a collection of things that have made me feel a certain way
updated 23042024
not everything recommended here will suit everyone (smut/ violence/ toxic relationships) and if you do click into links please make sure you read the tws before continuing.
Social Media AU! (text messages/ snapchat/ twitter/ insta typa vibes)
casual - @muniimyg (JJK × reader)
i have been religiously following this on one of my other tumblr accounts and it's finally completed and i'm so excited to share this with all of you!!
reading this made my insides very tingly and BUTTERFLY typa energy!
lowkey my new comfort fic!
there's some written parts here and there but it really just adds to the CONTENT and the SPICE of the whole situation
hella fluffy. makes my heart do the uwu. very much wholesome. something i stayed up till 6am reading
11/10 would stay up till 6 reading it again.
also the significance of tiger lilies is insanely aDORABLEEE
my love for jjk has just grown a gazillion times more
Under A Shadow - @firebettercallnct (KTH × reader, slight JJK × reader)
a lil angst and a lil fluff. (as all good stories will have)
kinda wish it was longer idk. im a sucker for super long stories.
ALSO !! we get some side yoonmin action !!!!!!!!!!!
Stole your shirt - @firebettercallnct (JJK × reader)
one of my personal favs. super cute and also everyone’s on some kinda crack or sum shit idk.
p damn fluffy and when you reach the end you’ll j kind of wish you could go back to before u read it because u wna experience all the feelings agn.
ALSO!!!! we hv some namjin and yoonseok action !!!1!!
Rumour Has It - @bangtann-bangdamn (KTH × reader)
very much wholesome.
genuinely found it quite funny and it had me laughing at 2 in the morning
i dont rly hv much to say just pls go read it.
everyone should read it once in their lives
Belong - @v-hope (KTH × reader)
THIS IS FINALLY COMPLETED!!
something i chanced upon during my late night fanfic times and like let me tell you. a whole fucking new world.
this was really a beautiful read. 11/10 obsessed with this. i literally spend my time rereading this.
teehee give this a read. all yall artist!taehyung fans are rly not gna regret it
Daylight - @maravillamin (MYG × reader)
will make you decide to legally change your name to y/n
ever wanted to be a single mom because you got a divorce with your useless husband? no? well now you wish you were.
literally dad!yoongi and mom!reader
also you have the cutest friends? like this is so cute. makes me want to birth children
touch of him - @herherteartear (JHS × reader)
you are living the perfect girl life kinda thing and hoseok's the opposite of it all
this is serving polar opposites but not really kind of energy.
also this is giving off "business only" family energy if you know what i mean.
Actual written things !!
Monster - @btssmutgalore (JJK × reader)
currently deactivated so i've linked the fic from dee's ao3
this started so many years back and just a few days ago it finally became a completed fic!!!
i have an extremely soft spot for this jungkook.
personal favourite is chapter 18. like literally my heart expands a gazillion times just thinking about this
ngl i was here more for the plot than for the smut. truly chef's kiss
charred - @neonlights92 (JHS × reader)
this was genuinely quite intense. i dont really know what i was expecting out of this tbh.
development of story plot was great! I enjoyed seeing how it unfolded bit by bit.
this was part of a collection of fics written about mafia!bts n this is my literal fav. i feel like it wasnt too cliche?? (take note of how i said i feel, bcs at this pt i dont even know what counts as cliche anymore) but hey to me this was good n refreshing n i liked it n now i want to share this with all of u
Beloved - @bang-tan-bitches (MYG × reader)
major yandere energy. lowkey disturbing but some part of me is just madly obsessed with this.
also when you picture daechwita!yoongi it really just drives you craycray
i really dont know what else to say?! but do give this a read (only if you're comfortable)
this is definitely not going to be something that everyone is okay with reading so please check the warnings before proceeding!
love of my life - @latetaektalk (MYG × reader)
okay this shit be painful af. this fucking broke me. idk have never been the same since. would still read it all over again.
this was about 7k words? so not the longest but it was long enough for something so sad :(
in general really sad and emo. if you want to feel like the whole world is crashing on you pls give it a read.
the art of the rom-com - @gukyi (JJK × reader)
first of all wtf. made me feel single af.
it’s our fav kind of enemies to lovers energy. slowburn. college au. yeah you get the gist.
super fluffy but we love to see it. also mildly angsty but it’s all g we will get over it.
okay but also this was so longggg!!! what an experience. a solid 33k words. i nv thought i would reach the end of it but i did.
super solid read. i hope yall read it too.
blossom - @namfinessed (KTH × reader)
okay first off, yall alrdy know i love hella long fics. this was 38k+ words.
please only read this when you have the time istg i was staring on my tiny screen and really wanted to just fall asleep but also it was too intriguing to just sleep on.
yall rly be sleeping on this though. a very solid read.
i mean you really can’t go wrong with florist!taehyung energy amirite
bad influence: collection - @noteguk (JJK × reader)
so this is an ongoing one as well.
truth is i havent finished reading whatever has been posted yet. BUT i do have a very good reason for it, which is that i’m not ready to be in a position where i realise i’m going to be done reading it.
frm wtv i’ve read this is some sexy ass story.
honestly you could read it as individual parts i guess? but for the real feels pls read all the way from the first part.
oh and it’s a hella hot badboy!jungkook so yes if you r into that you def should add this to your must read list.
easy - @itsamejin (JJK × reader)
okay so here’s the deal with this. collegeau! fuckboy energy. bets are made. yea you kinda get it.
It’s a very basic boy takes bet and ends up falling for the girl kinda thing but idk i really enjoyed the process of reading it.
you get the good fluff and angst balance in this too so :>
Thoughts Of You Keep Me Awake At Night - @hollyhomburg (MYG × reader)
yoongi asking for cuddles i-
reason stated above should be reason enough for you to go read this
it’s a short 2.1K word situation here so you don’t have to spend a whole hour on it heheh
very nice experience if you’re reading this while it’s late at night and you are alone in bed and can’t seem to fall asleep.
Get You The Moon - @bymoonchild (KTH × reader)
enemies to lovers. do i really have to elaborate on this?
you get to see soft!taehyung and also like jock!taehyung all in one !!
i felt shy reading this. was super absorbed.
ooh and it’s smutty too!
it’s relatively long (we’re talking 19.6k words besties) but wow the build up, the plot the everything is peak!!!
Paper Cranes - @aquaminwrites (KTH × reader)
we are talking best friends to lovers. some next level fluff. kim taehyung is completely to die for here. i kid you not.
made me wish someone would like me this much lol.
i felt the butterflies reading this. got some post reading depression after this,,,
18.3k words about how you n kth are like the best in the world?? so like go read?!!
anti-baby fever - @gashinabts (JJK × reader)
pls this was so funny and for WHAT!?
it genuinely made me laugh out loud at 2.32 in the morning.
okay but it’s smutty so you gotta be able to like the spice to read this
it’s also short (4.5k)!! which is a blessing if you are planning to read smth real quick before going to bed!!
but i found myself relating to this though bcs i do not want to have babies unless it’s w bts :’)
SIN CITY - @btssmutgalore (PJM × reader)
currently deactivated so i've linked the fic from dee's ao3
okAY YALL so this is the one thing that lives in my head rent free. istg there was a period a while back when i went on a social media cleanse or smth but i just had to go back onto tumblr to get updates on this
genuinely the one thing that keeps me going
it’s completed so u can experience all the emotions in one sitting if you are up for that.
has my whole heart.
dear @btssmutgalore i love you for writing this. pls marry me.
and yes it is spicy my dears. very spicy.
you do get a decent amt of fluff n angst ish n smut so yes it covers all bases.
and you get sum dancing jimin :>
you won’t be able to control yourself istg pls go and read.
Waking Up Next To The Sun - @houseofwhalien (JHS × reader)
this do be wholesome hours w bby jung hoseok
wholesome morning becomes spicy morning and then back to wholesome morning
okay and this is truly the duality of jung hoseok. like i can literally picture the man being exactly like this
is a short 1.8k of sunshine to bless yall !
Interrupted - @kimnjss (JHS × reader)
let me get yall with this. this is actual spice spice. we are talking extra chilli pepper flakes.
i’m not usually one for something that is just full on spice but like i was feeling sum typa way when i read this.
it’s idol!jhope in here who also turns out is your boyfriend. istg y/n do be the luckiest uGH.
it isn’t too long (4.3K words) so it works as a quick read to convince your brain to have some sexy hoseok dreams.
there was a bug - @kimnjss (KNJ × reader)
i felt frustrated reading this man. like the push and pull - istg my girl y/n and kimnamjoon really needa get their shit tgt.
this was so dirty and for WHAT!! making me shy in bed when i’m all alone with my phone hngghh
has quite a bit of angst and fluff but it’s worth it. the 7k words are all worth it.
baby, my baby - @pjimims (JJK × reader)
okay this was something i read years ago but as i was scrolling through the things i liked i found it again!
thought it was quite cute
i mean come on dad!jungkook is to die for
am kinda sad they aren't writing anymore fics tho :"(
Angel in the Darkness - @icyhobi (JJK × reader)
okay this made me go oop
i remember seeing like part 3 and i was like okay gna wait for it to be a completed fic before i start reading. and i finally got around to reading it yesterday.
mafia!jungkook is kinda my thing now i guess idk
also wth they all be so sneaky sneaky about everything
will make u go omg out loud
anyway i think i am going to hv I trust issues now (finish reading it and you'll know what i mean by this)
Meet The Parents - @btssaysstudy (KNJ × reader)
idk what it was about this that made me feel very warm but i liked it a lot
it's super short and wholesome
and idk it's nice to think that our dear kim namjoon would be like this
cute read for when you're busy and need a short burst of fluff to get you through the day
Serving Bitterness - @guksthighs (KSJ × reader)
let me start off by saying this is like the first seokjin fic im recommending omg
this is a super short one (1.8k words) so it's something that you can probably squeeze in during the busy mornings.
let me first start off by saying y/n is really not here to play lol
also you do gonna be experiencing some second hand embarrassment at the end of it though oof
but yes pls read it was kinda cute, kinda wish it was longer though
do you want me (dead?) - @gukyi (JJK × reader)
this is a hogwarts au story!!!
dont you just love ravenclaw seeker mr jjk bcs im obsessed!!!!
funnily enough i discovered this ages ago during one of my late night tumblr reads but then i lost it the next morning. was able to find it again a few days (?) ago!!
i really liked how yoongi pulled sneaky moves and basically lulled y/n into believing whatever he wanted her to believe to get what he wants
it's lowkey giving yandere(?) and something about yoongi in yandere-ish vibes really keeps me going on a daily basis
tbh my mind sometimes goes back to them and makes me wonder where they are now!!
(pls,,, if you ever want to write more for them,,, i am so ready for it!!)
The one that got away (literally no longer exist; but just going to keep it here)
the snow king - @bloomsuga (KTH × reader)
you got fanatsy stuff going on. you got hella angsty and fluffy all at the same time. besties i think we found the best ice prince! kim taehyung out there.
also we have some slight cutie jimin moments. ( a definite plus!)
oh yea and it gets smutty but in like the most beautiful way.
also this was a long read of 25k words. but it’s a an absolute beautiful creation. did not know that we could put 25k words altogether to make such a masterpiece.
lowkey wanted to cry bcs its way too good.
Willow - @breakiebunny (JJK × reader)
i am not going to ever recover from this.
the number of times i find my brain just drifting over to this work of art is not okay.
my whole heart is still out here hoping desperately that in some alternate universe where this is true that everything is nice and works out great
i felt kinda empty after finishing this ngl,,,
and this is a one-shot,,,
will always hold a piece of my heart
stood up - @parkdatjimin (MYG × reader)
okay everybody. pls. just read this pls.
like this was bloody long. fricking 26.7k words. but what a great use of 26.7k words.
it's like shakespeare rose from the dead and was like what if i dropped another hit!!! (okay not a hit,,, idk it's 2 in the morning i cant think)
for someone who has never even been in a relationship in her whole life i really FELT THIS like in my heart, in my soul typebeat
also working some meh food n beverage job is literally my life. laugh out loud. going to daydream about this when i'm at work tomorrow.
bitter sweet - @mikrksmos (JJK × reader)
once again ladies and gents, my fav typa thing; bf2l
my heart. so full of love. for bestfriend!jk
also wtheck jungkook with a lil sibling? heck yea sign me tf up!!
i think i was very much overwhelmed with the emotions that our dear jk felt bcs sometimes life do be like that
About Me! 🌸 | Kofi ☕️ | Words For Authors 🫶🏻 | Masterlist 🔥
Summary: You were never the kind of person who needed someone. Your life was already enough—structured, stable, under control. Then you met Kim Namjoon. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Just a brief encounter. A mistake. Something that should’ve ended right there. But he didn’t leave. He stayed. Quietly. Consistently. Patiently. And somehow… he became the one thing you couldn’t control.
Status: Oneshot | BC MASTERLIST
Pairing: Idol!Namjoon x Reader
Word count: 8.4k~
Genre: Idol!au, Angst, Fluff
Rated: T
Tags: ARMY, Stranger to Lover, Secret, Drama, Slice of Life, Reader is Yoongi Bias
Posting Date: April 16, 2026
That day was supposed to be simple. You came to the charity event with a simple intention too, to help as much as you could, then go home and return to the routine you were familiar with. There was no plan to meet anyone, no expectations, just a day that would pass like any other.
From the start, you were already busy. The children immediately swarmed you, tugging at the edge of your clothes, calling your name loudly, and you responded to all of it with light laughter. You crouched down to their level, asking little things that felt important to them, and without realizing it, you were immersed in that warmth.
Everything felt light, almost making you forget the outside world that was usually louder and more exhausting. You were too focused on them, on the small laughter and tiny hands holding onto you, that you didn’t notice someone approaching in a hurry.
Until suddenly, your body was pushed hard enough. You almost lost your balance, your hand reflexively holding onto the table in front of you, a box of food shifting slightly but not falling. At the same time, someone’s hand quickly steadied your shoulder.
“Sorry, I—”
The sentence stopped midway. Time seemed to pause for a few seconds, and when you looked up, you knew immediately.
Him.
That face didn’t take long to recognize. The memory of screeching brakes, the impact, and someone panicking while calling your name came rushing back, as clear as the moment itself.
Kim Namjoon.
On the other hand, Namjoon’s expression changed even more drastically. His eyes widened, not because he had just realized who you were, but because he truly remembered you. The face that had only existed in his thoughts was now standing right in front of him.
“…you.”
His voice was soft, almost like he was speaking to himself. You blinked once, then took a short breath before replying in the same flat tone.
“You’re the one from that time.”
There was no overwhelming emotion in your voice. No anger, no demands, just a simple acknowledgment that somehow left Namjoon at a loss for words. He stepped back slightly, giving you space, but his eyes didn’t leave you.
“I… I tried to find you.”
There was honesty there, even a trace of unresolved guilt. You simply shrugged lightly, as if it didn’t carry any weight.
“I’m fine.”
And for you, it really was over.
But clearly, not for him.
Namjoon still remembered the panic of that day, the worst possibilities that kept looping in his mind, and now the person at the center of that worry was standing in front of him with a calm expression, as if it had all been nothing more than a minor incident.
“Are you sure?” he asked softly.
You nodded, then gave a small smile. “If I wasn’t fine, I wouldn’t be here.”
That simple answer was enough to close the conversation. Even before he could say anything else, you had already returned to your activity, calling the children, handing out food, and sinking back into your small world.
As if that meeting had only been a brief pause. As if he wasn’t something you needed to think about any longer. And that… was exactly where everything started to change for Namjoon.
At first, it was small things he noticed. The way you bent down when talking to the children, the way you gently patted their heads, the way you laughed without holding back. Nothing was forced, nothing was done to appear kind, you were simply like that.
Natural.
A few times, he tried to get closer. Not obvious, just close enough to have a reason to talk, helping at the same table, or asking questions that didn’t really need to be asked.
“Where should I put this box?”
You glanced briefly. “There.”
Short, clear, with no effort to extend the conversation. And that… was different from what he was used to.
The afternoon slowly came, the sun beginning to set, and you sat at the edge of the field with a bottle of water in your hand. Your breathing was slightly heavier, but your face remained relaxed, while the children continued playing in front of you.
Namjoon sat beside you. Not too close, but close enough to be felt. For a few seconds, you both stayed silent, and strangely, it didn’t feel awkward.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
“A little. But it’s fun.”
Your answer was light, and he simply nodded, letting the silence stay without feeling the need to fill it.
“I still feel guilty,” he continued.
You turned to him. “Why?”
“Because back then… it could’ve been worse.”
You were quiet for a moment, then smiled slightly. “But it wasn’t, right?”
Simple. Logical. But that was exactly what hit the hardest.
Namjoon let out a quiet breath, then smiled. “You forgive people really easily, huh.”
You shrugged. “Thinking about it doesn’t change anything.”
Once again, you didn’t make it dramatic.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked, more curious this time.
You nodded. “I do.”
“And you’re just… normal about it?”
You looked at him briefly. “You’re the one who hit me.”
Namjoon immediately laughed softly. Unexpected, but he couldn’t deny it.
“Are you a fan?”
You thought for a moment. “Not really.”
“Who’s your bias?”
“Yoongi.”
Min Yoongi.
He raised an eyebrow, slightly unconvinced. “Seriously?”
You nodded casually. “Yeah.”
“Why Yoongi?”
You gave a small smile. “He’s calm. Doesn’t talk much.”
Namjoon glanced at you. “You don’t like people who talk a lot?”
You laughed softly. “Sometimes it’s tiring.”
And that laugh… again. Light, honest, effortless.
Namjoon looked at you a few seconds longer than he should have. Not because you did something extraordinary, but because you did nothing to impress him.
And that was exactly it.
For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t in the position he was used to. No instant admiration, no excessive attention. You saw him as someone who once hit you… and happened to be sitting next to you.
Just a person. And strangely… he wanted more than that. Not because of ego. Not because of pride. But because there was something about you that made him want to be known, to be closer, longer.
Meanwhile, you were still sitting casually, drinking your water, quietly laughing at the children playing. Unaware… that the person beside you had just made an important decision.
He wasn’t going to let this be the last time.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
If someone looked at your life from the outside, everything might seem too neat. Not boring, but controlled, like there was no space for anything sudden. You woke up at the same time, worked within a rhythm you understood, and went through your days without needing much improvisation.
Even small things had their place. Your keys were always on the right side of your bag, your water bottle inside, your notes arranged in the order you created. Nothing was random, nothing was left without a system.
Because you knew what it felt like when everything fell apart. And you didn’t want to go back there.
Maybe that was also why you didn’t feel the need for many people. A small circle was enough, people who didn’t make you explain yourself over and over again. No demands, no expectations you didn’t ask for.
And men… were not a priority.
Not because you didn’t believe it, but because you were already comfortable with your life. You knew relationships often brought more things to deal with, feelings, expectations, small conflicts that could grow bigger. And honestly… It was tiring.
So you chose simplicity. A stable life, clear work, everything was enough. Done.
That’s why, even after everything that happened, you were still normal when you saw him again.
The next charity day went as usual. You arrived at the same time, took your role immediately, and returned to the routine you had memorized.
And just as you could’ve guessed… he was there.
Kim Namjoon.
No collision this time. No surprising moment. Just a brief glance, a small nod, and you both returned to your activities. And that was enough. At least… for you. But not for Namjoon.
Since that day, he never really stopped paying attention to you. Not big things, but small details you probably didn’t even realize. The way you folded plastic before throwing it away, the way you made sure the amount of food was always just right, the way you almost never left anything half done.
The more he watched, the clearer your differences became. Namjoon wasn’t a tidy person. He often forgot where he put things, often dropped things, and his thoughts moved faster than his actions.
You were the opposite. Structured. Stable. And somehow… that caught his attention.
One afternoon, while you were arranging food boxes together, he stacked them the wrong way. Within seconds, the pile tilted and almost fell. You immediately held it.
“If you place it like this, it’s more stable.”
Your movements were quick and efficient, without panic. You fixed the arrangement as if it was nothing.
Namjoon watched, then chuckled softly. “I always mess this part up.”
“Habit.”
“You never make mistakes?”
You paused for a moment, then looked at him flatly. “Often.”
“And then?”
“Fix it.”
That was it. No long explanation, but enough to leave him silent for a few seconds.
The day went on as usual, but for Namjoon, something had changed. He started waiting. Waiting for small moments to talk to you, even if only briefly.
“Where do you work?” he asked once.
You answered shortly, mentioning your field without adding unnecessary details.
“Do you like your job?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
You thought for a moment. “It’s stable.”
The answer sounded simple, but for you, it explained everything. And for him… it only made him more curious.
“Do you need another reason?” you added when he smiled.
Namjoon shook his head, still with the same expression.
“Who’s your bias?”
“Yoongi.”
Namjoon sighed softly, this time with a small laugh. “You’re really consistent.”
You nodded casually. “Yeah.”
“Still because he’s calm?”
“And not noisy.”
Your tone was light, almost joking, but it still hit.
“Do you think I’m noisy?”
You looked at him for a few seconds, then answered honestly. “Sometimes.”
No softening it. No guilt. And strangely… he laughed. It had been a long time since he’d gotten such an honest answer without a filter.
Day by day passed in the same pattern. He always came, always looked for ways, sometimes helping near you, sometimes intentionally making small mistakes just to have a reason to talk. And you… stayed the same.
You didn’t avoid him, but you didn’t get closer either. You responded, but you didn’t open the door further. You were kind, but you kept a clear distance.
One evening, when the activity was almost over, he tried again.
“You always go home alone?”
“Yes.”
“Never thought about going home with someone?”
You fixed the table before answering. “No need.”
“Why not?”
You paused, then looked at him. “Because being alone is enough.”
It didn’t sound sad. It sounded stable, like you truly believed what you were saying. And that’s when Namjoon realized something bigger. This wasn’t about you not being interested. This was about you genuinely not feeling the need for anyone.
He looked down briefly, then smiled. Not giving up. But becoming more certain.
If he wanted to enter your life… he couldn’t just show up. He had to become something that even you, with all your order and structure, couldn’t simply dismiss as unnecessary. And for the first time… it felt like something he truly wanted to try.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
After that day, there was no immediate visible change. You still came at the same time, did the same things, and went through everything with the rhythm you already knew. But on the other side, something had begun to move—slowly, almost imperceptibly.
Namjoon was no longer just observing. He started to understand.
That day went as usual. You arrived unhurried, your steps steady, your thoughts already neatly arranged even before you got there. You knew where to start, which parts were usually messy, and which children would immediately run to you.
And as always, everything fell back into place.
The sound of children laughing, your name being called, your quick but unhurried movements—all of it followed a pattern you had repeated countless times. Nothing wasted, nothing left unfinished.
Meanwhile, someone was paying closer attention than before.
Kim Namjoon.
The more he watched you, the clearer something became—something he couldn’t ignore. You weren’t just organized in your habits, but in the way you thought. The way you moved, spoke, even made decisions—it all felt… efficient. Brief. Clear. Precise. And it made him want to understand you even more.
“You always seem to know what to do,” he said in between tasks.
You didn’t look at him right away. Your hands were still arranging the food boxes before you answered, “Because I’m used to it.”
“You’re never confused?”
You paused, then glanced at him. “Rarely.”
“Why?”
You gave a small shrug. “If I am, I just start doing it.”
Simple. But to Namjoon… that wasn’t just an answer. That was how you lived.
The longer he stayed near you, the more the difference stood out. He was used to following unpredictable flows, while you created your own. And somehow… he didn’t want to walk away from that.
Time passed unnoticed until the activity was almost over. The sun began to set, the atmosphere grew calmer, and one by one, the volunteers started packing up.
As usual, you were among the last to leave. Not because you were slow, but because you never liked leaving things unfinished. The table had to be clean, the boxes properly arranged, everything returned to how it should be before you left.
And when you finally picked up your bag… he was already there. Waiting.
You weren’t surprised. Not anymore.
“Finished?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He nodded slowly, as if he had been certain for a while. Then, without much preface, he spoke.
“I’ll drive you home.”
The sentence came out softer than before, but still clear. And like a reflex… you shook your head. “No need.”
Your answer was quick, without hesitation. Not because you wanted to reject him, but because it was simply your habit.
Namjoon looked at you for a few seconds. Not surprised, but clearly not giving up.
“It’s safe,” he said casually. “It’s not far, right?”
You looked at him briefly, checking his tone. “No need. I’m used to being on my own.”
It didn’t sound cold. But it didn’t open any space either.
“Are you sure?” he asked again, softer this time.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
That was enough.
A few seconds of silence. Namjoon exhaled quietly, then gave a small nod. “Okay.”
He stepped back, giving you space, and you walked away without hesitation. No turning back, no pause. Your steps remained the same as always.
And as always… you went home alone.
On the way, your steps stayed steady, but your mind wasn’t entirely quiet. That sentence resurfaced—not because it bothered you, but because you were trying to understand it.
“I’ll drive you home.”
For some people, that might be something small. A normal gesture of care. But for you, it didn’t entirely fit.
His life… was too different. Too many people. Too many choices. Too many possibilities.
You didn’t live in a world like that. You weren’t used to people who could easily enter and leave someone’s life. For you, if someone came in… it meant change. And you didn’t accept change carelessly. Especially if you didn’t feel like you needed it.
You paused briefly by the roadside, waiting for a vehicle to pass. Streetlights began to turn on, the air grew colder, and the atmosphere became quieter.
You stared ahead, thinking. Was this easy for him? Approaching, talking, offering small things like that. And if it was… did he do the same with everyone?
You shook your head lightly. You didn’t want to become something uncertain. You didn’t want to enter a situation you didn’t consciously choose.
Your life was already enough. Your job was stable. Your money was sufficient. Your days were calm. Nothing was lacking. So why add something that might disrupt it? You continued walking. Lighter. More certain.
Meanwhile… Namjoon was still standing in the same place. Seconds turned into minutes. He didn’t leave right away, his eyes still fixed on where you had walked, as if trying to understand something.
The rejection didn’t feel painful. Not cold. Not harsh. But that was exactly why it felt deeper. You didn’t reject him. You simply… didn’t need him. And that was much harder to face.
Namjoon ran a hand over his face, then let out a quiet laugh. “Used to being alone…”
He repeated your words softly. Usually, he didn’t have to think this much about one person. But with you… everything felt different. Not because you were difficult. But because you weren’t playing by the same rules. You didn’t seek attention. You didn’t need validation. You didn’t even see his presence as something to consider. And that’s where something shifted. It was no longer just about wanting to get closer. No longer just curiosity. But a desire to truly understand. To understand how someone could live so calmly… without feeling the need to make space for others.
And for the first time… he didn’t just want to enter someone’s life. He wanted to become something meaningful enough… that you, who always said “I can be on my own,” would start considering another possibility.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The change wasn’t immediately visible. Nothing was suddenly different the next day, no drastic shift in behavior. But if you looked closer, something had begun to shift… slowly, consistently.
Namjoon was no longer just trying to get closer. He started adapting.
That day, you arrived earlier than usual. Not because you wanted to, but because you had to. You came straight from work, still in neat office clothes, your shoes slightly damp from the light rain, your bag still arranged as always. Nothing about you had changed.
As soon as you arrived, you went straight into the activity. A brief greeting, then work. Arranging, distributing, organizing—everything followed the rhythm you knew. And like the previous weeks… he was there.
Kim Namjoon.
His presence no longer felt unfamiliar. Not surprising, not disruptive. You glanced at him, gave a small nod, then returned to your work.
But on the other side, Namjoon looked longer.
“You came straight from work?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Tired?”
“Normal.”
Your answers were the same. Always enough. Never more.
Time passed until the cloudy sky finally gave in. The rain started lightly, then within minutes turned heavy. Everything changed instantly. The children were moved to safety, volunteers rushed to secure things, and you moved without needing instruction. As always, you made sure everything was done before thinking about yourself.
And when everything was finally finished… you stood by the entrance. Watching the rain. It hadn’t stopped. It was getting heavier. You checked your phone, then exhaled softly. Still manageable. You always had alternatives.
You walked to a small bus stop nearby, standing under a roof that only partially covered you. The wind carried droplets of rain, dampening the ends of your sleeves. You didn’t complain. You just waited.
Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. No bus.
You checked again, then put your phone away. Your face remained calm, but inside, you were calculating possibilities. Alternatives. Routes. Or waiting longer. Until… a black car stopped in front of you.
This time, the window didn’t roll down. The front door opened, and a man stepped out quickly, opening an umbrella. The driver. He walked to the back door and opened it neatly. From inside… you already knew who it was. Namjoon.
“You’re still waiting?” he asked, his voice slightly muffled by the rain.
You turned and nodded. “Bus.”
He glanced at the now empty road, then back at you. The rain was still pouring, the streetlights blurring through the reflections.
“I’ll take you.”
Direct. No buildup.
And again, like a reflex… you shook your head. “No need.”
The driver stood still, holding the umbrella, waiting. The situation felt… more real this time. Namjoon exhaled, leaning forward slightly.
“You can see the rain,” he said, more serious now. “It’s not stopping anytime soon.”
You didn’t answer immediately.
“You’re waiting here alone…” he continued, “that’s not a good idea.”
“I’m used to it.”
“Yeah, I know you are,” he replied quickly. “But this is different.”
His tone changed. Firmer. More concerned. You stayed silent longer than usual. Your eyes returned to the road. Still pouring. Still empty. You didn’t like depending on others. But you weren’t careless either.
“It’s safe,” he added, softer. “I’ll just drop you off. The driver’s driving. You don’t need to worry about anything.”
That sentence… was enough. Not because he forced you. But because he adjusted. Gave you control without taking it away. You took a slow breath. Then finally… “Okay.”
The driver immediately stepped closer, angling the umbrella toward you. You walked in without much to say and sat in the back seat.
The door closed. The atmosphere shifted instantly. Warm. Quiet. Slightly… unfamiliar. The car started moving. For a few seconds, no one spoke. Only the sound of rain hitting the windows.
“Which way is your house?” Namjoon asked.
You gave short directions. Not detailed, but enough. You sat as usual, your bag on your lap, your hands instinctively fixing the damp edge of your sleeve. Namjoon sat beside you—not too close, not too far. Just… right.
“You must be cold,” he said softly.
“Not really.”
He didn’t argue. Just nodded. Silence again. But not awkward. After a few minutes, you spoke. “Drop me at the front of the alley.”
Namjoon turned. “Why?”
“I can walk from there.”
He frowned slightly. “Why not go all the way to your house?”
You looked at him now.
“We’ve only met a few times.”
He stayed quiet.
“I’m not used to telling people where I live,” you continued. “Especially someone I don’t really know yet.”
Your tone was calm. Clear. Certain. A few seconds later… Namjoon smiled.
“Okay.”
No protest. No pressure. The car slowed when you gave directions.
“Here.”
The driver stopped smoothly. You opened the door, then paused briefly.
“Thanks.”
“Take care.”
You stepped out, the driver shielding you again with the umbrella until the entrance of the alley. Then you walked in without looking back. Your steps remained the same. Steady. Certain.
Inside the car, silence returned. Namjoon watched the direction you disappeared into. For a few seconds. Then he leaned back, exhaled softly, and smiled.
“She’s still not easy, huh…”
And strangely… he didn’t feel frustrated. The clearer your boundaries were… the more certain he became of one thing. If he wanted to truly get close to you… he couldn’t just show up. He had to be… someone you could trust.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
After that night, nothing changed immediately. You continued your days as usual—waking up at the same time, working in the same rhythm, going home without carrying anything that felt different. But in between… something small began to appear. His name.
At first, you didn’t think it mattered.
That night, after your routine was done, you sat in your usual place. Your bag was where it belonged, your shoes neatly on the rack, your work clothes hung in order. Everything exactly as it should be.
Your phone vibrated.
Kim Namjoon.
You stared at it for a few seconds before opening it.
Kim Namjoon:
Are we still doing the charity event tomorrow?
A question that didn’t really need to be asked. You knew he already knew the answer. But you replied anyway.
You:
Yes.
Short.
You were about to put your phone down when another notification came.
Kim Namjoon:
What time does it start?
You let out a small breath. Not annoyed, more… confused. If he came regularly, he should already know.
Still, you answered.
You:
Same as last week.
That should’ve been the end.
But it wasn’t.
The next day, another message. And the day after. Always one or two small things he asked—things he could’ve easily figured out himself.
“Are you coming today?”
“The kids asked about you yesterday.”
“Do you usually handle food or registration?”
Simple things. Not important. Not urgent. But always there. And you kept replying the same way. Brief. Neutral. Not opening more space. But you never ignored him either.
And without realizing it… you started noticing. Not because you were waiting. But because you realized… he didn’t stop.
That day, when you arrived as usual, you went straight into the activity without looking around much. Until someone stood beside you.
“I got this for you.”
You turned. Kim Namjoon. In his hand… a cup of coffee.
You looked at it for a few seconds before taking it. “For me?”
“Yeah.”
You frowned slightly. It wasn’t a common choice. Not something people picked randomly. You had ordered it there before. Not often, but enough to remember. And he… remembered.
“Thanks,” you said softly.
Your tone stayed neutral, but there was a slight pause before you returned to your activity.
Namjoon didn’t linger. He just made sure you took it, then went back to his part. As if it wasn’t something to make a big deal of. And you… returned to your routine. But this time, something was different.
You glanced at the cup occasionally. The steam was still faint, still warm. Without realizing… you took a sip. It was right. Not too sweet. Not too bitter. You didn’t say anything. But you didn’t put it down either.
The next week… It happened again. And the week after that. Sometimes he gave it directly. Sometimes it was already on the table. Sometimes without a word. As if it was… normal. And that was exactly why it didn’t feel normal.
One day, you finally asked, “You remember?”
Namjoon looked at you. “What?”
“The coffee.”
He smiled slightly. “Yeah.”
You looked at him for a few seconds. “You sure that’s a coincidence?”
He shrugged casually. “Not really.”
Too light of an answer. You didn’t continue. But inside… something started to shift. Still small. Still vague. But there. Warm. And it made you… cautious. Because you weren’t someone who changed easily.
You were used to keeping distance, controlling who got in, and when to stop. And so far, it has always worked. No one had stayed long enough to make you reconsider.
But him… He didn’t leave. He didn’t force it. He didn’t get too close either. But he was always there. And that… was exactly what confused you.
One afternoon, you stood in your usual spot, opened your coffee, and without realizing… smiled slightly after taking a sip. A reflex. And you noticed it immediately. Strange. You rarely reacted like that.
You glanced at him. He was helping on the other side, laughing lightly with other volunteers, looking relaxed. Not like someone who was trying. Even though… he was. Not in big ways. Not excessively. But consistently. And somehow… that felt more real than grand gestures people usually made.
You looked away again, trying to return to your rhythm. But your mind wasn’t quiet. One question kept coming back. Why? Why was he doing this? He could have anyone. That wasn’t something you needed to think too deeply about. It was obvious—from the world he lived in, from the way people looked at him.
He had options. So why you? You weren’t easy to approach. You didn’t give exaggerated responses. You had even rejected simple things like being driven home. And still… he didn’t stop.
Your thoughts started moving somewhere you didn’t like. Was this just curiosity? Because you were different? Because you didn’t react like others? Or because you weren’t immediately interested? And if so… what would happen when he got bored?
You looked at your coffee again. Still warm. Still comforting in your hands. But you knew… not everything that feels comfortable is safe. And you didn’t want to be something temporary. You didn’t want to be just an option. Your life was already too stable to be disrupted by something uncertain. So you stayed the same.
Responding just enough. Being kind, but keeping your boundaries. Not changing. But now… with one small difference you couldn’t ignore. You started paying attention to him. More than before. And that alone… was enough to make everything feel different.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The change didn’t come suddenly. There wasn’t a single big moment that shifted everything, no confession or dramatic event. But since you started paying attention to him… small things that once felt ordinary slowly began to feel different.
And without realizing it, you started getting used to his presence.
At first, it was only through messages. No longer just unnecessary questions like before, but something more relaxed. One night, your phone buzzed, and that name appeared again.
Kim Namjoon
Not a long text. Just an image. A meme.
You opened it, then without realizing, let out a small breath before forming a faint smile. Not quite laughing, but enough to change your expression.
You replied. Not with a long sentence. But with another meme. And from there… your conversations started to change.
Sometimes just sending funny pictures. Sometimes one or two sentences. Sometimes stopping for a while, then picking up again without needing an explanation. There was no demand to reply quickly, no pressure to keep the conversation alive.
And that… was exactly what made everything feel light.
You didn’t feel like you had to be someone else when talking to him. You stayed yourself, without trying to seem more interesting or warmer. And he… kept replying.
The days at the charity event also began to feel slightly different. Not because you changed drastically, but because now there were small moments only the two of you understood.
Like when your phone vibrated in the middle of being busy. You glanced at it, then held back a small smile. Another meme.
You looked at him. And when your eyes met… he knew you had seen it. No words. But enough.
Strange. You were never used to something like this. But also… it didn’t feel disturbing.
At first, you still thought the same as before. He wouldn’t suit you. Just from the outside, it was already obvious. He was more expressive, more spontaneous, sometimes even a little messy.
While you… were structured, calm, and didn’t like things that were too loud. The difference felt too far. But the more often you interacted with him… that thought began to shift.
Slowly. Almost unnoticed.
One afternoon, you both sat at the edge of the area after the activity ended. Not many people were left, the atmosphere quieter than usual.
“What do you usually do on weekends?” he asked.
You thought for a moment. “Stay home. Or go out for a bit.”
“Where?”
“Quiet places.”
He nodded, as if he understood. “Like museums?”
You turned, slightly surprised. “Yeah.”
He smiled faintly. “I like them too.”
You watched him for a few seconds. Actually, you already knew. You knew he liked museums, art galleries, and quiet things. But you never treated him like that.
To you, he wasn’t the person others saw. He was just… someone sitting next to you right now. And that made everything feel simpler.
“Where do you usually go?” you asked, this time genuinely asking.
“Sometimes museums, sometimes small galleries. Or just walking,” he answered casually.
“Alone?”
“Sometimes.”
A simple answer. And somehow… It fits.
You nodded slowly. No additional comment. But inside, you started to realize something. He wasn’t as chaotic as you first thought. Or maybe… you were only now seeing another side of him.
In the following days, your conversations grew longer. Still light, still without pressure, but no longer just memes.
“Do you read books?” he asked one night.
“Yes.”
“What’s the last thing you read?”
You mentioned the title. Not expecting him to really be interested.
But he… replied. With thoughts. Not just a short response, but something that showed he actually read and understood.
And that made you pause for a moment. You weren’t used to finding that. Your conversation continued longer that night. Not heavy, not deep, but enough to make you feel… comfortable.
And maybe that was the strangest part. You no longer felt the need to keep your distance as firmly as before. Not that you opened everything. No. You were still you. Still careful. Still setting limits.
But now… there was a small space you allowed to stay open. And that was new. On the other side… Namjoon felt something he didn’t find elsewhere. In front of you, he was no one. Not the figure people saw, not someone who had to maintain an image.
Kim Namjoon
He could be wrong. Could be careless. Could be quiet. And you wouldn’t treat him differently. You didn’t admire him excessively. Didn’t seek his attention. Didn’t try to impress him. And that… was what made him most comfortable. For the first time in a long while… he felt like an ordinary person. And he didn’t want to lose that.
One night, after exchanging memes that felt funnier than usual, you put your phone down and leaned back for a moment.
You looked ahead. Your mind wasn’t entirely empty. You were still aware of all the possibilities. Still aware of the differences between your worlds. Still aware that this might not lead anywhere.
But for the first time… you didn’t immediately shut that possibility down. Not because you were sure. But because… you started to feel curious. And maybe… just a little… you started to enjoy his presence.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
That feeling didn’t immediately turn into something big. There was no sudden moment that made everything clear, no exact point you could mark as the beginning.
But since you started enjoying his presence… something slowly shifted. And this time, you didn’t reject it right away.
At first, it was small things. Messages that used to feel ordinary, now you looked at a little longer before putting your phone down. Memes that you used to reply to casually, now sometimes you saved because you thought… They were funny.
Sometimes… you were even the one who sent them first. Something you never used to do.
One night, you sat in your usual spot at home. Everything was as neat as always, nothing around you had changed. But this time, there was one difference. You didn’t immediately distract yourself.
You waited. Not consciously. But you knew. And when your phone vibrated… you looked right away.
Kim Namjoon:
Look at this.
One sentence. One image.
You opened it, then laughed softly. Not just a faint smile like before, but a real, light laugh you didn’t hold back.
You replied. And the conversation went on longer than usual. No big topic. No serious discussion. But this time, you didn’t feel the need to end it quickly. And that… was different.
At the charity event, you also began to notice small changes in yourself. You still did everything as usual. Still neat. Still focused. But now… you were no longer entirely “alone” in it.
There were moments when you unconsciously looked for him. Just briefly. Not long. But enough. And when your eyes met, you no longer immediately looked away like before.
Sometimes, you held his gaze a few seconds longer. And he… always noticed.
“Are you tired?” he asked one day.
“A little.”
He nodded, then without saying much, pushed a bottle of water toward you.
“Drink first.”
A small thing. But the way he did it… wasn’t forced. Not like someone trying to look caring. More like someone who genuinely cared. And it showed.
You took the bottle. “Thanks.”
He just nodded. Didn’t extend it, didn’t make it into something big. And that… made you feel even more at ease. The more you got to know him, the more you realized he wasn’t what you first thought.
You thought he was too spontaneous, too loud to match you. But it turned out… he knew when to be quiet. Knew when to listen. Knew when to stop.
One night, your conversation lasted longer than usual. Not just memes, but really talking. About work. About being tired. About things you usually didn’t tell other people.
And he… didn’t interrupt. Didn’t redirect. Didn’t try to be the center of attention. He listened. Truly listened. And that… was rare.
You once had someone in your life. Someone you thought was enough. But compared to this… it felt distant. Even without comparing too deeply, the difference was already clear. The way he treated you… was calmer. More consistent. More serious, without needing to say it.
And that was what started to shake you. But you didn’t fully let go. There was still a part of you holding back. Still cautious. Still questioning. Why you? Why was he doing all this?
Kim Namjoon
He had a much bigger world. Many choices. Many possibilities. And you knew that. You weren’t someone who ignored reality. So it was natural for you to think… Was this temporary? Was it just because you were different? Or just something interesting for now?
You didn’t want to be that. You didn’t want to be something he tried… and then left when he got bored. And because of that… you stayed careful.
One day, after the activity ended, you walked together toward the exit. Not too close, but not as far as before. Silence for a few seconds.
“You overthink things a lot, don’t you?” Namjoon said suddenly.
You turned. “What do you mean?”
“You always… keep your distance.”
You stayed quiet for a moment. Didn’t deny it right away. “It’s just normal.”
He nodded slowly. “I know.”
You glanced at him.
“But I’m not going anywhere.”
That sentence was simple. Not dramatic. Not excessive. But the way he said it… calm. Certain. And for the first time… you didn’t immediately reject it in your mind.
That night, you went home as usual. Everything was still the same. Neat and structured, just like you always kept it. But you sat longer than usual. Phone in your hand. Rereading conversations. Remembering the way he spoke. The way he treated you.
And slowly… you realized something. He wasn’t just present. He was consistent. He hadn’t changed from the beginning. Not forcing. Not excessive. But always there. And that… was not something someone could do if they were just playing around.
You took a slow breath. There was still fear. Still doubt. But now… among all of that… something had started to grow. Trust. Not fully. Not completely allowed yet. But enough… to make you stop closing the door. This time… you let it stay slightly open.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The door didn’t open wide right away. There was no drastic change that made everything feel different overnight. But since you stopped closing it… something began to move more clearly. And this time, you didn’t pull away as quickly as before.
Your days continued as usual. Still meeting at the charity event, still doing the same things, still talking lightly without pressure. But within all of that, a new rhythm began to form.
Slowly. Unnoticed. And increasingly felt.
You were still standing in the same place, but now there were more moments that only the two of you understood. Glances that were no longer quickly averted, silence that no longer felt empty, and small conversations that started to feel… meaningful.
And what you realized the most… you were no longer trying to keep your distance as firmly as before.
That night, it didn’t rain. The air was slightly cold, the streets quieter than usual, and the activity ended earlier. For the first time… you didn’t immediately think about going home alone.
You stood near the door, your bag already in hand. And without needing to look for long… you knew he was there.
Kim Namjoon.
“Going home?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
A few seconds of silence. Then he spoke, his tone now more familiar. “I’ll drive you.”
You had heard that sentence before. But this time… it didn’t feel the same. You took a slow breath. Not answering right away. Not rejecting immediately.
And after a few seconds… you nodded. “Okay.”
The answer was simple. But for you… it was big. Namjoon didn’t react excessively. He just nodded slightly, then walked ahead. You followed a few steps behind, until you stopped in front of the car that was already waiting.
The driver had stepped out, opening the back door politely. You got in without saying much. Namjoon followed, sitting beside you. The door closed. The car started moving slowly. The atmosphere inside felt quieter than usual. But not awkward. More like… aware.
“Are you tired?” he asked softly.
“A little.”
He nodded. Not continuing. As always, he never forced conversation. And that was what made you stay. You sat as usual, your bag on your lap, your hands lightly clasped together. But this time, there was a small pause within you.
As if you were waiting for something… without wanting to admit it. Namjoon glanced at you briefly. “You’re quieter today.”
You smiled slightly. “Not really.”
“I can feel it.”
You didn’t respond. Because you knew… he was right.
The car kept moving. Streetlights passed one by one, reflecting on the window. In front, the driver focused on driving, giving you space that felt… too sufficient. And within that space… something began to move. Slowly. Without sound.
Namjoon shifted his hand slightly. Not touching you immediately. Not rushing. As if giving you time… if you wanted to pull away. But you didn’t move. His fingertips finally touched the back of your hand. Light. Almost accidental.
You held your breath for a moment. There was still a trace of your old habit that made you cautious. But this time… you didn’t pull away. And that… was enough.
His fingers moved a little more. Slipping slowly between yours. One by one. Until the hold was formed. Warm. Fitting. Not too tight. Not too loose. As if he knew exactly… the limits you allowed.
You stayed still. Your gaze remained forward. But all your focus was there. On his hand. On the warmth. On the small movement of his thumb brushing gently. And without realizing it… your fingers responded. Holding back. More certain. More aware.
The car stopped at a red light. But nothing changed. Your hands stayed there. Not released. Not hidden. And for the first time… you didn’t feel like it was too fast. Didn’t feel like it was wrong. What remained was only… comfort.
You leaned back slightly more relaxed than usual. Your breathing steadier. And for the first time in a long while… you allowed yourself not to fully control everything. Namjoon didn’t speak. He didn’t look at you. But his hold didn’t change. And that… was more than enough.
The car moved again when the light turned green. Minutes passed. And without realizing… you started getting used to it. Not just to his touch. But to his presence. To the way he was always there without forcing it. To the way he waited without making you feel chased. And that… was something you had never experienced before.
The car slowed as you gave directions. This time… not at the front of the alley. “Just go straight.”
Namjoon glanced at you. Didn’t ask. But he understood. The driver followed until the car stopped right in front of your house.
The place you had always guarded. The place you didn’t easily let others know. And now… he was there.
You didn’t move immediately. Your hands were still intertwined. Silence. Longer than usual. You looked at your hands for a moment. Then slowly lifted your gaze to him. He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Just looked at you. Calm. Patient. And that… was enough.
You took a slow breath. Then finally… let go. Not because you wanted to. But because you had to.
The warmth still lingered on your skin. You opened the door.
“Thanks.”
Your voice was softer than usual.
“Take care,” he replied.
You stepped out. The door closed. You walked into your house without rushing. Your steps are still neat. Still structured. But your heart… no longer followed the same pattern.
Inside the car, Namjoon stayed silent for a few seconds. The hand that held yours was now empty. But he didn’t pull it back right away. He just looked ahead. Then smiled slightly. Not because everything was certain. But because he knew… you were no longer closing the door. And this time… you were letting him in further.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
After that night, nothing changed in any obvious way. There was nothing suddenly different on the surface. No exaggerated behavior, no moment that felt too fast. But within the small things that used to feel ordinary… there was now a meaning you couldn’t ignore. And this time, you didn’t deny it.
The days went on as usual. You still came to the charity event with the same rhythm, still worked the same way, still spoke only when necessary.
But now… you were no longer truly alone in all of it. There was someone always within your rhythm.
Kim Namjoon.
No need for promises. No need to ask. As if it had become part of a new habit the two of you built without realizing it.
And strangely… you didn’t feel disturbed. Quite the opposite. There was a sense of calm slowly replacing your old habit of always being on your own.
That night, like usual, the car was already waiting outside. The driver opened the door when you both stepped out.
You got in first. Namjoon followed, sitting beside you. The door closed. The car started moving slowly. No one spoke at first. And strangely… you didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.
“Are you tired?” he asked softly, like always.
“A little.”
He nodded. Didn’t continue. Didn’t push. And you… started to realize something. You were waiting. Not for a conversation. Not for a question. But for something smaller. Simpler. His hand.
At first, you didn’t want to admit it. But now… you knew. You were getting used to it. To the way he approached slowly. To the way he was never in a hurry. To the way he always gave you a choice… without saying it.
The car stopped at a red light. And just like before… his hand was already there. First. No long process. No hesitation. As if it had become a habit.
His fingers touched the back of your hand. Light. And this time… you didn’t flinch. Didn’t hold your breath. Didn’t overthink. You simply… let it happen.
His fingers slipped between yours. And you responded immediately. Holding back. Faster than before. More certain.
The light turned green. The car moved again. The driver stayed focused ahead, giving space that felt… safe. And within that space… your hands remained intertwined. Warm. Steady. Like something that didn’t change.
You looked out the window. City lights reflecting on the glass. But your focus… wasn’t there. It was on the feeling you were slowly beginning to understand.
Before, you had tried to open up. Tried to give space. Tried to trust. But never like this. Never in a way that was slow… but certain. Never with someone who didn’t force… but didn’t leave. And that was what made you quiet. Because this wasn’t just comfort. This… was deeper than that.
“You’re thinking,” Namjoon said softly.
You gave a small smile. “Yeah.”
“About me?”
You glanced at him briefly, then looked forward again. “Yeah.”
The answer was honest. And enough to shift the atmosphere. Not heavier. But… more real. Namjoon didn’t speak right away. His hand is still holding yours. But this time, his thumb stopped moving. As if he was waiting. Waiting for you to continue. You took a slow breath.
“I’m not used to this,” you said finally.
Your voice was calm. But there was something in it. More open. More honest than before.
“Like what?” he asked softly.
You looked at your hands for a moment, then forward again.
“Letting someone in.”
Silence. A few seconds. Namjoon nodded slightly.
“I know.”
Simple. Not trying to fix it. Not trying to convince you. Just… understanding. And that was exactly what made you continue.
“But I don’t want to lie,” you said softly.
This time, you turned. Looking at him directly.
“I’m comfortable.”
The words came out without hesitation. Without being taken back. And for a few seconds… no one spoke. Namjoon just looked at you. His eyes are slightly different now. Deeper. More… serious.
“Yeah?” His voice was soft.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
Simple. But enough. He let out a quiet breath. Not overly relieved. More like… finally. His hand moved again. Gently brushing the back of yours once. As if making sure you were really there. And not leaving.
The car slowed as it reached your house. The porch light was already on. The surroundings were quieter. And the atmosphere felt… calm.
But you didn’t move right away. Your hands were still intertwined. And this time… you didn’t want to let go too quickly.
You looked at your hands. Then slowly lifted your gaze to him.
“I still need time,” you said softly.
Namjoon nodded immediately. “I know.”
No disappointment. No pressure. Just acceptance. And that… made you even more certain.
“But I don’t want you to stop,” you continued.
The words came out softer. More careful. But clear. Namjoon stayed quiet for a moment. Then smiled slightly.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
His tone was calm. Certain. And this time… you believed him. Truly.
You took a slow breath. Then finally… let go of his hand. Slowly. As if you didn’t want to fully release it. You opened the door.
“Thanks.”
“Take care,” he replied.
You stepped out. The door closed. You walked toward your house. Your steps still the same. Neat. Structured. But now… something was different. You weren’t trying to return everything to how it was. You let it change.
And inside the car, Namjoon stayed silent for a few seconds. The hand that had been holding yours was now empty. But he didn’t feel like he had lost anything.
Because for the first time… he wasn’t the only one waiting. Now… you were choosing to stay too.
Author Notes: These are actually drabble from my ongoing series, so they’re still connected to the main storyline I’ve been working on. You can check out the full series on here, and I’d really appreciate your support through likes and reblog. Also, I’m a bit curious, do you think it’s better for me to stick to a fixed update schedule, or post new parts once a certain number of likes is reached?
After moving into a new apartment, you (a pediatric doctor) get pulled into your neighbor Jungkook’s life when his toddler daughter Ellie gets sick late at night. Jungkook immediately recognizes you as his gentle ex from years ago, while it takes you longer to see past the tattoos and the strong single-dad version of the boy you once dated.
What begins as helping with a fever slowly turns into shared meals, park walks, late-night talks, and quiet domestic moments. Ellie quickly becomes attached, reaching for you first and even calling you by name. As the days pass, you and Jungkook fall back into each other — this time slower, deeper, and far more intentional. The love is mature, sensual, and so easy it feels almost scary.
Even when your ex Yeonjun reappears hoping for another chance, your heart already knows where it belongs: across the landing, with a man who refuses to let you go again and a little girl who chose you from the very first night.
ꔫ genre: exes to strangers to lovers · single dad au · fluff · angst · smut · found family · slow burn
ꔫ warnings: explicit sexual content, smut, penetrative sex, oral sex, fingering, praise, soft dom, strong language, past family loss/grief, single guardian, child illness, light jealousy, found family, toddler being irresistibly cute
ꔫ author’s note: she makes it so easy to fall, he thinks. And this time they’re not rushing; they’re choosing. (The continuation story featuring Yeonjun will be posted separately soon.)
ꔫ song: From The Start — Laufey
You’ve been here two weeks and the place still smells like fresh paint and the green iced tea you keep in the fridge—extra lemon, always, because anything less feels like a betrayal.
You’re left-handed, so the smudges on the canvas propped against the living-room wall are exactly where they should be. It’s a half-finished night scene: streetlights blurred by rain, the kind of nostalgic blur you chase when the hospital pager isn’t screaming. You hum along to an old Olivia Dean track playing low from your phone, the one that always makes you feel a little too much. I could be the twist, the one to make you stop…
Your eyes are heavy. The kind of sleepy that comes after a twelve-hour shift and too much chocolate from the corner store. You love that sleepy feeling—it’s honest. You used to be louder, brighter, a little chaotic when happiness hit. Now you’re calmer, steadier. But when the rare free evening stretches out and the music is right, that old crazy-happy version of you still peeks out, dancing alone in socks across the wooden floor like no one’s watching.
You’re wiping a streak of blue from your left thumb when the knock comes.
Not the polite daytime knock, no this one is urgent, three sharp raps that cut straight through the rain and the song.
You glance at the clock—12:17 a.m. Your hair is twisted up in a messy knot, paint on your oversized sweater, bare feet cold on the floor. You open the door anyway.
The man standing there is tall, shoulders filling the frame, black hoodie damp from the rain. Raindrops cling to dark hair that falls across his forehead. His arms are crossed tight like he’s holding something back, and the ink peeking from his sleeves—full sleeves, bold lines, no hesitation—catches the hallway light. He looks strong. Solid. Nothing like the boy you remember from seven years ago.
But his eyes.
Those eyes hit you first. Wide, dark, frantic.
“Hi,” he says, voice low and rough. “I’m sorry—it’s late. I wouldn’t… I heard rumors. The new neighbor in 5D is a kids’ doctor?”
You nod once, professional even at midnight. “Pediatric resident, yeah. What’s wrong?”
He exhales like the words have been choking him. “My daughter. Ellie. She’s two and a half. The fever started fast—really fast. She’s burning up, coughing and won’t settle. I gave her the usual stuff but it’s not coming down and I—” His jaw flexes. “I’m across the landing. 5C. I know it’s late but I didn’t know who else—”
Something in the way he says Ellie tugs at a memory you can’t quite place yet. You grab your bag from the hook by the door—stethoscope, thermometer, the small kit you always keep ready. “Let me get shoes. Two minutes.”
He waits in the hallway, shifting his weight, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. You notice the tattoos again—delicate script on one wrist, something bolder climbing toward his elbow. Strong. Changed. Not the lanky twenty-year-old who used to laugh quietly at your bad jokes.
You step out, lock the door, and follow him across the landing. The hallway light flickers once.
Inside 5C the apartment is warm but tense. A small night-light shaped like a cloud glows in the corner. Toys are scattered in neat baskets—someone keeps order even when the world tilts. On the couch, under a soft blanket, is Ellie.
She’s tiny, cheeks flushed bright red, dark lashes fluttering against fevered skin. Her breathing is too fast, a little raspy. She clutches a stuffed bear like it’s the only steady thing left.
You kneel beside her immediately, left hand gentle on her forehead. Hot. Too hot. “Hey, sweet girl,” you murmur, voice soft the way it always gets with little patients. “I’m here to help, okay?”
Ellie’s eyes open—big, glassy, the same shape as the man hovering behind you. She doesn’t cry. Just watches you with that quiet toddler trust that breaks hearts.
You work fast but calm: temperature, ears, throat, lungs. “103.8. Sounds like an ear infection brewing on top of a virus. We need to bring this fever down safely.” You glance up at him. “Do you have children’s ibuprofen? Cool cloths? I can walk you through—”
He’s already moving, handing you the medicine bottle like he’s been holding it ready for hours. His hands are steady but his eyes are raw. “She’s never been this sick before. Not like this.”
You dose her carefully, help him cool her with damp cloths. Ellie leans into your touch without hesitation, small fingers curling around your left wrist like she’s claiming it. The calm version of you stays in control, but something warmer flickers underneath— that old crazy-happy spark, quiet for now, but awake.
Ten minutes later the fever starts its slow drop. Ellie’s breathing evens out. She drifts, still holding your wrist.
Only then do you really look at him again.
He’s crouched on the other side of the couch, elbows on knees, watching you both. The tattoos, the broader chest, the jawline sharpened by years—you tilt your head.
Something clicks. Slow. Like a song you haven’t heard since you were eighteen.
“Wait…” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Jungkook?”
His eyes meet yours and the relief in them is immediate, almost painful. He knew the second he saw you in the doorway. “Yeah,” he says, quiet. “It’s me.”
You sit back on your heels. The boy you dated for one soft, sunlit year at the very end of your teens—the one who used to trace invisible patterns on your palm and say he was always calculating how to make you smile—is now this man. Inked. Strong. Carrying the weight of a sick toddler and a life that clearly didn’t go easy.
He rubs a hand over his face. “I recognized you the day you moved in. The way you hum when you’re unlocking your door... I didn’t say anything because… well, it’s been seven years. And Ellie was already sick yesterday. I figured I’d just… stay out of your way.” A small, tired smile. “Then tonight happened.”
Ellie makes a soft sound in her sleep, fingers tightening on your wrist.
You swallow. Nostalgia hits like the rain outside, steady, impossible to ignore. “You look… different. Good different. Stronger.”
He shrugs one shoulder, but his gaze stays on you. “Life does that. You look the same. Still sleepy-eyed. Still beautiful.” The last part slips out like he couldn’t stop it. He clears his throat. “Thank you. For coming. I didn’t know who else—”
“You don’t have to explain,” you say, calm again, but your heart is doing something complicated. “I’m glad I was here.”
The rain keeps tapping. Olivia Dean is still playing faintly from your apartment across the landing, the chorus drifting through the cracked door you left open. ’Cause I make it so easy to fall in love…
Jungkook hears it too. His eyes flick toward the sound, then back to you. Something soft and wondering crosses his face.
You close your apartment door behind you with a soft click that sounds way too loud in the quiet hallway. The rain is still going, softer now, like it’s decided to mind its own business. Your sweater smells faintly like Jungkook’s apartment—warm laundry and that faint baby-powder scent that clings to sick toddlers. You lean your back against the wood for a second, bag sliding down your arm to the floor with a dull thud.
“What the hell just happened?” you mutter to the empty room.
Your voice comes out half-laugh, half-groan. You drag a hand down your face, left thumb still smudged with blue paint, and shuffle straight to the fridge. The green iced tea is waiting—extra lemon, the slices floating like little life rafts. You take a long sip straight from the bottle because glasses feel like too much effort right now. The cold hits your teeth and wakes you up just enough to laugh again, this time properly.
Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. With tattoos. And shoulders. And a daughter.
You sink onto the couch, the half-finished canvas staring at you like it knows you’re distracted. Seven years. You were eighteen and he was twenty, the kind of young where love felt like staying up until 3 a.m. sharing earbuds and laughing at nothing. Gentle. Easy in that teenage-end-of-adulthood way. It ended because life pulled you in different directions,your scholarship, his family stuff, both of you too soft and too scared to fight for it. No drama, no scars. Just… faded.
And now he has a kid.
Ellie.
You stare at the ceiling, tea bottle cold against your chest. “He has a daughter now,” you say out loud, testing how it sounds. It sounds ridiculous. And kind of… nice? No. Weird. Definitely weird. “Guess he got married. Or… something. People do that. Grow up. Have babies. Get tattoos that look really good—wait, no, brain, stop.”
A snort escapes you. You’re tired, nostalgic, and a little bit giddy in that confusing post-midnight way. The calm version of you wants to file this away neatly: helpful neighbor moment, done. The old crazy-happy part—the one that used to blast music and dance in socks—is already replaying the way his voice dropped when he said “You look the same. Still beautiful.”
You groan and reach for the half-eaten chocolate bar on the coffee table. Dark chocolate with caramel swirls. “You win some and you lose some,” you tell the chocolate like it’s your therapist. “He’s probably married. Or has a partner. Hot single dad with a sick kid at midnight? That’s someone’s whole fantasy. Not mine. I have shifts and paint and this tea that cost too much. Moving on.”
You take a big bite. The caramel sticks to your teeth. Nostalgia hits harder than expected—memories of him tracing patterns on your palm, calling you “lefty” in that soft voice, the way he used to hum along to whatever song you played even if he didn’t know the words. He looked different tonight. Stronger. Like life had pressed on him and he pressed back. The tattoos suited him. Made him look… safe. Capable. The kind of man who’d knock on a stranger’s door at midnight because his baby was sick.
You shake your head, laughing quietly at yourself. “Get it together. You’re a doctor. You helped a kid. That’s it. Tomorrow you’ll probably never see him again except awkward hallway nods.”
But your left wrist still feels warm where Ellie held it. And the song from earlier is stuck in your head, you hum a few bars, off-key on purpose, then switch to something louder and sillier just to shake the feeling. You end up dancing a little in the middle of the living room, socks slipping on the floor, chocolate in one hand, iced tea in the other, laughing because this is ridiculous and your heart is doing stupid fluttery things it has no business doing.
Eventually you collapse into bed, paint still on your hands, mind a messy swirl of fever checks, dark eyes, and the quiet fear in Jungkook’s voice when he talked about Ellie. Sleep comes fast, but it’s full of half-dreams: small hands, rain on windows, and a man who used to be a boy looking at you like seven years hadn’t happened at all.
The next day is a long shift—crying babies, worried parents, the usual chaos that keeps your hands busy and your mind mostly focused. Mostly. Every quiet moment your brain wanders back to 5C. Ellie’s flushed cheeks. Jungkook’s tired shoulders. The way he said your name like it still fit in his mouth.
By the time you get home it’s past nine at night. Your feet hurt. Your scrubs smell like hospital. You stopped at the 24-hour pharmacy on the way, picking up a bottle of children’s fever medicine, the good kind, the one with the little syringe for accurate dosing. You also grabbed a small pack of those honey-lemon cough drops that are gentle on tiny throats. Practical. Neighborly. Not because you couldn’t stop thinking about them. Definitely not.
You stand in front of 5C for a long minute, bag in hand, debating. Just leave it. Knock? No knock. Knocking feels like opening a door you’re not sure you want open. Leaving it feels… safe. Polite.
You crouch down, left hand steady, and set the small paper bag right against his door. A quick note on the back of a pharmacy receipt: For Ellie — fever reducer + gentle cough drops. Dose is on the box. Hope she’s feeling better. — 5D
You straighten up, brush your hands on your scrubs, and whisper to the door like an idiot, “Night, little one. Get better.”
Then you slip back into your apt, lock the door, and immediately go for the chocolate again. One square. Two. The green iced tea joins you on the couch while you put on the same song, volume low. You stare at the half-finished painting and try not to smile at how your heart feels lighter than it should after a twelve-hour shift.
“He has a daughter,” you remind yourself again, softer this time. “Probably married. Or dating someone really lucky. You’re just the nice doctor neighbor now.”
But the thought doesn’t land as heavy as it did last night. Instead it feels… curious and warm.
Two days slip by in a quiet haze of shifts, half-finished canvases, and the familiar comfort of green iced tea. You keep the volume low while you paint, the lyrics wrapping around thoughts you refuse to examine too closely.
You don’t see them. You tell yourself that’s fine. Normal, even.
Until the afternoon you decide you need new painting supplies.
The little art store two blocks from the building is your happy place—shelves of brushes, tubes of color that smell like possibility, the kind of calm that makes the hospital feel far away. You load your basket with cadmium yellow, a new set of brushes, and a heavy pad of thick watercolor paper that costs more than it should. By the time you step outside, the bag is digging into your left shoulder, your right hand balancing another smaller one. The sky is gray but not raining yet. Your stomach growls once, reminding you that skipping meals for extra sleep or a long bath is a habit that’s catching up to you.
You’re adjusting the strap when a voice comes from behind, low and familiar.
“Here—let me take that before it snaps your arm off.”
A hand reaches past you, gentle but sure, lifting the heavy bag from your shoulder. You turn, startled, and there he is.
Jungkook.
He looks different in daylight—black t-shirt stretched across broader shoulders, tattoos fully visible now, curling up both arms in bold, deliberate lines. A small silver chain rests against his collarbone. His hair is slightly messy, like he ran his hands through it too many times. In his other hand he holds a small shopping bag of his own—probably something for Ellie.
He offers a small, almost shy smile. “Hey. 5D.”
You blink, the weight gone from your shoulder leaving you oddly lighter. “Jungkook. Hi.”
“I saw you from across the street. That bag looked like it was winning.” He nods toward the art store. “Painting stuff?”
“Yeah. Watercolors. I… paint a little when I have time. Which isn’t often.” You rub your left shoulder absently, still processing how easily he just stepped in. “Thanks for the rescue. I always overestimate how much I can carry when I’m in there.”
He chuckles, the sound warm and low, nothing like the frantic tone from two nights ago. “No problem. Least I can do after you showed up at midnight like some kind of miracle doctor.” His eyes meet yours, direct and sincere. “Ellie’s doing a lot better. The medicine you left helped bring the fever down faster. She slept through the night. I… I can’t thank you enough. Really.”
You feel heat creep up your neck, a mix of professional pride and something softer. “I’m glad. Ear infections can sneak up fast on little ones. How’s she been since?”
“Grumpy but eating again. She keeps asking for the ‘nice lady with cold hands.’” He shifts the heavy bag to his other hand like it weighs nothing. “She’s two and a half going on thirty. Already has opinions about everything.”
You laugh despite yourself, the sound lighter than you expected. “Sounds about right for that age. They’re tiny dictators with the best hearts.”
There’s a small pause, comfortable but charged. People walk past on the sidewalk, carrying their own bags, living their own afternoons. Jungkook glances toward a restaurant just down the block—a cozy place with big windows and outdoor tables, the kind that always smells like fresh bread and herbs. The sign says “Luna’s Table” and you’ve heard coworkers rave about their food being stupidly good.
He clears his throat. “Look, I know it’s sudden, but… would you let me buy you lunch? As a proper thank you. They have crazy good pasta and salads here. Nothing fancy, but it’s honest food. My treat. You helped my daughter when I was losing my mind, It’s the least I can do.”
You hesitate, mouth opening on instinct to say no. You’re one of those people who would rather sink into a hot bath with music playing or steal an extra hour of sleep than sit down for a proper meal when time is tight. Your shift starts in a couple of hours. You already planned to skip lunch, maybe grab something quick later if you remembered.
But then Ellie’s voice cuts through the moment.
From behind Jungkook’s leg, a small head peeks out. She must have been standing there quietly the whole time, holding onto his jeans with one hand, her stuffed bear dangling from the other. Her cheeks are still a little pink from the leftover fever, but her eyes are bright and focused—on you.
“Nice lady,” she says, clear and serious for such a tiny person. She tugs Jungkook’s hand once. “Lunch. With nice lady.”
Jungkook looks down at her, surprised but softening instantly. “Ellie-ya, we don’t have to—”
She nods like the decision is already made, then looks straight at you with those big, trusting eyes. “Please? Appa says you make fevers go away. You come eat too.”
The words hit like a gentle nudge from the universe. You glance at the time on your phone. You do need to eat something real before the shift or you’ll be running on fumes and chocolate again. Saying no to a sick toddler who just asked so politely feels… impossible. Like it was written that you’d end up here.
You exhale a soft laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity and the warmth blooming in your chest. “Well… if Ellie’s asking, how can I say no? Lunch sounds good. But only if it’s quick—I have a shift starting soon and I’m terrible at remembering to eat when I get busy.”
Jungkook’s face lights up with quiet relief, the kind that makes the tattoos and the strong frame seem less intimidating and more… human. “Quick it is. Promise. And thank you. Again.”
The three of you walk the short distance to Luna’s Table. Jungkook carries your heavy bag without complaint, Ellie holding his free hand and occasionally glancing back at you like she’s making sure you’re still there. Inside, the restaurant is warm and inviting—wooden tables, soft lighting, the smell of garlic and fresh basil wrapping around you like a hug.
You slide into a booth across from him. Ellie climbs up beside her dad, bear in her lap, watching you with open curiosity.
Jungkook hands you a menu. “Their carbonara is ridiculous. Or the lemon chicken if you want something lighter. Whatever you want.”
You order the lemon chicken—something bright and easy—while he gets pasta for himself and a small kid’s portion of plain noodles with butter for Ellie. Conversation starts slow but flows easier than you expected.
“So… painting,” he says, nodding toward the bag he set beside the table. “You always had that creative side. I remember you doodling on napkins during lectures.”
You smile, a nostalgic flicker warming your cheeks. “Still do. It’s my way of unwinding. Hospital days can get heavy. What about you? Those tattoos are new. They suit you.”
He glances down at his arms, flexing one hand almost self-consciously. “Got them over the last few years. Each one means something. Life… got complicated after we lost touch. But they remind me I can carry things and still keep going.”
You nod, understanding more than you let on. The food arrives quickly. Ellie pokes at her noodles with a fork that’s too big for her, but she eats steadily, occasionally offering a piece of buttered noodle to her bear.
Jungkook watches you for a moment, then says quietly, “I didn’t expect to run into you like this. Or at all. But I’m glad. Really glad.”
You take a bite of the lemon chicken, and feel that pull again. The mature version of whatever you once had. Not the light teenage rush. Something deeper. Steadier. Like two adults who know how heavy life can get, but sitting here makes it feel lighter.
Ellie suddenly pushes a noodle toward you on her fork. “Try. Good.”
You lean in and take the bite she offers, making an exaggerated happy sound that makes her giggle. The sound is small but bright, cutting through the restaurant noise.
Jungkook’s eyes soften as he watches the exchange. “She doesn’t do that with just anyone.”
The meal passes too quickly—easy talk about shifts, his work from home in tech, how Ellie loves watching rain on the window.
When it’s time to go, Jungkook insists on paying, then carries your supplies all the way back to the building. Ellie waves at you with both hands as they head toward 5C.
You step into 5D, heart doing that confusing, fluttering thing again. Lunch. With your ex from seven years ago and his daughter. Because a toddler asked.
You laugh to yourself, already reaching for the iced tea, again.“This is getting ridiculous.”
But the smile stays longer than it should.
And for the first time in a long while, skipping a relaxing bath doesn’t feel like a sacrifice.
The lunch lingers in your mind longer than it should.
Not the food—though the lemon chicken really was stupidly good—but the way Jungkook carried your heavy supplies without making a big deal out of it. The easy way he listened when you mentioned a tough case from your shift last week. How Ellie kept sneaking glances at you over her noodles, like she was quietly adding you to her small list of important things.
You tell yourself it’s just nostalgia doing its thing, justlike... like old connections resurfacing because of a midnight fever scare and a random sidewalk meeting. Nothing more.
But two evenings later, you’re proven wrong again.
You come home from your shift exhausted, the kind of tired that makes your hand feel clumsy when you try to unlock your door, and all you want is a long, hot bath with music playing low and maybe one square of chocolate before sleep claims you. You’re already picturing it—steam, JVKE humming through the speaker, the calm version of you finally winning the day.
Then you hear it.
Soft crying from across the landing. is not dramatic, just the small, hiccuping sound of a toddler who’s had enough.
You pause, key halfway in the lock. The crying stops for a second, then starts again, quieter. A man’s voice murmurs something soothing—Jungkook. You can’t make out the words, but the tone is tired, patient, edged with worry.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you cross the landing and knock lightly on 5C.
The door opens almost immediately. Jungkook looks wrecked in the softest way—hair messy, t-shirt rumpled, one shoulder of it stained with what might be spit-up or tears. Ellie is in his arms, face buried in his neck, her small body still shaking with leftover sobs. Her eyes are puffy, nose running, and she’s clutching her bear like it’s the only thing keeping her together.
“Hey,” he says, voice rough. “Sorry if we’re loud. She’s been… off since the fever. Teething on top of everything, I think. Nothing’s working tonight.”
You don’t hesitate. “Can I come in for a minute?”
He steps aside without question.
Inside, the apartment is dimly lit, the cloud night-light glowing again. You set your bag down and wash your hands quickly in the kitchen sink out of habit. Ellie peeks at you from Jungkook’s shoulder, her crying slowing to sniffles when she recognizes you.
“Nice lady,” she mumbles, reaching one small hand toward you.
Your chest does something complicated. You take her hand gently, left thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Hi, Ellie. Rough night?”
She nods solemnly, then holds her bear out to you like an offering. “Bori sad too.”
You take the bear with both hands—your left one steady as always—and press a soft kiss to its worn head, the way you’ve learned little kids sometimes need. “There. Bori feels better now. See?”
Ellie watches with wide eyes, then leans forward, arms out. Jungkook transfers her to you without a word, and suddenly you’re holding a warm, sniffly toddler who tucks her face into your neck like she belongs there. She smells like baby shampoo and faint medicine.
Jungkook rubs the back of his neck, watching the two of you. “You’re good at this. Really good. I’ve read every book and I still feel like I’m guessing half the time.”
You sway gently with Ellie, the motion automatic from years of pediatric work. “Books help, but sometimes they just need to feel safe. She’s had a lot this week—fever, new teeth, new neighbor showing up at midnight.” You smile softly. “She’s allowed to be overwhelmed.”
He exhales a quiet laugh. “Yeah. We both are.”
Ellie’s sobs taper off completely as you hum a low, wordless tune—the same melody that’s been stuck in your head for days. She relaxes against you, small fingers playing with the collar of your scrubs. The calm version of you stays steady, but that old spark of crazy-happy flickers again, quiet joy at how easily she trusts.
Jungkook leans against the counter, arms crossed, tattoos shifting with the movement. “I keep thinking about that lunch. How you said yes even though you looked like you’d rather be anywhere else. Ellie basically guilted you into it.”
“She’s very persuasive,” you say, still swaying. “And the food was worth it. I usually skip meals when I’m tired—prefer a bath or sleep. But… it was nice. Really nice.”
His eyes linger on you a beat longer than necessary. “It was. For me too.” A pause. “Listen, I know you just got home and you’re probably dead on your feet. But if you’re not in a hurry… stay for a bit? I can make you that green iced tea you seem to live on. Extra lemon. I noticed the slices when you were here the other night.”
You raise an eyebrow, surprised. “You noticed that?”
“I notice a lot of things,” he says simply, no flirtation, just honest.
The words land soft but heavy. Mature. Like he’s not playing games anymore—he’s a man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to say the small truths out loud. The way life hit him hard enough to leave tattoos and tired eyes. The way you’ve both changed but somehow still fit in the quiet moments.
Ellie makes a small, contented sound against your neck, her breathing slowing.
You nod. “Tea sounds good. Just for a little while. Then I really should soak in the tub before I pass out.”
He moves around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, slicing lemons with the kind of care that says he’s used to doing things precisely. You settle on the couch with Ellie, who has gone almost completely limp, trusting you to hold her while her dad works.
When he brings the glass over—perfectly sweetened, extra lemon floating on top—he sits on the other end of the couch, giving you space but not distance. The tea is exactly right. Cold and refreshing in a way that cuts through your exhaustion.
“Thank you,” you murmur after the first sip. “For this.”
Jungkook watches you over the rim of his own water glass. and glances at Ellie, then back at you, voice lower. “I thought about you a lot after you moved in. Before the fever night. Wondered if you’d remember me. If you’d want to.”
You take another sip, the tart lemon waking you up just enough. “I did remember. Eventually. You look… different. Stronger. Like you’ve carried a lot and came out the other side.”
“I have,” he admits quietly. “Ellie’s mom—my brother’s wife—passed with him in an accident. I became her guardian overnight. It changed everything. Made me grow up fast. The tattoos… some are for them. Some are for her. Reminders that I can keep going.”
The confession sits between you, honest and raw but not heavy in a way that demands fixing. You reach over and squeeze his hand once—left hand, paint still faintly under your nails. “You’re doing it. She’s lucky to have you.”
He turns his palm up, fingers brushing yours. The touch is simple. Steady. “And now you’re here. Across the landing. Making fevers go away and letting my daughter guilt you into lunch.” A small smile. “It feels… easy. In a way I didn’t expect. Like it doesn’t have to be complicated this time.”
Your heart does a slow, deliberate flip. Not the giddy teenage rush. Something deeper. Warmer. The kind of mature pull where two people who know life isn’t always gentle still make the hard parts softer just by existing in the same space.
Ellie stirs slightly, murmuring “nice lady” in her sleep before settling again.
You don’t pull your hand away.
The tea is cold by the time you finish it. The bath can wait a little longer tonight.
Because right now, sitting on his couch with a sleeping toddler in your arms and the man you once loved looking at you like you make everything simpler, falling feels less like a risk and more like the most natural thing in the world.
Weeks pass in the gentle rhythm that only new routines can create.
Mornings start to feel different. You still wake up to the soft hum of your alarm, still reach for the green iced tea first thing—extra lemon slices always ready in the fridge—but now there’s the occasional sound of small footsteps and a low, patient voice from across the landing. Ellie has taken to “patrolling” the hallway some mornings, her bear tucked under one arm, calling out “nice lady?” in her tiny, determined voice if your door opens even a crack.
Jungkook always apologizes when he catches her, but his eyes smile more than his mouth does these days.
One Saturday morning, three weeks after the midnight fever night, you’re painting in the living room with the window cracked open. The canvas is finally coming together—a rainy street scene with warm window lights bleeding into the gray. Your left hand moves steadily, smudging just enough to feel right. Olivia plays low in the background, the same songs looping because it matches the quiet ache in your chest you can’t quite name yet.
A knock interrupts the brushstrokes.
You open the door to find Jungkook holding two paper cups and Ellie standing beside him in a bright yellow sweater, bear dangling from her fingers.
“Delivery,” he says, lifting one cup. “Green iced tea. Extra lemon. I asked the café guy to make it exactly how you like it—told him it was for the doctor who saved my daughter from a meltdown.”
Ellie holds up her own small cup with both hands. “Juice. For me.”
You laugh, the sound lighter than it’s been in days, and step aside to let them in. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” Jungkook replies simply. He sets the cups on your table, careful not to disturb the paint supplies. “Also, Ellie insisted we check if you were painting today. She’s been talking about ‘colors on paper’ since the art store.”
Ellie toddles straight to your canvas, stopping a safe distance away like she knows not to touch. She points with one small finger. “Pretty rain. Like outside.”
You crouch beside her, left hand still holding the brush. “Yeah, baby. It’s supposed to feel like the rain we had last week. Want to see how I mix the gray?”
She nods solemnly. You let her watch as you blend colors on the palette, explaining in simple words. Jungkook leans against the wall, arms crossed, tattoos shifting as he watches the two of you. There’s something soft and wondering in his expression—like he’s still getting used to how naturally you fit into their mornings.
Later, while Ellie sits on the floor carefully arranging your spare brushes by size (her new favorite game), Jungkook helps you clean a few palettes in the sink. His shoulder brushes yours once, warm and solid.
“You’re calmer than I remember,” he says quietly, not looking at you. “Back then you were all bright chaos—dancing in the dorm kitchen at 2 a.m., dragging me to late-night food stalls. Now… you seem settled. In a good way.”
You rinse a brush under the water, left hand steady. “Life taught me to slow down. Long shifts do that. But the crazy-happy part still comes out when I have time. I danced around the living room last week after a good painting session. Almost knocked over the tea.”
He smiles, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’d like to see that sometime.”
The words hang between you, easy and heavy at the same time.
The weeks keep unfolding like that—small, overlapping moments that build without anyone forcing them.
Some evenings Jungkook knocks with leftovers because “I made too much again.” Ellie always brings her bear and insists on sitting next to you on the couch. You start keeping extra chocolate in a bowl on the table because she’s discovered she likes the caramel kind “a little bit.”
One Thursday night after your shift, you come home to find a small package outside your door: new lemon slices pre-cut in a container and a note in Jungkook’s neat handwriting. For your iced tea stash. Ellie helped pick the lemons. — 5C
You stand in the hallway smiling like an idiot, the calm version of you melting into something warmer.
Another afternoon, you run into them at the small park nearby. Ellie is on the swings, Jungkook pushing her gently. When she spots you, she demands “push with Appa!” so you end up on one side, Jungkook on the other, both of you laughing as Ellie squeals with delight. Her laughter is small and bright, cutting through the autumn air like the best kind of song.
Later, sitting on a bench while Ellie collects leaves, Jungkook leans back, stretching his inked arms along the backrest.
“I think about you a lot,” he admits, voice low enough that only you can hear. “Not just because you’re across the landing. Because you make things feel… easier. I’ve been carrying a lot since my brother and his wife—Ellie’s parents—were gone. The guilt, the fear I’m not enough for her. But when you’re here, even just for tea or a walk, it feels lighter. Like I can breathe.”
You look at him, really look—the strong line of his jaw, the tattoos that tell stories he hasn’t fully shared yet, the quiet strength in how he watches his daughter. “You are enough, Jungkook. She knows it. I see it every time she reaches for you.”
He turns his head, eyes meeting yours. “And you? Do you know how easy it is to fall with you? Not the young, messy way we were before. This feels… mature. Real. Like two people who’ve seen harder days still choosing the soft ones together.”
“I feel it too,” you say softly. “It’s scary how easy it is. But good scary.”
Ellie runs back then, arms full of colorful leaves, demanding you both admire her collection. The moment breaks, but the warmth stays.
That night, after they’ve gone back to 5C and you’re alone with your canvas and iced tea, you put on Olivia Dean again. The lyrics feel different now, less like a memory and more like a promise.
You dance a little in the living room, socks sliding, that old crazy-happy spark flaring brighter. Laughing at yourself because this—neighbor knocks, toddler leaf collections, quiet confessions on park benches—is becoming your new normal.
The weeks had settled into something quietly beautiful, but one Thursday evening cracked it open wider.
You had come home from a long shift, the kind that left your shoulders tight and your mind replaying tiny patients’ faces. Instead of heading straight for the bath like usual, you found yourself knocking on 5C after hearing Ellie’s soft giggles mixed with Jungkook’s low laughter drifting into the hallway. The door opened to warm light and the smell of something simple cooking—ramen with extra vegetables, probably.
Ellie spotted you first and ran over on unsteady legs, arms up. You scooped her up without thinking, left hand supporting her back as she tucked her face into your neck like it was the most natural place in the world.
Jungkook stood by the stove, wooden spoon in hand, watching the two of you with that soft, wondering look that had become more frequent lately. “Perfect timing. We were just about to eat. Stay?”
You did.
After dinner—Ellie proudly feeding her bear a single noodle—Jungkook put her to bed while you cleared the table. When he came back, the apartment felt quieter, the cloud night-light casting gentle shadows. He grabbed two glasses of your favorite green iced tea (he’d started keeping lemons just for you) and nodded toward the couch.
“Sit with me?” His voice was lower than usual, almost hesitant. “There’s… stuff I’ve been wanting to tell you. About the years since we lost touch. About how I ended up here. With her.”
You settled beside him, close enough that your knee brushed his. The calm version of you stayed steady, but your heart picked up pace. “Only if you want to. No pressure.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, tattoos shifting with the movement. For a moment he looked exactly like the shy twenty-year-old you once knew—eyes down, shoulders slightly rounded—before he straightened and met your gaze.
“We broke up… it was gentle. You went off for your scholarship, I was figuring out my own path. I thought we’d both just grow into different people and that was okay. But life didn’t stay simple.”
He took a slow breath, fingers tracing the rim of his glass.
“My brother—Seojun—and his wife Jiyoon… they were everything to me. They had Ellie when she was just a baby. I was there the day she was born. Held her when she was ten minutes old and she grabbed my finger like she already knew me. I became ‘Appa’s brother’ to her. The fun uncle who showed up with silly gifts and helped with night feeds when they needed a break.”
His voice caught for a second. You reached over and rested your left hand on his arm, quiet support. He covered it with his own without looking away.
“Fourteen months ago… there was an accident. Car crash on the highway. They didn’t make it. I got the call while I was in the middle of a work meeting. One minute I was reviewing code, the next I was Ellie’s only family. Their will was clear—they wanted me to raise her. No hesitation on paper. But in real life?”
He let out a shaky laugh that didn’t quite hide the pain. “I was terrified. Twenty-seven years old, single, running a small tech company from home, still figuring out how to be an adult myself. I spent the first week after the funeral sitting on the floor of their apartment with Ellie in my lap, both of us crying, and I didn’t know how to explain they weren’t coming back. I called lawyers. Looked into other options. Thought maybe my parents or a more stable family could do it better.”
You squeezed his arm gently. “That’s human, Jungkook. Anyone would doubt themselves.”
“Yeah… but I couldn’t do it. The second I tried to imagine handing her over, something in me broke. She was already mine in every way that mattered. From that first hospital day. From every time Seojun called me at 3 a.m. saying ‘Jungkook-ah, come meet your niece.’ I looked at her tiny face—those eyes that are exactly my brother’s—and I knew. I had to grow up right then. No more shy kid calculating risks from the sidelines, and I became her dad. Officially. Legally. Every single day since.”
He paused, voice dropping softer. “It changed me. I got the tattoos—some for Seojun and Jiyoon, some for Ellie, reminders that I can carry heavy things and still keep moving. I learned how to do night feeds, doctor visits, toddler tantrums. I read every parenting book I could find. But some days… I still feel like that shy teenager you knew. The one who got nervous holding your hand because he didn’t want to mess it up. When Ellie reaches for me and calls me Appa, part of me still panics that I’m not enough. That I’m faking this whole ‘strong dad’ thing.”
You turned toward him fully, your left hand sliding up to cup his cheek. The touch was gentle, paint still faintly under your nails from earlier that day. “You’re not faking it. I see you with her. The way you carry her when she’s tired, the way you notice every little thing she needs. That’s real maturity, Jungkook. Not perfect, but real. And the shy part? It’s still there because you’re still you. I like both versions.”
He leaned into your palm, eyes closing for a moment like the words were something he’d been waiting to hear. When he opened them again, they were brighter, more open.
“Meeting you again—right across the landing—felt like the universe giving me a second chance at something soft. I recognized you the first day you moved in. The way you hum when you’re unlocking your door, that left-handed grip on your bags. I didn’t say anything because I was scared. Scared I’d complicate your life with a ready-made family and all my baggage. But then Ellie got sick and you showed up at midnight like it was nothing. And every week since… you make it feel easy. Being a dad. Being around someone who sees the shy parts and the strong parts and doesn’t run.”
The air between you felt thicker now, charged with years and new honesty. Not the light, teenage love from before—this was heavier, deeper, two adults who had been shaped by loss and responsibility choosing each other anyway.
You smiled softly, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “You make it easy too, you know. Coming home to knocks and tea and a little girl who thinks I’m magic because I made her fever go away. I used to skip meals for baths or sleep, but lately I find myself looking forward to these moments more than the quiet ones alone.”
Ellie made a small sleep sound from her room, the monitor on the table crackling softly. Jungkook glanced toward it, then back at you, his hand still over yours.
“I’m not rushing anything,” he said quietly. “But I needed you to know the whole story. How I became her father. How I grew up overnight even though sometimes I still feel like that nervous kid who liked you too much to say it right the first time.”
You leaned in, resting your forehead against his for a brief moment. The touch was simple. Warm. Full of the mature kind of promise.
“Thank you for telling me,” you whispered. “I’m glad it was you across the landing. Both versions of you.”
The moment stretched, heavy with everything he had shared and everything still unspoken. Then his hand came up slowly, fingers sliding into your hair at the nape of your neck, careful, like he was asking permission with every touch.
“Can I…?” he whispered, voice rough and low, the shy teenager peeking through the strong man he had become.
You answered by closing the small distance.
The first kiss was soft. Tentative in the way only something truly wanted can be. His lips brushed yours once, testing, then pressed again with quiet certainty. There was no rush, no explosion of young passion like the hurried kisses you once shared at twenty and eighteen. This was slower, deeper—two people who had carried years of life pressing their mouths together like they were finally allowing themselves to breathe the same air again.
He tasted like green tea and something warmer underneath. His hand stayed gentle in your hair while the other found your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer on the couch. You melted into it, left hand sliding from his cheek to the back of his neck, fingers brushing the short hairs there. The kiss lingered, turning from sweet to something more intent, mouths moving in a rhythm that felt both brand new and achingly familiar.
When you finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, your foreheads touched again. His eyes were dark, lashes low, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the night you showed up for Ellie,” he admitted quietly. “Maybe since the day you moved in. But I kept telling myself not to complicate things.”
You let out a soft laugh, the crazy-happy spark flickering warmly in your chest. “You’re not complicating anything. You’re… making it feel right.”
He kissed you once more, quick and soft this time, like he couldn’t help himself, then settled back against the couch, keeping your hand in his. The silence was comfortable, the kind that didn’t need filling right away.
After a moment, you squeezed his fingers. “Since you told me your story… I should tell you mine. The parts after we lost touch. It wasn’t all smooth for me either.”
Jungkook turned toward you fully, giving you his complete attention the way he always did—focused, patient, like nothing else in the world mattered right now. “I want to hear it. All of it.”
You took a breath, staring at your joined hands. Your left thumb traced one of his tattoos absentmindedly.
“College… it broke me for a while. I thought leaving was the right decision. The scholarship felt like this big, bright future. But the program was brutal. I was eighteen, away from home, surrounded by people who seemed so much more prepared than me. The first two years I questioned everything. There were nights I cried in the dorm bathroom because I was convinced I had made the worst decision of my life. That I wasn’t smart enough, strong enough.”
You paused, the memories still sharp even years later. “Then came the surgical rotation. We had to work with real cadavers—cutting open actual flesh, seeing everything up close. I threw up after the first class. Actually threw up in the sink while the professor was still talking. I locked myself in a stall and thought, ‘This is it. I’m not made for medicine. I should quit and do something easier.’ I felt so weak. So unprepared for how heavy real life was going to be.”
Jungkook’s thumb stroked the back of your hand, steady and warm. He didn’t interrupt, just listened with those dark eyes that made you feel seen.
“But then… pediatrics happened. I got placed in the children’s ward during my third year. The first time I helped a young mother on the street—her baby was choking on something small, right outside the hospital. I ran over, did the maneuvers I’d only practiced on dummies, and the baby started breathing again. The mom hugged me so tight she was crying. That moment… it clicked. This was where I belonged. Helping the smallest patients, the ones who couldn’t speak for themselves yet.”
A small smile tugged at your lips as happier memories surfaced. “There was this one baby, maybe six months old, who had the tiniest toothless smile. I was having the worst day—another sleepless night, doubting everything again. I picked him up for a check-up and he just grinned at me with those gummy gums, like the sun had come out. That smile fixed something in me. I walked out of that room knowing I was on the right path again. Pediatrics wasn’t just a rotation. It became my home. The place where the hard parts felt worth it because the little wins were so pure.”
You looked up at him, voice softer. “So yeah… I had my breakdowns. The throwing up after surgery, the nights I wanted to quit. But I found my way back. Just like you did with Ellie. We both grew up the hard way, but we ended up here.”
Jungkook lifted your joined hands and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, right over the faint paint smudge that never quite washed away. “I’m proud of you. For staying when it was ugly. For finding the toothless smiles that kept you going.” His voice dropped, warm and certain. “And I’m really glad those paths brought you back across the landing from me.”
The kiss that followed was slower, deeper than the first. Less tentative, more sure. His hand cupped your jaw while yours rested against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was the kind of kiss that said “I see all of you, the hard parts and the soft ones, and I’m still here.”
When you pulled apart this time, you were both smiling, a little breathless, the crazy-happy spark in you dancing brighter.
Ellie’s monitor let out a small murmur. Jungkook glanced at it, then back at you with a quiet laugh. “She has perfect timing.”
You leaned your head on his shoulder, the weight comfortable and right. “She really does.”
The night stretched on with more quiet talk and a few more soft kisses, the kind that felt like promises rather than endings. Outside, the city hummed its usual song. Inside 5C, two people who had once been young and uncertain were finding each other again—this time as the adults they had fought to become.
Jungkook started texting you in the mornings, short messages about Ellie’s latest discovery (a new word for “bird” or how she tried to feed her bear cereal). You replied with photos of your half-finished canvases or quick updates from your shift breaks. Just steady threads pulling you closer across the landing.
One Tuesday evening you came home to find him waiting outside your door with a small container of soup. “Ellie made me cook extra. She kept saying ‘for the nice lady.’” You invited him in. You ate together at your tiny table while music played softly in the background. He asked about the songs you loved lately; you asked about the tech projects that kept him working from home. Conversation wandered easily from silly childhood stories to the small frustrations of adult life. When he left, he brushed a soft kiss against your cheek at the door — nothing more, but it lingered.
The next weekend Ellie dragged both of you to the park again. She insisted on holding one of your hands and one of his, swinging between you like a tiny bridge. Jungkook caught your eye over her head and smiled — that slow, warm smile that made your stomach flip. Later, while Ellie chased leaves, the two of you sat on the bench talking about favorite movies from years ago. He remembered the ones you used to quote; you remembered how he used to hum along even when he didn’t know the words. When Ellie got tired, he carried her home on his shoulders and you walked beside them, the three of you moving like it was the most natural thing.
Some nights he knocked with whatever he had cooked that day, and you ended up on his couch watching whatever cartoon Ellie demanded before bed. She always crawled into your lap halfway through, falling asleep against your chest while Jungkook watched the two of you with quiet eyes. You started staying longer after she was tucked in — just talking, sharing small pieces of your days, letting kisses happen naturally when the moment felt right. Soft presses at first, then deeper ones that left you both a little breathless and smiling against each other’s mouths.
One rainy Thursday you had a rare afternoon off. Jungkook suggested a short walk to the nearby market because Ellie wanted “pretty fruits.” You went along, ending up carrying bags while he kept one arm loosely around your shoulders to shield you from the drizzle. At home you helped chop vegetables for dinner, shoulders brushing as you worked side by side in his kitchen. Ellie “helped” by stacking blocks on the floor and announcing each one’s name. When dinner was ready the three of you ate together like it had always been this way — easy laughter, Ellie stealing bites from your plate, Jungkook’s foot gently nudging yours under the table.
He began walking you to your door after evenings together, stealing one last kiss that tasted like the dessert you had shared. You started leaving small notes on his doorstep when your shifts ran late — silly drawings or reminders to rest. He replied with photos of Ellie’s latest artwork dedicated “to nice lady.”
One evening after putting Ellie to bed, you stayed on his couch longer than usual. The conversation turned quieter, more intimate. He told you about a tough work call that day; you shared a story about a little patient who had made you laugh until you cried. The space between you disappeared slowly until you were curled against his side, his arm around you, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your shoulder.
When he kissed you that night it felt different — slower, more intentional. His hands framed your face like you were something precious he was still learning how to hold. You kissed him back with the same care, exploring the way his breath hitched when you tugged gently at his hair, the way his body relaxed under your touch. There was heat building, but no rush. Just the steady discovery of each other again — the man he had become and the woman you were now.
Afterward you stayed tangled together on the couch, trading soft words and quieter kisses until the monitor crackled with Ellie’s sleepy murmur. He walked you across the landing with his hand in yours, pressing one final kiss to your forehead before you slipped inside your own apartment.
The next morning he sent a photo of Ellie holding up a drawing of three stick figures holding hands. The message simply read: She says this is us.
You smiled at your phone for a long minute, heart full in a way that felt brand new and deeply familiar at the same time.
You weren’t calling it dating. You weren’t labeling anything.
But every shared meal, every walk with Ellie between you, every kiss that grew longer and surer, every quiet night talking until the hours slipped away — it was building something real. Something steady. Something that made coming home feel like the best part of the day.
The call came on a quiet Wednesday afternoon when you were off shift and halfway through sketching a new canvas.
Jungkook’s voice on the phone sounded tight, the kind of controlled panic that only parents learn. “Hey… I’m really sorry to ask this, but my biggest client just moved our meeting up by three hours and it’s in-person downtown. My usual sitter is out sick and my mom can’t get here in time. Ellie’s been fine all morning but she’s still a little clingy. Would you… could you watch her for a couple of hours? I’ll be back before dinner.”
You didn’t even hesitate. “Of course. Bring her over.”
Ten minutes later he appeared at your door with Ellie on his hip, a small backpack slung over his shoulder, and gratitude written all over his face. Ellie reached for you immediately, bear clutched in one fist.
“You sure this is okay?” he asked, setting the bag down. “I know it’s last minute.”
“It’s more than okay,” you said, taking Ellie from him. She settled against you like she belonged there, small head resting on your shoulder. “Go handle your meeting. We’ll be fine.”
He lingered for a second longer than necessary, eyes moving between you and his daughter. Then he leaned in, pressed a quick, soft kiss to your temple, and another to Ellie’s hair. “Thank you. Text me if anything comes up. I’ll hurry back.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and suddenly it was just you and Ellie in your apartment.
She wasn’t difficult. She was curious.
For the first hour she followed you around like a tiny shadow while you finished your sketch, pointing at colors and demanding names for each one. You let her sit on your lap at the table and “help” by handing you crayons, her serious little face concentrating hard on every movement. When she got bored of that, you pulled out paper and let her scribble her own pictures — mostly circles and wobbly lines she proudly declared were “birds and appa and you.”
Lunch was simple: chopped fruit and the yogurt she liked. She fed herself with surprising focus, occasionally offering a strawberry to you or her bear. Afterward you read her two books on the couch, doing all the voices until she giggled so hard she nearly fell off your lap.
Then came the part that undid you both a little.
Ellie started rubbing her eyes, the clinginess from earlier returning. Instead of fighting it, you carried her to the couch, wrapped her in the soft throw blanket you kept there, and hummed the same low tune you’d used the night of her fever. She curled into your side, bear tucked under her chin, one small hand fisting the front of your shirt like she was making sure you wouldn’t disappear.
You stayed there, stroking her back in slow circles, watching her lashes flutter and finally still as she drifted off. The apartment was quiet except for her soft breathing and the distant sound of rain starting again outside.
That was when Jungkook came back.
He let himself in with the spare key you’d given him the week before (just in case, you’d both said). You looked up from the couch and caught the exact moment his expression changed.
He stopped in the doorway, bag still in hand, eyes softening as he took in the scene: you on the couch with his daughter asleep against your chest, her tiny fist still curled in your shirt, your hand gently resting on her back. The half-finished drawings scattered on the table. The blanket you’d pulled over both of you. The way the afternoon light came through the window and painted everything golden and soft.
He didn’t speak right away. Just stood there watching, something raw and wondering crossing his face — like he was seeing a version of life he had quietly imagined in the hardest months after becoming Ellie’s dad, but never fully let himself believe could happen.
A life with someone who didn’t just help, but fit.
Someone who made the ordinary afternoons feel like they belonged to all three of you.
You offered him a small, gentle smile over Ellie’s head. He crossed the room quietly and knelt beside the couch, one hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from his daughter’s cheek. His fingers lingered, then moved to rest lightly over yours where they lay on Ellie’s back.
“She went down easy?” he whispered.
“After stories and strawberries,” you murmured back. “She drew you a bird. It’s on the table.”
He glanced at the drawings, then back at you. His eyes were bright, a little glassy at the edges. “You look good like this,” he said, voice so low it barely carried. “Holding her. Being here. It makes me think about… all the nights I stayed up wondering if I was doing this right. If she would ever have someone else who just… knew how to be with her like this.”
You turned your hand palm-up under his, lacing your fingers together. “She has you. And right now she has both of us. That’s enough.”
He leaned in and kissed you — slow, grateful, the kind of kiss that carried weeks of building closeness and the weight of everything he wasn’t saying yet. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a moment, Ellie sleeping peacefully between you.
“Thank you,” he whispered against your lips. “For today. For all the days lately.”
You kissed him once more, softer this time, then glanced down at the little girl who had somehow become the center of everything.
“She’s out cold,” you said with a small smile. “Want to move her to the bed so we can sit properly?”
He nodded, carefully lifting Ellie into his arms. You followed him to your bedroom, watching as he laid her down and tucked the blanket around her with practiced care. When he straightened, he pulled you close again, arms wrapping around your waist, chin resting on top of your head.
Jungkook held you like he was afraid the moment might slip away if he let go. The wordless thing you had been building felt less like something happening to you and more like something you were both choosing — one shared afternoon, one sleepy toddler, one steady kiss at a time
The following Saturday afternoon found the three of you in Jungkook’s apartment again, the kind of lazy weekend where time moved slower.
Ellie had been playing on the living room floor with her blocks, building lopsided towers and knocking them down with delighted squeals. You were sitting cross-legged nearby, helping her stack the bright blue ones while Jungkook worked on his laptop at the table, occasionally glancing over with a soft smile. The rain from earlier had cleared, leaving golden light spilling through the windows.
When Ellie’s tower finally collapsed for the fifth time, she let out a dramatic little huff and toddled straight toward you instead of her father.
“Up,” she demanded, arms raised.
You opened your arms without thinking and lifted her onto your lap. She settled immediately, tiny hands grabbing fistfuls of your shirt like she was anchoring herself there. Her fingers twisted the fabric tight, refusing to loosen even when Jungkook stood up and walked over, crouching in front of you both with an amused grin.
“Hey, Ellie-ya,” he said gently, holding his own arms out. “Come to Appa? Let’s build another tower together.”
Ellie shook her head once, burying her face against your chest. Her grip on your shirt only tightened, small knuckles turning white. “No. Stay.”
Jungkook laughed softly, the sound warm and light, but you caught the way his eyes flickered — something deeper flashing across his face before he masked it with another chuckle. “Alright, guess she’s made her choice today.”
He sat down beside you on the floor instead, close enough that his knee pressed against yours. Ellie peeked out from your shirt just long enough to give him a triumphant little smile, then went right back to clutching you, her whole small body relaxing like this was exactly where she wanted to be.
You rubbed slow circles on her back, murmuring nonsense about the colors of the blocks. Ellie listened for a moment, then lifted her head, looked straight at you with those big dark eyes, and said clearly:
“Y/N.”
Your breath caught.
She had never used your name before — always “nice lady” or nothing at all. Now it came out simple and certain, like she had been practicing it in her head and decided it fit.
“Y/N,” she repeated, patting your chest with one hand while the other stayed firmly twisted in your shirt. “Stay.”
Jungkook went very still beside you. The laugh he let out this time was quieter, almost breathless. “Well… that’s new.”
You felt warmth bloom across your cheeks, but you didn’t pull away. Instead you pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Ellie’s head. “Okay, sweetheart. I’m staying right here.”
From that moment something shifted inside you without you fully realizing it.
You started doing little things naturally, the way you had once imagined you might if you ever became a mother someday. Small adjustments you didn’t even notice you were making.
When Ellie got fussy later that evening, you instinctively rocked her in the exact rhythm that always calmed the babies at the hospital. You hummed the same soft tune while preparing her snack, cutting the fruit into the tiny pieces she liked best. You wiped her hands and face with the warm cloth Jungkook handed you, but you did it with the gentle thoroughness you used on your tiniest patients — careful, patient, full of quiet affection.
You didn’t think about it. It just felt right.
But Jungkook noticed everything.
He watched from the kitchen while you helped Ellie wash her hands at the sink, your body angled protectively so she wouldn’t slip. He saw the way you automatically checked her forehead with the back of your fingers when she yawned, the same way you’d done the night of her fever. He caught how you rearranged the cushions on the couch so she could lean against them comfortably while you read her a story, your voice soft and engaged like nothing else in the world mattered more than this moment.
Each small thing undid him in a way he hadn’t known was possible.
He had spent so long being the strong one — the one who had to figure everything out alone after the accident, the one who carried the weight of becoming a father overnight. He thought he had accepted that this was his life now: just him and Ellie against the world.
But seeing you slip so effortlessly into the role — not forcing it, not performing it, just being there with that natural care — hit him somewhere deep and tender he hadn’t let himself feel before. It wasn’t just attraction anymore. It was devotion, sudden and strong, the kind that made his chest ache in the best possible way.
Later, after Ellie had finally fallen asleep in her bed (still clutching the corner of the blanket you had tucked around her), Jungkook pulled you into the hallway just outside her room. He backed you gently against the wall, hands framing your face as he looked at you like you were the most precious thing he had ever seen.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “Watching you with her today… the way she reached for you first. The way she said your name like it was already hers. And then you just… you took care of her like you’ve been doing it forever.”
He kissed you then — deeper than usual, more intense, like he was pouring every unspoken feeling into it. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as if he needed to feel you there, solid and real.
When he pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against yours. “I’m falling so hard for you. Harder than I thought I could. You make this feel possible — all of it. Being her dad, being with someone, having this kind of life. I didn’t know I could want it this much until I saw you with her today.”
You smiled against his lips, fingers threading through his hair. “She chose me today. I think I’m choosing both of you right back.”
He kissed you again, slower this time, full of that new layer of devotion that made every touch feel heavier with meaning. His hands stayed on you like he couldn’t bear to let go, like he was already promising silently to hold onto this — onto you — with everything he had.
Jungkook was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching the two of you with that soft look that had become constant lately. “There’s a little parents’ event at Ellie’s daycare this Friday. It’s just a short show — the toddlers do a simple dance and sing a couple songs. Nothing fancy, but… she’s been practicing the moves every day. Would you come with us?”
Ellie immediately dropped her block and clapped her hands. “Y/N come! Dance with me!”
You laughed, heart doing a silly little flip at how naturally she said your name now. “I’d love to.”
The daycare parents’ event turned out to be a little bigger than Jungkook had first described.
“It’s not just the toddlers dancing,” he explained the night before while you were both sitting on his couch after Ellie went to bed. “There’s a small reception afterward with photos and snacks. A few parents dress up a bit — nothing crazy, but nicer than everyday clothes. I was thinking… maybe we could too? For Ellie.”
You agreed without overthinking it.
Friday afternoon you came straight from your shift and changed into something a step above your usual post-work comfort. A soft cream-colored blouse with delicate buttons, tucked into high-waisted dark jeans that made your legs look longer. You added a simple gold necklace and light makeup — just enough to feel put-together. When you stepped across the landing, Jungkook opened the door already dressed.
He looked good. Really good.
A charcoal button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled once to show a hint of his tattoos, paired with well-fitted black trousers and polished shoes. The shirt hugged his shoulders in a way that reminded you exactly how strong he had become over the years. His hair was styled neatly, a little effort put in, and he smelled faintly of the cologne he saved for important days.
Ellie was dressed in her favorite yellow sun shirt, but Jungkook had added a soft tulle skirt over her leggings and tiny white shoes that made her look like a proper little performer. She twirled the second she saw you, skirt flaring out.
“You both look nice,” you said, unable to hide your smile.
Jungkook’s eyes swept over you appreciatively. “So do you. Ready?”
The three of you arrived at the daycare looking every bit the picture of a young family. Jungkook carried Ellie on his hip at first, then set her down so she could walk between you, holding one of your hands and one of his. You had brought a small bag with extra wipes and a spare shirt for her, just in case. Jungkook had remembered her favorite snack and a water bottle.
The gymnasium was decorated with more balloons and fairy lights than last time. Parents were dressed up in their own versions of “nice but realistic” — button-downs, pretty blouses, dresses that weren’t too formal. No one was in a full suit or gown, but everyone had made an effort.
Ellie’s class performed again, the same adorable chaotic dance. She kept glancing at you and Jungkook in the front row, waving every time the music paused. When the song ended and the kids ran to their families, Ellie sprinted straight to you again.
This time she didn’t just reach for you — she launched herself.
You caught her, laughing as her tiny hands grabbed your blouse. The fabric wrinkled under her grip, but you didn’t care. She buried her face in your neck, legs wrapping around your waist.
A couple standing nearby smiled warmly.
“Oh, she’s so attached to her mom,” the woman said. “Look at that hug! You two must be so proud of how far she’s come since starting here.”
Jungkook didn’t miss a beat.
“We are,” he said smoothly, stepping closer so his arm could slide around your waist, hand resting just above where Ellie’s legs were wrapped. “She’s been practicing every single day at home. Couldn’t be prouder.”
You opened your mouth to gently correct the assumption, but Jungkook’s fingers gave a light squeeze on your side — a silent let it be. His touch was warm through your blouse, steady and reassuring.
The fluffy feeling hit you again, harder this time.
Oh my God. He just called us “we” like it’s the most natural thing.
This man — tattoos, strong shoulders, button-down that fits him way too well — is standing here in nice trousers, arm around me, while our… while Ellie clings to my blouse like I’m hers.
People are looking at us like we’re a real little family. Me. In my slightly-fancy blouse. Him looking like he stepped out of a responsible-dad catalog.
Jesus Christ, is this my life now? I went from throwing up after cadaver class to this?
Fluffy doesn’t even cover it. My chest feels like someone stuffed it with warm cotton and fairy lights. I might actually melt into the floor if he keeps his hand there.
You adjusted Ellie on your hip, pressing a kiss to her temple while your mind kept its ridiculous
The daycare parents’ event turned out to be a little bigger than Jungkook had first described.
“It’s not just the toddlers dancing,” he explained the night before while you were both sitting on his couch after Ellie went to bed. “There’s a small reception afterward with photos and snacks. A few parents dress up a bit — nothing crazy, but nicer than everyday clothes. I was thinking… maybe we could too? For Ellie.”
You agreed without overthinking it.
Friday afternoon you came straight from your shift and changed into something a step above your usual post-work comfort. A soft cream-colored blouse with delicate buttons, tucked into high-waisted dark jeans that made your legs look longer. You added a simple gold necklace and light makeup — just enough to feel put-together. When you stepped across the landing, Jungkook opened the door already dressed.
He looked good. Really good.
A charcoal button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled once to show a hint of his tattoos, paired with well-fitted black trousers and polished shoes. The shirt hugged his shoulders in a way that reminded you exactly how strong he had become over the years. His hair was styled neatly, a little effort put in, and he smelled faintly of the cologne he saved for important days.
Ellie was dressed in her favorite yellow sun shirt, but Jungkook had added a soft tulle skirt over her leggings and tiny white shoes that made her look like a proper little performer. She twirled the second she saw you, skirt flaring out.
“You both look nice,” you said, unable to hide your smile.
Jungkook’s eyes swept over you appreciatively. “So do you. Ready?”
The three of you arrived at the daycare looking every bit the picture of a young family. Jungkook carried Ellie on his hip at first, then set her down so she could walk between you, holding one of your hands and one of his. You had brought a small bag with extra wipes and a spare shirt for her, just in case. Jungkook had remembered her favorite snack and a water bottle.
The gymnasium was decorated with more balloons and fairy lights than last time. Parents were dressed up in their own versions of “nice but realistic” — button-downs, pretty blouses, dresses that weren’t too formal. No one was in a full suit or gown, but everyone had made an effort.
Ellie’s class performed again, the same adorable chaotic dance. She kept glancing at you and Jungkook in the front row, waving every time the music paused. When the song ended and the kids ran to their families, Ellie sprinted straight to you again.
This time she didn’t just reach for you — she launched herself.
You caught her, laughing as her tiny hands grabbed your blouse. The fabric wrinkled under her grip, but you didn’t care. She buried her face in your neck, legs wrapping around your waist.
A couple standing nearby smiled warmly.
“Oh, she’s so attached to her mom,” the woman said. “Look at that hug! You two must be so proud of how far she’s come since starting here.”
Jungkook didn’t miss a beat.
“We are,” he said smoothly, stepping closer so his arm could slide around your waist, hand resting just above where Ellie’s legs were wrapped. “She’s been practicing every single day at home. Couldn’t be prouder.”
You opened your mouth to gently correct the assumption, but Jungkook’s fingers gave a light squeeze on your side — a silent let it be. His touch was warm through your blouse, steady and reassuring.
The fluffy feeling hit you again, harder this time.
Oh my God. He just called us “we” like it’s the most natural thing.
This man — tattoos, strong shoulders, button-down that fits him way too well — is standing here in nice trousers, arm around me, while our… while Ellie clings to my blouse like I’m hers.
People are looking at us like we’re a real little family. Me. In my slightly-fancy blouse. Him looking like he stepped out of a responsible-dad catalog.
Jesus Christ, is this my life now? I went from throwing up after cadaver class to this?
Fluffy doesn’t even cover it. My chest feels like someone stuffed it with warm cotton and fairy lights. I might actually melt into the floor if he keeps his hand there.
You adjusted Ellie on your hip, pressing a kiss to her temple while your mind kept its ridiculous, monologue running..
Okay, brain, breathe. You’re a pediatric doctor. You’ve handled actual emergencies. You can handle being mistaken for a mom while wearing a blouse that cost more than your usual scrubs.
But look at him. Sleeves rolled just enough to show some ink. Standing there like he belongs in this picture. Like he wants people to think we’re together. Like he wants me here as more than just the nice neighbor.
This is dangerous. This is the kind of dangerous that makes me want to keep wearing blouses and showing up to toddler dance shows forever.
The reception continued with snacks and group photos. Several more parents stopped to compliment Ellie’s performance and casually referred to you as her mother. Each time, Jungkook simply smiled and thanked them, never correcting, his arm staying around you like it was the most normal place in the world.
You felt yourself leaning into him more as the afternoon went on. Ellie refused to be put down, content to stay in your arms while she nibbled on a cookie, occasionally offering you a piece with her sticky fingers.
When it was time for the official parent photo, the teacher waved the three of you over. Jungkook positioned himself behind you, one hand on your waist, the other steadying Ellie on your hip. The camera clicked.
You looked every bit the real parents — him in his charcoal shirt, you in your cream blouse, Ellie bright and happy between you.
On the drive home, Ellie fell asleep in her car seat, exhausted from all the excitement. Jungkook reached over and took your hand, lacing your fingers together.
“You looked beautiful today,” he said quietly. “Holding her like that. Standing there with us.”
You squeezed his hand, the fluffy warmth still swirling in your chest. “You looked pretty good yourself. All dressed up like a proper dad.”
He laughed softly, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Felt good. Having you there. Having people see us like that.”
You didn’t say anything else for a moment, just let the quiet settle. Your internal voice was still chattering happily in the background.
This man just let an entire room of parents think I’m Ellie’s mom and he didn’t blink. He wanted it. He’s holding my hand like he never wants to let go.
If someone told eighteen-year-old me that one day I’d be dressed up in a blouse, carrying a toddler who calls me by name, while her ridiculously attractive father looks at me like I’m the missing piece… I would have laughed until I cried.
But here we are.
Back at the building, you carried a sleepy Ellie up the stairs while Jungkook held the doors. She stirred just enough to mumble “Y/N pretty” before tucking her face into your neck again.
Jungkook watched the whole thing with that look that had grown even stronger since— like every time he saw you with her, something inside him clicked more firmly into place, he closed the bedroom door with a gentle click and turned to you. The golden light from the small lamp made everything feel softer, warmer. His eyes moved over you slowly — the cream blouse you’d worn for the daycare event, now slightly wrinkled from Ellie’s hands, the way your hair had loosened throughout the day. He stepped closer, hands coming up to frame your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” he whispered, thumb brushing your lower lip. “Not just tonight. Every time I saw you with her. Every time you stayed a little longer. Every time you looked at me like I still matter.”
You leaned into his touch, heart beating steady and heavy. “You do matter. You always did.”
He kissed you then, slow and deep, like he was savoring every second after years of being apart. His lips moved against yours with quiet certainty, tongue tracing the seam of your mouth until you opened for him. The kiss tasted like the punch from the reception and something sweeter underneath — like coming home after a long time away.
Your hands slid up his chest, fingers working open the buttons of his charcoal shirt one by one. When the fabric parted you pushed it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Your palms explored the warm skin beneath, tracing the lines of muscle he’d built over the years, the tattoos that told stories you were only beginning to learn. He shivered under your touch but didn’t hurry you.
Jungkook took his time undressing you too. He unbuttoned your blouse slowly, kissing every new inch of skin he revealed — your collarbone, the swell of your breasts above your bra, the soft skin of your stomach. When he reached the waistband of your jeans he knelt, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your hip as he slid the denim down your legs. Your bra and panties followed with the same patient care, until you stood completely bare in front of him.
He rose to his feet and looked at you for a long moment, eyes dark with want but full of something deeper. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “Even more than I remembered.”
He guided you back onto the bed, laying you down gently against the pillows. His body covered yours, warm and solid, but he kept most of his weight on his forearms so he could look at your face. The kiss that followed was slower, more sensual — tongues sliding together, lips pulling and sucking softly. His hand roamed your body with reverence, cupping your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it tightened under his touch. You arched into him, a quiet moan slipping out.
Jungkook kissed down your neck, taking his time at the sensitive spot just below your ear that made your breath hitch. He moved lower, mouth closing around one nipple while his hand teased the other. The wet heat of his tongue, the gentle scrape of his teeth — it sent slow waves of pleasure through you, building steadily rather than rushing.
When he finally settled between your thighs, he looked up at you with dark, devoted eyes. “Let me taste you.”
He licked a long, slow stripe up your center, savoring you like he had all the time in the world. His tongue circled your clit with deliberate pressure, then flattened to lick broad strokes that had your hips rolling against his mouth. Two fingers slid inside you easily, curling gently to find that perfect spot while his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked softly.
You gasped his name, fingers threading through his hair. The pleasure built gradually, deep and rolling, until it crested in a long, shuddering orgasm that left you trembling beneath him. He stayed with you through every wave, licking you gently until you were oversensitive and breathing hard.
Jungkook kissed his way back up your body, letting you taste yourself on his tongue when he reached your mouth. “I missed this,” he whispered against your lips. “Missed feeling you like this. Missed making you feel good.”
You reached between you, wrapping your hand around his cock. He was hard and thick, pulsing in your palm as you stroked him slowly. He groaned low in his throat, hips pushing into your touch.
“Condom?” you asked softly.
He nodded, reaching into the nightstand. You watched him roll it on with steady hands, then pulled him back down. He settled between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging your entrance.
“Look at me,” he said gently.
Your eyes met his as he pushed in — slow, sure, inch by inch. The stretch was perfect, filling you completely until he was buried to the hilt. He stayed still for a long moment, forehead pressed to yours, breathing the same air.
“God… you feel like home,” he whispered.
Then he started moving — deep, unhurried thrusts that rocked you both together. Every stroke was deliberate, sensual, his hips rolling in a slow rhythm that built the pleasure gradually. You wrapped your legs around him, hands sliding over his back, feeling the muscles shift under your palms with every thrust.
He kissed you through it all — soft, romantic kisses that turned dirtier as the heat grew. “You’re so tight,” he murmured against your mouth. “Taking me so well. Been dreaming about being inside you again… just like this.”
His pace stayed steady but grew a little firmer, the angle shifting until he was hitting that spot deep inside you with every thrust. One hand slipped between your bodies, fingers circling your clit in slow, perfect strokes.
You moaned softly, nails digging into his shoulders. “Jungkook… feels so good…”
“I know, baby,” he breathed, voice rough with restraint. “I’ve got you. Let it build. I want to feel you come around me.”
The orgasm rose slowly this time — a deep, rolling wave that started in your core and spread outward until your whole body was trembling. You came with a quiet, broken cry, clenching tight around him. Jungkook groaned your name, hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge, burying himself deep while he pulsed inside the condom.
He stayed inside you for a long moment afterward, kissing you softly — your lips, your cheeks, your closed eyelids. When he finally pulled out he took care of the condom quickly, then returned to pull you into his arms.
You curled against his chest, one leg draped over his, his hand stroking slow patterns along your spine. The room was quiet, warm, filled with the sound of your slowing breaths.
“I love this,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Being with you like this. Slow. Real. After all this time.”
You smiled against his skin, heart full and steady. “Me too.”
He held you closer, the devotion in every touch even stronger now. In the quiet of his bedroom, with Ellie sleeping peacefully down the hall, the two of you lay tangled together — skin warm, hearts closer than they had been in years.
The first light of morning filtered softly through the curtains when Ellie woke up.
You felt it before you heard anything — a small shift in the air, the faint sound of tiny feet padding down the hallway. Jungkook was still asleep beside you, one arm draped heavily over your waist, his breathing deep and even. Your bodies were tangled under the sheets, skin warm from the night before. The memory of slow kisses, deep thrusts, and whispered words made heat bloom low in your belly even now.
Then came the soft creak of the bedroom door.
Ellie stood in the doorway in her yellow sun pajamas, hair messy from sleep, bear clutched under one arm. She rubbed her eyes with her fist, blinking at the sight of you both in bed together.
For a second she just stared, processing. Then her face lit up with the biggest, sleepiest smile you had ever seen.
“Y/N,” she said happily, voice still raspy from sleep. She didn’t hesitate — she toddled straight to the bed and climbed up with surprising determination, using the edge of the mattress to pull herself onto it. Her small body wriggled between the two of you, bear squished against your chest as she settled in like this was the most normal thing in the world.
Jungkook stirred awake at the movement, eyes blinking open. When he registered Ellie curled up between you, one tiny hand fisting the front of your shirt (the same one from yesterday, now completely wrinkled and discarded on the floor last night — you were wearing one of his t-shirts now), a slow, warm smile spread across his face.
“Morning, baby,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. He reached over to brush her hair back, but his eyes stayed on you the whole time, full of that quiet devotion that had only grown stronger after last night.
Ellie snuggled closer to you, pressing her face into your neck. “Y/N stay. Warm.”
You laughed softly, wrapping an arm around her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. The fluffy feeling from the daycare event returned tenfold, mixed with the intimate glow of the night you’d shared with Jungkook. “I’m here, sweetheart.”
Jungkook shifted closer, his hand finding yours under the blanket while Ellie wiggled happily between you. The three of you lay there for a long moment — warm, sleepy, tangled together in the soft morning light. His thumb stroked the back of your hand in slow circles, the same gentle rhythm he’d used on your skin last night when he was moving inside you, slow and deep and sure.
Ellie sighed contentedly, her small fingers still gripping your shirt. “Appa. Y/N. Bed.”
Jungkook chuckled quietly, leaning over Ellie to press a soft kiss to your lips — quick and sweet, but full of promise. “Yeah,” he whispered against your mouth. “This feels right.”
You felt your heart swell in that ridiculous, human way again.
Oh my God. I just spent the night with him— and now his daughter is cuddling between us like she planned this all along. She literally climbed into bed and claimed her spot. I’m wearing his t-shirt. He’s looking at me like last night meant everything. And I… I don’t want to leave this bed.
This is so domestic it should be illegal. I went from neighbor to… whatever this is… in what feels like five minutes and a thousand years at the same time.
Ellie lifted her head, looking between the two of you with those big, serious eyes. “Breakfast?”
Jungkook smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead before sitting up. “Yeah, let’s make breakfast. Pancakes?”
Ellie nodded enthusiastically and tried to climb over you to get to him, but ended up flopping back down with her head on your chest instead. She patted your shirt once, content. “Y/N help.”
You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you. “Of course I’ll help.”
The three of you eventually made it to the kitchen — Ellie on Jungkook’s hip at first, then demanding to be carried by you while he started mixing the batter. She “helped” by handing you the spoon with both hands, her bear sitting on the counter watching everything with solemn dignity.
Jungkook kept stealing glances at you the whole time — soft, heated looks that reminded you exactly how his hands had felt on your body last night, how his voice had sounded when he groaned your name. Every time your eyes met, the corner of his mouth would lift in that private smile meant only for you.
Breakfast was messy and perfect. Ellie sat in your lap at the table, eating tiny pieces of pancake you cut for her while occasionally feeding some to her bear. Jungkook’s foot nudged yours under the table, a silent reminder of the night you’d shared.
When Ellie finished and started getting sleepy again (toddler crashes after big days were real), Jungkook took her to the living room for some quiet cartoons. You followed, and the three of you ended up on the couch — Ellie curled in your lap, Jungkook’s arm around both of you.
He leaned in close while Ellie was distracted by the screen, lips brushing your ear. “Last night was… everything,” he whispered. “Slow. Real. You and me, finally getting it right.”
You turned your head just enough to kiss him softly, careful not to disturb Ellie. “It was perfect.”
The morning continued like that — calm, warm, domestic in the best way. No rush to define anything. Just the three of you existing together, the memory of slow, sensual lovemaking from the night before lingering in every shared glance and gentle touch.
You stepped out of the hospital doors feeling that familiar post-work haze — the kind where your body wanted a long bath and your mind wanted to replay every small moment from last night and this morning. Jungkook had texted earlier that he would pick you up in his car so you didn’t have to take the bus. Ellie was with his mom for a few hours, giving the two of you a rare pocket of just-adult time.
You smiled at the thought as you walked toward the usual pickup spot near the side entrance. The cream blouse from yesterday was back in your bag; today you were in simple scrubs again, hair pulled up, but the memory of his hands on your skin still lingered like a secret.
Then you saw him.
Not Jungkook.
Yeonjun.
He was leaning against a car a few spaces away, hands in his pockets, looking exactly the same as the last time you’d seen him — warm eyes, easy smile, the kind of steady presence that had once felt safe. He straightened when he spotted you, lifting a hand in a small wave.
“Y/N,” he called, voice gentle. “Hey. I was hoping I’d catch you before you left.”
You stopped a few feet away, surprised but not upset. “Yeonjun… what are you doing here?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, the same nervous habit from years ago. “I’ve been back in Seoul for a couple of weeks. Work brought me here. I heard from a mutual friend that you moved into a new place, started at this hospital. I just… wanted to see how you’re doing. Maybe grab coffee? Talk?”
The words were soft, no pressure on the surface, but you could hear the undercurrent. The same one he’d had when he texted last month. He wasn’t aggressive. He never had been. That was the problem — he was kind. The breakup two years ago had been quiet, mutual, born from clashing schedules and two people who cared but couldn’t make the timing work. No fights. No betrayal. Just life pulling in opposite directions.
You opened your mouth to answer, but your brain was already spinning its own quiet monologue.
Oh… this is awkward in the softest way possible. He looks good. Still the same gentle guy who used to bring me soup when I pulled double shifts. But my chest doesn’t do that little flip anymore. It feels… nostalgic. Like looking at a photo from a chapter I already finished reading.
Last night I was in Jungkook’s bed, his voice in my ear calling me beautiful while he moved inside me like we had all the time in the world. This morning his daughter climbed between us and called my name like it belonged to her. And now here’s Yeonjun, standing here like he’s offering me a door back to something simpler.
God, why does life do this? Throw the past right in front of the present when everything finally feels like it’s clicking?
Before you could find the right words, a familiar black car pulled up to the curb. Jungkook.
He parked smoothly, engine still humming, and stepped out. The moment his eyes landed on Yeonjun standing there with you, something shifted in his expression — a flicker of recognition, then quiet tension. He knew exactly who this was. Old mutual friends had kept him updated over the years; he’d heard the story of the gentle breakup, the busy schedules, the fact that Yeonjun had never been the villain.
Jungkook walked over anyway, calm on the outside, but you could see the way his jaw tightened just a fraction.
“Hey,” he said, voice even as he reached you. His hand found the small of your back naturally, warm and steady. “Ready to go?”
Yeonjun’s eyes moved between the two of you, taking in the easy touch, the way Jungkook positioned himself beside you like it was the most natural place in the world. He smiled, small and genuine. “Jungkook, right? It’s been a while.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook answered, polite but short. “It has.”
You felt the air thicken for a second, just heavy with history and the unspoken. Yeonjun glanced at you one more time. “If you ever want that coffee… no pressure. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
He gave a small nod to both of you and walked back to his car.
The drive home was quiet at first. Ellie wasn’t in the backseat today, so it was just the two of you. Jungkook’s hands stayed steady on the wheel, but you could feel the thoughts turning in his head.
You reached over and rested your hand on his thigh. “He was just saying hi. It’s nothing.”
“I know,” he said softly. Then, after a long breath, he kept talking — more to himself than to you, voice low and truthful, like he needed to get the words out while they were still honest.
“I don’t blame him for wanting you back. I really don’t. He’s actually a nice guy… always was. From what I heard through friends back then, you two ended things clean. Just life and schedules getting in the way. He probably looks at you now and sees the same girl he fell for — smart, kind, the one who makes everything feel steady. And he’s right. You are a keeper. The kind of person someone would be stupid to let slip away twice.”
He glanced at you for a second, eyes soft but serious, before looking back at the road.
“But I’m sorry, brother… I know she’s a keeper. I let her go once — back when we were young and didn’t know how to fight for the soft things. I watched her walk away because I thought we’d both be fine on our own. I won’t make that same mistake again. Not now. Not when I’ve seen what it looks like to have her in my bed, whispering my name like it still fits. Not when I’ve watched her hold my daughter like she was always meant to be there. Not when Ellie climbs into bed between us and says Y/N’s name like it’s already hers.”
He let out a quiet, almost self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head.
“I’m not mad at him. I get it. I’d fight for you too if I were in his shoes. But you are here now. With me. With us. And I’m not letting go this time. Not for anything.”
The car filled with a comfortable quiet after that. You squeezed his thigh gently, heart full in a way that felt both new and deeply rooted.
You didn’t need to say anything right away. The words he’d spoken hung between you like a promise
When he parked in front of the building, he turned to you, leaning across the console to kiss you slow and sure, the same unhurried way he had last night.
“Home?” he asked against your lips.
You smiled, fingers brushing his jaw. “Home.”
And as you walked inside together, the past fading behind you like the afternoon light, you felt it settle even deeper — this life that was quietly, steadily becoming yours.
Ellie had come home from her grandmother’s full of stories and sleepy hugs, eaten her dinner, and gone down without a fight. Jungkook had tucked her in while you cleaned the kitchen, the two of you moving around each other with the easy familiarity that had grown so quickly. After she was asleep he pulled you into his room, kissed you slow and deep like he was still tasting the morning, and fell asleep with his arm around your waist and his face tucked against your neck.
You couldn’t sleep.
Not because anything felt wrong — the opposite. Everything felt so right that your mind wouldn’t stop turning.
You lay there in the dark, staring at the faint glow of the cloud night-light that spilled in from the hallway, and let yourself think about Yeonjun for the first time since the hospital parking lot.
What if I had said yes to coffee?
The question floated up quietly, not with longing, but with honest curiosity.
You tried to picture it — going back to the version of life you had with him two years ago. The comfortable routines. The gentle good mornings. The way he always planned dates around things he thought you’d like: nice cafés with perfect lattes, quiet dinners where the conversation never got too heavy. He was steady. Kind. The kind of man who remembered your favorite playlists and never raised his voice.
But the more you let the pictures form, the more they felt… off.
He always asked to take me for coffee. Every single time. “Let’s get coffee and talk,” like that was the answer to everything. I don’t even like coffee. I told him that once and he laughed and said he’d get me tea instead, but he never stopped suggesting coffee first. Like it was the default setting for us.
You turned your head slightly, looking at Jungkook’s sleeping face — the strong line of his jaw, the way his lashes rested against his cheeks, the small scar on his eyebrow you’d traced with your fingertip last night while he moved inside you slow and sure.
With Yeonjun everything was… easy. Too easy. The kind of easy that feels like friendship wearing love’s clothes. We never fought, never burned, never stayed up talking until the sun came up because we couldn’t stop. It was comfortable. Safe. But safe in the way a favorite sweater is safe — warm, familiar, but you don’t miss it when it’s in the drawer.
He was different from Jungkook in every way that matters. Jungkook sees me. Really sees me. The way I hum when I’m tired, the way I cut fruit into tiny pieces without thinking, the way I need slow mornings and extra lemon in my tea and someone who understands why I sometimes skip dinner just to paint or sleep. Yeonjun never noticed those things. He tried, but it never quite landed. Like we were speaking two different quiet languages.
You exhaled softly, careful not to wake the man beside you.
I don’t even know how we dated, looking back. It just… happened. Schedules lined up for a while, we liked the same movies, the sex was fine. But it never felt like this. Never felt like my whole chest lights up when he walks into a room. Never felt like I’m choosing him every single day, even when life gets heavy. Never felt like a toddler climbing into bed between us and saying my name like it belongs to her.
The comparison settled in your bones, clear and calm.
Yeonjun is a good person. A friend. Someone I genuinely hope finds someone who loves coffee and gentle routines the way he does. But he’s not for me. Not anymore. Maybe he never really was. It was easy in the way friendship is easy — no sparks, no ache, no fear of losing something because you never risked enough to have it.
You turned onto your side, facing Jungkook fully. In the low light his tattoos looked softer, his shoulders broader, the arm around you heavy with sleep and devotion.
This… this is the kind of easy that scares me because it matters. Slow mornings. Ellie reaching for me first. Him letting the whole world think I’m her mom and not correcting them. Slow, deep nights where he takes his time like he’s learning me all over again after years apart. This is the kind of easy that feels like love, not like settling.
You pressed a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart, and felt him stir just enough to pull you closer in his sleep.
Sorry, Yeonjun. You’re a nice guy. But I’m not going back to easy-that-doesn’t-feel-like-love.
Not when I finally have the real thing right here.
damsel in distress, obsessive obsessive obsessive, smutty
>20k
-
the life you lived was hardly one that many dreamt about.
you weren’t rich, successful or even remotely happy. you worked two gruelling jobs, one throughout the day and then a night shift at your local diner all whilst barely having enough money at the end of the month for basic necessities and food, all thanks to the horrible apartment you had moved into.
moving away from an abuser who had connections and knew everyone in the town you’d once lived in meant you were forced into the city - big streets, bigger prices and no safety net. you had been here for six months, still healing from the kind of trauma that lodged itself in your body as opposed to your overworked mind. the kind that made you flinch at footsteps, double check locks, keep your head down.
you weren’t sure you had ever experienced safety, and you weren’t sure you ever would.
the only building you managed to secure on such short notice was the building you lived in now - a concrete block rotting from the inside out. the water pressure was horrendous, shooting out cold water a majority of the time, with mould crawling up your walls like it was alive. you owned very little because you couldn’t afford to replace anything that broke, and the worst part of all? the rent.
triple what the apartment was worth.
you didn’t know at first, too blinded by your desperation to escape your abusive home, too tired, too exhausted - you had signed the papers without looking properly. by the time you realised, you were already trapped. you couldn’t move even if you wanted, not with all of the deposits you couldn’t afford, moving fees you couldn’t dream of paying or the even nastier landlords that somehow managed to be sleazier than your own.
and so, you endured. endured the way he would speak to you, all up in your business, breath hot on your neck and cheeks every time he’d lean in too close. sometimes he would move goalposts, forcing you to pay your rent early just to watch you scramble. you were in a constant fight or flight mode that you knew would kill you.
you woke up tired and went to sleep tired, body aching in ways that rest could never help recover. you didn’t complain, didn’t have anyone to ask for help, didn’t have the time nor the energy to believe anything would change. you moved through the world quietly, apologetically, as though your mere presence took up too much space.
jungkook had known that apartment long before you ever even stepped foot into it.
unit 4b.
as the resident’s on sight handyman, he had been inside it years ago. the building had been past saving then, but still pretending otherwise - he couldn’t even imagine what it was like now, but luckily, it had been unoccupied for so long that he had forgotten all about it thankfully.
he had fixed a pipe in there once, replaced a fuse another; every visit had left him with grime underneath his fingernails and a sour taste in his mouth. the place was a hazard waiting to happen, damp beneath the walls and faulty wiring. it was a display of neglect that didn’t show itself all at once.
when he had seen your name on the new tenants list, next to the apartment, something inside him had gone still.
he hadn’t bothered to knock on your door when you moved in. never introduced himself, that wasn’t how things were done in this place - it was rough living for rough people. you asked when you wanted something, weren’t just given it.
he, however, had met fragments of you.
coming and going whilst he fixed stair rails, brow collecting sweat as he watched you shuffle beside him to take the rubbish out. you moved like someone permanently bracing for impact with your shoulders curled in, bag clutched tight, steps uneven with exhaustion. sometimes you couldn’t even bring yourself to look up, but he could see the glassy mess of your eyes.
he doubted you had ever even seen him. that should have been the end of it, but it wasn’t.
because once he noticed you, he couldn’t stop.
it wasn’t an immediate desire - it wasn’t that simple or crude, no. it was something slower, heavier. it carried in the way his attention snagged every time he saw you stumble slightly on the stairs. the way his jaw would lock tight when he noticed how late you’d leave and come home from your night shift, or the way his chest would tighten inexplicably whenever he imagined you unlocking your door and stepping foot in that fucking apartment all alone.
he didn’t like the thoughts that manifested because of you.
they were intrusive - possessive to the core. he felt sick at the thought of you. wanted to sink his teeth into your arms and legs, anything to grab your attention so you’d notice him head on. his brain was fucked up, wrong in the way that had less to do with morality and everything to do with intensity. jungkook had always known there was something twisted about the way he wanted - not in excess but in pure depth.
he didn’t give a fuck about the idea of all of his past girlfriends leaving him - they weren’t what he craved. they weren’t the missing puzzle piece he had been looking for, all differently shaped to the specific hole in his life.
he fantasised about his dream woman. fantasised about making her stay, making her feel good, providing something he knew he yearned to give.
wanted to provide until there was nothing left for them to worry about. wanted to make money irrelevant in their brain. rest would be mandatory - he wanted to come home dirty after a long day of work to his sweet girl cooking for him, just so he could breed her all fucking night.
it didn’t stem from kindness, but mere vice.
and watching you wear yourself thin inside a place he knew should’ve been condemned made that vice burn hot and ugly in his chest.
he started recognising the patterns. the way you always opted for the stairs when the elevator had broken down, despite it being incredibly dangerous in a messed up building like this one. it was the way you paused on the landing, trying to catch your breath after a long day of not eating enough and feeling a level of exhaustion that had settled into your body like home, your fingers tightening against the very metal he had worked on prior.
you never complained, never flagged anyone down, never even asked for repairs - he was marginally cheaper than anyone else you could hire considering his contract with your building and yet still, you lived in squalor.
jungkook had never been good at ignoring the things he wanted most. especially not when they had him hardening, balls tightening at the mere sight of you - the perfect candidate for the life he wanted to build. at first, he tried convincing himself it was normal to worry about any woman like this, tired and exhausted living in a bad area but he knew his motivation was anything but innocent.
this was a fixation. a maddening, obsessive one.
he could feel his brain warping, dripping in need whenever he’d catch you walking back to your place. couldn’t help the thoughts from straying, wanted to protect you, save you, he’d do it in anyway possible.
you shouldn’t be living like this, and one day soon, something had to give.
he’d make fucking sure.
—
the stairwell smelled like damp concrete and old cigarettes.
the elevator was broken again, and this time it had been down for weeks. you didn’t know if you were allowed to complain to anyone, didn’t have half the energy the act required and frankly, neither the time. your bag dug into your shoulder as you opened the door to the staircase, sighing quietly, beginning your painful ascend to the fourth floor.
your vision swam from your shift you had just finished with, whimpering lightly as your aching legs took you to your place, so you could get dressed for your night shift.
as you climbed, your keys fell from your hand, your hair falling into your eyesight, blurring it even more.
you watched as they clattered down the stairs, another small noise of complaint leaving you at the sight. the sound was jarring in the empty space, as you stumbled down to collect them, hand darting outwards whilst you swayed.
your body lagged behind your mind, causing you to slip, a squeak escaping as you began to fall forwards, bracing for impact.
an arm caught you.
fast. firm. heavy. rough.
fingers clung to the skin on your waist like they had been there before, pulling you harshly into an equally hard chest, the contact knocking air away from your lungs.
“steady.”
a single word. low.
you froze.
your bag had slipped from your shoulder to the ground, your soft palms pressing gently against a set of shoulders, heart pounding. the first thing you noticed when looking up was how big he was, wide shoulders, large pecs, biceps bursting from the t-shirt that sat on top of his body. his grip hadn’t loosened, it had even tightened, his thumb pressing in further to make sure you were steady on your feet.
you nodded quickly, coming out of your daze. “i..i-i am so..sorry.”
he didn’t answer.
instead, he manoeuvred you to his other arm, whilst he bent down to pick up both your bag and your keys, moving in a way that felt easy, controlled. he was blocking the narrow landing, making sure you were pressed firmly against him despite it being intense. you hadn’t been this close to anyone, regardless another man, in years.
his forearm flexed when it straightened, veins standing out underneath worn skin. he held them out to you.
your eyes were hazy, a mixture of exhaustion and the heat of the situation, lips parted as your eyes met with his. you felt suffocated by his gaze, you felt completely naked, as though he as looking at every crevice you tried to hide with mere ease.
“you live here.” he said. not a question.
you shrugged weakly, nodding, shamefully looking away from his gaze, unsure of what to say and not being able to stomach his stare.
something shifted in his expression at that. not sympathy. irritation, sharp and contained. his jaw tightened.
your fingers brushed his as you took your stuff, despite being held almost intimately still. the contact was brief, and accidental, and yet it held even more weight than the heavy arm around your waist, as though it meant something else entirely.
“late.” he gruffed out.
you nodded again, hands against his chest. “yeah.”
his touch loosened, but he remained inappropriately close. tired eyes, scuffed shoes, the way your shoulders were sagging from exhaustion.
“you shouldn’t be out at a time like this,” he said.
not gently.
your stomach twisted. “i don’t really have a choice.”
he looked at you for a long moment. his gaze flicked down the stairwell, listening, calculating, and when he looked back, he stepped closer, close enough that you felt it in your chest.
“pretty thing like you,” he said quietly, “working nights in a place like this?”
your heart fluttering was a shock to you. you could feel a stampede in your stomach, curling further into the warmth he was providing without even realising it, voice tough enough to carry heat. his words weren’t necessarily a compliment, but a mere observation, one that had you reeling regardless.
you nodded for a third time, small. “i have to.”
his hand on your waist squeezed, grunting vocally in response. he could feel his cock hardening, and he knew it was fucked up, but the prospect of such a pretty damsel in distress like you? you were out of his wildest dreams, an anomaly that only came once in a lifetime.
he held you for another moment, the two of you simply looking at one another. he liked watching you cower a little, knowing that there were bad people all over in the complex, and though he evidently wasn’t one, his sheer size alone had you hesitant. knew it made his brain fucked up, but he enjoyed it regardless.
“get inside.” he muttered slowly, arm slipping away from your waist.
your too large eyes blinked up at him, uncomfortable with the feeling cold seeping in. you wanted him to touch you again.
“okay.” you nodded through a whisper, pulling your bag further onto your shoulder more firmly. he admired you for another moment before nudging his nose up to the rest of the staircase, where the door to your floor sat. “lock your door.”
your cheeks were a deep pink, as you turned and walked up the rest of the stairs, nibbling away at your lip, heading through the final door, and rushing into your apartment.
you leaned against your door, locking it exactly as he ordered you, before sliding down the cold wood, legs giving out beneath you.
who was he?
so tall and so broad, his face alone had your thighs trembling but it was more so how manly he was.
you knew it was ridiculous, but just meeting someone like that had your stomach in knots. you assumed he was just being kind, if a man like that was even able to process that emotion - he was calloused all over, rough without meaning to. the type of guy to take up as much room as physically possible because he could.
you had no idea that as you sat pooled on your floor, eyes closed and lip bitten, jungkook stood on the other side, quiet, listening to make sure you had locked it. to make sure you were safe.
only then, did the loud sound of his boots echo into the hall, cause you to gasp.
—
the knock came too early.
it was the kind of early that felt cruel - sunlight barely stretched through the thin, stained curtains, your body still sunk deep into that half-sleep where breathing ached and nothing felt real yet. the sound cut through the quiet of your apartment too harshly, your brain short circuiting despite your legs carrying you out of the little warmth of your bed.
you were startled. no one knocked on your door. people kept to themselves around here until, well, they didn’t, like your neighbour on the left. his door had banged a few weeks ago just as you had come home, and you hadn’t heard or seen from him since, a thought that was now presenting deep in your mind.
with trembling hands, and aching feet, you padded your way over to the door whilst all remnants of sleep fell from you like droplets. your toes curled against the cold floor, grabbing a cardigan on your way over to shield your indecent outfit that consisted of a too thin, too see through tank and shorts set.
by the time you had opened the door, the person behind it had already knocked three separate times, raising the level of urgency and only adding to the stress on your shoulders. you had a rare day off from your night shift, meaning you were only heading out to your day job in a few hours. this was supposed to be decompression time.
your fingers finally slid against the cool handle, hesitating at the lock before opening it up, eyebrows furrowed lightly.
you froze.
it was him.
your brain stuttered for a moment as it took in his broad frame, shoulders wider than you’d seen on any man, with muscles in places you had only ever dreamt of. his biceps were practically spilling out of his uniform, which despite being sat seamlessly, showed signs of wear, indicating he had been working all morning. boots were planted solidly against the chipped hallway tile, sunlight shining onto the highest parts of his cheeks.
daylight did him no favours - made him worse. heavier. darker. stronger. the kind of man that felt realer than anything you’d ever experienced.
the kind of man that worked to an inch of his life.
his work belt sat low on his waist, sleeves pushed up, tatted forearms already streaked with things like grease and dust, and hair still damp from his morning shower. despite the hour, he looked awake and alert, something you knew you lacked in that very moment.
his eyes flickered over you, slow. real slow.
you felt it everywhere.
jungkook met your gaze as you finally looked up, your chest tightening.
“morning.”
his voice was even rougher in the daylight, like gravel dragging over concrete. you could feel it in your stomach.
“hi.” you whispered, barely audible.
“inspection.” he lifted his clipboard whilst staring you down. the eye contact was heavy. “pipe issues in this unit.”
you frowned faintly, confusion pulling at your features. “i..i didn’t call anyone..”
his mouth twitched. you were even cuter when you just woke up. he liked that.
“i know.”
his comment should have unsettled you, should have had you closing the door in his face, locking it immediately and ignoring him.
instead, jungkook took it upon himself to set forward. the door brushed your arm as he passed, your already too small apartment feeling somewhat suffocating as it became swallowed by his mere presence.
you hovered near the door, against the wall as he began to move around with a sense of familiarity that had you stomach churning again.
first, he crouched beneath your sink before checking taps, looking inside your cabinets for any sign of water damage, inspecting the dampness that clung to certain walls. he was efficient, practised - it was clear he was good at his job. he moved like a man who knew what he was doing, as though this was another task on his list that he had to get through.
not like he had been thinking of you in this wretched apartment all fucking night.
he was in your bathroom now, writing something down whilst you continued to hover, half out of curiosity and the other half merely weary. you had every right to be given where you were, the fact you hardly knew him if at all, and of course the knowledge he had simply let himself in.
suddenly, water began sprouting from your tap the way it usually did but judging from the small grimace on his face, you knew it wasn’t something normal despite it being that way from day one.
“this place is so fucked.” he huffed, with a shake to his head. “they shouldn’t be renting this unit out. it’s a biohazard.”
your fingers intertwined together nervously; as though the problem at hand was your fault. “i keep a towel..under there..”
he paused. slowly, he turned to look at you, savouring the way your cardigan was leaving little to his imagination. your nipples had pebbled, and a better man would have looked away, but jungkook was hardly good - assessing them for a moment longer before meeting your gaze.
“you shouldn’t have to.” his voice was hard.
the way he said it, flat, certain, unyielding. it made your stomach ache and your chest tighten, as though someone was looking directly through you.
he stood taller then, raising from his once crouched position. he towered over you, a reminder of the sheer size difference between you, something both of you secretly felt aligned on.
he wiped his hands on his rag, cleaning them before moving past you to the breaker panel. his arm brushed against your shoulder deliberately, watching the way you shuddered.
“power cuts at night?” he asked.
“sometimes.” you answered honestly.
he looked over you again. “figures.”
he opened the panel, taking his time with inspecting it before closing it off. he turned back around to face you once he was done, not bothering to walk away, but instead taking up more of your personal space.
he looked at you properly.
the sag of your shoulders and the shadows underneath your eyes, the way you stood hoping not to be noticed. too small for even the cramped space of your apartment. it made his head swirl.
“you eat?” he gruffed out, a slight edge to his voice.
you were shifting from foot to foot. “what?”
“food.” he clarified with narrowed eyes. “you eat it?”
“i-..when i can.”
you weren’t sure why you were being so honest with him and yet the worlds tumbled out before you could think. you were nibbling on your lip.
he wasn’t done with his line of questioning, finding himself stepping closer to you resulting in you stepping back.
“how old are you?”
“24.”
he exhaled through his nose. he seemed angry, or something adjacent, as though your words were aggravating him. “too young to look this tired.”
you looked down with heat creeping up your neck and cheeks. “it’s fine.”
“don’t say that.” his eyes narrowed once more. he ran a hand through his hair before exhaling deeply. “i’ll be around today, gotta fix some shit around here. don’t go out.”
your mouth opened and closed a few times, unsure of what to say. you watched as he walked towards the entrance, the warmth radiating from his body suddenly gone.
he paused at the threshold, one hand braced on the frame whilst looking back at you, watching the way your chest rose and fell, your sheer pyjamas doing nothing to hide the way your body subconsciously leant towards him.
“next time something breaks, you call me.” his voice firm.
“i don’t have your number.” you weakly replied, as though it was anything to deter him. secretly, you hoped it wouldn’t.
he didn’t respond, simply running his eyes up and down you once more as though he was savouring the sheer look of you, all soft and pliant. it made that sick part of his brain swirl, the thought of you being all his, the side of him that tried to rationalise a man ten years older being with a pretty little thing like you. he’d fucking ruin you and he knew you’d be thankful for it too.
jungkook turned around, cock half hard and head swarming, veins popping out of his arm, leaving you be for a few moments.
—
working the diner on a late shift meant two things. first, it meant you would have to deal with cleaning the entire place top to bottom, which was easily your least favourite task of your entire job. second, and more importantly, it meant you would be forced to deal with the filthy, sleazy men that would come in hopes of riling you up in anyway they could.
you were pliant, too soft for a place like this, too clean, too scared. all the girls before you had been ran away with ease after experiencing a single shift, and here you were, tiny little diner dress that sat too high on your thigh as men ogled at you.
you knew it was going to be a long night by hour two when you had already been harassed by two newcomers, the cooks in the back not able to back you up as much as they wanted considering it was a busy shift. you had been fighting tears back the entire night, but this was borderline insane. it felt targeted, and you felt exhausted already - this was hardly helping.
the smell of burnt coffee and grease was all you could think about as you walked around the diner, filling coffee mugs everytime a man would smash it hard against the table to get your attention, ignoring disgusting comments like they had never even been uttered, eyes down.
you felt it before you saw it.
him.
a regular. late 40’s, unshaven, dirt under his fingernails. kind of guy to make you uncomfortable just to get him off. he made your skin crawl. made you want to hide forever and never appear again, but alas, you were a young, poor, twenty something year old fighting for the very will to live.
you felt the slow drag of attention on your legs, dragging up and settling on your tits. your dress was buttoned, and though you knew there was nothing to even ogle at, the shape of your breasts against your dress was enough for dirt like him to get riled up.
“there she is, about fucking time.” he grunted out, breath hot and legs spread underneath the booth table. “fetch me a coffee. make it good.”
you simply nodded, not trusting your voice as you grabbed him a mug before pouring it in in front of him, eyes trained on the drink.
“what time you finish tonight, sweets?”
your shoulders bristled immediately. he always did this, but it never made you feel any better.
“late.” you murmured quietly, but he was perceptive enough to hear you. didn’t like the bite in your voice.
“walking home alone again?”
your body went cold.
your stomach tightened uncontrollably, and though the line of questioning wasn’t anything new, it still messed with you more than you wanted to admit. you could feel the thin layer of threat coated in each word, and it scared you to know you were utterly defenceless.
you had been feeling watched recently too. on the staircases, when entering your home, walking through hallways. your building was shady, yes, but this was different - it felt charged. felt scary enough to notice, and paired with a line like that? this didn’t feel normal anymore.
you shake your head before you could even think it through. “no.”
“no?” he repeated with a smirk.
you swallowed nervously.
“i’ve got someone..so.”
your words surprised even you, and you tried your hardest to hide it, especially when his own was formed perfectly upon his features. he leaned back, drinking the coffee with his darkened features.
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
you shifted from foot to foot. he didn’t believe you, you could feel it.
“he works in construction.” you added, nervously, breathing through your words to sound firm but instead, coming out like a fawn. “does long shifts too but takes care of me and..and he doesn’t..like men talking to me..so.”
your pad suddenly looked so much more interesting, shuffling it between your fingers as he stared you down, secretly seething at the idea of the pretty plaything at the diner no longer being accessible to mess with.
“he’s protective too. big cause he works with his hands.” you kept rambling on, describing the very protector you needed.
describing jungkook.
subconsciously, of course.
the sleazy man narrowed his eyes at you, tilting his head slightly. “don’t look like you have a man like that. you sure you’re not lying to me, sweets? cause i don’t like liars.”
“i do..i really do.” you nodded immediately but you were blinking fast, almost about to burst into tears from your lie that you begged wouldn’t come back to bite you in the ass.
“yeah? what’s his name?”
your throat constricted. you wanted to run away.
“he wouldn’t like me giving his name out.” your voice came out a whisper.
you knew he had you. knew he could see right through you.
he drank from his mug once more, filthy stare looking over you once more as though he had every right. his fingers tapped against the table for a few seconds before he leaned back.
“say hi for me.”
you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. you simply walked away.
later, once the diner had closed and every inch had been mopped to perfection, you finally grabbed your bag and your coat with a loaded sigh. the exhaustion was heavy today, you could feel it in the way your bones screamed with every passing movement. you had been shouted at non stop all night by customers, and though you weren’t doing anything wrong, it still was never good enough.
stepping out after you had locked the doors was stark, the cold air hitting you in your face causing you to wrap your coat even tighter around you, beginning the ten minute walk to your apartment block. you had long become used to the journey, and despite the late hour being terrifying at this time of night, it was one of the only chances you had to feel the wind hit you. to remind you that you were alive.
the streets felt different tonight, with the stark lighting above flickering with each and every step. you could feel a knot begin to form in your stomach, and you knew it was anxiety, you knew you were being ridiculous but that didn’t make the thoughts go away.
it only took another 30 seconds for your thoughts to be confirmed.
you could hear it. footsteps just a few metres away from you, and considering it was the early morning, the streets were completely bare save for yourself and whatever was trailing you from behind. you felt your legs quicken despite the tiredness in your body screaming at you, openly telling you it could take no more for the night and yet you were doing a full blown run home within seconds.
you could still hear it behind you, and it was real, wasn’t a figment of your imagination - someone was trying to get you, to hurt you.
you could see your apartment, could see the heavy doors, the rubbish bins all empty and random waste littered around on the floor. the most noticeable thing of all, however, was the beaten down truck, where a tall and bulky man stood, smoking his cigarette with furrowed eyes as he leaned against it.
you recognised him immediately.
he seemed to notice you too, watching as you all but ran over to him, your eyes wide and breathing heavy, your chest heaving up and down.
jungkook’s head tilted just slightly, grabbing you with one of his arms as his cigarette sat on his lip, watching as you burst out into crushing sobs almost instantly from the feel of his touch.
it was safety personified.
his arms wrapped around you as though it was second nature, one hand on the back of your head, the other harsh on your waist.
his cigarette fell to the ground, extinguished by a heavy boot whilst you sobbed in utter fear, clutching him like a lifeline, as though he was the only thing that could protect you from the outside world.
he was.
his touch wasn’t gentle, or firm - it was mean, harsh against your skin, grabbing and forcing you to look up at him as it did exactly what it needed to. it grounded you, enough to sedate the fear, just slightly, fingers pressing into your uniform.
“what happened?” his voice was equally as rough, as though he had barely used it all day, a man used to using his hands as opposed to his words.
you couldn’t get your words out, too big eyes staring up at him almost desperately as broken sounds and wet breaths fell into his chest, your hands bundled against his pecs.
his jaw tightened. he looked past you, eyes narrowing as he assessed the street, shoulders square. it was far too quiet considering the state you were in, and he could only assume whatever had made you so scared had quickly ran away the moment they realised you had sought shelter in him. he was a pretty intimidating guy, all height and muscle, a right hook that had people passing out in seconds.
“did someone touch you?”
you shook your head fast against him, sucking in a breath.
“n-n..” hiccup. “no.”
his hand travelled from the back of your head, running through your hair until it reached the back of your neck, eyes narrowing harshly. he was grounding you still, keeping you safe in his arms as you shook violently, a mixture of the cold air and the fear of what could have been had jungkook conveniently not been stood outside.
you had no idea that he had been waiting for you, almost aggravated at how late you were coming home.
“use your words.” he uttered, fingers digging into your skin just enough to leave pressure, something you found grounding. “talk.”
“was a m-man..at the..at the diner and..but he keeps..and then..” you were choking out words, hardly making sense but it was enough for him to gather the general gist of what was happening.
you watched as his face went completely cold.
“regular?” he asked.
you nodded, not trusting your voice through your sobs.
“he fucking follow you?”
you took a deep breath, shaky air leaving your lips. “i don’t know- i think..someone foll-followed me..” hiccup. “so i ran.”
he looked angry.
you barely knew the man, but from the emotions he had given you, you could tell it wasn’t directed at you whatsoever. you could feel it in the tension of his arms around you, the warmth his body exuded - it was fury.
“alright.”
decision made.
he pulled your face back, the hand on your neck forcibly tilting your head, so he was looking down at you. you shamelessly had never felt so protected ever before. he wiped the mascara underneath your eyes, despite the constant stream of tears, making sure to rid you of the blotchiness on your skin.
“listen to me,” he began, watching you nod like the good girl he knew you were. “you’re not going upstairs.”
your lip trembled again. did this mean you couldn’t go home?
“b-but..”
“if he knows the building, you ain’t going up there alone.”
you let out another sob, this only adding to the pile of problems you were already drowning in. you couldn’t handle this. could feel your brain splitting from the stress of it all.
“i’m scared.” you admitted in a small voice, fingers curled into his work jacket so delicately. “what if he knows which one is mine?”
that fucking killed him.
jungkook rolled his shoulders before letting go of your neck, grunting lightly as he pulled you even tighter against him. suddenly, you were turned towards the entrance of the building, his heavy hold on you guiding you inside.
“where a-are we-“
“my place.” he cut you off immediately as he walked you inside, head turning back to make sure no one was following him.
“you live here?” you asked through a hiccup, desperately still clinging to him, giving him no option but to hold you intimately as he guided you downstairs instead of up, where you and the other residents lived.
everything moved so quickly as you were ushered into an apartment, your eyes hazy as they began to blink away tears to register what was in front of you.
jungkook’s place was clean, tidy, meticulous. the furniture looked expensive, everything crafted perfectly, open plan living room and kitchen with a dining table sat as though he had a family he could dine with. dark wood floors and a couch so plush you were sure it was softer than anything you had ever sat on in your life.
you heard the clink of the door behind you, even watched him lock the door, bolting it for your comfort as opposed to himself.
he turned to face you again, observing you clearly.
you stood, shaking still, body slowly calming down from the sobbing you were doing earlier and instead replaced with a string of hiccuping breaths. you looked so small, so defenceless - a sick part of his brain wanted you like this always so he could play the knight in shining armour. wanted you to need him.
he exhaled through his nose. “sit.”
you obeyed instantly, moving to the couch and taking a seat on the edge as though you were terrified to touch anything. he walked over to the kitchen, where you could still see him before he returned to you, glass of water in hand.
he handed it to you, watching you take it with both shaky hands and take small sips.
he suddenly crouched in front of you. his calloused hands took a hold of either side of you, fingers digging into the sides of your thigh as he situated you on the couch properly, your bare legs brushing against him with ease due to the position he had now put you in.
“look at me.”
and so you did.
his shoulders were tight against his work jacket, frame so large you longed to be underneath it, just to know what kind of warmth would seep into your skin and bones. his forearms were thick, veins visible and tattoos on show, with bruised and bloody knuckles showing signs of scarring display too.
“is he going to try something?” he asked you, eyes trained onto your own.
“i don’t know.” you answered honestly, and the acknowledgment of being uncertain had your anxiety spiking again visibly, causing him to hold you even firmer.
“recount the conversation for me.”
“he a-asked when i finish..and then..something about if i-i was walking home alone..”
jungkook’s jaw was ticking; his shoulders rolling as he ran a heavy hand through his hair. he met your fearful gaze, your fingers intertwined in your lap shaking.
“what’d you say?” his voice was direct, and his presence felt calming.
“i..told him i had a boyfriend.” you admitted through a sniffle, rubbing underneath your eyes. “made him sound scary.”
the silence between you became thick, jungkook’s fingers digging into your skin. not painfully, but enough to certainly remind you of his hold, with his gaze never leaving your own.
his face remained stoic, but his actions gave him away.
“yeah?” he quietly responded; to which you nodded. “mhm.”
“how’d you describe him?”
“well..” you sniffled again, making jungkook wipe under your eyes for him, the harsh skin on his hands a stark difference to the soft surface of your face. “said he works in construction..and that..that he’s big and he doesn’t like guys talking to me.”
his tongue began poking his cheek, eyes closing for a mere second before his fingers then moved to sit on your hips, pulling you into him, making sure you were much closer than you initially were sitting. your hands situated on his shoulders through hiccups, sniffling away as you tried to ignore the severity of the situation.
“construction.” he repeated.
you nodded, the intake of your breath shaky.
“don’t like men talking to you.” he repeated again, but his fingers gave him away again. he was being prodded by you and you didn’t even realise it.
you nodded again, realising then that you had just been openly describing him, a beat of acknowledgment filling the room as silence filled the empty cracks between you.
there was something dark shining in his eyes, something that wouldn’t soften no matter how hard you sat there and tried. jungkook was a hard wall, but it didn’t mean he was unfeeling. emotion swirled deep in his stomach, igniting an internal need to take you for himself, to keep the door locked and protect you forever. how could someone be so oblivious to their own nature? did you know how sweet you were? his jaw ached at the mere thought of how you’d taste, so sugary he’d get a fucking toothache just imagining it.
“you lie good?”
your stomach dropped. “i-i don’t usually..”
“did he believe you?” his gaze dropped to your mouth, before returning to your eyes, lip curled.
“i don’t think so.” you whimpered then at the memory, the feeling of suffocation running back as you remembered the implication of the situation. you weren’t safe anymore.
silence settled between you once more, a norm considering he was hardly a man of many words. his hands on your waist tightened before sliding up and down, soothing you subconsciously, your bodies so close.
“if he comes near you again,” he said, voice low and void of overt emotion, “don’t engage. don’t talk. call me immediately.”
you blinked through a hiccup.
“but i don’t have your num-“
you were cut off immediately as he stood up to his full length, towering over you as he grabbed his phone, unlocking it and opening his contacts app.
“give me yours.”
you fumbled for your bag, hands still shaky, pulling out your phone before handing it to him.
he grabbed it, inputting his number and making sure it sat at the top of your contact list. there were no frills, no emojis, just his name staring at you as he handed your phone back to you, eyes sweeping over your face.
“don’t let him scare you so easy. guys like that thrive on this shit.” his words came out gruff, and you blinked up at him quickly.
“i know, i just-“
“i know.” he cut you off again, shaking his head.
that did something to your chest. he knew. he didn’t need the details, didn’t want to hear you make an excuse for how you were feeling because you didn’t need to, he had seen enough for himself. he had watched you long enough to know you liked to pack yourself way in too small boxes in hopes you’d go unnoticed, in hopes you wouldn’t be a bother.
the intimacy of him simply cutting you off to remind you he didn’t need to hear an explanation, he understood. it was music to you.
he was still looming over you.
“you don’t eat.” his thumb suddenly pressed down on your bottom lip, as you hiccuped, big eyes staring up at him. “don’t sleep enough, work too much, walk home on your own in the middle of the night. live in a unit that should be fucking condemned.”
your throat tightened, but his thumb was firm, the tip of your tongue slightly grazing it. he liked it.
“not anymore.” he shook his head.
the way he said it wasn’t intended for romance, it was ownership. you could feel it deep in your stomach, inbetween your thighs and in the traitorous thump of your very soul.
“you’re staying here.” he suddenly dropped his thumb from your lip, your brain a buzzing mess as his words began to register in your brain, your eyebrows shooting up on your face.
“what?”
he didn’t respond, simply walking over to the kitchen area and grabbing a beer can, rolling his shoulders gently. you found yourself standing then, shaky legs taking you over to him, big eyes capturing his as he took a swig despite the late hour, his adam’s apple capturing your eye.
your smaller fingers tugged at his jacket lightly, capturing his attention as his own stomach pinged at the sight of you, yearning for him to address what he had just said.
“you eaten yet?” he simply uttered.
your mouth opened and closed, nodding your head lightly making him do the same.
“don’t want you going up. not safe. bathrooms down the hall to the left,” he put his beer down. “you can wear one of my t-shirts to bed.”
your shoulders were slowly dissipating before his very eyes. you had never been taken care of, not for a moment in your full 20 odd years of living and you were almost unsure of how to act as your fingers remained on him, large eyes still glassy from your earlier emotion.
jungkook wanted to take care of you, wanted to dominate every negative emotion in your head until you were nothing but lullabies and sweet nothings, no more echoes of stress or negativity. what he hadn’t expected was to see you utterly melt at the prospect, as though the very notion was the one thing you had always wanted.
oh.
you were perfect for him in every way - that he could see clearly.
you made no effort to move, the act alone feeling like it would take too much out of you and so jungkook took one last swig, before grabbing you by your waist. his rough hand sat low on your back, half on your ass in honesty, as he lead you there himself, dark eyes trailing over your much shorter figure against him.
within seconds, you were in the bathroom, fresh clothes given to you, and the shower already on awaiting you. the first step into it had you moaning quietly, the patter of warm water being completely foreign to you considering you were so used to cold shooting bursts that brought no comfort whatsoever. you helped yourself to his shampoo, his body wash, his products just as he intended and were taken aback by how familiar it smelled to you.
there was a sense of protection in carrying his scent that was messing with your brain, and as you washed yourself, you couldn’t help but recognise your situation properly.
you, who had only met jungkook twice before, were now naked in his shower, using his products to wash yourself, imprinting his familiar scent into your skin like it was a lifeline. you were in a stranger’s home, seeking refuge from a bad man and yet you knew secretly, the big bad wolf was merely a few metres away from you - not that it deterred you.
the protection. the safety. it felt like a drug. you couldn’t bring yourself to reason with the fact it was batshit insane to be sleeping over at his home, your handyman for goodness sake, instead of going to the police or any other normal avenue.
no, instead, you pattered out, towelling your body down before putting on his t-shirt, eyes closing at the even stronger scent of his cologne. your uniform and underwear sat in a neat pile, ready to be taken away when you woke up in the morning, leaving you utterly naked underneath the way too large top that sat just below mid thigh.
once you were completely refreshed, all remnants of fear stolen from you by the warmth of the water and the comfort of his presence, your bare feet padded back to the living room. he wasn’t here, causing your eyes to narrow slightly in confusion before hearing a noise in the room adjacent, making your way over.
walking in, you were greeted by two things.
first, jungkook’s bedroom, which like him, was as manly as you imagined it to be. clean, precise, darker in colour and void of any real personality - a nagging, desperate little voice in your head practically screaming that it needed a woman’s touch. if only you knew the thought alone would have him cumming.
the second? jungkook’s naked back, littered with scars and muscle in places you didn’t even realise one could have. to say he was big was a gross understatement, for he defined the very meaning of buff - wide shoulders, insane biceps, back rippling with every move.
you could feel yourself growing wet at the mere sight of him, a quiet little gasp leaving you, causing him to turn around, only for you to see his pecs, his abs. god, he was just massive all over, a sight for your already sore eyes indeed.
jungkook didn’t say anything immediately, but he let out a deep grunt of appreciation at the sight of you. your bare legs, your wet hair; the way your hands were shuffling together. you looked like a vision.
had he been a better man, he would have guided you to the bed and walked out, designating to sleep on the couch but he had no intention of doing so. especially not when he could see your nipples poke straight through the cotton of his shirt, no doubt suggesting you had nothing underneath. his mouth watered at the thought of the sugary nectar inbetween your legs, could feel himself growing hard at the prospect.
“where do you want me to sleep?” you softly asked him, voice so gentle he wanted to ruin you.
that broke him from his trance, realising he was half hard just from looking at you. he felt like a fucking teenager, but could you blame him? you were his dream woman, circumstances and all, dolled up in his room like a present just for him.
“bed.” he muttered, nodding towards it which made you shyly play with your hair, watching him leave the room to no doubt go to the bathroom, his body brushing firmly against yours purposefully on the way out.
you closed your eyes for a moment once you were alone, heart beating fast, before walking over to the bed. you felt bad thinking he would take the couch, a little frown forming on your lips as you settled into the plush covers. another soft moan escaped you at the feel of such softness, the mattress delicate underneath you as you settled into it, feeling more comfortable than you ever had.
jungkook was back in a few minutes, also sporting wet hair suggesting he had just showered. this time, he returned merely in his boxers, a towel running through his locks as he examined you, all curled into the covers, not asleep just yet, as though you were waiting for confirmation from him.
fuck. he liked that. liked having you wait for him so he could decide your next move, like you were a little fawn unsure of what to do unless someone told you. he’d be that someone.
he watched as your eyes instantly fell to his bulge, eyes widening at the sheer size of it, your thighs pressed tightly together under his sheets as he approached you. he watched you stare at it, cock only hardening further at the attention, before pulling back the covers.
“oh..a-are you..sleeping here?” you managed to choke out, your tshirt having ridden up to sit at the tops of your thighs, big eyes peering up.
“not sleeping on a couch in my own home.” he grunted back at you, before sliding in beside you.
a once massive bed suddenly felt claustrophobic as you realised why he needed the space, though you managed not to touch him, you shyly moved to your side, your back to him to give him his privacy, your cheeks painted pink at the implication.
you were sharing a bed with a stranger. a big, tall, tatted stranger who was currently hard as fuck, whilst you laid on your side, pussy soaked from his attention, body quivering.
he was on his back, body taking up a massive majority of the space in the bed and he was utterly shameless about it. you, however, had tried to make yourself as small as possible in the corner, body scrunched up, unable to sleep as your brain worked round and around and around and around and arou-
big, beefy arms suddenly were grabbing you, one on your leg, the other on your waist as you were suspended in the air for a moment or two. you squeaked loudly, stomach dropping at the confusion of being moved and in the air.
jungkook was grunting at you, his preferred method of communication as you were finally placed firmly onto his chest, stomach first. your t-shirt had ridden up to the middle of your back, meaning your bare ass was on display, causing jungkook to place his hand on it as though it was the most normal thing on earth.
the position also meant you were pressed against him intimately, with your wet cunt now pushed against his too large bulge, causing a soft whimper to escape you, right into his ear. your breasts we’re pushed against his chest, your head resting into his shoulder as you both settled in as though this was the most natural thing on earth.
“sleep. you’ve had a long night.” his voice was rough, coarse, as though he too was fighting something.
as though the hand on your ass and the push of his weight, making you feel him intimately in every single way, was just as much punishment for him as it was for you. it was suffocating and you needed more, yearned for it.
your hands settled on his chest, your nose nuzzling into his neck as you nodded, eyes snapping shut. you truly were the picture perfect definition of obedience.
you weren’t sure how long either of you stayed like that, unmoving, unspeaking, just the understanding you were truly no more than strangers seeping in as sleep finally took both of you.
—
the diner was equally as busy the next day, with a particular scent that wouldn’t escape your skin no matter how hard you tried.
burnt oil soaked through the cracking walls, whilst the coffee that had been brewing for far too long sat in its pot, in your hand as you walked around the dining floor, filling mugs to whoever demanded more. you had disinfected the entire place with a cheap lemon solution that morning, the scent lingering slightly, causing you to feel nauseous.
you had been out of it all day.
you had woken up still in the same position as you had fallen asleep in, only this time, jungkook’s arms were hugging you tightly to him. one hand was curled into his hair, the other pressed into his chest, whilst you both slept deeply, safely.
you had slept better that night than any other in your entire lifetime. the feeling of protection was immense, and for the first time, your brain wasn’t racing in anxiety all night - you were able to rest comfortably.
that only made it so much more jarring once you had left his apartment whilst he was still sleeping, wanting nothing more than to stay in his arms, sleep a few more hours, relish in the warmth he was so happily providing for you. you felt guilty leaving like that, but the constant thump in your head brought you back to reality.
you did not know him. he was a stranger.
that was what you were telling yourself anyway, knowing that the traitorous thump of your heart gave you away. you hadn’t been focused all day, spilling drinks, dropping plates of food - your manager had been on your case your entire shift, the cooks even shouting at you at one point. you were utterly overwhelmed with jungkook and he wasn’t even there.
your feet were aching, but you knew you only had 20 minutes left. 20 minutes and you could go home, no night shift, just a long day that would be over in less than half an hour. that gave you a sort of excitement you rarely afforded yourself, and despite the fact your cheap flats were digging into your feet, and your apron felt too tight, you couldn’t wait.
that was until you heard a voice.
“are you fucking deaf? asked for a coffee 3 times now.”
you looked up from your spot behind the counter, meeting the gaze of the horrible, sleazy regular from yesterday, your blood running cold.
he usually only showed up in the late hour, and this was the first time you had see him during the day. it felt like a confirmation of some kind, one in which you had gathered he had either been watching you or was now looking closely, something that unsettled you. how else would he be here? why else?
you swallowed the thump in your throat, shaking hands grabbing the coffee pot and filling his mug as he sat at the diner bar, your eyes avoiding his at all costs.
“you look tired.” he said through a yawn, making no attempt to hide the fact he was ogling your tits. “your ‘boyfriend’ keep you up?”
you flinched at his words, knowing the implication - he still didn’t believe you. that made you feel sick. you chose to ignore him, tending to something at the till, in hopes he’d leave you alone.
“don’t know if i believe ya, sweets. been thinking about what you said about him, construction guys don’t go for girls like you.” he mused, as though he was the smartest man in the world, watching the way your hands shook lightly. “you’re all shy and shit. what you know about pleasing a man?”
you felt heat crawl up your throat and down your spine, feeling a level of shame you couldn’t quite place. you hated it. even reacting to a man like him was giving him power, and he relished in it.
“you better be usin’ what you got.” he leaned back, hand openly palming himself as he grinned, dirty teeth on display. “tight little ass like yours? should let him use it or he’ll start lookin’ elsewhere.”
you flinched once more, this time harsher.
“that’s inappropriate.” you found your voice, though it was shaky, desperately looking over at your manager who was conveniently pretending like he couldn’t hear a thing.
“i’m helpin’ you, sweets. should be grateful.”
your eyes narrowed. “you don’t know anything about me.”
at that, he leaned forward, grin even wider. it was sinister. “yeah? know you walk home all alone.”
your heart dropped.
“i see you.” he added. “late. every night.”
you couldn’t breathe. it felt like someone had grabbed your lungs, suffocating you from the inside and out, a confirmation of your wildest fears before your very eyes.
“see, i like to watch who goes in and out of that building. got some buddies, and you know..bad area. should be careful.” he was all but fucking gleeful. “pretty girls like you, they’re the most fun to play with.”
your hands were beginning to shake violently, as one reached for your phone, clumsily putting your password in, not being able to think.
“you sure your boyfriends real?” he asked lazily. “or you just sayin’ that to throw me off the scent?”
“i have one.” you immediately interjected, panic visible in your voice, desperate to be believed. “he doesn’t like when i talk to other men, so..” you pathetically whispered, turning on your heel and immediately going into the back, where the staff room was located.
you didn’t come out for the rest of your shift, your chest in a panic, hands shaking and eyes leaking tears once more. he had been watching you? did that mean something could have happened had you returned to your unit last night, instead of staying with jungkook?
you couldn’t believe this was a reality, and the fact you knew you had no escape plan was even worse. you couldn’t move out, you didn’t have the funds, and it was a terrifying thought to know you were simply waiting to be violated. the thought alone had you crying into your hands, shakily hovering over jungkook’s contact.
you didn’t want to bother him. he owed you nothing, and you had already taken so much from him.
with that, you grabbed your things and snuck out the back, beginning the 10 minute walk back home.
jungkook had been in the same position as you all day. his work was rendered useless, and considering he had well paying clients, it was enough to drive him to the point of anger. every thought, every crevice of the world around him brought him back to you, how you’d slotted against him so easily last night, so pliant and ready. to then wake up to an empty bed and a wet patch on his boxers from where you were both pressed together was frustrating to say the least - he wanted to wake up to the sight of you.
he had every intention of sitting you down, telling you to leave your job, telling you exactly what he could offer you if you just let him. hell, he would do it against your will too if you kept this shit up, more than ready to fund a lifestyle you had only ever dreamt of.
he was outside the building now, loading up his truck with shit he had been using all day, his tools, extra pieces of wood he had no use for at the minute and what not. his hands were beyond rough, calloused from daily use but that was the payoff for working with them carelessly. he couldn’t help but remember the feel of them on your ass, squeezing all night, sometimes dipping lower subconsciously just to hear you whine in your sleep.
fuck, he was half hard again just remembering it, but half annoyed recalling the way you had just left.
he was taken out of his thoughts when he looked to his right, just as you walked into the apartment complex, not seeing him, tears streaming down your face once more and shoulders sagging as though walking alone was too exhausting for you. he felt his chest break into tiny little pieces at the sight, it was enough to anger him for a completely different reason.
he was walking towards you before he could even rationalise it, a hand slipping over your waist within seconds and pushing your back straight into his chest, his bigger frame engulfing you. you let out a strangled gasp, looking down and visibly melting fully as you noticed the tattoos on his hand, letting out a quiet whimper.
“what happened?” jungkook immediately asked, the two of you stood in front of the building.
your tears wouldn’t stop streaming, your breathing already difficult as your bag dropped from your shoulder. your hands instantly went to cover your face, as you broke out into quiet sobs, body raking in his arms. the exhaustion had finally got to you.
your brain had broken.
jungkook didn’t waste any time. he grabbed you fully, picking you up with a single arm, to which you immediately hid your face in his neck, holding onto him as you ruined his uniform with your body shaking sobs. your bag was in his other hand whilst he made his way to his own apartment, not saying anything but simply allowing you to get the bulk of your emotions out, before walking in, and settling you down onto his couch.
“talk to me.” suddenly, you were in his lap, completely cradled by the older, bigger man as though you were a little baby, and your body moved closer in hopes of more comfort.
it took you a while until you were able to speak, holding the sleeves of his jacket desperately, his large hands on your back and cupping your legs to him. he was soothing you with his presence, patting gently to get you to calm down and soon enough you did, unable to look him in the eye, feeling embarrassed enough that you had done this two days in a row now.
“the guy from the diner came..came back and..” you breathed deeply through your hiccups, his forehead now against yours, making sure you could feel him. “told me he watches..the building..knows i walk home alone and, said he knows..said he knows people from the building.”
the more you recounted, the more restless you became as you began to sob once more, your hands covering your face again. his anger was beyond anything he could describe, he could feel it coursing through his veins as though it was part of his dna, the need to protect you stronger than every other emotion.
“look at me.” he managed to say, voice strangled, causing you to do exactly as he said, despite your shaking body.
“you’re not going back upstairs, you hear me? i’m gonna go get your things, and you’re staying here.”
you startled for a moment, eyes narrowing up at him in confusion. what did he mean?
“but that’s my apartment..”
“it’s a fucking shoebox with a busted lock.” he hissed.
“jungkook, i can’t just..” you shook your head, your shaking hands piled at his chest whilst he pulled you closer, nose nuzzling yours for just a moment to gather himself. “you can. what do you need from it, and i’ll grab shit.”
you shook your head, pushing him away lightly despite it being the last thing you wanted him to do, and he knew that. your hands were now tightening against the material of his jacket, tears streaming, eyes wide and head shaking.
“this is crazy. you don’t even know me and i don’t even know you.” you said through another half sob. “i can’t stay here, okay? you’ll get sick of me, and..and i’ll annoy you, or you’ll wake up, and..and you’re gonna..you’re gonna decide it was a mistake and i..”
he simply stared at you, eyes narrowing dangerously. if he had felt anger at the situation before, now it was beginning to direct at you.
he exhaled sharply. “stop.”
you let out another shaky sob at his command, head dropping to his shoulder, the confusion in your mind so clear. it wasn’t that you didn’t want it, but you didn’t feel worthy of it. all you had ever known was abuse, from the moment you were born until this very second - happiness was foreign to you, a notion you truly believed wasn’t in the cards for you, and to have someone openly wish to shelter you felt confusing.
“i’ll bother you, i know it.” the voice in which you admitted your darkest fear had him tightening his grip on you.
suddenly, your positions had changed. you were no longer on his lap, cradled, but instead, on your back laid on the couch, with your hands positioned above your head and jungkook’s entire body hovering over you. he was rendering you useless, and you couldn’t bring yourself to fight it.
“listen to me, y/n.” his eyes were dark. “i work all day, like a fucking dog, breakin’ my back doing all this shit, fucking my body up. you think i do that for fun?”
you shook your head in a little no, still crying.
“got all this money, got a nice job, stopped doing all that bad work that gets me in trouble, no back door shit. do it so when i got myself a lady, she rests good, you hear me?” his voice was rough, almost mean. “so she don’t have to lift a fucking finger a day in her life.”
your chest tightened at the notion, and a subconscious part of you screamed inside, begging to be the very woman he was discussing; yearning.
“you move here, and you do nothing. don’t want you working, don’t want you doing anything other than lookin’ pretty. don’t want a single thought in that brain ever again, unless it’s when i take you out, or when you want something.”
his head pressed against yours, the conviction behind his voice causing you to quiver. you had stopped sobbing now, reduced to silent tears that continued to stream, your cute nose all pink and the fucked up part of him was fighting the fact his cock was hardening at the sight.
“i’m gonna go upstairs, gonna get your shit, and you don’t do nothing, understand me? don’t think about rent, or food, or sleep - you don’t stress about nothing no more.”
“but why?” you asked through a shaky breath, sucking in air as you hiccuped, a pool of wetness forming on either side of your head from how much you were crying. “you don’t even get anything out of it.”
he doesn’t hesitate. “i get you.”
at that, a strangled noise left you, your eyes shutting tightly as your heart thudded harshly in your chest. he wanted you? truly? even without the frills, even without you being able to offer anything real, or tangible?
“i get to take care of you, spend my money on you, get you in my bed every night where you can’t run off before i wake up.” he grunted down at you, grabbing one of your hands from above your head and pressing it firmly against the growing bulge in his work trousers. “you feel that? feel how fucking hard i get just thinking about it, baby?”
you nodded through your sniffles, hiccuping a few times as your hand gently massaged his cock, the layers of clothing dulling the sensation but it was enough to have him press his head against yours once more, cooing at you. his hand slid on top of your own, pushing it harder, and despite the action being intensely sexual, it felt intimate more than anything.
“couldn’t get bored of you, wouldn’t ever. look at you..fuck. were meant to be spoilt, not built to be working out there and stressin’. need to lock you up here so you never worry again.”
again, you nodded, more desperate, whining out for him as both of your hands interlocked with his. the one above your head, sweet and reassuring, and the other, massaging his cock, demanding and grounding. you were his, and it was only then that you realised it - strangers or not.
the next hour was spent with you washing up in the bathroom, having the longest shower of your life, crying all of the remnants of your emotions out whilst jungkook went upstairs, grabbing your things. considering your situation, it took him no longer than ten minutes, something deep pinging in his stomach knowing you had never even tasted luxury. he’d change that.
by the time he had come back down, he was settling your things into your now shared room, watching as you shuffled out in another one of his t-shirts, wet hair, big teary eyes and an unsure demeanour. he took his time with you then, arm around your waist so you could watch him work, putting things away like it was second nature.
he left you curled up all nice and warm on the couch, blankets covering you whilst he gave you the remote, urging you to watch something. he had shit to do.
first, he was going to cancel your lease and threaten your landlord.
second? he was going to fuck up the man who had scared you.
—
two weeks.
two weeks of living a life you were sure was never supposed to be yours.
from sleeping as much as you wanted, and eating whatever your heart desired, jungkook was spoiling you rotten. the glee in his eyes every time he could see a small smile form on your face was enough to render you a mess.
you’d wake every morning flush to his chest, with your bodies pressed together intimately, his hard cock poking against your own panties in a way that had you breathless. on one occasion, you had woken up to find yourself all but grinding against him, only aware of it once you realised you were orgasming, causing your cheeks to flush a deep plum.
he fucking loved it. finally, everything made sense, his life has purpose, tangible purpose. the sight of you on his couch, resting on your stomach with your bare ass to the door just as he would walk into the apartment was enough to drive him insane - it was the sight he’d masturbate to daily. he didn’t want to push you, he was enough of a gentleman to know it wasn’t right to push his needs on you, and he was trying. god knew he had put every bit of his restraint into his situation.
you were both dancing a fine line of evident need and want, yet one couldn’t admit it to themselves and the other didn’t want to push.
the first night was the moment you realised that jungkook wasn’t any ordinary man. all of the kindness aside, it was when you awoke from the nap on his couch to him walking back into the apartment that you realised he was indeed every bit of the man you wanted.
bloody knuckles, and a slight bruise already forming on his cheek, he had walked over to you and pressed a kiss to your forehead, telling you everything was now taken care of. your rent, the piece of shit that had been scaring you, hell, even your nasty manager who made it a habit to be rude to you.
you had washed his knuckles yourself, sniffling away your tears whilst apologising for being so weepy. he simply nuzzled his nose into your forehead, grunting something about how he liked it. liked how you wore your emotions openly and how honest you were about your feelings. it felt refreshing.
after that, he made it a habit to break any wandering thought left in your brain. he’d wake up to you all curled into his body, making him leave kisses all over your hands and cheeks whilst you slept, leaving you to go to work. he’d think about you the entire day, only to return to you with different boxes of food for you to try so you could find out what your favourite cuisines were.
in two weeks, jungkook made you feel more seen and recognised than you had ever felt in the past 24 years.
you still felt awfully shy in his presence. just yesterday, he had taken you out shopping, your hand tucked gently into his arm as you both walked up and down the high street. you shook your head vehemently as he tried to get you to go into the expensive, designer shops, your heart practically failing out of guilt just thinking about it.
“buy what you want.” he’d say to you, or, “don’t look at the price.”
you had once done so, picking out a lipstick marginally cheaper than the ones you could see in hopes that it would satiate him. he saw right through it, his eyes narrowing down at you as you shuffled from foot to foot, unable to meet his gaze.
“don’t annoy me. get something good.”
and so, you’d leave with bags upon bags of things, with flushed cheeks and a thundering heart.
his favourite shop, obviously, was victoria secret. you had clung to him almost desperately out of shyness, often hiding your face in his chest whenever he’d hold up a pair that he thought were nice. he let you browse, watching you shakily pick out a pair or two before you peered up at him, large eyes shining.
“which ones do you like?” you had whispered, so sweet, so inviting that he swore he could have came right then and there.
his arm around your waist tightened as he looked down at you, jaw clenched slightly at the way you had asked him. maybe it was the genuine curiosity that stemmed from you that had him guiding you to a cute, lacy pink pair. he bought them for you immediately, leaving you a flushing mess.
going home, eating together, curled together as you watched things, his legs spread wide whilst he played with your hair. it felt domestic. it felt freeing, and frankly, it felt like everything you had ever prayed for. something in the back of your mind screamed at you, reminding you that you still didn’t know enough about him, that he was no more than just a random man a month ago and yet here you were.
and so, here you sat, at the dining table with your legs crossed. it was 2pm, so jungkook was well within his work day, leaving you at home with a racing mind and shaking hands. you wanted to do something for him, something to show him just how grateful you were for all of the kindness he had bestowed upon you.
you grabbed your phone, embarrassment heavy in your chest as you began searching in anything that came to mind.
‘how to keep a man happy’
you frowned at the results, not finding anything that applied to jungkook in particular.
‘how to be a good girlfriend’
you flushed furiously writing that one out, but you knew it was the closest equivalent to the relationship you had with him. even then, all the results catered to people that didn’t align with jungkook’s personality. you sighed.
‘how to please a man that takes care of you’
now this, this was different. you sat up, seeing multiple different hits but the one thing you kept seeing over and over was the same line. you shuffled in anticipation, eyes reading it continuously, biting down on your lip.
“keep his stomach fed, and his balls empty.” you whispered out loud, repeating what you had read.
your cheeks flamed red as you shut your phone, setting it down like you had an audience around you, feeling a level of embarrassment creep up your neck. that..that felt fitting. you knew he loved his food, was always eating with a can of beer whenever he got a chance.
you also knew him to be hard nearly every instance he got. you weren’t an idiot, you had felt it against you to know that you probably couldn’t take him fully without prep, but the thought had your eyes shutting tight, a small whine leaving you - you wanted him just as bad.
soon enough, you had decided on your plan of action. you got changed, grabbing the card jungkook had given you and quickly made your way to the grocery store, hand shaking around your phone as you searched in popular dishes. you figured a steak would do, since you knew most men enjoyed meat, despite knowing you had never really cooked before.
you stood in front of the meat section hopelessly, shyly asking the workers there a million questions until a lovely older lady walked you around the shop, telling you how to prepare it, what ingredients to use, pushing you to purchase the more expensive options as ‘you could taste it in every bite.’
waddling home, you steadied yourself as you put everything in the kitchen, wrapping your new apron around you tight. you were determined. you wouldn’t fail, not when this was for jungkook, not when he had done so much for you.
hours had passed, and you were finishing up the last details of the dinner. the table had been set, with candles and plates positioned in a way you had seen in a youtube video. you had his favourite beer chilled and ready, even going the extra mile to have a shower, do your hair and makeup using the products he had bought you. you still had your apron on, knowing he’d love the sight of the cute frilly material around you.
your hair was clipped behind your head as you heard the door unlock, causing you to squeak quietly, gathering everything together as quickly as you could.
jungkook had had the longest day of his entire existence. from clients taking the piss, to fixing rushed jobs from other men in the industry. he had even had a phone call from an old friend, asking to stash some cash - it came with a hefty profit, but he had to decline, despite it souring the relationship. he had his girl waiting back home for him, and he had to make sure he was on the right track. no more illegal shit, no matter what that meant for the legacy he had built in his twenties.
walking inside his home, only to find you nervously smiling at him, was enough to take the wind out of his lungs. looking down, however, and seeing the full home cooked spread, was enough to have a man like him on his knees.
“hi..” you shyly grinned, hands shuffling.
“what’s this?” he asked, putting his tools down, uniform heavy as he approached you.
the sound of his keys dropping on the dish you had placed by the entrance made you jump slightly, as you nibbled away on your lip. he approached you, standing in front of you, eyes never leaving your own.
“i just..you do so much for me and, i’m so grateful and i wanna take care of you too.” your voice was no louder than a whisper, almost flushed at the admission as you immediately reached for his jacket, playing with the buttons, peering up at him. “it’s okay if you don’t like it, i just thought it would be nice for you to have something home cooked.”
he grunted, deep from his chest as his face fell into the space between your neck and shoulder, breathing in your scent. his hands were roaming all over your stomach, your hips, your waist, a soft giggle finding its way out of your lips at his reaction. it made you giddy to think he was enjoying this.
“you cooked all this?” he asked, walking towards the table, dragging you along with him, to which you lightly bounced, nodding. “went to the shops, and asked the nice lady and she told me what to get and she said that you’d like steak and she showed me what video to follow-“ you rambled.
he was enamoured by you, taking a seat at the head of the table, where you had positioned all of his plates. instead of moving towards your own seat, he grabbed your waist once more and pulled you firmly until you fell into his lap, your tiny dress doing little to provide modesty as you curled into him.
you watched him intently cut a piece, big eyes peering at him as he took a bite.
“you really made this?” he asked you, hand harsh on your thigh.
you offered him a shy nod, anxiety swirling in your stomach. it was okay if he didn’t like it, but the thought made you want to weep - this was supposed to be all for him. you didn’t want to mess it up.
“good girl.” he murmured, before cutting up a piece for you, watching as you ate from the same fork, a look of pure glee across your face.
his words had you leaning into him properly as you both ate, his grunts of approval worth a million words as you recounted how you cooked it, all whilst he listened carefully and ate. you truly couldn’t have been happier with yourself, your fingers curling into the hair behind his neck.
he had finished his plate, but was now properly feeding you, and despite a shake of your head, was making sure you finished your plate. the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, your arms around him and his around yours, breathing in one another’s scent.
he was so manly all over, the faint smell of sweat alongside his cologne and skin was intoxicating and you wanted it ingrained in your mind forever.
“well done.” he murmured down at you, soft for a change, causing you to look up.
the smile that formed on your lips was enough for him to dedicate his entire life to praising you, wanting to see it every single day for the rest of his life. he couldn’t fathom how lucky he was to have the object of his desires all pretty, in a cute apron and dress; cooking for him, just so he’d feel good. fuck.
“i’m happy you liked it.” you admitted in a small voice. “i really wanted to make it good for you.”
“you don’t have to do anything, y/n.”
“i know, you always say that but i just..i wanna, okay?” you shook your head, nibbling away at your lip once again.
his thumb darted out, capturing your lip and releasing it from your teeth. god, he couldn’t get enough of how cute you were, looking up at him like that. his thumb pushed against your lips for a moment, letting it sit on your tongue, watching the way you wrapped your mouth around it.
the moment was gone within a second as he pulled back, a sudden look on his face you couldn’t decipher. before you could ponder on it, his lips finally connected with your own.
kissing jungkook was unlike anything you had ever expected. you knew him to be dominant, direct and manly, but this? he was all but devouring you. it wasn’t gentle like first kisses often tended to be, but demanding - rough. his lips moved against yours like he owned you, and you deflated immediately, letting him do whatever he wanted to you. your hands were in his hair, tugging him closer, your legs moving around him to now straddle instead of just sitting.
the second his tongue began exploring your mouth, you couldn’t hold back the moans.
he kissed like a man starved, his hands running up and down your body, cupping your ass, your breasts, before settling on your waist, chasing you every time you pulled away for breath.
by the time you had fully managed to depart from his lips, you were panting, eyes lidded and heart beating faster than you could keep up with. your hands slid from his hair down to his chest, as he captured your lips in small pecks.
jungkook could feel the day washing off of him. the dinner, your excitement, the kiss - fuck, even the thought of you paying for all of the things you wanted at the grocery shop with his card. he was visibly melting, more relaxed than he’d allowed himself to be in years and it was a sight for you too.
“go shower.” you whispered lightly to him, pecking his lips. “i’m gonna clean up.”
he simply nodded, capturing your lips in another heavy kiss that lasted far too long before letting out a grunt, setting you on your feet, and heading to the bathroom.
you stood there for a moment, eyes fluttering closed and breathing out through your nose.
god, you were so fucked.
—
later that evening, jungkook sat in front of the tv, legs spread, a can of beer in hand and the game playing loudly. he was the picture perfect image of relaxation, in a pair of sweats and a white tank, his hair still wet from his earlier shower, he truly didn’t think life could get better than this. he had jumped you the second he had gotten out, smothering you in as many kisses as he could get in before you started pushing him away, flushed pink and giddy.
his cock had been straining against his sweats for hours.
you, however, were a slight nervous wreck.
you stood near the edge of your now shared bed, nibbling away on your lip as you looked at yourself in the mirror. you had showered yourself, dried your hair, even did your makeup really nice. you were in a tank and tiny little cotton shorts, but underneath? the pink underwear he had bought you.
your only objective tonight was to make him cum.
a shaky breath left you as you ran your hand through your hair, making sure you looked okay. you wanted to make him feel good, wanted it more than anything else in the world, and you knew that once you started, the door would be wide open and your relationship would completely change.
you weren’t sure how many more times you could withstand the feeling of not quite being able to satisfy yourself. being home alone for most days, waiting for him to return with the thought of him heavy on your mind and mouth, trying to keep your hands out of the space inbetween your legs was impossible.
waking up to his boner pressing into you? unfair.
you knew he wanted this badly, maybe even more than you did, but he wasn’t about to push that on you given your strange dynamic. luckily for him, you were heeding the internet’s advice - you had fed him, now you were ready to drain his balls.
and so, you walked into the living room, his eyes completely trained on the tv as you sat beside him on the couch, not looking up at you. his hand, however, sat high on your bare thigh immediately, all whilst his cock strained against his clothes.
you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, noticing him taking a swig of his beer, attention entirely on the game playing, easing your nerves massively. you shifted, his hand dropping from your thigh as you began your plan of action.
jungkook finally looked at you, only to catch you pulling your hair up into a ponytail. he would have thought nothing of it had it not been for your outfit, your pretty lipstick, the way you looked like you were ready to be fucking used. his lips parted as he watched you drop to your knees in front of him, innocent eyes no longer feeling as naive as he once thought.
before he could even say anything, your smaller hands began reaching for his waistband, fingers hooking until you were able to push them down enough for his fat cock to spring free.
he watched you gasp. watched you take in his length and girth, a fucked up part of his brain eager to break you finally as you blinked away your visible fear. he wasn’t just big, he was monstrous. the type of cock to break you from the inside, the type to hurt and make you sore for days. the type that had you moaning just at the sight of it.
your hand finally wrapped around it, although your fingers didn’t touch and that alone had your head dropping to his thigh, mouth already drooling.
“so pretty.” you whimpered up at him, causing him to jolt in your grip, a low grunt filling the air. “gonna break yourself trying to make it fit in your mouth.” he nudged your chin with his fingers, his words condescending but they only made you wetter.
a surge of confidence ran through you as you huffed up at him, tongue laying flat as you let his cock tap against it a few times, licking up all the salted beads of precum. soon enough, you were suckling at his tip, moaning and circling your tongue.
his hand shot to the back of your head with a loud curse, his eyes closed. he hadn’t had anyone warming his bed in months upon months, and now that he had you, he knew no one else would ever be good enough.
watching you finally begin to suck and bob your head was enough to have him pushing down your head, forcing you to accommodate another inch or two. it made you gag, but the wet patch forming on your shorts was proof enough you liked it. your hands pumped the rest of his cock in unison as you eagerly sucked, whimpering against the most sensitive part of him.
“fuck, look at you.” he hissed out loud, continuing to bob your head. “wanted this from day one, didn’t you?”
you parted from his cock for air, gasping lightly as you pumped him faster, nodding despite already feeling lightheaded. god, jungkook had barely begun and you were already so needy - he yearned to know what you’d be like once he finally impaled you fully.
“wanted it so bad.” you admitted through a small voice, eyes never leaving his as you tapped his cock onto your tongue again a few times before opening your mouth and starting it again.
this time, jungkook pushed your head down further and further, watching his cock disappear down your throat until you couldn’t take anymore, pulling off for breath once more, your shattered gasps and gulps enough for him to cup your cheek.
“that’s my girl, look at you.” his coos were hardly sweet, with a clear edge to them as you bounced your head up and down, sucking him with all of your energy. he swore, throwing his head back. “should’ve done this a long time ago. look how good you look choking on me.”
your legs were quivering with want, wanting nothing more than to play with your clit in that moment but focusing on him regardless. jungkook was already close, and as much as he wanted to paint your throat in his cum, he had no intentions of cumming anywhere other than your fucking womb.
suddenly; his hands on your head were pulling at your hair, forcing you off of his cock as you panted for air, chest rising and falling. your lips were covered in spit, and yet you looked like a vision made just for him, his cock tweaking at the sight of you.
he forced you to get up, which you happily did, falling onto the couch beside him as he grabbed onto your legs, hand grabbing your shorts and harshly pulling them down only to be met with the pink lacy set he had been thinking of all day.
his silence was met with a shaky giggle from as you spread your legs once more, your panties absolutely soaked through, and yet you wanted more.
“i hope you like them.” you hummed, as he began to hover over you. “wanted to wear them for you.”
“yeah?” he groaned quietly, fingers tracing the shape of your pussy through them. “fuck, you’re tiny. i’m gonna break you, you know that?”
“promise?” you whispered back, causing his eyes to flicker back to you, his cock jolting.
you were a secret minx.
his lips were on yours within seconds, tasting himself on your tongue as he devoured you, moving against you with utter ease. instead of taking your panties off, he simply moved them to the side, pulling your tank down to reveal your tits spilling out of your matching lacy bra. pink was a colour he wanted you in every waking moment, you looked better than he could have ever imagined.
his hand was on you immediately, fingers rubbing away at your clit causing you to whimper at the feel of relief finally. you were wound up so tight anyway, to have someone touching you after so so long was a feeling you had forgotten. to be touched by jungkook was a whole other ballpark.
you both moaned into each other’s mouths as your hand began to pump him, bodies moving in unison as you focused on pleasuring one another. it only took a few minutes for you to succumb to your first orgasm, loud moans leaving your lips as you shook in his arms.
he watched you hungrily, his brain chemistry changing before for your very eyes.
this is what you looked like cumming.
oh. how had he lived? how had he survived a life without your face scrunching up, whining out his name so pathetically, legs shaking around him whilst your hand only gripped him tighter.
it wasn’t enough, though. never. he allowed you a moment or two of rest before circling your clit once more, watching you jostle in overstimulation. his fingers were inside you without any prior warning, pumping as he heard you whine loudly.
“j-jungkook!” you shrieked, hand falling from his aching cock as you grabbed onto his shoulders, grounding yourself.
“fuck, there you go. c’mon.” he was hissing down at you, fingering you deep, bigger than anything you had taken in a while.
the stretch was delicious, and you already felt so full - you couldn’t even fathom being fucked by his cock, but the thought had your hips lifting for more.
jungkook coaxed two more orgasms out of you just like that, leaving you a shaky and dazed mess, before removing his fingers, sucking on them with a loud grunt. he went to move inbetween your legs, to make good work of the slick dripping from you only to be stopped by your smaller hands.
“want you.” you whimpered with a shake of your head. “don’t wanna wait anymore.”
“need to stretch you baby, you’re still tight.” he shook his head back at you, grabbing your legs and pulling you closer.
“no.” you huffed, voice suddenly bratty. “you said you’d give me anything i want..”
he closed his eyes at that, cock throbbing. fuck, you already knew his weak spots, and he had every intention of making you feel it just as deeply as he could. he departed from you entirely, leaning back, pulling you up by your arms firmly.
“get on the bed.” he simply uttered to you, voice dark. he was so firm, so direct - his words sat in your stomach as you shakily did exactly that, leaning on the walls as you wobbled your way over.
even in moments of heightened passion, he couldn’t get over how tooth achingly sweet you were.
you laid on the bed, head plush on your shared pillows as you managed to catch your breath. jungkook walked in, hair a mess, shoulders sore from the scratches you had left behind, cock hard and against his stomach as he approached. neither of you could look away from one another, as he grabbed your hips and yanked you down closer to him, hovering over you immediately.
“give me a kiss.” he hushed down at you, causing you to lean up, pressing a sweet peck to his lips. you were so cute to him.
he lined himself up with you, rubbing his cock up and down, causing you to whine, the size of him against you already addicting. soon, he started to push in, the tip of his cock already stretching you wider than anything you had ever taken.
jungkook hovering over you, his arms caging you in other side of your head as he pushed deeper, deeper and deeper. you could feel your thighs quivering, your wide eyes shutting tight as you felt you couldn’t breathe by the time he was half way in. he wasn’t fairing any better. this was out of his wildest dreams, panting on top of you, cooing down at you.
“my good girl, so so good to me. look at you taking it so well. were born to take me, weren’t you baby?” he cooed down, causing you to whimper as you could feel the familiar sting of tears forming in your eyes.
you nodded, sucking in a shaky breath as your arms wrapped around his neck. “s-so big.”
he hissed as he continued to push inside, managing to fit his entire length in after multiple minutes. you were breathing deeply, chest rising and falling as jungkook waited for you to settle down, watching the way your stomach bulged from the intrusion.
“you can take it.” he assured, hand pressing down on your stomach, against the bulge causing you to shriek loudly, eyes closing tight again. tears were beginning to stream, and he could feel himself getting harder.
“you c-can..can move.” you whimpered out.
with seconds, jungkook began to thrust.
if you thought you had experienced pleasure before, you were sorely mistaken.
you knew then that nothing would ever feel like this, nothing could compete or compare - this was everything your body has subconsciously craved for years, given to you by the much older, stranger who had taken you in for his own.
the pain was overshadowed by the thrill and pleasure, his deep thrusts hitting a sponge part of you that was already pulling you closer and closer to the edge. your tears were streaming as he rested his head against your own.
“needed this from you, baby. been thinking about you for so long, you know that?” he grunted out loud. “now you’re all mine..all mine to fuck.”
“yours..all y-yours, kook.” you nodded vigorously, hands pulling at his hair. “feel so big.”
he hid his face in your neck as his pace began to quicken, causing you to borderline scream out his name. you didn’t care who could hear you, the feeling of being pounded into by a cock too big for you euphoric. he couldn’t get enough of you, the taste of your skin on his tongue as he sucked on your neck, leaving heavy hickeys to mark you for the entire world to see.
you couldn’t hold back on the sobs, crying out from the overstimulation; the pleasure, the stinging pain. it was too much and not enough, at one point finding yourself even beating your fists against his chest, only causing him to fuck you harder.
soon enough, jungkook flipped you around, so you were on your stomach, his chest pressing harshly on your back. you could barely move in this position, couldn’t breathe very well either, merely forced to endure the pleasure of jungkook taking care of you. your shallow breaths alongside the chant of his name were like music to his ears, as he kissed and bit on your shoulders.
“my girl. gonna make you my wife, you know that?” he promised down at you, pounding at this point.
“don’t..say that.” you gasped loudly, his words making you clench harshly around his cock, clearly liking it far too much than you wanted to admit.
you had been in house for two weeks and yet the thought of this treatment for life, belonging to jungkook for the rest of your days, was enough to make you sob in joy. your cheek was smushed into the pillow, as you grabbed onto the sheets for life, only for him to intertwine his fingers with your own from behind.
“you like that, huh..” he let out a small laugh. “wanna be my wife, pretty girl? wanna be mrs jeon?”
you were clenching uncontrollably, only edging him closer to his own orgasm.
“fuck..just like that.” he grunted. “gonna wake up to a ring on your finger one of these days. don’t give a fuck that it’s too soon, gotta make sure you get what this is.” he was picking your body up from the bed, your ass in the air suddenly as his thrusts only got more brutal. “you belong to me, you understand? every part of you, all mine.”
“wan’it.” you admitted, through a small sob. “wanna be your wife, kookie, want it so so bad.”
“yeah?” he closed his eyes at your admission. “god. need to get you a house, make sure you decorate it just how you like. gotta spoil you like my wife deserves.”
you were seeing stars, the sound of skin slapping against skin louder than either of your whines, moans or sobs. he slid one of his hands down, circling your clit once more despite the fact you were already a bundle of over sensitivity.
at that, you squealed loudly.
“gonna cum soon, gonna fill this pussy up just like you deserve. get you all nice and round for me.” his words cut through you like a knife, causing you to lose your breath.
“please, please, please.” you begged, through harsh sobs. “cum inside, kookie, please, wanna have your baby.”
you couldn’t take it any longer. the movement of his fingers, the harshness of cock, the way you could feel his entire weight on your much smaller body - you could hardly breathe as your orgasm hit you like a freight train, rendering you useless.
you completely blacked out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you choked lightly, only causing jungkook to orgasm himself. he buried himself deep inside you with a final thrust, feeling you clench and milk him for all that he had.
the shared orgasm was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. it felt the closest to euphoria you’d ever felt, and you knew the feeling was mutual with the way the usually stoic, manly man on top of you was moaning into your shoulder, fucking you both through your orgasms.
he settled on top of you for a solid minute, still inside of you, repositioning you so you could breathe freely. he was breathing in your scent, his shoulders sagging as though the full stress of the day had finally escaped you. it was like he could breathe again, having bared his entire soul to you mid thrust only for it to be reciprocated in the filthiest of ways.
your eyes remained closed, even after he pulled out, and pushed his cum back into you with his fingers, secretly praying it would stick. you were a panting, dazed mess as he picked you up and took you to the bathroom, drawing you a bath all the whilst holding you firmly into his arms, not letting you worry about a single thing.
and once you were settled in, warm bubble coated water surrounding you as you nuzzled deeper and deeper into jungkook’s chest, only then did you open your eyes, meeting his gaze with parted lips.
“did you mean it?” you whispered quietly, almost afraid of his answer.
he didn’t respond to you at first. instead, he brushed a wet thumb over your cheek, watching the way you nuzzled into his cheek gently. he was were enamoured by you, both body and soul, and if he was a man of words, he would have professed his feelings for you grandly. alas, he was not, so instead, he did the next best thing.
jungkook took a hold of your left hand, easing it to his lips and planting a sweet kiss to your ring finger, right where he promised he would decorate it with jewellery soon.
he meant every fucking word.
—
three months had passed and welcomed pure bliss into your life. you knew that life with jungkook was a pleasure in itself, but from moving into a completely new home, one he had put under your name as a testimony of his love for you, to the ridiculously expensive gifts he would come home with each and every day. you were living a reality that you couldn’t have ever dreamt would belong to you.
you looked healthier - from your long hair to your flushed cheeks, your eyes brighter and your ribcage no longer poking out. you were head over heels in love with the man who had claimed you for his own like a modern day stalker, and yet you had never felt so sure of your safety.
jungkook loved in a way that was visible, not explicit. he wasn’t one to tell you those three words, instead opting to show you any change he would get, something that had you weeping constantly out of pure joy. something he couldn’t ever get over.
you liked the dynamic you had built for each other too. you got to play house, spending all of your time being domestic, cooking meals, trying new recipes, baking, adding furnishings to the home, making it completely and entirely your own whilst he went out and worked. he was a manual labour kind of guy, coming home with sweat lined skin and grease all over him, but that only made you want him so much more.
to know he worked so hard just to provide the picture perfect life for you had you riding him most nights, giving him the love he bestowed upon you in the best possible way you knew how. through milking his cock until his cum sat deep in your womb, a favourite pastime for you both.
even now, you were stood in your kitchen, phone in hand as you read the text jungkook had sent to you only moments prior. he never texted. ever.
your stomach flipped as you reread it over and over, trying to decipher the meaning for the text, instead of him calling you, your head tilted as your stomach sat doing somersaults.
‘don’t cook. bringing you something home.’
seemed innocent enough, but this was your man. you knew him intimately in a way many could only ever dream of - he was up to no good, you were sure of it.
you stared at the screen longer than you needed to, chewing on your bottom lip, bare feet cold against the kitchen tile. the apartment was quiet, save from the soft music playing from your tv, warm lighting dancing around your shared space whilst the low hum of the city rumbled through the walls.
you were already cooking. of course you were.
you liked when he came home to food, a visual manifestation of the fact you had been waiting for him to arrive - a kiss to his soul that told him directly that you wanted him to know you were thinking of him.
regardless, you turned the stove off, forever obedient to your older boyfriend.
you were in a matching loungewear set, soft and pink, his favourite duo as the shorts barely covered your ass, your breasts bulging out of the low cut t-shirt thanks to the pretty bra you were wearing. your hair remained damp from your shower, clipped up and out of your face, skin soft and flushed.
you checked the time.
like clockwork, the door began to open, making you look up, smoothening the strands around your face. after all the moments spent together, you still felt so incredibly shy in his presence, something he would never get over.
his footsteps were heavy down the hallway, weight against hardwood, announcing his presence with every creak of the floor. the air changed the second he stepped inside of kitchen, as though the temperature warped to accommodate him and him alone.
he shut the door behind him with his foot, looking you up and down hungrily as he placed a brown bag on the dining table unceremoniously.
“you eat?”
his voice was rough from the day.
you shook your head gently. “no..waited for you.”
he glanced at the stove, noticing the cooling pan and your sheepish little smile. he tilted his head.
“told you not to cook.”
“i turned it off.” you murmured just as he grunted softly. you walked over to him, helping him out of his work jacket; watching as his veins protruded from his arms, making you trace them immediately as a small habit.
you peered up, standing on your tip toes to plant a soft peck to his lips, with blazing cheeks that flushed too pink for the occasion.
he watched you for another instance, enamoured by you as per usual but there was something unreadable in his gaze. something darker, something raw that had been left untouched for too long, like a glass of water finally over spilling after being continuously poured into. you tilted your head at him gently.
you barely noticed it at first, too busy maintaining the intense eye contact, but jungkook reached into his pocket, grabbing something.
you watched as he placed something on the counter inbetween you.
something small.
velvet.
square.
the world suddenly fell completely silent as your eyes fell on it, your mouth completely drying up as your hands travelled up to your mouth. your breath had caught so sharply it left an ache in your chest.
your pulse thrummed harshly in your fingertips as you stared, and stared and stared, unable to bring yourself to open what you assumed was insane, unable to fathom this was a reality.
jungkook didn’t say anything for a few moments, before looking down at you, observing your reaction.
“open it.”
your eyes snapped up to him, finally.
“..what?”
his jaw shifted slightly. amused. “you know what it is.”
you do. of course you did, but it felt too big to say out loud. your fingers hovered over the box, desperate to touch but almost unsure.
“you’re serious..” you whispered faintly. it wasn’t doubt in your voice but absolute disbelief, like something you had only ever dreamt about was about to take place before your very eyes.
his eyes darkened at your tone. “i wouldn’t joke about shit like this.”
he stepped closer to you now, his chest touching the side of your body, caging you against the counter, his head dropping down so you could meet his gaze properly, without having to look up.
“you think i’ve been saying this for nothing?” he continued, voice low, rougher now. “you think i’m talking just to hear myself?”
you shook your head up at him, chest rising and falling as one of your hands gripped his shirt, hand on his hardened abs to ground yourself as you blinked tears away, trying to comprehend this was really happening.
“open it.” he nudged his nose towards the box, eyes trained on you intensely as your hand finally reached out to hold it, letting out a shaky breath.
opening it up caused you to let out a soft whimper, something that had your knees almost buckling.
the light of the kitchen caught on the heavy diamond sat comfortably in the box, a vision of both taste and money - it didn’t take a jeweller to tell you that this ring was worth more than every pay check you had ever gotten. there was nothing delicate or dainty about it, he wanted you to wear the best of the best and this was exactly that.
you pressed your fingers to your lips as you tried to control your breathing, looking up to meet his gaze through a teary gaze that he was already devouring. you were such a crybaby, and he fucking loved it - you cried over everything and anything, with the only remedy being himself.
“you like it.” he murmured, fingers pressing into your waist to ground you, voice certain.
you nod rapidly, letting out a shaky, teary exhale. “kookie, it’s so..it’s beautiful..”
“good.”
silence settled between you both again, but it sat thicker now. charged. your chest felt too tight, your stomach aching as you tried to keep your tears inside, all the whilst he began peppering your neck in kisses.
“you don’t have to-“ you started softly, tears beginning to stream. “i’m already yours, always.”
the words slip out before you could stop them, as you tried to stifle your sobs to no avail, hand shaking enough where you placed the box down onto the counter gently, too in awe of it to even comprehend it being real.
he stilled.
he stopped his kisses, leaning up to his full height before cupping your cheek with his hand, making your own head lean back to stare up at him. he swiped at your tears, humming lightly down at you. “yeah, you are.”
he took your fingers in his hold then, planting a sweet kiss to each finger, to your palm, to the tops. he took hold of the ring, feeling the weight of it for a moment before sliding it onto your finger slowly, letting you experience it first hand.
his calloused fingers were warm against your own, the size difference hitting you as it often did. it was the way in which it sat on your body, the weight of jungkook’s presence settling into your own and the love you both shared blatant and on display.
you were safe.
loved.
but more importantly? jungkook had chosen you, openly, directly, without fear of scrutinisation. he knew he was a man that moved fast, but it came with an understanding of exactly what he wanted.
you.
—
ahhhh!! handyman jungkook is finally here, thank you all for your patience - if this was something you enjoyed and you want to support me and my writing, here is my kofi <33
· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations
pls reblog if you like any of my recs and don´t forget to support authors!❤️
decalcomania - ( @floralseokjin ) angst, cheating trope, NOW THIS!!! if you´re an angst loving hoe like me tHIS will do it, its a whole 2019 banger fr, it has it ALLL, and also? no hea, periodddd. i love it SO MUCH
his name - ( @jimlingss ) angst, fluff, multiple personality!au. this absolute 8 piece MASTERPIECE was posted 7 years ago,,2017- can you believe it? i was so happy to read this again. fuck "after" tHIS is the one that should be on netflix, i have never read anything similar on here, the whole plot is INSANE, i love it
squirting - ( @lavishedinjimin ) smut, pwp. anon had a vvvery specfic request and we love her for that
written in the stars - (@jcwriting ) anggst, fflluufff, smut. soulmate au, werewolf!jk, human!reader. one of my faves out there for rreealllll, it´s an all-rounder and, ofc, a 2021 banger
this kingdom - ( @whatifyoulivelikethat ) smut, fluff, crack, au series, one sided E2L, softsub gamer!jk, power bottom gamer noona!reader, reader is thiccc and jungkook is an ass man fosho. ANOTHER ONEEE, this time from 2020, this is fucking AMAZING ok??, the seggs, the banter, the chemestry, EVERYTHING, it´s so good omg
pretty girl - ( @bts-trash-blog ) smut, tattoo artist!jk, chubby reader, THIS IS ITTTTT, he´s tall, dark and handsome, flirty af too, "pretty girl" stFUUUU, they both want to fuck so he shoots his shot at the tattoo appointment
easy - ( @itsamejin ) angsty, fuckboy jk, bet!trope, jk plays you so he can get his rent paid, i read this one a lawwngg time ago and decided i was an angst loving hoe
Inevitable - ( @ahundredtimesover ) angst, fluff, smut, lovers to exes to lovers, baseball player!jk, dad!jk, parents au, you break up with jk years ago after you got pregnant bc you wanted him to follow his dreams and now he´s back home just to find out there´s a boy who looks just like him.. this is a masterpiece, honestly one of THEE best jk series out there, it has it all fr, the angst is angsty and the fluff is FLUFFY, i love it sm i´ve read it 3 times and never get tired of it
finish line - ( @bonny-kookoo ) fluff, nerdy!jk, racer!jki loooooveee itttttt, so cute, so fluffy, this blurb uGHHHHH, just read the whole thing pls
ungodly hour - ( @explicit-tae ) crack, smut, fluff, college au, broke college student!reader, lowkey slutty!reader, jk is thirsstttyyyyy, simping atp, "who´s dick do i have to suck for a hulu account?" this series is honestly so funny ksjakskjs
disney + and bust - ( @1kook ) angst, fluff, smut. yall already know i love to see man crying and begging for forgiveness :p, so kook is ur succesfull "app developer" bf and he says some very hurtfull things to you out of anger
rattled - ( @gukslut ) series, single dad au, angst, smut. honestly? one of the best fics out there. I read this a long time ago and i´m still in awe. The way this is written makes you feel every word. also, the plot is so so unique. i love it.
pu$$y fairy - ( @angelguk) smut, college au, non-idol, fuckboy!jk, virgin!reader, this is a 2020 old but gold, i read this a long time ago and still love it to this day
sweeter than strawberries - ( @cinnaminsvga ) shy baker!jk, college student!reader, noona!reader ??, s2l, mutual pining, cute cute cuteeee, another 2020 banger, i love how lenghty they used to be
you wrote jk a confession letter but he didn’t see it - ( @angelguk ) fluff, small brain big heart!jk, college au, non-idol, LMAOOOO this was funny asl, 2020 did it again, i loved this
✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you’re finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off… Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You’ve accepted the fact that romance isn’t for you, under any circumstances. You won’t risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.
✧ TAGS: (kind of) slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, fluff, light angst, humor, producer!yoongi, music journalist!reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you’ll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up, now back and better than ever (excluding yijeong’s bitchass), original series can be found here
✧ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content (MINORS DNI), miscommunication, angst (warnings listed for each individual chapter)
✧ WORDCOUNT: 43.1k
✧ STATUS: complete
✧ CHAPTERS ✧
CH 1: turn a bad night to a good time [3k]
CH 2: really nice to talk to you [3.9k]
CH 3: i wanna fold clothes for you [3.6k]
CH 4: sittin' in the studio [6.4k]
CH 5: i think i need your help [7.5k]
CH 5.5: i'm not done yet [2k]
CH 6: y'all ain’t never been to a party before? [5.6k]
Genre : Slow Burn | Friends to Lovers | Unspoken Love | Slice of Life • Soft Angst
Summary: You thought love was somewhere else, until you realized it had been patiently waiting, hidden in the person who never left your side.
The classroom smelled like pencil shavings and floor cleaner that hadn’t fully dried. Chairs scraped against the floor as children rushed to sit beside friends they already knew, voices loud and careless, laughter bouncing off walls still unfamiliar to you. You stood there for a moment, backpack heavy on your shoulders, fingers tightening around the straps.
Every seat was filling quickly. Clusters of kids leaned toward each other, already forming small worlds. Whispers. Inside jokes. Names called across the room like they mattered more than anything else.
Except for one seat. It was by the window. Empty. Quiet. The boy sitting beside it didn’t look up. His desk was neat but lived in. A notebook lay open, filled edge to edge with messy handwriting and tiny doodles drawn in the margins. Music notes. Little squares shaded in until the pencil nearly tore the page. His hair fell into his eyes, like he didn’t bother checking the mirror before leaving home. He looked tired in a way that didn’t belong to a kid his age, shoulders slightly hunched, as if he was already used to shrinking himself.
You hesitated. You could choose a louder table. Somewhere safer. Somewhere you wouldn’t feel like an interruption. Instead, you walked toward the window. The chair scraped softly when you pulled it out. The sound made him glance up, eyes dark and curious, but not startled. Just… observing.
“Hi,” you said, voice smaller than you meant it to be.
He stared at you for half a second longer than necessary, then nodded once. “Hi.”
That was it. No smile. No question. But he shifted his pencil to the other side of the desk, just enough to make space.
You sat.
Outside, the trees swayed in the breeze, leaves brushing against the glass like they were trying to listen in. The teacher hadn’t arrived yet. The room buzzed with restless energy. You tried not to fidget.
After a few minutes, you noticed him reaching into his bag. He pulled out a snack, neatly wrapped, already broken in half. Without looking at you, he placed one half on the edge of your desk and nudged it closer.
You blinked. “For me?”
He shrugged, eyes still on his notebook. “You didn’t bring one.”
“How do you know?”
“You kept checking your bag like you forgot something.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself. It slipped out easily, surprising you both. “You’re observant.”
He paused his writing. “My grandma says I notice useless things.”
“That doesn’t sound useless.”
He considered that. Then quietly, “She says that too.”
You unwrapped the snack. It tasted sweeter than it probably was. “I’m Y N,” you said, crumbs brushing your fingers.
“Yoongi.”
Just Yoongi. No last name. No explanation.
The teacher walked in then, clapping her hands, calling for attention. You both turned forward at the same time, shoulders almost touching. Not quite. But close enough that you were aware of the warmth there.
Throughout the lesson, you noticed things. The way Yoongi wrote everything down, even instructions everyone else ignored. The way he hummed under his breath when he finished early, barely loud enough to hear. The way he slid his eraser toward you when your pencil snapped and rolled onto the floor.
You whispered, “Thanks.”
He whispered back, “You’re welcome.”
At recess, you expected him to leave. Quiet kids always disappeared like that. Instead, he lingered by the doorway, tying his shoelace far too carefully.
“You don’t have to stay,” you said. “I mean, if your friends are outside.”
He looked up. “I don’t really have friends yet.”
“Oh.”
The word felt heavier than it should have. “Well,” you said, heart beating strangely fast, “you can sit with me.”
He nodded. Again. Always that small, thoughtful nod.
On the playground, you shared stories between bites of another snack he brought. He told you about his piano at home, how some keys stuck if you pressed them too hard. You told him about how you moved here because your mom said this place would be better.
“Do you like it here?” he asked.
You thought about the classroom, the empty seat, the way the sun hit his desk. “I think I will,” you said.
Years later, you would forget the name of your first teacher. You would forget the lesson that day, the homework, the bell schedule.
But you would remember this.
The quiet boy by the window. The snack split cleanly in half. The feeling of sitting down and knowing, without knowing why, that you had chosen right.
By the time high school became a conversation, it already felt decided. You and Yoongi walked home the same way you always did, backpacks slung low, shoes scuffing the cracked sidewalk. The neighborhood had changed a little. New convenience store on the corner. The old bakery boarded up. But the route stayed the same, and so did the rhythm of your conversations. Easy. Familiar. Like a song you didn’t need to think about anymore.
You kicked a pebble ahead of you. It bounced once, then disappeared into the gutter. “They gave us the application forms today,” you said, casual, like it was nothing. “For high school.”
Yoongi hummed. He always did that when he was listening closely.
“My mom keeps talking about Sunhwa High,” you continued. “She says it’s closer to her work. Easier commute.”
He stopped walking. You took two more steps before noticing. Turned back. “You okay?”
He stood there, staring at the ground like he had dropped something important and was trying to remember where it fell. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Sunhwa, huh.”
You nodded. “I think I’ll apply there.”
The wind picked up, lifting the hem of his hoodie. You didn’t know that he had already chosen a school months ago. That the brochure was tucked into his drawer. That he had circled the music program with a pencil pressed so hard it left marks on the next page. He had known where he was going until you spoke.
“That’s good,” he said, finally starting to walk again. His voice was even. Unbothered. “I heard it’s a decent school.”
“You did?” you asked, surprised. “I didn’t know you were looking into it.”
“I wasn’t,” he said. Then corrected himself softly. “I mean, not really.”
You laughed. “You’re so weird sometimes.”
He smiled like he liked being called that by you.
The next few days passed in a blur of classes and deadlines and whispered conversations about who was going where. At lunch, friends compared acceptance chances like it was a competition. You listened, nodded, but never felt the urgency they did.
Wherever you went, Yoongi would be there. That part felt obvious, Certain. One afternoon, you found him in the music room, fingers resting on the piano keys without pressing them down. Sunlight spilled across the floor, dust floating in the air. He looked up when you entered, eyes softening in a way that always felt private. “Do you ever think about leaving?” you asked, sitting beside him on the bench.
“Leaving where?”
“Here,” you said. “This town. Everyone says high school is where things change.”
“They always say that,” he replied. “Things change anyway.”
You leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Promise we won’t get weird.”
He frowned. “We’re already weird.”
“No,” you said. “I mean… promise we won’t drift.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he played a single note. Low. Steady.
“I don’t drift,” he said. “I stay.”
The day acceptance letters arrived, you tore yours open at the kitchen table, hands shaking more from excitement than fear.
Sunhwa High School.
You grinned so wide your cheeks hurt. You ran all the way to Yoongi’s place, shoes slapping against the pavement, heart racing like you were late for something important. He opened the door with his hair still damp, acceptance letter already folded neatly in his pocket. “You got in,” he said before you could speak.
“How did you know?”
“You’re smiling like that,” he replied. “It’s obvious.”
You waved the letter in his face. “We’re going to the same school.”
He nodded, like it had been expected. Like it had never been a question. “That’s good,” he said again.
Later that night, alone in his room, Yoongi took out the other letter. The one from the school he had chosen first. The one with the program he dreamed about when no one was watching. He folded it carefully and slid it into the back of his wallet. Not as a regret. Not as a sacrifice.
As proof.
Proof that some choices are made quietly. That some futures are rewritten without ceremony. That loving someone sometimes looks like changing direction before they ever know you were headed somewhere else.
At Sunhwa High, you walked through the gates together on the first day. New uniforms. New faces. Same steps. You glanced at him and said, smiling, “I’m glad we did this.”
He looked at you like he had known that all along.“Me too,” he said.
And he meant more than you understood.
College did not arrive gently. It came with deadlines taped to dorm walls, alarm clocks ringing too early, and the constant hum of exhaustion that never quite went away. Your world shrank into lecture halls, convenience stores, and Yoongi’s tiny off campus apartment that smelled like instant noodles and old notebooks. You spent more nights there than anywhere else.
His place was small. One room pretending to be two. A couch that sank in the middle. A desk cluttered with papers and cables and a secondhand keyboard that barely fit against the wall. There was always music playing softly, unfinished tracks looping in the background like they were thinking things through.
You kicked off your shoes at the door without asking. “Did you eat?” Yoongi asked from the kitchen, already boiling water.
“I had coffee,” you replied.
“That’s not food.”
“It’s emotional support.”
He snorted. “You’re going to pass out one day.”
“You’ll catch me.”
The words came out easy. Too easy. You didn’t look at him when you said it. He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth lifted as he dropped two blocks of ramen into the pot.
You sat on the floor, back against the couch, spreading your notes around you like you were building a small fortress. Outside, the city glowed through the window, neon signs blinking like tired eyes refusing to close. “So,” you said, flipping through a textbook. “If I fail this midterm, please tell my mom I tried.”
“I’ll lie,” he said. “Convincingly.”
“You always do.”
He brought the bowls over, steam rising between you. You ate cross legged, knees brushing, shoulders occasionally bumping when you reached for the same thing. These small collisions felt normal now. Expected. Like gravity.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” you said after a while. “More than usual.”
“I’m always quiet.”
“No,” you replied. “This is different. This is thinking quiet.”
He hesitated. You knew that pause well. The one where he decided whether or not to let you in.
“I’m writing more,” he said finally.
“Lyrics?”
“Yeah.”
You looked up at him, eyes bright. “Can I hear?”
He groaned. “They’re bad.”
“You say that every time.”
“And every time I’m right.”
“Yoongi,” you said, dragging his name out until it sounded like a complaint. “I’ve heard you hum songs while brushing your teeth. I think I can survive this.”
He stared at the table, fingers tapping softly against the bowl. “You’re not supposed to hear them yet,” he muttered.
“Why not?”
“Because,” he said, then stopped. Shook his head. “Just because.”
That answer didn’t satisfy you, but you didn’t push. Instead, you leaned back against the couch and closed your eyes. “Play me something someday,” you said softly. “Even if it’s unfinished.”
He looked at you then. Like he was memorizing the way your face softened when you trusted him.“Okay,” he said. “Someday.”
Nights blurred together after that.
You fell asleep on his couch more times than you could count, waking to the sound of keys tapping under careful fingers. Sometimes he thought you were still asleep when you opened your eyes and saw him working, hunched over his desk, headphones on, lost somewhere else.
Once, you whispered, “You look like you belong there.”
He pulled one earcup off. “Where?”
“In your own world.”
He smiled tiredly. “It’s quieter there.”
“Is there room for me?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“There always has been,” he said.
Midterms came and went. Finals loomed. Stress lived under your skin, buzzing constantly. One night, overwhelmed and frustrated, you threw your pen down. “I hate this,” you said. “I don’t even know why I’m here sometimes.”
Yoongi turned his chair to face you. “You’re here because you care.”
The room went quiet. You met his eyes. For a second, the space between you felt heavier than usual. Charged. Like a sentence waiting to be finished. “You’re always saying the right thing,” you said quietly.
He shrugged. “Someone has to.”
“Do you ever get tired of me complaining?”
He laughed, short and surprised. “No.”
“Ever?”
“No,” he repeated. “I like listening.”
“Why?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Laughed instead, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re funny,” he said. “You say weird things.”
You smiled, but something settled low in your chest. An almost. A question left untouched.
That night, you sat beside him on the couch, sharing one pair of earphones as he played you a rough demo. No words yet. Just melody. Slow. Familiar. Comforting. “This one feels like home,” you said.
He swallowed. “Yeah.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder without thinking. He froze for half a second, then relaxed, warmth seeping through the fabric of his hoodie. “You always do this,” he murmured.
“Do what?”
“Make things feel… manageable.”
You tilted your head to look at him. “You do that for me too.”
Your faces were close. Close enough to notice the tiny scar near his eyebrow. Close enough to feel his breath shift. Then you laughed, breaking it without meaning to. “Wow. We’re exhausted.”
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “We should sleep.”
You didn’t move right away. Neither did he.
Eventually, you stood, grabbed your bag, and headed for the door. “Goodnight, Yoongi.”
“Goodnight,” he replied.
After you left, he sat back down and opened a new file on his laptop. He didn’t name it after you.
He named it after the feeling you left behind.
Adulthood did not arrive with fireworks. It came with an email subject line that read Congratulations, with an office that smelled like printer ink and burnt coffee, with a desk that was yours and somehow already exhausting. You learned how to smile through meetings, how to nod while someone explained things you already knew, how to keep your voice steady even when you felt like you were pretending. Your mornings filled with alarms and pressed clothes. Your nights ended with tired feet and takeout eaten over the sink.
Yoongi’s days looked nothing like yours. He slept when the city was loud and worked when it quieted down. His studio was a converted room that always felt a little too small for his ambition. Cables sprawled across the floor like veins. Coffee cups stacked beside the monitor. Music lived there in pieces, half written thoughts layered on top of each other. Different routines. Same pull.
The first thing you did after your first full day at work was text him.
Y/N: I survived. Barely.
Yoongi: Proud of you.
Y/N: I wore heels. Never again.
Yoongi: Liar. You’ll wear them tomorrow.
You smiled at your phone on the bus ride home, city lights streaking past the window. You didn’t tell him how your hands shook before your presentation. He didn’t tell you how many rejections he’d gotten that week. Some things stayed unsaid to keep the other breathing easier.
You still ended up at his studio most nights. Sometimes still in office clothes, hair tied up loosely, shoes kicked aside at the door like you’d never left. “You’re early,” he said one evening, glancing at the clock.
“I escaped,” you replied, dropping onto the couch. “They tried to schedule a meeting that could have been an email.”
“Corporate life is already corrupting you.”
“You love it.”
He brought you a drink without asking. You watched him move around the room, comfortable, certain, like this space answered to him in a way the office never answered to you.
“You look tired,” he said.
“So do you.”
He shrugged. “That’s permanent.”
You talked about everything and nothing. Office gossip. The intern who kept stealing lunches. A producer who told Yoongi his sound was too quiet. Too sad. Not marketable enough.
“What did you say?” you asked.
“I said okay.”
“That’s it?”
He shrugged again. “They don’t hear it yet.”
“You will make them hear it,” you said without hesitation.
He looked at you like you had placed something solid in his hands.
There were nights when you arrived angry, voice sharp with frustration, words tumbling out too fast. He listened from his chair, hands folded, eyes steady.
There were nights when you arrived quiet, sinking into the couch, staring at nothing. He didn’t fill those silences. He let them exist.
Late at night, when the city outside thinned into something quieter, you sat on the studio floor with your back against the couch while he worked. He played you new tracks sometimes. Short pieces. Unfinished thoughts. “Does this one make sense?” he asked once.
“It feels lonely,” you said. “But not in a bad way.”
He nodded. “That’s what I was going for.”
You didn’t realize then that he wrote best after you left. That your presence settled something in him. That when the door closed behind you, he filled the space with sound because silence felt too loud.
One night, you texted him first, fingers moving before you could think.
Y/N: I got the promotion.
Your phone rang immediately.
“Hey,” he said, voice warm. “I knew you would.”
You leaned against your kitchen counter, smiling. “You didn’t even let me finish typing.”
“I didn’t need to.”
Another night, weeks later.
Y/N: Today sucked.
He replied with a pin drop location. You went. You sat together in the dim studio, knees touching, not speaking for a long time. “You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he said eventually.
“I know,” you whispered. “I just forget.”
“You don’t with me.”
The realization settled slowly. You lived different lives now. Woke up to different alarms. Chased different futures. Yet when something good happened, he was the first to know. When something awful happened, he was where you landed. Same gravity. No matter how far the days stretched you apart.
You arrive at the same time every evening. Six forty five. Sometimes a little later if traffic is cruel. Sometimes earlier if you leave work angry enough to flee. The elevator ride up is muscle memory now. Third floor. Left turn. Door with the dent near the handle that Yoongi keeps saying he will fix someday. You knock once and let yourself in.
“Yoongi,” you call out, already kicking off your shoes.
“In here,” he replies, voice calm, familiar, threaded through the low hum of equipment.
The studio smells like coffee that’s been reheated too many times and the faint sweetness of your hand lotion, the one you leave behind without realizing it. Your mug sits on the desk beside his keyboard. The one with the fading print. You don’t remember when it became yours. It just did. You drop your bag by the couch and sink into it like gravity has finally loosened its grip.
“I swear,” you say, staring at the ceiling, “if one more person emails me asking for something that was already explained in the meeting, I’m going to fake my own disappearance.”
Yoongi spins slowly in his chair, facing you. “You can’t,” he says. “They’d still email.”
You laugh. It comes out tired but real. “And get this,” you continue, propping yourself up on your elbows, “guess who messaged me today.”
He raises an eyebrow. That is all the encouragement you need.
“My ex.”
He stops spinning.
“Oh.”
“That’s it?” you ask. “No commentary?”
He shrugs. “I’m listening.”
You roll onto your side, facing him. “He asked if I’ve been thinking about him.”
Yoongi leans back in his chair, eyes flicking briefly to the ceiling.
“And have you?”
“No,” you say immediately. Then softer, “Well. Not until he texted.”
Yoongi nods like that makes sense. Like it doesn’t press somewhere uncomfortable in his chest.“What did you say?” he asks.
“I said I hope he’s doing well,” you reply. “Which is polite but also a lie.”
“That’s growth,” he says.
You smile. “I learned from the best.”
He snorts. “I’m terrible at confrontation.”
“You’re excellent at avoidance,” you correct.
“Selective silence,” he says. “It’s an art.”
You sit up, stretching your arms over your head. Your blazer slips off your shoulders. Yoongi looks away just in time. “I’m so tired,” you say. “I don’t even know what I want anymore. Everyone keeps asking if I’m dating. If I’m looking. Like it’s a deadline.”
“You don’t owe anyone answers,” he says.
“Sometimes it feels like I do,” you reply. “Like if I don’t figure it out soon, I’ll miss something.”
He swivels his chair toward his desk, fiddling with a knob that doesn’t need adjusting. “People act like love is a schedule,” he says. “It’s not.”
You watch him, the familiar slope of his shoulders, the way his hands move with certainty even when his thoughts don’t.
“You always say the right things,” you murmur.
“I say what I think,” he replies. “There’s a difference.”
Silence settles in, comfortable and practiced. Outside, the city breathes. Cars pass. A siren fades into the distance. You pull your legs up onto the couch. “Do you ever get lonely?”
He freezes for a fraction of a second. Not enough that you notice. Enough that he does.“Sometimes,” he says carefully.
“Why don’t you date more?” you ask. “You could. People would line up.”
He laughs quietly. “That sounds exhausting.”
“You don’t even try.”
“I’m busy.”
“With what?”
He turns to face you again, expression unreadable. “This.”
You gesture around the room. “And me?”
He answers without thinking. “You’re not work.”
The words land between you, heavier than they sound.
You blink. “What am I, then?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Spins his chair once, then stops.
“You’re… here,” he says. “You always are.”
Later, he plays you a track he’s been working on. No lyrics yet. Just sound. You listen with your eyes closed, letting it wash over you. “This one feels like sitting in a room with someone you don’t have to impress,” you say.
He stares at you. “That’s exactly what it is.”
You smile, unaware of what you’ve just done to him.
Your phone buzzes. A message from a coworker. Then another from the same ex. You groan and toss it aside. “I’m ignoring that,” you declare.
“Good,” Yoongi says. “They don’t deserve your energy.”
“You say that like you’re protective.”
“I am,” he replies easily. Too easily.
You look at him then. The way his gaze softens when it lands on you. The way he never checks the time when you’re here.
“You know,” you say lightly, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in love with me.”
The room goes quiet. Yoongi laughs. It’s quick. Almost convincing. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says. “You leave dishes in my sink.”
You grin. “That’s intimacy.”
“That’s disrespect.”
You stand, grabbing your bag. “I should go. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“I know,” he says.
At the door, you pause. “Hey, Yoongi.”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for listening.”
He watches you like the room is already emptier.
“Always,” he says.
After you leave, he sits in the silence. The chair still. The music paused. Your words echoing louder than any track. He opens a new file. He doesn’t name it after you. He never does.
The studio sounds different after midnight. The city outside thins out, noise retreating into distant echoes. Neon lights flicker without urgency. Even the air feels slower, heavier, like it knows better than to rush him. Yoongi sits alone at his desk, hoodie pulled close, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The chair creaks when he leans back, then forward again. A cup of coffee sits untouched to his left, gone cold hours ago.
You left earlier than usual tonight. You always say goodbye the same way. A soft knock on the desk. A smile that lingers just long enough to stay with him after the door closes.
“I’ll text you when I get home.”
You always do.
Your message is still on his phone.
Y/N: home. thanks for letting me complain again. sleep, okay?
He didn’t reply right away. He never does when he’s about to work. The room hums as he presses record.
He doesn’t start with lyrics. Words come later, once the sound has already decided where it wants to go. He plays slowly, letting the notes find their places. Familiar chords. Ones his hands know without instruction.
It happens without warning. A melody settles in, gentle and steady. It feels like walking beside someone you’ve known your whole life. No need to speak. No need to rush. Yoongi exhales softly.
“Okay,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”
He lets it loop. Again. Again. Adjusts a note. Lowers the tempo. Adds a layer that sounds like warmth pressed into sound. Only then does he open the notebook. It’s worn. Pages curled at the edges. The spine cracked in places that tell their own story. This notebook has never left the studio. This notebook has never been shared.
He flips to a blank page. The pen hesitates. Then moves.
You know my home better than I do,
Leave your shoes, like you’re never leaving too
He stops.
Shakes his head. Crosses the lines out gently, like he’s apologizing to them.
“Too obvious,” he says to the empty room. He tries again.
You sit in silence, claiming it as your own,
Like the hush around you whispers your name alone
His throat tightens. He leans back, rubbing his eyes. “Get it together,” he mutters.
He records another take. This time humming softly over the track, voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until it fades.
Between recordings, he scrolls through older files. Folders labeled with dates. Not anniversaries. Not milestones anyone else would recognize. Just moments.
The night you fell asleep on his couch after crying about your first job rejection. The evening you brought takeout and stayed until sunrise talking about nothing. The day you laughed so hard in his studio that he forgot what he was working on. He names the new file after tonight. A date you will forget by morning.
“You’ll never hear this,” he says aloud. “That’s probably for the best.”
He records lyrics this time. His voice is rough around the edges, tired but honest.
The silence knows, it breathes your name,
Every heartbeat burns, every pulse aflame.
If being yours is fire, then let me burn,
I’ve been yours before I could ever return.
He stops abruptly. His hands drop to his lap “That’s not fair,” he says quietly. “You didn’t ask for this.”
He stands and paces the room. Steps careful, practiced. He’s done this a hundred times. Writes. Records. Pulls back. He checks his phone. Another message from you.
Y/N: did I leave my charger there?
He smiles despite himself.
Yoongi: yeah. I’ll keep it safe.
Y/N: of course you will. goodnight, yoongi.
He stares at your name on the screen longer than necessary. “Goodnight,” he whispers back, even though you can’t hear him.
He sits down again. Records another version. This one softer. Almost shy.
If you ever hear me, just look away,
Let it drift like a tune in the light of day.
Some truths are better left unclaimed,
Like the quiet love for you that can’t be framed.
When he finishes, he doesn’t listen back right away. He saves the file. Folds the notebook closed. The studio is quiet again.
He leans back in his chair, eyes closed, letting the silence settle around him. Loving you has never felt like a choice. It feels like a fact he learned early and never questioned.
He checks the time. Too late or too early. Tomorrow, you’ll show up again. Six forty five. Complaints. Laughter. That familiar comfort. You’ll never know what lived here after you left. And for now, that feels safer.
You don’t plan to say it. It slips out the way most truths do. Casually. Wrapped in the safety of routine. You arrive at the studio like you always do, shoes by the door, bag on the couch, your presence folding into the room as if it belongs there.
Yoongi swivels his chair when he hears you “You’re late,” he says.
“Traffic,” you reply, rolling your shoulders. “And I stopped to get iced coffee. They messed up my order again.”
He hums. “They always do.”
You sit cross legged on the floor, leaning back against the couch. He goes back to adjusting levels, the soft glow of the screen lighting his face. For a while, you talk about nothing. A meeting that went on too long. A coworker who takes credit too easily. The way adulthood keeps asking for more than it gives. Then you say it.
“There’s this guy at work.”
Yoongi’s hand stills on the mouse just for a moment.
Then he spins his chair toward you. Calm. Interested. Exactly the way he always listens “Yeah?” he says.
You nod. “He’s… nice. We’ve been talking. Nothing serious.”
“Do you like him?”
You tilt your head, considering. “I don’t know yet. Maybe. I think I could.”
Yoongi leans back, folding his arms. His face gives nothing away. “That’s good,” he says. “You deserve someone nice.”
You smile, relieved by his reaction. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
You talk more after that. About how the guy brings you coffee. How he listens when you rant. How it feels easy. Comfortable. Yoongi nods in the right places. Asks the right questions.
“What’s his name?”
“What does he do?”
“Did he ask you out?”
“Not yet,” you say. “But I think he might.”
You hesitate, then add, “What do you think?”
The room feels smaller somehow.
Yoongi answers without missing a beat. “If you want to go, you should.”
“You wouldn’t be weird about it?” you ask lightly.
He smiles. “Why would I be?”
You laugh. “I don’t know. You’re… you.”
“That’s exactly why,” he replies.
The conversation moves on. You don’t notice how his fingers curl into his palm. You don’t notice how the music playing in the background has stopped. When you leave that night, you hug him. A quick squeeze. Familiar. “Thanks,” you say. “For listening.”
“Anytime,” he says.
The door closes behind you. The studio feels too quiet. Yoongi doesn’t move for a long time. He sits there, staring at the screen, your words replaying themselves in his head like a chorus he didn’t ask for.
There’s this guy.
He’s nice.
I think I could like him.
He opens the project he was working on earlier. The file loads slowly. The waveform fills the screen. He presses play.
Your song.
He knows it the second it starts. The melody that feels like late nights and shared silence. The one that never quite found its ending. He listens all the way through. Doesn’t touch a thing.
Then he stops it. “This isn’t yours anymore,” he says quietly.
His cursor hovers over the file name. A date. A night you don’t remember. A feeling you never knew he kept. Delete.
The confirmation box pops up. He doesn’t hesitate. The screen goes blank.
Yoongi leans back in his chair, eyes closing. The ache doesn’t arrive all at once. It spreads slowly. Settles in places he knows too well. He picks up his phone. Types. Deletes. Types again.
Yoongi: let me know how it goes.
He stares at the message, then sends it before he can rethink it. A few seconds later, your reply appears.
Y/N: you’re the best, you know that?
He exhales a soft laugh that doesn’t quite sound like one. “Yeah,” he murmurs to the empty room. “I know.”
He turns back to his desk. Opens a new project. Starts again. Outside, the city keeps moving. Tomorrow, you’ll come back. You always do. And he will listen like he always has.
It happens slowly enough that neither of you can point to the exact moment things change. You still text Yoongi first when something small happens. A meme. A complaint. A picture of a bad lunch. But the replies take longer now. Not because he doesn’t care. Because you are busy. Because he is always working. Because life has learned how to slip between the cracks of what used to be constant.
Your visits to the studio stop being automatic. Once a week turns into once every two. Then sometimes not at all. You mean to go. You always do. But dinners stretch late. Conversations linger. The guy from work walks you home and asks about your day in a way that feels attentive and easy.
Yoongi notices the empty hours first. Six forty five comes and goes. The studio door stays closed. Your shoes are not by the wall. Your mug stays untouched on the desk, dust settling slowly along the rim. He checks his phone. Nothing.
He tells himself it’s fine. That this is how things are supposed to go. That people grow into different shapes and schedules. That he knew this day would come.
The music gets louder. He works through the night, headphones pressed tight, fingers moving faster than his thoughts. Track after track. Beat after beat. If he keeps the sound full enough, there’s no room for the quiet.
Producers start calling more. Labels show interest. Opportunities line up one after another.
“You’ve been on fire lately,” someone tells him.
He nods. Says thanks. Goes back to work.
At home, you sit across from someone else at dinner, laughing at a story you half hear. Your phone lights up on the table.
Yoongi: you okay?
You hesitate before replying.
Y/N: yeah. just busy lately. how are you?
Three dots appear. Then disappear.
Yoongi: same.
It’s true. Just not in the way you mean.
The song happens one night when he hasn’t slept in almost two days. He’s tired in a way that feels hollow. His hands move without asking permission. A melody settles in, quiet at first, then certain. He doesn’t think about you while he writes it. That’s what scares him later. The lyrics come out clean. Simple. About waiting. About watching someone drift just far enough that you start to wonder if they’ll come back on their own.
He records it in one take. Doesn’t touch it again. The song goes live a week later. Then another. Then another.
You hear about it through a coworker first. “Isn’t that your friend?” she asks, holding up her phone. “The producer guy?”
You glance at the screen. His name. The song climbing charts. “Yeah,” you say softly. “That’s him.”
You text him that night.
Y/N: congrats. i heard the new track is everywhere.
He replies almost immediately.
Yoongi: thanks.
Nothing else.
You tell yourself it’s fine. He’s busy. He’s always been busy.
The night you hear it on the radio, you’re alone in your apartment. Shoes off. Lights low. Dinner cooling on the counter. You turn the dial absently, static cutting through the silence. Then the song comes on. You freeze. It’s not loud. It doesn’t ask for attention. It settles into the room like it knows where to sit. The melody wraps around you slowly, familiar in a way you can’t explain.
The lyrics land softly.
About knowing someone’s footsteps. About leaving the light on. About loving someone quietly enough that they never notice.
You sit on the floor, back against the couch, listening all the way through. By the time it ends, your chest feels full in a way that hurts. “That sounds like me,” you whisper to no one.
Fans dissect it online. Call it poetic. Call it universal. Call it genius. You close the app before they can say more. You don’t text him that night.
When you finally return to the studio days later, the room looks the same and completely different. New equipment. New awards leaning against the wall. Your mug still on the desk. He looks up when you enter.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” you reply.
There’s a beat of uncertainty between you. Small. Noticeable. “You’ve been busy,” you say.
“So have you.” You nod. Sit down. The couch feels less like it’s waiting for you now.
“That song,” you say carefully. “The one on the radio.”
“Yeah?”
“It feels… personal.”
Yoongi looks at his screen. Then back at you “Most songs are,” he says.
You want to ask more. Instead, you smile. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
The silence that follows stretches longer than it ever has before. For the first time, you wonder if coming back here will ever feel the same. For the first time, Yoongi wonders how much more distance he can survive.
Weeks had passed since you last went to Yoongi’s studio. Weeks in which you tried to convince yourself that the lyrics of his song, the one you’d heard on the radio, were just words. Music. Not him. But no matter how much you tried, it lingered in your chest, the melody wrapping itself around your ribs, the words playing softly behind your eyelids when you closed them at night.
You had stopped seeing the guy from work. At first, you had thought you’d like the idea of someone new, someone who could distract you, someone easy. But personalities clashed, interests drifted apart, and the more you tried to force it, the more you felt your mind wandering back to him. Yoongi. The way he made silence feel warm. The way he listened without comment. The way he always knew when you needed him, even without asking. The guilt of your absence weighed on you, and so one night, when the city outside your window had softened into quiet, you typed.
Y/N: Yoongi… are you still awake?
A moment later, his reply:
Yoongi: Working.
You hesitated, heart hammering. Then you typed again:
Y/N: Can I come?
He answered almost immediately, blunt and cautious.
Yoongi: You never ask to come before. Why now?
You froze for a moment, fingers tightening around your keys. Then you slipped into a cardigan, grabbed your bag, and walked through the streets toward the studio. Every step was heavy, every shadow on the pavement a reminder of how much time had passed.
When you opened the studio door, he was at his computer, headphones hanging loosely around his neck, absorbed in a track that pulsed faintly in the background. The glow from the monitor painted his face in muted blue light. You froze, unsure if you even belonged here anymore, unsure if the air between you could hold all the words you’d buried. He hummed softly when he saw you, a quiet acknowledgment. No words, no lecture, just the sound you had loved for years. You sank onto the familiar couch, curling slightly into yourself, letting the safety of routine cradle your nerves. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then you finally forced the words out, trembling slightly:
“I… I ended things with him.”
His fingers froze mid-press on the keyboard. He didn’t turn to look at you, only waited.
“It… it just didn’t feel right. We… we weren’t right for each other. And I kept thinking about—you.”
You trailed off, words failing, memories of laughter and late-night conversations filling the space between you.
He finally turned his chair, eyes heavy, tired, but soft. “I see,” he said, voice quiet, careful.
You took a deep breath, heart tightening. “Yoongi… why did you stop texting me? Why did you… pull away?”
He looked at you for a long moment. “I didn’t want to be a distraction,” he said finally, voice low, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to interfere with… whatever you were starting. I thought giving you space was the right thing.”
Your chest ached. “The right thing?” you asked, voice trembling with hurt and anger. “Do you know how that felt? To be left wondering why the person who’s always been here… suddenly wasn’t?”
“I thought it was protection,” he said. “For you. For us.”
“Protection?” you scoffed, tears forming. “It felt like abandonment!”
Your voice cracked, frustration and years of unsaid words pouring out. “Do you know how unfair that is? To let me drift like I didn’t matter?”
He flinched at the sharpness of your words, as if each one landed in him like a physical blow. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood, moving toward you. His voice was low, trembling, but filled with a weight you’d never heard before:“You have no idea how much it hurt me to watch you drift away.”
The tears spilled freely now. “Then why didn’t you say anything?! Why did you wait until—until now?!”
His lips trembled. “I was scared! Scared of ruining what we have. Scared of losing you.”
You sobbed, voice breaking, your chest heaving. “All this time… all these years… and you never trusted me with it? You just… held it?”
“Yes,” he admitted, voice cracking under the weight of the confession. “Every song, every night, every time you left my studio… I wrote things down. I remember every detail of you, the way you sit on this couch, the sound of your laughter, the way your hair falls across your face. I check the clock at 6:45 because I know that’s when you come. I’ve missed you when everything stops, when you weren’t here… but I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t. I thought if I did, I’d ruin the only thing that’s kept me alive all these years—us.”
You shook, sobbing into your hands. The ache, the betrayal, the love he’d kept so carefully, it all hit at once. “Yoongi…” you whispered, barely audible.
“I love you,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ve loved you quietly, patiently, endlessly. Every word, every song, every moment I stayed silent was because I thought it was the only way to keep you safe… and to keep myself from losing you.”
The tears streamed freely now, hot and relentless. “All this time…” you murmured, voice cracking. “All this time, I was… missing you.”
He whispered, voice breaking. “And I’ve missed you. Every day, every hour, every night.”
You both sank onto the couch together, the years of quiet longing, missed chances, and restrained love crashing around you. He held you, gently, carefully, as if afraid you might vanish if he gripped too tightly. You sobbed into his chest, letting all the hurt, confusion, and longing pour out.
“You were here… all along,” you said finally, voice trembling against his shoulder. “And I didn’t see it. I didn’t know.”
“And you still don’t,” he said softly. “Not fully. But I’m here now. Always.”
For the first time, you understood everything—the songs, the hums, the quiet presence, the patience, the love that had never wavered. And for the first time, the ache became something you could hold onto, not in longing, but in hope.
The studio had never felt smaller and larger at the same time. Smaller, because the air between you and Yoongi was thick with words unsaid for years, with emotions bottled up so tightly they could explode at any moment. Larger, because finally, finally, the walls could hold everything, the grief, the longing, the relief. You still sat on the familiar couch, your hands trembling in your lap. Yoongi’s hoodie smelled faintly of coffee and something warm, like him. He sat beside you, close, close enough that your shoulders brushed, close enough that your heart knew exactly where he was.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” you whispered, voice soft, broken.
“I was scared,” he admitted, voice low, almost a growl of frustration at himself. “Scared I’d ruin everything. Scared I’d lose the only person I’ve ever needed. Scared that… you wouldn’t feel the same.”
You leaned back against him, letting the warmth seep into your bones. “You’ve loved me… all this time. And I—” You broke off, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I didn’t even notice.”
His hand found yours, holding it like he was afraid it might disappear. “You were living your life,” he said softly. “I couldn’t—couldn’t make it about me. I just… stayed.”
You lifted your head slightly and looked at him. The way the studio light caught his features, soft jawline, dark hair falling over his eyes, eyes like quiet storms, made your chest tighten.
And then it happened. Slowly, as if the world had slowed down just for this moment, he leaned in. First a hesitation, a careful brush of lips, soft, tentative. A question. You answered immediately, pressing closer, hands finding his neck, fingers tangled in the soft strands of his hair. The kiss deepened, a gentle urgency threading through it, the kind that had been waiting, silently, for years. Your hearts collided in a rhythm you didn’t have to explain.
“I’ve wanted this,” he whispered between kisses, voice rough and trembling. “For years. Every time you walked in here, every laugh, every complaint, every sleepy late-night, I wanted you.”
“I—me too,” you gasped, letting the tears and longing mingle. “I just… I didn’t know.”
He smiled against your lips, a soft, broken smile that made your heart ache and swell at once. “I’ll never let you go,” he promised.
You both rose together, almost stumbling, laughter and tears mixing. The studio no longer felt like a workplace or a place of waiting. It was a home. It was where you belonged.
When you reached his bedroom, the world seemed to shrink further, isolating just the two of you. The sheets smelled faintly of him, comforting, familiar. He guided you gently onto the bed, your bodies fitting together as if no time had passed, as if the years of quiet longing had only prepared you for this moment.
He kissed you again, slowly, savoring the taste, the warmth, the closeness. His hands traced your sides, your back, memorizing every inch he had longed to hold. You felt safe, seen, wanted. Every fear, every distance melted into the quiet strength of his embrace.
“I love you,” he whispered again, as if saying it now aloud made it more real. “I’ve loved you forever.”
“I love you too,” you breathed, letting the words fill the space between your heartbeats. They mingled with the soft sighs, gentle touches, and whispered confessions that had been buried for so long. You traced his face, memorizing him, letting every second sink into your bones. No masks, no waiting, no distance, just the two of you, finally, fully, undeniably together.
Hours passed unnoticed. You laughed quietly at shared memories, you kissed slowly between sobs of relief and joy, and you held each other as if the world outside could not touch you. The night was yours. Every quiet fear, every unspoken song, every long-lost moment of almost had finally found its place.
When you finally lay in each other’s arms, skin to skin, heart to heart, you realized something profound: you had always belonged here. You were home. And he was home.
Outside, the city moved on. Inside, the two of you breathed together, letting silence stretch like a balm over years of longing, hurt, and hope. The studio no longer held unspoken words, it held love. Deep, messy, tender love that had waited patiently, fiercely, for its moment. And now, finally, it was here.
Six months had passed. The city outside yawned awake, sunlight spilling like liquid gold between the towering buildings. Inside your apartment, now a cozy little studio, the morning calm was almost complete, the faint hum of traffic barely reaching your sanctuary.
You were already up, curled in the couch with a blanket around your shoulders, phone in hand, scrolling through messages from work. Yoongi was sprawled on the bed, headphones around his neck, staring at the ceiling with his usual calm, unreadable expression, but the corners of his mouth were turned up ever so slightly, betraying that soft warmth only you could see.
“Mm,” he murmured when he sensed you looking at him, a sound that somehow made your heart skip.
“You’ve been awake this whole time, haven’t you?” you teased, your voice light, bouncing around the room like sunlight. “Or were you just pretending to sleep so you could watch me scroll in silence?”
He shrugged, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “Maybe both,” he said. Casual. And yet, the way his hand twitched toward your blanket, the tiny tilt of his head, it was tenderness hidden in plain sight.
“You’re ridiculous,” you said, setting your phone down and slipping under the blanket with him, pressing into his side. “I love it. I love this.”
He didn’t answer immediately. He never needed to. He just wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer, letting you bury your face into his chest. You sighed contentedly. “Mm, perfect,” you murmured. “You smell like coffee and music. And… Yoongi.”
“I smell like me,” he deadpanned, but there was a quiet softness in his tone. You pressed a kiss to his chest anyway.
“I’m serious,” you whispered. “I could stay like this forever.”
“Mm,” he hummed, as if agreeing, but in that minimal way he always did—never theatrical, never overstated, just… quietly letting you know he was exactly where he wanted to be.
The morning stretched luxuriously. You rambled about work deadlines, small annoyances, funny things that happened on the bus. He listened, sometimes humming a low note, sometimes muttering a dry, teasing comment, but mostly just letting you talk. You could tell he loved every second of it, even if he never said it outright.
“You do know you’re ridiculous, right?” he murmured finally, threading a hand through your hair, tugging gently at the strands.
“I know,” you said, grinning up at him. “And you love it.”
“I tolerate it,” he said with mock seriousness, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Barely.”
“Mm-hmm,” you said, snuggling closer. “Sure, Yoongi. Barely.” You wrapped your arms around him, letting him feel your warmth. “This… us… it’s perfect.”
He didn’t argue. He never did when it came to moments like this. He just held you a little tighter, pressed his cheek against the top of your head, and let the quiet, safe intimacy fill the space.
By mid-morning, the city had fully stirred. Yoongi had rolled out of bed to check emails for a new track he was producing, and you had your laptop open, reviewing reports. But every so often, your eyes would drift to him, watching him work with focused intensity, tapping lightly on the keys, his headphones still around his neck, lips pressed in that line of concentration you loved.
“You’re hopeless,” you said, smiling. “You’ve been sitting there for fifteen minutes staring at that beat like it’s going to answer your questions for you.”
“I like it when it’s quiet,” he replied, glancing at you with that casual, unreadable expression. “Helps me focus.”
“You mean it helps you watch me scroll through my spreadsheets in peace,” you said with a teasing nudge, crawling back into his lap with a grin. “You love it.”
“Mm,” he hummed, settling you there, one hand sliding to your back to hold you steady. “I tolerate it.”
“Mm-hmm,” you echoed, resting your head on his shoulder. “Sure, Yoongi. Barely.”
And then, for a long while, there was just the two of you, sunlight spilling through the blinds, the hum of the city below fading into the background, your hands intertwined, his arm around you, your warmth pressed against his chest. Words weren’t necessary; everything that had been unsaid for years now lived here, in the quiet certainty of your closeness.
Later, you fell asleep like that, tangled together on the couch, the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath your ear, the faint rhythm of a song he had hummed hours ago threading through your dreams.
It was home. It always had been.
And this time, you both knew, whatever the world threw at you, whatever work deadlines or late nights or fleeting moments of doubt, you had each other. Always.
Even when you rambled endlessly, even when life demanded more than you had to give, you had found the quiet, unshakable truth: together, you were perfect.
And that was enough.
End.
A/N: This one-shot has been sitting in my drafts for what feels like forever, and I finally decided to polish it up and share it with you all. I hope you enjoy it, even though it’s short. Sometimes the smallest moments carry the biggest feelings.
If you’d like to support my writing and help me create more stories like this, you can do so on Ko-fi, it would mean the world to me!🤍
Genre : Slow Burn | Friends to Lovers | Unspoken Love | Slice of Life • Soft Angst
Summary: You thought love was somewhere else, until you realized it had been patiently waiting, hidden in the person who never left your side.
The classroom smelled like pencil shavings and floor cleaner that hadn’t fully dried. Chairs scraped against the floor as children rushed to sit beside friends they already knew, voices loud and careless, laughter bouncing off walls still unfamiliar to you. You stood there for a moment, backpack heavy on your shoulders, fingers tightening around the straps.
Every seat was filling quickly. Clusters of kids leaned toward each other, already forming small worlds. Whispers. Inside jokes. Names called across the room like they mattered more than anything else.
Except for one seat. It was by the window. Empty. Quiet. The boy sitting beside it didn’t look up. His desk was neat but lived in. A notebook lay open, filled edge to edge with messy handwriting and tiny doodles drawn in the margins. Music notes. Little squares shaded in until the pencil nearly tore the page. His hair fell into his eyes, like he didn’t bother checking the mirror before leaving home. He looked tired in a way that didn’t belong to a kid his age, shoulders slightly hunched, as if he was already used to shrinking himself.
You hesitated. You could choose a louder table. Somewhere safer. Somewhere you wouldn’t feel like an interruption. Instead, you walked toward the window. The chair scraped softly when you pulled it out. The sound made him glance up, eyes dark and curious, but not startled. Just… observing.
“Hi,” you said, voice smaller than you meant it to be.
He stared at you for half a second longer than necessary, then nodded once. “Hi.”
That was it. No smile. No question. But he shifted his pencil to the other side of the desk, just enough to make space.
You sat.
Outside, the trees swayed in the breeze, leaves brushing against the glass like they were trying to listen in. The teacher hadn’t arrived yet. The room buzzed with restless energy. You tried not to fidget.
After a few minutes, you noticed him reaching into his bag. He pulled out a snack, neatly wrapped, already broken in half. Without looking at you, he placed one half on the edge of your desk and nudged it closer.
You blinked. “For me?”
He shrugged, eyes still on his notebook. “You didn’t bring one.”
“How do you know?”
“You kept checking your bag like you forgot something.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself. It slipped out easily, surprising you both. “You’re observant.”
He paused his writing. “My grandma says I notice useless things.”
“That doesn’t sound useless.”
He considered that. Then quietly, “She says that too.”
You unwrapped the snack. It tasted sweeter than it probably was. “I’m Y N,” you said, crumbs brushing your fingers.
“Yoongi.”
Just Yoongi. No last name. No explanation.
The teacher walked in then, clapping her hands, calling for attention. You both turned forward at the same time, shoulders almost touching. Not quite. But close enough that you were aware of the warmth there.
Throughout the lesson, you noticed things. The way Yoongi wrote everything down, even instructions everyone else ignored. The way he hummed under his breath when he finished early, barely loud enough to hear. The way he slid his eraser toward you when your pencil snapped and rolled onto the floor.
You whispered, “Thanks.”
He whispered back, “You’re welcome.”
At recess, you expected him to leave. Quiet kids always disappeared like that. Instead, he lingered by the doorway, tying his shoelace far too carefully.
“You don’t have to stay,” you said. “I mean, if your friends are outside.”
He looked up. “I don’t really have friends yet.”
“Oh.”
The word felt heavier than it should have. “Well,” you said, heart beating strangely fast, “you can sit with me.”
He nodded. Again. Always that small, thoughtful nod.
On the playground, you shared stories between bites of another snack he brought. He told you about his piano at home, how some keys stuck if you pressed them too hard. You told him about how you moved here because your mom said this place would be better.
“Do you like it here?” he asked.
You thought about the classroom, the empty seat, the way the sun hit his desk. “I think I will,” you said.
Years later, you would forget the name of your first teacher. You would forget the lesson that day, the homework, the bell schedule.
But you would remember this.
The quiet boy by the window. The snack split cleanly in half. The feeling of sitting down and knowing, without knowing why, that you had chosen right.
By the time high school became a conversation, it already felt decided. You and Yoongi walked home the same way you always did, backpacks slung low, shoes scuffing the cracked sidewalk. The neighborhood had changed a little. New convenience store on the corner. The old bakery boarded up. But the route stayed the same, and so did the rhythm of your conversations. Easy. Familiar. Like a song you didn’t need to think about anymore.
You kicked a pebble ahead of you. It bounced once, then disappeared into the gutter. “They gave us the application forms today,” you said, casual, like it was nothing. “For high school.”
Yoongi hummed. He always did that when he was listening closely.
“My mom keeps talking about Sunhwa High,” you continued. “She says it’s closer to her work. Easier commute.”
He stopped walking. You took two more steps before noticing. Turned back. “You okay?”
He stood there, staring at the ground like he had dropped something important and was trying to remember where it fell. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Sunhwa, huh.”
You nodded. “I think I’ll apply there.”
The wind picked up, lifting the hem of his hoodie. You didn’t know that he had already chosen a school months ago. That the brochure was tucked into his drawer. That he had circled the music program with a pencil pressed so hard it left marks on the next page. He had known where he was going until you spoke.
“That’s good,” he said, finally starting to walk again. His voice was even. Unbothered. “I heard it’s a decent school.”
“You did?” you asked, surprised. “I didn’t know you were looking into it.”
“I wasn’t,” he said. Then corrected himself softly. “I mean, not really.”
You laughed. “You’re so weird sometimes.”
He smiled like he liked being called that by you.
The next few days passed in a blur of classes and deadlines and whispered conversations about who was going where. At lunch, friends compared acceptance chances like it was a competition. You listened, nodded, but never felt the urgency they did.
Wherever you went, Yoongi would be there. That part felt obvious, Certain. One afternoon, you found him in the music room, fingers resting on the piano keys without pressing them down. Sunlight spilled across the floor, dust floating in the air. He looked up when you entered, eyes softening in a way that always felt private. “Do you ever think about leaving?” you asked, sitting beside him on the bench.
“Leaving where?”
“Here,” you said. “This town. Everyone says high school is where things change.”
“They always say that,” he replied. “Things change anyway.”
You leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Promise we won’t get weird.”
He frowned. “We’re already weird.”
“No,” you said. “I mean… promise we won’t drift.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he played a single note. Low. Steady.
“I don’t drift,” he said. “I stay.”
The day acceptance letters arrived, you tore yours open at the kitchen table, hands shaking more from excitement than fear.
Sunhwa High School.
You grinned so wide your cheeks hurt. You ran all the way to Yoongi’s place, shoes slapping against the pavement, heart racing like you were late for something important. He opened the door with his hair still damp, acceptance letter already folded neatly in his pocket. “You got in,” he said before you could speak.
“How did you know?”
“You’re smiling like that,” he replied. “It’s obvious.”
You waved the letter in his face. “We’re going to the same school.”
He nodded, like it had been expected. Like it had never been a question. “That’s good,” he said again.
Later that night, alone in his room, Yoongi took out the other letter. The one from the school he had chosen first. The one with the program he dreamed about when no one was watching. He folded it carefully and slid it into the back of his wallet. Not as a regret. Not as a sacrifice.
As proof.
Proof that some choices are made quietly. That some futures are rewritten without ceremony. That loving someone sometimes looks like changing direction before they ever know you were headed somewhere else.
At Sunhwa High, you walked through the gates together on the first day. New uniforms. New faces. Same steps. You glanced at him and said, smiling, “I’m glad we did this.”
He looked at you like he had known that all along.“Me too,” he said.
And he meant more than you understood.
College did not arrive gently. It came with deadlines taped to dorm walls, alarm clocks ringing too early, and the constant hum of exhaustion that never quite went away. Your world shrank into lecture halls, convenience stores, and Yoongi’s tiny off campus apartment that smelled like instant noodles and old notebooks. You spent more nights there than anywhere else.
His place was small. One room pretending to be two. A couch that sank in the middle. A desk cluttered with papers and cables and a secondhand keyboard that barely fit against the wall. There was always music playing softly, unfinished tracks looping in the background like they were thinking things through.
You kicked off your shoes at the door without asking. “Did you eat?” Yoongi asked from the kitchen, already boiling water.
“I had coffee,” you replied.
“That’s not food.”
“It’s emotional support.”
He snorted. “You’re going to pass out one day.”
“You’ll catch me.”
The words came out easy. Too easy. You didn’t look at him when you said it. He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth lifted as he dropped two blocks of ramen into the pot.
You sat on the floor, back against the couch, spreading your notes around you like you were building a small fortress. Outside, the city glowed through the window, neon signs blinking like tired eyes refusing to close. “So,” you said, flipping through a textbook. “If I fail this midterm, please tell my mom I tried.”
“I’ll lie,” he said. “Convincingly.”
“You always do.”
He brought the bowls over, steam rising between you. You ate cross legged, knees brushing, shoulders occasionally bumping when you reached for the same thing. These small collisions felt normal now. Expected. Like gravity.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” you said after a while. “More than usual.”
“I’m always quiet.”
“No,” you replied. “This is different. This is thinking quiet.”
He hesitated. You knew that pause well. The one where he decided whether or not to let you in.
“I’m writing more,” he said finally.
“Lyrics?”
“Yeah.”
You looked up at him, eyes bright. “Can I hear?”
He groaned. “They’re bad.”
“You say that every time.”
“And every time I’m right.”
“Yoongi,” you said, dragging his name out until it sounded like a complaint. “I’ve heard you hum songs while brushing your teeth. I think I can survive this.”
He stared at the table, fingers tapping softly against the bowl. “You’re not supposed to hear them yet,” he muttered.
“Why not?”
“Because,” he said, then stopped. Shook his head. “Just because.”
That answer didn’t satisfy you, but you didn’t push. Instead, you leaned back against the couch and closed your eyes. “Play me something someday,” you said softly. “Even if it’s unfinished.”
He looked at you then. Like he was memorizing the way your face softened when you trusted him.“Okay,” he said. “Someday.”
Nights blurred together after that.
You fell asleep on his couch more times than you could count, waking to the sound of keys tapping under careful fingers. Sometimes he thought you were still asleep when you opened your eyes and saw him working, hunched over his desk, headphones on, lost somewhere else.
Once, you whispered, “You look like you belong there.”
He pulled one earcup off. “Where?”
“In your own world.”
He smiled tiredly. “It’s quieter there.”
“Is there room for me?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“There always has been,” he said.
Midterms came and went. Finals loomed. Stress lived under your skin, buzzing constantly. One night, overwhelmed and frustrated, you threw your pen down. “I hate this,” you said. “I don’t even know why I’m here sometimes.”
Yoongi turned his chair to face you. “You’re here because you care.”
The room went quiet. You met his eyes. For a second, the space between you felt heavier than usual. Charged. Like a sentence waiting to be finished. “You’re always saying the right thing,” you said quietly.
He shrugged. “Someone has to.”
“Do you ever get tired of me complaining?”
He laughed, short and surprised. “No.”
“Ever?”
“No,” he repeated. “I like listening.”
“Why?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Laughed instead, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re funny,” he said. “You say weird things.”
You smiled, but something settled low in your chest. An almost. A question left untouched.
That night, you sat beside him on the couch, sharing one pair of earphones as he played you a rough demo. No words yet. Just melody. Slow. Familiar. Comforting. “This one feels like home,” you said.
He swallowed. “Yeah.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder without thinking. He froze for half a second, then relaxed, warmth seeping through the fabric of his hoodie. “You always do this,” he murmured.
“Do what?”
“Make things feel… manageable.”
You tilted your head to look at him. “You do that for me too.”
Your faces were close. Close enough to notice the tiny scar near his eyebrow. Close enough to feel his breath shift. Then you laughed, breaking it without meaning to. “Wow. We’re exhausted.”
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “We should sleep.”
You didn’t move right away. Neither did he.
Eventually, you stood, grabbed your bag, and headed for the door. “Goodnight, Yoongi.”
“Goodnight,” he replied.
After you left, he sat back down and opened a new file on his laptop. He didn’t name it after you.
He named it after the feeling you left behind.
Adulthood did not arrive with fireworks. It came with an email subject line that read Congratulations, with an office that smelled like printer ink and burnt coffee, with a desk that was yours and somehow already exhausting. You learned how to smile through meetings, how to nod while someone explained things you already knew, how to keep your voice steady even when you felt like you were pretending. Your mornings filled with alarms and pressed clothes. Your nights ended with tired feet and takeout eaten over the sink.
Yoongi’s days looked nothing like yours. He slept when the city was loud and worked when it quieted down. His studio was a converted room that always felt a little too small for his ambition. Cables sprawled across the floor like veins. Coffee cups stacked beside the monitor. Music lived there in pieces, half written thoughts layered on top of each other. Different routines. Same pull.
The first thing you did after your first full day at work was text him.
Y/N: I survived. Barely.
Yoongi: Proud of you.
Y/N: I wore heels. Never again.
Yoongi: Liar. You’ll wear them tomorrow.
You smiled at your phone on the bus ride home, city lights streaking past the window. You didn’t tell him how your hands shook before your presentation. He didn’t tell you how many rejections he’d gotten that week. Some things stayed unsaid to keep the other breathing easier.
You still ended up at his studio most nights. Sometimes still in office clothes, hair tied up loosely, shoes kicked aside at the door like you’d never left. “You’re early,” he said one evening, glancing at the clock.
“I escaped,” you replied, dropping onto the couch. “They tried to schedule a meeting that could have been an email.”
“Corporate life is already corrupting you.”
“You love it.”
He brought you a drink without asking. You watched him move around the room, comfortable, certain, like this space answered to him in a way the office never answered to you.
“You look tired,” he said.
“So do you.”
He shrugged. “That’s permanent.”
You talked about everything and nothing. Office gossip. The intern who kept stealing lunches. A producer who told Yoongi his sound was too quiet. Too sad. Not marketable enough.
“What did you say?” you asked.
“I said okay.”
“That’s it?”
He shrugged again. “They don’t hear it yet.”
“You will make them hear it,” you said without hesitation.
He looked at you like you had placed something solid in his hands.
There were nights when you arrived angry, voice sharp with frustration, words tumbling out too fast. He listened from his chair, hands folded, eyes steady.
There were nights when you arrived quiet, sinking into the couch, staring at nothing. He didn’t fill those silences. He let them exist.
Late at night, when the city outside thinned into something quieter, you sat on the studio floor with your back against the couch while he worked. He played you new tracks sometimes. Short pieces. Unfinished thoughts. “Does this one make sense?” he asked once.
“It feels lonely,” you said. “But not in a bad way.”
He nodded. “That’s what I was going for.”
You didn’t realize then that he wrote best after you left. That your presence settled something in him. That when the door closed behind you, he filled the space with sound because silence felt too loud.
One night, you texted him first, fingers moving before you could think.
Y/N: I got the promotion.
Your phone rang immediately.
“Hey,” he said, voice warm. “I knew you would.”
You leaned against your kitchen counter, smiling. “You didn’t even let me finish typing.”
“I didn’t need to.”
Another night, weeks later.
Y/N: Today sucked.
He replied with a pin drop location. You went. You sat together in the dim studio, knees touching, not speaking for a long time. “You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he said eventually.
“I know,” you whispered. “I just forget.”
“You don’t with me.”
The realization settled slowly. You lived different lives now. Woke up to different alarms. Chased different futures. Yet when something good happened, he was the first to know. When something awful happened, he was where you landed. Same gravity. No matter how far the days stretched you apart.
You arrive at the same time every evening. Six forty five. Sometimes a little later if traffic is cruel. Sometimes earlier if you leave work angry enough to flee. The elevator ride up is muscle memory now. Third floor. Left turn. Door with the dent near the handle that Yoongi keeps saying he will fix someday. You knock once and let yourself in.
“Yoongi,” you call out, already kicking off your shoes.
“In here,” he replies, voice calm, familiar, threaded through the low hum of equipment.
The studio smells like coffee that’s been reheated too many times and the faint sweetness of your hand lotion, the one you leave behind without realizing it. Your mug sits on the desk beside his keyboard. The one with the fading print. You don’t remember when it became yours. It just did. You drop your bag by the couch and sink into it like gravity has finally loosened its grip.
“I swear,” you say, staring at the ceiling, “if one more person emails me asking for something that was already explained in the meeting, I’m going to fake my own disappearance.”
Yoongi spins slowly in his chair, facing you. “You can’t,” he says. “They’d still email.”
You laugh. It comes out tired but real. “And get this,” you continue, propping yourself up on your elbows, “guess who messaged me today.”
He raises an eyebrow. That is all the encouragement you need.
“My ex.”
He stops spinning.
“Oh.”
“That’s it?” you ask. “No commentary?”
He shrugs. “I’m listening.”
You roll onto your side, facing him. “He asked if I’ve been thinking about him.”
Yoongi leans back in his chair, eyes flicking briefly to the ceiling.
“And have you?”
“No,” you say immediately. Then softer, “Well. Not until he texted.”
Yoongi nods like that makes sense. Like it doesn’t press somewhere uncomfortable in his chest.“What did you say?” he asks.
“I said I hope he’s doing well,” you reply. “Which is polite but also a lie.”
“That’s growth,” he says.
You smile. “I learned from the best.”
He snorts. “I’m terrible at confrontation.”
“You’re excellent at avoidance,” you correct.
“Selective silence,” he says. “It’s an art.”
You sit up, stretching your arms over your head. Your blazer slips off your shoulders. Yoongi looks away just in time. “I’m so tired,” you say. “I don’t even know what I want anymore. Everyone keeps asking if I’m dating. If I’m looking. Like it’s a deadline.”
“You don’t owe anyone answers,” he says.
“Sometimes it feels like I do,” you reply. “Like if I don’t figure it out soon, I’ll miss something.”
He swivels his chair toward his desk, fiddling with a knob that doesn’t need adjusting. “People act like love is a schedule,” he says. “It’s not.”
You watch him, the familiar slope of his shoulders, the way his hands move with certainty even when his thoughts don’t.
“You always say the right things,” you murmur.
“I say what I think,” he replies. “There’s a difference.”
Silence settles in, comfortable and practiced. Outside, the city breathes. Cars pass. A siren fades into the distance. You pull your legs up onto the couch. “Do you ever get lonely?”
He freezes for a fraction of a second. Not enough that you notice. Enough that he does.“Sometimes,” he says carefully.
“Why don’t you date more?” you ask. “You could. People would line up.”
He laughs quietly. “That sounds exhausting.”
“You don’t even try.”
“I’m busy.”
“With what?”
He turns to face you again, expression unreadable. “This.”
You gesture around the room. “And me?”
He answers without thinking. “You’re not work.”
The words land between you, heavier than they sound.
You blink. “What am I, then?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Spins his chair once, then stops.
“You’re… here,” he says. “You always are.”
Later, he plays you a track he’s been working on. No lyrics yet. Just sound. You listen with your eyes closed, letting it wash over you. “This one feels like sitting in a room with someone you don’t have to impress,” you say.
He stares at you. “That’s exactly what it is.”
You smile, unaware of what you’ve just done to him.
Your phone buzzes. A message from a coworker. Then another from the same ex. You groan and toss it aside. “I’m ignoring that,” you declare.
“Good,” Yoongi says. “They don’t deserve your energy.”
“You say that like you’re protective.”
“I am,” he replies easily. Too easily.
You look at him then. The way his gaze softens when it lands on you. The way he never checks the time when you’re here.
“You know,” you say lightly, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in love with me.”
The room goes quiet. Yoongi laughs. It’s quick. Almost convincing. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says. “You leave dishes in my sink.”
You grin. “That’s intimacy.”
“That’s disrespect.”
You stand, grabbing your bag. “I should go. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“I know,” he says.
At the door, you pause. “Hey, Yoongi.”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for listening.”
He watches you like the room is already emptier.
“Always,” he says.
After you leave, he sits in the silence. The chair still. The music paused. Your words echoing louder than any track. He opens a new file. He doesn’t name it after you. He never does.
The studio sounds different after midnight. The city outside thins out, noise retreating into distant echoes. Neon lights flicker without urgency. Even the air feels slower, heavier, like it knows better than to rush him. Yoongi sits alone at his desk, hoodie pulled close, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The chair creaks when he leans back, then forward again. A cup of coffee sits untouched to his left, gone cold hours ago.
You left earlier than usual tonight. You always say goodbye the same way. A soft knock on the desk. A smile that lingers just long enough to stay with him after the door closes.
“I’ll text you when I get home.”
You always do.
Your message is still on his phone.
Y/N: home. thanks for letting me complain again. sleep, okay?
He didn’t reply right away. He never does when he’s about to work. The room hums as he presses record.
He doesn’t start with lyrics. Words come later, once the sound has already decided where it wants to go. He plays slowly, letting the notes find their places. Familiar chords. Ones his hands know without instruction.
It happens without warning. A melody settles in, gentle and steady. It feels like walking beside someone you’ve known your whole life. No need to speak. No need to rush. Yoongi exhales softly.
“Okay,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”
He lets it loop. Again. Again. Adjusts a note. Lowers the tempo. Adds a layer that sounds like warmth pressed into sound. Only then does he open the notebook. It’s worn. Pages curled at the edges. The spine cracked in places that tell their own story. This notebook has never left the studio. This notebook has never been shared.
He flips to a blank page. The pen hesitates. Then moves.
You know my home better than I do,
Leave your shoes, like you’re never leaving too
He stops.
Shakes his head. Crosses the lines out gently, like he’s apologizing to them.
“Too obvious,” he says to the empty room. He tries again.
You sit in silence, claiming it as your own,
Like the hush around you whispers your name alone
His throat tightens. He leans back, rubbing his eyes. “Get it together,” he mutters.
He records another take. This time humming softly over the track, voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until it fades.
Between recordings, he scrolls through older files. Folders labeled with dates. Not anniversaries. Not milestones anyone else would recognize. Just moments.
The night you fell asleep on his couch after crying about your first job rejection. The evening you brought takeout and stayed until sunrise talking about nothing. The day you laughed so hard in his studio that he forgot what he was working on. He names the new file after tonight. A date you will forget by morning.
“You’ll never hear this,” he says aloud. “That’s probably for the best.”
He records lyrics this time. His voice is rough around the edges, tired but honest.
The silence knows, it breathes your name,
Every heartbeat burns, every pulse aflame.
If being yours is fire, then let me burn,
I’ve been yours before I could ever return.
He stops abruptly. His hands drop to his lap “That’s not fair,” he says quietly. “You didn’t ask for this.”
He stands and paces the room. Steps careful, practiced. He’s done this a hundred times. Writes. Records. Pulls back. He checks his phone. Another message from you.
Y/N: did I leave my charger there?
He smiles despite himself.
Yoongi: yeah. I’ll keep it safe.
Y/N: of course you will. goodnight, yoongi.
He stares at your name on the screen longer than necessary. “Goodnight,” he whispers back, even though you can’t hear him.
He sits down again. Records another version. This one softer. Almost shy.
If you ever hear me, just look away,
Let it drift like a tune in the light of day.
Some truths are better left unclaimed,
Like the quiet love for you that can’t be framed.
When he finishes, he doesn’t listen back right away. He saves the file. Folds the notebook closed. The studio is quiet again.
He leans back in his chair, eyes closed, letting the silence settle around him. Loving you has never felt like a choice. It feels like a fact he learned early and never questioned.
He checks the time. Too late or too early. Tomorrow, you’ll show up again. Six forty five. Complaints. Laughter. That familiar comfort. You’ll never know what lived here after you left. And for now, that feels safer.
You don’t plan to say it. It slips out the way most truths do. Casually. Wrapped in the safety of routine. You arrive at the studio like you always do, shoes by the door, bag on the couch, your presence folding into the room as if it belongs there.
Yoongi swivels his chair when he hears you “You’re late,” he says.
“Traffic,” you reply, rolling your shoulders. “And I stopped to get iced coffee. They messed up my order again.”
He hums. “They always do.”
You sit cross legged on the floor, leaning back against the couch. He goes back to adjusting levels, the soft glow of the screen lighting his face. For a while, you talk about nothing. A meeting that went on too long. A coworker who takes credit too easily. The way adulthood keeps asking for more than it gives. Then you say it.
“There’s this guy at work.”
Yoongi’s hand stills on the mouse just for a moment.
Then he spins his chair toward you. Calm. Interested. Exactly the way he always listens “Yeah?” he says.
You nod. “He’s… nice. We’ve been talking. Nothing serious.”
“Do you like him?”
You tilt your head, considering. “I don’t know yet. Maybe. I think I could.”
Yoongi leans back, folding his arms. His face gives nothing away. “That’s good,” he says. “You deserve someone nice.”
You smile, relieved by his reaction. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
You talk more after that. About how the guy brings you coffee. How he listens when you rant. How it feels easy. Comfortable. Yoongi nods in the right places. Asks the right questions.
“What’s his name?”
“What does he do?”
“Did he ask you out?”
“Not yet,” you say. “But I think he might.”
You hesitate, then add, “What do you think?”
The room feels smaller somehow.
Yoongi answers without missing a beat. “If you want to go, you should.”
“You wouldn’t be weird about it?” you ask lightly.
He smiles. “Why would I be?”
You laugh. “I don’t know. You’re… you.”
“That’s exactly why,” he replies.
The conversation moves on. You don’t notice how his fingers curl into his palm. You don’t notice how the music playing in the background has stopped. When you leave that night, you hug him. A quick squeeze. Familiar. “Thanks,” you say. “For listening.”
“Anytime,” he says.
The door closes behind you. The studio feels too quiet. Yoongi doesn’t move for a long time. He sits there, staring at the screen, your words replaying themselves in his head like a chorus he didn’t ask for.
There’s this guy.
He’s nice.
I think I could like him.
He opens the project he was working on earlier. The file loads slowly. The waveform fills the screen. He presses play.
Your song.
He knows it the second it starts. The melody that feels like late nights and shared silence. The one that never quite found its ending. He listens all the way through. Doesn’t touch a thing.
Then he stops it. “This isn’t yours anymore,” he says quietly.
His cursor hovers over the file name. A date. A night you don’t remember. A feeling you never knew he kept. Delete.
The confirmation box pops up. He doesn’t hesitate. The screen goes blank.
Yoongi leans back in his chair, eyes closing. The ache doesn’t arrive all at once. It spreads slowly. Settles in places he knows too well. He picks up his phone. Types. Deletes. Types again.
Yoongi: let me know how it goes.
He stares at the message, then sends it before he can rethink it. A few seconds later, your reply appears.
Y/N: you’re the best, you know that?
He exhales a soft laugh that doesn’t quite sound like one. “Yeah,” he murmurs to the empty room. “I know.”
He turns back to his desk. Opens a new project. Starts again. Outside, the city keeps moving. Tomorrow, you’ll come back. You always do. And he will listen like he always has.
It happens slowly enough that neither of you can point to the exact moment things change. You still text Yoongi first when something small happens. A meme. A complaint. A picture of a bad lunch. But the replies take longer now. Not because he doesn’t care. Because you are busy. Because he is always working. Because life has learned how to slip between the cracks of what used to be constant.
Your visits to the studio stop being automatic. Once a week turns into once every two. Then sometimes not at all. You mean to go. You always do. But dinners stretch late. Conversations linger. The guy from work walks you home and asks about your day in a way that feels attentive and easy.
Yoongi notices the empty hours first. Six forty five comes and goes. The studio door stays closed. Your shoes are not by the wall. Your mug stays untouched on the desk, dust settling slowly along the rim. He checks his phone. Nothing.
He tells himself it’s fine. That this is how things are supposed to go. That people grow into different shapes and schedules. That he knew this day would come.
The music gets louder. He works through the night, headphones pressed tight, fingers moving faster than his thoughts. Track after track. Beat after beat. If he keeps the sound full enough, there’s no room for the quiet.
Producers start calling more. Labels show interest. Opportunities line up one after another.
“You’ve been on fire lately,” someone tells him.
He nods. Says thanks. Goes back to work.
At home, you sit across from someone else at dinner, laughing at a story you half hear. Your phone lights up on the table.
Yoongi: you okay?
You hesitate before replying.
Y/N: yeah. just busy lately. how are you?
Three dots appear. Then disappear.
Yoongi: same.
It’s true. Just not in the way you mean.
The song happens one night when he hasn’t slept in almost two days. He’s tired in a way that feels hollow. His hands move without asking permission. A melody settles in, quiet at first, then certain. He doesn’t think about you while he writes it. That’s what scares him later. The lyrics come out clean. Simple. About waiting. About watching someone drift just far enough that you start to wonder if they’ll come back on their own.
He records it in one take. Doesn’t touch it again. The song goes live a week later. Then another. Then another.
You hear about it through a coworker first. “Isn’t that your friend?” she asks, holding up her phone. “The producer guy?”
You glance at the screen. His name. The song climbing charts. “Yeah,” you say softly. “That’s him.”
You text him that night.
Y/N: congrats. i heard the new track is everywhere.
He replies almost immediately.
Yoongi: thanks.
Nothing else.
You tell yourself it’s fine. He’s busy. He’s always been busy.
The night you hear it on the radio, you’re alone in your apartment. Shoes off. Lights low. Dinner cooling on the counter. You turn the dial absently, static cutting through the silence. Then the song comes on. You freeze. It’s not loud. It doesn’t ask for attention. It settles into the room like it knows where to sit. The melody wraps around you slowly, familiar in a way you can’t explain.
The lyrics land softly.
About knowing someone’s footsteps. About leaving the light on. About loving someone quietly enough that they never notice.
You sit on the floor, back against the couch, listening all the way through. By the time it ends, your chest feels full in a way that hurts. “That sounds like me,” you whisper to no one.
Fans dissect it online. Call it poetic. Call it universal. Call it genius. You close the app before they can say more. You don’t text him that night.
When you finally return to the studio days later, the room looks the same and completely different. New equipment. New awards leaning against the wall. Your mug still on the desk. He looks up when you enter.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” you reply.
There’s a beat of uncertainty between you. Small. Noticeable. “You’ve been busy,” you say.
“So have you.” You nod. Sit down. The couch feels less like it’s waiting for you now.
“That song,” you say carefully. “The one on the radio.”
“Yeah?”
“It feels… personal.”
Yoongi looks at his screen. Then back at you “Most songs are,” he says.
You want to ask more. Instead, you smile. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
The silence that follows stretches longer than it ever has before. For the first time, you wonder if coming back here will ever feel the same. For the first time, Yoongi wonders how much more distance he can survive.
Weeks had passed since you last went to Yoongi’s studio. Weeks in which you tried to convince yourself that the lyrics of his song, the one you’d heard on the radio, were just words. Music. Not him. But no matter how much you tried, it lingered in your chest, the melody wrapping itself around your ribs, the words playing softly behind your eyelids when you closed them at night.
You had stopped seeing the guy from work. At first, you had thought you’d like the idea of someone new, someone who could distract you, someone easy. But personalities clashed, interests drifted apart, and the more you tried to force it, the more you felt your mind wandering back to him. Yoongi. The way he made silence feel warm. The way he listened without comment. The way he always knew when you needed him, even without asking. The guilt of your absence weighed on you, and so one night, when the city outside your window had softened into quiet, you typed.
Y/N: Yoongi… are you still awake?
A moment later, his reply:
Yoongi: Working.
You hesitated, heart hammering. Then you typed again:
Y/N: Can I come?
He answered almost immediately, blunt and cautious.
Yoongi: You never ask to come before. Why now?
You froze for a moment, fingers tightening around your keys. Then you slipped into a cardigan, grabbed your bag, and walked through the streets toward the studio. Every step was heavy, every shadow on the pavement a reminder of how much time had passed.
When you opened the studio door, he was at his computer, headphones hanging loosely around his neck, absorbed in a track that pulsed faintly in the background. The glow from the monitor painted his face in muted blue light. You froze, unsure if you even belonged here anymore, unsure if the air between you could hold all the words you’d buried. He hummed softly when he saw you, a quiet acknowledgment. No words, no lecture, just the sound you had loved for years. You sank onto the familiar couch, curling slightly into yourself, letting the safety of routine cradle your nerves. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then you finally forced the words out, trembling slightly:
“I… I ended things with him.”
His fingers froze mid-press on the keyboard. He didn’t turn to look at you, only waited.
“It… it just didn’t feel right. We… we weren’t right for each other. And I kept thinking about—you.”
You trailed off, words failing, memories of laughter and late-night conversations filling the space between you.
He finally turned his chair, eyes heavy, tired, but soft. “I see,” he said, voice quiet, careful.
You took a deep breath, heart tightening. “Yoongi… why did you stop texting me? Why did you… pull away?”
He looked at you for a long moment. “I didn’t want to be a distraction,” he said finally, voice low, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to interfere with… whatever you were starting. I thought giving you space was the right thing.”
Your chest ached. “The right thing?” you asked, voice trembling with hurt and anger. “Do you know how that felt? To be left wondering why the person who’s always been here… suddenly wasn’t?”
“I thought it was protection,” he said. “For you. For us.”
“Protection?” you scoffed, tears forming. “It felt like abandonment!”
Your voice cracked, frustration and years of unsaid words pouring out. “Do you know how unfair that is? To let me drift like I didn’t matter?”
He flinched at the sharpness of your words, as if each one landed in him like a physical blow. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood, moving toward you. His voice was low, trembling, but filled with a weight you’d never heard before:“You have no idea how much it hurt me to watch you drift away.”
The tears spilled freely now. “Then why didn’t you say anything?! Why did you wait until—until now?!”
His lips trembled. “I was scared! Scared of ruining what we have. Scared of losing you.”
You sobbed, voice breaking, your chest heaving. “All this time… all these years… and you never trusted me with it? You just… held it?”
“Yes,” he admitted, voice cracking under the weight of the confession. “Every song, every night, every time you left my studio… I wrote things down. I remember every detail of you, the way you sit on this couch, the sound of your laughter, the way your hair falls across your face. I check the clock at 6:45 because I know that’s when you come. I’ve missed you when everything stops, when you weren’t here… but I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t. I thought if I did, I’d ruin the only thing that’s kept me alive all these years—us.”
You shook, sobbing into your hands. The ache, the betrayal, the love he’d kept so carefully, it all hit at once. “Yoongi…” you whispered, barely audible.
“I love you,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ve loved you quietly, patiently, endlessly. Every word, every song, every moment I stayed silent was because I thought it was the only way to keep you safe… and to keep myself from losing you.”
The tears streamed freely now, hot and relentless. “All this time…” you murmured, voice cracking. “All this time, I was… missing you.”
He whispered, voice breaking. “And I’ve missed you. Every day, every hour, every night.”
You both sank onto the couch together, the years of quiet longing, missed chances, and restrained love crashing around you. He held you, gently, carefully, as if afraid you might vanish if he gripped too tightly. You sobbed into his chest, letting all the hurt, confusion, and longing pour out.
“You were here… all along,” you said finally, voice trembling against his shoulder. “And I didn’t see it. I didn’t know.”
“And you still don’t,” he said softly. “Not fully. But I’m here now. Always.”
For the first time, you understood everything—the songs, the hums, the quiet presence, the patience, the love that had never wavered. And for the first time, the ache became something you could hold onto, not in longing, but in hope.
The studio had never felt smaller and larger at the same time. Smaller, because the air between you and Yoongi was thick with words unsaid for years, with emotions bottled up so tightly they could explode at any moment. Larger, because finally, finally, the walls could hold everything, the grief, the longing, the relief. You still sat on the familiar couch, your hands trembling in your lap. Yoongi’s hoodie smelled faintly of coffee and something warm, like him. He sat beside you, close, close enough that your shoulders brushed, close enough that your heart knew exactly where he was.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” you whispered, voice soft, broken.
“I was scared,” he admitted, voice low, almost a growl of frustration at himself. “Scared I’d ruin everything. Scared I’d lose the only person I’ve ever needed. Scared that… you wouldn’t feel the same.”
You leaned back against him, letting the warmth seep into your bones. “You’ve loved me… all this time. And I—” You broke off, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I didn’t even notice.”
His hand found yours, holding it like he was afraid it might disappear. “You were living your life,” he said softly. “I couldn’t—couldn’t make it about me. I just… stayed.”
You lifted your head slightly and looked at him. The way the studio light caught his features, soft jawline, dark hair falling over his eyes, eyes like quiet storms, made your chest tighten.
And then it happened. Slowly, as if the world had slowed down just for this moment, he leaned in. First a hesitation, a careful brush of lips, soft, tentative. A question. You answered immediately, pressing closer, hands finding his neck, fingers tangled in the soft strands of his hair. The kiss deepened, a gentle urgency threading through it, the kind that had been waiting, silently, for years. Your hearts collided in a rhythm you didn’t have to explain.
“I’ve wanted this,” he whispered between kisses, voice rough and trembling. “For years. Every time you walked in here, every laugh, every complaint, every sleepy late-night, I wanted you.”
“I—me too,” you gasped, letting the tears and longing mingle. “I just… I didn’t know.”
He smiled against your lips, a soft, broken smile that made your heart ache and swell at once. “I’ll never let you go,” he promised.
You both rose together, almost stumbling, laughter and tears mixing. The studio no longer felt like a workplace or a place of waiting. It was a home. It was where you belonged.
When you reached his bedroom, the world seemed to shrink further, isolating just the two of you. The sheets smelled faintly of him, comforting, familiar. He guided you gently onto the bed, your bodies fitting together as if no time had passed, as if the years of quiet longing had only prepared you for this moment.
He kissed you again, slowly, savoring the taste, the warmth, the closeness. His hands traced your sides, your back, memorizing every inch he had longed to hold. You felt safe, seen, wanted. Every fear, every distance melted into the quiet strength of his embrace.
“I love you,” he whispered again, as if saying it now aloud made it more real. “I’ve loved you forever.”
“I love you too,” you breathed, letting the words fill the space between your heartbeats. They mingled with the soft sighs, gentle touches, and whispered confessions that had been buried for so long. You traced his face, memorizing him, letting every second sink into your bones. No masks, no waiting, no distance, just the two of you, finally, fully, undeniably together.
Hours passed unnoticed. You laughed quietly at shared memories, you kissed slowly between sobs of relief and joy, and you held each other as if the world outside could not touch you. The night was yours. Every quiet fear, every unspoken song, every long-lost moment of almost had finally found its place.
When you finally lay in each other’s arms, skin to skin, heart to heart, you realized something profound: you had always belonged here. You were home. And he was home.
Outside, the city moved on. Inside, the two of you breathed together, letting silence stretch like a balm over years of longing, hurt, and hope. The studio no longer held unspoken words, it held love. Deep, messy, tender love that had waited patiently, fiercely, for its moment. And now, finally, it was here.
Six months had passed. The city outside yawned awake, sunlight spilling like liquid gold between the towering buildings. Inside your apartment, now a cozy little studio, the morning calm was almost complete, the faint hum of traffic barely reaching your sanctuary.
You were already up, curled in the couch with a blanket around your shoulders, phone in hand, scrolling through messages from work. Yoongi was sprawled on the bed, headphones around his neck, staring at the ceiling with his usual calm, unreadable expression, but the corners of his mouth were turned up ever so slightly, betraying that soft warmth only you could see.
“Mm,” he murmured when he sensed you looking at him, a sound that somehow made your heart skip.
“You’ve been awake this whole time, haven’t you?” you teased, your voice light, bouncing around the room like sunlight. “Or were you just pretending to sleep so you could watch me scroll in silence?”
He shrugged, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “Maybe both,” he said. Casual. And yet, the way his hand twitched toward your blanket, the tiny tilt of his head, it was tenderness hidden in plain sight.
“You’re ridiculous,” you said, setting your phone down and slipping under the blanket with him, pressing into his side. “I love it. I love this.”
He didn’t answer immediately. He never needed to. He just wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer, letting you bury your face into his chest. You sighed contentedly. “Mm, perfect,” you murmured. “You smell like coffee and music. And… Yoongi.”
“I smell like me,” he deadpanned, but there was a quiet softness in his tone. You pressed a kiss to his chest anyway.
“I’m serious,” you whispered. “I could stay like this forever.”
“Mm,” he hummed, as if agreeing, but in that minimal way he always did—never theatrical, never overstated, just… quietly letting you know he was exactly where he wanted to be.
The morning stretched luxuriously. You rambled about work deadlines, small annoyances, funny things that happened on the bus. He listened, sometimes humming a low note, sometimes muttering a dry, teasing comment, but mostly just letting you talk. You could tell he loved every second of it, even if he never said it outright.
“You do know you’re ridiculous, right?” he murmured finally, threading a hand through your hair, tugging gently at the strands.
“I know,” you said, grinning up at him. “And you love it.”
“I tolerate it,” he said with mock seriousness, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Barely.”
“Mm-hmm,” you said, snuggling closer. “Sure, Yoongi. Barely.” You wrapped your arms around him, letting him feel your warmth. “This… us… it’s perfect.”
He didn’t argue. He never did when it came to moments like this. He just held you a little tighter, pressed his cheek against the top of your head, and let the quiet, safe intimacy fill the space.
By mid-morning, the city had fully stirred. Yoongi had rolled out of bed to check emails for a new track he was producing, and you had your laptop open, reviewing reports. But every so often, your eyes would drift to him, watching him work with focused intensity, tapping lightly on the keys, his headphones still around his neck, lips pressed in that line of concentration you loved.
“You’re hopeless,” you said, smiling. “You’ve been sitting there for fifteen minutes staring at that beat like it’s going to answer your questions for you.”
“I like it when it’s quiet,” he replied, glancing at you with that casual, unreadable expression. “Helps me focus.”
“You mean it helps you watch me scroll through my spreadsheets in peace,” you said with a teasing nudge, crawling back into his lap with a grin. “You love it.”
“Mm,” he hummed, settling you there, one hand sliding to your back to hold you steady. “I tolerate it.”
“Mm-hmm,” you echoed, resting your head on his shoulder. “Sure, Yoongi. Barely.”
And then, for a long while, there was just the two of you, sunlight spilling through the blinds, the hum of the city below fading into the background, your hands intertwined, his arm around you, your warmth pressed against his chest. Words weren’t necessary; everything that had been unsaid for years now lived here, in the quiet certainty of your closeness.
Later, you fell asleep like that, tangled together on the couch, the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath your ear, the faint rhythm of a song he had hummed hours ago threading through your dreams.
It was home. It always had been.
And this time, you both knew, whatever the world threw at you, whatever work deadlines or late nights or fleeting moments of doubt, you had each other. Always.
Even when you rambled endlessly, even when life demanded more than you had to give, you had found the quiet, unshakable truth: together, you were perfect.
And that was enough.
End.
A/N: This one-shot has been sitting in my drafts for what feels like forever, and I finally decided to polish it up and share it with you all. I hope you enjoy it, even though it’s short. Sometimes the smallest moments carry the biggest feelings.
If you’d like to support my writing and help me create more stories like this, you can do so on Ko-fi, it would mean the world to me!🤍
𐃯 Summary: After your fiancé cheated on you, you seek solace at the elite Inferno club in the heart of Gangnam. There you meet a mysterious guy with tattoos, piercings, and charisma that makes you forget your pain. One night of passion, but will it end there?
𐃯 Couple: Jeon Jungkook x The Reader, Jungkook x Y/N
𐃯 Age restrictions: 18+
𐃯 Size: one shot (10 650+ k words)
𐃯 Tags: from stranger to lover, angst, smut, one-night stand to more? nsfw, tattooed jungkook, elite club, cosmopolitan cocktails, alcohol, emotional healing, flirtatious banter, spicy tension, mature themes, eating pussy, sex, unprotected sex, drunk sex
𐃯 From author: Hiii 💜 I won't say much, but I will say that I am alive and still writing. I don't think this is my best work, but the idea for the fanfic came to me while I was writing something else, as usual. The plot came easily to me, so I wrote it, but it took me almost three weeks. I also have to mention that I'm working on sequels to the series and on a one-shot about Formula 1. I hope you're still waiting. (To briefly add about my condition — girls, it's horrible 😅, but let's not dwell on it because I'm tired of whining to you 🥲)! In any case, if you like it, I'll be happy!
𐃯 Dedication: to my precious @kelsyx33! It’s my modest-immodest gift for your birthday ❤️🔥 You know I love you 💜❤️🔥 I am infinitely grateful to you for your support and love 💜🙏🏻
𐃯 Warning: This fanfic contains explicit depictions of infidelity (fiancé cheating), heavy alcohol consumption to cope with heartbreak, intense flirtation leading to potential one-night stand, and mature sexual tension. Themes include trust issues, possessiveness, and rebound intimacy. 18+ only. English is not my native language, so some sentences might sound a little off or have grammar slips. I’m doing my best—hope you still vibe with the story! 🙏🏻
The Inferno nightclub was an elite venue in the heart of Gangnam. It was frequented by wealthy and influential people who wanted to end their day in a bright and carefree manner.
As the daughter of one of the richest men in Korea, you were, of course, well aware of this place — you had heard about it many times, but had never been there. You weren't the type to disappear into clubs at night, drink to excess, or have sex with strangers. You were a girl with a prestigious job, moderate, who only drank in the company of friends and was in a relationship that had lasted several years and was supposed to end in marriage.
But now, despite everything, you were sitting at the bar at Inferno, holding your fourth Cosmopolitan in your hand. The sweet and sour taste of cranberry and vodka burned your tongue, but it barely dulled the sharp pain.
A week ago, you found out that your fiancé, with whom you had been planning your wedding in six months, had cheated on you. You accidentally saw his correspondence with a colleague, Jivon, a lawyer with whom he was working on a joint case.
You tried to justify his delays at work and frequent business trips. He talked about an extremely important client connected to the government, who was part of the president's team. But your heart stubbornly felt that something was wrong.
When you saw his candid correspondence with Jivon, you almost fainted. They discussed the details of their sex life, planned what they would try next time; she sent him detailed nude photos of herself, and he responded in kind.
It was a heavy, devastating blow for you. Although you had noticed that your intimate relationship had lost some of its passion, and that over the years you had both grown accustomed to each other, what you saw shattered your world. A part of you died in that moment. Your love for Leejin, which you had thought was eternal, seemed to evaporate in an instant.
When he came and you showed him the phone and asked how long it had been going on, he began to make pathetic excuses. Standard phrases like "It's not what you think," "I'll explain everything," and "Honey, let's talk about this calmly" were absurdly ridiculous and meaningless. You hardly heard his words because you saw what you saw, and it couldn't be anything else. Your heart was broken into a thousand pieces, and you didn't know what to do.
Instead of the family you were supposed to have in six months, you got a heart torn to pieces and trust shattered to smithereens. All you could do was leave without saying another word. It was unbearably painful to realize that the person you considered your other half and the man of your life had rejected you.
Leejin tried to get you back. His calls were like a punch in the stomach, his visits to your apartment were unbearable, and you couldn't bring yourself to forgive him. You didn't know what to do with everything that had happened. If you told your parents, your father would destroy Leejin, but you couldn't keep quiet because you couldn't marry someone who had betrayed you for so long.
Your thoughts tormented you more than Leejin's behavior, so that evening, when your friends were discussing where to go for a walk in the chat room, you were the one who suggested going to a club. You needed chaos, loud music to drown out your thoughts, and a place that was radically different from your usual world. That's how you ended up at Inferno.
You drank cocktail after cocktail, letting the warmth of the vodka spread through your body. You didn't want to find a connection, you just wanted to forget. However, despite the alcohol, you couldn't relax.
Solha and Yuna went outside to smoke, and you stayed at the bar. Your eyes wandered around the room, and once again you caught the gaze of a stranger.
It was the same guy you bumped into in the crowd on your way to the bar. He appeared out of nowhere, and you accidentally bumped into him with your shoulder.
The guy was tall, with dark, neatly styled, slightly damp hair, dressed in a black unbuttoned leather shirt with rolled-up sleeves, under which you could see a black tank top and a tattoo that clearly adorned his muscular chest.
He wore a chain around his neck. On his right arm, you also noticed intricate tattoo designs stretching from his wrist upward. Even in the neon light of the club, you could see a snake and a lily painted on his arm. He also wore jeans that were a little too big for him and were held up only by his belt.
He had piercings on his face, and surprisingly, you liked how this guy looked, even though you always thought that such rebellious looks weren't for you. There was something about this man that made you focus your attention on him.
You apologized, but your words were drowned out by the music. He looked at you without looking away, as if trying to understand what you were saying. Then he took a step closer, leaning toward your ear:
"What are you saying?" you heard his low voice. You smelled his perfume, something woody and spicy, completely unlike ordinary men's fragrances.
"I'm sorry, I accidentally bumped into you," you shouted back, feeling his hot breath on your ear, which gave you goosebumps.
"You? It's my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going," he smiled, and despite the piercing on his lip, his smile was surprisingly sincere and charming. His eyes lingered on you a moment longer than politeness required. "There are probably too many people here to dance,"
"Yes," you nodded, trying not to lose your cool. "Excuse me, I have to go," you said, not holding his gaze, and walked away.
Since then, you constantly saw him among the crowd of people in the club. It wasn't that you were looking for him specifically, but the look you caught from him now told you that you were in his field of vision for a reason.
You knew that sooner or later he would approach you, and you didn't know what you wanted more: for him to do it sooner rather than later, or not at all.
Finally, you felt him stand behind you, and a moment later he sat down on the high stool next to you. He ordered a glass of whiskey. When he moved, you caught a whiff of his perfume, which you remembered and which stirred strange feelings in you. His gaze fell on you and was direct and indecently intense.
"You seem to have lost your company," he said. His voice was a pleasant baritone that carried even through the loud music.
"No, I’m not," you replied, feeling your pulse quicken. "They went for a smoke break."
"And you didn't go because you don't smoke?" He smiled slightly.
"I don't smoke," you replied, smiling back. There was a pause. His eyes were fixed on your face, and the attention was almost physical.
"Why are you sad?" he asked suddenly. You pressed your lips together slightly and raised your eyebrows, not expecting such a question.
"Do I look sad?" you asked.
"Yes. I've been watching you all evening, and it's very obvious," he replied. The bartender placed a glass of whiskey in front of him, and he looked away from you for just a moment to thank him with a nod.
"All evening?" you asked, as if you hadn't caught his gaze since you accidentally met. You tried to sound ironic. "Why have you been watching me all evening?"
"I liked you." He shrugged, speaking bluntly. You didn't rush to answer, struck by his directness. But he didn't let you dodge the question. "So why are you sad?" he asked again.
"Do you really want to know, or is this just a way to start a conversation?" you squinted. He smiled slightly, and a playful sparkle flashed in his eyes, as if he had just been caught in a cute trick.
"What if I say it's both?"
You smiled again, allowing yourself a small flash of admiration that this guy was being honest with you. You turned away to your cocktail, examining it.
"I don't think you're the type who wants to listen to 'girl talk,'" you assumed.
"Why do you think that?" he asked again with a smile on his lips. The tension between you began to grow, and you couldn't understand what was causing it.
"Because you look that way," you turned your face toward him, meeting his searching gaze.
"How do I look?" he arched an eyebrow.
"Like someone who doesn't waste time and knows what he wants," you replied. At first glance, he looked like a typical chebol. But not in the way of going to work at his father's office or holding a management position. He looked like someone who lived off his wealthy family and simply did whatever he wanted. His piercings and tattoos spoke of his rebellious nature. But you weren't stupid and understood why he was here. His gaze and behavior said that he had come to you for one thing only—sex.
"Are you so good at understanding people?"
"Oh no. I don't understand people at all," you smiled bitterly, thinking how you could not have seen how you were being betrayed. And it was so obvious.
"But you told the truth about me. I don't waste my time and usually wouldn't listen to 'girly stuff'. But for some reason, I want to know what's upsetting you," he said. For a moment, you thought he was being sincere, but your intuition told you not to trust him. He was here because he wanted you, not because he wanted to know why you were sad.
"Because you want me to let you get closer," you said bluntly, looking him in the eye.
"Maybe," he said seriously, without arguing.
"Do I look like someone who sleeps with strangers?" you asked, deciding not to hide the fact that you understood his intentions.
"No. You don't," he smiled, his voice calm and firm.
"Then why are you still here?" you became serious.
He didn't rush to answer. He just picked up his glass of whiskey and took a slow sip, as if savoring not the drink, but your question. Then he put the glass back down.
"Because you're not like the people who usually sit here," he said, without looking away. "You're not looking for attention. You don't smile at everyone who comes up to you. You sit here, drinking your fourth cocktail, looking like you want the whole club to burn to the ground. And at the same time, you look like you're afraid someone will notice."
You felt something tighten in your chest. He spoke, and every word hit the mark.
"You don't know me," you replied, but your voice wasn't as confident anymore.
"I know you weren't supposed to be here. And I know you don't drink to have fun. You drink to not think." He leaned a little closer, and you smelled that woodsy scent again. "And I know you don't sleep with strangers. But you let me sit down. And you haven't left yet."
You were silent. He was right. And it was annoying.
"Do you want me to leave?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No," he replied immediately. "I want you to tell me what happened. Maybe it will make you feel better."
You turned away. You stirred your cocktail with a straw, hesitating to tell him what was still hurting you.
"Come on, you can tell a stranger in a nightclub anything. Your secret will die with me," he encouraged you.
"I've heard that it's bad to share your problems with strangers because then they somehowbeing involved in your life," you smiled, turning back and looking into his eyes, which already seemed to be undressing you.
"It's all up to you. You may never see me again after our conversation, or vice versa," he said, taking a sip of whiskey.
You glanced at him, then took a sip of your cocktail. You understood perfectly well that this man had not come to ask about your problems; he actually wanted to sleep with you, and this conversation was the beginning of foreplay.
"Have you ever lost everything you had in an instant?" you finally spoke.
He paused for a few seconds. You turned your head toward him and met his gaze, which surprisingly conveyed comfort and strength.
"Yes. It happened," he replied briefly.
Your eyes didn't leave each other for a second, but you swear it felt like an eternity to you.
"So you lost something?" he asked.
You nodded, feeling your throat tighten with emotions that were still fresh, like an open wound.
"Not 'something,' but 'someone,'" you said.
"A boyfriend?" he guessed.
"My fiancé," you said, and the word seemed to burn your tongue.
"Is he dead?" he asked. You snorted.
"I don't know what could be worse: if he were dead, or that fact he cheated on me."
"Could anyone betray a woman like you?" he asked, his voice full of genuine surprise. But you couldn't believe his sincerity. His reaction seemed fake.
"Oh, that sounds unconvincing," you said ironically, but he didn't even smile.
"I'm serious," he moved a few inches closer, and you noticed it. "You look like a woman who needs to be loved day and night. Who needs to be kept close 24/7, because someone will definitely take her away as soon as you take a step to the side. And some jerk cheated on you?"
You froze as he complimented you. It was said with such passion and confidence that your heart involuntarily began to beat faster. The thought flashed through your mind that if he wanted to seduce you, he was doing a very good job. But God, could you really sleep with a stranger?
"Yes. Can you imagine?" you ask, and for some reason your voice takes on a flirtatious tone rather than the pain you still felt. But why did you think he could drown it out better than vodka-based cocktails?
"I can't imagine what kind of scumbag he'd have to be," he says, his voice also taking on a flirtatious tone, dropping an octave.
You laugh again, unable to resist his tone and gaze. He's clearly a player and is now judging someone who cheated. It's funny.
"All men are scumbags," you say, unable to resist his remark.
"You judge everyone by your fiancé?" the man, whose name you still don't know, smiled defiantly.
"I judge all men. You all cheat. Even if you have a woman you should love day and night," you use his words against him. He laughs quietly and deeply again, and you can feel his laughter echoing in you with incomprehensible emotions.
"Then all women are stupid. Because they allow scumbags to do what they do," he leaned his elbow on the bar and took a sip of whiskey, looking at you from behind his glass. You couldn't help but notice the shadow of defiance in his eyes.
"Are you serious?" you exclaimed.
"Well, you're seriously saying that all men are scumbags," he replied matter-of-factly.
"Yes. Because even the most faithful will betray you someday. My fiancé acted caring, whispered how much he loved me. And the next day he was fucking his colleague in the office," you said sharply, unable to contain your emotions. The man with the piercing's expression changed slightly. But you couldn't tell what it meant: anger, irritation, or excitement from the discussion.
There was a short pause. He shrugged, twirling a glass of whiskey in his hands.
"Maybe you're right. But I can only speak for myself,"
"Well then, speak for yourself," you said, feeling irritated by him, "I'm sure you've cheated. But you're unlikely to admit it,"
"Never," you heard him reply. You froze, not expecting him to say it so quickly. You moved closer to him, turning your whole body toward him. And a fire was already burning inside you that you couldn't stop.
"Really?" you asked ironically.
"Yes," he replied, leaning toward you. "I've never cheated on a woman,"
"Because you didn't have one, right? Because you're a player who has a new woman every day, and that's why you don't cheated on," you said, analyzing him during the conversation.
"You've jumped to conclusions again, but based on what?" he smiled. He was clearly enjoying this conversation. But you didn't find it funny.
"Based on the fact that you've been watching me all evening and now you've come over to ask me for a one-night stand," you blurted out.
He laughed at you louder this time. And moved even closer. Your knees touched.
"I did want to offer you sex, but I'm not sure about one night anymore," he said, his eyes darting across your face.
"I don't have sex with people I don't know," you snapped and leaned back, trying to control how this man's closeness was suddenly affecting you.
"Then ask me anything you want to know," he persisted. You turned back to your cocktail.
"It doesn't work that way. I mean long-term communication," you said without looking at him. You felt him get up from his chair and come closer to you. He was close, and when his breath touched your ear for the second time that evening, you felt goosebumps run down your skin again.
"It can't be true. I can see that you're interested in me. And as you said, I've been looking at you all evening, but you've been looking at me too. I can see that you're responding, but for some reason you're hesitate."
You were struck by his directness and the fact that he noticed that you were looking at him too. And it’s not because he was looking at you, but because you liked him too.
"Come on, you're a grown woman. You can try sex with a stranger to numb the pain of betrayal. If you want, you can use me."
You slowly turned your head, and your faces were dangerously close. He glanced slowly at your lips, and you did the same. You felt like you wanted to taste them.
However, you didn't want to give in so quickly, even if it was to numb the pain.
"Oh, use you?" you asked quietly, almost surprised, trying to sound indifferent, but your breathing had already become uneven. "Do you really think I'm capable of that?"
"You're capable of anything to get rid of this pain," his gaze, black and deep, slid from your eyes to your lips. "And I can see it."
You were almost ready to respond with a sharp refusal, but his next move stopped you. He reached out his hand to you. You glanced at it briefly, then turned your eyes back to his.
"Let's go dance, and then you can give me your answer," he suggested.
You tilted your head, taken aback by this turn of events. It was unexpected and yet elegant. Instead of insisting, he was offering an innocent activity. You liked the way this man behaved. And the more time you spent with him, the longer you wanted to stay in his company.
You pushed your cocktail glass further along the bar table, feeling the bartender glance at you, and placed your hand in his.
His skin was warm, his palm firm, with a slight callus on his fingers, as if he did something with his hands. He squeezed your hand gently but confidently and pulled you out of your chair. You walked through the crowd—loud music pounded in your ears, neon lights flashed, bodies moved to the rhythm, sweaty and free. He led you to the dance floor, still holding your hand, and you felt his thumb slide across your palm—on purpose or not?
When you reached the center, he turned to face you, still holding your hand. The music slowed to something more sensual — a heavy beat with electronic notes that vibrated in your chest.
He pulled you closer, not too boldly, but enough for your chest to touch his torso. You started moving. The scent of his perfume enveloped you again — woody with something smoky that made your head spin more than vodka.
"Just relax," he whispered in your ear, his lips barely touching your earlobe. He leaned away for a moment, and then you leaned toward his ear:
"Using you?" you asked with a smile. He leaned back to see your eyes and that slightly sarcastic smile.
"Stop it," he said suddenly. You were embarrassed. What exactly had you done to make him react that way?
"What exactly?" you asked, moving with him. He leaned toward your ear again and said,
"Make me liking you more."
His words sent a strange sensation through your lower abdomen. After his words, you wanted to be liked by him even more. Your hands involuntarily squeezed his shoulders, which were as hard as steel. He kept his palms on your waist, his fingers sliding over the fabric of your dress, as if studying its contours.
You continued to move. Slowly at first, in rhythm, his hips touching yours, and you felt warmth spreading through your lower abdomen. The alcohol was doing its job — boundaries were blurring, the pain receding, replaced by something hot, primal. He leaned closer, his breath on your neck.
"If you want, you can use me any way you want," he whispered, his voice vibrating through the music.
You didn't answer with words — you just pressed closer, your hips synchronizing with his. His hands moved lower, to your thighs, squeezing gently, guiding you. You felt his hardness through his jeans—not intrusive, but obvious, and it sparked something in you that you hadn't expected. Your head fell back, your hair spilling down your back, and his lips barely touched your collarbone—not a kiss, but a hint.
The song picked up speed, and you moved faster. Bodies intertwined in the crowd, hearts beating in unison. You closed your eyes, letting the music drown out your thoughts. Leejin? Who is that? Pain? What pain? There was only this man — his hands, his scent, his gaze when you opened your eyes and met his — dark, hungry, and full of desire.
When the track ended, transitioning into something faster, he didn't let you go. He just stopped, holding your waist, and leaned toward your ear.
"So what's your answer?" he asked hoarsely, his lips barely touching your skin.
You looked at him, your breathing uneven, your lips parted. Your friends? They were somewhere out there, taking a break. The club? Chaos all around. And you... you wanted more. You wanted him to drown out that fire inside with another.
"Your name," you whispered, sliding your hand over his chest, feeling the tattoo under his shirt. "Tell me your name first."
He smiled—wide, defiantly—and leaned in so close that your lips almost touched.
"Jungkook, what about yours?"
You didn't answer him. Instead, you pulled him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him—sharply, hungrily, with a taste of cranberry and whiskey. His lips were soft, his piercing contrasting on your tongue, but the kiss was hot as hell. He responded instantly, pulling you closer, his tongue sliding into your mouth, exploring.
When you broke apart, breathless, he whispered,
"Does that mean ‘yes’?"
You nodded, feeling your heart pound. Jungkook took your hand and pulled you toward the exit—through the crowd, past the bar, onto the street, where the night air of Gangnam hit you with its coolness. Outside the club, he hailed a taxi. Jungkook opened the door for you, and you got in without thinking about the consequences.
The sexual tension that had been building in the club became almost unbearable in this confined space. You could feel his thigh against yours, but he remained surprisingly restrained: he didn't touch you, didn't speak, just looked at you. His gaze was heavy and impatient, and you knew that this restraint was just thin ice before an explosion.
When the taxi stopped at the luxurious ‘GOLDEN HOTEL’, you weren't even surprised. Of course, he had a room in a place like this. He paid the driver, and you followed him.
He didn't give his name at the front desk. The staff greeted him respectfully and simply handed him his key card. In a moment, he led you to the elevator.
You tried to breathe, but the air was electrified. You knew what you were doing. You were going into this consciously. It was your revenge, your escape, your desperate desire to forget that you had been hurt.
The elevator seemed endless. When the doors opened on his floor, he just took your hand, his fingers squeezing your palm, and led you to the end of the corridor. He opened the door, led you inside, and as soon as the lock clicked behind you...
He pressed you against the wall, devouring your lips with a deep, demanding kiss.
All the restraint you had maintained in the taxi exploded in that touch. It was not a gentle invitation, but a demand, and you met his desire with your own, accumulated over the evening.
He broke away from your lips to look into your eyes. His eyes burned with fire, and he exhaled:
"You won't regret your decision, beautiful."
His lips covered yours again, this time more slowly, with force that you felt your back press against the cold wall of the room. Jungkook's hands slid down your waist, clutching the fabric of your dress as if he wanted to tear it right there in the hallway. You responded with a kiss of equal passion—your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, feeling the dampness of his strands that still retained the warmth of the club air. The taste of whiskey on his tongue mingled with your cranberry cocktail, creating an intoxicating elixir that washed away the last traces of pain.
He stopped kissing your lips and moved down to your neck. His hot breath burned your skin.
"You're so hot," he whispered hoarsely, his lips touching the throbbing vein in your neck. You felt his teeth gently bite your skin — not painfully, but enough to send a wave of excitement through your body. Your head fell back against the wall, and your hands involuntarily reached for his shirt. You pulled it off in one motion, revealing a black tank top the outlines of tattoos visible underneath. Your palm slid under the fabric, feeling the warm, smooth skin of his chest — hard muscles tensing under your touch.
Jungkook moaned softly as your nails lightly scratched his skin. His hands moved lower, to your thighs, lifting the hem of your dress. His fingers slid over the bare skin of your legs, leaving traces of fire.
"I want you all night," he murmured, pressing his body against yours. You felt his hardness—firm, tense through his jeans, pressing against your stomach. It aroused a new wave of desire in you; you arched toward him, rubbing against him, feeling the wetness gathering between your legs.
He couldn't resist — with one hand he grabbed your hip, lifting your leg to press closer. His lips moved lower, to your collarbone, where he left a wet kiss, and then lower still, to the edge of your neckline. You felt his tongue slide across the skin above your breasts, and his free hand unzipped the back of your dress. The fabric slid off your shoulders, revealing your lace bra. Jungkook took a step back to look—his eyes darkened as they slid over your body, as if he was already imagining taking off the rest.
"I never doubted for a moment that you were perfect," he breathed, his voice low and full of desire. He leaned down, his lips touching your breasts through the lace, his teeth gently tugging at the edge of the cup. He helped himself with his hand, pulling one of your breasts out of your bra. You moaned as his tongue found your nipple—hard and sensitive with arousal. He sucked slowly, the circular movements of his tongue making your hips tremble. Your hand slid down to his waistband, unfastening the buckle. His jeans slid down, revealing boxers that showed his erection — large and ready to enter you right now.
Jungkook pulled away from your breasts to kiss you again, this time harder. His hand slipped between your legs, his fingers sliding over your panties, feeling the wetness.
"You're already so wet for me," he whispered into your lips, then one finger slid under the fabric, touching your clit. You shuddered, a moan escaping your throat as he teased you with gentle circular movements, not penetrating, only intensifying your desire. Your hand wrapped around him through his boxers, squeezing, feeling him throb in your palm.
He froze for a moment when you squeezed him. His finger stopped on your clitoris, and then he exhaled heavily a millimeter from your lips. His hand gently took yours, pressing it above your head.
"Don't stop me from enjoying you," he whispered into your lips and at that very moment slid his two finger into your passage. You closed your eyes, feeling his fingers stretch your walls, and moaned softly. He made a few movements inside. You felt yourself getting wetter and wetter as you thought about how wonderful it would be when he entered you with his cock.
"You let me to use you," you moaned, pretending to be upset that he wouldn't let you touch him. He kissed you without answering. His tongue invaded your mouth possessively and insistently, and you got high from the slightest movement of his lips and tongue.
Jungkook broke away from your lips only for a moment to look into your eyes — his pupils were dilated, black as an abyss, full of promise. His two fingers moved slowly and teasingly inside you, enjoying your moans and the trembling of the walls that squeezed around him. You felt a wave of pleasure full you, and it was so intense that you involuntarily arched your back, pressing your hips against his palm.
"Are you that greedy?" he whispered hoarsely. The stretching was a sweet pain that turned into pure bliss — he moved deeper, touching a spot that made stars flash before your eyes. Your free hand dug into his shoulder, your nails leaving marks on his skin. He just smiled, quickening his rhythm. "I really let you use me, beautiful. But first, let me show you how it's done right."
His lips descended to your neck again. His kisses brought him to your jaw, rose to your ear, and his teeth gently bit your earlobe. The pain mixed with pleasure, causing a storm of emotions to rage inside you.
His tongue traced a hot path down to your collarbone. You felt completely uninhibited — as if all the weight, all the pain from Leejin, all your restrained, perfect life had dissolved in that moment. With Jungkook, you were different: bold, greedy, alive. You forgot everything — the betrayal, the wedding plans, who you were. There was only this fire inside you, burning brighter with each of his touches, and you gave yourself completely to him, letting your body lead, not your mind.
You reached for his boxers, but he caught your hand again, pressing both of them above your head with one palm. His strength was playful, dominant, but not frightening — on the contrary, it made you melt, feel desired, protected in his power.
"Don't rush," he murmured, slowly removing his fingers from you, making you moan at the loss. He brought them to his lips, licked them, tasting you, his eyes never leaving yours. "You taste like sin. And I want more."
He let go of your hands only to lift you into his arms—lightly, as if you weighed nothing. Your dress slid even lower, exposing your thighs, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your whole body against him.
He carried you to the bed, across the huge room, kissing you. He walked so confidently, as if he knew the way by heart. The light in the room was dim, and because of his intense kisses, you couldn't see anything around you.
The luxurious room was a large. The big bed with dark sheets, panoramic windows overlooking Gangnam at night — but you barely noticed it. He threw you onto the mattress gently but confidently and stood over you, removing his tank top in one motion.
His body was a masterpiece — pumped-up chest with tattoos that writhed as if alive: chaotic lines covering his right chest and running to his shoulder, complex colorful drawings that you wanted to examine in detail. You reached out, running your fingers over the drawings, feeling the warmth of his skin, the relief of his muscles. He leaned down, removing your dress completely, then your bra — enjoying every inch of your bare skin. Your breasts were freed, your nipples still hardened from arousal and now from the cool air.
"Look at me," he commanded softly, and you obeyed, feeling completely free in this submission. He moved lower, his lips touching your stomach, your thighs, spreading your legs wider.
His breath burned the inside of your thighs, and then—oh God—his tongue slid over your wetness through your panties. You arched your back, moaning loudly, without shame. He pulled the fabric down, exposing you completely, and his mouth covered you — his tongue circled your clitoris, sucked, penetrated inside, imitating what you so desired to feel with his cock.
Pleasant sensations grew wave after wave — you forgot how to breathe evenly, forgot about the world outside the window. You were a different person: uninhibited, moaning incessantly, grabbing his hair and pulling him closer. Every cell in your body sang with pleasure, the pain of the past disappeared, replaced by pure, animalistic ecstasy. You gave yourself completely — your hips moving toward his tongue, your fingers scratching the sheets, your voice begging,
"More... Jungkook, please..."
And he listened. Your moans became more like cries as he began to lick your folds more actively, adding his fingers inside again. You felt the orgasm approaching. The pleasurable tingling sensation in your lower abdomen reached its peak and your fingers squeezed sheets tighter.
You opened your mouth to say that you were close, but one movement of his tongue and you came. The orgasm exploded brightly and blissfully. You squeezed his fingers inside you, your clitoris twitching on his tongue. Jungkook continued to move it, taking it all for himself.
Your thighs trembled and you tried to catch your breath, which had been knocked out by the orgasm. Finally, Jungkook pulled away from you and raised his head, looking at your face, which expressed absolute pleasure. You forced your eyes open and saw him smiling. You reflexively smiled back. He had done a really good job.
Jungkook got up, pulling down his boxers, and his cock sprang free — big, hard, with big veins. He settled between your legs. You watched as he took his cock in his hands and rolled it a few times. You saw pre-cum dripping from the tip. He moved closer, his eyes never leaving your wet, swollen pussy, and tapped your sensitive clit with the head.
Your breathing quickened. This was something new, something you had never felt before. Your hips twitched slightly, and he looked up at your face to gauge your reaction. His gaze was playful, with a spark that promised you unforgettable sensations.
He hit your clitoris with his cock again, this time a little harder, causing you to flinch and bite your lip. Immediately after the blow, he began to run the head of his cock over your folds, as if to soothe you. Jungkook leaned over, resting on one elbow, and kissed you.
"Don't you like it when I do that?" he asked, barely breaking away from your lips.
"I like it," you said, enjoying the way he caressed your clitoris with the head of his cock.
Jungkook purred softly, the sound low and vibrating, as if it passed through your skin straight into your bones. The head of his cock slid over your folds again, smearing wetness and precum, and you felt your body involuntarily reaching for him, as if drawn by a magnet.
"Do you want more?" he asked, but it was a rhetorical question. You were dying to feel him inside you.
"I want," you exhaled. You really couldn't wait for him to enter you. His eyes, black, burning, full of power, didn't let go of yours. He slowly, teasingly ran the head of his cock over your clit again, even harder, and you moaned, your hips jerking as if they wanted to rise up to meet him.
He was still close, his lips barely touching yours, but he didn't kiss you — he just breathed into your mouth, letting you feel his warmth.
"You're so sensitive. I'm not even inside you yet, and you're already trembling."
You moaned from the pleasant sensations he created with the movements of his cock on your pussy. You wanted more, but he seemed to be deliberately delaying. To encourage him to act, one of your hands squeezed his bicep, and the other dug into his shoulder, your nails deliberately scratching his skin a little harder. He didn't stop.
"You still haven't told me your name," he said suddenly. His words caught you off guard. You really hadn't told him your name. But for some reason, you didn't want to.
He pressed himself against your pussy and began to move, stimulating your clitoris with his cock. Your body responded to his movements — your hips involuntarily rose to meet him, seeking more friction, more pressure. The orgasm that had just receded was building again, slowly but inevitably, like a wave gathering strength before crashing onto the shore.
"Is that important right now?" you asked with a slight smile. There was something intriguing about the fact that you knew his name, but he didn't know yours.
"Don't want to tell me?" he chuckled, seemingly enjoying the game you had started. His free hand slid up your thigh, his fingers squeezing your skin as if marking his territory. "It turns me on even more. But I'm used to knowing the name of the girl I bring to an unforgettable orgasm."
His words hit you like an electric shock — right in the pit of your stomach, causing your walls to contract with anticipation. You bit your lip, trying not to moan loudly, but it didn't work: a quiet, hoarse sound escaped you. He smiled defiantly, knowing he had power over you.
"But if you don't want to... I can think of something myself," he continued, looking at your face. "How about a beauty... or better yet, a sinner... or a former bride..." Each word was accompanied by a new movement — his cock slid lower, to the entrance, barely touching, teasing, but not penetrating. You felt your wetness dripping onto the sheets, your body begging for more.
You didn't answer — you just deviated a little and next your hand slid down his abs to his cock — you wrapped your fingers around it, squeezed, moved up and down slowly, feeling it pulse in your palm, the veins tensing under your touch. He exhaled heavily, his eyes closed for a moment, but he didn't stop you this time.
"Fuck..." escaped his lips in a quiet whisper. You smiled — for the first time that evening, you felt that the power had shifted slightly to you. You quickened your movements, your thumb sliding over the head, smearing the precum, and he moaned softly, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily.
"Maybe I just don't want you to know," you finally replied, looking him in the eyes. Your voice was quiet, but with a hint of defiance. "It's better if, for you, I'm were just... a girl from the club. The one you picked up to numb her pain." You squeezed him tighter, and he exhaled through his teeth, leaning in so close that your foreheads touched.
"The girl from the the club..." he repeated, as if tasting the words. His hand rested on yours, stopping your movements—not abruptly, but firmly. "Then I must try to drown out your pain."
He let go of your hand only to lift your legs and throw them over his shoulders. You found yourself completely exposed to him — vulnerable, naked, but it didn't scare you; on the contrary, it aroused you even more. His cock touched your entrance, pressing lightly, stretching you slowly. You felt the head penetrate a centimeter inside, then retreat — again and again, imitating what was about to happen.
The pain from its size was there, but your desire to have it inside you was stronger.
"Please..." you blurted out involuntarily. You didn't recognize your voice — hoarse, pleading, full of despair.
"What is it, girl? What are you asking for?" he asked, smiling. But his eyes were burning with excitement. He leaned down, his lips touching yours, the kiss slow and deep, while his cock still teased you at the entrance.
"Come in..." you breathed into his lips, "just come in already..."
He didn't make you wait any longer. With one slow but confident movement, he entered you completely, stretching your walls, filling you as if you were made for him. You screamed, feeling both pain and pure bliss at the same time. Jungkook froze for a moment, allowing you to get used to it, his breath hot on your neck.
"That's it," he whispered, starting to move — slowly at first, deeply, each thrust drawing a moan from you. "Good girl... it’s so fucking good... You took me so well..."
Your legs were thrown over his shoulders, allowing him to go deeper, touching spots you didn't even know you had. Jungkook held your hips, his fingers digging into your soft skin, leaving light marks, and his gaze never left your face, hungry, as if he were drinking in your reactions.
His hips slammed into yours, the sound of skin on skin mixing with your moans. You arched your back toward him, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, and he leaned down, capturing one with his lips. His teeth bit gently, his tongue swirled, and you felt a new wave of wetness flood the place where you were joined.
You didn't stop moaning, and with each new movement, your moans grew louder. You felt something bordering on euphoria, and the feeling was so wonderful. Jungkook released your nipple with a wet smack and thrust deeper, making you cry out.
"What pleasant sounds..." he said barely audibly through his ragged breathing, "I want to hear more..." His movements became stronger, rhythmic — in, out, each time to the end, touching that sweet spot inside that made your eyes roll back. Your hands were on his hips, your fingers digging into his flesh, forcing him to press against you as tightly as possible. He fucked you lying down, his body on top of you, his muscles tense, sweat beginning to cover his forehead and his whole body with a thin layer. You were sweating too, but neither of you paid any attention to it.
You were close — the orgasm was building again, faster, more intense than the last one. Your body trembled, your walls tightened around him, and you felt him pulsing in response.
"Jungkook... I'm... close..." you exhaled, but he suddenly stopped, still deep inside you, and you moaned in frustration.
"Not so fast, girl from the club" he whispered, kissing your neck. He pulled out, leaving you empty and begging, and flipped you onto your stomach with one confident movement. You found yourself on your knees, face in the pillow, as he pressed himself against you from behind with his whole body—hot, heavy, and dominant. His chest was on your back, one hand slid down to your clit, starting to circle with his fingers, and the other found your hand, squeezing it.
He entered you again—from behind, deeper than before, and you moaned softly into the pillow, feeling him stretch you at a new angle. Jungkook exhaled heavily as he began to fuck you. His hips pushed you forward, the sound of your sex filling the room, his weight pressing you into the mattress, preventing you from escaping the pleasure. You felt his breath on the back of your neck, his lips biting your shoulder, his tongue licking your skin. His hand on your clitoris quickened, his fingers sliding through the wetness, and you trembled beneath him, completely subjugated.
The orgasm hit you suddenly—you screamed, squeezing him inside you, your body convulsing. He didn't stop, continuing to move through your contractions, prolonging the bliss until you relaxed, breathless.
Then he pulled out, turned you onto your back, and sat back against the headboard, leaning on the pillows. He still hadn't come. His cock stood hard, glistening with your wetness, and he beckoned you with his finger.
"Come here, beautiful. Sit on me. I want to see your face when you come again."
Still trembling, you crawled over, straddled him, your legs on either side of his hips. You took him in your hand, guided him to the entrance, and lowered yourself slowly—feeling him fill you again, hitting new spots at this angle. You moaned as you began to move — up and down, circling your hips. His hands on your waist guided you, his fingers digging in, his eyes looking into yours.
"So good," you exhaled, unable to contain the pleasure inside. Jungkook smiled. He began to move his hips toward you, pressing you down to be deep inside you, then sat up, wrapping his arms around your body.
You opened your eyes, lowering them slightly, and met his gaze. He looked at your half-open lips as you continued to move on top of him.
"Did I do my job?" he asked suddenly. You froze for a moment, remembering what his job was supposed to be. Jungkook pushed you hard, knocking the already heavy air out of you.
"What job?" you asked. Jungkook stopped you and you both breathed heavily. He looked at you for a few seconds and then smiled, playfully and, you would even say, triumphantly. His lips found yours. His tongue intertwined with yours, and the wet sounds of your kiss were so pleasant to your ears.
Jungkook released your lips and, an inch away from them, said,
"To drowned out your pain," and kissed you again, pushing his tongue into your mouth. But this kiss was so quick that you didn't even have time to respond properly. "You forgot why you're here, except for sex? Right?"
You froze, feeling his words hit the mark — sharper than any thrust of his hips. Yes, you forgot. You forgot about Leejin, about the betrayal, about the broken heart that burned inside you yesterday like red-hot iron. There was only him — Jungkook, his body beneath you, his cock deep inside you, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. You forgot everything except this heat spreading through your veins, except the desire to move faster, harder, so that this fire would burn away the remnants of pain forever.
You didn't answer with words — you just pressed yourself closer to him, your hand tangled in his hair, pulling his face to yours, and you kissed him — greedily, demandingly, with a taste of salty sweat and whiskey. Your tongue invaded his mouth, exploring, fighting for dominance, but he responded with equal force, squeezing your waist with his fingers as if he wanted to press you into him forever.
"Yes," you finally breathed into his lips, pulling away for a moment to inhale. Your voice was hoarse, almost unfamiliar — full of satisfaction and recognition. "You drowned him. Completely." You pushed your hips down harder, feeling him go deeper, hitting that spot that made your eyes roll back. A moan escaped your throat—loud, unashamed, and you didn't try to hold it back.
Jungkook laughed low. His hands moved lower, to your buttocks, squeezing them, guiding your movements.
"Okay," he whispered, pushing his hips up to meet you, making you bounce. "Come on, use me, girl whatever you want. Show me what you can do when you're not thinking about him."
His words ignited something primal in you—you sped up, moving up and down faster, circling your hips, squeezing him inside you deliberately to hear him moan. His head fell back on the pillow, his eyes half-closed, his lips parted—he looked so sexy, so vulnerable in that moment that you felt a rush of power. Your hand slid over his chest, your nails scratching the tattoo on his skin, leaving red marks, and he hissed with pleasure, pushing you harder.
"Fuck, you're... perfect," he muttered, one hand rising to your breasts, squeezing one, his thumb circling your nipple. You arched your back, letting him play, but not stopping — your movements became chaotic, desperate, the orgasm building again. You felt wetness running down your thighs, down his, as the place where you joined became slippery, hot, perfect.
"Come for me," he commanded hoarsely, one hand sliding between your bodies, his fingers finding your clitoris, beginning to rub it quickly, mercilessly. "I want to feel you squeeze me. I want to hear you scream my name."
It was too much—his fingers, his cock, his voice. The orgasm hit you like a tsunami: you screamed, squeezing him inside you, your thighs trembling.
"Jungkook!" His name burst out loud, breaking into a moan. He didn't stop, continuing to move through your contractions, prolonging the wave, but you felt him harden inside you as much as possible.
With one quick movement, he pulled you off his cock and spilled between your bodies. You froze above him, feeling the hot drops of his cum spread across your skin — on your stomach, on your thighs, sticky and warm, like the final seal of this crazy evening.
Your body was still trembling from the afterglow of orgasm, your walls throbbing with emptiness, your breathing so heavy that your chest rose and fell in unison with his. Jungkook lay beneath you, his eyes half-closed, his lips parted in a satisfied smile — the piercing on his lower lip glinted in the dim light of the lamp. His hand slid lazily down your back, his fingers tracing an invisible pattern on your sweaty skin, as if he didn't want to let go of the moment.
"Fuck... that was incredible," he muttered hoarsely, his voice low and satisfied, with a hint of laughter. He lifted his head to look down at the mess between your bodies, at the glistening semen running down his abs.
You couldn't help but smile — a weak but sincere smile, the first in a long time without a hint of pain. You slid off him slowly, your legs still weak, and sat down next to him. Jungkook turned to you, pulled you closer with one hand around your waist, and your bodies touched again—sweaty, perfectly matched.
"Wanna help me clean up this mess, girl from the club?"
He nodded down at his stomach, and you smiled seductively, knowing what he was hinting at. Today, you felt more freedom in your actions than ever before. You leaned down, your lips touching his skin — first on his chest where there were small splashes, then lower, your tongue sliding over the salty semen, tasting the mixture of both of you.
Jungkook made a low guttural sound, his hand tangled in your hair, not pressing, just holding. You licked again, slowly, and felt his cock twitch nearby — still semi-hard, sensitive after everything.
"You... are dangerous," he exhaled, pulling you back up for a kiss — slow, lazy, unhurried. His tongue slid over your lips, testing you, and you responded, wrapping your arms around his neck. The world outside the window — nighttime Gangnam with its neon lights — seemed distant, unreal. There was only this room, this bed, this man who drowned your pain better than any alcohol or revenge.
You were the first to break the kiss, you looked at each other for a moment, and then you lay down flat. You stared at the dark ceiling, trying to steady your breathing and not think about the fact that you had just had sex with a stranger for the first time in your life. You had to admit that this stranger had given you some of the best orgasms of your life.
You felt Jungkook move closer, carefully covering you with a sheet to cover your naked body. But instead of just lying down next to you, he pressed himself against you, hugging you. His nose touched your jaw, tickling your skin with his breath. You felt pleasure from his unobtrusive embrace and the strength of his body. But was it normal? To lie in bed with a man you had known for a few hours, after crazy sex, and just cuddle?
What would be the right thing to do? Take a shower and leave? Or continue lying there with him until you fall asleep? Usually, after sex, you would take a shower, and then you and Leejin would fall asleep in each other's arms. Lately, after sex, he didn't fall asleep with you, but went to the kitchen or living room, pretending to work. Only now did you realize that he was probably going to talk to his colleague, with whom he was cheating on you.
You felt him put his hand on your thigh and begin to caress your skin with gentle, unhurried movements.
"Is this necessary?" your voice suddenly broke the silence. Jungkook's fingers stopped. He propped himself up on his elbow to look at you.
"What exactly are you asking, beautiful?" he asked, looking straight into your eyes, which reflected the lights of the night city.
"This embrace and tenderness," you replied.
He looked at you for a few seconds, as if pondering your question, and then smiled slightly — not defiantly, as before, but more softly, with a hint of warmth that contrasted with his rebellious appearance. His fingers continued to glide over your skin, lightly, like a feather, drawing invisible circles that sent pleasant sensations through you. He leaned closer, his nose touching your cheek, and you felt his hot breath.
"Necessary? No," Jungkook whispered low, his voice hoarse with exhaustion but still full of that confidence. "But you look like you need it. Besides you need some rest. I'm not done with you yet."
You were a little shocked; you had just experienced orgasms that tore you apart, and you thought it was over. You almost laughed, but all that came out was a quiet, surprised exhalation.
"More? Are you serious? We just finis..." you said, but he didn't let you finish. He simply turned you on your side and pressed himself against you from behind. His soft cock touched your buttocks. One arm wrapped around your waist, pressing your back against his chest, and the other slid down your stomach, caressing your skin gently, as if to soothe you.
You felt his lips touch the back of your neck — a light kiss, then another on your neck. He didn't rush, didn't insist, just held you, letting your heart rate slow down. Your body, still sensitive after everything, reacted to every touch: goosebumps ran across your skin, your nipples hardened from the coolness of the sheets and the warmth of his palm.
"Seriously," he murmured into your hair, his voice vibrating against your skin. "You think once is enough? No, girl from the club. I told you I want you all night."
You don't know how much time passed while you were lying quietly in each other's arms. You were already starting to fall asleep when you felt it. His hand moved lower, his fingers sliding purposefully between your thighs, barely touching the swollen folds, still wet from before. You shuddered, a quiet breath escaping involuntarily as his finger found your clitoris, circling gently, as if checking how ready you were.
You were surprised at yourself, at how your body responded: moisture gathered instantly, your thighs involuntarily spread wider, inviting him in. He felt it — a quiet laugh sounded near your ear.
"See? You want it too." His erection, which was starting to harden again, began to press harder against your buttocks. He kissed your neck, his teeth gently biting your earlobe, and his hand between your legs quickened: two fingers slipped inside, stretching you, making you arch in his embrace.
You turned your head, searching for his lips, and he met you with a kiss — not greedy like before, but deep, with a growing thirst. Your tongue intertwined with his, you responded with equal force, your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. He rolled you onto your back in one motion, without removing his fingers — now you were lying beneath him, legs spread, his body above you. He positioned himself between your thighs, his cock touching your entrance, sliding along your wetness, but not entering.
"Jungkook..." you moaned, your hips rising to meet him. He smiled, his eyes flashing in the semi-darkness, and finally he entered, filling you completely. You moaned softly, feeling him stretch your walls, touching every sensitive spot. He moved slowly, each thrust deep and measured, as if enjoying every second. His lips were on your breasts, his tongue explored almost every inch of your body, his teeth bit gently, and you didn't know if you had ever felt so satisfied and desired in someone's arms.
You made love for hours — slowly, then faster, changing positions, as if you couldn't get enough. You didn't sleep until morning — just breathing heavily, laughing quietly between kisses, your bodies intertwining again and again. The light outside the window turned gray, Gangnam woke up, and you were still in each other's arms, his cock inside you for the last time, your movements lazy, as if saying goodbye.
Finally, in the early hours of the morning, you were both exhausted. You fell asleep in each other's arms, and you were the first to wake up. Your body ached with pain and fatigue, but you had to go. You grabbed your phone and saw missed calls from your friends and text messages. You quickly wrote that you were fine and that you would tell them everything later.
Quietly, almost like a shadow, you slipped out of his warm and pleasant embrace, and your skin immediately broke out in goose bumps. You quickly got dressed, feeling the scent of his perfume on your skin and clothes, which you will never forget.
You felt that you couldn't leave without a trace. But you didn't want to wake him up. You carefully took 10,000 won out of your purse and put it on the table in the living room, finally noticing how large and luxurious the room was. You wrote him a short note. And you quietly left, letting him sleep.
Jungkook woke up feeling slightly tired. The sex with the girl from the club all night long was just incredible. He hadn't felt such pleasure in a long time; it seemed that the girl was just made for him.
His hand fell on the spot next to him and immediately felt the coolness. Jongkook turned around, opened one eye, and noticed that the girl was nowhere to be found. The thought immediately flashed through his mind that she had left, but he hoped that she was in the shower or somewhere in the room.
He got up, barely found his black Calvin Klein boxers that sat low on his hips, and rubbed his sleepy eyes to clear his vision a little. His hair was sticking out in all directions, and his lips were slightly swollen from sleep and the hundreds of kisses he had received that night.
Jungkook went into the bathroom, but everything was dry, with no signs that she had taken a shower. He went out to the living room, and everything was in its place there too. He touched his face with his palm, smiling.
His gaze swept over the perfectly tidy room, but there was no trace of her. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to collect his thoughts. The girl from the club. He didn't even find out her name or give her his phone number. She disappeared like a ghost, leaving behind only memories of her moans, her taste, her body that responded so perfectly to his every touch.
He returned to the bedroom, glancing at the bed where just yesterday they couldn't tear themselves away from each other. His lips involuntarily stretched into a smile — bold, but with a hint of irritation. She had run away. After a night like that. She had awakened an interest in him he couldn't explain, but she made his heart beat faster when he remembered her gaze — sad at first, then so wild, so free during their intimacy.
He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his neck, feeling a slight ache in his muscles — a pleasant reminder of how she had scratched his back, how she had gripped his hair, how she had screamed his name. Jungkook bent down to pick up his shirt from the floor, and his gaze caught on something on the bedside table. Something that hadn't been there yesterday.
A note. And a 10,000 won bill, neatly folded underneath it.
He frowned, feeling a tightness in his chest. Jungkook picked up the piece of paper, pinching it casually between two fingers. He read the lines written in neat but slightly chaotic handwriting:
"You're more intoxicating than any cocktail. Thank you for the night when I forgot about everything."
Jungkook laughed out loud. He reread it again. And again. He didn't expect that a trip to the bar would end with him picking up a girl. And what was even funnier in this situation was that she left him money after sex as if he were her one-time fling. It was funny, but she really used him.
He got up, threw the note into the pocket of his jeans lying on the floor, and went to take a shower. The cold water should have washed her out of his mind, but it couldn't. He stood under the jets, closed his eyes, and saw her — how she bit her lip when he teased her clit, how her thighs trembled when she came. His hand involuntarily clenched into a fist, hitting the tile. He wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to someone leaving him with a feeling of emptiness.
Jungkook turned off the water, dried himself with a towel, and returned to the bedroom. He put on the new clothes that had been delivered to the room.
Jungkook drove to the office, gripping the steering wheel tightly, but his thoughts kept returning to girl from the club. He needed to focus, but he couldn't.
His phone vibrated, and the name "Jimin-hyung" lit up on the dashboard.
"Hello," he answered, keeping his eyes on the road.
"Hey, buddy, where did you disappear to yesterday so suddenly that you didn't even answer your calls?" Jimin's voice was, as always, too cheerful for the morning.
Jungkook decided to lie, not saying what the real reason for his disappearance was.
"I got bored, so I decided to go home."
But Jungkook's lie didn't work.
"Come on, do you think I'm stupid? I saw you approach the girl sitting at the bar. Besides, you would never leave without saying goodbye! Admit it, you picked her up, didn't you?"
Jimin held his breath, hoping he was right, but Jungkook just smiled quietly and told the truth this time.
"Yes, Jimin-hyung, I hooked up with the girl!"
Jimin rejoiced for his friend too loudly, forcing Jungkook to turn down the volume.
"Finally... finally this guy had sex. So should I call Grandpa to congratulate him that he has a candidate for daughter-in-law for Jeon family?"
Jungkook rolled his eyes slightly at his friend's violent reaction and, stopping at a traffic light, finally glanced at the dashboard.
"Don't say anything to Grandpa. He doesn't need to know that I was with someone. Besides, nothing will happen with that girl," said Jungkook, his voice taking on a cold tone.
"Why?" Jimin asked briefly.
"Because it was just one night..." Jungkook replied. Jimin didn't answer, letting Jungkook continue talking. "She didn't tell me her name, but she left 10,000 won... can you imagine?"
There was a moment of silence, and then Jimin burst out laughing, which made Jungkook quietly chuckle too at the surrealism of the situation.
"Seriously? You fucked a girl without even knowing her name. Damn, were you so busy that it wasn't an urgent question?" Jimin continued to laugh into the phone.
"I was busy, but I asked her twice. She didn't say," Jungkook justified himself.
"Oh my..." Jimin was surprised, "that's interesting... but 10,000 won? Man, she valued you so highly, I have to congratulate you," he said ironically. Jungkook snorted.
"Thanks," he said and pressed the gas pedal, pulling away.
"Okay, I'll wait for you at the office. I need to hear the whole story with all the juicy details," said Jimin.
"I'll be there in 10 minutes," Jungkook said and hung up, but the smile didn't fade. He knew that Jimin would pester him with questions and he would have to tell him everything. But he didn't mind reliving the events of last night.
The song that inspired me to write ❤️🔥 is quite old, but I love it 💜
why did i love this sm 😭 something about this had me HOOKED onto it the whole way.... i will be dreaming about this jungkook tonight! the jump to daughter in law really had me there 🙊
also,,, hate to kill the vibe but at the end when i read the 10,000 won i died?! in my head we're talking 10,000krw which ...is barely even USD10.... so when i read that part i LAUGHED !! thinking how this girl is really giving jungkook spare change for such an insane night!
summary: jungkook is your brother’s best friend, someone you’ve grown up with. the two of you have a knack for clashing, always throwing attitude and finding ways to piss each other off. yet, there’s a connection neither of you can ignore.
pairing: tattoo artist jk x uni student oc
genre/tropes: smau + written , brother's best friend , e2l , childhood friends
warnings: grumpy/rude jungkook and oc, they are lowkey toxic in the beginning, implied + actual smut , explicit themes, lots of crazy banter and tension, and jealous moments ofc , slow burn-ish, stubborn brother drama — vminkook past related drama
originally started: 10 January 2025 & ended: 4 June 2025
his voice cracks, but it’s not because he’s weak, no. it’s because it’s too loud, too full, too desperate. his chest rises and falls like he’s been sprinting, but he hasn’t moved. he’s just standing there, fists clenched at his sides, the tremble in his hands betraying the fire in his eyes.
jungkook is furious.
but taehyung doesn't flinch. doesn't even blink. he just stands there, jaw tight, looking almost sorry.. but not sorry enough.
“she told me you were over,” taehyung says, quieter than jungkook, but not soft.
“so you just fucked her?” jungkook laughs. bitter. sharp. like it hurts to even say it.
his smile is crooked, empty. “so you didn’t ask me? you didn’t think just one moment before fucking my girlfriend?”
“ex-girlfriend,” taehyung bites back, and that’s when jimin steps in, shoving a hand between them.
“stop,” jimin warns. he’s pissed too, his voice sharp, but he’s trying to keep them from throwing punches. “don't act fucking stupid.”
“no,” jungkook snaps, eyes never leaving taehyung. “he’s the stupid one. i don’t give a shit what she said! he should’ve come to me. he knew. he knew we were on a break. that we weren’t done.”
“you don’t know what she told me,” taehyung mutters.
“but you know what she told me...” jungkook says, and now it’s quiet. “she said she loved me. she said she just needed time. and the whole time, you were—” his voice chokes. he doesn’t finish the sentence. “you fucking ruined everything.
taehyung’s face twists. “i didn’t know, jungkook. she told me you two were done. i thought—”
“you thought?” jungkook spits. “we were on a fucking break. a fight. that’s it. and you..” he takes a step forward, jaw clenched. “you were my best friend.”
“i am your best friend—”
“were.” jungkook cuts in, voice cracking. “you were.”
taehyung’s eyes dart to jimin, maybe expecting him to calm jungkook down. but jimin doesn’t move.
“why her?” jimin asks, quiet but razor-edged. “over us?”
no one speaks.
not taehyung, who looks too guilty.
not jimin, who looks too tired.
not jungkook, who already knows the answer.
because it’s not just about yeonha.
it’s about the principle.
the trust.
the fact that they were supposed to be brothers.
and now, jungkook walks out of that room and never looks back.
“i didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” taehyung says, hands shaking. “i didn’t plan it—”
“you didn’t stop it either,” jimin mutters.
taehyung tries to meet his eyes again, but jimin looks past him like he’s already gone. like something between them just died, and he doesn’t even want to look at him anymore.
after a moment of silence, jimin finally speaks up.
“don’t ever talk to us again.”
and when they've turned their backs, taehyung didnt follow.
“it’s been a while since we all hung out,” jimin says as he walks in with two bowls of chips, handing one to you and the other to jungkook. the two of you sit on the couch, not too close, just enough space between you to not raise suspicion.
like it used to be. before the dating started. before the 'secret'.
you glance at jungkook and he gives you a small nod. “yeah, been a while. busy days,” he says, eyes on jimin, who hums in agreement.
“too busy,” jimin groans, then drops down right between you and jungkook without warning.
“hey!” you frown, scooting over. “go sit over there. there’s space literally everywhere dumbass.”
“this is my house. i can sit wherever the fuck i want,” he deadpans, rolling his eyes like you’re being dramatic.
you reach over and flick his forehead. he flinches and gasps like you just stabbed him.
“hm, the roles are switched today, don’t you think?” jimin says, tossing a chip into his mouth. “usually it’s me dragging jungkook away… now it feels like you two have gotten a lot friendlier.”
you don’t move.
jungkook stops mid-reach for a chip.
you glance at him, he glances at you, and for a second it’s dead silent.
jimin narrows his eyes. “why’d you both freeze like that?”
“we didn’t,” you say too fast.
“you totally did,” he says, squinting between the two of you like he’s piecing something together.
jungkook coughs and finally says, “we just don't have a reason to bicker. that’s all.”
jimin hums suspiciously.
“whatever. okay.”
“mmph— jungkook—”
you whisper against his lips as he kisses you hungrily, hands slipping under the hem of your shirt, his touch hot against your skin. his mouth trails from your lips to your neck.
“he's literally outside the room,” you manage to say, heart racing as you tilt your head back, letting him kiss down your throat.
he pulls back just enough to look at you, his lips swollen and eyes dark. “he’s in his room. probably asleep.”
then he’s kissing you again, and you can’t help the quiet sound that leaves your throat.
“did we lock the door?” you ask, breathless.
he doesn’t answer. just hums. low and careless. before diving right back in like he doesn’t care, like he can’t stay away from you for even a second. and you let him, because you don’t want him to either.
you’re on your bed, lying flat on your back. the mattress soft under u as jungkook hovers between your legs. he’s still fully clothed; he had just snuck into your room a few minutes ago, quick and quiet, pressing kisses to your skin like he couldn’t wait another second.
you giggle when he trails soft kisses along your neck, his lips brushing over your skin with a warmth that makes you shiver.
he smiles against your neck.
“would it be crazy if we had sex right now?” you ask suddenly, your voice low and teasing.
he pulls back just enough to look at you, blinking like you caught him off guard.
you’ve never done it when your brother was home. always waited until jimin was out, just to be careful. so, this would be a first.
“we could... but—”
you kiss him before he can finish, your lips on his, stealing his breath. he lets out a soft sound against your mouth, already kissing you back without hesitation.
but then he pulls away, just a little.
you lean in again, chasing his lips, but he only chuckles and fully pulls back, sitting beside you on the bed. confused, you shift too, sitting on your knees, bouncing a little as you scoot closer.
“what’s wrong?” you ask, tilting your head at him.
“i wanna talk about something first,” he says quietly.
he looks at you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with gentle fingers.
“i think we should tell jimin,” he says. simple. calm.
your stomach twists for a second.
“are you sure?” you whisper.
“yeah. are you?” he leans in and kisses your cheek so softly it makes your heart squeeze.
you smile, a little breathless. “i think so. the whole secret thing is getting old anyway,” you joke lightly, and he smiles back.
“tomorrow then?” he asks.
“tomorrow,” you say, nodding.
you both smile and lean in, meeting in the middle for another kiss. his arms wrap around your waist, tugging you closer, and you follow, your hands on his chest. the kiss is slower this time, deeper. it’s not rushed. it’s full of everything you’ve felt but couldn’t say in front of anyone. full of love.
and that’s when everything falls apart.
“___, where’s jungkook, wasn’t he supposed to—”
the door swings open and jimin’s voice cuts off.
your heart stops.
fuck.
you did not lock the door.
his eyes fall on you both. the position. the closeness. jungkook’s hands on your waist.
and he gets it.
he understands everything.
you and jungkook scramble apart, both standing up like it’ll fix anything.
“jimin..” jungkook starts, his voice gentle, trying.
but jimin’s face is unreadable. then, sharp.
“get the fuck out.”
jungkook doesn’t move at first. he stands frozen, like he wants to explain, like he thinks maybe if he says the right thing, jimin won’t mean it.
“i said get out.” jimin’s voice cracks a little this time, louder, angrier. “before i make you.”
you step in front of jungkook without thinking. “jimin, wait, just listen—”
“how long?” jimin snaps, eyes only on jungkook now. “how long has this been going on?”
you open your mouth to answer but jimin’s already stepping forward, jaw clenched. “you were supposed to look out for her, not—”
“i do,” jungkook says quietly, and jimin just laughs. cold.
“you’re sick if you think this is what ‘looking out’ looks like.”
you flinch. jungkook does too.
“you’re my best friend,” jimin says, and this time his voice drops, low and bitter. “my best friend, and you broke your promise.”
you roll your eyes, stepping closer to jungkook. “jimin, he’s my boyfriend. this has nothing to do with you.”
he snaps. “shut up, ___. you don’t know shit.”
jungkook’s jaw tightens. “don’t talk to her like that.”
jimin turns on him, frowning. “you swore. you looked me in the eye and swore you’d never touch her. that you’d protect her.”
“i am protecting her,” jungkook says firmly, voice steady. “i love her. and i’m not walking away just because you’re pissed off about a promise i made in highschool.”
jimin laughs, bitter and sharp. “un-fucking-believable. you love her? you really expect me to take this seriously?”
“yes,” jungkook says without hesitation. “i’ve been in love with her for a long time. we weren’t trying to hurt you— we were going to tell you.”
you nod, holding onto jungkook’s hand now, intertwining your fingers with his.
but jimin’s face twists. “you know what? i don’t give a fuck about you. ___, break up with him.”
you blink, stunned. “what?”
“i said leave him.” jimin’s voice is hard, eyes flashing between you both. “this doesn’t go any further.”
you don’t move.
his voice lowers, angry. “i’m fucking serious. drop his hand.”
you tighten your grip on jungkook’s instead.
“no.”
jimin’s mouth parts slightly, like he didn’t think you’d actually say it.
“i’m not choosing between you two,” you say softly, but your voice doesn’t shake. “i love him. you’re my brother, and i’ll always love you— but you don’t get to fucking decide this for me.”
jungkook looks at you, eyes soft, touched, then turns back to jimin.
“and i’m not letting her go either. even if it means i'd have to fight you.”
the air feels heavy. jimin’s shoulders tense, fists clenched at his sides.
. . .
“get out.” he says suddenly.
you freeze. “jimin—”
“both of you. get out of my house.”
his voice isn’t loud, but it’s cold. sharp. like it's final.
“are you fucking serious right now?” you ask, voice rising.
“do i look like i’m joking?” he snaps back, eyes narrowed.
“this doesn’t have to go this way, jimin,” jungkook says, stepping forward, trying to calm things down.
but jimin doesn’t want to hear it. he shoves him. hard.
jungkook stumbles back, not from the force, not because jungkook can’t take it, but because it’s jimin. his best friend. the person he never wanted to hurt.
“...let’s go, ___,” jungkook says quietly.
you turn to him, confused. “what? no. wait. we can fix this. we can talk it out.”
but jungkook just looks at you, and you can see it in his eyes— he doesn’t think jimin will listen.
you shake your head, desperate.
“jimin, don’t be stupid. jungkook is like your brother, isn’t he—”
“he’s not my brother,” jimin cuts you off. his voice is bitter now. cold in a way you’ve never heard before. “and you.” his eyes snap towards you. “you already made your choice, didn’t you? it's either you leave right now, or i send you back home. to mom and dad.”
your heart drops.
you don’t know what to say.
and for a moment, it feels like you just lost your brother.
jimin looks at jungkook one last time, just to say—
“don't ever talk to me again.”
note: hi , that was the og plot — sending yn back but i changed my mind lolss ,,, is jimin pissing yall off 😝
DISSI’S NOTE — .✦ first chapter is hereeeee, okay but who do y’all choose for employee of the month? 🙈🙈
.✦ synopsis: you were never his girlfriend. he was never your boyfriend and yet he’s the one person you can’t seem to forget. what started as rooftop silences and shared cigarettes turned into something soft. something raw. something real enough to haunt you... even when he left without a proper goodbye, months later, jungkook returns to new york older, quieter, tattoo machine in hand and the same eyes that once saw every version of you. now he’s back in your city. in your neighborhood. and somehow… still under your skin.
title: holiday
pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)
series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken (pt. 1) | broken (pt. 2) | lollipop
rating/genre: pg (18+) ; fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au, holiday au
summary: from what you can gather, holiday gift exchanges are supposed to be pretty straightforward. but this one quickly escalates. because no one can follow directions.
note: this is all thanks to the person that suggested a 3tan crew secret santa! they don’t do actual secret santa, but they do host a gift exchange. so enjoy this speedily but still tenderly written holiday special! i wanted to get it posted asap so that we could all have it during the holiday season. hope it helps lifting spirits in any way<3
warnings: yoongi looks like sin, but reader does too🤭, kissing, no one follows directions, but especially jimin, hella kissing, no fr jimin is chaos incarnate, sibling holiday woes, tense situations, tender moments, gift exchanges, dialogue heavy i’m so sorry, also not too edited i'm sorry again sdfkljdskl. reader is adorable y'all i wanna cry, 3tan crew being wholesome af
drop date: december 27th, 2024, 8:37pm est
word count: 8.1k bc i love y’all???
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“Wait… I’m in this, too?”
Your brother winces while checking his phone, probably also seeing the texts that Jimin sent to a freshly created group chat. “Tae and Chim roped us in this time. But it’s cool if you don’t wanna.”
As you both don work attire in your foyer, you shake your head, one hand firm on your bag strap, “I don’t even know how they work.”
“I think we random draw names. Then just give a gift to whoever we get.”
Seeing the names and numbers in here, you’re already running through a lot of possibilities. Maybe too many possibilities. But you don’t wanna make things more complicated or awkward, so you quickly concede, “I mean.. I’m down if you are.”
“I guess it’s cool.”
Head lowered, you notice that your brother’s shoes are the ones you gave him for his birthday a couple years ago. Because those days are the only ones you both celebrate every passing run of three hundred and sixty-five. “At least we’re doing something this year.”
He chuckles to his feet. “Two years in a row.”
Your sad laugh tumbles and rolls next to his. “Wild.”
“Hey.” When he pauses, it’s to wait for you to look up. “If you ever wanna talk about it, we can.”
There are a lot of times in which you dismiss your brother. Because it’s just what siblings do.
This time is not one of them.
“Same,” you offer, the weight of the world dragging your smile down.
He gives you a hug, and you feel the luxury press of his suit as you lean in with scrunched brows.
Two years in a row.
Maybe things do suck less with time.
When you both head out the door to your cars, you wonder if your brother knows how much you appreciate him and his friends for including you in things. Even if you don’t show it as much as you need to.
Guess this time of year is a good place to start.
Work drags in the wake of oncoming holiday.
But you’re learning to appreciate the decorations around the office, including the little cards that coworkers have given you at your desk—despite your many protests that they didn’t have to.
When you look up, you start to notice other things. Like the way people smile just a little more. Or the way peppermint and cider waft around the building, smelling of sweet instead of spice.
You wonder if Jungkook has decorated the studio, too. Or if he recruited everyone else to help with decorations, which means that Yoongi and the guys had to fuss with lights and whatever else people spend money on.
Laughing to your many stacks of papers and documents, you start daydreaming of what it would be like to decorate the house.
Would you and your brother do it someday? You do admit that it’s kinda nice to look around the neighborhood. And when you went into the mountains last year, you concede that the surrounding town decor was pretty inviting.
Maybe your house would be a little brighter on the inside too if you both just…
You get a notification on your phone. When the screen brightens, you see that it’s for the app that shuffles you all for the gift exchange.
You have no fucking clue what you’re doing.
But here goes.
Opening and hoping you get someone that’s easy to please, you stare at your device and blink a few very hard times.
And after every time, you still get a name that has your heart quickening faster than reindeer working overtime. It’s reindeer, right? You think that’s cor—
“You okay?”
Snapping your head up, you notice that one of your coworkers stopped mid-stride to check on you. Staring at his candy cane tie, you try not to be distracted as you slightly cringe,
“What do I get a guy for the holidays?”
“Friend or lover?”
Well, that was not what you expected to hear!
When your jaw unhinges, you’re quick to snap it back into place. “Umm.”
“Oh, this is juicy,” he perks up, quickly settling into a nearby chair and resting a strong chin in his hand. “Tell me more, I got time.”
Laughing, you shake your head while pretending to type on your computer. “Nothing to tell.”
“That means you got a whole lot.” His eyes are way too shiny right now! “But alright, I’m gonna assume both. In which case, I suggest something nice.”
“Something nice?”
“You know, like. Nice nice.”
“It’s for a gift exchange, though,” you slump, hands stopping on the keys. Looking at his whole holiday ensemble, you divulge, “The money limit’s definitely not enough for nice nice.”
“Then fuck the limit?”
Your answer is more of a sound than a word.
But he does get you to consider, even if just for a little bit. “Maybe…”
“Fuck the limit,” he advises again. “He’s gonna dig that. Especially since everyone will see it.”
Your face falls from the snowy sky. “Everyone?”
“Uhh, yeah? You said gift exchange, right? Everyone sees what everyone gets.”
“Oh. Right,” you pretend to agree to your computer. Because no, you actually didn’t know that. “Guess it’s been awhile.”
“Well, that’s what makes it fun! Good luck.”
While you would normally agree, you have a whole hoard of conflicting feelings. Because while seeing Yoongi’s name on your screen is enough to get you giddy as hell, you know there’s a couple people that may not share the same sentiments. Especially if you gift him something nice nice.
In front of everybody.
However…
As your striped and jingling coworker strides away with a hum, you drum your fingers on your minimally decorated desk.
Maybe there is a way you can finess this.
After a few weeks, the day has come for not just one exchange, but two—your friends also decided to have your own. Because it’s the easiest format, you convinced them with logic, seeing their shock at you being the one to suggest the exchange in the first place.
When they asked if you were sure, you assured them that it was okay. And the way they all brightened told you that you made a sound decision. Even if they still seemed hesitant, you know it’s because…
You’ve never done this.
So as you observe everyone in your bare living room, you start to see how their presence alone illuminates the space, with gifts in shine and glitter painting the area in holiday colors.
This is nice.
“So… Uhh.” You clear your throat, watching everyone look at you at the head of your coffee table. “How do we do this?”
They all laugh before Taehyung explains, “So one of us goes first and says who we got before giving the gift—you can sit, you know.”
In the midst of more teasing, you settle onto the floor while exclaiming, “I’m nervous, okay! This is really new to me.”
“You have a gift to give, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Then you’re already doing great,” Reia assures, and you’re even more excited to give yours away. Because you drew her name.
But before you can say that, Taehyung continues, “So after someone gets their gift, they announce who they picked, and so on.”
“Pretty straightforward,” you observe. “I wanna go first!”
Dom cackles, “You just wanna get it out of the way.”
“And?” you question, grinning when you shoot up and grab your very amateurishly wrapped bag. “Okay, okay, I got…”
“This is adorable,” Yuri cuts in, and everyone’s agreement makes you suddenly shy.
“No! Don’t make fun.”
“We aren’t!” Taehyung reaches out to rub your leg. “Promise. Who’d you get?”
“I got… Reia!” You exclaim, raising your bag a bit as she yells with everyone. The sudden raise of noise gets you a little shocked, but hyped nonetheless. And maybe a bit nervous that your gift won’t live up to the excitement. “Sorry about the wrapping job.”
“What are you talking about, this is so good,” Reia soothes, smiling wide as she delicately takes out the folded paper. “Wow, the wrapping is nice?”
Dom chimes in as she leans in, “Yeah, this is too good. Did you watch videos?”
“Uh huh.”
Everyone laughs again as you keep your nose held high. Because sucky or not, you were not gonna half-ass your first ever gift exchange. With seasoned people, at that. No way.
When Reia opens the gift you carefully picked while perusing through a local music store, you watch with the anticipation of a small child, eyes wide and waiting. Hoping that the best outcome is the real outcome.
And when she quietly yells behind her hand, everyone cheers while asking what she got. When she turns the package around, they cheer even more, because it’s a guitar pick set in her favorite colors. And one that you knew was so, very much her.
She stands up immediately and opens her arms for a hug, and you blink before getting lovingly crushed.
“Thank you,” she whispers in your ear. “This is more than great.”
“Of course, babe,” you murmur back, feeling her jean jacket under your palms and a beating in your chest. “Thank you, too.”
The rest of the exchange goes off without a hitch, with you cheering with everyone and understanding the cues more and more. Everyone’s gifts are wonderful, and Yuri’s the last to go out of the five of you.
And she got your name.
You figured giving the gift would be the hardest part.
But somehow, this part is a lot harder.
Braving it anyway—because there’s ironically no time like the present—you carefully unwrap the thin package and stare at what’s inside.
It’s a photocard. But the picture is of the five of you, one that Taehyung took with his long ass arms while the four of you huddled behind him with drinks in hand. Around its edges are stickers, hearts and stars and cute little animals.
And it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever seen.
You don’t even realize you’re crying until Yuri rushes over to ask if you don’t like it.
“This is the best thing ever,” you choke out, and she smiles before laughing and tearing up, too. “I love us.”
“We’re the best, duh.”
“Got that right,” Dom adds to the air while Reia and Taehyung start cleaning up the wrapping scraps. “You like your first gift exchange?”
“I should’ve joined y’all sooner.”
“Joined us?” Taehyung looks up from the ground. “What do you mean?”
“Oh. I figured you guys do this every year.”
Tae looks at Yuri, who then looks at you again before very seriously admitting, “We’ve never done this, either. Not with each other.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” She taps the back of your now most precious, most coveted photocard ever. “We didn’t even think about it since you wouldn’t be there.”
Smiling at your prized possession, you vow,
“I’ll be here now.”
Regarding all of them, you start to decorate your place in your mind. Seeing where all the lights go. Where all the little trinkets hang, or whatever. You don’t quite know how this goes just yet, but you do know there’s trees involved. So that’s gonna be figured out in a year’s time.
“I’m not missing this again.”
With bellies full of laughter and a little bit of cider, you and your friends head over to Jimin’s cul-de-sac.
Dom took the wheel this time, so you get to stare out the passenger side window, eyes reflecting golds and colors as you take in the surrounding lights.
Were they always this pretty? You don’t remember being so taken by electricity and staggering electric bills, especially the houses that go all out and cover every nook of their yard in lights.
But it’s a spectacle on every corner and street, and Jimin’s little half circle of houses keeps the holiday illumination alive.
“Uhh, I think we can park down there,” you point, noticing there’s some space a little bit beyond the street. It’s alarmingly next to where Yoongi had to park once, and you cherish that memory with stars in your eyes.
“Everyone have their gifts?”
“Tae, if anyone lost theirs on the way here, we have other issues.”
It’s a quick walk to Jimin’s, and the music around the house gets louder as you approach his entrance. There are people already set up in his open garage playing what you assume are card games, and everyone greets your group as you pop in to say hi.
“Hey!” Namjoon calls. “Y’all are late! Everyone’s inside.”
“We had our own party first,” you call out, struggling with your gift bags and food tray. “Can someone—”
Before you finish your ask, you smell nice cologne and feel a big presence at your side.
When you look to see who’s assisting, you slow in your motions before uttering a small,
“Thank you.”
Jungkook slightly smiles as he grabs your last bag. “Your perfume’s nice,” he compliments behind tousled bangs. Which makes you blink because that comment is more than hard to come by from him.
So you can only grin. “Just got it,” you explain as you follow your friends inside the house. “It’s a dupe, can you believe it?”
“Damn! It’s a good one.”
“I know,” you agree, very proud of your find. Taking the gift bags from his hands, you tilt your head. “Can you bring the tray to the kitchen?”
“On it.”
When you make your way to your friends at the front area, they all eye you with concern. But you wave it off and shrug off your coat to hang on the loan coat hanger—earning teasing and whistles.
“Shut up,” you groan, laughing with everyone before straightening the reason for the noises. It’s a dress you’ve been eyeing specifically for holiday parties. Because as soon as you started to shop for your gift exchanges, that quickly spiraled into shopping for outfits to wear to them. Did your coworker spook you into looking good because it was a public event? Maybe. Absolutely.
So you shopped around before finding a dress that even you knew you looked good in. And the past couple weeks were the longest stretches ever because of your anticipation to wear it again.
As you and your newest fit walk into the kitchen, you start to greet everyone, giving them hugs and smiling bright at their compliments. Because you feel good. You feel nice. Maybe you’re just drinking the holiday cheer and letting it consume you but you don’t care because it’s fun this time. This isn’t like any other year, and it’s wonderful.
But then.
Even the most wonderful moments have to come to a halt.
And yours crash when you see Yoongi.
Leaned back on one of the kitchen counters, his body appears relaxed in another damn black button-up, telltale silver chain hanging from a neck you wanna devour in front of the whole house.
He was already annoying last year. But this time, his hair’s longer, and made up with just the right amount of disarray and a little bit even tucked behind his ear.
Fuck, this is so much worse!
If he wasn’t so attractive and magnetizing, you’d have way less than ninety-nine problems. It would be a lot closer to zero.
But you make your way over to him anyway, because of course you would. Of course he knew you would, too.
“Hi,” you greet him, hands tingling with the desire to cup his beautiful chin and yank him in for a kiss.
But he greets you back while giving you a hug, not without giving you a very obvious once-over.
“Beautiful,” he whispers in your ear before pulling away, which can only make you babble out,
“What?”
He grins wide. “You look nice.”
Oh. Oh, he really did say that. Why are you surprised? Why are you always surprised? But you have to stay poised so you stick with a neutral,
“So do you.”
“Thanks,” he says with a sly curve, still leaning back on the counter with a drink in hand. “Say something else.”
“Goodbye forever,” is what you go with, back heating with his staccato laughs following your speedy retreat.
No, no, no. He cannot notice how excited you are to give him his gift. Your bubbling excitement needs to be projected elsewhere. Because you know you picked perfect. It’s something you know he’d appreciate.
But he cannot have his ego inflated anymore or else the house would float to the sky.
But fucking hell, he looks damn good and he knows it.
After an hour or so of socializing and keeping to your little friend circle, Jimin gets everyone together in the big living room to do the exchange.
When someone calls his name, the man grins and shakes his head. “Nah, I’m host.”
“So shouldn’t you be the one to start?”
“My house, my rules!” Jimin argues with zest, pointing to the guy that dared to challenge him, “So you go first.”
And that man just so happens to secretly be yours.
Shouts erupt around the living room, and you can mostly hear Hoseok and Seokjin since they’re closest,
“Go, Yoong!”
“Ah, Yoongi’s first for a change.”
Secretly and not so secretly, you’re hoping and wishing that he pulled your name. But the odds of that would be pretty slim if you pulled him, even though it was an even chance across the board.
But as he gets up from the arm of Jimin’s couch holding a small gift bag, you determine that maybe it’s best if he didn’t pull your name. Because you already had trouble opening Yuri’s gift. How the hell would you control yourself opening his?
“K, uhh. I got…”
Wait, he’s looking towards you from across the room.
Shit. Is it happening?
You?
“Taehyung.”
A pang of disappointment and relief shoots through your veins, even when you shout with everyone while watching Tae smile from his place right next to you.
Yoongi walks right up to your seats, which are really some extra fold-out chairs by Jimin’s decorated tree. And he smells so good. Why do you have to be close to him again?
But this moment is about Taehyung, so you watch as he opens the gift. When there’s a small box inside the bag, he opens that to reveal a nice, slim… wallet?
Wait, is that leather?
Your mouth drops as everyone’s up and raising questions already, and you can clearly hear Jungkook and your brother protest the highest,
“Wait, huh?”
“We set a limit for a reason!”
Yoongi’s hands stay in his pockets when he refutes, “It was on sale.”
“Nah, he’s lying!”
Taehyung doesn’t know what to say, so when he looks at you, it takes all your strength to encourage him neutrally,
“It’s so you! Deserved.”
Yoongi looks at you before asking your friend, “Is it okay?”
“It’s perfect,” Taehyung says, full of gratefulness. “I’m just shocked.”
Jimin and Shiv chuckle from one of the couches,
“Oh? He’s never shocked.”
“This is new.”
Yoongi smiles as Tae gets up to hug him, and you’re immediately okay not being the one receiving anything right now.
Because you don’t need anything from him.
All you want is his happiness.
Once the initial gift is given, everyone goes down the line. And you’re feeling a little lighter after knowing who Yoongi got. Also, you feel less and less awkward about your gift, since the chaos of Yoongi’s was only the beginning.
Because when Taehyung gifts your brother a chain, everyone’s up and yelling again while your sibling is shocked to hell.
On one end of the living room, Namjoon shakes his grinning head while Jungkook throws his back,
“Alright, there needs to be a penalty for the most expensive gift.”
“We obviously didn’t give a shit about the limit.”
Everyone’s laughter fills the house, even drowning out the faint holiday music floating from the surround speakers.
Immediately clipping on his necklace, your brother shouts, “Am I the only one that stuck to what we agreed on?”
“Sucks for who got yours then.”
Everyone starts laughing or reprimanding Yoongi for saying that—you with a cackle included.
But then your brother busts out a fucking watch for Shiv and everyone goes bananas.
At this point, Taehyung’s fully laughing behind his fingers on his forehead, and Jimin collapses on a gawking Yoongi when Shiv quite literally jumps up.
“What the hell? Dude, I can’t take this.”
“Yes, you can! And you will.”
Fingers are pointing in every direction while people are calling each other liars, and your brother laughs on like a gremlin.
But it’s all so adorable that your heart is squeezing. Shiv’s damn near tearing up. “I’ve been eyeing this one for forever.”
“I know! You wouldn’t stop running your damn mouth about that thing.” Your older sibling claps him on the shoulder. “You can shut up now,” he says with a grin, and Shiv gives him a big hug.
“Thanks, man.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
Shiv’s turn. And everyone is waiting for what he decided to gift.
Turns out he keeps the shenanigans going by gifting Jungkook a luxury tie set.
The blond’s jaw drops as he stares hard at the package. Looking up quick, he has to ask for sure, “A set, dude?”
“It was on sale!”
“Again?”
“Are we all gonna say the same lie?”
Everyone can’t hide their amusement, with creased eyes and fake annoyance in every seat. Jungkook can’t believe his luck, since he’s been telling himself to get dress clothes forever but hasn’t gotten around to it.
“You gotta dress like a man now, kid,” Shiv tells him with a bright smile. “There’s a lot coming now that you’re making it.”
A light bulb softly glows when you realize that Yoongi might need to do the same. Trying not to look obvious, you peek in his direction.
As he stares at the floor, you already know he’s mulling over the same thoughts.
But it’s Jungkook’s turn now, and you still haven’t gotten a gift yet.
So you’re waiting with all the air in your lungs.
As the blond teases his pick, the studio boys are quick to handle him as Yoongi only huffs.
“I got… I got… I got, I got, I got, I got—”
“Kook, just say it.”
“Always like this.”
“Jimin!”
Your heart beats again as the host pops up from his couch, everyone cheering as Kook meets him in the center. Around you, speculation from your friends mixed with a little laughter spikes,
“He probably stuck to the limit.”
“Definitely.”
“Jimin’s gonna be the only one left with—”
Cackles and screams rip as Jimin kicks his head back in laughter, because in his hands is a sleek white box that everyone recognizes.
This man got Jimin designer shades.
Your cheeks hurt as you react with everyone, giddy and bubbly with how absolutely ridiculous this whole night has gone. Everyone accusing each other of cheating, while all the while every single gift has been over the top.
You really don’t feel bad about revealing your gift anymore. Quite honestly, you almost feel more bad about it not being enough.
No. It’s enough.
Yours is the best and you stick to that.
Jimin takes the sunglasses out of the box and protective pouch, slipping them on and modeling immediately.
Oh’s and ah’s echo before his friends inflate his ego,
“Damn, you sure you aren’t a model?”
“You’re one step away.”
“He really is.”
He looks great and he knows it. And he carefully puts them back in their packaging before giving Jungkook a hug. They exchange conversation, and you can feel the latter’s smile as he laughs before sitting down.
Suddenly, you have the strongest intuition that you’re next. On Jimin’s turn. He’s getting out a very nice bag from behind a couch and your brain is firing off.
“Okay! The best gift is going to…”
You were right. He calls your name.
Smiling, you shakily stand as Jimin approaches, a twinkling look in those features glowing in incandescent lights.
Eyes on you. Many eyes.
A little overwhelmed, you thank him before sitting down. Because it’s much easier to do this while on a solid, structured surface.
“Hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will.”
Best gift? What could Jimin possibly mean by—
Your scream shoots out as you clamp the bag shut because no fucking way you saw what you just saw in there.
Jimin’s laughing his ass off but it’s not funny.
“Jimin, what the fuck!” Now you know how Shiv felt and he is absolutely valid for his reaction. “I can’t accept this.”
People are concerned around you, and you quickly think they may have the wrong idea.
“What did he get?”
“What’s in there?”
Quelling some thoughts, you explain, “It’s a box.”
“Okay?”
You just gotta say it. They’re all gonna know as soon as you take it out anyway. So you breathe out,
“…It’s Dior.”
It’s the loudest it’s been all night, even though your friends are completely speechless. All the guys are up in arms and Jia’s scream for penalty can be heard through the chaos,
“What!”
“Where’s my Dior?”
“What the fuck?”
“Jimin…”
“Okay, that is way over limit! That’s cheating!”
“Penalty!”
Jimin’s sneaky smile as he turns around doesn’t help, “You know I get everything for less.”
“So?”
“Still, what the hell, man!”
You know Jimin works there. You do. But this is still making your limbs jelly and you can’t even speak.
There’s no way Dior is passed around at every gift exchange.
“You deserve it. For dealing with him.” He looks at your brother, but the look in his eyes is too sparkly to be completely truthful. Does he mean Yoongi? Or is he being serious?
Of course, your sibling throws out a droning, “Wow.”
After lots of shaky unboxing, you reveal a stunning bracelet, your friends bending down around you to gawk at how brilliant it is. Dancing in your fingers, this piece shimmers and gleams, and every single person is quiet.
Guilt. You feel guilt.
And you can’t even look at the reason why.
“Whatever you’re feeling, don’t. It’s okay.”
You’re tearing up because it’s way too nice. Which proves worse because you also feel bad for crying for the sole fact that Yoongi’s watching. You don’t want him to get the wrong idea.
You get up to hug him. “I… This is really nice, Jimin. Thank you.”
“Stop by the store sometime,” he offers with a smile. “Maybe I can slip more in your purse.”
“Easy,” your brother eyes him.
“So are we all getting fancy gifts or what?”
“Nope! Ran out of my discount, sorry.”
“Wow.”
When you finally glance around, everyone’s either a mix of shock and awe, visibly confused, or just jealous and wondering what the hell just happened.
Meanwhile.
Yoongi straight up looks like he’s holding his tongue.
And you suddenly feel really bad.
Hopefully giving him his gift will make up for what just happened. Even though you’re going after the hardest hitter of the damn night, this one’s special.
But who are you kidding? People are definitely gonna talk in private about Jimin’s little gift.
So now you have to try and mend this while acting like Yoongi’s just your brother’s friend. Cool. Awesome.
“So...”
Just try your goddamned best.
“Yoongi is mine.”
…Wait.
Your secret looks your way immediately while everyone snaps their heads to him.
What the fuck did you say?
Wait wait wait wait what did you fucking say?
Flapping your arms, you reach for words while everyone starts teasing, “Oh, god. I mean—I have Yoongi—I mean, wow. Hold on.”
Fucking fuck fuck, he’s grinning.
Thank the lord above for someone cheekily asking,
“First time at a gift exchange?”
You look away from the laughs while trying to compose your grin of embarrassment. Get it the fuck together, this is peak time to get it right.
“God. Okay.” You look down at your bag. All of its carefully folded and primped paper, the delicate folding inside. “For the gift exchange,” you clarify with a forced firm tone, “I got Yoongi.”
You feel Dom try her damned best to hide her laugh. And you know for damn sure Jimin and Taehyung are thoroughly amused right now.
All the oh’s sounding off in the living room are already enough to set your ears smoking. Your brother’s voice can be heard, but you know that’s for a specific reason.
Everything had to be carefully calculated, after all.
You walk up to him, and you cannot—absolutely cannot—look too long at the way he’s looking up at you. Him sitting in any capacity is enough to drive you up a wall, but now? When he looks so freshly fitted and prepping to tease you about all this later? You can barely think straight.
“I don’t think I can beat Jimin’s gift,” you sigh to his curious eyes. “But it’s a little too late to change.”
His smile turns so soft. He shouldn’t be the one comforting you right now when you probably broke a little of his heart. “It’s all good.”
Keep going.
Cleaning your clogged throat, you brave the crowd and breathe before starting again, “Anyway. This is kinda from both of us, but I picked it because I have better taste.”
“Hey, what the hell?”
Ignoring your brother’s protest, you watch as Yoongi softly opens the gift before pulling out a basketball jersey.
Of his favorite player.
“Holy shit.”
Shouts start erupting behind your back as you laugh, your sneaky gift joining the rest of them.
“Hello? That’s way too much!”
“That’s over the limit for sure.”
You wave your hands frantically among their teasing arguments, and your brother chimes in on your side. “I didn’t know what to get!”
“So you got a real jersey?”
“Relax, y’all. It’s from both of us.”
“Wait, which one’s Lillard again?”
“Damian,” Yoongi softly says in awe. “How’d you know?”
You can only blink, smiling faltering by the slightest amount.
Fuck, he’s gonna be cheeky right now? Knowing you know and exactly how you know? Cuddled up with him in his bed as he shows you highlight reels and tells you the guy’s whole story and that he happens to be a rapper, too?
Looking back towards your brother, you explain, “Well... He gave me a list. And I just picked off vibes.”
Yoongi’s eyes sparkle so much when he grins. “Good choice,” he compliments with creased eyes. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome!” You say back with a little too high of a pitch. “But tell him he still owes you a gift. This doesn’t count for him.”
“Uhh, it sure as fuck does!”
Yoongi breaks eye contact to shout behind you, “Didn’t you already tell me you got me something?”
“Yeah, it was that!”
“What a lie,” Yoongi says through a smile.
“Yeah, I did,” your brother surrenders. “The shoes are in my bag. Okay, next!”
Hilariously, two pairs of people end up getting each other. Yuri’s older sister Jia got Seokjin, who also drew her name—to the slight angst of your brother, you imagine.
And Hoseok ends up getting Namjoon. Which turns out being twice as funny because they both got each other the same pair of earphones. You can’t breathe with how hard you cackle with everyone, and your heart skips when you catch a glimpse of Yoongi’s eyes across the room.
By the end of the exchange, everyone’s bellies and cheeks sting from laughter, and every eye in sight has twinkles embedded inside.
Throughout the night, everyone starts branching off into different groups. You and your friends talk in the kitchen, and both in and out of the house, there’s groups of games and conversations.
The holiday decorations everywhere shine bright. Enveloped in the music, you keep looking at the lights, feeling happy but a little bittersweet.
You really wanna set the record straight with Yoongi. You had no damn clue that Jimin was gonna give something like that, much less in front of everyone.
The fact that you haven’t been in the same room for a bit makes it worse. What could he be thinking right now? You can’t tell because he’s nowhere in sight.
Screw it. You’re gonna at least text him. There’s no way you can survive the night if you’re gonna plague your own head without checking in with him.
Fishing out your phone, you sidestep away for a second to type something quick.
You [10:38pm]: i know it’s not dior.. but hope you like your gift :’))
Yoongi [10:38pm]: You know I do. It’s perfect, doll.
Well. He texted back super quick.
Maybe he’s really okay? Maybe he and Jimin already talked it through?
Then again.. Yoongi didn’t look happy at all during the big reveal. To the point where he was actively showing emotions you rarely get to see.
But if he says he likes his gift, that’s a good sign.
You [10:42pm]: i can’t believe jimin did that
Yoongi [10:42pm]: That was bold.
You [10:42pm]: seriously!!!
Hmm. So he didn’t know. That’s even more surprising than him knowing, now that you think about it.
You’re called over to get another round of food, and you turn down the initial invite but stay around as they get more to eat.
When you see a tray that smells way too good, you do break and get a piece anyways.
“Yeah, those are amazing,” Yuri chirps. “Shiv made those.”
“Really?” Dom grabs a couple pieces. “Lemme try these then.”
“You’re gonna want more.”
As you find a place outside to eat, you stand next to the heater while conversing with Taehyung. It’s adorable how you can tell how excited he is about his gift, turning it in his hand before pocketing the leather again.
“It’s so nice,” you compliment.
“He knows how to pick, I guess,” Tae smiles, looking at you and making you shy. Because hello? There’s no way he’s gonna be bringing that up tonight.
When you silently mouth for him to shut up, he grins like a madman. Glancing down at your hands, he suddenly asks, “Are you gonna put that down?”
“No,” you say with a tiny pang of guilt. “Afraid not.”
“Mm.”
Your phone buzzes again, and you’re thankful for the interruption.
Yoongi [11:09pm]: Guess I have to do better😔
Instantly, you take that gratefulness back.
You [11:09pm]: NO!! you don’t have to worry about me at all
Yoongi [11:10pm]: I can’t lose to you
You [11:10pm]: trust me, i just…
You think about sending the other text or not. But you do anyway.
Taehyung sees the look in your faraway face, but doesn’t comment as you peer down again.
You [11:11pm]: i just wanna see you happy
That’s all you want. If he’s happy, you’re happy. So it sucks to have part of the night come as quite the shock.
Interestingly enough, though.. Someone else in the house should also be pretty upset about your gift, and you haven’t seen Jimin cornered by him yet.
Unless your brother is just deciding to be courteous and beat his ass after everyone leaves.
Yoongi [11:13pm]: Then come over here
You’re not gonna argue with that.
So when your friends finish their plates, you suggest you all head into the garage. It’s already rowdy before you open the door, so the sounds get booming loud when you all enter.
Looks like everyone is blowing their money on other things tonight, too. The gifts were the nice part of the party; now everyone is fiending to take everyone’s cash.
“Damn, Yoongi’s clearing me out.”
“Told you not to go all in.”
“He did.”
As the cold weather rolls in, you watch as the games go on, with heaters humming with energy and your brother’s friends radiating competition.
No wonder Yoongi wanted you in here.
He’s on a damn roll.
As everyone groans after another win, Namjoon and your brother are in tatters,
“Yoong, what the fuck!”
“You hiding cards in those sleeves?”
“I told you!” Yoongi boasts, “Don’t get too cocky.”
“Says him.”
“Cocky, my ass.”
When you laugh, you earn a tiny glimpse of his eyes. But as his vision falls to your hands, you’re quick to look away, out into the night to look at all the lights instead.
Shit.
After some time passes, you find yourself alone on a balcony. Yet again. Cold wind blows through your coat, chilling you but making you feel alive. Too alive in this moment. Too aware.
The holidays aren’t so bad this time around. But you do need to set this one thing straight before things go a little sideways with Yoongi.
If he’s upset, you don’t want him to be. Even if he doesn’t say it, you want him to know you’re considering his feelings. There’s some things you just can’t control.
So you wait for Jimin, telling him earlier to meet you up here for the best chance at privacy.
When you hear the door opening, you see him come through, hair lifting in the breeze and his lips in a slight curve.
Get right to it. “Jimin, I—”
“Isn’t it so nice tonight?”
Stopping, you settle into a smile, watching him walk up to stand next to you before you both look into the night. The neighborhood glows beneath your feet, and everyone in the backyard mingles while puffs of air leave their lips.
“It really is,” you say with a smile, clutching the gift bag in cold fingers. Because you haven’t let go of it ever since it was given to you—it’s way too expensive. You’ve been guarding it all night.
Which is why you need to hand it back to the one who gave it to you. “We haven’t done something like this before, so.. It’s a nice change of pace.”
Jimin turns before realizing something. “Oh. I meant the weather.”
Embarrassed, you let out a laugh while his eyes crease. “Ah. That, too.”
“Got deep real fast.”
“Jimin!”
Both of you puff out laughter as you look down, just in time to see someone gazing right up at you. Someone that makes your heart squeeze on sight.
Oh, shit. Is he gonna get the wrong idea again?
You need to do this quick. Yoongi can’t be let down more than once tonight.
Sighing, you start to hold up the bag again. “Thank you—”
“He’s lucky you came around when you did.”
“Huh?”
Jimin leans on the railing before eyeing you with a smile. “You don’t even know, do you.”
“I don’t…” When you look below, Yoongi’s not looking anymore. And you panic. “Jimin, thank you. But I seriously can’t take this.”
Why does he look so calm? Why does he keep acting like this isn’t a big deal? “You can.”
“No, really. I—”
“I may have gone too far this time.”
Your eyes still as you breathe out a confused, “...What?”
Jimin’s face is dusted with peach in the cold, and you get a good view of his jawline as he peers down below with a regretful curve. “I kinda tricked him,” he admits. “Into picking your gift for the exchange.”
The shock you feel prevents you from even blinking. How the hell can this get even more overwhelming? “What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t lying when I said I got some good discounts.” Jimin turns around to lean against the railing. “So I thought it would be fun to rope him into getting you something.”
When he laughs to the chilly night sky, you don’t join him—the shock is preventing you from doing anything.
“Didn’t think he’d pick a whole bracelet, though. Made for one hell of a gift exchange pick.” He looks at you at a tilt. “You like it, right?”
Even if Yoongi was the one to pick out the jewelry, Jimin still had to purchase the damn thing. And even with his discount, it’s still expensive as hell. It has to be. You haven’t let go of the bag once because you don’t want to lose it. “But you still had to pay,” you blurt out. “I’ll find a way to pay you back if you aren’t gonna take it.”
“I didn’t pay for it, either.”
Your heart stops.
Full on halts.
When he turns his head, he looks toward the sky in thought. “Well, I did secretly pay the exchange limit. But..” He straightens before staring back at your absolute silence, dropping the biggest surprise of the whole night,
“Yoongi paid the difference.”
The sudden sob that leaves your throat startles him immediately, and he rushes forward to put hands on your shoulders. “Hey, hey, you okay?”
“Yeah, I just—”
The sound of a door slides open, and you turn to see your favorite, favorite, favorite person walking through. You must look like a wreck but you don’t care, don’t care, don’t care.
“I’ll leave you both to it then,” Jimin says to your watery eyes before squeezing, heading out to give you both the quiet space you need.
But Yoongi clutches his arm as he walks by, and you hold your breath as he stares him in the eye, voice burning with a steady glow,
“Don’t pull that shit again.”
“I know,” Jimin agrees without pause. “I owe you one.”
“No one comes up here then.” Yoongi releases him slow. “Until I come back down.”
The host of the night shares a quick hand clutch before assuring, “You got it.”
Bag clutched tight in your hands, you watch in wonder as Yoongi approaches you with a quiet determination. His presence alone makes your heart beat warm and soft, but you cannot stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks.
All you can ask as he gets close is a wondrous, “Why..?”
“He’s a very persuasive salesman.” When you wipe your eyes, he helps with a little look of tenderness. Though there’s still some frustration evident in his features. “But I didn’t know it would be for tonight.”
“Oh, shit,” you sigh. “Why did he do that?”
“I’m not sure.” Yoongi holds your chin, rubbing your frosty cheek with a handworking thumb. “Taehyung didn’t know he’d do it, either.”
“Tae knew, too?”
“Yeah. He thought I had it, not Chim.” He sighs to the side, hair lifting slightly in the breeze. “I almost stood up when you screamed.”
Your heart shrugs off some chill. “Really?”
Yoongi nods before looking up with scrunched brows. “It took all of me to keep my ass down. Honestly, I’m still pissed the fuck off.”
You believe that. One hundred percent, you believe that. Because you’ve never seen him talk to Jimin like that before tonight.
Reaching to cradle one of his cheeks, you feel how cold he is before whispering to soothe, “Tell me how you wanted it to go.”
When Yoongi looks at you, your lips curve into a small smile. Peppered with a bit of your tears and willingness to make him feel better.
He softly grips your hand on his face before turning to kiss your fingers. Voice low, he reveals, “I was gonna take you straight to dinner. After you got off work one day.” Another set of kisses makes your fingers both hot and cold. “Then I would’ve faked needing something from the studio. And you would’ve gotten it there.”
“Oh…” You blink as your vision blurs. “That’s…”
“Among other things.”
At his suggestive look, you playfully pat his jacket. But your heart starts leaking from your eyes.
Because you just want it all to be out already. Just everything. Everything, everything, everything, you’re so tired of keeping it under wraps.
“What’s wrong, doll.”
“Nothing,” you sob. “I’m just… I didn’t know, and… This is a lot.”
You’re overflowing with emotions. From all the experiences you’ve had tonight to this very moment, everything has been wonderful and magical and there’s nothing quite like this feeling. But you’re also so embarrassed because he definitely brought out much bigger guns than you did.
Sniffling into his jacket, you whisper, “Thank you… You got me something timeless. This is so much cooler than my gift.”
“No! Yours is great, are you kidding me?”
“It’s a jersey… That’s much less cool.”
“Mm... You also called me yours.” When you freeze completely, Yoongi's shoulders bob with his pride. “Gotta say, that was the highlight of the night."
“Oh, shut up!" When you groan into his clothes, you feel him laughing through his chest. And it's one of your favorite feelings in the world.
Shoulders slumped, you heavily yearn,
“I want it all out now. Everything.” You squeeze him closer. Closer, closer, closer. “I want everyone to know it was from you.”
Yoongi doesn’t say anything, though you do feel his heart beat a little faster. When he finally answers, you close your eyes. “I know I said this last time, but.. Next year. For sure.”
“Can we decorate, too?”
Yoongi looks into your starry eyes. “You wanna?” When your nod is quick, he laughs. “Guess I don’t have a real choice then, huh?”
“Nu uh.” You squeal as he hauls you into a full kiss, squeezing you in his arms and more tears out of your eyes. “Wait!”
When he tilts his head, you grin at his adorable quirk. “Let’s do it anyway.”
“Huh?”
Holding up the bag, you cheekily suggest, “Everything you said. Let’s do it.” Biting your lip and feeling the chill on your ears, you finish, “There’s a new place I wanna try with you anyways.”
Yoongi just stares, smile unsure but huffing amusement from his nose. “You sure?”
“Duh! And I’ll act even more surprised, just for you.”
Your giggling is purely born from excitement. Because you can’t wait to take him somewhere you know he’ll enjoy, too. And you get to see the studio? It’s gonna be a fantastic—
You’re brought into a tight hug before your thoughts finish. The bag between you crumples a tad, but you’re more focused on the way your head is moved for a soul-tying kiss.
Warmth and gold and sparkles burst from your chest as you’re completely taken by Yoongi’s lips, and you start to feel your house inside change. It’s festive. It’s decorated. It’s made just for you and him.
You've never been one for this season. But getting to spend it with Yoongi two years in a row? It's becoming one of your favorite times of the year.
“I just…” he murmurs to your features before gripping you close. “Thanks, babe.”
“Thank you,” you whisper into his handsome features. “Once you give it to me for real, I’m gonna wear it everywhere.”
“Please do. Get my money’s worth.”
When you both laugh, your affection leaves in puffs of white. And you give him a more tender kiss than the first.
You feel so at home it hurts. But it hurts because your heart is so full you can’t fit it all. All the love for everyone that fills that hole in your life that you and your brother have had for years.
You’re gonna tell him one day. And it’s gonna rip you apart.
But you hope everything will be okay. This time next year, all of you will be okay. More than okay.
When you lean in close, you whisper something you’ve never really said to anyone. But you’re gonna try to start, even if you aren’t quite familiar with it yet. It’s a good year to start, start, start.
“Happy holidays, Yoongi.”
His lips spread slow before giving one more kiss to your chilly nose. And every anxious feeling floats away in the frosty breeze.
“Happy holidays, doll.”
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fin. :)
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so... how did it go! | join the server! | join the taglist!
a/n: happy holidays, merry christmas, happy new year to everyone that celebrates! just wanted to get this one out for the ones needing a little bit of cheer around this time. we learn quite a bit about some of the crew's backstories and where they work now, huh. is this a pocket universe, too? who really knows! but it all flew out of my fingers as soon as we got the suggestion, so thank you again to that anon message!
a/n 2: thank you to everyone that's stuck with me and 3tan this year. it's been a rough one, but i also wanted to post this one to let you all know i'm still here. 3tan will forever stay with me, and i have not ever forgotten it. not one day goes by where i don't think about it, or y'all, or them. trust me. also, stay on the lookout for some physical copy interest checks! we are getting closer and closer to 3tan copies being A Real Thing!
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feedback box:
⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated!
⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think!
⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like!
⇥ here!
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cant rmb when was the last time i kept up w 3tan!! but so happy to come back once every few months bcs wtf we have progressed so far 😭😭😭😭
i am pissing my pants panicking thinking about when they are going to finally let things be known to EVERYONE!!! my heart truly aches for them. i need things to work out or i may hv to slip into an alternate universe aka 3tan universe just to change things and make sure that it will all work out in the end.
