting next to you, late at night waiting for the final announcement to drop. you felt your heart racing with anticipation and none of you could sit still—you didn’t know who was more excited for this, you and jungkook or your fans
when the clock hit 00:00, it finally dropped—it wasn’t even a trailer, it was just a poster of you and jungkook facing each other, staring deeply into the other’s eyes. your names were at the bottom, the release date above them, and the title redline written vertically between you and him. red lighting enhanced both of your features, making everything look sharp yet intense.
within seconds the internet lost its mind. every possible platform was flooded with reactions, edits and desperate countdowns. it didn’t take long for hashtags about the song to climb on the trending charts, it was almost impossible to scroll through any social media without your names being everywhere. everyone was sent into chaos in the best way possible
you smiled to your phone as you processed all of this, the brightest smile plastered on your face as all the staff cheered happily while cracking open bottles of soju to celebrate. you were so overwhelmed with excitement, you didn’t even notice jungkook wasn’t looking at the screens or even smiling, he was just looking at you
it was as if nothing else mattered at the moment, he simply stared at you with his big brown eyes, they were glowing as always but with something strange in them… he was particularly quiet, a faint smile rested on his lips while his eyes seemed to be locked on you.
“isn’t this beautiful? everyone is so excited!” you exclaimed without taking your eyes off your screen, stunned by the instant blow-up
“yeah…” jungkook answered in a calm voice with a hint of happiness, you were so amazed you didn’t notice the way he kept looking at you.
eventually the celebration died down little by little, staff members leaving one by one until only you and jungkook remained in the dimly lit room, empty bottles of alcohol decorating the table. you threw yourself onto the couch where he was already laying after saying goodbye to your manager
you hadn’t drunk that much, but it was enough to make you just a little tipsy. your cheeks and ears were painted with a soft pink and your eyes felt a bit heavy. you turned your head to look at jungkook but he was already staring at you
“what’s wrong with you? you are being weirder than usual…” you blurted out as you shamelessly got closer to him. you had been so busy thanking everyone and celebrating you hadn’t talked to him almost all night, and now you were starting to notice there was something off
“weirder than usual, huh?” jungkook answered with a smirk “don’t worry, it’s nothing” he assured as he looked away from you for a second
“c’mon you can tell me, i’m good at keeping secrets” you insisted, moving slightly in front of him so your eyes could meet again
“really?” he asked with clear curiosity and you nodded proudly in response, making him chuckle a little “that’s great then.”
“why?” you said furrowing your brows in confusion
“there’s no fun in telling you now” jungkook told you as he got even closer to your face, the distance between you being so short you could feel his breathing against your skin
“you are so boring, you know that jungkook?” you joked as you pulled away, personally offended he didn’t want to spill the tea
“oh yeah? we’ll see about that” he said while pulling away from you “anyways, you want a ride?”
“what…?” you asked a little surprised
“to your house, you seem a bit drunk to drive” he clarified with a soft laugh escaping his lips, you didn’t know if he was doing that on purpose or if your mind was just too dirty
“right…” you said embarrassed “but don’t worry, i can just call my driver and-“
“but i want to take you home” jungkook kept going. you were about to decline his offer once again, but how could you say no to those big puppy eyes?
“i mean if you really want to, sure” you accepted while he smiled brightly in victory.
and that’s how you ended up in jungkook’s car, you were far too tired and buzzed to realize how this might look to anyone else. the ride to your apartment was strangely quiet yet peaceful at the same time
the city lights passed in blurry colors through the car windows, the only sound being the soft music playing in the background. neither of you seemed in a hurry to speak, but it wasn’t awkward at all, in fact you felt really comfortable with his presence.
every now and then, you could feel jungkook looking up and down at you before focusing back on the road again. it’s not as if you weren’t staring at him too… it was impossible not to—especially when his jaw tightened slightly as he drove skillfully through the streets, the way the veins in his forearm showed when he grabbed the steering wheel particularly hard, and how he lazily steered with just one hand
“okay, now you are the one being weird” he broke the silence all of a sudden
“excuse me? for what?” you asked, placing a hand on your chest dramatically in fake offense
“you won’t stop staring at me, it’s like you want to burn a hole through me” jungkook chuckled
“maybe i want to” you joked “but i’m just zoning out, plus you are staring at me too”
“it’s not my fault that you are pretty” he shot back
you completely froze at his comment. like anyone else you liked when people called you pretty and you were actually used to it—but it felt completely different when jungkook said it. the weird feeling you had a couple days ago returned, and stronger than before.
you felt so hot you had to take off your hoodie, your face turned a bright shade of red and butterflies filled your stomach as if by magic. you suddenly felt dizzy and flattered in the best way possible
“thank you…” that was the first time you thanked him for a compliment
“is it the first time you’ve ever been called pretty or what?” he teased after seeing your bright eyes and flushed face
“no, it’s just that it’s different when it comes from you, jungkook…” the alcohol still running through your system betrayed you. it loosened you up enough to spill things you were never planning to say out loud, especially to him
“oh yeah, and why is that?” he asked raising an eyebrow curiously
“well…” you stared at him deeply as you swallowed nervously “you kinda make me nervous, i don’t know”
there was a moment of silence, and when you took a better look at his face, it was painfully obvious he was holding back the biggest laugh of his life. when his eyes accidentally met with your confused face, he burst out laughing.
“don’t laugh at me!” you demanded slightly annoyed
“i’m sorry, i’m sorry…” jungkook repeated, trying his best to stop, but your face was making it really hard “it’s just that i didn’t expect that”
“it wasn’t even that funny.” you sank into the car seat “and you know what? since i told you a secret, you should tell me yours!”
“i already told you that there’s no fun in telling you now” he reminded you
“so you are hiding a secret from me, huh?” you said, narrowing your eyes suspiciously
“i’m not answering any more questions, tipsy” he smiled seeing you were even more annoyed “now get out and go get some sleep”
you turned around to find that you had arrived to your place, you didn’t know exactly when to be honest
“this doesn’t end here, jungkook.” you threatened him as you got out of his car
“yeah, whatever you say” he replied with a chuckle
“thanks for the ride, see you tomorrow” you smiled at him and walked away from his car to enter your building. he waited until you got inside safely, and eventually you heard the car engine driving away.
when you were finally at your apartment, you closed the door and slid down against it until you were sitting on the floor. you let out a deep, shaky breath with a bright smile plastered on your face
it was ridiculous how over the moon you felt just by him calling you pretty, but it wasn’t just that—it was the way he said it too, that husky voice paired with his dark gaze, and the way he played with his lip piercings when he said it… you were actually on the verge of losing it
your body felt warm in the best way possible, and without realizing it you were already pressing your thighs together just at the thought of his raspy voice saying those words.
before you knew it, your hand was sliding all the way down to your already dampened panties, you hadn’t even done anything and your cunt was dripping wet just by thinking of jungkook
you knew it was wrong, that you shouldn’t do this… but you couldn’t leave yourself like this. you started playing with your clit through the thin lace fabric, circling it in slow but steady motions. you didn’t even care you were still on the floor, you were far too gone to do something about it
the friction of the fabric against your hot core, only made you grow more desperate for real touch. you didn’t waste any time in pulling your panties to the side and spreading your thighs to get a better access
at this point you were so turned on your blood was boiling and your nipples perked up in an instant. you were switching better pinching your clit and dragging your fingers against it in a rougher way, you felt in heaven
you ran your fingers against your entrance only to find you were basically dripping all over the floor, you had never been so wet, especially for a person. you slid your middle finger into it easily due to how worked up you were
a whimper escaped your mouth when you shoved a second finger and began thrusting them in and out in painfully slow motions to drive yourself to the edge. you threw your head back in pleasure while your own squelching sounds filled the room
you started shoving your digits faster into your needy pussy, and loud moans came out of you while your face somehow got even more red with arousal took over every inch of your body.
even though your thighs were shaking and your back arched in search for more pleasure, you still didn’t have enough. your fingers couldn’t reach that sweet spot in your gummy walls that made you see stars
your mind couldn’t help but drift back to jungkook. you thought of the way his long, tatted fingers looked when he grabbed the steering wheel, they would probably hit every right spot inside of you
you curled your fingers even more in hopes of at least brushing that special spot, but it was useless. tears welled up in your eyes in frustration as you pushed your fingers even faster, desperate to relieve that thirst of pleasure
suddenly, the thought of jungkook calling you pretty invaded your head and that was enough to make your legs shake. you kept recalling the way his voice lowered when he said it and how he couldn’t keep his deep eyes off you
“j-jungkook, please…” you moaned as if he was there to help you
you used your other hand to pinch your perky nipples while you kept chanting his name as a prayer. a familiar knot formed in your lower belly and you used that hand to pinch your clit again instead, your moans and shaking body were now uncontrollable
when you pinched your clit specifically hard applying the perfect amount of pressure into it, that knot suddenly unraveled without a warning and you came undone in a matter of seconds—a shocking wave of pleasure hitting all your body, making your toes curl while you gushed your juices into your own hand.
you were left panting with a light sheen covering your skin, you had done this a thousand times but it was never this intense. you got up and with your trembling body you went to bed, you felt exhausted after such a rush.
…
the sound of your phone ringing woke you up from your deep sleep, you blinked awake to grab it only to find that hyeri was calling you. as soon as you picked up, she was basically screaming into your ear.
“girl, congratulations! i can’t believe you actually did it, i was starting to think you would give up!” she spoke excitedly on the other side of the line
you grabbed the bridge of your nose, slightly annoyed “huh? congratulations for what?” you asked confused in a sleepy voice
“um, for the announcement of your collaboration with jungkook?” hyeri said in a sarcastic tone
as soon as you heard his name flashbacks of what you did yesterday flooded your mind, you froze in place unable to form a single word as you remembered every detail—the way you kept repeating his name, how your thighs trembled and the intensity of your orgasm. post-nut clarity hit you a little late, and you were just now realizing what you had done
you masturbated to jungkook. and not even jungkook himself, but just to the thought of him.
“…are you there?” your best friend suddenly asked
“yeah, sorry it’s just that i was sleeping” you said, quickly shaking yourself out of your thoughts “thank you so much hyeri!”
“so, how are things with jungkook? is he still giving you butterflies?” she joked
you choked when you heard her say that, if she only knew what kind of butterflies he gave you last night…
“oh, well things are definitely better. i don’t think he’s as bad as i thought” you replied trying your best not to sound nervous
“i knew it, you love him” hyeri said with confidence, knowing damn well she was getting on your nerves with her comment
“and i hate you, you know that?” you shot back sharply, of course you didn’t mean it but she was about to drive you insane
“you didn’t deny it!” she kept going while completely ignoring your annoyance
“cut it out. anyways, i have to go to practice. see you soon” you said trying to end this conversation before she teased you even more
“good luck with your boyfriend!” hyeri joked and hung up quickly before you could even say something back. you just knew she was grinning with satisfaction on the other side.
you ran your hands over your face with frustration, you couldn’t believe the effect jungkook had on you. you felt a mix of shame and guilty, but you would be lying if you said that wasn’t one of the best orgasms you’d ever had. all of this created a weird mix of emotions inside of you
you hopped in the shower, trying to wash all of that away and then get ready for practice. when you were about to get out and be on your way, you couldn’t find the black hoodie you were wearing yesterday. it was your favorite one and you wore it any chance you had.
you looked for it everywhere—in your closet, in the pile of clothes you had in your room and even under your bed, but nothing. that’s when you remembered, you had taken it off last night at jungkook’s car, but you weren’t completely sure
so you just got out and drove to the building, you would ask him if you had left it in his car by accident, and then he would give it back to you, all set!
when you entered the practice room, the first person you saw was jungkook. your eyes lit up when you spotted him, warming up calmly in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror
“hey! i was gonna ask you if i left my hoodie in your car yesterday. it’s a black one with-“
“no.” he responded dryly, contrasting with his usual happy energy
you went quiet for a second because of his sudden seriousness “oh, okay. it’s just that it’s my favorite, you know? when i couldn’t find it this morning i almost went crazy, but it’s probably somewhere in my room” you kept talking trying to make a conversation with him
he didn’t even blink, a blank expression was all you could see on his face—there was definitely something going on.
“is everything okay? you seem quiet…” you asked a little worried
“yeah, i’m just trying to focus right here” he snapped without even looking at you
“oh… okay, i guess i’ll just leave then” you murmured, while your heart sank and a knot formed in your throat. why was he suddenly being like this? have you said something that hurt him?
without warning, the music of your song began playing loudly, blasting in every corner of the room. you didn’t even have time to prepare yourself before having to run to your place, right in front of jungkook, ending up face to face with him.
he looked at you for the first time that morning, there was something dark and unreadable in his gaze that was a bit unsettling. when the first beat hit, you both stepped forward slowly, following the music with your steps
you stopped right before touching him, there was a short distance between you, but it was enough for you to feel his breath against your face. the second beat came, and you circled jungkook slowly yet measured. you reached your hand painfully close to his muscular shoulders when you were at his back, but never actually touching him
you noticed he was really tense, his whole back was completely stiff as you kept walking behind him. when you circled around his body completely, you ended up with your back facing him—and now came your favorite step.
you got down on your knees tantalizingly slow while his big hands ghosted your soft skin, his fingertips being so close to your waist it gave you shivers. without breaking eye contact, you slid your hands down your body once you were on the floor
you were still trying to figure out what was wrong with him. somehow his eyes were even darker now, making him look powerful and fearful, but in your eyes he just looked dangerously tempting
then you whipped your head all the way around, to rise from your knees and turn quickly so you and jungkook were facing each other again. the thing is that you got a little distracted trying to understand what was going on with him, you didn’t measure your steps correctly, and ended up with all your body pressing into jungkook’s
“stop the music” he said loudly and sharply “you got the steps wrong.”
“i know, sorry…” you apologized a bit embarrassed while you pulled away from his strong chest
“let’s start over again” jungkook demanded with a deep sigh, he was obviously annoyed
what the hell was wrong with him? he was usually really patient when someone made a mistake, he would be so nice and repeat things a thousand times if necessary without hesitation. maybe he just had a bad day or something…
but now you would get it right so you don’t bother him anymore. from the top, one more time—step forward, stop right before touching him, circle his body, get on your knees, and get up while you spin to meet his face again
this time you did it impeccably, every step in time and you were perfectly close yet distanced from jungkook’s body; or at least that’s what you thought.
“you are too close, again.” he spoke in a demanding tone
“but we are supposed to be close but not touching each other at the same time, remember?” you explained a bit confused by his comment
“you are still too close” jungkook shot back “let’s repeat it” he ordered while you nodded your head in response
for the third time, you repeated all the steps patiently. you didn’t know why jungkook had that attitude today, but you didn’t want to annoy him even more. when you did the spin once again, you ended in a perfectly measured distance from him—not too close but you could still feel his heavy breathing from there
“now you are too far away.” he added. you looked at him in disbelief, you were completely sure you had gotten it right this time
“so, first i was too close but now i’m too far away?” you asked while crossing your arms to your chest
“that’s what i said” he snapped back
that’s how the whole morning went, a back and forth between ‘too close’ or ‘too far’. by this point your patience was wearing thin and jungkook’s tone was only getting worse each passing minute. by the ninth time he corrected you, you had officially reached your limit
“too close again” he simply said, you noticed a particular spark in his eyes that made you feel he was doing this on purpose
“i’m not even touching you” you replied visibly annoyed. by this point the tension in the air was so thick, not only you and jungkook noticed it, but the whole staff too
“that doesn’t take away that you are too close.” he kept discussing
you took a deep breath, you had tried to be patient, you really did—but he was making it so hard for you “are you fucking with me, jungkook?” you whispered into his ear so only he could hear you
“i don’t know, am i? or are you just doing the choreography wrong?” he shot back, flashing an insufferable grin while he slightly kneeled down to whisper into your ear too.
“i’m not doing it wrong, you are just being a bitch for no reason” you shot back
“hmm, i think you are a bit too worked up to get this right” he said in that same deep, husky voice he used on you last night “let’s take a break, okay?” he told everyone with a gentle smile
he didn’t even give you time to say something back. he just left you in the middle of the room, fuming while you breathed heavily with anger. what the hell did he mean by ‘worked up’?
you could feel rage taking over every inch of your mind—your blood boiling in anger, the knot in your throat and your stomach tightening with fury, were impossible to control. you didn’t know what you had done for him to treat you like this, literally your whole attitude towards him changed because you were actually starting to like him (and a little bit too much)
you weren’t that mean, dry and rude girl to jungkook anymore. but the second you decide to give him a chance, he showed you one more time what a fucking idiot he can be.
and what you hated the most of this, was how much it affected you. since when jungkook has this effect on you? why did you even care about the way he treated you? he’s such an asshole, one that somehow still gets to you.
you had spent the whole day practicing that goddamn dance, it was all just an endless discussion between you and jungkook about you rushing the steps, lacking energy, not being in sync with him, or any other ridiculous excuse he found to simply correct you
the amount of years you had spent in this industry, allowed you to know you weren’t wrong. he was just trying to get into your head for whatever reason, and you were getting tired of it.
you had lost track of how many times you had repeated the choreography by this time, but what you knew really well, was that this time you definitely killed it. every movement perfectly measured, all the steps were at its time, and your energy was so strong you even impressed yourself
when the music stopped, both of you were left panting and covered in sweat. your faces were inches apart, your breaths mingling with a tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. you looked at jungkook deep in the eyes—giving him a challenging glare, knowing damn well you had just crushed it perfectly
“so, how did i do?” you asked confidently, with a defiant tone
“you are still not getting it” he responded while giving you an insufferable smirk “but don’t get too crazy, we still have time to practice even though we are wasting time”
you had to use the little self control you had left to not give him a big, fat slap in his stupid handsome face “are you kidding me? i did everything perfectly right” you said instead
“yeah, you didn’t. but you just asked for my opinion after all.” jungkook answered while he rolled the sleeves of his hoodie, leaving his tattoos on full display for you
you zoned out for a moment looking at his veiny forearms, staring for a second too long at his long fingers. flashbacks of what you did last night flooded your mind—the way you wondered how deep his fingers could go inside you, how you panted his name as if he was the one giving you pleasure, and how when you reached your climax the only thing in your head was jungkook.
“i hate you…” you whispered in a low voice that was barely audible, your face getting flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration
without even knowing if he heard you or not, you grabbed your things with fury and stormed out of the room with loud stomps. jungkook just stood there, looking at you as you walked away—he had never seen you so angry, not even the night when the collaboration was announced to you.
you spent the rest of day trying to find a reason of why was jungkook treating you that way—you hadn’t been mean to him lately, to be honest you’ve been too kind for your liking, so why was he being so rude? but after hours of deep reflection and criticism; you came to the conclusion that jungkook is simply a bitch for no reason, and you would never try to get along with him ever again.
…
the following weeks were terribly hard, you had to be next to jungkook all day, every single day because you were filming the music video. you had spent so much time with him you were actually starting to feel sick. the second your eyes locked with his, your stomach did a little flip with a mix of hate and nervousness
the worst thing is that his attitude came back to normal, he wasn’t as rude as the other day, but you wouldn’t forget the way he treated you that easily. he would try talking to you like usual as if nothing happened, you didn’t even answer him or blink an eye when he spoke. you just stared at him with a scarily blank face, to make it clear he had made a big mistake.
you were now sitting in the makeup chair in front of the mirror, the bright white lights around it giving you an unbearable headache. the makeup artist was giving your skin the final touches, making sure your blush and foundation looked perfect, while the hairdresser applied an insane amount of hairspray to you
you were wearing a matching, dark red leather set—a tight-fitting top that hugged your cleavage perfectly with a slightly too short fitting shorts, paired with knee high boots to match. the staff had already finished working with you so you went to the set, wishing to finish this as quick as possible.
it had been twenty minutes, and jungkook didn’t arrive at the set. your patience was starting to wear thin while you breathed heavily in annoyance. everyone was waiting for him; the red lights were turned on, the set fully ready and the cameras ready to roll
you couldn’t hold it anymore, so you went to look for jungkook yourself. the last thing you wanted to do was talk to him, but he was holding up the shooting for way longer than necessary, someone had to do something about it.
the heels of your boots clacked loudly while you stomped across the floor, looking for his dressing room. as soon as you found it, you were about to knock on the door with all your strength, but you ended up accidentally overhearing a conversation between jungkook and his hairstylist
“so, how are things with her?” his hairdresser asked naturally
you froze in place, you couldn’t help but wonder if they were talking about you. even though it was morally questionable, you pressed your ear to the door to listen a little more
“things are good” jungkook said while he let out a chuckle “she has an attitude, but nothing i can’t handle”
oh he better not be speaking about you, how could he dare to say you had an ‘attitude’ when a couple of days before, he was being an absolute asshole to you? without a second thought, you banged the door harshly with your fists. there was a moment of silence before jungkook opened the door with an unbothered expression, almost as if he had already known it was you behind it
“can you hurry the fuck up? everyone is waiting for you” you ordered angrily
he looked you up and down with wide eyes “you look really pretty…” he said with a soft grin
“i don’t remember asking for your opinion” you answered dryly, trying to pretend your stomach didn’t just flip the same way as that night “now please get done with whatever you are doing, and go to the set”
you didn’t give him time to say something back, before you walked away from him while fuming. did he really think he would get away with this just by calling you pretty again? well he was wrong, you didn’t have time to deal with his bullshit.
jungkook had finally gotten to the set, and for once and for all you could start filming the music video. you were now filming a part where your back was almost pressed to his chest—he had to trace your figure with his hands without touching you, all while you slowly swung your hips from side to side, and slightly tilted your head back so you ended up looking at his face
everything was decorated with red lighting, making both of your bodies look completely red under it. the cameras were on you as you tilted your head towards his face, and you were now realizing how close he actually was. you could see his face in full detail—his big round eyes, now looked sharper and darker due to the lighting, while his lip piercings shined, reflecting the red lights in them
you ran out of breath for a second, his lips were just an inch away from yours, and you could feel his fingertips ghosting dangerously close to your waist.
“wait” the staff interrupted while they cut the cameras “we need more chemistry, make it more charged” they explained
the thing that bothered you, was that you and jungkook used to have chemistry a couple days before—people were left mesmerized when they watched you two practice, it was as if you had been together for years. but that was before he treated you like shit the other day
he made you feel completely lost; one day he was a jerk to you, and the other he’s back to normal, even calling you pretty again. you took a deep breath, and got back to work, letting the staff know you were ready for one more shot.
you needed to get done with this quickly, you couldn’t stand jungkook’s presence anymore. you knew you needed that chemistry you felt once to come back, and you were willing to anything to get it back at least for a second
so when the cameras rolled again, your mind traveled back to that night—the night when you couldn’t hold it together anymore, and you fingered yourself to the thought of him. you felt dirty afterwards, but you didn’t regret it at all, not when you came so hard
you repeated the same shot again, slowly moving your hips from left to right while looking at him, as he traced your body with his big hands. except this time, you were thinking about how you shoved your fingers in your entrance at a fast pace imagining it was him instead, and the way you moaned his name shamelessly
your eyes locked with his, you could feel his rapid breathing from the previous dancing against your skin, giving you shivers from head to toe. jungkook’s jaw tightened for a second when your eyes drifted to his lips, and you could sense his breath hitching for a moment
“alright, that was perfect!” the staff yelled out “let’s take a short break and come back in a couple minutes”
you quickly got away from jungkook’s body as you walked to your dressing room. you could hear another pair of steps following you from behind, contrasting with the loud clicking of your heels. you stopped for a second as you slowly turned your head to see who it was, of course it had to be him
“what do you want now?” you asked with annoyance, rolling your eyes at him
“i just wanted to say you did a great job back there” jungkook smiled gently, was it really that hard for him to realize you didn’t want to talk to him?
you glared at him for a second before turning around and kept walking, completely ignoring his compliment. of course he didn’t give up though, he kept following you from behind, with his eyes hopeful for an answer
“aren’t you gonna answer me?” he asked while stepping in front of you on purpose, blocking your way
“i don’t want to talk to you jungkook, what part of that don’t you understand?” you snapped “now get out of my way” you said walking past him
you were now reaching for the dressing room’s doorknob and cracking it open, when suddenly he placed his tatted hand over yours and pushed the door shut
“what the fuck are you do-“
“why are you being like this with me?” jungkook asked with his classic puppy eyes, while he cornered you against the door
“are you kidding me? i should be the one asking that.” by this point, he was so close to you, all of his body was pressing against yours; making you feel pinned in an interesting way
“but what did i do? please, just tell me please” he begged, you had never seen him this desperate for something before, his duality was really impressive
“i won’t explain it to you. you should know by yourself what you did” you shot back, trying to push him away but it was useless. hitting his buffed chest was like hitting on a rock, he didn’t move back an inch even though you used all your strength
“i’ll do anything, but please just tell me what did i do wrong…” he pleaded backing away just a bit from you
a minute of silence lingered, “anything?” you asked
“anything.” he reassured
“well then just fucking leave me alone.” you demanded as you quickly turned around and got inside the room, locking it. you pressed your back against the door and slid down to it until you were on the floor, just like you did that night. jungkook stayed behind for a couple of seconds, before you heard him walk away
you knew he wasn’t dumb, he obviously knew what he had done—so why was he still asking you? it was as if he was doing this on purpose just to drive you insane, and if so, it was working.
…
weeks had passed, your song had finally been released, and saying the internet had lost its mind was an understatement—the music video blew up overnight, thousands of people going crazy over it on every platform, the song getting millions of streams in a matter of hours, and your names were trending everywhere. it was a worldwide sensation
but sadly, you couldn’t enjoy it properly. you were incredibly grateful for your fans’ support, yet the days dragged on, each one feeling longer than the last. being around jungkook was unavoidable—a chaos of interviews, rehearsals, and shows; it was as if there was no escape. even though he hadn’t been rude to you again, you couldn’t stand the mere sight of him. you wouldn’t easily forgive him for treating you like that when you thought things were getting better
despite your feelings, you forced yourself to act normal and smile for the cameras. you felt dishonest and fake, but you didn’t want your fans to get disappointed to know you couldn’t stand the man you supposedly had ‘chemistry’ with.
you already knew this would happen, but not this bad—the dating rumors had gotten worse and out of hand, people dissected every interaction between you trying to find any excuse to ship you, they speculated about a secret relationship, and made up theories about the most nonsense things you’ve ever heard
but the worst part of everything, was definitely the interviews, having to nod and laugh to play along made you rethink every single choice you had made in your life. you were now sitting beside him in an uncomfortable chair under bright lights, while the interviewer asked you questions that made your stomach tighten, because you were so afraid of saying the wrong thing
“you two have insane chemistry—or did you have to work on it?” the man sitting in front of you asked
you thought to yourself for a couple of seconds, choosing the perfect answer
“well, i’ve never worked with jungkook before—so when we got to work together was when i actually got to know him, i guess the chemistry is just something that grew between us along the way” you answered with a soft yet fake smile on your face
“in my case, i’ve always felt a special connection to her, so when they told us we would work together i was really happy” jungkook added “i guess i’ve always felt some kind of chemistry between us”
if you weren’t in front of thousands of cameras, you would have glared at him with a frightening expression on your face, what the hell was he making up?
“that’s beautiful!” the interviewer said with a bright smile “and you guys look really close in the video… are you actually like that off camera?”
“umm, working together demands a lot of time from us, you know? so even when we aren’t on camera, we spend a lot of time together. i guess in some way we are close then.” you replied, professionally hiding your annoyance
“that’s right” jungkook said “we are together most of the time because of our work, so we are close in a way. but i would like to get closer to her in other ways”
the hell did he mean by ‘other ways’? he was being especially weird today…
the interviewer nodded along “and what’s something that surprised you about working together?”
“i was really surprised by his duality.” you replied while looking at him deeply in the eyes “one moment he can be a person, and the other one he can show you a side of his you have never seen before” you continued with slight rudeness in your voice, one only he could notice
jungkook looked at you confused for a second before answering the question “uhh, i guess i was surprised by her talent. don’t get me wrong, i already knew she was a very talented woman, but you really get to know it when you work with her.”
“good, to end this—if you had to describe each other in one word, what word would it be?”
that was a hard question, you could describe him in many words; such as annoying, insufferable, irritating, handsome, hot…
“that’s a tough one” jungkook answered before you “it’s hard to describe her in just one word, but i would say challenging…”
you raised an eyebrow a little bothered by his choice “if i had to describe jungkook in one word, for sure i’d say intense” you remarked the word with a special tone
“that’s interesting” the interviewer said “well that’s it for today, thank you so much for joining us today!” he continued as you both greeted him as well
when the cameras stopped recording, the interviewer came up to both of you and stopped in front of you for a moment, while you looked at him a bit confused. without warning, he grabbed you by the wrist and kissed the back of your hand
“it was a real pleasure to meet you, i hope we see each other again” he spoke in a low voice
you were left completely stunned and a bit disturbed, there was no need to kiss your hand, he could’ve shaken it or something else. you were visibly uncomfortable—your shoulders had gone stiff and you froze with surprise. without warning, jungkook suddenly grabbed the man’s shoulder firmly and whispered something to his ear you didn’t get to hear
“sorry, i shouldn’t have done that…” he apologized with a trembling voice, you were curious to know what jungkook had said for him to apologize so quickly
you just walked away from the situation, still feeling uneasy with all of it. you could hear jungkook stomping angrily behind you. you turned around to look at him, and he was fuming, somehow he was more annoyed by the situation than you
“and why are you so angry?” you asked as you stepped out of the building, waiting for your driver to come pick you up
“i just don’t like people disrespecting you.” he responded, pressing his tongue against his cheek with rage
he was ridiculous. literally just a couple of weeks ago he had disrespected you too, or at least he made you feel like it “you’re unbelievable…” you scoffed
your driver had finally arrived, and you quickly got in the tinted-window car, feeling unbelievably frustrated and tired of everything. jungkook just stood there, with his usual big, puppy eyes that made you rethink how mean you were being to him.
as soon as you got in the car, you let out a big, deep sigh. your mind was filled with doubts—why was jungkook so angry about this? why was he so mean the other day? and why did you care so much about it? you had never really liked him, but he wasn’t a big part of your life, now he seems to be the only thing you can think about
his adorable big eyes, his charming smile, the way his face would light up whenever you entered the room, his tattoos, that cute scar on his cheek, his voice and his laugh, was the only thing in your head, and you hated it. you hated him for confusing you, for his unpredictable personality, but especially hated him for the effect he had on you
because this shouldn’t affect you this much, you shouldn’t care so much about him, but you did. you just wanted all of this to be over, you needed a break from everything, you craved peace. but sadly, this was far from ending—you still had to perform at the most important awards show, and of course win it
the pressure of it was eating your soul alive, but that didn’t really matter now. all you could do was lean your head against the window, watching the city blur past as the car moved; knowing that in a few days you’d have to be back under blinding lights, smiling for the cameras, and performing like nothing was wrong again, everything next to him, of course
your fans would be watching, cheering, and believing in you—it was something you couldn’t afford to mess up over him, you had to keep it professional at all costs.
…
jungkook and you hadn’t had a proper conversation since the interview day. you wanted to apologize for your behavior to him, because your relationship being like this might affect your performance in the awards show, but your pride didn’t allow you to. what did you have to apologize for anyway? he was the one who treated you wrong
plus, your interactions with him would end soon—your relationship with jungkook was merely for work, nothing else. so as soon as you perform at the show and win the song of the year award, you would cut him off completely and never talk to him ever again.
all you could do for now was practice for your performance and mentally prepare yourself for it. it was late at night and you didn’t even know what time it was. all you knew was that you had to get the choreography perfect this time
your breaths came out uneven as you pushed through it one more time, your body aching, limbs heavy, and sweat clinging to your skin like a second layer. your muscles didn’t even burn anymore, all you felt was numbness. the studio felt too big, too empty, every step echoing back at you while the pressure in your chest tightened, refusing to ease
most of the lights had already been turned off, leaving only a single one above you, creating a dim glow that barely followed your movements. it was only you, the darkness and the melody of your song—or that’s what you thought.
when the song finally came to an end, you spotted someone staring at you through the mirror. you knew perfectly well who it was without seeing his face, his presence was unmistakable to you
“how long have you been watching me?” you asked, still looking at his reflection
“actually, for a long time.” jungkook said while his frame emerged from the darkness, letting you see him fully “you know? i noticed that when you are really focused on something, you don’t notice what’s going on around you…”
“what is that even supposed to mean?” you asked with annoyance, as he got closer to you, ending up face to face with you
“it means that you’re so focused on working and being perfect, you don’t notice me” he explained with a low voice
you let out a chuckle “oh trust me, i do notice you jungkook. more than i would like to admit” you said as you turned around to get back to practicing again
“oh yeah?” he said in a playful tone “is that why you’re always so angry at me?” he asked while he positioned himself to practice with you too
“i’m always angry at you because you’re an idiot.” you shot back. redline began playing in the background once again, both of you dancing in unison
“i’m smarter than you think” jungkook said, for some reason it almost sounded like a warning
“oh my god stop, you’re gonna make me laugh” you spoke in a sarcastic tone. you were now practicing the step that had sparked your hatred for jungkook—the spin where you had to get up quickly.
when you did it, your eyes met his, they had something especially dark in them tonight. “too far away.” he simply said, with that insufferable grin on his face
“fuck…” you breathed “are you still with that shit? i’m perfectly close to you” you explained as you rested your hands on your hips with frustration
“no seriously, you are too far away from me.” he insisted, there was something weird in the way those words came out of his mouth “let’s do it again, i’ll show you”
you gave him a deadly stare before returning to your position to do it all over again, just because you wanted to give a perfect performance to your fans, not because he was right.
when the sound started playing in the studio one more time, you repeated the choreography again normally, until the spin. while you were raising your body to end up face to face with jungkook again, you felt his big hands grab you firmly by the waist and pull you closer to his body, yet not quite touching each other
“you are supposed to be right here” he said in a low, husky voice that made your legs tremble
you suddenly felt hyper aware of how close you were to him. you could feel the heat radiating off his strong body, his long fingers touching your skin, and his pierced lips just an inch away from yours. you couldn’t help but drift your eyes towards them—they looked really tempting tonight, perfectly plush and tinged with a light shade of red
when you realized you were staring too much at them, you quickly returned your attention back to his eyes. but he wasn’t looking at you either, he was staring at your lips too; as if he was craving something he shouldn’t. jungkook’s eyes returned to yours, and there was a moment of silence hanging in the air
your heart was beating impossibly fast, your skin was burning and the butterflies in your stomach came back, as if you knew what was coming.
without warning, his hands moved from your waist to your jaw, tracing your soft skin with his fingertips torturously slow, letting you feel every touch. jungkook held your head with both of his hands, he looked down at your lips once again and got closer to them; so close you could feel the coldness of the metal in his piercings, but still not kissing you
you couldn’t hold it together anymore, and you pressed your lips to his in a gentle, shy kiss that contrasted with the strong tension between you. his lips were soft and plump, the feeling of them in yours gave you tingles everywhere in your body. you suddenly pulled back from the kiss, looking at him a bit afraid of what you had just done
without wasting a second, jungkook pulled you into a kiss again. your breath caught when his lips met yours again, this time with more certainty but still gently. the kiss deepened slowly and passionately, your lips moving softly against his, as if both of you were memorizing the feeling
one of his hands came up to rest lightly against one of your flushed cheeks, keeping you close, and that simple touch sent a warm shiver down your spine. you melted into him before you could stop yourself, your lips responding in the same tender rhythm, unhurried and sweet
as you matched his pace without even realizing it, your hands instinctively found his shirt, gripping lightly while you leaned into him. you didn’t even have time to think before jungkook immediately deepened the kiss, and when you tugged his shirt harder, he let out a soft exhale into the kiss. the sound alone was enough to make your thighs press together unconsciously, as if it was by second nature
the kiss was escalating in a heated make-out session, and when he was about to get his tongue into your mouth, the sound of the studio door creaking open made you both pull back and jump
“what are you both still doing practicing at this time?” your manager asked “tomorrow is the award show and you need to have energy for it, go to sleep” she said a bit annoyed
“sorry…” you and jungkook apologized at the same time, still a little out of breath because of the kiss
when she stepped out of the room you looked at him with wide eyes, you could still feel his lips ghosting against yours. you had many questions that needed to be answered, you felt dizzy and confused, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it a bit too much
“i guess i’ll see you tomorrow…” jungkook said trying to catch his breath
“y-yeah” you mumbled with your legs still shaking a little “see you…” you blurted out while you grabbed your stuff and walked out of the studio rapidly.
that night you couldn’t sleep—it wasn’t because of the nervousness you felt for the awards, you didn’t even feel nervous at all, it was because of what had just happened with jungkook. it all happened so fast, you didn’t even have time to process what was going on before you were making out as if it was your last day on earth
you would’ve never guessed this would happen, sure you admit that jungkook had always been handsome to you, but so much that you would end up kissing him the night before the most important awards show?
he didn’t let you catch a break before doing something that left you like this—confused yet aching for more of it, you needed more of him. but sadly, you had to ignore the hot throbbing feeling down there, because even though you resented your manager a bit for interrupting you and him, she was right and you needed to get some rest for tomorrow. you didn’t have time to satisfy your own desires, you would deal with them tomorrow (hopefully with jungkook).
…
you were sitting in the makeup chair once again, a multitude of people working on your hair, getting your makeup ready for it to look flawless, and stylists fixing your long dark red dress for it to fit perfectly. you felt nervous, really nervous
your stomach was all in knots, your heart raced and you were breathing heavily, your whole body gave away your panic. but you weren’t nervous because of the performance going wrong or losing, because after so much practice you knew you’d do well, you were nervous because of jungkook
you hadn’t seen him in all day, you hadn’t spoken to him either. you were worried that the kiss had been a mistake for him, when it wasn’t for you. you knew it was wrong to catch feelings for him, and even worse kissing him, but to be honest you didn’t feel any guilt
you couldn’t deny you had enjoyed it a bit too much, and if you did your body betrayed you—the way your legs trembled, how you pressed your thighs together, how flustered you had gotten, and how wet you had gotten the moment his lips touched yours, gave you away completely.
you were done getting ready, and now it was time to get going. your manager called for you, and before you could overthink it any further, you were already being guided out of the dressing room
the ride to the venue felt shorter than you wanted, your mind was just too busy replaying every moment from the night before. you kept telling yourself to focus, to stop thinking about him, but you accepted your fate the moment you looked at him for the first time that day.
when the car finally came to a stop, the noise outside was already overwhelming. voices, cameras, people yelling your name, it all blended into one loud, chaotic buzz. the door opened, and for a split second you hesitated, then you stepped out with your heels clacking loudly into the floor
flashes immediately went off one after another, you forced a composed expression, offering a small smile to the paparazzi as you walked forward. you posed when needed, turning your head to the sounds of your name being called. you had done this a thousand times, it all came effortlessly and automatically, yet your heart felt nothing but calm
you tried to focus on the cameras, on the people, on anything that wasn’t him, but your heart wouldn’t stop racing. and when your eyes drifted to the side, there he was
jungkook was stepping out of his car with his eyes locked on yours. for a moment, everything else faded into the background—all the noise, screams and bright lights, faded away and all you could see, was him.
he gave you one of his charming smiles while he walked towards you. he grabbed you gently by the waist before whispering in your ear “you are supposed to be looking at the cameras” in a low raspy voice that sent shivers down your spine
you listened to him and grabbed him by the shoulder to pose for them, people went insane at this point. they wouldn’t stop screaming your names, and taking thousands of pictures of you with flashes almost blinding your eyes
without realizing it, you felt more calm in his presence. the second he grabbed you by the waist and looked at you, all your panic disappeared into relief for a moment, because you knew he was there to hold you.
after giving your autograph to some people and posing for the cameras, you finally entered the event. you spotted many familiar faces and friends who you immediately went to greet. as you talked to them, your nerves calmed down progressively. until jungkook joined the conversation too
you felt a swing of panic and calm in your body every time you saw him; you couldn’t even focus on whatever you were talking about anymore
“you guys have so much chemistry, it’s as if you truly liked each other! how do you do it?” one of your friends suddenly asked
there was a moment of silence in the air the moment those words came out of her mouth, ‘truly liked each other’. oh, how you wished you could tell her the truth, but even you didn’t fully know it
“well… it’s just professionalism, i guess” you said the first thing that came to your mind “you just learn how to do it” you added. your hands were sweaty, your throat dry and your skin burned as you spoke
when your gaze drifted back to him, jungkook was looking at you playfully as if he was enjoying this, as if seeing you this nervous was the most hilarious thing he had ever seen. you gave him a death glare for him to stop grinning, but it only made it worse.
minutes later, your manager came over to you and jungkook telling you to go backstage and get ready for the show. you had an outfit change waiting—you stepped out of the dressing room wrapped in an oversized red fur coat, the plush fabric draping over your frame and brushing softly against your thighs, paired with matching fur boots
underneath it all and hidden from the public, was a dark red leather set—a fitted corset that sculpted your torso and a mini skirt that hugged your hips perfectly. your hands were covered in fingerless leather gloves that reached just below your forearms, adding a touch of sharpness
from the outside, you looked simply covered by the fur, but you knew exactly what was underneath. and when the right moment would come, all it would take was a simple movement. you would let the coat slip off your shoulders deliberately, revealing everything at once, creating an abrupt yet bold shift.
you met with jungkook once again behind the stage, as soon as you stepped into the room, his jaw immediately dropped and words wouldn’t even come out of his mouth—and he hadn’t seen anything yet
“you look beautiful…” he blurted out with wide eyes, as he looked you up and down repeatedly
“thank you.” you murmured dryly. of course he noticed there was something wrong with you; it was the way you bit your lips unconsciously, how you fidgeted with the fur of your coat, and the way your leg was shaking uncontrollably that gave you away
“what’s wrong?” jungkook asked with concern while he grabbed you by the shoulder, a casual yet comforting touch
“sorry, i’m just really nervous…” you confessed as you looked at him, afraid of something going wrong
“don’t be.” he simply ordered “we have been practicing for months, especially you. and from yesterday’s rehearsal, i can assure you that we will do really good” he said, reminding you of what happened last night
you got flustered in a matter of seconds just at the thought of yesterday’s kiss, but he had a point after all “i hate to admit this, but i guess you are right” you agreed without hesitation
jungkook gave you a bright smile, feeling victorious. “you know, i almost couldn’t hold my laugh when your friend said ‘you guys have so much chemistry, it’s as if you truly liked each other’” he joked imitating your friend’s innocent tone
“stop!” you demanded hitting his arm gently, but you had to confess it was kinda funny
“what? i’m just trying to calm your nerves down” he giggled.
the sudden sound of your names and song being yelled out by a speaker let you know that it was showtime. both of you walked rapidly to your positions in the stage—the lights were turned off, all you could feel was jungkook’s presence in front of you, and somehow that reassured that everything was okay
when bright red lights lit up the whole stage, revealing you and jungkook, people immediately started screaming like crazy. redline began playing, and it was officially time to give everything you’ve got. you followed the steps to perfection, walking forward to him slowly but steadily, both of you singing your lines in unison
you could hear fans singing along with passion even through your in-ear monitors, and that gave you all the confidence you needed. the second step followed, you circled around jungkook sensually, threatening to touch him but never doing it
you could feel the heat radiating off his body even without touching him, you could see his adam’s apple bobbing as he sang angelically, and sweat beginning to cling onto his skin—but you had to keep your focus on the song.
the part was coming, the famous spin. you knew you had to put all your energy into it, so when you were getting on your knees before doing it, you took a deep breath. as you inhaled, you thought of all the feelings jungkook gave you—that night, all the anger and annoyance he made you feel once, transformed into something you couldn’t quite name or understand
you remembered the night when the ceo unexpectedly announced this collaboration, the first weeks you worked together when you couldn’t stand him, when by simply giving you your favorite coffee order your whole opinion about him changed, the night when he gave you a ride home and what you had done after, when he was mean to you next day for no reason, the filming of the music video, when he defended you in the interview, when you kissed
and that’s when you thought, it wasn’t so bad at all.
so you did it. you got up and turned around in the blink of an eye using all your energy, and you ended up in the perfect distance, the same jungkook had taught you yesterday. and that’s when the big moment came, you threw your fur coat somewhere far away on the stage, revealing the bold and shameless outfit underneath
the roar of the crowd echoed all over the building in a wild thunderous scream. you smiled to yourself when you looked at jungkook’s face, he was so stunned it was hard to describe—his jaw was practically on the floor, he was so wide-eyed making them look bigger than usual, and how they sparkled was as if there were literal stars in them.
the show followed charged with electrifying energy, intensity, and an unmatched atmosphere of the crowd. and when it came to an end, the public went impossibly crazier. they were all screaming your names to the top of their lungs, crying their eyes out with overwhelming, and cheering both of you up with their support
you smiled at each other, knowing that everything had been absolutely perfect. both of you bowed to the crowd with gratitude, before returning to your seats as they were about to announce the winners.
jungkook was sitting next to you, you were both breathing heavily still trying to recover from the performance as they announced different winners. you clapped cheerfully with a smile on your face while minutes passed, until it was time for your category. the presenter tapped on the microphone before speaking
“and the song of the year award goes to…” she said, letting silence linger for more intrigue and excitement
you closed your eyes in nervousness as you took a deep sigh to calm you down. without warning, you felt a big warm hand wrapping around yours, and when you opened your eyes you found the tattoos that you’d recognize in another life. jungkook was holding your hand firmly as he stared deeply into your eyes, he looked really calm and unbothered, almost as if he knew for a fact what would happen
“redline!” the presenter announced with a loud yell as she smiled after opening the award envelope
you looked surprised at jungkook almost as if you couldn’t believe this was happening, the audience celebrated with loud cheers, applause, and screams. he got up from his seat calmly and offered you his hand to help you get up too. you took it without hesitation as you both walked to the stage to receive the award, he didn’t let go of your hand at any moment.
the presenter gave each of you a hug as she congratulated you, and when the heavy golden trophy touched your hands, you felt glorious and proud of yourself and jungkook. he handed you the microphone to speak first with a smile plastered on his face
“oh wow…” you breathed “firstly, good evening to everyone, i’m so grateful to be here today receiving this amazing award. thank you so much to everyone and our fans for giving us the opportunity to win this, we wouldn’t be anything without you guys. this award isn’t only ours, it’s yours too” you thanked everyone with the biggest smile on your face
“but mostly, i wanted to thank jungkook” you admitted as the crowd cooed in unison “you’re an amazing person, thank you so much for letting me work with you, but especially for being so patient with me and helping me at any time i needed to without a doubt. it was such an honor to work with you” you confessed without hesitation now as you looked at him with bright eyes
“well, thank you to all of our fans out there that helped us win this, we appreciate every single one of you infinitely and truly, this award is yours too” jungkook followed you “and i wanted to say, you’re an amazing woman to work with and to have as a friend too” he joked knowing you were the only person there who would understand
“i admire you a lot and think that you are a fantastic artist, without you none of this would’ve been possible.” he said staring deeply into your eyes with a vulnerable look “i hope we can work together many times again in the future, and that our relationship remains at all costs” he confessed making your flustered once again.
when you finished giving your speech and thanking everyone, both of you got off the stage with everyone still cheering and clapping for you. you felt overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude, but you had a new problem now—you and jungkook were invited to the after party, and you knew he wasn’t going to let you walk that easily away tonight.
…
you entered the party wearing a sparkling ruby-red mini dress, the sequins catching the colorful lights and shining under them with every step you took. heads slowly turned in your direction as people still greeted and congratulated your win
the music was loud, buzzing in every corner with flashing lights filling the room. you spotted your friends standing by the bar, the sound of their laughter blending with the music as they sipped their drinks together
as soon as you walked to them, they squealed in excitement for you, filling the room with a loud wave of screams. in a matter of seconds, you were being tightly hugged by them as they cheered you up, telling you how much you and him deserved this.
“okayyy, now it’s time to celebrate!” hyeri smiled with a devilish smile as she pulled out a bottle of alcohol to take shots. on any other day you’d have kindly declined her offer because of how much of a lightweight you are, but you know what? winning the song of the year award with someone like jungkook doesn’t happen every day, so you have every right to celebrate with just a couple of shots, right?
the thing is that of course it wasn’t just ‘a couple of shots’, you and your friends had washed down the whole bottle in what felt like a matter of seconds, and it was already showing on you—a lazy warmth spreading all over your body, your head felt light and dizzy as if it was spinning on its own, your cheeks getting more flushed with every second that passed, and you were laughing hysterically at things that weren’t even funny
for a moment you had no worries, nothing seemed to be so big, and a strange feeling of calmness reminded you of him, the man that has been driving you insane for the last months. you hadn’t seen him in the party yet, but you could feel his presence, you could sense jungkook’s piercing gaze focused on you.
you began scanning the room with your eyes in search of him. you quickly found him, it was impossible for him to go unnoticed that night—jungkook stood out in any room he entered simply by his presence, but that night he looked especially attractive. the black shirt hanging loose on his buff chest, with the first three buttons unbuttoned, the long sleeve tattoo threatening to appear. he was playing with a half-full glass of whiskey on the rocks, already staring at you with sharp eyes
your eyes locked for a second, and just by him looking at you, you could already feel a heat pooling between your thighs. jungkook signaled you to come over to him with a simple gesture of his head, but somehow that made him look even hotter. you obeyed and walked towards him without hesitation, not breaking eye contact at any moment.
“i was looking for you” you said in a lower tone, whispering in his ear for him to hear you clearly
“started to miss me?” he teased with that classic playful smirk of his
you just chuckled in response “why did you call me?” you asked curiously
jungkook went silent for a second, playing with his lip piercings as he looked at your lips shamelessly “what? i can’t talk to you now?” he joked, drifting his gaze back to your eyes
“i don’t really think you just want to talk to me” you shot back as you stared at his lips too boldly
“oh yeah? and what do you think i want to do?” he asked with a grin, you could sense the change in his voice from calm to husky when you played along with him
“i don’t know, what you want to do, jungkook?” you turned the question back to him even more playfully, saying his name in an innocent tone, knowing damn well what you were doing
he took a deep breath as he pressed his tongue into his cheek, you enjoyed a bit too much teasing him like this “let’s get out of here, now.” he demanded
“but why? the party just started” you said pretending to be confused, trying to pretend you didn’t want to get the hell out of there too
jungkook got closer to your face, so close you could feel his heavy breathing against your skin. he lowered his face even more, his lips now brushing gently against your jaw, the coldness of the metal in them making you shiver
“please…” he whispered in your ear with a low yet deep voice, sending shivers down your spine
how could you say no to him when he asked so nicely? you just gave his lips a second glance, that was enough for you two to leave the party immediately and drive to jungkook’s place.
as you entered the big dark building of his house, you could feel your stomach tightening with anticipation and your heart racing with every step you took. a man had never made you this nervous, but of course he was the exception to everything
when you stepped into his living room, you looked around it in wonder and curiosity. his house looked exactly like him—the interior covered in deep black shades, furniture covered in dark leather, with dim lighting barely illuminating the room. the entire house carried his masculine yet fresh scent, making you feel overwhelmed with it in the best way possible
your gaze drifted to the coffee table resting in front of the black couch, your eyes widened with a mix of surprise and confusion when you saw it. you would recognize it anywhere; your favorite black hoodie was perfectly folded on top of the table so naturally as if you had left it there yourself.
“excuse me, what the fuck is this doing here?” you asked while turning around to meet jungkook again, as you held up the hoodie slightly waving it into his face
“what? it’s just your hoodie” he responded calmly as he threw himself into the couch, spreading his legs unbothered
“it’s not just my hoodie,” you clarified furrowing your eyes “it’s my favorite one, and when i asked you if you’d seen it you said no.”
“uh huh, so?” he breathed, you couldn’t believe he was actually doing this
“you lied!” you demanded “why would you say you haven’t seen it when you literally have it in your house perfectly folded?” you asked confused and slightly annoyed
“you forgot it in my house that night, and when i wanted to give it back to you… i think you were a little busy” jungkook remarked the last word with a playful tone
you were about to keep arguing with him, when you understood what he meant by ‘busy’. memories of that night came flooding back, he was talking about the night he gave you a ride to your house and then you fingered to the thought of him. you knew you had left your hoodie in his car, but how could he know what you did? was it possible that…?
“i really didn’t want to interrupt, you know?” he continued “as soon as i realized you had left your hoodie in my car, i was about to knock on your door to give it back to you, when i heard you.”
he had heard you, jungkook had fucking heard you fingering yourself. and not only that—you were moaning his name like crazy too
“i can see by your face that you’re worried if i heard you moaning my name, and yes i did” he answered your question before you even said it
you have never felt something similar—heat rushed to your face so fast you felt suffocated, your stomach twisting painfully as the embarrassment hit you like a wave so intense you could barely breathe or think. you wanted the floor to swallow you whole, you needed to disappear and never return again.
“don’t feel so bad” jungkook said with fake sympathy as your blood boiled with shame
you walked towards him, ending up between his spread legs with your arms crossed as a shield “why do you do this…?” was all you could manage to say
“do what?” he asked, pretending he didn’t know damn well what he was doing
“you drive me fucking insane jungkook” you whispered “first they told us we are making a collaboration together and you are suddenly the nicest person ever, second you drive me home and invade my privacy by basically spying on me, the next day you lie and be rude to me for no reason, but the next week you are back to normal again and then we fucking kiss?” you lectured him. you weren’t angry at all, you just wanted a logical explanation for his actions
“you still don’t get it, do you?” he simply said with a dark look in his eyes
“get what? please just tell me, why are you like this?” you asked desperately, not really caring about leaving your pride to the side just to get an answer
“let me give you some hints” jungkook spoke in a low voice. without warning, he suddenly pulled you into his lap, his hand resting casually in your thigh occasionally drawing lazy circles that were enough to make your pussy throb with need
“one night, i saw you practicing your group’s song with all your strength without even caring it was late. i had been checking you out for years but never had the courage to ask you out or something because i knew you didn’t like me” he started explaining
“the way you moved your hips to the rhythm of the music, how you threw your hair back, and how you were so focused you didn’t even notice me watching you, drove me insane” jungkook whispered in your ear with a raspy voice “that’s when i decided i was tired of you hating me. i didn’t even care it was the middle of the night, and i called the ceo to arrange a collaboration with you as soon as possible. i almost got fired for you, you know?”
you could feel your heart beating faster with every word that came out of his mouth, but things were starting to make sense—that’s why the ceo looked so tired that night… as his hand slowly slid up while he played with the hem of your dress, he kept confessing the things that had always been in plain sight, but you were too busy hating on him to notice
“that night you were so mad it was cute—how your brows furrowed and you made a little pout, trying to hide it but failing miserably…” jungkook kept speaking calmly as if his hand wasn’t about to get to the hem of your panties, his long fingers barely brushed your inner thighs but it was enough for you to get wet in anticipation
“was this what you were hiding?” you asked trying to sound relaxed, trying to keep your composure because he knew he was teasing you; but you wouldn’t show it, at least not now
“good girl, you are starting to get it” he whispered in your ear, letting his lips brush the curve of your jaw. you had to hold back a whimper when the first two words came out his mouth, you’ve always thought you didn’t like being called that, but jungkook only proved you wrong every single time
“and that night after giving you a ride home, i was about to knock on your door to give you back your hoodie—but suddenly i heard a weird sound coming from the other side” he explained as you got impossibly flushed “i pressed my ear to the door to check if i wasn’t going crazy, and you were actually moaning my name, shamelessly”
you couldn’t handle the embarrassment you felt at the moment knowing that he heard you moaning his name loud and clear, so you just looked down to the floor trying to avoid his piercing gaze
jungkook suddenly began pressing soft kisses into your neck as he whispered “don’t get shy on me now, i would be lying if i said i didn’t stay by the door listening to you being so desperate for me, i was so hard i was about to break the door for you to help me…”
knowing that your neediness and perversion wasn’t one sided and he felt it too, you didn’t even bother to hold back your whimpers anymore. his soft pecks turned into sloppy, open-mouthed kisses into your soft neck skin, leaving faint red marks on it
“i was surprised too, judging by your attitude, i thought that making you fall for me was going to be almost impossible” jungkook murmured against your skin “you’ve always had a weakness for me, right?”
“y-yes…” you muttered, he didn’t waste any time on sliding his hand to your hot center, playing with your wet entrance with his middle and ring finger against the fabric of your panties
“the next day, i already knew i could move forward—i knew pissing you off on purpose would really get on your nerves and make you think about me all day” he spoke casually while he circled your dripping pussy, occasionally catching your clit with his fingers and giving it a gentle pinch
your whimpers transformed into shameless moans, just like the ones he heard that night “so that day i made you repeat the same steps of the choreography, over and over again, even though you were doing them perfectly” he confessed “do you remember which steps were?”
you were now realizing how perverse and cruel jungkook could be, not that it bothered you anyway… you tried to form a word, but with the way he was pressing your clit with his thumb while he played with your pussy against your ruined panties, the friction of the fabric in your wet center making everything feel even better, made it hard for you to focus
he pressed a few more kisses to your neck as an encouragement for you to speak “i had to… i had to get on my knees and then get up” you managed to say with your own moans interrupting you
“good, now why do you think i made you repeat that step?” jungkook kept asking you questions as if you weren’t about to lose your sanity
you just weren’t able to say something back with the overwhelming pleasure you felt, spreading all over your body to your fingertips “answer me.” he ordered only to give your pussy a light slap that made you jump in response
you used the little energy you had left to think about an answer, and that’s when you went over the words you said ‘get on my knees’. it suddenly clicked—jungkook made you repeat that step over and over, because he wanted to see you on your knees
“because you wanted to see me on my knees…?” you said hoping it was the right answer
“what a smart girl you are, right?” he cooed as he grabbed you by your jaw and turned your head to make you look at him again “now why don’t you get on your knees and suck my dick, hm?” he said in a low husky voice.
as if it was by second nature, you got on your knees in the blink of an eye, ending up between his thighs. you looked up at him, and he seemed even more powerful like this, jungkook was looking at you with sharp eyes, impatient for you to do something. you looked down again, and you were met with his throbbing, thick bulge. it was staining against his black pants, and it looked big even like this
by this point, you were practically salivating at the sight of it, and you didn’t waste any time in unbuckling his belt and letting his cock spring free. you gulped when your eyes met with his big, thick and veiny dick. the angry shade of pink head was already licking pearls of precum with anticipation, throbbing with need
you took a deep breath before pressing a few kisses to it, switching between kitten licks too. jungkook furrowed his brows as a soft whimper escaped his mouth, in response you traced every single vein in his shaft to tease him even more.
you finally took him in your mouth when his thighs were slightly shaking with desperation, and he was big, almost too big. you didn’t even put all of him in you, and you could already feel his thick head hitting the back of your throat. you slid your hand up and down with what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, while with the other one you softly massaged his balls
jungkook wouldn’t let his eyes off of you as you took him in your mouth, the sight of you made him even harder “you look so pretty like this… taking all of me while on your knees” he said in a deep voice
that encouraged you to take all of him in your mouth, so you widened your jaw even more as you relaxed your throat to take him properly. you looked up at him when you lowered your head all the way, ending with the tip of your nose brushing the base of his dick, and he completely lost it
jungkook let out a shameless, loud moan when he felt his cock slide even deeper into your hot throat. he pushed his head back as he lounged on the couch with both of his arms stretched across the backrest. you could see his adam’s apple moving as he moaned and groaned boldly
you began swirling your tongue around his dick while you hollowed your cheeks for him to go even more crazy, but you wouldn’t have guessed he would go insane. he stopped holding himself back because he tried to be careful and gentle, but you were making this so hard
he grabbed you by the back of your head and started pushing your head even deeper, completely controlling your movements. the room was filled with gagging, and slurping sounds while jungkook fucked your face uncontrollably. the weird thing was that you were actually enjoying this.
all of this was sick—him making you go crazy for weeks on purpose only to use your throat like this then, was making your pussy drip with arousal so much you were ruining your lace panties. you squeezed his thigh a little to hold yourself because of his harsh thrusts in your throat. you pressed your thighs together trying to relieve some of the pleasure you needed while you kept taking him with no hesitation
“look at you… turns out you didn’t have such a strong attitude at all, all you needed was for that pretty mouth of yours to be filled with my dick, right?” jungkook said while he breathed heavily, thrusting his hips impossibly closer to your mouth
you hummed a lazy response, and the vibrations of your voice in your throat made him feel even better. you could taste the saltiness of his precum in your tongue as he kept thrusting with no mercy. you looked up at jungkook and batted your lashes prettily at him, your eyes looked so innocent for what you were doing, gagging on his cock with a mix of his pre and spit sliding down your throat
the simple sight of that was enough to make him cum. he pulled you by the hair harshly, causing a loud pop sound when his dick left your mouth. he gave himself a few more strokes with his hand as he held you in place, squelching sounds mixed with your heavy breathing echoed all over the room
you sticked your tongue out, and that was all he needed. hot, white spurts of his cum shot out of his tip ending in your tongue, part of it even on your face. jungkook was groaning and moaning like crazy as he furrowed his eyes, when his high ended you swallowed all of his seed without breaking eye contact; feeling the salty aftertaste on your tongue, savoring it with enjoyment, and that was more than enough to get him rock hard over again. this was going to be a long night for you…
without giving you time to process, jungkook lifted you up effortlessly and laid you down on the couch before literally ripping your dress off you. you gasped in surprise when you were only left in your black lingerie set, he looked at you with a dark hungry gaze, one that you’ve never seen before
he followed your figure with his eyes, and now, he could finally touch you. he traced your waist with his fingertips as he cupped one of your boobs with the other hand. you let out a sound between a whimper and a sigh that made him lose his mind. he quickly unclasped your bra to free your aching breasts
your nipples hardened at the sudden feeling of chill air, and jungkook seemed to be hypnotized by them. you grabbed him by his shirt, signaled that you wanted to see his bare torso too. he let out a chuckle because of how needy you were for him, and he didn’t waste any time in slowly unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his naked body as well.
his beefy chest, ripped torso and strong biceps, all decorated with tattoos put you in a trance, you couldn’t get your eyes off him. without warning, jungkook latched one of your perky nipples into his mouth, gently sucking on it as he played with the other one
you let out a loud moan without shame while you grabbed him by the back of his hair, slightly tugging at it. he was on top of you, caging you in his body, making you feel completely helpless and under his control in the best way possible
he let go of one of your nipples to suck on the other one and pinch it too, paying attention to both of your boobs. when he slightly bit one; his teeth grazing against the soft skin of your nipple, your back arched in pleasure, ending up with your clothed pussy pressing against his fully hard cock.
both of you moaned by the friction, the vibrations from jungkook’s groan in your nipple making you shiver. you kept rocking your hips against his dick in desperation for more pleasure, it was as if you couldn’t get enough of each other. the feeling of the cold metal of his lip piercing against your soft skin, made you get even more desperate for him—you couldn’t handle it anymore, you needed him inside of you
“please…” you managed to murmur as you pulled his hair even harder, showing him how desperate you were
“please what?” jungkook asked pulling back from your nipple, even though he knew really well what you needed, he just wanted for those words to come out of your mouth
“j-just” he gently bit your perky nipple again and slightly tugged it to make you moan again, not letting you finish your sentence “just fuck me jungkook, please…” you finally said as you looked at him with pleading eyes
he couldn’t say no to you when you were like this—completely ruined and carried away by the moment, your body full of his marks and humping your pussy against him like a bitch in heat.
jungkook slowly slid your panties down through your legs, leaving your dripping cunt on full display for him. he finally aligned his cock to your entrance, and when you thought he was about to get inside you, he just rubbed his head against your pussy. you were on the verge of losing it, and he was still teasing you
“jungkook, i swear that if-“ he didn’t give you time to finish before pushing his dick all the way in with one deep thrust. you let out a pornographic moan while he groaned at the feeling of your gummy, syrupy walls sucking him in
he gave you some time for you to get used to his size, he was so deep you could feel him in your tummy. you reached for his broad shoulders to hold yourself and let out a sound between a whimper and a moan. when you felt his dick throbbing inside of you, you immediately rocked your hips again, and that was the sign for him that he could start moving.
he started with slow, steady movements, letting you feel all of him in detail. you swore you could see stars every time his tip brushed that special spot in your walls. the room was filled with moans, groans and the sound of skin on skin slapping. but still, none of this was enough for you
you needed jungkook to ruin you, to leave you feeling him for weeks, to make your throat go sore for all the moaning and screaming, you needed him to fuck you so hard the only thing you remember is his name.
“can you go any slower?” you teased him with a challenging look in your eyes. he stopped for a second before locking eyes with you, and something definitely changed in him that moment—his gaze became hungrier, darker and filled with lust
“oh really?” he said trying to catch his breath “i’m going to fuck every bit of that brattiness off you.” when those words came out of his mouth, your pussy clenched with anticipation, causing him to groan
jungkook picked up an animalistic, rough pace, so quick your moans came out uneven and the couch moved with his rhythm. a light sheen of sweat was starting to cover both of your bodies while you became a moaning, messy thing.
he suddenly grabbed one of your legs and hooked it over his tatted shoulder, allowing him to go even deeper, so deep you could feel his thick head kissing your cervix every time he got all the way in. he occasionally pressed some soft kisses to the soft skin of your leg, contrasting with the roughness of his thrusts
he was balls-deep into you, and you could feel his dick all the way in your guts. tiny beads of precum came out of his tip, gushing into your pussy, creating a messy mix of your juices that dripped out of your entrance. your head felt all fuzzy and you were already cockdrunk, not even able to form a sentence and all you could do was moan his name like a prayer
a familiar knot was starting to form deep down in your belly, and jungkook noticed because of the way your stomach visibly tightened; but this only made him go even more feral and pick up his pace impossibly faster, so fast you thought you would break his couch
his eyes were now filled with lust—he suddenly moved his hands from your waist to your clit, pinching and circling it with the perfect amount of pressure. tears began welling up in your eyes while you scratched his shoulder with your nails, leaving marks that encouraged him even more to wreck you
you could feel that knot tightening with every mean thrust of his, and you were now completely lost in the pleasure—not even caring about how loud you were, how flustered you looked, or how tears wouldn’t stop sliding down your cheeks with overstimulation, making your makeup look completely ruined with runny mascara.
but when he suddenly leaned in to lick a long strip to your cleavage to your jaw, tracing your throat with the tip of his tongue, only to press an open mouthed kiss to your cheek and whisper “you’re perfect” in a voice so raspy that it made your walls clench, it was just too much. all your body trembled while you moaned his name to the top of your lungs; as that knot in your stomach came undone, sudden gushes of your juices coming out suddenly and drenching all of his chest and part of his face too
your walls hugged him so tight jungkook’s orgasm busted too, filling your entrance with thick, hot, white loads of his cum, so much part of it dripped off you even when he was still inside of you. he collapsed on top of you, hiding his face in the curve of your neck while both of you desperately tried to catch your breath, without pulling out of you just yet.
after some minutes of peaceful silence you couldn’t help but ask him “so you like me…?”
with a shy look in your eyes even after all of what you’ve just done
jungkook looked up at you, and went silent for a second “i’m obsessed with you” he simply confessed with no shame at all, and you could feel him getting hard again inside your walls. this night wasn’t even close to ending…
SUMMARY ➩ Jack Abbot is the perfect neighbor who is always willing to offer you a helping hand. Until you ask him to take your virginity.
WARNINGS ➩ age gap (reader is early 20s and jack is 50), they have sex and all the things that sex brings along, jack might be ooc
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ Well for once I tried to deliver real smut for you guys so buckle up and leave me some feedback on this one if you like it! NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL and it’s probably obvious so be kind about mistakes lol I wanted to get this to you guys asap!
“I need a favor.”
Jack was used to you asking him for help, had been for the two years since you moved into the apartment directly across from his.
He didn’t mind offering you a lending hand when he saw you struggling to carry your boxes from your small run down car, it wasn’t an inconvenience to collect your mail if you ever had to leave town for a few days, and he really couldn’t complain about having to remind you to get your laundry from the unit down below because it held him accountable too.
It was such a common occurrence, you asking him for a favor, that he wasn’t too surprised to find you at his door. He only gave a soft sigh as you pushed past him to enter his apartment, offering you a lot more patience than he did the newbies at the hospital.
You were always sweet, maybe a little bossy at times, but it gave him some amusement in his otherwise strict routine.
Plus it was admittedly nice to feel needed.
You came to him when your apartment had a leak or your air conditioning went out, knocked on his door whenever it was raining and you’d forgotten an umbrella after locking yourself out, and you even sometimes popped over just to get his opinion on what you should wear out on a random night.
Everybody was always telling Jack he needed a hobby that didn’t involve putting his life on the line, so he rarely told you no and tried his best to brush off Robby whenever he asked what was keeping him so busy lately.
It would be hard enough to explain the dynamic he had with his much younger neighbor but even more so considering you were now standing in the middle of his apartment with a frustrated look on your face, hands on your hips as you tapped your bunny slipper covered foot.
“What is it now?” His voice was gruff and disinterested but you knew well enough that he would do whatever you asked and he was well aware of that too. Still, it helped him just a little to pretend to contemplate it for a second or two first.
“I need you to have sex with me.”
You said it like it was as simple as asking him to come over and check your water pressure, falling out of your mouth casually and landing heavily in the quiet room.
There was no need to pretend this time as he fell into a bewildered silence, raising an eyebrow in your direction and letting his eyes track you as you dramatically sighed and went to flop down on his couch. You’d demanded about a year ago that he got some pillows for it, along with a few other interior design suggestions.
He’d picked up four after his shift that night.
“Please say something.” You were turned around on the couch so you could face him over the back of it, arms crossed as you rested your chin ontop of them.
“I have nothing to say to that.” He shook his head immediately, that stern expression he used on an unruly patient or Robby when he got a little too pushy.
This just made you sigh again, loud and exaggerated as you turned back around to fully lay flat on his couch.
“Why are you even asking me that?” He didn’t want to pry because he knew you well enough by now to know you’d just be encouraged by that but his curiosity got the best of him, circling around to sit across from you on one of the living room chairs.
You didn’t sit up but you turned your head to the side to look at him, a slight frown on your face that he didn’t think was particularly genuine. Your personality was always something Jack admired, not getting a lot of time in his own life to be so bold with his emotions and carefree in the way he spoke and behaved.
He was serious and guarded where you were a walking billboard for spontaneity, coming to him crying about random problems after only half a week of living in the building.
It was mostly endearing but there was the more critical part of him that wondered how lonely you must be to be making friends and finding comfort with some random guy across the hallway, a much older one at that.
Jack knew he had a bit of a hero complex but it typically manifested in a more extreme way, quite literally jumping into battle to save lives or operating on them in their lowest moments. This dynamic with you was a new form of care taking and there’d been a handful of times he’d doubted his own motives.
“Because I have a date next week and I am a complete lost cause when it comes to all things intimacy.” You still had a theatrical flare to your voice, not facing him anymore and instead rambling straight up to his ceiling with your hands gesturing wildly.
He tensed up for two reasons now, one being the mention of a date and the other was your implication you didn’t have any experience.
“But you’ve had sex before.” It came out slowly and half like a question, half like an assumption.
There wasn’t any real reason for him to think that other than his own social expectations. You were gorgeous, one of the prettiest women he’d seen in a very long time, and had a naturally magnetic energy to you that even he couldn’t resist most of the time, platonically but also selfishly deep down, a little more than that.
He’d seen you go on a handful of dates in the last year or two, all guys your age that didn’t seem to know how to pick up a check let alone please you properly.
That’s where Jack’s problem stemmed from.
There had been almost no ulterior motive the first year he had known you, genuinely trying to be helpful and to be a good neighbor. He would get upset when his coworkers would call him anti social or make digs at how unfriendly he was because he hadn’t always been like that and he figured helping out the girl next door was a good first step to getting that part of himself back.
You’d told him after a few months that you had no family on this side of the country, completely starting fresh at a new company you’d applied to on a whim.
It was completely innocent.
Yes, you were undoubtedly beautiful in a way that made his head spin for a second when he first saw you. You had been standing near your car and fighting with a box, both by tugging at it and saying less than kind words in its direction like it could understand you.
Jack had hesitated for a handful of seconds before making his way over and offering to help, feeling this weird pull in his chest when you blinked up at him in surprise and eagerly thanked him.
Once you were in his life, you never left. And he made space for you effortlessly because, quite frankly, he had plenty of it to offer up.
About seven months ago was the first time he had ever seen you with a guy.
He’d been coming home from a long and rare day shift (covering for Robby so he could attend Jake’s graduation), dragging his leg behind him and praying nobody stopped him on the way to his apartment so he could crawl into bed for a few short hours before he had to do it all over again for his own shift.
The only distraction he would have allowed was you but you were clearly busy, standing in the hallway as he got off the elevator and touching the rather small bicep of a guy your age.
Jack hesitated, considered getting right back on the elevator before it could close on him, and then slowly walked to his door.
He had hoped you wouldn’t acknowledge him because his throat was already weirdly tight as he eyed you and the way you stared up at the man (boy, if Jack had to really label it) with that soft and curious expression you always had.
“Jack.” Your voice was full of excitement and he faltered, his key left in his doors lock as he turned to give you an attempt at a polite smile. “Covering somebody again?”
If this had been any other day then Jack would have invited you into his apartment to talk instead of lingering in the hallway. He would have ignored his exhaustion to pair his black coffee with the hot chocolate flavor you liked that he kept in his bottom drawer, complained to you about being tired and listened to you scold him for working too much when he didn’t need to.
But you were in a pretty dress that was clearly on its way to dinner and your date was giving Jack that possessive stare that guys fresh out of college thought was intimidating.
So instead he simply nodded his head and continued to unlock his door.
“This is Asher.” You continued abruptly as he turned his door handled, leaving it cracked as he stopped to look at you again.
He gave you a once over to make sure everything was okay, wondering why you were still insisting on talking to him when you were so clearly meant to be going somewhere else. You didn’t look too uncomfortable but you were watching him back just as intensely so he mentally stored the name and face of the guy anyways, just in case something happened.
“Ashton.” Your date finally spoke and his voice was annoyed and laced with immature bitterness, although slightly valid considering you had forgotten his name.
Your eyes widened, still boring into Jacks, and he smiled a little before giving you a small wave and heading inside.
Jack realized quickly after that encounter that his intentions were a lot less innocent than he had initially thought they were. He’d closed his door before immediately pressing his back against it, listening to the sound of your small heels leaving the hallway as you apologized to your date with a clenched jaw and a pain in his stomach.
The next few dates after that just confirmed what he had already realized from the first one.
He was attracted to you.
Maybe even liked you.
You talked to Jack about almost everything going on in your life, even things he definitely would not have cared about if it came from anybody else, but you never once brought up the dates. At first he had worried you had somehow noticed his weird demeanor that day in the hallway but Jack wasn’t very expressive in general so he figured you must keep that part of your life private for other reasons.
The attraction part was easy to accept mostly, he was only a man and you were clearly gorgeous. Although the age gap was something Jack couldn’t get himself to look past.
You were barely in your early twenties, over half his age younger and overly obviously so. You radiated youth, from your appearance and the way you spoke down to your hobbies and interests.
You were clearly a very young girl and he had felt like a pervert from the moment he saw you outside of that car for the way his body warmed. Jack hadn’t felt much attraction to anybody at all since his wife died, at first out of a lingering loyalty to her that barely faded and then just due to his busyness and his own mental blocks.
That was not a problem when it came to you and he had to give a genuine effort when he was around you to act normal.
You’d come over in tiny sleep shorts or a tight tank top that showed your hardened nipples through the thin fabric, join him for morning yoga in downright sinful leggings and he even was attracted to the stupid bunny slippers you wore.
But you were a young girl and he was a disciplined old man so he barely looked twice in your direction when you were bending over to get mail and he never once touched you, setting boundaries for himself and keeping them.
Which was why it was so hard for him when you slowly shook your head to his question about having sex before.
“What about those guys?” His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you and you sighed like you were embarrassed, a rare emotion to see from you.
“We barely kissed.” You shrugged and finally sat up from your dramatic position on the couch. “Please Jack, I don’t have anyone else to ask.”
“I’m not sleeping with you.” He said immediately, slightly offended you were seemingly only asking him because you had no other options.
You looked completely dejected now but Jack knew there was no way he could possibly accept this request, for too many reasons but especially because of his own moral code. He also didn’t want to ruin what you’d had going on, enjoying your company on his hard nights and finding himself finally letting somebody in after so many years alone.
“Okay so no sex.” You say softly and you stand up when he does, following him as he walks into the kitchen and leaning against the counter to watch him set the coffee machine settings. “But can’t you show me little things.”
He sends you a sharp look that you return with a gentle pleading smile, bouncing in place a little like you think your cuteness is the answer to everything.
And it just might be because Jack sighs softly and turns his full attention back to you.
“Like what?” He knows him asking for specifics will give you hope and he can see it immediately on your face, brightening and taking a step closer to him that makes him tense.
“Maybe just telling me what guys like?” You suggest softly and the words coming from your mouth make him almost groan, keeping his face flat and emotionless as you speak. “And some kissing lessons.”
“You know how to kiss.” He shook his head at you and went to turn back to his coffee but your hand wrapped around his wrist to stop him, successfully keeping his attention on you. He realized that it might be the first time you’d ever actually touched him, skin against skin. “I’ve seen it.”
His posture tightens as he reminds himself of that fact, easily recalling the vivid memory of leaving his apartment to head to work and finding you coming home from a date and making out with a guy against your door.
You hadn’t noticed him at first but he had slammed his door harder than normal, shamefully intentional.
There’d been a pang of guilt when you jumped in surprise and separated from the guy who looked the douchiest out of all of them but it was hard to feel it when you have him a slightly grateful look on his way to the elevator.
You were blinking at him now, almost like you were realizing something, and he looked away in favor of glancing at the clock on the wall.
“Not a kiss that feels good.” Your voice was more serious now, sounding genuinely disheartened by the conversation and the slow unveiling of your inexperience.
He sighed again, just trying to get rid of the tightness in his chest, before shaking his head firmly and fully turning away from you to fill up his coffee mug.
“I’m not doing it.”
—
Jack thought about your offer for the next two weeks. Obsessively.
He waited to hear you bringing somebody else over, someone who had jumped on the golden opportunity to touch you for the first time when he hesitated. You didn’t seem to go on any dates but he supposed you wouldn’t have told him anyways.
The thought of you experiencing sex with some asshole you met off a dating app, nervous and unsure on what to do without guidance, was eating away at him.
Jack was a fixer, he liked to help you, and he had already accepted the fact that he was extremely attracted to you. It wasn’t like he didn’t recognize the jealously in his stomach everytime he saw you with somebody else, a type of anger he hadn’t felt since he was preparing to go into a real life war.
Subdued by age and a calmer reality now but it was still fresh hot anger that he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried.
You came to him with this problem, not just for pointers and tips but you had actually asked him to be the one to take your virginity.
Virginity.
Jack couldn’t get the concept out of his head and while he hadn’t necessarily considered himself somebody who would care about that type of thing, especially not as he entered his fifties, it did bring a wave of heat over him whenever he thought about it.
You’d never been touched before outside of a few unsatisfactory make out sessions. You, the pretty girl with downright sinful choices of pajamas that consumed his day to day life so easily after he spent such a long time alone.
He thought about it endlessly until it led to him knocking on your door, a rare switch of the usual dynamic that left him feeling a little awkward before you answered.
The sensation went away when you looked up at him, eyes a little wide with confusion as you silently stepped back to let him inside. It was rare for you to be so quiet but maybe you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face, maybe you were thinking about the same exact thing.
“I’ll help you.” His voice was gruff and flat, waiting until your door closed behind him before he spoke. Your face immediately lit up but he silenced anything you were going to say with a raised hand, your parted lips closing as you waited for him to finish. “But I’m not sleeping with you.”
You pouted a little at the condition but stepped forward after a few seconds, far too close to him for his sanity but he figured you’d be getting a lot closer soon so he forced his breathing to stay level.
Jack used to consider himself quite smooth, still a natural flirt when he joked around with older patients or teased Robby.
But he was completely thrown off of any existing game when it came to you. He didn’t even know he could still feel this way about somebody, the yearning and lustful feeling having been dormant for a long time before you moved in.
“I’ll take whatever you give me.” Your voice was soft now and he’d never heard you like that, maybe a bit of a whine when you impatiently asked him to help you with something, but never so pleading.
You’d shifted even closer as you spoke and he couldn’t help himself now that he practically had permission, his large and rough hand sliding over your waist to rest on the small of your back.
You sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling and he was suddenly aware of how much fun this was going to be if you were that sensitive.
“Not tonight okay?” He replied and his low tone made your eyes soften, nodding eagerly and hesitantly letting your hands land on his chest in balled up fist. “We can talk about it more later and work out some conditions.”
“You’re giving me rules?” You’d collected yourself enough to finally give him some of that familiar attitude, smiling slightly as you stared up at him. He rolled his eyes but let his hand tighten against your back, moving you forward and just trying to test your reaction to the touch.
You lost your smile immediately, shuffling closer until you were pressed against him as your eyes darted all around his face with surprise. It was clear you didn’t expect him to accept at all let alone this easily, despite his two weeks of contemplation, he wasn’t at all hesitate now.
“You need them.” He retorted and his free hand brushed some of your hair behind your ear, the first time you were ever really touching each other being this intimate was sending another wave of affection through him.
A few years ago, Jack couldn’t even get himself to look at another woman, let alone hold one so gently. Even with the slightly out of the ordinary circumstances, he cared for you and you trusted him and that was all that really mattered in his eyes.
“You’re mean.” You’re whispering it and his head tilts at the sound it, overly fond and curious how you can affect him so much just by changing the tone of your voice. “Kiss me atleast.”
It comes out a demand and his eyebrows naturally furrow at the sound of it, knowing immediately that will have to be one of the rules he gives you when you talk them over.
Manners.
He doesn’t respond for a second but you seem to understand before he even needs to scold you, lips parting in realization before they form a small pout and you unclench your fist so your palm is flat on his chest now instead.
“Please give me a kiss Jack.” You sound sweeter now and he would think it was an act, making fun of him for his sudden silent sternness, if it wasn’t for the genuinely pleading look on your face.
The knowledge that you listen so easily, even when he doesn’t actually say it, overrides his senses so much that he actually does bend down to kiss you.
It’s soft at first which you don’t seem to understand, immediately trying to eagerly make out with him like that’s all you really know. He moves one of his hands from your side to hold under your jaw, applying a little bit of pressure near your throat to indicate he wants you to slow down.
You melt against him at the touch but do as he silently communicates and relax a little bit, still moving your mouth a bit sloppily against his but learning to adapt to his slow and easy pace.
Eventually you get the rhythm down perfectly, lips moving together without anything extra added. You asked Jack to teach you so he was going to do exactly that, starting from the basics.
Your face was completely dazed when he pulled back, instinctively shifting forward to try and kiss him again and making a small disappointment noise when his hold near your throat tightened in warning.
“You asked for a kiss.” He said in a low voice, still close to your face so he could perfectly see the way your widened eyes shifted around his features.
He was a bit mesmerized by the way you looked now, so unlike yourself on any other day. It both made his guilt over being perverse grow and also solidified that he didn’t care how wrong it was as long as you kept looking at him like that.
“Get some sleep.” He waited a few seconds before taking the necessary steps away from you, taking a sharp breath as he turned and left your apartment.
His own door had barely closed behind him before there was insistent knocks on it, his head immediately hanging since he knew exactly who it was.
Your eyebrows were furrowed when he pulled the handle to reveal you in the hallway, standing stiffly and glaring up at him but not making any move to come inside. You shifted in place and let out a huff of annoyance as you seemed to search for the right words to convey what you wanted.
“Can you kiss me one more time?” You eventually settled on the blunt question, shifting closer so you were both halfway in his doorway.
While he had a foot inside his apartment still, you had one in the hallway. It left you standing too close for his sanity, feeling it slip almost entirely again when your small hand landed on his forearm and rubbed softly.
“What’s wrong?” He asked softly, sensing your frustration but not knowing where it was stemming from.
He cupped your face with one of his hands, letting the other rest back on your side. You stared up at him as he took a few slow steps forward, backing you up with each one until your back hit the doorframe and took a soft near gasp from your lips.
“Nothing I just…” You trail off as you pout, scanning over his face and then down his chest until you can’t bend your head anymore to look. “I want one more. Please.”
You added it as an afterthought but it was enough for him, pressing his mouth back against yours.
This time, apparently a very quick learner, you were able to meet his pace right away and your mouths moved softly together. Your arms went around his neck so you could fully cling to him as you kissed deeply, heads tilting and quiet pleased noises rumbling in your throat.
You only got louder when his tongue pressed lightly into your mouth, mostly just to test your reaction but unable to stop himself when you were eagerly matching the actions.
It was sloppy and a little too wet, sounds of your tongues tangling together filling the silent hallway and sending a sharp heat down to his gut. He liked how clumsy you were, growing addicted to the way you seemed to have no idea what you were doing but too desperate to stop yourself and ask him for his help.
Jack knew he liked feeling needed but this was a whole different beast, one that came paired with some light shame.
You weren’t innocent and you knew exactly what you needed to about sex but your body was inexperienced and it was getting clearer by the second, your little gasp when he kissed you deeper and the way you tightened your hold on him everytime he went to pull back and attempt to slow down.
You’re red in the face by the time he manages to get you to stop eagerly kissing him, still instinctively shifting closer when he moves back. He gives you a lighthearted sigh, occupied by the softest smile he can manage so he doesn’t actually hurt your feelings when he presses you back against the doorway with the hand that’s still on your hip.
“Time for bed.” He tries to keep his tone light but it comes out more authoritative than he had meant for it to, most likely driven by the way you automatically started to frown as soon as he held you away from him. “We can talk tomorrow.”
You clearly weren’t happy about that but you surprisingly gave him a soft nod, shifting your body until you were out of his entrance and closer to your own.
He watched you and your dazed face, slightly wobbly on your feet, as you disappeared behind your apartment door with a small wave.
-
Jack had started off his day rough the following morning, barely able to sleep after what had happened.
It was a completely split mixture of wanting you so bad it was driving him to literal insanity and feeling disgustingly guilty for even looking in your direction.
He almost considered calling Robby about it but he really didn’t need to hear the lecture that would undoubtedly come his way about the situation. Plus he figured that whatever Robby knew, Dana knew, and if Dana knew then it was only a matter of time before the entire emergency department was gossiping about Jack Abbot and his young neighbor.
The dilemma was so strong that he had almost completely forgotten about the fact he had told you that you’d talk today, although almost intentional.
He was halfway avoiding having to actually sit down and make this arrangement a reality, still having a hard time believing what had happened last night was even real.
He had just started to get changed for work when the knocking on his door started and he knew it was you immediately, standing still and hanging his head for a few seconds like he figured he could just wait you out.
It didn’t take long for his senses to kick back in and he was pulling on a plain black shirt before making his way over to the door, raising his eyebrows at you when he saw how irritated you looked.
You brushed past him immediately and he lingered with his hand on the door knob for a moment before closing it and preparing himself to face whatever wrath you were about to send his direction.
“You didn’t come over.” You immediately accused, finger pointing in his direction as you stood in the middle of his living room with an angry expression. “You didn’t even text me.”
He was already walking closer to you as you spoke and your defenses naturally crumbled at the proximity, especially when his hands were sliding over your ribs to both hold you steady and let him feel your breathing as subtly as possible.
“You can’t just kiss me like that and then ignore me.” You continue on but your tone is a lot softer now that he’s touching you, already getting that dazed edge to it he had heard last night.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He shakes his head and frees a hand to tuck some hair behind your ear, your features have completely softened now at the movement.
Jack wonders for the first time if you might have feelings for him beyond trust and attraction.
For some reason, he hadn’t really considered the possibility before. You were practically his polar opposite and he had nothing in common with any of the boys you went on dates with.
But now, with you blinking up at him like you were hanging on to his every word, he let himself think it might just be likely.
“I figured you changed your mind.” Your words are a little slurred from the insistent pout you have on your face and he sighs again, gently leading you over to sit on his couch.
Your knees brush together as you scoot closer to him the second he’s settled on top of the cushion, your hand wrapping around three of his fingers and squeezing lightly as you wait for him to respond to your fear of being rejected.
“I didn’t but I want to make sure you understand what you’re asking.” His voice is low and nearing stern, the same tone he uses on the new med students who seem a little more cocky than they are willing to learn. He knows that’s not the case with you, knows you’re desperate for any expertise he can offer you, but he still wants you to pay attention and properly understand him. “There’s other ways for you to do this.”
“What, like other guys?” Your eyebrows furrow like the thought confuses you.
His stomach tightens immediately, sick at the thought of it, but he stiffly nods his head.
You’re shifting even closer immediately and he lets out a breath when you’re leaning over his knee nearly, closer to his face than before and scanning over it again.
“I don’t want another guy Jack. I just want it to be you.” You’re whispering now and he can’t stop himself from pressing a light kiss to your mouth, brief but necessary when his brain processes the lack of distance between you. That makes you smile finally and he suddenly feels very stupid for ever questioning you when you’re making a request like this.
“Tell me why.” He mumbles, easily sliding his hands around your middle so he can tug you over more and into his lap. You kiss him again once you’re settled in his lap, still quick like you’re both using it as punctuation during your conversation. “Why me?”
He wants to hear you give a legitimate reason, to undo the hesitance you gave him when you said it was only because you didn’t have anybody else to ask. That’d been weighing on him more than anything else, the thought that you had just settled for your older lonely neighbor who was clearly willing to help you with anything in spite of himself.
Your next kiss was much longer, deeper as you fully sink down in his lap and move your mouth against his desperately. He’d accept that alone as an answer, big palms rubbing over your back and sides so he can keep pulling you impossibly closer.
Your nose is rubbing against his when you pull back, the sounds of your breathing being heavier now making his head spin with the necessary impulsivity to keep making terrible decisions with you.
“You’d make me feel good.” The answer you’d landed on was much more devastating than he was prepared for, his eyes darkening at how confident you sounded in that fact. “I know you would.”
His hands tightened around your soft skin for a second, needing to take a deep breath to ground himself.
It takes a second for him to reply, tucking his face into your neck and inhaling sharply. You smell as sweet as you always do but it’s intoxicating to have it this close after so long, skin soft under his lips as he kisses you softly.
Your breathing gets shaky, arms looping around his neck so you’re practically hugging him. You’re warm on top of him and making the sweetest noises when he moves along your jaw, shifting in his lap to try and get his attention back on your conversation.
“You’ll do it right?” You ask softly, running your hand through his hair and tugging just enough to make him finally look back at your face. His eyes are dark and unfocused as he stares at your pretty features. “Jack?”
“Yeah honey.” He says back after another long silence, voice deeper than he’d ever heard it as he leans in to kiss you again.
You kiss for a long time, wiggling around in his lap when your tongues tangle together and you get to taste him properly again. It’s addicting for both of you, both of your hands running all over the other’s body like you’re trying to learn every part of it you can reach.
Eventually you’re fully rocking against him from your neediness and it takes a second for him to process it, snapped back to focus when he hears the way your whines are getting higher pitched. A near growl leaves his throat as he grabs your hips firmly, thumbs pressing into the bone so he can stop you from moving on top of him like that.
“Jackie.” You whine desperately, kissing him again and successfully distracting him long enough that you can start humping again.
“Stop baby I have work soon.” He scolds in between the sloppy kisses, lips and chin slightly wet from how uncoordinated you still are.
You make another soft noise and he’s confused for half a second before he realizes it’s because of the pet name, smiling softly from his fondness for you as you hide down in his neck for a second.
“You’re hard now, I can feel it.” You’re whispering right against his skin and a shiver runs over him at the lewd words falling from such a pretty mouth, high pitched and almost innocent voice making the sentence sound so much dirtier than it needed to be.
At first Jack doesn’t think you’re right, knowing himself and his body enough to expect he’s not stirring down there even if he wants you so bad it makes him feel insane.
He’s had issues with it for years now, a deadly combination of his age, his traumas, and the carousel of medications he has to be on for a variety of things he wouldn’t disclose to you out of his own pride. That was the reason Jack had stopped trying to hook up with people years ago, giving up on porn entirely when he’d have to spend an hour trying to get hard before he could even attempt to actually get himself off.
It was in the back of his mind when you’d asked him to help you with this but he figured this was about your pleasure, he wouldn’t need to be hard to get you off especially if he stuck to his guns about not actually having sex with you.
He was sucking in a deep breath to explain this to you in less detail, make sure you understood that he wasn’t hard but it had nothing to do with you or his attraction to you, when you gave a particularly deep and slow roll of your hips.
And the effect was completely undeniable.
A shudder ran over him, eyes dropping to his lap that you were still rocking on top of. Your tiny little shorts were so clearly pressing against the tent in his scrub pants, catching on it whenever you lost the energy to move properly as you let out another needy whine and hid back in his neck.
You were completely unaware of his current mental situation, baffled at how easily you’d gotten him to this state from just some sloppy kissing.
You must’ve thought he was ignoring you because you picked up your head to glare at him, a pout on your swollen lips.
“Sorry sweetheart.” He sighed and kissed you gently, rubbing your sides up to your ribs and coming back down right when he felt the swell of your breast against his fingertips. “I really have to go.”
“Let me suck you off.” You requested easily and his breath caught, nearly choking at how simple you made it sound. “I wanna learn and you’re so hard right now Jackie. Please let me do it.”
“That’s not the point of this.” He shook his head immediately and moved you by your hips so you were sat next to him and no longer settled in his lap, clearly upsetting you as you scrambled up on your knees and gripped his bicep so he couldn’t get off the couch yet.
“The point is to teach me things about sex and I’ll need to know this.” You counter, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at why he’s rejecting you.
He finds it a little amusing that you’re so used to him accepting your requests for things that you’re genuinely lost when he doesn’t immediately fold for you. It’s a bratty habit he should have corrected months ago but he can’t find himself caring too much, liking how dependent you’d become on him.
Jack has to contemplate this because he knows you’re right, stomach turning a little at the reminder that you’re going to use whatever he shows you on somebody else down the line.
That selfishly makes him want to cancel this whole thing and leave you completely clueless, hopefully to the point you decide to swear off sex with other men entirely. But he knows how stubborn you are and how stuck you get on something once it catches your attention, figuring you’d get on a dating app and find some idiot in finance to take your virginity as soon as he put an end to this arrangement.
So he lets you slip to your knees off the couch, taking his hesitance to decline again as a positive sign.
“Wait.” He interjects and you freeze, sighing in annoyance as you prepare for him to give another reason you can’t do it. Instead he pulls one of the pillows off the couch and slides in near his feet, your eyes softening as you shift so you’re kneeling on the plush cushion instead of the floor.
“How do I start?” You ask softly, eyeing the bunched up fabric in front of you with interest. He has to stare at the ceiling for a second, slightly losing it at the sight of you kneeling on his floor between his legs. “Do I have to get you ready?”
“No.” He says it gruffly and you tense again, his tone way sharper than he’d meant for it to be. “It’s… I’m ready baby trust me. Just give me a second.”
That calms you down immediately, enough that you rest your head on his knee as you try your best to be patient. His eyes go back to you at the touch and he watches the way you squirm against the pillow, clearly still riled up from the kissing and maybe even the thought of taking him in your mouth.
“Has it been awhile Jack?” Your voice is ridiculous now, clearly teasing him and developing this soft purr that almost irritates him.
His hand goes into your hair at the sound of it, tightening enough that you lift your cheek off his knee and stare up at him with wide eyes.
“Watch it.” He says lowly, using his free hand to untie his scrub pants as you eye the movement with fascination. Your lips part as you stare at his hand and the way his fingers twist the strings, he has half the thought to make you choke on the digits before you try and take anything bigger but your attitude has left him feeling just as impatient. “We’ve got to work on your manners if you want me to teach you.”
That makes you snap back into focus, frowning at his words and shaking your head as you straighten up on your knees.
“I have manners Jack.” You’re clearly trying to convince him, small hands smoothing over his thighs.
He starts to deny it but he’s cut off when you lean forward to nuzzle against him, face pressing right where he’s currently aching under two layers of fabric. His breath catches in his throat and he instinctively tightens the hand that’s in your hair, mumbling out an apology when you make a pained noise but barely loosening it after.
He feels like he needs to keep it there to have any sort of control in this situation, especially given the way you’re almost desperately rubbing your face on his lap.
“Should’ve told me you were this needy.” He half scolds as he shifts his waistband down lower, waiting for you to notice and pick yourself up just long enough to get his pants down.
You don’t give him long at all before you’re back to obsessing over the sight in front of you, eyes fully dazed now that it’s just his boxers separating you from putting your mouth on his hard length.
You’re clearly trying to be patient in an attempt to prove you have any sort of manners, a little pride rippling through him similar to the feeling he got when you had corrected yourself the other night to politely ask him for a kiss.
“You wouldn’t have done anything about it.” You say softly, not accusatory but confident in it like you know it’s true. You lean forward and kiss against the covered bulge, a groan leaving him. “You’re too good of a guy.”
“Clearly not.” He rasped just as you start to lose that faux patience you’re trying so hard to pretend you have, tugging at the waistband of his underwear and smiling softly when he lifts his hips off the couch without arguing. “And you know I never tell you no sweetheart.”
“Yeah?” You’re still trying to talk to him but now you’re completely lost in the sight of him half naked and sitting there with his legs spread in front of you, too desperate to even be intimidated by the size of him. “You would’ve let me do this months ago Jackie?”
He sighs and tightens his hold in your hair again, bringing you forward until he can feel your breath where he’s most sensitive.
Your eyes flicker up to him and the sight is devastating for how deprived he’s been, a pretty young girl like you sitting so nicely on your knees for the first time ever. He can barely even feel that guilt and slightly sick sensation, knowing how perverted it is that he could probably get off just looking at your face and thinking about the way he’s about to corrupt you.
“Stop talking.” He instructs gruffly and you nod eagerly, eyes back on his length and only now looking a little nervous as you swallow before your lips part in anticipation. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Want it so bad.” You don’t hesitate to answer and your voice is a little whinier, swaying forward like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.
Jack lets you move until you’re right there, eyes locked on your face as you give him a nervous look and try to take him in your mouth.
It’s awkward and you’re tense, expression full of hesitation like you’re waiting for him to tell you how to do it properly but he lets himself bask in this for a few seconds.
He knows it’s sick but he finds you the most beautiful like this, confused and desperate to please him without knowing how to. You go between sucking and licking at the tip of his length and while it feels good, no doubt about that especially after how long it’s been, it’s nothing compared to how clearly inexperienced you are.
Finally, he snaps out of his sick fantasies of watching you embarrass yourself trying to please him, and he decides to actually do what you’d asked and teach you something.
“Relax your jaw baby. Just take what you can okay?” His voice is low and gentle, hand loose in your hair but clenching into a tight fist whenever you brush against his sensitive skin with your teeth on accident or try to overachieve and take him deeper.
You do seem to calm down a little now that he’s finally speaking, shoulders slumping and your eyes fluttering shut as you get used to the feeling of him on your tongue.
You’ve barely taken him at all but he’s transfixed by the sight, perfectly content to sit here and cock warm your mouth until you were ready to move him down your throat.
He watches you closely as you pull back to take a few deep breaths, pouting a little at his length and hesitating before you’re touching him with your hand. It’s all experimental, tugging and feeling the skin against your palm while he grunts above you and tries to control himself.
It’s barely sexual on your end considering how fascinated you are by the new experience but he’s halfway losing his mind knowing this is the first time you’re touching somebody like this.
“I gotta go soon sweetheart.” He says and your eyes finally snap back up to him, turning a little red considering you’d been caught just staring at his length as you touched him. “You can play with me all you want after my shift.”
Now you’re full on blushing but you nod your head obediently and lean back in to take him in your mouth again, a little more confident now as you lick around the head and repeat movements whenever it draws a sound out from him.
Jack can barely stand it and he has to put both hands in your hair to keep himself from fucking up into your warm mouth, groaning from the effort it’s taking and considering telling you to get back on the couch before he goes too far with you too early.
You’re clearly just as impatient because you try to take more of him finally and immediately gag at the sensation, pulling back and frowning up at him.
“Help Jackie.” Your voice is whiny and has a little rasp to it now and he kisses his teeth at the sound, petting your hair back out of your face.
“I can’t help with that baby, you’ve just got to practice.” He tries his best to soothe you but you’re clearly frustrated.
“Can’t you just force my head down?” You’re rubbing his thighs as you speak in that ridiculously bratty voice, wiggling around on the pillow like the thought alone is exciting you.
He wants to say no, wants to tell you why it’s such a terrible idea for him to forcefully fuck your throat right before he has to go to work. There’s a million reasons he should be rejecting you right now but that sick voice in the back of his head is struggling to get the words out, especially when you go back to softly kitten licking at his length to keep him hard.
“Fuck you’re nasty.” He gruffs out and your eyes light up at the words, nodding your head and taking him back in your mouth as you keep trying your best to fit him deeper. “You want me in your throat that bad?”
You can’t talk now but your desires are obvious.
He eyes the way you’re shifting on the cushion below you, adjusting his foot the best he can so it’s between your thighs as you kneel. That seems to make you even more desperate, rubbing against him almost feverishly now as you try to focus on having him in your mouth.
There’s no option to do so when he brings his hands back to your hair, silently showing you he accepts your request when he moves his hips off the couch and keeps your face firmly in place so he can push deeper down your throat.
He feels you gag slightly around him but your eyes roll to the back of your head at the same time and you hump against his foot even faster so he can’t find it in himself to stop, thrusting slowly to make sure you don’t end up getting sick or feeling too sore by the time he’s finished.
Jack knows this is far beyond teaching, he’s not even speaking anymore and instead just using your throat to get himself off but you’re even more eager for it than him and he’d never deny you anything you asked for.
“This tiny little throat.” His voice is nearing a growl as he helps move your head up and down his length, reveling in the way you gag and drool around him. “You’re doing so good baby.”
The praise seems to do it for you more than anything else, rubbing your core against his foot so eagerly that you can barely focus on sucking him off. You’re getting too messy to control yourself, mouth slipping off every few thrust before you whine at the loss and immediately take him back in your throat.
Jack takes pity on both of you, both for his own sanity and because he can’t stop thinking about the fact he’ll need to leave as soon as this is done.
You’re clearly upset when he pulls you off, making a loud noise of disagreement that barely sounds like an actual word and frowning at him when he sends you a stern look and wraps his hand around himself instead.
You seem to forget your anger pretty quickly as you watch him touch himself, hips slowed down to a slow rock against his foot as you stare at his length and the way he’s making himself feel good above you.
Jack has to look away when he comes because he feels pretty close to forcing your head back down and making you swallow it, although half positive you’d actually enjoy that more than him judging by how eager you are to try things.
You’re laying your head back on his thigh while he grunts and curses, tightening his fist and going back to staring at your face just for a brief moment so he has a clearer picture to think about.
It’s quiet in the living room afterwards and he feels an odd sense of embarrassment, a rare vulnerability considering you’re still fully clothed and kneeling on the floor. He fixes one of those problems by effortlessly pulling you up by your arms, settling you back against the cushions.
He stands and pulls his pants up while he does so, knowing he’ll have to shower off before he can go to work and get a new pair of scrubs anyways.
There’s a second of hesitation before he goes to get you some water, leaning over your dazed frame and kissing you softly.
“Was it good?” You ask quietly against his mouth, hand tangling in his hair like you don’t want him to go anywhere without answering you first. “You stopped me.”
“You were perfect.” He answers simply and he means it, would probably feel the same if you had accidentally bit him though.
“I wanted to taste you.” You’re pouting again and every time he thinks he gets used to you, you prove him beyond wrong. He sighs and leans further against you on the couch so you’re fully sinking into the cushion below you.
“Next time.”
It comes out before he can stop it and he fully plans to backtrack but your eyes light up at the idea of him letting you do that again so he doesn’t, letting it linger for a few seconds.
“Not when I have to leave you right after. You won’t like it and I don’t want to hurt you.” He’s talking in the stern and no nonsense way he does at work, trying to make sure you understand even though you’re slowly starting to smile as he speaks and he realizes you’re probably not paying any attention.
“You won’t hurt me Jack.” You whisper and it’s so sweet he almost considers calling in so he can stay with you a little longer. “Not in a way I won’t like.”
That makes him scoff out a laugh, a rare sound from him and you look even more pleased at the noise.
“You don’t even know what you like sweetheart.” He says softly and brushes your hair out of your face, letting both his fingertips and eyes trail down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. “But I’ll show you.”
“You’ll show me?” You’re teasing him now, biting your bottom lip to try and hide your smile to no avail.
“Yeah I will.” He smiles too and kisses you again, a little too soft considering what you actually are to each other.
He eventually manages to get off of you long enough to get you some water, watching carefully as you take a few sips and rubbing your knee when you wince at first. He wants to feel guilty for making your throat sore but he can’t, sick enough to admit he just feels the urge to make you take him deeper next time to see if you’ll really let him.
You’re still laying on his couch when he gets out of his brief shower, having changed his pants and taken a few deep breaths while staring in the mirror to try and get ahold of himself. He needs to switch back to reality for atleast a few hours, become the weathered doctor who doesn’t lose his mind over a pretty girl asking for favors.
You set your phone down on your chest, giving him your full attention as he moves towards the door to tug his shoes on.
There’s no indication you plan to leave before he does but he can’t find it in himself to mind the intrusion, going back over to the couch to give you a kiss on the forehead.
“Staying here?” He says in a low voice and you nod eagerly, eyes locked on his.
He lets himself think about his entire way to work, the image of you being there when he gets home from a hard shift. It had been a long time since he had someone to come home to and having you across the hall was already a gift within itself.
Now you’d crossed a line and if he let himself forget the terms and conditions, the fact you were loosely using him just to end up with somebody else as the actual end goal, then he could pretend for a moment that you were the person he got to crawl into bed with when work was tough.
Despite how much he thought about you during his shift, every moment he wasn’t being bombarded with questions or saving somebody’s life on autopilot, you weren’t actually there when he came back.
He knew it before he even opened the door, confirmed by how neatly the pillows on the couch were placed again and the fact your glass of water was rinsed and put away in the dishwasher.
You’d made it look like you were never even there and he knew you still enjoyed his company, maybe enjoyed the newly added sexual dynamic even more, but that didn’t mean you wanted to comfort him after he lost a patient or help soothe him when his leg was bothering him from standing all day.
Jack had to remind himself of the part he was playing in your life currently and try his best to not be disappointed.
It’s two days until he sees you again and he thinks it’s one of the longest spans you’ve gone without talking in almost a year.
He’s just about to start really acting out of character by banging at your front door and asking if you’re avoiding him when he runs into you downstairs, freezing as soon as he enters the lowly lit laundry room to find you leaning against one of the washers and looking extremely bored.
You’re as beautiful as always, casually dressed in nothing but an old band shirt that hangs off your shoulder and a pair of shorts so small he’s pretty sure it’s just boxy underwear.
You don’t look up when he comes in until his leg slightly catches on the step, accustomed enough to the sound of the light dragging he sometimes can’t stop from happening when he’s extra tired.
It’s a relief to find that you don’t have any awkwardness on your face, no sign of being uncomfortable or upset with him.
Then he figures that might just be worse.
He would just about die if he had done anything that made you want to avoid him but the alternative seems to be that you just didn’t want to speak to him and that makes his chest sting.
There’s nothing but silence and the rattling of the old washer as it rocks back and forth on the cement floor, both of you seemingly having decided to not speak to each other first.
(sorry for the brief awkward spacing tumblr says this is too long)
It’s another five minutes of the now awkward stretch of quiet before you clear your throat, turning to face him where he’s fidgeting with his laundry baskets broken handle just to have something to focus on.
“So I went on a date last night.” You say softly, eyebrows raised like you’re genuinely interested in his reaction.
His stomach turns but it’s a relief to have you looking at him again so he takes it, swallowing hard and racking his brain for a response that’s appropriate.
“How’d it go?” He’s asking out of politeness but he’s silently praying you suddenly decide you don’t want to tell him about it. It wouldn’t even make him feel better to hear it had ended terribly, not wanting you to feel any type of negative emotions even if it technically was in his benefit.
He definitely can’t take any sort of mention of you being with another guy physically. He knows it’s coming eventually, it’s the sole purpose behind why he even gets to touch you, but he’s not ready just yet.
You’re quiet again and he really looks at you now, takes in the silent contemplation on your face and the way you tap your fingers on the metal of the washer for a second before pushing off of it entirely.
Then you’re in his space again and it’s like an instinctive move to cup your face, hand on your waist so he can lightly push you back against the machine he’d been in front of. You touch his chest, lightly rubbing in soft circles, and he wants to sigh in relief if that wouldn’t be so painfully obvious.
“Wasn’t a great time.” You whisper and your eyes are on his lips as you speak.
His eyebrows raise and his hand on your body tightens slightly at the same time he uses his thumb to press under your chin and make you tilt your jaw back.
“Why not?” He hates the thought of getting details but he needs to know some idiot from a dating app hadn’t done anything to hurt you.
You don’t answer right away, just standing there and letting your eyes scan over his features on rotation. You finally let out a small breath like you’re about to speak but it never comes, small hands moving to grip his biceps.
“Did he touch you?” He can’t stop himself from asking even though the question makes his voice come out low enough that your eyes flash with surprise for a second, snapping away from his mouth to meet his stare again like you’re looking for something in it.
You shake your head immediately, squeezing his arms and shifting against the vibrating machine.
He’s kissing you then and he tells himself it’s out of relief, the knowledge that you’re still untouched by anybody except for him instantly making this conversation easier.
You’re returning it right away and he’s pleasantly surprised by how quickly you caught on to the type of kissing he likes, his personal preference. He figures he should eventually tell you that not ever guy was going to like your constant licking into his mouth but for now he lets it be, wants you to be trying to please him specifically and not whoever you’d use these lessons with.
It’s ridiculously cute how desperate you get, only needing a few seconds of your tongue inside his mouth before you’re arching off the machine and making soft noises against his lips.
His hands are all over you as soon as he notices the state of you, sliding down to cup your ass with both palms and tug you tighter to his frame.
That makes you out rightly whimper, clumsily trying to hitch a leg around his waist and sighing in relief when he holds your thigh to keep it there. The wet sounds of your mouths fill the small room, body slightly shaking both from need and from the way the washer is vibrating against your back.
“Missed you.” You whimper it out when he pulls back to let you breathe, kissing down your jaw and tightening his grip on the soft curve hidden under your underwear. “Didn’t call me.”
“Were you waiting for me to call baby?” He asks softly, despite how much it had been bothering him, he would never want to make you feel guilty for not reaching out to him after what you’d done.
You don’t answer so he pulls his head out of your neck to look at your face, seeing the soft frown and the hesitation in your eyes.
“Hey.” He breaths out and pushes your hair back to get your attention fully on him, your body softening and completely leaning against his to the point you’d definitely fall if he took a step backwards. “I wanted to give you space. Let you decide when you wanted to continue this, if you did.”
“I don’t want space.” You counter and it’s a little past bratty but he’s so beyond fond of you that he can’t help but let the corners of his mouth turn up at the sound of it. “You’re supposed to take care of me.”
He’s not sure when your dynamic became this way but he feels it as much as you apparently do, knows it’s his duty to make sure you’re always fine and not needing anything he can’t fix. Now there’s the added element of making you feel good, touching you in ways you’re not used to and showing you what pleasure can be like, and he’s not taking it lightly.
“Then I’ll call.” He say softly and your eyes lock on his as you nod in agreement, his hand cupping your cheek so he can keep you still enough to kiss you briefly. “You want me to chase you and I’ll chase you.”
“Right now I just want you to kiss me.” You whisper and he doesn’t need to hear anything else.
You’re back to kissing and it’s feverish now, more tongue than anything and your hands groping each other anywhere you can touch.
He’s lifting you up off the ground just so he can press himself between your legs and swallow the soft needy noises you let out at the feeling, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist so he can’t pull away at all. You’re pressed back against the metal with his hands under your shirt and wrapped around your frame to make sure you don’t fall, thick fingers splayed out against your ribs.
It’s getting hotter in the room and it’s mostly due to the way you’re whining and trying to roll your hips into him, unsuccessful considering how hard he’s got you pinned back to the washer.
“Jack please.” You pant and pull away from his mouth, tucking into his neck and rubbing your soft cheek against his stubble like a needy cat. “Please touch me. Do anything.”
He’s grunting at the request and gently setting you back down on your feet so he can free up a hand, using it to push your shirt up to your neck. He’s not too surprised to find that you’re not wearing anything underneath and your surprised gasp swallows the sound of his low groan.
You’re whining lewdly when he leans down to press kisses against your skin, middle of your breast first to avoid putting his mouth where you really want it. You’re panting, chest rising and falling under his mouth, and tangling a hand in his ash colored curls to try and steer him where you need him.
He wants to smack your hand away and warn you to be patient but he wants you too bad to try and discipline you right now, letting his mouth latch onto to one of your hard nipples so he can hear whatever noise that brings out of you.
It’s loud and intoxicating, his head spinning a little as he keeps sucking and licking your skin, letting your shirt rest on the top of his head so he can use his other hand to roughly grope your other breast and make sure you’re getting equal attention.
“Oh fuck Jack.” You’re whimpering and trying to hump against nothing, back arching as you whine and hold him to your body like he has any plans of getting away from you. “T-that feels so good.”
“Come upstairs.” His voice is so rough it surprises himself, picking his head off your chest and letting your shirt drop so he can kiss you swiftly.
You frown at the loss of contact, rubbing your nose against his and still lightly petting his hair.
“Why not here?” You ask softly and he gives you a disapproving look that makes you sigh and rest your forehead down against his shoulder for a few seconds while you catch your breath. “It’s too far.”
He thinks for a moment before he’s adjusting his stance to pick you up off the ground, abandoning your laundry and his that both likely need to be switched out soon. He’d gladly let it sit and wash it again later if it means getting you up to his apartment as fast as possible.
You make a small surprised noise and cling to him, arms behind his neck and legs wrapped around his middle and he makes his way up the few stairs towards the elevators.
“Jack your leg.” The sight of the steps seems to remind you of his disability and he’d be more irritated by your worry if it didn’t sound so genuine.
You clearly don’t ever think too much about his leg restricting him, never shying away from asking him to lift heavy things or walk with you down to the store. You don’t treat him like he’s fragile or any less of a man for having limitations and he’s always liked that about you, same way he somehow likes your gentle concern even though it would have bothered him if it was anybody else.
“Think I can’t throw you around because of my leg?” He mumbles and you tense in his hold as he walks like you think he might be serious before you’re breathing out a laugh and hiding in his neck.
Jack finally gets back to his apartment, going crazy from the way you’d started to kiss his jaw and whine impatiently in the elevator. Your hands run up and down his arms like you’re marveling at the strength it takes to carry you for as long as he was, making soft needy noises and squirming around.
He can’t even care about the possibility somebody could see him with you, one of the neighbor he’d lived next to for years watching as Jack Abbot carries the much younger girl next door through his entry way as she whines for him to touch her more.
“Calm down baby.” His voice is soft once he gets to his room, setting you down on his bed and taking a few seconds to stare at you as you lay there and pout up at him.
You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and his gut twists a little at the observation, a mixture of desperate unfamiliar need and the same guilt from before accompanied by a new layer of it.
He thinks of his wife for the first time in a while. He used to spend every waking second with her on his mind but she had naturally started to fade from his mind once he met you, something he hadn’t even noticed until you’d already been living across the hall for a few months.
You’d came over for the first time and asked him to borrow some ingredients, strolling around his living room and eyeballing the photos on his walls while he poured some sugar into a small tupperware bowl for you to take back to your place. You had turned to him with a curious face and asked him where his wife was, obviously confused considering you’d never heard of her before despite how frequently you and him small talked.
That was the first time Jack noticed how little he’d been thinking of her lately, not just in the painful mourning way he’d been suffering through since she passed but in general too.
Now he was waking up in the morning and anticipating the next time you’d knock on his door, focusing on his health again so he could occupy you on your walks and not picking up too many extra shifts at work just incase you needed something and he wasn’t there.
Jack was thinking about her again now as you laid on his bed but only because he couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something this bad, trying to compare the feeling of you to how he felt in his marriage and still thinking it fell short.
He had loved his wife, undoubtedly, but he craved you in a way that almost felt inhumane.
“You’re being mean to me.” You say softly to break him out of his trance, having zoned out just staring down at you and the way your chest was rising and falling with every deep breath.
“I’m never mean to you honey.” He whispers back and finally moves to lay down with you, hovering over your frame and running a hand from your waist to your ribs as he kisses you softly. “I take good care of you, don’t I?”
It’s a bit mean to throw your words from earlier back in your face, especially as he lets his mouth trail down your neck. You make a whiny noise and grip his shoulders, nodding your head and shifting under him so your legs are spread further.
“Yes Jack yes, you take care of me.” You’re practically whimpering and he feels almost drunk from how easily you get this needy, pausing his soft kisses to shift up on his knees and tug your shirt over your head.
You’re the prettiest sight he’s ever seen and he can’t help himself from bringing his mouth right back to your chest, drinking in the way you gasp and moan while he’s licking and sucking on your nipples. His other hand is softly groping whichever breast he doesn’t have his mouth on at the moment and your backs arching off his bed, scratching his shoulders through his shirt.
“Please touch me.” You’re begging after only a few minutes of the slow torture and he lets out a sharp breath, shifting so he’s more to the side of you than on top.
You’re quiet when he rubs his hand down your chest and over your stomach, rubbing at the waistband of your underwear for a few seconds just to hear the way you pant before he’s smoothing over your thighs.
Your back is basically against his chest as he hooks your leg over his to make sure yours are nice and spread for him, kissing your neck softly when he rubs your hips above your underwear.
You bare your neck for him easily and he’s selfish in the way he marks you, sucking any part of your warm skin he can reach so you’re left purple and red all over. He wants anybody you see for the next week or two to know you’ve been with somebody else, to see the claim he laid to your body even if he doesn’t let things go as far as you want him to take it.
Jack doesn’t need to be asked twice to touch you, big hand leaving your hip so he can fully palm your core.
Your reaction is just the way he had hoped it would be, sharp gasp leaving your lips as you instantly buck up against his touch. You whine desperately when he goes back to rubbing your thigh instead, giving you a second to work yourself up to the point he wants you to be at.
“Jack.” You don’t even sound like yourself now and it’s intoxicating, so pleading and broken. “Please.”
“Please what?” He’s practically whispering, perfectly calm and the direct opposite of how broken you sound just from him lightly touching you.
He moves you so you’re fully between his legs, back against his chest as he cages himself around you to keep you from moving.
You’re practically shaking, whimpering and moving your hips against nothing with the hopes he’ll cave and end up touching you again. You’re distracting to look at, body bare except for the pathetic excuse of underwear shorts you’d been wearing under your shirt, like you’d just been hoping he would be the one to find you in the laundry mat.
He has half the thought to make fun of you for that, make you tell him exactly what you were thinking when you left your apartment wearing so little, but he doesn’t think you could handle him saying much at all right now especially not something so demeaning.
“I’m going to touch you.” He says gently instead and kisses the side of your head, letting his hand go back to groping your chest just to make sure you stay worked up.
Even though he doubts at this point he even needs to touch you for that to happen.
“Yeah yeah.” You’re nodding in agreement, seemingly pleased at his decision as you relax back against him and let him touch you freely.
His other hands back between your legs now, letting you get used to the feeling of somebody touching you where you’re most sensitive. He’s just rubbing back and forth, listening to the way you pant and pulling back whenever you start to try and shift against his hand on your own.
“You’re wet just from that?” His voice is a little mean now but you don’t seem to mind, trying to clamp your thighs around his hand but being stopped by the sharp swat he sends to your skin. You wince but move your foot back to the other side of his leg so yours stay open, pouting softly at the silent punishment. “Answer me when I ask you something.”
“I’m always wet around you.” You admit with an embarrassed tone lacing your words, squirming like you wish you could hide yourself from the way he’s staring down at your body. “Want you so bad.”
“I want you too.” He kisses the side of your head, still rubbing you with just enough pressure to make you feel the friction but not to actually get off. “Gonna make you feel so good, you’ve just got to be patient.”
“Stop being scared to hurt me.” Your voice is shaky but as firm as possible, trying to show him you’re a big girl and can handle a little bit of the roughness he’s so clearly holding back.
It’s obvious in the way he was grabbing your throat your first kiss, moving your body around easily whenever he needed to, and scolding you just enough for you to be able to catch the mean tone seeping in accidentally.
Jack clearly has a darker side to him that he’s not letting you see and it’s obviously frustrating you, wanting to be taken seriously.
“I’ll hurt you if that’s what you want sweetheart but not for your first time.” His words don’t leave any room for argument so you don’t even try, sinking back against his firm chest and letting out a deep breath when he shifts behind you and presses himself forward.
It’s not long before you’re not able to wait anymore and he lets you scramble to tug down your underwear, keeping his fingers lightly rubbing between your folds and watching as you struggle to get the fabric past his insistent hand.
Eventually he lets you pull them off and then he’s right back to touching you, bare this time. You both suck in a breath at the contact and you’re practically laying down from how far you’d slid down his chest, spreading your legs as wide as they can go and whimpering while he touches you.
“Do you touch yourself like this baby?” He can’t help the curiosity, the image of you in your bed trying to get yourself off stuck in his mind now.
You shake your head and frown, trying to twist your neck to look at him but being stopped when he uses his free hand to roughly grip your chin and make you keep your eyes on the way he’s touching you, thumb on your sensitive clit now while you roll your hips the best you can.
“No I…” You can barely think let alone speak, clearly struggling as you make a pained and desperate noise. “I get nervous.”
Jack sighs and collects some of your wetness on his middle finger before finally pressing it against the tightness of your hole, not pushing in just yet but teasing it with light pressure and letting you get used to the feeling.
“When you’re with somebody, they should always be this gentle with you at first.” He’s saying softly, remembering that he’s supposed to be actually teaching you something and not just getting you off because he desperately wants to.
You frown deeply as he starts to talk and he doesn’t really understand why, thinks maybe you’re still being pouty that he won’t get rougher with you.
He tries to distract you by finally pressing a finger inside of you and it seems to work for a second, another gasp leaving you as you instinctively clench around the intrusion. He groans, his length throbbing against your back at the thought of being fully inside you instead of just a finger.
“Fuck you’re tight.” He rasps and buries his face in your hair for a few seconds to try and collect himself enough to keep teaching you something, anything at all so he doesn’t keep letting himself think this is something it isn’t. “They’ll have to really get you stretched before anything okay? You need to remember that baby.”
It bothers him so much he can barely focus, the thought of somebody not taking their time with you. He doesn’t want to picture you with another man in general but especially not in a way that hurts you, leaves you too sore the next morning with nobody to take care of you.
He’s so distracted by his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice your face stiffening at first, body a little tenser against him even though you’re still softly squirming to try and get him to put his finger deeper inside you.
“Jack stop.”
He does so immediately and goes to pull out of you before you’re making a panicked noise and closing your thighs around his hand. He lets you this time, pauses all movements just to wait for whatever it is that you need.
“N-no don’t stop that, god please don’t stop that.” Your voice is breathier now like the thought of him taking his hand away from you makes your chest tighten. “Just… stop talking about anyone else.”
It takes him a few seconds to register that and then his hands moving again, enough for you to relax and spread your legs back open.
You’re both quiet now as he adds another finger, lingering in the weight of your request and what it could mean if anything. He’s half sure you only asked because it was pulling you out of the moment, maybe making you nervous to think about doing this again with actual stakes, but the way you desperately tried to stop him from pulling away lets him pretend it was for another reason.
He’s selfish in the way he touches you now, thick fingers moving in and out of you while you cry and whine, gripping at his forearm whenever it feels like too much. He likes the way your nails dig into his arm when you think you might be close, thighs clenching and shifting when his thumb gently circles your swollen clit and how your lips part in breathy cries of his name.
He especially likes that.
You come with moans of his name filling the room and nobody else’s after you’d specifically asked him to stop mentioning other guys. Jack knows it’s selfish, even a little sick and perverted, but he could probably finish just from hearing that.
He’s throbbing against your back and he’s sure you’d be able to feel it if you were able to focus on anything after coming, body shaking a little as you pant endlessly and fall limb in his hold.
There’s a lot of softness that comes after, kissing the side of your head and being gentle in the way he cleans you up. It’s torture to be between your legs and getting to fully appreciate the sight of you for the first time without be able to touch you more but he doesn’t want to overstimulate you so early on.
He does let himself think about that vividly though, kissing against your thighs and picturing when he’s going to be able to put his mouth on you.
You’re quiet above him, eyes a little tired but still overly soft as you run your fingers through his hair and watch him wipe you down.
Then he’s back ontop of you and kissing you softly, shifting your back so you’re laying back against the pillows and not sitting up. It’s soft and bordering on romantic which makes his chest tighten, hoping you have no plans to leave his bed anytime soon.
“You okay?” He asks quietly against your mouth and he can feel you smiling, still touching his hair with one hand and letting the other drift down to the back of his neck.
“Felt so good.” You whisper back and your voice is a little hoarse from all the whining you’d been doing, nose bumping against his and then rubbing on his stubble for a few seconds. “Can I take a nap here?”
“You can do anything you want.” He says immediately, no hesitation as he gets up to get you one of his shirts and help you get comfortable, jumping at the opportunity to keep you with him just like he wanted.
Jack typically has a hard time sleeping through the night in general so he definitely never naps, needing to be truly past the brink of exhaustion to ever rest.
Yet he finds it to be the most simple thing in the world to crawl into his bed with you after taking off his leg, kissing you for a few more minutes before he’s wrapping you in his arms and tugging you back against his chest. He’s rubbing your stomach softly, hand under the shirt he’s given you, listening intently until he hears your breathing even out and then drifting to sleep right after you.
—
It’s one of the highlights of his decade to get to wake up with you still there, warm and making soft tired noises when you feel him start to stir.
His room is dark now other than the slight illumination coming from the moon outside of his window, casting just enough light for him to be able to watch your eyes flutter open.
You give him a soft sleepy smile and instinctively lean in to give him a kiss.
It’s easy to pretend that you are more than whatever this is when you act like this, mouths moving together sensually as if you have nowhere else you’d want to be.
Jack groans softly when your tongue pushes into his mouth, meeting it eagerly with his own and moving so hes hovering over you. Your hands are on his back, spreading your legs below him to let him slot between them.
He feels like a teenager again from how quickly he gets hard, your soft body under his putting him under some sort of spell. His hips shift and you let out a needy whine, scratching his shoulders lightly like you’re trying to encourage him.
You’re still making out slowly when he starts to thrust down against you, slow rolls of his hips to give you just enough friction to start to get desperate.
You’re tugging at his shirt fabric and he takes only a second to sit up and pull it over his head, back on you immediately and kissing you even more frantically. He’s moving your own shirt up towards your ribs but neither one of you wants to stop long enough to take it off, only able to when you need a quick second to take a breath.
It’s the first time you’ve both been nearly undressed together and he feels the effects of it instantly, your chest pressing against his when he lays back over you. Your skin is soft and hot to the touch, those now familiar soft whines leaving you when he lets his hand knead at your chest again.
“Jack please.” You’re whimpering and he finally stops kissing you in favor of sucking at your neck, bringing those marks from earlier back to the surface. “Can’t you just fuck me?”
He groans at the words and has to tuck his face in your shoulder, still rocking his hips against you even though they stuttered when you said that in that whiny voice of yours.
“Trust me, I want to fuck you so bad I can’t even think.” It leaves his mouth before he can stop it, not wanting to reject you again without making sure you know how badly he wants you.
“Then do it.” You’re begging now and he picks his head up to look at you, eyes wide and a little frustrated like you know he’s going to say no. You gasp when he thrusts down even harder, biting your lip as you stare at each other desperately. “Please Jack? Want you inside me.”
“I can’t baby.” He growls and kisses you to give himself a second to think without you arguing.
You’re quick to forget you were trying to convince him of something because you’re kissing him back deeply, angling your head so his tongue can get further and further inside your mouth.
He has that sick and perverted thought again that he’s coincidentally training you to be the perfect girl for him, kissing in a way he likes and not knowing how else to do it. Jack is selfish and wants everything you do to be for him, wants your body to instinctively move and react how he taught you regardless of who gets you next.
The thought of somebody else makes him want to forget his morals and fuck you like you’re begging him, be the one to take your virginity and fill you up for the first time.
He starts to reason with himself that it would actually be a good thing because Jack would never let himself hurt you in a way you didn’t like, he’d make sure you felt good around him and came so hard you weren’t able to see straight.
There’s nobody else who could fuck you like he could so he’s almost convinced himself that it’s a good idea when your phone rings on the nightstand.
You both stop, you’re completely tense under him and he sighs as he kisses you one more time and rolls off of you.
He lays there on his back as you sit up to grab your phone, screen a little too bright in the dark room and causing you to wince. He stares at your pretty face under the light as you open it up and answer it, not thinking much about the interruption despite the small disappointment he feels.
His hand is on your bare knee and rubbing your skin is soft circles, soothing both you and himself by keeping the contact.
“Hello?” Your voice is as soft and sweet as always, a little confused sounding which makes his eyebrows raise. “Oh Carter.”
Jack tenses up at the sound of a males name leaving your lips, his hand freezing and falling still on your knee. You’re avoiding looking at him as you listen to whoever it is speak on the other line, a deep voice bleeding through the speakers just enough for him to hear but not enough to make out the words.
“Tonight?” Your eyes go to the small digital clock on Jacks side of the bed, having to glance over his body in the process. You meet his eyes just for a second before they’re darting away again and it makes the pit in his stomach grow in understanding. “Of course I didn’t forget. I’ll be ready by nine.”
You’re hanging up after a quiet goodbye and now it’s suffocatingly silent in the room.
You’re still sitting up with your legs crossed under you, avoiding looking at him like you’re not still wearing his shirt and covered in marks he’d given to you. He waits for a minute before he’s sitting up and running a hand over his face, on the opposite side of the bed from you and facing the wall so you can’t see his expression when he finally gets himself to speak.
“You’ve got a date tonight?” He rasps out, trying his best to sound unaffected even though it comes out low and tight.
“I forgot.” You whisper back and you sound further away now, a glance over his shoulder confirms that you’d stood up off the bed and are searching for the shirt you’d shown up in so you can swap out of his. “He’s taking me to some art show downtown.”
Jack stares at you as you move around the room, eyes scanning over your body when you pull his shirt over your head and neatly fold it before putting it on his dresser. It feels really final to watch you change back into your own clothes, turning to meet his eyes and letting out a soft sigh when you see he’s already watching you closely.
He hopes it doesn’t show on his face, doesn’t want to be too obvious that he’s probably about two seconds away from throwing up.
“Carter.” He says simply and now you really stiffen.
You stand there for a few seconds like you’re waiting for something, eyes a little expectant and then full on disappointed when he scoffs and moves to put his leg back on so he can stand up and get out of the room that’s suddenly suffocating.
You leave his apartment and all the warmth goes with you.
He stands in his dark kitchen with regret sitting heavy on his chest, wishing he had stopped you and asked you to stay with him instead.
He isn’t sure if it’s the fear of rejection or his own guilt that stopped him but he knew he couldn’t ask you to do that. You deserved better than him and his baggage, his late hours at work and his dangerous hobbies that he needed to keep himself busy with to not think about the things that sent him spiraling.
He couldn’t imagine forcing you into a life where you had to explain him to your friends and family, ignore the curious and judging looks from his own when they realized just how young you were.
Jack knew you were lonely, it was obvious considering how much time you willingly spent with him and it was bad enough he’d taken advantage of your desperation for connection and nearly slept with you.
He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he stopped you from enjoying your youth, having a fun late night in the city surrounded by artsy people your age and not stuck on his couch watching old reruns because he’s too tired after work to properly take you out.
Jack hates himself for thinking all this and then still obsessively wanting you.
So much so that he purposely lingers near his truck right around the time you’d told your date you’d be ready. In his defense, he did actually need a few things from the corner store, so he sat in the parking lot and waited until he saw you come down.
Your date met you at the entrance of the lobby but didn’t take your purse from you or the jacket you were holding, smiled at you politely but couldn’t be bothered to open the door of his car or even wait for you to get in before he did.
It made Jack sick to his stomach all over again, jaw clenched as he sat in the dark interior of his truck and watched you drive off with some asshole only an hour after he’d had you sleeping next to him, panting under him and begging him to fuck you.
Jack decides right then that it all needs to stop, not just the sex lessons but helping you in general. He can’t be that person for you without wanting more, he’s selfish and possessive over somebody that was never supposed to be his and he knows it’s not fair to you.
So he doesn’t answer any of your texts that night, stays quiet in his living room whenever you knock on his door and waits until he hears you leave for work before he goes to check the mail.
He feels terrible for avoiding you but keeps trying to convince himself it’s in your best interest.
Jack is half asleep when the silent treatment finally breaks.
He’d fallen asleep on his couch accidentally, a beer can too many on the table in front of him and the same movie he’d been watching beforehand starting to roll credits. He should have been in bed sleeping after pulling a double at work but he couldn’t stand being in there lately, tossing and turning and trying to catch the faint scent of you lingering on his pillows.
There was a second of confusion, not sure why he had waken up in the first place, until the sharp knocks on his door made him flinch.
He was standing up on autopilot to open it, wincing at how stiff and sore his leg felt from falling asleep with it still on.
Any thought of his pain was gone the second he opened his door and saw your face, tears on your cheeks and your eyebrows furrowed in frustration.
“I need to talk to you.” You said immediately and he ushered you into his apartment, not necessarily wanting to be in an enclosed space with you but recognizing your tearful voice was far too loud to have a conversation in the hallway.
“What’s wrong?” He said softly and takes a few steps towards you on instinct, cradling your cheek and staring down at you when you nuzzle against his touch. “Why are you crying?”
“Because you’re an asshole.” You seem to remember that you’re mad at him because you step away from his touch, pushing his arm back down to his side and storming further into his apartment.
He stands there completely frozen as you toss your purse onto the chair near the couch, your eyes scanning over the beer cans and the obvious indent of where he’d been sleeping.
Then you’re back to looking at him and he knows what he probably looks like to you. The exhaustion is obvious on his face, clothes a little baggier than normal from a lack of taking care of himself and a constant awkward shifting on his leg to keep pressure off of it.
“Why aren’t you talking to me?” Your voice cracks a little and he deflates, taking a few steps closer again even though he doesn’t think you want him to touch you. “Did I do something wrong?”
“What?” His face faces in disbelief at the idea you could ever do anything wrong in general, especially to him. “Of course you didn’t sweetheart.”
“Then why?” Your words are louder now and they linger in the tense air, face pained as you wait for him to answer.
He sighs and runs a hand over his stubble that desperately needs some maintenance, wishes he had the time to plan out everything he wanted to say to you so he doesn’t accidentally fuck it up more than he already had.
“I just… I can’t do it anymore.” He lets his hands fall to his sides with a loud defeated clap and shrugs his shoulders. “I can’t watch you go out with these idiots knowing they can’t take care of you.”
He hopes what he’s trying to say is an obvious to you as it is to him, not able to bring himself to actually voice the fact that he has feelings for you beyond helping out a neighbor.
“You didn’t stop me.” You sound devastated, head shaking like you don’t believe anything he’s saying to you.
You’re not crying anymore thankfully but you look so hurt and disappointed that it makes him physically ache, moving to grab your arm softly and guide you to sit down on the couch with him.
“I waited for you to stop me and you didn’t.” You continue once you’re sitting beside him, legs pressed together in a small amount of addicting content. “Isn’t it obvious by now that I only want to be with you?”
The words hit him so hard that he doesn’t even have time to process them, eyebrows furrowing as the need for more information pushes him to speak.
“Why would that be obvious? The entire point of this was for you to be ready for other people.”
You look a little embarrassed at his sound logic, staring down at your lap where your hands are fiddling with your fingers. He sighs and takes one of them in his, squeezing it softly until you let your gaze drift back up to his.
“I don’t want other people.” You whisper, staring at him with a small amount of hope in your eyes like you’re just waiting for him to understand. “And I don’t want you to be with anyone else either. I just figured… you wouldn’t cross that line without a good reason.”
Jack thinks it’s a little juvenile of a plan but he also knows you’re not wrong. He would have never touched you without the feeling of helping you out with something, no matter how much he had wanted you since the second you moved in.
That little lie was all he needed to get himself through the shame and guilt, the ability to pretend it was for a greater cause and not because he was sick and desperate for a girl half his age.
“Jack.” You sigh when he doesn’t respond for a few seconds, turning so you can face him better and press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. “Stop thinking.”
“That’s a big ask.” He mumbles back but he gladly turns to give you a real kiss, holding your face in his hand and keeping your mouth against his.
You kiss until you run out of breath, pulling back from him but rubbing your nose against his and letting your small hands grip his forearm desperately.
“Then just be with me for tonight.” You try to reason with him in any way you can, rubbing his arm softly and blinking at him with those big pretty eyes that drive him so crazy.
He stares at you for a moment before he’s standing up off the couch and tugging you along with him, ignoring the little surprised noise you make in favor of lifting you up with his hands on the back of your thighs. You gasp and then giggle softly once he’s got you in the air, arms behind his neck and legs around his middle as he starts to walk you to his room.
“You’re crazy if you think you’re going anywhere after tonight.” He tells you once he gets you settled on his bed, kissing the smile off your face as he climbs over you.
It’s a direct mirror of the other night as you get each other undressed fully this time, kissing the entire time and tasting his tongue deep in your mouth when it starts to get more heated.
“You’re going to be mine.” He says firmly once he’s got you in nothing but your panties, making sure your eyes are locked on his when you hear it. His free hand is all over your body, rubbing from your smooth thigh up to your chest and cupping around your neck for a brief moment while he waits for you to respond. “If I fuck you then you’re mine.”
“I’ve been yours.” You whisper easily, like you didn’t have to put any thought into it.
He falters, hand tightening around your throat on instinct and then releasing the pressure when he sees the way your eyes light up with interest.
“Don’t be nasty baby.” He’s teasing, kissing the corner of your mouth and bringing your leg up so it’s around his waist and he can press himself against you. “Gonna be gentle with you for your first time. You deserve it.”
“I want you to fuck me.” You’re pouting and gripping at him impatiently, running your hand between your bodies to touch his stomach and fidget with the waistband of his boxers. “That’s what I want Jackie.”
“Didn’t ask what you wanted.” He grumbles back, not caring that it comes off a little mean because you whine at the sound of how rough his voice had gotten and he knows you like it.
He’s back to kissing you and it’s filthier than normal, more tongue and spit than anything else.
You’re as vocal as always, whining and begging impatiently when he gets your underwear off and starts to touch you again.
Jack can barely think straight when he’s back inside of you, fingers pushing in easier this time now that you’ve felt the intrusion before and know what to expect. You’re gasping and crying out immediately, unintelligible words that he blocks out in favor of focusing on how you feel when he’s stretches you out.
“Want it so bad.” Your near sob gets through to him and he hisses through clenched teeth at how wrecked you sound already, shushing you softly and kissing your cheeks to try and calm you down.
“I know baby I know.” He’s whispering but you don’t seem to be hearing him, spreading your legs further to try and make space for him to slot back between them instead of using his fingers.
Jack is just as impatient as you but he’s terrified of hurting you too early, although throbbing so hard in his boxers that it’s painful to shift around.
It’s not long before it’s too much prep for both of you and you’re watching him with your chest heaving as he gets himself undressed the rest of the way, leg going on the floor right alongside your underwear that he had slowly pulled down your body before climbing back over you.
Your eyes go down between your bodies where his leg is and he tenses for a second despite knowing you mean well with the concern you have on your face.
“Let me ride you.” You say softly and his chest tightens with that old familiar shame he was still actively working on ridding himself of.
“I can fuck you.” He says gruffly and your eyes flash with regret, pouting a little like you’re worried you’ve hurt his feelings with your thoughtful suggestion. He kisses the expression off your face, a long deep one followed by a few quick pecks to try and ease your mind. “Next time baby.”
He says it both because he knows realistically he has limitations, there will be plenty of nights he’s not able to rail you into his mattress like he wants to, but also because he knows he would die a happy man the second he got to see you bouncing on top of him and desperately trying to get yourself off.
You look like you want to argue but you’re stopped when he’s pushing your legs apart and moving between them, sharp gasp leaving you when you feel his hard length pressing against you finally.
“Fuck Jack.” Your voice is sharp and already a little pained just from the dull sensation of him lining up with your hole, a growl leaving him at the sound of your distress.
“Just relax baby.” He says as softly as he can even though his throat feels tight and raw, kissing you gently to try and get you to calm down enough for him to push in. “You’re too tight sweetheart.”
“I… I can’t.” You let out another sharp cry when he shifts forward, nails digging into his shoulders so deep it makes him wince and lower his head down on your shoulder.
Jack has to use every ounce of self control he can muster to not just fully push himself into you and feel that tight heat he’s getting a taste of, that same sick and selfish part of him that wants you in the first place begging him to just take you already.
Instead he takes a few deep breaths before he’s kissing you with more focus, going back and forth between softly rubbing your side and massaging your inner thigh to try and urge your body to relax and accommodate him.
It’s a torturous ten minutes, especially due to your soft whimpers and the way you cry his name whenever he accidentally moves himself deeper.
Then you’re finally calm enough, bare chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he’d instructed you to take.
“Want you inside Jack.” You’re whining in his ear, clinging to him tightly and almost suffocating him when he immediately takes your queue and pushes in. You tense up again at the brief surge of pain and then let out a satisfied cry when you feel how full you are, clenching around him so ridiculously that he almost needs to pull out to give himself a break despite barely starting.
You’re both too overwhelmed to speak much more once he starts to actually fuck you, deep thrust accompanied by filthy kisses to keep you from waking up the neighbors with how desperately you’re whining for him to keep giving you more.
It’s pure need on both ends, your hips eagerly rocking upwards to try and meet his thrust sloppily while he uses his free hand to roughly push down on your stomach and keep you in place.
“Jackie.” It’s nearly a sob from you now and he can tell you’re close from how much tighter you’d gotten, almost an impossible squeeze for him to keep fucking you through.
He’s grateful you’re so inexperienced because he doesn’t think he’d last long either, not with the way you look as you stare up at him with teary and trusting eyes.
“I know baby you’re doing so good for me.” It’s more of a growl than anything else but he can barely think let alone speak enough to keep encouraging you. “Taking me so well sweetheart.”
“I’m so full Jack.” You whimper and cling to him tighter, nearly pulling him fully down on top of you and knocking him off his balance. “Feels so good.”
You’re stuttering through your sentences and slurring each word, eyes a little dazed in a way that makes him need to squeeze his shut to avoid coming inside you just from that fucked out look you have.
It’s more sweet than heated when you actually do finally reach your peak, holding onto him still and kissing the side of his jaw softly with your face buried in his neck as you squirm and shake your way through your orgasm.
He stays inside of you for as long as he can so you’re not shocked from the sudden feeling of emptiness but you’re squeezing him too tight and he has to pull out as soon as you’re starting to relax. You whimper immediately at the lose and pick your head up to pout at him, eyes panicked like you’re genuinely distressed he didn’t finish inside you.
He shushes you gently and kisses your face over and over, rubbing your side as he lets you fully come back to reality before attempting to clean either of you up or get you dressed.
“Jack.” You’ve got the needy and frustrated tone he loves so much and he knows you’re not dropping it, meeting your eyes with a fond sigh as you glance down at where he’d came instead of inside you.
“Next time.” He promises again and he means it, fully intending to have that conversation with you ahead of time now that he’s got you like this.
Jack isn’t too opposed to the idea of getting you pregnant, not even sure he’s able to with the amount of pills he takes, but he has to push down that thought along with the rest of the sick ones he gets when he looks at your needy eyes.
You smile a little at the loose promise and tuck yourself back into his shoulder, soothing any concern he has about what just happened or how you’re supposed to operate going forward.
He’s undoubtedly the luckiest guy in the world to have you wanting him like this, feeling safe in his arms and desperate for him in the way he’d been for you since the second he laid eyes on you.
Jack was never the type of person to take the duty of taking care of somebody lightly and he doesn’t plan to let you down for even a second, kissing the top of your head softly and letting himself forget about any shame or insecurity just to hold you for awhile longer.
The Agreement | Garrett Graham & Dean Di Laurentis
summary: when garrett finally gets you, dean realises what he lost.
request: yes/no
warnings: mature themes, p in v, oral (both f & m receiving!), cocky Dean, threesome, swearing, drinking.
word count: 3.52k
authors note: I loved writing this! Threesomes always have a special place in my heart so I was gnawing at the bit for this. I know you you gave me the choice between Dean or Logan as the second member but I had to go with Dean once I saw that image of the guys with the girl between them and it was edited as Dean, Garrett and Hannah.
You knew that you were playing with fire.
It was the night of Beau and Dean’s annual birthday bash and here you were, looking a little too good next to Garrett Graham.
Which would have been fine if you were just some girl talking to him, but you weren’t just someone random.
You held a record that wasn’t something to be praised about; you were Dean’s longest-standing hook-up, spanning over both your freshman and sophomore year. Night outs always ended with you in his bed, his hands in your hair, and without fail. Your clothes on his floor.
Despite the fact that there was never a title on the two of you, everyone just assumed you were together. It was hard to assume anything else when you ended up on his lap, making out as Dean taunted the guys about beer pong.
It looked like the two of you were going well, but you decided you wanted more, and he wanted things to stay casual.
So you ended it.
There were no arguments, no fights. It was honestly a pretty clean break.
You were able to stay in the same circles, and somehow, you were both good friends.
That was how you got an invite to the party “you look good tonight.” Garrett’s voice was sweet as his hand rested around your waist.
It was comfortable, as you stood in the corner, “just tonight?” You licked your lips as you cocked your head.
You loved teasing the boy as he was always so responsive, “you know you always look good.” His cheeks blushed with his confession. He had always liked you but didn’t act on it because of Dean.
But now that you guys really seemed done, and you were in this tight little police woman costume. Garrett decided that he was done playing nice “still nice to hear it.” You taunted back, making him huff a quiet laugh under his breath.
It made him nod, “I’ll make sure I tell you that more often then.” He didn’t have that sarcastic tone you would have expected if the comment came from Dean. From Garrett it was genuine and something he was sure he was going to make good on.
Even though the party around you both seemed so busy, all you could hear was each other “what happened to that girl you brought?” You asked, remembering that there was another half to his magician costume somewhere.
Garrett shook his head, “she found her interest in some musician dude here.” That was always the plan for Hannah, so Garrett had to admit that he really wasn’t mad about the new position that he was in.
You nodded as his eyes dropped to your lips and then back up to yours, the move so fast that if you blinked, you would have missed it “besides, theres a different girl that I have my eye on.” The way he looked at you was if he was undressing you with his eyes, not to make you naked. But instead it made you simply you.
It should have made you feel vulnerable. But instead, it just made you feel like you were about to step onto the best ride of your life.
There always did seem to be a game of cat and mouse between you both, with neither one ever quite ready to make the first strike “well I think she’d tell you to kiss her.” And that was an offer that Garrett didn’t need to be given twice.
When he kissed you it felt sweet. Like he cared what you felt like. What you tasted like “wanna go upstairs?” He asked, his lips hovering over yours.
You smiled into him “lead the way, handsome.” Your hand squeezed his as you pecked his lips again.
Garrett nodded as he locked his fingers with yours, letting the two of you slip out of the party and head upstairs without a trace.
It took him fifteen minutes to notice you were gone. Dean couldn’t help it when his eyes scanned the room for you. Your police costume was nowhere in sight “don’t tell me you’re looking for her.” Beau mumbled, knowing all too well what was going through his best friends head.
He was the one who watched you both fizzle out with what felt like a front row seat as the Maxwell boy was your friend too “can’t a guy just look around his own party?” Dean grumbled, not letting his eyes leave the crowd.
But still he couldn’t see you “promise me you won’t get pissed off if I tell you where she is?” Beau knew that the blonde wouldn’t settle until he knew where you were.
Because as much as Dean swore he didn’t, he cared about you. Even if he didn’t know how to show it “you know where she is?” Deans jaw tensed as he immediately knew the answer wasn’t going to be something he’d enjoy.
A harsh sigh escaped from Beaus lips “I saw her talking to Garrett.” It caused the blondes fist to clench “unbelievable.” He grumbled as his face scrunched in disgust.
Beau couldn’t help it when he laughed “they’re upstairs?” Dean didn’t need Beau to answer, his silence and the look on his face told him everything that he needed to know.
Dean had no right to get annoyed; you hadn’t been with him in over six months. So why was it that he pictured the thought of Garrett being on top of you. Dean knew you had been with other people, because so had he.
But this felt personal, “don’t go!” Beau groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
The blonde raised his hands in defence, “all I’m gonna do is go piss.” It was a blatant lie, and both boys knew it.
But as Dean chugged the rest of his beer, Beau knew there was nothing he could do, “just don’t break my house, please.” The brunette sighed as the blonde sent him a salute.
Upstairs, you and Garrett were both blissfully unaware of what was coming towards you “just like that.” You whimpered as your fingers gripped his hair.
He sucked on your clit while his eyes never left you. He treated you as if you were his last meal, Arms wrapped around your thighs so tight you didn’t have a chance to even think about leaving him.
He loved how responsive your body was when his nose nudged your clit, the way your cunt clenched around his tongue. Or how your fingers tugged at his curls while you babbled on about how he was making you feel so good.
His lips left your cunt with a pop as his fingers replaced him “you sound so good, pretty girl.” He cooed, pressing a kiss against your inner thigh when his fingers felt how your walls hugged them.
“Oh she knows she can do better than that.”
That voice made you freeze. There stood Dean with his arms crossed as he rested against the door frame. You swore that you were dreaming “shut the door.” You grumbled, picking up the pillow behind you as you lousily threw it at the blonde.
He caught it effortlessly as he licked his lips “please don’t stop on my account.” Dean turned his attention to his teammate, “your little pretty girl here has been known to like an audience.”
Garrett tensed when you clenched around his fingers “what do you want?” He asked you, wanting it to be your choice.
His finger ran over your clit as you moaned “he’ll stop if you don’t answer him doll.” The captain hated that his teammate was so right. He knew you better than Garrett could have, Garrett even had a feeling that Dean knew what was coming next “want you both.” You pleaded, letting the words slip from your mouth before you could stop them.
Dean shut the door finally, ensuring that he actually locked it as this wasn’t going to be something he wanted anyone else walking in on “you want us both right now?” Garrett stammered as he could see how much you were enjoying this.
The blonde laughed “trust me, your special girl is a whore for some attention.” He licked his lips as he crossed his arms “you can tell him the truth doll.” When he looked at you, you swore your insides turned to jelly.
Garrett knew that he probably should have left, let the two of you deal with whatever it was that the two of you hadn’t delt with that so clearly needed to be put to bed. But instead, he opted to stay, “like it a lot Gar.” You nodded as you sent him this comforting glance.
There was a mental coin toss in his mind and for the captain, the sight of you won “okay, lets do it.” Garret nodded, now on the same page as the two of you.
Dean patted his teammate’s shoulder, “trust me her mouth is where you want to be.” Dean swore that for the casual sex relationship that he had, you really deserved one for your mouth. It was honestly heavenly and he hadn’t had better since you.
Garrett looked at you as you nodded “c’mon baby give him the proper show.” Dean clicked his tongue when the boy stood up, finally retracting his fingers from your cunt.
You nodded as you got up and faced the brunette. You had to force a smile onto your face, as you were sure that he definitely didn’t think that he was going to be having a threesome with a teammate when he brought you upstairs. So you couldn’t help it when you kissed his lips.
Dean watched it and honestly, he was a little bit surprised. You were usually so rough and careless with him, so to see you guys, a guy like you, gave a shit kind of hurt more than he wanted to admit “lets get these off of you k?” You tugged at Garrett’s shirt as you sent him a grin.
That was how you ended up between the two boys, and everyone’s clothes were nothing more than a messy pile on the floor
Garrett was sitting in front of you, his legs sprawled out on either side of you as his back was against the headboard, “such a pretty boy.” You cooed as you pressed a string of kisses, down his chest, stopping when you got to his navel to send him a grin. Your nails were softly running up and down the length of his cock.
From behind you a hand gripped at your ass “stop teasing him you brat.” Dean grumbled as you turned back to look at him “since you asked so nicely.” You stuck your tongue out at the boy before you turned back to the brunette in front of you.
The captain couldn’t help it when he nodded. And you didn’t have to be told twice.
You pressed a soft kiss against the head of his cock, swirling your tongue around his length “holy shit.” Garrett immediately felt his eyes shut when his hands went to your hair. forming a messy, makeshift ponytail.
Dean let out a soft laugh from behind you “yeah she’s good at that.” You could feel the mattress dip behind you as you instinctively spread your legs while Garrett’s cock hit the back of your throat.
The blonde wrapped his arms around your thighs as he was now underneath you, blowing warm air onto your glistening cunt “god Gar, she clearly enjoyed ya.” The comment made you moan, gagging on his teammate in the process “what can I say?” I know how to treat a girl.” It was a clear dig at the blonde and all three of you knew it.
The room felt slick with sweat as you squirmed, waiting for Dean’s response, “well let’s hope that you know how to cum quickly because your pretty girl won’t get to finish until you do.” His words felt like a challenge, and you didn’t know whom it was directed more towards, you or Garrett.
This time he didn’t wait for a response, forcing you down onto him as his tongue lapped at your slit. Garrett watched how you responded to the blonde boy’s contact. You moaned around him, sending shivers through his body as he chewed at his lip.
You let his dick slip from your lips with a pop, allowing from a glob of saliva to trail from your mouth to him “wanna hear you handsome.” You cut yourself off with a whimper as Dean slid his tongue into your cunt.
Your eyes fluttered as Garrett nodded, bringing you back to the boy in front of you. Allowing you lips to wrap around his cock once more.
Dean’s nose continued to nudge your clit as you rode his face, his tongue grazing a part of your cunt that made your thighs shake.
Garrett let his fingers softly tug at your hair while your tongue swirled around him like he was a lollipop “you’re so good.” His words hung in the air, smug with pride as they praised you.
The room felt dirty as it soaked in the sounds that you three would more than likely agree never to relive again once this weekend was over. Dean was treating you like a last meal, in case this really was the last time he got his head between your thighs. He’d alternate between fucking you with his tongue and sucking at your clit, a combo that he knew you loved so much. And for the boy in front of you, your cheeks hollowed out, just about to milk him dry.
Garrett’s orgasm hit him hard and fast, making him mutter a string of obscenities as you didn’t let up, continuing to guide him through it. His release coated your throat, the way his cock throbbed in your mouth, triggering your own orgasm.
Much like you, Dean didn’t play nice. Continuing to suck at your clit until your thighs threatened to crush his skull.
The captain let his cock slide out from your lips as he huffed out a breath. You caught your lower lip between your teeth as you swallowed his release, “that was the hottest thing I think I’ve ever seen.” Garrett announced as Dean and set you back on the bed when he stood up.
The blonde smirked when he tipped your head backwards, letting his hand rest on your chin “she’s pretty good at that.” He murmured before he kissed you.
It was needy and strong as his tongue slotted into your mouth as if it were its second home. The boy in front of you didn’t have a chance to feel jealous, not tonight.
Not when your hand reached for his, bringing him closer so that by the time he was next to you, you could pull away from Dean to kiss him.
He was so much sweeter than Dean, letting his hands cup your cheeks as if he was more methodical with how he kissed you.
Jealousy bubbled up in the blonde for the second time that night, watching how you both slotted together made him feel almost out of place. So instead, he did the one thing he knew he could do, and do it well. His hands cupped your tits, his fingers rolling your nipples between them, “shit.” You moaned, letting your head fall backwards.
Both boys looked at each other as they nodded, moving to either side of you “guy?” You looked confused as Garrett squeezed your thigh “relax pretty girl.” He smiled when you lay there staying still.
“Oh shit.”
Your eyes went wide when you realised what they were doing. Each one wrapped their lips around your tits. They watched how you melted into their hands “you both are-” you ran your fingers through their hair when you forced your thighs together, already feeling pleasure forming in your core.
Dean popped your tit out of his mouth “you see how needy she already is again?” He clicked his tongue as he brought his hand down to your cunt.
His fingers rubbed along your slit making you moan out.
Garrett nodded, “what are we gonna do with her?” He asked, making you whimper.
The boys went back to looking between the two of them “want you to fuck me.” Your words were needy, you looked desperate as your eyes were wet, with gloopy mascara smeared under your eyes.
It made Dean laugh “which one of us?” Dean knew you had three holes but he wasn’t exactly going to do this in Beau’s house “I couldn’t.” Garrett shook his head, a little nervous almost.
“Perfect.”
“No.”
You shook your head as you raised your hand to stop Dean “Garrett gets to fuck me tonight.” You announced as you looked at the brunette.
It made his mouth go dry, sure there were no favourites in this. But on the technicality that only one of them could be in your cunt at a time, this was technically you picking a favourite. And it was Garrett, “yeah okay.” He nodded as he ignored the fact that Dean was shooting him lasers.
That’s how you ended up with Garrett behind you and Dean standing on the side of the bed, “fuck her well, Graham.” Deans words were meant to remind Garrett of who had you first, but before he had the chance to let it simmer in, you argued back, “pretty sure your captain knows how to fuck a girl right.”
Your words had this glare that made Garrett smirk, but honestly, he couldn’t wait to fuck you.
So he stopped waiting.
He drove the head of his cock over your clit as he shuddered, watching your cunt swallow his dick. Garrett rocked his hips as your walls stretched to accommodate his size “oh my god.” You moaned as you gripped at the sheet beneath you.
The captain smirked “just me baby.” He let his eyes fall onto Dean as he let his fingers swirl around your clit.
Dean swore he was ready to punch his teammate in that moment, “c’mere.” His words were somehow sweet as he kissed you, “gonna fuck your face now.” He hadn’t even waited for you to respond, as you clenched around Garrett.
You felt so good as your cunt squelched with every thrust of his cock “she’s gonna like it too.” The mere thought of how the boys had you was enough to make you want to cum.
It was as if you were in the middle of some competition as Dean fucked your face and Garrett bottomed you out. It should have made you feel dirty being used, but honestly?
You had never felt so hot in your life “see why I had her for so long?” Dean let out a dry laugh, seeing how responsive Garrett was to your cunt.
His words made the brunette scowl, “wouldn’t have lost her if I were you.” He shot back, letting his eyes narrow.
Dean smirked as he licked his lips “bold of you to ever think I lost her.” The boys turned their attention back to you when you gagged on Dean’s cock. Your skin felt warm as you were overwhelmed by the attention.
You knew you wouldn’t last long. Not only because you were still sensitive from your first orgasm, but because the feeling of Dean in your mouth, combined with the way Garrett felt in your cunt it was bound to send you over the edge.
If the walls around you could talk, they would have stories that would last a lifetime. Moans and the sound of skin slapping mixed into each other as all of you just wanted to get off on, the boys on you and you on the boys.
Skin was slick with sweat as Dean grabbed your tits, making sure that you were both full and fucked. Just how he knew you liked it.
Your whimpers became more inconsistent as your throat constricted on Dean’s cock, sending him over the edge. His hands gripped your hair so hard it hurt your scalp.
Stars scattered over your vision as you came, feeling your orgasm wash over you when your body shook. The way your cunt clamped down on Garrett’s cock practically milked him dry “such a good girl.” Garrett didn’t let his fingers let up on your clit as he fucked you through it.
He bit the inside of his cheek when he slid his cock out of your cunt, watching how your body collapsed onto the bed, “look at you all fucked out.” Garrett cooed as he ran his fingers through your hair.
Dean let out a hearty laugh as he shook his head “oh please, we’re just getting started.” He smirked as he cupped one of your tits.
Your night was just getting started, actually.
And it seemed that so was the race to see which boy really got to keep you as theirs.
But maybe they’d find a good common ground, an agreement if you will.
Pairing | Tow truck driver!Bucky x rich girl!reader
Summary | When you step into Barnes' Towing & Auto Repair, you think all you're leaving with is a newly repaired car, simple as that. But Bucky has other plans. After one glimpse of those pink heels and your overly bright personality—too polite to be genuine—he knows you're nothing but trouble. A few choice words slip from his lips before he can stop himself, and guilt hits as soon as you're gone. Now…he can't get you out of his head, and the universe is dead set on throwing the two of you together again and again.
Warnings/tags | MDNI (18+), nsfw, dual pov, slow burn, forced proximity??? age gap romance?? (I imagined reader in her mid to late 20's and Bucky is late 30's) modern au, poor guy x rich girl, grumpy x sunshine, enemies to lovers if you squint, Sam Wilson makes an appearance, reader loves pink (like a concerning amount), reader is described as smaller than Bucky and can easily carry her, reader is a bit ditzy (she's just like me fr), Bucky's an asshole for like .2 seconds (pinky promise he redeems himself), reader is the daughter of a CEO, reader's father is an actual asshole (he doesn't redeem himself...it's the daddy issues in me), John Walker makes an appearance as a NASCAR driver and is a slightly cocky asshole (y'know what, maybe everyone's an asshole in this...my hate for men came through on this one, I fear), use of alcohol, hurt/comfort, angst, miscommunication, fluff, car accident, minor injuries, Bucky is a sexy motherfucker with a soaked tank top, Bucky's a groveler, Alpine makes an appearance, Bucky has a happy trail, reader catches print, mentions of how Bucky lost his arm, grief, mentions of death, mentions of drunk driving, smut, kissing, dirty talk, slightly pervy Bucky, Bucky cums in his pants, masturbation (f+m), oral (f receiving), breast attention, fingering, pussy pronouns, p in v, unprotected sex, biting, marking, praise kink, save a horse; ride a Bucky, multiple orgasms, pet names (princess, baby, sweet girl, pretty boy)
Word Count | 19.5k (can you believe I popped out this big ass baby?)
A/N | hi barbie, please don't be perturbed by the length of this (don't you like it bigger? :smugass:) this is officially the longest fic i've written, and i like it??? i think i really just love these characters, that's why it was so difficult for me to stop writing. i know next to nothing about cars/tow truck driving/mechanics/racing/the air force, so i'm truly sorry if anything is wrong:((
This is my portion of the Barbie Dreamhouse collab brought to you by @stantastic-association!! A heartfelt thanks to @miraclediviner for putting this together and doing such a wonderful job organizing it. And also being such a big support to everyone <3 dt: to my babies @phoenix-in-writing @sheriff-bodecker @metal-armed-muse @buckytakethewheel i love you all so much:))
cloud divider credit: @/uzmacchiato
Also on A03:))
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Sam Wilson tapped the end of his pen against the counter in a steady rhythm, deep in thought, the metallic click filling the silence. Leaning over, he pressed his elbows to the cool surface and released a long, dramatic sigh. The ceaseless ting of metal hitting acrylic was beginning to irritate Bucky, but to be fair, everything about his friend seemed to irk him most days. His jaw ticked before the pen even made a sound, as if he were bracing for it now.
A barely there, unhelpful voice echoed in the back of his mind, suggesting that he reach over the table and snap the pen clean in half. Oh, it would be so satisfying. The hurt look on Sam's face, combined with the following silence after, was getting too tempting by the second. However, he thought better of making a scene, opting instead for taking a steady inhale through his nose and blowing it out through his mouth.
It really wouldn't matter if he did cause a scene. It was one of the slower days at the shop. The kind where only a couple of customers drifted in with quick replies and hurried footsteps, so they could continue on with their day. But most of today was like this—an empty room with a pressing stillness and lingering pauses. Ones that Bucky wasn't keen on filling.
"I don't know, man," Sam finally broke the silence. "The common denominator between all these relationships ending is you. Maybe you need to adjust your attitude."
"I don't need to adjust nothin'," Bucky muttered stubbornly.
Sam raised a brow. "Right. It's them. Every single one. Not the guy who's always in a mood and has a staring problem."
"'m just particular. There ain't nothin' wrong with that."
"Some might say too particular," Sam murmured under his breath. "Look, I just don't want to see your sad little face walk in here, moping around like someone punted your cat."
"Don't bring Alpine into this," Bucky's scowl deepened, his jaw twitching again. "Besides, Alpine and I are fine. Don't have time for anythin' serious anyway."
"Did you ever send a message to…what was her name?" Sam trailed off, tapping the pen against his forehead, as if that would jog his memory. "Oh, Violet."
"No. 'm not textin' your barista, just because she gives you an extra shot of espresso and happens to have a nice smile."
The man behind the counter huffed air out of his nose. "Fine, just know I'm done playing matchmaker for your sorry ass."
Bucky rolled his eyes. Never asked for your help in the first place, he thought. Then, that same instigating voice nudged him, and he gave in this time. "How's Sarah?"
Sam's posture straightened rapidly, pointing the pen at him like it was a weapon instead of a writing tool. "Don't you fucking dare, Barnes."
"What? I was just askin'," Bucky shrugged, a smirk gracing his lips.
"My sister is off limits. You know that."
"Okay, okay." Bucky held up his hands in surrender, dropping the subject completely. Still, it gave him that brief, cathartic release he had been searching for earlier, even if it was fleeting.
Glancing around, his eyes drifted out of the wide windows. The sun was a bright statement in the clear blue sky, only partially blocked by the towering 'Barnes' Towing & Auto Repair' sign outside—bold enough that it could be read by anyone speeding down the highway. The reflection of the window pane left a white cast on the tiled floor. A small black rectangle carved in the bleached reflection forced his gaze up to the flimsy paper posted by the door, its edges slightly creased. The ink fading betrayed just how long it had been hanging there.
Now hiring.
Sometimes, Bucky wondered if this place was less a job and more a coasting point for people to move through to something better. No matter who he and Sam hired, they would leave within a couple of months—the universe was never gracious enough to gift them someone for more than that. Then the cycle would start again, and he'd have to reprint the sign.
So, there it stayed—a permanent decoration on the glass until they could find someone permanent.
The rays of the sun were interrupted by a dark Rolls-Royce pulling into the lot, snagging Bucky's attention immediately. His eyes flicked over the body of the car—spotless, glistening even. Tinted windows. Freshly polished rims. Even the emblem of the tiny woman with wings appeared untouched.
He scoffed at the ridiculous sight. Obviously, this car wasn't a potential customer. This was someone who took a wrong turn along the way and needed a place to swing around, so they could head back to whatever mansion they stumbled out of.
But the car idled. Right in front of the shop. Unmoving.
The driver's door opened, revealing an older man in a pressed suit. The fabric was all clean, sharp lines—tailored perfectly for him. He even wore one of those chauffeur caps, the kind Bucky only saw in movies that Sam would force him to watch on his rare days off.
The whole get-up screamed wealth and status, as though money itself dripped off of him—none of which belonged anywhere near the likes of Bucky's shop. Yet, there he stood.
The man moved around the front of the car, adjusting his gloves and smoothing out wrinkles that weren't visible. After assessing his surroundings, he wrapped his fingers around the chrome door handle, keeping his chin high as he pulled it open.
A single pearlescent pink heel appeared first, the pointed toe hovering for a beat before carefully finding purchase on the oil‑stained pavement below. You were smart enough to avoid the puddles that could potentially ruin your expensive shoes.
You stepped out, rising to your full height. Sunlight glinted off your dark sunglasses, adding a shiny sheen to your hair. You straightened your designer coat and fixed the creases in your pale pink dress before giving your driver a practiced, polite smile.
Then, you sauntered forward, hips swaying as you adjusted the strap of your small handbag over your shoulder. Bucky could hear the loud click of your heels before you ever entered the shop.
"This oughta be good," Sam whispered behind his dark-haired friend.
As you entered, the bell above the door chimed, announcing your arrival. Bucky was hit with a gust of warm vanilla layered with grapefruit, which he could practically taste on his tongue.
You pushed your sunglasses up with two manicured fingers, resting them on your hair. Bright eyes darted around the room as you inspected it with your clear vision. You took it all in before you spoke. Walls filled with old metal signs. Counters lined with tools and little baubles.
You breathed in the air that smelled faintly of strong coffee and even stronger motor oil, but you didn't wrinkle your nose. You looked…prepared, trained not to visibly react.
Finally, your gaze drifted to the two men who were frozen in place, as if just noticing their existence.
"Hi, I'm here to pick up my car," your voice came, velvet confidence. You introduced yourself, muttering your last name so quickly, he would've missed it if he wasn't listening. He swore he had heard that name, but immediately brushed it off like it was inconsequential.
"My father brought it in for a routine check-up, and he received a call that it was ready," you clarified.
For a moment, no one moved. Bucky didn't even blink. And even though you explained why you were here, he still thought you took a wrong turn on the way to the mall.
Eventually, Sam snapped out of it, fingers finding the computer's keyboard. "Right. The Porsche?"
Of course. He should have known that your car was the most expensive thing to ever roll through here. And if the price of the car didn't give it a way, surely the color did. Pink. The first time he saw it, he wanted it out of the garage, almost called to have it sent to another mechanic because he couldn't stand to look at the damn thing.
"That's correct," you said sweetly, causing something in Bucky's gut to sour.
It must've shown on his face because you gave him a small, courteous wave. The kind of gesture people made when they were raised to address everyone in the room, even the ones they actually didn't want to make conversation with.
Your gaze flicked briefly to his metal arm. He no longer bothered to hide it like some kind of secret. In those first few years, still adjusting to the foreign weight, he’d kept it concealed under layers of clothing—even in the heat of summer. Most days, it was less a badge from his time in the Air Force and more an inconvenience at best.
But as the years rolled by, he cared less and less about what people thought. Customers would stare at him with pity, similar to the look you were giving him now. You offered him a tight-lipped smile, and he hated the feeling it carried.
Instantly rolling his eyes, he turned away; he clearly wasn't interested in your fake-friendly facade. He knew that look all too well, and he knew that under the practiced posture and fancy clothing, you wanted to get the hell out of this place. And he wasn't going to stop you.
Noticing the slight edge of tension, Sam tapped away at the keys as he kept his eyes on the screen, feigning professionalism. He cleared his throat. "Ahh, here it is…Porsche 918 Spyder. Yeah, it looks like all you needed was an oil change and a tire rotation."
"Did you happen to take a look at the weird sound it was making? It sounded…" You paused, pursing your lips, "mechanical."
Bucky let out a dry, humorless laugh, "It's a car. Everything is mechanical."
"Right," you giggled, light and airy, and it sounded like it belonged somewhere less cramped. More open, like a rose garden, to complement the warmth of it.
Was he really comparing your laugh to fucking flowers? Maybe that perfume of yours had gone to his head and messed up his brain chemistry.
"I mean, it sounded unusual," you added after your laughter had faded.
Bucky opened his mouth to respond with something snarky, but Sam cut in immediately. "After the tire rotation, the sound went away. But if you happen to hear it again, bring it in, and we'll assess it further."
He typed out something else, then clapped his hands together as he met your eyes. "Alright, if that's all, I can bring her around."
"Thank you. I appreciate your help, Mister…?"
"Sam will do just fine," he corrected, and you offered a sharp nod in return.
Then, he disappeared into the back, heading towards the garage, leaving you and Bucky alone.
You turned to him, your expression open and approachable, as if you didn't even notice his hostility towards you. "So, you work on cars, then?"
"No, I just stand 'ere and look pretty," he grumbled sarcastically.
"Well, you're doing a great job," you teased, obviously not perturbed by his glum behavior. "Don't let me stop you from your hard work."
The tips of his ears turned red, but he recovered quickly. "'m just glad to get that pink monstrousity outta the garage," he mumbled.
"You don't like it?"
"It's…loud."
"Well, isn't it supposed to be?"
He narrowed his gaze at you, impatience flickering over his expression. "I didn't mean the engine.
"Ohh," you said with a lilt of amusement in your tone. "The color."
"It's pink," he deadpanned.
"Good observation, Sherlock," you shot back, but it lacked the bite he was expecting. Your grin stayed plastered on your face, unflinching. "Maybe you should take up detective work when you're not…y'know…standing there looking pretty."
Bucky leaned against the counter, the cool acrylic biting his heated skin. He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as his eyes flicked over your appearance. "It doesn't take a detective to know that color is hideous."
You crossed your arms, but for the most part, you were keeping your cool. "Like I'm going to take fashion advice from someone who only sees the world in greys and blacks. And is appalled by the simple sight of color."
"I like color just fine."
"Really?" you questioned, arching a brow. "Let me guess, your closet is full of the same black shirt. But when winter rolls in, you'll throw on a flannel to spice it up."
Something shifted in his expression, irritation sharpening on his features. "You think you have it all figured out, huh?"
You leaned in, not backing down from the challenge in his words. "Don't you? You seemed to have made up your mind about me as soon as I walked in the door, without knowing a single thing about me."
"Oh, I know exactly who you are," he smirked, amused. "Bet you don't know what half the buttons in that car do. You just get behind that wheel because Daddy bought it. He even spiffed it up for you. Ain't that right, princess?"
The words hit hard, and it showed on your face. Your expression changed in an instant. Before he could even blink, your smile twisted into a grimace, as if you’d just tasted something bitter.
This time, you didn't brush off his words. Instead, you took a step closer, not backing down. "Here's the thing, I don't expect you to like my car, or the color, or even me." Your voice never wavered, bold and composed. "But don't mistake my kindness for ignorance."
And with that, you made your rushed exit—the echo of your heels lingering long after you disappeared from view.
A moment later, your car zoomed past in a pink blur, merging onto the busy streets of Brooklyn. He wished the image of the hurt etched on your face would have faded, along with the smoke from your exhaust dissipating. But it stayed, lodged between his ribs like a thorn in his side.
Sam stepped into the room a minute too soon, and Bucky could already hear the criticism forming on his tongue. "What the fuck was that? What the hell did you say to her?"
"Nothin'."
"Bullshit. She hopped into that car like she was fatally wounded and needed emergency assistance."
"Don't be dramatic."
"I'm not." Sam shook his head, eyes to the ceiling as if he was praying for strength. "Do you know who her father is?"
"No."
"You don't want to. At least not personally. He's…intense," Sam sucked air through his teeth, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ever heard of Apex Motors?"
Bucky promptly nodded; he was very familiar with the brand. Apex Motors was everywhere. Their parts were the gold standard. Their engines were the kind mechanics whispered about—if you hadn't seen them, you wouldn't believe they truly existed. Their logo showed up at every car show, every charity race, every community event that was always over-advertised.
"Of course, I know Apex. Who doesn't?" Bucky scoffed.
"Yeah, well, her father owns it, dumbass," Sam barked. "He doesn't just own it. He is Apex Motors. The founder. He's the one who elects to sponsor all those races we're lucky enough to attend. The one whose logo is clearly plastered on all the major drivers' cars and even bigger on the fucking banners outside those events."
Bucky's stomach dropped. "Fuck."
"Yeah, fuck is right." Sam dragged a hand down his face. "That man has enough influence in Brooklyn—hell, New York—that he could get us shut down. And forget about getting a job after that. Our names would be on everyone's blacklist."
"I didn't know."
"That's the problem, Bucky. You just don't know when to stop, do you? Not everything needs your input," Sam griped, then his voice softened. "Just pray she doesn't tell her dad, before you apologize."
Bucky's eyebrows knitted together in protest, but Sam raised a hand to stop him. "It's not up for discussion. Act like the adult you are, and apologize to the poor girl."
Poor girl.
Bucky couldn't help but notice the irony in his words; her purse likely cost more than his monthly house payments. However, he decided that it probably wasn’t the best time to laugh at the joke he had thought of, let alone say it out loud.
He spent the rest of the day mulling over his stupid mistake, and the constant side-eye from his friend didn't help.
The ballroom was grand, but at the same time, it was too congested. The weight of everyone’s piercing stares made it hard to breathe. You felt less like yourself and more like an accessory on your dad’s arm at these pointless, flashy events.
The marble floors seemed to glitter under the tasteful chandeliers above. Everything accented with gold looked like embers from a fire in this light. The Champagne flutes were polished to perfection, sparkling on the silver platters that waiters carried with ramrod-straight spines. Banners were strewn around the room, reading 30 years of Apex Motors.
You should be used to this scene by now. Used to the less-than-heartfelt speeches, the handshakes, the forced smiles, the way you tilted your chin just right to make it look like you were interested when you were anything but.
Tonight, that cracked mask felt heavier, and it was slipping.
You weren't sure if it was the series of fake grins and unwanted conversations, but it was overwhelming.
Your father must be so proud.
You look so much like him in this lighting.
Are you thinking about following in his footsteps and running Apex someday?
One too-polite statement after the next, and the pain of it began to ebb at you. The sting burrowed beneath your thick skin like an incessant sliver that refused to go unnoticed.
Or maybe tonight was different because of the feeling of being profiled. Again. You really should be used to that, too. But it never got easier. Living in your dad's shadow meant you were constantly being measured against him.
To your face, they might say that you'll fill his shoes perfectly. But behind your back, they whispered that you'll never be him. You'll never be as smart as him. You'll never amount to his achievements.
Because a girl in a pink skirt could never command a whole room.
Truthfully, it always rolled right off your shoulders. You didn't want to be your father anyway, so those words never struck you.
But now, those words tangled with a deeper voice.
It had been a week. A full week since you visited the auto shop, yet his words were just as loud in your head as the day he said them to your face, without guilt.
Bet you don't know what half the buttons in that car do.
Princess.
The words punctured deep, but what hurt worse was his expression. The certainty in his eyes, the way he looked at you like he’d already solved you. Like you were a simple equation he’d seen a thousand times before.
The thought of your walls—the ones you had so expertly built—crumbling under his penetrating gaze was baffling. How could a stranger know you?
You told yourself he didn't. That you weren't like half the people drifting through this ballroom. You were different. You had to be. Even if it was a thinly veiled lie, you were adamant in believing it.
Click, click, click.
Three snaps of a camera sliced through your train of thought. You glanced up, focusing on the photographer and the scene he was capturing. Your father was chuckling at something one of his business friends said, booming laughter traveling across all corners of the building. It made your jaw twitch; you hadn't heard him laugh like that in years. At least not when you were around.
He spotted you, laughter dying on his tongue as quickly as it bloomed. He muttered something to the man beside him that you couldn't make out, then he excused himself.
He crossed the room like royalty—small groups parted, and guests dipped their chins in acknowledgment. When he made it to you, he paused like he didn't know what to do. He eventually settled for an awkward side hug, the kind that felt void of affection. Hollow. Forced.
When he pulled back, he scanned you as if he hadn't seen you in a while. And frankly, he hadn't. The last time he saw you was when he picked up your car for its routine check-up.
Your regular mechanic had closed up shop and moved across the state, so you asked for recommendations on a new auto shop. He said he'd handle it.
His assistant handled it.
"You came," your father trilled.
"Wouldn't miss it," you said too hastily; it sounded like a lie. It was.
His eyes narrowed, searching for the deception in your words. He always noticed the cracks in your mask before anyone else did, but he didn't comment on it. Too many investors to please and cameras to smile at to break the facade that this was a happy pair—a dad and his daughter simply catching up.
Instead of voicing the slip in your guise aloud, he adjusted the sheer pink shawl over your shoulder. It could've been viewed as a tender gesture to any onlookers, but you knew it was a silent correction to fix your mask.
"Good. I wanted you here for the big speech," he started casually. "I was hoping you could take some notes on what points you'll need to touch on when you're up there."
You opened your mouth to object, but he was waving someone over a second later. "John," he called. "Come here a minute. I'd like you to meet my daughter."
A dirty-blonde, tall man broke away from a nearby conversation. It clearly wasn't as important as your father's needs because he was eagerly striding towards the two of you. He was refined—crisp suit and a nice smile, revealing his pearly white teeth. Exactly the type of man your father wanted for you.
Great.
John gave your father a firm handshake, exchanging pleasantries, then turned to you. You offered your hand, and he took it with a gentle touch as if you were fragile and couldn't risk breaking you. Leaning down, his lips brushed your knuckles. Something in you recoiled at the contact, but you kept your composure.
"I've heard so much about you," he said by way of greeting.
The grin you gave him didn't quite reach your eyes, but he didn't notice. Guys like him didn't notice much. He was too busy gliding his thumb over the back of your hand, like he was trying to convey something unspoken. You reclaimed your hand, gingerly prying it from his grasp.
Noticing the tension in your posture, your father interjected, “This is one of the drivers competing in the NASCAR Cup Series.”
Apex Motors had been sponsoring one of the NASCAR Cup races consistently for the past ten years. You started memorizing the competitors by name around the fourth year you attended. But you were out of touch with the more recent drivers.
This year, Pocono Raceway was hosting. Your father had invited you a month in advance; you still hadn't gotten back to him about whether you'd be joining him.
John nodded, adding, “Yeah, your father hooked all the drivers up with head-to-toe Apex gear and spruced up our rides.”
You forced down the bile rising in your throat. "That’s him all right. He's always been the generous type."
But you knew it wasn't generosity that drove him. It was selfish. Strategic. Anything for the good of the company. More advertisements meant more customers, which always led to more people talking about him. If it didn't benefit him or his company, it wasn't worth his time and energy.
"Maybe you could swing by and watch him drive sometime. You know, to get a feel for the kind of things Apex invests in," your father suggested. He reached toward John, gripping his shoulder tenderly—the son he always wanted. "He's very talented on the track."
"You honor me, sir," John murmured coyly, though the confident smirk on his face betrayed exactly how highly he thought of himself.
The corner of your mouth twitched, but you kept that same easy smile on your face. You leaned towards your father, lowering your voice. "Can I speak with you in private?"
Your gaze flicked to John, who instantly took a step back with a quick nod. "Of course."
You led your father a few steps aside, far enough that no one could overhear, but not so far as to draw attention. Your tone stayed light and casual, the kind you’d practiced and perfected, ensuring nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
"We talked about this," you said softly. "I don't want anything to do with Apex. At least not right now."
Something shifted in his expression, anger carving out the edges of his features. "Then, what are you going to do with your life?"
"I don't know," you muttered brokenly.
"Well, that's not an option."
You inhaled slowly through your nose, keeping your cool. "I'm just not ready to figure it out quite yet."
"You said that after your mother died," he replied, tone clipped. "I'm going to need a different excuse this time."
He rarely brought up your mother these days, so the words landed like a punch to the gut. It wasn't like he didn't include her in your conversations because her death still stung. No. Instead, it seemed like he didn't talk about her because it was better to ignore that she existed altogether.
"No daughter of mine is going to be unemployed the rest of her life," he added, voice rising. "The world doesn't wait for you just because you ask it to. At some point, you're going to have to catch up, and I can't stand here and hold your hand forever."
You didn't recall a time when he ever held your hand.
"I've given you ample time to screw around and grieve," he continued bitterly. "But you need to grow up and reevaluate your life."
You flinched, the words hitting like venom rather than offering sympathy to a daughter who was still mourning. Your breathing stuttered, and you tried to push down the tears welling in your vision.
He sighed, his voice going soft. "We can talk about this later."
Or never would be the better option, you thought.
"Go have fun. Mingle." Then, he hauled you into another uncomfortable hug, kissing the crown of your head.
This time, when he pulled away, he didn't look at you. He didn't notice the tension in your shoulders or the way your fingers curled into your palm, your nails leaving tiny crescent-moon shapes in your flesh.
He simply turned and walked back towards the guests, only to be instantly swallowed by the crowd.
You stood there, feet firmly planted on the ground. Frozen in time, while everything around you seemed to speed up. Maybe your father was right; you couldn't just will the world to slow down.
But there was also no reason for you to stick around here.
You slipped into the crowd, brushing elbows with investors and bumping shoulders with drivers who were probably begging for a sliver of your father's time. None of which made room for you to get through. A photographer said your name as you passed, but you ignored them and kept moving toward your exit.
When you finally made it to the front, you pushed open the door. You didn't even wait for the gentleman stationed there to hold it for you.
The city was calling for you to do something reckless, and that, you couldn't ignore.
The blaring music and strobbing lights inside the bar were enough to give someone a severe migraine or a trip to the emergency room. Thankfully, the former was what Bucky was dealing with as he stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk. The noisy contents of the bar spilled out of the door as soon as he opened it, and somehow it sounded exactly the same beyond the walls. He swore it even sounded louder, if that was possible.
He patted his pockets to make sure he hadn't forgotten his wallet in his rushed exit. Once he found the familiar square outline tucked safely in his leather jacket, he reached for his keys and started toward his truck.
He made it about four long strides before he stopped dead in his tracks. Loud, off-key singing. With the combination of drunken shouting and the thumping bass echoing behind him, he hadn't noticed the noise until he was face-to-face with the image of a very hammered girl.
Streetlights flickered above the woman as she threw her head back, belting out the lyrics to a song Bucky recognized. Yet, the way she was singing, made it feel as if he were hearing it for the first time. Her voice cracked on a high note, and it caused him to wince in response.
"Only the young can saaaaay," she screeched, tripping over her own heels.
His lips twitched upward before he could stop it. She was wasted, no doubt about it, but there was something…blissful about her. Completely carefree. Untouched by the world around her. Chaos incarnate.
She twirled, the night air getting caught beneath her silk dress and lifting at the hem slightly. Her legs twisted, her arms flinging out awkwardly, like a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest prematurely.
"They're free to fly away," she bellowed, a melody only she could hear.
Then, she teetered dangerously close to the curb, her heels wobbling. Snapping out of his trance, he stretched out his arms, lunging to her aid. He caught her right before she landed face-first into the asphalt.
"Careful," he rasped, firmly holding her arms as he guided her back to safety.
Her back hit his chest, and she giggled as if it were the funniest thing in the world. Craning her neck back, her head rested on his shoulder, leaning into his warmth. Soft hair brushed over his cheek as she shifted in his hold.
Too late, it hit him. He recognized that laugh. How could he not?
He gently turned her as she used him for balance. And his worst nightmare materialized in front of him.
You.
His smile instantly dropped.
"Of course," he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.
You were still struggling to focus, your eyes locked on the letters of his shirt. Blinking, your gaze flicked up as your laughter faded into the wind. You tilted your head, squinting your eyes as you attempted to steady your vision.
"Hey, I know youuuu," you squealed, like he was a long-lost friend you hadn't seen in years, though it had only been a week. "I don't think I caught your name, pretty boy."
"'s Bucky," he sighed, already annoyed. "And don't call me that."
"You're the one who said you get paid to look pretty," you slurred, raising a manicured finger to poke his nose.
You broke away from his grasp, raising your arms to the sky while you stumbled backward. "You're just in time," you cheered, your voice carrying a block down the street. The thin shawl draped over your shoulders slipped during your celebration. Bucky scooped it up as he steadied you again, his metal fingers gliding across your warm skin.
"Stay still. You're gonna break your ankles and fall flat on your ass."
"Are you thinking about my ass, Bucky?" you teased, ending your question with a wink. "Is that part of your very serious itinerary? Does it usually fall in the afternoon, somewhere between your third cup of coffee and your ritual complaint about the sun being too bright?"
"I am not— I don't—" he stammered, pink creeping up his neck and blooming across his cheeks.
"Aw, you're all flustered," you cooed, sweeping a knuckle across the flush.
There was a gentleness to your touch and a sparkle in your eyes, as if you were just discovering the beauty of this world, and nothing could dim your joy. It made his expression soften faintly, and something in his chest twisted unbidden. He hated it. He hated that it took you so little to make his entire demeanor shift.
He grabbed your wrist, carefully dragging it away from his face. "Quit."
"Sorry, mister grumpy pants," you said, scrunching your nose.
"Anywayyyy," you sing-songed. "Aren't you going to ask me what you're in time for?"
"My own demise, hopefully," he whispered.
"What?"
"Nothin'. What am I just in time for, princess?"
"The," you paused, drumming two fingers on his chest. "Concert. It'll be the performance of a lifetime."
Bucky snorted, "Yeah, I caught the tail end of Journey before I saved your a—" He was not about to make the mistake of talking about your ass again. He restarted, "Before I saved you…The performance itself needs some work. You were a bit pitchy."
Feigning offense, you lightly smacked his chest, a frown finding a way onto your lips. "Asshole. If you're done mocking me, do you have a song request?"
He gazed up at the twinkling stars above thoughtfully. "How 'bout 'go home, you're drunk?'"
"Huh? I don't know that one."
His fingers lifted to his forehead, massaging in slow circles on either side of his temples. "No, 'm tellin' ya to go home."
You blinked up at him, swaying slightly. "Ohhh," you drawled, his true meaning finally clicking through the haze in your skull. "You meant that literally. How boring. The concert just started."
"This isn't a concert," he said bluntly.
"I'll have you know, this is a sold-out show. Very exclusive." You crossed your arms with a very serious expression, lifting your chin. It was…adorable. "You're lucky I haven't kicked your ass to the curb."
He leveled his gaze at you, a smirk lifting his lips. "We're literally standing on the curb."
You glanced down, as if this was your first time noticing. "And? Haven't you heard? Curbs are all the rage now. Very underrated venue. The acoustics are top tier."
A laugh slipped between Bucky's lips before he could catch it. It was a real, genuine one, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and softened the hard lines of his face.
Momentarily surprised by the sudden sound, you dropped your theatrics. You stared at him, unblinking.
"What was that?" you asked.
He forced the grin off his mouth, biting the inside of his cheek. "I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do," you insisted cheekily. "You laughed. You actually laughed."
"That's not what happened."
"I just made Bucky laugh," you screamed from the top of your lungs, like you just won the lottery.
His eyes widened in panic. "Shh…" He slapped his flesh hand over your mouth, scanning his surroundings. "Are you crazy? You're gonna wake up the whole city."
You mumbled something against his palm, vibrating his hand. The expression on your face could only be described as smug, mischief glittering in your eyes.
His eyes narrowed, pointing a single finger at you. "If you bite me, I swear—"
Peeling his hand away, you furrowed your brow. "I'm not a biter," you promised. He lowered his hand once he realized it was safe to do so.
"…Not unless you want me to be," you added flirtatiously.
Bucky shook his head in disbelief. "What am I gonna do with you, princess?"
Your smile softened into something warm and inviting, and he didn't mind the feeling that stirred in his chest. Maybe he really did misjudge you that day in the shop; you were nothing as he imagined.
You shivered, an imperceptible shimmy of your shoulders, but he noticed.
"Cold?" he asked, concern laced in his tone.
"A little," you replied, wrapping your shawl tighter around you. It did less than nothing to warm you, goosebumps spreading across your skin regardless of how well it covered you.
"Here." He slipped his wallet into his back pocket and slid out of his leather jacket. He gave you a look, silently asking for permission to touch. It felt appropriate, even though he touched you only moments ago.
You offered him a subtle nod, and he stepped closer, draping the jacket over your shoulders. His touch was light as he adjusted it over your arms, sliding his hands up the zipper. As he tweaked the collar around your neck, his fingers brushed over your bare skin. You shuddered again, but this time, he knew it wasn't from the chill in the air.
Locking eyes with you, he noticed your pupils dilate. He tried to rationalize it, thinking you might be drunk, or it was darker on this part of the sidewalk.
But rationalizing it didn't change the fact that the air around him felt thicker, and he could taste electricity on the tip of his tongue, as if he had just licked a nine-volt battery. An energy seemed to be swirling around the pair of you, drawing him in.
Bucky's fingerpads grazed over your pulse point, testing. He could feel the rapid thrum of your heart beneath his touch, and it made his breath catch. Because that right there was confirmation that he wasn't the only one feeling this.
Pulling away abruptly, he put some much-needed distance between you. You were still wasted, and he…obviously wasn't thinking clearly.
He cleared his throat after a beat.
"Listen, you're gonna forget all this 'n the mornin'," he began, rubbing the back of his neck. You gazed up at him, beaming, your eyes were a little squinty, and you were still very drunk. Oh, you definitely weren't going to remember this. "I wanted to apologize…for before."
Waving him off, you shook your head. "All is forgiven."
"But," he objected. "I was a complete dick to you."
"Yeah, you were," you admitted. "But I've dealt with worse."
Bucky pulled his eyebrows together, something washing over his face—guilt, or maybe irritation. "That doesn't make it okay."
You shrugged, indifferent. "I didn't say it did."
"I shouldn't've said what I did. I didn't know anythin' 'bout you."
"No," you agreed. "You thought I was some spoiled brat who had exactly two functioning brain cells." You giggled, mostly to yourself. "Which might be true as of right now." hiccup. "But I also made assumptions about you." You pointed a wobbly finger at him.
"Oh yeah?" he questioned, intrigued. "What were your assumptions, princess?"
"Grumpy."
"Fair."
"You hate fun."
"Hey, now—" he started, but you interrupted before he could say more.
"And you were only an asshole to me because you thought I'd bite first," you whispered, almost like you were afraid of calling him out. "If you bite first, you're less likely to get hurt, right?"
Bucky gulped, a little taken aback by your boldness. Racking his brain, he wondered how you obtained that information. He hadn't ever told anyone that. Not even Sam. Was he just that easy to read?
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then tilted his head, not in annoyance but interest.
"I do that, too," you confessed. "Or, at least, I used to. I've gotten better about keeping my cool."
He didn't respond; he didn't know how to. Instead, he just looked at you—really looked—like he needed a second to take in this version of you he hadn’t expected.
"Well, 'm sorry," he repeated because he felt it was necessary.
"It's okay."
"Y'know," he choked on a half-laugh. "I didn't even know who your dad was until Sam said somethin'."
You sobered at that immediately. "Oh."
"He's intense, huh?" he asked, wiggling his hands into his front pockets casually.
"Um…yeah, you could say that," you mumbled, your expression suddenly blank. Your whole disposition had changed in an instant. "Is that why you apologized?"
His eyebrows twitched, confused. "No," he blurted out too quickly.
"It's okay if you did," you assured, but he could hear the tension in your voice.
"No," he restated, firmer this time. "'m genuinely sorry."
You studied him, looking for the lie you swore was hidden somewhere. "Let me guess, Sam said something like 'my father could shut down your shop.'"
Bucky's eyes widened slightly, the color draining from his face. The silence that followed was only confirmation.
You let out a bitter laugh, forcing a smile that didn't quite fit your face. "Right. Well…don't worry. Your shop isn't in jeopardy."
The hurt engraved on your face made his heart squeeze painfully beneath his rib cage because he hadn't meant to hurt you. And he truly didn't know how to fix it. Any response that came to mind didn't seem quite right. So, he just stood there, awkward and foolish.
"You were right," your voice cracked on those three simple words. "I should go home. It's getting late."
You reached for the collar of his jacket, attempting to shrug it off, but he stopped you. "No, keep it. You're cold."
"Thanks," you said stiffly.
The quiet that settled after was agonizing. He stared at you, and you stared right back. Bucky felt exactly how you looked—numb. And for some reason, this felt final.
Two chances. That's what he was so graciously given with you, and he squandered both of them.
You eventually turned on your heels and strode away without another word. You got as far as the crosswalk before he realized where you were headed. Your car.
"You're not thinkin' of drivin', are ya?" he called out, worry evident in his words.
Glancing over your shoulder, your expression was even more pained than before. "I would never," you scoffed, then you restarted, softer. "…I'm calling my driver."
Nodding in understanding, he gave you a tight-lipped grin.
When you reached your pink monstrousity, as he once not-so-lovingly called it, you yanked the door open and vanished behind it as it slammed shut.
And he was sure that was the last time he'd see you.
It wasn't.
Bucky saw you everywhere. Not you physically, but your presence was always there. The color pink. You. Anytime he smelled vanilla. You. A laugh on the wind while he was driving. You. Even the flowers near the checkout at the grocery store. You.
You were a ghost, haunting his every move.
A couple of days after the sidewalk incident, you sent your driver to return his leather jacket, dry-cleaned. It was still in the plastic covering, and the ticket dangled off the neck of the hanger. And even though it had been cleaned to perfection, he could still smell the faint trace of vanilla and grapefruit, as if you were now woven into the fabric.
He wasn't even embarrassed by how many times he pressed the material to his nose, breathing in your scent.
He didn't know how to shake you. He tried throwing himself into work, operating on the vehicles in the shop well into the night—elbow-deep in engines. He worked until his hand ached. Until the only thing on his mind was the soreness in his muscles.
That is, until Sam threatened to leave and lock the door behind him.
It was affecting his work. The way he interacted with customers was unusual; he was short, barely listening to a single word of their monologue of problems with their car. They rattled on about noises their vehicle wasn't meant to make—clunking, or sputtering, maybe both. He nodded at the right times, professional on the surface, but his mind was constantly far off.
It got so bad that on one tow job, he installed the tow hook on the front bumper the wrong way and nearly tore the whole thing off. The one task he used to nail with practiced skill, he botched completely.
The shop lost money that day. Sam gave him shit for it.
Maybe he wasn't the best at human interaction, or he didn't fully comprehend their minds—too difficult a puzzle to put together. But he knew cars. Cars were simple, predictable. He could do a full diagnostic of any vehicle just by hearing the engine purr. He understood them as if they were a second language, and he was an expert in communicating exactly what was being said.
And that was precisely why he royally messed up with you.
You weren’t a problem to diagnose or an engine to operate on. You weren’t some equation he could solve if he just stared at it long enough. But he kept treating you like one. Kept trying to force you into a mold—a predictable one. One he could understand.
And he couldn't get that through his thick skull.
So, no matter how loud the voice in his head got—the one telling him to just call and fix whatever he broke, he didn't give in. Not when he'd pull up a customer's information on the shop's computer, and your name would appear in the system, tucked neatly beneath your father's. Those ten digits sat there, blinking at him like a glaring reminder. Or…temptation.
But he gave you your space. Distancing himself was the best option for both of you…right?
Yet, it was as if the universe kept teasing him with you, like an owner waving a treat in front of a hungry pet. And a man can only be so strong.
It was late that night, legs stretched out on the couch with the blanket half-covering him. He didn't even know why his thumb was hovering over the app, but he found himself pressing it. He barely even used the damn thing, but Sam insisted it would be good for business. It wasn't. He never actually posted anything, except for a single picture of a car mid-repair, and another of Alpine perched by the window, with the sun warming her fur.
He had accidentally clicked the discover page—the little magnifying glass at the bottom of his screen. Twelve posts came into view, blinding him. Blinking, he adjusted to the brightness. He eventually started swiping through the posts. One after the other, depicting images and videos of cars and engines, all curated specifically for him.
Then.
You.
He sat up straight.
How you appeared on his Instagram, he had no clue. Before he could think better of it, he was tapping on the image. You were smiling, green straw between your teeth, and your eyes full of amusement. The arms of a pink sweater were tied around your neck, sunglasses resting on your head as you posed for your photo op.
He couldn't help himself; he pressed on your username. Pretty.in.pink. It suited you.
And, damn, did you have followers. 597.2k hovered between the number of posts you had and who you were following.
Scrolling through your feed, he glanced over your photos. Some showed you flaunting an outfit, pink checkered skirts, and white heels. You were adjusting the strap around your ankle in one. In the next image, you were holding a bouquet of daisies, pressed tightly to your chest, as you gazed up at the sky.
And he definitely didn't zoom in on your cleavage, hidden amongst the petals of the flowers.
You captured images of New York: skyscrapers, billboards, and the Brooklyn Bridge with the sunset as the backdrop. He noted some of the cafes and restaurants you visited, and the reviews that came with them. You had a very clear aesthetic that carried through your posts.
He kept scrolling. A mirror selfie. Pink makeup products on a white marble table. Mid-step off a sidewalk.
He felt like a stalker, looking at you like this. Like he was seeing something personal he wasn't supposed to. But he had convinced himself that this was for public viewing, and it wasn't like he was doing anything nefarious.
Well, that is, until he scrolled too far and saw your series of summer shots.
Sure, some were innocent, harmless. A cute one-piece swimsuit, hugging your curves. You had your hands on your hips, giggling. Or another with your legs dangling off the pier, bare feet kissing the surface of the water.
But most were tastefully suggestive. A floral bikini, barely covering your tits. You were toying with the strings of your bottoms, as if silently conveying that if you tugged just right, you'd be half-naked.
He wished he had stopped there. Because the next one he landed on filled his mind with every impure thought. "Fuck," he whispered under his breath.
You were on your stomach, legs folded behind you, crossing at the ankle with your feet in the air. His gaze dragged down the slope of your back to the curve of your plump ass.
He let out a low growl, his hand already finding the growing erection, pushing against his shorts. A feeling of depravity entered his body, even as he kept stroking himself through the fabric.
Scanning over your body, he noted the sparkle in your eyes as you looked over your shoulder playfully. The soft tilt of your lips. Your silky skin, and how it would feel beneath his fingers. The glimpse of your side boob, spilling out of the cup of the bikini top.
He stroked faster, biting his lip as the pressure built.
He told himself to stop. That this was wrong.
He didn't.
"You see what you do to me, princess," he groaned at the picture. "Y'know what you were doin' when you posted this, huh? Such a 'lil tease, aren't ya?"
Mind drifting, he imagined those same eyes looking up at him, a pout on your lips as he tapped the head of his cock on them. And the way those lips would feel wrapped around—
Hips jerking upward, he let out another low, broken curse. He was close. He could feel it in the way the vein on his neck stuck out, and his thighs tensed. Pressing the palm of his hand harder against his bulge, his breath stuttered.
He realized too late the predicament he was in. There he was, sprawled out on the couch, one hand curled around his phone, the other rubbing his dick through his pants. He came, his release blooming in his boxers and darkening the front of his shorts as your name fell from his lips.
Immediately after, he hissed, his eyes blown wide. Because he just came in his pants. Like a horny fucking teenager. Guilt and disgust flooded his body. He dropped his phone, as if it had burned him, sprinting to the bathroom.
He passed Alpine on his way there, and he swore she looked disappointed as she sat in the middle of the hallway, licking her paw. "Don't you dare," he scolded, but he knew he deserved it.
He banned himself from ever going on that stupid app. Because that couldn't happen. Not again.
After that, things settled. He still thought about you, of course, but he didn't have any more incidents. And the urge to call you faded.
It wasn't until he saw your face in the local newspaper that he almost broke that unspoken rule he had created, and finally called you.
It was dawn, and the sun had barely risen, just peeking over the horizon. The sky was a vibrant orange, and the clouds had a wispy quality that reminded him of the cotton candy he got as a kid on trips to Coney Island.
He was on his second cup of coffee as he reached for the newspaper that was thrown on the counter. Flicking out the paper with one hand, he attempted to right it as he raised his ceramic mug to his lips. The steaming dark liquid hit the tip of his tongue just as he saw you.
Setting down his cup with a sharp click, his eyes fixed on the image just above the article. It was a feature titled, "Upcoming Race in the NASCAR Cup Series: Apex Motors 500."
Your father was clearly the main focus, but that hardly mattered to Bucky. You were positioned behind him, and even slightly blurred, he could see those bright eyes of yours clear as day.
The photo seemed to be taken at some gala—a place he wouldn't be caught dead at. Too fancy and polished for his taste. He doesn't even recall the last time he wore a suit, let alone why he would've worn one.
Flipping the page, he was met with three more photos. Mostly with your father and his team. But there you were again. Another gala shot, but this one you were standing beside a tall man who was leaning in to kiss your hand. The caption read: John Walker, Two-time Lucas Oil Late Model Dirt Series Winner and NASCAR Cup Series Competitor, Seen Getting Cozy With a Potential Girlfriend?
The coffee settling in Bucky's stomach curdled.
John honestly looked perfect for you. Someone you could bring home to Daddy, and he'd have all the correct answers and say all the right things. Someone who fit flawlessly into the world you came from. And, of course, it helped that he was a NASCAR competitor, and in a race your father sponsored.
The smile you gave John wasn't genuine, though. He'd seen a real smile from you; it lit up your entire face. This one looked forced and uncomfortable.
"Buck?"
He jerked his head up, meeting Sam's narrowed gaze, the kind that said he'd called for Bucky more than once. Sam rounded the counter, peering over Bucky's shoulder to see what had so easily captured his attention.
"Man," Sam sighed. "You gotta talk to her."
After one too many of Sam’s knowing looks, the whole story spilled out. Everything that had happened between you and him. Sam had truly listened that day, without judgment or offering any unsolicited advice.
And if Bucky didn't want to talk about it, Sam changed the subject. But now Sam was fed up with it.
"'s…complicated," Bucky replied.
"From where I'm standing, it's pretty clean cut."
"Look at her," he pointed to your picture in the paper. "We come from opposite ends of the world."
"Do you really think she's so superficial that she wouldn't give you the time of day just because you have a different status?"
Bucky's face dropped. "That's not what I meant."
"No?" Sam shot back. "Then stop treating her like that. Stop assuming things you know nothing about." He didn't even wait for a response, just vanished into the garage and got to work.
A few days passed.
Bucky threw himself back into work, a wrench firmly in his fist as he tightened a bolt on an engine. Sam burst into the garage with a wild look in his eyes, panic written all over his face.
Somehow, Bucky already knew without hearing a word. Dropping the wrench, he wiped his hands on the nearest rag. Then, sprang to his feet, snatching his keys off the hook.
“Where is she?” he demanded, already moving.
The difference between the pouring rain and the tears blurring in your vision was indistinguishable. The tears were coming down your cheeks, hot and quick, before you could stop them. It didn't matter how many times you blinked or wiped the wet from your cheeks; they kept coming.
Why did this have to happen? Why today of all days?
The accident happened before you could prevent it. You swore that the family of raccoons came out of nowhere. One minute you were driving, the next you were slamming on your brakes as you yanked your wheel in the opposite direction. Your heart leaped to your throat, gripping the wheel so hard your knuckles had gone white. Swerving on a slick road like that one was always going to be a losing battle. With the combination of braking and swerving too hastily, your wheels locked, and you lost control. That was why the front of your car was curved around a telephone pole.
Now, you sat there with your hands trembling on the steering wheel as the rain pelted your windshield. Your breath was coming out heavy and uneven, fogging up the glass.
You weren't hurt, not really anyway. Your nose hit the top of the wheel from the impact, leaving a warm trickle of blood pooling above your lip. Your ribs ached from the brief constriction of your seatbelt across your chest—a whispering promise of bruising come morning. But you were fine.
After it happened, your hand was already curled around your phone, before you could properly register what you were doing. Anxious fingers flew across your keyboard, typing in the first person that came to mind. Your eyes were locked on ten digits, Barnes' Towing & Auto Repair hovering directly above them.
It wasn't the first time you had been in this predicament. You always talked yourself out of it before. Because you were embarrassed by the display you showed Bucky after he brought up your father. Because you couldn't muster the courage to talk to him.
But this time, as you stared at the phone number, you realized you really didn't know who else to call.
Luckily, Sam picked up the phone instead, so you still had ample time to think about what you were going to say to Bucky. Yet, your mind felt blank.
Weeks had passed, and you didn't even know if that spark you'd felt that night under the stars with too much liquor in your system was still there. Or if it even existed in the first place. You were so drunk that you could've imagined it. Did the laugh that echoed in your dreams ever even happen, or was that something you hallucinated as well? All a trick of the light.
Headlights flared in your rear-view mirror, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. You squinted against the brightness until the beams dimmed. The truck eased forward, turning around before backing up toward you until there were only inches between your bumpers.
You rubbed the blood from your nose, and you swiped the tears from under your eyes. Adjusting your sweater and running a hand over your hair, you tried to look as presentable as possible.
The driver's side opened, and out stepped Bucky. All six feet of him strode towards your car, white tank top getting soaked as he got closer. You could see the definition in his abs through the thin material, and the flex of his muscles as he…knocked on the glass.
Shit. You'd been gawking as he waited for you to roll down your window.
You were so fucked.
Bucky rapped on the glass one more time as you stared up at him, blinking. Your shimmering eyes eventually met his, lashes fluttering. Fuck, he missed seeing those in person. Your fingers reached for the switch, lowering the window with a mechanical hum. The steady rush of rain began to enter your car, raindrops dotting the interior of the door.
You almost appeared frazzled now that the glass wasn't interrupting his vision. Were you still in shock?
Bucky propped his elbow on the roof, leaning into the opening. "Hey," he greeted. "You still with me, princess?"
"Y-yeah," you stammered.
Now he could see the streaks of dried tears across your cheeks and the smear of crimson right below your nose. His chest clenched, and his skin suddenly felt too tight around his rib cage.
He cleared his throat. "Sam said you assured him you didn't need medical attention…you gonna fight me on that, too?"
"I'm really okay. Just a minor nosebleed. Nothing serious." You offered him a stiff smile that didn't reach your eyes.
He didn't know how to push down the worry stirring in his chest, so he responded with humor instead. "We gotta stop meetin' like this."
"Like what?"
"You're drunk," he teased.
Straightening your spine, you knitted your brows together in offense. "I'm not."
"Just a joke. Bad joke," he admitted, grabbing the back of his neck. "How'd you get in this mess anyway?"
"It's raining," you said, shrugging, as if that alone was an answer.
"I see that, Sherlock," he deadpanned. "But I got 'ere just fine."
"There was a little family of raccoons. Just a momma and her babies crossing the street, and I didn't see them right away. And…well…this happened."
"Adorable." The word slipped before he could stop it. He stared at you, eyes wide, hoping you didn't hear him.
"What?"
"I bet the raccoons were adorable," he offered, too quickly. "And I bet they're thankin' you for sparin' their lives."
Nodding, you sighed. "I just wish I hadn't sacrificed my pink monstrosity in the process."
He softened at the nickname he gave your car. "Uh…before I pull ya out," Bucky started, tapping on the roof of your car. "I'd like to apologize…again. It was never my intention to hurt you, and 'm sorry it came across that way. Your father had nothin' to do with the apology."
You stilled, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. Then, you still didn't move, and the two of you continued to face off in a little staring contest.
But he was getting anxious waiting for a reply, so he kept going. "Listen, I could wait out in the rain all day, beggin' for forgiveness. 'm not afraid to drop to my knees 'n the mud f' you. In fact—"
Doing just as he said, he lowered himself, dropping to his knees. His knees sank into the mud, no doubt darkening his jeans with the sludge. The droplets were streaming onto his face now, hair getting soaked in the process. But he didn't care.
"'m not goin' anywhere 'til you know I mean it," he promised. "'m deeply sorry."
You peeked out of the open window, watching him with your eyes blown wide. "Are you crazy?"
"A 'lil."
"Get up before you ruin your jeans," you order, slightly flustered.
He could ruin a lot more than his jeans on his knees for you. But this was not the time, nor the place.
Realizing he looked like an idiot, he rose with an awful sucking sound as he attempted to free his knees from the mud.
"You did nothing wrong, so there's nothing to forgive," you admitted, gazing up at him as he leaned against your vehicle. "I have some issues to work through, and that's not your problem."
"It could be."
He hadn't even realized he said it out loud, but there the words hung in the air between you like a confession. Lips separating, you released a soft breath, but you appeared too stunned to say anything.
Promptly moving on, he asked, "Did you call anyone to pick you up?"
"Just you."
Bucky hummed. "I know you don't wanna hear this, but maybe you should call your dad."
You instantly looked panicked. "Are you kidding? He'll kill me."
"Okay," he drawled. "How 'bout a friend?"
Grimacing, you shook your head.
"Well, I don't want you to be alone tonight," he mumbled, then thought of the most ridiculous solution. "You can stay with me tonight. You take my bed, and I'll—"
"Yes," you interrupted.
He was taken aback by your immediate response, but nodded. "My house it is," he confirmed. "Now, how 'bout I get you outta this rain, princess?"
The car ride to Bucky's shop was mostly quiet, save for the occasional clinking of the wheel lift that was supporting the weight of your car as it dragged behind his truck. You kept glancing over your shoulder, a nervous tic, though he assured you multiple times that it was secured. It was also an excuse to catch his biceps in your periphery.
You were sitting on a bench seat, so the close proximity was something you hadn't expected. But you weren't complaining. But you didn't know what to do with yourself either. You started by fixating on two separate raindrops on the windshield to distract yourself. In your head, those two clear dots were having a race, and the one you were rooting for slowed as the other one began streaming quicker down the glass, as if it knew.
When that didn't fully shift your attention, you decided to just sit stiffly beside him. You folded your hands neatly in your lap as you tried not to let the faint scent of his cologne mess with your head…again.
You had a hard time sending his leather jacket back after he let you borrow it. Sure, it had undertones of grease and motor oil, but the most prominent scent was a mix of sandalwood and cardamom. You blamed that damn jacket for the reason why you couldn't get him out of your head.
After that night outside of the bar, you had come home and immediately flopped into bed, the jacket still wrapped snuggly around your shoulders. The next morning was torture. You'd draped it over one of your kitchen chairs as you made some coffee and swallowed down some Tylenol to help with your lingering hangover. You stared at the jacket over the rim of your mug until you couldn't take it anymore and started wearing it around the house. It was because of the draft circulating the house, you had told yourself.
And you swore the time your fingers traveled between your aching thighs as you breathed in his scent was only because the alcohol was still in your system. You weren't thinking clearly when you slipped your fingers inside yourself, and you certainly weren't thinking when you came on your palm, his jacket pressed to your nose as your mind drifted to what Bucky's head would look like between your legs.
That familiar scent was flooding your senses as you scanned his profile, following the sharp line of his jaw to the slow bob of his Adam's apple. Your gaze kept dipping to his saturated tank top and the way it clung to his chest. Your lip continued to find its way between your teeth. Because who the hell looks that good fresh from a day's work and a shower in the rain?
His human arm was casually resting over the back of the seat, his fingers kissing the nape of your neck. You hadn't figured out if he was doing it on purpose yet, but it caused a chill to travel down your spine, all the same.
When you reached his shop, it was an easy enough drop-off. He got your car into the garage without any problems, efficient and professional, everything your brain wasn't. The rain was still a wild downpour, and any time he'd had to dry off on the drive over was wasted. He was sopping-wet as he jogged back to the truck.
When he slammed the door shut, his breath was coming out in gasps, his chest heaving as he threw his head back against the seat. The water dripped steadily off his dark hair, and his tank top was plastered to his chest—practically sheer at that point. You couldn't take your eyes off of him, and with the noises he was making from the exertion, you were having a hard time not letting your mind drift to sinful things. If you just crawled over and straddled his lap…would he make the same noises?
Glancing over at you, a slow grin spread across his lips. "You'd think it'd slow down at some point, but 's only coming down harder out there. 'm soaked," he panted.
"Yeah, me too," you sighed before your brain caught up, then your eyes widened, blinking. "I mean— my clothes are still wet. From the rain."
His smile stretched, easy and knowing. You could see the spark in his eyes, but he didn't say anything about your slip-up. Dragging a hand through his hair, he let out a slow exhale. Before you knew what was happening, he was shaking his head frantically, like a dog straight out of the bath. Water went everywhere: the dashboard, the windows, and you.
You gasped, turning your face the other direction as he splashed you with water droplets. "Bucky," you screeched.
"What?" he laughed, a sound that rattled deep in his chest. "I was just helpin' you catch up."
You lightly shoved his shoulder. "You're a menace."
Before you could pull your hand back, he caught your wrist—playfully and unmistakably up to something. His eyes lit with mischief, and that alone should’ve been your warning to scramble away.
"Come 'ere," he teased.
His metal hand dropped to your waist, guiding you toward him into a soaking-wet hug. You squeaked, planting your free hand on his chest in a desperate attempt to get some distance. It was too late, though. His arm tightened on the dip of your waist as his opposite hand curled around the back of your neck, angling you exactly where he wanted you. Like an overgrown golden retriever, he rubbed his face across your cheeks.
The cold droplets smeared across your skin, making you shriek louder. "Bucky! Come on, you're—"
"Drenched?" he finished for you, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. "Hadn't noticed."
You wiggled in his hold, swatting his chest. "Okay, okay. I surrender."
He eventually released you, leaning back. His laughter faded into a gentle smirk, looking way too smug for his own good. Rolling your eyes, you wiped the water off your face with the back of your hand. You thought about scooting away, keeping that distance you so desperately wished for before. But now, as you watched him, the amusement softening his features, you remembered there were worse things than having your skin a little wet.
The ride back to Bucky's house was a stark contrast to the one to his shop. Words were easier. The conversation flowed. It simultaneously felt like no time had passed, and like you'd known him for years and were just catching up.
The pair of you shared soft stories, the kind that made you giggle and made the tension in his shoulders loosen. He shared the time that Sam dragged him to meditation in the park, and it went so poorly that the instructor kicked him out. You shared that time your dress accidentally got thrown in with your father's wash, and it turned all his white dress shirts pink; he had to wear them for a week before they were replaced.
After almost an hour of driving, he turned onto a gravel path surrounded by tall, lively trees. You hadn't seen this part of Brooklyn before. The cityscape slowly diminished, giving way to lush greenery. He passed a sign that read: Green Meadows Farm.
You briefly wondered what your life would've been like if your father had taken you somewhere like this in your youth. If he had just slowed down enough to give you the attention you deserved. Without the buffer of your mother, who was the glue that kept your family stable. But that was too much to ask.
The truck dipped over the rockier sections, but Bucky avoided any major holes. Until he ran over a bump in the road, and despite the seatbelt, you nearly flew out of your seat. But he was quicker, swinging his arm out to catch you and secure you against the bench. He whispered, "I gotcha, princess," then shifted his gaze to the road as if nothing had happened.
Though you were safely back in your seat, his arm lingered, bicep pressed firmly to your chest. When he finally moved it, his hand found purchase on your thigh, calloused fingers bending around your bare flesh. Not gripping, just holding, like he had a right to. Like it was natural.
Eventually, the trees down the path cleared, and his house came into view. The only reason you knew it was his was that it was very…him. There was no other way to describe it. A quaint cabin with a wraparound porch that overlooked the river.
The truck rolled to a stop as he shifted it into park. With the rain softening to an even patter, you could finally hear how quiet it was here. The rustle and bustle of the city felt like a distant memory. Nature was the only soundtrack here, the gentle rush of the river, and you could just make out the faint noises of an owl, high up in the branches of a nearby tree.
Bucky didn't waste any time. He leaped down from the truck, then helped you, offering you a hand. As you hopped down, the heels of your shoes vanished into the mud with a subtle squelch. He sighed dramatically beside you before leaning down and sliding his hands around your waist. With barely any effort on his part, he lifted and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
You let out a startled wheeze. "I do have two legs."
"Can't have your precious heels gettin' ruined," he cooed in an almost mocking tone. Trudging toward the door, he placed a protective hand over your ass as he smoothed out your skirt.
"I can walk," you ordered, but he was dead set on ignoring your protests. "I'm serious, put me down." You lightly pounded your fists into the dip of his back, but he only huffed a laugh in response. Flopping forward, you figured it best not to waste your energy arguing with a brick wall. Your arms dangled out in front of you as he carried you up the steps, the wood squeaking under the weight of his boots.
He gently set you down with a light click of your heels, reaching for the keys in his back pocket. "Better?"
You crossed your arms, tilting your head. "Thank you," you muttered, trying to sound annoyed, but failing miserably.
"Anythin' for you," he replied coolly. And even if he said the words as a joke, they made the corner of your lip lift.
Unlocking the door, he pushed in. He flicked on the light, bathing the interior in warm light, and you followed him in. You were immediately hit with the scent of cedar, and him. The inside was exactly what you expect—minimal decor, yet it had a lived-in feel. A worn leather couch in the living room with a black jacket draped over the arm. A wall of photos with unusual frames. A small fireplace. Everything was practical, but charming.
"It ain't much," he said, exhaling slowly with his hands on his hips. "But make yourself at home." He kicked off his heavy work boots, then disappeared down a dark hallway. A light flicked on as he entered a room, which you could only guess was his room. He closed it most of the way, but kept it open a crack.
You slipped off your heels, and they hit the floor with a gentle thud. You did a rough sweep of the room, then padded over to the wall of frames. You scanned the photos, some from his childhood, some of his shop, some of him and Sam.
But your eyes lingered on two, hanging beside each other. A navy blue uniform, neatly buttoned with a matching cap. Bucky and Sam stood side by side with perfect posture, saluting the camera. Metal arm. The other image was a solo shot, clad in an army green jumpsuit. No metal arm.
A set of dog tags dangled off the corner of the frame, twinkling under the light. They clinked as you twisted them in your palm. James Buchanan Barnes. You tested the name, mouthing it softly.
You peeked around the corner, ready to tell him what you uncovered. Instead, you were met with carved back muscles just as he was tugging up his sweatpants. You nearly choked on your own saliva, your cheeks warming from guilt of seeing something you weren't supposed to. He turned, pulling a dark shirt over his head, and flattened out the wrinkles in the fabric. His arm glinted, drawing your attention downward, and then your eyes drifted lower. And lower.
You caught the patch of hair above the waistband before disappearing beneath his grey sweatpants. You followed the trail. Fuck. Nothing could drag your gaze away from the subtle bulge against the material of his sweats. No matter how hard you tried to reason with yourself that this was wrong, that you were openly objectifying him, you continued to gawk.
"You can ask about it," Bucky said, walking towards you with a plush towel in his hands.
Shit.
You hadn't even noticed him step out of his room, and now you were caught with no possible way out of this one. But was he really giving you permission to ask about his dick size? Wait, maybe he wanted you to ask about the shape.
No, that's ridiculous…just…play dumb? Yeah. Some guys love that, right?
You've been staring for too long with no other excuse to use. Fuck it.
Play dumb. Play dumb. Play dumb.
You swallowed thickly. "What?"
"I keep catchin' you lookin' at my arm. If you're curious, you can ask. 'm an open book."
"Right, I've been wondering about your arm," you drawled. You mentally thanked yourself because, yes, sometimes playing dumb has gotten you out of some sticky situations. "How'd you get it?"
He motioned for you to turn around, and you scrunched your brows, but did it anyway. His hands moved to your shoulders, sliding your sweater down your arms, then hanging it on a hook by the door. Unfolding the towel, he glided it over your upper back, the nape of your neck, and anywhere else that was out of your reach.
"Sam and I were in the Air Force together. It feels like a lifetime ago," he began as he handed over the towel.
You took it, still a little stunned by how naturally he moved around you. As if he'd done it a thousand times. He guided you over to the couch, hand cupping your elbow. He nodded for you to sit as you started to pat down your hair, squeezing the dampness from the strands. Grabbing the plaid blanket from the back of the sofa, he covered your lower half, tucking the edges in. And he did it all without you ever needing to say a word.
Why did everything feel so natural with him? Why did it feel like he was reading your every thought before you even asked?
Lifting the blanket, he slipped under it, scooting closer until your legs brushed. His arm fell to the back of the couch, turning his full body toward you as he spoke. "That's how we met, actually. We served multiple tours overseas together. Got close in the process. Honestly, don't think I'd be 'ere without him."
The vulnerability in his tone cut you deeper than you expected. His gaze drifted, and he had this faraway look in his eyes that told you to let the silence breathe. So, you waited. You didn't force the conversation, just let him take his time.
He cleared his throat. "We had some aerial trainin' the day it happened. The other soldiers in the aircraft strapped on their parachutes. I was the last one to grab mine."
Bucky went quiet again, finding his words. "Y'know, everyone puts their trust in the manufacturers. You kinda have to have a 'lil blind faith that the equipment's been tested and retested. That they're suitable for jumps of high altitudes, or that 's even capable of carrying a large amount. That's why, when I jumped, I didn't even think twice. Just did it."
Your stomach dropped because you already knew the outcome of this story. You looked at him—really looked at him. It wasn't a look of pity, but understanding.
His eyebrows twitched. "I had a faulty parachute. It wouldn't deploy no matter how hard I pulled. Thankfully, I landed in a tree before I fully hit the ground, so the branches lessened the blow."
You felt your heart crack wide open, raw and exposed. Unfamiliar with this side of grief, you didn't know the procedure. You didn't know whether to reach for him or if he even wanted to be touched. You settled for a whispered apology instead. "I know this doesn't help, but I'm sorry."
Sighing, he offered you a small smile. "From you…it does."
You mirrored his smile, but he didn't dwell on the emotion for much longer. Correcting his posture, he coughed. "After that, I settled back in Brooklyn. Needed a job. Figured I've always been good at fixin' things, so I opened my own shop. Sam gave me a call not too long after, and we've been in business together ever since."
His expression softened, as if he were reminiscing. "Though some days I regret that decision," he jokingly added.
You hummed in amusement, easing into the couch as you shifted to face him. "You love him."
"I tolerate him. There's a difference," he said stubbornly.
"Right."
He rolled his eyes, but you knew there was truth to your words. "So, what's your story?" he asked, shifting the spotlight off himself.
You shrugged. "I don't have one."
Arching a brow, he bumped you with his knee. "Come on. Gimme somethin'. How 'bout why you were cryin' in the car?"
You stilled; you hadn't realized he saw that. "Just overwhelmed," you half-answered. Blinking slowly, he leveled you with a glare. Your head dropped back, puffing air through your nose.
"Fine," you murmured. "I was on the way to visit my mother's grave."
Bucky leaned in, not dramatically, but just enough to let you know he was listening.
"It's the anniversary of her death," you continued, quieter. "Which…ironically was because of a car accident." You nearly laughed, though nothing felt humorous about it. But you hadn't really reflected on the similarities until right now.
Your fingers tightened around the blanket, attempting to ground yourself. "Every year, my father and I make plans to honor her, and every year, he cancels. I guess I got sick of it. No, I am sick of it. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who feels the weight of her death."
Your voice wavered slightly, but you pushed on. "I know everyone grieves differently. But I expected…something. Glimpses of pain, maybe? But nothing. He ignores her very existence. And the one time I ask him to acknowledge her, even that's too hard."
Silence settled again, and under the blanket, his hand found your thigh—a grounding pressure you needed. As if to say, I'm here.
You exhaled slowly. "It was a drunk driver that killed her…That's why I got upset when you asked. That night, when I was singing on the sidewalk, was a rarity for me. I don't drink. And I especially don't drink and drive. It's irresponsible and stupid…and—"
Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to keep the tears at bay. "I lost the most important person in my life because someone couldn't pick up the damn phone and call a taxi."
For a moment, the only sound was the soft patter of rain against the roof and the gentle wind whistling just beyond the windows. Just as you did for him, Bucky didn't fill the silence. He didn't try to fix it. He just offered a light squeeze to your thigh in comfort.
Releasing a shaky breath, you blinked back the threat of tears. "Sorry," you said brokenly. "I didn't mean to dump all that on you."
Reaching up with his metal hand, he tucked a stray hair behind your ear. "You never need to apologize for feelin' things, princess."
His gaze flicked over your features, as if he didn't know where to look. "I know it doesn't help, but 'm sorry," he echoed your earlier words.
You couldn't help the smile that grew on your lips. "From you, it does help," you repeated his earlier words.
The cool metal of his fingers dragged down your jaw, relaxed and measured, as his gaze drifted down to your lips. He inched a little closer, firmly taking your jaw in his hand. Lips parting, he hovered in your space. You felt that same electric energy from all those nights ago. Still present. Still charged.
Your eyes fluttered closed, certainty driving your actions.
Then.
You felt a sudden weight on your lap, causing your eyes to fly open. Backing away, you gasped. A white fluff ball with a pink nose and twitching ears sat on your knees, staring at you with its wide blue eyes. The cat tilted its head, assessing you.
Bucky rolled his eyes, huffing out a laugh. "I guess someone wanted an introduction." His flesh hand loosened on your thigh to scratch under the cat's chin. "Meet Alpine. She's…particular."
Alpine shut her eyes, purring as her owner gave her the attention she'd been missing. "She almost clawed Sam's face off the first time they met. So don't be offended if she isn't the biggest fan of you right—"
He cut himself off as Alpine moved out of the way of his hand. She crept up towards you, her front paws finding purchase on your chest as she lifted her head towards your face. Turning her head, she rubbed the side of her face against your jaw. She let out a long, low purr as she nuzzled into you. Lifting your hand tentatively, you carded your fingers through her thick fur.
"Hey there, pretty girl," you giggled. "I think he's painting you to be some kind of scary monster. You're not, are you?"
"Huh," he said, slightly baffled by the sight. "I don't know what I was worried 'bout. She doesn't usually click with anyone that quickly."
"Aw, just like her daddy," you cooed, winking at him.
Swallowing hard, his cheeks flushed faintly. The tips of his ears turned red, just like that day in the shop. He brushed it off, shaking his head as his hand found your thigh again.
Alpine blinked up at him, then you. Retreating from you, you swore she gave a subtle nod as if to say that she approved. Then she scurried off your lap just as quickly as she came, her tail flicking as she disappeared down the hallway.
A grin still plastered on your face, you let out a soft breath. "She's sweet."
"Don't let her fool you," he mumbled, gingerly rubbing your thigh. "She's opinionated."
The air shifted once more, warmth pooling in your stomach as he touched you. While his earlier grip had been innocent, this felt different. This was eagerness, as if he couldn’t wait another moment longer. The hunger in his eyes was undeniable, silently urging to resume where you’d left off before the interruption.
You forced your thighs together, your heart racing with desire.
"You're a flirty drunk. Did you know that?" he asked arrogantly, his hand still firmly pressed to your thigh, inching higher and higher in intervals so you wouldn't notice. But you noticed. Your body noticed. The space between your legs noticed, which only made you squeeze your thighs together tighter.
"G-guess that's another reason I don't drink very often," you stuttered.
"I dunno, I thought it was pretty cute. You said somethin' 'bout wantin' to bite me at one point?"
"I did not," you objected. "I said if you wanted me to, I would.
"So, hypothetically," he rasped. "If I said I wanted you to right now, you would."
"Bucky," you squealed, lightly slapping his metal arm, which probably hurt you more than him. "I was wasted."
"Yeah, but y'know what they say, drunk words are sober thoughts."
"Are you saying I thought about biting you the first day we met? Because that's as far as my sober thoughts about you went after our little conflict in your shop," you harmlessly teased.
Bucky sucked air through his teeth. "Oof, you wound me, princess." He placed his metal hand over his heart, feigning offense. "But yes, you looked like you wanted to bite my head off that day, so I wouldn't be surprised."
Then, he did something you least expected; he leaned closer. You figured this was all just teasing. That this back and forth was just innocent flirtation. But his lips brushed your ear as he whispered against the shell of it. "Bet that pretty 'lil head of yours is thinkin' real hard 'bout it now."
"Only because you won't shut up about it," you shot back breathlessly, lacking the bite you were intending.
"Ooh, she's got teeth," he chuckled, his warm breath fanning across your neck. He attempted to wedge his fingers between your thighs. A heat washed over your body, your cheeks warm with lust, and your head swimming with thoughts that were anything but pure.
The stubble of his beard grazed your jaw, and your breath caught. "So, when are we gonna stop dancin' around the fact that I've been tryin' to get between these thighs of yours?" he pressed boldly. "Are you ignorin' me? Because we know how well that worked out last time."
"I never ignored you," you said. "In fact, I couldn't get rid of you. You were like a pesky fly that was always there."
Bucky hummed in satisfaction, and you could feel his smirk against your skin. "You missed me then?"
"Yes," you blurted too quickly. "Yes, I missed you."
"I missed you, too," he muttered softly, and you could hear the truth in his words. The way his voice dipped into something gentle and earnest made your chest feel suddenly tight. Then, his tone dipped lower, deep and starving as he nudged your leg. "Lemme in, princess. Wanna show you just how much I missed you."
As if you were under his spell, your thighs parted. His fingers curled around your thigh, squeezing twice in quick succession. "There ya go. Keep 'em spread f'me."
Fingers danced up the inner part of your thigh until they disappeared beneath the hem of your skirt. They kissed the edge of your panties, his touch light as he circled your clothed clit. You sighed at the contact, your chin tipping back blissfully.
"Good girl," he praised, lips scorching the underside of your jaw. "Just relax."
Your breath stuttered at the combination of his lips trailing down your neck and the tantalizing patterns he was tracing over the dark patch on the seam of your panties. Metal-plated digits unexpectedly grazed the heated flesh of your shoulder, causing a shiver to ripple through you.
Bucky leaned back slightly, still keeping his close proximity to you, but needing to see your expression. "This still okay?" he asked, eyes flicking between yours, searching for any indication that you wanted to stop.
You nodded frantically. "Yeah. Please, keep going."
The smirk that graced his lips could only be described as downright smug. He moved your spaghetti strap over your shoulder, dragging it down your arm achingly slow. His mouth followed directly after, lips skimming over your collarbone.
All at once, he began nipping at the protruding bone as his fingers on your clit added more pressure. You moaned loudly—a long, elated noise that made him pause his ministrations.
The realization of how desperate it sounded hit like a force, and you could hear your heartbeat thudding in your ears, louder than before. "Oh gosh," you whispered, shame flooding your face. You raised your arm, concealing the embarrassment etched into your features.
"Ah-ah, don't hide from me, baby," he gently scolded as he pried your arm away. Bringing your wrist to his lips, he pressed them to your fluttering pulse. "Why're you all shy on me now?"
You didn't answer, your eyes sealed shut as the pang of humiliation echoed in your skull.
"What're you doin'?" he asked, planting another kiss on your palm.
"If I squeeze my eyes as tightly as humanly possible, I think I might disappear."
He chuckled, and even with your eyes closed, you knew he was showing off the creases beside his eyes. "No, you can't disappear on me this time. Y'know how long I've been waitin' to hear that?"
Cracking open your eye, you peeked up at him. "Why'd you stop then?"
"'Cause now 'm so hard, 's painful," he confessed, a little breathy. "I would fuck you 'til the ache went away, but 'm not done playin' with you."
You shivered, completely turned on by this bold version of him. If you were wet before, now you were soaked from his dirty mouth alone.
"You gonna lemme keep goin'?" he asked.
Nodding, you silently gave him permission. His hand traveled back between your thighs, running his fingers up the front of your underwear. Your hips jerked as his began rubbing in slow, captivating circles again.
His metal fingers grazed the side of your neck, curling around the nape as he pulled you closer. Leaning forward, his lips brushed the corner of your mouth, then the other. He pulled back a hair, studying your face. "Can I kiss you, baby?"
"Please do," you said, as if it were the most obvious answer.
His mouth was on yours in a second, your bottom lip getting caught between his. You sighed against his mouth, your hand coming up to cup his jaw and draw him even closer. The kiss was a lazy analysis of one another's mouths at first. Each slow graze of his lips elicited sparks coursing through your veins, like tiny fireworks exploding beneath your skin.
The urgency to fully taste you prompted him to force your chin up, his tongue delving into your mouth. He moaned against your mouth, eyebrows twitching as he found your tongue. Tongues swirled, teeth clashed, and your hold tightened on him. You felt light-headed from the kiss, breathing hard into his mouth.
The fingers on your clit picked up the pace as his lips began to move hastily against yours, as if he already couldn't get enough. You whined, your other hand finding his shoulder as your nails dug in. He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, then pulled back.
His mouth met your neck again as you struggled to catch your breath, lips dragging lower and lower. Tongue darting out, he licked along the top of your tank top. He tugged on the material, exposing more of your skin until your tit spilled free. His non-human hand reached up, cupping the underside of your breast.
Heated lips closed around your nipple, pulling a whimper from you. You wiggled under his attention. The dual pleasure was making your head spin and your heart pound. His tongue licked around the sensitive bud, then flicked it before sucking it into his mouth. Gazing up at you, he softly rolled your nipple between his teeth. You sucked air through your teeth, hissing. He switched back to trailing kisses across your skin in deep devotion, leaving no space untouched.
"Have you thought 'bout this as much as I have?" he rasped against your flesh.
"Yes," you mewled shamelessly.
Inclining back, he retracted his hand with a cocky grin. "Show me."
"What?"
"Show me what you did when you thought 'bout it."
Momentarily shocked, you stared dumbly at him. He lightly pinched your thigh, grabbing your attention. "Come on, princess. Wanna hear all those pretty noises you made when you were all alone," he pressed. Scooting to the edge of the couch, he dropped to his knees before you. "Lemme help you."
Spreading your legs further apart, his hands—one icy and the other warm—drifted up your thighs. His thumbs hooked in the band of your underwear, yanking them towards him. The blush pink panties slid down your legs without much resistance. Tossing them aside, his hands snaked under your thighs, sliding you down the couch. He lifted the hem of your skirt, resting it across your stomach, revealing your bare pussy to the chilled air.
"Fuck." Bucky's tongue grazed his lower lip, ravenous. "She's so pretty."
Bending down, he kissed the inner part of your knee. "Put on a show f'me," he urged gently.
Your hands trembled lightly at your sides, nerves curling at the edges of your mind. You’d never had anyone witness something so personal before. But with a deep breath, you steadied yourself, and for reasons you couldn’t explain, being with him felt strangely comforting.
Your fingers met the skin of your thigh, tracing patterns before they moved closer to the place he couldn't keep his eyes off of. Two fingers pushed between your slick folds, gathering wetness as they skimmed through. They found your clit, mirroring the same pressure and pace as he did.
"Just like that. Nice 'n slow," he instructed. "You're doin' so good f'me, baby."
Exhaling roughly, your mouth opened in a soft 'o' as your fingers swirled around the swollen bud. Your eyes stayed locked on him, and the way he was gazing up at you, his chin gently propped on your knee with a longing in his eyes, nearly made you come on the spot.
"Spread her f'me," he whispered gravelly.
Doing as you were told, you straightened your fingers, delicately spreading the lips of your cunt. With your fingers already damp with your arousal, they glistened right alongside your pussy in this lighting. His eyes darkened, his lip getting caught between his teeth as he diligently watched you.
Your fingers dipped, sliding down the length of your pussy, and toying with your entrance. Two fingers slipped right in from how soaked you were. The noise your cunt made in response had you and Bucky groaning in unison. Your fingers sped up, caressing and curling against your plushy walls. Your free hand lifted, covering your breast and massaging it.
"Do you like to watch, Bucky?" You don't know where your boldness came from. Maybe it was being in control of your own body, or the way he looked at you like you hung the stars. Either way, the question hung between you.
"Yeah, fuck," he murmured pathetically. "Yeah, I like to watch."
The obscene sounds of your fingers going in and out of your already weeping pussy filled the air, along with the moans you just couldn't hold back.
"Listen to her talk to me," he growled, his eyelids drooping as he followed the sight of your disappearing fingers. "She sounds so fuckin' good."
Eventually, his hand snatched your wrist, and he brought the saturated pair to his lips. They enveloped your fingers, sucking them clean. He hummed at the contact of your juices on his tongue, eyelashes fluttering. He released them with a soft smack of his lips.
"Tastes so fuckin' good," he said, licking the tips of his fingers, like he just consumed his favorite meal. "Think I need more."
His hands closed around the back of your knees, pulling you until only a portion of your ass remained on the sofa. Scooping your legs up, he settled them over his shoulders, immediately diving in. His tongue flattened, licking a long stripe up your center. You gasped, your fingers carding through his hair and holding firm.
Tongue flicking over your clit, he leaned down and tenderly kissed it. He pressed his face flush with your cunt, sucking the bud hard before descending upon your clenching hole. The tip of his tongue traced around your entrance until it plunged deep into your cunt.
He pushed his face further into you, practically submerging himself in you. As he devoured you, fucking you with his tongue, his nose steadily nudged your clit. Your grip on his dark strands tightened, your thighs squeezing tighter around his head. His eyes flicked up—a predator feasting on its prey.
"Yeah, fuckin' drown me, baby," he hummed against you, patting your thigh.
Then, that same hand vanished beneath you as his mouth returned to your clit. Two fingers pushed into your pussy without warning as he slurped on your swollen bud. You squirmed above him, your hips wiggling this way and that. Metal-plated fingers reached around your thigh, his palm flattening over your lower stomach.
"I know, I know. You're close, aren't ya? Just stay still, sweet girl," he ordered gently, tapping his fingers over your belly button.
His flesh fingers curled as his tongue spiraled, leaving you a whimpering mess. The tension in your gut coiled. Your free hand bent around the edge of the couch as your hips canted. Vision flaring white, the coil snapped. You came with a cry of his name, gasping as your cunt fluttered around his thick fingers. With trembling thighs and your eyes flashing open, you let the climax wash over you.
Prolonging your orgasm, he guided you through it. He softened his ministrations to a stop when you went limp above him. He planted a lingering kiss on your inner thigh, then removed your legs from his shoulders. They flopped against the floor, boneless.
"You don't realize how beautiful you are, do you?" he asked, awestruck. "Did you know your eyes get even brighter when you cum? I didn't know that was even possible."
Attempting to get you to meet his eyes again, he shook your leg. "You still with me, princess."
You kept your gaze to the ceiling, tracing the wood panels with your vision as you slowed your breathing. "I think I went to heaven," you panted, dazed.
Bucky chuckled, rising to his full height. Interrupting your view, he hovered over you, stabilizing himself against the back of the couch. His biceps bulged on either side of his head, muscles locking as he gazed down at your blissed-out expression.
"Yup, I bartered with the angels to bring you back," he teased.
A small grin tugged at your lips, eyes glinting. "And? What did it take to bring me back?"
"Everythin'," he whispered. "But it was so fuckin' worth it."
Your breath caught, butterflies erupting in your stomach that had nothing to do with the aftereffects of your climax. He leaned down lower, snaking his arm under the curve of your spine, and lifted you.
"You gonna lemme fuck you now, baby?" he questioned carefully, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist.
Resting your arms on his shoulders, your lips brushed his, voice coming out in a sultry purr. "Fuck me, Bucky. I need it."
Eager lips pressed against his, prompting him to let out an animalistic growl. He moved, blindly feeling around his living room. As your lips parted, your teeth sank into his bottom lip, lightly tugging on it. His knee bumped the corner of the couch, stumbling forward. Luckily, his instincts kicked in. Metal arm locking, he caught himself against the wall before it caused you any harm.
You giggled into his mouth, "Careful, pretty boy."
"Are you tryin' to kill me and get yourself killed in the process?" he scoffed, righting himself before continuing the short journey to his bedroom.
"What?" you said, feigning innocence. "You said you wanted me to bite you."
"You're lucky you're cute."
He tossed you onto the bed, the mattress squeaking subtly. The softness of the blankets briefly swallowed you before you propped yourself up on your elbows. Reaching behind his back, Bucky tugged at the collar of his shirt until it was off.
This time, when you looked at his muscles, you didn't feel any guilt. Openly, you traced the lines of his battle-worn body. Every scar that the years in the Air Force granted him, or the cuts that he received from long shifts at the shop, was thoroughly admired by you.
"You're perfect," you praised.
As if he'd never heard such a compliment, he tilted his head in fondness. Then, his thumbs hooked into his sweats, yanking them down. As he pulled the cuffs from his feet, you watched his cock bob gently against his stomach.
"Holy fuck," you breathed, eyes wide and mouth agape.
He was thick. Huge. Your little exploration in the hallway as he changed didn't do him justice. You followed the veins along his cock that led to his angry, red tip. A bead of precum dripped from the slit of his dick.
Crawling to you, he settled over you. You were still staring as he positioned himself between your legs. Gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he forced your gaze up.
"My eyes are up here, princess," he mocked lightly, then his tone softened. "I'll go slow, I promise. You're safe with me."
You nodded, but your mouth still felt desert-dry. "I have a confession to make."
"But 's not even Sunday," he jokingly replied.
"I wasn't looking at your arm earlier."
He hummed, amusement etching into his expression. "I also have a confession." His head dipped, mouth hovering beside your ear. "I knew."
Fingers curving around his cock, he pressed the head to your entrance, teasing it. You grasped his metal bicep, firmly planted by your head. You couldn't slow your breathing, your heartbeat galloping like a racehorse from nerves.
"Shh…" Bucky soothed. "Breathe with me. In 'n out. Yeah, that's perfect," he rambled as you matched his breathing.
The tip pushed through your folds, the thick head invading your pussy. The stretch was intense, stealing the air from your lungs. Even through his grunts of pleasure, he continued to guide you, talking you through the dull sting of his dick spreading you open.
"That's my good girl. Take it all," he groaned.
You whined brokenly as he bottomed out inside you; you'd never felt so full. Leaning back, he brushed a few damp strands out of your eyes. He pressed tender kisses to your slightly bruised nose—you were honestly so distracted by his presence that you hadn't thought about it since the accident. But he hadn't forgotten.
The attention he was giving your nose distracted you enough that by the time you had remembered the pain of him stretching you out, it had already faded. He pressed his forehead to yours, sighing in contentment.
With your pussy well-adjusted, he began rocking steadily into you. His metal hand found purchase on your hip as his other hand drifted up your arm that held the back of his neck. Securing your wrist, he drew it away, flattening your arm against the mattress. His hand glided up until he was intertwining your fingers with his. The intimacy of the gesture made it suddenly hard to swallow.
"I gotcha," he promised, squeezing your hand.
His hips picked up their pace, snapping up to meet yours. Setting a rhythmic pace, he gripped your hip with a more solid hold. Rapid breaths mingled in the space between you as the sound of skin slapping echoed around you.
The world around you fell away, and all you could see was him. He was invading your senses, leaving you completely connected to him. The worries of your personal life, everything that caused you pain, all dimmed in that moment. Because you were no longer letting those thoughts and feelings run your life.
Slamming into you, he groaned, his chin tipping back. "Baby, you feel so good. You're just perfect, aren't ya? Made just f'me."
You let out a loud, throaty moan as he hit that sweet spot deep inside you. The head of his cock bullied into your G-spot over and over until you were breathless. You arched into him, spine bowing.
Then, his hands slipped under you, lifting you. Your legs twisted as he adjusted you over top of him, straddling his thighs. Knees digging into the mattress, he thrusted up into you. Arms lifting to his shoulders, you held him. You moved with him, riding him at the pace he set. Your hips rolled, grinding against that spot that had you reeling.
A protective arm wrapped around the small of your back, fingers sprawled over your warm skin. His flesh palm rested over the back of your head as you buried your face in his shoulder. The next time he bucked up into you, your pussy clamped down hard around him. Like the force of a rising tide, you felt your climax ascend.
"'m right there," Bucky grunted. "I can feel her squeezin' me. That mean your close too, sweet girl?"
You nodded against him. "Come with me, please. I need it."
Moving in unison, the room filled with your combined sounds of pleasure. The wave came crashing down, your cunt pulsating around him. Your teeth punctured the skin of his shoulder as your second orgasm rippled through you. Hissing, his thrusts turned sloppy. Warmth spread through you, his release coating your walls as he spilled into you.
Slumping forward, your head rolling to the side. Breathing in tandem, his chest rose as yours sank. He nuzzled into your hair, inhaling your scent, and kissing the crown of your head.
You caught the teeth marks in his flesh, a flicker of concern overwhelming you. The emotion softened upon realizing you liked the sight of it. With a finger, you traced over each ridge.
"I know I said I'm not a biter," you slurred, still high on the experience. "But I have to say, it looks really good."
Bucky let out a gentle puff of air against your hair. "Oh yeah? I could get used to being marked up by you. As long as I can give you a matching one."
Lying you back on the bed, he moved over you and pressed his lips to your collarbone before sinking his teeth into the skin above it.
And though you knew there was not a soul around, you could have sworn your laugh carried for miles.
The sun appeared brighter this morning when you woke. You were drifting through Bucky's house with a pep in your step. The coffee was brewed, Alpine was fed, and you did it all while Bucky snored in the next room over.
But now with the sun sitting just above the treeline, everything felt dimmer than before. Frowning, you placed your phone on the kitchen counter. The white fluff ball, nudging at your hand, noticed your attitude change, as if she could smell it amongst the boldness of the coffee.
Your fingers carded through her fur, grounding yourself.
Warm arms enveloped you from behind, squeezing your midsection gingerly. "Mornin', princess."
"Morning," you parroted, but quieter.
Bucky stiffened behind you. "Hey, is everythin' alright?"
"I just got off the phone with my father."
"Oh," he muttered, turning you around so he could see your expression. "Judgin' by your face, 'm guessin' that didn't go well."
"No," you confirmed. "He said he was glad that I'm okay, but…" You trailed off, glancing at something over his shoulder. "He's not paying for the damages. Not unless I work for him. His wish for me to inherit his stupid company is finally coming true. I don't know why I even tried to resist it. He always wins anyway."
His brows knitted together in confusion, or maybe agitation. "Don't worry 'bout it," he said, framing your face with his massive hands. "I'll pay for it."
You scoffed, shaking him off. "No, I can't ask you to do that."
"You're not askin', 'm offerin'."
"No," you repeated more firmly. "I appreciate it, but I don't want that."
"Don't let him win," he muttered, eyes flicking between yours, searching.
"I'm trying not to," you insisted. "I guess I'll figure it out. I'll get a job, hopefully one I like, and I'll pay it off."
Bucky's lip lifted at the corner, giving you a look that could only mean trouble. "I know a place that's hirin'."
"Really?" You tilted your head, then it dawned on you what he meant. "No. Absolutely not. You were right, I don't know anything about cars. I can't work for you."
"I'll teach you," he said simply. "You don't gotta know everythin' right away. We can start slow. You can work at the front. Take calls. Schedule appointments. Take people's money…" His tone dipped into something teasing. "I know you won't have a problem with that one."
"Asshole," you chirped, slapping his chest. Then, your expression shifted into something warm. "I'll think about it."
"That's a yes," he murmured, as if he already knew.
"No, I said I'll think about it."
"Yeah, but your eyes said yes."
"You're ridiculous," you shot back, but you were grinning like an idiot.
He backed you into the counter, caging you in. "And you love it." Before you could even react, his lips were on yours, warm and inviting.
Five Months Later
The neon sign stood proudly outside Bucky's shop. It was a bright crimson that could be seen for miles, snagging just about anyone's attention. You suggested it. Because, of course, you did. You knew what customers liked, and you were right. The shop had an influx of people coming and going.
Your original suggestion was rejected. You wanted pink. He wanted blue. After bickering for half an hour, you both settled on red.
Sometimes he just had to stand there, leaning against his truck, taking it all in. The sign. The shop. His life…with you.
Eventually, he found his way to the front. His eyes scanned the poster hanging on the glass door, where the 'now hiring' sign had once lived. It read, 'Wrong Turn'—a foundation you were investing in. It was an organization specializing in drunk-driving awareness. Proud didn't even cover how he felt about it. About you, finding something that you were so passionate about. That you had poured your heart into.
Opening the door, the bell rang above him, announcing his arrival. Bucky was hit with a gust of warm vanilla layered with grapefruit, which he could practically taste on his tongue. He immediately heard the familiar sound of you singing. It was a little off-key, but unapologetically you.
Following the sound, he slipped into the garage, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. He watched you silently, a warm smile gracing his lips. You were tightening a bolt on an engine with a pink—yes, pink—wrench. In fact, your entire toolbox and tools were pink.
You finally glanced up from your task, offering him a small wave with oil-slicked fingers. "Hi, handsome," you greeted. Grabbing the rag hanging from the vehicle, you wiped the grease from your fingers.
Closing the distance, his hands found your hips, pressing a kiss to your nose. "Hey, princess." He glanced down and frowned. "What're you wearin'?"
"A shirt."
"I see that. Why is it like that?" he asked, scanning the shirt that had his logo on the front of it…but in blush pink.
"They just came in today. Isn't it cute?"
"No. Nope. I didn't agree to this."
"Buck," you drawled, a lilt to your voice. "Sam is wearing one. I have one ready for Joaquin when he comes in for work tomorrow. I even have one set aside for Alpine."
"After the pink bow incident, 'm not lettin' you put anythin' on her."
"She loved it, and she looked adorable in it. Just admit it," you muttered, poking him in the ribs.
She really did look cute in it, but he wasn't about to tell you that.
Sam stepped in then, wearing his new pink shirt, and the moment his eyes fell on the two of you, he started backing up. "Wilson, get your ass back in 'ere," Bucky called. Sam froze mid-step, turning with a guilty look on his face.
"Were you in on this?" Bucky inquired, pointing at your shirt.
"Will you dock my pay if I say yes?" Sam asked tentatively.
Bucky rubbed his forehead, groaning. "'m gettin' run out of my own shop."
"You love it," you cooed, and he only glared in return. You tried for a different approach, offering him a full, toothy smile as your eyelashes fluttered. "You love me?"
"You're lucky I love you," he corrected. "Alright, the shirts can stay."
Sam’s jaw dropped. “Wait, that’s all it took? All she had to do was bat her lashes, and you're just fine? I’ve been trying to get you to approve new uniforms for years.”
Bucky shot him a look. “Don’t push it.”
You just beamed, triumphant. "Thanks, baby," you cheered, pushing up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek, smearing some of your glittery lip gloss on his skin.
But he didn't mind. Because for the last five months, he was happy. Content. And it was all because he'd fallen for the rich girl, who strutted into his shop with pink heels and a smile. The one who turned his world upside down with one glimpse of those bright eyes. The one who caused him to prefer chaos to his normal quiet.
And he thanked the universe every day for dropping you into his lap.
me posting this because holy shit...this took a lot out of me:
ROUGH HANDS, STRAWBERRY KISSES & OTHER SOFT THINGS
farmer!bucky barnes x teacher!reader [26.2k]
— ⟢ SUMMARY: navigating your first relationship feels overwhelming at times—every touch, every question, every new feeling makes you wonder if you’re doing things right. thankfully, bucky loves you with enough patience and gentleness to turn every new experience into a reason to hold you a little closer. or, a collection of moments in which your boyfriend teaches you that love was never supposed to feel frightening—not when it’s held in careful hands like his.
— ⟢ WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI; pre-established relationship; older!bucky (he's just mentioned to be older than reader, but both age are unspecified); gentle!bucky; protective!bucky; insecure!reader; reader is mentioned to wear skirts & dresses; size difference (author likes her men tall & beefy); non-sexual & light d/s dynamic; pet names feast & praise festival; reader uses jamie a lot bc the author finds it cute & intimate; domestic fluff; tooth-rooting romance; light angst; one (1) small argument; discussion about dealing with arguments in a healthy way; toxic family dynamics (reader's parents mentioned); brief discussion about the future & having kids; smut; big dick bucky organization (🙂↕️); soft dom!bucky; scent kink & possessive behavior; nipple play; pussy pronouns; pussy inspection; oral (f receiving); fingering; sex in public places; unprotected sex (I imagined reader to be on the pill but nothing is mentioned); multiple orgasms; overstimulation; squirting; creampie.
A/N: so... I won’t lie, I’m a little anxious. this story is extremely self-indulgent and stems from a deeply personal place. I know it might not be many people’s cup of tea but writing this was actually therapeutic after my friend gave me a sort of reality check about my love life lmao. one last thing, the order is not chronological. hope you’ll enjoy!
series masterlist
ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU WANT TO WEAR MATCHING CLOTHES
Sitting cross-legged on your bed, your laptop is balanced precariously on your thighs. The cursor has been hovering over the same cream-colored sweatshirt for almost twenty minutes now, your eyes flicking uselessly between the product picture and the tiny sizing chart beneath it as if either one could help with the actual problem here.
Because unfortunately the problem is not the hoodie per se, but that Bucky owns the exact same one. Well, almost exact. His is a beautiful shade of forest green, faded slightly at the cuffs from use and permanently smelling like fresh air, and the cedar and rose body wash he keeps in his shower. You saw it weeks ago, the first time he picked you up to drive you to work because you had planned to grab dinner together later. His broad shoulders easily filled the doorway of your house, holding two coffees and wearing that stupid hoodie that somehow made him look even larger. You remember trying to subtly peek at it while he drove, only to end up staring shamelessly at the way the sleeves strained around his forearms every time he turned the steering wheel.
And now here you are, thinking about matching clothes like a sixteen-year-old girl with a Pinterest board titled someday. It’s embarrassing enough that you need to physically close the laptop for a couple of seconds, before opening it again with a sigh.
You don’t even know why this matters so much. You have never done this before—the soft, easy parts of a relationship. You have never had someone long enough to build small habits with, someone steady enough that you could easily picture yourself sharing jokes only the two of you could understand over morning coffee, or reaching for their hand in the grocery store without spending days working up the courage first. You are still learning how to ask for things without feeling guilty afterward. Still learning how to want openly. And Bucky... God, Bucky makes it so much worse by being so impossibly patient about everything. From the very beginning.
Your first date had barely even started before he showed up with flowers hidden awkwardly behind his back, his left hand rubbing at the back of his neck almost sheepishly when he handed them to you.
“Before you say anything, sweetheart, my mama raised me right and she’d come back from the dead to beat my ass if I showed up empty-handed.”
Your laugh was so loud and unexpected that he stared at you for a good moment like he had just been entrusted with a beautiful, precious gem.
Then there was the second date. And the third. And somehow every single time, he never failed to surprise you with his sweet thoughtfulness. Sometimes it was wildflowers from his property he’d personally tie together with twine. Sometimes big yet tasteful bouquets of stargazer lilies that you would immediately put in a vase and proudly display on your dining table. Once, peonies so full and soft they had shed pink petals all over the inside of his truck.
He opened every door without making it feel performative, always guiding you carefully with one warm hand on your lower back as if that had become instinct before he even realized it. And then came the night of your fourth day, when he walked you to your door, lingering awkwardly while you fumbled with your keys.
You remember smiling nervously. “So… what exactly are we doing here?”
Bucky had taken a long moment to look at you, blue eyes softening under the faint light of your doorstep. “I was hoping I could court you properly.”
Court you. Who even says that anymore? Apparently, James Buchanan Barnes.
You stared at him while your heartbeat climbed into your throat. And because silence had stretched a little too long, he had immediately stepped in to reassure you.
“Only if you want me to, sweetheart. No pressure.”
No pressure. As if he had not already made your entire understanding of men shift off its axis.
Sometimes, it frightened you how naturally Bucky fit into your life. It started with warm drinks and pastries between classes because, “my pretty girl shouldn’t have to survive on burnt coffee from that old thing in the staff room”; with calling you every night just to hear your voice before bed, and taking you out on dates every Friday. Yet he could not stand going the rest of the week without seeing you, which was how sunny Sunday walks around his property became routine, along with Wednesday lunches at the little diner where his aunt’s friend, Pat, worked and spent the entirety of your meals watching the two of you with the sort of fondness reserved for people who are obviously in love yet keep shyly tiptoeing around each other.
Bucky loves intensely in all the quietest ways, which somehow makes asking for things complicated. Because what if one day you asked for something silly enough that made him realize how inexperienced you really were at all this?
Your eyes land back on the hoodie again as you chew at the inside of your cheek. Before you can overthink yourself out of it, you click purchase.
The first time you wear it around him is for movie night next Saturday. You have been shaking with excitement for weeks over the special twenty-fifth-anniversary screening of The Lord of the Rings. Bucky had agreed to come with you without even letting you finish explaining why it mattered so much, only to follow it up with an amused, “don’t gotta sell it to me, doll. I’ll take you wherever you wanna go.”
You almost change three times before he arrives. By the time his truck pulls up in your driveway, your stomach is churning so badly you feel like throwing up. It’s a hoodie that just happens to be like his, so what? People wear hoodies every day, they’re such a common piece of clothing... This is not a confession of undying love.
Still, the moment you pull open your door and find Bucky waiting on the other side like he’s been standing there just long enough to start missing you, you realize the sweater has perhaps not been your most emotionally neutral decision. His eyes find your face immediately, his default frown melting at once. But before he can even say hi, his gaze drops on the cream-colored fabric. You watch with horror the exact moment recognition settles in.
There is a brief, heavy pause, and then that slow, familiar curve of his mouth appears—not teasing in any cruel sense, never that. Just quietly pleased, enough that heat crawls all the way up your neck. And because your brain seems biologically incapable of letting you experience vulnerability like most people, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.
“I thought the color looked nice.” The words tumble over each other so quickly they barely sound coherent by the end of the sentence.
Bucky blinks, clearly caught off guard by your sudden defensiveness, before one dark eyebrow lifts, amusement flickering across his face in the gentlest possible way.
“Nobody said it didn’t, baby.”
You promptly look away as if the floor might offer some kind of mercy, pretending to be preoccupied with the sleeve of your hoodie while internally mourning what little dignity you have left. Bucky doesn’t let you sit in it alone for long, though. Taking a step closer, his warm presence is grounding enough that all the static noise in your brain fades. His hands naturally find your waist like they have always belonged there, before he softly nudges you forward.
“C’mere, sweetheart. Let me say hi properly.” He murmurs, leaning down to press a slow kiss on your lips, grinning at your unguarded, little giggle when his stubble tickles your skin.
The cold evening air makes you shiver, and you instinctively tug your sleeves further over your hands while Bucky leads you to his pickup truck, parked beneath a flickering streetlamp. You can sense his quiet amusement, though he is kind enough not to mention the hoodie outright. Still, every now and then you catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye with that same smitten expression reserved for you only.
Once you reach the passenger side, Bucky opens the door before you can even think about touching the handle yourself, one hand braced against the top of the frame while you climb inside.
“Watch your head.”
You duck obediently beneath his arm, trying very hard not to think about how quickly you have fallen into these tiny routines with him.
As Bucky rounds the hood and slides into the driver’s seat, your heart finally starts calming down. You might survive the evening with minimal humiliation, after all. But then, he just has to reach across and smoothly pull the seatbelt into place for you—the way his knuckles brush your thigh briefly through the fabric of your jeans still manages to send your thoughts scattering again.
“You’re fidgeting.” He mentions quietly, eyes flicking toward your hands where they are twisting nervously in the sleeves of your hoodie. “What’s going on in that pretty head, hm?”
You shake your head, far too quickly to look convincing.
“Nothing. I’m just a little cold.”
Bucky hums under his breath like he doesn’t believe you for even a second, yet doesn’t comment and instead lets his gaze fall on your sweater one more time before returning to your face. The smile that spreads slowly across his lips is so openly fond that your cheeks start burning.
In a careful movement, he leans over the center console and kisses you, his calloused fingers cupping your jaw with impossible tenderness.
“You look lovely tonight.”
That almost makes your heart explode out of your chest.
The next time he picks you up for lunch on your day off, your breath hitches as you freeze on the threshold. Because Bucky is leaning against the hood of his truck in his dark green sweatshirt, looking so boyishly handsome with his sunglasses pushed up into his long hair.
His expression loosens when he sees your features fall in realization. God, he looks so unfairly gorgeous when he gets that look in his eyes, the same one that suggests every sharp edge exists only for the rest of the world, never for you.
“There’s my pretty girl.”
Your stomach flips violently as he pushes himself off the imposing vehicle to cross the short distance, his hands easily settling at your hips the second he reaches you. He bends to kiss you hello, unhurried despite the cold, and your palms unconsciously come up to touch his chest.
“I missed you so much, baby.”
You are still too busy internally combusting to softly point out that you just saw each other two days ago for bowling night with your friends, Natasha and Darcy. Your fingers curl tighter in the fabric, and Bucky notices instantly.
His thumbs stroke once the curve of your waist. “You okay?”
You nod eagerly.
“You wore it.” The words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them, gaze still lingering on the hoodie in pure wonder.
Bucky glances down at himself, and then at your own sweater before meeting your eyes, the right corner of his mouth lifting adorably.
“Thought we’d look real cute if we matched.”
You feel dizzy at his effortless answer, devoid of any trace of irony or hesitation. And that’s the thing about Bucky, you realize again as you stand there trying to steady your pulse: he doesn’t treat these moments like anything out of the ordinary. He simply folds them into the shape of his care for you.
Before you can collect yourself enough to answer, he is already guiding you forward with an arm around your shoulders, opening the passenger door ahead of you with that same practiced care. The warmth of the truck hits you almost dazedly after standing still in the cold.
“Heat’s been on for a bit.” He remarks at your blink of surprise as he settles into the driver’s seat, his chin lightly nodding at the backseat, where two of his heavier jackets are folded neatly, placed with deliberate care so they will not shift during the drive. Beside them a fuzzy blanket sits just as methodically arranged.
“I know it’s not the warmest of hoodies.”
When you look back at him, he sends you a small wink. At your stunned silence, his fingers gently move beneath your chin to have your complete attention, your heart already beating too fast for you to pretend otherwise.
“You alright there, doll?” He asks with a small crease between his brows.
You nod too quickly, not entirely sure what words would even hold up under the weight of everything you are feeling right now. Bucky lets out a low sound that might almost be a laugh if it were not so gentle, and then he is leaning in just enough to press a peck to the corner of your mouth.
“Y’know, I think I’m getting attached to this whole matching thing. Sends a pretty clear message.” He murmurs against your skin.
From that point on, it’s an unspoken agreement that has tenderly carved its rightful place between you both. It never turns into a conversation so much as it becomes a habit for the two of you. A jacket chosen to match the tone of your skirt, a top swapped for a darker color, small details that only make sense when you realize he’s genuinely paying attention to you, building your relationship one quiet choice at a time.
And months later, there are mornings when he is sitting at the edge of the bed with coffee in hand, his eyes lazily following you move around his room as you get ready. They eventually land on your shoes.
“You wearing the brown boots today?”
You glance down at your outfit, confirming it with a small nod as you keep applying your mascara. Bucky hums once in acknowledgment, already pushing himself up with a low groan to reach for his own pair in the shoe rack.
“Then I’ll wear mine.” He mumbles casually.
ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU WANT TO TAKE A CUTE PICTURE TOGETHER
The local café is a half-forgotten hole-in-the-wall tucked between a bookstore and a florist, the kind that only feels busy because the tables are close enough that conversations blur into one another in a soft, overlapping hum. Today it’s warmer than usual for the season, sunlight spilling lazily across the pavement outside almost indulgently after days of grey skies and persistent rain. It coaxes people into lingering longer than they probably intend to as though no one is in any particular rush to leave.
You are sitting across from Bucky at a small round table on the patio, your cups half-full and an empty plate sitting between you, remnants of the slice of red velvet cake you shared earlier still scattered across it. He stepped away only a few minutes ago, murmuring something about the restroom and brushing his knuckles briefly against your shoulder as he left.
In an attempt to occupy yourself while you wait, you take out your phone, your thumb moving absentmindedly across the screen as you scroll through whatever comes up. Until a specific post catches your attention so suddenly it stops you entirely.
It’s one of those photos you have seen countless times while looking for outfit inspirations on Pinterest, clearly curated despite its effortless appearance. A girl sits on what you assume must be her boyfriend’s lap while the camera is angled downward just enough to capture their shoes together, his heavy worn boots resting beside her delicate heels. The entire image is framed in warm light that makes it look like wanting something and simply having it without hesitation.
The contrast is cute rather than discordant.
You find yourself stuck on that picture as your chest tightens, because there are still so many small things that you don’t know how to ask for yet, things that feel too silly to voice even though they linger in your mind longer than you would like to admit. A lap. A picture. His boots beside your pretty Mary Jane heels… It feels ridiculous to desire it this badly, yet you keep staring at your phone as if hesitation could soften the sting of being dismissed. Or worse, laughed at.
You don’t notice Bucky returning until the chair across from you shifts under his weight, the scrape of it pulling you sharply into the present as you instinctively place your phone back on the table a tad too quickly for it to look natural. He sits down pretending to not have noticed any of it, reaching for his coffee.
“Alright, lovely?” He asks, voice unbothered.
You open your mouth, then close it again almost immediately, your mind caught between embarrassment and the awareness of how easily he always seems to understand you. Bucky notices your uncertainty, but doesn’t push, instead loosely rests his forearms on the table to lean closer.
“Hey,” his voice lowers just enough to gently pull you out of your thoughts. “What were you saying before I got up? About yesterday’s meeting?”
It’s such a simple question yet it almost disarms you completely. People don’t usually do that—they interrupt you to start new conversations, change direction, lose track halfway through and then forget about it entirely. But Bucky is looking at you like your words were simply waiting there for him to return to them.
So you blink once, a little startled, then slowly exhale as memories come back with a sharp pang. About that stupid staff meeting. About Ms. Cox.
The words come out carefully at first, testing how much space you are allowed to take up, but the more you speak, the clearer Bucky can see frustration still fresh beneath your composure.
“There is this student, Mark. Ms. Cox keeps insisting that he’s lazy and just—” You exhale tiredly. “She believes he doesn’t care about school.”
His jaw subtly tenses as he nods for you to go on.
“And I tried to explain that it isn’t that simple,” you continue, your fingers fidgeting on your lap. “Because it’s true that he struggles with math, but he works really hard, always does his best. He just needs time. And she… well, she went off on me.”
His brows draw together. “Went off how?”
Your eyes fall on the table before you adjust in your seat, as if moving could shake off the discomfort.
“She accused me of inflating grades to make myself look like a good teacher.” You admit quietly, the accusation leaving behind an ugly taste of shame on your tongue despite your innocence. “Because students do well in English. Including Mark.”
You can practically sense Bucky biting back his irritation, his frown deepening as he watches you shrink just talking about it.
“And the principal just let it slide?” His voice roughens slightly at the edges despite his effort to keep it even.
You huff out a small breath that resembles a laugh, devoid of any humor. “She has been teaching there forever. They just don’t deal with her anymore. Alice described her as—ah, sorry. Alice is the—”
“The art teacher.”
You finally look at him, blinking in surprise.
“Yeah.”
He gives you a small nod, a brief smile crossing his features.
“I remember.”
“Oh.” You have mentioned your colleagues only once since you started going steady, your meager dating experience having taught you that nobody was really interested in your life—especially your job. They focused more on meaningless, polite conversations punctuated by some generic compliment about your eyes, or your dress, that could guarantee them some sort of reward at the end of the night.
“Um.” You clear your throat, trying to ignore the intensity of his gaze. “So, Alice described her as a vindictive woman and since she’s close to retirement, they let her do whatever she wants because it’s easier than arguing with her.”
You hesitate for a second. “Years ago, there was this new physical education teacher...” Your voice lowers a little as if she might appear out of thin air and point her condescending finger at you. “She refused to approve his one-day school trip unless it was on her day off, because she didn’t want her schedule disrupted.”
Your jaw clenches briefly. “He told the principal… and after that she kept filing complaint after complaint about his ‘lack of professionalism’, until the school ended up not renewing his contract the next year.”
“What the fuck?” He mumbles under his breath, his lips pressing together tightly. “Wait—and they just expect you to take it?” His nostrils flare with a slow exhale.
“Pretty much.” You shrug, though it feels heavier than you intend.
For a moment, Bucky just sits there with his jaw tight as he chooses to not push his annoyance outward yet, mainly because he is waiting for you to let it all out. It’s in that pause that your eyes move unconsciously to the side of the table. Your phone is still there, the screen dark now, but not locked properly. You realize it too late, when a notification from that stupid teachers’ group chat—the one filled with nothing but good morning texts, good night wishes, and painfully unfunny memes—briefly wakes it and reveals that picture again, bright and candid.
Bucky’s attention promptly lands on it too. He doesn’t comment, which only makes your stomach tighten further as you hastily reach for your phone, turning it face down with too much force.
“What was that?” He asks casually, quiet curiosity dancing in his eyes.
“Nothing.” You answer too fast and his eyes narrow slightly, more observant than suspicious.
“That didn’t exactly sound like nothing, sweetheart.”
You hesitate, then deflect again, weaker this time. “Just a random picture.” You shrug, hoping to appear disinterested. “I was on Instagram and forgot to close it.”
That earns a pause from him, his head tilting just a fraction as he studies you more carefully.
“A picture you don’t wanna show me?” He asks gently.
You shake your head, eyes shyly falling on his arms. At that, Bucky simply shifts in his seat, his hand crossing the small space between you—not to take your phone, but to find your wrist and gently guide it to his lips. When you peek through your eyelashes, you almost flinch at how close he is now, his thumb reverently stroking your knuckles before his other hand cups your chin deliberately.
“You can tell me anything.” His voice is steady in a way that doesn’t leave room for pressure, only reassurance. “Y’know that, right?”
You shiver at the proximity. You do know, that’s the problem, how could you forget when Bucky stands before you, always so careful and sweet? And still, you are never entirely sure how to stop the words from breaking in your mouth.
“I just… saw something,” you confess weakly. “That I thought would be cute to recreate together.”
Bucky’s expression softens instantly.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
You swallow thickly, fingers flexing once under his hand. Then, barely above a whisper, you manage it. “I’d like for us to take pictures like… couples do.”
He observes you silently, expression unreadable, until a small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, patient and knowing all at once. He nudges his chair back a little farther to make room for you, patting his thigh once.
“C’mere.”
You blink. “What?”
He nods toward his lap.
“C’mere, doll.” He repeats quietly, reaching for your wrist before you can overthink yourself into refusing, to guide you around the table.
The realization of what you are doing hits in one overwhelming wave of self-consciousness the second your weight fully sinks on his lap. Bucky is bigger than you in every conceivable way, broader and heavier with muscle, solid where you are soft. His thick forearm dusted with dark hair keeps you close to the warmth of his chest, and his strong thighs spread comfortably beneath yours. When his palm settles on your knee to keep you balanced, the rough heat of his skin bleeds straight through the thin fabric of your stockings, and a small involuntary shiver runs through you. It’s humiliating how dizzy it makes you feel, because Bucky appears completely at peace behind you. You are trying not to implode from his touch and there he is, sitting back and holding you as if that’s exactly where you are meant to be.
Your unsteady hands finally reach for your phone, trying to angle it properly, breath catching a little when his fingers flex against your waist.
“You’re thinking way too hard.” He murmurs near your ear, his salt-and-pepper stubble faintly scratching your skin.
“I’m not.” You insist weakly.
Bucky hums low in his chest, unconvinced, the sound of it vibrating through his body into yours.
“Baby,” he calls out gently, mirth lying beneath his words. “You’ve taken six pictures of the table.”
Your face burns.
“I’m trying.” You mumble horrified, sighing in relief when you finally manage to frame your shoes correctly while he chuckles behind you.
“I know. You’re doing just fine, sweetheart. Take all the time you need...” He releases a slow exhale, then under his breath, “I’m definitely not complaining right now.”
The faint rasp in his voice and the way his thumb strokes the skin of your knee only make your pulse stumble harder. Finally, after another moment of fumbling and readjusting yourself against him, you manage to take a few proper photos.
The knot in your chest loosens gradually as you look through them. They are good. Not overly posed or awkward as you feared, but cute and intimate in that effortless way you had envied earlier. His scuffed work boots are beside your neat Mary Janes, your knees tucked between his jeans-clad ones, the edge of his large hand visible against your thigh like a quiet reminder that the man holding you is very much real, and that’s him.
A coy smile brightens your features. It’s a small, absent-minded gesture, yet Bucky is completely enraptured.
“There she is.” A comment under his breath, meant for himself.
You feel him lean closer to look over your shoulder, his chin brushing your cheek as his gaze settles on the screen, and the expression that crosses his face afterward is so openly proud that you feel the sudden urge to squirm out of giddiness.
“They came out pretty nice, huh?”
You nod before turning back to properly look at him, still smiling.
“Thank you, Jamie.”
The words leave your mouth instinctively, sincere. Still, Bucky furrows his brows at you. His hand leaves your knee to curl delicately around your chin, guiding your face until your eyes meet properly.
“You don’t need to thank me.” His voice low but firm—a fact rather than a suggestion. “I love spending time with my girl. Y’hear me, baby?”
Your next breath catches in your throat so fast you almost choke on it. His expression softens further at whatever he sees on your face, his thumb stroking once your bottom lip before he closes the distance between your lips.
“You ask me for something, I’m gonna give it to you if I can.” He adds quietly against your mouth.
You swallow thickly, answering with an imperceptible nod that makes him hum, pleased. For a while, it’s just you and him. Tucked against his chest with the phone still loose in your hand, you sit sideways on his lap, his arm tightening around your waist the more your body grows pliant. The initial embarrassment melts into pure bliss once his forehead comes to rest on yours, his blue eyes fiercely glinting with devotion as they trace your pretty features.
You would probably stay here all afternoon if you could: no talking needed, just the safety of his arms. Eventually, though, duty creeps back in enough that you stiffen slightly, and Bucky loosens his hold at once, watching you get up. The hand on your thigh lingers for one last meaningful squeeze, goosebumps prickling across your covered skin.
The second your feet touch the ground again, you suddenly become aware of your slow breathing; of how his touch made you completely forget that you were sitting in your boyfriend’s lap, making out in the middle of a café situated on the main street, for anyone to see.
“I should probably go.” You mumble, smoothing your flowy dress unnecessarily to avoid his eyes.
A small smirk tugs at his lips at your clumsy attempt to regain composure.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
By the time you reach the parking lot, your embarrassment has faded into a fuzzy tingle in the back of your head. Bucky opens the driver’s side door for you without breaking stride, one large hand resting automatically against the top of the frame while you climb inside. Your movements are a little languid as you place your palms on his chest for another kiss—quick and sweet and still a little flustered—but before you can pull away fully, his fingers close gently around your wrists.
“Send me those pictures later.”
You almost flinch in surprise. “You want them?”
That earns you a look.
“Sweetheart,” he starts slowly, like the answer should be painfully obvious by now. “Of course I want the pictures we took together.”
You promise you will do that once you get home, and Bucky lets you go only after one last heated kiss that has you sighing dreamily the entire drive back.
Later that night, long after you have changed into pajamas and curled beneath your blankets, your phone lights up with a message from him. It’s a reel of a chubby orange cat dramatically rolling onto its back for belly rubs. The giggle that falls from your lips is immediate, because you know how much Bucky loves these silly videos.
Still smiling, you tap back to reply but your fingers freeze, because his profile picture has changed. And there, framed in a tiny circle at the top of the screen, are your shoes beside his boots.
ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU WEAR HIS CLOTHES FOR THE FIRST TIME
Bucky’s bedroom smells like him. Not cologne, or any sharp, artificial department store fragrance sprayed onto stiff collars and wrists... but a scent warm and lived-in. Cedar and clean detergent tangle together with fresh air drifting in through cracked windows, traces of earth and hay and early morning breeze clinging stubbornly to heavy fabrics, no matter how many times they are washed.
The whole house smells like sun-warmed wood floors and open fields after rain. Like stepping onto his farm and understanding right away why he belongs there.
The shower is running somewhere down the hallway after a long day spent driving deliveries back and forth across town, leaving you curled near the headboard with the remote in your hand, halfheartedly scrolling through movies while waiting for Bucky to come back. Your attention drifts eventually, pulled away from the television by the sight of one of his flannels folded over the chair near the dresser. It’s clean, probably left there after laundry day, thick dark fabric softened with wear. Before you can really stop yourself, your gaze lingers.
There is something strangely intimate about wearing someone else’s clothes. Not just in the obvious sense. It’s like stepping quietly into the shape of their life, wrapping yourself in something that has spent time caressing their skin, that carries their warmth and scent and the evidence of their existence in every seam. And maybe that’s exactly why your heart flutters at the thought. You stare at the flannel for another few seconds before finally setting the remote aside and climbing off the bed, moving almost cautiously toward the chair like it might bite you halfway there.
With a meaningful glance toward the door, you listen to the muted sound of running water, before carefully lifting it from the chair. The moment you pull it closer, his scent fills your lungs completely, clean and grounding and unmistakably Bucky. Without thinking too hard about it, you peel off your own sweater and slip his shirt on instead. The sleeves hang long past your wrists as the heavy fabric settles warmly around your body, and suddenly you are standing in front of the mirror near his dresser, turning slightly from side to side while smoothing your hands absently over the front buttons.
You feel ridiculously happy. Safe, somehow. Because it reminds your body that it never needs to stay on guard if he is there.
For a moment, you simply stand there smiling privately at your reflection. You are so entranced by it that you barely notice the bathroom door opening.
“Hey doll, did I tell you that yesterday those sneaky ducks nearly knocked over—”
Bucky stops mid-sentence. The silence that follows is sharp enough to make your stomach drop.
You glance at him through the mirror with wide eyes and freeze. He is standing just outside the bedroom doorway with his hair still damp from the shower, a grey henley stretched across his chest while he drags a towel over the back of his neck, but all movement stops the second his eyes land on you.
On his flannel wrapped around your body.
His gaze languidly follows your curves like he is trying to commit them to memory, scared you might vanish like some beautiful, cruel dream. Because his girl is standing barefoot in his bedroom wrapped in pieces of his life. And Bucky looks at you like he just forgot how to breathe.
“Oh my God,” you whisper, heat rushing into your face as you turn around. “I’m so sorry, I—I saw it there and—”
The towel drops forgotten onto the end of the bed as he carefully shortens the distance. The closer he gets, the quieter you become, until the only sound left is the faint clucking of the chickens outside.
Up close, you swallow at his gentle eyes, though there is something else lingering beneath them, proud and possessive.
“Are you apologizing for wearing my shirt?” He lifts an eyebrow.
Your lips part unhelpfully, but they close again on a second thought. Bucky’s eyes flick toward the sleeves swallowing your hands before he reaches out, large fingers carefully rolling the cuffs back for you one at a time, movements unhurried and practiced despite the roughness his hands are used to.
“There,” he murmurs. “Better.”
When he finally glances back at your face, there is a spark of amusement dancing in his gaze. “You keeping this one, sweetheart?”
“What?” The question catches you off guard enough that you huff out an embarrassed chuckle.
“The shirt,” he nods at it, still delighted. “Think it’s yours now.”
“Bucky, no. I can’t just steal it.”
“Sure you can.” He shrugs easily.
Your eyes widen. “What—no!”
A real smile finally breaks properly across his face, devastatingly fond.
“Angel,” he murmurs patiently, hands warm against your waist. “You’re standing in my bedroom looking happier than you have all week. Think I’d be pretty stupid to ask for it back.”
You awkwardly tuck your chin down, studying your socks.
“You’re exaggerating.”
A quiet laugh falls from his lips. “You were twirling around in front of the mirror.”
Your head snaps up at that, your jaw dropping indignantly.
“I was not!”
“You absolutely were.”
“I was simply checking how it fit.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Before you can argue back, his hands slide a little more securely around your back to pull you closer, eyes dropping briefly to the flannel.
“Looks better on you anyway.” He murmurs.
“That’s a lie.” You focus on a spot on his neck, too shy to meet his gaze.
“Ain’t.”
“It’s your shirt.” You retort weakly.
“Not anymore.”
The certainty in his tone makes your stomach flip. Bucky watches the reaction happen in real time, something unbearably tender crossing his face at your attempt to further hide from his gaze, before he leans just enough for his forehead to touch yours.
“Y’know,” he starts casually, thumbs rubbing slow circles on your sides through the fabric. “I like seeing you in my clothes a little too much to complain about it.”
Your chest warms at the sincerity in his voice, yet you keep stubbornly staring at his chest, trying and failing to stop the grin tugging at your mouth.
“I think that would get out of hand very fast.” You mumble, finally meeting his eyes.
He smirks down at you. “Would it now?”
“You have a lot of nice flannels.” Your arms wrap around his neck, prompting him to get impossibly closer.
“Mhm.”
“And your hoodies are comfortable.” The tip of your nose brushes his.
“That so?” His brows shoot up playfully.
“And your jackets smell good.” You admit before you can stop yourself.
That finally earns you a proper grin. Far too pleased with himself.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawls. “You’re in real trouble then.”
You groan tiredly, throwing your head back in despair but his arms don’t allow you to stray too far from him.
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you.” His hands settle more firmly. “Just thinking I oughta start keeping extras around.”
His brows then lift as though he has just reached a very reasonable conclusion.
“Actually,” he corrects himself, voice thoughtful. “Might need to make a rule.”
You squint up at him suspiciously. “A rule?”
“Yeah.” He nods once, completely serious despite the subtle, teasing smile. “Think the second you walk through my front door, you’re legally required to put on one of my flannels.”
“Legally required?” You ask unimpressed.
“Mm-hmm.”
You shake your head pensively. “I really don’t think you can do that, Jamie.”
“Sweetheart, I own the property.” His expression turns impressively solemn, his lips grazing yours as he speaks.
“Means I make the laws around here.”
A laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, bright enough that Bucky beams at the unguarded sound.
“No exceptions either, baby. Could be ninety degrees outside, I don’t care. Flannel goes on.” He hugs you tighter, his next words nothing short than a low murmur in your ear.
“Don’t even need to wear anything else underneath.” A squeak unexpectedly falls from your lips as his palms land briefly on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh before sliding back on your waist.
You sigh fondly despite the heat crawling up your neck. “This is the dumbest rule I’ve ever heard.”
“And yet,” his eyes drop briefly to the flannel before returning to your face. “Here you are.”
At some point, Bucky doesn’t announce it anymore. The moment you step inside the farmhouse, he’s already reaching for one of his flannels and holding it out—doesn’t matter if you’re staying for hours or just long enough to share a meal and a quiet evening that doesn’t demand anything from either of you. And then he’s crossing the distance between you in a few unhurried steps to pull you into his chest. He lowers his face into the slope of your neck, and breathes in deeply, again and again, like he needs the second breath more than the first.
Something unmistakably you—familiar, layered with the faintly sweet body cream you always use—mixes with his own scent that lingers in the weave of the flannel, worn-in and musky. His shoulders drop every time unfailingly, the tension he carries out in the world has no choice but to disappear.
His obsession for your scent doesn’t stop there, it only exacerbates when you are finally lying on his sheets, the two halves of the flannel crumpled at your sides as Bucky pants against your chest. He kisses you desperately, clutching your bare thighs until you are left warm and moaning under his roaming hands caressing your body with reverence. His palms map the dip of your waist, stroking along your ribs, until they encompass the swell of your breasts, gently kneading the skin as his lips trace a wet path from your mouth to that sensitive spot behind your ear that makes you whine so sweetly.
Your lips part around a breathy squeak the moment the calloused pads of his thumbs delicately circle your nipples, a low hum vibrates unintentionally in his chest at how fast they harden.
“Wanna hear you, princess.” He murmurs against your collarbones. “Let me hear how good it feels, c’mon.”
Bucky takes his time. You feel as light as cotton candy in his arms, sighing at every brush of his lips against your nipples. His mouth is hot and his tongue eager against the tender surface.
“Jamie!” You gasp as he starts sucking. His hand fondles the other breast, whimpers filling the dark room as his fingers playfully tug and flick your nub until your back arches so beautifully. His other hand grasps your thigh, leaving behind delicious reminders of his lust.
The gentle licks soon turn into harsher suckles, and your hands shoot forward to anchor yourself—one of them twists the sheets until your fingers hurt, the other sinks into his locks. Bucky exhales sharply at the light sting when your fingers pull at his hair, loving how the wet sounds bounce off the walls.
“Prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.” He growls.
“Jamie, it’s—oh my God.” Your head falls back when his lips take care of your other nipple, the one left behind now damp and tingling.
“Mhm, I know princess, they’re so sensitive. You gonna come in your cute panties?” You nod eagerly. Bucky’s dark eyes stay fixed on your crumpled features like a predator observing his prey, his mouth wicked on your poor abused nubs. Until the pressure in your belly is just too strong, and to your sheer surprise, your orgasm hits you out of nowhere. Your breasts are tingling with sensitivity, your hips frantically humping the air as your pussy throbs painfully at the lack of stimulation, clenching around nothing.
“That’s it, my needy girl. Look at you, coming just from having your tits sucked.” He grits out, giving your breasts one last, little smack a harsh squeeze.
Your skin is sticky and your lungs burning as Bucky finally moves between your shaky legs, peeling off your ruined panties with a swift, practiced movement. His calloused hands are firm on your thighs as they spread you open, silently watching your pussy as it pulses and drips, the unbearable ache mixing deliciously with the embarrassment of being this exposed for him—not a single ounce of shame in Bucky as he inspects it more thoroughly.
First, it’s his thumbs gently spreading your folds, his eyes devouring the way it tenses under his intense hunger. A shiver runs down your spine when his index finger slowly traces the tender slit, marveling at the way your slick sticks to his digit.
“Jamie...” You whine, your body—still so sensitive—lurching at his delicate teasing.
“Look at the pretty mess you made.” He whispers amazed, leaving a soothing kiss on your hipbone. You hear a sharp inhale as he buries his face into your core, his eyes rolling back at how strongly your scent hits his lungs. With blissful serenity written all over his face, his tongue starts lapping at your clit with lazy strokes. A strangled gasp falls from your lips at the sensation, your hips moving helplessly under the arm that blankets your stomach as Bucky hums satisfied at the drops of sweet arousal blessing his senses.
You almost choke on a delirious moan the moment a long finger slips inside, the hand grasping his sheets shooting down to grasp his wrist instead.
“Gonna bury my face here every morning, sweet girl.” He mumbles, a second finger joining the other inside you. “Make you soak my beard so I can smell your pussy all day at work.”
“Shit!” You almost scream, thighs snapping close around his head.
Bucky growls at the pressure, hungrily nursing on your throbbing clit as his nostrils flare. It’s so messy, with his saliva dripping down his chin and the insatiable need to please you driving his hips wild against the mattress. You can feel its intensity from the way his starved tongue laps at you, every flick sending biting sparks down your spine.
When he momentarily pulls away with a wet squelch, he groans in delight at the intoxicating taste. “C’mon princess, time to make a mess on my face.” He rumbles, mouth already latched back onto your clit, sucking with a steady rhythm as his fingers hit your sweet spot at the right speed.
Your body shakes from the unbearable pleasure washing over you, but Bucky refuses to stop, only pressing himself further into your clenching pussy, his tongue insistent as he pumps his fingers quickly.
“‘M gonna—Jamie!” You sob, hips jerking up as he pushes you right over the edge for a third time, this orgasm just as powerful as the others. Thoroughly consumed by him, you tremble and writhe, wailing when you squirt all over his face, soaking the sheets and your inner thighs as well. Bucky is not doing any better, resting his forehead on your mound. He tries to regain his breath after almost coming in his boxers as if touching a pretty, naked woman for the first time.
When he finally has a steadier grip on his self-control, he licks his lips with a low hum, shifting both of you until you are straddling him, your head lying limply on his chest as he plants sweet, little kisses on your forehead.
“Breathe, angel.” He murmurs, voice still rough with arousal. “You did so good for me, lovely.”
You blink, still spent and disoriented, but as his arms gently pull you higher, your sensitive core accidentally brushes against his erection. Bucky is still kissing you, noticing your little shiver but not thinking much about it—he knows you must be sleepy and tired. Yet he couldn’t be far from the truth.
Your hips gently rut against his thigh, squeaking under your breath when it finally touches your naked clit. Bucky’s body goes rigid for a heartbeat, suddenly catching on what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. You keep moving your hips, now thoroughly and shamelessly humping his thigh. His arms squeeze your waist hard, eliciting a surprised gasp out of you.
“What are you doing, doll?” He rasps out, his voice heavy with lust. He planned to take care of himself in the bathroom, maybe paint your tits with his cum if you insisted on helping... But how can he keep his composure with such a beautiful, sweet woman in his arms, so desperate for his touch?
Your head lifts enough for you to meet his gaze. “Please, Jamie.”
“Please what?” One of his hands grasps your jaw. “Use your words.”
You moan shamelessly, the warm tingle in your core impossible to ignore now. “Your cock... please.”
“You’re making a mess.” He mutters absently, his chest heaving at the sweet sight. And suddenly, his tongue is slowly tracing your bottom lip. A whimper escapes you, before his fingers tighten on your jaw as he thrusts his tongue in your mouth, just like he would with your pussy.
“You need my help, baby?” He reiterates, his gaze marveling at your fucked-out expression. At your eager nod, Bucky swallows thickly, fingers digging into your hips until you are forced to stop the desperate rocking motion of your hips.
It takes a single look at your big, shiny eyes and suddenly you are on your back, his cock so thick you start to tear up. “I know, I know. baby girl. It’s big, hm?” He coos, carefully kissing your cheeks and licking up the little tears like a ravenous beast.
“Eyes on me, princess… There you go, that’s a good girl.” Your mouth falls open into a perfect round shape, squeaking as his hips thrust forward leisurely. Bucky takes in the sight of your pussy stretched nicely around his length with pride burning hot in his chest. He would be lying if he said he isn’t getting impatient himself, unable to ignore anymore the fervent urge to see you unravel on his cock.
“Hold on to me.” You obey, eagerly wrapping your arms around his neck, your breasts pressed against his soft torso dusted in dark hair.
Once his cock slams right back into you, you gasp, nails digging into his back as he sets a brutal pace. The sounds of your skin slapping against his fill the room obscenely along your little whines of Jamie.
It only spurs him on because, “Fucking hell—yes, baby. Your Jamie.” Before searching your lips to pull you into a filthy kiss.
His calloused fingers dig into the plush of your ass, keeping you anchored to him just to see your eyes roll back at the delicious friction between your clit and his pubic hair.
“She’s so tight.” He grunts. “Keep clenching like that and I’ll make you leak for days.”
Your legs squeeze around his waist, drawing him impossibly deeper. “Please.”
He takes note of the way your eyes start to roll back as your pussy flutters eagerly, even if you do your best to keep them on him just like he told you... His pretty angel is always so good for him.
“Jamie...” You breathe out, body squirming between his sturdy arms built by years of hard work in the fields rather than gym. “’M so close—oh my God, yes right there!”
“I know, princess.” He mumbles, never breaking his rhythm. “Fuck, can feel her squeeze me so good, wanna keep me there forever, huh?” His lips twist smugly. “Don’t worry sweetheart, this cock’s all yours.”
Your breath stumbles in your throat as though there’s not enough air. Bucky is right there with you, brows pulled in concentration when he feels the familiar ache in his belly. His thrusts grow deeper, more purposeful, almost primal in their intensity, and you can tell by the tension in his jaw and the slight tremor in his arms, that he’s fighting for control. Even lost in pleasure, he is always putting you first.
“Tell me when you’re close.” He grits out, leaning down to steal a wet kiss that is more tongue than lips. “So I can fill my pussy up. That’s what you want, right princess? Wanna feel my cum drip out of you while you sit all cute watching me cook, hm?”
Your words come out in a warped, pathetic moan as he stuffs your mouth with two thick fingers. Your tongue is already playing with them, a sad whine clawing out of your throat when Bucky takes them out. It’s not even seconds later that you are tossing your head back, your words barely coherent as you tell him you are coming, his two wet fingers rubbing your clit at the right speed.
“That’s it.” He drawls through his teeth, his rhythm clumsily faltering at the thought of your pussy completely covered in his white cream. “Just like that, beautiful.”
Your vision blurs at the edges as pleasure consumes every single crevice of your body until your brain only knows how to scream your boyfriend’s name. Until there’s nothing but the delicious shape of his cock. You clench so tight his hips can barely move, pulsing and shaking around him as your hazy eyes cross, before rolling back.
Bucky follows moments later, pressing deep inside you as a full shudder travels down his body. His face is insistently pressed into your neck, trying to muffle the roaring groan that rumbles through his chest. The contact grounds him as his cock twitches and swells inside you, borderline animalistic in the way his fingers clutch your hips when he finally fills you up—the thought of leaving a part of himself inside you only prolonging his orgasm.
“Oh, my pretty princess.” Bucky pulls you tighter against him like he cannot bear the thought of letting go yet, both your hearts still hammering in sync as the aftershock pulses beneath your skin. His warm breath tickles your collarbones, and although his limbs are trembling with exhaustion, his hips still thrust lazily inside you to make sure not a single drop goes to waste.
ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU START REACHING BACK
By the time Bucky introduces you to his friends properly, you have already learned something important: everyone else gets a different version of him than you do.
You begin noticing the pattern before he ever points it out himself. People straighten when he walks into a room, some of his new employees still stumble over their words when he speaks to them, and children stare at him in open fascination because he is broad and carries himself with grounded confidence without appearing arrogant. And honestly, you understand it. Bucky looks like someone built to endure anything. His hands are coarse from years of work, permanently marked with small scars and callouses from repairing machinery, hauling feed, and spending entire days beneath brutal weather conditions without complaint. His voice settles low and gravelly in his chest, and whenever he frowns in concentration—which is often—he appears unapproachable to anyone who doesn’t know him well enough to recognize that his silences are rooted in reflection rather than coldness.
Then there is the version of him that exists around you, so quiet in its devotion that you only begin noticing it gradually, through dozens of tiny moments. He automatically slows his pace to match yours whenever you walk together—just enough that your shorter steps never have to hurry to keep up with him. On the nights you stay over, he reaches past you to test the shower water before you step under it.
And somehow, it extends to even the smallest, most ridiculous things. Like the time you gasp at the sight of a spider near the kitchen sink and instinctively dart behind him before you can stop yourself. Embarrassment burns on your cheeks at your own reaction as you quietly ask him if he can please take it outside instead of killing it. Bucky only glances back at you, visibly amused by the fact that you are clinging to the back of his shirt like the spider personally declared war on your bloodline. Then, he easily cups it beneath a glass, slides paper underneath, and carries it out onto the porch with all the patience in the world. And when he comes back inside, there is a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as you mumble a sheepish thank you from the safety of the hallway.
And maybe, the thing that affects you the most is how instinctive all of it seems for him. His care exists in reflexes. In the quick appearance of his hand over the sharp corner of an open cabinet before you can bump into it while bending down. In the way he reaches for your hand whenever a crowd grows too dense around you, thumb constantly stroking your knuckles in reassurance before you even realize you needed it. In the way he notices your social battery draining only by the slight slump of your shoulders, then gently finding reasons to get you home before exhaustion fully settles into your bones.
It feels less like being looked after and more like being... considered. Constantly. Carefully. Which becomes a problem eventually. Because the safer you feel with him, the more affection you want to give in return. And unfortunately, loving someone openly without constantly doubting yourself is still difficult for you.
Despite how naturally Bucky seems to exist inside your life now, there are moments where you feel painfully aware of your own inexperience. You want to reach for his hand first, sit beside him in diners instead of across from him, kiss his cheek whenever he starts rambling about the farm with that subtle enthusiasm that makes him look so unfairly adorable. You want to curl into his lap during movie night and play with his hair and bury your face into his chest whenever he hugs you.
Every little touch from him feels so dangerously addictive now that you know what it’s like to be handled with genuine tenderness. But every single time you think about doing any of it, your brain betrays you. What if he thinks you are clingy? What if you interrupt him? What if he only tolerates it because he knows you have never done this before?
So instead, you hesitate. But the thing about dating someone who observes the world as methodically as he does is that very little escapes him for long, especially when it concerns you. Therefore, he just starts making things easier. When the two of you sit together somewhere public, his hand begins resting palm-up beside yours on purpose—an open invitation without forcing you before you are ready. He starts pulling you gently against his side halfway through movies, and sometimes, while talking with Steve or Sam out on the porch, he pats his thigh absentmindedly without interrupting the conversation at all, silently inviting you closer. Eventually, sitting on his lap is expected and anticipated. And every single time he notices your hesitation before kissing him first, his head tilts downward before you can even decide whether to ask.
But it’s the first time you meet Steve and Sam properly that you understand how clearly his devotion to you reads to everyone else.
Dinner happens at a small place near the edge of town after one of Bucky’s longer delivery days, rain clouds gathering thick and heavy outside while the restaurant buzzes warmly around you.
You keep squirming nervously beforehand despite Bucky reassuring you the entire drive there.
“Baby, believe me, you’re worrying over nothing. They already like you.” He repeats patiently while turning into the parking lot.
You glance over suspiciously. “They’ve never met me.”
Bucky snorts under his breath, one hand settling on your thigh to give it a comforting squeeze.
“Sam’s heard about you so much he already acts like he knows you.”
“That’s not reassuring.” You mumble, sinking a little lower in the seat.
A beat passes in which the car slows as he searches for a parking spot, and you take the opportunity to dramatically exhale like your entire future depends on this night going well.
“You’re meeting my friends, not attending a parole hearing.”
“They could easily be the same thing.” You insist. “Meeting your partner’s best friends is basically like meeting... I don’t know—their adoptive parents.” Bucky snorts, shaking his head.
“Don’t laugh! I’m serious. There’s judgment involved. Silent scoring. Probably some kind of test I don’t know about yet.” You hastily list with your fingers.
That pulls a chuckle out of him, warm and low in a way that only worsens your dramatic suffering.
“Baby—”
“No, because what if they hate me?” You whine, already spiraling. “What if I say something weird? What if I accidentally make Steve uncomfortable? He looks like the kind of man who says ‘language’ unironically.”
Bucky laughs harder at that, shoulders shaking slightly.
“Steve absolutely says language unironically.”
“See? I’m going to swear once and he’s never going to recover from it.”
His grin only grows as the car comes to a stop, but he doesn’t turn it off yet. Instead, Bucky leans back slightly in his seat, head turned to watch you with that infuriatingly entertained expression that makes your anxiety feel personally mocked.
“You’re one to talk anyway.” You quip before he can say anything.
His eyes go wide. “Excuse me?”
“Because let’s talk about the first time you met Nat and Darcy.” You smile innocently, straightening up. “You kept me on the phone for forty minutes because you didn’t know what to wear.”
There’s a beat of silence, before his entire posture shifts.
“Hey, I wanted to make a good first impression.” He frowns.
“You were debating a tie,” you repeat slowly. “For bowling.”
“It was a new environment.” He shrugs.
Your eyebrows shoot up. “It was bowling!”
He simply shakes his head dismissively. “You don’t understand the social dynamics—”
“You were spiraling,” you cut in, now completely turned in your seat to face him. “I remember it very clearly. You kept throwing clothes on your bed that I’ve never seen you wear to this day.”
“I was being thoughtful.” He answers quickly.
“That’s anxiety.”
“That’s being prepared. And my first impression went fine.”
“Yeah, because I talked you out of the tie.”
You lean back in your seat, absolutely delighted now despite your earlier panic.
“I see how it is. I don’t need to worry about meeting your friends, but you needed a forty-minute emotional support phone call about whether you needed a tie for a bowling alley.”
Bucky exhales through his nose, clearly trying not to laugh at being exposed so thoroughly.
“It was a valid concern, I wanted to be respectful, sweetheart.”
“To who? A bowling ball?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again, having run out of arguments to defend himself.
A grin takes over your lips as you nod in victory. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Bucky laughs properly at that, fondly shaking his head at you. The sound makes the knot in your chest loosen despite the anxiety, and when his hand eventually reaches over the console to intertwine your fingers together, you finally feel like you can breathe a little more easily.
“Steve and Sam are gonna like you. That’s not even up for debate.” He says anyway, quieter now.
You purse your lips, the teasing softening just a little.
“And neither is the fact that you’re still nervous about a tie.” You add gently.
His head briefly falls forward as he sighs dejectedly. “It was a good tie.”
And that, somehow, makes you laugh all the way out of the car.
Inside, Steve and Sam hug you instead of shaking your hand, and within less than twenty minutes, both men seem to realize something deeply unsettling about Bucky Barnes.
Namely that he becomes ridiculously, unbearably soft around you. For starters, his hand settles automatically against the back of your chair while you sit down. At some point, he subtly pushes your drink closer because he knows you forget to hydrate when too engrossed in a conversation, his attention entirely shifting on you whenever your lips part, no matter what topic.
And then there is the hand-holding “incident”.
You are talking about your disastrous attempt at baking banana bread last weekend, when your eye briefly catches Bucky’s hand resting near yours on the booth seat.
His large, warm palm tilted upward.
Your gaze keeps drifting toward it despite yourself, because you want to take it so bad. God, you need to feel his skin against yours. But... What if you are misinterpreting it and he is ashamed of being affectionate in front of his friends? What if Steve and Sam think it’s excessive?
Without looking away from Sam, who is now complaining about boat repairs, his hand moves another inch closer until his knuckles brush lightly against yours.
Your heartbeat quickens embarrassingly fast at how obvious he makes it for you.
Hoping nobody is going to notice how you keep squirming in your seat, your hand moves before you can change your mind. Bucky’s fingers close around yours like he had been eagerly waiting for you all night. His thumb strokes once over your knuckles as he replies to his friends, completely unfazed.
Across the table, Sam goes still. Steve, on the other hand, is trying very hard to hide a smile behind his beer. Because the thing is, they have both known Bucky for years. They know him as reserved and controlled and difficult to read most of the time. Yet, what they are witnessing now is essentially an imposing Anatolian Shepherd collapsing happily onto its back because someone finally understood that looking scary doesn’t mean hating cuddles.
Once you are back at the farmhouse, rain is crashing heavily against the roof, therefore Steve and Sam help Bucky move a few things into the barn before the weather worsens further. Afterward, everyone ends up scattered throughout the kitchen while you make lemonade because inside it feels warm from all the damp clothes and humid air.
You are standing near the counter slicing lemons when Bucky walks in, settling beside you after washing his hands.
His gaze automatically drops to the knife, then to you. Then back to the knife.
“You’re holding it wrong.”
Your chin snaps up, eyes blinking at him in confusion.
“What?”
Instead of answering verbally, Bucky steps behind you until the softness of his belly is touching your back. One hand covers yours around the handle while the other steadies the cutting board before showing you a safer angle to hold the knife.
“There,” he murmurs near your shoulder. “Less chance of slipping.”
The entire interaction lasts maybe twenty seconds, yet the butterflies in your stomach go absolutely feral. The worst is that Bucky doesn’t even seem aware of what he does to you half the time. To him, this is simply how he loves, through guidance and care.
A little later, after his friends disappear into the kitchen for more lemonade while loudly arguing over the score of some recent football match, you end up curled beside Bucky on the couch, on the brink of dozing off to the soothing sound of rain tapping against the glass. Your head rests on his chest while he absently rubs slow circles along your arm, and eventually your fingers find his hair without much thought.
You expect tolerance at most. Maybe amusement. Instead, the second your nails lightly scratch his scalp, Bucky goes completely still, before his eyelids flutter shut. A deep, slow breath leaves his nose, his posture slumped as he leans unconsciously into your touch. His expression is so devastatingly content that you feel a mix of pride and joy burn hot in your chest.
From the kitchen doorway, Sam witnesses the scene in horrified fascination.
“Steve!” He whispers sharply.
The other man can’t help but burst into helpless laughter because there, curled around you in complete bliss, sits the same man who once made a grown mechanic squirm just by staring at him too long during an argument over tractor parts. Meanwhile Bucky, fully aware you are being watched, slowly opens one eye to glare at them with pure annoyance.
“What.”
“Man, you know your imaginary tail is wagging so hard I can practically hear it from here?”
Bucky silently stares at Sam for exactly five seconds, and without any shame whatsoever, tightens his arm around your waist to pull you closer.
“Yeah,” he rasps out. “And?”
ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU NEED HIM THE MOST
Bucky simply moves through your life with the quiet assumption that if something can be made easier for you, then of course he will do it.
One freezing morning in late November, you walk outside expecting the usual miserable routine of scraping ice from your windshield before work while trying not to freeze your fingers off in the process, only to stop short at the sight of your car already running softly in the driveway, pale exhaust curling into the cold air while warm light glows through the windshield.
And there he is, leaning casually against his pickup truck with two cups of coffee in his hands. Wrapped in his heavy work jacket, Bucky looks entirely unbothered by the bitter cold biting at his skin this early in the morning. You stare at him with wide eyes before glancing at your car. Then back at him.
“Did you come all the way over here just to start my car?”
His eyebrows pull together, genuine confusion touching his face.
“You hate being cold, sweetheart.”
Bucky never treats care as some grand romantic gesture that deserves applause. To him, love exists in maintenance, in noticing and remembering. It exists in the way he arranges himself around the sharp edges of your life without ever making you feel ashamed of needing help.
By the third month of your relationship, he already knows you forget meals whenever work gets too stressful, so he begins leaving containers of food in your fridge after particularly exhausting weeks, usually with little notes written in neat handwriting.
Eat something besides crackers today.
This one’s got vegetables in it. Don’t roll your eyes.
At first, a mix of embarrassment and old habits makes you protest.
“Jamie,” you sigh one evening while unpacking groceries he absolutely did not need to buy for you. “I can feed myself.”
“I know you can.”
The answer comes calmly, his attention never even leaving the frozen peas he’s putting away in your freezer.
“Then why are you doing all this?”
That finally makes him look at you, blue eyes steady and open.
“Because yesterday you had cereal for dinner and called it a balanced meal.”
Heat floods your face instantly. “It was one time.”
“It happened last Tuesday as well, baby.”
Your eyes squint at him betrayed. “You remember way too much.”
“You tell me things,” he shrugs lightly, shutting the fridge with his hip. “And I pay attention.”
Yes, Bucky pays attention. To everything. He notices the way your head starts to ache more than usual after difficult meetings at work; the moments you shrink because someone talked over you while discussing something important; the days you’ve had too much coffee and not nearly enough water before you’ve even registered it yourself. Once he recognizes a pattern, he simply starts building small routines around it—never demanding, or controlling. But guiding you so tenderly that by the time you notice, he’s already taken the weight you carry and made it easier to bear.
“Three coffees, baby.” He reminds you one afternoon after spotting the suspiciously large iced drink in your hand during lunch.
You promptly clutch the cup closer to your chest.
“This is tea.”
Bucky stares at you for a long moment, before his eyes lower meaningfully to the giant logo on the side of the cup.
“Sweetheart,” he starts patiently. “That thing smells like melted tiramisu.”
Your smile is sheepish. “It’s been a hard week.”
The teasing falls from his face at the exhaustion in your voice, concern replacing it so quickly it makes warmth bloom beautifully behind your ribs. He steps closer without hesitation, one broad palm settling on the back of your neck while his other hand cradles your cheek—a gesture so instinctively soothing that your entire body loosens before you can acknowledge it.
“I know, princess.” He murmurs softly. “Still need water though.”
And somehow—impossibly—you find yourself listening. He never makes care feel humiliating, because every reminder sounds far from correction and more like loving you so much it physically pains him seeing you not taking care of yourself the way you deserve. However, having someone pay attention to you this reverently is still complicated when, for your whole life, you’ve been used to being the responsible one, the accommodating one, the person who notices everybody else’s needs before they can become problems. Teaching only sharpened instincts you already had mastered long before adulthood: constantly anticipating, organizing, soothing, fixing. Somewhere along the way, taking care of yourself became secondary to making sure everyone else was never burdened by you.
Then Bucky arrives and begins undoing those habits piece by piece without ever criticizing you for it.
There is one particular parent-teacher night that leaves you painfully exhausted and miserable, so much that your eyes burn with unshed tears the entire walk to your car. One parent spends twenty minutes speaking over you every time you attempt to explain their child’s struggles in class; another openly questions whether you are “experienced enough” to manage disruptive students, because “you definitely don’t look like you are”. And Ms. Cox still finds enough energy afterward to criticize your “overly emotional teaching style” in front of half the faculty before finally leaving for the night.
By the time you make it home, you feel like an empty shell. You sway on your feet while eating half a granola bar in the dark, then drag yourself into bed wearing one of Bucky’s old sweatshirts—the same ones you shyly asked to have for particularly hard nights where his absence presses heavy on your heart. Yet, you spend nearly two hours staring miserably at your ceiling because exhaustion apparently does not guarantee sleep.
You and Bucky already said goodnight earlier. Normally he insists on calling before bed no matter how busy either of you are, but tonight he could feel how drained you were by text alone. Still, sometime after midnight, loneliness finally outweighs guilt. And even as you beg him to stay in bed and rest, insisting it’s late and he should be sleeping, he still replies with two simple words that make your heart flutter.
Already driving
12:22am
Twenty-five minutes later, headlights sweep across your curtains and you get out of your bed with a pained groan, your legs heavy as you shuffle into the kitchen in fuzzy socks. Bucky is already inside, carrying a paper bag in one hand, concern settling visibly between his brows the second you appear.
“Hey there, princess.” He whispers, leaving everything on the counter so he can pull you against him.
And that’s the moment your body goes frighteningly limp as you realize how badly you needed Bucky to hold you, knowing he would never ask for anything in return.
“I’m okay.” You quickly try to reassure him, but don’t do a very good job when your words come out slurred against his jacket.
His low hum expresses clear disagreement, one hand smoothing slowly over your back before he pulls away enough to cradle your cheeks.
“You ate dinner?”
The hesitation on your face answers for you.
His jaw clenches slightly. “Sweetheart.”
“I wasn’t hungry.” You blurt out, dangerously close to tears.
“I know, angel.” His voice turns to a whisper in front of your distress. “But you had a long day.”
There is no irritation in his voice, only concern wrapped in gentle firmness that somehow makes embarrassment crawl up your throat anyway. But before shame can take you away from him, Bucky leans down to press a long kiss on your forehead.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “I’m not angry.”
Your shoulders visibly lower a little.
“Sit down for me while I make you something warm, okay?”
And there it is again, that tingly sensation spreading low in your belly whenever he speaks like that, calm and assured and already prepared to handle things for you before you can break.
You curl beneath your favorite blanket on the couch while he heats soup and makes some chamomile tea. Watching him in all his composure as he takes care of you, moving around your house, and opening cabinets without needing directions because he already memorized where everything belongs months ago... Well, it nearly undoes you completely.
“You always think about me like that?” You ask feebly once he finally appears with a tray that he momentarily places on the coffee table.
Bucky glances at you from where he’s adjusting the blanket around your legs. “Like what?”
“Like… this.” You swallow, not liking how your throat is starting to tighten. “Taking care of things—of me, before I even notice what’s wrong.”
“‘Course I do, princess.” He answers quietly.
Tears dangerously sting at the back of your eyes, but your teeth promptly sink into your bottom lip before you can succumb to them. There is a brief moment suspended in time in which Bucky’s eyes search your expression, before he moves to kneel on the floor in front of you, palms already reaching for your jaw.
“You spend so much time looking after everybody else.” He starts under his breath. “I just want... somebody looking after you too.” His thumb strokes the skin of your cheek and that’s when you notice the lonely tear that escaped the last thread of your control.
“I wanna be your safe place. Want you to know you can come to me. Always. You don’t gotta hold it together with me.”
“And when it gets too much out there,” he adds after a beat. “Or here,” his knuckle gently brushes your temple. “I’ll be right beside you. I’ll catch you. Every time.”
You built a relationship based on care and mutual trust, something you never had before but deeply craved. For quite a long time, those sleepless nights spent wondering when it will finally be your turn, soon turned into cruel reminders that maybe, after all, you just were not built for that kind of love. So you kept running yourself into the ground for everyone else without anyone actually noticing how much that cost you. Some people though, Bucky said, weren’t even worthy of those pretty eyes looking their way, let alone your kindness. Still, a small flame of hope kept burning in your heart—the hope that someday, someone would truly see you. Nobody has ever tried to earn your trust enough for you to hand over your vulnerability. But with Bucky, you bloom so easily in the warmth of his love.
Rain has turned part of the farm path into thick mud after a storm, and despite Bucky repeatedly warning you to not wear your pretty shoes near the fields, you ignored him confidently right up until your foot sinks deep enough into the mud to trap you completely. Bucky turns at the sound of your horrified gasp, and immediately starts laughing.
“Bucky!” You whine while trying unsuccessfully to yank your shoe free. “Stop laughing.”
“Sweetheart,” he says through obvious amusement while walking toward you. “Why’re you wearing those heels out here?”
“I didn’t think it would be this bad.”
“Mhm.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re being mean.”
His grin only grows as he reaches you.
“Far from it, princess. C’mere.”
Before you can ask what he means, both hands settle firmly around your waist and suddenly your feet leave the ground entirely. A startled squeak escapes your throat as your boyfriend lifts you effortlessly out of the mud like one of those bags of fodder he so easily carries around the farm.
“Bucky!”
“You were getting stuck.” He smirks.
“I could’ve figured it out myself.” You mumble shyly.
“I know you could.”
His words are tinged with mirth as he carries you back toward solid ground, one arm secure around your waist while your hands instinctively clutch his shoulders.
“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna stand there watching you struggle.” Your chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with guilt anymore, your hands instinctively curling a little tighter into the collar of his jacket as the real meaning of it sinks deep in your heart.
This becomes another habit somehow. He lifts you onto kitchen counters while cooking because otherwise you “hover too much.” Carries you inside from the truck whenever you fall asleep during long drives home from town. Sometimes, after particularly exhausting school days, he simply hooks an arm beneath your knees and picks you up before you can properly protest.
“Jamie, I can walk.” You mumble sleepily against his collarbone.
“I know you can, baby.”
“Then put me down.”
“No.”
The answer comes calm and completely immovable while he adjusts you more securely against his chest.
He looks down at you. “You’re tired.” As if that is enough of an explanation.
You squint at him, but he raises one eyebrow before your overworked brain can elaborate something witty to retort with.
“You gonna keep arguing or you gonna let me hold my girl?”
Being with him has a way of quieting the constant vigilance in you as your body learns—gradually, unconsciously—that Bucky’s strength never asks you to fear it. All that’s left is a fuzzy, unfocused warmth you can’t quite name. And over time, you begin realizing that what affects you most is not the carrying itself, but what it represents. Around him, you are allowed to take up space without apologizing for it first. You are allowed to keep him company as he works, to cling to him through difficult days and cry without trying to make yourself smaller afterward.
The first time you break down in front of him happens after a bad argument with your mom. You spend nearly ten minutes apologizing between sobs. Bucky listens quietly the entire time before finally reaching up to tenderly wipe your tears with his thumbs, brows drawn together in soft confusion.
“Princess,” he asks gently. “Why’re you apologizing for being upset?”
You open your mouth, but then close it again helplessly. Because once again, you were about to slip back into the bad habits you are carefully working through together. Bucky’s expression morphs instantly in silent understanding.
“C’mere, baby.”
And just like always, you go.
ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU WANT TO BE PART OF HIS WORLD
For a long time, you are convinced that helping Bucky with work will only make things harder for him. Not because he ever said that—quite the opposite, actually. But he moves through the farm with effortless capability, making everything look so easy. He knows where every tool belongs, which fence post is beginning to loosen before anybody else notices, the sound each engine is supposed to make—immediately catching when something is wrong.
Meanwhile, you once managed to stall your own car three times in a row trying to leave the school parking lot because your brain was too tired to function properly. So naturally, the idea of “helping” him feels laughable. Standing in the middle of his world feels strangely similar to trying to communicate in a language you don’t speak fluently yet. Still, that doesn’t stop you from wanting to try. Loving Bucky means wanting to understand the shape of his days and exist inside the life he built long before you arrived in it. You want to know what his mornings look like at sunrise, learn the routines his body slips into automatically after years of repetition, and more than anything, you want to stand there beside him without feeling like a guest.
His blue eyes catch the golden afternoon sunlight so prettily as he glances up from where he’s crouched in front of the fencing, near the south pasture.
“What’s up, lovely?” One corner of his mouth lifts when you linger there without answering right away, your hands fidgeting against the wooden post as if looking for something to ground you.
“What?” He teases lightly. “My girl misses me already?”
You huff a quiet laugh through your nose, eyes dropping briefly to the tools scattered beside him.
“Maybe a little,” you mumble. “I just wanted to see what you were doing.”
His expression softens instantly at that. “C’mere, then.”
You step closer without thinking.
“You wanna help?”
You hesitate under the weight of the question. “Only if I’m not gonna be in the way.”
The offended look Bucky gives you makes you chuckle lightly. He frowns, standing to full height while wiping his hands against his jeans.
“You being here is the opposite of in the way.”
And there it is again—that wonderful ache in your chest. You shift your weight from foot to foot, head ducking a little at the sheer love in his words. His rough fingers slowly hook beneath your chin to tilt your face back toward him.
“You wanna stay with me while I work?” He asks softly.
You nod silently.
“Then stay.”
Simple as that. No sighing. No tolerating your presence to avoid arguments. No making you feel like affection must be earned through usefulness.
After that, he begins finding small ways to pull you into his world. Nothing overwhelming that leaves room for you to panic about messing things up.
“Hold this for me.”
“Pass me that small wrench, pretty girl.”
“Sit over there where I can see you, and watch your step.”
At first, your help is mostly symbolic. You hand him tools, hold flashlights, keep him company while he works beneath trucks or repairs broken equipment in the barn. At some point, Bucky quietly sets up a small table near his workbench for you, sanding the wood smooth and making sure to buy a comfortable pillow for the chair so you can sit there for hours grading assignments and planning lessons while he moves around you.
One afternoon, while you are perched on the workbench as he works beneath the hood of his pickup truck, you accidentally hand him the wrong tool three times in a row. By the third attempt, you groan dramatically. Your face falls into your hands.
“I’m fucking useless.”
Bucky leans back enough to look at you, expression deeply unimpressed.
“Hey.” The single word lands firmly enough that your head snaps up at once. “You ain’t allowed to talk about my girl like that.”
You simply stare at him as he reaches out to squeeze your knee before taking the wrench from your hands.
“Besides,” Bucky adds casually. “You’re real cute when you boss me around with the wrong tools.”
You burst out laughing despite yourself, shyly looking away once you notice he has been busy admiring you with a smitten grin.
Every single time insecurity starts curling around your throat, ugly and uninvited, Bucky is there to loosen it with his careful hands before it can choke you. Dismissing insecurity is far too easy, yet that’s what most people do. It makes them uncomfortable and impatient, so they wave it away with empty reassurance. They joke about it, call it overthinking... They turn vulnerability into a shameful weakness. Because acknowledging it properly would require them to sit inside someone else’s discomfort for a while. But Bucky never treats your vulnerable moments like inconveniences he has to endure. He looks at them directly in the eye until they stop feeling quite so monstrous inside your head.
The way you feel warm all over has nothing to do with the late afternoon sun spilling gold across the land. He had sounded genuinely insulted, because loving you also includes protecting the way you speak about yourself. He cannot stand cruelty directed at you even when it comes from your own mouth.
Your pulse flutters embarrassingly beneath your skin.
His attention returns to the engine eventually, muttering something under his breath as he reaches deeper beneath the hood. Your eyes focus on the rolled sleeves exposing his strong forearms slightly soiled with grease, then slowly travel up the faded flannel stretching across his broad chest, before noticing the crease between his brows. The low hum he gives every now and then when something cooperates correctly makes your pussy throbs, your mind clouded with memories of your thighs around his head.
Your legs swing idly as you sigh, watching him work for another silent moment.
“You know,” you murmur thoughtfully. “For someone who says he likes having me around, you sure are ignoring me right now.”
Bucky snorts softly without looking up.
“I’m working , sweetheart.”
“Mhm.”
He glances at you briefly, one eyebrow lifting. “What?”
You exhale dramatically, leisurely looking around the shed. “I think you’re pretending to fix the truck because you secretly enjoy making me suffer.”
A low chuckle rumbles out of him at that, though he still turns another bolt calmly like you are not trying to derail him on purpose.
“You surviving okay over there, pretty girl?”
“Barely.”
“You’ll make it.”
The problem is that he sounds entirely too entertained by this. Your eyes narrow slightly at his tone. Then, after a moment of consideration, you shift a little closer along the edge and let your thighs part slightly, your hands landing on the wooden surface by your sides to slightly push your chest forward.
Bucky notices immediately from his peripheral vision, but all he gives you is a low, “Careful, doll.” Without any real heat in it.
You stare at the side of his face for another second, then toss your head back enough to deserve an award.
“Mhm...” You hum mournfully. “If my boyfriend really loved me, he would stop fixing stuff and pay attention to me.”
This time Bucky laughs unguarded, the sound rough around the edges as he finally leans back enough to look at you.
“Oh, so that’s what this is?”
You try to appear unbothered. “What?”
“You being a needy girl.”
Heat crawls immediately into your cheeks, still you keep your eyes on his.
“I am not needy.” You insist.
His mouth twitches, incredibly amused. “No?”
“No.”
“Mhm.”
You huff softly, crossing your arms while he turns back toward the engine with entirely too much satisfaction for your liking. And unfortunately—for the both of you—you are an incredibly stubborn woman. Which means your brain immediately decides to make things worse by jumping down the bench and silently approaching the vehicle until you are leaning down the edge of the hood, right beside your boyfriend.
“Maybe there are more interesting things you could be doing with your hands right now.” You murmur, eyes dragging slowly over the length of his body.
The wrench stops turning at once. For one very dangerous second, the entire world seems to go still with it. Bucky exhales slowly through his nose before straightening to his full height, wiping his palms across his jeans with deliberate calm that somehow feels infinitely more threatening than any other reaction.
“Oh, you’re trouble today.”
You try to hold his gaze without shrinking under it, but that becomes significantly harder once he starts edging closer to you, the stupid tool that confused you completely forgotten. The light teasing in his face has shifted into something heavier, a kind of seriousness that has your panties completely ruined.
“Looking at me like that while I’m trying to behave...”
You swallow. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”
His nostrils flare for a brief moment, one large hand sliding around your waist while the other braces on your hip, and before your brain fully catches up, he is backing you a few slow steps toward the side of the shed. The wall presses lightly against your back, Bucky’s frame crowding you back into stillness, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him through every layer between you. His thumbs stroke your sides rhythmically as he studies you with an expression that almost makes you forget how to breathe.
“You’re playing with fire, doll.”
You tilt your chin up despite the way your pulse stumbles. “I just wanted your attention.”
Bucky’s jaw flexes once. “Oh, you got it.”
His mouth claims yours like he is afraid you will disappear if he doesn’t, the hand on the curve of your waist tightening possessively while the other traces the length of your neck, until his fingers dig into your jaw to keep your head tilted exactly how he wants it. A small, unintentional whimper is muffled against his mouth as your fingers curl tight into the front of his shirt, and Bucky exhales softly through his nose like the sound nearly undid him too. It is rough, urgent... Too much and still not enough.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough for his forehead to rest briefly against yours. Both of you breathe a little unevenly, his palms still heavy on your skin, as though he has no intention whatsoever of letting you wander too far now that he finally has you pliant and whining for him.
“Tell me to stop.” His voice is rough, gaze frantically going back and forth between your hazy eyes and your lips glinting with his spit.
“I need you, Jamie.”
And he is kissing you again, slower this time but no less distracting, and you are just beginning to melt properly into him when his hands slide beneath your sundress, harshly grabbing the back of your thighs.
“Jamie—”
“C’mon, up sweetheart.” He rumbles in your mouth, already pushing you higher against the wall.
Your giggle dissolves into a wanton moan when his tongue slides back between your lips, fervent and eager, your fingers tangling into his hair while his grip tightens instinctively on your ass.
“Fuck.” He pants wrecked, his bulge pressing insistently against your covered core.
“Jamie, please.” You toss your head back as his lips frantically move over your neck and cleavage, more lapping and biting at your skin than actually kissing.
“So fucking sweet.” He grunts, humping you like an animal right in front of the open door of the shed.
See, Bucky is… well, particularly insatiable. It’s not enough to spend Sunday mornings slowly grinding into you until you are begging him to make you come, tears staining your cheeks as he coos at you. It’s not enough to bend you over the kitchen counter and thrust his cock into your pussy from behind, his warm and heavy body pressing you down as you hold onto the edge of the wooden surface for dear life. It’s also not enough for his fingers to not-so-subtly slip beneath the hem of the blouse you just spent ten minutes adjusting to your liking, just to squeeze your tits because “They’re missing me, doll”.
And he never seems to care if you are late for something, or how long it takes... or where you are. Like that time he pulled into the deserted parking lot of a random mall on the way back from your cousin’s engagement party because one of her friends had flirted with you a few too many times—even with Bucky standing just a couple of feet away, talking to your aunts while openly glaring at him. He growled an amused, “Try not making a mess on the seats, princess” before you ended up squirming and moaning in the backseat of his pickup truck, still fully clothed as his hand slid down the front of your unbuttoned pants. He was three fingers deep inside your pussy, his other hand gripping your jaw to keep your eyes on his as he whispered how good he was going to fuck you later in his bed, and how good he’d make you cream all over his cock. His dick was straining against the confines of his pants, painful and throbbing because you were so pretty with your lips parted around your little, unrestrained whimpers, your half-lidded eyes staring hazily at him, and then… the bright flash of red and blue lights blinded you both in an instant.
By the time the two police officers knocked on the window car, you were both just about composed—his jacket lay on his lap to hide the impressive bulge while you leaned against his shoulder, carefully performing a convincing enough bout of nausea to explain why you had been parked there so long. They told you that someone had reported a vehicle acting suspiciously nearby and Bucky quickly chimed in, matching their story just enough. However, the car in question disappeared down the road the moment you parked. A brief, measured silence followed, until one of the officers glanced at you. Then at Bucky. Then back at his partner, clearly deciding that whatever they might have walked in on was not worth pursuing further.
Or that time your first picnic date turned into Bucky keeping a hand on your mouth as he fucked you right in the middle of the blanket you had so carefully arranged, imagining quiet naps beneath the trees and lazy kisses. Instead, you had squirted all over it after Bucky had growled into your neck that you needed to be quiet, or else one of his employees might catch you. Still hard, he hastily lay between your thighs for his earned “dessert”.
You have always managed to get away with it before—never caught, never interrupted, always just out of reach of consequence. Until now.
The wall rattles with a particular hard thrust of his hips, loud enough that the sound travels straight through the large space, followed immediately by a sharp, unceremonious clatter from somewhere above your head. Before either of you has even processed what’s happening, something tumbles from the nearby shelf and lands directly on Bucky’s head with a force that makes you both flinch at the same time.
Your boyfriend jerks back instantly, a harsh curse slipping out under his breath as one hand flies up to the exact point of impact, while his other arm tightens around you, still holding you close out of reflex even as he recoils.
“Oh my God—” You gasp, eyes widening in horror as you register what just happened. “Bucky!”
“’M fine.” He grunts automatically, though the tight set of his jaw and the faint squint in his eye suggest otherwise.
You wriggle out from his hold with anxious urgency until he sets you back on your feet, quickly reaching for his wrists as though you can physically prevent any further damage. He keeps muttering under his breath about “fucking shelves” and “the motherfucker who put that damn thing there.”
“Sweetheart, it was just a flashlight, not a bullet.” He grits out to reassure you.
“Who cares, it hit your head!” You argue frantically. “Move your hand, let me see.”
There is a long, theatrical pause, during which Bucky clearly considers refusing out of principle alone, but eventually he exhales through his nose and lowers his hand with exaggerated reluctance, revealing nothing particularly dramatic beyond a faintly annoyed expression.
“There,” he sighs. “Still alive.”
You stare at him with genuine devastation shining in your eyes.
“Oh, baby.”
And that is the moment everything shifts. Because your tone changes completely, your panic dissolving into something softer and infinitely more dangerous as your hands come up to his face without hesitation, cradling him with careful precision while your thumbs brush lightly over his cheeks. You inspect him with big, worried eyes, pouting at him like he has just survived something far more dramatic than an ambush by a shelf.
Bucky, for his part, goes still in a way that has nothing to do with pain and everything to do with your attention. It’s almost humiliating how quickly his entire focus narrows down to you. The way your thumb absently brushes his cheek. The way your voice drops into a gentle, breathy coo every time you ask if he is alright. The way you keep smoothing your thumb over the bruise like it physically pains you to see him like this. And somewhere in the middle of it, a thought forms with unsettling clarity—he really likes this.
“You poor thing,” you murmur mournfully. “Does it hurt?”
Bucky blinks once, twice. “A little...” He admits slowly, though the word feels less like an answer and more like an experiment he is conducting purely for the sake of seeing how you respond.
You frown. “Oh, Jamie.”
He leans into your soft palms without thinking, eyelids lowering in complete bliss.
“Mhm.”
“Do you feel dizzy?”
“... Think I might now that you mentioned it.”
The crease in your brows deepens at once, fingers sliding into his hair as you begin checking for other bumps, your touch careful and thorough in a way that turns his brain into pure mush.
“You need ice.”
“Mhm.”
“And water.”
“Probably.”
“And you should sit down for a minute.”
At that, something entirely too satisfied slips into his expression, subtle but unmistakable. Because you are standing in front of him on the verge of tears, treating this huge, rough man like a wounded woodland creature.
“You’re real sweet when you worry about me.” He murmurs, smitten.
You roll your eyes even as your hands stay on his face. “Someone has to take care of you.”
That’s all it takes. He is not going to discourage this behavior in any way, shape, or form.
Bucky lets you guide him toward the chair beside the workbench without resistance, lowering himself into it with slow obedience. The moment he is seated, you are immediately between his knees, hovering, checking, fussing, entirely focused on him as though nothing else in the world currently matters. Which, unfortunately, becomes the highlight of his entire week.
“There’s a bump.” You murmur to yourself, brows drawn together in concentration.
“Mhm.” He agrees gravely, as if this confirms a deeply unfortunate outcome for his future.
“You could’ve been seriously hurt.”
And Bucky just watches you, completely lost in the way you move around him with anxious care, your hands never quite leaving him. There is something recklessly addicting about being the center of your attention that settles into him far too easily, like it has always been waiting there for you to unlock it. It goes to his head faster than the flashlight ever could.
“Are you still feeling dizzy?” You fret.
Bucky tilts his head slightly as if genuinely considering it, though the truth is he could not care less about his symptoms.
“…Little bit.” He decides finally.
Your eyes widen. “You do?”
“Might need mouth-to-mouth.” He adds, entirely deadpan.
You stare at him in disbelief. “James.”
“What?” A pause, thoughtful. “I got a concussion, sweetheart. Have some compassion.”
“You don’t have a concussion.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” Your voice briefly cracks with amusement.
He sighs as though genuinely disappointed by the medical community. Still, he looks unbearably pleased with himself.
“Stay still,” you mutter pensively, already turning toward the small freezer tucked away nearby. “I’m getting ice.”
Bucky watches you go with an expression bordering on lovesick, his lips twisting into a soft curve. By the time you return, he has already shifted slightly, spreading his knees just enough to make space for you again. His hands find your hips as soon as you’re close enough, steadying you, holding you in place while you press the ice gently against the bump, your face still pinched with concentration.
“Too cold?” You ask softly.
“Nah.” Then, after a beat, entirely too casually, “Still think you should kiss it better, though.”
You roll your eyes, yet your small smile betrays you. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Can’t believe you’d say that while I’m injured.” He retorts, tone solemn. “I got hit real hard, doll.”
“You said it was a flashlight.” Your eyebrow raises skeptically.
“Still could’ve knocked loose my precious brain cell.”
That finally does it, a laugh slipping out of you despite the anxiety still lingering in your stomach. It’s soft and breathless and completely unrestrained, and Bucky’s hands squeeze your waist, as though he is physically anchoring himself to it.
“What am I going to do with you?” You sigh, fingers threading carefully through his hair. It occurs to you with a fond, helpless kind of clarity that you have accidentally created a monster. One who is absolutely going to treat every minor inconvenience like a life-threatening injury, if it means being doted on by you.
This time, there is no hesitation when he answers, voice quieter but absolutely certain.
“Keep spoiling me like this.”
The words come out lazy and teasing, yet they land heavier than either of you anticipate. Because he means it a little. Maybe a lot. Your expression softens in response, the final threads of panic melting away into something far more vulnerable. Then, much to his delight, you lean down and press a long kiss to the top of his head.
“There,” you murmur. “Better?”
Bucky goes still beneath you, before his arms wrap more firmly around you, pulling you just a fraction closer until his chin can comfortably rest on your torso.
“Yeah,” he whispers, reverent eyes looking up at you. “Way better.”
ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU SPEND YOUR MORNINGS TOGETHER
The two of you are stretched across his bed after a late dinner and a movie downtown, the television flickering low pale light across the room. One of Bucky’s older hoodies hangs from your shoulders, and the comforter pooled around your legs still carries faint traces of that comforting earthy scent that always seems permanently stitched into everything he owns.
You are trying very hard to stay awake. The week has been horrible: your students restless from too many rainy recesses indoors, paperwork piling endlessly across your desk, and parent emails arriving faster than you could answer them. By the time Bucky picked you up earlier that evening, your body had already been aching with fatigue. Still, you are determined not to fall asleep here. Because despite the fact that Bucky has never once made you feel unwelcome in his space, there is still a nervous little part of you convinced that accidentally crossing invisible boundaries will somehow ruin everything. Falling asleep in his bed feels far more intimate than kissing him does, strangely enough, because it means trusting him enough to stop monitoring yourself.
So every time your eyelids begin slipping lower, you stubbornly force them open again. Unfortunately, Bucky notices the way your responses slow down halfway through conversations and the increasingly delayed reaction every time he asks you something about the movie. Your body keeps unconsciously curling closer and closer toward his warmth before you catch yourself and straighten again. At one point, your head dips toward his chest for too long you abruptly jerk yourself upright.
Bucky glances at you, his hand leisurely rubbing along your arm, and one corner of his mouth already threatens to lift.
“You don’t gotta stay awake for me, doll.”
His voice comes low and soothing beside you, yet your eyes widen abruptly.
You open your mouth but nothing comes out, your eyes fluttering shut in defeat when you realize you absolutely set yourself up for that.
Bucky’s chest shakes slightly with restrained laughter at your weak glare.
“I’m serious.” You slur, shifting upright again beneath the blankets with all the determination of somebody seconds away from losing consciousness. He hums patiently, still rubbing slow circles against your sleeve.
You try very hard after that. You focus on the movie, ask questions about the actors… You even sit up straighter just to prove you are perfectly fine. Then Bucky’s hand slides absentmindedly beneath his shirt to rub slowly along your bare hip instead.
And honestly, after that, you never really stood a chance. Bucky glances down after a couple of silent minutes and finds your body curled into his side while your breathing evens out gradually beneath the faint sound of the wind outside. And something about the sight hits him so deeply it hurts. Because he knows this is not easy for you yet. That you are still learning how to be yourself around another person without feeling like an inconvenience.
Your boyfriend slowly adjusts himself against the headboard so you can settle more comfortably on him, one hand pulling the comforter higher around your shoulders before he lowers the volume of the television. You stir faintly at the movement, brows pinching briefly in your sleep, but his hand promptly strokes your back with gentle movements.
“There you go,” he murmurs quietly. “Go back to sleep, pretty girl.” The tension melts from your muscles so quickly beneath his touch that Bucky’s eyes linger on you in silent wonder for a long moment. He presses one long kiss on your forehead, and sometime later, sleep finally finds him too, quiet and unguarded with you tucked safely against his side.
The next morning, you wake feeling unexpectedly well-rested. For several peaceful seconds, your mind drifts lazily through the hazy border between sleep and awareness. It’s only when your body stirs with a slow, languid stretch that you realize you are pressed against something solid.
Solid, pleasantly warm, and… moving?
Memories crash into you all at once—the dinner, the movie... Bucky’s bed.
Your eyes fly open.
Early sunlight catches along the broad expanse of his bare forearm where it rests heavily around your waist, like he fell asleep making sure you were always close throughout the night. Mortification hits you like a punch in the stomach. You can’t believe you were careless enough to fall asleep in his bed without discussing it first, the surprise quickly curdling into guilt as you picture him stuck with you there, too kind to wake you up.
Trying to not be swallowed by panic until you are completely alone, you carefully shift beneath the blankets only for Bucky’s hold to tighten automatically around you. A sleepy hum leaves him, followed by his voice a second later, raspy and deep.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
You turn carefully enough to find him already watching you through heavy-lidded eyes, hair messy from sleep and jaw still shadowed with yesterday’s stubble.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out before you can even think about it.
Bucky blinks slowly, his soft smile falling at once. “For what?”
“For falling asleep here.”
“You were tired.” He frowns.
“I know but… I didn’t mean to bother you.”
The second the words leave your mouth, something in Bucky’s expression morphs into painful understanding. You genuinely believe this inconvenienced him.
“You silly girl,” he murmurs fondly, pulling you closer by your waist. “You fell asleep during a movie. That ain’t exactly a crime, y’know?”
You stare down at the comforter instead, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “I just didn’t wanna impose.”
Long fingers are already sliding beneath your chin, guiding your face back toward him with impossible patience.
“You think I’d rather have you driving home exhausted in the rain at midnight? Hm?”
Your lips part slightly. “Well—”
“No, baby.” His thumb delicately brushes your bottom lip. “I’d rather have you here with me.”
It feels hard to breathe properly when faced with the certainty in his voice.
“I liked waking up next to you.”
The confession lands directly beneath your ribs.
“You did?” Your eyes observe him wide with hope.
“‘Course I did.” A sleepy little smile tugs at his mouth. “I...” He huffs out an abashed chuckle, and you recoil a little, completely caught off guard. Because Bucky has never once looked this flushed since your first date.
“I’d really like it if you stayed over more.”
“Really?” It’s nothing short of a whisper.
“Mhm.” His hand drifts slowly along your side as his gaze lingers on your face with devastating devotion.
“Don’t really like the idea of you driving home late all the time anyway, and…” He pauses briefly, almost thoughtful. “I wanna wake up with you in my arms.”
The room suddenly feels far too warm. Bucky shifts slightly closer again, his other arm coming under you to anchor your body to his, his nose teasingly grazing yours.
“Wanna have my mouth on you before either of us even gets outta bed, and be late because we inevitably get carried away with our little kisses.” He whispers lazily against the slope of your neck, pressing a peck on your collarbone that makes you shudder.
“Wanna make breakfast together and watch you steal half the bacon off my plate after you said you weren’t hungry.” His mouth barely brushes your cheek. “Wanna sit at the kitchen table while you talk my ear off about your day before it even starts.”
Nobody has ever spoken about wanting you in their life as a fantasy too fragile to touch. But Bucky has already made space for you in his future without hesitation.
And then he completely ruins you by adding under his breath, “You look good here, sweetheart. With me.”
The same hesitation holding you back melts completely after that.
“I liked waking up next to you too.” You whisper, cheeks warming up at your own brave confession. But the bright smile he gives you is completely worth it.
Staying over becomes less of an exception and more of a habit neither of you wants to break. Soon enough, pieces of you begin appearing around the farmhouse: a spare toothbrush beside his sink; a brand new box of your favorite strawberry lipgloss that Bucky bought for you to specifically use when you stay over; your favorite cookies tucked into one of the kitchen cabinets—because Bucky noticed you always look for them first in the mornings.
He never rushes you into the day. Even when he has technically been awake for hours already, he moves through the morning with a steady, unhurried ease, as though the world itself knows it can take a break around him.
Sometimes you wake to find him already watching you quietly from the pillow beside yours, one arm still draped across your waist while pale sunrays spill across the sheets between you. Most mornings, you simply cuddle closer for a little while, listening to him breathe, memorizing the warmth of his arms around you, letting yourself exist without urgency for once.
“Morning, baby.”
His voice still sounds rough around the edges from sleep when he leans to meet you halfway, pressing a slow kiss on your mouth that lingers far longer than necessary because neither of you is in any hurry to separate yet.
Downstairs, the kitchen already smells faintly of coffee he started earlier. You are halfway through pouring cream into your mug when dread hits you like a bucket of icy water. Bucky notices immediately from his seat at the kitchen island, where he’s reading the newspaper like every morning.
“What happened?”
You sigh softly, your head falling back with a groan. “I still have to finish prepping activities for today.”
Instead of looking disappointed that your attention has shifted elsewhere, Bucky simply studies you thoughtfully for a moment before setting his mug down.
“Show me.”
You turn in surprise. “What?”
“Show me what you gotta do.”
“You wanna help me lesson plan?” Your eyebrows raise in amusement.
“Correction, I wanna spend my morning with you.”
So eventually you spread everything across the wooden surface: worksheets, glue sticks, colored markers, laminated reading cards, paper cutouts for today’s classroom activity. Bucky watches the process unfold with intense concentration, a deep crease between his eyebrows while he studies your materials.
“This all for one class?”
“Mm-hmm. Reading exercise, drawing activity, vocabulary review…” You point at each group of items.
Bucky gives you a slow nod, despite still looking vaguely overwhelmed by the amount of paper involved. Without thinking much about it, you hand him a stack of cut-out shapes that needs to be organized by color. He takes them at once, no hesitation whatsoever. Several minutes later, you glance up and nearly snort out loud when you realize he’s sorting them not only by color, but by shade. After that, he busies himself with other simple tasks, like passing markers to you in color order because he noticed you unconsciously arrange them that way yourself, and flattening laminated sheets carefully beneath one rough hand while you cut around them.
At one point, Bucky picks up one of the worksheets and studies it with intense concentration, his brows slowly knitting together the more he reads through the page. You barely pay attention at first, too focused on cutting out paper stars for the reading activity, until silence stretches suspiciously long. When you are done, you find Bucky still staring at the paper as if studying a government document.
“These kids gotta circle the adjective?”
You blink once. “Yes?”
He glances down at the paper, then back at you. “They know what an adjective is?”
“Most of them.” You chuckle at his genuine curiosity.
Bucky shakes his head like the information has sincerely overwhelmed him.
“When I was their age, I was eating dirt behind the barn.”
“Bucky.”
“I’m just being honest, sweetheart.” His finger taps the worksheet once. “These little kids are out here identifying pronouns and shit at eight in the morning.”
You are laughing too hard now imagining a smaller, frowning Bucky eating dirt and running around the pasture hugging lambs probably larger than him. Bucky watches you with obvious satisfaction, until his eyes narrow at another page on the table.
“Is that a frog?”
You grin at him. “That’s the reading mascot, Sir Ribbits.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “The frog helps them read?”
“He encourages them.”
Bucky stares at the cartoon amphibian for another long moment before giving it a satisfied nod.
“Good for him.”
After hunching over papers for what feels like hours, you stretch your arms with a tired little moan. Bucky is already rounding the table to rub your stiff shoulders, and instead of flinching, you simply lean back into it.
By the time everything is finally packed away, the kitchen table is covered in marker caps and paper scraps. He gathers the last stack of worksheets into neat piles before you can even reach for them.
“You’re weirdly good at this.” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you prop your elbow on the table and rest your chin against your knuckles.
Bucky glances up from the papers. “You let me into your world,” he says simply. “Figured I should learn it too.”
He never expected you to abandon pieces of yourself to fit into his life more easily. Instead, he stepped gently into yours, observing every detail with patience and the kind of love that makes ordinary mornings feel sacred without either of you even realizing it.
A strange heaviness weighs in your body on Thursday morning but Bucky is so warm, and still dozing beside you with one of his large hands resting on your stomach. So you yawn, lazily letting your eyes blink at the window just enough to not abandon that pleasant, fuzzy state of drowsiness. But then they accidentally land on the clock on your nightstand and the realization is like electricity in your veins.
“Oh no.”
The words catch painfully in your throat while you scramble upright so fast the mattress shifts violently beneath you.
“No, no, no, no—”
Bucky wakes with a jolt at the desperation in your voice, his brows pulling together while he pushes himself up on one elbow, still heavy with sleep but already alert.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
You are throwing the blankets aside, heart hammering painfully while you frantically open your closet. “I’m so fucking late.”
He glances once toward the clock and sits up fully.
“Okay.” He says calmly, rubbing one hand briefly over his face before standing. “Hey, sweetheart. You need to breathe.”
But your thoughts pile over each other in a chaotic succession to acknowledge the note of seriousness tinging his voice. Stumbling around your bedroom, you mentally list everything waiting for you at school, and fuck! You still need to print the spelling worksheets—
Suddenly your chest feels too tight for your lungs.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” you whine shakily while yanking open dresser drawers with far more force than necessary. “Why didn’t my alarm go off?”
Bucky watches you for approximately three seconds before deciding this has gone on long enough.
“Sweetheart.”
You barely hear him.
“Where are my tights? Fuck—”
The sound of your name in his low voice is like an arm dragging you out of the fog. You look up just in time to see him step directly into your path, his palms settling carefully on your upper arms before your nervous pacing can continue.
“Sit down for me.”
The words are not sharp, but there is enough firmness in his voice that your body pauses anyway.
“I don’t have time to sit down.” You argue weakly, still breathless.
“You got thirty seconds.”
“Bucky—”
“Thirty.” His thumbs stroke once over your arms. “Then you can go back to panicking all you want.”
And somehow, despite yourself, a tiny startled laugh almost escapes your throat. Your spiraling does not scare him, he has already decided he can handle it.
Reluctantly, you fall back on the edge of the bed, your right knee already bouncing anxiously. Meanwhile, your boyfriend moves around the room with military efficiency despite being startled awake not even five minutes ago, opening drawers you left hanging crooked and pulling out clothes with far more success than you had managed one minute earlier.
“This sweater okay?” He asks, holding up the brown-colored knit you wear most often to school.
You nod quickly. “Yeah.”
“What about bottoms?”
“The dark jeans. Not the—no, the other ones.”
A sleepy smile pulls at his mouth. “Doll, you own six pairs of those.”
“They’re different.”
“Mhm. I’m learning.”
He lays the clothes neatly beside you before his eyes meet yours.
“I’ll get the shower running.” You are already half-way up but he stops you promptly with a hand on your shoulder. “You stay put for one minute and focus on your breathing.”
Your body slumps back on the mattress dejected. “I don’t have one minute.”
“You do,” he calls back over the hallway. “You just decided you don’t.”
And annoyingly enough, hearing him say that steadies your heartbeat embarrassingly fast. Bucky never meets your panic with more panic, but with this quiet expectation that life will go on if you slow down to take a breath.
By the time you finally hurry into the kitchen twenty minutes later, still trying to button one sleeve, you stop short at the familiar sizzling of the pan. Bucky is standing near the stove in grey sweatpants and an old dark henley, hair still messy from sleep and posture relaxed while he slides scrambled eggs onto a plate.
“Sit.” He says after spotting you hovering on the threshold.
“Bucky—”
He turns toward you fully then, watching you with that deeply patient expression of his.
“C’mere.”
You comply with a sigh as he slides the plate in front of you alongside a toast, some jam and a travel mug of coffee already prepared exactly the way you like it.
“You need protein.”
You massage your temples to soothe the impending headache. “I’m gonna be late.”
“You’re already late,” he points out calmly, leaning against the counter. “Now, you can either be late and fed or late and miserable.”
You stare at him and he promptly raises one eyebrow. “You done fighting me on this or you got another argument ready?”
That finally pulls a reluctant laugh from you. “You’re bossy in the morning.”
He shrugs easily, now understanding why you arrive home every afternoon looking like somebody has been ruthlessly peeling pieces off you since sunrise.
He then helps without making a performance out of it. Your coat appears folded neatly over a chair, and your keys get placed directly beside your coffee as you try to eat faster. When your lunch bag nearly gets forgotten on the kitchen counter, Bucky simply hooks two fingers through the strap and places it near your coat.
“Every morning you skitter through this part like a startled little thing.” He murmurs eventually.
Your answer is a tired sigh. “Because I’m always running behind.”
“Nah,” he corrects gently, stepping behind your chair to put his hands over your shoulders and press a kiss to your temple. “You just got it in your head that if you ain’t running yourself ragged, you’re not working hard enough.”
The words hit uncomfortably close to home, leaving you staring down at your empty plate in silence. Bucky promptly kneels beside you, intertwining his fingers with yours.
“You hear what I’m saying, princess?” He mumbles softly.
“A little.” You nod reluctantly.
“You don’t gotta earn rest by wearing yourself thin.”
Your throat tightens unexpectedly, not used to have your exhaustion treated like something deserving tenderness instead of expectation. Before the moment can settle too heavily inside you though, Bucky glances toward your bag where papers are sticking halfway out.
“You got everything?”
You finally look up, straightening just a little. “I think so.”
“That usually means no.”
You groan softly. “Please don’t start.”
He chuckles under his breath before walking over to the bag for a checkup, clearly having observed this exact routine unravel before. Within seconds, he pulls out your half-empty water bottle.
“You forgot to fill this.”
“Oh.” You frown.
“And your portable charger.”
“Oh.” Your shoulders slump.
“And doll?” His eyes lift to you knowingly while he holds up the folder with all the notes for your lesson currently bent sideways. “This thing’s fighting for its life.”
Exasperated, you hide your face behind your hands while he fixes the folder carefully before zipping everything properly closed. But the bag is too full and when your fingers close around the handle a few minutes later, the zipper gives away anyway, and frustration spikes sharply enough that your eyes sting.
“Why won’t this stupid thing—”
Before you can fight with it further, Bucky steps in and takes the bag from your hands. One smooth motion and the zipper slides perfectly into place.
“There.”
Your entire nervous system settles slightly from that tiny act alone.
You finally make it to the front door—still flustered, still behind schedule, still trying to mentally catch up with the day waiting outside. But you are no longer drowning in it.
You grab your car keys, expecting some hurried goodbye while Bucky cleans the kitchen. Instead, he is standing directly in front of the door, and without a word, his hands reach down and fix your collar where it folded awkwardly.
“Text me when you get there.”
“I will.” His eyes search your face for another moment, cradling it between his warm palms.
“You did good.”
You stare at him incredulously. “I overslept by almost an hour.”
“And you still got up,” Bucky comments simply. “Still got dressed. Still ate breakfast. Still remembered your stuff. That’s what matters, baby.”
He never measures your worth through perfection, only through effort. Through whether or not you are being gentle enough with yourself while surviving difficult days.
He leaves a long kiss on your forehead, completely unbothered by the clock ticking loudly behind you.
“Now go teach your little gremlins.”
“They’re not gremlins.” You roll your eyes fondly.
His left eyebrow raises in skepticism. “One of ’em tried to lick glue yesterday.”
“He said he wanted to know if it tasted like blueberries because the bottle was blue.” You mumble defensively.
“Mhm.” He presses one last kiss to your lips. “Tiny gremlins.”
You shake your head, chuckling as you reach for the door. And while walking to your car, you realize with pleasant surprise that your breathing is a little steadier. Controlled. Because Bucky stood beside your panic and refused to let it carry you away.
ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU ARGUE FOR THE FIRST TIME
Pickup was already chaotic: one of the first graders had burst into tears after losing her glitter-covered pencil somewhere near the cubbies, a little boy had refused to put on his raincoat because he insisted it was “for babies,” and by the time the middle school students started flooding the shared hallway, you already felt like hiding beneath your blanket and sleeping for two days.
That’s when the shouting starts—two eighth graders near the front doors, chest-to-chest, yelling loud enough to make half the younger kids stop in place.
You don’t even think before stepping in.
“Hey!” You call sharply, moving between them before either could swing properly. “That’s enough.”
One of them backs off immediately. The other glares at you. He is taller by several inches, angry in the ugly, reckless way teenagers sometimes become when they realize they can intimidate adults physically now. His face twists the second you tell him to step away from the younger students.
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I absolutely can,” you answer promptly, trying to keep your voice collected because several of your students are staring with huge frightened eyes. “Go cool off in one of the classrooms.”
He laughs, a sharp and bitter sound, before stepping closer.
“You think because you teach stupid little kids that you can boss everybody around?”
You ignore that part. “Watch your language.”
That only makes him angrier. “You gonna write me up?” He mocks. “Go teach somebody the alphabet or something.”
He starts talking over you, muttering insults under his breath, waving his hands too close to your face while you try to de-escalate things without frightening your students more than they already are.
And then Bucky walks in. He has come to pick you up because your car is still at the mechanic after the tire issue earlier that week. The second he steps through the school doors and sees some teenage boy towering over you while a crowd of scared children has shrunk back against the wall, something in him visibly sharpens.
Once the boy swings one hand again while barking the umpteenth insult aimed at you, too close to your shoulder this time, Bucky is there in seconds.
“That’s enough.”
His voice cuts through the noise so coldly that even the younger kids go quiet.
The boy freezes. Honestly, anybody would in front of a six-foot-something man wearing rough work clothes still dusted faintly from the farm, and a face that rarely softens around strangers.
“You’re done yelling at her, and you better start showing some respect to your teachers.” He continues evenly. “You understand me?”
The boy mutters something under his breath about you not being his teacher, prompting Bucky to take a step closer. The younger snaps his head up, before taking a step back.
“Try again.”
Silence.
Then finally, begrudgingly, “Yes, sir.”
The principal arrives not even a minute later after hearing the commotion, quickly pulling the boy away while apologizing profusely to you both, and the altercation ends as quickly as it started. At least physically. Emotionally, it’s heavy as a boulder on your shoulders, because the entire drive home, Bucky is quieter than usual, so tense that you feel the need to tentatively reach for the handle at your side and roll down the car window for some fresh air.
His hand still rests on your thigh, he still opens your door, and asks if you have eaten. But there is something bothering him underneath all of it. And eventually, while he is cooking dinner later that evening, it finally surfaces.
“You shouldn’t have stepped between them like that.”
You look up from where you are sitting at the kitchen island grading some assignments. “What?”
Bucky keeps stirring something in the pan, shoulders tight beneath his henley. “He was bigger than you,” he continues carefully. “And he was already angry.”
“He’s a kid.”
“He’s fifteen.”
“He’s still a student.”
His jaw clenches briefly. “And if he had hit you?”
With a slow sigh, you decide to put your pen down—these are all signs that you are not getting out of this conversation anytime soon.
“He wasn’t going to, I had it under control.” You rebut tiredly.
“Didn’t look like you did.”
The second those words leave his mouth, something ugly inside your chest twists painfully. His voice is controlled, far from cruel, but those words feel like a knife ruthlessly stabbing an old scar that refuses to heal properly. And suddenly, you are twenty-two again, standing in your parents’ kitchen while your mom frowns at your teaching degree paperwork.
Teaching little kids? What are you gonna do with that?
You’re wasting your time, this won’t pay bills.
“Well, I handled it anyway.” You look back at the paper in front of you, quietly.
Bucky exhales through his nose, still focused on the stove.
“Sweetheart, I know you were trying to help, but—”
“I did help.” You frown at his back.
“You can’t just jump between two angry teenagers.”
“I’m a teacher.”
“And I’m saying you don’t gotta throw yourself in front of people to prove that.”
That one hurts too. It tastes like doubt, criticism... disappointment.
“I know how to do my job.” You croak out.
Bucky finally turns then, brows drawn slightly.
“I didn’t say you don’t.”
But his voice is firmer now, frustration slipping through the cracks of his apparent composure despite himself, and when he gestures with the wooden spoon in his hand, his tone rises just enough to make you flinch before you can stop it. The movement is barely noticeable, more out of surprise than anything. Except Bucky freezes.
You don’t even realize your eyes have dropped somewhere on the counter in front of you until his voice changes completely.
“Sweetheart.” A soft, tentative sound, but you are already shaking your head.
“It’s okay.” Your voice sounds wrong and dismissive even to you and Bucky’s expression shifts into painful realization.
He sets the spoon down without another word, turns off the stove, then gingerly walks toward, still keeping his distance so you won’t feel cornered.
“C’mere a second, baby.”
You hesitate, because your body already knows the shape arguments are supposed to take, even if your mind is trying to remind itself that this is your Bucky. Your Jamie.
Still, somewhere deep inside you, disagreement has tied to punishment long ago, to that awful tightening in the air that used to settle over rooms after somebody got upset. You are used to conversations turning cold the second emotions become inconvenient; to silence stretching for hours or even days because you were the one expected to smooth everything over—apologize first, speak softer, take up less space. Growing up, anger always came with withdrawal attached to it. Simple disagreements morphed into slammed cabinets and heavy sighs and someone suddenly acting as though your mere presence had become irritating. And even though Bucky has never treated you that way, your instincts still brace for him to go quiet in that unbearable way that turns a home into a suffocating prison.
But his hand rests on your back as it gently guides you toward the couch, settling beside you but still leaving enough room to breathe. Bucky does not like the way you move cautiously around him, the way you slowly lower yourself onto the same couch that has held you both through late-night talks that stretched until early morning, and movie nights that ended in soft, unhurried kisses.
“We’re not doing silence, okay?”
Your eyes fall on the floor. “I wasn’t—”
“Yes, you were.” His voice stays gentle. “You started disappearing on me halfway through that conversation.”
“I was listening.” You stare at your fingers fidgeting on your thighs.
“No, angel.” He shakes his head once, his eyes never once straying away from you. “You got quiet because you thought I was gonna turn into somebody I’m not.”
The stinging pressure behind your eyes becomes unbearable. Bucky braces his forearms on his thighs, leaning forward with a slow exhale instead of pressing closer.
“I’m not mad at you.” He adds in a whisper. “I was worried for you.”
You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I know.”
“Do you?” His tone is impossibly feeble now, because suddenly this is not about the hallway anymore, but a habit that was acquired through mortification and fear. Bucky studies your face for another second before speaking again.
“Ain’t no reason for you to be scared to talk back to me, sweetheart.” His brows pinch faintly. “And if I say something that hurts you, I need you to tell me.”
You let out a shaky breath, your voice coming out weaker than you intend to. “It wasn’t just that.”
Bucky straightens at once at the first crack in your armor, unconsciously getting closer.
“Then help me understand.”
Eventually, with trembling hands and wet eyes, you open up. About your mom and how every time you came home exhausted during your first teaching year, she would look at you like you were failing at life itself. About how your dad used to scoff whenever you talked about your students, because “Teaching kids how to write their name isn’t a real career”. About how even the tiniest mistake sounded like proof you were incapable.
And the more you speak, the worse Bucky looks. By the time you finish talking, it feels like a weight has finally been removed off your chest, yet he looks genuinely sick with guilt.
“Baby,” he mumbles, reaching for your hand. “I wasn’t doubting you. I would never do that.”
You shrug weakly. “I know you weren’t trying to.”
“But I still made you feel that way.”
That’s what finally breaks you, because he’s not defending himself, nor minimizing it.
Tears spill before you can stop them, and your Bucky is already there with open arms to catch you.
“C’mere, babygirl.”
You climb into his lap without hesitation, burying your face against his neck as his arms wrap around you securely. One large hand slides slowly up and down your back, and you try really hard to swallow down your sobs, but you only end up making a bigger mess of his shirt.
“I’m so sorry, princess.” He whispers against your temple. “And I should never’ve raised my voice at you.”
“You weren’t yelling.” You answer shakily.
“You still flinched.”
The shame in his voice makes your heart ache. His hold tightens around you instinctively at your whimper.
“I wasn’t angry at you.” He mumbles urgently. “I was angry at the whole damn situation. At that kid thinking he could talk to you like that after nearly starting a fight in front of your students.” His jaw tightens briefly before he continues. “Couldn’t stand there listening to some mouthy little bastard trying to scare you in front of those little kids.”
Your eyes close in sorrow as the image of their startled faces comes back cruel and still fresh.
“They were terrified.” You sniffle and his arms squeeze you just a little tighter.
“I know why you stepped in.” he sighs. “You love those kids like they’re your own for eight hours every damn day, and you can’t stand the idea of any of ’em feeling helpless in a place that’s supposed to be safe.” His palms cradle your cheeks to slowly coax you out of his chest, the urge to see you so strong it pulls hard at his heart.
“You walk into that school every morning and spend your whole day teaching them how to read and write and believe in themselves. And you’re so fucking good at that, angel. You teach ’em how to be brave enough to admit when they don’t understand something. How to speak up without being scared of failing. How to be kind with each other when the world already gives them enough reasons not to be.” A faint, helpless sort of admiration softens his face then, like he still can’t believe he gets to love and be loved by someone as precious as you.
Your lips shake as you give him a pained smile, tears still sliding relentlessly down your cheeks.
“Years from now those kids probably won’t remember every worksheet you gave ’em, but they’ll remember how you were patient with ’em. That you listened.” His teeth clench when his voice wavers a little.
“So yeah, I know exactly why you did that. But that boy still thought he could stand there and talk to you like you were nothing.” He exhales slowly, forehead leaning against yours. “And baby… I got scared too.”
Your chest heaves, something akin to panic swirling in your stomach, because you have never seen your boyfriend look so devastated.
“You matter to me more than being right in an argument,” the words come out rough, his throat working hard around the tight knot lodged there. “So if I get scared and it comes out wrong sometimes, I need you to remember it’s only because the thought of something happening to you tears me apart.”
You nod slowly before folding yourself back against him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck as you bury your face in the warmth of his chest. And then you simply exist together for a long while, curled into him with your cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his shirt while his strong arms hold you safely close to his heart.
The living room has gone quiet around you, the stove forgotten for the moment, as your breathing gradually evens out. He is the one who breaks the silence first, clearing his throat lightly as his lips brush your forehead.
“We’re gonna argue sometimes,” he murmurs carefully, almost reluctantly, like the thought alone upsets him as well. “I can’t promise we’ll never get frustrated with each other.”
Your arms tighten around him at that.
“What I can promise you,” he continues softly, pulling back just enough to look at you properly, one hand coming up to cup your jaw with impossible tenderness. “Is that I’m not gonna stop loving you when things get hard.”
A fresh set of tears settles at the corners of your eyes, because that’s the part you never learned growing up—that the love of the people close to you was not supposed to be conditional.
Bucky’s thumb brushes beneath your eye. “And I’m really, really sorry, sweetheart.” His voice full of genuine regret. “I hate that I made you feel small for even a second.”
You shake your head urgently, not liking his expression. “You didn’t mean to, Jamie.”
“Yet I still did it.” He shifts slightly beneath you then, settling you more comfortably against his chest before continuing quietly.
“Next time one of us gets too worked up, we stop.” His tone is thoughtful now, already trying to build something safer for you with his bare hands. “Nobody keeps pushing the conversation just to win it. We sit down, we breathe, maybe hold each other if that’s what you need, and then we talk when it actually feels like us again instead of our anger. How’s that sound?”
You nod eagerly, before letting out the tiniest watery chuckle against his shoulder.
“That sounds very therapist of you.”
Bucky huffs a soft laugh of his own through his nose. “Probably because I’m thinking real hard how I never wanna be the reason my girl cries like this again.”
A sob threatens to spill out at the pain beneath his words, so you press your face against his neck insistently—as if that could physically stop your own anguish. Bucky plants a gentle kiss on your temple.
“And if I ever get loud again,” he continues with quiet embarrassment, brows pinching in guilt. “You tell me straight away, okay? There are no excuses for it. Don’t sit there holding it on your own while I’m thinking everything’s fine.”
You nod slowly. “I can do that.”
“Promise?” He mumbles, teasingly pushing the tip of his nose against yours.
“Promise.” You leave a tiny peck on the corner of his mouth and only then does some of the tension finally leave him.
His hand slides upwards, fingertips scratching lightly at your scalp just how you like, a soft sigh escaping him at the feeling of your body melting against his.
“You okay now, babygirl?” The whispered question comes out so sweetly, so sincerely worried, that it nearly brings you to tears all over again.
He gets a simple nod as an answer, and that’s enough for him to understand you are still quite overwhelmed to communicate with words. Bucky considers your body for a moment, his eyes moving carefully over you like he needs to be absolutely certain before he believes it. Your shoulders are no longer drawn up near your ears, and your hands have loosened, clutching lightly at his shirt instead of gripping it desperately. Your breathing has finally settled as well, slower and steadier against his chest. Even your eyes have lost their heat, no longer shiny with panic but tired and present in the moment. Only when he seems fully convinced that you are no longer bracing for something awful to happen does his expression finally ease.
“I got you,” he murmurs quietly against your forehead. “Even when we get things wrong, I still got you.”
Later that night, long after your chagrin has faded and dinner has finally been eaten cold straight from reheated plates, you lie on him with your ear resting directly over his heartbeat. Usually Bucky melts into the sheets whenever you cuddle him like this. Tonight, he stays strangely rigid beneath you.
Lifting your head slightly, you look at his handsome features kissed by the dim, warm light coming from the lamp on his nightstand.
“Jamie?” His fingers pause where they have been tracing absently along your spine, eyes fixed emptily on the TV screen.
“Hm?” He blinks once, hastily turning toward you, like your voice had suddenly pulled him out of whatever thought he had disappeared into.
“You alright?”
The silence that stretches afterward allows anxiety to creep onto the edge of your ribs, before he carefully maneuvers the both of you so you are lying on your sides, facing each other.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Always.” His jaw clenches before he meets your eyes.
“Were you scared of me?”
You almost flinch back. “What?”
“Tonight.” He grunts, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Or before. At any point.”
You stare at him in genuine disbelief. “Bucky—”
“I know I ain’t exactly…” He huffs. “Mr. Friendly with strangers.”
You snort softly because the statement sounds so painfully sincere.
“I’m serious, doll.” His gaze absently lands somewhere on your collarbone. “Most people think I’m angry before I even open my mouth.”
You frown at the tinge of sadness in his voice.
“And then tonight happened,” he continues quietly. “You flinched when I raised my voice and—”
“That wasn’t because of you.” You quickly correct him.
“But I can’t stand that your body reacted like that around me.”
You push yourself upward, cupping his face between your hands until he finally looks at you properly. “James Buchanan Barnes,” you whisper solemnly. “I have never been scared of you. And never will.”
His expression softens at the full name.
“You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel safe.” His eyes still refuse to meet yours, but from the blush settling high on his cheeks, you reckon it’s out of shyness rather than bitter insecurity.
“You know what I see when I look at you?” He shakes his head once. “I see a good,” you murmur softly. “Gentle, patient man.” Your voice lowers even further at that, warmth blooming through your chest when he finally looks at you.
“You always reach for my hand before we cross a street without even thinking about it. You remember which side of the bed I sleep better on; you peel oranges for me because you know I hate the smell on my fingers, and you always turn the porch light on before I get to your house so I never have to walk up in the dark alone.” An adoring grin tugs at your mouth then. “You look at me like I’m the prettiest girl in the world. All the time—even when I’m exhausted and cranky and covered in glitter glue from school projects.”
“So no, Bucky. I don’t think there’s anything about you to be scared of.” You sigh dreamily, lying back down. “You’re my Jamie.”
He swallows hard, jaw tightening for a moment as he fights for control over the tears threatening to spill.
“I love you.” He whispers abruptly, like he can’t hold it back anymore.
Your breath hitches, and then your smile breaks open so wide your cheeks start to ache. “I love you too, Jamie.”
The second the words leave your mouth, Bucky is pulling you over him for a feverish kiss that steals the oxygen from your burning lungs.
That night, he carefully rolls until he’s the one resting on your chest, his arms locked securely around your waist. And for the first time in your life, disagreement ends with someone offering silence as a space to settle instead of weaponizing it.
ᥫ᭡. WHEN HE THINKS ABOUT FOREVER
You are sitting with crossed legs on the couch in one of Bucky’s flannels and thick socks, Alpine dramatically sprawled on your lap as one tiny paw stretches lazily beneath your chin. Her purring is loud enough to vibrate through your ribs every time your fingers drag slowly through her white fur. She arrived in the middle of January wrapped inside one of Bucky’s old flannels, small enough that at first you mistook her for some white bundle of fabric against his chest. You still remember the way he had stepped through the front door that evening with rainwater clinging to the shoulders of his jacket and damp locks at the nape of his neck, one large hand carefully cupped beneath the trembling kitten like he was afraid she might dissolve if he held her too tightly.
“Found her near the south fence,” he had explained quietly while you fretted over them, your heart already breaking at the sight of the little thing. “No collar. Could barely stop shivering to eat.”
Alpine had looked miserable then, all wide blue eyes and soaked fur, but the second you reached for her, she had pushed her tiny face straight into your palm with a desperate little squeak that made Bucky huff a soft laugh. And that was it for you.
Months later, Alpine rules the farmhouse like she personally pays the mortgage. She follows Bucky everywhere when he is home, winding around his boots while he cooks or trying to climb directly into his lap whenever he sits down for more than five minutes. But with you she turns even softer, almost spoiled in the way she melts instantly against your affection. The moment you walk through the front door, she is meowing to be picked up, trotting across the hardwood floors before you even have time to take your shoes off. Sometimes she is eagerly waiting on the back of the couch like she somehow heard your car turn into Bucky’s lane.
He pretends to find it deeply offensive.
“Think she likes you more’n me now.” He had grumbled once while watching Alpine stretch shamelessly in your arms instead of his. You laughed, finding him extremely adorable.
“She sees you every day.”
“Exactly,” he had replied, narrowing his eyes at the cat like she had personally betrayed him. “And apparently that means nothing anymore.”
Tonight is no different.
“There’s my pretty girl,” you murmur as your hands delicately cradle her face. “Yes, there she is. Sweet baby.” Alpine answers by shoving her tiny face directly beneath your chin.
“Oh, you want more attention?” You gasp theatrically. “What a shocking development!”
From the doorway, Bucky watches the entire thing unfold in silence with the shadow of a fond smile lingering on his lips, one shoulder leaning against the frame separating the living room from the kitchen and thick arms crossed loosely over his chest. There is dirt still faintly smudged along one forearm from work outside, his flannel pushed up to his elbows, hair still slightly messy from where he dragged his fingers through it earlier. But all of that roughness fades beneath the look in his eyes. Because you are sitting there treating that tiny stray kitten like she hung the moon. Carefully kissing her head. Adjusting the blanket around her. Holding her with such tenderness, like this is the only language your body knows how to speak.
“Needy thing.” You murmur affectionately before pressing another kiss between her ears.
“You say that like you’re any better.”
The sound of Bucky’s teasing voice makes you glance up immediately. Alpine notices him too, her ears perking instantly before she lets out a tiny chirp of recognition. Still, she makes absolutely no attempt to leave your arms. The floor creaks softly beneath his boots as he finally pushes away from the doorway and walks toward the couch. You give him a sweet smile before your attention drops back to the kitten currently trying to chew on the sleeve hanging over your hand.
“Your daughter is biting me again.” Bucky snorts quietly as he lowers himself beside you, one arm immediately stretching around your shoulders.
“My daughter?” He repeats, pulling you closer. “That cat stopped being mine the second you started baby-talking her.”
“Mmh, that’s not true.”
“Princess, you carried her around this house for three hours yesterday because she sneezed once.”
You frown. “She was sick.”
“She had dust on her nose.”
You gasp softly in mock offense while Alpine flips onto her back, completely unconcerned with the argument happening over her custody. Bucky watches you scratch carefully beneath her chin, your entire face softening without restraint every time she purrs louder. Something in his chest pulls so hard it almost feels unfair, because you have no idea how gorgeous you look, and that he could stand there for hours just watching you pour your love out so freely.
Bucky reaches down then, scratching gently beneath Alpine’s chin until the kitten practically melts in your lap. “She sits in front of the door when you leave, y’know.”
Your eyebrows lift in surprise. “She does not.”
“Mhm.” His mouth twitches faintly. “Walks around crying for twenty minutes like her entire life just fell apart.”
“That’s dramatic.” You tell her with an exaggerated pout.
“Says the woman holding her like an actual infant.”
You look down instinctively. She has, in fact, moved to lie against your chest beneath the blanket with only her tiny head visible. “… Okay maybe a little.”
Bucky chuckles softly, the sound settling warm and deep inside your chest. You eventually notice his silence as somewhere deeper in the house the dryer hums low and steady. The air smells faintly like coffee and detergent and the water lily and sheer musk candle you lit earlier before sunset. When Alpine decides it’s time for the second round against the buttons of the flannel, your smile fades gradually as you become aware that Bucky’s still looking at you.
“What?” You ask softly. He blinks once like he has to pull himself back into the room.
“Nothing.” He murmurs automatically, though it’s very clearly not nothing.
Your eyes narrow a little. “James.”
His expression shifts then, softening even further until it almost looks thoughtful, his gaze drifting toward Alpine.
“I keep picturing something,” he breathes out absently. “Not in a big, dramatic way. Just… small things stacked together.”
Your breath catches quietly.
“Waking up,” he continues, almost like he can see it somewhere in front of him. “And not having to rush outta bed right away. Coffee that gets cold because neither of us remembers it’s there. A kitchen that’s too full of noise for how early it is.” His frame moves with the faint breath of amusement that slips through his lips, but it never breaks the softness of the moment.
“And coming home at the end of the day knowing it doesn’t matter how it went out there,” he adds more quietly, finally meeting your eyes. “Because there’s still you here.”
You can barely breathe now, your heart doing a strange little stutter. He says it so easily. Like these thoughts have existed inside him for a long time already. Like he’s visited them before and kept coming back to them over and over again.
Bucky shifts slightly closer on the couch without even seeming aware he is doing it, his free hand settling warm on your knee, his thumb brushing back and forth on your bare skin.
“I don’t know all the details yet,” he whispers, eyes moving from your eyes to your lips. “But I know it keeps coming back to the same thing. You being here. That’s the part my mind doesn’t change.”
Bucky leans closer until his forehead finally rests against yours. “If someday you decide you want kids, I’ll build something bigger for us. A place with too much noise, toys everywhere and muddy boots by the front door.” His smile grows almost boyishly giddy now, soft laughter warming his words. “Maybe a little boy with your eyes... and a little girl with your smile.”
Your chest rises sharply, your love for this sweet man soaring so suddenly in your heart it almost hurts. Tears burn hot behind your eyes before you can stop them.
“And if you don’t want that,” he continues gently, certain that every path still leads to you anyway. “Then we’ll keep the farmhouse just the way it is and spoil every animal we’ve got. Those damn ducks already act like they’re running the place anyway.” A watery laugh escapes you despite the lump in your throat, and Bucky smiles at the sound, his nose brushing lightly against yours.
“You wanna travel? We’ll travel. You wanna stay here forever teaching little ones while I complain about tractors and rain?” His hand squeezes your knee once. “Fine too.” Then the teasing fades from his expression entirely.
“Any future is right if you’re in it.”
Your vision blurs completely to the point a few small tears escape anyway, Bucky reaching up almost instinctively with his rough thumb to carefully brush away the wetness beneath one eye.
“I love you,” he whispers, thick with emotion. “I just need you.”
You stare at him for one helpless second before you finally cup his face.
“I love you too, Jamie.” You manage shakily, chuckling at how wobbly your voice must sound.
And yet, you couldn’t care less, because his lips are on yours—soft, reverent. One hand moves on your waist while the last rays of sunset spill warm gold across the walls around you.
Alpine promptly puts her front paws on your chest halfway through like she refuses to be excluded from this sweet moment. You feel Bucky laugh gently against your mouth at the feeling of fur brushing against his neck, but even then, he stays close enough that your foreheads still touch.
“Everything else,” he murmurs quietly, like a promise made as much to himself as to you. “Can figure itself out around that.”
— ⟢ END NOTES: as I mentioned in another post, nowadays it’s hard to find someone who is willing to put real effort into a relationship, but with this story I wanted to focus on the more positive side of dating—especially how someone like this reader, kinda insecure and with little relationship experience, might navigate certain situations for the first time + the degree of trust it takes to let yourself be vulnerable for the first time with someone. honestly there was so much more that I wanted to write, but because of the 1000 blocks limit, I had to cut out many scenes, shorten the smutty parts and make longer paragraphs (hope it doesn't look bad). I also intend to further explore the non-sexual d/s dynamic in other stories, because this one-shot was just a collection of moments so I thought it'd be better to keep it pretty tame. what was your favorite moment 🥰? thank you so much for reading 💕
my masterlist → winteryn's masterlist
diet pepsi ⸺ camp counselor!jay (sounds to scenes collection)
( ★ ) ⸻ jay spent the entire summer pretending that he wasn't into you. ignoring every single one of your advances, because it made sense. you were younger. he was leaving. it just wouldn't work out. avoiding you just made the most sense. until he's letting himself slip on your last night together and he's quickly realizing that he's made a huge mistake.
۶ৎpairing: mentor!jay x mentee!reader ۶ৎgenre: heavy angst... smut. summer camp au. age gap (reader is 18, jay is 24). established relationships. ۶ৎtw: smut (mdni!) descriptive making out, loss of virginity, mutual pining. unexpected heeseung closure. fingering, dry humping. slight dirty talk. unresolved feelings. cortis!martin makes an appearance. bnd!jaehyun. car sex. subtle masturbation (m.), relationship ending. gone the next morning... post sex abandonment? unprotected sex (not in this economy pls). ۶ৎwc: 16.5k+
⸻ playlist | diet pepsi. addison rae, bound. the ponderosa twins plus one, late night talking. harry styles, electric love. borns, love grows (where my rosemary goes). edison lighthouse, tenerife sea. ed sheeran, perfect places. lorde, bad habit. steve lacy, get you. daniel caesar ft. kali uchis, summertime sadness. lana del rey, vienna. billy joel, the scientist. coldplay.
by the time the sun was setting, camp barely looked like camp anymore. the campers that had spent the past three months running from cabin to cabin had been picked up hours ago. said cabins cleaned up and empty, ready for the winter that slowly crept around the corner. the lake was still. for the first time all summer, there wasn't a schedule to follow, no activities, no headcounts. no one asking where the arts-and-crafts supplies were. you and the eleven other counselors were the only ones left, closing out the summer with a well deserved bonfire barbecue.
martin, sakai and jaehyun dragged picnic tables to the beach before setting the folding chairs up to surround the fire, while jungwon set up his speaker, viv and lex arguing about whose playlist should be shuffled. the smell of charcoal hung heavy in the air as heeseung started up the grill, expertly cutting thick pieces of beef while brin stole bites directly off the serving tray.
he's rolling his eyes the third time her tongs chase his, “those are for everybody,” he grumbles, she nods with a grin – pushing a big piece past her lips. “mhm!” she's reaching for another piece, but he's nudging her away with his hip. she easily reaches around him, popping the pork into her mouth before he can steal it back. “brin.” he tries to sound stern, but the natural softness of his voice never leaves him. “you've eaten like a full cow by now,” he jokes and she grins wide up at him, shoulders lifting in a shrug.
“put more on,” she says simply.
mindless chatter is heard all throughout the beach, a red solo cup clutched in every hand. sunoo is stationed behind a folding table he deemed the bar, two coolers hidden underneath filled with juice and several bottles that had been hidden for the better half of the summer and an obnoxious amount of fruit. mia argues as he hands her drink over, “you shouldn't eyeball vodka,” she nags and he's snorting out a laugh. “it literally won't matter in ten years, just drink.” he encourages, repeating what had become his mantra these last few days.
and no matter how scary that sounded, he was right. all the moments that seemed huge, everything that made you cry, smile, laugh – most likely wouldn't even matter ten years from now. but that's what made every last moment that much more special, what made the goodbyes that you all knew were looming that much more devastating. because despite promising to stay in touch, you all knew that this was all temporary and in ten years, everything would be so different. you all would be completely different.
you sit close to the fire with the other girls as the chaos settles, slowly rotating a marshmallow over the flames. the heat warming the bare skin of your thighs left by the dress you picked this morning. subconsciously putting more thought into your appearance, knowing what tonight meant. it was the last night, yes, but it always was a last chance. so you’re choosing the strapless dress that hugged your frame, a bright orange with pretty pink flowers scattered over it, the colors seeming to pop against your sun-kissed skin.
you hoped you looked as pretty as you felt and that a certain someone took notice, the moment he's drifting into your thoughts – your eyes shift to where he stands. leaning casually against one of the surfboards, head tipped back as he laughs at something jungwon said. jongseong park. jay. you remember reading his name on the welcome sheet on your very first day, the man in charge of the music lodge and all of the instruments inside. your mentor for the next three months and the man who you'd be replacing at the end of the summer when he left for grad school.
that's what he was introduced to you as, but after meeting him, after spending every single day with him for the last ninety-two days, he had become so much more. he was funny, smart, kind, generous and extremely talented. the kids loved him, looked up to him and he gave them a good reason to with how patient and encouraging he was with every last one of them. he was an all around good guy and him being without a doubt the hottest guy you've ever laid eyes on only added to that.
jay was sexy without even trying to be, from his facial expressions to the way his fingers moved over the strings of his guitar, everything he did seemed to draw you in. and god you were so bad at hiding it. from day one, you couldn't keep your eyes from finding him in the crowd, couldn't mask the insistent blush of your cheeks or the way giggles would slip past your lips before you could even think twice.
and the craziest part of all of it, was that he also seemed interested in you. you never missed the way the touches would linger, the way his eyes would drop to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes. you've even caught him watching you from the pier one night when you and the other girls went out for a late swim. but you never once made a move, just treaded dangerously close to the line and it all but drove you insane.
“you're drooling,” you hear from beside you and your body startles, nearly dropping your marshmallow into the fire. viv laugh besides you, leaning into your shoulder as she does. you can already feel the heat rising in your cheeks. “no i'm not,” you uselessly defend and she nods as if she actually believes you, “why don't you go say something?” brin makes an attempt at whispering, leaning across viv to look at you.
you feel the anxiety blooming in your chest before she's even finishing her sentence, “are you crazy!?” while you were like 89% sure jay also thought you were cute, there was still that 11% chance that he was just being nice. and you were terrified by that 11%. viv lifts her drink to her lips, taking a big gulp of it before she's setting in the sand, deciding she was done with it. “he leaves tomorrow... forever.” she reminds with a pointed look. “and then in ten years, none of this will matter...”
as if he could sense he was being talked about, jay's eyes drift in your direction. not even half surprised that he caught you and the other girls staring, it sort of been the theme of the summer. and the way he wiggles his fingers in a slight wave makes everything worse, because you're gasping, marshmallow actually hitting the ground as laughter erupts between your friends.
the night stretches just like that, conversations bouncing between you, drinks and food being passed and lingering stares between you and jay that everyone else pretending they didn't notice. by the time the sky was dark and the stars were twinkling, everything seemed to settle. the feeling of finality that everyone had been avoiding thickening with each flicker of the fire.
“i can't believe i won't be back here next year,” heeseung says, earning a chorus of loud eye rolls from each of you. he's only mentioned it a trillion times in the past three months. “oh my god, wait! it's your last summer!?” lex fakes a gasp that has laughter spreading, heeseung lifts his middle finger in her direction while brin slaps at her shoulder playfully. “cut him some slack, he's been here since they filled the lake.” she teases.
jungwon is quick to interject, a smirk playing on his lips. “nah, that was jay. he poured the water in himself, one cup at a time,” he punctuates his words with a tip of his own cup, letting the last few drops of his liquor hit the sand. “seriously, though, we're going to miss you guys.” sakai starts and you can already hear the quiver in her tone. “it's going to be so weird not smelling brin making bacon before sunrise, or hearing jay fighting with the kids for hiding his drumsticks, no more heeseung waking us up past midnight for ramyeon...” her lips form a pout before she can even finish her thought and you're reaching over to hug her.
“aw.” martin coos, setting down his drink before clapping his hands together. “think tonight calls for some goodbye speeches,” agreement is immediate and it's not long before brin is standing. she talks about her love for the camp, when she started and how close she's become with every one of you, highlighting funny moments, sad ones and ones that she swears she'll never forget. heeseung follows, starting with “i can't believe this is my last summer...” and ending with the same words, head shaking.
jay stands next and you feel the way your heart flutters for no good reason. his hand rubs at the back of his neck, teeth tugging at his lower lip as he fought to put the right words together. he looked handsome, face lit by the fire, hair dyed blond after losing a dare to one of the campers on the first week. it suited him. “i hate public speaking,” jungwon leads the chorus of boos that follow his words, pulling a laugh from him which seems to ease the tension between his shoulders.
he continues on despite the thump in his chest, despite knowing you're sat less than a few feet away, watching him. “honestly, this place has been home for a long time. i started when i was seventeen?” he ignores the groans that come from the group, out of all the counselors, he's been there the longest and he never let them forget it. “get off the stage, unc!” jungwon shouts, hands cupped around his mouth.
jay's eyes drift from the lake, over to the music lodge sitting at the edge of the camp, back to the friends he's grown closer to every summer. and then to you and the way you smile at him has him losing his train of thought for a full three seconds. “seriously, though, i've spent almost every summer here and i thought that would make leaving harder but it isn't. of course, i'll miss the campers, you guys and obviously my music room, but...” his eyes are back on yours and everyone notices the way his gaze, “i think the reason it's kind of easy is because i know everything i love is being left in good hands,” exaggerated gasps are heard around the fire.
jay does his best to ignore them, eyes never breaking from yours. his gaze said everything he had been swallowing for the past few months, mixed with the regret of not having the courage to make a move sooner. stood in his own way each and every time. “yn, i'm so relieved to know you'll be the one replacing me. you're so good with the kiddos, you're smart, funny... patient and creative... way more organized that i've ever been. thank you for making leaving a little bit easier, i appreciate you,” an unmistakable blush has settled on his cheeks and he's moving to sit, “and you look pretty in all your dresses,” the words are jumbled together, alcohol giving him just enough courage to mumble what he had been thinking every morning you walked into the music lodge.
the silence lasts for less than a second before obnoxious cheers erupt through the group. “better late than never!” jaehyun whistles, while sunoo claps wildly beside him. apparently, he had mentioned it to everyone but you the way they were reacting like it was this long awaited thing. it was. you ignore the flutter in your chest long enough to thank him. you can't stop replaying the last three words of his speech: 'all your dresses'. all like every one of them? which meant he had noticed every one. and he thought every one was pretty.
and he waited until the night before he was leaving to say something about it. bittersweet wasn't even the word.
the rest of the evening passes in a blur. all of your crowded around the fire, reminiscing and sharing secrets. it has the expected warm feeling the end of summer would, but you can't seem to fully enjoy it with the way your eyes keep drifting to jay. as the hours tick on, the group starts to break apart around the beach. heeseung and martin had volunteered to get more drinks and jay had hopped up to help, since then the three of them had been seated at the table a few feet away. they're talking quietly but you don't miss the not so discreet way one of them would point in your direction.
viv and mia only make it worse, shoving and hitting your arm wildly when jay finally stands to head toward the coolers. “okay, okay. go now.” you hear one of them say, nearly shoving you off of your chair. and you don't miss the kissing noises they make as you're walking away.
the coolers sit near one of the set up of kayaks that jaehyun swore he'd get put away before sundown. it was ten pm. jay is already crouched beside one when you approach, pushing aside melting ice as he searched for another drink. “hi,” your heart is pounding so rough against your chest, it's all you can muster. you catch the way his hand stills, body stilling for just a second before he's shaking it off – pulling two wine coolers from the ice before standing to face you. he hands one over with the prettiest of smiles.
“hey.” he says through one of his nervous laughs you've gotten so familiar with.
“i liked your speech,” it's all you can think of saying because it's all you can think about. his gaze drops to the sand, a hand lifting to rub at the back of his neck. and for the first time all evening, all summer even – jay actually looks embarrassed. the past three months, you've been the one blushing, the one caught staring, you've been so sure you've been making a fool out of yourself with your loud crush. when it reality, he's been noticing you this entire time too. he was just so much better at hiding it.
his shoulders lift in a slight shrug, “i was just being honest.”
“honest? you were flirting with me,” you accuse playfully and that has his cheeks going pink. “oh my god,” he laughs and it's a real pretty one, it has a smile lifting on your lips almost immediately. his eyes find yours for a moment, but he's quickly finding something else to focus on. and then he's slowly coming back, allowing himself to actually look. his stare is so intense that it has you shifting, searching for something to say, anything to fill the silence. your lips part, but he's beating you to it. “i meant it. i really like you, yn. but...”
he's getting ready to reject you, you can just tell. jay didn't like loose ends and despite all the quiet glances, subtle flirting that you're now just realizing was flirting, he was still leaving in the morning. he was starting a whole new chapter of his life and there could be no maybes left behind. so he needed a clean break. you're interrupting him before he has the chance. “and you said i was pretty in all my dresses. you know, i knew you were staring every morning... you'd always act like you were look at your bon jovi poster,”
jay is letting out a low laugh, “it's a nice poster!” he defends. “but yeah, it was you.” it feels so weird to say out loud, he had been so careful all summer and admitting that he had been admiring you this whole time didn't feel like him. “you looked good in every one. extremely distracting by the way.” he's twisting the cap off of his drink as he speaks, taking a long sip from it.
and you realize why he's not holding back anymore, the semi permanent flush of his cheeks and glossy look in his eye. “every one?” you prompt with a grin, following his lead and taking a sip from your drink too.
he nods without a moment of hesitation, “all of them.” the confidence in his voice catches you off guard, because this was jay we were talking about. the same jay that spent three months carefully putting distance between you every time you got too close. who would find excuses to rush away whenever you'd start flirting with him. the same jay who'd look away whenever you caught him staring, spouting off nonsense facts about bon jovi instead of saying what he truly wanted to.
that jay was looking at you through hooded eyes, gaze dragging over the curves of your body. and a lazy smile stretches on his face that makes your stomach twist. he's nodding his head as if he's confirming a question he had asked himself. “yeah, all of them.” he says quietly. “the long blue one with the slit on the side,” your lips part slightly, the exact morning flashing in your mind. it was only the third day and he called you in early to do one final sweep before the campers were arriving later that day. you remember just throwing the dress on, annoyed that you were up before sunrise when everyone else was sleeping in.
“you remember that?” he's nodding before you're even done speaking. “yeah, you wouldn't stop giving me attitude all day.” he's laughing with a shake of his head. he's taking a step closer, turning so he's facing you fully and you feel your stomach twist. “the white one you wore to the talent show,” he continues, lip tucked between his teeth. he had stood on the other side of the room the entire show, barely speaking two words to you when it was over.
“and...” his head tilts slightly, eyes dragging over you in the way that makes it so painfully obvious that he's been forcing himself not to look at you all summer. he's grinning. “the short orange one you're wearing now,” you actually feel the way your brain short-circuits, eyes wide as your jaw drops. it's usually the other way around, you coming onto him and him ignoring you. so now that the roles were reversed, you have no idea what to do with yourself.
“okay, stop.” you're laughing, hand lifting to slap his shoulder. “what? i can't compliment you? you compliment me all the time.” you shake your head quickly, “tit's different when you do it. especially now.” you point out and jay goes quiet, because he knows you're right. it is different. everything is. summer was over, all the campers were gone, he was leaving tomorrow morning and everything just felt... heavier?
before either of you can say anything else, a scream cuts across the beach. both of you turn at the sound to find sunoo pealing his shirt from his body, sprinting toward the water. “LAST SWIM OF THE SUMMER!” he shouts as he runs. chaos breaks out within seconds, your friends abandoning their drinks and kicking off their shoes. shirts and shorts fly through the air as they reveal the swimsuits they'd been wearing all night.
the firelight flickers across the beach as everyone runs toward the lake. viv jumps on jaehyun's back, his hands clutching her thighs as he runs. jungwon, martin, sakai and lex have already started climbing up a nearby cliff. mia and heeseung are in search of a beach ball. it's so obvious that everyone was trying to drag out time, trying to cram in as many 'lasts' as they could before morning was rolling in and all of this was ending.
you're smiling, gaze shifting back to jay. and you find him already look at you, he smiles brightly before tapping his bottle against yours, tipping it back and swallowing the rest down. you do the same. his head tilts toward the lake once you're finished, brow lifted slightly. “race you,” he's running off before you can even register what he's said, bottle ditched somewhere in the sand and you're quick to follow behind him.
jay's laugh is loud and unrestrained as he runs into the water, pulling his shirt over his head in the process. you've never heard him laugh like that, ever and it's incredibly contagious. your dress joins the liter of clothing at the shoreline as you rush in. the lake is freezing and you're squealing the second it hits your legs. jay turns to face you, he's already fully submerged himself into the water and he's reaching a hand out to you.
“you gotta jump right in,” you've been saying that to him all summer. the irony is funny to you. still, you take hold of his hand and he's easily tugging you toward him. the two of you float there, treading water and staring at each other. it's like he was getting in all the looking he had missed out in the past months. “what?” you're laughing and he's shrugging his shoulder slightly. “just remembering...” you hate the way his words make you feel. you don't want to think about it being the last night, or all the time wasted. so you splash him instead, a hard wave that soaks his hair. jay's laughing, hand pushing his hair back out of his eyes to see that you've swam away and he's quick to swim after you.
you're swimming right through the middle of the impromptu game of water volleyball, jaehyun deciding you're apart of his team and sending jay to join heeseung's side. sunoo teases mia about winning now that they had you and she had jay, she rolls her eyes before roughly serving the ball. it hits jaehyun in the chest and viv shouts from the pier for you all to be careful with her man, brin laughing beside her.
across the lake, jungwon, martin, sakai and lex have made it to the top of the cliff. their voices echo as they argue about what actually counts as a flip. martin deciding to shut them all up by launching himself off of the rock, body flipping naturally in the air whooping loudly just before he's hitting the water with a loud splash and lex follows behind him, looking less graceful but gaining a supportive chant from the girls when she resurfaces.
the game of volleyball melts into a shouting match after the first three rounds, arguments about points that nobody had been even keeping track of in the first place, sunoo swearing that he didn't cheat and heeseung and jay going back and forth about something neither of them seem particularly passion about. the beach ball floats away forgotten by both teams.
eventually, you're paddling your way back toward the dock, pulling yourself up beside viv and brin. water drips from your legs as you stretch them out in front of you, back laying against the warm wood. viv immediately scoots closer, grin wide as her eyes drift to where jay and heeseung fight to pull each other under the water. “so,” you feel the heat rise in your cheeks. “does he like you? does he want to kiss and get married and have five kids?” she's asking and you're barking out a laugh.
“yeah, right.” you roll your eyes. “we didn't say much, really. just that he liked me dresses.” you catch the way brin rolls her eyes, letting out a soft huff. “he's hopeless,” she sighs, but is quickly moving to change the subject, pointing across the lake as sakai shoves jungwon into the water before jumping off behind him. “can you believe she's going to be in charge next year?” brin had spent the past three months training sakai on how to run this place and come next year, she'd be the new head counselor.
viv is shaking her head, “wild. this is the same girl who faked pneumonia to get out of cooking duties, by the way.” you're snorting out a laugh. “i'm going to miss this,” the admission settles between all three of you. waking up and not have your friends right outside your door, no more staying up late to watch the stars. this place somehow became home without any of you noticing and in less than twelve hours it all would be over.
the dock shifts slightly, a large splash following and the sound of jaehyun's laughter. viv is rolling her eyes, kicking her foot out to him but instead of hitting him, he's catching it by the ankle. he's tugging her slightly, earning a swift kick with the other leg. he's laughing. “come here,” his thumb traces her ankle, hand slowly dragging up her calf. “i'm having a conversation,” viv says, gesturing between you and brin.
jaehyun is shrugging quickly. “you can have it in the water,” his fingers tighten around her leg, a sly grin spreading across his lips and anyone can guess what he's thinking. “jaehyun, don't.” he's looking up at her, mischief dancing through his eyes. “what? i'm just touching you. i love you. i can't touch you?” they're ignoring the gagging noises that come from beside them just like they always do.
“i can feel you–” she is not even able to finish her sentence before he's yanking his arm toward him, successfully pulling viv off of the dock and into the water. he catches her instantly, arms around her waist as her legs secure themselves around his waist. “say bye to your friends,” he says already swimming further into the water.
a few feet away, heeseung is waving both his arms in your direction. “are you two planning on sitting there all night?” he shouts with his hands now cupped around his mouth. “maybe!” you're shouting back and he's quickly shaking his head, waving you both over. “get in the water!” brin is quickly pointing at you, despite the fact her legs and hair were still dry. “she doesn't want to,”
“what!? you're still dry,” you point out. she's rolling her eyes, slipping in just as heeseung has started swimming over. you follow behind her. the group gathers together slowly, floating in the middle of the lake as conversations overlap. you're all drifting between each other, talking about plans for the next few weeks, sharing excitement for next year, worries. jungwon's group eventually get their fix of cliff diving and join the rest of you in the water. lex puling herself comfortably on sunoo's back, reaching forward to steal his drink. mia starts another argument this time with sakai about who slept in the most.
and somehow in the midst of all of this, you end up beside jay again, without even fully realizing it. at least that's what you tell yourself when your shoulder bumps against his. one moment, he's laughing at something heeseung says, the very next you're stealing his attention away, in your tiny yellow bikini that barely covers yours ass. he knows. he checked.
you're so close to him, but you're completely enthralled in conversations. laughing loudly and engaging freely. your legs brushes against his whenever a soft wave rolls through and each time neither of you move away or say anything about it. you don't realize that the two of you are floating away at first. you were listening to the others, jungwon's laugh carrying across the water as martin exposes him for never really being on duty.
their voices come and go with the ways, but slowly it seems like they're fading into the background. you shift onto your break, letting the water hold your weight as you stare up at the twinkling stars scattered across the sky. jay stays close to you, tanned skin glistening in the moonlight. his hair is wet and slicked back, dark eyes sparkling as he watches you.
“you stare a lot,” you're pointing out with a laugh.
he's quick to nod his head, not even bothering to deny it. his hands find their way underneath you, floating uselessly beneath your back as if he's holding you up – but not actually touching you. just looking for excuses to be close to you, to touch you. even if it was through the water. “you're so different tonight, i'm not used to this jay.” you're saying after a minute and jay's gaze is dragging up to your eyes.
“am i?” he's asking like it's not the most obvious thing. “yes. you're actually looking at me, complimenting me, not rushing away when i get too close. where was this all summer?” besides the time the two of you spent working together in the music lodge, there were very few times where you were alone. no matter how much you wanted to be. “i was trying really hard to be professional. i'm your mentor.”
“not anymore,” you're quick to point out and you notice the way his eyes drag down the line of your neck to to the swell of your breasts all the way down to the curve of your waist. his eyes catch the gold jewelry that dangles from your navel before he's snapping his eyes back up to yours. “not anymore,” he repeats with a nod. you feel the way the palm of his hand grazes your thigh as he floats closer to you.
you're sure the pounding in your chest can be heard by your friends on the other side of the lake. you try to appear as composed as possible. “so, what else have you been keeping to yourself?” jay's lips shift into a smirk, head tilting to the side slightly. of course you want to know what he's been thinking about you since he was first meeting you. and he's kept his cards so close to his chest up until now, it was only fair. “you want the whole list?”
your head tilts so your able to look at his face fully, eyes wide. “there's a list?”
“a long one,” he's nodding quickly. “like how cute i think you look biting your lip when you play the piano. the way i admired how easily you were able to bond with the kids in our class...” he's actually searching his mind for more things to tell you and you find that unbelievably adorable.
but still, something about all of this just doesn't sit right by you. “why'd you wait so long to say something?” he's letting out a soft sigh, stepping back slightly as his hand rubs at the back of his neck. “i'm leaving in the morning, yn. and i'm not coming back. i mean, i liked you from the start but it didn't seem smart to start something with you i knew i wasn't going to be around to finish.” it made sense. he wasn't coming back, this was his last summer before he went to start his life in new york or california or wherever life took him. this was his past now.
“and i knew you had a crush on me too, it just didn't seem fair.” he's explaining with a sigh and you're nodding, because he's right. you hated to admit it, but he was right. now you knew, though. and you still had the rest of the night. there was no sense in moping around about the fact that this would be the last time you'd see each other when you could be reveling in the time you still had.
you're shifting in the water so you're upright again. “you know, i really thought i was embarrassing myself all summer. turns out you were crushing on me just as bad,” you tease, sticking your tongue out at him that has him smiling. “no, you were.” he's clarifying and you reach over to slap at his chest. “i was not! you kept a mental inventory of my dress collection,” you're pointing out.
“yeah, but i was subtle. you knocked over an entire box of guitar pics when i touched your hand,” the memory makes him smile, you were wearing a green halter dress than, hair pulled into a sleek bun. and you smelt like caramel. “okay, but-” you try to defend yourself, but he's interrupting you. “and let's not forget the time you spilled juice in your lap when i sat by you,” white dress with red and pink flowers all over it. it was ruined. rip.
you embarrassed yourself in front of him more times than you could count and there was denying that, so you don't try to. “you know what,” you're grumbling, hands pushing the water hard enough to send a large splash toward him. it hits him directly in the face, soaking his hair all over again. and you don't miss the dangerous smile on his lips as he reaches up to wipe the water from your eyes, you're already swimming away before he's opening them.
“oh, you're done.” you hear from behind you and you make the mistake of looking back, catching the way he dips under the water. he's scarily fast. you're letting out a squeal as you rush away from him. he's laughing at how easily he's able to close the distance between the two of you. and you hate this version of him. no, actually that was a lie – you hate how much you like this version of him.
this is the jay everyone else around you apparently knew about it. the one that wasn't watching every word or always stepping back. he was no longer trying so hard to keep up with this stiff image of himself, he was just being. and you hate that it took until the very last day for you to finally experience him this way. you're laughing so hard you can barely defend yourself, screaming when jay is finally catching you. “jay!” you shout as he's easily lifting you over his shoulder and tossing you behind his back into the water.
you're resurfacing quickly, jumping onto his back without a bit of hesitation. jay stumbles forward, laughing as you wrap your around his shoulders trying with all your might to get him under the water. “i'm going to fucking drown you,” the threat comes between laughs, ruined by the fact that you're barely even able to move him. “you?” he says amused, a large hand lifting to wrap around the arm you've got around his neck. “are we sure about that?” the confidence in his voice should've been your warning, but you barely have time to question it before he's shaking you off and right back into the lake.
you're bobbing to the surface with a gasp, shoving wet hair from your face as your eyes find jay standing across from you. he's bent over laughing so hard he's basically wheezing, eyes shut as he clutches his stomach and you're taking the chance. you're jumping on him before he can react, sending both of your bodies under the water. you're quick with swimming to the surface, coughing and laughing as jay wipes water from his eyes. “get over here,” his laugh follows his words, and you're instantly swimming away.
you hear the water shifting behind you. way too fast. and you're swimming straight for the rocks, planning on getting out of the water entirely and getting away from him on foot, but you're barely able to touch them when you feel his arm wrap around your waist. he's pulling you toward him swiftly, your spine colliding with his solid chest – hands braced on the rocks in front of you. you were literally trapped between a rock and a hard place. “i warned you,” his voice is right beside your ear and you're suddenly becoming painfully aware of how close you were.
you can feel the way his breathing has changed against your back, hands dropped down to your hips as he holds your body against his. his grip tightens for half a second as another wave rolls between you. you feel him shift behind you, pulling you close and you're gasping when you realize what he's doing. your ass is pressed right against his crotch, his stiffness pressing against your ass. his head tilts slightly, a hand lifting to push your hair off of one shoulder. “done running from me?” he mumbles but you can't even form a proper sentence right now.
you're nodding, breathless, pulse is racing and slowly you're turning around in his arms, hands landing on his shoulders. he looks like he's ready to devour you. hair dripping into his eyes, cheeks flushed and eyes slowly drinking you in. and for once, he's not looking away when your eyes meet. instead, he's moving in closer. your bodies shift until your back is pressed against the rolls and there is no where else for you go besides into him.
his hand lifts from your body, finger latching onto the front strap of your bikini – right between your breasts. he grins at the sound of your breath hitching, the soft gasp you let out when he's tugging you toward him. the water ripples, your chest hits his and he's backing you back against the rock before his leaning down. you can almost hear his resolve snap before his mouth finds yours and you're immediately melting into it.
overhead, jungwon is launching himself off of the cliff after successfully convincing his group to climb back up. his body rotates easily through the air, the best backflip that he's all summer and he can hear the cheer of his friends as they look up at him. and then he's catching movement, seconds before he's about to hit the water. it's you and jay, further from the rest of the group still. standing a bit too close.
he's eyes are widening when jay is lifting his hand, finger hooking into your bikini top and tugging before he's tugging you toward him. “no way,” the words leave his lips just as he's hitting the water, the splash that follows is huge but he can't even reveal in that as he fights to the surface. he swims to the edge of the lake, pulling himself out of the water as he shoves his wet hair from his face. eyes finding the two of you again, still very much kissing. and when he reaches the top of the cliff again, you're in the same spot.
martin is still standing near the edge of the cliff, sakai trying to convince him to belly flop. lex spots jungwon first, brow furrowing. “you said last jump, why you back?” he nearly slips as he rushes toward the edge of the cliff, pointing aggressively down at the water. “look.” martin follows the direction of his finger, sakai tilting her head to the side as she squints and lex crouches down slightly.
“oh my god.”
jay's groaning against your mouth and the sound shoots straight through you. his mouth moves over your swiftly, tongue pushing it's way past your lips. your brain is reeling, completely drowning in the taste of him. everything in the background just ceased to exist, you were no longer worried about tomorrow, or next summer or even your friends that were right behind you. all you could think, breathe, feel was jay.
your mouth tastes like the blueberry wine coolers you've been drinking, you smell like caramel the way you always do, and the way you feel against him is enough to drive just about anyone insane. your arms are around his neck, chest pressed to his and head tilted as your tongue is rolling into his mouth. he doesn't miss the soft whine you're letting out, the sound muffled by his mouth but his dick responds anyway. pressing firmly against you, you're shifting closer.
jaehyun sits on the dock, hands spread out beside him with viv perched between his legs. she's droning on about her new campus and her new roommate that she was so excited to meet. he's half listening, but his attention seems to drift across the water. a habit he's picked up throughout the summer, sort of like canvasing. checking where everyone had ended up, what you're all doing.
brin is floating in the water by heeseung, talking about their first summer here... six years ago. she had these atrocious bangs and braces, he still hadn't even grown into his nose. it was crazy how to two of them grew up. mia and sunoo sit at the edge of the water, legs kicking in front of them as sunoo gushes about finally being reunited with his boyfriend back home.
jungwon, martin, lex and sakai are still on that damn cliff, but instead of doing flips like they had been all night, they're crouched down staring below them. jaehyun follows their gaze and he's nearly falls over when he's seeing what they see. “oh, no way.”
“baby, i'm telling you a story.” viv says from between his legs, turning to look at her man who was clearly no longer paying attention. his hand reaches for her jaw, turning her head in the direction of you and jay. she's gasping, moving quickly like the queen of gossip he knew she was. she's waving her arms dramatically trying to catch mia's attention and it takes less than a few seconds before she's looking over.
'what?' she mouths and viv is pointing in your direction. her eyes land on the two of you instantly and she's grabbing sunoo's arm, pointing across the lake. sunoo is letting out a loud gasp, leaning forward like he's about to charge right over to you. mia is holding him back just in case. “heeseung,” jaehyun is whisper-shouting, catching the older boy's attention pretty quickly.
'look at jay.' he mouths and heeseung's brows are furrowing before both him and brin are turning around. the grin that spreads on his face can only be described as proud. finally. after three months of pining, finally. he has to hold back from applauding his friend.
jay moves like he's been starving for this. hands dropping to your thighs and squeezing roughly until you're taking the initiative and climbing onto him, legs wrapping easily around his waist. he's sucking your lip into his mouth, teeth grazing it as he presses his hips forward, effectively pinning you against the rocks. your hands have made their way into his damp hair, tangled in the strands.
neither of you have any idea that all of your friends bought front row tickets to your first kiss and it's evident in the way jay is shifting his hips forward, half hard cock pressing against him and you're pressing down just as hard. he's humming out a moan and you feel it throughout your body, heat pooling between your legs. his fingers spread against your skin, slowly sliding up your thighs.
you're pulling back just enough to catch your breath, a soft laugh falling from your lips at the dazed look in his eyes. cheeks flushed pink beneath the moonlight, lips swollen from the kiss, chest rising and falling unevenly. droplets of water fall from the hair that covers his forehead. he doesn't say anything, just stands there taking you in. the sight alone has another giggle falling from you lips and that has his gaze dropping to your lips. he's leaning in again before he can think twice about it.
“let her breathe, let her breathe!” sunoo's voice echoes across the lake and you feel jay's body go rigid against you. his eyes squeeze shut as if he's suddenly remembering where he is and the fact that it wasn't just the two of you out there. “that's it! get your man!” mia is whooping, lifting her drink the air as she cheers for you. your shoulders shake, a horrified laugh escaping you as your forehead falls onto jay's shoulder. the sound is quickly swallowed by the shouts that come from your friends.
jay is letting out a low breath through his nose. his head lifting toward the sky for a second with a shake of his head. and when he's looking back down at you, this is the first time you've ever seen him have his composure rocked. usually so calm and careful, but here he looked almost boyish? obviously blushing as the teasing from your friends filled the air. his hands stayed resting on your thighs the entire time, holding your body close to his as jungwon shouts about having seeing it happen first.
“this is so beautiful!” sakai shouts from the top of the cliff, leaning on martin as tears well in her eyes. clearly more emotional about leaving camp than she let on. martin wraps an arm around her waist before leaning forward where jay is able to see him. “look what y'all did! you made kai-baby cry.” he points down at the girl in his arms who also cried after seeing all the beds made this morning.
“kiss again!” jaehyun is shouting from the dock, earning a supportive whistle from viv. the group erupts at the suggestion, childishly chanting 'kiss' as jay stands there mortified. and you think it's hilarious, he looks so cute embarrassed, trying to hide the fact that his heart wasn't pounding and despite how badly he wanted to kiss you, he was all of a sudden feeling shy.
“come on, the first one didn't count!” brin is shouting through the chants. “how would that not count!?” jay shoots back, finally turning back to look at your friends. his reaction only fueling their chants and you can practically feel the heat coming off of him now. they're all a perfect orchestra. heeseung leads the chants, hands cupped around his mouth as cheers for another kiss. lex is leaning over the edge of the rock, sending exaggerated kissy faces your way. and brin is holding her hands up, making them kiss as her lips pucker.
and despite how desperate jay looks to escape their attention, you're addicted to peer pressure. a laugh slips past your lips as your hand is reaching down, fingers pressing against his jaw gently – just enough to turn his head back toward you. the shouting gets louder instantly. you're leaning down against instantly, mouth slotted against his and he's letting out an involuntarily groan at the feeling. the cheers that follow are obnoxiously deafening and it has your laughs dying against jay's lips.
the cold of the lake slowly becomes unbearable and one by one, you all begin making your way back toward the shore. the like that had been full of shouting and splashing just minutes ago is now quiet behind you, water still. wet footprints trail through the sand, towels stolen and half finished drinks recovered from where they had been abandoned hours ago.
you're settling in front of the fire with jay who swiftly positions himself behind you. the fire crackles in front of you, casting a warm light across the campgrounds. hair and body still wet, but you're settling further into jay's chest until going to find a towel. he doesn't seem to care much either, arm looping around your waist as he holds you close to him.
neither of you seem particularly interested in talking about what just happened, instead you just smile way too wide each time your eyes meet. you can hear brin from across the grounds, hair wrapped in a towel and a large hoodie covering her frame. she's rubbing at her stomach as she speaks. “i'm starving!” heeseung snorts as he walks past, his wet swim trunks in hand a pair of dry short hanging loose on his hips. he's digging through the coolers, without even looking up.
“we still have a bunch of meat left. should we kill it?” he suggests and brin's body immediately perks up. “say swear,” she says, taking quick steps to where he stands. he's letting out a soft laugh, pulling two unopened packets of pork belly from the ice with one hand, three packets of brisket in the other. “swear,” brin is squealing, reaching up to take the packets in hand. “see? this is why you're my favorite.” she says, leading the way toward the grill.
heeseung is rolling his eyes, but following closely behind. “yesterday you said lex was your favorite,” he points out and brin is nodding happily. her hand extends so she's able to boop the tip of heeseung's nose, he's scrunching it immediately. “today it's you.”
you spot sunoo walking toward the fire a few seconds later carrying four drinks, two in each hand. “good news,” he announces in a sing-song tone, lifting the bottles toward his face. “i found a full box,” viv and jaehyun trail behind him, stealing one of the bottles before settling on one of the lawn chairs. sunoo hands you a bottle, before passing the next one to jay and plopping down by the fire. “this is starting to feel final,” you say with a pout and you feel the way jay stiffens behind you.
“we live close! we should plan something, yn.” viv reaches her hands out to you and you're agreeing instantly. you two were only a forty-five minute drive apart, it wouldn't be hard to make plans together before next summer, it was just harder when you weren't just a few doors away. rather than across the country.
lex, mia and jungwon take responsibility for the mess they spent most of the night helping create. jungwon is already collecting empty bottles to recycle, lex is carrying a trash bag that's somehow bigger than she is, while mia complains but about everyone being pigs while she cleans up the leftover food. she's mainly yelling at martin who's pretending he can't hear her from where he still sits at the lake with sakai beside him.
they're sat near the edge of the water in the sand, sakai is wrapped in a large blanket and martin has his head resting on her shoulder, fighting the sleep that's creeping up on him. sunoo is rummaging through his bag for something, his bottle pressed between his knees as he looks. “oh wait!” he's exclaiming loud enough that it catches the attention of the people sitting closest to him.
“what?” jungwon is asking, head peeking up from the trash bag he had been separating.
sunoo is pulling a small stack of envelopes from his bag, holding them up with a wide grin. “we forgot these!” he's standing before anybody call say anything else, shuffling through the envelopes and making his way around the camp to hand them out. they're goodbye letters. you know, because you written eleven of your own. everyone had to, it was camp tradition according to brin.
but as sunoo makes his way through the group, the energy changes, you can feel it. the distribution was like a blaring indicator that it was over. eventually, you'd all have to go to sleep and face tomorrow. the fire was going to die down, heeseung was going to run out of food to make, at some point you'll run out of memories to share, stories to tell. it had to end. and you all had to say goodbye.
“i'm going to miss how you always steal my hoodies, even though you have a man.” sunoo says dramatically to viv while handing her the letter he wrote, he's shooting jaehyun a pointed look at the mention of him and then shuffling to find the letter for him. viv is taking hers with a laugh, tucking it safely beneath her leg. “and i'm going to miss pretending not to notice when you and viv disappear,” jaehyun takes his letter with a roll of his eyes, drink still pressed to his lips.
“you never pretended.” he points out and sunoo is nodding with a laugh. “because you guys are gross,” he sings before turning to continue his rounds.
by the time sunoo is dropping back down beside the fire, you've noticed a handful of your friends disappearing into their cabins and coming back with their own letters. but none of you talk about it, none of you make an announcement to pass them out, it sort of just happens.
the grill sizzles, brin stealing a piece of meat before it's finished cooking and heeseung is meeting her with an individual plate with the letter he wrote her tucked underneath it. she doesn't make a big deal out of it, takes the plate and the letter before plopping down at the picnic table to eat. jungwon complains about people not separating recyclables correctly, pulling glass bottles from the trash bag that should only be filled with food. martin is standing above him, note extended in front of his face.
“if that's another bottle, martin, i'm going to drown you in the lake. and then myself,” jungwon grumbles as he looks up, eyes finding the crisp envelope inches from his nose. he takes it quickly, tucking it into his pocket then goes right back to complaining. martin walks up, making his way back to where he had been sitting with sakai before, only now she's standing.
the blanket he had lent to her folded neatly a sad look on her face as she hands it over, the note she wrote for him resting on top. “i'm going to miss you so much,” she says through a sob and martin is chuckling softly, plucking the note from the top before grabbing the blanket. unlike everyone else, he's tearing into his note immediately despite sakai's protests. his eyes move quickly across the paper before they're slowing, taking in every written word and the meaning behind them.
sakai notices the shift, she recognizes it. “martin?” her head tilts up to get a better look at his face but he's quickly looking away, folding the note and tucking it back into it's envelope. “i'm fine,” he rushes out, wiping at his eyes with his knuckle. “let's go help clean up,”
a note seems to fall from the sky as jungwon passes, hitting your knee and landing on jay's lap. “read it away from me,” he mumbles before disappearing with his trash bag. jay is picking it up with a small smile. leave it to jungwon to literally run from any type of emotional exchange. “let me go put this away,” jay says, nudging at you leg gently and you're standing to allow him to slip from behind you and disappear into his cabin. you take the chance to slip away as well, grabbing the stack of letters you had spent the past week writing from underneath your pillow.
jay catches heeseung on his way to the bathroom, “hyung, wait.” heeseung's turning to the sound of jay's voice, eyes instantly landing on the thick envelope in his hand. “what is that like ten pages?” he asks with a laugh, reaching his hand out to take it. “it's only like seven,” he defends and heeseung is shaking his hand, tearing into the letter before jay can say anything of it.
“you know i have to read it out loud,” he says through a chuckle. jay is rolling his eyes, both hands pushing his hair back on his head as he feels his cheeks darkening. “you're so embarrassing,” he says with a shake of his head, but he doesn't fight it. heeseung would just find him and read it out loud later, he did it every summer for the past six years.
he's straightening his back and clearing his throat before bringing the note up to eye level, reading it like it's a scroll. “hyung. i tried keeping this short...” he lowers the letter to shoot a deadpan expression toward the younger boy. “seven pages?” he teases and jay is waving him off with a roll of his eyes. “just hurry up and read it,” much to his surprise, heeseung continues reading. “thank you for spending the past years putting up with me. though, i've been here longer than you... i never truly had someone to look up to until you arrived. we're the oldest, so everyone looks up to us. but i'm thankful i have you to look up to too.” jay doesn't miss the way the playfulness leaves heeseung's tone. realization that this was the last letter finally hitting him.
“i don't know if anybody else realizes how much this place has your fingerprints on it. you came up with most of the things we know call tradition, you've helped me write more songs than i can count. i even heard martin repeat one of your inside jokes his first week here... half the things the campers think have always existed started because of you, you're the blueprint.” heeseung pauses to grin because he had been screaming that for the past four years and finally he was getting the recognition for it.
the letter continues on like that, highlighting the memories they made together in the past six years, how close they've become. jay's plans for the future and how he promises to keep in touch, though, no one ever really did. but heeseung can tell that he meant it. the only difference is, heeseung was leaving too. not for the summer, forever. they both were on different paths of their lives now and seeing each other every summer was going to be a thing of the past.
he doesn't ruin the moment by pointing that out, though.
“you've been apart of almost every version of my adult life and it's going to be so hard imagining moving into my next phase without you standing ten feet away making an unnecessary comment. i don't really know how to end this, because i feel there shouldn't be an end to us. to our friendship. so i'll just say, thank you for being my friend and i'll see you soon.” heeseung looks up at jay to find him trying to look anywhere else, he's shaking his head laughing softly while flipping the pages over in his hands.
there's a few sentences scribbled on the back of the last one. “oh! there's more,” sarcasm drips from his words and jay's letting out a laugh. “i had a lot to say, shut up.” heeseung continues reading. “ps. stop giving relationship advice. even if you're right 99% of the time, stop it. your 'i told you so' face is so annoying. but, you were right again... i regret not telling yn how i feel. and i regret not kissing her when i had the chance,”
heeseung is looking up with a knowing smirk on his face, brow arched and jay is shoving at his shoulder. “that face! you're so irritating,” he says through a laugh while heeseung is carefully folding the note back up. “you kissed her, though. what changed your mind?” judging from the end of his note, it's clear that jay had no intention to actually make a move with you. but he saw the way jay kissed you in the water and how he's been all over you all night. this jay was very different from letter jay.
jay is clapping his hand on heeseung's shoulder with a shake of his head, “those fucking dresses, man.”
the night officially starts to settle around you. letters distributed and tucked away safely. the fire that had been roaring all evening has started to die down, only crackling whenever a piece of wood breaks. the loud shouts of your friends have dwindled into soft murmurs heard throughout the grounds. each one of you losing the battle against sleep, it was impossible to keep fighting it.
the food is gone, the coolers are empty. jungwon has organized every single piece of trash he could get his hands on. there was nothing left to do, there was nothing left to say. sakai and sunoo disappear first, walking into the bathroom with arms linked to do their skincare routine together for the last time of the summer. brin is a few steps behind them, yawning loudly and rubbing at her eye with the heel of her palm.
viv is curled up in jaehyun's lap, his hoodie working as a blanket as her head rests beneath his chin. every few minutes, she'll mumble something into his chest and he'll reach down to smooth a hand over her hair. jaehyun is still wide awake, talking quietly with jay from across the fire. you still sit comfortably in jay's lap but you're zoned out staring at the burning embers of the fire.
jungwon, martin and heeseung have migrated into their cabin, changed into their pajamas and laying on their beds. they talk softly, finding random things to say as they fight off the inevitable sleep. their voices drift through the open window every so often before dissolving back into sleepy laughter. across the lake, lex and mia have claimed the hammock and have been laying there with the past twenty minutes. neither of them have managed to finish a complete sentence, settling for quiet sighs and toying with each other's fingers.
jay feels you shiver against him for the fourth time and it has him realizing rubbing his hands over your arms was useless in warming you up. “you cold?” he asks, head tilting to the side so he can look at you. you're tired but you're fighting it, long curls pulled in a bun at the top of your head and pretty orange dress doing nothing against the cool night air. you're turning to look at him, head bobbing in a nod.
“i have a sweater in the car, should we...” he says it because he wants to spend more time together, that part is obvious. he could've very much you suggest you go to bed, put on warm sweats of your own and call it a night. but in reality, he wasn't ready for his night with you to end and neither were you, which is why you're standing to follow him.
the walk to his jeep isn't long, he parked close to the entrance out of his need for efficiency. he was set to leave early tomorrow morning, had spent the better half of the day loading up his car. it only made sense that it would be parked a few feet away. his arm settles over your shoulders as you walk, a comfortable silence falling over you and you're finally finding the courage to ask him what you've been wondering for the past hour and a half.
“did you forget to write me a letter?” you try to keep your tone playful, masking the echoing doubts in your mind. everyone had a letter, each passed out one by one and you watched jay hand out a letter to each one of your friends. yet, the one that he should've written for you never came. you don't miss the smile that breaks onto his features, a soft laugh falling from his lips as he shakes his head. “no, god no. i just couldn't stop rewriting it,” that peaks your interest. because, yes there must've been unspoken feelings when he sat down to write it, but actually rewriting it felt different.
it took you a good three hours to decide what you were going to say to him. everything you decided just felt too elementary, but even still you only wrote one draft. and that was the one tucked away somewhere in his cabin. “you did? how many did you write?” you're reaching his car just as the question leaves the lips and he shrugs, pulling the car door open before leaning in.
“nine.” he says it so casually, half his body in his car, your eyes are widening anyway. “nine!? you wrote me nine letters!? jay...” he's standing with a black sweater clutched in his hands. it's one you recognize right away, he's worn it enough for you to. just a simple black hoodie with 'miami' written in bold red letters, the word cut off by the deep-v cut into the neckline. he's easily pulling it over your head, guiding your arms into it.
it's such a simple gesture but it's so jay that your heart flutters. hand reaching down to find the side of his neck as he straightens the hem of his sweater against your thighs. you're gently pulling him toward you, to plant a soft kiss to his lips which he returns instantly, arm wrapping around your waist to pull you into him. “nine letters?” you're saying again as he pulls away and his face breaks into a soft smile.
“relax, you're only getting one.” he's reaching back into his car, rummaging through a bag before pulling out the folded piece of paper. number nine. the final draft of his goodbye letter to you, but it felt outdated now for some reason. still, he's handing it over to you with a sad smile. “read it later,” he feels the need to clarify, traumatized by heeseung's traditional presentation.
you're tucking the letter safely into the pocket of his hoodie and silence falls between the two of you. it's a charged silence that holds the words that neither of you are willing to say. instead his eyes stay trained on you as your eyes drift into the back of his jeep. slowly, you're stepping forward to get a better look. and the sight makes your chest tighten. boxes stacked neatly on top of one another, duffel bags shoved into every available corner of his trunk. his guitar. his backup guitar. binders upon binders of sheet music. seven years packed into the back of a car. your breath catches in your throat as you're eyes shift to look back at him, body leaning against the frame of the open car door.
“so... this is really it, huh?” jay follows your gaze, a soft sigh falling from his lips as he nods. “yeah, i guess so,” you feel the way your heart drops, which is stupid, because you had known he was leaving. for the past three months it's all he could talk about. grad school, apartment hunting, moving dates. the weather in his new city, he was never not talking about leaving. but somehow seeing it packed into the back of the car hit differently. it felt real. “it's like you fit your whole cabin into your car, looks weird...”
jay lets out a quiet laugh through his nose, hand lifting to rest just above your head against the car. “tell me about it. my cabin looks weirder, all empty.” your eyes drift back to the boxes, trying hard not to picture how his cabin would look empty. you poked your head in too many times to see if he was around to now think of the reality of him never being around again.
“you did this all day?” you say it just to make conversation, because you have nothing else to say that didn't feel totally depressing. and jay seems to catch on, because he is playing along. he nods simply, lips pulling into his mouth as his eyes drift back to you. “yeah, some of it yesterday.”
“you cried, huh?” you tease and that manages to pull another pretty laugh for him, “i absolutely did not,” he defends halfheartedly, but you're not buying it. “oh, now i know you cried. you're such a liar,” your eyes narrow up at him and that has him laughing even harder and for a second it almost feels normal again. but then your eyes are drifting back, catching sight of his guitar case again.
you're changing the subject quickly. “you know...” your voice trails off, forcing a smile on your lips. “i thought you hated me for like the first two weeks.” jay's head snaps toward you so fast it makes you laugh, his brows raised high toward his hairline. “are you serious?” he says through a laugh, your hand slaps against his chest. “yes! did you forget about how you'd avoid me? and ignore me, even if i was talking directly to you.”
he's laughing, eventually nodding along. because it was true. the first few weeks he couldn't even be around you without his brain short-circuiting and when he'd try to say something, anything – he found himself getting tongue tied more often than not. but still, “you were impossible to ignore. but, yes. i did try.” he had it in his head if he just didn't talk to you, then his feelings wouldn't grow. he was so wrong.
“you'd walk into a room and all of a sudden everyone's attention would be on you. including mine.” his eyes drop to his hoodie and how it swallows your frame, covering up one of your many pretty dresses. then slowly back up to your face, you're staring up at him with the same heart eyed expression you've been giving him all summer. “you flirted with me constantly too, even when i tried not to look your way,” you're laughing, arms reaching up to wrap around his neck.
“i had a feeling it would end up being effective,” you grin and he's smiling, hand lifting to rest on the small of your back. “trust me, it was. it was all i could talk about with heeseung,” but never to you. he never gave away to the slightest bit of interest and that drove you insane every single day. it almost bothered you more that he waited until the last day to finally say something. he could've just left you clueless, able to move on and say that you tried. because you did try, so hard.
and for some reason him waiting until there was no time left to meet you halfway just didn't feel fair. the pout is forming on your lips before you can fight it, hand resting on his cheek. “i wouldn't change a second of this summer, truly. i loved meeting everyone and spending my days with you.” it's hard to ignore the sadness in your eyes, the obvious way you're fighting back tears as you speak. “but, fuck, jay... i wish we had more time,”
he knows exactly what you mean without you having to say it. you spent all summer wanting him, loudly. but every time he caught himself wanting you back, he'd find a reason to keep his distance. to walk away, to play it safe. he'd find a reason not too look too long, not too linger in conversations with you. especially if they were about your shared love for music.
he was so strategic in the way he interacted with you, careful not to let himself enjoy the way your fit lit up whenever you spotted him hanging out in his cabin. he had spent months convincing himself that this was the right way, that he was doing the right thing. the smart thing. that all of this would be easier if he kept his distance, and maybe that would've been true if tonight never happened.
because standing here now, knowing exactly what it feels like to kiss you, makes what should've been an easy goodbye feel impossible. “well,” he's saying with a soft smile, arm lifting so his wrist is in view. and you follow his gaze to the watch on his wrist. “it's only... 2:49AM. there's still five hours and eleven minutes until it's over.” he says with a proud smile, probably at his mental math and that has you laughing softly. “what should we do with that time?” his finger taps at his chin and you're tilting your head to the side.
without missing a beat, you're leaning up to press your lips against his. he's kissing back instantly. his hands fall down to grasp your hips, easily pulling your body against his. your worries about tomorrow seem to melt away as soon as his lips are on yours, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck as you hold him to you. jay kisses you with a rushed, starved almost desperate need and it makes it difficult for you to focus on anything but him.
his tongue is pushing past your lips easily, brushing against yours before he's changing his mind and catching your lower lip between his teeth instead. you're gasping, the sound pulling a soft chuckle from his mouth. it dies on your tongue. “you're so perfect,” he sighs, hand resting against the side of your face as he leans back enough to look at you. he's easily tilting your head to the side with his hand, revealing more of your neck to him.
his head is dropping to the side, soft lips finding your skin. salty from the lake but he sucks kisses against the length of it. “jay,” you're gasping, hand reaching out to clutch the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him close. and his arm tightens around your waist, holding you tight against him as his lips roam your skin. he's focusing his lips just above your collarbone, sucking the skin into his mouth and it has your head lulling back. his body shifts, hands tracing the curves of your body before he's carefully lifting you into the backseat.
it's cramped between all his bags and boxes, and the idea of his new life. but he's climbing in behind you, letting the door slam behind him. closing the two of you in to your own private space and you're on him instantly. his back hits the door from the force of your lips, a soft laugh falling from both of your lips. you kiss him desperately, every push of your lips screaming finally and all he can do is try to keep up. he groans as your hands sneak underneath the fabric of his shirt, nails dragging over his stomach.
your tongue pushes and twists against his, his hands shoving his hoodie and your dress out of the way. his fingers spread over the skin of your ass, squeezing gently and the moan you let out has his dick jumping. jay is easily pulling you further onto him with the grip he has on your ass. it's so uncomfortable, you've got your legs on either side of his waist, he's hanging half way off of the seat, back pressed against the door. all of the crap from his cabin surround your bodies, making it that much more difficult to move. yet, he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
not when you were hovering over him like this, panting into his mouth while pushing your ass back into the palms of his hands. “oh, fuck.” he's sighing when your lips trail down the length of his jaw, you follow the same pattern as he had before. sucking kisses into is skin, before grazing your teeth over it. focusing on a particular sensitive bit while your hips grind down onto his. a low, untamed growl catches in his throat as he feels the way your body moves against his.
the thin material of your bikini bottoms doing very little to mask the wet heat dripping from between your legs and onto his shorts. his head dips down to find your lips, mouth covering yours quickly and he wastes no time with licking into your mouth. jay's easily pulling you into a deep, needy, almost frantic rhythm that has your head spinning. you're moaning, hips pressing roughly against his. the length of his cock presses delicious against your clothed clit and your hips roll toward his, body shuddering as pleasure spreads throughout your core.
“oh my god,” you're whining into his mouth, hips moving frantically against his. he does his best to lift his hips to meet yours, fingers digging in to the flesh of your ass as heat rises up his neck. “you feel so... holy shit,” he's grunting, head falling back to rest against the door as you basically bounce on his lap. through hooded eyes, he watches the way your body moves against his. the needy roll of your hips paired with the look on your face just makes him harder.
you've got your lip tucked between your teeth, head dipped back as your hands travel up your torso. they find your breasts almost instantly and he watches as you squeeze and toy with them through fabric. he finds it hot how you refused to take off his sweater despite how much you probably want to. your hips move swiftly, pretty moans filling the cramped car as his hard length drags between your folds.
his hips lift to meet each one of your movements, using the grip on your body to press you down harder against him. every last bit of restraint has snap, he's no longer able to hold himself back. chest rising and falling in untimed breaths as a flush creeps onto his cheeks. he tries and fails to hold his whimpers back, but the way you're moving just feels too good. or he's just too sensitive, either way the pressure builds at the pit of his stomach and it's impossible to ignore.
and to make matters worse, jay can tell you're close too just from the unfocused timing of your hips and the helpless whines you're letting out. “jay,” you're gasping, fist clutching the fabric of his shirt as he watches the way your eyes roll back, your thighs squeezing together the best you can with his body between them. and he's quickly deciding he'd rather feel you cum, rather than see it.
“wait, baby... wait.” jay is shifting up, hands moving down to your thighs, stilling your movements. and he finds the pout that takes over your features especially cute, he's pressing a soft kiss to it without thinking. “i want to feel you,” he says simply. he's carefully leaning you back, your body resting against the boxes behind you as he moves to hover above you now.
his fingers sneak underneath the hem of your dress, latching onto the strings of your bottoms as his eyes drag up to look at you. you're shooting a nervous smile in his direction that has his heart softening. “is this okay?” he's asking softly, slowly tugging at the strings. you're nodding quickly, “please, jay.” you're breathing out, hips lifting off of the car seat to make it easier for him.
jay's letting out a soft chuckle before dragging your bottoms down your legs, tossing them somewhere behind him. his eyes drop down to catch the way your folds glisten, large hands pushing the hoodie and your dress up toward your belly button. “fuck,” he sighs with a shake of his head and you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, feeling unbelievably vulnerable under his lustful gaze. he's leaning forward, nose dragging along the length of your neck before his tongue pushes out to drag against your skin.
his hand slides expertly between your legs as his mouth moves to suck a hickey into your skin. your legs spread almost instinctively, moaning as his fingers trace between your folds. “you're so fucking wet,” he's groaning, fingers pushing slowly past your entrance. the warmth of your pussy surrounds his fingers as he slides in all the way to the knuckle. your hips lift to meet his hand and he's grinning down at you. “does it feel good? having my fingers stretch you out?” he asks softly as he curls his fingers inside you.
your walls clamp down around them, head bobbing in a nod. “yes... f-fuck, jay. it feels so good,” you're admitting. jay's fingers thrust deep inside of you, thumb pressing against your clit before he's rubbing slow cirlces against it. it's not long before he's falling into a steady rhythm, free hand lifting to hold your hips still as his fingers fuck into you. you're whining softly, legs spreading wide for him. “jay...” you're pleading, yet you have no idea what you're asking for.
his eyes lift to find yours, head tilting to the side slightly. “what, baby?” he grins, speeding up the movement of his hand and easily pulling a loud gasp from your lips. the sound of his chuckle follows, his eyes dropping back to your pussy. you're basically dripping around his fingers walls pulsing with each thrust. “i need... more, jay please.” your words break on a desperate cry, his fingers scissoring inside of you as his thumb presses harder against your clit.
“whatever you want,” he says, but the truth was he couldn't wait much longer either. not with this insistent throb between his legs, and the way you were looking up at him, so needy and ready. he had waited long enough for a moment like this with you, he was done waiting. jay pulls his hand away slowly, hands flying to push his shorts out of the way. his wet hand wrapping around his thick length and you watch as he strokes himself slowly, coating his shaft with your arousal.
the sight makes your mouth water. he stays knelt there for a few moments, just rubbing his hand over himself and watching you and the intensity in his stare makes your body hot. “spread your legs for me,” he's saying after a minute and you're separating your knees without a word, pussy clenching at the groan he lets out. “jay. fuck me, please.” you're whining, hand dropping down the length of your body to spread your folds for him, showing him just how badly you needed him.
he's leaning forward quickly, mouth covering yours in a needy kiss as the bulbous head of his cock bumps against your fingers. he takes his time with lining himself up with your tight hole, pushing his hips forward slowly until he's feeling you stretch around him. you have to remind yourself to relax as he pushes forward, breathing through the pain that comes with each inch of him. your fingers clutch his hair the moment that he's bottoming out and he feels the way your body stiffens.
“relax, baby. take your time.” he soothes, hand stroking your hair gently as he watches you adjust. he leans down to press soft kisses against your skin. switching between sucking hickeys into your neck and twisting his tongue with yours. he waits patiently for you to loosen up for him, but the moment he feels you shifting, he's taking that as his go and thrusting his hips forward. “fuck!” you shout, back arching as much as it can and he's pinning you back down with his hips.
slowly, he's pulling his hips back, allowing you to feel every rigid inch of his cock. “you're squeezing me so tight,” he says before he's quickly slamming back in. your body jerks, hips lift, whines falling from your lips as he falls into a steady pace. your hands are on his shoulders, nails dragging against his skin. jay fucks into you slowly and incredibly deep. his grip is tight on your waist, dragging your body down onto him with each thrust. his face remains buried in your neck, mouthing at your skin as his cock splits you open.
you feel him so deeply, he's no longer holding back and the desperate movement of his hips has an electric need shooting through your body. you needed to be closer. needed to feel him deeper. needed his hands on you like this forever. his teeth bite into your skin, muffling the long groan threatens to slip out and you're matching it with a needy whimper. his thrusts become brutal, hips snapping against yours in a overwhelmingly rough pace. your nails drag over the muscles of his back, legs spreading wider for him as desperate cries fill the car.
“jay, oh my god. i'm gonna...” you don't know if you should push him away or pull him closer, heat spreading throughout your body as the knot at the pit of your stomach tightens. jay keeps up with the pace as best he can, hand dropping down to find your clit again and he rubs figure eights into the sensitive bud. his head lifts so he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure.
your orgasm tears through your body, eyes rolling all the way to the back of your head as your back arches off of the seat. it's unlike anything you've felt before, body going numb as his hips continue to move between your thighs – fucking you through it. “god, look at you.” he sighs, burying himself deep inside of you, balls slapping against your ass with each thrusts. he moves until you're coming down for your high, watching the way your body relaxes in his arms. and only then is he pulling back, slowly drawing his hips away from your body and twisting his body so he's sitting upright on the seats.
“fuck,” he breathes, hand wrapping over his cock to keep it from falling limp. “i had the craziest cramp in my leg,” he says through a laugh, eyes shifting to find you. you're half way off of the seat, back resting against a box and hair falling messily around your face. “you okay?” he asks, smiling softly the second you're nodding. his free hand reaches out toward you, beckoning you over with a grin.
you're lifting slowly, allowing his arm to wrap around his waist and for her to tug you onto his lap. “come ride me, i'm almost there,” there's quiet begging in his tone as he lifts your body slightly, enough to pull you into his lap. your heart jumps, body freezing as you stare over at him with wide eyes. “oh, uhm... i've never? i don't think i know how...” you feel the heat rising in your cheeks and jay's brow furrows at your words.
“you've never rode someone before?” he asks because it sounds almost insane. of course you've rode someone before. he takes in the look in your eye, the shy blush that darkens your cheeks. “well, no... that was my first time,” you say sheepishly and his eyes are flying open, his hand falling from his cock to push his hair back on his forehead. “what?” he says it, even though he's positive he heard you clearly.
he just couldn't believe it. didn't even stop and consider it. and now he feels terrible because he just took your virginity like it was nothing. like it was something you could just hand out. it should've been special, he should've made it special. “yn, you can't lose your virginity in the back of my car!?” you're laughing at his distress, the wrinkle between his brow as they furrow in pure worry.
you don't know why you find him so cute this way. your shoulders lift in a shrug, hands settling on his shoulders. “too late?” you're saying through your laughter and he's shooting you a pointed look. “not funny, yn. i should've been gentle,” you're quick to shake your head, hands covering his cheeks as you lean down to press a soft kiss to his lips. he kisses you back slowly, hands resting on your waist much lighter now. you're pulling back slowly, head tilting slightly.
“come on, you already took it. don't clam up now,” you're leaning down to plate a kiss to his lips that has his worries melting away. your tongue wrapping around his, fingers curling in his hair as you lift your hips to climb further up on his lap. his head rests on the back of the chair when you pull away, looking up at you through his lashes as your hand reaches down wrapping around his cock. his hips twitch as you position his head at your entrance, “teach me,” you say with a pout and just like that his restraint is gone.
again.
–
you're not heading back to jay's cabin until the sun is already peaking over the mountains. it's weirdly empty, just like you imagined. his bed made in the middle of the room. he doesn't let you dwell on the look of it for too long, not wanting you to sleep too deep in your thoughts while you're having such a good time. he's pulling you into bed beside him, easily tucking your body into his as the two of you finally drift off to sleep.
and you stay like that in his arms for god knows how long. your head on his chest and his arm wrapped securely around your waist. he doesn't dare move, even when sleep finally takes over. which doesn't last as long as he would have hoped, his alarm blaring at exactly 7:15am. he's careful not to wake you as he slips out of bed, showering and changing his clothes as you shift and pull at his sheets. you don't even budge when he's making his bed, or when he's taking the last bag out of his room and into his car.
there's so much more he wanted to say. and he hated that he had no more time. for a long while, jay just stands there. keys in hand as his eyes scan over his empty cabin, save for you curled beneath his blankets. the morning sun peaks in through his window, golden streaks fanning across the bed. and you don't even shift. you're dead asleep, drooling onto his pillows and the sight has a soft laugh falling from his lips.
“wow,” he's shocked because even like this, smushed face and messy hair – you still look so pretty. he should leave, he needed to get on the road before the gps estimated a different arrival time. there were a list of things that he needed to get done back at his apartment before he was heading to the airport, he needed to leave. instead, he's making his way back into the cabin. setting his keys back on his desk before pulling out the blank notebook from one of the drawers, stealing a page.
he starts writing. the words coming to him much easier now that he's no longer hold back. he's ran out of reasons not to tell you exactly how he feels. he spent the last nine drafts trying to sound reasonable and failed every single time. because, this wasn't reasonable. falling for you was the most unreasonable thing that he has ever done, but he loved every second of it.
jay doesn't stop once as he writes, not a single typo. his feelings hit the page unfiltered, for the first time all summer. he's saying everything that he's wanted to, to you, about you. for you. he doesn't make a single edit. every for sentences, his eyes would drift over to where you lay, curled in his hoodie and drowning in his sheets. and then three more sentences would come to mind, two more after that. he writes until he's filled the entire page and then some more on the back.
once he's finished he's folding it carefully, slipping it into an envelope before scribbling something across the front. he's moving to stand beside the bed one last time, setting the note on his empty pillow before his eyes drift over to you. the urge to wake you up hit him intensely, he wanted so badly to say goodbye properly, to steal one more kiss, one more touch, one more hour. but he knew that was wrong. that he'd end up wanting to stay longer, actually seeing him walk away might hurt you more.
so he doesn't. he just sets his hand on your head softly, brushing your hair back so he's able to press a soft kiss to your forehead. his lips linger there for a moment, silently hoping that you'd wake up on your own. and when you don't, he's standing. he grabs his keys from his desk, takes one final look at you, before he's heading out of the cabin, closing the door tight behind him.
you're stirring awake two hours later. the first thing you notice is that you feel warm, surrounded by jay's familiar scent. you sink further into the mattress, sunlight spilling from the windows and warming your skin and for a few seconds you don't open your eyes. instead, you nuzzle yourself into jay's warmth as moments from the night before flood your memory.
playing with jay in the lake. kissing jay against the rocks. jay holding you by the fire. walking with jay to his car, his arm around your shoulders. jay fucking you in that same car, in so many different ways. you could still feel the stretch of him between your legs. a smile spreads across your lips, remembering exactly how he felt beneath you as you rode him for the first time ever. and you're suddenly filled with the need to try it again. to feel him again.
you're reaching out before your mind can tell you differently, eyes snapping open when your hand is met with nothing but emptiness. your eyes find the clock sat on his nightstand, reading the flashing numbers that stare back at you. 10:17AM. your stomach drops, a deep frown replacing the sleepy smile you had been wearing before. “oh,” you're sighing as realization hits, jay was gone.
you knew he'd be leaving early, he told everyone that he was going to be gone before anyone was really waking up. but despite knowing, not seeing him beside you still stings. slowly you're sitting up in his bed, the over-sized hoodie shifting over your shoulders as you reach to rub at your eyes. everything feels heavy, your heart thumps uselessly in your chest as your eyes scan over the room.
he was really gone. the bathroom had been emptied out this morning, his desk was completely cleared off, posters torn down and folded neatly. there was no trace of him left in this room besides you and the fact that he took everything and left you behind has your throat tightening. your eyes drift back toward his pillow, eyes furrowing at the sight of the crisp envelope that laid on top of his blue pillowcase. you're reaching for it quickly, reading over the words written across the front of the envelope. “make it ten versions,” you read and you don't waste a second before tearing the note open.
❝ yn.
i've written this goodbye letter to you so many times that i almost forgot the point of it. the first few letters sounded like i was giving you a college recommendation... then i got too emotional about leaving the music lodge in your care. the third version was so embarrassingly raw that if you ever somehow read it i'd most likely evaporate where i stand. the one that I gave you, version nine, was the one that felt the most honest to me. at least at that time. now, it just feels like it was written by someone else.
someone that was still pretending he hadn't fell for you. i spent the last three months pretending that i wasn't looking for you in every room. pretending that i was fine with keeping things professional. wasted so much time pretending that i didn't feel the same way that you did and i think i owe you an apology for that. i owe you a lot of apologies, honestly.
i'm sorry that i waited until the last day to make a move. i'm realizing now, seated at my desk and you snoring behind me that, that was the wrong move. i should've said something sooner, i shouldn't have let you wonder if you were the only one with the crush. or at least stuck to my guns, said nothing, and left quietly. because this sucks so much worse. leaving after just one night of getting to know how it feels to be with you feels horrible. but i don't regret it, don't get me wrong. i'm happy that our last night together was every bit of perfect, i just wish i got it together sooner. for the both of us.
and that brings me to my next apology. i'm sorry that you spent all summer being brave enough for the both of us. you were so loud about your feelings, you never hid, you flirted with me in front of everyone despite their teasing. you made your feelings so clear and gave me every opportunity to meet you halfway and i kept coming up with excuses not to.
i convinced myself that keeping my distance would be best for the both of us. there was no point in starting something that i couldn't finish, but i realize now i was too focused on that small detail. because while the future was clear and we both knew this summer would end, we could've still enjoyed each other for three full months rather than one night. that's my fault, i'm sorry i robbed us of that.
for the last seven years, this place has been my home away from home. i know the walls, i know the smells, every last detail is engraved in my brain like a sixth sense. so naturally, i figured no longer having it as a constant would be the hardest thing of all, the thing that i'd miss most. but now i'm realizing (again) that i was wrong, because what i'm going to miss most is you.
i'm going to miss the way your face lights up when you talk about music, the way you manage to make every conversation last twice as long as they should. your laugh, your smile, the taste of your lips. i'm going to miss how warm you felt sleeping against me. and most of all, i'm going to miss all the things that i want to experience with you and now know it's too late.
fuck, i hate that it's too late...
for the first time ever, i have no idea what will happen next. because as you read this, i'm probably already on the road, heading home or toward the airport and even though, i know that has always been the plan, i can't help but wonder if i should be doing something different. or if it's stupid to make such huge life changes over someone you just met. for the first time ever, i don't trust my own plan and that scares the shit out of me.
but i kind of like it, because if there's one thing this summer taught me, one thing that you taught me... it's that all of life's best moments happen when you stop trying to control them. it took me until last night to realize it, that's why i kissed you when i did. none of that was part of the plan, but i'm so happy that i let myself enjoy being with you, even if it was just once.
i know i don't have to tell you this, but don't worry too much about me... enjoy your school year, enjoy your life. go on all the dates, make new friends and be as happy as you can possibly be. i hope that one day the universe will bring us back together, but in the meantime... keep my hoodie safe. it looks better on you, anyway.
gummygunk
germansingergirl
origamiaround
prguitarman
dededos
janainaart
