pairing: student! fem reader x student! jeon jungkook
summary: when you finally get your crush’s number, you expect the start of an epic love story— not a random guy making fun of you because he thinks the guy you’ve been obsessed with for the last six months gave you a fake number. Jeon Jungkook, the one who replies, finds it entertaining and helps you chase the guy… at least until he finds out that the person he’s been helping date another guy is you, the girl he’s been obsessed with for the last two years.
genre/warning: this is a smau fic!! with narration included in some chapter but it’s mostly messages/tweets. very unfunny jokes. this is mostly crack/fluff.
authors note: jungkook and yn finally meet!!!! this is a narrated chapter so be aware!!! so excited for this hehe not my funniest one but i tried>_<
chapter index | previous — next
— chapter nine: life is a blowjob!
Jungkook realized that two americanos on an empty stomach had been a catastrophic decision after he ordered the third. He also realized that arriving thirty minutes early had somehow made everything infinitely worse for his peace of mind.
He’d convinced himself it was practical at first. He convinced himself everything needed to be perfect before you arrived. Maybe there could be traffic on the way— even though he wasn’t driving and the café was ten minutes walking from his dorm— he still couldn’t be late to the hangout. Or maybe he wouldn’t be able to find a seat— even though the place was empty most of the time at that hour… There could be a lot of issues that could show up out of nowhere so he needed to be the first to arrive to solve them… He also needed some time to look normal and not rushing in sweat like a psychopath.
All perfectly reasonable excuses until he found himself sitting alone by the window, staring at the café door while every muscle in his body slowly tightened with each passing minute.
Jungkook was going insane.
10:42 a.m
It had been only 10 minutes and you weren’t supposed to be there until eleven. Eighteen more minutes to go.
“…Fuck.” The word slipped out under his breath as he dragged both hands down his face.
This was a mistake. A massive, irreversible, life-ending mistake.
Jungkook thought how he should’ve stayed behind a screen forever. Texting was easy for him when it was with you. It let him delete things before sending them. Texting let him think before speaking to you. Texting didn’t involve making eye contact with the prettiest girl he’d ever met while pretending he hadn’t spent the better part of two years quietly orbiting your existence like a haunted fucking satellite.
His leg bounced uncontrollably beneath the table. Maybe he could leave.
Actually… Yeah. That felt right.
Jungkook stood and walked all the way to the café door, hand already pushing against the handle before he stopped.
What the fuck was he gonna text?
No. He couldn’t just pretend he couldn’t make it. Would that hurt your feeling? He didn’t want to hurt your feelings. He was the one who had the idea to hangout. He needed to be brave.
Jungkook sighed heavily, turned around, and walked back inside. The barista looked up at him with mild concern as he reclaimed the exact same chair he’d abandoned less than twenty seconds ago. But the girl didn’t say anything… especially since it was the third time he had done the same.
Five minutes later he’d convinced himself leaving actually made much more sense this time.
He got up again and finally made it outside. Jungkook walked half the block before stopping. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He rubbed his face so aggressively it almost hurt before spinning on his heel and marching straight back.
This time the same barista caught him before he’d even sat down. “Dude, are you sure you want this americano?”
“Yes,” Jungkook said frustrated. “And please add another shot.”
By 10:55 his hands were shaking just enough to piss him off. He stared at them while asking for another americano. He was definitely going to die before you even had the chance to say hi.
Which, honestly, it was probably better for him.
His phone buzzed and Jungkook grabbed it so quickly he almost dropped it.
the loml: two minutes away
Jungkook’s heartbeat stopped as another message appeared almost instantly.
the loml: what r u wearing
the loml: wait
the loml: that was lowkey nasty
the loml: what r u wearing babygirl?🤤
Despite his nerves, a laugh escaped him.
Jungkook: idiot (message not sent)
Jungkook: black hoodie (message not sent)
Jungkook: hoodie (message not sent)
Jungkook: IM LITERALLT WEARING THE WORST OUTFIT EVER OMG (message not sent)
Jungkook: the hottest outfit ever (message not sent)
His thumbs hovered uselessly over the keyboard while his brain started screaming loud enough to drown out the music playing through the café speakers— Shit. He couldn’t even properly send a text now. How was he supposed to talk to you face to face?
No, no, no. He couldn’t.
It was ridiculous. He’d survived perfectly fine without doing this… He could still leave. Right now. He could show up with some lie. He got an emergency, maybe food poisoning or he was suddenly arrested. Yeah, he could just invent a lie, he couldn’t stay. God, no. Jungkook was sure he wouldn’t be able to talk to you. He would just be so embarrassing you would never want to talk to him again.
Yeah, fuck no.
His chair scraped quietly against the floor as he stood, slipping his phone into his pocket before he could overthink it anymore. That was it, he was leaving. He’d apologize later. You’d probably be too busy being obsessed over his best friend to even care.
He took exactly one step before the bell above the café door chimed. Instinctively, his head turned.
You stepped inside.
Holy fucking shit.
You weren’t looking around yet. Your eyes stayed glued to your phone as you typed something, a strand of hair falling across your face before you tucked it absentmindedly behind your ear. His phone buzzed in his pocket but he didn’t pay any mind.
You looked… God. You looked exactly like you always did.
He’d spent two years noticing you between breaks, across hallways, sitting outside buildings with headphones on, laughing with those three idiots you called friends. He knew the shape of your smile from impossible distances because he still remembered it from close. Knew the way you’d throw your head back when you laughed too hard. Knew you gestured with both hands when you talked, like every sentence required visual aids.
But standing ten feet away after such a long time, you suddenly felt… real.
Not campus real. Not “girl I secretly look at during lunch breaks” real. Not ‘girl crush I’ve been dreaming about’. Real enough to walk over, real enough to say his name and real enough to realize he was just some random guy you probably wouldn’t even like.
Jungkook pulse lurched. He looked away so fast it almost gave him whiplash.
Nop. Absolutely fucking not.
If he didn’t look at you and if you didn’t see him maybe he could still pretend—
“Black americano for Jungkook.”
Ah, fuck.
He tried to ignore it, looking to the other side of the place. The barista’s voice cut cleanly through the café. “Jungkook?”
Couldn’t she take a fucking hint?.
He slowly lifted his head. The barista was looking directly at him, cup already in hand, moving it like she was waiting for him to hurry up as if she had any other clients waiting in line when the place was empty. Jungkook thought about all the bad reviews he was going to leave her as he walk closer to the counter.
“…Thanks.”
He reached for it automatically, almost cringing at the motion. Movement flickered in the corner of his vision. You had looked up and, finally, your eyes met his.
Jungkook was going to pass out.
He saw you frown. Your gaze dropped briefly to the coffee cup in his hand, then back to his face and then back to your phone. You did that three times, maybe too confused he was actually the guy you had been talking too. Jungkook couldn’t tell. Were you imagining someone better looking than him?
Yeah, he was definitely ending his shit tonight.
Jungkook felt every single organ inside his body shut down in perfect synchronization when you started walking closer to him.
“Oh my God.” You stopped right in front of him, a little too close, blinking twice before a huge grin spread across your face. “No way.” Jungkook forgot how breathing worked. “Jungkook?”
He nodded once. “Yeah.”
Your smile somehow got even wider. “What the fuck?” You laughed, looking him up and down with complete shamelessness. “Oh my God.”
He managed the world’s weakest laugh. “Hi.”
“I did not picture you like this.”
“No?”
“No!” You pointed at him as if that explained everything. “I had this whole image.”
“I’m scared.”
“It was completely different.”
He chuckled shyly. “Care to share?”
“I thought you were gonna be…” You tilted your head thoughtfully. “I don’t know… glasses and shit.”
“Glasses and shit?”
“Yeah, you know— disney nerd cast.”
“I— what the hell does that even mean?” He frowned confused, amused by your brain and how actually much of an extrovert you were. Really similar to the way you text, really blunt. “And I do wear glasses, just to read and play video games.”
“Well, I kinda was right then.” You gestured vaguely toward him. “But I don’t know I was lowkey picturing you like Robbie from Victorious
Jungkook looked genuinely offended. “Should I— is that an insult or…?”
“Not really. He was cute to me.” You shrugged before nodding approvingly, looking at him again closely this time.
Jungkook was sure his heart was about to jump out of his chest any minute. His face started getting hot. Oh god, he was blushing. “What?”
“You actually look…” You squinted dramatically. “Like a stereotypical bad boy from a cheap magazine”
Jungkook blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Well, the tattoos and the piercings. The whole…” You motioned vaguely toward his black hoodie and rings, “…whatever aesthetic you’ve got going on. I bet you only wear black.”
“Of course not! I… I own other colors.” He stuttered.
“That wasn’t convincing.”
“I literally do.”
“Mhm.” You smiled. “You’re like a bad-boy from Pinterest.”
For the first time all morning, Jungkook laughed out loud. He couldn’t help it, you were so openly cute and funny, it just made the whole thing easier for him. He wasn’t dying of anxiety anymore and he now could be just himself. He was now only nervous to prove to you he was definitely as cool as you were.
“Let’s sit.”
You laughed to yourself before walking next to him to the table, finally dropping into the chair across from Jungkook, setting your bag on the floor and pushing a few loose strands of hair behind your ear. “This is so weird.”
“It is.”
“I’ve been talking to you every day for like… what? Weeks?”
“A little over.”
“And I’ve just been making up your face this whole time,” You sighed. “Now look at us. Internet friends to real friends.”
“Only few people can make that happen,” he said sarcastically.
“Well, I’m definitely glad you’re not an eighty year old man. That was my worst befriended experience ever.”
“That sounds like— Wait, what do you mea—”
“Ugh, I want a coffee too.” You pointed at him triumphantly before reaching across the table to steal the untouched americano sitting in front of him. “Can I have this? It seems you had a lot of… those.” You looked around the table, noticing his other three americanos. “Were you hanging out with your friends before?”
“Those are mine.”
“Why were you drinking so much coffe? You’re gonna have a heart attack.”
Jungkook blinked, moving uncomfortably in his seat. “Uhm… Well, I got here early,” He said, a bit shy.
“How early?”
“Early.”
“Jungkook.”
“…Thirty minutes.”
Why was he saying this to you? Jungkook couldn’t shut up. His mouth was just being too honest with you. He needed to stop.
You stared incredulous at him. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“No fucking way.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly finding the tabletop incredibly interesting. “I wanted to make sure I got a seat.”
“You got here thirty minutes early for a coffee shop?”
“Yeah.”
“You absolute loser.”
“I know.”
“No, like…” You giggled this this time, shaking your head. “That’s actually adorable.”
Adorable. Jungkook was going to think about that word together with those giggles for the next six to eight years.
Instead of answering, he picked at the cardboard sleeve around one of his empty coffee cup, hoping you wouldn’t notice that his ears had immediately betrayed him.
But, of course you noticed. “Oh my God. You’re blushing?”
“I’m not.”
“You literally are.”
“It’s warm in here.”
“They have AC.”
“They barely have it on!”
You leaned across the table, narrowing your eyes at him with exaggerated suspicion. “You’re actually shy.”
“I’m not shy.”
“You are.”
“You’re just too easygoing!”
You laughed again, smiling like it was a compliment. “You’re cute, Jungkook.”
Okay, he was definitely going to pass out.
“Shut up.”
You leaned back in your chair, still looking at him with obvious curiosity. “So…” you said, tapping your nails on the table. “What about you?”
Jungkook looked at you a little confused. “What?”
“What did you think I’d look like?”
He let out a quiet “oh,” buying himself a second. There were about a hundred honest answers sitting at the tip of his tongue, all of which would get him escorted out of the café if he accidentally said them out loud.
“I thought you’d be taller.”
You looked down at yourself. “Rude!.”
“I’m kidding.”
“Mhm.”
“I actually didn’t think of anything.”
“Liar,” you accused him.
“I’m serious.”
“You had to imagine something.”
He pretended to think about it for another second before smiling. “I imagined you’d look like someone who talks way too much. I was completely right.”
You gasped dramatically. “Excuse you?”
“I was right,” he said again.
“I’ve known you in person for thirty seconds.”
“You’ve been talking for twenty-nine of them.”
“I was being welcoming!.”
“Well, you really are. For sure.”
You laughed, pointing at him. “Okay… I’ll give you that one.”
Jungkook shrugged innocently. “I like that, you’re too friendly.” He tilted his head slightly. “I wasn’t expecting you to smile this much.”
You looked at him a little taken aback. “What?”
“You smile a lot,” he repeated himself. Jungkook remember you used to laugh a lot too, at everything. He liked that, he also was dying to let you know that for a long time, he liked your smile.
“I do?”
“Yeah.”
You frowned in genuine confusion, almost as if you’d never noticed. “I didn’t know… Is that bad?”
“No,” his answer came easily this time, and too fast he had to cleared his throat before composing himself. “I think it’s nice.”
There wasn’t anything loaded behind it, nor did he intend there to be. It came out sounding exactly how he’d meant it, honest enough to be a compliment, casual enough that it didn’t linger in the air to make you uncomfortable.
You smiled again, this time more relaxed. “Well now I’m self-conscious.”
“You smiled while saying that.”
“Fuck.”
“I rest my case.”
You rolled your eyes. “I’ve decided I don’t like you.”
“That was fast.”
“I had big expectations.”
“And I shattered them?”
“You did.”
“Ugh, I’ll never recover from this.” Jungkook said sarcastically. He could tell you liked a good banter.
“I hope you don’t.”
A comfortable silence settled between you two before Jungkook glanced at you again. There was a brief lull in the conversation, not uncomfortable in the slightest, just long enough for you to look at him again with a small crease forming between your brows.
“Can I say something weird?”
“Always.”
“I have this weird feeling we’ve met before.” Jungkook’s heart kicked so violently against his ribs that he almost threw up right there. “I swear you look so familiar.”.
Jungkook tried to keep his expression neutral, lifting one shoulder in a casual shrug despite suddenly becoming hyperaware of every inch of his body. “I was actually thinking the same thing.”
“Were you?”
“Yeah.”
“I feel like…” You squinted at him before talking a pause, eyes narrowing. “Wait—”
Jungkook held his breath as your eyes widened. His pulse immediately doubled. Did you remember? Did you remember the project? Did you actually know him?
You remembered those afternoons in the editing room arguing over the stupid assignment while you painted foam props and laughed at every stupid joke he’d made just because you laughed at everything? Did you remembered sharing cheap vending machine coffee because you’d both been too broke to buy anything else? Did you remembered sitting shoulder to shoulder on the floor of the studio at class trying to finish everything before the deadline because you lost too much time joking around?
You remembered him?
“You remember?.”
“Yes! I knew it!” You pointed at him so suddenly that he almost flinched. “You!”
He smiled before he could stop himself. “Yeah?”
“You almost fucking killed me!”
“I did— What?”
“You almost made me eat shit outside the music building.”
The smile stayed on his face for exactly one more second before it twitched. “Come again?”
“A couple weeks ago!” you said, a little too frantic. You leaned farther over the table, completely invested now. “You came flying around the corner in the hallways of the music building, smashed into me so hard I nearly ate concrete, looked me dead in the eyes and then just…” You made a dramatic gesture with both hands. “…walked away! How rude!”
Silence settled between you two for a couple of seconds. You weren’t really angry, it was obvious. But Jungkook’s brain still had quietly folded in on itself. You clearly didn’t remember and it was obvious you wouldn’t, he wasn’t that important in your life. You wouldn’t remember a simpler project and the hours you spent together in class, it had been too long ago. You just remembered him as the asshole who’d accidentally shoulder-checked you outside a building and disappeared without apologizing.
And he remember that too, he had been too nervous when he noticed he run over you, disappearing without properly apologizing. Clearly you would remember something like that— wasn’t the same day you got Chan’s numbers? Probably why you remembered every detail about it.
Jungkook closed his eyes for a second, scrunching his nose before letting out a defeated laugh.
“That doesn’t sound like me.”
“Dude—”
“Okay, okay,” he lifted his hands, defeated. “ my defense… I was carrying a lot of stuff.”
“No, you were carrying one backpack. I remember because I wanted to hit you with it,” you narrowed your eyes, clearly not bothered but trying to annoy him.
“Totally fair,” he nodded.
“You didn’t even say sorry properly.”
“I was going to.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“I thought about it really hard.”
“Wow. Thank God I can hear thoughts.”
“I assumed you could.”
“How?”
“Well, we declared we were each other best friends then, right? You should clearly know what I was thinking.” He said obvious, pointing at you like you were at fault.
You snorted, clearly entertained. “I didn’t know you were the guy I was talking to!.”
“Then whose fault is this really?”
“Still yours!,” you laughed at loud and Jungkook smiled at that.
He had made you laugh. A win.
He groaned, faking to be annoyed and already accepting defeat. “Okay… You’re right. I’m sorry about that, I was probably having an off day.”
You looked at him for a second before nodding, still looking bright. “I guess I can forgive you. We all have days like that.”
“You’re so thoughtful,” he said jokingly.
“That’s one of my best qualities,” you shrugged like it wasn’t a big thing. “So, tell me best friend, what is your major?”
The conversation slipped into place so naturally that Jungkook almost forgot how terrified he’d been ten minutes earlier. Every time you spoke, you somehow left him with three different ways to answer, and before he realized it you were already teasing each other as though you’d been meeting for coffee every Tuesday instead of hiding behind phone screens for weeks.
Neither of you realized you had stopped being strangers. The disappointment of you not remembering the project lingered only briefly before it was buried beneath another banter and another topic of conversation. And by the time the hours passed, Jungkook noticed he’d stopped rehearsing his replies entirely. He was just… talking, and somehow that felt far less terrifying than everything he’d imagined over the past few weeks.
didn’t even chuckle with this one but their meet up was enough okay bye!! made that robbie joke before someone sent me the victorious ask so now u understand why i was crazy excited. also, yayy she forgot about chan. okkayyy see you in 2 months!!
Summary : You were raised behind locked doors, hidden from a world that was never supposed to know your name. But secrets have a way of finding the wrong people, and when Jeon Jungkook does, your freedom comes with a ring... and a war.
Pairing : mafia! JK x f.reader
Genre : mafia au, political marriage, secret heir, syndicate, dark romance, secrets, drama, angst, eventual smut, dark themes, drugs, underworld syndicate.
Taglist : @nayutalvr @jungkookgoodlookin @zaf3ira @celest-pluto @prxdajeon @firstdivisiongirl @jksusawife @tremendousstarlighttragedy @mar-lo-pap @pomichodai-jk-bts-apobangpo
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆
The heavy, silence of Madam Jeon’s master suite was broken only by the faint sound of the television mounted against the wall.
Madam Jeon sat rigidly in her high-backed velvet armchair, her face an unreadable mask as two young maids hovered around her in terrified quiet. One held a small tray with a glass of water and a array of daily heart medications, while the other carefully measured out a soothing tonic.
Suddenly, the breaking news banner flashed a blinding, emergency red across the screen.
The news anchor’s voice cracked through the silence:
"Breaking News: Chairman Park of the Han-Jin Group, a major political figure and high-profile candidate for the upcoming ministry election, has been found dead inside his private residence early this morning. Preliminary police reports suggest he suffered multiple brutal stab wounds and poison. The authorities have launched a full-scale homicide investigation..."
Madam Jeon’s dark eyes widened, freezing on the screen. The glass of water in her hand trembled, the clear liquid sloshing over the crystal edge.
Stabbed in his own home?
Her heart hammered dangerously in her chest. She knew the truth. It wasn't a sudden break-in or a random street mugging. It was a cover-up. Jungkook hadn't just forced the old man to sign the asset transfer and poisoned him and stabbed him in the hedge maze but he faked the death in the house. He shifted the body back to chairman's house.
A wave of intense paranoia and blinding, furious rage surged through her blood.
He went too far.
A political figure! A man with direct ties to the national government! Jungkook had acted on pure, unchecked greed and arrogance, completely ignoring the careful rules of the Jeon legacy. He was playing with fire that could burn their entire dynasty to the ground before the week was even over.
"Ma'am, please, your medicine—" the maid whispered nervously, holding out the small paper cup.
"Get that filth away from me!" Madam Jeon snapped, her voice like a whip.
With a harsh sweep of her arm, she swatted the maid's hand away. The silver tray clattered against the polished marble floor, sending the pills, glass, and water scattering in every direction.
The two maids gasped, immediately dropping to their knees in absolute terror, trembling as they tried to clean up the mess.
"Out! Both of you, get out!" Madam Jeon breathed heavily, her chest heaving as she pointed a thin, trembling finger toward the heavy oak doors. "And call my grandson right now. Tell Jungkook to get his arrogant ass into my room this instant!”
°
Jungkook moved slightly, feeling a soft warmth pressed against his skin. He slowly opened his eyes, a sharp grimace crossing his features as he felt the tight, uncomfortable prickle of dried blood on his chest and arms. Sunlight filtered softly through the heavy curtains.
Shifting his weight, he noticed his legs were tangled up with someone else's. He tilted his head, his dark eyes landing on you.
You were fast asleep right beside him. One of your small hands was resting against his bare chest, while the other lay draped over your own stomach.
Jungkook closed his eyes, letting out a heavy, silent sigh as the chaotic memories of last night came rushing back. Why the hell had he crawled into bed and snuggled up to you like a clingy kid?
Fuck.
He looked down at your tangled legs. You were still wearing that midnight-blue reception gown. It had to be miserable to sleep in. The heavy silk was pushed up slightly, leaving a long stretch of your bare thigh completely on display in the morning light.
A sharp knock on the bedroom door broke the quiet, making Jungkook’s head snap toward the sound.
You let out a soft, sleepy whine at the noise, turning over instinctively and wrapping both of your arms tightly around his waist. Jungkook didn't fight it. He just lay there for a second, pinned under your grip.
"What?" he called out, his voice laced with pure morning frustration.
The commotion finally woke you up. You slowly blinked your eyes open, freezing the second you realized you were clinging to his chest like a koala. A deep flush instantly rushed up your neck, painting your cheeks a bright, burning red.
"Madam Jeon is calling for you, sir," the maid’s timid voice echoed through the heavy door.
Jungkook didn't bother replying. He just let out another low sigh, his dark eyes drifting down to your wide, panicked doe eyes. Seeing you pull back so fast, your dark hair completely wild and messy from sleep, made the tight annoyance in his chest soften just a fraction.
As you tried to scramble backward, you let out a tiny hiss of pain, wincing as the heavy diamond necklace dug sharply into the delicate skin of your collarbone.
Before you could sit up and retreat, Jungkook’s hand shot out, catching your wrist and pulling you right back onto the plush mattress.
He moved smoothly, kneeling on the bed behind you. His large, warm hands reached around to carefully unpin the heavy clasp of the necklace. As the heavy jewelry came free, his thumb gently brushed over the bright red marks left behind on your soft skin.
You winced again, your breath catching as the sensitive skin stinged under his touch.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, his deep morning voice low, husky, and dangerously close to your ear.
You quickly shook your head, unable to squeeze a real word out of your tight throat.
Jungkook let out a quiet scoff, setting the diamonds aside on the nightstand before swinging his legs off the bed. Without a word of warning, he reached down, grabbed your hand, and hauled you out of bed, dragging you straight toward the bathroom.
"W-what?" you stumbled after him, your heart doing a violent flip in your chest.
In the bright light of the morning, his bare torso was on full display. The sharp lines of his abs, the dark ink spilling over his shoulders, and the faint, jagged scars scattering his skin were almost overwhelming to look at up close.
Your stomach fluttered uncontrollably, your breath completely stuttering in your throat as he pulled you up to the grand marble vanity.
Your hands flew behind your back, catching his wrists just as the heavy metal zipper reached the small of your waist. "W-wait—Jungkook, stop," you stammered, your voice barely a breath.
A sharp blush flooded your face as you tried to turn around in his grip, desperate to hide yourself from him. But before you could face him, Jungkook moved with frightening efficiency.
His hand clamped gently yet firmly over yours, twisting you back around in a single smooth motion. In a split second, he pressed your front flush against the edge of the cold marble vanity, his large body trapping you completely from behind.
The cool stone against your stomach made you gasp, but before you could recover, he pulled the heavy silk down. The midnight-blue gown pooled around your ankles, leaving you standing there in just your delicate, lace undergarments.
Mortified, you instinctively wrapped your arms tightly over your chest, trying to shrink away, your heart hammering like a trapped bird.
Jungkook didn't pause to appreciate your curves. He simply reached down, hooked his hands under your arms, and dragged you straight toward the sprawling porcelain bathtub.
His face remained an unreadable, stoic mask—his pitch-black eyes fixed strictly on your face and shoulders, deliberately avoiding looking down at your exposed body. He eased you down into the tub, making you sit on the smooth porcelain before reaching over to turn on the taps. Warm water began to fill the basin around you.
"Jungkook..." you squeaked, your cheeks burning hot enough to leave marks. The utter proximity of him kneeling over the edge of the tub, his bare, tattooed chest hovering inches from your skin, had every nerve in your body screaming. You were shy as fuck, your shoulders tense, trembling under the sheer weight of his presence.
He ignored your protest, picking up a soft, wet sponge and lathering it with a gentle, scented soap.
Moving with a quiet, hypnotic slowness, he leaned in, his warm hand steadying your shoulder as he began to wash your skin. He traced the sponge smoothly down the back of your neck, clearing away the lingering sweat and stale air from last night. He swept the soft lather over your shoulder blades, his long fingers occasionally brushing your skin—a deliberate, soothing touch that made a shiver run straight down your spine.
You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands tightly gripping the rim of the tub as your breathing hitched. He was being so impossibly gentle for a man whose hands had ended a life just hours ago.
Once he was satisfied that every inch of your neck and shoulders was clean, Jungkook set the sponge aside. He didn't say a word as he stood up, stepping over to the walk-in glass shower stall right beside the tub.
He turned the knob, letting the stream of ice-cold water blast directly over his head and body.
You slowly opened your eyes, taking a ragged breath as you watched him through the clear glass. The cold spray washed away the remaining traces of dark, dried blood from his skin, making the dark ink of his tattoos pop sharply against his pale, defined muscles. The water cascaded down the hard ridges of his abs, plastering his wet hair against his forehead.
When he reached up, tossing his head back to run a hand through his dripping dark locks, your mouth went completely dry. A sudden, intense wave of heat rushed straight to your core. Your face flushed all over again, a chaotic flutter rising in your belly as you stared at him—realizing, with a sudden wave of panic, just how devastatingly attractive your dangerous husband actually was. You felt hot, messy, and thoroughly undone.
Jungkook shut the shower off, stepping out onto the bathmat.
Grabbing a towel from the rack, he began drying his torso, his dark eyes finally flicking down to meet yours in the tub. The intense, dark possessiveness was back in his gaze, but his tone was completely flat, almost detached.
"I washed you because you were dirty," he said, his gravelly voice echoing off the tile. "It was blood."
He paused, throwing the towel over his broad shoulder as he locked eyes with you.
"That blood belongs on my hands," he murmured softly, dark and unyielding. "It’s not allowed to stain you.”
Jungkook turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the bathroom door swinging gently in his wake.
You sat frozen in the warm water, your pulse thudding violently in your ears. The lingering heat of his fingers on your skin felt like an invisible burn. Shaking off the daze, you scrambled out of the tub, wrapping a heavy silk bathrobe around yourself and tying the sash tight. The desperate urge to make sense of him, you rushed toward the adjoining walk-in closet.
Jungkook was standing in the center of the spacious room. He looked devastatingly handsome—his dark hair still damp and tousled, his white dress shirt hanging completely open over his broad, tattooed chest as his long, vein-delineated fingers buckled his dark leather belt.
You swallowed hard, the sight making your throat go bone-dry as you took a slow step inside.
"You killed him," you whispered. The words slipped past your lips before you could stop them, low and trembling.
Jungkook didn't pause his movements, but his head tilted slightly, his pitch-black eyes cutting over to fix on you. "That’s what I do. Every single day," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated in the tight space. "You just happened to watch one. Can't digest the fact that you gave your life to a devil?"
Your lips parted, but your voice failed you. The dark thrill radiating off him was suffocating, yet you found yourself taking another small step forward. "That’s not... why did you..."
A slow, dangerous smirk stretched across his lips as he turned to face you completely. Unfiltered and shameless, your eyes dropped, tracing the sharp, carved lines of his abs left on full display.
"Eyes up, princess," he commanded smoothly.
Your gaze snapped instantly back to his.
"I do what I do for power," he murmured, a sinister, pitch-black glimmer flaring in his eyes. "I want his seat. I take what I want."
The cold brutality in his tone made your skin crawl with a sudden spike of fear, but beneath the horror, your mind flashed back to last night. You remembered the heavy, vulnerable weight of his body pressing you into the mattress. You remembered him sinking into your neck, letting you tangle your fingers in his hair as he surrendered to sleep.
There was a side to him he tried so hard to bury—a side that only reached for you.
You took one more step, desperate to break through his cold facade, but Jungkook closed the distance before you could even draw a breath.
In a fraction of a second, his massive frame towered over you, trapping you completely as he backed you straight into the wall. The back of your head hit the hard surface, your breathing hitching as you tried to press yourself flat, avoiding the intoxicating heat of his dark eyes.
"Jungkook..." you gasped, your small hands instinctively clutching the lapels of your bathrobe.
"Stay in this room today," he rasped. His voice dropped into a gentler, far more dangerous register as he leaned down, slanting his face into the crook of your neck. He took a long, heavy breath, greedily inhaling the sweet vanilla scent rising from your warm and freshly washed skin.
An electric flutter seized your stomach.
The heavy, musky scent of his cologne wrapped around you like a vice, filling your lungs until you couldn't breathe without smelling him.
He didn't pull away; his lips hovered a fraction of a millimeter from your sensitive skin, his hot breath fanning over your collarbone and sending shivers straight down your spine. Your chest heaved, rising and falling against his unbuttoned chest.
"You looked gorgeous last night," he whispered directly against your ear, his voice rough and dripping with dark possessiveness. "I wanted to tear the eyes out of every single man who looked at you like you should have been theirs."
His words sent a dangerous wave of heat straight to your core.
Jungkook slowly drew back just enough to lock eyes with you, his hand rising to gently hook a damp strand of hair behind your ear. His long, calloused fingers lingered, lightly brushing down the line of your jaw, leaving a trailing fire in their wake.
You couldn't look away. You were completely paralyzed, your heart hammering against your ribs as you gulped, drowning in the suffocating proximity of the man who held your life in his hands.
"Mrs. Jeon," he purred, a slow, dark smirk breaking across his face.
Without another word, he turned, casually buttoning his white shirt as he strolled out of the closet.
You remained pinned against the wall long after his footsteps faded, your knuckles white as you gripped your robe, trying and utterly failing to pull your scattered senses back together.
°
Jungkook strutted down the grand corridor of the estate’s east wing, his leather shoes snapping sharply against the polished marble floor. On either side, row after row of heavily armed syndicate guards snapped to attention, bowing their heads in unified, absolute deference.
He didn't glance at a single one of them.
An wave of raw pride and untamed ego surged through his veins. The air felt lighter; the estate felt like his personal kingdom. With Chairman eliminated, the last obstacle in his path had been swept away. He held the highest seat in the underworld now. He was the undisputed chairman of the entire syndicate, a man who would never have to bow, answer, or compromise to a single soul ever again.
he stepped inside the office.
Taehyung, who was standing near the desk reviewing documents, immediately straightened his jacket and bowed his head respectfully as his boss entered.
Jungkook unbuttoned his suit jacket, tossing himself back into the executive leather armchair with effortless authority. "What about the emergency board meeting?" he demanded, resting his elbows on the armrests and interlacing his fingers.
"Your grandmother canceled the meeting," Taehyung replied smoothly, his tone cautious.
Jungkook’s brow furrowed into a sharp, dark line. "What?"
The click of a metal-tipped cane echoed from the threshold, cutting through the heavy quiet of the room. Madam Jeon stood by the open doorway, her jaw clenched so tightly the muscles trembled, her eyes blazing with a dangerous, furious storm. With a sudden, violent motion, she slammed her cane against the floor.
"You are being utterly reckless!" she spat, her voice trembling with rage. "That was a weakly planned, barbaric murder!"
Jungkook leaned back, rolling his dark eyes with cool indifference. "It worked. He's dead."
"Chairman was a public figure, unlike you!" she yelled, taking a rigid step into the room. "He was a high-profile political candidate! This won't just stay in our world—it’s a national homicide case now! Do you have any idea what that means? The police will come knocking on our gates!"
Her voice laced with subtle panic, though her posture remained as sharp as iron.
Jungkook slammed his palm against the desk, the sharp crack echoing through the spacious office. He stood up slowly, looming over the room like a dark cloud.
"No fucking one dares to step inside the Jeon house to question me, grandmother," he growled, his voice a low, lethal baritone that made the air freeze. "You should remember that. I hold the power now. The entire syndicate will listen to me, or they will end up in the dirt right next to the chairman."
"And what if there's proof against you?" Madam Jeon hissed, leaning heavily on her cane as she glared at her grandson. "What if they have proof that you did it?"
"Even if there is proof," Jungkook replied through gritted teeth, his authority absolute and unyielding, "no one on this earth will dare to touch me. Or arrest me."
"You have gone completely insane with power, Jungkook!" Madam Jeon’s voice cracked with biting venom. "Just like your father. You are going to get yourself killed—"
*lYip!
A soft, high-pitched woof cut directly through the room.
The deadly argument came to a screeching halt. Everyone’s eyes in the room—Jungkook’s, Taehyung’s, and Madam Jeon’s—instantly dropped down to the floor.
A tiny, fluffy golden puppy was playfully tugging at the hem of Madam Jeon’s expensive silk coat, completely oblivious to the lethal mob bosses standing around it.
Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose in sheer, irritated disbelief, a sharp sigh escaping his lips. His dark eyes flicked up toward the open doorway, and his chest tightened.
There you stood, dressed in a soft, cozy lilac frock, your hair still slightly damp from your morning bath. You looked so delicate, so impossibly innocent against the blood-soaked backdrop of his dangerous world—a world he had explicitly sworn to keep you shielded from.
Madam Jeon whipped around, her sharp glare landing dead on you.
You quickly stepped into the room, ducking down to scoop the tiny puppy into your arms. "I-I'm so sorry—"
"When did a useless, filthy animal step foot into this house?!" Madam Jeon yelled, her shrill voice echoing off the walls.
You visibly flinched at the harshness in her tone, taking a small step back. From behind his desk, Jungkook rounded the wooden frame, his pitch-black eyes fixing you with a cold, piercing glare for disobeying his explicit order to stay in your bedroom.
"It's not useless—" you began softly, trying to defend the little dog cradled against your chest.
"Yes, you are the useless one here!" Madam Jeon snapped, cutting you off with venomous authority. "Don't you have the common sense to know you cannot cross into the office wing? Go back to your room, or go out and drain my grandson's bank account like the parasite you are!"
A sudden, sharp sting of anger flared in your chest. You frowned, lifting your chin. "I'm not here to drain his bank account—"
"How dare you argue back with me!"
Infuriated by your defiance, Madam Jeon’s face twisted in rage. She raised her thin, gloved hand high, swinging it down toward your face to strike you where you stood.
You squeezed your eyes shut, turning your head away as your whole body tensed, bracing for the burning impact of her hand.
1 second... 2 seconds...
The slap never came.
You slowly opened your eyes, your breath catching in your throat. Standing directly in front of you was a broad back, entirely blocking you from Madam Jeon's line of sight.
Jungkook was standing flush against you, his tall frame acting as an impenetrable shield. His large, vein-lined hand had caught Madam Jeon’s wrist mid-air, locking it in crushing grip.
His head was tilted down, his pitch-black eyes boring into his grandmother’s face with a murderous, razor-sharp glare that made even the ruthless matriarch freeze in sheer shock.
"Touch her again," Jungkook growled, his voice dropping into an ice-cold, murderous register that vibrated through the silent room, "and I don't care that you're my blood, grandmother. You will never set foot in this wing again."
His iron grip tightened around Madam Jeon’s wrist just enough to make her gasp, before he roughly shoved her arm away.
Madam Jeon staggered back half a step, her face twisting in pure, venomous shock. "Look at you!" she spat, her sharp voice dripping with malice as her furious eyes cut around his broad shoulder to target you directly. "Defending this pathetic excuse for a woman! She’s nothing but a selfish, spineless gold-digger!"
Your breath caught in your throat as her words sliced right through you.
"She let her own family get slaughtered and locked herself away, and the moment my grandson offered her a taste of the Jeon wealth, she came running with her hands out!" Madam Jeon sneered, stepping closer, her voice laced with absolute disgust. "She doesn't care about you, Jungkook! She left her family to die and came here for the money!"
A sharp, suffocating lump formed in your throat. The accusation hit every raw, exposed nerve from your past. Your eyes burned, but you bit down on the inside of your cheek, fighting with everything in you not to spill a single tear in front of her.
"Madam Jeon, please, that's enough," Taehyung interjected smoothly, stepping forward to put himself between the two before the situation completely detonated.
The heat in the room was suffocating. You couldn't breathe. Clutching the tiny puppy tightly against your chest, you turned on your heel and bolted out of the office, your vision blurring as you ran blindly down the long marble corridor toward your room.
"Y/N!" Jungkook roared, turning to go after you, his face dark with lethal fury.
"Jungkook, don't," Taehyung said firmly, placing a solid, unyielding hand straight against Jungkook’s chest, blocking his path. "Let her go for a second. If you engage with your grandmother right now, you're going to tear this entire house apart before the day even starts."
Jungkook’s chest heaved, his pitch-black eyes burning with a wild, violent rage as he glared down at Taehyung’s hand, then past him to Madam Jeon, who stood her ground with her chin held high. The air in the hallway crackled with dangerous tension, waiting for the final spark to blow.
°
You slammed the bedroom door shut behind you, twisting the lock with shaking fingers before your knees completely gave way.
Crossing the room in a blur, you collapsed onto the center of the massive bed, pulling your knees up to your chest and burying your face into the soft duvet. The tears you had fought so hard to hold back in front of Madam Jeon finally spilled over, heavy and uncontrollable.
She left her family to die and came here for the money.
The words echoed endlessly inside your head, each repetition slicing deeper than the last. The guilt, the grief, and the bitter humiliation pooled in your throat until you could barely catch a breath. You wrapped your arms tightly around the tiny puppy, holding the warm, soft creature against your chest as silent, painful sobs wracked your body. The little dog let out a quiet, comforting whine, nuzzling its small snout against your wet cheek and gently licking away your tears.
You stayed locked in that room as the hours dragged on.
Outside your door, the estate bustled with quiet, ominous efficiency, but inside, the world stood entirely still. Sunlight slowly crept across the hardwood floor, fading from the harsh brightness of midday into the long, cold shadows of late afternoon.
Around two o'clock, a quiet knock sounded at the door.
"Mrs. Jeon?" a maid’s timid voice called through the heavy wood. "I have brought your lunch. May I come in?"
You didn't answer. You just squeezed your eyes shut, burying your face deeper into the pillow, hugging the puppy a little tighter.
"Please, ma'am," the maid tried again after a long pause. "Sir gave strict orders for you to eat."
"Take it away," you whispered, your voice raspy and broken from hours of quiet crying. "I'm not hungry. Leave me alone."
The footsteps outside hesitated before slowly retreating down the hall.
You didn't care about Jungkook's orders. You didn't care about his power, his syndicate, or the mountain of wealth Madam Jeon accused you of craving. All you felt was an overwhelming, suffocating emptiness, trapped inside a gilded cage where everyone viewed you as either a fragile victim, a nameless asset, or a parasite.
As dusk fell and painted the room in deep shades of blue and purple, you lay curled on your side in the dim light, staring blankly at the locked door, waiting for the dark storm outside to finally break through.
°
Jungkook loosened his dark silk tie, stepping off the grand staircase and into the silent corridor of his private wing. He had just returned from the emergency assembly with the syndicate bosses. The room had bowed. Every single veteran mobster, every corrupt politician, and every armed lieutenant had fallen in line, cementing his absolute reign over the underworld. The full weight of the empire was finally locked within his fist.
Yet, as he rounded the corner, his triumphant mood evaporated.
Two maids were hovering nervously outside his bedroom door, holding a silver tray loaded with an untouched dinner setup. Upon seeing him, they instantly bowed, trembling under his sharp gaze.
"She... she won't come out, sir..." the head maid stammered timidly. "She hasn't opened the door since this morning. She refused lunch as well."
Jungkook’s jaw clenched, a dark vein pulsing against his temple. He let out a long, heavy sigh, reaching into his inner suit jacket to pull out his master key ring.
"Leave it," he commanded, taking only the fresh glass of juice from the tray.
Unlocking the heavy brass lock, he pushed the door open and stepped into the dim room, quietly clicking the lock back into place behind him.
You were completely buried under the plush duvet, a tight, motionless bundle curled up in the center of the bed. Sensing a new presence, the golden puppy scampered across the mattress, its tail wagging furiously as it let out a soft bark, greeting Jungkook at the edge.
Jungkook ignored the dog, his dark and tired eyes fixed entirely on your hiding frame.
"Y/N," he called out, his voice surprisingly quiet, laced with a rare, controlled patience.
You didn't budge. You tightened your grip on the thick fabric, hiding your face deeper into the pillows.
"Y/N," he repeated, setting the glass of juice onto the marble nightstand with a soft click.
The mattress dipped heavily beside you as he sat down on the edge. Reaching out, his large, warm hand grasped the top hem of the blanket, attempting to pull it down to see your face. But the moment you felt his pull, you fought back—clenching your fingers tightly into the duvet and yanking it right back out of his grip.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Jungkook’s lips. Your silent, stubborn defiance in the face of the most feared man in the country was almost absurd.
He tried to peel the blanket back a second time, far gentler than usual, but you refused to give an inch, burying yourself deeper like a stubborn child.
His fleeting amusement vanished, his notorious impatience snapping in an instant.
In one swift, effortless movement, Jungkook grabbed the blanket and threw it aside. Before you could scramble away, his heavy, tattooed arm shot out, hooking firmly around your waist and hauling your body across the sheets until you were flipped onto your back.
A sharp gasp escaped your lips at the sudden force, your hands flying up to press against his broad chest as he hovered directly above you, his massive body completely trapping you against the mattress.
Your wide, tear-stained eyes locked straight into his pitch-black orbs. He was so impossibly close—his dark hair falling wildly over his forehead, his hot, heavy breath fanning directly over your trembling lips. The intensity of his proximity made your pulse spike violently, your chest heaving up and down against his half unbuttoned shirt.
Jungkook didn't move away. He just stared down into your swollen, glossy eyes, his grip on your waist unyielding.
"Why did you not eat?" he asked, his voice dropping into a low, quiet rasp—a simple, velvet question that carried the weight of a command.
You turned your head away, a small, stubborn pout gracing your lips as hot frustration flared inside you.
Being so close to him was overwhelming; even through the thick fabric of the duvet, the intense heat radiating off his broad chest and heavy thighs surged straight into your skin.
"I'm not hungry," you muttered, your voice tight and trembling with suppressed anger. "No one in this house takes me seriously anyway. Your grandmother... everyone... they all just think I'm completely useless. Just some fragile parasite you dragged into your estate."
Jungkook let out a low, vibrating hum deep in his chest, his pitch-black eyes never leaving your flushed face as he absorbed every word of your bitter protest.
"Who said you are useless?" he purred, his low, sinful edge wrapping around you like silk and sending a violent, sudden tightness straight to your stomach.
Your breath stuttered in your throat as he inched even closer, his shadow completely blocking out the dim light of the room. "Y-you don't think I am?" you whispered, your wide eyes searching his dark, unreadable expression.
"You are my wife," he murmured softly.
Jungkook tilted his head, his dark gaze slowly tracing every curve and detail of your face, memorizing every feature as if committing you to memory. Before you could process his words, he leaned down and captured your plump bottom lip between his sharp teeth. He pulled and tugged it with a sudden, firm pressure.
A sharp gasp escaped your lips as your hands flew straight to his broad chest for support, your fingers clenching into his unbuttoned shirt. A tiny drop of metallic blood trickled from the small bite on your lip, but Jungkook didn't pull away.
With a low growl, he brought his mouth back down, his warm tongue immediately licking over your lip, tasting the sweet copper of your blood before capturing your lips in a deep, agonizingly slow kiss.
He shifted his heavy body completely over yours, settling his weight firmly between your thighs without crushing you. His large, warm hand rose to cup your jawline, his long fingers holding your face steady while his other arm remained locked tightly around your waist, pinning you flush against him. Every nerve ending in your body ignited, a thrilling, tingling heat rushing through your veins.
Your eyelids fluttered shut as the kiss deepened. He moved his lips over yours with a steady, relentless rhythm, licking away the last trace of blood before parting your lips and sliding his tongue deep into your mouth. He consumed you completely—tasting you with a fierce, ravenous intensity, like a man who had been starving for years and had finally found his fix.
The heat pooling in your lower stomach was intoxicating, leaving you thoroughly undone and dazed under his touch. Your heart hammered against your ribs, and soon, the overwhelming heat made it impossible to catch a full breath through your nose.
You desperately tapped your small hands against his broad chest, silently pleading for air.
Jungkook slowly broke the kiss, pulling back just a few inches. His chest was heaving, his breathing heavy and ragged as his pitch-black eyes burned with an unholy mix of dark desire and absolute possessiveness. He casually licked his lower lip, taking in the sight of your swollen, crimson lips and flushed skin, a slow, sinister smirk stretching across his features.
"It's time you become the matriarch of this house," he whispered, his dark voice dripping with lethal promise against your cheek. "The wife you want to be. Useful... and powerful.”
it’s national chicken wing day & you should’ve known better than to test jungkook’s competitiveness.
word count: 1.662
warning: i was bored lmao, like a little drabble to show jungkook, mc & the fam, oral sex (m), dirty talk, quickie, semi-public sex, unprotected sex,
The longer you’ve been around rich people - which is truly only Jungkook - the more you realize how ridiculous they were, especially when it came to saving money.
You sit with your arms crossed, highly amused, at not only Jungkook, but Jinah and Ji-tae. Surrounding you all is a group of people, all cheering and clapping - some even laughing. In the center of the table is a flashing red beacon, the glow illuminating off of each of their matching faces.
Jungkook groans, a disgusted look on his face - which only meant he enjoyed what he was eating. His lips are covered in sauce, as were the tips of his fingers.
You could only blame yourself, you think. You were the one who, while walking through the mall, saw the sign. National Chicken Wing Day, it read, and right beneath it a challenge. Whoever ate 10 wings coated in Carolina Reaper sauce got their picture taken and hung up on the wall of fame - along with free wings. If they didn’t finish the challenge in under 5 minutes, they were deemed losers - and had to pay for their meal.
You were the one that bet that Jungkook couldn’t do it. You were joking, of course. You weren’t sure if he could or not, but you should’ve known he would take the challenge.
What you also should have known was that your son was right behind him. Ji-tae’s competitiveness didn’t come from you at all. When there was a challenge, he was right there. And naturally, so was Jinah, much to your dismay.
“We don’t allow children to participate. You have to be at least 10 years old.” the manager said with his own amused look.
Naturally, Jinah cried her eyes out until the manager caved and gave her a different sauce to try. Nothing too hot, of course, just spicy enough for her to feel included. Now, the three of them are chowing down on the chicken like maniacs, their eyes bouncing from their wings to the timer counting down.
“You’re sweating.” Ji-tae cackles towards Jungkook, his own mouth throbbing - but he couldn’t stop now. He had 3 wings left.
“I’m not new to this.” Jungkook scoffs, plopping a flat into his mouth and devouring it in seconds. His eyes were watering, especially when the sauce fell down his throat, but it was a burn that he’ll gladly take to be victorious.
Jinah is first to finish. The manager humors her, taking her picture with the polaroid camera and even promising to add her to the wall under “Junior league”.
“This is ridiculous.” you say, but even you cannot help the giggle that passes through your lips just as Ji-tae and Jungkook finish with 5 seconds to spare.
Cheers erupt the tiny space, Jinahs being the loudest. You couldn’t help but shake your head at how dramatic it all was, but it was a memory they’d all treasure together.
Ji-tae’s and Jungkook’s pictures are taken together, both of their lips flushed just as their cheeks are. Their eyes are watery and they both were indeed sweaty - but they won. To them, that’s all that mattered.
“Aww~” you coo at your son after the picture was taken. “You just look so cute.” you say. Maybe it’s the way he stands side by side Jungkook, a few inches shorter and obviously a younger version of the older man.
Ji-tae’s smile fades and his eyes widens. “Ma,” he hisses, his tone low. He looks around. “You can say that in public. I stopped being cute when I was 10.”
“I forgot.” you scoff with an eye roll. “Losing aura points. Or whatever you kids say these days.”
“Can we get ice cream?” Jinah tugs at Jungkook’s tattooed hand. Her free hand is pointing towards the long line at the ice cream shop directly across from where they were at. A part of you feels like they’re in cahoots.
“Yeeeaaah.” Jungkook tilts his head, glancing at you. “Here,” he goes through his pockets to grab his wallet. Then, he pulls out a black card and hands it to Ji-tae. “wait in line. We’ll be back.”
“We will?” you raise a brow.
“We will.” Jungkook smirks.
You knew that smirk.
It’s the same smirk you see five days a week at work, and when you aren’t, it’s the same one that he shows you in the bedroom.
The family restroom isn’t the safest place to do this, but it locks right behind Jungkook.
“I just need five minutes.” Jungkook pleads against your neck, his greedy hands groping your clothed breast. “No, 8.”
You scoff, but you shudder at the soft feeling of Jungkook’s lips. He presses open mouth kisses against it needily. “You left your kids in line to fuck me in the family restroom.” you deadpan.
“Yes. They’re fine.” Jungkook presses his bulge against your ass. “It’s your fault. You know eating spicy shit makes me horny.”
“That’s literally not true.” you snicker, sneaking your hand behind you to cup his head. “8 minutes.”
You turn quickly just as Jungkook’s hands fall onto his waist. You drop to your knees, eyes flickering upwards at him seductively. He wastes no time in throwing his underwear down with his pants.
You don’t waste any unnecessary time, either. Your tongue wraps around the tip of his cock and you suckle harshly; just the way Jungkook liked it. Luckily his back is against the wall when his knees buckle.
“Fuck, I love when you suck it, baby.” Jungkook groans low, his fluttering eyes attempting to stay open to watch you.
Doing something like this here was exciting. It reminds you of those days when you and Jungkook snuck around as teenagers. When you’d sneak off and tease him until his face was read, murmur such dirty words into his ears as you edge him on - those days were blissful.
Now, you bring Jungkook’s cock further and further into your mouth, suckling hard until his moaning increases. Your eyes are a bit teary, but you weren’t new to this.
Jungkook runs a hand over your cheek as you slurp, the gurgling sounds echoing off of the walls. You had to admit, sucking Jungkook’s cock did make you wet. Maybe it was how handsome he looked with his eyes squeezed shut and mouth agape. Maybe it’s those sweet moans and strings of curses that come through those lips.
Maybe it was just the lewd act in general, you on your knees for the man while his cock is nearly in your throat.
“You’re so pretty right now.” Jungkook groans, immediately regretting opening his eyes to look down at your glossy once. Drool trails down the corner of your mouth. “I don’t wanna cum in your mouth. We got 4 minutes left.”
Jungkook forces his cock out of you, saliva obscenely coating both his cock, then your chin. “I wanna cum in you.”
“You always do.” you sigh deeply. “Do what you gotta do in 4 minutes.”
“It’s all I need, baby.” Jungkook snickers. He helps you up from your knees, but then pushes you against the wall. He forces your own pants down to your knees and wraps a hand around his wet cock. “So wet. You must’ve enjoyed sucking my cock.”
“Only a little.” you murmur. You lick your lips when you feel Jungkook’s tip against your clit. “Maybe you needed to be rewarded.”
“You reward me everyday.” Jungkook hisses, deciding to stop teasing himself and enter you. Your pussy, no matter how many times he’s had it, always feels amazing around. “I've wanted this since we got out of the car.”
“We can’t go anywhere without you wanting to bend me over.” you scoff, widening your thighs to feel more of him. “You gotta stop being a pervert for once.”
Jungkook chuckles. He pulls out, leaving the tip inside . Then, he pump right back in. He places one hand onto your hip, the other one slides up to your neck. “I can’t help it when your pussy feels this good.”
Jungkook fucks you with need. He’s a man on a mission, determined to get everything he could in a manner of 4 short minutes. Your ass slams against his abdomen and to not be too loud, he has to cover his hand around your mouth. He’s grunting into your neck, cock drilling that sweet spot he knows all too well.
Your eyes are rolling. You feel Jungkook deep inside of you, fucking you with such desperation that it sends you overboard each time. Your heart thumps in your chest, your toes curling in your shoes.
“I need it again later.” Jungkook grumbles, his nails digging into the flesh of your hip. “You’re being so submissive right now just tells me you wanted it just as bad as I did.”
You want to tell Jungkook to fuck off, but he was far too right at the moment. Your thighs tremble and you’re moaning into his palm, Arousal pools onto your thighs, his pumping cock pounding in and out of you so deliciously that you’re seeing stars.
It’s fast, rough and ends all too quickly. Jungkook cums in you with one final thrust, his own legs shaking. For a moment, he allows his body to collapse onto yours on the cool tiled wall. He has to catch his breath.
The walk of shame back to your unknowing children was one you’d thought you’d never experience, but Jungkook is giddy besides you. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders as the ice cream shop grows near. Luckily for the two of you, Ji-tae and Jinah are next in line.
“I can’t wait to fuck you later.” Jungkook murmurs before pecking your cheek. “Happy National Chicken Wing Day~”
“You’re so fucking corny.” you scoff with a roll of your eyes. “As if I’d let you fuck me again after that.”
You would, but you and Jungkook both knew that the both of you enjoyed the banter.
this is really not supposed to be taken seriously, nor is it part 4. but if i had to add it to the storyline, i'd say it takes place after the events of part 4 (which hasn't been shown yet lmaooo)
BTS rejecting a category that was supposedly made for them is honestly the most elegant “fuck you” imaginable. They didn’t spend years breaking barriers, changing the industry, and proving their global impact just to be placed in a separate little box. The message is clear: they don’t want a shortcut, a consolation prize, or a category created to make people feel like they’re being included. They want the same respect, the same recognition, and the same opportunities as everyone else. Scammys really need to understand that representation isn’t about creating a smaller table for artists to sit at. It’s about opening the fucking door.
˙⋆✮ They say having feelings for your brother's best friend is never a good idea...
But loving Jungkook feels like the easiest thing in the world.
He's been by your side for as long as you can remember, so it's only natural for you to feel devastated when your brother, Dohyun, tells you that Jungkook is about to get married.
For the first time ever, loving him doesn't feel easy at all.
paining: brother's best friend!jungkook × f!reader
cw: age gap (jk is 32, reader is 22 ops), tension, reader is WHIPPED, pining, initial unrequited love (my fav), eventual smut (adding new warnings when needed!!)
>>english is not my first language
chapter 10 | masterlist
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Jungkook likes to think of himself as a patient man. Ever since he was a child, patience had always come naturally to him. He had been quiet, respectful, the kind of kid who never caused trouble and always knew when to keep his head down, which was exactly why his mother loved bragging about him to anyone willing to listen. She would smile so proudly every time she called him her ‘golden boy’, and although he used to roll his eyes whenever she did, deep down he had always cherished the warmth behind those words.
Looking back now, Jungkook can’t help but laugh at the sudden memory of Dohyun being the complete opposite. Even after all these years, he still finds himself wondering how two people so fundamentally different could have formed a bond that refused to break no matter what life threw at them. While Dohyun spent his teenage years surrounded by people, chasing every opportunity to go out, party, and make memories that usually involved loud music and even louder laughter, Jungkook gravitated toward the sidelines. He was never antisocial- quite the opposite, actually. He enjoyed conversations, always had something to say whenever someone spoke to him, and never struggled to make people comfortable around him. He simply preferred observing rather than being the center of attention, finding comfort in watching everyone else enjoy themselves while quietly existing somewhere in the background.
Patience had become more than just a personality trait over the years. It had turned into the thing that kept him standing whenever life seemed determined to test him.
It was patience that allowed him to survive the countless nights spent listening to his parents scream at each other from opposite ends of the house, neither of them caring enough to lower their voices despite knowing their son was only a few rooms away. Jungkook remembers lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling as if counting every crack in the plaster could somehow drown out the sound of plates slamming against kitchen counters and voices growing harsher with every passing minute. He never interrupted them. Never cried loud enough for them to hear. Instead, he simply waited for the storm to pass, convincing himself that if he stayed quiet long enough, everything would eventually go back to normal.
Most of the time, though, normal never came.
Whenever it became too much, Jungkook found himself making the familiar walk to Dohyun’s house without even thinking about it. He was welcomed so often that he had eventually stopped knocking, already knowing the front door would be unlocked and that someone inside would greet him with the same warmth every single time.
And then there was Y/n.
She was still just a little girl back then, always running around the house with endless energy, completely unaware of the weight the older boy carried on his shoulders whenever he stepped inside. Somehow, though, her presence alone was enough to quiet the noise in his head. Watching her laugh over the smallest things, hearing her excited stories that jumped from one topic to another without making much sense, or simply seeing her happily exist in her own little world managed to pull him away from the thoughts that constantly threatened to consume him. She became an unintentional escape, a reminder that life could still be light even when everything around him felt unbearably heavy. Thinking about it now, Jungkook realizes she helped him survive far more than she could have ever known, even helping him make peace with the reality of his parents’ divorce when it finally became inevitable.
Patience was a gift.
It was the same gift that, years later, allowed him to win Sophie’s heart. His beloved Sophie.
The way Jungkook viewed love by then was nothing like the fairytale he had imagined as a child. Ten-year-old Jungkook had genuinely believed he would grow up to become someone’s prince charming, destined to spend the rest of his life beside one person and one person only. Back then, love had seemed pure. Permanent.
His parents’ divorce shattered that illusion piece by piece. After watching two people who had once promised each other forever slowly become strangers sharing the same house, Jungkook could no longer bring himself to believe that true love was something everyone was lucky enough to find. He wanted to believe in it- God, he really did- but doubt had quietly settled somewhere deep inside him, refusing to leave no matter how much time passed. Maybe soulmates only existed in books. Maybe forever was just another promise people made until life gave them a reason to break it. Then he met Sophie. And for the first time in years, Jungkook found himself believing again.
The moment she walked into his life, all those doubts that had followed him for so long suddenly felt quieter, almost insignificant compared to the warmth growing inside his chest. She made everything seem effortless, as though loving someone wasn’t supposed to feel frightening after all. For the first time since he was a little boy, Jungkook truly believed he had finally found his princess. Love at first sight isn’t something everyone believes in. It certainly wasn’t something Jungkook believed in either.
At least, not until the morning a girl sat down beside him at the bus stop, completely unaware that she was about to alter the course of someone else’s life. She had a pair of headphones resting over her ears, gently nodding her head along to whatever song was playing, one foot tapping absentmindedly against the pavement while the early morning breeze brushed strands of hair away from her face. She looked so comfortable that Jungkook remembers catching himself staring for a second longer than he should have before quickly looking away, embarrassed by his own curiosity.
He saw her again the next day, and then the day after that. Before he even realized it, those brief encounters had quietly become part of his routine, something he found himself looking forward to every morning without ever admitting it out loud. Days passed before he finally gathered enough courage to speak to her, rehearsing countless introductions in his head only to forget every single one the moment she looked at him.
She smiled at him anyway. Jungkook remembers thinking that maybe, just maybe, destiny had finally decided to be kind to him.
That hopeful feeling didn’t last very long.
His heart sank the moment he found out she already had a boyfriend. He remembers forcing himself to smile through the disappointment, pretending the news hadn’t affected him nearly as much as it actually had. It wasn’t her fault, after all. She had done nothing wrong by falling in love before he ever had the chance to meet her.
As said before, Jungkook has always been a patient man, so instead of walking away entirely and pretending they had never met, he accepted what she was willing to give him. Her friendship wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but it was infinitely better than never hearing her laugh again, never exchanging another conversation with her, or never having her somewhere in his life. Looking back now, he realizes he would’ve settled for almost anything as long as it meant she stayed.
The day Sophie broke down in his arms, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe as she told him that her relationship with Yoongi had finally come to an end, Jungkook’s heart ached for her. Seeing her in so much pain hurt him more than he could ever put into words, and he remembers holding her tightly while gently rubbing circles against her back, whispering quiet reassurances he wasn’t even sure he believed himself.
Hidden beneath all that guilt and sympathy, however, was another emotion, one so small and shamefully quiet that Jungkook almost hated himself for recognizing it in the first place: relief.
He buried it the second it surfaced, refusing to let it show on his face because Sophie deserved someone who cared about her heartbreak without secretly benefiting from it, and Jungkook tried with everything he had to be exactly that person.
Two months later, they became a couple.
Jungkook realizes that patience has shaped almost every meaningful chapter of his life. Waiting had given him friendships that lasted years, had helped him survive heartbreak before it had even begun, and had eventually led him to forgive the woman he genuinely believed he would spend the rest of his life with for cheating. Patience had never failed him.
Until now.
Because remaining calm feels nearly impossible.
The silence filling the room is almost deafening, stretching between the two of you until it becomes unbearable. Your gaze drifts everywhere except toward him, lingering on the floor, the walls, and the edge of the bed as though looking at him would somehow make this conversation more bearable.
“Are you in love with me, Y/n?”
The question lingers in the air long after the words leave his mouth, echoing inside Jungkook’s mind as though even his own thoughts can’t quite believe he actually asked it.
He doesn’t move, simply watching you while waiting and hoping you’ll finally say something before the silence swallows him whole.
When no answer comes, his hand instinctively disappears into his hair, fingers pushing it back before tangling through the dark strands. It’s an old nervous habit, one he has never managed to outgrow, and the agitation tightening every muscle in his body makes it impossible for the patience he has relied on his entire life to calm him now.
“Y/n.” he says again, his voice noticeably softer despite the tension threatening to betray him. “You need to talk to me.”
Only then do you finally gather enough courage to lift your head. Your eyes meet his.
The moment they do, Jungkook isn’t sitting in this room anymore. He’s remembering.
He can’t help noticing that, despite all the years that have passed, your eyes haven’t changed at all. They’re still just as big and just as bright as they were when you were a little girl, untouched by time in a way that almost feels unfair.
They’re the same eyes that watched him cry over his parents’ divorce when he was too young to understand why his family had fallen apart. The same eyes that looked at him with quiet concern after he showed up at your house completely shattered, struggling to process the betrayal that had turned his entire world upside down. They’re also the same eyes that quietly lost a fraction of their light the day Dohyun proudly announced Jungkook and Sophie’s engagement, though at the time he had been far too distracted to notice what now seems painfully obvious.
How could he have missed it?
Every memory suddenly feels different- every moment he had dismissed without a second thought rearranging itself inside his mind until an entirely different picture begins to emerge. The signs had always been there, scattered through years of memories that now seem so painfully obvious he can’t understand how he managed to overlook every single one of them.
Jungkook thinks he’s an idiot.
He doesn’t know whether to feel guilty, ashamed, or completely devastated by the realization that you had been quietly loving him all this time while he remained hopelessly oblivious.
For the first time in years, Jungkook has absolutely no idea what he’s supposed to do.
“Sweetheart, please… I need to hear it from you.”
He watches as tears finally spill from your eyes, tracing a slow path down your cheek, and every instinct in his body urges him to close the distance between you and wipe it away with the pad of his thumb, just like he has done so many times before whenever you found yourself crying in front of him. The urge is almost impossible to ignore, but he forces himself to stay exactly where he is, afraid that even the smallest gesture might make you pull away from him, and he isn’t willing to risk losing the little closeness you still allow him to have.
“Why are you doing this to me?” you whisper, your voice barely louder than your own breathing, and for a second Jungkook genuinely wonders if he only imagined hearing the words, until he catches the way your lower lip trembles and realizes that the pain in your eyes is very, very real. He can’t understand why you sound as though he’s the one hurting you when all he’s been trying to do since he walked into your room is understand what’s been going on inside your head.
Without saying anything, he shifts a little closer, leaning forward just enough to shorten the distance between you as he tilts his head in a silent attempt to meet your eyes, refusing to rush you even now because he reminds himself that patience has always come easily to him, especially when it comes to you. If anyone deserves every bit of understanding he has to offer, it’s you.
“I’m not… no… Why would you think that?”
One of his eyebrows arches almost instantly, and although this is probably the worst possible moment for it, he has to suppress the disbelieving smile threatening to appear on his face because your acting is awful. You have never been able to lie to him, not successfully at least, and the way you avoid his gaze after denying it only confirms what has been circling his mind ever since that afternoon.
The memory of the pool comes rushing back with frustrating ease. He remembers how close you had been, close enough for your warmth to linger against him even after everything was over, and he remembers standing completely still because the entire moment had caught him so off guard that his mind simply stopped working. Looking back now, that isn’t the part he keeps replaying the most. What stays with him is the way you looked at him, the uneven rhythm of your breathing and the feeling of your fingers tightening ever so slightly around the back of his neck.
Jungkook has always paid attention to people, and you’ve never been an exception. Over the years he has learned to read your expressions long before you put them into words, so he knew that what he had seen that day couldn’t possibly be the quiet affection you had always shown him growing up. Your usual shyness had disappeared completely, replaced by something that carried a weight he had never seen in your eyes before, something far deeper than simple fondness, something that lingered between the two of you long after you had stepped away from each other.
He understood it in that exact moment.
You were in love with him.
“Just be honest with me, Y/n.” he says quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You owe me an explanation.”
Jungkook knows he fucked up the second he watches the sadness lingering in your eyes harden into something much sharper. Your lips press into a stubborn little pout, your arms fold tightly across your chest as though you’re trying to keep him out, and the look you give him is enough to make him realize he has pushed far harder than he should have.
“What?” you snap, your voice rising for the first time since he walked into your room. “I don’t owe you shit! You can’t just come into my room at three in the morning and expect me to answer to whatever question you throw at me.”
The sudden change in your tone catches him completely off guard. In all the years he’s known you, you’ve never spoken to him like this, and despite the knot tightening in his stomach, a traitorous part of him can’t stop noticing how ridiculously adorable you still look with your cheeks puffed out in frustration, your brows furrowed so deeply that he almost wants to laugh.
“And explain what, exactly?” you continue before he can get a single word in. “I don’t owe you any explanation.”
Jungkook exhales through his nose, his jaw tightening as your insistence on pretending you have no idea what he’s talking about slowly chips away at the patience he’s been desperately trying to hold onto ever since this conversation began.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about” he replies, his voice quieter than yours, though no less firm. “Don’t play dumb. You were in that pool too.”
He hates the way those words sound the moment they leave his mouth, but he hates the feeling sitting in his chest even more.
Ever since that afternoon, the possibility that you might actually be in love with him has followed him everywhere, slipping into his thoughts when he least expects it and refusing to leave no matter how hard he tries to convince himself he’s overthinking everything. He can’t put a name to the emotion it stirs inside him, can’t understand why it leaves him feeling so restless whenever it crosses his mind, but he knows one thing with absolute certainty. He doesn’t like it.
“You know what, Jungkook?” You let out a bitter laugh as another tear rolls down your cheek. “Fuck you. Get out of my room.”
He stares at you, genuinely speechless.
Not once, in all the years you’ve spent growing up together, have you ever shouted at him.
Not once have you ever sworn at him or looked at him as though you couldn’t stand the sight of him.
He watches you push yourself off the bed, your cheeks burning with anger as you march toward the bedroom door and yank it open before turning back to face him.
“Leave.”
Jungkook gets to his feet almost immediately, his own frustration finally catching up with him as the patience he has relied on his entire life begins slipping through his fingers one piece at a time.
“Why are you acting like this?” he asks, taking a slow step closer. “You know I have every right to ask.”
Without answering, you point at him before swinging your finger toward the open doorway, repeating the silent order with nothing but the furious look on your face.
For reasons he can’t even begin to explain, the gesture pulls a short, incredulous laugh out of him. “We were inches away from each other, Y/n.”
You shake your head immediately, refusing to let him finish, but Jungkook barely registers it anymore. He’s spent hours replaying that afternoon over and over in his head, questioning every detail until there was nothing left to question.
“You were about to kiss me.”
Your composure falls apart in front of him, tears spilling freely down your face as your breathing turns uneven, and guilt twists painfully in his chest because seeing you cry has always been enough to make him back down. Every argument you’ve ever had ended the moment you looked even remotely upset, yet tonight he can’t bring himself to take back a single word.
“Jungkook, get. out.”
He steps closer to you, already feeling the weight in his own legs as though every step is becoming harder than the last. His hand reaches for the door that’s still standing open behind you, and with a small push he closes it, the quiet click echoing through the room before he turns to face you completely.
You’re still avoiding his eyes.
Your arms remain wrapped around yourself, your shoulders trembling ever so slightly as you struggle to steady your breathing, and the knot that’s been tightening in his chest ever since he got here only pulls tighter.
“Why are you acting like this?” he asks, his voice strained despite his effort to keep it under control. “I know you’ve been avoiding me and I hate that. Why is it so hard for you to just talk to me?”
He waits for some kind of reaction, any reaction at all, but you remain silent, your gaze fixed somewhere below him while another tear slips down your cheek.
“Y/n, please, for the love of God, just answer the goddamn question truthfully.” His voice cracks with frustration, though there’s something else beneath it now- desperation. “Are you in love with me or not? Stop acting like a 5 year old and just-“
“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, JUNGKOOK…” you cry, your voice breaking so violently that it cuts straight through him. “YES. I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU.”
The words hit him so hard that, for a moment, everything inside him seems to stop.
More tears spill down your cheeks as your chest rises with another broken breath, and Jungkook can’t bear to see you like that. The sight alone is enough to make something inside him crack, a sharp pain spreading through his chest before he instinctively presses a hand against it, almost as though he can physically hold himself together.
He can’t believe the words that have just left your mouth.
He’s been almost certain you have feelings for him, piecing everything together little by little until there was no explanation that made more sense, but no amount of suspicion could have prepared him for the sound of your voice finally admitting it out loud. Somehow, hearing those words from you feels infinitely more real than every conclusion he’d reached on his own, and all at once he understands just how much they’ve been hurting you.
His lips part, but nothing comes out.
Every question that had been spinning through his mind only seconds ago suddenly feels meaningless compared to the tears still running down your face. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say anymore, doesn’t know how to respond to a confession that clearly costs you everything.
“Sweetheart…” he whispers, his voice barely above a breath as his eyes never leave yours, the nickname slipping from his lips with an instinctive tenderness that almost hurts as much as the confession itself.
A wave of sadness washes over Jungkook so quickly that, for a moment, it feels as though it’s pulling him under. His chest tightens around a feeling he can’t even begin to put into words, and despite everything you’ve already confessed, one question forces its way into his mind, impossible to ignore. He isn’t sure he’s ready for the answer, yet the uncertainty is already eating him alive.
“Since when?” he asks, his voice almost giving out as the words leave his mouth.
He watches as you instinctively take a step back.
You slowly retreat until the backs of your legs meet the edge of the bed, your eyes darting anywhere but towards him, like a deer caught in the headlights with nowhere left to run.
“It doesn’t matter.” you murmur, your voice colder than he’s ever heard it. “We’ve talked enough. I’m tired… you should go.”
The fact that you’ve avoided his question does nothing to reassure him. If anything, it only confirms that the answer is far worse than he’s prepared to hear.
“Sweetheart…” he says, taking an unconscious step toward you. “I need to know.”
You don’t answer. “How long have you loved me?”
The distance growing between the two of you feels unbearable. Seeing you back away from him goes against everything he’s grown used to over the years, and before he can even think twice about it, he closes the space between you in three long strides.
He stops right in front of you, desperately searching your eyes for the slightest hint of softness, some sign that you’re still the person he’s always believed he knew so well. Instead, all he finds is something he can’t quite understand, and for the first time, it occurs to him that maybe he has never known you as well as he convinced himself he did.
“I think I’ve always loved you.”
Your voice is barely above a whisper.
“From the moment I met you, I couldn’t picture myself with anyone else.” he watches as you visibly pause to swallow the lump in your throat before forcing yourself to continue. “It became something I couldn’t ignore when I was fifteen.”
Jungkook’s eyes widen in disbelief. He knows you were aware that, back then, he never would have looked your way. You were younger, and the age gap between you was impossible to ignore. Even so, he can’t stop wondering about how your feelings kept growing with every passing year, making them all the more painful to carry now that you’re a woman.
He can’t stop thinking about how oblivious he’s been all this time. Every hug that had always felt comforting to him, every warm smile, every affectionate touch he’d given you without a second thought… while he was simply happy to show you how much you meant to him, you were standing on the other side of those same moments, quietly falling apart each time, loving him in silence while accepting whatever pieces of him he unknowingly placed in your hands.
The guilt slowly becomes louder than any other feeling Jungkook is trying to deal with. It takes over his thoughts until everything else starts to fade, leaving him with only one painful realization: you have been carrying all of this alone for years, and he was there through every moment without ever understanding what was happening right in front of him.
The regret he feels now is almost unbearable, heavier than the hurt his parents caused him when he was younger. He remembers what it felt like to be a kid who couldn’t understand why the people who were supposed to protect him were the same ones who made him feel unseen, how painful it was to keep everything inside because he never knew how to explain what was going on in his head. And now, somehow, he is the person who made someone else feel that way.
“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart.”
The apology comes out broken, carrying more emotion than he is able to put into words. Jungkook knows that saying sorry won’t undo the years you spent hiding your feelings or change all the moments where he unknowingly made things harder for you, but right now it is the only thing he can give you.
He tries to hold himself back, to listen to the part of his mind telling him that you need space and that the right thing to do is step away instead of reaching for you. He knows you have just exposed a part of yourself that you have kept hidden for a very long time, and the last thing you should have to do is deal with his emotions when you are the one who has been hurting. But then he looks at you, and all those thoughts disappear.
Before he can convince himself otherwise, he moves toward you and pulls you into his arms, wrapping them tightly around your body as if he could somehow protect you from all the pain you have been carrying. The familiarity of holding you almost makes it worse because this has always been something natural for him, something he did without hesitation, never once stopping to wonder what those moments felt like from your side.
He waits for you to hold him back, but you never do.
The lack of your usual response makes his chest tighten, and instead of letting go, he holds onto you even more, not wanting you to feel pressured into comforting him or forgiving him before you are ready, but unable to stand there while you are falling apart in front of him.
“I’m sorry” he whispers again.
And that is when the tears finally take over.
You start crying uncontrollably, your sobs breaking through the silence of the room as your entire body shakes against his. The sound is so raw and painful that Jungkook feels his own eyes burning, struggling to keep himself together while one of the people he cares about most is breaking apart in his arms.
He has always known that you were important to him. The love he feels for you has never been something temporary or insignificant- it has always been there, warm and familiar, built through years of memories, trust, and a connection he never had to force.
But it has never been the same feeling he has for Sophie.
Sophie is the person he has chosen to spend his life with, the one he sees when he thinks about the future waiting for him. His love for her is overwhelming in a way that has always felt impossible to question, so deep that being away from her for too long leaves him feeling like something essential is missing. Jungkook has never found the perfect way to describe what she means to him, but he thinks of her as the air that keeps him alive, something so necessary that he cannot imagine what it would feel like to exist without it.
With you still in his arms, Jungkook can’t stop himself from thinking about how different everything could have been if his life had taken another direction the day he met Sophie.
If he had chosen the car instead of the bus, if he had been somewhere else at that exact moment, if one decision had changed the chain of events that brought him here, standing in this room with you breaking apart against him, he wonders who he would’ve become and what the two of you could have been.
Maybe he would have realized sooner.
Maybe he would have understood that the way you looked at him was never just affection, that every moment he thought was ordinary had been something you held onto because, to you, it meant so much more.
Maybe he would have had the chance to love you in the way you always deserved.
The thought hurts because there is no way for him to know if that version of his life ever truly existed, yet he can’t stop imagining it. A life where he didn’t miss the signs, where he didn’t unknowingly make you fall deeper while believing he was only giving you the same love he had always given you.
A life where the person in his arms now wasn’t someone he had to let go of, before eventually going to sleep into someone else’s bed.
And as painful as it is to admit, Jungkook knows that if everything had happened differently, the person he would have chosen could have been you.
.✦ ݁˖
The next morning, you have no idea how you’re supposed to act around Jungkook.
Before either of you gets the chance to bring up what happened the night before, everyone somehow ends up back on the beach. From the outside, nothing seems out of the ordinary. The others are laughing as they split into teams for a game of beach volleyball, while you stay where you are, sitting on your towel with your knees drawn up, letting the sun warm your skin instead of joining them. Anyone paying close enough attention would probably notice that something isn’t quite right. While everyone else is busy having fun, you haven’t moved since you got there.
After almost fifteen minutes, Taehyung is the first one to walk over. He slows to a stop in front of you, slightly out of breath after running across the sand “Come on. We need one more player.” he tilts his head with an expression that already tells you he isn’t about to take no for an answer.
“I’m perfectly fine here, honestly.”
The excuse does little to convince him. Before you can think of another one, his hand closes gently around your wrist and he pulls you back onto your feet with surprising ease. As you brush the sand off your legs, he leans in just enough for only you to hear him. “We’ll talk later.”
You don’t trust yourself to answer, settling for a small nod before following him toward the others.
You’ve never been the most athletic person in the world, so once the game begins, you spend most of your time standing in the same spot, hoping the ball keeps finding someone else instead. It doesn’t take long for Dohyun to notice.
“You’re actually terrible at this.”
The smugness in his voice lasts all of a few seconds before a volleyball flies across the court and hits him square in the face. You smile to yourself at the instant karma, and without meaning to, your gaze drifts toward Jungkook.
The moment your eyes meet his, you realise you have no idea how you’re supposed to be feeling. Hiding your emotions had become second nature over the years. Every small gesture had always been measured carefully enough to keep anyone from suspecting what was really going through your mind. Now all of that feels pointless. Knowing that he finally understands what every look meant leaves you feeling exposed in a way you never thought possible, yet underneath the embarrassment sits a quiet sense of relief. Telling him the truth hurt more than you ever expected, but keeping it to yourself had become exhausting long before you found the courage to say it out loud.
You barely have time to look away before a pair of strong arms suddenly lifts you off the ground. The grin spreading across Taehyung’s face is all the warning you get before he takes off toward the water, laughing to himself while you struggle against his grip, hoping you’ll somehow manage to break free despite knowing it’s completely useless.
“Taehyung, I swear I’m gonna punch you.”
Your threat earns little more than an amused laugh as he keeps running, and by the time the water reaches the two of you, you’ve stopped trying to push him away altogether. The sea isn’t deep enough to soak either of you straight away, but it’s cold enough for you to feel it around your legs, making you tighten your arms around his neck without even thinking about it.
“Tae, please… take me back.”
Instead of listening, he walks even farther into the water, and a second later you’re completely soaked.
Water drips from your body as you walk back toward your towel, still throwing him a glare over your shoulder that promises he’ll eventually pay for this, although judging by the way he’s laughing with Jimin, he doesn’t seem the least bit worried.
You crouch down, reaching for your towel, only to realise it’s covered in sand. After staring at it for a moment, you quietly abandon the idea of using it, knowing you’ll only make things worse if you try to dry yourself with it.
Beside you, Jungkook gets to his feet. He walks over without saying a word and stops in front of you, holding out his own towel. The unexpected gesture catches you off guard, and for a second you simply look at him before carefully taking it from his hands.
“Thank you” you murmur, your fingers tightening around the fabric.
As you unfold the towel, your gaze lingers on him a little longer than it probably should, and that’s when you notice the way his jaw has tightened. His eyes aren’t on you anymore, but somewhere behind you instead. You turn your head to see what has caught his attention, only to find Taehyung still standing by the water, joining the others as though nothing has happened. The thought crosses your mind before you can stop it, absurd enough that you almost dismiss it the moment it appears, yet impossible to ignore completely. After handing you his towel, had Jungkook just looked at Taehyung with something dangerously close to jealousy? The idea feels ridiculous, and yet you can’t quite bring yourself to shake it off.
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author’s note:
guys!! i finally finished writing chapter 11 😭 you have no idea how many times i scrapped entire scenes and started all over again. this chapter fought me every step of the way, but i really hope it’ll be worth it and that you’ll enjoy it 💘
i didn’t want to give away too much of what goes on inside jungkook’s head just yet, but i figured it was finally time to let you peek into his mind a little!
let me know what you think!! and don’t worry… this definitely isn’t the last time they’re going to have this conversation :3
alsooo, you asked for it, so here you go!! jealous jk is on his way :P
Genre: Romance • Angst • Slow Burn • Mutual Pining • Friends to Lovers • Right Person, Wrong Time • Unrequited Love • Found Family • Grief • Heartbreak • Emotional Healing • Jealousy • Comfort • Slice of Life • Family Drama • Single Father • Longing • Betrayal • Healing Romance • Smut
Sypnosis: For fifteen years, Y/N loved the same person in silence. She watched him grow up beside her, watched him fall in love, and watched him build a life that never included her. But when tragedy changes everything, old feelings, buried grief, and painful truths begin to surface, forcing her to confront the love she thought she had long outgrown. Filled with heartbreak, longing, betrayal, and healing, this is the story of two people who meet at the wrong time, lose themselves along the way, and discover that some loves survive even after everything else falls apart.
Your phone rang a little after four in the afternoon. The office had begun to quiet down. Several desks were already empty. The late sunlight spilled through the windows, turning the rows of computers gold. Somebody near the pantry was discussing dinner plans. Someone else complained about traffic. You had been staring at the same spreadsheet for nearly ten minutes. Nothing on your screen made sense. Your thoughts had spent the entire day somewhere else, Jungkook, Hana, the test. The answer that both of you had spent the last week pretending would not arrive.
Your phone vibrated again. Jeon Jungkook. You answered immediately. “Hello?”
For several seconds he said nothing. You could hear cars passing, wind, the distant sound of leaves moving. Your fingers tightened around your phone.“Jungkook?”
His voice finally came. “The email came.”
Your heart stopped. You sat upright in your chair.“What?”
“The result.”
You swallowed. “Where are you?”
Another silence. Then softly: “I’m with Mina.”
The cemetery. He had told you earlier that he was going to visit her grave. It had been more than a month since the funeral. His mother had come to the house. She cleaned. She cooked. She brought fresh vegetables from the countryside and spent the entire morning telling him that life was still moving, whether he wanted it to or not.
You imagined him now. Sitting beside the woman he buried. Holding a phone. Staring at an email that might take away another person he loved. Your voice became gentle. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah.”
The answer came quietly. “I was talking to her.”
You felt tears immediately. “What did you say?”
The wind moved through the line. He laughed softly. A sad sound. “I told her I forgive her.”
You covered your mouth.
“I told her whatever happened, whatever mistakes she made, whatever lies there were, I forgive her.”
His voice cracked. “And then the email came.”
Neither of you spoke. There were moments in life when words became completely useless. This was one of them.
Finally he said: “I can’t open it.”
Your eyes began burning. “Okay.”
“I’ve been sitting here for almost an hour.”
You looked toward the clock. Your shift was almost finished. “Do you want me to come?”
He was quiet. Then, “Please.”
You stood immediately. “I’ll leave now.”
“No.”
You heard a car door closing. “I’m coming to get you.”
The line disconnected. You gathered your things. One of your coworkers looked up. “Going home?”
You forced a small smile. “Something came up.”
She nodded. Nothing unusual. Nobody noticed your shaking hands. Nobody noticed your pale face. You walked toward the elevator. Outside, the city continued exactly as it always did. Traffic, people carrying coffee, couples walking, delivery motorcycles, ordinary life.
Ten minutes later your phone vibrated.
Outside.
You walked through the lobby doors. Across the street sat Jungkook’s car. The driver’s window reflected the evening sunlight. He sat motionless. Both hands resting against the steering wheel.
You crossed the street. The moment you opened the door, you knew he had been crying. His eyes were red. His face looked exhausted. There was dirt on his black shoes from the cemetery.
He looked at you. For several seconds neither of you spoke. You finally asked: “How long were you there?”
He stared ahead. “Three hours.”
Your chest hurt. “What did you tell her?”
His fingers moved against the steering wheel. “I asked her to tell me the truth one last time.”
The silence inside the vehicle became unbearable.
The laptop rested untouched in the backseat, his phone lay between the cup holders, and the email remained unopened. You noticed the slight tremor in his hands and, without thinking, reached over to gently take one of them in yours. Your thumb brushed softly across his knuckles, offering silent reassurance. He held on instinctively, his fingers cold against your skin, his gaze never leaving the unopened message. After a long moment, he let out a quiet breath. “I don’t know what answer I’m hoping for.”
His voice sounded tired. “If she’s mine, then I spent a month questioning my daughter.”
You listened.
“If she isn’t, then everything becomes worse.”
Tears filled his eyes again. “What kind of father does this?”
You looked at him. “You took the test because you needed to know.”
He shook his head. “What if she finds out someday?”
Your voice softened. “She’ll understand.”
“No.” His eyes lowered.
“What if she thinks I didn’t love her enough?”
Your own tears finally appeared. “You love her too much.”
Outside the windshield, the sun slowly surrendered to the horizon. The last traces of orange disappeared behind rows of buildings, swallowed by the endless silhouette of the city. One by one, the streetlights awakened. Neon signs flickered to life. Headlights flowed along the roads like rivers of white and red, while somewhere in the distance, people continued their ordinary evenings, unaware that inside the parked car, an entire world had stopped breathing.
At some point, he leaned toward the backseat. The movement itself seemed difficult. As though his body understood what his mind was still trying to avoid.
His fingers reached for the black laptop resting beside his jacket. It looked ordinary, yet when he lifted it, it seemed to weigh far more than metal and glass ever could. Inside that machine was an answer. An answer capable of changing everything.
He placed it carefully between the two of you. The screen illuminated the darkness. His inbox was already open. The message sat there untouched.
DNA Results Available.
The words appeared almost cruel in their simplicity. No explanation, no warning, just a door waiting to be opened.
Neither of you moved. Minutes passed, cars continued driving outside, a motorcycle roared somewhere down the street, someone laughed in the distance, life continued. But inside the car, time had become something thick and unbearable.
Jungkook's hand finally moved toward the trackpad. His fingers hovered above it, and stopped. His shoulders trembled.
You turned toward him. His hand slowly fell away from the laptop. He bent forward, his elbows resting against his knees. You reached for him before he could pull away.
He leaned toward you, very carefully. As if he no longer had the strength to hold himself upright. His forehead came to rest against your shoulder. His breathing became uneven. You felt his chest rise, fall, rise again. And then his voice broke. “I’m scared.”
The confession was so quiet you almost missed it. Three words. Three words carrying every sleepless night, every unanswered question, every terrible possibility he had imagined.
You wrapped your arms around him. Held him as tightly as you could. And for a moment, neither of you tried to be strong.
Another minute passed, another breath, another heartbeat, another opportunity to close the laptop, to walk away, to remain suspended inside uncertainty forever. But life had never been kind enough to let people stay inside waiting rooms.
Eventually, Jungkook lifted his head. His eyes were red. He wiped at them quickly, almost apologetically. He sat upright, adjusted his breathing, placed his hand back on the trackpad. The cursor trembled.
The attachment downloaded. A loading symbol appeared. Neither of you blinked. The report opened.
Pages of medical terminology filled the screen. Laboratory references. Case identification numbers. Dates. Specimen information. Signatures.
Words that belonged to doctors and scientists. Words that meant nothing. Because your eyes were searching for only one thing. One sentence. One answer. One truth.
The page scrolled downward, and then it appeared.
Probability of paternity. 0%.
For several seconds, neither of you understood what you were seeing. The numbers remained there, unmoving, absolute, merciless. Zero.
Jungkook stared, he read the line again, again, again. His lips parted slightly. The color disappeared from his face. “No.”
Jungkook covered his face, his shoulders finally giving way beneath weeks of grief he had not yet learned how to carry. Mina had only been gone for six weeks. Six weeks of funeral flowers, empty rooms, untouched clothes, and the unbearable silence she had left behind.
And now this, the truth sat between you both on the glowing screen. 0%.
For years he had believed he understood his life. He believed he understood his marriage. He believed he understood the woman he had loved. But suddenly he realized there had been entire chapters of Mina’s life that he had never been invited to read. She had built another story, another relationship, another truth. And she had carried it with her into the grave.
His breathing became uneven. Not because he stopped loving Hana, that had never changed, it would never change.
She was his daughter. His heart had decided that years ago. But sitting there in the darkness, another realization shattered him.
Mina had not been happy. Somewhere along the way, she had become lonely enough to seek comfort elsewhere. Lonely enough to carry a secret for years. Lonely enough to build a family within a family while standing beside him.
And he would never know why, because she was gone. There would be no answers, no arguments, no explanations, no chance to ask if she had loved him, no opportunity to ask when things had begun falling apart.
Jungkook pressed his palms harder against his eyes. His voice cracked. “What did I miss?”
The question barely reached the air, not anger, not betrayal, only heartbreak. Because he searched through years of memories and found himself wondering if he had worked too much, listened too little, or loved her in all the wrong ways. He wondered how long she had been unhappy. He wondered if she had ever tried to tell him. He wondered whether the distance between them had grown so slowly that neither of them noticed until it was too late.
Not the DNA, not even the affair, but the realization that the woman he had shared his life with had died carrying pain he never saw. The woman he loved had become a stranger before he even realized he was losing her.
And now she was gone. Leaving behind only questions. Leaving behind Hana. Leaving behind a man who still loved his daughter with his entire heart and a wife he would never truly understand.
The drive home passed quietly. When the house finally appeared, his mother was waiting. She smiled, “Hana is sleeping.”
Jungkook nodded. His mother immediately noticed his eyes. “What happened?”
He swallowed. “Nothing.”
She studied him. A mother always knows.
She touched his cheek. “You need rest.”
Before leaving, she kissed his forehead. His eyes filled again. After the door closed, the house became silent. Upstairs, Hana slept beneath her blanket. Her stuffed rabbit rested beside her. One small hand lay against her pillow. Jungkook stood beside the bed for a very long time. You remained at the doorway.
He looked at her face, her nose, her eyelashes. The way she slept exactly like him, or perhaps not. Maybe she slept like somebody else. The thought shattered him.
Slowly he climbed onto the bed. The mattress moved, Hana stirred, her eyes opened, “Daddy?”
His voice broke immediately. “I’m here.”
She reached toward his face. Tiny fingers touched his tears. “Daddy crying?”
He smiled through them. “No.”
She frowned. “Sad?”
He pulled her against his chest. Held her so tightly that you thought his heart might break. He buried his face in her hair. The little girl who had called him Daddy every day of her life. The little girl who still believed he could fix everything.
“Daddy’s just happy you’re here.”
She yawned, still half asleep. “I love you.”
His entire body shook. He kissed her forehead.
“I love you more.”
Within minutes she slept again. Still resting safely against his chest. You stood quietly in the doorway.
The laboratory had answered its question. Science had spoken, blood had spoken, but neither of them mattered. Because inside that room lay a father holding his daughter.
And after a very long time, Jungkook finally looked at you. His eyes remained wet. The pain remained, the betrayal remained. But beneath it all stood something stronger.
He looked down at Hana sleeping against him. Then quietly said, “She’s my daughter.”
And somewhere beneath the earth, beneath the flowers he left behind only hours earlier, the woman he once loved remained silent. But the child upstairs was alive. And love, despite everything that had happened, remained alive too.
After several minutes Hana rolled onto her side. Jungkook carefully tucked the blanket around her shoulders and kissed her forehead. She never woke. He remained sitting there, his eyes looked exhausted. You quietly asked. “Can you come downstairs for a little while?”
He looked toward Hana. “I don’t want her waking up.”
“I’ll stay here.” He hesitated. Like a father asking permission to leave his own child.
You smiled gently. “Go breathe for five minutes.”
He nodded.
Downstairs, the kitchen remained exactly as it had earlier. The evening had already disappeared outside the windows.
Jungkook sat at the table, you sat across from him. Neither of you spoke. The silence no longer felt uncomfortable. After everything both of you had survived these past weeks, silence had become its own language.
Jungkook finally spoke. “I thought it would hurt differently.”
You listened.
“I spent days thinking about this.”
“I imagined being angry.”
He shook his head. “I imagined hating Mina.”
His eyes lowered. “But all I keep thinking about is Hana.”
Tears returned. “I keep seeing her when she was born.”
His voice became quieter. “She was so small.”
He smiled weakly. “I remember being terrified to hold her because I thought I’d drop her.”
You remembered the pictures. Young Jungkook inside the hospital. Dark circles beneath his eyes. Holding his newborn daughter like she was the most precious thing on earth.
You reached across the table. He took your hand immediately. “I think life already answered your question years ago.”
He looked at you. You smiled softly. “She chose you.”
His eyes filled.
“Every single day she chooses you.”
You swallowed. “She runs to you when she’s scared.”
Another tear rolled down his cheek. “She looks for you when she wakes up.”
He lowered his head.
“She calls you Daddy.”
His shoulders shook slightly.
“And nothing in that report can change that.”
The kitchen became quiet again. Outside, a car passed. A dog barked somewhere down the street. Ordinary sounds. Life continuing.
Jungkook wiped his eyes. “You know what’s horrible?”
You waited.
“I feel relieved.”
He laughed weakly. “I hate myself for that too.”
You frowned. “Why?”
“Because now I know.”
He stared toward the window. “The affair wasn’t my imagination.”
His voice sounded tired. “The lies weren’t my imagination.”
He swallowed. “I spent weeks wondering if maybe I misunderstood everything.”
He looked back toward you. “But now I know.”
The truth had finally become undeniable. Mina had lied, she had betrayed him, she had betrayed her daughter, she had built an entire second life. And yet the little girl upstairs still remained his, not by blood, but by every other definition that mattered.
The clock reached nearly ten. Jungkook leaned back against his chair. For the first time in weeks, his shoulders seemed lighter.
Your eyes wandered toward him. He had shaved. The beard that had grown uneven during the funeral was gone. His hair had been trimmed. He wore clean clothes. He looked tired, but he looked alive.
You smiled slightly. He noticed. “What?”
You hesitated. “You look better.”
He looked confused.
“You got a haircut.”
He touched his hair automatically. “My mother practically forced me.”
You laughed quietly. He smiled for the first time all day. “She said I looked like a criminal.”
You laughed again. The sound surprised both of you, because it had been so long.
He looked at you. “You think it looks okay?”
Your eyes studied him. The clean hair, the shaved face, the familiar features hidden beneath grief these past weeks. For the first time since Mina died, you could see the Jungkook you had known since middle school. The boy who ran faster than everyone else. The boy you had loved for half your life.
Your voice came quietly. “You look handsome.”
He blinked. The compliment seemed to catch him off guard. You immediately looked away. “I mean…”
You smiled. “You look like yourself again.”
His eyes remained on you for several seconds. The air changed, very slightly. Then he looked down. “My mother kissed my cheek.”
You laughed. “Of course she did.”
“She said her son was handsome again.”
“Mothers are always right.”
He smiled, the first one you had seen in weeks. Eventually your voice softened. “You have to keep going.”
His eyes lowered. “I know.”
“For Hana.”
He nodded. “For Hana.”
You leaned against the table. “You don’t have to move on today.”
He listened.
“You don’t have to forgive everything today.”
Your fingers traced the edge of your cup. “But life keeps moving whether we’re ready or not.”
His eyes became thoughtful. “That’s what my mother said.”
You smiled. “Smart woman.”
He stared toward the staircase, the quiet house, his sleeping daughter. The home that felt completely different now.
“I think I’m tired.”
You looked at him.
“Not sleepy tired.”
He searched for words. “Tired of living inside the same day.”
Your chest hurt, because grief did that. It trapped people inside one moment.
“I think I want tomorrow.”
Tears filled your eyes. Because those words meant something enormous. A month ago he wanted the world to stop. Now he wanted tomorrow.
You reached for his hand again. “Then tomorrow comes.”
He nodded. “I’ll try.”
You smiled. “That’s enough.”
Another silence settled between both of you, gentler now. The kind that exists between people who no longer need to explain themselves.
Finally he looked at you, his eyes softened. “Thank you.”
You shook your head. “You don’t have to.”
“I do.” His voice became quiet. “For staying.”
You looked down.
“For Hana.” He continued. “For me.”
The tears returned before you could stop them. Because nobody had ever thanked you for loving them quietly, for staying quietly, for sacrificing quietly.
Jungkook looked toward the stairs, then back at you. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
You smiled sadly. “You would’ve survived.”
He shook his head. “Maybe.”
Another silence. Then, “I’m glad I didn’t have to.”
Your heart hurt. Because after all these years, after loving him from a distance, after burying your feelings beside your best friend, after convincing yourself that your story had ended long ago, here he was, looking at you.
The clock reached nearly midnight. You stood. “I should go.”
He walked you toward the door. The house remained quiet. Before opening it, he stopped. He looked back toward the staircase, then toward you. “As long as I live, she’s my daughter.”
You smiled through tears. “I know.”
You stepped outside, the night air felt cooler. He remained at the doorway. For a moment neither of you moved. Then he quietly said, “I think it’s time to stop living inside what happened.”
You looked at him. “And start living for what’s still here.”
His eyes drifted upstairs, where Hana slept peacefully, then back toward you. “Thank you for reminding me.”
You smiled. “Tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Tomorrow.”
The following morning arrived quietly. For the first time in weeks, the house woke slowly. Jungkook opened his eyes just after seven. Sunlight spilled through the curtains. Dust floated lazily in the warm air. The neighborhood had begun another ordinary day.
Hana was still asleep beside him. Sometime during the night she had climbed into his bed again, her tiny body curled against his side exactly as she had done since she was old enough to walk. One small hand rested against his chest.
He looked at her for a long time. He gently brushed her hair from her forehead. Hana slowly opened her eyes. She blinked twice, then smiled. “Daddy.”
His heart nearly broke. “Good morning.”
She touched his cheek. “No cry.”
He laughed quietly. “No crying.”
She seemed satisfied with the answer. After a moment she sat up and stretched both arms toward the ceiling. Then she announced very seriously, “Breakfast.”
Jungkook smiled. “Okay.”
The kitchen still smelled faintly of coffee from yesterday. Jungkook tied his apron around his waist. Hana sat on the counter swinging her small feet.
She watched him carefully. He cracked eggs, cut fruit, prepared rice, cooked sausage. The movements returned naturally. For years he had done this. Mina traveled often, business trips, conferences, international meetings.
There were weeks when he was both father and mother inside this house. He learned how to braid hair. How to remove stains. How to wash stuffed animals. How to make soup when Hana became sick. How to survive sleepless nights. The kitchen had always belonged to him.
Yet this morning felt different. Because it was the first morning after learning the truth.
Hana watched him cook. “Daddy good.”
He smiled. “You think so?”
She nodded seriously.
He finished breakfast and carried her plate to the table. She ate slowly. Half the strawberries disappeared first. The rice remained untouched. Jungkook sighed. “You always eat dessert first.”
She smiled proudly. A little after nine, the doorbell rang. Jungkook opened the door. You stood outside carrying several grocery bags. Fresh vegetables, milk, fruit, some of Hana’s favorite snacks.
You looked up, for a moment you stopped speaking. The dark circles beneath his eyes remained, but he no longer looked like a man drowning. He wore a simple shirt and gray sweatpants. The smell of breakfast still lingered behind him.
You smiled. “You cooked.”
He looked almost offended. “I always cook.”
You laughed. “I know.”
Hana immediately ran toward you. Her tiny arms wrapped around your legs. “You here.”
You picked her up. “Of course.”
She kissed your cheek. Jungkook quietly watched. Something inside him warmed, because somewhere during these terrible weeks, you had become part of their routine. Mornings, meals, nap times, groceries, medicine, stories. You never asked for a place inside their lives. You simply stayed.
The three of you unpacked groceries together. Hana insisted on helping. Most of her help involved carrying one banana at a time.
Jungkook put vegetables away. You organized snacks. The house slowly filled with sounds again. Cabinets opening, plastic bags rustling, Hana talking about things nobody understood.
Around ten o’clock Jungkook’s first meeting began. He entered his office. Two monitors glowed. His headset rested on the desk. For the first time in weeks he opened his work applications without feeling guilty. He still had responsibilities, projects, teams, deadlines, a future.
He looked toward the living room. You sat on the floor with Hana. Blocks scattered around both of you. The little girl laughed loudly. Jungkook watched for several seconds, then quietly closed the office door.
While he worked, the house remained alive. You helped Hana stack blocks. Read picture books. Cleaned spilled juice. Changed her clothes after she somehow managed to cover herself in yogurt.
At noon, Jungkook emerged from his office. His meeting had ended. He found both of you asleep on the couch. Hana lay against your chest. One tiny hand rested against your neck. The television played cartoons quietly. Sunlight crossed the living room floor. He stood there, motionless. Because he suddenly remembered something.
Years ago, before Mina, before marriage, before everything became complicated. For some reason, seeing both of you sleeping together hurt. Because it felt peaceful, and peace had become something unfamiliar.
The floor creaked. You slowly opened your eyes, your voice was sleepy. “What time is it?”
“Almost one.”
You immediately looked at Hana. “Did she sleep long?”
He smiled slightly. “About thirty minutes.”
You carefully adjusted the blanket around her. Jungkook looked at you. “You don’t have to stay all day.”
You met his eyes. “I know.”
"Work?"
“I finished everything last night.”
He nodded.
Afternoon gradually slipped into evening as the three of you settled into the quiet rhythm of home. Jungkook stood beside the counter, carefully chopping vegetables while you moved around the kitchen setting the table for dinner. From her high chair, Hana happily sang a song only she seemed to know, her cheerful little voice filling every corner of the room. The warmth of the kitchen wrapped itself around the three of you, and in the darkening windows, your reflections appeared together like a small family. It was an unexpected picture, one none of you had imagined, yet somehow it already felt comfortingly familiar.
Dinner turned into a gentle battle over vegetables. Hana stubbornly pushed every green piece to the edge of her plate while you patiently tried convincing her that just one bite wouldn’t hurt. Jungkook joined in with promises of dessert, funny voices, and dramatic negotiations that only made her giggle harder. She listened with complete seriousness, considered every offer as though striking an important business deal, then shook her head with a triumphant smile. In the end, she won, just as she always seemed to do.
After dinner, Hana climbed into your lap as though it was the most natural place in the world. Sleep had already begun to weigh heavily on her little eyes, and every blink grew slower than the last. She reached up with one tiny hand and gently cupped your cheek, her fingers impossibly soft against your skin. Looking at you through half-closed eyes, she whispered only one word before resting her head against your chest. “Stay.”
Your heart tightened. You looked up at Jungkook, who sat quietly across from you, watching the two of you with an expression so gentle it almost hurt to see. The kitchen remained bathed in the soft glow of warm lights while dirty dishes sat forgotten on the table, waiting to be cleared. Outside, night settled slowly over the house, wrapping everything in a comforting stillness. And for the first time in what felt like forever, no one spoke Mina’s name. No one mentioned the affair, the blood, the betrayal, or the death that had shattered all of your lives. For one fleeting evening, those painful truths remained outside the walls of the little kitchen. There would be time to face them again tomorrow. Tonight, there was only the quiet warmth of home, a sleepy little girl in your arms, and the fragile peace the three of you hadn’t realized you desperately needed.
When you eventually stood to leave, Hana frowned “Tomorrow?”
You smiled. “Tomorrow.”
She accepted that answer. Children always believed tomorrow existed.
Jungkook walked you to the front door, neither of you in any hurry to end the evening. The cool night air greeted you the moment the door opened, carrying the faint scent of damp earth as the neighborhood settled into its usual quiet. Porch lights glowed softly along the street, and somewhere in the distance, crickets sang into the darkness. He stopped beside you, slipping his hands into his pockets before meeting your eyes. There was a quiet sincerity in his expression that made your chest tighten. After a long moment, his lips curved into the smallest smile. “Thank you,” he said softly, the words carrying far more meaning than the two simple syllables could ever hold.
You smiled. “You’ve thanked me enough.”
“No.” His eyes drifted toward the living room where Hana sat watching cartoons. “You gave her today.”
Your own eyes became wet. “No.”
You looked toward the little girl. “She gave us today.”
Neither of you realized it then, but healing rarely announces its arrival. It slips quietly into the spaces grief leaves behind. It finds its way into shared breakfasts and forgotten grocery lists, into cartoons playing on lazy afternoons and laughter echoing through a once-silent house. It lives in tiny hands reaching for yours without hesitation, in simple dinners around the same table, and in ordinary days that, little by little, become the kind of memories worth holding onto. Before either of you understood what was happening, those ordinary moments had begun stitching together hearts that neither of you believed could ever feel whole again.
And as you drove home that night, one thought followed you the entire way. For the first time since Mina died, that house no longer felt broken, it felt alive. And sometimes, life returning is the greatest miracle grief can offer.
Several weeks passed. The house slowly began breathing again. Life, stubborn and uninvited, continued entering through the front door.
Jungkook's office lights remained on throughout the day. Meetings filled his calendar. International clients called from different time zones. He spent mornings discussing software systems and afternoons fixing problems halfway across the world while Hana colored beside his desk. Some days she sat quietly. Most days she did not. “Daddy.”
He muted his microphone. “Yes?”
“Juicy.”
He handed her juice.
Five minutes later. “Daddy.”
“What is it?”
She held up a drawing. “Cat.”
It looked nothing like a cat. “It looks beautiful.”
She smiled proudly. The people on the other side of his meetings occasionally heard her voice. One of his coworkers from Germany once laughed and said, “Your assistant seems very demanding.”
Jungkook looked toward Hana. She sat surrounded by crayons. He smiled, “She is.”
And for the first time in months, the smile reached his eyes.
His mother noticed it first. She visited every weekend carrying vegetables, soup containers, and enough food to feed an entire neighborhood. One afternoon she looked at him while he washed dishes. “You finally look alive.”
He laughed quietly. “That’s harsh.”
She pointed at him. “You looked terrible.”
“Mom.”
Hana giggled from the living room. His mother softened, she touched his arm. “You cannot stay inside sadness forever.”
He nodded, because he finally understood. Moving forward did not mean forgetting, it did not mean forgiving everything, it simply meant choosing to wake up tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow again. You had become part of those tomorrows.
At first you visited because Hana needed help. Then because Jungkook needed company. Eventually nobody needed explanations anymore.
Hana waited by the window whenever you texted that you were coming. The moment your car appeared, she ran toward the door. “Y/N!”
You always bent down to catch her, every single time. One Friday evening you arrived carrying ingredients for dinner. Jungkook opened the door. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair had grown slightly longer. The exhaustion that once lived beneath his eyes had begun fading.
“You made it.”
You lifted the grocery bags. “I was threatened.”
Hana appeared behind him. “I hungry.”
You laughed. “See?”
Jungkook shook his head. “She’s been asking every fifteen minutes.”
The kitchen became warm, rice cooked, soup simmered, music played quietly. Hana sat on the counter wearing an apron nearly larger than her body. She insisted on helping, most of her help involved dropping vegetables.
Jungkook stood beside you washing strawberries. You chopped ingredients. Hana sang nonsense songs. At one point she accidentally spilled flour across the floor.
Silence, she looked at both of you, you looked at Jungkook, Jungkook looked at the flour, then Hana whispered. “Oops.”
You started laughing first, Jungkook followed. Soon Hana laughed too despite not understanding why. For several moments, the entire kitchen filled with laughter. The kind that left tears behind.
Jungkook leaned against the counter afterward, his smile slowly faded, he looked at you. “Thank you.”
You sighed. “You’ve thanked me a hundred times.”
His eyes moved toward Hana. She sat coloring while talking to herself. “I just don’t think you understand.”
You waited.
He swallowed. “There were days I thought this house died with her.”
The words settled between both of you. He continued softly. “And somehow you walked inside and kept everything alive.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the knife. You looked down. “Hana kept it alive.”
He shook his head. “No.”
His voice became quieter. “Both of you did."
Rain began sometime after dinner. At first it was only a soft sound against the windows, a quiet tapping. The kind that blended with the television and the occasional clatter of dishes from the kitchen. The city outside slowly disappeared behind gray skies while cold air drifted through the slightly opened balcony door.
Hana loved rain. She sat against the living room window wearing yellow pajamas, both hands pressed against the glass as droplets slid downward. “Water.”
You sat beside her. “Rain.”
She repeated the word carefully. “Wayn.”
Jungkook looked up from his laptop. A meeting had just ended. One of his overseas clients had kept him an hour longer than expected, but he no longer looked exhausted afterward. The constant shadows beneath his eyes had begun fading over the past several weeks.
His hair had grown slightly longer again, he smiled more often, he cooked, worked, played with Hana. Sometimes you caught him singing quietly while washing dishes. Sometimes you caught yourself watching him. That frightened you more than it should.
It wasn’t until nearly nine o’clock that something changed. The house grew unusually quiet. At first, neither of you thought much of it. Children eventually tired themselves out after a long day. But the silence stretched on, and a subtle uneasiness settled over the room. Children who usually filled every corner of a home with endless chatter, laughter, and tiny footsteps had a way of making silence feel far louder than noise ever could. When they suddenly stopped talking, every parent’s heart instinctively began to race.
She sat beside you on the couch holding her rabbit, her cheeks looked slightly red. Her head rested against your shoulder.
Jungkook noticed first. “She’s quiet.”
You touched her forehead. The warmth immediately worried you. “Hana.”
She blinked slowly. “Tired.”
Jungkook walked over. His hand pressed against her skin. His expression changed, the calm disappeared.“She’s warm.”
The thermometer confirmed it, a fever. Not dangerously high, still enough to frighten both of you.
The medicine came out, cool towels, water, extra blankets. Jungkook moved quickly. You realized then how many nights he must have done this alone while Mina traveled. He knew where everything was, medicine dosages, the thermometer, the humidifier, the emergency clinic number attached to the refrigerator. Experience lived inside his movements. Yet tonight something felt different, because he was not alone.
Hana lay against his chest while he gave her medicine. She frowned, “Icky.”
“I know.”
“No more.”
“Just one.”
She looked at you. “Help.”
You smiled. “If you drink it, I’ll tell you a story.”
She considered, then accepted. Jungkook looked at you over her head. The smallest smile appeared. Thank you.
You answered without speaking. Always.
By midnight, the rain had become heavier. The house had grown dark, only the lamp inside Hana’s room remained on.
She slept for thirty minutes, then woke up crying. She wanted water, then her rabbit, then her father, then you.
The fever rose slightly. Jungkook sat beside her bed, his fingers gently brushed damp hair away from her forehead. You changed the towels. The clock moved slowly. One o’clock. Two o’clock.
Outside, rain continued falling. The entire world seemed asleep except for the three of you.
At two thirty in the morning, Hana began crying again. This time the sound was softer, more frightened. Jungkook immediately lifted her. “Daddy’s here.”
She buried her face against his neck. You sat beside them. Her small hand reached toward yours. For several moments nobody spoke, only the rain, only the soft sound of a child trying to feel safe.
Jungkook looked exhausted. His eyes had become red. His shirt wrinkled. You quietly said, “You should rest.”
He shook his head. “I’m okay.”
“You haven’t slept.”
“Neither have you.”
You smiled faintly. His eyes moved toward his daughter, his voice lowered. “I used to be terrified whenever she got sick.”
You listened. “Mina would be traveling.”
His hand rubbed Hana’s back. “And I would sit exactly like this until morning.”
He laughed quietly. “I’d spend the entire night checking if she was breathing.”
You looked at him. “I think every parent does that.”
He fell quiet. Once, the word parent had carried an ache he couldn’t escape. It had reminded him of unanswered questions, shattered certainties, and the painful truth that had rewritten everything he thought he knew. But not anymore. Not after the DNA test. Not after the truth had finally come to light. Somewhere along the way, he had realized that fatherhood had never been defined by blood alone. It had become a choice, one he made without hesitation every single day. And every morning he woke up, every bedtime story he read, every scraped knee he kissed, every laugh he shared, he chose Hana all over again.
Around three o’clock, Hana slowly opened her eyes. The fever had begun lowering. She looked at both of you, her voice was sleepy. “Stay.”
Jungkook kissed her forehead. “We’re here.”
She shook her head weakly. “Both.”
Neither of you understood, she lifted one small finger. “Daddy.”
Then another. “Y/N.”
She patted the bed. “Stay.”
The room became quiet. Jungkook looked at you, you looked at him. The bed suddenly seemed very small. The request suddenly felt very large. Because neither of you had ever crossed this invisible line.
You had sat beside him, cried with him, helped him, stayed until midnight, cooked meals, taken care of his daughter. But this felt different. Three people, one bed, one family shaped space.
Hana’s eyes had already started closing again.“Please.”
Jungkook spoke softly. “Only until she sleeps.”
You nodded. Neither of you trusted your voices. The bed barely held all three of you. Hana settled immediately between both of you. One tiny hand reached for Jungkook, the other found yours. Her breathing gradually slowed. The fever finally began fading.
Outside, rain struck the windows. Inside, the room became warm. Jungkook lay on his side facing Hana. You lay opposite him.
The little girl remained between both of you. Her stuffed rabbit rested against her chest. For several minutes neither of you moved. The lamp cast soft shadows across the room. Jungkook finally whispered. “Thank you for staying.”
You looked at Hana. “She needed us.”
His voice became quieter. “I needed you too.”
Your heart hurt. Because the honesty in his voice felt dangerous. You looked toward him. The distance between both of you was only Hana.
Months ago that realization would have destroyed you. Now it only made you sad.
Because loving him still felt impossible, and yet here you were. Three o’clock in the morning, rain outside, his daughter holding your hand, his eyes looking at you in the dark.
Neither of you spoke again, eventually exhaustion won. Your eyes closed, Jungkook remained awake slightly longer. He watched Hana sleeping, then he looked at you. You had fallen asleep holding his daughter’s hand.
For the first time in months, he did not feel alone. Not the loneliness after Mina died. Not the loneliness after discovering the affair. Not the loneliness after the DNA results. The kind of loneliness that sat beside people even inside crowded rooms. Tonight it had disappeared, only enough to let him breathe.
Morning arrived quietly. Rain had stopped, sunlight entered through the curtains. Birds could be heard somewhere outside. Jungkook woke first. For several seconds he did not understand where he was.
Then he looked down. Hana had moved during the night. She now slept against his chest, one arm wrapped around him, the other still held your hand.
You remained asleep beside them. Your hair covered part of your face. The blanket had slipped from your shoulder, the sight stopped him. He realized then that if somebody walked into the room, they would assume this was a family. He suddenly understood why people fell in love with ordinary things. The ones nobody planned.
Hana slowly woke, she looked around, saw both of you, smiled. “Sleep.”
Jungkook laughed softly. “Yeah.”
She hugged him, then hugged you. As if there had never been any question. As if this had always been her answer.
And somewhere deep inside him, a thought quietly appeared, one that frightened him, one he immediately tried to ignore. Because for the first time since losing everything, waking up no longer hurt. And somehow, you had been beside him when that happened.
Months passed. The seasons changed quietly. The mornings became warmer. Sunlight stayed longer through the windows of Jungkook’s house, reaching corners that had remained dark for months.
Some things still hurt.
Mina’s photographs remained on the shelf.
Her clothes still occupied one side of the closet.
Hana occasionally asked questions that neither of you knew how to answer.
Mommy come home?
Mommy like strawberries?
Mommy like flowers?
Jungkook answered every question.
Patiently.
Gently.
Never once allowing bitterness to enter his voice.
Whatever had happened between him and Mina belonged to adults.
Hana only deserved love.
And Jungkook loved her more fiercely now than ever before.
The fear that once lived inside him had disappeared after the DNA results. The uncertainty had been replaced by something stronger.
Choice.
Every morning he chose to become her father again.
Every night he chose it once more.
Eventually, those choices became his entire life.
His office upstairs remained busy from morning until evening. Video conferences filled his days. His clients trusted him again. Projects returned. Deadlines returned. His international company even offered him a promotion, but he declined the position because it required traveling abroad.
Namjoon called him an idiot.
Yoongi called him stubborn.
Jungkook simply smiled.
“Hana comes first.”
Nobody argued.
Some evenings Namjoon visited.
Sometimes Yoongi.
Occasionally Hoseok.
Jimin came whenever his schedule allowed.
Taehyung appeared carrying expensive desserts and too many toys.
The old group still existed.
Smaller.
Damaged.
Missing pieces.
But still standing.
Only Seokjin remained absent.
Nobody spoke much about him anymore.
The argument after Mina’s affair had created a wound that had not healed.
Seokjin still believed Jungkook had spoken out of grief.
He still believed Mina deserved protection even after her death.
Jungkook had stopped trying to explain himself.
There was no energy left for fighting.
You occasionally spoke with Jimin.
Sometimes Hoseok called.
Taehyung sent ridiculous photos of dogs wearing sweaters.
Life slowly rebuilt itself through small conversations.
Through texts.
Through dinners.
Through ordinary moments.
And somewhere during those months, something changed without either of you noticing.
You no longer visited Jungkook’s house.
You simply went home.
Because somehow his house had become part of your life.
Saturday mornings often began with Hana climbing onto Jungkook’s bed.
“Daddy. Park.”
He would look at the clock.
Eight in the morning.
Too early.
Always too early.
Yet thirty minutes later he would be dressed.
Hana would already wear her favorite shoes.
And eventually your phone would ring.
“What are you doing?”
Jungkook’s voice always sounded slightly sleepy.
“Working.”
“Liar.”
You laughed.
“Fine. Drinking coffee.”
“Hana wants the park.”
From the background came a tiny voice.
“Y/N come too.”
You always said yes.
The park became your place.
Hana feeding ducks.
Jungkook carrying her on his shoulders.
You sitting beside him while drinking coffee from paper cups.
Sometimes people looked at the three of you and smiled.
Some probably assumed you were married.
Some probably thought Hana was your daughter.
Neither of you corrected strangers.
There was no reason to.
One afternoon Hana fell asleep against your shoulder underneath a tree.
Jungkook sat beside you watching her.
The wind moved softly through the branches overhead.
Children laughed nearby.
Families walked past.
The world looked painfully ordinary.
Jungkook suddenly said,
“Thank you.”
You sighed.
“You really need a new phrase.”
He smiled.
“I mean it.”
“You’ve survived.”
His eyes moved toward Hana.
“No.”
He looked back at you.
“We survived.”
Your heart quietly betrayed you again.
Because you had spent years teaching yourself not to hope.
And hope was beginning to return.
That frightened you more than grief ever had.
Monday arrived.
Work returned.
Emails.
Deadlines.
Meetings.
Coffee.
You had been back at work for months now.
People had shown kindness after Mina died.
Flowers.
Condolences.
Soft voices.
Understanding.
Eventually sympathy disappeared.
Life moved on.
You thought everyone else had moved on too.
You were wrong.
That afternoon you remained at your desk finishing reports.
Outside the office windows, evening slowly approached.
Most employees had already left.
You barely noticed the conversation happening near the break room.
Two women from another department.
Quiet voices.
Your name.
One of them said,
“That’s him.”
“The husband?”
“Yeah. The handsome one.”
You continued typing.
You had not heard them.
“The friend died only months ago.”
“I know.”
“But he picks her up almost every week.”
A pause.
Another voice.
“Maybe it started before.”
The words landed softly.
Cruelty rarely announced itself loudly.
Sometimes it arrived as whispers.
Curiosity.
Judgment disguised as concern.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.
Jungkook stepped inside holding Hana’s small hand.
He wore a simple black jacket over a gray sweater, his laptop bag hanging loosely from his shoulder. His hair had grown slightly longer over the past few months, soft dark strands falling against his forehead. The sharp exhaustion that had once permanently lived beneath his eyes had begun to fade.
He looked healthier now.
Like a man slowly learning how to breathe after surviving a storm.
Beside him, Hana wore her yellow cardigan and carried a small pink backpack that seemed almost as large as her. She looked around the lobby curiously before leaning against Jungkook’s leg.
The receptionist immediately looked up.
Her expression shifted with recognition.
Jungkook offered a polite smile.
Several employees glanced toward him.
Some recognized him instantly.
Jungkook seemed unaware of the attention.
Or perhaps he had simply stopped caring.
He pulled out his phone.
Outside.
Take your time.
Meanwhile, two women near the reception desk exchanged quiet looks.
One glanced through the glass entrance.
Her eyes widened slightly.
“Oh.”
The other followed her gaze.
“That’s him.”
“The one who picks her up?”
“I think so.”
“He looks…”
She never finished the sentence.
Because at that exact moment, the elevator doors opened again.
You stepped into the lobby carrying your bag against your shoulder, exhaustion visible in every movement. Your hair had loosened throughout the day, and you rubbed your eyes as you walked toward the entrance.
You had no idea.
No idea that several people had stopped their conversations.
No idea that assumptions had already begun spreading.
No idea that stories had already been created inside curious minds.
You only saw them.
Jungkook.
And Hana.
Your face immediately softened.
The fatigue that had followed you all day seemed to disappear.
Jungkook looked up the moment he saw you.
His expression changed instantly.
The guardedness left his eyes.
The corners of his lips lifted.
“Long day?” he asked quietly.
You sighed dramatically.
“The longest.”
He stepped forward and gently took your bag from your shoulder.
“Come here.”
The gesture had become familiar now.
Small things.
Simple things.
The kind that slowly became part of someone’s life before they even noticed.
He opened the passenger door for you while Hana climbed into her car seat.
Several employees standing inside the building watched through the glass walls.
One whispered.
“He picks her up every day?”
Another nodded.
“And his daughter calls her Y/N.”
The gossip had already begun.
But outside, none of you knew.
The moment you sat inside the car, Hana leaned forward excitedly.
“Y/N!”
You turned around.
“Hi, baby.”
Her face practically glowed.
She quickly reached into her backpack and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“Duck.”
You carefully accepted the drawing.
It was mostly yellow circles, blue scribbles, and what looked suspiciously like a duck wearing a crown.
You placed a hand against your chest.
“Oh my goodness. This is beautiful.”
Hana grinned proudly.
The car slowly pulled away from the building.
Outside, the city was beginning to glow. Streetlights illuminated the sidewalks while signs flickered awake one by one. Traffic moved steadily through the evening, headlights stretching endlessly along the roads.
Inside the car, Hana spoke about everything.
The butterfly she had seen in the park.
The juice box she spilled.
The cartoon she watched that morning.
The cloud that looked like a rabbit.
She moved from one topic to another without breathing.
You and Jungkook exchanged amused glances.
Occasionally laughing.
Occasionally asking questions.
Sometimes simply listening.
And for the first time in a very long time, the car no longer felt like a place carrying grief.
It felt warm.
Safe.
The quiet loneliness that had once followed Jungkook home every night had slowly been replaced by laughter from the backseat and your voice beside him.
Chapter 7
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Chapter 7 will be posted here on August 2. If you’d like to continue the story now, Chapter 7-12 is already available on my Ko-fi. Thank you again, and I’ll see you in the next chapter. 🤍
The morning after the kiss, the sun didn't bring warmth into the penthouse, it only exposed the sharp, jagged edges of a boundary Jeon Jungkook thought he had erased.
He had expected the kiss to shatter your armor. He expected you to finally surrender to the dark, suffocating orbit he had dragged you into since childhood. He needed you. God he needed you in every darkness of his.
Instead, when he woke up at 8:00 AM, his body aching from the fight and his split knuckles throbbing, he found his training clothes laid out on the foot of the bed, perfectly folded. On the nightstand sat a fresh glass of water, his anti-inflammatory medication, and a printout of his recovery schedule for the week.
When he walked into the kitchen, shirtless and imposing, you were standing at the island, typing on your tablet while reviewing his sponsorship contracts. You didn't look up. You didn't blush. Your lips, still slightly swollen from his bruised mouth hours prior, were set in a tight, unyielding line.
"Your morning protein shake is on the left," you said, "The Head Coach wants a full post-fight medical evaluation at 1:00 PM. I've already confirmed the transport."
Jungkook narrowed his eyes, stepping up to the island, his towering frame casting a dark shadow over your work. "That's it?" he growled, reaching out to catch your chin, his thumb brushing against your lower lip. "No commentary? No small talk about last night?"
You didn't flinch. You didn't lean into his touch, nor did you pull away like a frightened girl. You simply stopped typing, raised your eyes, and looked at him with a dead, hollow indifference that chilled him far more than any anger ever could.
"You won the match, Jungkook. You claimed your... prize. The kiss is done... the deal is sealed" you stated, stepping back just enough to break his grip. "My job is to manage your career. Nothing more. Eat your breakfast."
Over the next three weeks, he tried everything to break that wall. He flexed his power, he threw his violent tantrums, he tried to corner you in hallway corridors, leaning in to press hot, demanding kisses against your jaw, your neck, trying to force a slip in your control.
He didn't understand. He thought you were just playing a game of restraint. He was too blinded by his own ego to realize that beneath your professional composure lay a mountain of unyielding, deep-seated resentment that no amount of his physical dominance could ever erase.
You had never forgotten.
You remembered middle school, when you were just a tired, overworked kid carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. While he was the spoiled son of rich parents who had everything handed to him, you were juggling endless part-time jobs, studying until your eyes bled, and trying to keep your head above water. When he asked you on that stupid, arrogant date back then, you had said no, not out of malice, but because you literally did not have the luxury of time for romance.
And he had destroyed you for it. He turned the school into a living hell, making sure you paid every single day for daring to reject him.
But the real scar, the one that burned in your chest every time you looked at him, happened in university.
Fashion design had been your dream. It was the only light in your brutal, exhausted life. You had spent months, sleepless nights, bleeding fingers, hours stolen from your rare breaks, building a portfolio of detailed, conceptual fashion sketches. It was your one ticket out of poverty; an application for a fully funded scholarship to one of the most elite fashion schools in the world.
And Jungkook had ruined it.
You still remembered the cruel, mocking smirk on his face as he grabbed your sketchbook off your desk, casually flipping through the pages of your soul before tossing it into the university's industrial paper shredder, laughing with his friends as months of your hard work were turned into useless confetti. You had gone home that night, collapsing on the floor of your tiny apartment, sobbing until you couldn't breathe. You tried to redraw everything from memory before the midnight deadline, but panic and exhaustion ruined your hands. You missed the submission. You lost your scholarship. You lost your dream.
And now, here he was, millions in his bank account, thinking a championship belt and a forced kiss in the dark could make you his.
The breaking point came on a rainy Thursday night in his private gym.
The facility was empty. The rain lashed against the high windows, filling the space with a low, ambient roar. Jungkook had just finished a brutal shadowboxing session. Sweating, breathing heavily, and fueled by the quiet rage of being completely ignored for weeks, he marched over to where you were packing his gear.
Without a word, he grabbed your wrist and yanked you backward, slamming you against the wall. He trapped you between his massive arms, his heavy, damp chest pressing against yours, his dark eyes burning with frustration.
"Enough of this fucking act," he hissed, his voice dangerous and raspy. He leaned down, his mouth inches from yours, his grip tightening on your waist. "You're not a maid, Y/N. Stop treating me like a client. You stayed with me for a year. You let me kiss you. Stop pretending you don't feel anything."
"Let go of me, Jungkook," you said, your voice dangerously quiet.
"No," he growled, lowering his face, intent on taking another kiss, intent on forcing you to react, to strip away the cold manager and find the girl inside. "You're mine. You've always been mine—"
CRACK.
The sound echoed through the high-ceiling gym like a gunshot.
Your hand connected with his cheek with every ounce of force, hatred, and repressed agony you had buried for years. The sheer impact snapped his head to the side, the sound of your palm meeting his skin cutting through the roar of the rain.
Silence crashed over the room.
Jungkook stood frozen, his head turned, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles quivered. A bright, burning red handprint slowly bloomed across his cheekbone. His dark eyes shifted slowly back to you, wide with shock, unbridled fury, and disbelief.
You didn't step back. You didn't tremble. You stood your ground, your palm stinging, your eyes blazing with a fierce, terrifying fire that finally stripped away the cold, emotionless mask you had worn for a year.
"Don't you ever touch me like that again," you spat, your voice dripping with absolute venom.
Jungkook’s chest heaved, his voice dropping into a dangerous, lethal register. "You just crossed a line, Y/N—"
"No, you crossed the line!" you shouted, taking a step into his space, driving your finger into his hard chest. "You think you own me because you pay my salary? You think a kiss gives you rights over my body? You think I'm here because I fucking care about you?"
He glared down at you, his fists clenching at his sides, but the sheer fury in your eyes held him in place.
"You ruined my life, Jungkook," you whispered, your voice shaking not from fear, but from the raw, unadulterated pain of a broken dream. "Do you even remember? Middle school? I didn't go out with you because I was working three jobs just to eat! And you made every day a living hell because your bloated, rich-boy ego couldn't handle a 'no'."
Jungkook’s brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face, but you didn't let him speak.
"And university," you continued, a tear finally escaping your eye, though your voice remained sharp as glass. "My sketchbook. My fashion designs. I spent months on that portfolio, Jungkook. It was my only chance to get a scholarship. My only chance to have the life I actually wanted. And you threw it in the shredder like it was garbage, just to get a laugh out of your friends."
Jungkook went completely still. The dark rage in his pupils stuttered, replaced by a sudden, jarring jolt of realization. The memory, buried under years of his own reckless, chaotic path, suddenly surfaced—the image of a quiet girl crying in the university hallway while he walked away feeling invincible.
"YOU. DESTROYED. MY. ONLY. FUCKING. CHANCE." you screamed, your voice raising, punching his chest with all your force with each word.
You gave him a last punch in the chest and stepped around his frozen frame, picking up your tablet and your coat from the bench.
"You want to know why I don't flinch when you scream? Why I don't care when you break water coolers or threaten to tear the gym down?" You looked back at him over your shoulder, your eyes cold, dead, and utterly devoid of hope. "Because the worst thing you could ever do to me, Jeon Jungkook... you already did years ago."
Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked out into the pouring rain, leaving him standing alone, the burning imprint of your hand on his cheek, completely wrecked by the truth.
The stinging, metallic silence that hung in the wake of your exit didn't go when the heavy glass doors of the gym slammed shut. It settled into a heavy and suffocating darkness wrapping around him.
For nearly twenty minutes, he didn't move. He stood there his chest heaving in shallow, jagged rhythms, the burning red mark on his cheek bone pulsing, the punch on his chest turning hot, skin angry and red. The rain outside continued to smash against the reinforced glass.
You destroyed my future.
He looked down at his right hand—the same hand that had earned him millions, the same hand that had held the gold championship belt just weeks ago. His knuckles were scarred, rough, and stained with the memory of a hundred fights. But for the first time in his life, the heavyweight champion felt entirely, utterly powerless.
He had remembered the sketchbook. In his arrogant, reckless youth, it had just been a notebook, a quiet girl’s prized possession that he had ripped away simply to force her to look at him, to force a reaction out of the one person who had dared to treat him like he was invisible. He had never considered what was inside those pages. He had never cared to look. To him back then, it was just a weapon to puncture her cold pride.
He hadn't realized he had destroyed the only thing she had ever built for herself.
Across the city, in the cramped, minimalist staff room of his luxury penthouse, you sat on the edge of the narrow bed. Your hands were steady as you applied a cool damp cloth to your stinging palm. The red imprint of his jaw still tingled on your skin, but inside, the hollow, cold clarity had returned.
You didn't regret slapping him nor punching him . You didn't regret spilling the poison you had carried in your chest for years. If he fired you tonight, so be it. You had saved enough from his absurdly high salary over the past twelve months to survive for a while. You were ready for the end.
At 2:00 AM, the heavy oak door of the apartment unlocked.
You didn't get up. You stayed seated on the edge of your bed, listening as his heavy, unhurried footsteps echoed down the polished hardwood floor of the corridor. The shadow fell across your open doorway, tall, broad, and looming.
Jungkook didn't enter the room. He stood in the doorway, dressed in a plain black hoodie, his wet hair dripping onto his shoulders. The sharp red mark on his cheek had turned into a faint, dark shadow of a bruise. His eyes, usually burning with an erratic, dangerous fire, were subdued—cast in a dark, terrifyingly quiet depth that you had never seen on him before.
"You're not fired," he rasped, his voice rough and stripped of its usual venom.
You raised your head, meeting his gaze with unblinking composure. "Then I expect you to respect the boundaries of my contract. I am your logistical and performance coordinator. I handle your schedule, your recovery, and your media protection. I am not your personal entertainment."
Jungkook’s jaw tightened but nodded his head.
The dynamic shifted drastically over the following weeks. The volatile, explosive atmosphere that usually surrounded Jeon Jungkook vanished, replaced by an unsettling, hyper-focused calm that unnerved his entire team. He didn't yell at his promoters. He didn't kick over water coolers during brutal training sessions. He obeyed every instruction you wrote on his tablet with a terrifying, mechanical compliance.
He ate the exact calories you weighed out. He took his supplements on time. He completed his cardio sessions without a single complaint.
But he was watching you.
Every second you were in the same room, his dark, heavy gaze followed your movements. When you handed him his water bottle, his fingers were careful not to brush against yours. When you adjusted the straps on his training gear, he stood dead still, his breath held, ensuring he didn't crowd your space. It wasn't kindness; it was a dark, obsessive restraint. He was suppressing the beast inside him because he knew that one more wrong move would sever the thin, fragile wire keeping you in his world.
When the notification pinged on your phone that evening, showing a direct deposit that effectively doubled your already outrageous monthly compensation, you didn't feel relief. You felt a cold, bitter knot form in the pit of your stomach.
You walked straight down to the private training floor. The gym was dimly lit. The heavy, rhythmic thud of gloves driving into a leather body shield echoed off the concrete walls. Jungkook was mid-training with his head coach, his massive, sweat-slicked back rippling with every brutal combination he threw.
You didn't wait for his round to end. You stepped right up to the edge of the blue mat, your tablet tucked firmly under your arm.
"My bank account was credited incorrectly this afternoon," you said, your voice cutting straight through the heavy cadence of his breathing. "Your accounting team doubled my base salary. I assume it was an error."
Jungkook didn't stop hitting the shield. Crack. Crack.
"It wasn't an error," he rasped, his breath coming out in heavy, even drags. "I authorized the adjustment myself. You handle double the workload since the rematch campaign. You earned it."
"I work the exact hours specified in my contract," you replied instantly, your tone dripping with a frigid, unyielding detachment. You stepped closer, looking straight past the coach's defensive pads and locking onto Jungkook's dark, guarded eyes. "I don't need your hush money, Jungkook. And I certainly don't want your pity."
The heavy leather pad dropped. The head coach froze, his gaze darting nervously between the two of you, instantly recognizing the dangerous, razor-thin wire the air was suddenly balancing on.
Jungkook slammed a devastating right hook into the center of the shield, the sheer force of the blow sending a dull shockwave through the trainer's frame, before finally stepping back. He wiped the line of sweat from his forehead with the back of his taped forearm, his jaw clenching so hard a vein throbbed along his neck.
"Pity?" he growled, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that made the empty gym feel three sizes smaller. "Why the fuck would I pity you?"
"Because you think doubling my check erases what you did," you said softly, your words hitting him with the precision of a scalpel. "You realized you couldn't buy my forgiveness."
Jungkook’s chest heaved, his dark pupils blown out as he stared down at you from inside the ring. He had spent the last three weeks trying everything. He had pulled every string in his multi-million-network, pestering elite international design academies, demanding a seat, offering donations—only to be met with cold, institutional rejection. They didn't care about his fame or his money; the admissions cycles were closed, and age limits and rigid application windows were absolute. His wealth had proven completely useless buying you a seat to your dream, leaving him stranded with a crushing, suffocating realization of his own permanent damage.
And now, here you were, throwing his money back in his face.
A dark, dangerous flicker crossed his face, not of rage, but of a desperate, twisted logic. He couldn't give you back your dream, and he couldn't force you to take his money through logic. But he could gamble for it.
He reached down, grabbing the velcro of his right glove with his teeth, ripping it off with a harsh, tearing sound, followed quickly by the left. He tossed them onto the canvas with a dull thud.
"Get in the ring, Y/N," he commanded.
You didn't move an inch. "I'm not fighting you, Jungkook."
"Get in the fucking ring," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned to his head coach, snapping his fingers. "Give me your towel."
The trainer hesitated for a fraction of a second before handing over a thick, black microfiber cloth. Without taking his eyes off you, Jungkook folded the fabric into a dense strip, wrapped it securely over his eyes, and tied it tight behind his head. Then, with a cold, deliberate motion, he tucked his left arm firmly behind his back.
He stood in the center of the canvas—blinded, one-armed, an absolute titan of muscle stripped of two-thirds of his deadliest tools.
"Here's the deal," Jungkook rasped, his voice echoing in the darkness of the blindfold. "You get three minutes. One round. You land a single clean hit on me, and I revoke the raise. I keep your salary exactly where it was. You lose... or you fail to touch me... and you keep the money. No arguments. No returning it."
"This is ridiculous," you said, stepping back. "You're a professional heavyweight—"
"I am blind, and I have one arm," he interrupted, his head tilting slightly as he tracked the sound of your voice with terrifying precision. "What's the matter, Y/N? You had no problem slapping and punching me in the guts when I was looking right at you. Now I'm giving you a free shot to take everything out on me, and you're backing down?"
The provocation was deliberate, ugly, and effective.
Without another word, you dropped your tablet onto the bench, unbuttoned your jacket, and tossed it aside. You stepped up the steel stairs, unlatched the heavy turnbuckle gate, and walked onto the canvas.
The coach looked at you with wide, concerned eyes before slowly stepping out of the ring, holding up his digital timer. "Three minutes," the older man murmured. "Starting... now."
The buzzer sounded with a sharp, electronic beep.
Jungkook didn't move from the center. He stood casually, his chest bare, his broad shoulders relaxed, his left arm locked behind his back, relying entirely on his hyper-aware senses.
You circled him quietly, keeping your footsteps light on the padded floor. Your heart was pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You weren't a fighter, but you had spent twelve months watching him train. You knew his weight shifts. You knew how he moved.
You lunged forward, throwing a fast, straight right toward his exposed jaw.
Before your knuckles could even graze his skin, Jungkook leaned his head back. The air shifted, and your fist passed harmlessly through empty space. In the same breath, his right hand shot out, his calloused palm catching your wrist with absolute, terrifying ease. He didn't twist or pull; he simply held you anchored for a fraction of a second, demonstrating the sheer, absurd gap in your physical power, before letting go.
"Too loud," he murmured, his blindfolded face turning toward you, a dark, ghostly shadow of a smirk touching his lips. "You're breathing too hard before you strike."
Gasping for air, you stepped back, your palm stinging from where his grip had clamped down. The humiliation of it burned hotter than your exhaustion.
You circled again, waiting for ten seconds, fifteen, letting the hum of the gym's air conditioner drown out your movements. You shifted your weight, fake-stepping to the left to throw off his hearing, before driving forward with all your weight, aiming a sharp blow directly at his exposed ribs.
Jungkook didn't even slip the punch. He simply shifted his hips an inch to the side, letting your wrist slide harmlessly against him. Before you could retract your arm, his right forearm swept around your waist.
With effortless, terrifying strength, he pulled you flush against his chest.
The sudden contact was suffocating. The heat radiating off his bare skin was oppressive, smelling of sweat, leather, and dominance. You were completely pinned against him, your chest pressed against his, his single arm wrapped around your back like a steel band, trapping you entirely.
"Time's ticking, Y/N," he whispered into your hair, his deep, gravelly breath brushing hot against the shell of your ear. "Minute and a half left."
"Let go of me!" you spat, struggling violently against his grip, driving your elbow back into his stomach. It was like striking a wall of solid concrete.
Jungkook didn't flinch. He held you tight against his body, feeling the frantic, rapid thudding of your heart against his ribs. His hand pressed firmly into the small of your back, keeping you anchored, keeping you forced to feel the raw, absolute magnitude of the beast you were trying to fight.
"You want to hurt me?" he rasped, his voice dropping into a dark murmur that vibrated right through your chest. "Do it properly then. Stop pulling your punches. Stop acting like you're just my manager."
With a sudden, fluid movement, he released his grip and stepped back two paces, opening his arm wide, exposing his bare chest and face to you completely.
"Hit me," he growled, standing blind folded in the center of the ring. "Hit me with everything you've carried since middle school. Take it out on me."
Your breath hitched. Tears of pure, unadulterated frustration pricked at the corners of your eyes. You hated him. You hated the way he controlled the room, hated the way he turned even his guilt into a game of dominance, hated that no matter how hard you pushed him away, he found a way to drag you back into his orbit.
You surged forward, swinging wildly, a sharp, desperate right hand aimed straight for his cheek.
CRACK.
Your bare fist connected flush against his jaw.
The impact sent a dull, shooting pain through your knuckles, vibrating up your forearm. Jungkook’s head snapped back slightly from the sheer velocity of the blow, a dark red mark instantly blooming along his jawline where your hand met his skin.
He didn't counter. He didn't block. He stood there, absorbing the sting, taking the full brunt of your hatred without moving an inch.
The electronic buzzer echoed through the facility, signaling the end of the three minutes.
The heavy silence returned, thick and suffocating. You stood breathing heavily, your fist trembling, your knuckles raw and throbbing from the impact.
Slowly, Jungkook raised his right hand. He reached behind his head, untying the knot of the black cloth, and pulled the blindfold away.
His dark, blown-out pupils blinked against the harsh overhead lights, slowly adjusting until they locked onto you. A thin trickle of dark blood leaked from the corner of his lower lip where his inner cheek had smashed against his teeth.
He didn't wipe the blood away, he looked down at your trembling, reddened hand.
"Clean hit," he rasped, his voice rough, eyes fixed on your swollen knuckles.
You wiped the single stray tear from your cheek with the back of your uninjured hand, holding his dark, unreadable gaze. "Then the raise is canceled. Take the money back."
Jungkook looked at you for a long, agonizing moment.
"The raise stays," he said quietly, stepping toward the edge of the ring.
"We had a deal—"
"yes but I am your boss" Jungkook interrupted, his voice dropping into a low, final tone as he stepped through the ropes.
If you like to support my journey please don't hesitate 🍰 Ko-fi.
SUMMARY -> jungkook, a divorced single dad, falls for his daughter’s nanny.
TROPES -> she falls first he falls harder, yearning, age gap, angst, hurt comfort, absent mother, jungkook is a little pathetic
now playing: bad religion - frank ocean˚.⋆♪
SERIES MASTERLIST ❦ MAIN MASTERLIST
PREVIOUS CHAPTER ❦ NEXT CHAPTER
10: soju
the digital clock on the microwave read 10:48 p.m. you checked it again. then your phone. still nothing. your thumb hovered over your messages for what had to be the tenth time that night. there were no texts, missed calls, or updates.
just the last message he'd sent hours ago.
company dinner tonight. i might be a little late.
a little?
you looked at the clock again.
10:50.
your lips pressed together. arin sat cross-legged on the living room rug in her pajamas, coloring with her tongue poking out in concentration. every few minutes she'd glance toward the front windows.
"daddy’s taking forever."
you forced a smile.
"he probably got caught talking."
she nodded.
"daddy talks a lot at work."
that made you smile despite yourself. you looked at your phone again. nothing.
the knot in your stomach tightened.
it wasn't your business where he was.
he was your employer. he was a grown man.
he didn't need permission to stay out late. you knew that, but he'd never done this before.
not without telling you. he was meticulous. if traffic made him five minutes late, he'd apologize. if a meeting ran long, he'd text. if plans changed, you always knew.
tonight there was…nothing.
arin yawned so hard her whole body leaned forward.
you immediately looked over.
"sleepy?"
she rubbed both eyes, “a little."
you smiled softly, “come on."
she held both arms up dramatically, “carry me."
you laughed.
"you're getting too big for that."
"no i'm not."
"you absolutely are."
"pretty nanny..."
you sighed dramatically, “fine."
she giggled triumphantly as you scooped her into your arms.
"i win."
"you always win."
"i know."
you carried her upstairs, her cheek resting against your shoulder. she smelled like strawberry shampoo. you tucked her into bed, smoothing her blanket over her little body.
"will daddy say goodnight?"
your heart pinched.
"he'll kiss your forehead when he gets home."
"...promise?"
you hesitated, then nodded anyway.
"promise."
she accepted that immediately. children were so trusting.
"night, pretty nanny."
"goodnight, sweetheart."
you brushed hair away from her face.
within minutes, she was asleep. you quietly pulled her bedroom door almost closed before making your way downstairs again.
the house felt...wrong.
too quiet.
too empty.
you glanced toward the driveway through the front window.
still dark.
11:26.
your irritation had slowly transformed into something heavier: worry.
what if something happened?
what if he'd fallen asleep behind the wheel?
what if—
headlights.
you shot up from the couch so fast your blanket fell onto the floor.
a black sedan slowly rolled into the driveway.
your shoulders sagged with relief.
then immediately tightened again.
because the car wasn't moving.
it sat there for several seconds. too many seconds. your brows furrowed. finally, the passenger’s door opened. jungkook climbed out.
at least he tried to.
he stumbled against the side of the car, one hand catching himself on the roof before he laughed quietly to himself. your eyes widened.
he was drunk. very drunk.
he eventually managed to close the car door, though it took him two tries. his tie hung loose around his neck. his dress shirt was untucked on one side. his hair, normally so neat, had been completely destroyed by his own hands.
he looked adorably disheveled.
you did not find it adorable. you marched toward the front door. the second you opened it, cool night air swept inside.
jungkook looked up.
his face lit up immediately.
"oh." he smiled. it was a slow, sleepy smile, "hi."
you crossed your arms.
he blinked, “h-hi?”
your jaw clenched. “do you know what time it is?"
he frowned thoughtfully, “night?"
your eye twitched.
"it's almost eleven-thirty."
he looked genuinely surprised.
"is it?"
"yes."
"huh."
he seemed fascinated by that information. you were not.
"you didn't call."
he stared at you. he slowly reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and looked at the screen.
"i forgot."
your jaw dropped.
"you forgot?"
he nodded once.
"i think so."
"jungkook."
he looked at you with those soft, glassy eyes.
"yeah?"
your frustration had been simmering for nearly three hours. now it finally boiled over.
"do you have any idea how worried i was? how long your daughter waited?"
his smile disappeared.
"she kept asking where you were."
silence.
"i didn't know if you'd gotten into an accident."
you took another step toward him.
"i didn't know if i should call hospitals."
his eyes slowly widened.
"i didn't know if i should call your parents."
your voice cracked despite yourself.
"i had no idea where you were."
the silence stretched between you. jungkook stared at your face. really stared. you looked upset. not professionally concerned, not politely disappointed, upset.
because of him. you'd been worried.
his heart, dulled by alcohol, somehow felt everything even more intensely.
"you waited up?"
you blinked, “of course i waited up."
he swallowed, “for me?"
you looked at him like he'd asked the stupidest question imaginable.
"yes, for you."
something inside him melted completely. he took one slow, unsteady step toward you. his voice came out quieter now.
"you cared about me."
it wasn't a question. it sounded like wonder. like no one had ever waited up for him before. you sighed, every ounce of anger mixing with relief.
"yes,” you rubbed your forehead, “i was worried."
he just stood there looking at you. his cheeks pink from alcohol. his eyes impossibly soft. he looked so happy that someone had cared enough to be angry.
you let out a long breath through your nose.
"come inside."
jungkook blinked.
"...am i in trouble?"
"yes."
he frowned like he was genuinely disappointed in himself.
"okay."
he followed you obediently, though "followed" was generous. he drifted. stumbled once. caught himself on the wall. you sighed again before stepping closer.
"give me your arm."
he looked at you. then immediately did exactly as you asked.
his sleeve was cool beneath your fingers as you steadied him. he was heavy. solid. his shoulder brushed yours with every uneven step.
"you're really warm," he mumbled.
"that's because i'm alive."
he smiled lazily.
"you’re so smart."
"don't flatter me."
you guided him into the living room, easing him down onto the couch. he practically collapsed into the cushions with a quiet groan.
"stay."
he looked up at you.
"where would i go?"
"good point."
you disappeared into the kitchen. your hands were shaking more than you wanted them to. you'd been terrified.
now that he was home and safe, all that fear had turned into pure irritation. you filled a glass with water, grabbed two pain relievers from the cabinet, then walked back into the living room.
he hadn't moved. he was sitting exactly where you'd left him, elbows on his knees, quietly watching the floor. you held the glass out.
"drink."
without a word, he took it.
his fingers brushed yours.
you pulled your hand away almost immediately.
he noticed. of course he noticed.
he took a slow drink before setting the glass on the coffee table, “thank you."
"you're welcome."
it was short. polite. distant.
the room fell quiet. he studied you for a long moment. his thoughts, softened and loosened by the alcohol, wandered somewhere they probably shouldn't.
"you've changed."
your hands froze where you were straightening a throw blanket.
"what?"
he looked up at you.
"you don't talk to me anymore."
your stomach dropped.
"i talk to you."
"not like before."
you looked away.
"you're drunk."
"i am."
he nodded thoughtfully.
"but i'm right."
you busied yourself collecting one of arin's crayons from beneath the coffee table.
"you should take those."
you pointed toward the pain relievers. he ignored them.
"you used to be so friendly."
silence.
"you used to smile at me."
you swallowed.
"i still smile."
he shook his head slowly.
"not the same."
your chest tightened. he wasn't supposed to notice. you'd worked so hard making sure he didn't notice. he leaned back against the couch. his voice was quieter now.
"did i do something?"
you laughed softly. too softly.
"no.”
another lie. he frowned.
"then why does it still feel like you're hiding?"
you stared at the floor.
"you're imagining things."
"i'm not."
he knew you.
at least he'd started to.
you'd been sunlight when you'd first walked into his house. now it felt like clouds followed you whenever he entered the room.
you still laughed with arin. still hugged her. still sang while helping her brush her teeth.
but with him, everything was measured.
careful. professional. it hurt more than he expected.
"is it because of yoonseo?"
your head snapped toward him. he saw it. the tiny change in your expression.
there.
that was it. he let out a slow breath.
"i fucking knew it."
you opened your mouth. closed it again. he rubbed tiredly at his face.
"nothing happened."
you stayed quiet. he gave a small, humorless laugh.
"i guess from your perspective,” he looked around the empty house, “it probably looked like we were..."
he couldn't even finish the sentence. his face scrunched up in what could only be interpreted as disgust.
"...we're not."
another silence settled. then he spoke again.
not because he planned to.
because alcohol had stripped away every instinct telling him to keep his personal life to himself.
"we weren't together very long.”
you looked at him despite yourself. his eyes stayed fixed on the coffee table.
"dating, i mean. less than six months."
you hadn't expected that.
"we were young. dumb. horny. reckless. she got pregnant."
he smiled bitterly, “our parents thought there was only one acceptable solution."
his fingers turned the empty glass slowly.
"a shotgun wedding." he laughed once, “everyone congratulated us." his smile disappeared.
you watched as he took in a deep breath.
"i don't think either of us actually understood what we were promising."
you listened quietly.
he wasn't looking at you anymore. it was almost like he was talking to himself.
"she didn't want any of it."
he paused.
"what do you mean?" you asked.
"she didn't want america."
another pause.
"she didn't want to be somebody's wife."
his thumb traced circles against the side of the glass.
"she definitely didn't want to become jeon yoonseo."
his voice cracked with tired amusement.
"she hated changing her name. i still don’t get why the fuck she did it." he laughed dryly.
you stayed perfectly still.
he broke the silence, "she missed home."
he looked toward the dark windows.
"she missed korea. she missed the life she'd planned."
he was quiet for several seconds.
"i kept thinking she'd settle in."
a faint shake of his head, “i kept thinking if i worked harder..."
he stopped himself. his lip trembled slightly.
"that was stupid."
you'd never heard him speak like this before. so openly. so honestly.
"when arin was two,” he swallowed.
"she left."
the room seemed to get even quieter.
"she went back to busan for a while.”
his voice wasn't angry anymore. just tired.
"eventually she remarried."
you blinked.
"she has a husband now."
he nodded once.
"in seoul."
another pause.
"they're building the life she always wanted. it just wasn't with us."
your heart broke. not because you pitied him. because of the way he said us. not me.
us.
he wasn't mourning a marriage. he was mourning the family arin never got to have.
"she doesn't come very often," he continued quietly, “actually, she never comes.”
he finally looked at you. his eyes were glassy, though you couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or something else.
"she hasn't really been a mother in a long time. arin still gets excited. every single time."
he laughed under his breath, "she still thinks maybe this visit will be different."
you felt tears sting your own eyes. he looked down at his hands.
"i don't tell her not to hope."
another long silence.
"i don't know if that's the right thing."
he shook his head once.
"but i can't be the one who takes that away from her. i don’t have the heart.”
you sat down in the armchair across from him. the anger you'd been carrying all night had quietly dissolved into something else. something gentler. something that hurt.
jungkook looked up at you.
"i just didn't want you thinking..."
he struggled for the words.
"that there was still something between us.”
his eyes met yours, “there isn't." his voice was steady despite everything, “there hasn't been for years."
the room fell silent again. outside, rain had begun tapping softly against the windows.
inside, neither of you spoke.
for the first time in days, the wall between you felt just a little less solid.
you stood there for a long moment.
the house had gone completely quiet. the only sounds were the rain against the windows and the soft hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.
he looked so tired.
not the kind of tired that sleep fixed. it settled somewhere deep inside a person. it was something that could only be cured with the comfort of another person.
you hated that you still noticed. you still cared.
slowly, you crossed the room and lowered yourself onto the opposite end of the couch. you left plenty of space between you.
he noticed anyway.
his shoulders relaxed just enough for you to see it.
neither of you spoke. he stared down at his hands.
you stared at the rain. your heart hurt. now you knew. you knew why yoonseo looked at him the way she did. you knew why arin clung to him so tightly. you knew why he'd looked so lost all those mornings. you hadn't imagined the loneliness, it had been real.
"i'm sorry," you whispered.
the words felt painfully small. he looked over.
“for what?"
you shook your head.
"everything."
you smiled, but it wasn't much of one.
"i'm sorry things turned out that way."
he watched your face quietly. there it was again. that wall. you were still sitting beside him. still speaking softly. somehow you felt farther away than ever.
you glanced toward the front door.
"i should probably head home."
his head snapped up.
"already?"
you nodded.
"it's late."
you started to stand, “i'll see you on monday."
before you'd even straightened completely—
"don't."
his voice was quiet, but immediate. your fingers tightened around the strap of your purse.
"what?"
he looked almost startled by his own words.
then, just as quietly:
"...don't go yet."
your heart skipped.
he rubbed a hand over his face.
"please."
that word almost undid you.
you looked at him for a long moment.
he looked small. not physically. emotionally, like asking you to stay had cost him something.
you slowly sat back down.
"...okay."
he let out a breath so relieved it almost sounded painful.
"thank you."
another silence settled. this one wasn't uncomfortable. just fragile. he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"i don't know what i'm doing anymore."
his voice was barely above a whisper. you looked over at him. he laughed quietly. without humor.
"every day i feel like i'm pretending."
his hands rubbed together absentmindedly.
"i know how to be her dad… i think. but i don't know how to be everything.”
your chest tightened.
"i don't know how to be two parents. i don't know how to be her mother. i don't know how to brush little girl's hair properly."
a sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “i still can't do those stupid pigtails."
you remembered. one always sat lower than the other. arin never seemed to mind. he did.
"i don't know what clothes she's supposed to wear together. she tells me purple and red don't match."
your lips twitched despite yourself, “they don't."
he looked at you.
"see? i wouldn't know."
he looked back down again, “she asks me questions i can't answer."
his voice had become so quiet you almost had to lean closer to hear him.
"about growing up. about being a girl. about things she would've asked her mom."
he swallowed.
"and i just..."
his jaw tightened.
"i'm trying."
the last two words nearly broke you.
because he wasn't making excuses. he wasn't asking for sympathy.
you looked at your hands. you wanted to tell him he was doing an incredible job.
you wanted to tell him arin adored him. that she felt safe because of him. the words rose all the way to your throat, then stopped.
the wall.
you'd built it for a reason.
you stayed quiet. he noticed. of course he noticed.
"then you came."
his voice pulled your attention back to him. he was looking at the floor again, almost like he was embarrassed to say any of this.
"and everything got easier."
your breath caught.
"not because you did anything huge."
he shook his head.
"it was all the little things. a lunch packed without me asking. a permission slip i forgot. remembering she doesn't like strawberries touching the syrup."
he laughed softly.
"teaching me how to use fabric softener."
your eyes burned.
"you started worrying about me. nobody worries about me."
your vision blurred.
"you'd tell me to eat. you'd tell me to sleep. you'd fuss if i skipped breakfast."
he looked over at you then. his eyes were glassy.
"it felt..."
he hesitated.
"nice."
your throat tightened painfully. he looked away again.
"for the first time since the divorce..."
his voice faltered, “coming home didn't feel empty.”
you couldn't breathe. he continued anyway.
words spilling out because he'd held them in too long.
"arin laughs more. she smiles all the time. she asks if you're coming over before she asks what we're doing that day."
his smile trembled, “she's happier."
he looked down at his hands again.
"and so am i."
silence. the rain outside grew heavier. he inhaled shakily.
"i got used to being around you."
your eyes closed for just a second. he had no idea what he was doing to you.
"then, you started looking at me like i was just your boss."
he finally met your eyes. there were tears there now. he didn't even seem to realize they were falling.
"i know i don't have any right to ask for more,” his voice cracked, “i know."
another tear slipped down his cheek.
"but it feels like—“
he looked away before finishing, “it feels like i'm losing you."
your heart shattered. he wiped quickly at his face, frustrated, “s-sorry.” he let out another laugh. completely broken, "i've had too much to drink."
you couldn't do it anymore. you couldn't sit there and watch him cry from the other end of the couch. before you could think better of it, you moved.
just a few inches.
not much.
but enough.
your hand hovered uncertainly before gently resting over his.
he froze.
your own eyes filled with tears.
"you're not losing me," you whispered.
the words escaped before the wall could stop them. his fingers instinctively curled around yours. not tightly. just enough to hold on, like someone afraid to let go of the only steady thing they'd found in a very long time.
neither of you said anything after that.
you didn't have to.
the silence between you had changed.
not into a confession.
not into romance spoken aloud.
just two lonely people sitting close enough to remind each other that neither of them had to carry everything alone for one quiet, rain soaked night.
his thumb brushed against the back of your hand without either of you realizing it.
the contact was featherlight.
he stared at your joined hands for a long time.
"i'm sorry."
you frowned, “for what?"
he laughed quietly through his tears.
"this."
he gestured vaguely toward himself.
"i don't usually…" his voice failed him.
"i'm usually better than this."
you looked at him gently. "better?"
he nodded, "at keeping it together."
he laughed again.
"i've spent years pretending i'm fine."
you shook your head, “you don't have to pretend all the time."
he looked up at you. really looked at you.
there was no judgment in your face, just concern. the same concern you'd walked through his front door with months ago. the same concern you'd tried so hard to hide these past two weeks.
he smiled sadly.
"why do i look weak?"
you blinked, “you don't."
he shook his head.
"in front of everyone else, i know exactly who i'm supposed to be. the ceo. the father. the machine. the one with the answers.”
he looked back at you with impossibly gentle eyes, “in front of you..."
his fingers tightened around yours ever so slightly, “i am weak."
your breath caught.
“i don't feel like i have to keep pretending."
the words settled over both of you.
you couldn't speak. he wasn't asking you to save him. he wasn't asking you to love him. he was telling you something much scarier: that he trusted you.
you felt your eyes sting.
"that's not weakness," you whispered.
he smiled.
"maybe not."
another quiet silence passed. he watched your face the way someone might watch a sunrise, like they were afraid it would disappear if they blinked.
"i've been trying to figure out what changed. after the play, “his voice was thoughtful now. “i kept thinking i'd said something. or done something. i replayed that whole day."
he let out a slow breath, “i'm sorry."
you shook your head immediately, “you don't have to apologize."
"i do. i saw you leave. i knew you were disappointed."
he laughed softly at himself.
"and i still let you get into that car without explaining anything."
your vision blurred.
"i thought—“
you stopped yourself. he waited patiently.
"i thought i was getting attached where i shouldn't."
his heart cracked. you still weren't talking about yourself. you were apologizing. even now.
"you've never been somewhere you shouldn't."
the words came out before he could stop them. your eyes lifted to his.
he held your gaze, “not once."
the room felt impossibly small. rain continued tapping against the windows. the clock ticked quietly somewhere in the house. neither of you moved. finally, he smiled.
he looked at you with an openness that made your chest ache, “i miss you a lot."
the confession wasn't dramatic. it wasn't passionate. if anything, it sounded almost confused. like he'd only just realized how true it was.
"i miss being able to sit next to you without feeling like you're trying to disappear."
you could no longer hold the wall together.
it had taken days to build and hours to maintain. one quiet, honest man had dismantled it in minutes.
before you realized what you were doing, your hand came up.
you held his hand between both of yours. not because you were thinking. because your heart got there first. his eyes closed. just for a second.
he looked at your hands wrapped around his like they were something precious.
something he didn't deserve to hold.
his thumb slowly brushed against your knuckles again. it was almost reverent.
"you're so kind."
you smiled sadly.
"you're drunk."
"i know."
he nodded once.
"but i've known that for a while."
you tilted your head.
"known what?"
his eyes searched your face. they were glassy. soft. completely defenseless.
"you're kind."
he laughed quietly.
"too kind."
you felt your cheeks warm.
"that's just the alcohol talking—“
"no."
his answer came immediately.
"that's me."
he leaned back against the couch cushions with a tired sigh. his gaze never really left you.
"i keep trying not to look at you."
your heart skipped.
"mr. jeon."
"see?" he smiled, “you call me that now."
your stomach twisted. he noticed everything.
"you used to always call me jungkook."
your lips parted. you hadn't even realized you'd stopped. he gave another sleepy laugh.
"i miss hearing my name."
you looked away, “you're going to be embarrassed when you remember this tomorrow."
"probably,” he didn't sound concerned. “but i still mean it."
you shook your head gently.
"that's not how being drunk works."
"isn't it?" he asked, “doesn't it just make people say the things they were already thinking?"
you didn't answer. you couldn't. he watched you for another long moment.
then, so quietly you almost missed it—
"i think i'm in love with you."
the room stopped. your heart slammed against your ribs.
he'd said it so simply.
like he'd just admitted the weather was nice.
your eyes widened.
for one impossible second, everything inside you cracked open.
then reality rushed back in. he was drunk. very drunk. he'd had far too much to drink. he was exhausted. heartbroken. overwhelmed.
people said strange things when they were drunk.
your mom always joked that drunk people would tell strangers they loved them in bathroom lines.
this was that. it had to be.
your expression softened, “you're really drunk, jungkook."
he frowned, “i am."
"let's get you to bed."
he looked disappointed. like you'd misunderstood him. “i wasn't joking."
you smiled gently.
"i know."
he blinked.
"you do?"
"i know you don't mean it like that."
your voice was impossibly soft, "you're exhausted. you've had a really hard week. your emotions are all over the place."
you stood, offering him your hand, “come on."
he looked at your hand. then took it. “okay."
he followed you without protest. halfway up the stairs, you stopped outside arin's bedroom. he frowned sleepily.
"why are we stopping?"
you smiled, “because i made her a promise."
he looked confused.
"she asked if you'd kiss her goodnight when you got home.”
understanding slowly spread across his face.
"oh."
you opened the bedroom door as quietly as you could.
moonlight spilled through the curtains.
arin was curled beneath her blankets, one stuffed bunny tucked beneath her arm.
she looked impossibly small.
jungkook's entire expression changed.
every trace of drunken silliness disappeared beneath something impossibly gentle.
you guided him closer.
he knelt carefully beside the bed.
his movements were clumsy.
he brushed a few strands of hair away from her forehead.
then leaned down.
pressed the softest kiss against her skin, “goodnight, princess."
his voice was barely a whisper. arin stirred. her nose scrunched.
her sleepy eyes cracked open.
"...daddy?"
he smiled. the biggest smile you'd seen all night.
"hi."
she reached one tiny hand toward him.
he took it immediately.
"you came home."
"i did."
"nanny said you would."
you smiled from the doorway.
arin's sleepy eyes drifted toward you.
she smiled too.
"...hi."
"hi, sweetheart."
"did you eat dinner?"
jungkook laughed quietly.
"that's my question."
arin yawned so widely her whole face disappeared.
"love you."
"love you more."
she was already asleep again before he'd even finished the sentence. you watched him stare at her for another few seconds.
his eyes glistened. then you gently touched his shoulder.
"come on."
he nodded.
you led him down the hall.
to his bedroom.
you'd never been inside before.
the doorway alone made you hesitate.
this felt too personal. too private.
you'd spent months carefully staying on your side of invisible boundaries.
his bedroom had always been one of them.
he wandered inside without noticing your hesitation.
you followed only because someone had to make sure he actually got into bed.
the room surprised you.
it was neat.
almost painfully so.
gray bedding.
dark wood furniture.
books stacked beside the bed.
a framed picture of arin on the nightstand.
nothing else.
it somehow felt lonelier than the rest of the house. he sat down on the edge of the mattress with a tired sigh.
you crossed quietly to his dresser.
opened the top drawer just enough to find a clean t-shirt and pajama pants.
you set them neatly beside him.
then stepped closer.
"is it okay if i..."
you gestured toward his tie. he nodded immediately. your fingers found the knot. carefully loosening it.
he watched you the entire time.
not your hands.
your face.
your lashes lowered in concentration. the tiny crease between your brows. the way you bit your lip without realizing it.
"...you're beautiful."
you laughed softly, “that's enough."
"it's true."
"that's definitely enough."
you slipped the tie free. folded it neatly. set it over the back of a chair.
when you looked back, he was still watching you.
with that same unbearably soft expression.
"i meant what i said."
you smiled sympathetically, “i know."
"no."
he shook his head slowly.
"i really think i'm in love with you."
your heart squeezed painfully.
poor thing.
he was going to be mortified tomorrow.
you walked over and gently pulled the blankets back for him.
"you need sleep."
he didn't move.
"will you believe me tomorrow?"
you smiled in the way people smile at children who insist the moon is following them home.
"let's worry about tomorrow tomorrow."
he looked like he wanted to argue.
instead, he quietly changed into the clothes you'd laid out while you respectfully turned toward the window.
once he climbed beneath the blankets, you switched off the bedside lamp. only the moonlight remained.
you walked toward the door.
your hand found the knob.
"goodnight, jungkook."
"goodnight."
you looked back one last time. he was already fighting sleep.
eyes half closed.
hair a mess against the pillow.
"i love you."
the words were barely audible.
slurred by exhaustion. you smiled to yourself.
"goodnight."
you pulled the door shut behind you.
the latch clicked softly into place.
alone in the hallway, you leaned back against the wall and let out a long breath.
your face was burning. your heart wouldn't slow down.
"he was drunk," you whispered to yourself.
of course he was. people said all kinds of ridiculous things when they were drunk.
he would never actually love you. why would he?
he was jeon jungkook.
successful. handsome. accomplished. the kind of man who walked into a room and everyone noticed.
you'd seen the women who smiled at him. polished women in tailored suits at company events. elegant women who belonged beside men like him. women closer to his age. women with careers as impressive as his. women who knew how to carry themselves with effortless confidence.
women who made sense.
and then there was you.
a college student.
his nanny.
the help.
you spent your days wiping sticky fingers, folding tiny clothes, and making dinosaur-shaped sandwiches.
you weren't glamorous. you weren't sophisticated. you didn't belong in his world.
you just happened to be the girl who looked after his daughter.
he'd been lonely tonight. tired. drunk.
maybe, for a little while, you'd felt comforting enough to mistake for something more.
but morning always came.
and with it, reality.
you smiled sadly.
then made your way downstairs, never realizing that every word he'd spoken had been the sober truth finally escaping because, for one night, he no longer had the strength to keep it hidden.
author’s note:
the new chapter’s out!!! so sorry for the wait, i had a lot going on personally, and since this chapter is so significant to the story i just had to get it right!!! i hope you guys like it, i was kinda self conscious about it🤍
you didn't know your estranged uncle had a son. Not until said son dumps an unusually large, very angry, kangaroo hybrid on your doorstep, claiming it's only for a few days while your uncle is in hospital.
pairing: kangaroo hybrid!jk x f!reader
genre: hybrid au, angst, mild fluff
word count: 8.8k
warnings: still none really besides the ethics of hybrid-keeping (and fighting)
author’s note: i decided to make it into three parts instead of two! i hope you like this, i edited it a tad (but i'll still blame lo from the past for this entire fic lol)
Saturday. As expected, the day doesn’t start very well, but it’s at least… manageable so far. You remember that Jeongguk is supposed to leave for his activity again later, and when you try asking him about it once more, he doesn’t tell you anything. Shocker.
After fixing breakfast for Jeongguk, you return to bed, not knowing if he eats or not. Today, you don’t have the energy to try to force him to eat if he doesn’t want to. Instead, you pop a few pills, writhing in your white sheets. Some months are better than others, and some months, you spend days on end on your bathroom floor, nauseous and desperate for the cool bathroom tiles against your cheek.
When the time comes, you see Jeongguk off again, locking the door behind him and nearly doubling over in pain. Bringing your phone as sufficient entertainment, you retreat to the bathroom.
At two a.m., you hear a tentative knock on the front door, a sound that wakes you out of your half-slumber on the bathroom floor. You get up on shaky legs and approach the door to open it for the hybrid. He looks cautious, as if he’s scared he woke you up although you did tell him to always knock. If you were to guess, you’d say that he probably regrets not taking the key you offered last time.
His eyes trail over you in your sorry state, but he at least doesn’t look angry.
“Are you alright?” you ask, looking over him briefly in turn. You don’t notice any obvious injuries, but he does look spent. His body looks like it feels heavy, and his black hair is still damp with sweat.
He nods and actually opens his mouth to speak. “Are you?”
Damn, you must really look like a mess.
“Yeah. Go take a shower,” you usher him inside, closing the door behind him.
Maybe it’s because you look like you’re on death’s doorstep, but he doesn’t seem to want to argue. Or maybe he does and is glaring at you; you can't tell with your exhausted eyes half closed.
While he’s in the bathroom, you do some of the dishes left out during the day, trying not to cry from the intense bursts of pain. The gods obviously didn’t hear you. Or they just didn’t care.
Silently, you hear the bathroom door open and very quiet footsteps exit. You call for him, drying your hands on your cotton shorts.
“There’s food in the fridge, please eat something,” you instruct when he appears half a minute later, wearing only sweatpants. Even in your weakened state, you definitely take notice of his very muscular and thick physique; how the prominent veins span across his arms and hands. But most importantly, you see the way a large bruise is forming over his right side, just over his ribs.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask quietly.
Luckily, he doesn’t take offense and gives you a small nod. Well, you don’t think there’s anything you can really do to help him at the moment, so you return his nod. Then you leave the kitchen, making your way back to the bathroom—that still bears foggy traces of Jeongguk’s shower—just as another wave of nausea hits you. At least you hear the fridge open, which grants you some mental relief.
The cool tiles against your skin help a lot. It also helps that you’re almost too tired to be nauseous. But it hurts. It hurts so much, and you can’t say that you wouldn’t rather be a man at that moment.
Some time passes. You’re not sure how long. It could be fifteen minutes or it could be an hour, but when you open your eyes, he’s standing there, looking worriedly at you where you're lying on your side, sweaty, tired, and tortured.
“Are you sick?” he asks quietly. “Maybe you should go to the hospital.”
“I’m not sick,” you explain, barely lifting your gaze.
“Then what is wrong with you?”
“You know biology? Women’s anatomy?”
He nods, seemingly realizing.
“Yeah. I have… endometriosis. It’s a condition that makes all of that worse, basically. A whole lot of uterine cells outside the uterus. But it’s usually not very dangerous. If I go to the hospital, they’ll send me home with the same kind of painkillers I already have.”
Not looking convinced, Jeongguk’s eyes flit over your body. If you weren’t so tired and in pain, you’d find it sweet how truly worried and unsure he looks.
“I’ll be fine,” you say, closing your eyes again.
For the remainder of the night, you slip in and out of consciousness there on the bathroom floor, always feeling a lingering presence.
The next few days are easier. The pain and nausea turn more manageable, and your heart warms at how the hybrid also seems more… manageable. Even though you’re doing better, he’s still eating without arguing. Sure, not nearly as much as someone his size and physique should, but it’s something. In turn, you’ve gone back to only talking sweetly to him, no more pretending to threaten him.
And just like that, Jeongguk has been with you for a week.
But when your phone rings one afternoon, it’s Taehyung, asking when he can come pick Jeongguk up.
“Would you sell him to me?” you blurt, realizing that you can’t let them take him back.
“What?”
“I was wondering if you’d sell him to me?” you repeat.
Taehyung still sounds just as confused. “Why?”
You guess you haven’t given off a very interested impression so far.
“Yeah. I actually really like him, and I’ve been thinking about getting a hybrid of my own.”
“Oh. Well, he’s not for sale. At least not for less than 15 000 dollars.”
You blink in shock. That’s not an amount of money you happen to have lying around.
“Oh,” you say, unable to hide your disappointment.
“Yeah, he’s not really one of those pet hybrids. He’s a highly regarded fighter. Brings us extra cash every week.”
“Fighter? I didn’t know that was…. well, legal?”
“It is. Some people just frown upon it, but he’s a kangaroo hybrid; he was bred to fight.”
“Well… I, uh, I’ll see how much I can come up with.”
“Sure. I’ll see you later tonight then.”
“Yeah. Bye.”
Your heart breaks as you end the call because you know for a fact that you don’t have that kind of money. No matter how much you want to remove Jeongguk from his home situation, what can you do? You can’t refuse to return him; Taehyung and his father legally own him, and if you tried to skip town with him, they’d easily track you down due to the GPS tracker in his chip.
When you turn around, shoulders slumping, you spot Jeongguk.
“You want to own me?” he asks, his softer side vanished in favor of his cold, bordering on emotionless one.
“No,” you start, surprised by his conclusion and the distaste for it. “I don’t want to own you. I want to help you and get you away from them, and since you technically don’t have a lot of rights, yeah, I’d have to buy you. But I think that it would be the lesser of two evils.”
“What about what I want then?”
His follow-up question surprises you even more. Of course, you understand that you don’t know each other very well, but… is he implying that he wants to go back? To a place where it seems a luxury to be allowed on the couch? Where you’re convinced he’s made to feel like a burden? Where he’s forced to fight?
You can’t say you have an answer to his question, and so Jeongguk watches you for a few seconds, but when there is no response, he leaves the room.
Just before Taehyung is supposed to arrive to take Jeongguk to his “activity” himself, you approach Jeongguk in the guest room as he’s finishing up packing his stuff.
“Here.”
He looks at your open hand and the key in it and then he looks at you, his dark eyes emotionless.
“No,” is his answer, and after relaying it, he continues to place the last of his stuff inside his duffel bag. He makes the bed, picking up the hot water bottle, and you don't miss the very slight trace of longing in his eyes as he holds it.
“Take it with you,” you offer.
He puts it down on the bed. “Can’t.”
“Why not? I have more.”
“They’ll think I stole it from you,” he argues, and it hurts your heart to hear that they would immediately jump to such conclusions, not believing him.
“I’ll tell Taehyung I gave you some things.”
“You’ll offend them by implying they don’t take care of me.”
“Well, they don’t?” you’re quick to retort. “I’ll say I was going to get rid of it anyway.”
He peers over at it, and you can easily tell that he wants it. “...No.”
He redirects his focus to his bag, continuing his packing.
“At least take this,” you hold the key out again.
“Why? I’m not coming back here?”
“I know. But… I want you to have it. Just in case. And I want you to know that you’re always welcome here. Always. If you want to come here, for any reason, you can.”
He doesn’t take it but doesn’t say anything either, so you reach for his bag, dropping the key into one of its smaller inner pockets and pulling the zipper shut. “Don’t tell them I gave it to you. If they find it, say you didn’t know about it and have them call me to ask about it. I’ll say I sneaked it in there when you weren’t looking or something.”
Almost expecting him to pull the key out and throw it at you, you’re surprised yet definitely relieved when he doesn’t, only looking at you and biting his lip somberly.
When you first met the hybrid, you had no idea it would be so hard to watch him leave. Still, he walks out that door with Taehyung, and your heart aches, knowing that he’s not well cared for and that there’s nothing you can do about it. As far as you know, at least.
It frustrates you because you don’t actually think Jeongguk is hard to care for. Give him a room with a comfortable bed in it, some appropriate clothes, and enough food, and you’d bet he’s good. Maybe entertainment of some kind as well, and a chance to socialize with other hybrids, and he probably wouldn’t complain about a single thing. If you’re going to strip someone of their rights like hybrids have been, you can at least make sure they have everything they need.
Unsurprisingly, you don’t hear anything from Jeongguk—or Taehyung, rather—in the coming months. You wonder about him, if he’s doing alright, and on multiple occasions, you spend entire nights googling hybrid fighting rings. To your disappointment, there are too many to count. Then, one night you find it. A ring that advertises its fighters, one of them familiar looking.
Jeongguk’s name is there, so is his height and weight, and how many wins versus losses he’s accumulated. And you understand why Taehyung wasn’t very eager to sell him to you.
As you scroll the site, you see other kinds of hybrids as well, a lot of which you had no idea even existed. There are not many derived from house pets; no house cat hybrids, but there are a few big dog hybrids as well as a wolf one, two cougars, a bear, and even a few hyenas.
For a while, you debate going to a fight, but then again, what would you even do there? Unfortunately, you can’t just try to locate Jeongguk and grab him since he belongs to the Kims and what they’re doing is supposedly entirely legal. If you were to try anyway, they’d just take him back and probably have you arrested. So you stay home, holding onto the fact that, even if it isn’t much, he at least has a key to your apartment in case he needs it.
Tapping your foot, you wait for the red light to turn green and the driver to accelerate. In your pocket, your phone buzzes, and when you pull it out, there’s a text lit up and waiting for you.
'Had a great time tonight'
You ponder over a reply, before settling for a simple ‘me too’ and hitting send. It was an alright date with an alright dude; you’re just not sure he’s the one for you. Still, you decide to give him one more date to be sure. At least the food was great.
At eleven p.m., the car pulls over outside your apartment complex and with a ‘thanks,’ you step out and close the door behind you. Despite the relatively early hour, you yawn as you twist the key in the lock, opening the door to your dark apartment. Swiftly, you flick the light switch on and start to remove your fall jacket before something catches your eye, and you freeze.
On the little stool you keep in the hallway, there’s a key. One that wasn’t there when you left, and one you’re pretty sure you actually gave away half a year ago.
Carefully, you step further into the apartment, not sure what you’ll find in the dark. What your eyes do fall upon however, is something curled up on the couch.
Your eyes adjust to the darkness slowly, allowing you to discern more. It’s Jeongguk, sleeping on your couch. He’s curled up as much as possible, probably to conserve heat. The weather outside isn’t too cold for late September, but it’s certainly cold if all you’re wearing is jeans and a t-shirt. He’s not even wearing shoes, seemingly intentionally keeping his dirty feet hanging over the edge.
Your heavy heart hurts, and you guess that he’s been kicked out for some reason. From what you gathered when he stayed with you, it’s happened before.
Deciding not to wake him, you pull a blanket off the couch and very, very carefully drape it over his freezing body. Then you exit the living room, leaving the lights there off, and head to the kitchen.
Suspecting that he’s probably hungry, you look through your fridge and freezer in search of something to make him, settling on toasting a couple slices of bread and scrambling some eggs for him. As you do, the kitchen fills with the smell, and you hum to yourself. Despite feeling terrible that he’s obviously still not being treated properly, you’re happy to see him and to get the chance to take care of him for however long he’ll stay.
When you return with the food on a tray, Jeongguk is already awake and sitting up, the blanket wrapped around him. He looks tired and a little less… well, a little less than when you last saw him. It’s no wonder he loses weight when he either doesn’t eat as much as he’s supposed to, or just not being fed what he’s supposed to.
“Hi,” you greet quietly as you place the tray down on the coffee table. Besides a glass of water and a big plate with food for him, it also contains an apple and some water for you. Sure, you just ate at the restaurant, but you figure he’ll be more comfortable eating if you are too.
But he pulls away, diverting his eyes from you and the food as if he’s ashamed. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”
He goes to stand, but you stop him. “No, no, stay, please. I told you; you’re always welcome here.”
Unsure, he licks his lips but settles back down and pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders again.
“I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about it?” you say, trying not to place any value in your assumption. “If you do, I’m all ears, but otherwise… don’t sweat it. The guest room is yours, and you’re free to stay as long as you’d like.”
Jeongguk looks almost relieved, and in turn, it brings your own heart relief. You spend a few minutes preparing some clean clothes for him; a set of lounge wear that originally belonged to your dad, and after he’s eaten and is taking a shower, you prepare the bed for him as well. He doesn’t say much, and you don’t pressure him.
The next day, he’s already awake when you step out of your bedroom to pee. Sitting on the couch, still wearing the outfit you gave him last night, but doing absolutely nothing, he looks at you when you approach.
“I don’t…” he starts, but stops to clear his throat in uncertainty, “I don’t know if I should stay or try to go back.”
“Well, what do you want to do?” you ask, patting your unbrushed hair down and hoping that he’ll decide to stay at least a little while.
“I want to stay, but…”
“Then stay. Keep me company for a while.”
You think you see a hint of a smile forming on his lips.
He does end up staying, at least another night, and you ask him to watch a movie with you, something he agrees to. You let him scroll your streaming services until he settles on Jurassic Park, and you run to the corner store, getting some chips and soda.
“So, how long do you think you’ll stay?” you ask, trying to sound casual and without looking at him directly. “I don’t mind having you here; in fact, it’s more than okay, and I like having you around. I’m just wondering.”
Despite your precaution, you see how his mood turns sour. First angry, then mixed with sadness.
“I don’t know. I didn’t do well at my last fight, and I talked back. Taehyung told me to leave and not come back until I was ready to show some respect. They usually track me down by my chip after a few days and come and get me, wherever I am. So I don’t know.”
“They just leave you to fend for yourself?” you ask, truly shocked.
Jeongguk scoffs. “I’m very capable of surviving on my own. I’m not a child.”
“I know, it’s not… I didn’t mean it like that. Just that they’re making it unreasonably difficult for you. I mean, you didn’t even have shoes on. If you walked here, it probably took you like, half a day? I don’t know how well I would’ve done if I was left alone outside without money or my phone or even appropriate clothes.”
He keeps his eyes on the screen, and you decide to try something he might not like.
“Maybe tomorrow we can go pick out some clothes for you?” you watch his reaction tentatively, placing another chip in your mouth.
He doesn’t tear his eyes away from the TV, but you can see the internal struggle going on inside him. He doesn’t want you to spend money on him, but he doesn’t want to walk around in dirty clothes in case you think he’s stinking up your home.
“Okay,” he mumbles finally, making you smile.
“Okay. We’ll get you some shoes as well.”
“I, uhm, don’t have my collar, though,” he informs.
You pause. Even when Jeongguk stayed with you for a week, you never went outside with him, and so you’d completely forgotten that hybrids need to wear collars when out in public.
“What are the criteria for a collar? Does it only need to contain owner contact information?”
“Yeah. There are a lot of models, but that’s the minimum criteria.”
You contemplate for a second before rising from the couch to look for something in your bedroom. Collecting a few items—one from an old sewing kit—you make your way back, placing them on the coffee table. Jeongguk peers over at the stuff, watching as you place a piece of yellow tape on the inside of a black silk band of about an inch in width. With the ink pen you brought, you write your own name and phone number in small letters and numbers and then blow on the text to dry it.
Curiously but a little carefully, he looks at you when you lift the band toward him. “I don’t know what yours is like, but would this be okay?”
“Uhm… mine is a lot harder.”
“What, like a prong collar?” you joke, realizing quickly that you shouldn’t have.
He nods, “Yeah.”
“I..” you start, unsure of what to say, “I don’t think you need a collar at all, actually, so this would be enough only to comply with the laws. I know I’m not technically your owner but if we were to be separated, I’d rather have someone call me than them.”
Slowly, he moves closer and lets you tie the band loosely around his neck, the information hidden on the inside.
“It doesn’t need to be tighter than this, right?” you ask, inspecting the band that rests at the very bottom of his neck, more like a regular short-chained necklace than a choker.
Jeongguk lifts his hand to judge the tightness. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay. Does this feel alright then?”
You let your eyes travel over him, and sure, it looks a bit like an odd accessory, but the main goal is to make it comfortable and hopefully also remove the humiliation of wearing an obvious collar.
Jeongguk nods again, and you see that almost familiar trace of a smile, something that makes your heart beat with happiness.
“Good. We don’t need a leash, so just try to stay close to me, and I’ll try to stay close to you.”
You let a few moments of silence pass, watching Jeongguk out of the corner of your eye as he unties the band to place it carefully on the table again.
The day after, you knock on your neighbors’ door after you’ve returned from work, asking to borrow some shoes and an appropriate jacket for Jeongguk to wear as you go shopping. The hybrid doesn’t look too excited when you return with the goods, but he doesn’t complain, and you think he just tries to accept it even if he doesn’t really want it. Not your favors and not your kindness.
With you both dressed appropriately for the fall weather, you get inside your old car. The short journey toward the closest mall with a good supply of hybrid clothes is spent in silence, Jeongguk sitting in the passenger seat and looking out through the window.
Just as quietly, he follows you from the car and into the big building, keeping close just like you asked him to. Looking through the shopping list you wrote in your phone’s notes app, you decide to start with the clothes.
Always a step or two behind you, Jeongguk remains quiet as you head toward a specific store, one that’s bigger than any other hybrid-targeted stores you’ve seen but still only a fraction of the stores for humans. There are a few people inside, both with and without accompanying hybrids.
“Go and look. I’ll keep up,” you encourage him softly when you enter the store, calm music playing from the speakers.
Clearly uncomfortable, he looks down at you with hesitancy in his dark eyes. “Are you sure you want to spend money on me?”
“Yes,” you say determinedly. “Please, let me?”
He considers for a few seconds before giving a small nod. “Okay.”
He looks around, seemingly unsure where to start before he takes tentative steps toward a section with shirts. It's clear how he gravitates toward the cheaper options on the racks. You find it sweet—and you’re relieved he’s not looking at the most expensive garments—but it’s also incredibly sad to you. You realize no one’s probably ever really spent money on him, even though you’ve come to understand that the Kims aren’t exactly struggling. Quite the opposite, actually, and from your recent research, it's definitely partially thanks to Jeongguk.
Staying close without hovering, you watch as he picks out a few things: two t-shirts, a pair of shorts, and two pairs of sweatpants. They’re all black or white and simple in design—not that you expected him to go for pink and sparkles or anything. You also suggest he pick out some underwear, socks, and two pairs of shoes—one to keep at yours and the other to bring with him if he wants since he didn’t have any on when he arrived.
“You wanna try them on?” you nod toward the garments in his arms.
“Uh… Okay.”
You look around the store, scanning. “I think the fitting rooms… there they are.”
He follows your line of sight, and you head toward a small cluster of fitting rooms tucked into the back corner of the store. You wait outside while he steps into one of the small rooms, pulling the beige curtain closed behind him. There’s a soft rustle of fabric as he changes.
“They fit?” you ask a few minutes later as he pulls the curtain open.
“Yeah.” He pauses, looking down at the black and white shirts and sweatpants in his arms. “I’m not sure what color, though? What do you think?”
“We’ll take both, don’t worry about it,” you smile reassuringly. “Let’s pay and then get them tailored.”
He follows you to the checkout, where a friendly woman rings you up, and then you head into a smaller section of the store. There, another woman sits behind a table, an industrial sewing machine in front of her. She’s engrossed in a book, a yellow tape measure draped casually around her neck.
“Hello?” you call out.
She looks up, immediately setting the book down with a warm smile. “Oh, hello. What can I do for you?”
“We’d like to get these tailored, please,” you say, placing the sweatpants, shorts, and even the underwear on the table.
The woman glances at the pile, then shifts her gaze to Jeongguk, who lingers a couple of steps behind you.
“Is he alright with me measuring him?” she asks, her tone considerate.
You turn to Jeongguk, waiting for his reply. He meets the seamstress’ eyes briefly before nodding. “Yeah.”
“Good. Come here, please?” she says, gesturing him forward.
Jeongguk listens and steps up, removing his jacket again and standing still as the woman carefully wraps the tape measure around the base of his tail. She notes the number on a piece of paper before measuring the distance from the top of his tail to his waist, jotting that down too.
Although he’s cooperative, you notice the subtle furrow in his brows. He doesn’t seem particularly fond of having his tail touched. Or maybe he just doesn’t like having anyone’s hands on him in general. You’ve definitely been on the receiving end of that dislike.
With the measurements taken, she thanks him and begins working on the pants. The rhythmic hum of the sewing machine fills the small space, and Jeongguk steps away, glancing around the store. He doesn’t wander far from you, still keeping his promise. Meanwhile, you look through your phone again, trying to see if there’s anything you’ve missed on your quest to put together a little kit of necessities for him.
Besides clothes to have at your place, you’ll try convincing him to let you buy him a phone. At least a cheap one so that he can call you if he needs to—or just wants to—and some cash so that he can take a cab to your place if he needs to. If he finds anyone willing to drive an unaccompanied hybrid, that is. Maybe you’ll laminate a card with your info on it so that he can give it to someone if he’s ever in trouble and you can help from a distance, maybe convince people he’s nice and just needs help home. Or maybe that's a bit overboard?
“Finished!”
The seamstress’ voice pulls you from your thoughts only a few minutes later. You look up, locking your phone and sliding it into your pocket as she folds the clothes neatly. She slides the pile toward you, a satisfied smile on her face.
“Do you want to try them on?” she asks. “So I can alter them if needed.”
Jeongguk approaches, looks at you, and nods. He takes the pants from the table, and with you in tow, heads back to the fitting rooms. As he closes the curtain again, you lean against the nearby wall, waiting patiently as he tries them on again.
“Good?” you ask after a few moments when he’s taking a little extra time.
“Yeah,” he replies, emerging a second later with a hint of something you think resembles satisfaction.
“Awesome. I think we’re done here then?” you ask, already giving the seamstress a thumbs-up. She smiles warmly, her fingers lifting in a small wave as you both head towards the exit.
“Now… I’m getting you a phone,” you announce as you step out of the store, already steering toward another shop a few stores down.
“What? Why?” he asks, but you’re not met with the strong dislike you would have a few months ago.
“I want you to have a way to contact me if anything happens,” you explain, hoping that he accepts what very well could be too much for him.
At the entrance to the tech store, he seems to weigh his options before nodding shortly, and so you step inside. It’s definitely a surprise—and a relief—that he doesn’t argue.
His quiet acceptance also fills you with relief that maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to realize that he has a safe place with you and that something like a phone would help him. But you’re also heartbroken, imagining what it must’ve taken for such a strong-headed person like him to accept help he probably didn’t want in the first place.
You walk him through the aisles of displayed devices, each phone looking more expensive under the strong lights. Jeongguk’s eyes dart from screen to screen, a bit overwhelmed by the sheer number of options. You can tell he’s unsure, but he’s also doing his best to let you do what you for some reason want to do so badly.
“What about this one?” you ask, picking up one of the older models; something practical but not too expensive. Jeongguk peers at it, his black ears lowering further.
“Isn’t that too much?” he mutters, glancing at you like he’s waiting for you to reconsider. Maybe even hoping. But you shake your head.
“It’s not,” you assure him. “It’s not the flashiest, so it’s still pretty cheap. But you’ll be able to call me.”
You smile, trying to keep things light as you head toward the counter. The employee observes Jeongguk for just a little too long, and you’re reminded of how rare he is. Not only are hybrids as big as him not something you see every day, but you’d never even heard of kangaroo hybrids before you met him.
As you finish up at the counter, you catch Jeongguk sneaking curious glances at the people passing by. There’s another hybrid, a smaller woman, talking to her human. Her long, full tail swishes calmly behind her, and although you can’t see any ears due to her hat, you assume she’s a cat hybrid.
Like most hybrids you’ve seen, she looks… satisfied with her situation. You can’t tell if she’s happy being owned by someone, but you can’t sense any discomfort or anger from her either, at least not in the moment and from your distance. You guess Jeongguk doesn’t see a lot of… normal hybrids, only whatever angry, possibly traumatized hybrid he fights in the ring.
“Ready?” you ask, gesturing toward the door.
He nods, his attention snapping back, and he follows you out of the store. There's a comfortable silence between you as you head home.
“Figuring it out?” your voice is light as you move into the living room.
“Yeah, kinda,” Jeongguk mumbles, not looking up from where he’s sitting on the couch, his new phone held carefully in his hands.
You hold your hand out, sitting down next to him. “Here, let me put my number in.”
Without objection, he hands you the phone, and you tap the screen to create a new contact, adding your name, number, and even address. Then you pause, thinking. Who else could he need to call?
“Okay, I’m putting in Taehyung’s number, just in case you ever need it, but remember that he’ll know of your phone if you do use it to contact him. And maybe… Yoongi’s number, if you can’t reach me. And also the authorities.”
You pull up the contacts in your own phone to copy the numbers into the new one. “You know how it works?”
“Uhm, yeah. Type number or press contact to call. Or you can text, right?”
“Yeah. Just press this icon, and you’ll be able to text. Keep the volume and vibration off, and check it now and again, maybe. Also remember to keep it charged in case you need to leave quickly.”
Jeongguk nods.
“Good,” you press your contact in the list, waiting a second until you hear the ringtone of your own phone. “It works. I’ll pay the bill for it, and you can use it as much as you want and need.”
He accepts it back, his eyes stuck on the device for a short moment. “Thank you.”
You smile even though he’s not looking at you. “You’re welcome,” you say softly. “Call me anytime. Or text.”
He nods, and you get the feeling that you've made meaningful progress today.
“Why are you so nice to me?” he asks suddenly, his voice blunt but with an edge of vulnerability that catches you off guard.
You take a moment to choose what to say, deciding to just get straight to the point. “Because I want to. You deserve to be treated with respect, just like anyone else.”
You don’t say that you wish someone had been there to show him this kindness—that's not even really anything special—a long time ago. You don’t say how badly you want him to see how much he deserves it.
He looks away, and you let the silence settle around you both again. But then you glance at your phone. More specifically, the time.
“Are you hungry?”
“No.”
Right on cue, his stomach lets out a low, unmistakable growl. You stand up, turning to him with an amused smile.
“Liar,” you say, chuckling. “Also, I’m probably a lot hungrier than that. Do you wanna help me cook?”
“Uh… I don’t know how to?”
“I’ll show you,” you promise, heading toward the kitchen. When you glance over your shoulder, you catch him following you, hesitant but seemingly at least a little curious.
You open the fridge to grab a few ingredients—some eggs, a couple of vegetables, and leftover rice.
“We’ll make… fried rice, if that's okay with you?” you ask, setting everything down on the counter.
"Sure. But I've never…"
Jeongguk hovers nearby, arms hanging loosely at his sides, as though unsure what to do. You grab a knife and a cutting board, holding them out to him. “It's alright. You can chop. I’ll show you how.”
With a few careful instructions, you guide him through slicing the vegetables. His movements are a little stiff at first, but he follows your directions closely, and soon, he’s chopping with a quiet focus.
Meanwhile, you take out a pan and heat some oil. When he's done, Jeongguk brings the vegetables over, watching intrigued as you drop them into the pan.
"Rice?" he suggests when you've stirred a few times and start looking around.
"Yeah."
Without a word, he brings the bowl of rice, and you gesture for him to dump it in. He does, and then takes the spatula when you offer it to him.
His ears twitch slightly as he concentrates on mimicking your motions, stirring the mixture carefully. You watch him for a moment, noticing how the lines of tension in his shoulders seem to soften as he works.
"See? It's very simple. The hardest part is probably the eggs," you say as you approach the carton, picking out a few eggs. "Would you like to crack them? You can do it in a glass first if you're worried about getting shell in the pan."
"Okay."
With a smile, you grab a glass from the cupboard, carefully showing him how you crack the egg against the edge. When it's his turn, he uses too much force, and there's a shard of white egg shell that follows into the glass. He looks at you, unsure, but all you do is hand him a tea spoon and encourage him to fish it out. It takes him a minute, but when he's done, you let him pour the eggs in.
The kitchen is warm, the only sounds being the hiss of the pan and the clink of utensils and plates as you bring them out. It feels peaceful, like you’ve actually found a rhythm together and don't need any words.
That night, you wake to a faint glow seeping under your bedroom door. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you slip out of bed, padding toward the living room. There, you find Jeongguk sitting on the couch, his gaze fixed on the TV. The soft, shifting light casts shadows across his face, revealing the faint traces of exhaustion in his eyes.
“Can’t sleep?” you ask quietly, sitting down beside him.
He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the screen.
“You know,” you start, a smile already growing on your lips. “I read something interesting about kangaroos the other day.”
Jeongguk turns slightly, his brows drawing together in mild curiosity. “Why are you reading about kangaroos?”
“Because I have a partial one living with me? Did you know that joeys like to be swaddled? They’ll practically jump into any dark sack if it’s offered.”
“Are you… suggesting you put me in a dark sack?”
“Maybe,” you grin.
Before he can object, you disappear down the hallway, returning with a spare duvet cover. You hold it up, tying two of the ends together to make it smaller and hopefully, a cozy, enclosed space. “Try this.”
“No,” he says, but the difference is how he says it. His eyes aren’t brimming with anger anymore, they’re almost a little amused instead.
The next morning, you walk past Jeongguk's door, noticing that it’s slightly ajar. It’s pretty dark inside his room, but you’re still able to discern the shape of a… ball through the crack? Upon closer inspection, you see that, yeah, Jeongguk is bundled up in the makeshift "sack," peacefully asleep with only his large, black ears and a corner of the fuzzy blanket peeking out. The sight tugs at your heart, and you continue into the kitchen to make breakfast.
Half an hour later—while you’re getting ready for work—your phone rings. Your stomach drops as you spot the name displayed on the screen.
Taehyung.
Of course, you knew it was just a matter of time, and you take a deep breath as you answer the call, expecting the worst.
“Hello?”
“Hey, so, Jeongguk… Why is his tracker showing he's at your place?” he asks, his tone cold.
You swallow, feeling a cold shiver run down your spine at his bluntness. “Yeah, I told him to come here if he got kicked out. It’s inhumane, Taehyung.”
“I’m picking him up.”
A tense silence follows, and without another word, he hangs up. You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment to collect yourself.
It takes you two minutes to let your boss know that you’re feeling ill and won’t be coming in, something that’s honestly not even that much of a lie. Knowing that Taehyung can and probably will stop by today makes you feel something you can only describe as nausea, and you wouldn’t get anything done at work anyway.
Realizing that you’ll have to break the news to him, you knock gently on Jeongguk's door. When there’s no response, you open it slowly, finding him still curled up inside the duvet cover. You walk over quietly, sitting at the edge of the bed.
“So, it worked?” you ask, your voice light but warm. It's easy to push the thoughts of Taehyung away, at least temporarily, when the kangaroo hybrid is so endearing. It's almost unbelievable that the huge guy even fit inside the sack.
He stirs slightly, still entirely hidden from view with the exception of his black ears and a little bit of black hair.
"Maybe," he mumbles, and you chuckle, reaching over to fluff a pillow nearby. As you do, your bracelet slips from your wrist, brushing lightly against his ear.
“Sorry,” you murmur, carefully picking it up. “I know you don’t like to be touched.”
“Yeah… I don’t like being hurt,” he explains from inside the sheets.
The simplicity of his statement twists something in you. “Is there… anything you do like?” you ask, “when it comes to touch? A scratch behind the ear or something? I read that that's usually enjoyed by most hybrids.”
For a moment, he’s silent. “I don’t know. Isn’t the point that it’s not enjoyable?”
“No,” you shake your head even if he can’t see it, your heart heavy. “Of course, it’s not.”
The quiet lingers, and then, carefully, you offer, “I can try… if you’ll let me?” You keep your tone light, respectful.
To your surprise, he hesitates only briefly before agreeing quietly. “Okay.”
You lean in slowly, hand moving very carefully to his ear, tracing the curve with the lightest touch. His fur is softer than you expected, and as you run your fingers over it very, very gently, you feel him… relax. He even lets out a deep breath. Encouraged, you scratch lightly at the base, heart warmed by the subtle way he almost moves into the touch.
For maybe five minutes, you keep your hand on him; tracing, scratching, and gently massaging his ears, enjoying his slow, relaxed breaths and body language. Then you sigh, deciding to just rip the bandaid off.
“Taehyung called.”
Even though Jeongguk doesn’t move or speak, you feel the mood change as you explain. “He didn’t sound too pleased.”
“He’s probably on his way,” Jeongguk mutters.
Watching as he sheds the cozy "sack," your heart hurts, and you wish this small moment could last longer. He sits up—looking very warm and sweet, yet disappointed—and glances at you.
“Yeah. You should probably consider what you want to bring. Feel free to leave some things here too. In case you need them another time.”
What can you do?
Only an hour later, there’s a firm knock on your door. You and Jeongguk have been sitting together, side by side on the couch, just waiting for the inevitable. His phone, its charger, and your key already lie hidden in the deep pockets of his jacket, and he's not bringing anything else but the clothes on his body.
You look at Jeongguk, trying to stay calm and positive even if you’re anxious and worried. You hope your earlier—quite bold—words to Taehyung won’t make things harder for Jeongguk. The last thing you want is to give Taehyung any reason to retaliate.
Standing up, you head to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it.
As expected, it’s Taehyung who stands there. His face is cold, letting you know that he doesn’t care to put on the charming mask he wore when you first met him. He’s not scared of you knowing what kind of person he really is. His eyes scan the room behind you, immediately finding Jeongguk.
“Put your shoes on,” he instructs stoically.
Jeongguk steps forward to do as told, putting the shoes you got him on.
“I can pay you five thousand now,” you offer, the slight panic you feel definitely heard in your voice. You’ve thought through every angle, already decided that selling your car and emptying your savings is a fair trade if it means being able to give Jeongguk a better life. “And I can make monthly payments—eight hundred dollars a month until it’s all paid off.”
Taehyung’s expression doesn’t change. “No.”
“Please, Taehyung,” you plead, your voice softening.
“I said no,” Taehyung repeats, more firmly this time. He nods towards Jeongguk, gesturing for him to follow, and so, Jeongguk steps past you, his face blank and eyes focused straight ahead. He doesn’t look back, not even once.
The door clicks shut behind them, leaving you in silence so thick it feels almost suffocating.
That same night, you find yourself restlessly moving through the apartment, looking through old boxes and drawers to see what you might own that’s just collecting dust. You know it’s a long shot, but you’re determined. If there’s even the slightest chance that you’ll be allowed to buy Jeongguk’s freedom, you’ll have the money.
Among the more valuable items is a camera, a Christmas present from your dad from a few years back. It would hurt to part with it, but you remind yourself that it’s just an object, a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things. As you research its current value, you send Jeongguk a text. You know that maybe you shouldn’t in case Taehyung finds the phone, but you can’t help it.
‘You okay?’
You wait for a response, staring at the screen until your eyes feel dry, but nothing comes. So you close your phone, thinking that he probably keeps his turned off. After all, it’s for him to contact you in case he needs it, not the other way around.
In the weeks that follow, you throw yourself into selling as many things as you can. Every sale feels like a step closer, each dollar a piece of hope you cling to. You sell old electronics, clothes you rarely wear, even some furniture, managing to collect about twelve hundred dollars over the next few weeks. Most of it are things you probably should’ve parted with years ago, but like your camera, some things still sting a little.
You also trim down your expenses, cancel subscriptions you can live without, cut back on groceries you shouldn’t buy anyway, and really think about each new purchase. Your car, though old, is appraised at about three thousand dollars, and you know that selling it would bring you closer to your goal. But you hesitate, knowing it’s a last resort. You’d definitely rather keep it, so you don’t sell it just yet, not unless you absolutely have to.
One morning, you wake to a new notification on your phone.
‘I’m okay.’
Another month or so passes with no other communication, but then, on a Saturday evening just past six, there’s a knock on your apartment door. The sound startles you, and you glance at the clock before setting your laptop aside. Wrapped in a fuzzy blanket on the couch, you definitely weren’t expecting anyone. Rising, you make your way to the door, opening it with curiosity.
Dark eyes meet yours. Jeongguk.
“Hi,” you greet softly, your voice tinged with surprise. You look him over quickly. He looks… okay. Tired, but okay, dressed in a jacket that’s thankfully appropriate for the chill of early November. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and you notice that he doesn’t seem to have a bag of any kind with him.
“Hi,” he replies, his voice quiet, almost unsure. There’s something in his expression that makes you pause, something that doesn’t quite fit the relief you feel at seeing him.
Figuring that something must have happened, and he needs a place to stay, you step back and gesture for him to come inside. He hesitates for a second before stepping over the threshold.
You shut the door behind him, but it confuses you when he doesn’t make any effort to take off his shoes or remove his jacket.
“You okay?” you ask carefully, your voice gentle but laced with concern.
“Yeah, I just came to…” He trails off, searching for something in the pockets of his jacket, “... return these.”
You look at what he’s holding out to you in his big hand. It’s the key and the phone. You meet his eyes, confusion and worry rising quickly.
“What? Why?”
Jeongguk doesn’t answer right away, instead looking a little unsure of how to tell you whatever he’s about to say.
“I won’t be back.”
“Wait, what?” you breathe, stepping closer to him. “Did Taehyung make you do this? Did he find the phone?”
He shakes his head, his expression unreadable. “No. But I won’t be back, so I wanted to return them.”
“But how do you know that you won’t be back? Did he tell you you can’t come here?” The questions spill out in rapid succession, your voice growing increasingly worried.
“No. I…” He falters, looking around before deciding to bend down and gently put the phone and key on the floor when you’re not taking them from him. Straightening up, he licks his lips, seemingly weighing something in his mind before he finally speaks again. “Do you know about the Ultra Games?”
You blink, the term vaguely familiar. “Uh…yeah, isn’t that…”
You rack your brain, searching your memory. You vaguely remember coming across the term—as well as many other championship and competition titles—during your research months ago.
He watches you as you remember what you read about it, your stomach dropping painfully when you do.
“...When hybrids fight to the death?”
Jeongguk’s sad look is the only confirmation you need. He thinks he’ll be dead and that it’s why he’s not coming back.
“Then why won’t he just sell you to me?” you demand, heartbroken desperation bubbling to the surface.
“The prize money is too tempting. This year, it’s a hundred thousand.”
“Then you’ll win,” you say, not even sparing the other hybrids a thought, too upset at the thought of Jeongguk being killed. “I know you can do it. One last time and then maybe Taehyung will let me have you, and you can live here with me.”
“I can’t… kill someone,” he explains slowly and quietly, his head slightly tilted.
The weight of his words settles over you like a heavy blanket. You feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as realization dawns.
“You’re… forfeiting?” you conclude in a whisper.
Jeongguk doesn’t respond, but his silence speaks volumes.
But then, a spark of hope ignites. “Wait. Does Taehyung know that? Won’t he sell you to me if he knows you’ll lose on purpose? There won’t be any money either way if you do?”
“He thinks I’ll fight for my survival when the time comes,” Jeongguk says, his tone soft but certain. “Says it’s impossible not to.”
The spark dies, and the room feels like it’s closing in on you. Your gaze is stuck somewhere in the air between you as you think.
Jeongguk’s eyes shift to the door, like he’s trying to distance himself from the conversation.
“I’m not winning as much anymore,” he admits. “I broke my tail a few months ago, and without it—without it working properly, and being painful—it puts me at a disadvantage. I can't keep up anymore. I cost too much to keep and feed, and if I’m not bringing in money, there’s no use for me.”
“We’ll leave the country,” you burst, taking a quick step forward and reaching for his warm hand. “We’ll leave tonight, okay?”
He gazes at you with understanding, letting you hold his hand, but the way he looks at you also tells you that he doesn’t see how it would work.
“There’s nothing you can do,” he says, his voice gentle but final. He nods toward the items on the floor. “I just came to return these.”
He’s already moving toward the door, and panic surges in your chest. “Jeongguk, wait!”
He pauses. “I can’t,” he says softly. “Jimin’s waiting, and I have a practice to get to.”
He glances at you one last time, his eyes meeting yours with a look that definitely means goodbye. Then he opens the door and steps out, leaving you standing there, tears welling in your eyes as the sound of the door clicking shut echoes in your lonely apartment.
<previous | next>
author's note: oop 🥹💔 i hope you liked it <3
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𓄲 Namjoon remains silent beside you for a moment and if it hadn't been for where you were still interlocked, you wouldn't even have known he was there. "That doesn't sound like such a bad thing," he says as his thumb brushes over your knuckles.
전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst (eventual) explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) oc!cassian/oc!rayne (jk's children)
⧽ word count ⋮ 9.8k
average reading time ⋮ 55 minutes
── [ ✉️ ] This chapter is, woah. There are so many parallels, like I don't think I've ever crammed this many of them into one chapter so I hope you ladies will have a fun time finding them and interpreting them for yourselves, I have so much to say on this chapter specifically. More on Rayne especially toward the end, you'll see why! Oh and — I'm rocking everyone's boat with this one. Feedback in the comments/reblogs and asks are much appreciated <3
series masterlist | last chapter | next part
chapter 27 — "Happy New Year"
You spend that entire evening hovering by your landline. Outside, the city bustles with life as cars roll up and down the streets, but inside your apartment it's quiet. Your back aches from being hunched over in the same position for hours but you don't move. Seven pm comes and goes, as do eight, nine and ten — all in the same, uneventful manner. At some point you doze off, slumped over the hard, wooden surface of your desk, with your head lolling against your arm as your eyes grow heavy.
The brief slumber is restless, filled with worries that you cannot fight off. You don't dream — if you did, you'd probably have nightmares.
It's the sound of the wind hurling against your window that jolts you awake a while later. Drool has dripped from the corner of your mouth, coating the back of your hand in a sheen, slick layer. With a grimace you straighten up and wipe the mess on your pants.
"Disgusting," you mutter under your breath when you remember why you had even ended up falling asleep in the first place. Your attention snaps toward your telephone but there was nothing — Jungkook hadn't called and you started to fear that he never would.
By midnight you drag yourself to bed, skipping the shower entirely and shoving the toothbrush around haphazardly in your mouth before calling it quits. The soft mattress provides relief for your sore muscles but it does nothing to soothe the thoughts inside your head.
You had been replaying the events of today as soon as you stepped through the front door. From your conversation with Jungkook in his study to the unexpected appearance of his ex-wife and his cold dismissal shortly after. The last thing you wanted was to push him further away and yet it seemed like everything you did was working you in that direction.
Sleep claims you twenty minutes later but it doesn't feel like resting. And when you open your eyes the next morning it's to a bright light that makes you immediately squint. Right. You'd forgotten to draw the curtains last night, even so, the sun didn't rise until eight — wait, what time was it?
Jolting upright in bed has the covers flying off your body and you turn toward the clock on your nightstand. Ten forty-five? Your feet hit the floor before your brain has time to catch up as you rush to the bathroom.
You've already brushed your teeth and pulled on a pair of jeans when you realize that there was no one waiting for you. Fingers hovering over the button, you exhale a deep breath. "How silly," you huff as you let your hands fall to your sides and slump back onto the edge of the mattress.
Though you know you shouldn't, you can't keep your thoughts from straying. How was Jungkook doing today? Rayne and Cassian? What were they up to? You wonder if they'd had breakfast yet — probably. Would he be taking them out to do something? Leave them at his parents' and head into work? What if Yelena showed up? Surely she knew their address, she could—
Your increasing worry is cut short by the shrilling sound of your landline going off in the living room and your back instantly straightens, like a solider at attention. Without stopping to consider who it might be, because your hopes were placed solely within one person, you burst through your bedroom door, skidding to a halt in front of the ringing telephone.
To your disappointment — and slight surprise — it is not Jungkook who's calling, but Namjoon. You had jotted his number down after you last conversation before Christmas not expecting much. To be honest you'd half forgotten about him, but could you really blame yourself? the last couple of days had been intense.
You pick up the handset and bring it to your ear as you try to compose yourself. "Hello?"
There's static for a moment, then his voice comes through on the transmitter. "Lovely lady, is that you?" You had thought the nickname to be some sort of joke the first couple of times he'd used it, but now you were starting to think otherwise — though you couldn't say you were complaining.
"You caught me," pulling your chair out, you plop down on it to get as comfortable as you could.
Namjoon makes an amused sound on the other end. "Am I calling at a bad time?" he then asks.
"No, not at all." Your response comes a little too fast and you hoped that your morning voice wasn't betraying you. Namjoon, for his part, appears to have been up and going for a good couple of hours by now. The ambience coming from wherever he might be, reminded you a lot of a busy office. If there was anything you had learned from Jungkook, it was that the corporate world never rested.
He hums, "That's a relief. I won't keep you long I can assure you." For some reason you wished he would, you could use the distraction. Namjoon picks up on your silence and quickly adds, "My boss is breathing down my neck about a deadline, time is sparse around the holidays."
You give a small 'Ah' in return, one of your fingers reaching up to coil around the phone cord. "Speaking of holidays," he then continues, "Say… And I know I'm cutting it close here, but you don't happen to be free for New Years?" You hear him shift in his seat, the sound of leather creaking echoes through the line. "My mother was wondering if you'd like to spend the evening with us, nothing big, just dinner and some wine. But I understand if you have plans already."
New Years? With Mabel and Namjoon? You'd been planning to ask Daehyun if there was any chance of you joining him and his buddies — though a quiet dinner did seem more like your crowd than barhopping anyway…
You twirl the cord around your finger as you pretend to mull over his request. "Well, I don't think I have anything planned…" Of course not, but he didn't have to know that. Glancing toward the empty calendar sitting on your desk only testifies your dull reality. But sounding desperate was the last thing you wanted. "I'm free."
Namjoon chuckles, his laughter warm against your ear even through the transmitter. "Awesome," he says, "I'll let my mother know then? She'll be overjoyed to see you again."
You nod before remembering that he couldn't actually see you. "Yes— I mean, do that," you blurt, clearing your throat into your fist awkwardly. He doesn't seem to pick up on it, thankfully. With your mind already racing you scribble down the address he gives you on a notepad.
"Alright," Namjoon's voice was the epitome of calm, though it held quiet anticipation. You could practically hear his smile, "I'll see you Friday then."
"Friday," you agree, fighting off a small grin of your own as you say your goodbyes and the call cuts. For the first time since arriving back from your parents' house you actually felt a spark of excitement — you were happy to spend time with Namjoon and his mother.
"This was a terrible idea! Why did I even agree?"
With your entire wardrobe in a heap on the floor, you stand in only your undergarments as you press the back of your hand to your forehead. Your search had been a long and desperate hour already and you hadn't found a single piece that was appropriate enough to wear to a dinner.
Most of your clothes were everyday-casual, jeans and simple knitted shirts or the occasional button up. And what little you owned that could be considered festive were all shamelessly cropped and or held insane cleavage — which wasn't something you were too eager on showing neither Namjoon nor Mabel.
"Sweetheart," Daehyun's unimpressed drawl catches your attention, "I think you're being dramatic." Very rich coming from him, you thought but held your tongue.
He was sprawled out on top of your bed, arms and legs laid out in a starfish position as his blonde hair splays over your pillow. You had begged him to come over that morning, in dire need of a second opinion because you could no longer trust your own. And Daehyun being the angel he was had showed up despite having plans at five. But as it turns out — he was of very little help.
"The mother wouldn't care if you showed up in rags," he says as he waves one hand dismissively. Then he suddenly pauses and tilts his face in your direction, one bright eye peeking out over your pillow. "Unless…" he sing-songs, "You're trying to impress a certain someone?"
Your face immediately heats up at the implication. "I most certainly am not!" Shaking your head, you begin a slow pace back and forth. Trying to look good for Namjoon? No, that wasn't it. But if those were the signals you were sending Daehyun — then what on earth would he be thinking?
This dinner suddenly seems like a horrible idea and you come to a halt mid-step. "Can't I just come with you and your friends?" you ask when turning to face Daehyun, still lounging on your bed, "I'll call and say I've got the flu or stomach bug or—"
"No way!"
Daehyun shoots up from the mattress with speed that didn't match his lazy posture only seconds ago. He's by your side in a second, hands on your elbows as he shakes his head fervently. "Sunshine, this is such an opportunity don't you see?" When your tense expression doesn't ease up he continues, "Come on, what kind of a man invites a practical stranger to spend New Years with him?"
You frown, "Uh… I don't know?"
He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "A man that wants to fuck you, of course."
Wrenching yourself from his grip, you send him a sharp glare. "Ew! Don't say that, his mother is going to be there too."
Daehyun rolls his eyes, "She's just a decoy, besides, if he gets mommy's approval then that's all the better, no?" The teasing lilt to his voice doesn't go you unnoticed and it has the ends of your brows meeting as you grimace.
"Namjoon does not want to fuck me." You wanted to argue that he wasn't the man to try and pull off something so undignified — hell, you barely knew the guy. Not to mention that he was approaching his mid-thirties, working a well-paying job that was sure to hand him women both left and right. There was no reason for him to set his eye on you.
Oh but Daehyun reads you like a book, an infuriating quality of his. "Sweetheart have you seen yourself?" His hands come up to cradle your face, thumb swiping across your cheek like he was studying a rare artifact. "If I didn't swing the other way I'd have you in bed before you could even blink."
You scoff, "Thanks Dae, you really know how to charm a lady."
He grins, "'Course." Then he gives your cheek a gentle pat as he lets go again, "Anyway — see it as a rebound of sorts if nothing else."
You send him a dumbfounded look, "A rebound?"
Crouched before the pile of clothes on the floor, Daehyun hums as he rummages through the different tops you'd previously discarded. "Yeah. For Mr. Uptight and Pissy."
Oh right. You had confided in him about everything that had went down with Jungkook since the holidays — and your friend had listened with violent threats waiting on the tip of his tongue.
His comment still makes your nose scrunch. "He's not that uptight." Big fat lie. "And he's not pissy — he was just overwhelmed that's not his fault."
Daehyun pauses, fingers curling around the thin straps of one of your tank tops. He whips his head in your direction, an icy chill casting itself over his usually bright and energetic eyes. "Still don't give him the right to talk to you like that." It was rare for him to get all serious as he would often pass most things off as a joke. Not this time.
He rises to his feet with a roll of his shoulders. "Who does he think he is?" folding his arms across his chest, the corner of his mouth tugs downward, "And what was that you said about him dissing you after Christmas?"
You peer down at the floor, wiggling your toes slightly as you sigh. "I suppose you're right…" Even if you knew that Jungkook had been upset and that there was good reason for his response yesterday it didn't mean that it hurt less. Everything leading up to it was just the cherry on top.
"I'd have his head on a stick but you won't let me," Daehyun scoffs and you actually crack a smile at that.
"It'd be a shame to see you behind bars."
He taps his chin thoughtfully, "Hm. You'd just have to help me cover the crime then."
Your eyes widen and you bite back a small laugh. "Ridiculous," you say, "And either way, this wouldn't even count as a rebound. Me and Jungkook were never together."
Daehyun groans, loud and dramatic as he throws his head back. "What a buzzkill," he walks up to place a hand on your bare arm. "You're too caught up on the details. If I say it's a rebound then a rebound it is." With that he turns you toward the mirror, slipping back into the role of the stylist you remember calling earlier.
"Come on, let's get you dolled up."
Mabel lived on the fifth floor in an apartment on a quiet street, in a quiet neighborhood. Where the gardens were well maintained despite the season and a tall Christmas tree stood proudly in the patch of grass that connected the three large buildings. It was where you'd expect a sweet lady to reside.
The elevator ride feels a lot longer than it actually is. You spend the entirety of it going over your appearance in the small mirror, telling yourself that it was perfectly normal to be a little — very — nervous about this dinner.
Daehyun had picked out a light blue button up, said the color complimented you nicely. He'd also been adamant about undoing the three top buttons. It revealed only a sliver of collarbone, nowhere near enough to be scandalous. "We're going for chic and cool, not your high school's math competition," he'd pointedly stated when you tried to swat his hands away.
The adjustment therefore managed to show off the golden necklace Jungkook had gifted you for Christmas. Daehyun thought it added to the presentation and you didn't bother telling him who had gave it to you — if you did he would've probably torn it right off again.
You let the pad of your finger trace the pendant, clasping the jewelry gently. It was weightless in your palm — funny how such a small thing could hold so much significance. For some reason you keep going back to it, whether it be to adjust the heart to lay neatly in the center or to simply hold on to it. You didn't know why and thought it best not to ponder on it further.
Before you know it, the elevator gives a soft ding and the doors slide open to mark your arrival. With one final glance at your reflection you swat imaginary dust from the black dress pants you'd found at the bottom of your closet, then you step out into the hallway.
It doesn't take you long to find number 5002, even as your sneaker-clad feet drag slowly across the floor to prolong the moment ahead of you. By the time you reach your destination your blood is rushing in all different directions, your heart drumming erratically in your ears.
Your fingers hover above the doorbell as you hype yourself up to ring it. They weren't complete strangers — though you knew very little about the pair — and you try to tell yourself that it was the same, kind people you had run into on occasion. Finally you press the stupid button, pulling back as your nails dig into the tender skin of your palm.
There's shuffling on the other side, followed by that of a lock turning and a second later Namjoon appears on the other side, stealing your next breath with him.
Sure it had been a while since you last saw him — and that had been in a crowded, hot mall with screaming children and tired parents. Seeing him alone like this, without his coat and in a much more relaxed environment — it was different.
Suppose you never really had reflected much on how good looking Namjoon actually was. His hair is neatly combed down, the blond ends peeking out from behind his ears, save for the single strand that fell across his forehead.
He wears a button up similar to the ones you'd often see Jungkook in, though this one was a pale pink that suited him unfairly well. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you guessed he'd been in the middle of something before you came knocking.
"Lovely lady," he greets with a small smile that has your stomach doing a somersault. "No trouble finding your way here I hope?" He inquires when taking a step aside to allow you room over the threshold.
You shake your head, "Not at all. Traffic was horrible though." Cars had been blocking the streets, frustrated drivers rolling down their windows to yell at one another in the cold winter air. Seeing as you had been promised wine however, you'd wisely chosen to take the bus and spared yourself of some road rage.
"Ah," Namjoon muses as he shuts the door behind you, "Everyone's out tonight."
Nodding, you pause to take in your new surroundings. The little hallway that welcomes you is best described as homely. There's a small dresser opposite the clothes- and shoe rack, on it sat a burning candle that flickered softly in the dim light. A carpet was rolled out under you, its design wasn't one you recognized either. It held intricate patterns and swivels that blended together rather beautifully.
You go to shrug off your heavy coat, only to feel a pair of large hands on your shoulders as Namjoon helps you out of it. "Let me," is all he says as he turns to hang it up for you, as though it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Oh—" you blink, managing a shy, "Thanks." He was surprisingly attentive and you couldn't help but be reminded of Jungkook who'd do the same… No, you'd made a promise on the way here to not think of him tonight, not when you had a pleasant dinner to look forward to. Though you were realizing that it was going to became a most difficult task.
After slipping out of your shoes and placing them neatly next to his, Namjoon begins leading you down the hall, stopping when he catches you eyeing the small angel figurines on the dresser. He comes to a smooth halt beside you, his arm brushing up against yours — reminding you of just how cramped the tiny space you both shared was.
"My mother likes to collect all kinds of trinkets," he explains as he peers down at the naked angels, gesturing toward them, "Says they bring her protection."
You lift a brow at that, the corner of your lip twitching slightly. "Protection? Like guardian angels?" The question is met by a small hum of his, making you turn back to study the figurines closer. "And what do you make of them?"
Namjoon huffs out a short breath, "That she's a lunatic." A moment's worth of consideration later, he adds, "But I suppose that if it makes her happy then there's no harm." He points to one of an angel sitting on a cloud, "I got her that one for Christmas. It's hard to find anything that she doesn't already have—"
He's interrupted mid-sentence by a familiar voice that could belong to no one other than Mabel herself. "Heavens me!" she exclaims before appearing around a corner, "Why didn't you tell me our guest had arrived?"
She hurries over to give Namjoon's arm a smack, to which the latter pretends to wince as he mutters a complaint under his breath. "I thought you heard the doorbell, mother," he says.
Mabel shakes her head, "My hearing is getting worse by the day — I'll be deaf by tomorrow for all I know with these fireworks going off!"
Namjoon sighs, "Always so dramatic."
His mother doesn't comment on the remark — well she might've not even heard it — her attention is solely on you now. "Oh dear, it's so good to see you!" You had expected a pat to your hand, maybe a half-hug, but Mabel pulled you into a full embrace with surprising strength for a woman of her size.
"I'm so glad you made it," she leans back to inspect you closely, "Was your journey here alright? All kinds of lunatics are out roaming the streets tonight."
"Mother—" Namjoon tries to interject but she's having none of it.
"And such a beautiful girl as yourself," she shakes her head, "But you're alright?"
You give her a sheepish nod, letting her hold onto your arms without complaint. It was sweet how she worried about you. It made you feel cared for, strangely enough. "Yes, thank you." Taking another glance around the hallway — which was now filled to its limits with the three people standing in it, you hum, "You have a lovely home."
"Oh," Mabel waves her hand but there was no mistaking the smile on her lips, "It gets me by."
It was then you suddenly remembered the little gift you'd packed into your bag before leaving. "I brought you this," you say when pulling the small box of chocolates out, "It's not much but I hope it's alright."
Mabel's eyes light up like a kid on Christmas, her brows shooting high as she peers up at you with confusion that quickly turns into gratitude. "Dear," she says, and you could've sworn she was blinking literal tears away, "You shouldn't have — you're our guest after all."
"Please," you insist, "It was the least I could do. Thank you for inviting me over tonight." You're pulled into another tight embrace before anyone even hears the end of your sentence, the box of chocolate squished somewhere along the way as Mabel pats your back, and without thinking you lift a hand to do the same.
When you finally find yourself at conversational distance again, she turns the box over in her hands with a smile. Mabel lowers her voice, "We ought to store this somewhere safe," she throws a pointed glance over your shoulder, "My son here has a sweet tooth like no one else."
Namjoon scoffs, "Mother, you had food in the oven last I checked."
The reminder seems to snap her out of the momentary daze as the old lady whirls around on the spot. "Oh my— the chicken!" she exclaims as she pads down the hall quickly, "Make yourself at home please my dear!"
Once left alone once more, you turn to Namjoon who heaves a sigh. "I'm sorry about her, she's a handful when she wants to be." He was rubbing a hand over his forehead, the loose strand of his hair slipping between his fingers for a moment and you find yourself tracking the simple motion.
"It's alright, I quite like it." You give him a small but genuine smile which he returns with one of his own.
As Mabel prepared dinner in the kitchen, Namjoon took it upon himself to take you on a tour of the apartment, and it was safe to say that the cramped foyer had only been a foretaste of what was to come.
The flat was larger than your own, you counted an extra bedroom and two bathrooms along with a spacious living room that worked as a dining one as well. And yet, the place seemed to shrink with the tremendous amount of stuff it held. Stuff was probably the best way to describe the different pieces of furniture you found all around. Large vases with swans on them, more angels that crowd each shelf and flat surface, bookshelves of all shapes and size — also stuffed with the same figurines.
To assume that Mabel was a hoarder would likely be very correct. Even so, there was no mess to be found. Each item — though there were a lot of them — all seemed to have their own designated spot.
"Your mother really likes angels, huh?" You hum as you stand by one of the oddly shaped bookshelves in the living room. The wood was smooth around the edges and bent almost like an 'S'. Inside were anything but books however. Each shelf was filled to the brim with porcelain angels of various degree.
Namjoon stands beside you, keeping a respectful distance now that the space allowed it. "Like you wouldn't believe," he says, "She's been collecting them since I can remember. It was always awkward explaining it to my friends whenever they came over."
"That's cute." Your attention wanders across the different angels, lingering a little longer on one with a bow and arrow. She was an earnest collector if nothing. The entire thing was probably worth a fortune — not that it seemed to matter to Mabel. Things like these weren't measured in their weight anyway.
"Is this you?"
Having spotted a picture frame off to the right, you nod in its direction. Namjoon follows your line of sight, letting out an awkward chuckle. "Yeah," he says as he picks it up to hold it closer, "That's me and my dad. It was taken back in 72' I believe. Jeez."
The photo held two teenage boys — one who looked to be a couple of years older — his brother your presumed, and a man that could only be their father. They were dressed in carpi-shorts and flannels as they posed on either side of a camel. "Egypt?" You ask, immediately recognizing the place you'd visited with your own parents.
Namjoon nods, "We went to Cairo for my father's fiftieth birthday. I even got to ride the camel."
You turn to him with a look of surprise, "No way?" But he only grins, not taking his eyes off the photograph he was cradling. There was a solemn glint in his otherwise warm eyes and you were just about to ask if something was the matter when he sighed.
"He passed the following winter," Namjoon says as his thumb strokes the frame slowly, "Cancer's a bitch."
The smile immediately falls from your lips and you swallow thickly, "I'm sorry…"
He shakes his head. "Don't be," Namjoon manages a faint but reassuring smile of his own, which felt wrong, he shouldn't be the one to comfort you over his own loss. Without missing a beat he continues, "We got one final trip together as a family, traveling was his passion, so there's comfort in that."
"It's strange," he muses when drawing in a long breath, "I've almost been alive longer without him than I ever was with."
You can only nod, your gaze staying with the photo. It was hard to imagine a life without your parents. Even considering the idea of them passing away and leaving you alone made your stomach clench. But Namjoon spoke of his father with so much warmth — it made you think that perhaps it would be okay after all.
He sets the picture frame back, hands dipping into the pockets of his dress pants. "It was hard on all of us but I think mother had it worst." You want to say something, though you're not sure what. Things never seemed to work out in your favor whenever you tried to be of help anyway.
Though Namjoon doesn't look sad. "She goes to dinner by herself for their anniversary even today," he says, still looking at the photo. "Visits his grave on Sundays," the corner of his mouth tugs upward, "And she wears her ring."
You blink the sudden tears away, wiping at them with edge of your sleeve quickly. "She really loves him," you croak.
"She does," he doesn't seem to have noticed that you were getting choked up, or maybe he simply didn't mind. "Sometimes I'm inclined to believe she loves him more than me and my brother."
His teeth pull at his bottom lip as his brows draw together, "But she's lonelier than she wants to admit." Lifting a one of his hands, he runs his fingers through his hair. "Me and Jin both moved out pretty early on. Living alone," he gestures toward the room you stand in, "It never really was her thing."
Glancing toward the sofa, then the coffee table and the lilac curtains that framed the windows, you came to understand that she probably didn't have a lot of people to share her warm home with.
Namjoon seems to read your thoughts for a moment later he sighs. "Me and my brother try to visit as often as we can." He trails off and you see him chewing on the inside of his cheek before letting it go again. "But Jin has a family now, things are different for him."
The two of you both glance toward the kitchen where Mabel was moving around, eagerly preparing a meal for you all. She was humming along to a song you didn't recognize and you realized that this dinner meant a great deal to her.
"I try to be around as much as I can," Namjoon murmurs as he exhales through his nose. Everything started to make sense, the laundromat, the shopping together… He really was the picture-perfect son. "She's really happy that you're here though," he adds, turning to give you a grateful look.
You're just about to tell him that you were honored for the invitation when Mabel's voice suddenly cuts through the weirdly emotional air. "Joonie dear!" What an endearing nickname, you thought. "Will you help set the table?"
Namjoon springs into action immediately, "Yes mom," he straightens up as he calls back to her. Excusing himself with a dramaticized bow he heads to the kitchen to help his mother like he so often did. You watch him go and once you're left with only yourself as company you turn back to the photograph of him and his father in Cairo.
What Mabel had prepared was nothing short of a feast and you wondered how the three of you were to possibly finish it all. There were a handful of homemade sauces, different kinds of grilled and marinated meat, both rice and potatoes, salads and of course the chicken which took the center.
"Don't be shy!" She had said as you eyed the dishes quietly. Then she'd gone on to pile a mountain of food onto your plate, stopping only when Namjoon placed a hand on her arm and told her that you would be rolling out the front door if she tried to feed you more.
A small part of you had admittedly been a little worried that dinner was going to end up being somewhat awkward. After all, you hardly knew the two of them — just as they hardly knew you. But that actually seemed to be working in everyone's favor.
Mabel goes on long tangents about the senior water-gym class that she attends on Wednesdays. Then she makes a few comments on the man living in the flat above her own, who was particularly loud whenever there was a football match broadcasting. She'd made several complaints to no avail.
"Last week I told him," she stabs her fork into a potato, waving it around like a weapon, "That if he didn't quiet down I'd send my boy on him — you see Joonie here is a black belt in karate, he'd be sure to teach him a lesson."
"Mother," Namjoon groans as he gently lowers her wafting hand, "I'm not fighting your neighbor with my knuckles out."
Mabel scoffs, her face twisting with contempt. "Well someone ought to! If I were twenty years younger…" She snorts when her son gives her a pointed look to which you conceal a laugh into your glass of wine.
"I'm being serious," she says with an exasperated huff, completely disregarding Namjoon's plea for her silence as she turns to you. "I used to take self defense lessons," she says, the potato back in the air as she gestures wildly with it, "I could throw a right hook sharp enough to know down a sumo fighter!"
You can't hide your grin as you try to imagine the sweet little lady sitting in front of you to do something like that. For some reason, you didn't find it all that hard to believe. "I'll make sure not to get on your bad side then," you say.
Mabel shakes her head, finally placing her fork down for good this time. "Oh no dear, I wouldn't dare. You've been nothing but kind to me." Then she leans forward, her voice dropping an octave like whatever matters she was about to discuss next were of confidential value. "Besides," she murmurs, "I only target men."
Namjoon actually chokes on his next sip of wine — causing both you and Mabel erupt into a fit of giggles. He scoffs under his breath when reaching for a napkin but doesn't object to the statement — which was wise given that his mother might've actually brought out her old skills had it come down to it.
Dinner goes by smoothly, the air is light and you find yourself slumping back comfortably in your seat as the two glasses of liquor begins to take subtle effect. You learn that Namjoon works for a high end marketing firm, often requiring him to leave for business trips overseas.
He spoke humbly about his profession — unlike Mabel who made sure to mention that he was recently promoted to team leader. She also pointed out that she wishes for him to settle down just like his brother and a have a family of his own, a matter Namjoon quickly brushed over by coughing into his fist. And though she never said it out loud, there was something hopeful in her eyes whenever she glanced between you and her son.
By dessert — which consisted of a large and frosted cake Mabel had baked — the topic shifted to you and your studies. "It's a lot of fun actually," you say when scooping up another bite on your spoon, "We have many hands-on lessons and in my third year I'll be doing clinical placements and get to work in real hospitals."
"Oh my," Mabel hums, she was showing vast interest in the medical field, much so that her own slice of cake had been forgotten. You wondered if it had anything to do with her husband's sudden passing, but made no comment of it.
"It's an important profession," she says, "Our doctors do so much for us." For a moment it looks as though she wants to say more, her expression temporarily shadowed by something dreary, though she manages to shake it off again as she sighs to herself.
"They do," you agree, hoping to fill the silence just as quickly as it had come. "I love to help people. It's my dream to be able to do that for a living."
Namjoon nod, wordlessly catching on. "And you're doing a fantastic job with it already, though I reckon medical procedures and pressing a button on a washing machine differ quite a bit," he finishes with a small wink.
Mabel perks up at that, blinking rapidly like she'd just remembered herself. "Oh yes indeed," she says, "It was so lovely of you to offer your help, I don't know what I would have done without it."
"You would've went and gave me a call I hope," her son huffs, though unable to betray the amusement that riddle his words.
His mother clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, "Eh, maybe I would have. But I must say this outcome was favorable." You return the smile she gives you, it felt even sweeter on your lips than the frosted cake did.
Namjoon leans forward a fraction, resting his elbows on the table — something that would've never been allowed back to the Jeon estate. "Is it difficult?" he wonders, "The stuff that they're teaching you, I mean?"
"Sometimes," you hum around your spoon, "But I'm very fascinated by all of it so studying is never a chore."
He nods thoughtfully, the ghost of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Well just let me know if you need anyone to practice with." The playful proposal takes you right back to the afternoon on your couch just before Christmas, when you and Jungkook had done just that.
It wasn't the fact that Namjoon was mentioning it — not that you think he had anything like that in mind anyway — but the fact that your uncontrollable mind seems to connect every little thing to Jungkook. Despite your best efforts he kept worming his way back in where you didn't want him — and you had no idea how to make it stop.
After both dinner and dessert you'd helped Mabel clean up in the kitchen, despite her insisting that it was alright. "You're my guest for goodness sake!" She'd scold when you ran a dirty plate under the faucet, attempting to snatch it from your hands again — which you found rather endearing. It wasn't until Namjoon stepped in and told her to give it a rest that she'd allow you to assist begrudgingly.
Her kitchen was rather small — and just as cluttered as the rest of the house — making the three of you bump into one another from time to time as you giggled apologies back and forth.
By eleven Mabel announced that she was headed over to the lady next door to watch the fireworks from her balcony. "Go, go," she'd said when Namjoon tried to object, "I'm far too old to be out there anyway. Besides, Yin has prepared some rum for us!"
"Mother, you've already had two glasses of wine—" her son tried, but was quickly shot down by a prompt shake of her head.
"I might be too old to go out and bombard the sky with pops of color, but I'm never too old for a drink."
It had been your turn to tell Namjoon to drop the matter again and let his mother have some fun, it was New Years Eve after all, and such an occasion only came once every 365 days. He admitted defeat with a heavy sigh when he realized that he was outnumbered.
Mabel pulled you close and you shared one last hug where she made you promise to come again soon, and you happily agreed. Then she left in only her slippers to make the short trip over to Yin who was waiting with more liquor for them both.
You and Namjoon ventured out of the apartment complex twenty minutes later, ultimately leading to the two of you taking a walk under the night sky. The streets were littered with people who all seemed to share the same idea and the loud bangs followed you wherever you went — even so, yours and Namjoon's little bubble was quiet.
It wasn't an awkward silence by any means, nor the tense and loaded ones you had become so accustomed to after three months in Jungkook's house. This was nice, you thought as you rounded another corner.
The December chill was getting to you though and you rubbed your palms together in an attempt to create heat. "Cold?" Namjoon asks. He glances at you through the corner of his eye, catching your small nod and murmured 'yeah'. His steps doesn't falter when he reaches out to take both of your hands in his own, fingers lacing with yours. He moves in front of you, matching your pace as he now walks backwards instead.
"What are you doing?" Cocking him a brow, you automatically slow down a little.
But Namjoon simply shrugs, "I'm walking."
"Yeah, backwards."
"I suppose I am." he hums. Without bothering to turn his head and watch where he was going, he pulls you along as he continues down the street. "You'll let me know if I'm about to hit something, right? I trust you to be my eyes."
You snort, "You're ridiculous."
Namjoon grins, "I've been called worse."
It was quite the extreme length to go to simply to hold your hand but you couldn't deny that he was warm, his touch easily melting the cold away. The two of you somehow manage to navigate your way through the crowded city, giggling loudly whenever he stumbled or the time where you failed to warn him about a lamp post.
"Oh my god— I'm so sorry, are you okay?" You asked when he backed up right into the thing. Guilt struck your features and you immediately let go of his hand to check his head for injuries. "I don't think you're bleeding but there could still be internal damage, the skull isn't easily fractured so there's probably nothing to worry about there, but you might get a bump in the morning."
You pause only to find him watching you with a lopsided smile. "What?" huffing out a short breath, you frown, "I'm serious you could've been hurt and—"
He cuts you off mid sentence by gently grabbing your hand, lacing your fingers back together. "I'm fine," he assures you, "Really, I am." His eyes, warm and brown appear almost golden under the yellow glow of the light you stand under. "You know, you're really cute when you go all doctor mode."
His comment makes you blink twice, an unexpected heat crawling its way to your chilly face as you avert your gaze. "Shut up," you mutter, hoping he wouldn't catch the waver to your voice.
"I'm serious," Namjoon says as he picks up walking again, moving a little slower this time. You busy yourself with peering over his shoulder to watch out for potential threats — which was a welcome distraction. "I hope you don't mind me saying it," he then adds sheepishly.
"No- Not at all!" You quickly tell him, smiling when he gives your hands a squeeze. It wasn't the compliment on its own that had pulled the reaction from you — rather who it came from. The necklace sits a little heavier on your collarbone as you continue to make your way down the street.
With ten minutes to spare before midnight you finally come to a pause on a small bridge leading over the canal. A few other couples were scattered across it but you found a small spot by the railing.
"Got any New Years resolutions?" Namjoon asks. He's let go of one of your hands, but the other is still held securely in his own.
Pursing your lips, you peer out over the dark water. "I don't know… People don't usually stick to the ones they make anyway, do they?"
He huffs out a short breath, "No, not really." Then he turns to look at you and though you were still gazing out over the canal, you could feel his eyes as they settled on you. "But if you were to pretend?"
If you were to pretend? A few months ago you would've probably said something about school, something about your dream career that you were working so hard toward. Now you instead find yourself thinking about Jungkook, about Rayne and Cassian.
You think about what had happened only a few days ago. The last few words he had said to you before you left. You think about Yelena on the side of the road, about Cassian and Rayne sleeping together on her bed. The way you had berated yourself for what happened over and over — just like you did everything else.
"I guess…" Your free hand lands on the freezing railing, fingers curling around it softly. "I'd like to be kinder to myself next year."
Namjoon remains silent beside you for a moment and if it hadn't been for where you were still interlocked, you wouldn't even have known he was there. "That doesn't sound like such a bad thing," he says as his thumb brushes over your knuckles.
Your gaze flickers down to where his touch lingers — the gentle caress reminds you of Jungkook, the way he always touched you so carefully, well used to. When you lift your eyes again you find his already watching you quietly. "No, I don't suppose it does." You inhale a lungful of cold air, letting it fill you up before releasing it into the night.
"What about you?" you ask him, "Got any New Years resolutions?"
Namjoon shakes his head, "Not really. People usually don't stick to them, do they?" His echo of your previous words makes you roll your eyes and you reach up to give his arm a playful shove. He takes it with a breathless chuckle.
The next couple of minutes are spent in silence as you both stare out over the canal. Fireworks were shot high above you, their colorful explosions reflecting on the water's dark surface like a blurry mirror.
You find your thoughts back with Jungkook and his children — wondering what they were up to right now. Cassian was surely asleep by now but Rayne might still be up for the midnight stroke. Were they all spending it with Jungkook's parents? And if they did, had Mr. and Mrs. Jeon asked about you? What had he replied? Maybe he'd said nothing at all.
Part of you had thought that after spending the holidays together perhaps.. Oh whatever. It was stupid anyway. He had made it very clear that he did not want you around him and for once you couldn't find it in you to argue against it. In all honesty you were tired. Tired of always being left in the dark. Tired of constantly missstepping in front of him and having to pay the price for it.
"Hey—" Namjoon's voice parts through your thoughts like the sun piercings grey clouds on a dreary day. When you turn toward him you catch him already looking at you. How long had he been doing that? "Thirty seconds left," he says as he lifts your intertwined hands to show you the watch around his wrist.
"Only thirty—?" Your eyes widen, ten minutes had passed in the blink of an eye. Upon glancing around you find that the bridge was much more crowded than it had been only a little while ago. A couple just a few feet away were sharing quick pecks with each other, giggling as they talked quietly. A mother holds her daughter in her arms as they peer up at the starry sky together, you realize that a lot of people were doing the same.
"I heard they'll be shooting up a big one over the canal," Namjoon suddenly says as he points up with his free hand.
You frown, "Really? I haven't heard—"
Just then a loud chant starts up as everyone standing along the flowing water begins to count down from ten. "Just trust me," he urges as he tugs you closer, your arms now pressing together. Doing as he says you tilt your head back to gaze up into the dark abyss above.
"Six, five, four…"
The count down continues but you don't take your eyes off the spot which Namjoon had pointed to, stubbornly fixating on nothing in particular as you hope to catch the promised grand firework.
"Three, two, one!"
Explosions erupt all around you, illuminating the sky in bright colors. Reds, blues, purples and yellows — but no big surprise. You frown as you turn back to Namjoon, "I don't think—"
The sentence is left unfinished as he steals your next breath with a press of his lips against yours. Stunned into oblivion, you stand frozen for a long second before you realize what was happening, and when your brain finally catches up you kiss him back without question as you let your eyes fall shut.
His free hand finds its way to your waist, scorching hot despite the thick coat that separates you as Namjoon tugs you closer. The other remains tightly locked with your own, his thumb still brushing across your fingers absently.
Kissing him felt different — like a breath of fresh air. The way he moves against you reminds you a lot of Jungkook, only this was done with confidence, a sureness that gave away just how certain he was about this.
His tongue traces your bottom lip but doesn't push further, letting it remain only a gentle caress of lips. He tastes like the wine you'd been drinking at his mother's apartment — sweet and intoxicating — but moderate. Not like the strong whiskey you'd come to associate Jungkook with.
Somewhere to your right, a loud bang can be heard, followed by bright lights. He hadn't been lying about the grand firework after all. Even then, you didn't pay it any mind — too lost in the moment you shared with the man before you.
The kiss lasts for what feels like an eternity yet you're almost chasing after him when he pulls away, only managing to catch yourself last second as you think back to just how many glasses you've had tonight.
Namjoon doesn't go far though, his face hovers a mere inch from your own and his eyes sparkle under the colorful sky. The same lips that had just kissed you stretch into a smile, "Happy New Year," he says.
You bite back the giggle that threatens to escape you, opting for a grin yourself as you hum, "Happy new year."
But even where you stand — so far away from all the things that had been plaguing you for so long — you still thought about Jungkook.
The first two weeks of the new year pass in a blur. School opened back up and you returned to your studies, glad to be flooding your brain with source material on the nervous system rather than focusing on your own currently going havoc.
It had been eighteen days since you last saw or heard from Jungkook — fourteen since Namjoon kissed you on that bridge and ever since then the two of you had kept seeing each other. It wasn't anything serious, far from it. You told him that you weren't sure what you wanted, which wasn't a lie.
Namjoon listened without interrupting, offering his warm hand as he laced your fingers together. He apologized for kissing you so suddenly, to which you promptly shook your head and told him that you hadn't minded. And you really hadn't. The kiss was nice but you weren't so sure that it was anything beyond that.
So you decided to take it slow and go on "friendship-dates" as he liked to call them, arguing that labeling it a real one might put too much pressure on you. The friendship-dates were simple, grabbing dinner together and going on walks — you even went and saw a movie. He hadn't tried to kiss you again but he did hold your hand whenever he got the chance, you liked that.
Things with Namjoon felt safe, grounded. Whenever a certain question had been bothering you it was almost as though he could read your mind and answered it for you without being asked in the first place. You knew where you had him and he was honest with his growing interest in you just as much as he respected your hesitation.
The little dates you went on were the first bit of normalcy you had experienced in the last three months and it made you realize just how far away Jungkook had always been. With him it was all closed doors and averted gazes — but Namjoon felt like a warm and certain hug.
Thus you had also began job hunting. He hadn't fired you, not officially at least. But you needed the income and you had no intention of waiting for him to figure his life out in the meantime. Namjoon helped you as best he could, as it turns out, one has a lot of connections when working in his line of business. He'd secured you an interview at a local library not far from your university.
And that interview was… Today?
You could have sworn that you set your clock for nine — yet you find yourself peeling your eyes open at an alarming ten am. Bolting to your feet, you hurry over to your closet as you rip it open, only to remember that you'd actually had enough mind to prepare today's outfit the day before. Mentally thanking your past self, you pull on your pants with enough speed to cause the seams to loosen.
The interview was at one, so you still had adequate time in that sense. But the real reason you were rushing was because you'd planned to meet Namjoon for coffee at ten-thirty at a spot just outside his office — which was a twenty-five minute drive from your apartment.
You've just done the top button of your blouse up, already trying to piece together how you were to brush your teeth and wash the sleep from your face at the same time, when the telephone suddenly rang.
Really? Right now of all times?
With one sock on and the other halfway over your right foot, you stumble into the living room and over to the desk where the source of your interruption waits — only to freeze when the number displayed on screen registers. You had become so familiar with that exact sequence that you only needed to see the first three digits to know who it was.
Jungkook hadn't reached out in nearly three weeks and he chose now? You scoff as you eye the handset with mild irritation, having half a mind to just ignore him entirely. It would serve him right. So you turn away, already heading for the bathroom when you find yourself stopping. Try as you might but you cannot get your feet to move even an inch forward.
"Ignore it," you murmur as you close your eyes, "Just ignore it."
But the telephone won't stop ringing, the sound blaring through your apartment. Another ten seconds pass until you finally spin on your heel, marching up and yanking the handset to your ear.
Silence.
Alright so he could call but he couldn't speak? Real mature.
"Hello?" You try to keep your tone leveled, your pride preventing you from lashing out on him even though that was the only thing you wanted to do. But it is not Jungkook who answers to your passive aggressive greeting.
"Nanny…?"
Your heart drops to your stomach at the sound of the familiar voice — a voice you could recognize even in a storm. Exhaling a quiet breath as all of your previous anger washes off, you grip the device a little tighter. "Rayne? How did you get my number?"
There's a small pause where you hear nothing, then she speaks again, "I found it in father's study." A short response, which wasn't unusual when it came to Rayne but the way she says it is. She doesn't sound like herself, her sharp edge had been dulled into something hesitant and unsure.
"Okay," you hum, "Where is your dad?"
Static fills the still air of your flat and you listen intently for anything that might give you even the tiniest clue of what was going on. Her soft breaths come through on the line, she most be holding the transmitter right against her lips, you think.
"In his room…" Her voice wavers and you can pick up on shuffling somewhere in the distance, Cassian. He murmurs something to his sister, inaudible over the phone which meant he must be speaking very quietly — which was rare for the young boy.
A second later Rayne returns, "Um…"
She trails off and you frown, "Is something wrong?" You try to keep your voice calm even with the growing pit in your stomach. Only when you feel a sharp sting do you realize that you'd been digging your nail into the pad of your thumb — you don't loosen your grip.
"Nanny?" She repeats and your heart clenches hard in your chest at how small she sounds.
"Yes?" You breathlessly ask, prompting her to continue as you gnaw anxiously on your bottom lip.
Rayne was always quick-witted with her answers, never missing a beat as she throws out retorts. But right now she's taking awfully long to get her words out. Finally she gives a shaky exhale.
"Can you come…?"
You don't think you'd ever heard her cry — but this might've been the closest thing to it, and it makes your own eyes sting. "Of course, sweetie," you hoarsely say, already peering down the hall where your shoes and coat wait, "I'll be right there."
The relief is palpable in the way she sighs, like all air had just been pulled from her lungs. You pause, "Can you go get your dad while you wait?"
This time her reply is almost instant, "No."
She doesn't give you more than that but it was enough for your mind to go into overdrive with all kinds of scenarios.
"Cassian is scared," she murmurs before adding in a quiet whisper, "I don't know what to do…"
The rawness in her voice makes a lump form in your throat and you have to force yourself to keep it together in front of her, "Give him a hug and go wait for me in the living room."
Rayne hums quietly, "Okay."
"I won't be long," you tell her to which she only repeats her previous response.
When the line cuts you rush to leave a message for Namjoon where you hastily explain that something came up — it would have to do. All thoughts of coffee and your upcoming interview vanish as you snatch the car keys in one hand, not bothering to lace up your shoes and grabbing your coat on the go. If you'd been in a rush before then this was taking it to the next step.
And though you were still upset with Jungkook — your heart hadn't been able to handle the way Rayne had sounded over the phone. Her voice still echoes in your ears as you get to your car — stepping on the gas as you head for the Jeon house.
── [ ✉️ ] I'm developing an extreme kink for cliffhangers. Okay but let's talk about Rayne because I'm too eager to wait for the comments and asks (whatever sue me). The last scene was so important for her character, I cannot stress this enough. I'd like for it to mark a turning point of sorts. Seeing as Rayne has always been very wary and closed off toward OC, her calling her like this, reaching out because she doesn't know who else to turn to, and because OC is the only one she feels safe enough to confide in? Hello. We actually have had such a major break through. I'll probably go into more detail on this when I answer comments and asks but I just had to say this. Oh and for all the team Namjoons under the last post, this one is for you.
Summary: You’d remember Jungkook with every life you lived. Only he’d never remember you, never recall how your fates were written in the stars since the beginning of time.
Genre: Angst. Fluff. Light Smut
Words: 10,294
a/n: This is a roller coaster of emotions, but it has a happy endng because I’m a sap and didn’t want to make myself cry.
He came to you like a breath of fresh air, cleansing your body and bringing life to your bones. He was the type of art that only existed on grainy canvases of white, beautiful colors blending together to form a perfection to your eyes. He was the smell of fresh rain on a summers afternoon, peculiar and satisfying mixed into nothing other than complete and utter fondness on your part.
pairing: fem! student/gamer reader x student/gamer jeon jungkook
summary: Lately life had been really nice to you. Trying to survive college, staying out of boy drama, hanging out with friends and playing video games until morning. Everything was good… until a group project complicates your routine and you can’t remain unaware that the most familiar and annoying voice in your headphones isn’t as anonymous as you think.
warning! — +18. this story contains a lot of misogynist bad jokes (based on real life gamer shit talk), lot of fat and homophobic jokes too, and so much more. so yes, bad really bad humor. if you’re sensitive please don’t read this. i understand it might be too much for some people. + smut (warning will be added in the respective chapters). this is literally idiots to lovers/annoyances to lovers!
authors note: i actually had this fic for over a year and while i was looking for something funny to read i found this old draft. hope u have fun with this one!!>_<
You sprawled across your bed like a corpse. One arm hanging off the side, hoodie half over your face. You had been watching Youtube videos all day, ignoring the schedule you had made for your time to study. You felt like a goddamn zombie.
College had been… an experience.
Almost a senior, one and half more year to go, and you already felt like your soul had been chewed, spit out and stepped on. The first two years had been a cocktail of partying, “studying” (if you called half-assed cram sessions studying), sleeping in weird positions in lecture halls, and living on energy drinks… Now? You had one class at morning. One. For one hour. And you were already dead inside.
Your laptop sat on your small desk, glowing like a tiny beacon of hope in your dimly lit room. Next to it, a cold can of energy drink, half‑finished. Your two best friends weren’t answering your texts, probably off doing… whatever they were doing that didn’t let them answer you. Fuck them. You rolled your eyes, swung your legs over the side of the bed, and dragged yourself toward the chair.
You could ignore your assignments for a couple hours more.
Just one round…
Gaming had been your sanctuary since forever. Since you were a kid, really. The world could be burning outside your window and you’d only care if your Wi-Fi cut out mid‑match. A little slice of chaos where you could be yourself, loud, annoying, stupid, and do the most trash talk ever. And also… well, humiliating men online never got old.
You remembered the first time you’d logged into a competitive match years ago. Misogyny hit like train wreck. Men shouting into headsets, spewing some combination of threats, nonsense, and self‑aggrandizing horseshit. At first, you’d been quiet. It was honestly shocking the way the talked, almost scary. But with time… well, it actually didn’t get better. But since you couldn’t go against them, at least you could be better than them. So you let them underestimate you. Let them yell and talk shit. Let them think you’d choke. And then… you learned.
Oh, how you learned.
You learned the sweet, intoxicating art of humiliation by keyboard and a cheap headset microphone. A perfectly timed grenade, a calculated headshot, a casual insult delivered between laughs. You had gotten better at games and over time you were just playing for the love of it. You loved, not only getting lost in time, but also winning. You loved hearing the players throw a tantrum. And you loved— more than anything— hearing when guys half cried, half rage‑quit, half made the mistake of thinking they had a chance.
You opened the game you had been playing last week, Call of Duty. Your fingers hovered over your controller as you watched the lobby fill with more players. Voices pinged through your headset. It was usually men who talked, you barely heard any girls but no because they didn’t play but because you knew most of them hated interacting with loud guys. And they had all the reasons, men were annoying. In video games men usually were misogynistic and confident, some nasally and irritating, some sounded like they’d just discovered puberty.
You didn’t like playing when there was a space for them to talk. But when there was, you didn’t run away either.
You tilted your head, calm as ever, impatiently waiting to start. The game downloaded in the background, progress bar crawling lazily across the screen. You watched it, noting how every other player was already jittering, adjusting settings, talking over their headsets, trying to establish dominance before the match even began.
You yawned a little tired. Damn, you should be sleeping.
“Yo… what’s that username?” a nasally voice asked.
“Mommyeatsyouup,” another guy called, sounded almost horrified. “What the fuck is that?.”
“Huh?” you hummed, paying attention after they called your username “Yours?”
“Uh… letjungcook,” the same guy who called you responded with a deep, confident voice. Laughing at his own ingenious username you didn’t understand yet.
“Like yours is any better?” You replied confused.
There was a five seconds silence in the room chat.
“Oh… a girl,” came the chorus, surprise and disgust dripping from every word.
You rolled your eyes, already knowing by the sound of it what was about to come.
“Yeah, don’t cream your pants.”
A deeper voice cut in, clearly trying to dominate. “You’re actually gonna play?”
“No, I just like to enter game lobbies to listen to men talk,” you said sarcastically.
“Yo’, chill.”
“Are we sure this is a girl?” you recognize the voice of ‘letjungcook’.
“Are we sure you’re a man?” you clapped back, voice getting a little louder.
“See, I can’t tell if you’re a girl or a twelve year old little boy” He chuckled, clearly trying to bother you.
“Why? ‘cuz you don’t talk to girls or you normally talk to twelve year old little boys?”
Laughter erupted in the lobby after your comment. Two voices, probably his friends, started to make fun of him. You couldn’t hear his answer properly and you honestly didn’t really care either. A couple of groups formed, players scrambling to pick classes, assign loadouts, and talk strategy. Your leaned slightly forward, checked your ammo, mapped out your route in your mind. This was your domain, you knew every map like the palm of your hand.
One irritating voice distracted you.
“Great. We’re with the girl.” He groaned. “I’m not carrying you, just so we’re clear.”
“Bet you can’t even carry a 2kg, lazy-ass.”
“Go make me a sandwich.”
The match started.
You slid silently into cover. The map was wide, with multiple paths, buildings, and open areas, perfect for a calculated, fluid approach. You checked corners, vaulted low walls, and moved in patterns that kept you largely unseen. Your first engagement came quickly when you spotted an opponent flanking, calculated the timing, and executed a clean takedown.
Grenades popped, gunfire echoed from multiple directions. You stayed calm, tracking movement across the map, listening for footsteps, reloads, and voice cues. Every step was fast, you used crouches, jumps, and angles to minimize exposure while maximizing your lethality. By the time the first few opponents had noticed you, you had already moved to a more advantageous position, picking off another enemy before they could respond.
“Well, who’s carrying the group now? Everyone say ‘thank you, Mommy’. Come one, guys. You can say it.” You chanted, killing two more.
One of the other guys muttered. “She’s mentally ill.”
“You’re fucking insane” The guy groaned, flailing.
“It’s easy, ‘thank you, mommy’” You repeated mockingly as another player tried to trap you in a corner.
Letjungcook killed him before he could shot you once more.
The match ended. The first round ended. You had five kills, Letjungcook had two, his friends had one each.
For the second round the groups reshuffled. You continue with that guy again though. You noted the same aggressive tendencies, predictable behaviors, and communication patterns. Men were really so predictable when they talked trash. This time you didn’t care to hide but to make more kills than anyone. You decided to attack everyone on the way. Within moments of the match starting, you had located multiple opponents and killed most of them.
And the second round ended half an hour later too. You had dominated. Your score dwarfed all others. You leaned back briefly, sipping from your cold energy drink, eyes scanning the next lobby as players scrambled to ready themselves again.
“You’re welcome,” you heard him saying.
“You all got one kill each and I got five.” You scoffed. “You should be kneeling, boy.”
You knew he wouldn’t admit he got only two. It would be an opening for you to talk more shit about him.
“And you should be in the kitchen.” He clapped back. “Let’s go another round. Can someone put the fatty in another team?”
“Damn, why are you talking about your boy like that?” You leaned back in your chair.
You could hear a couple of giggles in the back and another conversation going too.
“I like her.”
“Guk, she’s killing you.”
Guk.
“Oh, so your name is Guk?” You snorted, like it was funny. “What a sweet name for a good boy.”
You heard another big and scandalous laugh. “He is a good boy.”
“Good boy,” the other guys started chanting.
The lobby split into different group. You were now against Guk.
“Oh, we have the bitch in our team,” someone complained.
“Girl I have twelve more kills than you. Keep that mouth shout.” There was two seconds of silence you took in your favour. “Yeah, like that. Be a good boy and shut up.”
“We’re gonna lose because of this bitch. She should be in the kitchen,” other guy said.
“Kitchen jokes, wow. And I thought men supposed to be funny.” You fake yawned.
“Go make me a sandwich, fatty.”
“Why? Can’t reach the counter, shorty?”
Laughter explode as the match started.
“He can’t!,” his friends laughed at him.
You decided to shut up and focus on the game since the team you were, at least most of them, barely had any kills the round before.
You were not going to lose.
“Okay, okay. Let’s lock in.”
A firefight erupted in the central building. You entered fast, low to the ground, taking positions behind cover, waiting for an opening. You timed your shots perfectly, taking advantage of the chaos as your opponents argued, flailed, or misstepped. Each kill was really fast and easy, silent to those outside your headset but devastating in scoreboard results.
“Are you seriously all dying?”
Oh, they were so bad.
“Miss me, baby?”
Guk— or whatever his actual name was — made his presence known quickly. You jumped to the other side of the building, trying to make the blood of your screen dissipate by healing. He had been quick to caught you out of guard while you were killing his team mate.
“Is this my good boy Guk?” You muttered, loading your gun while trying to find him now. “Of course I miss you. I think you’re the only one left from your little boys team.”
“Tae?” You heard him call, you knew now that the other guy who was laughing at him early was in fact his friend.
“I’m dying. Come here fast, dude.”
“Aw, it’s okay.” You looked out the window in the tower, trying to localize them. “I’ll give you time to go and heal your friend. I know you need backup, baby.”
“Shut up, tubby.” Tae tried to defend his friend.
“Why? Are you mad I’m disrespecting your boyfriend?”
There was some seconds of silence. You knew that made them a little mad. You tried not to laugh.
His teammates tried to coordinate, but you were already getting bored. You barely needed to glance at the mini-map, instinct and experience guided you to know exactly what they were thinking on doing. And also because they were talking their strategies, really loud.
The match ended two minutes later.
Victory.
You had killed them all— the ones outside your group of course.
You exhaled slowly, smiling faintly and a little bored of how easy that was. The other players had disconnected or were mumbling their frustrations in the background with insults ands loud noises. You didn’t need to speak to feel the satisfaction.
Guk barked again. “That was a charity round!”
“The only charity here is me still talking to you,” You said, as you started looking at the scores, your kills racking up, their cries of frustration and bad insults echoing in your headset.
“Fuck you. Let’s go again.”
“Oh, hell nah. This isn’t real competition. Even an armless guy plays better than you and your team.” You heard him cracked his neck.
“Let’s go again. Are you afraid now?” He tried again, trying to annoy you into playing another round.
You snorted, loud enough to make him angrier. “Ever since you opened your mouth, you haven’t won a round if it wasn’t with me.”
“You know—”
“I’m leaving now. Go play with your twelve years old little boys.” You cut him off. “Now I know why you liked them so much. I bet they rank better than you anyway.”
“You fucking—”
“Bye, baby boy. Be good for mommy.”
Before he could answer you logged off and queued in another game.
You laugh slightly. It was always funny the banter with angry man. They were always so sensitive.
Your friends weren’t answering, the world outside didn’t exist. All that existed was you winning those games back to back. You moved your screen, adjusted your headset, and prepared to enter into another match with other people. The thrill about playing video games had become in finding someone who could outplay you now. Which was almost rare.
You leaned back slightly, a little bored, fingers resting lightly on your controller. Another round was about to begin.
————————
You had barely managed to get your laptop into your bag before the next class started. You dragged yourself into the lecture hall, hair slightly mussed, hoodie hanging loosely over your frame. You felt so exhausted it was almost taking all your strength to be awake.
You had meant to play for just a few rounds, but as the sun had crept through the blinds, you realized you had lost track of time entirely. Now you were paying for it with heavy eyelids, dragging feet, and a mind that barely wanted to exist outside the warmth of your bed— or, more accurately, the remnants of your mattress from the previous night that you hadn’t touched.
The lecture hall was rows of seats rising like stairs, the polished wood of the desks cold under your palms, there was a lot of students taking places in the front rows and most of them had coffee cups. You slid into a seat in the back row, far enough from the front that the professor would assume you were paying attention since he clearly wouldn’t be able to see you from so far.
The board read “Advanced Technical Animation” in neat, almost smug lettering. You had never been terrible at school, but you didn’t particularly care for this class. Two semesters left before you could practically coast to your degree, and this was a required class you had chosen almost arbitrarily because of a friend’s recommendation and the fact that the professor had a decent rating online.
The professor’s voice, monotone and boring, started filling the room. He spoke about corrective blend shapes and pose-space deformation and more stuff you were losing track of. Your eyes began to droop. You rested your chin lightly against your hand, letting your head sag forward just a little, pretending to take notes, though the pen barely touched the paper.
Sleep came quickly, not heavy but enough to blur whatever was happening around. You drifted in and out, absorbing fragments of words: “advanced character rigs,” “facial rigging,” “deformation techniques,” “blah blah blah…” Your mind remained mostly elsewhere, mostly regretting staying too late playing some stupid game.
You could feel yourself smiling faintly even as your eyelids fluttered. You couldn’t wait to get some sleep.
“Group sixteen,” the professor’s voice cut through your nice nap when you heard your name be called. “That will be Y/n… and Jeon Jungkook.”
Your head snapped up so fast you almost knocked your things over. Your mind scrambled. Who the fuck was Jeon Jungkook? The name resonated faintly somewhere in the back of your memory.
You scanned the room, pretending to be looking for the right slide or some imaginary note, but your eyes locked on a guy sitting somewhere closer to the center, leaning casually against his desk. He hadn’t moved yet, hadn’t reacted, but the recognition hit you like a sharp gust of wind.
Your heart skipped a beat
Oh, no. Ohhh no. No, no, no…
You froze, a little too stiff, remembering the end of sophomore year, late one Friday night. A hookup you had never really followed up on. The kind of one-off that was messy, fun, and slightly regrettable. You had never talked after that, not that you remembered anyway.
And now here he was, almost two years later, the same classroom, the same professor, and apparently now your partner for a project your didn’t want to think about just yet.
Jeon Jungkook
He finally looked up, scanning the room until your eyes met. You felt a shiver, mostly from surprise, mostly from nerves, but mostly from sheer disbelief. Did he remember? Would he even care? You had no idea. The last you remembered, you had left his room the next morning before he woke up, apologizing quietly in your head as your slipped out.
You never talked to him again.
The professor continued, oblivious. “You have ten minutes to discuss schedules, roles, and plan your initial meeting. Please keep in mind this is a big note for the class.”
You exhaled softly, pretending to stretch, then turned toward Jungkook. He was standing now, moving toward you with that familiar, easy gait you remembered, carrying the kind of self-assurance that only came with good grades, a strong confidence, and probably too many compliments over the years. You mentally prepared yourself as he walked to you.
“Uh… hey,” he said lightly, a little awkward, a little like he wasn’t sure how to start.
“Hey,” you replied very calm and smooth. Internally, you were repeating to yourself to not make it obvious you remember him.
“I guess we’re partners for the project,” he said, glancing down at the handout the professor had left on each desk.
“Looks like it,” you said, scanning the paper. “Animation… yay, fun stuffs.”
He nodded, frowning slightly to your confusing words. “Yeah. So… uh… when are you free to meet? I can do afternoons.”
You tilted your head slightly, pretending to consider it. “Afternoons are okay. I have some classes before six, though, so maybe right after. Anywhere you want to meet?”
“Library? Or maybe the cafe?”
“Library works,” you said immediately. You had been spending enough time with caffeine lately to know it would probably be bad to be so close to a coffee machine.
You two settled a time, quickly coordinating your schedules, discussing tentative roles for the project. You felt your nerves settle slightly as you realized he wasn’t making any move to comment on your shared past.
That was good. That was very good.
Class ended sooner than expected, maybe because the professor’s lecture had been boring enough to make you almost happy to leave. You gathered your things, slid on your hoodie again, and headed toward the door.
As you walked past, you heard a voice behind you, closer to Jungkook. A guy you didn’t recognize was showing him something on his phone.
“I found her, man!,” the guy said.
You don’t care enough to eavesdrop so you simply walked away down the hall, past students who were chatting idly and toward the cafe machine tucked into the corner.
A third free cheap coffee wouldn’t kill you anyway.
You grabbed a cup, steaming and bitter, and made your way toward your next class, keeping your thoughts focused on your next assignments.
The hallways smelled faintly of disinfectant and leftover cafeteria food. You took a sip of your coffee as you reached your next classroom. It didn’t start until next hour so it was practically empty. Perfect, that way you could have time for you. You dropped your bag in a seat, leaned back, and stretched out, ready to sneak in a nap while waiting for the professor and students to arrive.
Your phone buzzed. One quick vibration that immediately made you know from what app was it. You frowned slightly, sitting up just enough to see the screen.
letjungcook sent you a friend request.
You stared at the screen, your mind flickering back to the previous lobbies you had entered the night before, trying to find a moment you gave someone your username— which, honesty, was a little dumb of you to have the same username in discord as you did in steam— but you never shared it with anyone who you didn’t like or thought was bad so…
Who the fuck was this guy?
so yeah… new fic!! yayyy. i had this for more than 8 months in my drafts and lowkey i thought it was funny enough to edit and post it so lmk what u think so far >_<
btw guys if this is not ur thing u can tell me to remove you from my perm taglist lol i won’t be offended (yes i will)
warning: smut, kissing, dirty talking, ft. taehyung, jealous kook bc ofc he is, slight age gap, power imbalance, naive reader, she's just a girl frfr, manipulation, affair/cheating, alcohol intake, slight intoxication, body shots, groping, grinding/dry humping, nipple sucking, dirty talking, finger sucking, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex (f), overstimulation, creampie,
part one |
you attend the college party jungkook insisted on you coming to, only to realize he doesn’t like your attention on someone other than him.
Your jean skirt is tight and stops mid thigh. You feel weird wearing clothing that isn’t yours. Your cousin found it in her closet, discarded and forgotten about. She had held it out for you, insisting you try it on. “It actually looks nice on you.” she had said, looking up from her phone. “You want me to do your makeup?”
You knew walking into this party that whatever you were going to wear wasn’t “frat party” worthy. The graphic tee you sported gave you a few compliments from other girls when you walked through the door. You could feel your nerves drumming against your body as if in sync with the loud music. Your eyes scan the sea of party goers, majority in which you had not a clue who they were.
“You aren’t going?” you recall asking your cousin hesitantly. She had placed lipgloss onto your lips and instructed you to rub them in.
You hoped your cousin would change her mind and not leave you alone, knowing that nothing would happen between you and Jungkook if she was around. It was growing harder to even look at yourself in the mirror, let alone her, after what you and Jungkook had done earlier. Your thighs clenched at just the thought of his fingers plunged deep inside of you.
“No, I have an event, remember?” your cousin shakes her head. She looked at you and offered a smile. “Make sure you have fun, okay? Live a little.”
The music is blaring and the home is entirely crowded, seas of people all around mingling - some dancing, some cheering as others chug down beer.
You told Jungkook you’d meet him here instead of him coming to get you. It wouldn’t be odd for the two of you to enter together. You’re sure no one would bat an eye, either way. Yet, you couldn’t face him just yet without your mind wandering to places they shouldn’t.
Now you’re unsure if you’d ever be able to find Jungkook here at all.
Instead, it’s Jungkook who finds you. You stick out, but not in the normal way. Instead of going to you when he initially caught you walking through the front door, he decided on watching you. Your legs look so soft and long, the jean skirt short and tight. He remembers this skirt, he notes, as it belonged to your cousin. The shirt is equally tight and a bit cropped, your lower back peaking through as he watches you stroll between the sea of bodies like a hawk.
You stuck out simply because you kept to yourself. You didn’t speak to anyone besides the small nods and a few inaudible, “thanks” you give to other women who compliment you.
You don’t grab a drink. You don’t dance.
It’s utterly noticeable that you’re unsure what to do. This is your first party, after all, and it’s far too noticeable.
“I’m glad you made it.”
You feel a hand on your waist, warm breath tickling your ear.
“I was suspecting you were going to bail on me.” Jungkook’s fingers tap along your waist as he tugs you along with him as he walks. He doesn’t say ‘excuse me’ as he walks through the crowd of people, but they move automatically as he and you walk by. He leads you to the kitchen where it’s less crowded, but a game of beer pong is being played.
“Want a drink?” Jungkook questions.
Jungkook’s cologne hits your nose because of how close he is. Your heart jolts as your eyes connect with his. He stares intently at you, awaiting for your response. “No pressure.” he murmurs, a small smirk forming onto his lips. “We have juice.”
You blink, snapping out of whatever trance you were placed upon. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” you say quickly, your body warming with embarrassment. “I thought about bailing.” you admit.
Jungkook raises a brow. He goes towards the long island where an array of drinks are sat. You’ve never seen so many different varieties of alcohol all at once. “Is that so?” he asks. He grasps a clear plastic cup from a stack besides an opened bottle of apple juice. “What changed your mind?” he questions.
You watch as Jungkook rounds the island and lowers his body for a few seconds before emerging with ice now inside said plastic cup. He then grasps the nearest alcohol drink he could grasp - rum.
“I…” you shrug your shoulders. “...just wanted to have fun.”
Jungkook glances up at you. He was a pro at this, you think, not spilling any of the clear liquid as he poured it into your cup. Then, he offers you a grin. “I’m glad. I’ll make sure you have a lot of fun.”
Jungkook hands you back your drink before you have time to process that he’s poured something else inside of it. It had to be juice, you think, grabbing it from his tattooed hand hesitantly.
“And who’s this?”
Just as you bring the rim to your lips, an arm wraps around Jungkook. You recognize him as one of Jungkook’s friends.
“Tae,” Jungkook nods. “this is Y/N.”
“Y/N…Y/N!” Taehyung offers a smile. His eyes widen with realization. “So you’re the baby cousin.”
You scoff. “Yeah.” you murmur. You take a sip of the drink and hum. You’re surprised that it didn’t taste bad - or too strong.
“Are you here alone?” Taehyung questions. “Or did she come with you? Any friends?”
You shake your head. “She’s net-”
“-working?” Taehyung finishes your sentence for you and laughs. Under his own gaze, you feel your cheeks warm. “She’s always doing that, isn’t she? I’m glad you came.”
Jungkook feels his friend remove his arm from his shoulder. Taehyung goes to pour himself a drink, only he pours an array of shots, using the display of neon shot glasses on the table.
“Did you come to have fun?” Taehyung questions, glancing up at you.
Your hand squeezes the drink in your hand slightly. Taehyung is handsome, you note, dark brown hair that appears to be styled professionally, yet so simply natural. He holds your eyes long enough for you to feel yourself blush in embarrassment.
Jungkook glances from you to his friend, a slight tilt to his head.
“Y-Yeah.” you murmur, nodding slightly. “I’ve never been to a party like this before.”
Jungkook feels like he’s been given a back seat to it all. He watches the way you and Taehyung interact. He watches the way his friend passes you the shot and laughs when your face scrunches with disgust, but nonetheless you laugh along with him.
Jungkook watches it all, he notes. The way your once tense shoulders relax and you laugh just as loud as everyone else. You hadn’t cared about if you were being watched yourself because you were having fun.
Even when you all moved towards the crowded patio, you laughed and cheered along with Taehyung during a game of beer pong. He allows you to, finding that he liked watching you like this. Open. Carefree.
What Jungkook didn’t like was the way his friend held your hips as he assisted you in a game of pool. He had gone to get a beer and returned to watch the scene unfold. You’re none the wiser under Taehyung’s predatory gaze. You were a lamb in front of a salivating wolf that wants to pounce, but decides against it.
Jungkook leans against the wall, taking a sip of his beer as you now lean against the pool table. You’re facing Taehyung, your face dangerously close to him.
There’s a quick moment in which Jungkook’s eyes meet with Taehyung’s. His friend’s eyes flicker upwards and find him, even with the amount of people around. Everyone is in their own world, but it’s as though his friend knew exactly where to look to catch sight of him.
It isn’t a secret - to his group of friends, at least - what Jungkook does with you. They don’t judge him. They don’t blame him, either. Jungkook was a man just as they were, and sometimes men had their own reasonings for why they do the things they do. Their reasoning doesn’t have to be right, but it’s understood without having to be said.
What Taehyung is telling Jungkook now with just a simple look is simple; ‘if you don’t, I will’.
“You smell so good~” Taehyung chuckles, his lips stretching into a smile, showcasing a row of pearly white teeth. “What’s wrong?”
Your body is radiating heat you aren’t sure is possible. You feel Taehyung’s hand lift your chin upwards, his head tilted just a bit. He studies you, eyes taking in each outline of your face - the curve of your lips, the arch in your eyebrows.
“W-What do you mean?” you swallow.
“You look nervous.” murmurs Taehyung. It’s surprising you could hear him at all in here, but you blocked out the surrounding people like background noise. “Like you’ve never been this close to a man.”
“I have!” you exclaim quickly and in defense.
Taehyung snickers. He notices the way your eyes flash with slight annoyance. “Oh, really?” he responds. “Like Kook?”
“Wh…what?” you blink a few times and shake your head softly. “What are…why would you say that?”
Taehyung finds you cute. The way you stutter as if what you and Jungkook do behind closed doors isn’t obvious. Maybe it was because he knew his friends - and the way he was glaring daggers at him. He didn’t have to look his way to know.
“Why not? Is it a,” Taehyung leans even closer to you. His breath tickles your skin. You smell the alcohol and in a way, it has your stomach churning (in a good way). “secret?” he whispers the last part.
Your heart jolts at the split second that Taehyung’s eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips. His hand lets go of your chin, but it slides down your neck. His thumb rubs along your throat that has a shiver running up your spine.
“There’s nothing going on between us.” you manage to say boldly just as Taehyung’s dark eyes meet yours.
You contemplate if this was wrong - at least the less tipsy part of your mind. You couldn’t admit to Taehyung that you and your cousin’s boyfriend had something going on. If you weren’t so naive, you wouldn't believe that he didn’t already know.
Yet, whatever you and Jungkook did have wasn’t anything you could further pursue. He wasn’t a single man and what you and he already did had since gone too far.
“Prove it, then.” Taehyung’s nose glides against yours. His lips are slightly parted when he speaks. “I forgot that you’re young…you probably shouldn’t be here now.”
“I’m not that young.” you protest, swallowing. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Yeah?” Taehyung hums.
“Yeah.” you respond, and without thinking you limit the distance between you and Taehyung.
Your glossy lips press against his own and immediately, Taehyung groans into it as if he’s been waiting for this moment. In a way, he has. He himself was quite interested upon knowing about the younger cousin; someone he always saw with her head in a book. To the untrained eye, Jungkook looked like the caring older student who took you under his wing because of your relationship with his girlfriend. To any man watching, Jungkook was just like the rest of them; a predator watching their prey right before they pounced.
Jungkook, unlike most predators, just had more patience.
Your hand reaches out for Taehyung’s shirt. Your fingers dig into the fabric and bring him closer to you. He doesn’t hesitate. His hand cups your neck fully to keep you right in place as his tongue greedily forces its way into your mouth.
The kiss is hot and messy, full of drunken need that Taehyung isn’t aware was there until now. He presses himself against you, your breast against his own chest, your ass now fully on the pool table but it’d be a lie to say if either of you cared right now.
There’s a throbbing that shoots right between your legs and your mind ignores the faint screaming of your sober mind to stop this. People were looking - not in disgust or scandal. This was normal to them.
You feel Taehyung shove himself away from you before you could react. Your eyes flutter open, your cheeks warming up when you realize Jungkook is now in front of you. His eyes are hard and piercing down right at you.
“I’m taking you home.” Jungkook grumbles. His tattooed hand snatches you harshly by your bicep and he yanks you off of the pool table.
Taehyung licks his lips of your flavored gloss. He doesn’t fight Jungkook. ‘If you don’t, I will.’ Is what Taehyung’s eyes had told his younger friend, and Jungkook heeded the warning.
“What are you doing?!” you hiss, attempting to pull yourself away from Jungkook’s grasp.
“Are you suddenly hard of hearing?” Jungkook hisses back. “I’m taking you home.”
“I don’t want to go.”
This time you do manage to get lost from Jungkook, but it results in you nearly falling right into Taehyung. There’s more eyes on you, the music changing to something more upbeat.
“You’ve had too much to drink.” Jungkook’s eyes glare at you then flicker to his friend. “Find your own way home.”
“Already planned on it.” Taehyung flashes Jungkook a knowing grin.
“What? No!” you shake your head. You manage to balance yourself. “I want to stay-”
“And do what?” Jungkook spats. He wasn’t going to do this with you here. “Get fucked in front of everyone like some type of whore?”
Jungkook didn’t mean that.
The sight of you kissing Taehyung so freely had Jungkook’s blood running cold. He could’ve stopped it sooner, but he hadn’t. Instead, he remained in the corner and stood witness to how far you’d take it. He hadn’t expected you to be the one to initiate the kiss, and the sight of his friend's possessive hand upon you had sent him in a rage.
“Fuck. You.” you push past Jungkook and people that were now surrounding you two. Your throat aches, and that only meant one thing.
Jungkook takes a deep breath. He follows after you, not bothering to say any forms of “excuse me’s” to the people he pushed past. You were fast, but not fast enough. Just as you reach the opened front door, Jungkook has a grip on your bicep once more.
“Let me-”
“I didn’t mean that.” Jungkook says quickly. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah sure you didn’t.” you spat, yanking your arm, but Jungkook’s grip is tight. “Let go.”
“Not until you agree to talking to me.” Jungkook shakes his head. “Away from here.”
A few people shove past you, but Jungkook’s hold on you assures you don’t stumble. You were growing irritated the longer you remained at this party. Your eyes glare up at Jungkook, but he isn’t phased.
“I don’t want to go home.” your teeth grit. “I haven’t even been here for a couple hours. I thought you said you wanted me to be here.”
Only softly does Jungkook push you out from the doorway and down the pathway from the estate. It’s quieter outside and there isn’t even a breeze out. When you and he are further away from the chaos of the party, he finally lets your bicep go. “I’m sorry for what I said in there.”
“You’re sorry for embarrassing me? Thanks.” you spat sarcastically.
“Everyone is drunk, high or both.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “They won’t remember a thing.”
“That isn’t the point and you know it.”
Jungkook does know. Only a small part of him feels bad. It was him that encouraged you to come to this party and be a normal college student. You were doing just that and ruined it for you.
Only, you weren’t supposed to be doing any of that with Taehyung. It was Jungkook who wanted to dance with you. It was him who wanted you to be consumed with. Even if people had known he wasn’t a single man, those wouldn’t remember (or truly care) what they saw.
“You were all over him right in my face.” Jungkook’s tone lowers. “You just met him.”
“You told me to have fun!” you spat, your hands crashing against his chest harshly. You weren’t like this, you note, but the alcohol mixed with pure anger (and slight humiliation) was consuming you. “You told me to come,” you continue, shoving him again. “and be a normal college student and-”
“With me!” Jungkook spats right back at you. “You weren’t supposed to go off with my friend. I invited you here, not him!” Jungkook waves a dismissed hand back to the estate - the party. All of it. He wasn’t in the mood to go back in and do anything he planned tonight.
“Last time I checked, you had a girlfriend.”
Jungkook tilts his head. “I had a girlfriend when you came around my fingers earlier.”
Your shoulders falter.
“I had a girlfriend when you called yourself my dirty girl.” Jungkook takes a step closer to you. “I had a girlfriend when you said you weren’t going to tell her, right?”
You gasp when Jungkook snatches your shirt and pulls you towards him. Your eyes immediately roam around, but he doesn’t give a damn who’s watching or not.
“I had a girlfriend when I told you it’d be a secret you and I share, huh?” Jungkook murmurs. “So don’t act like you care about her now.
Jungkook’s words crash upon you. You don’t like how they make you feel. You don’t like when he’s right.
“You don’t want to go home? Fine. But we aren’t staying here.” Jungkook lets go of your shirt. “Come on.”
You follow Jungkook to the side of the estate, you quiet as you contemplate his words. You never felt shittier, you think, than having Jungkook out of all people throw your actions in your face.
You don’t realize Jungkook has stopped walking until you feel something hard being shoved at you.
“Huh?”
Your hands hold onto something heavy. It takes you a few seconds to realize it’s a helmet. Its shell is black with a sleek purple visor that shows your reflection. Your eyes glance up to see Jungkook swing his leg around a motorcycle.
“Y-You didn’t drive today?” you try not to sound too nervous, but it’s hard.
Jungkook starts the motorcycle. There’s a high pitched click, followed by rapid roar as the engine cuts on. The lights flash brightly against the estate walls.
“My car? Nope.” Jungkook shakes his head. “Put on the helmet and get on.”
Your eyes widen. “I’ve never been on one before.” you shake your own head. “You only have one helmet?!”
Jungkook snickers. “Well I can’t let a pretty thing like you go without.” he says. “I’ll drive slow, I promise.”
At your hesitation, Jungkook furrows his brows at you. “This is a tame motorcycle. It's mainly used for cruising.” he winks at you. “In style.”
You look down at the helmet in your hands. The purple visor stares right back up at you. “How do you even see out of this?” you murmur, mainly to yourself. It was evident that if you wanted to get home, you'd have to get on this very motorcycle.
Jungkook smiles when you put the helmet over your head. You look cute, he thinks. Completely out of your element entirely, but cute nonetheless.
You felt like an idiot wearing this helmet, but you hop on the motorcycle right behind Jungkook.
You push the visor up. “This doesn’t feel safe!” you exclaim.
“Hold onto me and shut up.” Jungkook says back, no annoyance in his voice at all.
Hesitantly, you place your hands onto Jungkook’s shoulders.
Jungkook snorts. “No,” he shakes his head. He reaches his hands to tap your hand that's on his shoulder before he gently tugs at it. He places it around his waist. “hold onto me securely, baby. We wouldn’t want you to fall off.”
A part of you is still upset at Jungkook for insisting you come to this party just to drag you out before you could fully experience it. However, you listen - as nervous as you were. You push the visor back down before leaning closer to the man. You wrap your arms around him.
Without allowing you time to adjust, Jungkook twists the throttle and the bike begins to move - only gently - but it was enough for you to slam your entire body against his, your arms tightening around him. You’d be damned if you fell off after you survived this world this long.
Jungkook likes the way your body feels against his, his chest rumbling when he feels your arms sink into him nervously.
Jungkook twists the throttle again, adding more acceleration and drives down the long drive way and further away from the estate. The wind flows through his dark hair just as he whips down the street. This is his first time riding with anyone as his own girlfriend was just as skeptical. He finds it exciting - especially because it was you.
Riding for Jungkook meant he could clear his mind. He enjoyed riding around dusk as there wasn’t much traffic and the scenery surrounding him was beautiful. Even now, the wind through him, the vibrations. It’s a thrill that pumps through his veins, along with dopamine and adrenaline. The rumble of the engine only adds on to the excitement.
You could practically mold into Jungkook’s skin with how tight you were holding onto him. The street lights, in your own humble opinion, race past you and you’re glad you had on the helmet.
“The first time was rough for me, too.” Jungkook hollers back to you. “You okay?”
“Y-yeah!” you manage to call back, your hands grabbing a fistfull of his shirt. “Where are we going?!”
“Just enjoy the ride!”
So you do - the best way you could. As Jungkook accelerates, it doesn’t feel like you’re simply going faster, but instead of being pulled forward by rushing wind, sending a surge through your body.
The streets are empty as Jungkook tears through them, a heightened sense of being alive at this very moment. Your arms around it makes it even better to him, the closeness of it. The way he can even feel your beating heart right against his back.
It felt like forever until Jungkook finally began to slow down. You hadn’t paid much attention to your surroundings and instead, actually calmed down into the ride. You could understand why the older man was content with riding, even if it wasn’t something you’d do on your own.
When Jungkook comes to a stop is when you release his waist, the warmth he had going with him. You lift the helmet from your head, blinking your eyes just a bit to adjust to the warm lighting coming from the tall building he’s parked in front of.
“You…live here?” you ask him, eyes widening a bit.
The high-rise building is modern, surrounded by tall, black gates. The outside lights offer a warm, illuminating glow as Jungkook enters the code on the keypad. Slowly, the dark gates open.
You don’t bother putting the helmet back on as the motorcycle begins to move once more. Your eyes scan the high, floor to ceiling windows, all dark tinted glass for privacy.
Jungkook drives through an open entrance that leads the two of you through a garage where several expensive cars - and other motorcycles - are parked.
“I’m sorry again,” Jungkook begins as he parks his bike by a set of elevators. He turns off the motorcycle. “for dragging you out of there. I didn’t want you to do anything you’d regret when you were sober.”
He didn’t want you to do anything with someone that wasn’t him is what he kept to himself.
Jungkook gets off of the bike and turns towards you. He offers his hand for you to take. Hesitantly, you do.
“We can continue to party here.” Jungkook states as you get off of the bike yourself. He laces his fingers through yours. “If that’s fine with you.”
You swallow. Was there truly any going back? “Yeah.” you murmur. “It’s fine.”
Jungkook grins. He tugs you gently towards the elevator. It opens within seconds of Jungkook pressing the button. As you enter, the back of said elevator showcases a large floor length mirror that covers it entirely. You scan your appearance for a moment, your gloss a bit smudged and your eyes were only a bit red.
The elevator goes higher and higher while all you could do was watch the red numbers grow.
“You look nervous.” Jungkook grabs your attention. He lifts your intertwined hands up to his lips. He presses a kiss against your hand.
Your eyes meet.
“I think you brought me here to get me all alone.”
Your brows furrow for a moment at your own words. You hadn’t thought about what you were going to say before speaking it.
“And if I did?” Jungkook retorts. “Is that bad?”
The elevator continues to go higher and higher as Jungkook and you continue to peer at one another.
“N…” you shake your head gently. “...No.”
The elevator dings.
“And it’ll be our little secret?” Jungkook tilts his head a bit just as the elevator doors begin. The hallway is dimly lit in a cozy way. There’s only 2 doors on this floor and on opposite sides of one another.
“Our little secret…” you murmur.
You ponder how far things were going to go with Jungkook. Would you be the one to put an end to it, or would he? You weren’t sure how long you and he had until this would have to eventually end. If you’re lucky, mutually and without your cousin finding out about the betrayal.
The penthouse is modern and sleek - and entirely dark. The walls are a cream color while the overall decor is mostly black with charcoal tones. Instantly, you notice how high you were as your eyes peer out the floor to ceiling windows, the city lights outside appear so far below.
“It’s very clean here.” you think aloud, eyes scanning the tidy area. There’s a large, black leather sectional that has a glossy finish. The coffee table matches the couch, black but glass and it’s already holding alcohol, half full.
“You take me for a slop?” Jungkook questions. He’s watching you peer around the penthouse. He wonders what you’re thinking. The first time he brought your cousin here, she hadn’t wanted to stay for long, stating that the penthouse - that she assured to mention was bought by his father - was too much space for one person. It’s why he often spent so much time at your apartment.
“Of course not.” you turn to face him. You inhale through your nose deeply before speaking again. “It’s nice. High…” you trail off.
Jungkook’s lip twitches upwards. “It is.” he murmurs. “Sometimes I like to sit on the balcony railing.”
Your brows knit together and your eyes widen. “That’s dangerous!” you exclaim. “You can’t be that bored.”
Jungkook snickers. “I like the adrenaline that comes with it.” he states. “Want a drink?”
Jungkook has a variety of alcohol, you note. On the right wall, just underneath the mounted television, is a cooler. It’s tinted and at first glance, you thought it was one of those expensive electric fire places you saw.
“That’s a lot of alcohol for one person.” you note from behind him.
“Luckily you’re here to help me, huh?” Jungkook takes out a variety. He isn’t expecting you to drink much, but he’s sure you’re still fairly new to it. He places them onto his coffee table besides the other bottles. “Sit down. You don’t have to be so awkward.”
You do as you’re told as Jungkook makes his way down the hall. He returns in under a minute with two shot glasses. You aren’t surprised that they’re tinted dark, as well.
“So what? We’re just drinking?” you ponder. “For that, we could’ve gone back to the party.”
“So you can continue sucking my friends face off?” Jungkook questions. “Do or drink.”
“What?”
“Do,” Jungkook places the two glasses onto his coffee table. He grabs the closest bottle he could - tequila - and pops it open. “or drink. Or both, I’m down for whatever.”
“Like truth or dare?” you question as Jungkook pours two shots.
“Yea. But this is just the dare option.” Jungkook’s eyes flicker to you, sparkling with mischief. “Let’s take a shot just to get it started.”
Jungkook holds out the shot glass for you. It’s filled to the brim and even away from your face you can smell how strong the tequila is.
“You chickening out?”
You glance up from the shot to Jungkook, unamused. “No.” you respond. “We didn’t come all this way for nothing.”
Jungkook presses the shot to his lips. “Do what you want,” he murmurs before he downs the shot. His throat bobs as he swallows. “because you want to.”
Jungkook goes to pour another shot, but this time he holds it in his hands. You contemplate Jungkook’s words for a moment. You’re sure you understood it - do what you want, not what you think he wants you to do.
Jungkook chuckles a bit when you take the shot, the harsh liquid burning your throat in just the right way. On the ride here, you felt yourself sobering up just a bit that you can now taste the alcohol that once went down like water at the party.
“So, are you going first?” you ask Jungkook, holding out your shot glass for him to fill.
“I can.” Jungkook offers you his own shot glass and takes yours to re-pour the alcohol. “Mild? Medium?”
“What?”
Jungkook leans against the couch to get comfortable.
“How tame is this game going to be?” Jungkook questions. “Since it’s your first time, we can play mildly-”
“Hot.” you deadpan.
Jungkook goes silent and in an instant, you contemplate maybe you were trying too hard.
“Or-”
“Hot it is. There’s no holding back.” Jungkook nods. “I dare you to strip.” Jungkook states. “Not nude.” Not yet, he thinks.
It isn’t anything new, you think, and yet you’re nervous. Jungkook’s eyes are peering at you, unblinking. Unmoving. You place the shot onto the coffee table and do as you’re dared to do. You start with your shirt, removing the fabric so slowly that Jungkook believes you’re intentionally teasing him. Your bra clings onto your chest and bounces ever so lightly when you finally get the shirt over your head.
The jean skirt is next and you get up for this. Jungkook feels his heart race at the sign of your panties. They’re simple cotton, he notes, but the simplicity adds on to his attraction towards you. You didn’t need to wear anything overly sexual for him to be aroused by you. He swallows just as you sit down and face him.
“Your turn.” Jungkook murmurs, his eyes slowly trailing back to your face.
“I dare you to do the same.”
When you watch Jungkook take the shot, your shoulders falter a bit. You weren’t expecting him to do that.
However, Jungkook then unbuckles his belt as he stands. He removes his pants and discards them carelessly. He goes for his shirt next, your eyes fixed on his now exposed chest. The tattoos that connect from said chest, to his shoulder, all the way from his biceps to his hands. You find yourself swallowing as Jungkook sits down, this time closer to you.
“I guess it’s my turn again.” Jungkook hums. “Ya’ sure you’re not nervous?”
You swallow the lump in your throat. Jungkook’s closeness is evident by how his body heat radiates towards you. Your heart is beating in your chest rapidly that your tipsy mind swears it’ll explode right now.
“Why do you ask?” you respond, deflecting the question as the answer is obvious. Your palms were seconds from sweating. “Do I look nervous?”
Yes, Jungkook thinks, but he knows you by now. You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t a bundle of nerves and sexual tension.
Instead, Jungkook snickers. “Come here,” he says. He grasps the bottle from the coffee table and opens the bottle. The top flies off and Jungkook makes no move to capture it from wherever it’s fallen. You watch Jungkook take a swig from the bottle, a bit of the alcohol trailing down the corner of his lips and it hits his chest.
You scooted closer to Jungkook, your eyes glancing from his chest to the dark look in his eyes.
“I’m not going to bite you, baby.” Jungkook thinks how he wishes he could just sink his teeth into you and trail his tongue along your skin right about now. But he’ll take it slow. “It’s just me. It’s not like we haven’t done this before.”
You hate to be reminded.
Was there any going back now? You and he both are half naked in his high rise apartment. It’s evident that something is going to happen.
No, you think, there wasn’t any going back. Jungkook spreads his legs just as you climb into his lip, his free hand settling onto your waist.
“I dare you-”
“It’s my turn!” you exclaim.
Smirking, Jungkook shakes his head. “I never dared you to come to me, baby.” he says teasingly. He was right, you think, and your cheeks warm at the thought. “I dare you to kiss me.”
You don’t hesitate. Your hands place them on both sides of Jungkook’s cheeks and you press your lips onto his. Instantly, you can taste the tequila, but somehow he makes that bitter taste seem sweet.
Jungkook groans into your lips. It doesn’t take much for a dent to grow in his underwear and you feel it right at your core.
“I dare you…” your nose nestles against Jungkook’s, your lips pressing into his again - and again. His hold onto your waist tightens, keeping you right in the spot he wants you. “...to tell me how you felt.”
Jungkook’s tongue trails along your bottom lip. “How I felt about what?” he breathes.
“When you watched me make out with your friend.” you say against his lips. “How did it make you feel?”
You lean away from him just enough for your eyes to meet.
Jungkook tilts his head, dark eyes scanning your face. “Why?” he questions. “Did you do it to get a rise out of me?”
Without notice, your thighs tighten against his, your knees at his waist.
“I think you did.” Jungkook murmurs. He’s still holding the bottom of tequila and he takes another swig. “You knew I was watching you the entire time, huh? You gave Taehyung something that took me months to get.”
“As far as I know, Taehyung is single.” you retort.
“Oh?” Jungkook snickers. “We know that doesn’t make a difference, baby, because if it did…” Jungkook’s free hand glides from your waist, to your ass. He knows he isn’t too intoxicated to imagine the throbbing right between your legs. “...you wouldn’t be with me right now.”
You gasp when Jungkook’s hand squeezes your ass, unblinking eyes watching you closely.
“Taehyung is one of my best friends,” Jungkook says. “but watching the way he got to touch you so easily made me want to kill him. He doesn’t deserve it.”
“And you do?”
“I do.” Jungkook presses his lips to yours again. He forces his tongue into your mouth and suckles onto yours.
The kiss is needy, wet and entirely lewd and the both of you melt into it. It turns into something hotter; passionate. Your hips grinds automatically, your clit needily humping against Jungkook’s clothed bulge and Jungkook wishes he’d dared you to get completely naked instead. But he has to remind himself that you and he have more than enough time. The entire night, he thinks, and if he was lucky, the weekend entirely. Your cousin would be busy and wouldn’t notice her boyfriend and cousin away.
“Do you wanna stop?” Jungkook breaks the kiss first, much to his own dismay, but his mind is racing with different ways he wants to have you. He isn’t sure he’d be able to contain himself if things got any further.
“D-Do you?”
“Fuck, no.” Jungkook groans. “There’s so much I want to do to you, baby.”
Your thighs squeeze, ever so gently, Jungkook in. Your breathing increases and the older man knows that you're curious - as is the increasing heartbeat between your legs.
“Like what?” you dare ask, Your mind flashes with that forbidden moment you and he shared in his car, his fingers plunging so deep inside of you that your thighs clench even tighter.
“Excited?”
There’s a squeeze on your ass that has your body jolting.
“Have you ever given anyone a body shot?” asks Jungkook, though he’s sure of the answer.
You shake your head.
“I dare you to let me.” Jungkook’s eyes does that twinkle again. “My own way, at least.” he murmurs.
Slowly, you nod your head. You’re unsure what to expect so all you do is wait. Jungkook raises the bottle and just when you’re sure he’s about to take a sip from it, he doesn’t. Instead, he pours the liquid onto you. It falls down your neck, the cool liquid having you gasping.
Jungkook presses himself closer to you, his tongue - warm in contrast to the alcohol - swirls against the soft skin of your breast as he licks up the trail of tequila he’s poured onto you.
Your body shudders as Jungkook’s warm tongue licks from your breast, to your collarbone and finally your neck. “You okay?” he questions from your neck. There's a twitch that you feel from where you’re sitting.
“Y-Yeah,” you say. “feels good.” you whisper, your tone so low and only a part of you wishing he hadn’t heard it.
Jungkook does hear it, because of course he does. It fuels him to continue, this time pouring the alcohol against your breast entirely and diving in. This time, his eyes flicker up at you as his tongue laps up the falling droplets. He studies your expression - parted lips, clouded eyes and arching back.
“You’re a lot dirtier than I thought.” Jungkook hums. His free hand releases your ass to replace it with your covered breast. Your bra is soaked, covered in tequila. Jungkook forces his finger through the bra, slowly sliding it so your breast could be fully free. “Was there a scene like this in those dirty books you read?”
You’re caught off guard by the question, but more off guard by the way Jungkook flicks your nipple with a greedy tongue. It’s all he needs until he’s snatching the bra off of you entirely and diving into your chest.
Your shock could only last so long. His hands engulf your breast entirely, kneading them in his palms as his tongue trails along your skin. He plops a nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling the excited bud in his mouth. He isn’t being calm about it. There wasn’t a need to be silent when you and he were here alone. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to assure you and he were alone - he knew the two of you were.
“Hah~ Kook!” you gasp. His teeth, only gently, nipples at your nipple before he plops it from his lips. He stares hungrily at it before averting his eyes up to look at you.
“You like it.” Jungkook dismisses. “I can feel your pussy, baby.”
You groan.
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Jungkook assures. “It’s your turn, baby.”
You nearly forgot about the game.
“Oh…okay.” you nod.
Jungkook has a low grin on his lips. It’s teasing and not at all taunting, but your heart is racing and your body is burning. You can feel the throbbing between your legs heavier and it’s even more evident now that so can he.
Jungkook knows of your inexperience with it all, even claiming the “boys” you’ve been with weren’t anything compared to him. He isn’t wrong in the slightest, but you’re still embarrassed to sit here and know little of what you’re doing.
“I dare you to let me do a body shot off of you!” you exclaim. “In my own way.”
“Oh? Feeling bold?” Jungkook is intrigued. He lifts the tequila bottle for you to take.
With shaking hands, you do. You glance at him, his eyes watching your every move that there isn’t any way you could fuck this up and embarrass yourself further.
Liquid courage, you think to yourself, and lift the bottle to your lips and take a swig. It doesn't burn when it goes down.
Then, your eyes trail to Jungkook’s shoulders, his tattoos on his chest that connect to the sleeve that makes him even more of an attractive man.
“Nervous?”
Jungkook’s voice gets you out of your thoughts again.
“You’re so cute, you know?”
You squeeze the bottle.
“I’m not nervous.” you mumble the lie, even if there wasn’t a need to do so. Jungkook knows you by now. “It’s just you.”
You get off of Jungkook’s lap - much to his dismay - and hover above him long enough to splash his chest with the alcohol. He flinches a bit, but doesn’t speak. You pour more than you intended to, the alcohol trailing from his chest, down his abs and unintentionally to his bulge.
Jungkook doesn’t say anything. Instead, his lips twitched upwards. He truly does think you’re cute, his cock twitching at the soft look in your eyes - the naivety and innocence he adores.
You swallow, dropping to your knees in front of him. You place the nearly empty bottle down beside you with nervous hands. Your eyes, those same eyes he adores, look up at him as your tongue places itself onto his clothed bulge.
Instantly, Jungkook’s breath hitches. Both of your hands glide upwards onto his thighs as your tongue trails upwards from his twitching bulge, to his abdomen. Your eyes remain on his, licking up the tequila from his abs, to his tattooed chest. Your tongue doesn’t stop until you’re at his neck, and even then you replace your tongue with your lips, pressing a kiss to the nape of it.
“You look nervous.” you tease.
You remove yourself from his neck to catch Jungkook’s expression.
“It’s always the shy girls, isn’t it?” Jungkook pecks your lips before you could get too far away from him.
“Your turn.”
Jungkook takes a deep breath. “I dare you to tell me a fantasy of yours.”
Your brows knit together.
“Don’t look like that.” Jungkook snickers. “All those dirty books you read, there has to be something in there you fantasize about. You told me you touch yourself,” a tattooed hand places itself in your inner thigh and squeezes it. “and I felt how wet that pussy could get. So tell me.”
And like before, Jungkook takes back control. You wouldn't know what to do with it, anyways.
“I always fantasized about being fucked hard.”
Jungkook’s ears perk as you speak.
“When I read, I imagine it’s me being fucked like how they are.” you continue. You’ve never told anyone about the books you read, or about anything about your own fantasies.
“And how are they fucked?”
There’s another squeeze to your thigh.
“Hard.” you whisper. “Disrespectfully. Like they’re…claimed.”
For a few moments, you and Jungkook are silently staring at one another. The tension is high, heat radiating off of the both of you. He’s just as sticky as you are, his hold on you never untightening.
“I guess it’s my turn.” you break the silence. “I dare you…”
Jungkook’s unblinking.
“...fulfill my fantasy.”
A tighter squeeze to your thigh.
“Claim me as yours. It’ll be our little secret.”
Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. You’re pushed onto the leather couch rapidly and within seconds, your panties are pulled off of you. He’s on top of you, forcing your thighs apart so he can see your pussy in all its glory.
“I knew you were a slut.” Jungkook leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “My slut to claim as my own, is that right?”
“Yea~” you gasp out as Jungkook’s lips kiss your chin, to your chest. “Your slut.”
Jungkook likes the sound of it. He continues to kiss down your body until he’s right between your legs. You’re so wet, your clit puffy and begging for any attention, and he’s fully prepared to give it just that. His tongue is flat and drags between your folds slowly to savor that sweet taste of you - a taste his mind suddenly tells him that Taehyung could’ve had.
Taehyung.
Kim Taehyung, his friend and a man you just met could’ve had this sweet pussy on his tongue right now.
Now, Jungkook is entirely pissed at just the possibility - even if the chances were low - of him being in this position. His hands slam down on your inner thighs that are threatening to close around him, and he dives directly into your clit. His tongue circles harshly around it, relentless and utterly obsessed.
“K-Kook, wait-”
The words leave you. Regardless, they fall on deaf ears. His tongue laps from below, all the way to the top, his head bobbing from side to side.
Your lower back arches a bit as Jungkook claims you as you tell him to, your cunt fully exposed to his mouth. Your hands clench together and your nails dig into your palm.
“Now that I’ve claimed this pussy as my own, it’s only right that only I get to have it.”
It’s a ludicrous request coming from a man in a relationship, but he wouldn’t be a man if he didn’t have audacity. Your mind is far too consumed with pleasure to care about how insane it sounds, but you’re agreeing without any thoughts, nodding your head dumbly.
Jungkook solidifies it by popping two fingers inside of you, your wet pussy squelching obscenely. He pushes them in deeper and deeper, your gummy walls clasping around them as he goes knuckles deep.
“My pretty pussy,”
Jungkook pumps, his tongue circling your clit to add onto your madness. He keeps his fingers deep, stretching you out just the way he knows you like and in return, you continue to press your sweet cunt against his greedy tongue.
Jungkook laps your juices up, relentlessly even when you’re squirming and squealing above him. Your thighs shake and your eyes are rolling, overstimulation flowing through your entire body. You haven’t felt this before, you think, being fully doted on has your body spasming, but wanting more.
You break into a high-pitched whimper as Jungkook’s warm tongue remains on your clit, suckling and twirling, as his fingers pump brutally inside you. He was milking you for all you had to give him, his fingers fully coated in milky arousal.
“Fuck - I-I feel…cu-umming~”
Your body is trembling entirely, back continuing to arch right into him. Your eyes squeeze shut, your moans growing louder and drawn out.
Jungkook feels it, the way your pussy spasms around his pumping fingers, clenching and unclenching as if begging to be mercied, but he doesn’t allow you any. No, he continues on lapping onto your clit that your toes curl, the overstimulation now turning into pain - not an uncomfortable one, but the pleasurable kind.
Your body gives out, arousal pooling out of you just as his fingers do. They splash onto his couch, but he couldn’t find it in him to care; not when you looked this delectable.
You’re gasping, but Jungkook isn’t one to waste time. No, you told him to claim you as his and he has every plan to do just that.
Your eyes snap open when you feel something slide past your lips.
“Suck them,” Jungkook demands, his fingers deep in your mouth. “Taste how good you are.”
You groan, your eyes fluttering with just how obscene this all is - and how much you loved it.
You do as you’re told, like the good slut you told Jungkook you were, your fingers suckling on the two digits in your mouth, fluttering eyes looking up at Jungkook innocently.
Jungkook shakes his head, licking his lips of the same taste. “My good little slut.” he murmurs. “You act so shy and reserved, but we know what you really are.”
Jungkook removes his fingers from your lips, your saliva coating them.
With a hitched breath, you say, “Y-Your….slut?”
“Exactly.”
Jungkook pushes his underwear down and kicks them off. His cock springs out, tip flushed and oozing with sticky cum. It’s pretty, you think, veins drawn down them.
“Tell me what you want.”
You swallow. “I want you to fuck me.”
Jungkook groans as he wraps a hand around his cock. “You have a dirty mouth, baby.”
You watch Jungkook, eyes fixed on how hot he looks. Watching a man touch himself has never intrigued you, but you understood why not. They weren’t Jeon Jungkook.
“I thought about fucking you for so long, you know?” Jungkook admits. “Filling you full of my cum.”
Your cheeks grow hot. “I…” you blink a few times. “I’m not…on anything.”
Jungkook tilts his head. “That’s okay.” he murmurs. “I’ll buy you something tomorrow.”
You aren’t in the right mind to deny him, so you nod and say, “Okay.”
You’re so submissive that Jungkook pumps his cock harder. “You’d let me?” he asks, almost in disbelief. “Of course you’d let me…” he breaks out in a grin.
You nod your head. “I’d let you.” you assure, eyes flickering between his cock to his eyes. “Please fuck me, Kook.”
Grunting, Jungkook finds himself between your legs faster than either of you could fathom. He hikes a leg upward, the tip of his cock at your entrance. He cannot believe how wet you are, your warmth oozing onto his tip. He rubs it against your clit and between your folds, marveling at how perfect it all looked from up above.
“I’ll fuck you real good, baby.” Jungkook groans.
Your back arches yet again as Jungkook begins to enter you. He feels the hair on his arms lift as a shudder runs up his spine. A moan slips past parted lips, his mind pondering how anyone could be this tight, but then he has to remember that you don’t do this often. Your body was trying to get comfortable with having something inside of you.
“I knew you’d feel good,” Jungkook whispers, voice hoarse. He’s speaking mainly to himself, but you hear him just the same.
Jungkook ruts his hips and watches your expression. Your eyes roll while your thighs widen just a bit, a silent plea for more, and it’s exactly what he gives you. He goes deeper, tip reaching places you’ve never felt it before that has your toes curling. Your walls cage him in, practically begging him to never leave.
The couch creaks beneath the force of his thrusts, the rubbery leather molding into your skin. Your breasts pounce with each impact, followed by the satisfied squelching of your pussy.
“-harder,” you breathe, your hands reaching for nothing in particular while your eyes don’t focus on anything. “Please.”
Grunting, Jungkook shakes his head. His hold on your tightens as he presses your knees to your chest. “Greedy girl,” he hisses, but who was he to not give you what you want? He slams into you this, his cock drilling harder and harder like you’ve asked him too. "Look at you, squirming under me."
Your pussy continues to squelch loudly, offering its own contribution to the lewd sounds. Creaking couch, high-pitched moans, followed by the occasional grunts and skin slapping.
You were seeing stars now, slipping in and out of your high as your pussy flutters around Jungkook’s ramming cock.
“Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” Jungkook whimpers, lowering himself. His hair tickles your forehead. “I waited so long to feel this pussy around me.”
This is bad, but the rational part of you is hidden deep behind lust and intoxication. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about what you and Jungkook were doing now while your cousins were none the wiser. Maybe it’s that fact that has you tightening around her boyfriend, begging him for more and more until you’re cumming.
Jungkook isn’t done with you yet. After all, you and he had the entire night. He takes a quick break to pop a nipple back into his mouth, his tongue lavishing against the bud possessively. Then, he turns your body around easily and enters you once more. Your ass from this position looks amazing and with each punishing thrusts, his eyes are fixated on it.
“F-Fuuuck, Kook. Slow-”
“You can take it!” Jungkook hisses.
Your face is buried into the couch, your back arched allowing the man to do as he pleases to you. Your thighs are coated with sticky arousal that pools out of you with each pump.
“I’m just giving you what you wanted, right?”
He was, you think, and damn did it feel too good. Each thrust was completely animalistic and focused, claiming you entirely. Jungkook isn’t sure why his mind drifts back to the way you kiss Taehyung so freely, but he does know that the way his hands grip onto your hips possessively and hold you in place that it’s an act that would never happen again.
“Don’t stop, Kook, pl-lease!” you hiccup those encouraging words that have Jungkook going over the edge. “So close~”
“Gonna cum already, baby? That’s not fair, I haven’t came yet.” Jungkook teases. “Pretty pussy dripping all over me.”
“Cum in me then.” you exclaim, your eyes growing glossy with how good it all felt. You can feel the pressure building up in the pits of your stomach again.
“Shit!” Jungkook rasps. One hand lets go of your hips to slam them on the couch right beside your head. He leans down, the other hand having a good grip on your waist as he continues to drill into you. “Pretty girl, are you crying?”
Jungkook is so smug. His lips press against your shoulders, eyes focused on the way the overstimulated tears slide down your cheeks.
“-cumming,” you whisper, eyes squeezing shut and letting out the remainder of the tears. Jungkook groans when your pussy clenches around him as you cum, your body shuddering beneath him. “I’m cumming, too.” he hisses, grinding thrusts pumping in and out rapidly until the final one shoots cum right inside of you. It’s so hot and seemingly endless, his cock pulsing in a way it hasn’t in so long.
