Madds,25 ✨🌹🍄🍰♣️♥️ (She/Her) 18+

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Baby Robinavitch

Michael Robinavitch x you

Robby’s Masterlist Updates Account

The sun rises, and so does Robby. Another day, same routine. Once, each morning felt heavier than the last. But now, the weight isn’t nearly as hard to carry, not when he has you and your beautiful baby girl giving him a reason to greet each new day.

warning/tags: so sweet your heart might melt, minors DNI smut, mental health issues, robby has mommy issues, body insecurities after pregnancy, girl dad!robby, mentions of depression and suicide, unprotected piv, fingering, pussy eating, creampie, blowjob, aftercare, hurt and comfort

Robby moved through the house on autopilot, all the years of sleep deprivation through college and twelve-hour shifts made him efficient even when he was half-awake. He stepped into Noa’s nursery, flipping on the lamp. She was working herself up in the crib, waving those little fists while her face scrunched in hunger. “Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, scooping her up immediately. “Daddy’s here. Let’s get you sorted.”

He laid her on the changing table and made quick work of the dirty diaper, cleaning her gently with wipes and sliding a fresh one on with the ease of someone who’d been doing this every day for two months now. “There we go, you’re all clean now. Yes, you are. Who’s a clean girl?” He cooed at her, and Noa’s cries eased a little at his voice and touch, blinking up at him with those big and round eyes.

Next, he warmed one of the bottles of your pumped milk in the small warmer on the dresser, testing the temperature carefully on his wrist the way you both always do. Back in the rocking chair, he settled Noa in the crook of his arm. She latched onto the bottle hungrily, resting her tiny hands on the bottle as she drank with contented gulps.

Robby watched her with pure adoration, rocking her slowly. “You’re adorable at everything you do, you know that?” he murmured, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. “Look at you, you’re drinking like a champ. You need to be gentle with mommy, okay? She loves feeding you, but sometimes you hurt her. She’s giving you everything she’s got, we’ve gotta take care of her too, right?”

Noa paused drinking for a moment, locking her eyes onto his face as if she was truly listening to him. Robby smiled at the adorable sight. “That’s my girl. You’re so smart, just like your mom.”

When the bottle was nearly empty, he lifted her to his shoulder for burping, patting her back in steady circles. A good burp came, but as it did, she spat up a little of the milk she’d just drunk on his shoulder. “Ah, there it is,” he chuckled, not bothered in the slightest. He grabbed a clean burp cloth from the stack, wiped her mouth and chin tenderly, then cleaned himself up. “All better. Let’s get you back to sleep with that full belly.”

Robby spread the soft blanket out on the changing table. Noa’s arms flailed once, then twice, her face scrunching in that particular pre cry warning that meant she was about three seconds from protesting. “I know, I know,” he murmured. “Hold still for your old man.”

He laid her down in the center, gently guiding one arm against her side, then the other, and began the fold. One side of the blanket came across her body, tucking firmly under the opposite side. The bottom edge came up and over her legs, and the final flap wrapped around and under, snug but not too tight, until she was neatly packaged with her arms secured and her legs gently contained, the whole of her looking exactly like a tiny burrito.

For a second she went quiet, with her eyes wide with surprise, as if she couldn’t quite believe the sudden containment. Then a defeated little sigh left her. Robby grabbed her once again, holding her against his chest.

He rocked her for a few more minutes, humming a tune that came from a place buried inside of him. He had the faintest memory of hearing it once, long ago, in his mother’s voice. Or maybe it wasn’t a real memory at all, maybe his mind had simply invented the comfort, out of longing and the few soft fragments he still carried from a childhood that had never been particularly gentle. He couldn’t tell which it was, whether the memory was true or manufactured no longer seemed to matter as much as the simple fact that he was here now, holding his daughter, offering her the same soft sound that may or may not have once been offered to him. 

Robby continued rubbing her back until her eyelids grew heavy. With her belly full, Noa drifted off quickly, her body going limp and trusting in his arms. Robby held her a little longer than necessary, just savoring the weight of her, the way her head was tucked perfectly under his chin. “I love you so much, Noa,” he whispered to her. “More than anything. You and mommy… you two are my whole world.”

Carefully, he lowered her into the crib, adjusting the swaddle and making sure she was comfortable. Robby lingered by the railing for a moment, watching her sleep, wrapped like a little burrito in her swaddle, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. “Sleep well, baby girl. Daddy will be home before you know it.”

He still couldn’t believe this little miracle that was now sleeping in the crib. He had spent decades walking into rooms where people were dying, or already gone, or fighting for their lives. He knew the weight of failure, he knew how easily everything could be taken. And yet here she was, warm, breathing, utterly unaware of the improbable path that had led to this exact moment. He couldn’t understand it, lucky felt too small a word, it felt almost insulting. What had happened to him was closer to theft, someone or something had stolen the version of his life that was supposed to stay solitary and quietly exhausted, and replaced it with this brighter, terrifyingly fragile thing. He kept waiting for the correction, for the universe to notice the error and take her back.

But she stayed. Night after night, she stayed. And every time he looked down at her like this, he felt the same stunned ache in his chest. Not the kind that used to mean another loss, instead he felt the one that meant something had finally, against every expectation he had ever allowed himself, gone right.

The two of you had been together for exactly one year when it happened. A beautiful year of falling deeper in love than either of you expected. The pregnancy was an accident, you'd been violently ill for a week with a stomach virus, endless vomiting, dehydration, barely keeping anything down. Your birth control pill had failed in the midst of it all. When the two pink lines appeared on the test, you'd sat together on the edge of his bed, stunned into silence. "We don't have to do this if you're not ready," he'd said quietly, covering your hand with his hand. But you shook your head. "I love you. And... I've always wanted to be a mom. If you're in this with me..." Robby had pulled you close. "I'm all in. I’m so in. I’d given up on being a dad a long time ago, but with you? This feels like a second chance."

From that day forward, Robby became your rock, devoted in ways that still made your heart ache with tenderness. As a doctor, he was meticulous, scheduling every appointment around his shifts, reviewing ultrasounds, ensuring you took your prenatal vitamins religiously. As your partner, he was everything you needed. He’d satisfied every craving without complaint, driving across town at odd hours for specific street tacos or fresh strawberries. He’d massaged your aching back and swollen feet, held you through hormonal waves of emotion, and spoke to your growing belly every night in that low voice you loved. "You're going to be such a great mom," he'd whisper, kissing your forehead. "The best. Our girl is going to know nothing but love."

He spared no expense for the baby. The nursery was a dream, with high-quality furniture, the most beautiful crib, expensive onesies and blankets he couldn't resist buying, a top-tier stroller, everything chosen with care. Having a baby with you felt like a dream come true for him, a beacon pulling him away from the darkness of the pitt. You gave him purpose, a reason to be better, to leave the hospital behind each shift and step into the light.

The first month after bringing her home had been a beautiful whirlwind. Robby was utterly ensorcelled by your baby girl. He lived for those moments maybe other men dreaded, changing diapers at 3 a.m. without a hint of complaint, feeding her while you rested, simply watching her sleep in his arms with a wondering expression you'd never seen on his face before. He'd trace her tiny features, hum songs under his breath, and whisper promises about the world he'd help her explore. 

With one last glance, he slipped out of the nursery, pulled the door mostly closed, and headed to work.

The pitt was already a chaos when Robby walked through the doors. The automatic doors hadn’t even finished sliding shut behind him before the noise hit, the beeping monitors, hurried footsteps, and hum of conversations between staff welcomed him as he approached the nurse station. He was used to it, there was never a clean first hour, never a quiet stretch where a man could collect himself before the day started demanding pieces of him. The pitt didn’t offer that kind of courtesy, it only took from the moment you crossed the threshold and kept taking until the next set of doors opened and someone else walked in to take your place.

Jack was finishing up his night shift, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee.“Hey, daddy,” Jack called him out with a grin, using the nickname that’d become permanent since Noa’s arrival. “How’s my niece doing this morning?”

Robby chuckled, setting his bag down and clapping his friend on the shoulder. “She’s wrapped like a burrito and deep asleep,” he replied. “Five solid hours last night, she’s killing it.”

Jack laughed, shaking his head. “Living the good life. I wish I could swipe places with her. Burrito swaddle and zero responsibilities sounds better than this circus.” He took a sip of coffee, his eyes crinkling with genuine affection for his friend. “Seriously though, man. She’s got you wrapped around her tiny finger, and her godfather too.”

They moved into the handoff the way they always did. Robby stood with his arms crossed while Jack walked through the overnight cases one by one: the elderly woman with the troponin, the young guy with the syncope whose ct had finally cleared, the pending cultures that hadn’t resulted yet. He nodded and asked the questions that needed asking, keeping all the cases organized in his mind.

Once the essentials were covered and the board looked as controlled as it was going to get, Jack leaned in a little, dropping his just enough to make the shift from colleague to friend. “How are you both doing?” he asked. “You and your girl holding up okay with the new routine?”

Robby nodded, curving his lips into a wide smile, the same one that always appeared on instinct whenever he thought about you. “Surprisingly great. The nights are getting better. She’s a good sleeper, and we’re figuring it out together. It’s exhausting, but… it’s good. Really good.”

Jack landed his hand between his shoulder blades in a brief clap. “Glad to hear it. You deserve this, Robby. All of it.”

There was no teasing in it, just the certainty from a man who had watched him burn through too many years. Jack held his gaze a second longer, then turned and headed for the locker room and the much-needed rest waiting for him. Robby was left standing in the nurse station as the day crew filtered in.

Word had always traveled fast in the pitt. When you were pregnant, he’d kept it locked down tight. Not because the joy wasn’t there, God, it had been almost unbearable some days, the way it kept rising up in his chest at the most inconvenient moments, but because the idea of opening that part of his life to the entire department had felt like standing naked under the bright lights. His personal world was his, and yours, it wasn’t for public consumption.

Jack had been the first to know. It had happened one night over beers in the corner of a bar. Robby hadn’t planned on saying anything, but the words had simply slipped out somewhere between the second and third round. Jack had gone quiet, he sat there with the glass in his hand, and his eyes fixed on Robby’s face as they turned glassy. He shook his head as a disbelieving smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He was simply so glad that his friend had found this in life. After the years of watching Robby carry the weight of the department, Jack looked at him like he’d been waiting a long time to see something good finally stick.

Dana had been next. He’d told her he was taking the rest of the day off, muttering something about the twenty-week ultrasound appointment, and she’d looked at him for half a second before she started to silently cry. She’d pulled him into a fierce hug right there, saying, “About time, Robinavitch.” 

Still, somehow, the rest of the department found out weeks later. Someone caught a glimpse of his phone lock screen, the unmistakable curve of your belly under one of his old t-shirts. Someone else ran into the two of you outside the movie theater on a night off and saw the way your coat no longer closed properly over the growing evidence of what you carried. After that it was inevitable. Congratulatory claps on the back, knowing smiles, the occasional quiet “Sleep while you have the chance, dr. Robby.”

And now that everyone knew the baby had actually arrived, now that he had come back from leave, they asked every single day. Begged, really, to bring her in.

Donnie leaned against the counter, grinning like he’d been waiting all morning for the opening. “Hey Robby, you gotta bring Noa in one day, just for a little visit. We can arrange a playdate with my daughter.”

Princess didn’t even look up. “Yeah, call your girl and tell her to swing by with her. We promise we’ll be gentle. No crowd-surfing the newborn or anything.”

Dana, who’d been one of the view people who’d visited the three of you in your house, was passing when she caught the last of it. She slowed, a laugh escaping her as she turned toward them. “She is the sweetest baby. Those big brown eyes and those round cheeks? I’m telling you, she’s going to break hearts one day. You’ve got no idea what you’re missing.”

Robby felt the familiar heat climb the back of his neck. He laughed and rubbed at the spot with one hand, the other still holding a half-finished note. “I’ll talk to her,” he said. “Maybe on a slow day we can make it happen. But no promises on the timing, Noa’s still tiny, and we’re trying to keep things low-key for now.”

A collective groan rose from the group. Someone called him a party pooper, someone tossed a crumpled glove in his direction, but there was no real anger in any of it. On the inside they understood, there was no arguing with him. When it came to his daughter, Robby was as protective as they came.

Throughout the shift, the requests popped up again in quieter moments, Perlah and Princess cooed over the latest photo Robby reluctantly showed from his phone after begging him for hours, and García teased him about “the Robinavitch legacy” in the making.

Robby moved through the rest of his shift with a steadier mind than he had known in years. The old restlessness was still there sometimes, but it no longer felt like it owned him. Between patients, in the brief pockets of relative calm, his thoughts kept drifting home. He would picture you dozing somewhere, maybe with a book half-open on your chest, Noa nearby, either asleep in her bassinet or awake and occupied with the serious work of being two months old. 

He wanted to be there, twelve hours had never felt longer. He found himself calculating, almost without meaning to, how many more patients, how many more hours until he could walk through the door and find the two of you waiting on the other side of it.

Then, in one of those rare stretches when everything was temporarily under control, he stepped into the break room. He leaned against the counter, pulled his phone from the pocket of his cargo pants, and for the first time all day allowed himself the luxury of opening the message thread with you.

Robby: hey love, quick break here. how are my girls doing?

You were curled up on the couch with Noa nestled in your arms when your phone vibrated on the coffee table. It was Robby. The notification made you instantly smile, shifting Noa gently so you could snap a quick selfie. You were both looking soft and content, with your hair a little messy, and Noa’s big brown eyes half-open, fisting one tiny hand in your shirt. 

You: We’re good💕 Just taking it easy today

Sometimes when he saw you and Noa like that, a thought would come unbidden. What would it have been like, he wondered, to grow up with a mother who looked at him the way you looked at Noa? Not the keeping-alive kind of care he had known in fragments, but a mother who noticed when his voice went quiet, who sat on the edge of the bed instead of behind a closed door, who made the ordinary hours feel safe simply by being present in them. Someone who would have reached for him the way you reached for your daughter without thinking.

He tried to imagine it sometimes. A different house, a different childhood, where the question why wasn’t I enough? never had to form in the first place. He wondered whether he would have been softer, less braced for loss, whether the impulse that made him push people away before they could leave might have been sanded down by something as simple and profound as being wanted without condition. He would never know what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that kind of mothering. But he knew, with an almost painful certainty, that his daughter never would have to wonder the same thing. And somehow, that had to be enough.

Robby’s response came back a few minutes later.

Robby: Are you two angels that fell from the sky? my beautiful girls.  god, I miss you both already, that smile of yours and noa’s cheeks i’m the luckiest man alive

You laughed softly, typing back while Noa made a small contented noise against you.

You: We just had lunch and now we’re relaxing. Our bellies are too full to move. Noa demolished her bottle and I ate way too much pasta. How’s your shift?

Robby: Managing, nothing too crazy yet, thinking about you two makes it easier save some of that pasta for me? love you.

The conversation tapered off the way when a multiple-car pileup sent six patients inbound, two critical, the rest still being sorted. Robby was already moving, pulling on gloves and scanning the board. And yet, even as the ED filled with the chaos of shouted vitals and the smell of blood, the picture of the two of you stayed with him. You on the couch, Noa’s body curled against your chest. For the next hour, through the first wave of stabilizations, that single image kept finding him. 

A couple of hours later, you had Noa on her play mat for tummy time, the little one determined and doing so well, pushing up on those still pudgy arms, lifting her chin clear of the mat with a concentration that made her round cheeks puff out like she was holding her breath for the effort. A soft grunt escaped her, you watched her for a second longer, then lifted your phone and caught the exact moment she managed another small raise of her head. 

You sent the photo to Robby without overthinking.

You: Look who’s being a tummy time champion today

His reply came almost the second the message left your phone.

Robby: look at her go!  she’s lifting her chin from her chest so well, she’s so strong already.  i’m melting over here Tell her daddy’s proud

By the end of his shift, Jack clapped Robby on the back as they wrapped up handoff. “Go home to your girls, man. Don’t linger here, they need you more than we do tonight.”

Robby didn’t need telling twice, he pushed through the sliding glass doors, and the cool night air hit his face. His scrubs were rumpled and his hair looked disheveled from running his hands through it during the final hours of a brutal shift. A few years ago, he would’ve walked to his car with heavy steps, feeling the depression taking over his body, wondering what the point was, if there was any light left beyond the next shift, the next inevitable loss, the next person he couldn’t save. No one would be waiting for him at home, there was no reason to keep pushing forward.

But tonight, a smile curved his lips as he unlocked his car. He exhaled slowly, feeling the tension easing from his shoulders. He was going home to you, and to her. The pitt still demanded much of him, but coming home to both of you recharged him in ways nothing else did. The memory of your face during labor, the first time he held his daughter, the way you looked now as a mother… it all fueled him. And suddenly the depression that once had haunted him post-shift felt like nothing but a distant shadow. For the first time in years, the future felt bright and full of possibility.

You heard the familiar sound of the front door clicking open and then shutting softly, followed by the thud of Robby’s shoes being kicked off in the entryway. 

Robby appeared in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted for a moment before he stepped inside. His eyes found you immediately

He still hadn’t found the right words for what happened to him the second he stepped through the door and saw it. You were there, settled into the middle of the bed in your oversized sleep y shirt, with Noa cradled against your chest like she had been born knowing exactly where she belonged. One of your hands supported the curve of her back while the other traced absent circles between her shoulder blades. Her little face was turned into the hollow of your throat, her eyes half-lidded and her mouth working sleepily against your skin. 

The tired but genuine smile you loved so much spread across his face. He moved quietly, shedding his jacket and setting his bag down without a sound, then he approached the bed. “Hey,” he whispered, keeping his voice low so as not to startle Noa. “How are my girls doing?”

His breath brushed your cheek as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, then another, a softer one to your lips. He placed one of his big hands on your shoulder, resting it there, while he hovered the other tenderly over Noa’s back. Robby stroked the soft fabric of her onesie with the pad of his thumb, careful enough not to wake her. Noa made a small sigh in her sleep but didn’t stir. 

Something moved through him then, it started in his chest and spread outward until his throat tightened and his hands felt useless at his sides. He could have stood there forever just watching the two of you. The woman he loved more than he had ever allowed himself to love anyone, and the tiny person the two of you had made together. It was so quietly sweet it undid him.

You were effortless with her, so natural that it made him a little stunned still. The way you shifted her weight without thinking, the soft sounds you made under your breath, the absolute certainty in the way you held her. Noa trusted you with her whole body. Even at this age she seemed to know, the way animals sometimes knew, that you were her safe space, that you would never let anything touch her, that you loved her fiercely.

Part of him still flinched from it, the old voice that whispered he didn’t deserve this picture, that something this good couldn’t possibly be meant for a man like him. But he had learned not to feed it. Every time it rose, he heard your voice instead, you told him he deserved this, that he made you the happiest woman alive, that Noa was lucky, so lucky, to have a father who already loved her the way he did. And somehow, when it was your voice saying it, he could believe it.

He kicked off the rest of his clothes down to his boxers and slipped into bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. Robby slid one arm around your shoulders, pulling you and Noa carefully against his chest as best he could without disturbing the baby. 

“How was your day?” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your temple, gently playing with the ends of your hair with his free hand. “Tell me everything, I want to hear it all.”

You shifted slightly, keeping Noa secure on your chest, and started recounting the day in a quiet voice. The morning walk around the block in the stroller when the sun was still gentle, the way Noa had stared wide-eyed at the leaves moving in the breeze. The feeding session that lasted nearly an hour around lunchtime, followed by a messy but successful attempt at tummy time where she’d managed to lift her head for a few seconds. Robby listened intently, asking gentle questions in between.

“She’s getting so good at tummy time, how long this time?” His thumb continued its soothing path along Noa’s back. “Did she fuss much when you tried the new bottle we got? Any spit-up today?”

You answered each one, smiling at his genuine interest. He wants the details, the small victories, the tiny struggles. After a while, he glanced down at Noa, then back at you. “Want me to put her in her crib so you can stretch out a little? You look like you could use the space.”

“Yes, please,” you whispered, and Robby nodded, carefully maneuvering himself into a sitting position. With infinitely gentle hands, he slid his arms under Noa and lifted her from your chest. 

She fussed for half a second at the transfer but settled quickly against his broad chest, instinctively turning her face into the crook of his neck. He stood there for a long moment, just holding her, rocking side to side with a natural rhythm.

You watched as he carried her to her nursery. From the monitor on your nightstand, you could hear everything. “Hey, my sweet girl,” he whispered to her. “Daddy’s home. I missed you so much today. You know that? I think about you and mommy every single second I’m away.” He cuddled her closer, pressing feather light kisses to the top of her head. “You are so beautiful. Look at you… those perfect little cheeks, that tiny nose. I still can’t believe we made you. Me and your mom… we created something this perfect. You’re half her and half me, and somehow you’re better than both of us combined.”

He took his time admiring her in the glow of the nursery lamp, tracing a finger along her eyebrows, marveling at the delicate curve of her ears, the way her fists stayed curled even in sleep. “My perfect Noa. I love you more than I ever thought possible. You and mommy… you saved me, baby. Gave me a reason to go on every single day.”

Eventually, he lowered her into the crib, carefully adjusting her clothes and swaddling her snugly in a fresh blanket, just the way she liked it, with her arms tucked in, secure and warm. He double-checked the swaddle, made sure the monitor camera was angled perfectly so you could check on her from your bedroom, and finally dimmed the light before whispering one last “Sweet dreams, baby girl. Your daddy loves you.”

A minute later he was back in your bedroom, closing the door behind him and climbing  into bed. Robby wrapped one arm around you immediately, pulling your body flush against his. As he tangled a leg with yours, he buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply.

“God, I hate being away from you two all day,” he murmured against your skin, his voice coming out muffled. “Coming home this late… it kills me. I miss so much.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, soothing him. “It’s okay, Michael. Noa and I keep each other company. We’re all right.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. “I don’t like leaving you alone with everything. I wish I could be more present. Help you more with the chores, the nights, all of it. You’re doing so much.”

You cupped his cheek. “You have your job. Taking care of Noa is mine right now, and we’re managing, I promise.”

Robby sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “You should reconsider hiring someone. Just for a few hours a day at first. We could find someone certified, with lots of experience and references. She could handle the chores, watch Noa so you can rest, shower, whatever you need. I want you to have some… room to breathe.”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him softly, smiling. “I promise I’ll tell you if it gets to be too much. But today we actually had a full one-hour nap, straight through, no crying, no fussing.”

Robby’s face lit up, and he let out a quiet laugh that vibrated through his chest and into yours. “Oh wow, a full hour? No interruptions? You lucky girls.” He grinned, pulling you even closer, sliding his hand down to rest it on your hip. “I’m proud of you both, seriously. You’re incredible.”

You turned in his embrace, capturing his mouth in a kiss. What started gentle quickly deepened as Robby groaned quietly against your lips. He was roaming his hands all over your body, keeping his touch gentle but undeniably hungry, sliding them down your sides, over your hips, and up your back, as if he was relearning every curve. He pulled you closer, kissing you harder, his tongue meeting yours in a familiar dance.

He broke the kiss just enough to murmur against your mouth. “We can stop whenever you want, baby. I’m just kissing you… we don’t have to go any further if you’re not ready yet.”

“It’s fine,” you whispered, threatening your fingers through his hair. “I’ll tell you if I want to stop.”

That seemed to be all the reassurance he needed. Robby shifted, settling his body on top of yours between your legs, careful not to put too much weight on you. The familiar press of him felt comforting and new all at once. His hands moved under your shirt, lifting it slowly.

Robby’s gaze darkened with desire as he looked at you, skimming his palms reverently over your breasts. He’d always loved them, loved sucking on your nipples until you squirmed, massaging the soft flesh, teasing until you were breathless. But he knew how sensitive they still were from breastfeeding, so his touch stayed feather-light tonight, brushing his thumbs softly over your nipples without pinching or pulling.

You froze for a moment as the insecurity took over. It came quietly at first, then all at once. The hunger that had been building under your skin suddenly was overtaken by the doubts creeping in.

You couldn’t help but notice the little changes, the faint lines that marked where your body had stretched to make room for Noa, the way your breasts felt different, no longer quite the same shape he had first mapped with his mouth months before she arrived. Nothing had fully returned to what it had been, and some part of you suspected it never would. This was not the same body Robby had first fallen in love with. This was not the same woman who had turned him on that first night, confident and untouched by the irreversible work of growing and delivering a child.

What if he didn’t find it appealing anymore? What if, when he finally touched you, it would feel obligatory, something he did because he loved you, not because he still wanted you with the same desire? You lay there with the questions pressing against your ribs.

Robby pulled back immediately, a look of concern replaced the previous heat in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently, cupping your cheek with one hand. “You want to stop?”

You shook your head, biting your lip as you looked away for a second. “I just… I feel weird about my body right now,” you admitted quietly, a little ashamed of expressing these feelings of insufficiency to him. Robby would want a confident woman, not someone afraid of taking her shirt off. “I’m… insecure, I guess. It’s changed so much, I keep thinking maybe you don’t like it anymore. That I look different… gross even. You know, with the stretch marks, and the softness, and everything. I don’t want you to think I’m gross now.”

Robby’s expression softened completely. He shifted his weight to lie beside you, pulling you close so you were facing him. He couldn’t believe you were saying something like this. You, the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, were lying here looking at him like you somehow believed the changes in your body could make him look at you with different eyes.

He’d watched you grow Noa, had seen your body shift and soften and stretch into something stronger and more miraculous than anything he had ever put his hands on. None of it had lessened what he felt, if anything, it had made him want you even more. The idea that he could ever look at you and feel anything less than that same helpless pull was so far from reality it almost hurt. 

“Hey… look at me. I have seen you, all of you. Every day through the pregnancy, through the birth, through the recovery. And I think you are so fucking beautiful, so sexy. You look incredible to me. Your body carried our daughter, and I love it. I love every inch of you, exactly as you are right now.”

He leaned in and kissed you again, slowly, as if to drive the words home. When he pulled back, his hand continued its gentle exploration, over your stomach, your hips, your thighs. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this, never. I want you just as much as I did before, maybe more. You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. The way you look, the way you feel under my body… it drives me crazy in the best way. Nothing about you is gross. You’re perfect to me. My beautiful woman, my partner, the mother of my child.”

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, easing the anxious knot of insecurity. He kept kissing you, your lips, your jaw, your neck, while his hands caressed your body with admiration. “This body,” he murmured against your skin, squeezing your hip gently, “It's so soft… I love it. I love touching you, feeling you. You’re so damn sexy it’s hard to keep my hands off you.”

You relaxed into his touch, the earlier heat returning slowly but surely. Robby stayed patient, never pushing, just showering you with affection and reassurance until the doubts faded into the background of your mind. 

Robby helped you peel his shirt off when you reached for the hem of it, tugging it upwards. He glanced down at himself with a self-deprecating chuckle, patting the gentle curve. “Look at this,” he said with humor. “I look about three months pregnant myself, and you still love me anyway.”

You laughed, the sound coming out genuine instead of forced, and pulled him closer until there was no space left between you. Your hands moved freely over him, with greed, tracing the lines of his back, the solid planes of his chest, then lower, mapping the soft give of the belly that had always made your mouth go dry. You squeezed the warm flesh of his sides, sinking your fingers in just enough to feel him.

“I love your body too. It makes me so wet,” you whispered. “Feeling you like this. Fuck, Robby…”

He groaned, the sound was pleased, vibrating against your lips. “Yeah? I know exactly how wet you get for me, baby. God, I love when you touch me like that. Don’t stop.”

You didn’t, you kept kissing him, kept your bodies pressed tight, and your palms sliding over his warm skin while his own hands began their slow descent. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and dragged them down in one motion, the fabric whispered along your thighs until it was gone. The cool air kissed your bare skin for only a second before the heat of his hand replaced it.

Robby parted your thighs with insistence and touched you, sliding his fingers through the slickness already gathered between your folds, spreading it, coating himself in how ready you were.

“So wet already,” he murmured to you. “This pretty pussy is so ready for me. Look at you… you’re dripping.”

His fingers found your clit with ease, rubbing slow circles that made your hips twitch helplessly against his hand. He worked your clit with that steady pressure that felt devastating, building the pleasure in rolling waves until soft moans spilled from your throat. Your nails scraped lightly down the length of his back, leaving faint red trails as sensation crashed through you, almost too much and nowhere near enough.

“Does it feel good?” he asked with his eyes locked on your face, drinking in every reaction he managed to pull out of you.

“It feels amazing,” you gasped, your own breath hitching under the assault of his fingers. “I missed this so much… missed your hands on me, missed feeling like this.”

Robby’s touch stayed steady, still circling your clit with the pad of his thumb in those perfect strokes that had you slick and open for him. Your body was responding eagerly, your wetness coating his fingers, your inner walls fluttering with every pass… until he let those same fingers drift lower. He toyed gently at your entrance, resting the blunt tips of two fingers right there, teasing you without quite pushing in yet, spreading the slickness he’d already drawn from you.

You grabbed his wrist instinctively. The motion was sharp, almost involuntary. Suddenly a million doubts flooded your mind at once. Robby’s fingers were long and thick, you knew the exact stretch of them, the way they filled you when he was patient and when he wasn’t. You knew he’d be careful the first time after birth, you trusted him completely. But fuck, after everything your body had been through, the thought of anything inside you still felt scary. 

“Stop.” The word came out quiet but clear, your fingers locked around his wrist, holding him still.

He pulled his hand away immediately, watching you with a concerned expression across his face. “What’s wrong, love?”

You took a shaky breath, the anxiety surfacing once again. “I’m scared it’s gonna hurt… after everything. The tear, the birth… I just—”

Robby shifted once again so he was looking directly at you, resting his hand soothingly on your thigh. “The tear is fully healed. Your uterus is back to its normal size and back in place. Medically, it shouldn’t hurt. But we can stop right now if you need to wait. It’s okay. I can just keep rubbing your clit if you want, whatever feels good for you.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “I want you… but it’s scary to think about something inside me again.”

He kissed you reassuringly. “I understand. You’re really wet already, which is perfect, but we can use some lube too. It’ll help everything slide in easier, make it more comfortable. Sound good?”

“Yes,” you whispered with relief. You trusted him so fully, you knew you were in the safest hands you had ever known. Robby would never push, he would never take more than you were ready to give. Your pleasure and your comfort mattered more to him than his own.

He pressed one more lingering kiss to your lips, the kind that said I’ve got you without needing the words. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you. “Don’t move.”

As he rolled onto his side, the mattress shifted under his weight, he reached toward the nightstand, rummaging through the clutter until his fingers closed around the bottle of lube you kept there. He settled between your legs again, kneeling on the mattress as he warmed the lube between his fingers before applying it generously to your pussy. “Tell me if anything hurts or if you need to stop,” he said. “No matter what. This is all about you feeling good.”

You nodded, and once you did, he started rubbing the slick lube over your folds. His touch was gentle, coating everything thoroughly. He teased your entrance with just the tip of one finger, circling it and pressing it barely inside. The cool glide of the lube mixed with your own wetness, making everything feel smooth. He watched your face the entire time, gauging every reaction.

Little by little, he pushed his finger deeper. Robby moved with patience, the length of it easing forward only when your body gave the smallest acceptance. You felt the stretch immediately, familiar after all the times he had been inside you, yet still careful, almost tentative. It wasn’t painful, the sensation was simply full, a pressure that made your breath catch and your inner walls flutter around the intrusion. Slightly foreign at first, like your body was relearning the shape of him all over again.

He didn’t rush, every fraction of an inch was measured, his eyes remained on your face the entire time, watching for any flicker of discomfort. When at last his finger was seated all the way inside you, knuckle-deep, he paused completely. His thumb stayed gentle against your clit, offering the smallest pressure, but the rest of him went still.

The fullness settled, and so your body adjusted around him in involuntary pulses. “How does it feel?” he asked softly, brushing his thumb lightly over your clit to keep the pleasure flowing.

“Fine,” you breathed the word out. “It’s okay… good, actually.”

Robby smiled and began to move his finger slowly, sliding it in and out with careful and shallow thrusts. He crooked it gently, searching for that sensitive spot inside you. “Still good? Any pain?”

You shook your head and a soft moan escaped your lips as he found the right angle. “No pain… feels nice.”

He kept going, building a steady rhythm, fucking you with one thick finger while his thumb continued circling your clit. The combination sent waves of pleasure through your core. You started moving your hips, almost on their own, seeking more of the pressure on your clit and the deepness of his fingers inside you. Soon your breaths turned into moans and whimpers, his name fell from your lips in broken gasps. “Michael… oh god…”

After a few more minutes, finally Robby leaned down and added his mouth. The first stroke of his tongue over your clit was slow, tasting how wet you already were for him. Then the flicks came faster while he began to pump the single finger deeper, matching the rhythm of his tongue to the thrust of his hand. The dual sensation crashed through you in the best way, the thick stretch inside and the wet heat of his mouth working your clit until your thighs trembled on either side of his head.

You threaded your fingers into his hair and pulled him closer, the initial fear had burned away under the rising pleasure. “More,” you begged him. “Please—another finger…”

Robby groaned against your pussy, he answered without hesitation, carefully working a second finger in alongside the first. The stretch was deeper, but the lube and your own slickness made the slide smooth. He gave you only a moment to adjust before he began to fuck you properly with both fingers in strokes that grew harder. Robby was crooking the tips perfectly against that swollen spot inside you until sparks burst behind your eyes.

His tongue never stopped moving, he licked and sucked your clit with almost ruthless focus, occasionally glancing up just enough to watch your face as he drove you higher. You were moaning loudly now, the sounds echoing in the bedroom walls. “Don’t stop! Fuck, Michael, it feels amazing… so good, please don’t stop…”

Your thighs were trembling around his head, and you pulled his hair harder, grinding your hips against his face and hand as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. Robby worked you relentlessly, thrusting his fingers deeper and faster, moving his tongue from side to side on your swollen clit.

The orgasm hit you hard, making your whole body seize on the bed, your back bowing as you came with a cry of his name. Your pussy squeezed his fingers rhythmically, pulsing with wave after wave of intense pleasure. Your own thighs squeezed his head and gripped his wrist, holding him exactly where you needed him as the climax ripped through you.

Robby kept going through it all, gentling his movements but not stopping until you started to come down, whimpering from how oversensitive you felt. Only then did he slowly withdraw his fingers and lift his head, looking at you with his lips shiny with your arousal befor kissing your thigh. “You did so good, baby. You look fucking beautiful when you cum for me.”

You just lay there panting, with your body limp, as Robby climbed up to hold you close, pressing tender kisses to your face and neck while you caught your breath. “I’d missed eating this pussy so much. Missed how sweet you are, how you soak my beard when you cum. Nothing in the world compares to that.”

Pressed against your body, you could feel how hard he still was, the thick length of him against your hip. When he spoke, his voice came out almost shy. “Could you… would you mind giving me some head for a bit?” He swallowed. “I’ve missed it so fucking much. Missed the way you look when you’re on your knees for me, how wet and hot it feels when you suck me. I keep thinking about it.”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Yes,” you breathed against his lips. “I want to taste you.”

He rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows so he could watch, you sat up and moved between his legs, sliding your palms over the warm skin of his thighs. The front of his boxers was tented, with a dark spot already dampening the fabric where the head of his cock pressed against it. You hooked your fingers into the waistband and dragged them down slowly, letting the elastic catch for a second under the curve of him before you pulled them the rest of the way off and tossed them aside.

His cock sprang free, leaking a clear bead of precum that slid down the underside. You wrapped one hand around the base and just looked at him for a second, then leaned in. You started slow, with open-mouthed kisses against the tip, letting your lips drag over the fat head, tasting the salty bead that kept forming there before licking it away with the flat of your tongue. Then you did it again, slower, circling the ridge, teasing the slit until his hips twitched. Another kiss, wetter this time, then a long lick from the base all the way up the underside, pausing to suck gently on the head while your eyes stayed locked on his.

“Fuck… baby…” Robby dropped his head back with a broken sound. “That’s it… look at you. So pretty with my cock on your tongue.”

You kept teasing him, kissing, licking, sucking just the tip into your mouth for a few seconds before pulling off with a soft pop and doing it all over again. Your tongue painted slow stripes up and down his shaft, getting him all shiny and slick. When you nosed lower, you mouthed at his balls, sucking one carefully into your mouth, rolling it with your tongue while your hand stroked him tight. The other ball got the same treatment, and Robby’s thighs tensed hard on either side of your head before a high, almost helpless whimper slipped out of him.

Only then did you finally take him properly. You sank down, stretching your lips wide around the girth, taking him halfway in one smooth slide. You worked your tongue on the underside as you sucked, hollowing your cheeks until the lewd wet sounds filled the quiet room. You bobbed slowly at first, getting used to the weight of him on your tongue again, then started taking him deeper, getting saliva dripping down his shaft and over your fingers. 

Every time you pulled up, you twisted your wrist just the way he liked, then sank back down with a little moan of your own. Robby was already falling apart. “Oh my god! Yes, just like that. Your mouth feels so fucking good. Missed this so much, baby, missed how good you suck cock.”

You pushed yourself further, relaxing your throat and taking him deeper until your nose was pressed against the hair at the base and his balls rested against your chin. You held him there, letting your throat flutter around the head, then pulled back just enough to breathe before doing it again. Spit ran down your chin, but you didn’t care, you just sucked him like you were starving for it, with deep strokes that made wet shuck shuck suck noises every time you took him to the root.

Robby’s moans were turning into something closer to continuous broken sounds. He whimpered when you hollowed your cheeks especially hard. He gasped your name when you focused on the head and sucked like you were trying to pull the orgasm out of him. He tangled one of his hands in your hair while his hips kept making tiny thrusts, like he was fighting the urge to fuck your throat properly.

“Shit! Look at you. You’re taking me so deep… your throat feels incredible. Fuck, baby, I’m not gonna last if you keep—”

You only sucked harder and messier, letting him hear every wet slide and every soft gag when you pushed past your comfort zone. Drool coated his cock and dripped onto his balls. You pulled off just long enough to lick him clean again, to spit on the head and smear it around with your tongue, then swallowed him back down to the base with a hungry sound.

Robby’s whole body went tight. “Stop… fuck, stop. I’m close… I’m so fucking close—” His voice cracked into another whimper. “Your mouth is too good, I can’t… I don’t want to finish yet—”

He pulled you off with a filthy sound, his cock was flushed almost purple and shiny with your spit, a string of saliva still connected your bottom lip to the tip. He was clearly right on the edge, breathing hard. Robby tugged you up into his arms instead of finishing, burying his face against your neck with a shaky laugh.

“Not yet,” he rasped. “Wanted your mouth so bad. But now I want to fuck you.”

Robby hauled you up by the waist and flipped you onto your back against the mattress, the movement was urgent, like he’d been holding himself back for too long and the last thread had finally snapped. His cock, still shiny with your spit, dragged across your thigh as he settled between your legs. He shoved your knees wide with his own, spreading you open, and looked down at the mess he’d already made of you, your clit swollen, your pussy flushed and dripping, the stretch of your entrance still slightly open from his fingers.

“Look at this pretty pussy,” hesaid. “All wet and ready for me after all that. You still want it, baby? Want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed, nodding desperately. “I want you inside me. I need it.”

Before getting inside you, he took his time .He gripped the base of his cock and dragged the head up and down the length of your pussy, spreading your folds open, smearing your wetness all over himself, then pushing up to rub circles over your swollen clit until it was shiny and throbbing. Every pass left another string of your slick connecting his cock to your cunt. He did it again and again, teasing the entrance without pushing in, watching the way your hole fluttered and tried to suck at him every time the head kissed it.

“Fuck, look at this messy little pussy,” he growled. “Already trying to pull me in. You’re so greedy.”

He finally lined up properly and pushed forward, just the broad tip forcing its way past your entrance. The stretch was intense, that first flare spreading you open after so long, but how soaked you were made it slide instead of burn. He stayed right there, only the head inside, and Robby started fucking you with it in short thrusts, popping just the tip in and out of you over and over, stretching your rim around the thickest part again and again while your juices coated him.

“How’s that feel?” he asked trying to hold himself back, locking his eyes on your face. “Any pain? Tell me.”

You moaned his name loud enough that it echoed off the walls, dropping your head back against the pillow. “Good! fuck, so good, Michael. Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”

He kept those shallow thrusts going, watching every twitch of your face, every time your pussy clenched and tried to drag more of him inside. Your moans got louder as you arched hard off the bed, chasing the head that kept rubbing perfectly over the sensitive ring of muscle.

Robby groaned through gritted teeth. Gradually, he started giving you more, with every slow thrust he sank a little deeper, another inch, then another, until your pussy was visibly swallowing him, the stretched rim clinging to his shaft as he fed it to you. You wrapped your legs tight around his waist and dug your heels into the soft flesh of his ass, rolling your hips up hard. The movement forced the rest of him inside in one long slide. Robby bottomed out with a loud moan that cracked in the middle, pressing his balls flush against you, the entire thick length buried to the root.

“Fuck! Michael— fuck me,” you gasped.

He cursed loudly, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as his cock twitched deep inside you. “Jesus fucking… your pussy. You’re so goddamn perfect. It feels so tight, so hot. I missed this so much, baby. Missed being buried balls-deep in you.”

He stayed completely still for a long moment, letting you feel every pulse of him, every throb. “You feel incredible. This pussy was fucking made for my cock. So wet it’s dripping down my balls already. You’re fucking perfect, baby.”

Then you begged, your voice cracking with pure need. “Fuck me, Michael. Fuck me deep. Please… I need it.”

Robby pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in to the root in one strong stroke. He set a deep rhythm right away, snapping his hips forward hard enough that each time he bottomed out, his heavy balls smacked against you, and the head of his cock punched that spot inside until your vision went white at the edges.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, voice already wrecked. “Take every fucking inch”

You clung to him like you were drowning, carving red lines down his back with your nails, locking your legs tighter around his waist so he had no choice but to stay buried deep. He gripped the backs of your thighs and shoved them wider, pinning them open against his body so he could watch every inch disappear inside you. 

“Michael… oh god, Michael, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop—”

The sound of his cock plunging in and out of your soaked cunt filled the entire room. Robby leaned over you, his sweaty chest sliding against yours, and claimed your mouth in messy kisses between thrusts, fucking his tongue  past your lips the same way his cock was fucking your pussy.

“Fuck, baby,” he snarled against your mouth, sounding desperate. “I’m trying so hard not to cum yet but this pussy is squeezing me so goddamn tight.”

One hand stayed braced beside your head for leverage, while he shoved the other between your bodies without mercy. He found your throbbing clit and rubbed tight circles in perfect time with the snap of his hips. 

You were moaning his name like a prayer now, bucking your hips up to meet every brutal stroke. “Michael! Michael! yes! fuck! I’m gonna cum—” you gasped.

“That’s it. Cum for me,” he ordered. “Cum on my cock… let me feel this pussy milk me. Soak me. Do it.”

Your orgasm ripped through you like a wave, your cunt clamped down in pulses, squeezing and fluttering around every inch of him. Robby’s control shattered with a primal groan. “Fuck— I’m cumming. I’m cumming right now, baby—”

He slammed home as deep as he could go and stayed there, stuttering as he unloaded inside you. You felt every hot rope of cum flooding your cunt, painting your walls and overflowing around the tight seal of his cock. He kept thrusting through it, forcing more of his release deeper, groaning your name into the side of your neck like it was the only word he still knew.

For a long moment afterward, the only sounds were your heavy breathing and the faint hum of the baby monitor on the nighstand. Robby collapsed on top of you, careful not to crush you, with his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses to your damp skin. “You’re incredible. Thank you for trusting me with this… with you.”

“I love you too.” You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as your bodies stayed joined. The intimacy, the release, the love… it all settled warmly around you. Robby eventually pulled out gently, before pulling you into his arms. 

He held you tight, brushing a damp hair from your forehead with gentle fingers. “You good?” he asked softly. “Any discomfort? Did it hurt at all?”

You shook your head, a satisfied smile spread across your face. “God no. That was perfect. Even better than I remembered it. I feel… amazing.”

Robby’s face lit up with relief and pride. He leaned down to kiss you tenderly, lingering his lips there. “It was perfect,” he murmured against your lips. “You felt incredible. I missed being with you like this more than I can say.”

All of a sudden,  Noa’s cries start coming through the monitor, small at first, then building into a fussy wail. Robby stirred immediately, already moving to get up. “Stay here, baby. I’ll go.”

You sit up a little, shaking your head. “There’s no milk ready. I’ll go.”

He gently pushed you back down with a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll get Noa and bring her here. You rest.”

Robby slipped out of bed, pulling on his boxers and a pair of pajama pants before padding quietly down the hall to the nursery. You heard his soothing voice through the monitor as he lifted her. “Hey, sweetheart. Daddy’s got you. What’s all this fuss about?”

He checked her diaper quickly on the changing table, it was clean and dry, then scooped her up against his bare chest, rocking her as he carried her back to your bedroom. Noa’s cries eased slightly at his familiar scent and voice, but she was still hungry and fussy. Robby climbed back into bed carefully.

“Here she is,” he said, helping position her so you could nurse. You lifted your shirt and guided her to your breast. She latched on eagerly, the suckling sound filling the room. Her little hand rested on your chest as she drank, her eyes blinking slowly.

Robby lay on his side facing both of you, with one arm wrapped around your waist, hugging you close while you fed your daughter. “I feel so lucky,” Robby whispered after a while as he watched you. “I never thought I’d get this. Making love to the woman I love… then watching her feed our baby. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world… you’re the most beautiful thing.”

You smiled softly, reaching over to touch his cheek. Robby stayed right there with his arm around you, occasionally leaning in to kiss your shoulder or Noa’s head. When Noa was done, with her belly full and feeling drowsy, Robby gently took her to burp her, patting her back until a good burp came. 

“Hey, you want me to set up the side-car crib? We can put Noa next to us and co-sleep tonight.”

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes in the dim light. “Yes,” you whispered. “Please.”

He carefully transferred her into your arms while he stood. The side-car crib was already in the room, leaning against the wall where you’d both kept it for nights like this. He moved it, unfolding the frame, locking the rails and adjusting the height so the mattress sat flush with your bed. 

When it was ready he took Noa from you with infinite care, and lowered her onto the small mattress. He adjusted the light blanket over her, made sure her head was turned just so, then stood there for a second watching the rise and fall of her chest before he finally climbed back into bed behind you.

You shifted onto your side, facing the side of the crib so you could watch her. Robby moved in close behind you, pressing his chest fully against your back and sliding one arm under your neck, the other wrapping around your waist. He pulled you flush against him until there was no space left, his knees tucked behind yours, the curve of his belly warm against your lower back. “There we go,” he murmured. “All three of us.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, you simply existed in the closeness. Robby’s voice finally broke the silence, coming out vulnerable. “There’s something about seeing you with Noa,” he whispered. “Watching how good of a mom you are… how much love you pour into her every single day. It heals something in me, deep down. Something I didn’t even know it needed healing until I saw you with her.”

You felt the slight tremble in his voice and squeezed his hand over your waist, turning your head to look at him. His eyes were glistening. “Because I know that you’d never… that you’d never leave her like… like my mother did,” he continued, and the wau his voice cracked on the last words almost undid you.

You knew the story, he’d told you once, late at night in the early days. His father had died when he was still a baby, too young for memory, only the absence left behind. After that, his mother had tried, for eight years she had tried, in the only way she knew how, which turned out not to be enough. Those years were not happy ones, the clearest pictures he carried were of a closed bedroom door and the silence behind it. Her depression had been a living thing that filled the house, keeping her in bed for days at a time, the curtains drawn, the world reduced to the small square of mattress she rarely left. A little boy learning too early that the person who was supposed to be his safe place could not even get up to meet him. He remembered standing outside that door sometimes, listening for any sign of life, and the stubborn hope that today she might open it. She never did, not really.

The night he found her on the bathroom floor stayed with him in fragments, the cold tile, the way her body looked smaller than it should have, the childish terror that something irreversible had already happened. He was eight, old enough to understand that she was gone. Losing her carved a particular kind of scar, the kind that never fully closed. He never spoke of it, but it lived in him all the same.

He was older now, and he knew better than to hate her for being ill. He’d stood in that same dark place himself more than once, close enough to the edge of death to understand how a mind could decide the world was no longer bearable. He could list the clinical reasons, the weight of grief and untreated depression and the impossible task of raising a child alone while drowning. 

He could be fair, but fairness never quite reached the part of him that was still that eight-year-old boy. That part still carried the furious question: why wasn’t I enough? Why didn’t the thought of me keep her here? If the one person meant to love him without condition could choose to leave him, what proof was there that anyone else would stay? The fear had settled deep, becoming a kind of muscle memory.

“Michael… baby,” you whispered, your heart aching a little for him. You shifted across the bed, moving to lie on top of him fully. Your body covered his, legs straddling his hips as you rested your head on his chest. You started giving him the soft little neck kisses he loved so much, gentle presses of your lips against the warm skin just below his ear, then trailing slowly down to his collarbone. Slow, loving, reassuring kisses that you knew soothed him like nothing else.

The contrast was almost painful enough, his own mother had been a closed door and a drawn curtain and the silence of a child who learned too early that love could be present in theory and still entirely out of reach. He had spent years telling himself he had made peace with that absence, but watching you with your daughter did something the years of rationalization never managed. It reached the place that still hurt and, gently, without asking permission, began to ease it.

Not all at once or dramatically. The knowledge that this little girl would never stand outside a locked bedroom door waiting for a mother who could not come, that she would grow up knowing the sound of a voice that answered when she cried, the presence of hands that reached for her without hesitation. That the woman he had somehow, impossibly, found was the kind of mother he had only ever been able to invent in the vaguest, most private corners of his mind.

It healed him, Robby would feel the old ache loosen its grip just enough to let gratitude settle in its place. He felt that in giving Noa a mother like you, the universe had, in some unexpected way, begun to give him back pieces of what had been taken before he even understood the loss.

He let out a shaky breath, wrapping his arms around you tightly, one hand stroking up and down your back. “I think it hurts a little, deep inside, when I see you taking care of her,” he admitted quietly. “It makes me wish I’d had a mom like you. What life would’ve been like if I had had that kind of love from the start. The consistency, the patience, the way you look at her like she’s the most precious thing in the world… it’s everything I missed.”

You kept kissing his neck, resting your hand over his heart. “I know. But you have me now,” you whispered between kisses. “As your partner, I’ll always love you unconditionally. I’ll look after you too, just like I look after her. You’re not alone anymore, Michael. You never have to carry that by yourself again. I’m here… we’re here.”

Robby’s arms pulled you impossibly closer. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for being so amazing with Noa, for loving her the way you do, for being such a great mom. You have no idea what it means to me… to see her safe and happy and loved every day. You’ve given me a family I never thought I’d have. You’ve given me healing I didn’t even know I needed.”

You continued the gentle kisses, moving across his neck and shoulder, occasionally nuzzling against his skin just to feel him. His hand never stopped its soothing strokes on your back. Eventually, you both drifted into a light doze, still tangled together.

He fell asleep knowing that tomorrow would be another day, another chance to do this all over again, and he couldn’t wait for the brand new morning to arrive.

A/N: If there’s one thing you need to know about me, it’s that I love imagining Robby as a father, especially as a girl dad. You’ll never catch me writing a fanfic where that man has a son.

I’ve always found it so interesting to think about how he’d experience parenthood given his difficult childhood, and how becoming a father might change the way he sees himself and the world around him. And now, knowing that canonically his mother took his own life, I think those feelings become even more complex. I’m also really interested in the idea of what it would be like for him to watch his partner be a mother to their child. To see someone love, protect, and nurture his daughter in a way that he never got to experience himself. I imagine that would bring up a lot of emotions for him, some painful, but also some incredibly healing.

That’s something I wanted to explore in this fic.I don’t know if I did it enough justice. I don’t think writing about emotions, or trying to be profound, is my strongest skill. I think there are plenty of writers who could tackle those themes much better than I can. But they were thoughts I’ve had for a long time, and they felt important enough that I wanted to try putting them into words anyway.

I hope you enjoyed it🩷 I’d love to know what you think, and as always, your comments and reblogs are very appreciated!

dividers by: @cafekitsune

[yzzart]

⋆˚｡SUGAR TALKING. | J.JUNGKOOK

hello? oh, you’ve reached spider-man, your friendly neighborhood. i’m trying to make up with a certain someone right now; don’t call me again! — please, don’t consider it rude.

⋆˚࿔ pairings: spiderman!jungkook x f!reader.

⋆˚࿔ tags + warnings: jungkook missing the date, cheesy pick-up lines and terrible jokes, mentions of the Scorpion, references to the comics, and the scene from The Amazing Spider-Man. (not yet reviewed)— wc: 2.6K

Some of the employees, whose faces you had started to memorize, began closing the chairs in the restaurant’s outdoor area; a sign that you should give up on staring at the establishment’s door and windows. — At least you would accept the outcome of the night.

Your boyfriend was late; specifically, one hour and seven minutes late. No, you did not admit to knowing the exact seconds. — Was it strange to be unable to stand or grow tired of checking the time displayed on your phone?

Staring at the restaurant’s classic dessert — which, by the way, was very good, and you would have loved to enjoy it at a better moment; that way, not wasting all of the chef’s effort with melancholy and drama — you watched as it was almost completely melted and had lost the will to finish it. You did not care about the feeling of embarrassment pressing against your chest. Your crossed arms could not hide your frustration from the waitress standing in front of you.

She gave you sympathetic looks, almost in a gentle way. The poor girl seemed as though it was the first time she had ever witnessed a date being stood up; she did not know what she could do. — The hiring team had never trained her for this kind of situation.

“Would you like to save the slice of tiramisu?” — she asked with a slightly uncomfortable smile, still trying to be understanding. It was the third time she had stopped by your table. — “We can place it in a more… suitable container, if you’d like.”

“No, thank you.” — You lifted your eyes, which had been admiring the melted, burning candle on your table, thanking her with your best attempt at a smile; it did not seem like enough. — “This is what happens when you lend your boyfriend to the city.” — You laughed without humor. The comment was a thought that had unfortunately escaped out loud.

“Oh, is he a police officer?”

“Worse.” — The waitress nodded, pretending to understand so she would not prolong the conversation, and walked away.

Checking your phone, even though you did not want to, it was 7:12 PM. Some notifications could distract you, perhaps. Looking through specific emails might actually be considered entertaining at that moment, or checking your gallery; anything was more interesting than your current situation. — You felt embarrassed, but more than that, honestly; you wished you could know every synonym for “embarrassment,” judge every paragraph in the dictionary, and have the chance to throw them all in your boyfriend’s face.

In the end, you did not give the dessert another chance and asked the waiter, who had been waiting since your arrival, for the bill. You made sure to leave a tip, which resulted in his eyes lighting up and a warm thank you, then stepped out of the restaurant and continued through the busy city streets. — The cold breeze did not bother you; you remembered the news reports and had brought your leather jacket. On the bright side, it was pleasant weather. — While the sky was painted with the orange hues of the late afternoon, blending into the beginning of the almost-night, you could hear a few sirens and helicopter blades echoing from afar.

Oh, right.

As an ironic coincidence, your phone started vibrating inside your purse; when you grabbed it, you bit the inside of your cheek — a habit of his that you seemed to have picked up — as you read the contact name and answered immediately.

“So, it seems like someone remembered they have a girlfriend.” — You teased, waiting for the traffic light to turn green so you could cross the street. On the other end of the call, a mixture of metal being crushed, something being thrown far away, and someone screaming fell into sync; accompanied by Jungkook’s heavy breathing.

“Hi, Jagiya!” — He could not hide the overly excited tone in his voice, more than he should have and more than the situation allowed, when he heard your voice. A voice with a strong accent echoed something like, “COME HERE, SPIDER.” It sounded so familiar? — “Ah, shit.”

“Jungkook, where are you?” — You continued waiting for the signal, this time impatiently. You could not believe he was calling you in the middle of a fight. — “Don’t tell me you’re fighting…”

“Fighting is a very strong word, sweetheart.” — Another metallic sound being thrown near your boyfriend. You heard him shooting webs. — “I’m having a conversation about anger management and its dangers with a friend who dresses like a scorpion.” — Something exploded in the background where Jungkook was. — “YOU WON’T CONTROL IT LIKE THAT, MAC!”

“Damn spider!” — The man’s words carried pure rage. The heavy metallic noises dragging along with his footsteps were clear through the call. This guy should be behind bars; the safety of this city was truly impressive.

“Now he’s jealous because i’m talking to the prettiest girl in the city.”

Regardless of the situation, or how serious it could be considered — whether he was being reckless or not — Jungkook never let go of his comedic spirit. Comments filled with pure sarcasm, terrible jokes, or historical references and random facts were part of his double life. — Of course, he recognized his limits; he knew that classic humor could not always save him from trouble. But the important thing was to remain willing to face those situations.

Besides that, his stupidly unfunny jokes and cheap pick-up lines made you laugh. — So, one point for Spider-Man.

“I’m sure he didn’t have any friends in college.” — Jungkook commented to you, but he did not fail to shout it loud enough for the villain to hear. You slapped your forehead with your hand. Immediately, the light turned green, giving you the chance to cross the street. — “He’s very rude.”

“Jungkook, we had a date, you know?”

“I know, sweetheart.” — He sounded genuinely sorry. You could picture his sad expression, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips forming a pout; you shook your head at the image. — “I’m sorry, please! I was planning the perfect date with dinner, little kisses, taking you to the bridge so we could watch the sunset, more kisses…” — Before he could finish his sentence, the masked man was interrupted by a growl; it was strange, and somehow difficult, to take Spider-Man’s criminals and villains seriously.

During your walk, you came across a flower shop. The flowers displayed in front of the store were beautiful, so delicate and breathtaking; you stopped in your tracks to admire them peacefully. The owner of the establishment, a kind elderly woman, introduced you to the flowers. — Meanwhile, things being thrown around and the Scorpion cursing at Spider-Man played through your phone; sometimes, you could hear Jungkook humming a song.

“Mom, look. It’s Spider-Man!” — A child beside his mother, who was looking at the flowers in the shop, shouted to get the woman’s attention. Your head immediately turned when you heard what the little boy was pointing out, and you followed his gaze toward the huge screen on the building across the street.

The masked hero swung across the block with his webs, dodging the Scorpion’s enormous metallic tail. The recording was live, but the quality was far from perfect.

“Just come back in one piece, Ggukie.” — You remembered you were still on the call. Your heart could not deny the tightness of worry; you did not care that he was in control of the fight, you just wanted Jungkook to be okay. — “Please.”

“You know i always come back to you, my love.” — You could feel, or rather hear, your boyfriend’s gentle and devoted smile. Deep down, you could not stay angry at him. After all, it was not entirely his fault. Jeon ended the call with the sound of a kiss, leaving you to continue your way home after admiring the flowers and promising you would return another day.

Your apartment was not that far away; only a few steps remained, about six minutes until you arrived. You wanted to feel excited, like you normally did whenever you knew you were getting home, but you felt strangely tired. — You knew what it was. — Still, you continued walking along the sidewalk. The streetlights began turning on, casting long shadows across the ground; it was the end of the day.

“Good evening, citizen.” — A familiar voice startled you. — “I’m looking for a girl who was unfortunately abandoned at a restaurant by some idiot guy. Have you seen her?”

Following the direction of the voice, you came face to face with a heroic, arachnid figure hanging upside down from a web. The reddish-blue suit, with black details, was dirty and covered in scratches; probably caused by the sharp edge of the Scorpion’s tail. Not to mention the mask, which had a small tear near the cheek area. — Jungkook would spend the night repairing that suit; and you would be right beside him,

You had not seen him before. — You had been so lost in your thoughts that you had forgotten the world around you. — That was why you startled so easily and quickly composed yourself; crossing your arms, trying to contain any smile threatening to appear on your lips.

“Hmm, i don’t think so.” — You shrugged, pretending you had no idea what your boyfriend was talking about. Jungkook lightly swung on the web and shook his head. — “But i’m sure she must be upset with the guy.”

You took a step forward, standing face to face with the arachnid; able to hear his embarrassed sigh.

“She has every right to be.” — Jungkook did not care about the looks the two of you were receiving from the people on the street; some were taking pictures or recording videos that would be posted online or sold to the press. He only cared about you; about making things right with his girlfriend. — “Aegi, i know this is an extremely stupid way to show up after ruining our date.”

Spider-Man detached the web holding him upside down, twisting his body with a flip before landing in front of you. Now, the two of you were face to face; or rather, face to mask. — If he were crazy enough, Jungkook would have already removed his mask and kissed you right there in the middle of the street.

“I have an explanation, and it’s a very long one, but it doesn’t change the fact that I left you waiting at the restaurant.” — He was behaving himself, holding back, stopping himself from touching you the way he wanted to; Jeon remembered that you were in public. Spider-Man was only reminding you to be careful. — “Please, don’t ever think you come second. Because you don’t.”

“Ggukie…” — You whispered his nickname. Your eyes admired him with such affection, with a love Jungkook felt he did not deserve. He could see the brightness in your gaze. — “…it’s okay. We can reschedule another—”

You were immediately interrupted by the hero.

“You trust me, right?”

“What do you mean?” — One of your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the question; it was such a ridiculous thing to ask, honestly. Tilting your head, you tried to understand what your boyfriend was planning. — “What kind of question is that?”

“So, that’s a yes.” — There was a playful edge to his words. Without wasting another second, a web shot around your waist and pulled you forward, making you collide with Jungkook’s solid body. Your scream was met with his laughter. — “Come on, you’re used to this.”

Your hands rested against the arachnid’s chest, while Jungkook’s arm wrapped around your hips, holding you tightly.

“Spider-Man…” — You tried to scold him, and his real name almost slipped from your lips. Jungkook raised his arm, shooting a web toward the nearest building. Nothing could stop him now; there was no point in trying to complain or protest.

“As always, hold on tight, my beautiful girl!”

There was no ground beneath you; it had completely disappeared. That classic second when your body realizes there is nothing beneath your feet continued to surprise you; it did not matter how “used to it” you claimed to be, just like he had mentioned. — However, you were never afraid of something going wrong or of losing your support; you were completely safe with Jungkook. — The hero’s arms were wrapped around you; he held you against his chest as if you were the most precious, valuable thing in the entire city.

And you were.

A few minutes later, he took you to the destination he had wanted. The bridge connecting one side of the city to the other; but with one difference — you were standing at its highest point. — Only special people, those permitted on construction sites, could reach it. — A part of the city that was not crowded; one of the only places like that, actually.

Jungkook landed carefully. — Extremely carefully. — Your feet touched the structure of the bridge, but the masked hero’s hands remained around you; and he would not let go. Without rushing or putting any pressure on you, he waited for your reaction and allowed you to take in the scenery.

Your eyes wandered across the orange-painted sky, blending into a mixture of colors, while the river reflected it below; the sun slowly disappeared behind the enormous buildings. — It was perfect. It looked like a painting.

“Jungkook, this is…” — You were speechless. Maybe a strong emotion was growing inside your chest, and you did not know how to control it. — “…beautiful.”

Jeon slowly removed his mask. Taking a deep breath, he seemed to savor the air around him. Small bruises and a tiny cut on his eyebrow were visible on his face. There was no longer Spider-Man.

Now, he was only your boyfriend.

“Did you think so?” — Jungkook brushed his nose against your cheek, leaving small kisses against your skin. — “I wanted to bring you here from the very beginning. Consider the dinner an extra.”

He buried his face against your neck like a puppy rescued from the street; while your arms wrapped around your hero’s broad shoulders, your fingers ran through Jungkook’s messy black hair.

“Well, i’m impressed.”

Jeon smiled when he heard you and lifted his head from your neck, meeting your beautiful eyes.

Jungkook slowly raised his hand toward your face with care and tenderness; as if he was afraid he would break you or leave a crack. — He cursed himself for touching you with those dirty hands; you did not deserve that. — His eyes then fell to your lips.

He could not tell who moved first, or if it was both of you, but the space between you disappeared when the oldest’s lips touched yours.

Pulling him closer by the collar of his suit, you deepened the kiss that had started softly; it transformed into something warmer, something more intense.

Jungkook’s grip on your waist grew stronger, bolder; he wanted to merge with you, to keep you as close as possible. The desire to protect you, to keep you within his reach, was overwhelming. — His determination and need to keep you safe would never disappear; Jungkook would give his life for you. — Even if he failed, he would never leave you.

Spider-Man could save the city — the damn world, the universe — as many times as necessary but he would always return to you.

[merakoo]

──── 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 | 𝗷𝗷𝗸 ⧽ TWENTY-EIGHT

𓄲  When he woke up the next morning it wasn't to the sound of his alarm — which he later on realizes he'd forgot to set — but the sound of your voice. Jungkook thought he must be dreaming, why else would you be standing above him looking every bit the angel you were? Or perhaps he'd died and this was his heaven. Then he saw the scowl on your face and quickly realized that he was in hell. But even that wouldn't be so bad — how could it be when you were there? 

전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst (eventual) explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) oc!cassian/oc!rayne (jk's children) drinking coping mechanisms and a big side of yearning

⧽ word count ⋮ 9.4k average reading time ⋮ 55 minutes

── [ ✉️ ] Alright so, this one is a dual POV. Both Jungkook and OC in here, the former's POV is shorter (you will understand why) I'm only reaching for the internal conflict in his, and more so the events in OC's. Right. Right. We have all been waiting for this moment. Everyone who kept dunking on OC for not standing her ground... Just know. Oh and Jungkook yearns like never before. Don't want to say too much because you need to experience this for yourself but he cries. Hah. Okay go go go why the fuck are you still reading this? Feedback in the comments/reblogs and asks are much appreciated <3

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chapter 28 — "Epiphany"

The Jeon house looks just like normal when you pull up an approximate ten minutes later. You may have stretched the speed limits a little and angered a few other drivers in the process. What mattered was that you were here — and in record time at that. Jungkook's car is still parked in the driveway and you take no shame in blocking his exit with your own before cutting the engine.

You make your way to the front door with hurried steps, reaching anxiously for the doorbell before pausing. After a moment's consideration you curl your fingers into a fist as you bring it to the wood, knocking only twice. 

No response comes from inside, not even if you strained your ears. You wait for what feels like an eternity but was probably closer to a minute or so. Then the latch on the other side is moved, followed by a brief struggle as whoever was on the other side fought the lock into compliance. The door opens slowly and you're greeted with the sight of Rayne, staring up at you quietly. 

She keeps one hand on the handle, lips pressed together as she sends you an uncertain glance. Her hair is done up in its usual ponytail and she's dressed in a white blouse paired with navy jeans that end high on her hips. "You came fast," is all she says before taking a step to the side and allowing you to enter, just like her father would. 

"I did," you almost add that it were for the fact that her call had scared you, though figured that it probably wasn't such a good idea. Your shoes and coat come off without ritual, landing in a messy heap somewhere on the floor, you didn't exactly care. Rayne closes the door behind you, managing the lock a little easier this time around. 

One of the first thing you notice is the silence. Silence was not an uncommon thing in this house but this one felt wrong — scary. Even the walls held their breath, the floor had yet to as much as creak under your weight, like it, too, was steeling itself against something. 

"Cassian is in the living room," Rayne points down the hall, taking a couple of steps before she stops to glance over her shoulder to make sure that you were following. You wanted to ask what was going on but decided to hold your tongue as you let her lead you through the archway and to her waiting brother. 

Cassian was sitting on one of the couches, tiny legs swaying back and forth as he picks at the sleeves of his own sweater — it was inside out, meaning he'd probably dressed himself this morning. His head snaps up when you enter, eyes widening a fraction but he didn't smile like he always would, he didn't even call for you. 

Rayne takes you over, and you crouch down on the floor in front of him. "Hi sweetie," you say, hoping that the waver to your voice went unnoticed. When you open your arms he doesn't hesitate as he falls into your embrace with a quiet sigh. 

"I missed you nanny." 

The words are muffled against your shoulder but they still have you tightening your hold on him. "I missed you too," you tell him as you stroke his back slowly. He doesn't cry even though you'd half expected him to — just breathes deeply through parted lips. 

His sister is still standing off to the side and you pull back just enough to reach one hand out to grasp hers. She doesn't shrug you off, letting your thumb caress her knuckles tenderly. "What's going on?" You finally bring yourself to ask the question that had been on your mind since you'd first heard her voice over the transmitter. 

She hesitates, her gaze flickering across the room before finding its way back to you. "Father won't come out of his room," she whispers, as though she feared he would somehow hear them from all the way upstairs. 

You frown. You frown deep enough for your temple to hurt and your forehead to crease. Cassian's breath hitches against your shirt but he stays silent, tiny fingers curling around the hem of your button-up. "He won't come out?" you echo, wondering what could possibly be keeping him from his own children. 

Rayne nods, her attention going to her brother. "I woke Cassian up so we could put on our clothes and brush our teeth. Father always takes us to school in the morning but I think he forgot today is Monday." 

It clicks then. Her attire, Cassian's haphazardly thrown on shirt. You push down the spark of anger that surges in your chest. How could he forget to take his own children to school? Rayne must notice the change in your expression, she clears her throat and gestures toward the hallway which the two of you had just come from. 

"You have a car. You can take us right?" she timidly asks. It was unlike her to ever be bashful like this, but here she was. "I packed our bags already, we can leave now. I think our teachers are mad that we missed our first classes—" 

"No." 

You cut her off by squeezing her hand a little tighter. "No school today." Her brows draw together in confusion, even Cassian dislodges himself from you to send you a questioning look. Giving him a small side-hug, you then carefully rise to your feet, "Did you eat breakfast yet?" 

Both siblings share a silent glance, the elder looking somewhat guilty. They shake their heads but allow you to pull them along as you make for the kitchen. 

When stepping inside you're met with what is best described as a catastrophe. A glass of juice lay spilled on the counter, along with the aftermath of what was probably supposed to have been sandwiches. The package of bread had been torn into but the loaf itself was moldy. There's a small trail of butter as well, leading all the way to the abandoned, blunt knife. 

"Cassian was hungry so I tried to make something for him but I—" Rayne trails off as she inhales a short breath, teeth latching onto her bottom lip as she chews anxiously. "I was going to clean it up when we came home again I promise." She was blinking rapidly and when you glance down you realize that it was tears she fought back. 

Without thinking you drop to your knees beside her, wrapping your arms around her much smaller frame as you pull her in for what was likely the first hug the two of you had ever shared. She stiffens immediately, her body going rigid against your chest but she doesn't shove you off — just quietly accepts the comfort you try to give her. 

Your hand finds the back of her head, fingers threading through her dark hair carefully. "You did good." The whisper is loud enough only for her to catch, but you know that she does when you feel her shoulders slump. Then you squeeze her a little tighter, as if to emphasize the statement. 

Upon pulling back, you instinctively reach up to caress her cheek, her skin warm and alive under your touch, such a stark contrast to the house you stand in. "But I'm here now," you say, thumb wiping away the single tear that had escaped, "And I'll take care of it. You don't have to worry anymore." 

Rayne nods slowly as she pulls in a lungful of air. She doesn't say anything, doesn't have to. You knew that she knew — and there was comfort in simply knowing. 

You help the children cook up some scrambled eggs. The elder insists on wiping the juice she spilled and you hand her a rag to do so. Cassian seems to be in a better mood already, he's less talkative than usual but he does his best to fill the silence as you prepare breakfast for them. 

The once bleak kitchen comes to life again, filled with the warmth of the stove and the aroma of food being made. "Would you look at that, there's bacon as well!" you exclaim upon pulling the fridge open. The meat was quickly added to the mix, sizzled in the pan until crispy. Before sitting down to eat you make sure to help Cassian get his shirt on right, aiding Rayne in pouring two new glasses of orange juice without spilling and setting the plates on the marble island. 

For a short while your mind clears up of all the thoughts that had been plaguing it for the past weeks. In this moment only the children exist, their small hands and hesitant smiles. They thank you for the food as they sit down to eat, gratefully accepting the napkins you fetch for them. 

"Will you go talk to father?" 

It's Rayne who speaks first after a few minutes of eating quietly, catching you by surprise where you had been cleaning up by the sink. You turn to glance at her over your shoulder, she was already watching you with a tight grip on her fork. "I will," you hum as you turn off the faucet and reach for a towel to wipe yourself dry. 

She swallows — though wasn't actually chewing — as her gaze flickers between you and her plate. There was something else she wished to say, that much you could tell. So you round the counter, pulling out the empty chair beside her own and taking a seat. 

"What will you say?" The undercurrent of worry in her question is impossible to miss. Rayne was protective of Jungkook, more than he would ever deserve after today. 

You have to bite back the rising anger, careful not to let it show in front of her at the thought of their own dad dismissing his two children like this. "I don't know yet," you honestly tell her. 

She nods, peering down at her food with a slight frown. "I think…" she trails off as she purses her lips, "…he needs to see you." The scrambled eggs are pushed around on her plate aimlessly, a simple distraction from whatever it was she was trying to say. You don't interrupt, even when curiosity gnaws at you from every direction. 

Rayne pauses, dark eyes flickering up to meet yours. It looks like she there's something waiting on the tip of her tongue. You can practically see the words forming in her head as she thinks them over. But when she she does utter them, you're not so sure they're the ones she really wants to say. "Father will listen to you." 

You almost outright object to that, your mind already arguing that listening to you of all people, was the last thing Jungkook would be doing. The girl beside you, however, seems sure of herself. She picks up another bite without bringing it to her lips, "Are you going to be nice to him?" 

Nice? Your gaze wanders across the kitchen — spotless now — but the memories if the state which you had found it in still lingers. Then you look at Cassian and Rayne, you think of the latter's voice when she'd first called, the bags she had packed and the breakfast she tried to cook. And even after all of that, she was still defending the man who'd forced these responsibilities on her. 

Would you be nice? No. The last thing Jungkook deserved right now was the same kindness you'd been giving him to no avail for so long. But that wasn't something Rayne should have to know. You place a hand on the back of her head, fingers brushing through the ponytail she had put it into. "I'm going to be nice to him," you tell her as you fiddle with the purple tie. 

"Did you say he was in his room?" 

After making sure both the children were alright, you had excused yourself with a small smile and quietly made your way up the stairs. For each step you climbed the anger you'd been able to mask slowly surfaced. Every stomp of your foot was louder than the last. By the time you reached the second floor you were practically seething with rage, and the source of it waits just down the hall. 

You had planned on slamming the bedroom open and have it rattle the walls — though figured that it would run the risk of the children hearing, which was the last thing you wanted. So you opt for entering like a normal and somewhat more composed person, letting it fall shut with a soft click behind you. 

You don't know what you'd expected to find in here but the mess that welcomes you inside was certainly a surprise. Clothes are littered across the floor — dirty you presume — an empty whiskey bottle stands on the bedside table, no glass, he must've been drinking straight from the source then. 

Jungkook himself is sprawled on top of the bed. The blanket clings to one of his legs, the rest dangling off the edge like he'd been tossing and turning. The dress shirt he wears is rumpled, its buttons undone to about halfway and judging by the smell inside the room, you didn't want to imagine when he'd last bothered getting changed. 

He's asleep, that much is evident. His chest rises and falls slowly, quiet breaths escaping his parted lips. Anger twists deep inside you at the sight of him blissfully snoozing away while his children were left to their own devices. And he'd better have the excuse of the century prepared when those eyes peeled back. 

Without courtesy you stomp over, fingers closing around the collar of his shirt as you yank him up with surprising strength. 

"Hey." 

The rough shake startles him awake and Jungkook blinks messily against the sunlight that intrudes on his sleep-ridden eyes. He lets out an indignant huff, his unfocused gaze wandering across the room before finally settling on you. It takes him a long second but then your presence seems to register and his shoulders immediately tense. 

Puzzled by your sudden appearance, his brows scrunch together and it looks as though he wants to say something. But you're not here to listen. "Get up," you hiss when hauling him further off the mattress, forcing him to catch himself on his elbows with a startled noise. 

"What are you—?" 

"Quiet." 

His jaw snaps shut, surprisingly enough, and he continues to regard you with an irritate frown. "Do you know what time it is?" you question, to which he hesitates before shaking his head slowly. Clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you suppress a roll of your eyes. "Well then I'll have you know that it's almost eleven." 

Rightfully baffled by this information, Jungkook parts his lips to speak — only for you to let go of his collar as you shove him back with enough momentum for him to nearly go crashing into his pillow again. 

He groans, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. It's then you notice the faint stubble across his skin, lining his jaw and going down his throat. In the three months which you had come to know him, Jungkook had always been smoothly shaved. You study the bags under his eyes, pointing to his unkempt appearance. 

"What are you doing here?" he croaks as he runs his fingers through the black mess of hair atop his head, wincing when they catch on a knot. 

You've turned your back on him, already halfway across the floor, not stopping until you reach the dresser and rip its top drawer open. "Your daughter called." The response is clipped, said with enough ice to chill the stuffy air inside the room. You're too busy rummaging through the neatly folded selection of button-ups inside to catch his reaction, but you could clearly hear the hitch in his breath. 

"Rayne called you…?" he asks and you can't resist snorting. 

"You don't have another daughter, do you?" 

He doesn't respond to that but there's shuffling behind you, likely him moving to sit up fully. "Not that you deserve this one," you add bitterly as you grab a shirt. "She's been running this house in your absence. Even had the decency to give me a call when you didn't." The drawer is slammed shut moments later and you turn back to him, this time with a fresh set of clothes. 

Jungkook is seated on the edge of the mattress now, the dress pants he'd been wearing to bed unbuttoned and unzipped. He's got one hand on his knee, the other still rubbing the remnants of sleep from his face. If he was affected by your words then it did not show, and that only upset you further as you storm over. 

He tilts his head back to glance up when you approach, the crease between his brows ever-so prominent — you almost want to smack it away. 

"Your children are over two hours late for school. I've just made them breakfast because your son was hungry." 

Jungkook's eyes widen a fraction and he scrambles to his feet, muttering a quiet 'shit' under his breath — only for you to promptly push him back. "Sit the fuck down," you snap, discarding the clean clothes on top of the duvet as you reach for the remaining buttons on his shirt, undoing them with efficiency he currently lacked. 

"I can do it myself…" he murmurs, though makes no move to swat your hands away as he lets you undress him. 

The shirt falls open to reveal his toned chest and stomach — which was just as tense as the rest of him. Jungkook exhales shakily through his nose, his jaw working silently and his head hanging low. Though whether that was in submission or avoidance you couldn't tell — you didn't care either. 

"Here's what's going to happen," you say whilst pushing the loose fabric down his shoulders, leaving him bare from the waist up. "You're going to get dressed. Then you're going to go downstairs and tell your children good morning. You'll give them both a loving hug and tell them that everything's okay." 

Your tone is sharp, matter-of-factly, leaving no room for argument as you continue without missing a beat. "You'll get in your car and you're going to drive them straight to their grandparents. And when you've done that you're going to go home and take a fucking shower." 

By the time you've finished your chest is rising and falling heavily, barely restrained anger seeping its way deep into your bones. Jungkook says nothing, his gaze fixed to the floor between you. 

It takes less than a second for your hand to find his chin, blunt nails digging into his skin as you force him to look at you. "Am I making myself clear?" you seethe. 

His neck is craned at uncomfortable angle yet he makes no complaints as he watches you with wide and dark eyes that resemble so little of the Jungkook you had come to know. He visibly struggles with his next swallow, it goes down thickly, adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he does. Then he nods mutely, fingers picking at the fabric of his pants. 

"Yes ma'am," he whispers. 

The formality makes your stomach flip as the muscles in your face twitch. Ma'am? Since when—? Under different circumstances you would've probably felt flustered under his intent stare paired with the way he'd addressed you. But today all you see — all you feel — is anger. And that anger would not vanish simply because he chose to have manners all of a sudden. You let go of his chin again, taking a small step back as you pray the distance might give you room to think. 

Jungkook shifts on the mattress, it groans under his weight, uncomfortably loud in the reigning silence. His tongue darts out to wet his dry lips though he quickly sucks it back into his mouth when your gazes meet. Dark lashes kiss the high of his cheek when they flutter slightly. His eyes stay with yours for a long while before dipping lower, noting the dress pants and button-up you wear — a stark contrast to the causal sweaters and jeans he'd usually see you in. 

His jaw slacks and his lips part before pressing together, only to part again. "You look nice," his voice is hoarse, as though his body had suddenly realized how dehydrated and exhausted it was. Just as the admission leaves him, he bites down on the inside of his cheek, peering up at you through his lashes before averting his gaze to the floor. 

"Thanks. I have an interview." 

You couldn't force yourself to sound enthusiastic about it even if you wanted to. All the excitement and the anticipation that had been building for this day had been turned upside down the second Rayne called. Hell — you'd even stood up Namjoon to go and tend to the fiasco that was the man sitting before you. 

But Jungkook doesn't seem deterred by your monotone response. His head jerks up, brows furrowing across his forehead and had you not known better — then he would've almost looked pitiful. "An interview?" he echoes, "For a job?" 

Giving him a curt nod, you watch as his face goes through a variety of emotions. Shock, confusion, realization, dread and finally a reluctant acceptance. He mimics your motion with a dip of his chin, turning his attention to where his fingers still pick restlessly at his pants. His tongue prods against his cheek, "That's good…" 

He looks sad. Even then, he clearly wasn't planning to do anything about it other than continue to pose as a kicked puppy. His lack of, well, anything, has you biting back a scoff as you fold your arms across your chest. 

"I have a date as well." 

The lie rolls smoothly from your tongue, and it must sound believable enough, for Jungkook's eyes widen to double their initial size as they snap up to meet yours. You didn't have to mention his name, the image of Namjoon lay between you like a knife. And the lie did hold some truth. You had a friendship-date with Namjoon scheduled for today, but just like always — you'd dropped everything for him, for Jungkook. 

There was challenge in the way you had said it — a silent invitation hidden behind the statement. You would be lying if you said that there wasn't a small, hopeful and naive part of you that prayed he would see it. A selfish part that wished he would drop everything for you the way you would for him without question. To show you that the kisses you shared and the intimacy had meant something to him. 

Jungkook sits quiet on the edge of the bed. His brows are pulled together, his jaw clenched and his lips pressed into a firm line. Sure there was something else in his eyes — something deeper, vulnerable. But what matter were those feelings if he didn't act on them? 

You grab the discarded — fresh — shirt and shove it right against his naked chest. "Get dressed," you huff, hoping that the hurt won't show as you turn your head away. You hear him shuffle about, pulling the garment over his head and looping his arms through it. 

Only once he's buttoned it halfway do you bend down to pick up the belt that lies forgotten on the floor. Tossing it onto the pair of pants you'd picked out, you then turn to head back downstairs when he suddenly catches you by your wrist. 

"Are you leaving already?" 

His fingers keep a tight grip but when you cast a glance over your shoulder, you find that he's watching you with a hesitant expression. Your gaze drops to his thumb, stroking idle circles right over your pulse point. A caress that would always ground and comfort you now feels mocking, and you twist yourself free with a sharp inhale. 

"I have an interview," you remind him as you cradle your wrist to your chest. He doesn't attempt to reach for you again, his hand curling into a loose fists that he instead rests on his thigh. "I suggest you put on clean pants and go see to your children." 

You've made it safely to the bedroom door, with an iron-clad hold on the knob as you prepare to step out into the hallway, when Jungkook speaks again. His voice is a little louder this time, but still just as hoarse. "Then what?" he wonders, "After I come back home and shower. Then what do I do?" 

The scoff slips past your unguarded lips as you tilt your head to give him one last glare. "You get your fucking shit straight." 

Without waiting for him to respond you tear the door open — letting it slam shut behind you as you hurry down the hall and the stairs. 

Your steps echo in the otherwise silent house, faltering only as you pass the kitchen where the children still sat eating their breakfast. Frustration and hurt pumps steadily through your veins, urging you toward the front door and as far away from Jungkook as you could get — reason is what holds you rooted to the spot. 

You take a deep breath, willing the emotions far down your throat as you abandon the exit ahead and instead approach marble island. 

Cassian was on his second plate, he must've been hungry. "Is daddy feeling better?" he asks between mouthfuls of scrambled eggs, some of it sticking to his chin. 

Managing a simple smile, you reach for the napkins set to the side. "He is, he was just a little sleepy" you tell him reassuringly when wiping around his lips, "Your dad is going to take you to your nana and papa soon, won't that be fun?" 

The young boy lights up at that, nodding eagerly before diving back into his food with a grin. His sister on the other hand, was sitting quietly beside him, her own portion only half-finished as she sipped on her orange juice. You reach over to brush a stray strand of hair from her face gently. 

She heaves a big sigh as she sets her glass down. "Father messed up, didn't he?" It wasn't much of a question even though she phrased it as one. You frown, worried that she might've accidentally heard you upstairs, you'd tried to keep your voice down but perhaps you had been too caught up in the moment. 

Rayne turns to you. "My father doesn't mean it," she murmurs, "He really doesn't." Her brother has slowed down on his breakfast and was now peeking curiously at his sibling, looking slightly puzzled by what she was saying. 

"I'm sorry he's not very good at stuff," she adds as her gaze drops to the floor. 

You promptly shake your head, leaning down to pull her in for your second hug today. "It's not your job to apologize for him," you say as you rub her back, "Okay?" 

She nods stiffly against your shoulder but doesn't reciprocate the embrace. When you part again, she's looking at you with careful eyes. "Do you have to go now?" 

Five minutes ago you'd been eager to get out of the house, to just leave this entire mess behind and get to your interview in one piece. Only it was becoming extremely difficult when standing in front of the children. But Jungkook would be down soon, and it would only make matters all the more awkward if you were here when he did. 

"I do," you hum, "Your dad is going to be here in a minute, and then you're going to see your grandparents." 

You pause, hands going to the pockets of your dress pants as you rummage around for the notepad and pen you'd brought with key words for the interview. Tearing the first page off, you fold it back into your clothes before scribbling down the sequence going to your landline at home. 

"If you want to talk to me," you hand her the paper, "Then you just call this number, same one you did earlier." 

Rayne accepts the small note, her eyes scanning the numbers jotted down before turning her attention back to you. "Okay," she says. 

You give them both another hug, promising to see them soon, even though you hardly knew when "soon" would be. Lying was not something you did for fun but right now it felt kinder than the uncertain truth. 

After urging them both to finish their breakfast before their father came downstairs, you head out into the hallway as you pull on your shoes and coat, trying to steer your thoughts elsewhere. 

The cold winter air hits you right in the face, doing little to wash of the irritation that still bubbles hotly under your skin. Snow crunches beneath the sole of your shoes and you come to a halt by your car door as you fumble for the keys. You hadn't forgotten them inside, had you? God that would simply be the cherry on top— 

Before you can ponder the matter further, the sound of the front door creaking open catches your attention. Creaking was probably the wrong term to use — slammed felt more like it. For the door had indeed slammed against the wall, loud enough to send the nearby squirrels running for cover and for a second you consider joining them. 

Alas, the familiar voice of no one other than Jungkook himself, freezes you to the spot. "Wait!" His call for you slices through the gentle winds and when you turn, you find him stumbling down the steps of the porch. His shirt has yet to be buttoned all the way and he was still in the same pants you'd found him in twenty minutes prior. 

Though none of that seems to register to any of you right now, and you watch as he comes to a halt when reaching the third step, his bare feet melting the snow under him. His chest is rising and falling unevenly, his eyes wide but focused solely on you. When he realizes that you're actually looking back at him, it's as though a switch has been flipped and he launches forward. 

You don't think you'd ever seen Jungkook run — he wasn't running now either — but he was moving fast enough for it to almost be considered such. 

He reaches you a mere second later, crashing to the ground as he does. For a moment you thought he'd actually tripped and fell to his knees but then his arms wrap around your waist, big and strong yet they tremble like a child's as he holds on tightly. His forehead rests against your stomach, warm breaths fanning across your thighs, even through the fabric of your pants. 

Stunned into silence, you stare down at the mess of black hair that greets you as Jungkook's broad shoulders shake — though you don't reckon that it was from the cold. 

A moment later he tilts his head back, just enough for his chin to brush over your shirt. "I…" His mouth opens and closes repeatedly, lips wavering on his next exhale as he struggles to get the words out. Jungkook's eyes — that have always been such a mystery to you — are now filled to the brim with unshed tears as he gazes up at you with something close to desperation. 

"Please—" he whispers hoarsely. His jaw quivers and his fingers curl further into your coat as he pulls you closer, like he was trying to fuse your bodies together. He swallows with a strained noise as the first tear slides down his cheek. "Don't go," he pleads. 

You can only look on in silence, your hands hovering uselessly by your sides as another droplet falls, then another. His cries aren't audible, save for the hitch in his breath when he tries to compose himself — and ultimately failing. 

The lack of a response pulls another shaky exhale from him. "I'm sorry," his voice cracks on the last syllable. The grip he has on your coat tightens, perhaps he was scared you'd shove him off, but you don't even think you could move. "Let me fix it— I wantto fix it. Please stay." Each word comes rushing as he trips over them hurriedly. 

He would've probably kept going, had you not shook your head. "I have to get to my interview." And you'd be damned if you let this opportunity slip from your grasp. Three weeks you waited for his call. Three weeks and it never came. Enough was enough, right? So why did it hurt so terribly to see his face crumple as he buried it back into your stomach. 

"Okay…" he sounds defeated when he nods against you, his body sagging in on itself, it makes your chest twist uncomfortably. One of your hands hesitate before finding the crown of his head, fingers sifting through his dark locks carefully. He tenses at the touch, his previously slumped shoulders draw up again, only to relax when your soothing caress continues. 

A minute passes, maybe more. He must be cold, you think. The snow had to be seeping through his pants at this point and he probably couldn't feel his toes. Jungkook refuses to move, stubbornly holding on, though no longer clinging to you. He pulls back just enough to peek up at you once more. 

The tears have dried on his cheeks, leaving messy streaks in their memory. His lips are raw and reddened from where he's teeth had been assaulting them, they part as he blinks. "Come by tomorrow?" There's hope in his eyes, the kind you don't remember ever seeing on him. He shifts anxiously on the wet ground as he awaits your answer. 

You go back and forth for a while. The reasonable part, the one you had let take charge today, says to not agree. Your heart, however, can't help but squeeze hard behind your ribs. Your hand slides down the side of his face, palm coming to rest against his cold skin. Jungkook leans into the touch easily, pressing his damp cheek to your open palm. 

Thumb stroking absently beneath his eye, you watch as they flutter softly. "Tomorrow," you say, "I'll come at twelve." 

His breath stutters in his throat as he brings himself to quickly nod. Letting go of your coat, his fingers come to wrap around your wrist. He holds your hand to his face a moment longer before pulling it into his own and bringing it to his mouth. Lips brushing across your knuckles, he presses a reverent kiss to each one of them. 

When he lifts his gaze it's filled with warmth that contrasts the freezing winter that surrounds you. "Thank you," he whispers, because he, too, knew he did not deserve what you had just granted him. You don't respond, still, you don't pull away from the soft pecks he continues to litter the back of your hand in. The front door creaks in the distance — must be the breeze, you thought — but when you glance toward the porch, you find Rayne standing in the doorway. She's regarding the two of you from her spot, safely hidden from her father's view. 

It was impossible to tell what she was thinking, always was. Your eyes meet for a split second, long enough for you to catch the subtle nod she gives you. What that meant you didn't know and the question is dropped again as Jungkook's arms reclaim your waist, pulling you closer one final time. 

The past two weeks — or was it three? — had been absolute shit. Jungkook barely remembers where they started and where they ended. Time became a fuzzy concept when you stopped paying attention to it. Time was man-made after all, and he chose to ignore the wishes of man in favor of his own sorrows. 

He knows that Yelena had been there, he sees her face in his peripheral vision, always prowling along the outskirts of his mind. Her scent haunts him. Though she had smelled vastly of the streets and the filth that littered them — the undeniable aroma that had always been her still clung. When she'd gotten close enough he caught a whiff, and it made his stomach turn on itself. 

You had been there too. He remembers the scalding touch to his shoulder, the way you had reached for his face only for him to shove you off. You didn't mean to but your caress still burnt like fire on an open wound. For some reason you kept pushing, kept trying to help, kept asking questions that he did not have answers to. 

He remembers wanting to yell, to snap at you the same way he had Yelena. He's glad he didn't. Still, he can't understand why you continued to try. Why was it that you cared? — you didn't have to. It's wasn't pity, he knew the concept well enough by now to tell it apart. There had been something else and it irked him deeply. He did not need your help. 

Jungkook had it handled. 

Jungkook always handled it. 

So the days that followed he did what he always would — stick to his routines. He'd perfected them since long and it was easy to fall back into the pre-made schedule. Wake up at five, some time for himself, a coffee and work. Get the children out of bed, make them breakfast. The hardest part was knowing what to do with them during the days. He couldn't bring himself to play with them, doubted that Rayne would even want to. 

He started letting them watch TV. Figured that he could break one of his own rules to salvage the others. They spent hours in front of the screen as all kinds of cartoons rolled. Meanwhile Jungkook wasted his time in the office, burying himself in work until his eyes no longer picked up on the words written.

New Years came and he took the children to their grandparents. Cassian was excited to see the fireworks, he thought he was old enough to make it until midnight this time around and neither him nor his parents had the heart to tell him no. He'd briefly considered staying with them, ultimately deciding against it. Instead he went straight home and crawled into the bottom of his whiskey bottle. 

Jungkook stumbled into the new year barely conscious. And as he rummaged through the fridge sometime in the early afternoon, he found himself wondering how he would manage to pick up his kids within the hour. 

The next couple of days, weeks maybe, passed without much surprise. He stayed on track with everything that needed to be done, silently grateful when school opened back up and he only had to worry about filling his own days with things to quiet the hurt. Jungkook thought he was doing alright for the most part. He got through with what needed to be done and that was all that mattered, wasn't it? 

He was drinking more, enough for him to notice it himself. One bottle after the other, expensive brands that would last him months were ran through quickly. Personal hygiene had always been important but even that took a backseat. Shaving was a hassle and if he made it to the shower then it was a good day. 

By the time he got the children into bed he was too spent to do anything but down another glass and bury himself under his own pillow. Clothes were torn off haphazardly, landing in an ugly mess on his floor. He figured as long as the rest of the house looked presentable enough then it was fine. Then no one would notice. 

He should call you, Jungkook knows that much. On some nights he would stand by the telephone, nursing a half-empty glass of whatever he'd found in his study. Sometimes his fingers would type in your number, though he never got as far as lifting the handset and bringing it to his ear. The thought of hearing your voice scared him more than anything, leading him to putting it off — suppose it made him a coward. 

The landline had sounded late last night, when the entire house was asleep, save for Jungkook who now considered himself an insomniac. He staggered down the stairs despite having had only one sip that evening. Exhaustion weighed him down more than the alcohol did. 

Had he been thinking a little more clearly perhaps he would've stopped to question the sequence displayed on the screen. It was a number he didn't recognize, though his foggy mind had failed to realize such and he picked up without second thought. 

"Jungkook-ah?" 

Yelena's voice sobered him up pretty fucking fast. She spoke softly, the way she would when they were still together, before everything turned sour and her poison infected his family. Hearing his name fall from her lips like that made his knees buckle and his throat contract painfully. His heart beats faster in his chest, but it was not love. Jungkook had known love long ago, and this tasted rotten. 

"What do you want?" he managed to spit, hoping that the venom lacing his words would be enough for her to back down again. 

It wasn't, of course it wasn't. "I'm sorry about what happened. I've given it a lot of thought— I really have." she spoke quickly, rushing to convince him before he slammed the handset back down and ended their conversation. "I should have called you first, I know that. I just wanted to see my children—"

"You wanted money." 

She hesitated on the other end of the line, "No I— Well, only a little and it's not what you think." In the distance he heard voices, she wasn't alone. They talked loudly, incoherently too and Jungkook thought he'd made out the sound of a lighter being flicked on. 

"Listen I don't have much time—" she continued to ask for money, not a lot — not enough to cover a place to live, clothes and food. He knew that she had no intent to use it for such either. When he refused she grew anxious, then angry. 

"Why not?" Yelena barked into the transmitter, "I gave you everything. I loved you, I gave you children! Why can't you just—" Her sentence had been cut short by the sob that ripped through her. Jungkook listened to her cries. They did not hurt anymore or maybe he'd just become numb to the pain. 

"I should go," he told her calmly, only for a string of profanities to follow. Worthless. Selfish. Asshole. Things he'd been calling himself for the past weeks already, so what difference did they make? He listened to her for a minute but when he understood that she would not stop, he placed the handset back down. 

Silence filled the house and Jungkook took a moment to look around. If his own conscience was as clean as the place he stood within then maybe he would be happier. Now he just felt like an imposter in his own home. He went to bed with another bottle of whiskey which he sipped on until it was empty — then he passed out. 

When he woke up the next morning it wasn't to the sound of his alarm — which he later on realizes he'd forgot to set — but the sound of your voice. Jungkook thought he must be dreaming, why else would you be standing above him looking every bit the angel you were? Or perhaps he'd died and this was his heaven. Then he saw the scowl on your face and quickly realized that he was in hell. But even that wouldn't be so bad — how could it be when you were there? 

"Get up." 

The grip you have on his collar is harsh and unforgiving, forcing his tired muscles into compliance as he struggles to gather his bearings. How long had you been here? Who let you inside? When he tries to speak you demand his silence and his mouth closes against his will. Such a strange feeling. 

You ask if he knows what time it is — Jungkook does not. He learns that it's nearly eleven. It was rare for him to sleep that long, the liquor combined with his ex-wife's sudden call must've knocked him out pretty well. 

He attempts to shift himself upright, to regain at least some of his dignity, only to be shoved back by your hand. The way you touched him — even with such fury — made something spark inside his chest. 

"What are you doing here?" He sounds like a walking corpse and bites down on a grimace as he runs his fingers through his tangled hair. You don't respond, which was unusual for someone as talkative as you and Jungkook is forced to watch as you turn your back to him and step over the clothes that lay across his floor like fallen soldiers. 

You rummage through his dresser, a complete invasion of privacy, though he realizes that pointing that out would hardly benefit him. So he holds his tongue, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as he stares blankly ahead. You tell him that it was Rayne who called — his daughter. The thought of her makes him feel sick with guilt. 

"Not that you deserve this one." 

His gaze drops to the floor and he swallows the lump in his throat. He knows that you're right. There were few things Jungkook deserved, none of them being his own children. Stealing a quick glance at the empty bottle sitting on the bedside table, memories of last night come rushing back and he does his best to shake them again.

He attempts to wake himself up by rubbing his hand across his face, frowning at the rough feeling of hairs growing on the lower half. In the distance he hears your approach, your steps thudding hard against the floor, you were angry, angry at him. 

His children are late for school — shit — he'd completely forgotten about that. What day was it even? If he was out of the house in five then he could surely have them there for their afternoon classes, lunch too. 

He scrambles to stand, his mind already downstairs and searching for his car keys when you suddenly snap. "Sit the fuck down." It doesn't take much strength for you to have him back on the mattress, Jungkook wants to blame it on fatigue but knows that his body is heeding your commands rather than his own. 

Then you begin undressing him and that might've been the most humiliating thing he'd ever had to sit through. "I can do it myself…" You ignore him and he realizes that the battle is lost before it could even begin. 

You give him a detailed list of what he's supposed to do, explaining the process as though he were a toddler — in his thirty years of living he'd never felt more like one. Get dressed. Go downstairs. Lie to his children and give them a hug. Get in his car. Drive them to his parents'. Home and shower. 

He listens intently, already memorizing each step as he runs them back in his head. The floor taunts him, belittles him on his failures. Suddenly your nails are digging into his jaw, the pain sending a jolt of electricity through him as you have him look at you properly — and he does, he really does. 

Your chest is rising and falling, your muscles coiled tight with fury. "Am I making myself clear?" Yes. He tries to see all of you at once, not knowing where to set his eyes though finally decides that he wants to get lost in yours. His fingers are an anxious and restless mess on top of his thighs, twitching against each other as he picks at the fabric of the pants he'd been wearing for God knows how long. 

"Yes ma'am." 

He doesn't know where the formality comes from, doesn't question it either. Jungkook knows only one thing, and that is the fact that he never wants to upset you ever again. 

When your touch vanishes he feels his heart clench but he dares not chase after you. Instead he regards your sophisticated attire. The dress pants and button up resemble little of what you would put on whenever you saw to his children. "You look nice." You actually look beautiful, you always do. Though he thinks you might not want to hear that right now. 

"Thanks. I have an interview." 

A job? You'd be spending time elsewhere? Then what about Cassian and Rayne? What about him? He wants to object but he's well aware that he's the one at fault. And Jungkook who always had a solution for everything, now sits clueless on the edge of his bed. "That's good…" 

It really wasn't. 

Then you tell him that you have a date. The single word slices through him like a sharp knife, twisting in his gut, hard. He already knows who the guy is — he would be stupid not to. The one from the mall. Namjoon. He hates that he has his named memorized but the man's infuriatingly handsome face had been keeping him awake more than he'd like to admit. 

Namjoon. The same Namjoon who made you smile and laugh. The same Namjoon who spoke so casually, the words finding him easily — the way they never would Jungkook. The same Namjoon who was now robbing him of the one thing that had made his heart beat faster for the first time in years. And he was doing it without even trying. 

Namjoon. Namjoon. Namjoon— Fucking hell.

He doesn't know what to do so he does nothing at all. His silence grows thick and heavy, broken by your huff as you instruct him to get dressed, all the while shoving the fresh shirt against his chest. Then you turn to leave and Jungkook wants to yell. Instead he grabs you wrist, holding on with the sliver of hope that remains. 

He asks if you're going already and he sounds pathetic as he does. You shrug him off, oblivious to the fact that he was finding it increasingly hard to breathe. What was he meant to do now? The clear instructions you'd given him just minutes prior are already slipping from his thoughts as the room around him shrinks. 

"Then what? After I come back and shower. Then what do I do?" 

You've never looked upon him with such disappointment, no one has, not even his own mother. "You get your fucking shit straight." And when the door slams shut behind you, Jungkook buries his face in his hands. 

The house is silent. He doesn't hear a lock twist downstairs — not that he could hear much over the pounding of his own heart, drumming in his ears. He breathes raggedly through parted lips, listening to the sound of the clock on his bedside table, ticking away — each flick putting more distance between you and him. 

Minutes must have passed by the time he rises from the bed. The pants you've prepared for him are abandoned again and Jungkook heads straight for the door which you had just exited through. 

His steps are light on the stairs, he hurries down, hoping to catch you before it's too late— But the front door slams shut just as he reaches the bottom. 

For a long moment he simply stands there like an idiot, staring at where you must've been only a second ago. His shoulders slump as he realizes that the slim chance of getting to see you had slipped right through his fingers. 

A floorboard creaks up ahead and he lifts his gaze just in time to see his daughter emerging from the kitchen. She turns to the shut door, then to her father and Jungkook knows that she knows. He doesn't want for Rayne to see the things he's tried so hard to keep buried, but it seemed no matter what he did, she would always be one move ahead. Even now she was. 

"What are you doing?" 

Her tone is accusing, she'd never spoken to him like that before. Jungkook frowns, he hadn't expected that question to be breached so soon. He fumbles for an answer though realizes that nothing would cut it. The clothes he hadn't given time to change are a mess, he is a mess. 

Rayne glances back to the front door, then to him. "Aren't you going after her?" 

"What—?" The words are punched from his chest and this time he turns to her fully. He can feel his brows pull even closer and he thinks he might've just heard her wrong. 

His daughter throws a pointed eye down the hall, like she was communicating the most obvious thing in the world. "Are you not going to tell her that you're sorry?" 

Jungkook stares at her as though she'd just grown a second head. He swallows, his attention darting between her and the door a handful of times. "I'm—" finally he nods, albeit awkwardly, "I am." 

Without thinking through the decision twice — or even once for that matter — he rushes down the hall, cursing the house for being so big. The lock hasn't been turned yet and he barrels out into the cold winter air clumsily. You're standing by a car that he remembers seeing on that day all those weeks ago, your hands shuffling through your pockets, unaware of the storm about to crash into you. 

"Wait!" 

The snow is freezing beneath his bare feet, it stings at first, though he pays it no mind when stumbling down the porch — the chill has nothing on the relief that fills him at seeing you again. You've turned back around, surprise painting your features. Jungkook seizes the opportunity as he throws himself forward. 

His knees hit the ground with little finesse, not that he cared about that right now — all that exists is you. You. You. You. He wraps his arms around your waist, his grip almost crushing in its intensity but you're not pulling away, and it only makes him cling tighter as he buries his nose in your shirt, inhaling a lungful of your scent, the one that made all his worries wash away. 

"I…" 

He struggles to speak, the tears building quickly but he's not forcing them away. "Please—" That word rarely left his lips, it never had to, yet it seems to have become a running theme when it came to you. He's completely unprepared, has no idea what to say, what to do. So he voices the one thought looping itself in his mind, "Don't go." 

The first droplet falls, then the next and he exhales a shaky breath. Rayne's voice echoes somewhere in the foggy distance and suddenly he knows what he needs to do. 

"I'm sorry." It's not enough, God, of course it's not. But it's all he can manage. He grabs onto your coat a little tighter, silently pleading for you not to leave him with his own despair. A selfish man he was — the least he can do is come to terms with it. "Let me fix it— I want to fix it. Please stay." Jungkook means every last bit, though he has little clue of how he's going to accomplish it. 

He'll learn how to. 

You remind him of your interview and it shatters his heart. Still, he knows that he has to let you go. All he can do is pray you come back — back to him. Even when he doesn't deserve it. 

Your hand is in his hair, then on his face. Somewhere between the gentle caress and the swipe of your thumb beneath his eye he realizes just how badly he craved your touch, your closeness. The feeling of your palm against his cheek shuns the cold. "Tomorrow," you say, "I'll come at twelve." 

That was twenty-four hours from now. Time — which had been such a fuzzy concept for the past weeks — regained its meaning in that moment and Jungkook begins silently counting down each passing second until he would see you again. 

He kisses your knuckles, slow and reverent, he knows he's not allowed more, this small grace is enough. Quietly he vows to himself to do better, to be what you need, what you deserve. For he can't stand the thought of seeing you walk away again. 

── [ ✉️ ] So how was that for yearning? Decent, no? Jungkook's POV is a lot hazier than OC's but that's because I didn't want to bore you ladies too much with all the details. It focuses a lot more on his internal conflict, his thoughts and feelings, well you probably understood that when reading. Next chapter is genuinely going to be such a ride. But this one held so many of the scenes I've been daydreaming about for the past half a year, it felt so good to finally sit down and write them. Yes Jungkook heel, and cry, and beg. I love it here. Do let me know what you thought so we can giggle together <3

© All rights reserved @merakoo 2026.

[inthelow]

SORRY, WRONG NUMBER ! — jeon jungkook (nine).

pairing: student! fem reader x student! jeon jungkook

summary: when you finally get your crush’s number, you expect the start of an epic love story— not a random guy making fun of you because he thinks the guy you’ve been obsessed with for the last six months gave you a fake number. Jeon Jungkook, the one who replies, finds it entertaining and helps you chase the guy… at least until he finds out that the person he’s been helping date another guy is you, the girl he’s been obsessed with for the last two years.

genre/warning: this is a smau fic!! with narration included in some chapter but it’s mostly messages/tweets. very unfunny jokes. this is mostly crack/fluff.

authors note: jungkook and yn finally meet!!!! this is a narrated chapter so be aware!!! so excited for this hehe not my funniest one but i tried>_<

chapter index | previous — next

— chapter nine: life is a blowjob !

Jungkook realized that two americanos on an empty stomach had been a catastrophic decision after he ordered the third. He also realized that arriving thirty minutes early had somehow made everything infinitely worse for his peace of mind.

He’d convinced himself it was practical at first. He convinced himself everything needed to be perfect before you arrived. Maybe there could be traffic on the way— even though he wasn’t driving and the café was ten minutes walking from his dorm— he still couldn’t be late to the hangout. Or maybe he wouldn’t be able to find a seat— even though the place was empty most of the time at that hour… There could be a lot of issues that could show up out of nowhere so he needed to be the first to arrive to solve them… He also needed some time to look normal and not rushing in sweat like a psychopath.

All perfectly reasonable excuses until he found himself sitting alone by the window, staring at the café door while every muscle in his body slowly tightened with each passing minute.

Jungkook was going insane.

10:42 a.m

It had been only 10 minutes and you weren’t supposed to be there until eleven. Eighteen more minutes to go.

“…Fuck.” The word slipped out under his breath as he dragged both hands down his face.

This was a mistake. A massive, irreversible, life-ending mistake.

Jungkook thought how he should’ve stayed behind a screen forever. Texting was easy for him when it was with you. It let him delete things before sending them. Texting let him think before speaking to you. Texting didn’t involve making eye contact with the prettiest girl he’d ever met while pretending he hadn’t spent the better part of two years quietly orbiting your existence like a haunted fucking satellite.

His leg bounced uncontrollably beneath the table. Maybe he could leave.

Actually… Yeah. That felt right.

Jungkook stood and walked all the way to the café door, hand already pushing against the handle before he stopped.

What the fuck was he gonna text?

No. He couldn’t just pretend he couldn’t make it. Would that hurt your feeling? He didn’t want to hurt your feelings. He was the one who had the idea to hangout. He needed to be brave.

Jungkook sighed heavily, turned around, and walked back inside. The barista looked up at him with mild concern as he reclaimed the exact same chair he’d abandoned less than twenty seconds ago. But the girl didn’t say anything… especially since it was the third time he had done the same.

Five minutes later he’d convinced himself leaving actually made much more sense this time.

He got up again and finally made it outside. Jungkook walked half the block before stopping. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He rubbed his face so aggressively it almost hurt before spinning on his heel and marching straight back.

This time the same barista caught him before he’d even sat down. “Dude, are you sure you want this americano?”

“Yes,” Jungkook said frustrated. “And please add another shot.”

By 10:55 his hands were shaking just enough to piss him off. He stared at them while asking for another americano. He was definitely going to die before you even had the chance to say hi.

Which, honestly, it was probably better for him.

His phone buzzed and Jungkook grabbed it so quickly he almost dropped it.

the loml: two minutes away

Jungkook’s heartbeat stopped as another message appeared almost instantly.

the loml: what r u wearing

the loml: wait

the loml: that was lowkey nasty

the loml: what r u wearing babygirl?🤤

Despite his nerves, a laugh escaped him.

Jungkook: idiot (message not sent)

Jungkook: black hoodie (message not sent)

Jungkook: hoodie (message not sent)

Jungkook: IM LITERALLT WEARING THE WORST OUTFIT EVER OMG (message not sent)

Jungkook: the hottest outfit ever (message not sent)

His thumbs hovered uselessly over the keyboard while his brain started screaming loud enough to drown out the music playing through the café speakers— Shit. He couldn’t even properly send a text now. How was he supposed to talk to you face to face?

No, no, no. He couldn’t.

It was ridiculous. He’d survived perfectly fine without doing this… He could still leave. Right now. He could show up with some lie. He got an emergency, maybe food poisoning or he was suddenly arrested. Yeah, he could just invent a lie, he couldn’t stay. God, no. Jungkook was sure he wouldn’t be able to talk to you. He would just be so embarrassing you would never want to talk to him again.

Yeah, fuck no.

His chair scraped quietly against the floor as he stood, slipping his phone into his pocket before he could overthink it anymore. That was it, he was leaving. He’d apologize later. You’d probably be too busy being obsessed over his best friend to even care.

He took exactly one step before the bell above the café door chimed. Instinctively, his head turned.

You stepped inside.

Holy fucking shit.

You weren’t looking around yet. Your eyes stayed glued to your phone as you typed something, a strand of hair falling across your face before you tucked it absentmindedly behind your ear. His phone buzzed in his pocket but he didn’t pay any mind.

You looked… God. You looked exactly like you always did.

He’d spent two years noticing you between breaks, across hallways, sitting outside buildings with headphones on, laughing with those three idiots you called friends. He knew the shape of your smile from impossible distances because he still remembered it from close. Knew the way you’d throw your head back when you laughed too hard. Knew you gestured with both hands when you talked, like every sentence required visual aids.

But standing ten feet away after such a long time, you suddenly felt… real.

Not campus real. Not “girl I secretly look at during lunch breaks” real. Not ‘girl crush I’ve been dreaming about’. Real enough to walk over, real enough to say his name and real enough to realize he was just some random guy you probably wouldn’t even like.

Jungkook pulse lurched. He looked away so fast it almost gave him whiplash.

Nop. Absolutely fucking not.

If he didn’t look at you and if you didn’t see him maybe he could still pretend—

“Black americano for Jungkook.”

Ah, fuck.

He tried to ignore it, looking to the other side of the place. The barista’s voice cut cleanly through the café. “Jungkook?”

Couldn’t she take a fucking hint?.

He slowly lifted his head. The barista was looking directly at him, cup already in hand, moving it like she was waiting for him to hurry up as if she had any other clients waiting in line when the place was empty. Jungkook thought about all the bad reviews he was going to leave her as he walk closer to the counter.

“…Thanks.”

He reached for it automatically, almost cringing at the motion. Movement flickered in the corner of his vision. You had looked up and, finally, your eyes met his.

Jungkook was going to pass out.

He saw you frown. Your gaze dropped briefly to the coffee cup in his hand, then back to his face and then back to your phone. You did that three times, maybe too confused he was actually the guy you had been talking too. Jungkook couldn’t tell. Were you imagining someone better looking than him?

Yeah, he was definitely ending his shit tonight.

Jungkook felt every single organ inside his body shut down in perfect synchronization when you started walking closer to him.

“Oh my God.” You stopped right in front of him, a little too close, blinking twice before a huge grin spread across your face. “No way.” Jungkook forgot how breathing worked. “Jungkook?”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

Your smile somehow got even wider. “What the fuck?” You laughed, looking him up and down with complete shamelessness. “Oh my God.”

He managed the world’s weakest laugh. “Hi.”

“I did not picture you like this.”

“No?”

“No!” You pointed at him as if that explained everything. “I had this whole image.”

“I’m scared.”

“It was completely different.”

He chuckled shyly. “Care to share?”

“I thought you were gonna be…” You tilted your head thoughtfully. “I don’t know… glasses and shit.”

“Glasses and shit?”

“Yeah, you know— disney nerd cast.”

“I— what the hell does that even mean?” He frowned confused, amused by your brain and how actually much of an extrovert you were. Really similar to the way you text, really blunt. “And I do wear glasses, just to read and play video games.”

“Well, I kinda was right then.” You gestured vaguely toward him. “But I don’t know I was lowkey picturing you like Robbie from Victorious

Jungkook looked genuinely offended. “Should I— is that an insult or…?”

“Not really. He was cute to me.” You shrugged before nodding approvingly, looking at him again closely this time.

Jungkook was sure his heart was about to jump out of his chest any minute. His face started getting hot. Oh god, he was blushing. “What?”

“You actually look…” You squinted dramatically. “Like a stereotypical bad boy from a cheap magazine”

Jungkook blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Well, the tattoos and the piercings. The whole…” You motioned vaguely toward his black hoodie and rings, “…whatever aesthetic you’ve got going on. I bet you only wear black.”

“Of course not! I… I own other colors.” He stuttered.

“That wasn’t convincing.”

“I literally do.”

“Mhm.” You smiled. “You’re like a bad-boy from Pinterest.”

For the first time all morning, Jungkook laughed out loud. He couldn’t help it, you were so openly cute and funny, it just made the whole thing easier for him. He wasn’t dying of anxiety anymore and he now could be just himself. He was now only nervous to prove to you he was definitely as cool as you were.

“Let’s sit.”

You laughed to yourself before walking next to him to the table, finally dropping into the chair across from Jungkook, setting your bag on the floor and pushing a few loose strands of hair behind your ear. “This is so weird.”

“It is.”

“I’ve been talking to you every day for like… what? Weeks?”

“A little over.”

“And I’ve just been making up your face this whole time,” You sighed. “Now look at us. Internet friends to real friends.”

“Only few people can make that happen,” he said sarcastically.

“Well, I’m definitely glad you’re not an eighty year old man. That was my worst befriended experience ever.”

“That sounds like— Wait, what do you mea—”

“Ugh, I want a coffee too.” You pointed at him triumphantly before reaching across the table to steal the untouched americano sitting in front of him. “Can I have this? It seems you had a lot of… those.” You looked around the table, noticing his other three americanos. “Were you hanging out with your friends before?”

“Those are mine.”

“Why were you drinking so much coffe? You’re gonna have a heart attack.”

Jungkook blinked, moving uncomfortably in his seat. “Uhm… Well, I got here early,” He said, a bit shy.

“How early?”

“Early.”

“Jungkook.”

“…Thirty minutes.”

Why was he saying this to you? Jungkook couldn’t shut up. His mouth was just being too honest with you. He needed to stop.

You stared incredulous at him. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“No fucking way.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly finding the tabletop incredibly interesting. “I wanted to make sure I got a seat.”

“You got here thirty minutes early for a coffee shop?”

“Yeah.”

“You absolute loser.”

“I know.”

“No, like…” You giggled this this time, shaking your head. “That’s actually adorable.”

Adorable. Jungkook was going to think about that word together with those giggles for the next six to eight years.

Instead of answering, he picked at the cardboard sleeve around one of his empty coffee cup, hoping you wouldn’t notice that his ears had immediately betrayed him.

But, of course you noticed. “Oh my God. You’re blushing?”

“I’m not.”

“You literally are.”

“It’s warm in here.”

“They have AC.”

“They barely have it on!”

You leaned across the table, narrowing your eyes at him with exaggerated suspicion. “You’re actually shy.”

“I’m not shy.”

“You are.”

“You’re just too easygoing!”

You laughed again, smiling like it was a compliment. “You’re cute, Jungkook.”

Okay, he was definitely going to pass out.

“Shut up.”

You leaned back in your chair, still looking at him with obvious curiosity. “So…” you said, tapping your nails on the table. “What about you?”

Jungkook looked at you a little confused. “What?”

“What did you think I’d look like?”

He let out a quiet “oh,” buying himself a second. There were about a hundred honest answers sitting at the tip of his tongue, all of which would get him escorted out of the café if he accidentally said them out loud.

“I thought you’d be taller.”

You looked down at yourself. “Rude!.”

“I’m kidding.”

“Mhm.”

“I actually didn’t think of anything.”

“Liar,” you accused him.

“I’m serious.”

“You had to imagine something.”

He pretended to think about it for another second before smiling. “I imagined you’d look like someone who talks way too much. I was completely right.”

You gasped dramatically. “Excuse you?”

“I was right,” he said again.

“I’ve known you in person for thirty seconds.”

“You’ve been talking for twenty-nine of them.”

“I was being welcoming!.”

“Well, you really are. For sure.”

You laughed, pointing at him. “Okay… I’ll give you that one.”

Jungkook shrugged innocently. “I like that, you’re too friendly.” He tilted his head slightly. “I wasn’t expecting you to smile this much.”

You looked at him a little taken aback. “What?”

“You smile a lot,” he repeated himself. Jungkook remember you used to laugh a lot too, at everything. He liked that, he also was dying to let you know that for a long time, he liked your smile.

“I do?”

“Yeah.”

You frowned in genuine confusion, almost as if you’d never noticed. “I didn’t know… Is that bad?”

“No,” his answer came easily this time, and too fast he had to cleared his throat before composing himself. “I think it’s nice.”

There wasn’t anything loaded behind it, nor did he intend there to be. It came out sounding exactly how he’d meant it, honest enough to be a compliment, casual enough that it didn’t linger in the air to make you uncomfortable.

You smiled again, this time more relaxed. “Well now I’m self-conscious.”

“You smiled while saying that.”

“Fuck.”

“I rest my case.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve decided I don’t like you.”

“That was fast.”

“I had big expectations.”

“And I shattered them?”

“You did.”

“Ugh, I’ll never recover from this.” Jungkook said sarcastically. He could tell you liked a good banter.

“I hope you don’t.”

A comfortable silence settled between you two before Jungkook glanced at you again. There was a brief lull in the conversation, not uncomfortable in the slightest, just long enough for you to look at him again with a small crease forming between your brows.

“Can I say something weird?”

“Always.”

“I have this weird feeling we’ve met before.” Jungkook’s heart kicked so violently against his ribs that he almost threw up right there. “I swear you look so familiar.”.

Jungkook tried to keep his expression neutral, lifting one shoulder in a casual shrug despite suddenly becoming hyperaware of every inch of his body. “I was actually thinking the same thing.”

“Were you?”

“Yeah.”

“I feel like…” You squinted at him before talking a pause, eyes narrowing. “Wait—”

Jungkook held his breath as your eyes widened. His pulse immediately doubled. Did you remember? Did you remember the project? Did you actually know him?

You remembered those afternoons in the editing room arguing over the stupid assignment while you painted foam props and laughed at every stupid joke he’d made just because you laughed at everything? Did you remembered sharing cheap vending machine coffee because you’d both been too broke to buy anything else? Did you remembered sitting shoulder to shoulder on the floor of the studio at class trying to finish everything before the deadline because you lost too much time joking around?

You remembered him?

“You remember?.”

“Yes! I knew it!” You pointed at him so suddenly that he almost flinched. “You!”

He smiled before he could stop himself. “Yeah?”

“You almost fucking killed me!”

“I did— What?”

“You almost made me eat shit outside the music building.”

The smile stayed on his face for exactly one more second before it twitched. “Come again?”

“A couple weeks ago!” you said, a little too frantic. You leaned farther over the table, completely invested now. “You came flying around the corner in the hallways of the music building, smashed into me so hard I nearly ate concrete, looked me dead in the eyes and then just…” You made a dramatic gesture with both hands. “…walked away! How rude!”

Silence settled between you two for a couple of seconds. You weren’t really angry, it was obvious. But Jungkook’s brain still had quietly folded in on itself. You clearly didn’t remember and it was obvious you wouldn’t, he wasn’t that important in your life. You wouldn’t remember a simpler project and the hours you spent together in class, it had been too long ago. You just remembered him as the asshole who’d accidentally shoulder-checked you outside a building and disappeared without apologizing.

And he remember that too, he had been too nervous when he noticed he run over you, disappearing without properly apologizing. Clearly you would remember something like that— wasn’t the same day you got Chan’s numbers? Probably why you remembered every detail about it.

Jungkook closed his eyes for a second, scrunching his nose before letting out a defeated laugh.

“That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Dude—”

“Okay, okay,” he lifted his hands, defeated. “ my defense… I was carrying a lot of stuff.”

“No, you were carrying one backpack. I remember because I wanted to hit you with it,” you narrowed your eyes, clearly not bothered but trying to annoy him.

“Totally fair,” he nodded.

“You didn’t even say sorry properly.”

“I was going to.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I thought about it really hard.”

“Wow. Thank God I can hear thoughts.”

“I assumed you could.”

“How?”

“Well, we declared we were each other best friends then, right? You should clearly know what I was thinking.” He said obvious, pointing at you like you were at fault.

You snorted, clearly entertained. “I didn’t know you were the guy I was talking to!.”

“Then whose fault is this really?”

“Still yours!,” you laughed at loud and Jungkook smiled at that.

He had made you laugh. A win.

He groaned, faking to be annoyed and already accepting defeat. “Okay… You’re right. I’m sorry about that, I was probably having an off day.”

You looked at him for a second before nodding, still looking bright. “I guess I can forgive you. We all have days like that.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” he said jokingly.

“That’s one of my best qualities,” you shrugged like it wasn’t a big thing. “So, tell me best friend, what is your major?”

The conversation slipped into place so naturally that Jungkook almost forgot how terrified he’d been ten minutes earlier. Every time you spoke, you somehow left him with three different ways to answer, and before he realized it you were already teasing each other as though you’d been meeting for coffee every Tuesday instead of hiding behind phone screens for weeks.

Neither of you realized you had stopped being strangers. The disappointment of you not remembering the project lingered only briefly before it was buried beneath another banter and another topic of conversation. And by the time the hours passed, Jungkook noticed he’d stopped rehearsing his replies entirely. He was just… talking, and somehow that felt far less terrifying than everything he’d imagined over the past few weeks.

didn’t even chuckle with this one but their meet up was enough okay bye!! made that robbie joke before someone sent me the victorious ask so now u understand why i was crazy excited. also, yayy she forgot about chan. okkayyy see you in 2 months!!

taglist: @louxmclll @fluffysheepmaster @labbbaaa @yooniebuns @oncyanii @taetaecatboy @yawnzshit @mniys @kit9doctordreamer @asyr97 @wonderlandkook @songbyeonkim @jksusawife @lackingdopaminesince2007 @amimi-bts @unknownbeknowst @koobiiiistar @nastypinkbunny @mninotjungkook @4rmyf1cs @iiunique @oopscoop @dollyunjinz @junecat18 @gwonlvr @pprettyanna @94hobi @spenceatiny18 @mikrokookiex @urmotherlvr @akl3223 @@dim18 @bloopkook @cherrieshyy @lizka007 @hagridshaircare @jooniesthigh @star-my @iridescentshine @kookie96 @brieally @fadedmixtape @xyz77777777 @hennessysthings @snipky @taemanikoo @fullcolorfreaklight @jjanajk @badaspice

[inthelow]

permanent taglist (1): @lovingkoalaface @dna-black-and-blue @hoemeprazole @deedeeps @taegiekookk @gukihoney @sftlrmin @libbieminie @savorghost @moonprincesskoo @yooforeaa @kelsyx33 @jjkszn @st4rbbg @senaqsstuff @connnn @rpwprpwprpwprw @llallaaa @lovelye79 @jjkkkk15 @nellbyy @jkmommymilkies @chaerinmin @albascardigan @wvndkoo @pradaheeseung @annyeongbitch7 @tastykookoonut @whoa-jo @zsazshiiing @taylorluvation @parapiop7 @j0cgr0c @elinaki92 @osakis-gf @mar-lo-pap @angeleclipsey @jkayy-prodian @bjoriis @sweetnspicyworld @sadiayn @kookdollia @jcnggukie @imjustcrabby

[inthelow]

TEMPORARY FREAK OUTS — jeon jungkook (temporary fragments).

summary: You’re not having the best day. Luckily, Jungkook is there to make it better. With his presence… and maybe a really expensive rock he had been hidden for months.

pairing: business! fem reader x dad! jeon jungkook

genre/warning: fluff. fluff and more fluff— this is a short chapter/one shot that follows up the story of TEMPORARY FRAGMENTS. for anyone new: it’s definitely better to read the series before reading this to have (a lot of) context<33

series masterlist

word count: +12k words.

Life felt too small that afternoon.

Your apartment looked like a disaster. Half-open suitcases on the floor, clothes folded with obsessive precision on one side and thrown carelessly on the other, documents stacked on the dining table in neat piles that only made sense to you. Your phone was glued to your ear, shoulder pinning it in place as you paced from room to room, barefoot, hair pulled into a messy knot that was slowly unraveling with every step.

“Yes, I know, I know,” you said into the phone, voice tight but controlled. “The delivery timeline is confirmed, right? I don’t want surprises. If anything changes in the next twenty hours, and I mean anything, you better have a backup plan because I’ll be in the sky and I don’t want any surprises when I land.”

You stopped in front of an open suitcase, staring down at it like it was your worst enemy.

“No, I’m not coming back to Korea before the opening,” you added, sharper now. “I’ve been flying back and forth, if there’s something missing— We’ll, no, it better not be something missing because I’m not coming for another three weeks.”

From the couch, Jungkook watched you with quiet familiarity, one arm draped over the backrest, the other lazily resting as Sunni leaned against his side with a coloring book balanced on her knees. They had been there for an hour already, waiting for you to be done. Their bags already in the car, an open space waiting for your things.

You were not ready at all. Exactly why he pulled up early. He knew you were going to be spiralling.

Jungkook didn’t pressure you to hurry up or interrupt you. He never did when you were like that, spiralling in logistics, already living a year in the future. Instead, he stayed where he was, solid and unbothered, like gravity itself.

“Okay,” you finally sighed into the phone, rubbing your forehead. “Okay. Send me the updated checklist again. Yes. Again. Thank you.”

You ended the call and stood there for a second, phone still in your hand, chest rising and falling as if you’d just run somewhere instead of walked ten steps across your own apartment.

Jungkook tilted his head, watching you carefully. “Did the world end,” he asked gently, “or are we still on schedule?”

You let out a breath that sounded halfway between a laugh and a groan. “We’re on schedule,” you said, dragging a hand down your face. “Which somehow makes it worse.”

Sunni looked up at you, eyes bright. “Are we really going on the big airplane today?”

“Yes,” you said instantly, turning to her with a softer expression. “The really big one.”

She grimaced, kicking her feet. “Will it crashed?.”

“Not if you behave,” you grinned at her.

“Dad said I can get gelato every day,” she nodded, like trying to convince you too.

Jungkook smiled at that, glancing at her. “I said if we survived.”

Sunni looked terrified for a moment. “Are we not going to survive?!”

“Of course we will. But for that you have to behave in the plane.” He patted her head. “If not, the flight attendant will throw you out.”

“They can do that?”

You shook your head, moving toward the couch and collapsing beside them for just a moment. “It’s her first time flying and you’re scaring her like that.”

“I’ve survived five-hour road trips with her. You don’t want to know how it goes if you don’t bribe her to behave.” Jungkook said simply.

You hummed. “Well, it’s a thirteen hour flight in first class. I will have my own bed, I’m not taking chances to put myself in a bad mood.”

“You’re such a good step-mom,” he said sarcastically.

You shivered at the mention, giving him a cold stare. “Don’t make me put you in business class.”

Jungkook laughed. “I paid for those tickets.”

“With my airline miles.”

“Well, you do have a lot of miles. We had to made it work.” He shrugged.

You chuckled before letting the silence fill the room for a moment.

Jungkook, Sunni and you were about to travel to Italy, Sicily. In three weeks you were finally opening the restaurant for Rosa. After months of making it work again and taking it at your own time to make your business and personal life finally work and co-exist together. Which was going great. Better than even. And you loved it. Every second of it. Of course, that didn’t mean the stress that was hunting you for being so close to the opening disappeared. It had been one of the most stressful months in your life and you were trying really hard to not crash out.

“Sunni has all her papers signed?,” you suddenly questioned.

“Yes, Yunna signed every permission.” Jungkook nodded before taking your hand and leaning closer to look at you better. “I told you, we have everything done to just get in that airplane and go.”

“Okay, great.” You nodded, a little stiff.

He tilted his head, watching you closer. “You just need to finish packing your suitcases so we can go.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” You tried to stand up but he stopped you.

“Talk to me.”

You sighed. Your body melting into his presence like it meant to. His voice was softer, grounding. You leaned more into him, forehead dropping into his shoulder. Your voice lower and softer. “I’m just… stressed. I have three weeks until everything I’ve worked for is either perfect or a disaster.”

Jungkook pressed a kiss into your hair without hesitation. “It’s going to be perfect,” he said calmly. “And even if something goes wrong, you’ll handle it. You always do.”

“I know but—”

“But,” he cut you off. “Even if anything goes wrong it will still be perfect. Because this is yours… and because I’ll be there if you need anything. Okay?”

His words were firm and clear, he wasn’t giving you room to doubt.

“Okay.”

“Hey,” he shook his shoulder so you would look at him. You pulled back to do it. Jungkook kissed your lips, a soft peck before smiling at you. “I love you.”

You smiled, lazily and sweet. “I love you too,” you said it back before adding: “I can’t believe you’re really taking three weeks off for me.”

He shrugged. “Already approved by Jimin. I’m yours. Full-time support staff. You’re my boss now.”

Sunni gasped dramatically, making you both turned to her. “Does that mean Dad has to listen to you all the time?”

“Yes,” Jungkook said at the same time you went: “When he hasn’t done so?.”

He laughed, standing and offering you his hand. “Come on. Let’s finish packing before you start reorganizing the documents for the fifth time.”

You didn’t rush after that.

Jungkook helped you move through the apartment the same way he always did when you were overwhelmed, quietly, purposefully, taking things out of your hands without making you feel like you were losing control.

He folded what you forgot to like some clothes for the summer weather and personal stuff he knew you would later get angrier for not having them in had. He also reminded you of the things you would’ve left behind because they lived in the “I’ll remember later” part of your brain, held up dresses and asked questions about weather and events like he was memorizing a role he took seriously.

Sunni sat on the floor, legs swinging as she passed you socks and hair ties like they were treasures, proudly declaring which ones were “pretty for both of us” like you were going to share those with her— which you weren’t. They were too big and expensive for her.

At some point, the chaos softened. The suitcases filled. The documents were checked, then checked again, then gently taken from your hands and tucked safely into Jungkook’s backpack when you started to spiral.

By the time the zippers closed and the apartment fell into a rare, settled quiet, you felt lighter, steadier, like you weren’t carrying the weight alone anymore. And when you finally stepped out the door together, bags in hand, Jungkook’s presence beside you felt less like help and more like certainty, easing you forward into the drive that would take you toward everything waiting on the other side.

The drive to the airport was quieter, calmer. The kind of calm that only came after chaos had exhausted itself. The city blurred past the windows as Sunni pressed her face to the glass, narrating everything she saw, while you sat in the passenger seat, finally still, Jungkook’s hand resting comfortably on your thigh.

“You know,” you said after a moment, staring ahead, “we should plan a day where we do absolutely nothing.”

He glanced at you, amused. “You? Do nothing?”

“I said plan,” you repeated. “Not necessarily succeed.”

Sunni leaned forward between the seats. “Can we go see volcanoes?”

“Yes,” Jungkook said without hesitation.

“And eat pasta every day?”

“Yes.”

“And swim in the sea?”

“Yes.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Eating pasta everyday is crazy. You’re setting unrealistic expectations.”

He squeezed your thigh lightly. “It’s Sicily. The expectations are already unrealistic.”

You chuckled before putting your hand on top of his. There was a silence that you took for yourself before talking again.

You hesitated, then remind him more quietly, “My parents will be there for a couple of days.”

Jungkook’s posture shifted, just slightly. “I know.”

“They’ll be there maybe three days max,” you warned. “They won’t stay for the opening, just a few days this week. They have work. It won’t be a big deal for us, okay?.”

He frowned, immediately unconvinced. “It is a big deal. It’s your family.”

You sighed. “Yeah, but… I’m not really trying to make it a big deal. It’s not like they care that much.”

“Still,” he said gently, “it matters to me.”

You turned to look at him. “You know, when I met your family… it was easy. They were warm, they were funny and nice. They liked me—”

“They adored you,” he corrected.

You smiled faintly. “— and they were normal.” You stated. “You know my parents are… complicated for me. They’re nice and I love them. But don’t expect something from them, they’re just people I learned to know they will be there when they want to, not when I need them.” Your sighed. “So please don’t have expectations.”

“That’s okay,” he said, voice steady. “I’m not meeting them for them, I’m meeting them for you.”

Something in your chest tightened at that. “Okay.”

“Besides,” Jungkook continued. “Their first impression of me was at Rosa’s funeral. I couldn’t even introduce myself as your partner then so I didn’t introduce myself at all.” He gave you a look. “I know you hate this but I still need to give them a good impression.”

You nodded, understanding his view. “Well, it will be just this and then we can never see them again if you don’t like them.”

Sunni interrupted, cheerful as ever. “Are they nice?”

You glanced back at her. “They’re… learning.”

Jungkook chuckled. “That’s okay. So are we.”

The car kept moving, the road stretching forward, carrying you toward Sicily, toward Rosa’s home, toward the place you love, toward sun and salt air and long days and something that felt, for the first time in a long while, like the beginning instead of the test.

And finally, you let yourself sit back, Jungkook beside you, Sunni humming quietly in the back seat, and believed, confidently, that everything was going to be okay.

—————

First class was quieter than usual. Not many people were there for the long flight so it felt better for Sunni since it was her first time in a plane.

The private suites were wide with sliding doors, soft lighting that felt more like evening than afternoon, seats that turned into beds with real linens instead of blankets that smelled like recycled air. Jungkook helped Sunni settle into her seat first, showing her how everything worked with the patience he reserved only for her, explaining the buttons like it was the most important thing in the world. She was wide-eyed, whispering “woah” every few seconds, already clutching the little amenity kit like a souvenir she planned to keep forever.

Once she was distracted with the screen and snacks, you finally exhaled, sinking into your own seat as the doors closed and the plane began to hum around you. Jungkook held Sunni’s hand for the first hour or so while explaining her how everything work in the air so she wouldn’t get nervous.

For the first hour, you did nothing, just watched him work his magic with her. And it felt strange, almost wrong luxurious, to let your body rest while the world carried you forward without asking anything of you.

Jungkook reclined his seat, stretching out easily, one arm bent behind his head as he watched you with that quiet attentiveness that always made you feel seen even when he wasn’t saying anything. You talked a little, lazily, about nothing important: how unreal it felt to be so close to the opening night, how the light in Sicily was different, how Sunni would probably fall asleep before the meal even came…

And, like clockwork, she did. Somewhere between the flight attendant’s soft footsteps and the dimming of the cabin lights, her excitement finally caught up to her, her head tilting to the side as sleep took her completely.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He stood, gentle as always, and moved to your suite, pulling the divider fully closed before settling beside you, adjusting the seat until it was more bed than chair. He stretched out next to you, careful not to crowd you, one arm resting loosely around your waist like a question you answered by shifting closer. The plane faded into background noise then, the low hum of engines, the muted clink of glasses somewhere far away, until it was just the two of you, cocooned in a space that felt removed from time.

You two just talked for a while, whispering like teenagers who were hiding when there was no one who was actually trying to haunt you.

“Are you finally breathing now,” Jungkook murmured, turning his head slightly to look at you.

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Don’t jinx it. I might remember something I forgot to pack.”

He smiled, lazy and fond. “You didn’t. I checked. Twice. You even packed the shoes you hate but insist you’ll need.”

“They’re practical and comfortable ,” you defended, tilting your head toward him. “Maybe a little ugly.”

“Extremely,” he agreed. “But you’ll wear them anyway and complain the whole time.”

You smiled, softening. “You love me.”

“I do,” he said easily, like it wasn’t a confession but a fact. “Especially when you’re complicated.”

You shifted closer. “Do you ever think about how weird this is? Three weeks away from everything. No schedules, no flights back and forth. It’s our first long vacation-ish.”

He considered it for a moment. “Yeah. It feels… weird. In a good way. Like the problems had stopped interrupting us.”

You nodded, tracing the seam of his sleeve. “I’ll make it a good vacation, okay?. I will be resting most of the time, enjoying the beach and all.”

Jungkook hummed thoughtfully. “No, you won’t.”

“I will,” you insisted.

“No, you won’t. You’ll try to work through it. I’ll tell you to stop. You won’t listen. Then you’ll fall asleep on some random couch and I’ll pretend that was the plan.”

You laughed, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “You make me sound so romantic.”

“It is romantic,” he said, lips brushing your temple. “I love you anyway.”

You went quiet for a beat, then sighed. “Thank you for not taking my feelings and make them yours. I know it’s my thing, my stress, my overthinking, my restaurant—”

He kissed your lips, softly. “It is my thing. You’re my thing.” Then he added, teasing, “Also, I get free Italian food out of it.”

You scoffed. “User.”

“Absolutely,” he grinned. “I’m in love and hungry.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest as you leaned in and kissed him properly this time. It was familiar, yours, unhurried.

When you pulled back, you stayed close, your voice barely above a whisper. “I really like us like this.”

Jungkook’s thumb brushed gently along your jaw. “Me too,” he said. “This is my favorite version of us.”

You smiled at him. “Mine too.”

“By the way, Sunni was really excited, you know,” he said quietly, his voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “She’s been telling everyone at school she’s going to Italy. Says it like it’s magic.”

You smiled, tracing idle shapes on his chest. “I’m glad. I know the last month I got busier and… I don’t want to cause anything with, you know, the travel, the change… me being so busy.”

He shook his head slightly, pressing a kiss into your hair. “She loves being with you. And she loves seeing you happy and she understands your work. That’s what she notices now.” His thumb brushed slow, grounding circles against your side. “You don’t have to earn her excitement or her understanding, you already have it.”

Your chest tightened, the familiar mix of fear and tenderness settling in. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” he said without hesitation, lifting your chin so you had to look at him. His gaze was steady, warm. “She also has me to make her understand it better. We’re a team.”

That did something to you. The way he said it like it was obvious, like that was the most natural place in the world for him to be.

You leaned in, kissing him softly again at first, unhurried, the kind of kiss that wasn’t trying to prove anything. He kissed you back the same way, gentle and deep, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as if to anchor the moment. When you pulled away, your foreheads stayed pressed together, breaths mingling, the intimacy of it settling quietly between you.

“I don’t say it enough,” you murmured. “How much it means that you’re here. That you’re doing this with me.”

He smiled, small and fond, brushing his nose against yours. “You don’t have to say it. I know.” he whispered softly, “But I like hearing it anyway.”

You laughed quietly, curling closer into his side, your head finding its place against his shoulder like it had always belonged there.

Outside the window, the sky stretched endlessly, pale and calm, and your mind followed it— not racing ahead, not spiraling backward. Just there. Just that. Jungkook’s arm around you, Sunni sleeping peacefully a few feet away, and the feeling that whatever waited for you in Italy, you weren’t walking into it alone.

—————

Sicily greeted you like it had been waiting.

The air was warmer than you expected when you stepped out, heavier with salt and sun, the kind that clung to your skin immediately. Even exhausted from the flight, even with your brain still buzzing with lists and timelines, something in your chest loosened the moment you breathed it in.

The drive from the airport was quiet in the best way. Windows down, Jungkook’s hand resting on the steering wheel from the car you rented for the time you were going to spent there, Sunni was in the backseat pressed up against the glass, narrating every single thing she saw like it might disappear if she didn’t say it out loud.

“There’s the sea again,” she announced for the fourth time in ten minutes, awed every single time. “It’s everywhere.”

“That’s because we’re on an island, bug,” Jungkook said patiently, smiling at her through the rearview mirror.

“I know that,” she replied, offended. “I just didn’t think it would be this blue.”

You watched her reflection, her nose practically touching the window, curls bouncing as the car moved, and felt that familiar tug in your chest— the one that still surprised you sometimes.

When you finally pulled up to the Airbnb, you stopped short.

The house sat low and white against the coast, weathered in that effortless way that came only from time and sun. Bougainvillea spilled over the balcony railing in violent pinks, and beyond it— uninterrupted, endless— the sea stretched out, glittering like it knew it was being admired.

Jungkook had chosen the place, and when he showed you the pictures— only nodding while being on the phone screaming at someone— you didn’t pay that much attention. You were glad he had good taste.

“Oh,” you breathed.

Jungkook looked at you instead of the view. He smiled slowly, like that was exactly what he’d hoped for. “I’m guessing this meets your standards.”

Sunni was already out of the car, sandals forgotten, spinning in a circle on the stone path. “WE LIVE HERE???”

“For three weeks,” you said, laughing as you grabbed the keys under the carpet where the owner told you he left them. “Try not to make a mess. We will not be paying extra because of you, goblin.”

Inside, it was all light and air— linen curtains moving with the breeze, terracotta floors cool under your feet, the sound of waves close enough to feel like a presence. You dropped your bag by the door and just stood there for a moment, letting it sink in.

Jungkook came up behind you, arms sliding easily around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. “You okay? You like it?”

You nodded, leaning back into him. “Yeah. Just… this is beautiful. It feels real now.”

He kissed your temple. “Good. It is.”

You didn’t unpack properly that first day. None of you did. You collapsed instead. Sunni claiming the couch like she’d earned it, Jungkook opening the balcony doors wide, the three of you sitting with takeout pizza eaten from cardboard boxes while you watched the sun melting into the sea.

That night, you fell asleep to the sound of waves and Jungkook’s steady breathing beside you, your body heavy in the best way.

—————

The next morning smelled like sunscreen and citrus.

Sunni was awake before either of you, bouncing on the bed until Jungkook groaned and buried his face in the pillow. “It’s a vacation,” he muttered. “Why are children immune to rest?”

“Come on! Dad, we have to go,” she said brightly. “You promised we were going the beach today.”

You laughed lazily, stretching your body while Jungkook groaned again. “She’s right. You did promise.”

He opened one eye at you, trying— and failing— to cuddle you while you slipped out of bed. “You’re both evil.”

Hal an hour later you were walking outside the place to the ocean. It was ridiculously close. Even from the place you could see the people already swimming there.

The beach was everything. Warm sand, water so clear it felt unreal, the sun gentle instead of punishing, and a shit tone of people. Sunni ran straight for the shore, shoes abandoned halfway there, shrieking when the water hit her ankles.

“It’s cold!” she yelled, delighted.

Jungkook watched her, arms crossed, soft smile fixed on his face. You leaned into his side without thinking, your shoulder fitting perfectly under his arm.

“She’s happy,” you said quietly

He nodded. “Yeah. She really is.”

You spent the morning doing nothing important. Jungkook taught Sunni how to skim stones. You lay on your towel pretending to read while actually watching them. At one point, Sunni dragged both of you into the water, insisting on a competition that ended with Jungkook dramatically losing on purpose and Sunni celebrating like she’d won an Olympic medal.

Later, as you all dried in the sun, she curled against Jungkook’s side, sleepy and salt-tired. He brushed sand from her knees while she talked— about her soccer team, about Italy, about how she might live there forever.

“You’ll miss your mom and your friends,” you said gently.

She thought about it, then nodded. “Yeah. But I’ll call her everyday. And then can visit me.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and you chuckled. “Then you better start learning Italian, goblin.”

—————

Reality crept back in the next day.

You were up early, hair still damp, laptop open on the kitchen table, phone pressed to your ear while you stared out at the sea like it might answer your questions.

“Yes, I know the supplier confirmed,” you said into the phone, pacing now. “I just want to double-check the delivery time. No, it can’t be late. It cannot be late.”

Jungkook hovered nearby, making breakfast, pretending not to listen while absolutely listening.

“I’ll call them myself if I have to,” you continued. “This opening has zero margin for error.”

You hung up and immediately exhaled, hands on your hips.

Jungkook slid a plate toward you. Toast, fruit, coffee— all arranged like he knew exactly what you’d forget to eat otherwise.

“You’re spiraling,” he said gently.

“I am preparing,” you corrected, taking the coffee anyway.

He leaned against the counter. “You’ve done this a hundred times.”

“This one matters the most,” you said, softer.

“I know.” He reached out, brushing his thumb along your wrist. “That’s why it’s going to be fine.”

Sunni wandered in, still in pajamas, rubbing her eyes. “Are you working today?”

“Yeah, I have to go in ten minutes,” you said, guilt flickering.

She nodded solemnly. “Okay. But later we’re getting gelato even if we have to go the restaurant.”

Jungkook grinned. “That’s non-negotiable.”

You laughed, tension easing just enough to breathe.

Outside, the sea kept moving. The restaurant waited a few streets away. Time pressed forward whether you were ready or not. But for that moment, there, with the sound of waves, Jungkook steady at your side, Sunni planning dessert… it felt manageable.

It felt like lately everything was holding up better than ever.

—————

Your parents contacted you the day later. Already choosing the day and place to met you and Jungkook for a chat. And you, of course, took every power of your heart to agree.

The restaurant your parents had chosen sat right along the marina, all soft lights and linen tablecloths, glass walls opening to the darkening sea. It was the kind of place where the staff spoke quietly, where the wine glasses were thinner than they looked sturdy enough to be, and where nothing ever felt rushed—not the courses, not the conversation, not the expectations.

Jungkook and you had left Sunni with Vincenzo and his wife an hour earlier— he was one of your chefs in there, you had know him and his family for a long time now— Jungkook had crouched down to Sunni’s level in the entryway of their house, adjusting the little bow in her hair while she clutched her tiny backpack like she was going on a much bigger adventure than a sleepover with Vincenzo’s daughter.

“You’re gonna be okay, yeah?” he asked softly. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” Sunni nodded very seriously. “Vincenzo said they have a dog.”

“That’s a very important detail,” Jungkook said, solemn.

She grinned, then turned to you. “Don’t be late.”

You laughed, smoothing her hair. “Excuse you, I’m the adult here.”

Sunni narrowed her eyes. “Still.”

And just like that, she was gone, already chattering as Vincenzo’s wife ushered her inside.

Now, walking into the restaurant beside Jungkook, your heels clicking softly against polished stone, you felt that familiar tightening in your chest. Not exactly fear but awareness. The way being around your parents always made you hyper-aware of yourself. Of your choices. Of what they might think, even when they never said it outright… Even when you had texted them to please be kind and every detail about Jungkook so they would behave. It was just a reflex to think everything would go wrong.

Jungkook noticed immediately.

His hand brushed yours, not gripping, just there. Grounding.

“You okay?” he murmured as the hostess led you toward the table.

“Yeah,” you said, inhaling slowly. “They’re just… a lot. If you wanna go anytime just tell me and I’ll invent an excuse.”

He smiled faintly. “We’re going to do fine.”

The table was already set. Your parents stood as you approached. Your mother elegant as always, perfectly tailored dress, hair immaculately styled; your father composed, expression polite but observant, like he was already taking mental notes about Jungkook’s outfit and yours.

“There you are,” your mother said warmly, kissing your cheek. “Honey, you look beautiful.”

“So do you, mom.” You replied, genuinely.

Your father extended a hand to Jungkook. “Jungkook. It’s good to finally met you properly.”

“Sir,” Jungkook said, shaking his hand firmly, respectfully. “Thank you for having us.”

They sat, menus placed gently before them, water poured without a word.

The first few minutes were easy, safe. Talk of the weather, of Sicily, of how beautiful the coastline looked that time of year. Your mother commented on the view and her work, your father mentioned the boat they had rented for the next day, casually, like it was nothing special.

“And the new restaurant,” your mother added, folding her napkin into her lap. “You must be very busy.”

You smiled. “It’s getting there. A few last details, but everything’s on schedule.”

“That kind of project takes discipline,” your father said, looking at Jungkook now. You knew he was fishing for something more, he never complimented your greed that easily. “Not everyone can manage that level of commitment.”

“Yes, even if it’s just food—”

“It’s not just food.” Jungkook didn’t let your mom continue. “I’ve seen how hard she works. It’s… impressive. It’s not just food, it’s a big and hard business.”

He said without flattering, not exaggerated. Just true. Your eyes immediately snapped to him, your heart clenching with something so deep and beautiful that made you want to kiss him.

“Y/n talked about your job,” your mother tilted her head slightly, studying him more closely. “You were able to take time off?”

“Yes,” he answered calmly. “I planned ahead.”

There was a beat. It was subtle. The kind of pause that carried weight if you knew how to listen. And if you knew your parents.

“That’s good,” she said. “Stability matters.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and instead reached for your water.

The waiter came, took drink orders, described the specials. When he left, your father leaned back slightly.

“So,” he said, conversationally, “you own a tattoo studio, correct?”

Jungkook didn’t flinch. “Yes. I have for several years now.”

“And you employ others?”

“I do. We’ve grown steadily.”

“Hm.” Your father nodded, as if checking off an invisible list. “That kind of responsibility changes a person.”

“I think so,” Jungkook said easily. “It teaches you how to plan. How to take care of people. Tattooing can be very intimate.”

Your mother smiled, but there was something sharp beneath it. “And you have a child.”

You felt it immediately, the slight shift in the air.

“Yes,” Jungkook said, without hesitation. “Sunni.”

“She’s lovely,” you added quickly. “Very energetic.”

“She is,” he said, smiling. “She keeps me honest.”

Your dad glanced at you. “I remember you talking about kids. That must be a big new adjustment, honey.”

You held his gaze. “It was. But it’s not a bad one.”

Silence stretched, not exactly uncomfortable but deliberate.

Then your mother sighed lightly, as if releasing the moment. “Well. What matters is that you’re happy and stable.”

You’d heard that sentence your entire life. Always said like a blessing. Always delivered like a test.

The rest of dinner unfolded smoothly. The food was excellent. Jungkook asked thoughtful questions, listened carefully. He asked about them with genuine curiosity, he talked about the opening without overstepping, about his work without defensiveness. He didn’t try to impress them… and somehow, that did it more than anything else.

At one point, while you excused yourself to the restroom, you give Jungkook a look to text you. The one that said that if he needed an scape it was now or never. But nothing came, and you knew he was holding himself pretty well.

When you returned, dessert had arrived.

Your mother dabbed her lips with a napkin. “We’re taking the boat out tomorrow morning,” she said lightly. “Fishing, just something simple. You two should come.”

You blinked. “Fishing?”

“It’s good for the soul,” your father said. “You use to love it.”

“We did that one time,” you remind him. “And I never caught anything.”

“Well we should do it more,” the older man smiled. “It’s quiet, gives you time to think.”

Before you could respond, Jungkook smiled. “We’d love to.”

You turned to him, looking at him like he was crazy. “We would?”

He glanced at you, eyes warm. “If that’s okay with you.”

You hesitated only a second before nodding. “Yeah. No, of course. We’d love to.”

Your parents exchanged a look.

“Good,” your father said. “We’ll pick you up at eight.”

As the check was settled and you stood to leave, your mother adjusted her shawl and leaned in to kiss your cheek again and whispered in your ear.

“He seems… grounded,” she said softly. “That’s important.”

You smiled, knowing exactly what she meant, and what she didn’t say.

Later, walking back toward the car, the marina lights reflecting on the water, Jungkook slipped his hand into yours.

“You survived,” he murmured.

You snorted quietly. “Barely.” You looked at him. “But at least they liked you.”

“I’m relieved.”

He squeezed your hand, smiling to himself.

And somewhere deep in his chest, beneath the calm, beneath the patience, the plan settled more firmly into place.

Tomorrow, on that boat, he’d ask your father.

—————

You two would picked up Sunni tomorrow midday. On the way home, Jungkook still called Vincenzo to know how was everything going. He talked about how Sunni clearly had the time of her life—

“She didn’t want to sleep,” Vincenzo’s wife said apologetically through the phone. “We negotiated with gelato tomorrow morning if they did.”

Jungkook huffed a laugh. “I guess next time I have to babysit them both.”

“You better.”

By the time you two got back to the Airbnb, you felt like your body needed to drop dead in the bed. The place was quiet, the sea murmuring faintly beyond the open balcony door. You moved automatically, turning on only the dim hallway light with Jungkook behind you. Once the door was closed, the apartment felt even quieter—intimate in that way that only came after a long day. You exhaled as if you’d been holding your breath since dinner.

The shared bedroom was lit by a single lamp. Your suitcase lay open on the bench at the foot of the bed, clothes half-folded, makeup bag already unzipped on the dresser. You slipped out of your heels with a relieved sigh, padding barefoot across the cool tile.

Jungkook shrugged off his jacket, loosening the cuffs of his shirt. The room filled with small, familiar sounds— the zip of your makeup pouch, the soft clink of bottles being set down, fabric rustling as he pulled a clean t-shirt from his bag.

“Well,” he said lightly, toeing off his shoes, “that could’ve gone worse.”

You laughed softly, catching your reflection as you wiped away the last of your eyeliner. “That’s the highest compliment you can give my parents.”

“They were nice,” he added, tugging his shirt over his head. “Curious. A little… sharp but I understand why.”

You hummed, switching to cleanser, watching your face soften as the day finally washed away. “They’re not bad people. They just… don’t know how to be close. Everything is very business casual with them. Like they’re always hosting instead of just… being my family, you know.”

Jungkook pulled on his sleep pants, leaning against the dresser now, listening.

“It’s weird,” you continued, quieter now. “I love them. I really do. But sometimes it feels like I know them the same way I know my distant cousins. We see each other, we’re cordial, we exchange updates… and then we go back to our separate lives.”

You reached for a towel, patting your face dry. “Rosa was different. She was loud and demanding and always in my space. She knew everything about me. Even the ugly parts. And she stayed even after knowing that and… She was just my family.”

The word lingered.

Jungkook didn’t rush to fill the silence. He crossed the room instead, stopping behind you, his hands resting lightly on your hips.

“And that makes sense,” he said softly. “Family isn’t always about blood. It’s about who stays.”

You leaned back into him without thinking, your head tipping against his chest.

“I already made peace with that. I know they’ll never see me or at least try to,” you admitted. “Not the way Rosa did. Not the way you do.”

He bent slightly, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Then that’s okay. Because you don’t need everyone to see you. You just need a few people who really do.”

You turned in his arms, looking up at him. “I’m glad you’re one of them.”

“I’m glad you make me one of them,” he said gently.

You smiled faintly, then reached for your pajamas—soft cotton, worn in all the right places. He changed too, the room filling with the quiet rhythm of shared routine. No rush, no performance. Just the comfortable choreography of two people who belonged in the same space.

When you both slipped into bed, the sheets were cool and crisp, smelling faintly of detergent and sea air. Jungkook pulled you into him easily, like it was second nature, your head fitting perfectly against his shoulder.

You stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to his steady breathing.

“Sometimes,” you said softly, “I feel like I missed out on something. Having parents who… showed up the way they were supposed to.”

His arm tightened around you, just slightly. “You didn’t miss out,” he said. “And you got something even better. A chosen family.”

You turned your face into his chest. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“And with me,” he said without hesitation. “With Sunni. With the life we’re building. And with Rosa too. Her love doesn’t end just because she’s gone. You carry it. And I get to help you with that.” Your throat tightened “You’re my family,” he continued quietly. “Not because you need one. But because I choose you. Every day. And you choose me too.”

You breathed him in, the familiar scent of soap and something uniquely him grounding you completely.

“I don’t feel out of reach with you,” you whispered.

He kissed the top of your head. “Good. Because you’re not.”

The sea murmured outside, steady and endless, as you settled deeper into his arms. And for the first time that day, you fell asleep without the weight of distance pressing on your chest.

You were home. And he was already there.

—————

The morning unfolded gently, the kind that felt curated even before it began.

The sun was already warm when you and Jungkook walked toward the port, the air salted and bright, gulls circling lazily above the docks. The street was alive in a soft way, café doors opening, scooters passing, the smell of espresso drifting through the breeze. You both wore linen, light and effortless, sunglasses pushed up into your hair. Jungkook walked beside you with one hand in his pocket, the other occasionally squeezing yours as if making sure you were still there.

He scanned the harbor as you approached, taking in the rows of boats, modest fishing vessels, sleek white cruisers, and a few that very clearly belonged to people who didn’t check price tags.

“So,” he said quietly, leaning closer, “when you dad said ‘boat,’ I pictured something… smaller.”

You followed his gaze, already knowing exactly which one he’d spotted.

The mini yacht sat just off the dock, polished to an almost offensive shine. White hull, dark-tinted windows. It wasn’t massive in the way celebrity yachts were— no helicopter pad, no absurd height— but it was undeniably expensive in the way money didn’t need to announce itself.

You smiled faintly. “This is small for them, Jungkook.”

He snorted. “You say that like it’s normal.”

“It is,” you said, entirely serious. “They’re being humble right now.”

He stopped walking for half a second, staring at the yacht, then at you. “Your version of humble is deeply concerning.”

You laughed under your breath, squeezing his hand. “Welcome to my childhood.”

Your parents were already there when you reached the dock. Your father stood near the edge, sunglasses on, posture relaxed in a way that suggested years of doing business on moving platforms, even when he had just got his license last year. Your mother sat at a small outdoor table on deck, perfectly composed in a wide-brimmed hat, a silk scarf tied loosely around her neck.

They both looked… at ease. At home

“There you are,” your mother said warmly as you stepped aboard, air-kissing your cheeks. “We were starting to think you’d decided to sleep in.”

“Never on a boat day,” you replied sarcastically.

Your father nodded at Jungkook. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, sir,” Jungkook said, polite and steady.

The yacht smelled like citrus and salt and something faintly floral, expensive without being overwhelming. A table had already been set: fresh fruit arranged artfully, pastries still warm, tiny glass jars of honey and jam with handwritten labels. Champagne flutes sat waiting in a bucket of ice, despite it being barely nine in the morning.

Jungkook leaned toward you, murmuring, “Is it illegal to have this much money?”

“Only if you’re not discreet about it,” you murmured back.

He huffed a laugh.

As your dad drove yacht away from the dock, engines humming low and smooth, your mother poured coffee into delicate porcelain cups that absolutely did not belong on a moving boat. Your father offered Jungkook a drink with a casual gesture, screaming over the wind.

“Coffee? Or something stronger?”

Jungkook blinked. “Uh— coffee’s great, thank you.”

Your father smiled slightly, like he’d expected that answer.

They talked easily as the coastline began to drift away, business trips, weather patterns, the best coves to anchor in. Your parents asked about the restaurant, about timelines and suppliers, questions too vague but never unkind. Jungkook listened, answered when appropriate, deferential without being intimidated.

You watched him from behind your sunglasses, a quiet swell of pride settling in your chest.

At one point, as you leaned against the railing, Jungkook whispered, “So this is what growing up casually wealthy looks like.”

You nodded. “There were croissants like this in my lunchbox.”

He stared at the table. “I had instant noodles.”

You grinned. “I had a nanny who would tried to steal my pocket money when I was five.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “This explains so much.”

The yacht cut smoothly through the water, the sun climbing higher, everything around you polished and calm. On the surface, it was just a pleasant family outing, expensive, yes, but normal in the way wealth softened edges and smoothed logistics.

But beneath it all, you felt it: the quiet undercurrent of expectation, of observation.

Your parents were watching Not judging. Not exactly. Just… measuring. And Jungkook, steady as ever beside you, seemed entirely unaware that anything was being weighed at all.

You felt lucky to be there with him by your side.

The yacht slowed over time, rocking gently now, the engine quiet enough that the sea became the main sound again. The water around you was impossibly blue, sunlight breaking against it in slow, glittering patterns.

Your mother appeared beside you with two tall flutes, the pale orange of fresh juice swirling with champagne. She handed one to you with a small smile.

“Mimosa,” she said. “Before your father starts pretending this is serious fishing.”

You laughed, accepting it. “He’s committed. I can tell.”

As if on cue, your father called out, already moving toward the side of the boat where the fishing rods were set up. “Jungkook, would you give me a hand with this?

Jungkook looked over, surprised but eager. “Of course.”

He shot you a quick glance— the kind that silently asked am I about to embarrass myself?— and you lifted your glass slightly in a mock toast.

“Good luck,” you mouthed.

He smiled, a little crooked, before following your father toward the stern.

Once they were far enough that their voices blurred into the sound of water and metal, your mother leaned her forearms against the railing beside you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You watched the coastline in the distance, the yacht rocking softly beneath your feet.

She took a sip first.

“I wanted to tell you,” she said finally, her voice light but deliberate, “I’m very proud of you.”

You turned toward her, surprised despite yourself. “For…?”

“The restaurant,” she said easily. “Sicily. The planning, the execution. It’s not a small thing.”

You smiled, something warm settling in your chest. “Thank you.”

She nodded, eyes still on the horizon. “You’ve always been very capable. Sometimes I forget to say it out loud.”

You clinked your glass gently against hers. “I’ll take it.”

She laughed softly, then glanced toward where Jungkook stood with your father, both of them focused on the rod now. Jungkook’s sleeves were rolled up, tattoos catching the sun, posture attentive as your father spoke.

“He seems… very present,” your mother said, almost to herself.

“He is,” you replied without hesitation.

She hummed, thoughtful. “You seem happy.”

“I am.”

That made her look at you fully now. Not assessing, just observing, like a mother trying to memorize a version of her child she doesn’t see often enough.

“Honey, it’s rare that you introduce us to someone.” She smiled. “You know I have to ask now. Is it serious?.”

“Yes, very.”

You didn’t bristle, you didn’t deflect. You took another sip of your drink, letting the bubbles settle.

“Do you see a future with him?” she asked gently.

“Yes,” you said simply again.

Her eyebrows lifted just slightly. Not surprised, curious

“And with everything that comes with him?” she continued carefully. “We know that business life. We studied it, honey. He can be stable now but you never know—“”

“Like any other business.”

“And his daughter—.”

“Sunni.”

“She’s lovely,” your mother said. “From the pictures you showed us yesterday.”

“She is,” you said. “And she’s… part of him. I don’t really separate it in my head.”

Your mother nodded slowly. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

You glanced at her. “You’re not worried?”

She considered that. “I’m aware,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Of course.”

She reached out, adjusting the strap of your dress where it had twisted slightly in the breeze, almost a familiar, intimate gesture.

“You’ve always chosen your own path,” she said. “Sometimes far from us. Sometimes in ways I didn’t fully understand at first.” You swallowed, the words landing heavier than her tone suggested. “But,” she went on, “It never felt like a rebellion. You always knew how to take a good decision, even if we loved Jungwoo—”

“Mom—”

“I’m just kidding,” she patted your shoulder. “You know we are always going to support your decisions, honey.”

You exhaled. “Yeah, I know.”

She smiled then, small but real. “We trust you.”

You leaned your shoulder against hers for just a moment, the yacht rocking beneath you, the sun warm on your skin. They didn’t trust you, they just didn’t want to hold you, to take responsibility of you. But you took it good, because you loved her. And because even that felt like a piece of love from them. And you knew that was them trying their best.

Behind you, your father laughed at something Jungkook said, a surprised, genuine sound.

Your mother followed your gaze, watching them together. “He’s trying very hard,” she said quietly.

You smiled. “That’s just who he is.”

She lifted her glass. “Then I suppose we’ll have to get used to him.”

You clinked your glasses again, the sound light and bright, like the moment itself.

For once, it felt like enough.

Jungkook stood at the stern with the rod in his hands, trying very hard to look like that was not his first real attempt at fishing. He’d watched enough videos, absorbed enough casual confidence from people who knew what they were doing, and was now relying almost entirely on posture and calm breathing.

Your father noticed.

“You can relax your grip a little,” he said, adjusting his own line with practiced ease. “You’re not wrestling it.”

Jungkook chuckled, loosening his hands. “Right. I thought… more control.”

“That’s what everyone thinks,” your father replied. “Fish don’t respond well to tension.”

Jungkook nodded, filing that away like it was applicable to more than just fishing.

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the yacht rocking gently beneath them, the sound of water brushing against the hull steady and rhythmic. Your father glanced over.

“You ever done this before?”

“Once,” Jungkook said. “With a friend. He did most of the work. I nodded a lot.”

Your father smiled at that. “Smart strategy.”

Jungkook exhaled, shoulders easing. “I’m better with… people,” he added. “And things that don’t swim away.”

“Tattooing,” your father said. “Requires patience too.”

“And trust,” Jungkook said. “People give you their skin. You don’t rush that. You have to learn how to be patient and understand people.”

Your father hummed in agreement. “I can see why she trusts you.”

That landed deeper than Jungkook expected. He swallowed, eyes still on the water.

“I care about her,” he said simply.

“I can tell.”

They adjusted their lines again. No bites yet. The sun was climbing higher now, warming Jungkook’s arms, glinting off the metal of the reel.

There was a pause, long enough to feel intentional. Jungkook felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest and swim from Europe back to Asia.

“Sir,” Jungkook said, steady but unmistakably nervous now. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Your father looked at him, attentive. “Go on.”

“I’m planning to propose,” Jungkook said. No flourish, no dramatics. Just the truth, laid out carefully. “I love your daughter, and I want to spend my life with her. I was hoping… to have your blessing.”

Your father didn’t answer right away. He studied the water, the line, the slow movement beneath the surface.

Then he smiled.

“Of course,” he said. “I like you. You’re grounded. I see you take care of her. And I want my daughter happy.”

Jungkook let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thank you.”

“Truly,” your dad added. “It means a lot that you asked.”

Jungkook nodded, relief softening his expression, the tension easing out of his shoulders. For a second, it felt done. Settled.

But your father wasn’t finished.

“Did you talk to her about it?” he asked gently.

Jungkook stilled, attentive again. “Yes?”

Your father turned toward him fully now. “And what did she said?.”

“That she wants an Alexandra ring with six carats.”

The man huffed a laugh. Jungkook felt a little lighter.

“And have you thought about it? Really thought about it.”

Jungkook frowned slightly. “About… the proposal?”

“About what it changes,” the older man clarified. “Sometimes it’s better to leave things as they are. Not because they aren’t good but because naming them can make them heavier.”

Jungkook didn’t speak. He waited to understand better.

“I know my daughter,” your father continued, not unkindly but clear. “She loves deeply, but she’s careful. There’s something in her that resists being held too tightly. Not because she doesn’t want love but because she’s afraid of what it asks of her. And she’s always being the type to not get attached.”

Jungkook’s grip tightened on the rod, though he didn’t look away. “I don’t understand.”

“You probably know about her last engagement,” your father said. “Jungwoo was perfect for her. They would probably stayed together if he didn’t ask her for marriage.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. “I think that was different, sir.”

“Look, Jungkook.” Your father put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it once. “I like you, you seem like a nice man. I like how my daughter looks happy with you. This is not meant to scare you, I would love to have you in the family. But sometimes, some people, they’re just not meant to be taken in paper. They’re just not meant to be tamed. You still can be happy without making it a big deal. Sometimes,” your father went on, voice thoughtful, “love doesn’t need a ring to be real. Or permanent.”

The line twitched slightly, but neither of them moved to reel it in.

Jungkook finally spoke, quiet but sure. “I don’t want to trap her. Marriage is not that for me and she understands that,” he said. “I want to choose her. Every day. And I want her to know she can choose me back— freely.”

Your father studied him for a long moment. Then he smiled again, softer this time.

“Well then. That was my advice, Jungkook.” He said with calm before adding, “you still have my blessing.”

Jungkook didn’t say nothing more. He wanted to say that he didn’t want it no more but preferred to stay quiet. He gave your dad a last look before glancing over his shoulder then, toward the other side of the yacht.

You were already looking at him.

Not listening to your mother anymore, not really. Just watching him like you always did, like you could feel him from across a room. And when your eyes met, you smiled. Warm, certain. Unaware of everything that had just been said.

Jungkook smiled back, heart steadying in his chest.

Whatever came next, he knew one thing for sure: He wasn’t afraid.

—————

Your parents left early the next morning, all tailored coats and quiet kisses on the cheek, promises to call, reminders about eating well and sleeping enough. You stood with Jungkook at the curb watching their car disappear down the narrow Sicilian street, feeling that familiar mix of relief and something softer— affection that never quite knew how to land.

Jungkook squeezed your hand once, grounding, and didn’t say anything. He never rushed you out of feelings you needed to finish having.

You were two weeks until the opening. You decided to focus on that. The thought sat heavy and electric in your chest.

Bohyung and Se-hoo arrived the next afternoon, loud and sunburn-ready, rolling their suitcases down the street like they owned the place. Bohyung hugged you so hard you laughed, Se-hoo already talking about espresso and cannoli and how she knew Italy would change her as a person again.

“This place is insane,” Bohyung said, looking out toward the sea from the balcony of the Airbnb. “You’re casually opening a restaurant here? Ten minutes walk from here?.”

“You say that like it’s casual,” you replied, handing them glasses of water. “I’ve aged ten years.”

Jungkook smiled from the kitchen, Sunni clinging to his leg like a koala, watching the chaos with amused patience.

They spent the first day wandering. No plans, no schedules. Cobblestone streets, too much gelato, Bohyung insisting on stopping every three minutes to take photos, Se-hoo asking questions about olive oil like she was about to open her own place next door. Jungkook walked slightly behind with Sunni on his shoulders, pointing out boats and birds and letting her narrate everything like a tour guide who made up half the facts.

The next morning, reality pulled you away early.

You kissed Jungkook’s cheek while he was still half asleep. “I’ll be back later. Don’t wait for lunch.”

He hummed, pulling you back for a second, forehead to forehead. “Go be terrifying.”

“I’m always terrifying,” you said, smiling.

At the restaurant, it was controlled chaos, deliveries coming in, staff meetings, menu tweaks, the smell of fresh paint still lingering in the air. You walked through the space like it was already alive, adjusting things instinctively, asking questions, checking numbers, trusting the team you’d built but never fully letting go. That place was your heart outside your body, it was Rosa’s.

Meanwhile, the beach was loud and bright and uncomplicated.

Jungkook spread towels while Bohyung immediately kicked off his sandals and running toward the water, Se-hoo following with sunglasses already slipping down her nose.

“I can’t believe we finally met you,” Bohyung said later, crouching in front of Sunni. “The legendary child.”

Sunni tilted her head. “I’m not legendary. I’m almost ten.”

“That’s exactly what a legend would say,” Se-hoo replied solemnly.

Sunni laughed without understanding, instantly sold.

They built lopsided sandcastles, Sunni assigning roles like a tiny foreman while Jungkook obediently dug trenches where she told him to. Bohyung lay on his towel watching them, nudging Se-hoo with her foot.

“Wow, he’s acting so… dad,” Bohyung said quietly.

Se-hoo nodded. “Yeah. I can’t believe I’m finally understanding Y/n.”

Jungkook glanced over, amused. “By the way, I know you guys call me tattooed dilf when I’m not around.”

Bohyung gasped. “She broke the friend code.”

“Wow, she really is in love with you.” Se-hoo faked gagged. “It’s disgusting.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh.

They talked about everything and nothing. The opening, how Sicily felt slower but sharper at the same time, how they missed Korea, how you’d always loved places that didn’t go according to your personality. At some point, Bohyung squinted at Jungkook.

“So,” he said casually, “How’s Jimin?”

Jungkook smiled, familiar fondness softening his expression. “Back home. Someone has to keep the place from burning down.”

“The shop?” Se-hoo asked.

“Yeah. We’re finishing the draft for the new studio,” he explained. “Layouts, licensing, all the boring stuff before the fun starts.”

Bohyung nodded. “That’s huge.”

“It is,” Jungkook said. “But this mattered more right now.”

Sunni beamed at that, shoving a handful of wet sand into his lap like a prize.

The sun had started to lower in the sky, casting long golden streaks across the sand as Sunni kicked off her sandals and joined the group near the water. Bohyung and Se-hoo were sprawled lazily on towels, laughing at something while trying to tan, Jungkook was looking at Sunni careful in case she needed something while trying to clean the sand the little girl had put on his body while trying to bury him.

Then Bohyung looked over at him, quietly watching. “You’re surprisingly patient,” he said, nudging Se-hoo. “I would have lost it after the first ten minutes of your little girl trying to put sand on me.”

Jungkook shrugged, flashing that easy grin. “You learn how to be patient.” He shrugged. “She’s also small but terrifying. I have to respect that.”

Se-hoo laughed. “I like this facet of you acting like a dad. It’s something.”

Jungkook held up his hands. “In a bad way?”

“In a ‘I understand why she didn’t run after knowing you had a kid’ way.” She replied, nodding slowly.

Jungkook chuckled. “I’ll take it,”

After a moment of playful banter, Bohyung sat up, brushing sand off his legs. “So, you guys are staying some more weeks after the restaurant opening?”

“Just a couple days more. Then we’re back to Korea.”

Bohyung nodded. “Any vacation plans after that? We were talking with Y/n about doing something next year. Maybe in Mexico or South America. You know, a friend thing or something like that.”

Jungkook leaned back on his hands, glancing at the waves and then at the group. “Actually… I have something planned for next year.”

“Really?,” Se-hoo looked a little surprised.

“Well, first I need her to say yes.” He looked at them. “And I think I could use your help with something.”

Bohyung raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What now? Is it like a dry destination? You must know she doesn’t like heat when is not near to a beach. I know she won’t agree—.”

“No,” Jungkook said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Much bigger and complicated than that. Kind of… life-changing.”

Se-hoo tilted her head. “Life-changing? Are we talking business-level drama trip or…?”

Jungkook swallowed, trying to stay calm. “I’m talking about me proposing.”

The silence hit for a second. Your friends looked like they had just been thrown into the cold water. Jungkook looked back at Sunni and then at them, waiting for something.

Bohyung’s jaw dropped after a very long minutes of silence.

“WHAT? Wait… what? Like, marry her? Propose to her? Here? In Sicily??”

“Yes.”

“That’s insane!”

Se-hoo flailed dramatically. “Are you serious?! That’s crazy but amazing! Oh my God, oh my God.”

“This is insane,” Bohyung repeated.

“Shes going to freak out,” Se-hoo added.

Jungkook’s confident smile faltered a little, panic creeping in. “Why?… Why are you looking like that? God, Is she going to say no? I should—”

Bohyung laughed, shaking his head. “No, no. Relax.”

“But you guys said—”

“She loves you.” He cut him off. “Trust me, she’ll say yes. Maybe scream a little, maybe cry a lot, maybe freak out a lot but she’ll say yes.”

Se-hoo leaned forward, pointing a finger at him. “Exactly. And you? You better not chicken out. You’ve got this. We’ll make sure it’s perfect, don’t even worry.”

Jungkook laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. “Okay… you guys are terrifyingly confident. And now I’m even more scared because your excitement is like a spotlight on me.”

Bohyung grinned, nudging him lightly. “It’s fine. That’s how you know it’s real. Just don’t mess it up.”

Se-hoo added, dramatically clasping her hands together, “And we will help in everything you want. But first show me the ring to see if you got her the right one. I need to know if I can approve this union.”

He chuckled, shaking his head but smiling, the nerves easing just a little while he grabbed his phone out to show her a picture.

“Is this one.”

Se-hop stayed silent. Jungkook felt like panic when she moved his head to look at Bohyung with a serious mock. “He’s the one.”

Jungkook exhaled, feeling like he was going to beat up your friends for doing him like that.

“Okay… okay.” Bohyung clapped. “What do you have in mind?”

And just like that, the nerves melted into laughter and planning, Sunni still obliviously swimming in the shore, you still working not so far away from them.

He was going it marry you.

Later, you joined them, shoes in hand, hair tied up, tension finally easing from your shoulders when you saw them, your people, your worlds overlapping without friction. Jungkook looked up immediately, smiling like the day had been waiting for you.

“How is it?” he asked.

“Alive,” you said, sitting beside him. “It’s really alive.”

He squeezed your knee. “Told you.”

The sun dipped lower, the day stretching lazily, no urgency, no drama. Just warmth, salt on skin, laughter drifting over the water.

A calm before something big. Jungkook let himself enjoy it.

—————

Everything went downhill the next day.

Like life didn’t want you to have a nice week before ruin it completely at least a couple of hours.

The restaurant was quiet, the kitchen dark except for the faint hum of the refrigerators. you slammed your tablet onto the counter and ran a hand over your face, exhaling in frustration.

“Electricity’s out again,” Vincenzo muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked guilty but tired. “I’ve been trying to call someone all day. I swear, nobody’s picking up. I even tried the guy from Palermo—nothing.”

You groaned, pacing the small office behind the kitchen. “All day? We’ve been trying all day, and now it’s… what? Eight o’clock? The contractors are MIA?”

“Exactly,” Vincenzo said. “I’ve left messages. It’s like the universe doesn’t want the lights on today.”

Your fingers drummed against the counter. “Well, you know what? The universe can wait. I’m done trying to fix it tonight. Tomorrow I’ll sort it. I’m done banging my head against a wall for one more second.”

Vincenzo nodded, relieved you weren’t yelling at him.

You ran a hand through your hair, finally sitting down on the edge of the counter. Your stomach twisted—not from hunger, but from frustration, exhaustion, and the creeping anxiety of the opening looming closer.

Less than a week. Less than a week, and everything had to be perfect.

You checked your phone again, scrolling through messages you had sent to Jungkook earlier. Your lips pressed into a thin line, trying not to let the annoyance show. You needed this evening. You two had planned a quiet dinner, a little escape from everything, and right now it felt like the universe had gone out of its way to sabotage you.

Finally, you stood, grabbing your bag and tossing your jacket over your shoulders. “I’m done for tonight. we’ll fix this tomorrow,” you muttered to yourself, and Vincenzo waved goodbye as you threw him the keys and slipped out the door, letting him close the establishment.

The night was already cool, the streets glistening faintly from a day’s earlier rain. You started the car, pulling out onto the narrow road leading back toward the place. Your fingers tapped absently against the steering wheel, the radio playing soft Italian rock that should have been relaxing but only made you feel the edges of your irritation.

You were tired, hungry and a little irritated.

You were halfway down the winding road when your phone buzzed.

Jungkook: Hey

Jungkook: I’m sorry Sunni was feeling a little sick today and I forgot to tell you earlier

Your eyebrows shot up. You exhaled through your nose sharply, gripping the wheel tighter. “Of course,” you muttered, your voice low and sharp with frustration. Typing quickly:

You: It’s okay. I’ll turn around.

Ten minutes later, you were already grumbling to yourself, driving back through the same narrow curves of the coast road, the darkness pressing in on either side.

Midnight was creeping up, the sky pitch-black except for the scattered streetlights and the reflection of the moon on the water. Your phone buzzed with another message from Jungkook checking in, and you rolled your eyes with a small sigh.

You hadn’t even realized how tired you were. Your eyelids felt heavy, and your mind wandered to the thought of finally sitting down to the dinner you two had promised— quiet, romantic, and uninterrupted. The thought should have you her smile, but instead, it only made the night feel longer and made you angrier he didn’t tell you sooner so you wouldn’t drive all the way.

You groaned before looking at his text again.

Jungkook: sorry pretty

Jungkook: promise i’ll have dinner for you when you arrive

You grabbed your phone to answer, looking at the road—

And then it happened.

A dog. A small, golden retriever, probably chasing a fox or something equally reckless. It darted across the road from nowhere.

Your heart leapt into your throat. You slammed the brakes hard, tires screeching, and skidded to a stop just a foot away from the animal.

“Oh my God!” you gasped, chest hammering, forehead almost hitting the steering wheel.

You felt your breathing heavily. Your heart almost jumping out of your chest and your hands shaking. You threw the car in park and bolted out, the gravel crunching under your heels. The dog had stopped, ears twitching, looking up at you like nothing had happened. It hadn’t even been hit. Relief slammed into you, but your knees went weak for a second, and you pressed a hand to your chest.

“You little bitch,” you whispered, crouching down to check it, murmuring reassurances even though it clearly hadn’t needed them. “You could’ve given me a heart attack.”

The dog sniffed your hand once, wagged its tail lazily, then trotted off down the roadside, disappearing into the darkness. You let out a shaky laugh, straightening up, taking deep breaths. Your hair had come loose from your bun, almost sticking to your neck from the ice sweat. You rubbed your head, almost too hard before turning to the car.

You froze.

The keys. The goddamn keys. You had left them inside the car. The doors were locked. The car was locked and they were there with your bag, looking at you like they were making fun of you. And now you were alone on a nearly empty road, nearly midnight.

Your chest tightened. Your hands flew to your hair, pulling it hard. “You’ve got to be kidding me!,” you groaned, pacing a little. You leaned against the hood of the car, trying to calm yourself. “Okay. Okay. It’s fine. It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. Not even close.

You looked at your phone to call Jungkook, but you hesitated, imagining him being halfway worried and halfway amused when you explained the situation. Your stomach churned with frustration. Of course, of course, something like this would happen after the day you had had. You dial his number anyway.

Voice mail. Great.

The road stretched ahead, dark and empty. The smell of the sea mingled with the faint scent of gravel and damp asphalt. The night felt impossibly still, but you could feel the tension coiling inside you like a spring ready to snap.

You kicked the tire lightly in exasperation. “Perfect,” you muttered. “Absolutely perfect.”.

It was bad. Worse. And somehow, you felt like the night wasn’t done testing you yet.

You slammed your phone against your palm again, frustration bubbling in your chest. Jungkook wasn’t answering. Not a call, not a text. You tried Bohyung and Se-hoo next, but nothing. The line kept ringing, then went to voicemail.

Great. Just great.

The night air was heavy, carrying the faint smell of the sea and the rain that had just started threatening the horizon. You knew the Airbnb wasn’t so far. The street outside was deserted, and no taxi company—or tire service, which you tried just in case— was picking up. You cursed under your breath, the frustration tangling with exhaustion.

“Amazing. What a great fucking day,” you muttered to yourself as you started walking. Your heels clicked against the cobblestones, an erratic rhythm that matched your heartbeat.

The little dog from earlier trotted beside you when he heard your steps, ears perked, tail wagging, as if it had decided you were now responsible for it. You didn’t even care. You let it follow, figuring it was better than walking alone, even if it was just for company.

Twenty minutes, five thousand thoughts, and a lot of angry muttering later, your legs were screaming, but at least your head was starting to clear. But then, just as if the universe had decided it wasn’t done testing your patience, the sky broke.

Rain came in sheets, cold and unrelenting, drenching your jacket and plastering your hair to your face. You screamed— a raw, sharp sound that tore through the quiet night. “Goddammit! Really?! Really?!”

The dog barked once, then sprinted ahead, tail high, leaving you to stumble through puddles. You ignored it. You had only one goal: get inside, get dry, and hopefully find Jungkook. You picked up the pace, your feet splashing through the growing puddles, heart racing, muscles burning from the long walk.

When the Airbnb finally appeared ahead, warm light spilling from the windows, you felt relief wash over you like a tidal wave. Wet, angry, and thoroughly exhausted, you flung the door open and stepped inside. The familiar warmth of the air hit you immediately, but it did little to settle your racing mind.

The first thing you wanted was obvious: change out of your soaked dress, curl up with Jungkook, and finally breathe. Except… he wasn’t there. Not in the living room, not in the kitchen, nowhere.

You froze, the wet fabric clinging to your skin, and your chest tightened. Something felt off. Confused, peeled off your wet jacket and shoes, letting the rain drip onto the tile. The little dog, now curled up by the corner of the sofa, wagged its tail at you, oblivious to the storm inside your mind.

You stripped down to your underwear, shivering as you kicked off the rest of your wet clothes. “Where the hell are you?” you muttered to yourself, tugging at your hair. The dress went into the laundry basket with a huff, the fabric heavy and cold. You thought about calling Jungkook again, but your phone buzzed first.

It was Vincenzo.

“Hey, hey! You need to get to the restaurant right now. The fire alarm has been ringing. I think the electricity came back again and might burn something with the rain. You have to hurry!” His voice was tense, urgent.

Your stomach dropped. Of course. Of course, it had to happen tonight. You grabbed a towel and wrapped it around yourself, hair dripping as you scrambled to a new summer dress. Sandals on, a jacket that did notching clutched, you ran toward the restaurant, the Airbnb disappearing behind you in a blur.

Ten minutes. Ten minutes of sprinting through the wet streets, trying to avoid slipping on the slick cobblestones, your mind racing as fast as your legs. Everything was chaos. Your body was soaked, your hair stuck to your forehead, and your nerves were stretched taut, but you pushed on anyway.

You skidded to a halt in front of the restaurant, rain dripping off your hair, soaking through your jacket, every muscle trembling from the sprint. Your lungs heaved with heavy breaths, and for a moment you just stared at the place. The sign glowed softly, the doors unlocked— but something felt… off.

No smoke. No smell of burning. No alarm. Nothing.

Your chest tightened further. You were half relieved, half on the verge of yelling and with clothes sticking to you. You decided to take off your soaked jacket as you slowly, cautiously, you pushed the door open. The restaurant was dark at first, the shadows swallowing the familiar furniture, the tables, the chairs— but then, soft lights flickered on one by one.

Candles. Hundreds of them.

The tables, saved from the corners for the opening day, were carefully arranged, small vases of flowers catching the candlelight. Dim string lights traced the ceiling and some windows, spilling a warm glow. And the floor was covered in delicate flower petals, as if someone had carefully scattered a path for you to follow.

Your heart stuttered.

“Jungkook?” you whispered, your voice shaky, wet hair plastered to your cheeks, still catching your breath from running through the rain. You left your jacket in the floor

He emerged from the shadows, walking slowly toward you, each step deliberate, calm, grounding, like he had all the time in the world. He was wearing a linen shirt, sleeves up to his elbows and some loose pants. He looked good, manly.

“What is this?” you said, voice rising, a mix of confusion and exasperation. “Jungkook, I just had the worst day ever, and I swear if you’re just trying to do something cute—”

He held up a hand, gentle but firm, stopping you mid-rant. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said softly. His eyes met yours, calm and unwavering, and somehow the storm inside your chest began to quiet. “There’s no electricity problem. It’s all fixed.”

You blinked, the confusion deepening. “What?… What do you mean?”

He stepped closer, brushing a wet strand of hair from your face, and took both your hands in his. “I fixed it an hour ago. I just needed the excuse to bring you back here.”

You shook your head, confused. “What?.”

“It was a little lie. The alarm going off and Sunni being sick.” He confessed. “Because I wanted this to be a moment for us. I’ve been planning this speech for months. Every little detail but I feel like I forgot everything,” he huffed a laugh, nervously.

“Jungkook—” you tried to say.

“Let me tell you,” he said softly. “I want to tell you.” You didn’t say anything, just looking at him. “I want to tell you that… I know this is your home. And I know this is your place, this restaurant is everything to you. And I wanted it to be here because you… you are my everything. And I want to give you everything. I— I’m rattling too much. I just… I guess what I’m trying to say is that— that you deserve more than a dinner, more than flowers, more than a moment of magic. You- you deserve a lifetime of love, and I want to give you mine.”

Your stomach twisted, your chest tightening as he spoke, the sincerity in his voice pulling at something deep inside you. He took a breath, steady and sure, and continued:

“I love you when you’re exhausted and sharp-tongued, when you’re tender and trying not to show it. I love how deeply you love. Sunni, your friends, your family… even when it costs you sleep, peace, parts of yourself. I love the way you fight for what you want. I love your ambition and your greed. I love your mind and your heart. I love the way you carry the weight of the world and still find room to hold others. You don’t know how to love halfway even when you want to. And I don’t want a life that’s lived halfway with you.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, grounding you.

“You built this life with your own hands,” he went on, voice thick with emotion. “This restaurant, this home with your friends, this family. And I don’t want to just stand beside it— I want to be part of it. Not just on the easy days. Not just when everything is calm and perfect. I want all of it. The chaos, the fear, the joy, the quiet nights and the loud ones. Every single second, as long as it’s with you.”

Your breath hitched.

“You are my home,” he said, softer now. “Rosa’s love has always guided you— I see that, I honor it. And I’m honor that I get to be your family now. And you are my home,” he repeated. “Not a place— you. Your voice, your presence, the way you exist in a room. I want to wake up choosing you, and go to sleep knowing you chose me back. I want a future where we build together, fall apart together, grow together. Where I get to love you openly and fully for the rest of my life. I get to choose you, every day. And I want you to choose me back, not just now, but for the rest of our lives.”

Jungkook knelt, slowly and with shaky hands, your mouth opened as you softly gasped. It felt like this moment deserved reverence. He reached into his pocket, slow, deliberate, and when the box opened, the light caught immediately— sharp, brilliant, undeniable. You recognize it instantly. He remembered. The cut, the setting, the exact ring you once mentioned long ago, half-joking, half-dreaming.

“Will you marry me?”

Everything went quiet. Fear flickered, just for a second, and then it dissolves. Because you see the ring, and the man holding it, and you realize something inside you has shifted. The world seemed to narrow to the space between you. Your hands trembled, tears blurring everything, but your answer was already there, steady and certain.

You were not bracing anymore. You were not running. You haven’t been running for a long time.

“Yes,” you whisper, tears spilling freely now. “Yes. I will.”

Relief crashed over his face, raw and unfiltered, and he stood quickly, hands cupping your face as if he needed to touch you to make sure you were real. His mouth found yours in a slow, trembling kiss. You could feel his nerves, his shaky lips trying to find reassurance in yours. You gave it to him. You gave him everything. There. Now and forever.

The rain, the stress, the awful day… all of it dissolved into nothing.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, he brushed a damp strand of hair from your face, forehead resting against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered into your mouth.

“I love you,” you smiled before kissing him again.

It was softer this time. Full of love. His hands found your cheeks and while he guided the kiss you melted into his touch. He kissed you more and more before letting you go, forehead resting against yours.

He laughed happily, softly, brushing a kiss over your temple. “Vincenzo made dinner,” he said, nodding toward the table glowing nearby. “But… do you want to go back to the Airbnb first? Change, breathe, come back here together? A little drier?”

You laughed through your tears, nodding. “Yes. God, yes.”

He squeezed your hand, kisses you once more, slower now, full of promises, full of a future together. His mouth found yours in a soft, reverent kiss, the kind that asked permission.

Then it deepened.

It turns hungry, emotional, full of everything you’ve both been holding back. His hands slide into your hair, your fingers curl into his clothes, and you melted into each other completely, bodies fitting together like it was always where they were meant to land. The kiss broke, then returned again, slower, warmer, sealing something permanent between you.

When you finally pull back, foreheads pressed together, breath tangled, the ring caught your eye again. Your heart still beating hard and fast over your chest.

You watched it, in silence.

And then the future appeared. A wedding, the stress, the fights, the not knowing what was coming…

“Jungkook,” you whispered, voice shaking just a little. while you looked down at your finger. “This… this scares the shit out of me.”

He didn’t hesitate. He took your hands again, thumbs brushing slow, reassuring circles over your skin. His other hand grabbed your chin to made you look at him.

“Me too,” he admitted quietly. “But I love you. And loving you makes me less scared than anything else ever has.”

Something loosened inside you.

You looked at the ring, a 6.0 carat round brilliant Alexandra Beth diamond ring. He had remembered, after so long, after a joke, after being mentioned once. He loved you. He knew you. And you knew he would take care of you.

You felt a weight lift off your chest, your heart calming at the certainty in his voice. You smiled, leaning in to kiss him, slow and deep, savoring the moment, the rain and chaos and love all fading away to just the two of you, in your little perfect world.

“Come one, let’s go make you take a shower and come back to eat. Okay?.”

He gave you a peck but then kissed you again deeply when you melted into his touch. Like he couldn’t stop himself anymore. You laughed softly against his mouth when his hands travelled from your cheeks down your body.

You pulled apart, looking at him with a smirk. He copied you. “Wanna have sex with your fiancée?” you teased, breathless.

His laugh turned into a groan as he kissed you back, hands already sliding to your waist, the two of you stumbling slightly, caught between laughter and heat. Jungkook kissed you hard, hands burning to take off your clothes and kiss every part of your skin to mark you as his.

As his future wife.

He was kissing your neck and sliding his hand between your thighs when something nudged your leg.

You two froze, slowly looking down.

A familiar dog stood there, tail wagging furiously, nose shoved happily against you like he’d just found his people. Jungkook blinked, then laughed, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Okay— who’s that?”

You stared at the dog, then back at Jungkook, then back at the dog who wagged harder, clearly pleased with you two.

You sighed, defeated. “I guess our new friend.”

missing temporary fragments hours:(

i missed writing them so much. i hope this one shot made them justice!! i’ll try to edit the next one soon so you’ll have it for next week >_<

if u continue reading this lmk what u think<33

fun facts if u didn’t catch up:

— the dog was implemented because in chapter four when yn and her friends are talking there’s this scene where she goes:“Okay. But if this ends in a family photo and a golden retriever named Lucky, I want a refund of this friendship.” so i thought it would be funny if it did end up like that lol

— in chapter 12 (need to fact-check the chap) she goes “Well, if you’re gonna propose you better known that the minimum I accept is a 6.0 carat round brilliant Alexandra Beth diamond ring.” And even if it was mention once i thought it’s something TF Jungkook would remember. my man is nice like that

taglist:

@libbieminie @yneisstuff @smoljimjim @almatiarau @annpeachy @mar-lo-pap @taetaecatboy @rrosiitas @httpsmei @jeonnabi11 @sabrinahiddig @tatzzz-25 @slythermania @yuyu0y11 @ultracnt @baekpop05 @tinyxrose @satisfied18 @kissyfacekoo @synamon @smut02 @alextgef @lindsayjoy444 @ottergirl @imagine-this-motherfucker @dream-lover200 @astralovesu @dragons-flare @jungkookswifeeeeeee @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @yuniesluv @kookooquette @lanyia @dearkayzel-blog @katie-tibo @strawberryacethingz @jalexad @llallaaa @eyesforjungkook @wandabillywrites @flowinj @strawberrysweetness @osakis-gf @bambijuicee @dollyunjinz @jjeonjjk7 @focused-island @cravingforbangtan @elinaki92

[a-nyx-7]

GILDED CAGE

PART 10

Summary : You were raised behind locked doors, hidden from a world that was never supposed to know your name. But secrets have a way of finding the wrong people, and when Jeon Jungkook does, your freedom comes with a ring... and a war. Pairing : mafia! JK x f.reader Genre : mafia au, political marriage, secret heir, syndicate, dark romance, secrets, drama, angst, eventual smut, dark themes, drugs, underworld syndicate. Taglist : @nayutalvr @jungkookgoodlookin @zaf3ira @celest-pluto @prxdajeon @firstdivisiongirl @jksusawife @tremendousstarlighttragedy @mar-lo-pap @pomichodai-jk-bts-apobangpo

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

The heavy, silence of Madam Jeon’s master suite was broken only by the faint sound of the television mounted against the wall.

Madam Jeon sat rigidly in her high-backed velvet armchair, her face an unreadable mask as two young maids hovered around her in terrified quiet. One held a small tray with a glass of water and a array of daily heart medications, while the other carefully measured out a soothing tonic.

Suddenly, the breaking news banner flashed a blinding, emergency red across the screen.

The news anchor’s voice cracked through the silence:

"Breaking News: Chairman Park of the Han-Jin Group, a major political figure and high-profile candidate for the upcoming ministry election, has been found dead inside his private residence early this morning. Preliminary police reports suggest he suffered multiple brutal stab wounds and poison. The authorities have launched a full-scale homicide investigation..."

Madam Jeon’s dark eyes widened, freezing on the screen. The glass of water in her hand trembled, the clear liquid sloshing over the crystal edge.

Stabbed in his own home?

Her heart hammered dangerously in her chest. She knew the truth. It wasn't a sudden break-in or a random street mugging. It was a cover-up. Jungkook hadn't just forced the old man to sign the asset transfer and poisoned him and stabbed him in the hedge maze but he faked the death in the house. He shifted the body back to chairman's house.

A wave of intense paranoia and blinding, furious rage surged through her blood.

He went too far.

A political figure! A man with direct ties to the national government! Jungkook had acted on pure, unchecked greed and arrogance, completely ignoring the careful rules of the Jeon legacy. He was playing with fire that could burn their entire dynasty to the ground before the week was even over.

"Ma'am, please, your medicine—" the maid whispered nervously, holding out the small paper cup.

"Get that filth away from me!" Madam Jeon snapped, her voice like a whip.

With a harsh sweep of her arm, she swatted the maid's hand away. The silver tray clattered against the polished marble floor, sending the pills, glass, and water scattering in every direction.

The two maids gasped, immediately dropping to their knees in absolute terror, trembling as they tried to clean up the mess.

"Out! Both of you, get out!" Madam Jeon breathed heavily, her chest heaving as she pointed a thin, trembling finger toward the heavy oak doors. "And call my grandson right now. Tell Jungkook to get his arrogant ass into my room this instant!”

°

Jungkook moved slightly, feeling a soft warmth pressed against his skin. He slowly opened his eyes, a sharp grimace crossing his features as he felt the tight, uncomfortable prickle of dried blood on his chest and arms. Sunlight filtered softly through the heavy curtains.

Shifting his weight, he noticed his legs were tangled up with someone else's. He tilted his head, his dark eyes landing on you.

You were fast asleep right beside him. One of your small hands was resting against his bare chest, while the other lay draped over your own stomach.

Jungkook closed his eyes, letting out a heavy, silent sigh as the chaotic memories of last night came rushing back. Why the hell had he crawled into bed and snuggled up to you like a clingy kid?

Fuck.

He looked down at your tangled legs. You were still wearing that midnight-blue reception gown. It had to be miserable to sleep in. The heavy silk was pushed up slightly, leaving a long stretch of your bare thigh completely on display in the morning light.

A sharp knock on the bedroom door broke the quiet, making Jungkook’s head snap toward the sound.

You let out a soft, sleepy whine at the noise, turning over instinctively and wrapping both of your arms tightly around his waist. Jungkook didn't fight it. He just lay there for a second, pinned under your grip.

"What?" he called out, his voice laced with pure morning frustration.

The commotion finally woke you up. You slowly blinked your eyes open, freezing the second you realized you were clinging to his chest like a koala. A deep flush instantly rushed up your neck, painting your cheeks a bright, burning red.

"Madam Jeon is calling for you, sir," the maid’s timid voice echoed through the heavy door.

Jungkook didn't bother replying. He just let out another low sigh, his dark eyes drifting down to your wide, panicked doe eyes. Seeing you pull back so fast, your dark hair completely wild and messy from sleep, made the tight annoyance in his chest soften just a fraction.

As you tried to scramble backward, you let out a tiny hiss of pain, wincing as the heavy diamond necklace dug sharply into the delicate skin of your collarbone.

Before you could sit up and retreat, Jungkook’s hand shot out, catching your wrist and pulling you right back onto the plush mattress.

He moved smoothly, kneeling on the bed behind you. His large, warm hands reached around to carefully unpin the heavy clasp of the necklace. As the heavy jewelry came free, his thumb gently brushed over the bright red marks left behind on your soft skin.

You winced again, your breath catching as the sensitive skin stinged under his touch.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his deep morning voice low, husky, and dangerously close to your ear.

You quickly shook your head, unable to squeeze a real word out of your tight throat.

Jungkook let out a quiet scoff, setting the diamonds aside on the nightstand before swinging his legs off the bed. Without a word of warning, he reached down, grabbed your hand, and hauled you out of bed, dragging you straight toward the bathroom.

"W-what?" you stumbled after him, your heart doing a violent flip in your chest.

In the bright light of the morning, his bare torso was on full display. The sharp lines of his abs, the dark ink spilling over his shoulders, and the faint, jagged scars scattering his skin were almost overwhelming to look at up close.

Your stomach fluttered uncontrollably, your breath completely stuttering in your throat as he pulled you up to the grand marble vanity.

Your hands flew behind your back, catching his wrists just as the heavy metal zipper reached the small of your waist. "W-wait—Jungkook, stop," you stammered, your voice barely a breath.

A sharp blush flooded your face as you tried to turn around in his grip, desperate to hide yourself from him. But before you could face him, Jungkook moved with frightening efficiency.

His hand clamped gently yet firmly over yours, twisting you back around in a single smooth motion. In a split second, he pressed your front flush against the edge of the cold marble vanity, his large body trapping you completely from behind.

The cool stone against your stomach made you gasp, but before you could recover, he pulled the heavy silk down. The midnight-blue gown pooled around your ankles, leaving you standing there in just your delicate, lace undergarments.

Mortified, you instinctively wrapped your arms tightly over your chest, trying to shrink away, your heart hammering like a trapped bird.

Jungkook didn't pause to appreciate your curves. He simply reached down, hooked his hands under your arms, and dragged you straight toward the sprawling porcelain bathtub.

His face remained an unreadable, stoic mask—his pitch-black eyes fixed strictly on your face and shoulders, deliberately avoiding looking down at your exposed body. He eased you down into the tub, making you sit on the smooth porcelain before reaching over to turn on the taps. Warm water began to fill the basin around you.

"Jungkook..." you squeaked, your cheeks burning hot enough to leave marks. The utter proximity of him kneeling over the edge of the tub, his bare, tattooed chest hovering inches from your skin, had every nerve in your body screaming. You were shy as fuck, your shoulders tense, trembling under the sheer weight of his presence.

He ignored your protest, picking up a soft, wet sponge and lathering it with a gentle, scented soap.

Moving with a quiet, hypnotic slowness, he leaned in, his warm hand steadying your shoulder as he began to wash your skin. He traced the sponge smoothly down the back of your neck, clearing away the lingering sweat and stale air from last night. He swept the soft lather over your shoulder blades, his long fingers occasionally brushing your skin—a deliberate, soothing touch that made a shiver run straight down your spine.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands tightly gripping the rim of the tub as your breathing hitched. He was being so impossibly gentle for a man whose hands had ended a life just hours ago.

Once he was satisfied that every inch of your neck and shoulders was clean, Jungkook set the sponge aside. He didn't say a word as he stood up, stepping over to the walk-in glass shower stall right beside the tub.

He turned the knob, letting the stream of ice-cold water blast directly over his head and body.

You slowly opened your eyes, taking a ragged breath as you watched him through the clear glass. The cold spray washed away the remaining traces of dark, dried blood from his skin, making the dark ink of his tattoos pop sharply against his pale, defined muscles. The water cascaded down the hard ridges of his abs, plastering his wet hair against his forehead.

When he reached up, tossing his head back to run a hand through his dripping dark locks, your mouth went completely dry. A sudden, intense wave of heat rushed straight to your core. Your face flushed all over again, a chaotic flutter rising in your belly as you stared at him—realizing, with a sudden wave of panic, just how devastatingly attractive your dangerous husband actually was. You felt hot, messy, and thoroughly undone.

Jungkook shut the shower off, stepping out onto the bathmat.

Grabbing a towel from the rack, he began drying his torso, his dark eyes finally flicking down to meet yours in the tub. The intense, dark possessiveness was back in his gaze, but his tone was completely flat, almost detached.

"I washed you because you were dirty," he said, his gravelly voice echoing off the tile. "It was blood."

He paused, throwing the towel over his broad shoulder as he locked eyes with you.

"That blood belongs on my hands," he murmured softly, dark and unyielding. "It’s not allowed to stain you.”

Jungkook turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the bathroom door swinging gently in his wake.

You sat frozen in the warm water, your pulse thudding violently in your ears. The lingering heat of his fingers on your skin felt like an invisible burn. Shaking off the daze, you scrambled out of the tub, wrapping a heavy silk bathrobe around yourself and tying the sash tight. The desperate urge to make sense of him, you rushed toward the adjoining walk-in closet.

Jungkook was standing in the center of the spacious room. He looked devastatingly handsome—his dark hair still damp and tousled, his white dress shirt hanging completely open over his broad, tattooed chest as his long, vein-delineated fingers buckled his dark leather belt.

You swallowed hard, the sight making your throat go bone-dry as you took a slow step inside.

"You killed him," you whispered. The words slipped past your lips before you could stop them, low and trembling.

Jungkook didn't pause his movements, but his head tilted slightly, his pitch-black eyes cutting over to fix on you. "That’s what I do. Every single day," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated in the tight space. "You just happened to watch one. Can't digest the fact that you gave your life to a devil?"

Your lips parted, but your voice failed you. The dark thrill radiating off him was suffocating, yet you found yourself taking another small step forward. "That’s not... why did you..."

A slow, dangerous smirk stretched across his lips as he turned to face you completely. Unfiltered and shameless, your eyes dropped, tracing the sharp, carved lines of his abs left on full display.

"Eyes up, princess," he commanded smoothly.

Your gaze snapped instantly back to his.

"I do what I do for power," he murmured, a sinister, pitch-black glimmer flaring in his eyes. "I want his seat. I take what I want."

The cold brutality in his tone made your skin crawl with a sudden spike of fear, but beneath the horror, your mind flashed back to last night. You remembered the heavy, vulnerable weight of his body pressing you into the mattress. You remembered him sinking into your neck, letting you tangle your fingers in his hair as he surrendered to sleep.

There was a side to him he tried so hard to bury—a side that only reached for you.

You took one more step, desperate to break through his cold facade, but Jungkook closed the distance before you could even draw a breath.

In a fraction of a second, his massive frame towered over you, trapping you completely as he backed you straight into the wall. The back of your head hit the hard surface, your breathing hitching as you tried to press yourself flat, avoiding the intoxicating heat of his dark eyes.

"Jungkook..." you gasped, your small hands instinctively clutching the lapels of your bathrobe.

"Stay in this room today," he rasped. His voice dropped into a gentler, far more dangerous register as he leaned down, slanting his face into the crook of your neck. He took a long, heavy breath, greedily inhaling the sweet vanilla scent rising from your warm and freshly washed skin.

An electric flutter seized your stomach.

The heavy, musky scent of his cologne wrapped around you like a vice, filling your lungs until you couldn't breathe without smelling him.

He didn't pull away; his lips hovered a fraction of a millimeter from your sensitive skin, his hot breath fanning over your collarbone and sending shivers straight down your spine. Your chest heaved, rising and falling against his unbuttoned chest.

"You looked gorgeous last night," he whispered directly against your ear, his voice rough and dripping with dark possessiveness. "I wanted to tear the eyes out of every single man who looked at you like you should have been theirs."

His words sent a dangerous wave of heat straight to your core.

Jungkook slowly drew back just enough to lock eyes with you, his hand rising to gently hook a damp strand of hair behind your ear. His long, calloused fingers lingered, lightly brushing down the line of your jaw, leaving a trailing fire in their wake.

You couldn't look away. You were completely paralyzed, your heart hammering against your ribs as you gulped, drowning in the suffocating proximity of the man who held your life in his hands.

"Mrs. Jeon," he purred, a slow, dark smirk breaking across his face.

Without another word, he turned, casually buttoning his white shirt as he strolled out of the closet.

You remained pinned against the wall long after his footsteps faded, your knuckles white as you gripped your robe, trying and utterly failing to pull your scattered senses back together.

°

Jungkook strutted down the grand corridor of the estate’s east wing, his leather shoes snapping sharply against the polished marble floor. On either side, row after row of heavily armed syndicate guards snapped to attention, bowing their heads in unified, absolute deference.

He didn't glance at a single one of them.

An wave of raw pride and untamed ego surged through his veins. The air felt lighter; the estate felt like his personal kingdom. With Chairman eliminated, the last obstacle in his path had been swept away. He held the highest seat in the underworld now. He was the undisputed chairman of the entire syndicate, a man who would never have to bow, answer, or compromise to a single soul ever again.

he stepped inside the office.

Taehyung, who was standing near the desk reviewing documents, immediately straightened his jacket and bowed his head respectfully as his boss entered.

Jungkook unbuttoned his suit jacket, tossing himself back into the executive leather armchair with effortless authority. "What about the emergency board meeting?" he demanded, resting his elbows on the armrests and interlacing his fingers.

"Your grandmother canceled the meeting," Taehyung replied smoothly, his tone cautious.

Jungkook’s brow furrowed into a sharp, dark line. "What?"

The click of a metal-tipped cane echoed from the threshold, cutting through the heavy quiet of the room. Madam Jeon stood by the open doorway, her jaw clenched so tightly the muscles trembled, her eyes blazing with a dangerous, furious storm. With a sudden, violent motion, she slammed her cane against the floor.

"You are being utterly reckless!" she spat, her voice trembling with rage. "That was a weakly planned, barbaric murder!"

Jungkook leaned back, rolling his dark eyes with cool indifference. "It worked. He's dead."

"Chairman was a public figure, unlike you!" she yelled, taking a rigid step into the room. "He was a high-profile political candidate! This won't just stay in our world—it’s a national homicide case now! Do you have any idea what that means? The police will come knocking on our gates!"

Her voice laced with subtle panic, though her posture remained as sharp as iron.

Jungkook slammed his palm against the desk, the sharp crack echoing through the spacious office. He stood up slowly, looming over the room like a dark cloud.

"No fucking one dares to step inside the Jeon house to question me, grandmother," he growled, his voice a low, lethal baritone that made the air freeze. "You should remember that. I hold the power now. The entire syndicate will listen to me, or they will end up in the dirt right next to the chairman."

"And what if there's proof against you?" Madam Jeon hissed, leaning heavily on her cane as she glared at her grandson. "What if they have proof that you did it?"

"Even if there is proof," Jungkook replied through gritted teeth, his authority absolute and unyielding, "no one on this earth will dare to touch me. Or arrest me."

"You have gone completely insane with power, Jungkook!" Madam Jeon’s voice cracked with biting venom. "Just like your father. You are going to get yourself killed—"

*lYip!

A soft, high-pitched woof cut directly through the room.

The deadly argument came to a screeching halt. Everyone’s eyes in the room—Jungkook’s, Taehyung’s, and Madam Jeon’s—instantly dropped down to the floor.

A tiny, fluffy golden puppy was playfully tugging at the hem of Madam Jeon’s expensive silk coat, completely oblivious to the lethal mob bosses standing around it.

Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose in sheer, irritated disbelief, a sharp sigh escaping his lips. His dark eyes flicked up toward the open doorway, and his chest tightened.

There you stood, dressed in a soft, cozy lilac frock, your hair still slightly damp from your morning bath. You looked so delicate, so impossibly innocent against the blood-soaked backdrop of his dangerous world—a world he had explicitly sworn to keep you shielded from.

Madam Jeon whipped around, her sharp glare landing dead on you.

You quickly stepped into the room, ducking down to scoop the tiny puppy into your arms. "I-I'm so sorry—"

"When did a useless, filthy animal step foot into this house?!" Madam Jeon yelled, her shrill voice echoing off the walls.

You visibly flinched at the harshness in her tone, taking a small step back. From behind his desk, Jungkook rounded the wooden frame, his pitch-black eyes fixing you with a cold, piercing glare for disobeying his explicit order to stay in your bedroom.

"It's not useless—" you began softly, trying to defend the little dog cradled against your chest.

"Yes, you are the useless one here!" Madam Jeon snapped, cutting you off with venomous authority. "Don't you have the common sense to know you cannot cross into the office wing? Go back to your room, or go out and drain my grandson's bank account like the parasite you are!"

A sudden, sharp sting of anger flared in your chest. You frowned, lifting your chin. "I'm not here to drain his bank account—"

"How dare you argue back with me!"

Infuriated by your defiance, Madam Jeon’s face twisted in rage. She raised her thin, gloved hand high, swinging it down toward your face to strike you where you stood.

You squeezed your eyes shut, turning your head away as your whole body tensed, bracing for the burning impact of her hand.

1 second... 2 seconds...

The slap never came.

You slowly opened your eyes, your breath catching in your throat. Standing directly in front of you was a broad back, entirely blocking you from Madam Jeon's line of sight.

Jungkook was standing flush against you, his tall frame acting as an impenetrable shield. His large, vein-lined hand had caught Madam Jeon’s wrist mid-air, locking it in crushing grip.

His head was tilted down, his pitch-black eyes boring into his grandmother’s face with a murderous, razor-sharp glare that made even the ruthless matriarch freeze in sheer shock.

"Touch her again," Jungkook growled, his voice dropping into an ice-cold, murderous register that vibrated through the silent room, "and I don't care that you're my blood, grandmother. You will never set foot in this wing again."

His iron grip tightened around Madam Jeon’s wrist just enough to make her gasp, before he roughly shoved her arm away.

Madam Jeon staggered back half a step, her face twisting in pure, venomous shock. "Look at you!" she spat, her sharp voice dripping with malice as her furious eyes cut around his broad shoulder to target you directly. "Defending this pathetic excuse for a woman! She’s nothing but a selfish, spineless gold-digger!"

Your breath caught in your throat as her words sliced right through you.

"She let her own family get slaughtered and locked herself away, and the moment my grandson offered her a taste of the Jeon wealth, she came running with her hands out!" Madam Jeon sneered, stepping closer, her voice laced with absolute disgust. "She doesn't care about you, Jungkook! She left her family to die and came here for the money!"

A sharp, suffocating lump formed in your throat. The accusation hit every raw, exposed nerve from your past. Your eyes burned, but you bit down on the inside of your cheek, fighting with everything in you not to spill a single tear in front of her.

"Madam Jeon, please, that's enough," Taehyung interjected smoothly, stepping forward to put himself between the two before the situation completely detonated.

The heat in the room was suffocating. You couldn't breathe. Clutching the tiny puppy tightly against your chest, you turned on your heel and bolted out of the office, your vision blurring as you ran blindly down the long marble corridor toward your room.

"Y/N!" Jungkook roared, turning to go after you, his face dark with lethal fury.

"Jungkook, don't," Taehyung said firmly, placing a solid, unyielding hand straight against Jungkook’s chest, blocking his path. "Let her go for a second. If you engage with your grandmother right now, you're going to tear this entire house apart before the day even starts."

Jungkook’s chest heaved, his pitch-black eyes burning with a wild, violent rage as he glared down at Taehyung’s hand, then past him to Madam Jeon, who stood her ground with her chin held high. The air in the hallway crackled with dangerous tension, waiting for the final spark to blow.

°

You slammed the bedroom door shut behind you, twisting the lock with shaking fingers before your knees completely gave way.

Crossing the room in a blur, you collapsed onto the center of the massive bed, pulling your knees up to your chest and burying your face into the soft duvet. The tears you had fought so hard to hold back in front of Madam Jeon finally spilled over, heavy and uncontrollable.

She left her family to die and came here for the money.

The words echoed endlessly inside your head, each repetition slicing deeper than the last. The guilt, the grief, and the bitter humiliation pooled in your throat until you could barely catch a breath. You wrapped your arms tightly around the tiny puppy, holding the warm, soft creature against your chest as silent, painful sobs wracked your body. The little dog let out a quiet, comforting whine, nuzzling its small snout against your wet cheek and gently licking away your tears.

You stayed locked in that room as the hours dragged on.

Outside your door, the estate bustled with quiet, ominous efficiency, but inside, the world stood entirely still. Sunlight slowly crept across the hardwood floor, fading from the harsh brightness of midday into the long, cold shadows of late afternoon.

Around two o'clock, a quiet knock sounded at the door.

"Mrs. Jeon?" a maid’s timid voice called through the heavy wood. "I have brought your lunch. May I come in?"

You didn't answer. You just squeezed your eyes shut, burying your face deeper into the pillow, hugging the puppy a little tighter.

"Please, ma'am," the maid tried again after a long pause. "Sir gave strict orders for you to eat."

"Take it away," you whispered, your voice raspy and broken from hours of quiet crying. "I'm not hungry. Leave me alone."

The footsteps outside hesitated before slowly retreating down the hall.

You didn't care about Jungkook's orders. You didn't care about his power, his syndicate, or the mountain of wealth Madam Jeon accused you of craving. All you felt was an overwhelming, suffocating emptiness, trapped inside a gilded cage where everyone viewed you as either a fragile victim, a nameless asset, or a parasite.

As dusk fell and painted the room in deep shades of blue and purple, you lay curled on your side in the dim light, staring blankly at the locked door, waiting for the dark storm outside to finally break through.

°

Jungkook loosened his dark silk tie, stepping off the grand staircase and into the silent corridor of his private wing. He had just returned from the emergency assembly with the syndicate bosses. The room had bowed. Every single veteran mobster, every corrupt politician, and every armed lieutenant had fallen in line, cementing his absolute reign over the underworld. The full weight of the empire was finally locked within his fist.

Yet, as he rounded the corner, his triumphant mood evaporated.

Two maids were hovering nervously outside his bedroom door, holding a silver tray loaded with an untouched dinner setup. Upon seeing him, they instantly bowed, trembling under his sharp gaze.

"She... she won't come out, sir..." the head maid stammered timidly. "She hasn't opened the door since this morning. She refused lunch as well."

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, a dark vein pulsing against his temple. He let out a long, heavy sigh, reaching into his inner suit jacket to pull out his master key ring.

"Leave it," he commanded, taking only the fresh glass of juice from the tray.

Unlocking the heavy brass lock, he pushed the door open and stepped into the dim room, quietly clicking the lock back into place behind him.

You were completely buried under the plush duvet, a tight, motionless bundle curled up in the center of the bed. Sensing a new presence, the golden puppy scampered across the mattress, its tail wagging furiously as it let out a soft bark, greeting Jungkook at the edge.

Jungkook ignored the dog, his dark and tired eyes fixed entirely on your hiding frame.

"Y/N," he called out, his voice surprisingly quiet, laced with a rare, controlled patience.

You didn't budge. You tightened your grip on the thick fabric, hiding your face deeper into the pillows.

"Y/N," he repeated, setting the glass of juice onto the marble nightstand with a soft click.

The mattress dipped heavily beside you as he sat down on the edge. Reaching out, his large, warm hand grasped the top hem of the blanket, attempting to pull it down to see your face. But the moment you felt his pull, you fought back—clenching your fingers tightly into the duvet and yanking it right back out of his grip.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Jungkook’s lips. Your silent, stubborn defiance in the face of the most feared man in the country was almost absurd.

He tried to peel the blanket back a second time, far gentler than usual, but you refused to give an inch, burying yourself deeper like a stubborn child.

His fleeting amusement vanished, his notorious impatience snapping in an instant.

In one swift, effortless movement, Jungkook grabbed the blanket and threw it aside. Before you could scramble away, his heavy, tattooed arm shot out, hooking firmly around your waist and hauling your body across the sheets until you were flipped onto your back.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips at the sudden force, your hands flying up to press against his broad chest as he hovered directly above you, his massive body completely trapping you against the mattress.

Your wide, tear-stained eyes locked straight into his pitch-black orbs. He was so impossibly close—his dark hair falling wildly over his forehead, his hot, heavy breath fanning directly over your trembling lips. The intensity of his proximity made your pulse spike violently, your chest heaving up and down against his half unbuttoned shirt.

Jungkook didn't move away. He just stared down into your swollen, glossy eyes, his grip on your waist unyielding.

"Why did you not eat?" he asked, his voice dropping into a low, quiet rasp—a simple, velvet question that carried the weight of a command.

You turned your head away, a small, stubborn pout gracing your lips as hot frustration flared inside you.

Being so close to him was overwhelming; even through the thick fabric of the duvet, the intense heat radiating off his broad chest and heavy thighs surged straight into your skin.

"I'm not hungry," you muttered, your voice tight and trembling with suppressed anger. "No one in this house takes me seriously anyway. Your grandmother... everyone... they all just think I'm completely useless. Just some fragile parasite you dragged into your estate."

Jungkook let out a low, vibrating hum deep in his chest, his pitch-black eyes never leaving your flushed face as he absorbed every word of your bitter protest.

"Who said you are useless?" he purred, his low, sinful edge wrapping around you like silk and sending a violent, sudden tightness straight to your stomach.

Your breath stuttered in your throat as he inched even closer, his shadow completely blocking out the dim light of the room. "Y-you don't think I am?" you whispered, your wide eyes searching his dark, unreadable expression.

"You are my wife," he murmured softly.

Jungkook tilted his head, his dark gaze slowly tracing every curve and detail of your face, memorizing every feature as if committing you to memory. Before you could process his words, he leaned down and captured your plump bottom lip between his sharp teeth. He pulled and tugged it with a sudden, firm pressure.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as your hands flew straight to his broad chest for support, your fingers clenching into his unbuttoned shirt. A tiny drop of metallic blood trickled from the small bite on your lip, but Jungkook didn't pull away.

With a low growl, he brought his mouth back down, his warm tongue immediately licking over your lip, tasting the sweet copper of your blood before capturing your lips in a deep, agonizingly slow kiss.

He shifted his heavy body completely over yours, settling his weight firmly between your thighs without crushing you. His large, warm hand rose to cup your jawline, his long fingers holding your face steady while his other arm remained locked tightly around your waist, pinning you flush against him. Every nerve ending in your body ignited, a thrilling, tingling heat rushing through your veins.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as the kiss deepened. He moved his lips over yours with a steady, relentless rhythm, licking away the last trace of blood before parting your lips and sliding his tongue deep into your mouth. He consumed you completely—tasting you with a fierce, ravenous intensity, like a man who had been starving for years and had finally found his fix.

The heat pooling in your lower stomach was intoxicating, leaving you thoroughly undone and dazed under his touch. Your heart hammered against your ribs, and soon, the overwhelming heat made it impossible to catch a full breath through your nose.

You desperately tapped your small hands against his broad chest, silently pleading for air.

Jungkook slowly broke the kiss, pulling back just a few inches. His chest was heaving, his breathing heavy and ragged as his pitch-black eyes burned with an unholy mix of dark desire and absolute possessiveness. He casually licked his lower lip, taking in the sight of your swollen, crimson lips and flushed skin, a slow, sinister smirk stretching across his features.

"It's time you become the matriarch of this house," he whispered, his dark voice dripping with lethal promise against your cheek. "The wife you want to be. Useful... and powerful.”

Previous Part

A/n : THE FIRST KISSS!!! 🥹

[dearwalker]

*sliding Johnny Storm merch over*

Psst…the people request more Johnny Storm x Siren!reader

The people have spoken 🤍 Have a little more Johnny Storm x mermaid!reader.

Johnny keeps visiting your little cave by the ocean, learning more and more about you everyday. At some point he feels like you’ve already shared a lot about your life, and now he wants to do the same for you.

Next time he comes, he brings a small portable music player, so he can finally share one of his biggest passions with you.

“So that little box sings?”

“Kind of, yes,” he smiles brightly.

He’s buzzing when he tells you about his favorite singers. His boyish excitement ends up making you excited too. Your body is half propped on a rock, cheeks resting on the palm of your hands as you smile softly at him.

“Now, you put these over your ears.” He patiently explains how the headphones work, because you are a little wary of them on at first. “May I?” He holds them in front of your head, waiting for you to lean in.

“Will I still hear you?” You frown.

“I’ll be right here,” he reassures with a nod, making you smile again.

“Okay. You can show me your music, Johnny of the Storm.”

He places the headphones gently over your head, giving you a soft smile before he presses play. Only a second goes by, before you let out a shriek, yanking the headphones off and swimming away from him, deeper into the cave. Johnny watches in shock as the headphones sink, dragging the device with them, but worry overtakes his features when he sees the absolute look of horror on your face.

“Angel?” “Angel what happened?”

You manage to explain it sounded wrong. Like seagulls screams coming out of it. He’s confused, yet apologizes about a million times about hurting you (even if it was unintentionally) before promising he’d look into it.

Aka, ask Reed about it.

Pester him the rest of the afternoon until he finally suggests it may be a sound frequency issue. He gives Johnny a device to record your voice, so he can figure it out for him.

You’re very hesitant when Johnny holds up another one of his weird metal boxes in front of you, asking you to sing.

“Another box?” You say, narrowing your eyes.

“It’s a different box, angel,” he chuckles. “This one will remember your voice.”

“Remember my voice? Is it going to steal it?” You ask, in all mermaid seriousness.

Johnny shakes his head, then puts his free hand against his chest. “I promise it won’t steal your voice. This will just help us understand how we can match my music to yours.”

It’s always been hard to trust humans, but the unwavering sincerity in Johnny’s blue eyes always manages to break through your walls.

“Very well,” you whisper, still looking at the box suspiciously. “What should I sing then?”

His eyes glint at the question.

“…Can I ask for your favorite?”

You think about it for a moment, then remember a melody your sisters used to sing. Something inside you tells you Johnny of the Storm would love it.

“I can do that.”

So you sing for him and his weird little box. And Johnny? Oh, Johnny…he’d follow your voice across entire oceans any day.

[inthelow]

TEMPORARY FRAGMENTS — jeon jungkook (6).

summary: When you meet Jungkook— an older man who is amazing in bed, you thought it would be a simple arrangement of casual sex. Except things start getting serious and before you know he’s asking you on dates and introducing you to his daughter… Of course, he doesn’t know that you’re bad with kids and never wanted one of your own— well, at least it was just something temporary… right?.

pairing: business! fem reader x dad! jeon jungkook.

genre/warning: fluff, crack, smut, angst / a lot of themes like insecurity, jealousy, death, dysfunctional family, etc.

chapters: intro; one; two; three; four; five; six; seven; eight; nine; ten; eleven; twelve; thirteen; fourteen; fifteen; sixteen; seventeen; eighteen; epilogue. | series masterlist

word count: +8k words

The morning started like most others in your world: too many emails, too many opinions, and a cappuccino that tasted slightly burned. You sat in your office at the flagship restaurant, the one you cared about the most, wearing some casual outfit for the office but with some matching heels that make you look taller, powerful, and almost made you fall twice walking to your car in the morning. Though, those heels were already off the first hour. You were barefoot behind your desk.

Your assistant, Lila, hovered near the door like she was either about to deliver a bomb or beg for mercy.

“Just say it,” you muttered, eyes on your screen.

She winced. “Vincenzo canceled.”

You blinked. “What?”

“The wine dinner this week. He said he has to be in Milan. Something about truffle season and his mother’s birthday and a priest with a weak heart. I stopped listening after ‘Milan’ to be honest.”

You closed your laptop and leaned back slowly, like you were calculating how long it would take to fly to Milan just to strangle him.

“We’ve had that event on the books for six months,” you said, like that reminder would fix something.

“I know.”

“He signed the contract.”

“Also true.”

You sighed, pressed your temples, and then reached for your coffee. You took it, trying to think of something to fix this. When you work in hospitality, you needed a lot of control to work under pressure to fix the problems that come everyday… or you will dall into the path of cocaine like many of your workers had. You were very close to the last one.

“Okay,” you said. “Let’s not panic. We pivot.”

Lila raised a brow. “Are we the kind of people who pivot?”

“We’re the kind of people who make a pivot look like it was the original plan,” you said flatly.

“Right. Should I reschedule?”

“God, no. Rescheduling is for amateurs. We replace him. We make it sexier. We spin it.”

You brain clicked into gear, not because you weren’t still mentally fogged up from waking in Jungkook’s bed, from the way his hands had felt on your waist, from the way he looked at you when you tried to downplay things like they weren’t changing… but because this was what you did.

You were good at this. You could organize, lead, spin chaos into gold. You could control things. And after yesterday, you needed that.

“Call Han,” you said suddenly. “The sommelier from Busan. The one who looks like he should be in an Armani cologne ad. He owes me.”

“He does?”

“No. But I bought him cigars once and he has the memory of a Spaniel. It’ll work.”

Lila grinned and pulled out her phone, her eyes flickering with something you always saw on her when you fixed something. Admiration, horror. Both at the same time. “I’ll start charming.”

“Don’t try too hard,” you said. “You have the energy of a sleep-deprived meerkat. Just be yourself.”

You turned back to your computer, eyes scanning schedules and invoices, trying to drown yourself in logistics.

But Jungkook kept creeping into your mind. The way he looked at you when you brought up your ex-fiancée. The way he didn’t push, but also didn’t pretend not to see you. It had thrown you off, more than you’d admit. He didn’t ask where you’d seen Jungwoo. Didn’t press. But he looked at you like he knew you weren’t telling the whole story. Like he was mature enough to know that people have pasts. And also smart enough to know when they’re hiding them.

That unsettled you more than any outburst would have. Because Jeon Jungkook? That man didn’t need you to confess. He just waited. And somehow, that was worse.

The door opened again an hour later and Se-hoo walked in, carrying two iced lattes like a hero in heels. It was normal for her to dropped by by the office some days. Specially the days she had some minutes off after a going to the court, which was conveniently close to your office. You were sure your assistant had called her, it wasn’t the first time. She had her number after Se-hoo gave it to her saying “just call me every time this woman is about to go insane and fire everyone. I’ll handle it”— You knew she had only give her number to Lila to ask her out, but after meeting Valeria she hadn’t really use it for more than ask about you or coming by when your assistant called to tell her you were about to have a mental breakdown

“Lila said you were spiraling,” she said, dropping one of the cups on the desk.

“I’m not spiraling.”

“Uh huh.” Se-hoo sat across from you. “You’re just aggressively emailing your workers and drinking espresso like it’s blood.”

“Vincenzo canceled.”

“Of course he did. He’s a drama queen with nice shoes.” You gave a tight nod. Se-hoo sipped her drink. “Think about something else and calm down… How’s Jungkook?” Your lips pursed. “That good?”

“He’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

Se-hoo raised a brow. “Which in Y/n-speak means you’re terrified you actually falling for him.”

You didn’t reply. You clicked open another email. Deleted it. Reopened it. Closed it again.

“I stayed over last night,” you said, after a long pause.

“And?”

“And I told him about Jungwoo.”

“Shit.”

“Not everything,” you mentioned.

“You never do.”

You looked up. There was no judgment in your friends’s eyes. Just quiet understanding. You took a breath. “I’m not used to people like him.”

Se-hoo smiled. “Stable? Kind? Ridiculously hot with a kid and a mortgage?”

“Ridiculous mature, like… he knows what I’m thinking.”

“You’re doing fine,” she shrugged.

“I’m not.”

“Then fake it. That’s what therapy’s for.”

You laughed despite yourself. And for a moment, just a brief flicker, things felt okay again.

You were good at many things. Crisis management, fine wine pairings, Italian insults. But this whole letting someone in thing? It was new. Uncharted. And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to be good at it. Maybe you just had to try.

By the time 5 p.m. hit, you were visiting the not-so-new new restaurant you had opened. The restaurant floor was humming like a well-rehearsed orchestra. You walked through it with your tablet in hand, stilettos clicking against the polished wood floor, the scent of rosemary and seared duck trailing through the air. You nodded at chefs plating, gave a quick thumbs-up to a nervous server about to deliver wine to a demanding regular, and stopped to correct a garnish with the ease of a woman who built a business from muscle memory.

You didn’t miss a beat.

Except… internally, you were six steps behind yourself.

Jungkook hadn’t texted all day. Not that he had to. Not that you were the we-text-all-day dating type. Not that you cared. (But you noticed.) And it made you a little mad that you maybe did, just a little. But part of you knew it was a text that was bothering you… it was the situation. You had never been one of those girl to wait for a text or a reassuring word of your partner to know they’re not mad at you because they didn’t talk to you for five minutes… That’s why it bother you, because you were waiting to know he wasn’t actually a little mad or bother that you brought up your ex fiancée yesterday. Because you actually cared if he wasn’t. And he told you he wasn’t, he assured you. But you had learned how to read him too. And you knew there was something there he wasn’t telling you completely.

You glanced at your phone again as you checked the reservation list for the night.

Still nothing.

“Y/n,” Lila said, stepping beside you with a notepad in her hand. “We’ve got an issue with the wine inventory…”

“Who counted it?”

“María.”

“Then it’s not an issue. María’s never wrong.”

“She says it’s short.”

“Then someone’s stealing,” you said, already walking toward the cellar. “Let’s pull the camera logs. If it’s Danilo again, I swear to God…”

“It’s not,” Lila said quickly. “He’s been in Valencia since Tuesday.”

Right. Valencia. The pop-up. You had send him to do some work there for the month, working on the new project.

“Right. Let’s handle it then.”

“We can check…”

You blinked. Your brain was fogging.

Because the image of Sunni’s little plastic crown and juice box from the art fair kept popping into your head like some cheeky psychological prank. Because it was becoming real. Because now Jungkook was not something undefined. You were having the epiphany mid shift. Jungkook was real, your feelings for him were real. Because you were beginning to know the kid’s name and her favorite ice cream and the way she stared people down like a suspicious FBI agent. And because last night, when you saw Jungwoo again, your heart didn’t twist the way it used to. It barely moved that way. Which made you feel… strange. Unmoored.

Halfway to the cellar, you stopped.

“Actually, you go,” you told Lila. “I need five minutes.”

“Do I look like I can handle wine theft?”

“You look like someone who’s been trained by me. Go.” you demanded.

She obeyed, muttering something about needing a raise like she always did.

You ducked into the managers office, this time empty. You closed the door, and leaned against it. Silence. Just the soft, faraway sound of music from the dining room and your own pulse.

You checked your phone again. Still no text. But then it lit up. And you inhaled sharply.

Jungkook: How’s your day going, boss lady?

Just that. Simple. But it was like the world rebalanced. Your fingers hovered over the screen. You almost wrote: ‘Busy. We had a crisis. Vincenzo canceled. I saw Jungwoo again after almost a year that we finished our engagement. Rosa’s okay for now. I haven’t talk to my parents in weeks. I’m a little unhinged but pretending I’m not’.

But instead you typed:

You: Standard chaos, saving the day as always. You?

You didn’t send it. Not yet. Instead, you stared at the message and let yourself feel… tired. Tired of pretending not to care. Tired of playing it cool when you knew this wasn’t casual anymore. Tired of being so good at being untouchable.

There was a knock. You jumped.

“Chef wants you to taste the special,” a line cook called from outside.

“Coming.”

You sent the message. Put the phone away. And walked back out into your domain. But this time, a little more centered. A little more real. Not because everything was fixed but because, somewhere between the duck confit and the linen napkins, you let yourself feel something. And you didn’t die from it.

By midnight you were already loosing it again.

Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as you moved through the lingering crowd of staff, their voices blending into a distant hum you barely registered. The day had been a disaster of deadlines missed, client complaints, and everything that could go wrong somehow did. Your brain felt like it was on fire, every nerve screaming for release. You went back to the office to complained and try to fix everything only to find more mistakes to fix in every new email you received.

Lila approached cautiously, a stack of files in her hands. You could tell she was tired too, being all day in there working like that was exhausting. Specially that day full of mistakes. “Y/n, I know you’re swamped, but the Henderson proposal…”

You cut her off with a tired sigh. “I know. It’s a mess. I just need some air.”

Without waiting for a response, you took the elevator to the first floor. Ignoring the receptionist who look to the other side of the floor when she saw your face for a brief second. You pushed through the doors and stepped outside into the cool night, the crisp air hitting you like a shock. You wanted to scream, to groaned, to just lay down and never move again.

And there he was.

Jungkook stood quietly by the building entrance, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket, his calm presence like an anchor in the storm.

“Y/n,” he said softly, watching you approach. “Hi, sorry. You didn’t answer your phone. Figured you might need rescuing.”

You blinked, a bit surprised but grateful all the same. It took you a second to comprehend and take it that he was actually standing in front of you. Almost 11 p.m.

“What… You came here?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, thought you could use a break. I was about to go in but saw you walking out.”

Before you could respond, the dam broke.

“A break? I need a vacation… Lila forgot the crucial figures on the report, the client’s losing their minds, the new intern accidentally emailed a selfie instead of the contract, and the damn espresso machine broke right before the board meeting!” Your voice rose, your frustration pouring out in rapid-fire sentences. “I’m juggling a million things and everyone is so damn incompetent today!.”

Jungkook didn’t interrupt, just listened, steady and patient.

Suddenly, in the heat of your rant, you cursed loudly. Sharp, fluent Italian slicing through the night air. Like words that didn’t need translation to understand they were not meant to be heard by children. Jungkook’s eyebrows rose, clearly surprised by the sudden foreign flare. But he didn’t ask. Instead, as you breath caught and the tension in your shoulders softened for just a moment, he stepped closer.

Without warning, he gently cupped your face and kissed you. Not rushed or urgent, but grounding and warm. And it made you melt a little. Enough to follow his lead, enough to know that there were other things more than fix things at work.

When you two parted, his voice was low, sincere. “Do you need me to do anything?”

Your breath hitched, the moment catching you off guard, but beneath the exhaustion and fury, something tender stirred. Jungkook’s feelings were clear to him. He was already in deep, but he held his words back, knowing this moment was yours, not his.

You looked at him, the chaos inside you quieting just enough to meet his calm eyes.

“Just… stay a little?,” you whispered.

He smiled softly, the weight of everything easing in that simple request. Because he wanted to stay, with you. As long as you wanted him to.

———

The restaurant was one of those sleek places in the city where everything was neutral-toned and over-designed, the kind of place that served eggs benedict on slate boards and added edible flowers to coffee foam. The sun filtered through massive windows, bouncing off glass and white linen in a way that made everything feel just a bit sterile. Perfect. Polished. Curated. Like your parents.

You arrived just in time. Which for your parents was five minutes late. They always arrived earlier, just to seem more diplomatic and respectful. You spotted them right away

Your mother was dressed in a soft beige silk blouse and navy trousers that had clearly been tailored within an inch of their life. Her hair, not a strand out of place, was pulled into a French twist that somehow didn’t move when she turned to greet you with a bright, almost distant smile. Your father looked every bit like a charming European businessman. Navy blazer, open-collar shirt, and that permanent sense of distraction he carried like cologne. He stood to kiss you on both cheeks.

“There she is,” he said warmly. “The one who likes to disappear every month. You look lovely.”

You wanted to tell them they knew where you lived and where you work. They could easily visit you anytime, not waiting for the monthly brunch like you were just some other thing in their schedule they needed to be done with… But you didn’t say it. Instead, you smiled.

“You say that every time you see me,” you said, tone relaxed. You took your seat.

“Because it’s always true,” he replied, sitting back down and gesturing for the waiter. “Doble espresso for my daughter, yes?”

You gave a slight smile. He remembered your coffee order. Gold star.

Your mom leaned forward slightly. “We were just talking about the Milan project. They might be opening a second location.”

“That’s amazing,” you said, nodding as you unfolded your napkin. “Are you staying longer in Korea then?”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Not sure. Depends on how things move. Your father’s hoping to fly out again next week.”

Of course he was.

The conversation for the first fifteen minutes was polite. Efficient. Like a business meeting. They talked about the company. Your parents ran a luxury event planning firm that catered to billionaires and royals. And about recent galas, global travel, and some minor celebrity your mom had styled for a wedding in Lake Como.

You chimed in when needed, asked questions, nodded at the appropriate pauses. But it wasn’t long before your mind wandered, like always. Watching them sip espresso and speak in soft tones, a world of elegance and control. They weren’t bad parents. They weren’t cruel or absent out of malice. They just… had lives. Big, glossy lives with plans and gowns and contracts. They had always made sure you were safe, fed, well-dressed, educated. They gave you the best schools, the best doctors, the best nannies. Everything but themselves.

And they were proud of you, in their own weird way. They said it often. You were the perfect daughter, weren’t you? You ran a successful chain of restaurants, you had excellent posture, you wore Loro Piana with dignity. You were what they made you to be, what they hoped you would be… But you didn’t really know them. And you were sure, behind all that talk and proudness they felt about you being their daughter, they didn’t know you. At all.

“So,” your father said suddenly, reaching for his mimosa. “Still seeing that nice young man? The one from college?”

You blinked. “That was even before Jungwoo, Dad.”

“Oh,” he said, tilting his head. “Well, he had a good handshake.”

Your mom gave a light laugh, as if that were an actual barometer of character. “You never told us what happened with the engagement. We heard about it from Rosa, of all people.”

“I didn’t know you still talked to Rosa.”

“We use to, sometimes,” she said, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “She keeps us updated.”

You gave a tight smile and cut into your poached egg. “Jungwoo and I… weren’t right for each other anymore. That’s all. We finished things on good terms.”

“Well,” your father said with a shrug, “at least you left with dignity. No drama. I admire that.”

You didn’t respond.

Because it wasn’t true. You had mop all around over five months after almost breaking every dish in your kitchen. You had cursed Jungwoo in every language before talking the decision to break things off amicable. You weren’t that composed, that lady-like dignified. You lose control sometimes, you had to break apart. You had lost your mind a thousand times thinking about it. But they didn’t know. They didn’t actually want to. They never had to deal with you, they just were around like a weather friend who only was there to say they were proud and catch a drink just to know what you were up to. Not caring if you were having a bad moment. Not wanting to be the one to deal with it, with you.

Your cleared your throat gently. “And you’re still managing all the restaurant locations yourself? That sounds exhausting.”

“I delegate,” you replied. “I’m not making the pasta by hand, don’t worry.”

They laughed. It wasn’t unkind. But it was hollow.

“Well, it is just food after all.”

You ignored that comment, not trying to make it a discussion again. You just breathe in, breathe out and let it go.

For a while, they spoke of simpler things. Of art exhibits. Of possible vacations. Your father teased you about never answering the phone. Your mother asked if you needed anything. Clothes, jewelry, a new apartment. As if love came in packages from Bergdorf’s.

At one point, she placed a hand lightly on your wrist. A motion you very well knew. She did it everytime she saw you. “We’re proud of you, you know.”

“I know.”

“We don’t say it enough.”

“No. You really don’t,” you said, softer than you meant to.

Your mother’s eyes lingered for a moment, then drifted back to her plate. “We’ll do better.”

You didn’t press it. It was the closest you’d ever come to a real conversation. But you knew it was just a white lie. You wouldn’t see them until next brunch. You would just take some calls and they would tell you about their next adventure and ask you if you needed anything they could buy for you. Not really asking anything sentimental they could give you.

But you were use to by now. Those little lies made you believe there was always something more to hope for. And hope was something you had live for miserably all your life.

When the check came, your father reached for it without question. “Let me spoil my daughter for once.”

“You gave me the money to open my first restaurant” You said. “You spoil me constantly.”

“Yes, but usually from abroad.”

He kissed you on the cheek again when you all stood up. Your mother held your hand a beat longer than usual.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she said.

You smirked as you stepped out onto the sunlit sidewalk. “I never am. You’re just never here.”

They both laughed, your comments always being taken as a harmless dark joke. And then you parted ways. Like polite neighbors who happened to share DNA.

Two hour later the hell ended and luckily for you, your friends were waiting.

By the time you reached the rooftop bar, the afternoon sun was starting to show up, that golden hour glow that made the entire city look like it had been dipped in champagne. you stepped out of the elevator and spotted them instantly. Se-hoo in oversized sunglasses and a structured black blazer, already halfway through a martini; Bohyung lounging in a linen shirt, ankles crossed, sipping something bright and citrusy. It was too early to drink but none of you cared enough.

“There she is,” Bohyung called, raising his glass. “Our beloved heiress of cold-blooded brunches.”

You smirked, walking over to them and pulling off your sunglasses. “God. That was brutal.”

Se-hoo lifted an eyebrow. “What, the bill?”

“No. The small talk. The whole performance.” you sat down with a dramatic exhale, dropping your bag on the chair beside you. “I swear to God, we could’ve been three strangers on a first-class flight trying to be polite.”

“Did they ask if you’re still seeing the guy with the strong handshake?” Bohyung teased, sipping again.

“He’s back in the rotation, yes,” you deadpanned. “Jungwoo lives on, immortal in their minds too. They always asked the same. My mother asked if I needed clothes. Like, as a concept.”

“Did you say yes?” Se-hoo asked, waving over the server. “Because I do. And I’m not above using your mother’s delusions to finance a new pair of boots.”

“She offered me jewelry too,” you said flatly. “It’s like love is only real if it’s wrapped in silk and comes with a receipt.”

Bohyung reached across the table and squeezed your hand dramatically. “Don’t worry. I love you in unbranded cotton.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And your idiot,” he grinned.

Se-hoo leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “So? Tell us everything. Was it just you three?”

“Just me and the wax sculptures of my parents,” you said. “They were warm and sweet, but… sterile. Like a museum tour with complimentary champagne.”

“Still the same?” Se-hoo asked, genuinely curious now.

“Exactly the same. They ask about my business like I’m a junior analyst at Goldman. There was a solid thirty-second stretch where I talked about I owned to the bank and no one blinked. Like I’m just an efficient little investment who turned out well.”

“They are proud of you though,” Bohyung said. “They always have been.”

You nodded. “Yeah. But it’s like… they love this idea of me. The version they’ve curated. They don’t know I cry at the theatre watching Dumbo or that I used to practice wedding vows in the mirror when I was ten. They know the final product. Not the build.”

There was a brief silence while the server arrived with drinks. Your friend’s had ordered for you. A Negroni, Se-hoo’s second martini, and Bohyung’s third and absurdly large Aperol spritz.

“Okay,” he said after a sip. “Enough about the aristocracy. Tell us about your real family. The tattooed boyfriend and the demon child.”

You rolled your eyes, hiding a small smile. “First of all, not my family nor not my child. I’m just an innocent bystander in all of this.”

“Didn’t you go to her little art fair?” Se-hoo asked, grinning.

“It was more like a live attack in watercolors.”

“She insulted your shoes, didn’t she?” Bohyung grinned.

“She said I don’t get her art. She draw a fucking spaghetti dog or whatever the fuck that was.”

“Icon,” your blonde friend whispered.

“I have trauma,” you declared. “You know what I was doing at seven? Practicing my signature and plotting my future wedding to Prince William. This one is insulting ny clothes and telling me to stay away from her dad.”

“She’s testing your strength,” Bohyung said.

“She’s trying to drive me out,” you replied, lifting your glass. “And she’s not far off.”

Se-hoo studied you over the rim of her glass. “But you like him.”

“I do,” you said simply.

“More than the casual thing you claimed it was?”

You sighed. “I don’t even how it happened. It just… shifted. One day I’m coming over for sex, and the next, he’s staying over at my house to make me ramen... And I didn’t hate it.”

Bohyung smirked. “You’re in a relationship.”

“Shut up.”

“You are. And not just that. You’re in a real adult relationship. With dinners and emotions and a child who hates your guts.”

“I’m not in anything,” you protested. “We’re just… seeing where it goes.”

“Oh my God,” Se-hoo muttered, leaning over the table. “You love him.”

You blinked, then burst into laughter. “Absolutely not.”

But you knew you were getting there. That you were in denial. Because you had a strong character. You didn’t mind say no. You didn’t mind rejecting someone and moving one. You wouldn’t bat an eye making a man whine over feelings. But you had let someone stayed. You had let Jungkook take you to dinners. You had invited him to your house. To your bed. You had let him kiss you and fuck you in your own house. You had let him stayed over. You had let him feed you, cook for you. You had let him convince you to introduce you to his daughter. A kid. Something you had always being disgusted by. You had let him convince you to go to her art fair like a supportive friend.

You had let Jungkook claimed every part in your life, looking to stay… and that didn’t bother you. Not one part. Not at all.

Bohyung raised his glass. “To denial.”

“To repression,” Se-hoo toasted.

“To being in love with a man who owns Tupperware,” he added.

You groaned. “I hate both of you.”

“No you don’t,” they said in unison.

And you didn’t.

You looked out over the city, the wind catching strands of your hair, the laughter still warm in your chest. Whatever this thing with Jungkook was, however serious or casual it pretended to be, you knew one thing: this was your real family. These two idiots. This rooftop. The quiet, grounding chaos of people who actually knew you. Every piece of you. Even the pieces that try to fool them. Knowing you so well that they could caught you before you even did. Because they did know you and they loved you.

Even if they never offered to buy you jewelry.

———

The apartment smelled like crayons and spaghetti.

Jungkook stepped over a tiara on the hallway rug and tossed Sunni’s glittery backpack onto the coat rack hook. A faint puff of glitter floated into the air as it landed, shimmering like the aftermath of some princess apocalypse. He shook his head, smiling faintly, and rubbed his temple with ink-smudged fingers.

“Dad,” Sunni called from the living room, “I’m not doing homework. I’m doing research.”

“You’re watching hamster obstacle course videos,” he rolled his eyes.

“It’s called field work.”

Jungkook didn’t argue. He dropped his sketchbook onto the counter and poured himself a glass of water, glancing around the kitchen. There were magnets spelling out random words on the fridge — “FIRE,” “UNICORN,” and “BURRITO” — along with one of Suni’s latest masterpieces: a portrait of them both, complete with crooked stick arms and what looked like a suspiciously tall woman drawn beside them.

“Who’s this?” he had asked when she showed it to him earlier.

“Just someone I saw once,” she’d answered, and then changed the subject.

Now, as she narrated the complex dynamics of her favorite hamster channel, Jungkook leaned against the counter and pulled out his phone. No messages. Not that he was expecting one. You had told him you had something with your parents. Boring, you said. Probably a stiff one with wine glasses polished to the point of anxiety. He wondered how you handled it. Or didn’t. You were funny and sharp and wildly expressive, but when it came to the people who raised you, there was something… untouchable there. Like a glass wall around your feelings. Something he wasn’t able to reach, something you always tried to downplay it and change the subject. Something he wasn’t able to know but wanted to. Because he wanted to know everything about you.

“Do you want me to heat up your leftovers?” he asked Sunni

She wrinkled her nose. “I want cereal.”

“Sold.”

He poured her a bowl, handed it over like a ceremony, and watched her skip away like she’d just won a prize.

The apartment quieted down for a bit. Just the soft click of her spoon against the ceramic, and the hum of the TV in the background. Jungkook picked up his sketchbook and flipped it open. There were new designs he was working on for the shop. A full sleeve inspired by jazz records, a delicate ankle tattoo for a client who’d just survived something big. His pencil moved on instinct, sketching the shape of a woman’s hands. Slender, expressive, biting a nail. Yours.

“Daddy,” Sunni called again. “Do you love your job?”

He looked up. “I do.”

“Even the part when people cry when it hurts?”

“Especially that part,” he grinned. “I tell them pain is temporary but ink is forever.”

“That’s so lame.”

“Thanks.”

She had his humour. That witty and sarcastic remarks only a seven-year-old too aware of her around and with a functional family could have. And he loved that for her. A lot.

She padded into the kitchen with her bowl. “I think you should marry someone cool.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Cool like who?”

“I don’t know. Like Beyoncé. Or the weather lady with the red lipstick.”

He laughed. “You think I have a chance with Beyoncé?”

“You don’t know unless you try.”

“Well, she’s married so definitely not.” He took her bowl and rinsed it out. “What about someone who isn’t famous?”

Sunni tilted her head. “Like… a normal person?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay,” she shrugged. “But she still has to be cool. And know how to make pancakes.”

“Pancakes are non-negotiable.”

Sunni wandered off again, dragging her blanket behind her like a royal cape. Jungkook wiped his hands, stood at the counter for a long minute, then finally picked up his phone again.

Still nothing.

He didn’t want to hover. But he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Not just about the way you looked. Though yeah, you were stunning. But the way your mind worked, the way you lit up when you were making a point or dismantling an opinion like it was a puzzle box. You challenged him. Made him want to say something smarter. Made him want to read more. Made him listen harder. He liked how you spoke with conviction, how you laughed with your whole chest when you finally did find something funny, how you were always a little more vulnerable than you let on- but never less powerful.

He liked you. A lot more than he’d planned to. Maybe too much for what you’d started out as.

He ran a hand over his jaw, thoughtful. You hadn’t said anything about where things were headed, and maybe you didn’t know yet. Maybe you weren’t ready to. He could be patient. He’d had a kid at his early twenties. He knew what patience meant. But he wasn’t going to pretend it was something without direction anymore. He wasn’t built like that.

“Dad,” Sunni called again, now curled up with her stuffed fox. “Can we do a pizza picnic on the floor tomorrow?”

“Sure, Kiddo.”

“And maybe draw some hamsters?”

“Obviously.”

She yawned, eyes drooping, and he tucked a blanket around her. As she drifted off, Jungkook stood at the edge of the living room, watching the glow of the TV reflect in her sleepy eyes, and thought about the kind of woman who didn’t run - even if you wanted to - when you found out he came with a seven-year-old whirlwind.

He didn’t want perfect. He didn’t need sweet. He just wanted real. And maybe, just maybe, he already had it with you.

———

It was just after 7:30 p.m. when you rang the buzzer to Jungkook’s building, holding a bottle of wine like it was armor and asking yourself for the twentieth time why you’d said yes to this. You liked him, more than you wanted to, but you didn’t do floor picnics and kids with glittery tiaras and imaginary friends named “Captain Toast.” And yet, here you were, in your favorite jeans and a white and normal tee, hair in a neat twist, heels clicking against the building floor like you were arriving at a shareholders’ meeting instead of what Jungkook had described in the text as “Sunni’s Pizza Vision Board Night.”

He opened the door in a T-shirt and joggers, barefoot and grinning, and you immediately wanted to slap him and make out with him at the same time.

“You came,” he said, stepping aside. “And you brought backup.”

You held up the wine. “Merlot. The real MVP.”

Sunni peeked out from behind a blanket fort in the living room, her hair in messy pigtails, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Hi, Y/n,” she said, suspiciously polite.

“Hey… you,” you replied, giving her a stiff wave like you were greeting a territorial raccoon.

Jungkook glanced between you two, his amusement barely concealed. “So, here’s the situation. Sunni made us a menu. There are options.”

You took the crumpled paper he handed you. It said:

PIZZA PLAN

— Peperoni

— CHEESE ONLY

— Something fancy for the lady

— Ice cream

— Dancing (optional but not really)

You raised an eyebrow. “I appreciate the professionalism. Though I’m not dancing with this heels.”

“Yet,” Sunni said under her breath.

“I heard that.”

Jungkook took the wine from your hand. “I’m gonna run to the corner to pick up the pizza and ice cream. You two hold down the fort?”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, you’re leaving me alone with your tiny overlord?”

Sunni crossed her arms like a mob boss.

“You’ll survive,” Jungkook said, already pulling on his hoodie. “Sunni, be nice. Y/n, don’t threaten her.”

“I would never threat your kid,” you lied.

The door closed, and silence fell over the apartment like fog. It was too fast. You barely even had time to protest. You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t take care of a children. You could barely take care of a fish. You accidentally killed one when you were fourteen!. Now what if she had an accident or something under your supervision?. The responsibility was way too much. Even for someone who owned a chain of restaurants. The pressure of taking care a child was way worse.

You weren’t entirely sure how this kept happening. How you, a fully-grown, emotionally distant woman with a short temper and expensive shoes, kept ending up alone with a tiny tornado who didn’t blink, didn’t stop moving, and apparently didn’t believe in sitting still.

The silence lasted exactly forty-seven seconds. Now Sunni was running laps around the coffee table, holding a Barbie in one hand and a stick of string cheese in the other, screaming what sounded like the theme song to Frozen but in Japanese. You, on the couch, clutched your bag like it was a crucifix.

“Jesus fucking Christ, do you ever stop?” you muttered, watching the blur of pigtails and glitter zip by again.

“I’m exercising my freedom!,” Sunni declared, skidding across the floor in socks and nearly colliding with the ottoman.

You shot up, annoyed. “Okay, that’s it. Sit.”

Sunni paused mid-spin. “What?”

“I said sit. Like a human. On a surface. Pick one. Couch, chair, floor, I don’t care— just stop vibrating like a possessed fucking Roomba.”

The little girl narrowed her eyes. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“I literally am. By default. And I’ve lived longer, paid taxes, and seen Radiohead live, so sit.”

Sunni rolled her eyes, not really understanding some of your words. Just annoyed by you in general. “You’re not my mom.”

You nodded furiously. “I’m not. Lucky for you.”

Sunni bounced off the couch and started pacing again, muttering, “This is the worst.”

“You’re the worst.”

The little girl didn’t stop. You looked around the room like you were defusing a bomb. Then you spotted a sleeve of cookies on the counter. She looked at you with some spark in her eyes when you grabbed one with a napkin.

“Oh, you want a treat? Huh? You want a cookie? Sit, and I’ll give you a damm cookie.”

Sunni blinked. “Are you… are you treating me like a dog?”

You waved the cookie dramatically. “Sit, goblin. Sit and get the biscuit.” Sunni sat. Immediately. You froze for a second, stunned that she had listened. “Oh my God.”

Sunni held out her hand. “Biscuit me, lady.”

You you tossed it like you were feeding a Labrador. Sunni caught it in mid-air with her hands and you patted her head excited. “Good girl!.”

“I like this cookie” she said through a mouthful of crumbs.

Sunni climbed onto the couch beside you, cookie in hand, and stared ahead like you’d just been through war together.

“I can’t believe that worked,” you mumbled.

The little girl didn’t blink. “Do you like kids?”

“Not particularly.”

“Cool,” she said, sitting down across from you and biting into her cheese stick after finishing that cookie. “Then we agree on something.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t like kids either?”

“I am a kid,” she frowned.

“Then you should really work on your PR, babe.”

Sunni shrugged, not understanding. “You curse too much.”

“I was raised by an old Italian woman. It’s how I breathe.”

“You say weird words.”

“Pick a book and you’ll understand me better.”

“You’re mean.”

“You’re nosy.”

“You wear weird shoes.”

“They’re Saint Laurent.”

“They’re ugly.”

You put your hand over your heart, a gasp escaping your lip. “You little shit, you’re ugly.”

“Do you love my dad?” she ignored you.

It was like she had selective hearing for you. Only listening to what she cared about. It made you even more annoyed. But you knew it wasn’t only her, every kid you had met was just so annoying. You were sure they come with something inside them that made them function only to annoy the shit out of every adult— or at least you.

“Jesus Christ.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I’m not discussing adult feelings with someone who acts like a dog.’”

Sunni narrowed her eyes. “I am not a dog!.”

You stood . “Okay, you know what? This— this is why I hate kids. You’re all miniature prosecutors with no filter and no sense of boundaries.”

“You hate kids?”

“I said what I said.”

She looked smug. “Then why are you here?”

“I’m asking myself the same question.”

You two glared at each other for a full five seconds before Sunni pointed at the wine bottle sitting on the counter. “You want some?”

You blinked, a little confused how she changed subject to subject so fast. Kids were always so weird to you. Talking so much about different things in such a short period of time. You could only process so much. They didn’t even finish one subject before jumping to the other.

“You offering me wine?”

“My dad won’t let me have it.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Another beat of silence. Then the little girl shrugged. “I don’t like you.”

You sat back down, finally exhaling. “I get that a lot.”

You two sat like that for a few minutes, not exactly at peace, but something adjacent to it. You picked at a blanket corner. Sunni hummed a song under her breath and started arranging plastic forks like they were chess pieces. And then, mercifully, the door opened.

Jungkook walked in with two boxes of pizza and a paper bag in his teeth. “Still alive?”

“Barely,” you said.

“She’s mean,” Sunni said.

Jungkook grinned. “That’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ll ever get.”

“Yeah,” you said, taking the pizza. “I’ll frame it.”

You three sat down on the floor together, cracked open sodas, and dug into the pizza. You found yourself laughing, genuinely, when Sunni tried to fold an entire slice in half and dropped pepperoni on her sock. Jungkook kissed your lips when his daughter wasn’t looking. You kicked his ankle lightly and mouthed ‘not in front of her’. He just smiled like a man who knew exactly what he was doing. And for the first time, in that ridiculous blanket fort with juice boxes and too much cheese, you felt something suspiciously close to… almost okay.

Even if the kid was a menace and you didn’t like her. At all.

———

The living room was bathed in a soft amber light, the kind that makes everything feel a little softer, a little warmer. Outside, the city buzzed faintly, but inside the apartment, it was a world apart. The faint scent of the wine lingered between you two, mingling with the quiet hum of the night.

Sunni’s bedroom door was shut, the steady rhythm of her breathing a gentle lullaby that filled the space behind. Jungkook and you sat close, the couch sagging slightly under your weight. Neither seemed eager to break the comfortable silence, as if both were savoring the rare moment of calm. You rested your head lightly on Jungkook’s shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. The warmth of his presence wrapped around you like a blanket, familiar and grounding. Your fingers traced idle patterns on his arm, a silent gesture of connection.

The day had been crazy, but you had survived. To his daughter. To the trying to mold in a part of his life that was big enough to occupied every moment of his. His daughter. And even if you didn’t like her. Even if you didn’t like bonding with kids or even being close to them, you liked Jungkook. And if you had to spent some hours with his daughter to have him, you would.

Jungkook’s gaze drifted down to your face, watching the way your eyes fluttered closed and your lips parted just a little. It was moments like this, when everything slowed, that he realized how deeply you had settled into his life, even in the quietest ways.

“You look tired,” he murmured softly, careful not to startle you.

You gave a tired little smile, eyes still closed. “Yeah, long fucking week.”

He chuckled quietly. “Understatement of the year.”

You laughed, a soft sound that made him smile wider. “You should see the disaster zone back at the office.”

“Wish I could help,” he said, voice warm.

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze for the first time in minutes. “You always do, in your own way.”

The way his eyes softened, the gentle curve of his lips. It all felt like a quiet promise. Neither of you had rushed into this, and that made it all the more real.

Jungkook took a slow breath, trying to steady the sudden rush of feeling building inside. He had been holding it back, trying to be patient, letting things unfold naturally. But now, with you so close, it felt impossible to stay silent any longer. It felt like he couldn’t hold himself back. Specially because it’s been months. And if he didn’t name it yet, you were never going to. And he had learned how to handle you. He had learned how to steady you in vulnerable moments.

“Can I tell you something?” His voice was low, tentative. You nodded, the faintest crease of curiosity knitting your brows. He hesitated, searching for the right words in the stillness. “It’s about us. About how I feel.”

You turned slightly, propping yourself on one hand to watch him better. “I’m listening.”

Jungkook smiled softly, gathering courage from the gentle weight of your attention. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately… about this,” he said, gesturing between you two.

Your heart skipped a beat, though you tried not to show it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “And I realized something important. That I’m not interested in just… whatever this is anymore. Not with you.”

“What do you mean?.”

The words hung in the air, delicate but powerful. Your eyes searched his, waiting for him to continue.

“I love you,” he said simply, steady and sure. “I think I have for a little while now. And it scares me because I want this to mean something real, not just some fleeting thing.” You blinked, your breath catching as the weight of those words settled around you both. The room felt smaller, the space between you two charged with something fragile and thrilling. Jungkook reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “You don’t have to say anything right now. I just needed to be honest with you.”

Your heart was pounding, your mind swirling with a thousand thoughts and feelings all at once. The fear of vulnerability mingled with a quiet hope you hadn’t allowed yourself before in a long time. And for a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was no longer empty, it was full of possibility. Finally, you leaned in, your lips brushing softly against his in a kiss that was both a question and an answer.

It was full of the feeling. Slow, deep, hard. He kissed you like he meant it. And you kissed him like you did too. Because you did. He kissed every part of your mouth, every part of you tasting sweet and so you. And for a moment, it felt his too. When you pulled apart, your eyes were shinning with something new, a quiet, steady certainty. Jungkook smiled, pulling you close again as the night wrapped around you two like a promise.

He didn’t need you to say it. He didn’t need you to hear the words from you yet. He knew you would get around. That if you didn’t feel the same way you would’ve just say it or leave immediately. But you didn’t, you didn’t run away or even look at him sad or uncomfortable. You were shinning, the kind of glow you had when someone you cared shares the same feelings as you.

His arms went around your waist, pulling you on top of him. The warm skin of his hands gently rubbing your waist and legs. Not in a lustful way, but in a way that said: I want you close. I like having you close. And he kissed you again. Slow, sure, full of love. Your hands encircled his head, your fingers sinking into his hair, trying to grab hold of something. It was a kiss that left you breathless, wanting to go on. He licked every part of your mouth again. He moved his lips over yours like he was shaping you how he knew love was like.

And when you two pulled apart. You knew you had to said it back. Not because you were obligated, not because you needed to. But because you wanted to. And you wanted him to hear you.

“I love you, Jungkook.”

He didn’t kiss you again fast nor excited. He grew a big smile on his face that made you do the same. Happy, emotional. He grabbed your hand to leave some kisses in the top of it and then he repeated the same words so you can hear them again. Loud and clear. Like his feelings always were with you.

“I love you.”

And then you kissed him. Because you were in love. Because you loved him. And he kissed you too. Because he was in love, because he loved you.

ayooo wednesday’s updates are back!!!!

how are we feeling about this chapter??? they finally said the L word >_< heheeheh. let me know what are u thinking about the story so far, so much is about to come!!! i’m so excited for you to see their new dynamic as a couple hehehe

taglist:

@sanguchitodeternera @yneisstuff @smoljimjim @almatiarau @annpeachy @mar-lo-pap @taetaecatboy @rrosiitas @httpsmei @jeonnabi11 @gigi4evr @sabrinahiddig @tatzzz-25 @slythermania @yuyu0y11 @ultracnt @baekpop05 @tinyxrose @satisfied18 @kissyfacekoo @synamon @smut02 @alextgef @lindsayjoy444 @ottergirl @imagine-this-motherfucker @dream-lover200 @astralovesu @dragons-flare @jungkookswifeeeeeee @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @yuniesluv @kookooquette @lanyia @dearkayzel-blog @katie-tibo @strawberryacethingz @jalexad @llallaaa @eyesforjungkook @wandabillywrites @flowinj @strawberrysweetness @osakis-gf @bambijuicee @dollyunjinz @jjeonjjk7 @focused-island @cravingforbangtan @elinaki92

[inthelow]

TEMPORARY FRAGMENTS — jeon jungkook (5).

summary: When you meet Jungkook— an older man who is amazing in bed, you thought it would be a simple arrangement of casual sex. Except things start getting serious and before you know he’s asking you on dates and introducing you to his daughter… Of course, he doesn’t know that you’re bad with kids and never wanted one of your own— well, at least it was just something temporary… right?.

pairing: business! fem reader x dad! jeon jungkook.

genre/warning: fluff, crack, smut, angst / a lot of themes like insecurity, jealousy, death, dysfunctional family, etc. — This chapter contains sexual talk/scenes (fingering, penetration, dirty talk). Read under your own discretion.

chapters: intro; one; two; three; four; five; six; seven; eight; nine; ten; eleven; twelve; thirteen; fourteen; fifteen; sixteen; seventeen; eighteen; epilogue. | series masterlist

word count: 10k+ words

The restaurant buzzed with its usual late-afternoon hum, voices overlapping again and again and again, espresso machines hissing in the distance, a faint clang of metal from the kitchen like a heartbeat beneath it all. You stood at the far end of the marble-topped bar, half-listening to the manager of that place who was explaining the week’s bookings while her eyes skimmed through reservation data on her iPad.

You were wearing a white button up shirt tucked into high-waisted tailored trousers, the sleeves lazily rolled up, your hair twisted into something elegant but slightly undone. The kind of controlled chaos only money and good bone structure could make look effortless. Your heels clicked across the floor as you moved to greet a supplier, then stopped to joke briefly with a new hostess about some client that was being a bitch.

The staff in there adored you, not because you were soft, far from it, but because you remembered things. You noticed. You asked about family members and coffee preferences and that thing someone mentioned once three weeks ago about wanting to learn photography. And when you were gone, the place didn’t fall apart, but it felt like the sun had shifted direction. And, because you knew people worked tense when the boss was there, you tried not to show up so randomly. You cared. Specially since that was the first place you opened, and the people had stayed. So you had learned how to stayed too.

By 7:15 p.m., the evening service was already finding its rhythm. And now you stood by the window in your office, a narrow but glass-wrapped nook tucked on the last floor of the building, finishing off a final email and closing your laptop with the satisfying precision of someone who was ready to call it.

You stretched, eyes flicking briefly to the street below. And then you saw the car.

The matte black vintage BMW pulled up slowly, clean but lived-in, the kind of car that said cool dad, probably has tattoos and owns good whiskey… he didn’t though. Jeon Jungkook stepped out of the driver’s side in a simple gray compress shirt, a black leather jacket, black jeans, and that stupid leather cuff he always wore on his wrist like he wasn’t trying but very much was.

You didn’t smile. You smirked. Then grabbed your bag and didn’t say goodbye to anyone since you were the last person there. Downstairs, you wave goodbye to the receptionist, pushed the door open and stepped outside into the warm breeze of the late evening. The air smelled like not an office or air conditioner and that was enough comforting. Jungkook leaned against the hood of the car and looked up when he saw you.

“Hey,” he said, lazy and low, his voice always sounding like it had come from the back of his throat.

“Hey,” you replied, and walked right into his space to kiss him. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hesitant. Just easy. The kind of hello that says I know you. I’ve missed you. Let’s keep pretending we’re not falling for each other.

“Busy day?” Jungkook asked once you two pulled apart.

“I threatened to fight a wine rep and taught a dishwasher how to properly pronounce ‘pecorino.’ Pretty standard.”

He laughed and opened the passenger door for you. “You’re doing God’s work.”

He drove with the windows half-down, the air sticky with that end-of-summer sweetness. Jungkook’s playlist played softly some old rock song you didn’t recognize but liked, mostly because it sounded like something he’d hum absentmindedly while sketching. The conversation slipped from a new tattoo sleeve Jimin was working on, to a celebrity scandal you refused to believe, to the restaurant industry gossip you fed him like popcorn.

You two didn’t talk about Sunni. Not because it was taboo. Just because tonight wasn’t about anyone but you two.

“Where are we going?” you asked eventually.

“I made a reservation at that place you said had good agnolotti but ugly chairs.”

You glanced sideways, “you remembered that?”

“You had a 45-minute rant about chair design. I’d be a fool to forget.”

The restaurant was small and candlelit, with brass light fixtures and exposed brick, and chairs that did in fact offend your sensibilities. Still, the food was good, and Jungkook ordered wine without asking your preference but got it exactly right. You both split two mains and argued over whether grappa was secretly poison. At one point, he dipped his finger into the whipped mascarpone and smeared a little on your wrist just to see what you’d do.

You licked it off slowly while holding his gaze, then said, “Don’t play with fire, handsome.”

He grinned. “I like my odds.”

By the time you two stepped out into the night again, your purse was hanging lazily from one hand and your other was tucked into his jacket pocket, intertwined with his hand. The city buzzed around you two, headlights and sidewalk laughter and the distant echo of someone busking a terrible rendition of “Creep.”

Instead of going to his place, you two went to yours.

It was the first time in a while that you hadn’t hesitated unlocking the door. Not because you didn’t still feel the ghost of Jungwoo in the foyer or the comfort of being alone, or the way silence settled in the high ceilings like an old companion. But because Jungkook didn’t try to occupy space. He just filled it.

He tossed his jacket over a chair and wandered barefoot across the marble kitchen floor while you poured you both a glass of water.

“You have way too many wine glasses,” he noted, scanning a cabinet.

“When we talk about wine, nothing related to it It’s ever enough, babe.”

He laughed again. You liked that about him, how easily he laughed, even when you were being a annoying.

You two ended up on the couch, feet tangled, the water forgotten. Wine glasses now. The conversation moved slowly now. Tired voices, shared stories. You told him about your first and last failed internship at a law firm and how you once got locked inside a partner’s office trying to eavesdrop on a divorce case.

He told you about the time he tried to pierce his own ear in college and passed out halfway through.

“Wait,” you said, choking on your wine. “You mean to tell me the tattoo guy passed out over one tiny hole?”

“I was eighteen and drunk,” he said, hands raised. “I’ve grown since then. Spiritually and dermally.”

It was quiet for a moment. Not awkward. Just still.

Then you leaned your head on his shoulder and sighed, “I like this.”

Jungkook turned slightly. “This as in…?”

“This as in us. Like, it’s not terrifying.”

He looked down at you and kissed the top of your head. “Good. Because I was worried we’d have to keep pretending we’re just eating pasta for sport.”

You smiled, tucked your feet under his thigh.

The night stretched slow and warm around you two, your hands finding each other under the soft light of the living room lamp. And though neither of you said it out loud, you both knew… something had shifted.

This wasn’t routine. But it was starting to feel like home.

You stayed on the couch longer than either of you expected. Outside, the city quieted into that rich velvet hush between midnight and morning. The cars fewer, the sounds muffled. From the balcony, you could see the city lights blinking like distant signals, but inside, it was just soft light and murmurs, the occasional clink of glass when Jungkook shifted his weight and reached for his drink.

You were curled up in the far corner of the couch, long legs tucked under you, barefoot now, makeup smudged at the corners in that chic, tired way. Your shirt had been unbuttoned halfway and retucked lazily into your trousers, like you’d half-forgotten what you were doing before you sat back down beside him.

Jungkook had removed his shoes and leaned back with a familiarity that would’ve annoyed you weeks ago — who gets comfortable in someone else’s home? — but now it just felt… earned. He made space without taking over. Even the way he drank his water quietly, like he didn’t want to break the spell of stillness.

“I hate how nice this place is,” he said, looking around your living room. “It makes me feel like I live in a closet.”

“You do live in a closet,” you replied, smiling.

“It has windows.”

“Prison cells have windows.”

He laughed. You liked making him laugh

There was a lull, not uncomfortable. Just the kind that came with bodies easing into calm. It was a strange new softness for you, one that didn’t demand a punchline or an escape plan.

You stood eventually, stretching, yawning like a cat, and Jungkook watched you walk barefoot into the kitchen. He could see you through the open counter as you opened the fridge, frowned, closed it again, then opened a drawer and returned with two protein bars and a bag of rosemary almonds.

“I was going to offer you something gourmet,” you said, tossing him the bag, “but I forgot I haven’t gone grocery shopping since last Christmas.”

“I feel honored to receive your finest almonds,” he said, catching the bag midair.

You sat back beside him, cross-legged again, this time closer. He smelled like the soap he used, something earthy, sandalwood maybe. Clean. Warm.

“Before we— did you usually bring… people here?” Jungkook asked, not accusingly. Just curious.

You paused, almond halfway to your mouth. “No. You’re the first.” Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “I mean it what I said to you the first time I invited you. I don’t— after Jungwoo left I just liked my own space, a lot. So I never brought someone like… I’m dating. This… apartment was kind of always mine, you know?”

You didn’t look at him when you said it. Just kept looking at your almond like it would give you the script.

Jungkook didn’t press. He just said: “Thanks for letting me be here.”

It wasn’t patronizing. It wasn’t performative. Just true.

You looked up. “Thanks for not commenting on the absurd amount of velvet and windows.”

“I like it. It’s very… ‘Italian heiress meets Gotham villain.’”

“Exactly the aesthetic I was going for.”

You two sat like that for a while, laughing, eating almonds, brushing crumbs off the couch. At one point he asked about a painting on your wall and you went into a five-minute passionate explanation about how the artist had once written you a poem after a dinner party in Venice. “The poem was terrible,” you admitted, “but the painting’s a masterpiece.”

When you stood to stretch again, you looked back over your shoulder and said, “You staying?”

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. “If you want me to.”

You turned the corner to the hallway and called, “You’re already here. It would be weird if I kicked you out.”

He followed you, smiling.

Your bedroom was darker this time. All windows cracked open, linen curtains moving faintly with the breeze. You moved quietly, pulling your hair up, disappearing briefly into the ensuite bathroom. He toed off his socks and peeled off his shirt, sitting on the edge of the bed as he waited.

When you came out in one of his old t-shirts, the one he’d there by accident, he raised a brow. You shrugged. “It’s soft.”

He didn’t say anything. Just opened the covers.

Once in bed, your legs tangled automatically. You turned off the light, but the city still cast long shadows across the sheets. For a while you two just laid there, quietly.

“You know,” Jungkook murmured, “this feels better than it should.”

You blinked into the dark. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No,” he said, reaching for your hand beneath the sheets. “I say that like I didn’t expect it to. And now I’m kinda fucked.”

You turned to face him, your noses close, breath warm. “Don’t get all sentimental on me.”

“Too late,” he said, kissing you once, slow. His hand touched your cheeks, creasing you with his thumb. “You let me stay over after weeks of just spending the day and you kicking me out at midnight like a lady of the night… This is basically domestic.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re wearing my shirt. It’s over for you.”

You shoved him lightly, but you were smiling. And in the quiet that followed, as the world outside your windows kept spinning, you realized something that made your chest hurt a little in the best way:

You weren’t scared about a future with him. Not tonight, not with him.

———

“Okay, don’t freak out,” you said, sliding into the booth like you were about to drop a live grenade.

Bohyung’s eyes narrowed over the rim of his cappuccino. Se-hoo didn’t even look up from buttering her toast. “Oh no,” she said, in that grave, quiet tone reserved for earthquakes and cheating exes. “You’re about to say something unhinged.”

“I’m not,” you replied, clearing your throat and trying to sound casual. “I’m just making conversation.”

Bohyung arched one brow. “You only preface things with ‘don’t freak out’ when you’ve done something wildly off-brand. Like the time you tried hiking and almost killed someone.”

“That was a wellness retreat,” you hissed, “I had altitude sickness and he was annoying.”

“You were in a botanical garden and he was an old retired man”

Se-hoo finally looked up. “So. What’s the news?”

You took a sip of your espresso first, dramatically slow, like you were buying yourself a final moment of plausible deniability. “Jungkook slept over last night.”

Bohyung gasped, See-hoo blinked.

There was a solid three seconds of silence before he whispered, “…in your house?”

“In your bed?” she added.

“Yes. In my house. In my bed. Jesus, you two sound like I invited a murderer over.”

“You did,” Bohyung said, leaning forward. “You invited a man with a child into your controlled, high-rise, velvet-curated sanctuary. This is huge.”

“He’s already been in my house plenty of times. In my bed too, you’re welcome for that TMI.” You said, rolling your eyes.

“Right, but you never let him stay over,” Se-hoo said. “This is different. This is toothbrush energy. Did he leave a toothbrush?”

“No,” you said.

“Would you let him?” Bohyung asked.

You hesitated. Your friends exchanged a glance, the kind of telepathic exchange only people who’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying to yourself can master.

Se-hoo sipped her green juice like she was savoring the drama. “So. How was it?”

“The sex? Good, as always—“

“No,” she deadpanned. “The emotion, Y/n. How was the emotion?”

“I want to know about the sex…” your other friend added.

You groaned and threw your napkin at him. “It was… weirdly nice. Like— I didn’t even panic. He just stayed. We talked. We ate almonds on the couch. We went to bed, we had sex and then we talked. Again. We talked after sex, who does that?!. It felt so… normal. Which is terrifying.”

You were being dramatic. You knew it. You liked it in a way.

“That’s your trauma speaking,” Se-hoo muttered into her toast.

Bohyung was still staring at you like you’d told him you were moving to a convent. “You let someone stay the night in your actual bed.”

“I know,” you said, then added quickly, “I didn’t mean to. I just didn’t want to kick him out. And then he looked all domestic and comfortable and warm, and I blacked out emotionally.”

“He’s growing on you,” Se-hoo said, smug.

“Like a fungus,” you nodded. “A very sexy, emotionally mature fungus.”

You three laughed, and it felt good, natural. It wasn’t heavy. It didn’t feel like therapy. It was just brunch and gossip and tiny admissions wrapped in sarcasm.

Then Bohyung leaned back and said, a little quieter, “Are you… do you love him?”

You looked at him. Not defensive. Not deflective. Just… honest.

“I… I don’t know yet,” you admitted. He didn’t say anything back. He just reached over and stole your toast, like always. Not making a big deal of something serious. “Also,” you added, “if either of you mentions the fact that I let a child’s father sleep in my bed, I swear to God…”

“Oh, sweetie,” Se-hoo said, grinning. “We’re already planning the baby shower for your stepmom moment.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that while I chew my smoked salmon.”

Bohyung waved at the waiter. “She’ll need a tequila shot with that.”

“Well, you already know the kid. You’re practically part of the family.”

“You know the kids?!” Bohyung screamed. “What— when was this?.”

“Two weeks ago.”

“Oh, please do tell.”

“I didn’t mean to!” you said, defensive already. “I just… dropped by his place with dessert and used the code and—”

“You have the code to his house?”

“Bohyung.”

“You have the code to his house and you’ve been calling this a casual arrangement?”

“It’s not casual anymore, we already had that conversation, keep up.”

He leaned back, grinning like a cat who’d caught a very expensive canary. “Okay. So what happened?”

You sighed again, rubbed your temples like you could press the memory out of your skull. “It was insane. I walk in and there’s a tiny girl staring at me like I just murdered Santa Claus. And I freeze, obviously. I have no maternal instincts, I panicked. And she— God, she was bitchy, like actually. She looked at me and said ‘Who are you?’ like she was about to call child services.” Your friend was laughing already. “And I said I was a friend of her dad’s and she was like I don’t think so, and then we basically had an argument about who am I and why I suck” you dramatized.

He was wheezing now, clutching his drink to his chest. “You fought with a seven-year-old?”

“She started it!,” you tried to defend yourself.

“That’s a child, Y/n.”

“She was feral. And terrifying. And maybe a little bit like me, which is horrifying.”

Bohyung wiped a tear from his eye. “Did Jungkook walk in on this disaster?”

“Oh yeah. Mid standoff… He saw everything from the controller too. She was feeling sleepy and I was about to bolt. And of course he was, like, insanely composed about it. Said not to be scared, said he understood, like he was the world’s most emotionally evolved man and not the guy whose daughter just threw my ego over the window.”

He grinned. “So how do you feel now?”

You were quiet for a second. The shot arrived and you took it without any regret before answering.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “It was… weird. I thought it’d be worse. But it was kind of funny. She’s funny. And she clearly adores him. And it scared the shit out of me, but I didn’t run screaming into traffic, I just thought of it.”

“That’s growth.”

You gave him a look. “Don’t therapize me.”

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “No therapy, promise. But… you’re doing okay. You like him. You met the kid. The world didn’t explode. He seems to be able to give you enough reassurance for you not to run down the street. Maybe you can handle this.”

“I’m not trying to handle anything, I don’t plan on seeing her again ever again. Or at least once a year” you said quickly, too quickly. “I’m just… floating around him..”

Bohyung didn’t say anything for a moment. Just watched you, eyes soft behind his usual snark. “You don’t have to make it a thing,” he said finally. “Just let it be what it is.”

“What if what it is… is complicated?”

He shrugged. “Everything worth it is.”

You looked at him for a beat, then asked the waiter for another shot. “God, I hate when you’re the mature one.”

Bohyung smirked. “I’ve been waiting for this moment since we were ten.”

You laughed, finally, and it felt good. Real. For once, the truth didn’t feel heavy… just a little messy, a little funny, a little yours. The three of you laughed again. Too loud, maybe, for a Thursday morning at that sleek little café. But you didn’t care. The moment stretched wide and golden, uncomplicated and alive.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t mind being really known.

On the other side of town Sunni Jeon was on the floor, halfway through a third sketch of a velociraptor wearing sunglasses. She frowned at the crayon in her hand, cerulean, and shook her head. “No. Too beachy” She tossed it aside and reached for mars black, dragging a dramatic pair of shades across the dinosaur’s tiny, angry eyes. Perfect. The kitchen was quiet except for the distant hum of the washing machine. The scent of breakfast still lingered in the air, cinnamon toast and too much butter, her signature. She had one sock on, her curls were barely brushed, and she’d been talking to herself like an art critic for twenty minutes.

When the door opened, she didn’t look up. “You’re late,” she said.

Jungkook froze mid-step. “Good morning to you too, Picasso.”

Sunni turned slowly, narrowed her eyes. “We’ve been up since eight. You said I was going to woke up with the donuts in bed.”

“Well you woke up earlier than I thought.” Jungkook held up the small pink box like it was a peace treaty. “Marshmallow donuts. Still warm.”

Her eyes widened. “Forgiven.” She ran to grab them, already bouncing on the heels of her mismatched socks. She paused, peering into the box with dramatic flair. “Is this… two pink ones and a chocolate?”

“You told me last time the sprinkle-to-dough ratio was ‘offensive,’ so I adapted.”

She nodded gravely, taking a pink one and biting into it. “You may proceed.”

Jungkook dropped his keys on the table and crouched to her level. “What have you been up to, Miss Trouble?”

She reached for her drawing. “Dino fashion week.”

“Oh?”

“This one’s in Paris. He only wears black. And he doesn’t eat people anymore. He’s evolved.”

Jungkook tried to keep a straight face. “I respect that.”

She beamed and stuffed more donut into her mouth, then pointed to the couch. “Go sit. I wanna show you my new dance.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I need safety gear?”

“Only for the part with the spin.”

He sat, and she stood dramatically in front of the coffee table, arms out like she was announcing a Broadway debut. Then she danced. If you could call it that. It was part ballet, part… interpretive chaos. Lots of hopping, one fake fall, and a grand finale that ended with her collapsing on a pile of couch cushions like a retired star.

Jungkook clapped. “Bravo. Ten out of ten. Would recommend.”

She climbed into his lap like it was second nature, donut in one hand, drawing in the other.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, brushing her curls from her eyes.

She shrugged. “I had a dream you turned into a pigeon.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“It was kinda cool. You still talked. But you hated bread.”

Jungkook laughed. “You’re so weird.”

“Mom says I got it from you.”

They sat there for a while, quiet. Sunni’s head rested against his chest, and Jungkook’s arms folded around her like a natural reflex. His eyes wandered to the coffee table, where one of her toy dinosaurs sat beside her crayons, a T-Rex painted entirely gold. His world was chaotic. Exhausting. Often sticky. But also… good. Solid. Full of life and pink donuts and impromptu dinosaur couture.

And as Sunni mumbled something about needing glitter for the next one, he thought briefly, just briefly, of you. Of how quiet your apartment was. Of how, last night, you let yourself be soft. And for a second, the image of you and Sunni in the same room flashed across his mind. Not perfect. Not effortless. But possible

He didn’t let himself stay in that thought for long.

“Wanna go to the park later?” he asked.

“Only if I can bring Raptor Dave.”

“Deal.”

They high-fived like it was a legal agreement. And the day went on, like any other… Almost.

———

You never thought you’d find yourself barefoot in your own kitchen, grating parmesan over a simmering pot of risotto while a man you were sort-of-dating diced shallots beside you like it was the most normal thing in the world. Jungkook had rolled up his sleeves like a man on a mission. Arms flexed, expression focused, face lit faintly gold by the dim lights above the counter. The record player in the corner spun quietly through a Chet Baker album, and the city was an amber blur outside your windows.

“Careful with the rice,” you said, poking his arm with a wooden spoon. “You’re stirring like someone with unresolved rage.”

He smirked without looking up. “This is how you release flavor.”

“This is how you release chaos.”

He glanced at you sideways. “Do you always boss people around in the kitchen?”

“I own a chain of restaurants. I breathe in being bossy and exhale payroll.”

Jungkook laughed. “So that’s the secret to the confidence.”

You shrugged, tasting the risotto. “No. That’s the secret to high stress pressure.”

He set down his knife and leaned against the counter, watching you move like you’d been born into that kitchen. It wasn’t lost on him that this was the first time you’d cooked for him… or that you were wearing one of his T-shirts, barefoot, with your hair tied up and no earrings in. It was… rare. Not performative. Still sharp-tongued, still you, but unguarded in the quietest ways.

He liked it… too much.

You poured to you both another glass of wine, eyes flicking to your phone on the counter. “Are you free tomorrow?”

“Morning or night?”

“Daytime. Just for a bit. I have a few places I wanna check out. Design stuff, fabric shopping. Boring business shit errands. Wanna hop in?.”

Jungkook wiped his hands with a towel. “Can’t. Sunni has her school art fair.”

“Oh.” you nodded, casual. Too casual. “Okay, no worries.”

He caught the tiny shift in your face, that practiced flicker you always did when pretending something didn’t sting. He stepped closer.

“You could come.”

You blinked. “To the…?”

“Art fair,” he said, sipping his wine. “She painted a horse that looks like a potato. Big day for her.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Jungkook. Be serious.”

“I am.” He grinned. “We get tiny juice boxes and sit on plastic chairs and look at weird finger paintings. It’s thrilling.”

“Jungkook.”

“What?”

“I’m not good at those things. You’ve seen how your child and I interact. I’m one stupid remark away from getting banned from all public schools.”

“It was one bad first impression. You can work it out.”

“No, I don’t think I can.”

He grinned wider. “She probably forgot about it already.”

You turned, pretending to stir the risotto. “I’d be so awkward.”

“So be awkward.”

You looked at him again, and for a moment you weren’t the powerful woman with sharp stilettos and sharper lines. You were just a girl with a glass of wine and a very soft no in your throat.

“I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t.”

“I’m not trying to be anything—”

“I know.” He stepped closer, hand brushing your waist. “That’s why I’m asking.”

You stared at the pot, then at him, then at your reflection faintly in the window. You thought about Bohyung’s words. And about how nothing has been really complicated with Jungkook.

“Will there be snacks?”

He smiled. “The best. Animal crackers and Capri Suns.”

You groaned, rubbing your face with regret already. “Fine. But if I end up in a conversation with another seven-year-old, I’m faking a phone call and leaving.”

“I’ll write you a hall pass,” he said, pulling you in by the hips.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re making me risotto.”

“I regret it already.”

He kissed your forehead, soft and smiling, then leaned to steal a spoonful of the rice. You slapped his hand, he grinned wider, and somewhere in between the laughter and the jazz and the scent of garlic, something else simmered between you two

Not quite love… But dangerously close.

———

You hadn’t been in a gym school since you’d faked bronchitis to skip gym class for a month in your last year. So the moment you stepped into the chaotic warmth of a private school in Seoul, your senses were assaulted by a wave of fluorescent lights, noise, and the distinct scent of juice, glue, and vague plastic.

You stopped in the hallway, heels clicking on linoleum, and looked around. The walls were plastered with glitter-drenched construction paper collages and misspelled signs announcing “ARTE FAYRE!!!” in multicolored marker. There was a table with cookies shaped like farm animals, and a woman in cat-eye glasses herding toddlers toward a face-painting station like they were cattle.

You turned to Jungkook. “This is your hell, right?”

Jungkook, wearing a black hoodie and a paper crown slightly askew on his head, looked completely unbothered. “On the contrary. This is peak entertainment.”

You stared at the crown. “You let a child craft on your scalp?”

“I was knighted by the PTA. I’m Sir Jeon now.”

“Sir Jeon,” you said, eyeing him with something between horror and admiration. “You’re brave.”

He handed you a juice box. “Apple or grape?”

You took it like he’d just proposed. “You brought me juice?”

“I always come prepared,” he said, slipping his hand into yours and pulling you gently down the hallway toward the main event. “And don’t think I didn’t see you eyeing the cookie table. We’ll circle back.”

The gym had been transformed into a chaotic maze of pint-sized easels and colorful poster boards. There were drawings of dinosaurs, rockets, families with square heads, fingers and something that might’ve been a dog but looked more like a chair. Kids ran around, parents smiled tiredly, and someone was playing a recorder rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle” in the corner with the grim focus of a soldier.

You sipped your juice and looked around with wide eyes. “Okay. I know I said I’d come, but I didn’t realize I was walking into a Jackson Pollock tribute exhibit for feral children.”

Jungkook smirked. “It’s avant-garde.”

“It’s a war zone.”

You two walked slowly between the art projects. Jungkook pointed out a sculpture made entirely of cotton balls and popsicle sticks and said, “This one sold for three juice boxes and a Lego pirate.”

You squinted at it. “Looks like a tragicomic representation of late-stage capitalism.”

“That’s actually the title.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I wore Balenciaga to a macaroni museum.”

“You’re pulling it off.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” you muttered, then added: “Slightly.”

Jungkook turned toward you, stopping in front of a wall covered in finger paintings. “You’re doing great. Just… don’t insult anyone’s abstract rainbow.”

You made a face. “One of them literally looks like a bruise.”

You two passed a display of self-portraits that made you stop in your tracks. You looked at one in particular. A stick figure with a huge smile, pink yarn hair, and what appeared to be a crown made of gold glitter.

“Jungkook,” you said slowly. “That one has a Gucci logo drawn on its sweater.”

“That’s probably Marnie.”

“She’s going places.”

“Or to prison.”

You two kept walking, still sipping your juice like you two were at a wine tasting, whispering judgmental art critiques with the kind of practiced banter that had become you both own weird language. Jungkook plucked a sticker from one of the tables, a glittery frog, and stuck it to your cheek.

You glanced at him, unimpressed. “That better not be permanent.”

“You’re part of the ecosystem now.”

“I already feel a rash forming.”

But you weren’t as tense anymore. Your body had stopped humming with discomfort. Your voice, while still sharp, didn’t have the edge it usually did when you were shielding yourself. You were… having fun. Somehow. In a school, with children.

Oh, I’m actually losing your mind. You thought

You two reached a back wall where Jungkook stopped and looked up, the familiar softness creeping into his expression. You followed his gaze. There it was: Sunni Jeon – Age 7 written in big block letters over a series of colorful paintings. One of them, indeed, featured a horse that looked alarmingly like a potato. Another was a wild swirl of pinks and oranges with a tiny sun smiling from the corner.

“She did these?” you asked, genuinely surprised.

“Yep. The horse is named Mrs. Pickles.”

“That’s a power move.”

“Sunni doesn’t do subtle.”

You stood in front of the paintings for a second, then took a quiet breath and lied. “They’re good.”

“She’ll love that you came.”

“We both know that you’re lying. And I didn’t come for her,” you said automatically.

Jungkook didn’t push. He just smiled a little and said, “I know.”

You stood beside him, sipping your juice, staring at a crayon drawing of a tree with rainbow leaves and a tiny figure under it labeled me + dad + mom. And maybe it was just the sugar crash or the fluorescent lighting or the way Jungkook’s hand was warm around yours. But for a second, you felt something you didn’t want to name.

You squeezed his hand once, like a truce. He squeezed back.

You had survived champagne galas, Michelin-starred kitchens, boardroom showdowns, and one regrettable corporate retreat in a yurt in the Pyrenees. But nothing — nothing — prepared you for the moment Sunni Jeon, armed with a glitter-smeared grin and suspiciously good posture for a child, walked up to her art display like a proud CEO.

“Hi,” she said, pointing at you. “I remember you.”

You blinked. “Oh. Right— Yeah, me. Hi.”

Sunni gave you a very adult once-over, like she was scanning a guest list she didn’t quite approve of.

“I’m Sunni.”

“Yes, I… I know,” you said, suddenly painfully aware of your outfit, your breath, your entire existence. You patted her head before taking your hand back immediately, realizing what you were doing. “How— How are you?.”

Sunni frowned slightly confused at the motion you did. “Fine.” she gestured dramatically to her wall of drawings. “These are my masterpieces.”

You nodded with the stiff enthusiasm of someone who was trying not to step on a landmine. “They’re… they’re incredible. Especially this one.” you pointed randomly to a painting of what appeared to be a unicorn drowning in spaghetti.

“That’s space justice,” Sunni said solemnly. “He fights crime in zero gravity.”

“Oh,” you said, eyes wide. “Of course. Naturally.” There was a beat of silence. “So,” you tried again, mustering what you… assumed was a friendly tone. “Are you enjoying the art fair?”

“I like the snacks.”

“Who doesn’t.” you paused. “You, uh… you look very fancy. Nice shoes.”

Sunni frowned and looked down at her sparkly sneakers like you had just commented on her kidneys.

“…Thank you?” she said, confused.

Jungkook swooped in before you could continue to dig your own grave.

“There’s my artist!” he said, bending to kiss the top of Sunni’s head. She glowed instantly.

“Dad, I showed her my art.”

“I saw you from across the room,” Jungkook said. “You absolutely crushed it.”

“Obviously,” Sunni replied, then added with a whisper, “She doesn’t really get it though.”

“I’m right here,” you said mildly.

Jungkook laughed, leaning toward you. “She’s just warming up.” Sunni turned back to her display as a woman in a peacock-print dress called Jungkook’s name from across the gym. He looked apologetic. “That’s her teacher. I should go talk to her… parent things. Can I leave you two for a minute?”

You turned to him with wide, horrified eyes. “Absolutely not. This is entrapment.”

“You’ll be fine,” he grinned, already walking backward. “She only bites on Thursdays.”

“It’s Thursday!” you whispered-shouted after him. Sunni turned toward you with the cold poise of someone about to deliver an IRS audit. You cleared your throat. “Sooo… space justice, huh?”

Sunni crossed her arms. “Why are you here?”

You blinked. “Because… I like juice?” The child was not amused. You tried again, softer. “Your dad invited me.”

“Are you his girlfriend?”

“Definitely not,” you said quickly. “No one said the word girlfriend.”

“Are you kissing him?”

You froze. “Wow, you’re direct.”

“I’m seven.”

“That explains a lot.”

Sunni narrowed her eyes. “You smell like fancy soap.”

“You said that before.”

“You don’t smell like home.” you looked genuinely wounded for a moment. Sunni added, “You smell like someone who says ‘actually’ a lot.”

You snapped, “Well, actually—”

“Ha!” Sunni pointed at you. “Told you.”

You forced a smile, trying not to go off on a seven-year-old. “Listen, little shit, I’m trying here.”

“You’re not very good at it.”

“Well, you’re seven and already a menace to society, so I think we’re both doing our best.”

You two glared at each other.

Sunni tilted her head. “Do you even like kids?”

You said nothing for a moment. “I like… specific ones. Hypothetically.”

Sunni looked disgusted. “That’s what people say when they hate kids but don’t want to sound like jerks.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “Okay, fair. You got me.”

“I knew it!.”

“I don’t hate you, specifically” you added after a pause. “I just… I’m learning how to talk to you.”

Sunni shrugged, unimpressed. “Stop treating me like a dog.”

You stared. “I— okay, that was fair.”

“You patted my head early.”

You groaned. “I panicked.”

“I’m not a golden retriever, lady.”

“I said I panicked!”

Sunni tilted her head, then smirked like only a mischievous child could. “You’re weird.”

“You’re diabolical.”

Jungkook reappeared just in time to witness his daughter and you standing three feet apart like you’d just had a dance battle. He looked between you two.

“Everything… good?”

“Peachy,” you said.

“Yes!.” Sunni echoed.

You were both lying. Jungkook raised a brow. “Uh-huh.”

“I think we’ve bonded,” you added, faking a sweet smile.

“Like me and broccoli at dinner… forced” Sunni said sweetly.

And you were surprise by her fast and witty answer

“Oh, she’s smart now.”

Jungkook blinked. “I’m… gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” He took Sunni’s hand and looked at you. “Thanks for surviving.”

You gave him a dead-eyed smile. “I feel like I’ve been on a cooking show and the secret ingredient was psychological warfare.”

Sunni grinned up at you. “Wanna see my drawing of a volcano that farts rainbows?”

You looked at Jungkook. “You owe me something very expensive for this.”

He winked. “I’ll buy you a second juice box.”

You sighed as you followed them toward the farting volcano. “I should’ve just stayed in law school. I’ll be happily divorced and snowboarding at my house in Aspen.”

The fair was winding down. The glittering mess of children’s artwork, lukewarm coffee, and erratic recorders playing off-key Disney medleys had started to blur together. Parents corralled their sugar-high children like shepherds in heels. You leaned against a tree just outside the school building, one heel burring in the grass, juice box in hand like it was a gin-tonic.

Jungkook returned from dropping Sunni off with her teacher for cleanup duty, slipping beside you with a small smile, all calm energy and quiet amusement.

“She’s intense,” you said, tipping your head back against the bark. “Like… prison warden intense. She asked if I was your girlfriend. And then told me I smelled like fancy soup, again.”

Jungkook snorted. “That’s… horrifyingly accurate.”

“She’s your child.”

“She’s a menace.”

You two shared a grin. For a beat, there was silence. The kind of silence that wasn’t uncomfortable, just thoughtful. Jungkook looked out at the parking lot like he was giving you space to say something… or maybe like he already knew you would.

You didn’t look at him when you finally spoke. “Hey… can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“I should have asked this early but— uhm” you picked at the plastic wrapper of your juice straw. “Does… her mom know? That I’m around?”

Jungkook glanced sideways, but didn’t look surprised. “Yeah. She does.”

“And?”

“She’s okay with it,” he said easily. “We’ve talked. A lot, actually.”

Your jaw tightened just slightly. “You sure? I don’t want to mess anything up or… like, make things uncomfortable for anyone.”

Jungkook leaned a little closer, just enough that his voice softened, but didn’t go patronizing. “Y/n. I wouldn’t have brought you here if it wasn’t okay. We’ve had this conversation.”

You nodded, slowly. “Okay. I just… I know this isn’t some brunch invite. It’s your daughter. It’s her life.” Jungkook waited. He could tell you weren’t done. “I’ve seen relationships where parents were just… accessories. Background noise. I know how to play that too, I can be good at that. Being decoration. But this—” you nodded vaguely back toward the school “—this isn’t background. This is the main stage. I don’t want to step into something that isn’t mine to be in.”

Jungkook watched you, and his face didn’t shift into anything dramatic or intense. He just nodded. Steady. Warm.

“That’s fair,” he said. “But you’re not stepping into something blindly. I invited you. Sunni’s mom and I have our stuff handled. We have our boundaries and communication. I wouldn’t let anyone into Sunni’s life if I wasn’t sure about it. About them.” That quieted you. He added, “And you’re not decoration, Y/n.”

You smiled, tight. “I look hot to be one.”

Jungkook chuckled. “Yeah. But you’ll never be that to me. You’re more like the annoying woman I like too much.”

You laughed then, low and soft, like the tension slipped from your shoulders. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeated, more certain now. “I just needed to hear it.”

He reached over and took your hand to guide the way to his car. “You’re allowed to ask.”

“I know,” you said, quieter. “I’m just… it’s a new territory for me.”

Jungkook didn’t push. He just nodded again, then squeezed your hand once. “Let’s go. I owe you a post-trauma dinner.”

“Only if it comes with wine. And silence.”

“I make no promises about either.”

———

The scent of lemon disinfectant and soft floral lotion clung to the hallway. You walked the familiar stretch of linoleum with your heels echoing softly, your hand tucked into the pocket of your camel coat. You came bearing offerings, a fresh tin of Amaretti cookies and a soft lavender shawl you found last week that made you think of Rosa. When you pushed the door open to room 312, you didn’t expect to see anyone sitting beside the bed.

Much less him.

Jungwoo Lee sat in the visitor’s chair, legs crossed, a hardcover novel resting on his lap like he hadn’t moved in hours. His eyes lifted at the sound of the door, and for a moment, you two just stared at each other.

“Hey,” he said, as casually as if you’d last seen each other last week. Not almost a year ago.

Your lips parted. “Jungwoo?”

His smile was soft. “Thought I’d beat you here for once.”

You blinked, still by the door. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in Tokyo for work. Flew into Busan, and I figured… well, it’s been too long.” He glanced over to the bed. “She wrote me a letter last month. I think the nurses helped her, but I couldn’t ignore it.”

You swallowed, your throat tightened a little. “She wrote you a letter?”

He shrugged. “It was mostly just three lines: Where are you, Jungwoo? Come see me. Y/n doesn’t cook.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. Of course.

“I cook for her. She just doesn’t like anything I do ever.”

You stepped in, setting down the cookies and placing the shawl at the edge of the bed. Rosa was resting, half-asleep but faintly smiling, like she sensed peace in the room.

Jungwoo looked at you again, his expression softer now. “You look good. A little tired. But good.”

“Working too much,” you said automatically. “And traveling again?”

He nodded. “Tokyo for two months. Now Busan. Might do a stint in Vietnam next, but I haven’t decided.”

You hovered by the edge of the bed, unsure where to place yourself. Everything felt off-kilter. Jungwoo’s presence filled the room with something weightless and familiar, but also… complicated. A past that didn’t belong to you anymore.

As if sensing the tension, Rosa stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “Y/n,” she murmured, her voice groggy. “And Jungwoo. Finalmente.”

You turned. “Hey, Nonna. You’re up.”

“I was not sleeping,” she lied. “I was listening to him talk nonsense.” Jungwoo chuckled, moving closer to hold her hand. “You two look beautiful together,” Rosa whispered, content. “Like always. My only two.”

You hesitated. “Nonna—”

“Shh,” Rosa waved her off. “Don’t start. Just sit. Let me look at you.”

Jungwoo looked at you, silently asking ‘should we correct her?’. You shook your head once. ‘Let her have this moment.’

You and Jungwoo sat, side by side, like a photograph from a life you two almost had.

Rosa’s eyes drifted shut again, murmuring something soft in Italian about good children, good hearts, and how no one brings proper wine anymore. When her breathing evened out and the nurse stepped in to check on her, you stood, gathering your coat again.

“Coffee?” Jungwoo asked, standing too.

You paused, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

The courtyard outside was quiet, the sun warm but sleepy against the cream-colored walls of the building. You two sat on a bench that creaked faintly beneath you, each with a paper cup fill with frat coffee from the cafeteria of the facility. You didn’t know why your heart was beating so fast. So nervous for someone you knew everything about.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then you sighed. “She always did like you more than me.”

“I am very charming,” he said, nudging you gently. “You were the terrifying one.”

You smiled. “Still am?.”

“Never to me.” He looked at you then. Really looked. “You seem… older.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it in a good way. Like… centered.”

“I think that’s called exhaustion.”

He chuckled. “How’s work?”

You lifted a shoulder. “Busy. Opened a new location and we’re working on opening one in Europe. We’re redoing the brand visuals. That kind of thing.”

“Still stealing my fonts?”

“You don’t own Garamond.”

“I should.” You two smiled again, this small return to old rhythm wrapping around you both like an old jacket. Familiar. Fitted. Jungwoo studied you for a second. “I meant what I said. You look good.”

You glanced at him. “You too.”

He tilted his head. “Are you seeing anyone?”

You hesitated just for a second. “No one serious.”

He didn’t press. Just nodded, looking out at the sunlight playing against the olive trees. “It’s weird,” he said. “Being here. With you. It’s like no time passed, but also like we’re different people.”

“We are.”

“And that’s okay.”

You nodded slowly. “I guess it is.”

You both sat in silence for another moment. The past rested quietly between you, not bitter, not nostalgic… just present. Jungwoo was something that you could never shake, a person who held your past and a months ago you thought would hold your future too. You had learned so much with him. He was someone who was always going to be around, specially since he had a connection with Rosa he could only understand.

Because that was the reason you could never shake him off. There were things he could only understand. Rosa was one of them.

“I’m around for a few weeks,” he finally said. “Work stuff mostly. But if you ever want to… get lunch or catch up…”

“I’ll let you know.”

Jungwoo smiled again. “It was good seeing you, Y/n.”

“You too, Woo.”

You two stood. No hug, no drama. Just a nod. He turned left. You turned right. And that was it.

For now.

It was dusk by the time you arrived at the wine bar. The streets of Seoul glowed gold with the last of the day’s light, shadows stretching long over the cobblestones. Se-hoo was already seated by the window in a tailored blazer, sipping a glass of rosé like she owned the place… which, for all you knew, she probably did.

“Look what the wind dragged in,” your friend said as you sank into the seat across from her, tossing your coat onto the back of the chair.

“I had a weird day.”

“You look like someone who just bumped into her ex at the gynecologist.”

You barked a tired laugh. “Close. Rosa’s.”

Se-hoo blinked. “Wait— what?”

“He was there. Jungwoo. Just… sitting there like some well-dressed ghost from the 90’s.”

Your friend sat back, clearly intrigued. “How’d that go?”

You exhaled, signaling the waiter with a small wave. “We didn’t fight or cry or threw eine, if that’s what you’re hoping.”

“No, but I’m hoping for some drama. You always give good material.”

The waiter arrived and you ordered a red, then leaned your cheek against your hand. “It was… surreal. Like we slipped into our old rhythm without trying. It was so… normal. Rosa thought we were still together, so we didn’t correct her.”

Se-hoo gave you a knowing look. “You didn’t correct her? Y/n.”

“She was half-asleep, and happy. I didn’t have the heart.”

“Uh-huh. And how did it feel?” You hesitated. Se-hoo smirked. “Exactly.”

“It didn’t feel like I want this again if that’s what you’re implying. Just… like something familiar I used to know.”

Se-hoo swirled her wine. “Comfort is seductive. But don’t confuse it with compatibility. You and Jungwoo made sense until you didn’t.”

“I know.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” The wine came, and you took a sip before adding, “He’s in town for a few weeks.”

“Are you going to see him?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. We didn’t say much. Just caught up a little… He asked if I was seeing someone and I said it wasn’t serious.”

Se-hoo raised an eyebrow. “Bold lie.”

“It’s not a lie.”

“You’re emotionally invested in a man who has a daughter, has met you halfway on every insecurity you’ve ever confessed to, and now picks you up from work to bring you dinner. That’s not serious?”

You stared at your wineglass. “It’s not like I’m not trying to not screw it up.”

“Well, good luck with that,” your friend said dryly. “You’re overdue for something that doesn’t combust.”

You snorted. “Thanks for the faith.”

“You know I love you. But I also know you. You’ll find a hundred excuses to avoid anything that makes you feel deeply. You say it’s about freedom or control, but it’s really just fear.”

You looked up. “Since when are you my therapist?”

“Since you started dodging your actual emotions like a French mime after Jungwoo.” You both laughed. Se-hoo softened a little and leaned forward. “Listen. Jungwoo is from another life. A safe life. But you left that version of yourself behind for a reason. You didn’t want a love that wasn’t reassuring and left you wondering every night if tomorrow will be the same, you didn’t have a routine. Or love that was always just comfort. You wanted real love. Messy, uncertain, inconvenient love. The kind that makes you grow.”

“Jungkook isn’t inconvenient nor messy.”

“Oh no, of course not. He just comes with a seven-year-old human consequence.”

You rolled your eyes. “She’s not that bad.”

“You threatened to fight her in a public school cafeteria, Y/n.”

“She started it!.”

Se-hoo laughed so hard she nearly spilled her wine. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m adapting!”

“I can tell. Very mature.”

You smirked and took another sip. “Anyway. I didn’t tell Jungwoo about Jungkook.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“Because it means you’re still figuring out where you are. And that’s fine. But don’t drag the past into the present unless you’re ready to leave the future behind.”

“Damn. That was poetic.”

Se-hoo winked. “I read a lot of sapphic poetry when I’m dating emotionally unavailable women.”

You snorted again. “How’s Valeria?”

Se-hoo groaned. “Beautiful. Smart. Already thinking about moving to South America with her.”

“Of course.”

“We’re doomed.”

You two clinked your glasses in solidarity, both of you tipping your heads back, laughing, the conversation drifting to lighter things. Shoes, sex, why the wine list at that place had gotten progressively worse… but underneath it all, your mind still tugged at the earlier thread.

Jungwoo. Rosa. Jungkook.

The echo of old comforts and the sudden shock of new ones. And somewhere between Se-hoo’s biting wit and the warmth of rosé, you thought something simple and terrifying. You didn’t want what you used to. You wanted this. You wanted Jungkook and whatever that was becoming.

That same afternoon, in his apartment. Jungkook was on the other side of the city. Quiet, unusually so. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that only happens when Sunni wasn’t there, the crayons still scattered on the table, but no soundtrack of questions, singing, or spontaneous Disney monologues filling the air.

Jungkook stood at the kitchen counter, lazily peeling a clementine he wasn’t going to eat. He had music playing low from the speaker, some bluesy guitar loop that matched the rhythm of the rain tapping against the window. He kept checking his phone. Not obsessively. Just… habit.

No new texts.

You had said you had meetings and some hangouts with friends in your free hours. Full day, no breaks. He believed you. You didn’t lie, you were too proud for that, too sharp. But that didn’t stop him from wondering why a part of him had started waiting on your messages the way he used to wait for tattoo appointments to cancel in the early days of the shop. With a hope he never admitted.

He didn’t want to be that guy. The clingy one. The desperate one. He wasn’t. But still. Something had shifted. Not in a dramatic, world-ending way, more like how the weather changes between summer and fall. Subtle, gradual, irreversible. You two had been seeing each other for months now. Eating dinners, sleeping in the same bed, laughing at stupid things on TV. You had this way of arguing that made him want to kiss you halfway through. And even when you rolled your eyes, or got bratty in that half-joking, half-serious tone you used… he never wanted to leave.

So you were hard to handle, sure. But God, he liked that.

He looked at his phone again. Still nothing.

Jungkook sighed and walked into the living room, flopping down onto the couch. With you sometimes he felt like a teenager again. He thought about texting you. Something casual. “Hey, thinking about you.” But that didn’t sound like him. And it didn’t sound like you either. You hadn’t defined anything. Not really. But when a relationship stops being casual, it doesn’t ask for permission. It just starts building a feeling in your chest.

He scrolled a bit. Checked the group chat with Jimin. Nothing interesting. He thought about calling him, just to vent, maybe. But he would just say what he already knew:

“You’re in it, man.”

“You’re not just fucking her, you’re falling.”

“Try not to ruin it.”

Jungkook rubbed a hand down his jaw and leaned back. He didn’t want to ruin it. He didn’t want to mess up something that felt this real.

And yet… he also knew you weren’t someone who let people in easily. The moment you did, the second you let yourself feel something real, you’d probably try to push it away. Self-defense in high heels and perfect lipstick… But he could be patient. Because he wasn’t in this for a fling anymore. Not with you. And whether you were ready to admit it or not, he didn’t think you were either. Not really.

He picked up his phone again. Paused to think something and then typed: “You alive?” Then deleted it. Typed again:

Jungkook: Let me know when you’re free. Dinner on me. Or wine. Your pick.”

He hit send. Then leaned back, stared at the ceiling, and thought: “Please, don’t be the kind of woman who runs.” But if you were, he was already the kind of man who’d go after you.

———

The next day Jungkook opened the door already smiling, his expression softening when he saw you standing there in jeans and a normal shirt, hair up, no makeup except for that swipe of the same brand lipstick you always wore like a signature.

“You look like a power move,” he said, stepping aside to let you in.

“I am a power move,” you replied, brushing past him with a smirk. You dropped your bag near the couch and walked toward the kitchen like you lived there.

“You hungry?” he asked, following you in, pulling out two glasses.

“I could eat,” you said, opening the fridge. “You still hoarding that overpriced French cheese I bought last time or did your daughter get to it?”

“She hates it. Says it smells like feet.”

“She’s not wrong,” you muttered, pulling out the bottle of wine you left there last week and holding it up for permission. He nodded, already grabbing the corkscrew.

It was an easy rhythm between you now. Quiet, familiar, almost domestic in a way that neither of you had acknowledged aloud.

You two ate standing up in the kitchen: bread, cheese, olives, and some cold leftover food that tasted better than it should have. You told him a story about a couple trying to scam one of your restaurant managers with a fake engagement ring. He laughed. You told it well. Voices, expressions, sarcasm sharp as ever.

Then, between bites, you dropped it casually:

“I ran into Jungwoo yesterday.”

“Jungwoo?.”

“My ex-fiancée.”

Jungkook paused mid-chew. “Oh?”

You poured yourself another glass. “Yeah. We talked for a bit.”

He nodded slowly. “How was that?”

“Fine,” you said quickly. Too quickly. “It was just… random. He’s back in town for a while. Some consulting thing.” You didn’t mention Rosa. Didn’t want to explain it. You could still feel the air of the old room, the hum of the machines, the softness of Jungwoo’s voice as you stepped into the hallway to say goodbye.

Jungkook leaned against the counter, arms crossed, studying your face… not interrogating, just reading. He was good at that. One of the first things you noticed about him.

“You two still talk?” he asked, casual.

“Time to time,” you admitted. “We left it… open-ended. You know how those things go.”

He nodded again, slow. “You okay?”

You tilted your head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Just asking. Some people spiral after seeing an ex. Specially and ex-fiancée.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not ‘some people.’”

“I know,” he said, and there was something almost fond in the way he said it, like he admired the way you didn’t flinch from things. Or maybe admired how well you pretended not to.

There was a pause. Not uncomfortable. Just full. Then you asked, voice low, teasing: “You jealous?”

Jungkook gave you a look. “Do I seem jealous?”

“No,” you admitted. “Is that worse?.”

He stepped closer, gently tugging the wine glass out of your hand and setting it on the counter. “I’m not worried about him,” he said, voice low. “I just don’t want you to pretend like it didn’t shake you a little, if it did.”

You hesitated. Your first instinct was to deflect, make a joke, say something sharp and ironic and untouchable. But something in the way he looked at you - steady, unfazed- made it hard to lie.

“It was just strange,” you finally said. “That’s all.”

“Strange like what?”

“Like… familiar in a way it shouldn’t be anymore.”

Jungkoook didn’t respond for a moment. Then he reached out and touched the back of your neck, his hand warm and grounding.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he said. “Just… don’t hide it, either.”

You let out a breath. “I didn’t even mean to bring it up like that. I just—”

“I’m glad you did.” You looked up at him then, and he was already smiling again, soft and calm. “I don’t scare easy, Y/n,” he said. “And I’m not here to compete with ghosts.”

Your mouth twitched. “That was disgustingly poetic.”

He grinned. “I do my best.”

You two stood there a moment longer before you leaned in and kissed him, not rushed, not heated… just steady. Like an answer. Like you wanted him to know that it didn’t shake you in a good way. That Jungwoo was something he didn’t need to worry about. Even if he wasn’t.

But then he kissed you harder.

Jungkook used his grip in your neck to pull you closer, kissing you harder, stronger… possessive. Angling his head to the side to press a deeper kiss. There was something different in the air this time. Some undefined tension, something building in him that you haven’t seen before. He was trying to give you something, show you something you weren’t sure if it was for teasing or something he wasn’t able to tell you before. Either way, you liked it.

He gently bit down on your bottom lip, allowing your mouth to part lightly and his tongue to slip in. A sound escaped your throat when his tongue met yours, Jungkook drinking in the noise. He dived a bit deeper with his slick muscle licking more into your mouth, loving the little sounds that escaped your throat. But he wanted more. And you wanted more. Jungkook dragged his mouth from your lips, pressing wet trails of kisses down your neck, licking and giving small nips to the skin.

And he did something that made you sighed. For the first time, he sucked hard in your neck. Not to give you pleasure but to leave a mark. And, in some way, it made you hornier. Jungkook bit down on your sweet spot and your hips raised to get some friction. His hands moving quickly to grab your hips and press them to his.

Jungkook is quick to swap you up, bending low to grab at your thighs and hike your legs around his lean waist. And you have no choice to grasp his shoulders. Your back hit the wall and you finally got a good sight of him. His eyes were wide, pupils blown out at he gazed up at you. You could feel the panting of his breath against your mouth in almost echos in the quiet apartment.

“You want me?” His voice was lower, darker. You’re not sure if he wants you to beg or just for you to give him consent. You only get to nod. Jungkook snorts, in a breath. “Tell me then.”

“I want you…”

“Me?.”

“Yeah— you.”

He nodded, looking up at you with a gaze you found so hot. His whispers making you wet. “What do you want from me?”

“Touch me.”

“Yeah?.”

Jungkook pinned you more into the wall with his hips and you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your throat when his bulge pressed more into your core.

“Yes, yes. I want you to touch me.”

“Tell me where, baby.”

“Jungkook…” you complained, not really wanting to talk.

“Use your words. You’re a big girl. Aren’t ‘ya?”

You groaned before blushing. “Everywhere. I want you to fuck me… the way you only know how.”

Jungkook smirked and let your feet touch the ground again before moving his right hand to your core. Your breath hitching when he started unbuttoning your pants and pulling them down to the floor. He looked at you when his hands traveled to your core. Fingers working on you. His hand went to lightly run over it. Moving it inside your panties. You jerked your hips when his finger trailed up, your juices coating his finger and he uses it as lubricant to swirl at your clit slowly.

“You think someone else is going to make you this wet?.” You gasped when his movement picked up a bit and he pressed harder down onto your clit. You sighed, throwing your head back when he hums and rubs two fingers over your wet clit, the slick sound filling the room. “I’m the only one who knows how to touch you….” Jungkook continued as if he's not about to finger you. “Say it.”

“You’re the only one…” you felt his hand trail down and your hands grabbed onto his arm when he finally slide a finger in, your core parting for him perfectly

“Say it clearly.”

Another fingers went in and you gasp uselessly, struggling to think of a response as Jungkook leans to brush his lips to yours, his right hand pumping his fingers in and out of you.

“You’re— Shit, you’re the only one who knows.”

“Finish the sentence, baby.”

Jungkook pressed some sweet kisses to your lips, as if he’s not making you beg for him to touch you. Your mouth parts, but a moan tumbles out of you when his thumb starts playing with your clit again, the stretch already being felt and both you and him let out curses. He drops his head lower to kiss your neck as he presses his fingers deep into you.

Your cunt is clenching so nicely against his fingers, he cant wait to feel you around his cock, stuffing you good.

“Keep going.”

“Say it or I’ll stop.”

He goes faster, and you can feel the high getting closer.

But you don’t say it, your right hand grabs his hair in your fingers to push him a little so he can see you. Dark eyes, blown out. Lips red and swollen. You look fucked up. And he wants you more than ever.

“Fuck me first.”

Jungkook doesn’t fight you. He smirks. Because he loves when you don’t listen. He loves when you are just you. Always trying to take control. Every time, in every place, in every situation.

He goes back to press wet kisses against the base of your jaw, tugging shirt down he trails kisses down until it reaches your chest. He grazes his teeth at what he knows is your weak spot, and your body slumps against his. Jungkook takes his hand out of you and, while kissing your neck, he pulls down his jeans to touch his harden over his underwear. Touching himself slowly and peeping his cock to be fully hard. Jungkook only pulls back when he knows the mark he’s leaving in your neck is dark enough to be notice by anyone.

He stops for a moment, looking at you. “You’re the only one to get me like this too.”

“Like what?” you tease.

Jungkook smiles slightly, and you finally realize he liked that from you, your bratty mouth.

“Like this.” He pulled down his underwear, his red and big cock hitting his abs. He press his cock in your core, wet and dirty. “Only wanna fuck you, no one else…”

“Not even a hot model?.”

Jungkook looks up at you. He knows you are teasing again. He knows you love making him reassure you about everything, specially about how hot you were. Not because you needed, because you wanted it. But he wasn’t a boy, he was a man.

“You’re the only one I want to fuck. So better get use to me taking you how the fuck I want.”

He took a condom out of a cabinet from the kitchen, wrapping it around his cock very quickly, prepared. He slots himself in between your tights, taking one of your legs around his waist. His hardened cock pressed against your core, his tip hitting your clit perfectly. He lined himself up with your entrance. Your back arched into the wall when Jungkook slipped inside you all the way, his balls hitting your skin. He didn’t give you time to adjust or even moan, he grabbed your cheeks between his fingers so you can look at him before he start fucking you. Hard, passionate.

You complained, not being able to moan with the grip he has on your face. You dragged your nails down his abs as he picks up his pace. He doesn’t care. He just wants you to look at him while he slams his hips into yours. Fucking you so deliciously it makes your eyes roll back for a second. His other hand scratches your thigh, leaving a mark in it too.

Jungkook gives you a kiss before letting your face go. His eyes flutter shut when he feels how you tighten around his cock. His mouth travelled to your neck again, kissing you softly while he continues the same harder and fast pace. Jungkook jaw slacked as he keeps fucking you, your eyes snap shut and your head bows back as you feel your high coming. He doesn’t stop. You cry out as your climax finally hits you.

Jungkook watches you ride out your high. Your back arching, he sighs in your mouth. Getting closer and closer while watching you. And he gets there too fast. Thinking how he can only make you feel this way. It’s a high feeling, the one you get when you reach to the max point of being so lost in pleasure. And when he gets there, the thought he has is: he’s going to be the only one to make you feel this way. He’s the only one to ever touch you this way. From now on, he’ll be the only one.

“Fucking— shit.”

As always. The after care is top tier. He was the one to cleaned you up, making all the work and making you take a shower with him for the first time. Cleaning your hair softly and kissing you in the shower with no intention of fucking you again. Just to be soft with you. He kisses you. He hugs you. He gives you a shirt of his and he lays you down in his bed between his arms. Soft, warm, romantic. Like he wasn’t fucking you hard and possessive half an hour before.

And it makes you fall asleep fast. Being with him, being this calm, this softer. He gives you so much comfort that you doze off very fast on his arms. You two fell asleep with the TV playing quietly in the background and your hand resting lightly over his chest. And for the first time after yesterday, you didn’t think about Jungwoo at all that night.

It was past 2 a.m. when Jungkook finally woke up for real.

The bedroom was dark except for the pale bluish light coming through the windows. The TV in the living room had gone silent hours ago, and you were curled on your side, asleep in his bed with one arm tossed dramatically across the pillow like someone posing for an oil painting. You snored a little. Which he found, of course, annoying and also stupidly endearing.

He sat up quietly, careful not to wake you, and made his way to the kitchen. The tile felt cold under his feet. He grabbed a glass of water, leaned on the counter, and let the silence press in.

Jungwoo.

He hadn’t said much when you brought him up. And he hadn’t asked too much about him either. Not really. Not the way he could’ve asked. He just let it pass like something floating on the surface that didn’t need to be disturbed. But it stuck with him. Not because he thought you’d go back to your ex. Jungkook wasn’t twenty anymore. He didn’t believe in measuring a relationship by jealousy or possession. But still… he knew how those old ties worked. How certain people could live in your bloodstream for years, even if you’d flushed everything else out.

He wasn’t afraid of Jungwoo.

He was just… watching the edges. Reading the room. Noticing how fast things were starting to shift.

You weren’t built for slow changes. You were sharp, fast, always on the move… even your stillness had energy in it. But when it came to feelings, to vulnerability, you didn’t handle the gray area well. You either didn’t talk at all or deflected with a witty jab, like feelings were a game of dodgeball and you were the undefeated champion. You’d said it was casual, at the beginning. A one-night thing. Then a few more nights. Then dinner. Then his daughter’s art fair. Now you were sleeping in his bed, telling him about your ex-fiancé like it didn’t mean anything. But it did. You wouldn’t have mentioned him with that look otherwise.

He ran a hand down his face and exhaled.

You were trying. You were messy about it, but you were trying. That counted for something.

He thought about earlier that night. How your body softened when he touched the back of your neck, how your mouth had tasted like red wine and lipstick. He thought about the way you’d hesitated, how you’d finally said: “It was just strange. That’s all.”

You didn’t lie. You just didn’t know how to give things names yet. And he could live with that. Jungkook didn’t need labels. He didn’t need declarations or grand romantic speeches. But he needed honesty. And the version of you who had stood in his kitchen, half-defensive and half-unguarded, was the closest thing he’d ever seen to your walls cracking.

He was falling for you. He knew it. He didn’t say it. Not even to himself in full. But the thought was there. Quiet. Solid. Settled.

He’d fallen for people before. He’d made mistakes. He’d rushed into things, gotten married too young, tried to make it work with someone who wasn’t built for the same kind of love life. But you… you were different. You didn’t pretend. You didn’t try to be soft or sweet or likable. You were difficult in ways that made sense to him. And when you looked at him like you were trying not to hope for too much… that hit him harder than anything else.

He drank the rest of the water. Took a deep breath. Ran a hand through his hair. Then he walked back to the bedroom and slipped under the blanket beside you. You shifted in your sleep, your knee knocking against his thigh, and he smiled.

Because he knew he was already in love with you.

guys so i was so busy and couldn’t update this wednesday but here’s the new chap before ending the week and not leave you hanging hehe

let me know what you think about this chapter!! Jungwoo showed up for the 1st time 🤭🤭 i’m so excited because he’s a very important character… also, Sunni’s mom? 🤭🤭

i was asked to give u a sneak peak/spoiler for this chapter so i was thinking of doing it again for the next one?? let me know hehe

taglist:

@sanguchitodeternera @yneisstuff @smoljimjim @almatiarau @annpeachy @mar-lo-pap @taetaecatboy @rrosiitas @httpsmei @jeonnabi11 @gigi4evr @sabrinahiddig @tatzzz-25 @slythermania @yuyu0y11 @ultracnt @baekpop05 @tinyxrose @satisfied18 @kissyfacekoo @synamon @smut02 @alextgef @lindsayjoy444 @ottergirl @imagine-this-motherfucker @dream-lover200 @astralovesu @dragons-flare @jungkookswifeeeeeee @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @yuniesluv @kookooquette @lanyia @dearkayzel-blog @katie-tibo @strawberryacethingz @jalexad @llallaaa @eyesforjungkook @wandabillywrites @flowinj @strawberrysweetness @osakis-gf @bambijuicee @dollyunjinz @jjeonjjk7 @focused-island @cravingforbangtan @elinaki92

[femme11fatale]

O F F • S C H E D U L E

summary | Jungkook’s workout videos shouldn't be enough to change the way you look at your boyfriend, but you should have known that he has always been the exception to most rules, and now, you’re curious as to exactly what you’ve been missing at the gym… pairing | gymbunny!jungkook x f!reader word count | 3.4K elements | blowjobs; sexual tension; lust; 🔞; shameless wanting; established relationship; gym Jungkook author's note | I’m meant to be working and from nowhere this idea came to me, so I just wrote it, I guess I had Jungkook on the mind heavy since the recent lives. This man is just too hot for his own good, istg. I wanted to wait for the weekend to post this as it’s pretty soon after my last JK fic, but I developed a guilty conscience at the thought of gatekeeping it, hehe! 💜 Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and as ever, please excuse any errors I may have overlooked. This was written in one sitting with the quickest editing process I think I’ve ever undertaken! You can probably tell from the rush-job title, right?? 🥹 •𓂃𝜗𝜚 bts masterlists ( ❛ p a r t • o n e ❜ ) | ❛ p a r t • t w o ❜ ) ( ❛ bts taglist ❜ ) ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 jungkook masterlists | p a r t • o n e | p a r t • t w o

Your heels hurry down the hallway, keenly seeking out Jungkook, where you knew you would find him working up a sweat in the home gym. Anticipation builds in you rapidly as you break into a slight run, impatience growing to catch whatever it is the rest of the world seemingly had developed a taste for lusting over. 

You’ve been fantasizing about it since the first time you had caught sight of the snippets of his workout segments on those live vlogs. Watching your man as the veins bulged on his strong arms, chest flexing, those broad shoulders rippling as he pulls down the bars, and then of course there were the series of breathless grunts that should come with a severe warning label. Those were not good for your sanity. 

And all the while, Jeon Jungkook had the audacity to look at the camera between reps with the cutest, widest, doe-eyed innocent look, as if he had no fucking idea how many panties were getting wet over his escapades. It was deliberate, you were sure of it. 

Yet here you were, slacking off work where you would have been eyes-deep in a yawn-fest of corporate takeovers and contracts that managed to stretch out what could be said in a few simple bullet points to over a hundred needless pages of over-complicated words. 

Now, surrounded with the smell of sweat, rubber and body spray, some adrenalin-pumping music drifting out of the speakers, you wonder if you had made the right call coming home early. You rarely came to the home gym, opting to go instead on outdoor runs in the fresh air at stupid o’clock in the mornings. You preferred the fresh air to being confined. 

Only a couple of hours earlier, you had made the mistake of accidentally clicking onto Jungkook’s latest upload, some intense, high-tempo workout involving him in a vest that clung to the defined, toned expanse of his body as his handsome face sheened with the sweat of effort. Seeing that had been like a direct yank to your core, releasing some feral desire to bury your head between those lean, muscular thighs and see if you could bring out more of those delicious sounds from him. 

You linger at the doorway for a beat, and already you can hear the sound of weights clattering, peppered with those sinful grunts every so often. You sigh, feeling the dull ache of arousal throb in your cunt. Slowly you enter, careful not to make any noise as your feet carry you towards the sound, knowing you would find him hard at it, headphones in his ear and definitely not expecting anyone, least of all you. You smile to yourself. This was going to be a surprise Jungkook would remember for a long, long time. 

It isn’t that you haven’t seen him work out before, you had seen glimpses here and there, but you hadn’t really paid it much mind. Distracted with work, your own scheduling, and not wanting to get in the way. You should have taken more notice.

He’s on the treadmill when you see him, back to you, the machine only at a brisk walking pace. You smirk and watch him for a few seconds —well, you’re really looking at his firm ass this time, while you try and restrain yourself from literally jumping on him. It wasn’t often that you even really saw Jungkook during or even after workouts, your respective work and fitness schedule such that both your times didn’t really orbit within one another’s —so this was a rarity. However, it was fast becoming apparent that you had in fact been missing out. 

You remove your heels and place them at the side, before walking up behind him, the rubber flooring silent beneath your feet. Jungkook would likely not have heard you anyway, as you can see the earbuds in his ears. The treadmill quickens, and he hums. You smile, he’s so lost in his workout, in his own world that even without the earbuds he probably wouldn’t have heard you anyway. It’s adorable, and it’s sexy. 

You want him. Bad. 

Heat pools in you as you near him. You can already smell the scent of his skin, the saltiness of sweat mixed with the masculine, musky scent he wears. Every sensible thought abandons you as he increases his pace. You’re close enough to really get a good look at him, see the sweat that darkens the fabric of his t-shirt, clinging to the muscles of his back and shoulders invitingly. 

You stop and continue to observe him, almost mesmerised as you take in how his legs move in a relentless rhythm, effortlessly, and the muscles in his thighs flex beneath his shorts with every stride. Every so often, he exhales a puff of breath and drags a hand through damp hair that falls across his forehead when he runs. 

You feel a little cheated at the unfairness, because you had definitely been missing out. 

Then suddenly, as if he had sensed you staring, Jungkook turns. His eyes find yours immediately, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a smile of both surprise and amusement. You don't look away. His expression changes into something that only exacerbates your arousal, hungry and predatory. He reaches for the buttons on the treadmill and brings the machine to a halt, slowly easing off without taking his eyes off you. 

You must look totally out of place, still dressed in your work attire of pristine white blouse and strict black pencil skirt, suit jacket done up with a single button and your hair pulled up tightly into a stylish chignon bun. 

Jungkook reaches up and pulls out his earbuds, thrusting them into his pockets. “Y/N,” he says, voice deep and edged with the last signs of breathlessness from exercising. “—What are you doing down here?”

Being asked the question so directly seems to put you at a loss for an answer, but before you can even attempt to claw one together, you see Jungkook smirk as he comes towards you. He’s all hard muscle, glistening sweat and pure, dark eyes and unadulterated sin.  

"Having fun?" he teases, biting the corner of his pierced lip. 

The motion is immediately followed by the swipe of the tip of his tongue, and your knees weaken, raw lust cascading over you in uncontrollable waves. You gasp as he nears, a nervous giggle escaping you as he comes to a halt a mere few inches away from you. 

“Uh, I…” you begin, your face reddening with guilt. “I had a free morning, so I thought I’d come back home and—”

“And what?” he interjects, raising an eyebrow. 

The small, curved barbell threaded through the outer edge catches the light in a sharp glint against his warm, sweat-dampened skin, The piercing always somehow makes him look even more dangerous when he's focused, all concentration and intensity, softening only when his gaze rests on you. It’s just adding to his appeal right now, and you swallow, your throat suddenly dry. 

Amusement registers in his eyes, and it’s as if he already knows exactly what you're thinking. The grin that appears is devastating. “It’s not like you to be lost for words,” he states teasingly. “See something you like?”

You fold your arms, pretending to consider the question, but you have zero ability to withstand the sheer sex appeal of your man, most especially when he’s looking at you like that.

"I just came to say hi, let you know I’m back," you finally manage. 

Idiot. What would you say that for? Now he’s going to go back to his workout and leave you needing to vent under a cold shower while he—

"I don’t believe that for a minute,” Jungkook says, his attention entirely on you. "You've been standing there watching me for a good few minutes now.”

Oh fuck! He’d known you were there? You’re mortified now. The man must have eyes in the back of his head or something, or some crazy intuition levels. “How did you—?”

“Your perfume,” Jungkook replies. “You think I can’t smell you a mile away?” 

You actually laugh at that, he never failed to surprise you. “So, you knew the whole time?” you say, narrowing your eyes. “That means you were definitely doing that on purpose."

"Doing what?" he asks, as if butter wouldn’t melt. "What am I doing? I’m just doing what I always do, Y/N —working out."

You gesture vaguely towards all of him. "You know exactly what you're doing."

He smirks dangerously in a way that usually means trouble for you. Jungkook moves in, reaching for a towel from nearby and mops the sweat from his face, his eyes never leaving yours. His breathing has deepened now, controlled but heavier than before. Something about seeing him like this, strong, focused, and completely in his element, makes it difficult to remember how to form coherent thoughts.

“Maybe I do,” Jungkook says, his voice low and husky. He throws the towel to one side with a flourish and within seconds, his arms snake around your waist and pull you to him. “But you were loving it.”

Stunned, you look back at him, your mouth parting as if to say words but nothing comes out. You watch as his expression changes, the cocky teasing disappearing to be replaced with the kind of intensity he reserves for what he really wants. Your hands come up to rest on the firm heat of his chest as you feel his fingers splay over the small of your back. You feel so tiny in his arms, like a bird in the claws of a panther. 

“Koo—” you breathe. 

“It’s nice to see you down here,” Jungkook murmurs, his eyes searching yours, his inked hand lifting to cup your face. “I’ve always wished you would join me.”

You curl your fingers around his wrist gently. “Maybe I will next time.”

"Good," he says quietly, his thumb rubbing across your chin before travelling up to rest at the flesh of your bottom lip. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You can feel the way you’re unravelling under his touch, even though he’s barely done anything at all. He hasn’t even kissed you yet, and already you’re burning as if you’re covered in sunrays unprotected. A soft hum leaves you as he presses his thumb down onto your lip with the slightest increase of pressure, the way he did when he held you down on the bed, pinned beneath his weight, and fucked you senseless. 

“I was trying to impress you, you know?" he confesses with a smile, thumb finding the corner of your mouth now. “I wanted you to want to be here with me.”

“You must have wanted it badly,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper. 

"I like you looking at me like that,” he says, pushing the tip of his thumb between your lips and onto the flat of your tongue. 

You moan, succumbing to your need as your tongue swirls around his digit sensually. You hear how his breath hitches, and your mouth closes around him, sucking at him. You can see the switch inside him flick as he pulls your body tighter to him, enabling you to feel his arousal hardening against your lower belly. 

You ease back a little and reach down between your bodies to palm over it over the fabric of his shorts as you nip at his thumb. He hisses, eyes onyx orbs that enthral you. Your hand climbs beneath his t-shirt, flexing against the skin of his abdomen, loving the heat and muscle of his body under your fingertips, feeling how he trembles when you go lower, fingers dipping under the waistband of his shorts. 

“Fuck, baby—” he gasps, reaching down to still your hand. “I’m all sweaty…”

You tiptoe and steal a kiss from his stunned mouth, disengaging away his hand from yours to resume your journey into his shorts, emboldened by the way he’s reacting to you. “I don’t care about that,” you tell him, kissing him again, open mouthed. “I want you.”

Jungkook takes your face in his large hands and kisses you hard, his tongue finding yours, pushing and probing into you. Meanwhile, your hand slides under the hem of his boxers, reaching in and making contact with the velvety smoothness of his stiff cock. 

He moans into your mouth as your hand wraps around the base determinedly, stroking his shaft bottom to top, your thumb gliding over the head to rub in his the precum that beads out all over the tip. Your mouth waters as you pull back from Jungkook’s kiss, regarding him with an almost defiant look as you slowly drop to your knees where you stand. 

“Oh, fuck!” you hear Jungkook whisper raggedly. 

You look up at him from where you kneel, hands working efficiently to free him from the constraints of his garments. Jungkook lifts his t-shirt, revealing his toned abs and giving you easier access as he stares down at you with glazed, lust-filled eyes. Moments later, his cock springs out, thick and wide and veiny, flopping up against his stomach as it stands to attention. 

He had such a beautiful cock. Jungkook’s eyes close as your fingers curl once more round the thickness, your head coming forward, tongue outstretched to collect the glistening beads of precum that continue to seep from his slit. The hit of salt travels from the tip of your tongue all the way to the back of your throat as you lick at him, invoking one of the filthiest sounds you had ever heard Jungkook make to fill the air. 

You can’t hold back for even another second as you flatten your tongue against the thick column of his cock, sliding it all the way from end to end. Your tongue protrudes to trace the prominent vein at the underside in a line from base to cockhead, before your lips surround his cock and pull it slowly into the wetness of your mouth. 

“God!” he grunts, one hand flying to the back of your head and embedding itself in your hair, tugging at your bun firmly to keep you in place, his cock desperately searching for more of your heat. “—Fucking hell, baby!” 

Your fingers stay curved around the base, pumping at him as your mouth works him simultaneously with deep, hungry sucks. You let his cockhead sit on your tongue as it swirls at him, swallowing down his precum, before he pushes his cock all the way into your mouth, enough that the tip hits the back of your throat. You fight to contain your gag reflex, insistent on delivering the best pleasure to him you could manage. 

Jungkook moans as he throws his head back, fully immersed in the attention of your mouth on his cock. He even seems to forget his own strength as he grips your hair, pushing your head between his powerful thighs, your throat impaled further by his thick, leaking cock. His moans are deep and guttural, the way he growls your name primal and animalistic. 

Your motions speed up, tongue flicking back and forth over his slit, more precum filling your tastebuds, his length throbbing in your mouth. Your eyes water as you bravely allow his cock to delve further into your throat with every surge into you, your arousal growing as you deepthroat him, gripping the base with one hand while your other hand works in tandem with your mouth. 

Jungkook holds you in place with unrelenting strength, his groans deepening as he edges towards release. You cup his heavy balls, stroking at them as you suck, and it takes him to a whole new level. The hairpin in your hair comes loose under his vigorous jerking, causing your tresses to fall down your back. Jungkook wastes no time in fisting a handful, fingers digging in so deep they press by your scalp with a heady mix of pain and pleasure. 

“Fuck, baby,” he growls. “How did you get so fucking good?” He grunts, shoving himself against you so you almost choke. “—I’m close!” 

You moan yourself, the intensity of Jungkook’s arousal increasing your own. The feel of the vibration of your sound sends him spiralling and he begins a series of filthy hot verbal as he pulls your hair, looking down at you working his cock. 

“This what you wanted, hm?” he breathes raggedly. “Want to taste my come? Want me to fill you up, baby, is that it?”

You hum your response, sucking harder and deeper at him, hands stroking him more firmly, lubricating at his length with your saliva. You’re drooling now, his thick cock almost too much for your mouth to handle without choking, but you soldier on despite the ache in your knees. 

“Fuck, baby, I’m—” Jungkook rasps, voice breaking as he groans loudly one last time, gripping at you so hard as he thrusts his cock so far into your mouth you whine in protest. 

But he doesn’t even hear it as his cock pulses and throbs, jerking against your tongue as thick streams of hot, creamy liquid bursts into your mouth, coating your tongue and finding its way down the back of your throat. You struggle to keep up with swallowing down each new wave as Jungkook thrusts into your mouth endlessly, moaning throatily as he empties himself into you. 

The sight of you swallowing him down causes his legs to buckle as he moans, rocking his hips as he tells you not to stop. You’re there for a good couple of minutes before finally he’s spent. You feel his cock twitch exhausted against your tongue, oversensitive as you lick every salty tang off him. You let his cock slide out of your mouth with a soft pop and he tucks himself away, before holding your hand and bringing you back to your feet. 

His expression is wrecked, mouth still parted, golden skin coated with the sheen of sweat. He looks breathlessly stunning. You lick your lips with a smile, filling with pride that it was you who had brought this gorgeous Adonis to this state. He looks back at you with lowered lashes, and gives you a devastating, satiated smile. 

“Satisfied?” he asks, eyes dropping to your mouth, watching carefully as you wipe at your wet lips with the back of your hand. 

“Mmhmm,” you say with a nod. 

He draws you to him, caressing your cheek with long fingers. “I think I can better that,” he tells you, his dark eyes glinting dangerously. 

One look at him standing there flushed from his climax, damp hair curling at his forehead, eyes shining and looking at you as if he could do a few hundred more rounds is enough to remind you how succeeds in seducing you so easily every single time. 

A fresh wave of arousal overcomes you, but before you can say another word, Jungkook’s arms tighten around you and he lifts you up, hoisting you over his shoulder as if you weigh nothing more than a bag of feathers. 

“Koo!” you squeal in a way that sounds more like excitement than a protest of any description. “—What are you doing?”

Jungkook laughs. “I hope you’re ready, baby” he says. Your heart thumps as he carries you out of the gym and towards the bedroom. “Because I’m missing a workout—.”

thanks for reading |

[joonam]

by royal decree - chapter 3 | jjk

Pairing: Captain!Jungkook x Reader (f)

Genre: kingdom!au, captain!au, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, politics, hidden agenda, slooooooow burn, angst, and fluff.

Summary: You've spent your whole life avoiding soldiers and marriage. The same goes for Captain Jungkook who has no interest in a wife. To you, he's everything you've sworn to hate. But to him, you're the best pawn on the board. Then the Queen, who has never once been wrong about a match, handed you both a letter neither of you gets to refuse.

Warnings: language

Word count: 11k

a/n: wow... a long ass chapter, but i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it! 🤍 and as always, let me know what you think!! 🤍

check out my: masterlist | pic creds to: pinterest (i cant find the owner 🙁)

prologue | chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

taglist: @jiwikiwi @uknowme01 @bat1man @myr-sam0 @bruhmoonlight @mar-lo-pap @starrlo0ver @hobisdream @bjoriis @prodigyoongi @avatarofsimping @almatiarau @misschelliejeon @next-bex-bet @wh3r3isnana @jendeuk123 @graydolan12 @ianeaniee @jksusawife @75sblues @jarofer @senaqsstuff @cherryreadsfics @whoa-jo @cherryminie95 @secretsmutcollection @likexaxdaydream @aasheunoia @oceangodsss @impossiblecopoaffire @bangatanily @pretty-little-things-are-real @beomikeus @lovingkoalaface @sweetstuff1547 @polnaraffsrack @kooko009 @yama24 @uhmsothisiscrazy @unstableunic0rn @noookiiieee

The morning of Margot's wedding, you were woken up before the sun was even up in the sky.

"Wake up, my lady," Daisy said, already laying out three different gowns across the end of your bed, "we have a great deal to do and very little time to do them."

"I am aware of the wedding, Daisy," you said, burying your face back into the pillow, "I have been aware of it for months."

"Yes, well, my lady, then you should know you need to be dressed for this occasion."

You groaned into your pillow and let yourself exactly four more minutes of being glued to the bed. You knew you had to wake up soon either way since Daisy would simply stand there patiently, holding your dressing gown for as long as it takes you.

The gown Daisy had chosen for you was a soft blush pink, embroidered along it was small silver dots that caught the light whenever you moved, and you had to admit that it was a lovely dress even if you resented slightly how much effort was needed to attend your sister’s wedding.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Daisy said, stepping back to admire her work once your hair was done, "Lady Margot will be very pleased."

"Lady Margot is getting married today," you said, "I doubt she will spare a single thought for what I am wearing."

"Perhaps not," Daisy agreed before smiling and said, "but Captain Jungkook might."

You gave her a look with which Daisy immediately busied herself with your gloves instead, though you noticed she did not seem the least bit sorry.

Outside your room, the servants were already hard at work preparing for the wedding. Your mother stood in the front hall directing two footmen struggling with an enormous arrangement of white roses. Your father came out of his study, already dressed, looking overwhelmed by the constant stream of instructions flying around him.

You made your way down to join them, smoothing your dress as you went.

"There you are," your mother said, turning to look at you, “you look lovely, sweetheart. Truly. Though I do wish you would smile more often. It would suit that gown considerably better than the expression you're wearing now."

"I'm smiling, mother."

"No, you are fake smiling my dear, there is a difference," your mother smiled knowingly, "I've been watching your face your entire life, you won't fool me."

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You have already known, of course, that you would be expected to be at the wedding with Captain Jeon Jungkook beside you.

Your mother informed you of this arrangement days earlier, you tried to argue back but your mother had no intention of discussing this matter. When you argued, she just listened, nodded once at you, and carried on as if you had said nothing at all to her.

"It is customary," she said, “for a betrothed couple to attend events together, people will expect it."

"People should find something else to concern themselves with," you said, rolling your eyes.

And that was the end of the conversation.

At half past nine, you stood in the entrance hall of the Ashwell townhouse, staring through the front window as a black carriage bearing the Jeon crest stopped just right outside.

Your stomach turned into knots the moment you saw him.

Captain Jeon Jungkook stepped down in full dress uniform. He wore the same navy coat with polished silver buttons that you first saw him by the fountain, though today every seam was pressed perfectly. And there were more medals pinned to his chest than you remembered.

“You are wearing your uniform,” you said as soon as he entered the townhouse, before Jungkook was even finished bowing to your mother.

“I am a soldier, Lady Ashwell,” Jungkook replied as he straightened himself, “it would be rather strange if I wore anything else.”

“It is your future sister-in-law’s wedding, not a military inspection.”

“I assumed the two occasions required much the same thing,” he said, before adding, “standing still for long periods and making oneself presentable.”

You rolled your eyes at him as your index finger pointed to the medals on his chest, “Sure, but you look as if you intend to frighten the guests into behaving themselves.”

His eyes briefly dropped to the medals on his chest, “Would that be such a terrible thing?”

“Half the room will think we are under attack.”

“If the room is under attack,” Jungkook said, completely unbothered, “I would rather be properly dressed for it.”

“There is not going to be an attack at a wedding, Captain,” you scoffed.

“You would be surprised, my lady. I have heard stories.”

"Name one," you said, raising your eyebrows at him.

“I could not possibly. The officer who told me swore me to secrecy, and I take my oaths rather more seriously than you seem to think,” Jungkook said.

“You could have worn anything in your entire wardrobe, and you chose the one outfit designed to remind everyone that you carry a sword and a gun. I clearly underestimated how much soldiers enjoy showing off,” you stated.

"I do not have the sword or the gun with me," Jungkook said, smiling at you.

"How generous of you," you mocked.

"I thought it might be considered excessive for a wedding," Jungkook said.

"And the medals are not excessive?"

"The medals were earned, my lady. They are not ornaments," Jungkook said, "I would have thought a woman of your intelligence would be able to tell it apart.”

"My intelligence is not in question, Captain. Yours might be, if you think I care to admire your medals," you scoffed, "my sister is getting married today, this is not a military meeting."

"If it troubles you so greatly, Lady Ashwell, you are welcome to inform your future husband precisely what he ought to wear to future occasions. I am told wives do this rather often."

"I am not your wife yet," you said.

"No," Jungkook said, you could see the grin on his face deepening as he added, "you are not my wife yet. I guess you could consider this a preview of everything you have to look forward to."

"How dreadful," you responded.

"I thought you might say so,” he said, smiling at you. 

Your mother cut in before either of you could continue, ushering the two of you towards the second carriage and muttering that she had no intention of arriving late to her own daughter’s wedding.

The journey to the chapel was not a long one, but it felt considerably longer. You spent most of it watching Jungkook from across the narrow space between the seats, trying to understand whether the uniform was meant to intimidate everyone he was about to meet or whether it was simply the only formal clothing he owned.

"You are staring," Jungkook said, still looking out of the window.

"I am trying to decide whether to insult you or allow you the comfort of not knowing what I am thinking," you replied. 

"How generous of you to consider the alternative," Jungkook said with a faint smile, "though I confess I find your insults considerably more entertaining than your silences."

“That is only because you have not yet heard a proper one,” you scoffed.

“I look forward to it, then,” Jungkook said, grinning as he finally turned to face you.

“You should not look forward to it. I may wound what little pride you have left.”

“I was not aware you thought I had so little,” Jungkook replied, acting as if he was surprised.

“I was trying to be generous,” you rolled your eyes at him.

Jungkook laughed softly before answering, “You must stop doing that, it does not suit you.”

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The chapel was already half full by the time you arrived. The sunlight shone through the tall windows and the scent of white lilies struck your nose so immediately that you nearly sneezed as you walked into the chapel. Margot’s wedding was the wedding of the season, and it seemed as if the entire nobles in the city came to judge this for themselves. 

You were seated beside Jungkook, in the second row reserved for family, and you spent the ceremony watching your sister walk down the aisle in a gown so beautiful that you couldn’t help but feel happiness for her. Margot has never once in her life looked so certain of anything until you saw her walking down the aisle towards the Baron of Rohan. 

Despite everything you had said about marriage, you found yourself wondering whether your own wedding might be this joyful. Then you glanced at the man seated beside you and remembered that your wedding would hardly resemble Margot’s.

Of course the Queen had chosen a soldier for you. It seemed fitting, somehow. Margot and your other sisters had always been the proper daughters, while you had spent most of your life as the family’s odd one out. Why should your marriage be any less unconventional?

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The reception was held in the gardens of the Rohan estate, where you spent the first half hour trailing dutifully beside Jungkook as he was greeting what felt like every person in the entire kingdom.

It was exhausting standing beside Jungkook while he charmed an entire garden one guest at a time. You watched as Jungkook bowed to a countess whose name you have already forgotten then he spoke to a retired general about a war he fought thirty years earlier. Jungkook’s questions were so precise that the old man’s face was glowing with the pleasure of being taken seriously. A few moments later, Jungkook complimented a young lord’s coat with such sincerity that the boy’s face turned red and he spent the next several minutes looking back at Jungkook with admiration.

"You are very good at this," you said, once the young lord wandered off far away enough from the two of you.

"At what?" Jungkook asked curiously. 

"Making people feel as if they are the only person in the garden worth speaking to," you answered.

“I am pleased to know you were watching me, my lady,” Jungkook said, glancing at you with a faint smile, “it is a useful skill. You would be surprised how far it carries a man that started with little connections.”

"I am not surprised at all," you said, "I have simply never seen anyone quite so thorough about it."

"Would you prefer I were rude to your sister’s guests instead?"

“I would rather see you behave the same way with everyone,” you said before you could stop yourself, “instead of becoming whoever each of them wishes to meet.”

“Connections are politics, my lady. So are conversations,” Jungkook replied, “if I treated everyone in precisely the same manner, I would not be standing where I am today.”

You did not know how to answer that. And before you could think of a clever way of answering Jungkook, a cluster of young ladies walked towards the two of you.

“Captain Jeon!” called the young woman at the front of the group, a pretty blonde woman you vaguely recognised as some baron’s daughter. She pressed one hand to her chest and smiled up at him, “we simply had to tell you how distinguished you looked during the ceremony!”

“I heard you were very brave, Captain,” said another woman. She was a brunette and she was standing a little too close to Jungkook than necessary. From the way she leaned towards him, making certain Jungkook had an excellent view of her cleavage, it was obvious that she wanted his attention. “My cousin served under a captain in the eastern regiment,” she continued, “he said the northern campaign under Captain Jungkook was the most dangerous one and yet here you are, entirely unharmed and twice as handsome for having survived it.”

“You are too kind,” Jungkook replied.

To his credit, his eyes remained fixed politely on her face. Still, the faint smile at the corner of his lips suggested he was not entirely displeased by the attention.

You let out a small sound before you could stop yourself, something between a scoff and a cough that indicated how disgusted you were at the scene in front of you. You felt three pairs of eyes turning towards you with disapproval, as if you just interrupted a church service.

"Forgive me," you said, "something caught in my throat."

“How unfortunate,” the blonde said, though she did not seem like she believed you even for a second. 

She turned back to Jungkook and lowered her voice, “Captain, I do hope your future wife understands what a treasure she is receiving. You took excellent care of the women fortunate enough to capture your attention. Isabelle told me herself not four weeks ago, and she did not strike me as a woman to exaggerate.”

The third lady, who until this point has said nothing at all, gave a small smile into her champagne glass that told you more than she likely intended, “I am certain whoever marries you will be very well cared for, Captain,” she said, her eyes lifted to his, “in every sense of the word, I can speak from the one night experience I had with you.”

You felt heat across your face, whether it came from embarrassment or anger, you couldn’t really tell. But before you could come up with a response, Jungkook let out a laugh beside you. 

"You are too kind," Jungkook said again, "though I confess, ladies, you have caught me at an unfair advantage. Allow me to introduce you properly to my fiance, so that you might direct your very generous concern for her happiness at the lady herself, rather than at me."

Before you could react, Jungkook placed his hand at your back and pulled you half a step closer to him. The movement somehow felt so familiar, that it startled you into silence.

"Lady Ashwell," Jungkook said, glancing down at you, "forgive me. I should have introduced her sooner.”

Three pairs of eyes swept over you then, from your head to the edges of your gown and back to your eyes again.

"How lovely," the blonde one said, in a voice that suggested she did not find you lovely at all, "we did hear that the youngest Ashwell daughter kept mostly to her books. I confess I did not picture you quite so…” she paused, "...quiet."

"I am considerably less quiet than most people expect," you replied, "though I understand the confusion. I simply prefer to save my opinions for matters important enough to deserve them.”

Beside you, Jungkook turned his face away and bit the inside of his lip, evidently trying not to laugh.

The brunette one smiled at you, entirely unashamed of having spent the last several minutes displaying her cleavage to your future husband in front of you, "Well," she said, "I am sure the Captain will keep you very well looked after."

“I am sure he will try,” you said. Then, with a smile, you added, “Though you need not concern yourselves on my account. I have never been the jealous type. I have no objection to mistresses, provided they are discreet and do not expect me to do anything for them.”

The silence that followed was without question, the most satisfying silence you have had all day.

The ladies’ mouth opened, then closed again, apparently unable to find a suitable reply. While Jungkook went completely still beside you and when you glanced up at him, his expression was somewhere between horror and admiration.

“My lady has a rather strange sense of humour,” Jungkook said smoothly, trying to fix up the mess you have made, “she enjoys making people uncomfortable.”

“I was not joking,” you said.

“Oh, she was,” Jungkook repeated more firmly, and you felt his hand tighten slightly against the fabric around your back.

“Well. How very… modern of you, Lady Ashwell,” the blonde lady said with a stiff smile, clearly not knowing what to make of what you just said, “If you will excuse us, Captain, I believe my mother is looking for me.”

The other two murmured their excuses and followed her, retreating with considerably less grace than they did when they joined the two of you.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

“Mistresses,” Jungkook repeated the word again once the ladies were out of sight. 

He turned to look at you properly for the first time since the word left your mouth, “You have just told three of the most notorious gossips in the kingdom that you would not object to me keeping mistresses.”

“You did not exactly discourage them,” you replied, “you were remarkably gracious to the one showing off her cleavage.”

“I was being polite.”

“You were being admired, Captain, and you seemed perfectly content to allow it.”

“A gentleman simply declines to be rude about where a lady chooses to direct the conversation,” Jungkook answered.

“How very diplomatic of you,” you scoffed.

“I have had a great deal of practice,” he said, looking far too pleased with himself.

“I gathered as much.”

“But whatever you intended, my lady,” Jungkook continued, steering the conversation away, “that remark will be repeated at every dinner table in the city before the evening ends.”

“Good. Perhaps it will finally convince everyone that we are as catastrophically unsuited as I have been saying since the fountain,” you said as you smiled sweetly at him.

“Or it will convince the entire city that you are far more interesting than anyone gave you credit for, and that I am remarkably fortunate in my choice of wife,” Jungkook replied, smirking at you, clearly satisfied with his conclusion.

“That was not my intention,” you let out a small gasp before you could stop it. The most irritating part was that Jungkook might be right. Once the story spread, the nobles would not pity him for being forced to marry you.

They would envy him for it and even found the two of you as being suitable for each other.

“No,” he agreed, smiling again, “I did not imagine it was your intention and yet here we are.”

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

It was not long afterwards, during yet another round of introductions, that you noticed a man standing near the refreshment table. He was watching you with amusement, as if he had been waiting to see how long it would take for you to notice him.

He was tall, dressed in a deep green coat that stood out among the black and navy worn by nearly every other gentleman in the garden. His dark hair was left slightly untidy, some strands of his hair falling across his forehead. 

The moment your eyes met, he grinned at you.

“Taehyung!” you exclaimed, leaving Jungkook’s side without a second thought, “you came.”

“Of course I came,” Taehyung replied, closing the space between the two of you and taking both of your hands in his, “I would not have missed Margot’s wedding for anything.”

His grin widened, “Besides, I heard my favourite Ashwell daughter somehow managed to get herself engaged.”

"I have missed you!" you said, smiling at him. 

“Me too, I have missed you too,” Taehyung replied and smiled back at you.

Taehyung is now living on the other side of the country, where he spent the past several years managing the estate he inherited from his father. Between tenants and the endless demands of the property, he rarely had a reason to return to the capital. You have not seen him in nearly a year, but you exchange letters every month which has been enough to make the distance feel less severe.

What you did not know was that Taehyung had no intention of returning to his home across the country. He came to settle in the capital for good, a decision made shortly after learning that the woman he always believed he would one day marry is now engaged to someone else. Taehyung also knew that you did not choose the match yourself. You never hid your dislike of soldiers, and he could not believe that, given any choice at all, you would have agreed to marry one.

Jungkook, who followed you just a few steps behind, arrived just in time to hear Taehyung’s confession of missing you. He extended his hand to Taehyung as he introduced himself,  “Captain Jeon Jungkook.”

“Kim Taehyung,” the other man replied, accepting his hand, “a very very old friend of the lady’s.”

“Very old?” Jungkook repeated.

“Since childhood,” you explained.

“I see,” Jungkook’s expression remained perfectly composed, but his gaze moved briefly between the two of you.

It did not take Jungkook long to understand. Taehyung was still holding one of your hands, seemingly unaware of it. Even while speaking to Jungkook, Taehyung’s attention continued to drift back to you, his expression softening each time it did.

Jungkook’s smile did not falter. His grip on Taehyung’s hand, however, lasted a moment longer than necessary. Jungkook spent years learning how to read a room, and Kim Taehyung was not particularly difficult to understand. He watched you too closely, smiled too readily whenever you spoke, and seemed to forget Jungkook was standing there each time you turned towards him. 

Taehyung was in love with you and judging by the familiarity between the two of you, he had been for some time, even long before Jungkook’s name ever entered the Ashwell household.

It was an interesting complication, Jungkook thought to himself, “How do you know one another?” Jungkook asked, mostly to see which of you would answer first.

"We grew up together," you said, "our families' estates share a border. Taehyung used to climb over the garden wall to steal fruit, and I used to pretend I hadn't seen him do it."

"She saw me every single time," Taehyung said, "and always ended up telling her governess anyway."

"You deserved it," you laughed before adding, "you also stole my favorite book once and did not return it for an entire year."

"I was still reading it," Taehyung said, “and I wanted to enjoy it properly."

Jungkook watched the two of you argue and it told him more than either of you seemed to realise. And he felt something uncomfortable somewhere behind his ribs, it was not jealousy because being jealous would have required him to want something, and Jungkook did not want you in any form or any way. 

Jungkook was just feeling cautious. 

Taehyung knew you well enough to recognise when you were lying, or when you were keeping something from him. He knew your habits, history and, judging by the way you spoke to him, had earned a degree of trust from you that Jungkook himself was unlikely to receive any time soon. 

And that could very well become a problem, not because Jungkook cared whom you spend your time with, he did not. But the work ahead would depend on discretion, and if Taehyung believed himself to be responsible for your safety and happiness, he would inevitably begin asking inconvenient questions and watching the Jeon household a little too closely. 

If Taehyung remained in the capital, he would likely be the first person you turned to whenever you discovered something you did not understand. And if he was as devoted to you as Jungkook suspected, he would not simply look the other way.

Kim Taehyung was not yet a threat to Jungkook, but he was a man worth watching.

“If you will both excuse me,” Jungkook said after a moment, “I believe I owe your father a conversation, Lady Ashwell, and I would rather not keep the duke waiting.”

“Of course,” you replied. 

He could hear the relief in your voice at his departure, but Jungkook chose not to say anything about it. He gave Taehyung a slight bow, and made his way towards your father at the other end of the pavilion.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

"So," Taehyung said, the moment Jungkook was gone, leaning against the refreshment table, "that is the military man you are being forced to marry."

"That is him," you said with a sigh.

"He seems," Taehyung said, choosing his words carefully, "very composed."

"That is one word for it," you laughed.

"What word would you use to describe him instead?"

"Insufferable," you said, "arrogant, and entirely too pleased with himself.”

"That does sound like exactly the sort of person you would find intolerable," Taehyung said, grinning, "though I confess it also sounds rather more interesting than I expected, given how the letter your mother sent me described him. She made him sound like a noble war hero out of a children's story."

"He is apparently precisely that to everyone except me," you said, "my father adores him, my mother adores him. And I am, apparently, the only person in the entire kingdom and Ashwell household capable of seeing him clearly."

"And what do you see, exactly?" Taehyung asked.

“I do not know,” you admitted, “only that it is not what everyone else sees. He is different with them than he is with me, and I cannot decide whether that is more unsettling than if he treated everyone equally badly.”

“You think he is hiding something,” Taehyung answered.

“I know he is hiding something. I simply do not know what.”

Taehyung studied you for some time, and the amusement across his face turned into something more serious, "You do not have to marry him," he said, "you know that, don't you?"

“I am fairly certain the Queen of Leon would disagree,” you answered as you glanced around the garden. The guests nearby were far too occupied with champagne and other gossip to notice either of you, but you lowered your voice before adding, “But I have three weeks before the wedding and I intend to spend every one of them finding a way out of it.”

Taehyung’s brows lifted as he noticed the look on your face, “You already have a plan.”

“Yes, I may have one,” you smiled at your childhood friend. 

“Of course you do,” he said, grinning, “you never were very good at waiting for someone else to rescue you.”

“I have found it much quicker to rescue myself,” you replied, smiling back at him.

“And considerably more entertaining for everyone involved,” he added, laughing softly.

"There is a convent, the Sisters of Saint Joseph, it is only a ten hours journey from here,” you said, lowering your voice further.

Taehyung’s grin faded, “A convent?”

“My father keeps several old volumes of Church law in his study. No one else in the house has ever bothered to read them, which meant I could.”

“Of course you did,” Taehyung murmured.

You ignored him as you explained the first part of your plan, “If a woman presents herself to a religious order and declares that she intends to commit herself to the church, she cannot be dragged away. Not without the consent of the presiding bishop.”

“Not even by her family?” Taehyung asked.

“Not by her family,” you said, “and, as far as I have been able to understand, not even by the Crown.”

Taehyung stared at you for a long moment, clearly trying to understand what you were suggesting, “You mean to become a nun.”

“I mean to make myself extraordinarily difficult to marry off,” you replied, “The Queen may write as many letters as she pleases, but she cannot order the Church to hand me back without a fight. And I doubt she will want one over a marriage arranged largely for her own amusement.”

Taehyung’s expression remained serious as he asked, “You believe the convent will protect you?”

“I believe it will delay them in marrying me off,” you lowered your voice, “it will give me time to write to Her Majesty myself and explain why I will not consent to this marriage.”

“And you think that will help you?”

“It might,” you said, “at the very least, it will make forcing me to the altar considerably more inconvenient.”

Taehyung said nothing for a moment. A convent was not the future he imagined for you, but it was not a marriage either. In the convent, you would be beyond Jungkook’s reach, and beyond the Queen’s, at least for a time.

And vows to the church did not have to be permanent. If you changed your mind, or found some way to leave the convent later, Taehyung could take you across the country with him, somewhere far from the capital, where no one would think to look for you until it was too late.

Perhaps the convent was not an ending to Taehyung’s love story with you. Perhaps it was merely a place to keep you until he could take you away.

"That is," Taehyung finally said, "genuinely clever and frighteningly so, if I am honest."

"I have had a great deal of time to think about it, and even if I have the idea, I still cannot execute it unless… you are willing to help me.”

"What do you need from me?"

“I need a carriage no one would connect to either of our families,” you said, “and a driver willing to drive me to the convent without asking questions. I cannot hire one myself without attracting attention, and I certainly cannot use one of my father’s drivers,” you looked at Taehyung whose expression grew even more serious, “but you know people. Could you arrange it?”

“I know exactly the man,” Taehyung replied, “he is quiet, discreet, and has done far stranger favours for me without ever speaking of them again.”

“Good, exactly what I needed,” you answered.

Taehyung smiled faintly at you, “Tell me when and where, and I will have him waiting.”

“Two days from now,” you answered, “there is a pastry shop on Fenwick Lane, near the library. I visit often enough that no one would question it if they see me there. If the carriage waits nearby, I could be outside the city before anyone at home realised I was missing.”

“Fenwick Lane,” Taehyung repeated, “I know where it is.”

“Good. Late morning, then. Around eleven,” you lowered your voice, “I will tell Daisy I want to spend the day at the library. From there, it is only a short walk to the pastry shop.”

“And if the carriage is waiting nearby,” Taehyung continued, “then you could be outside the city before anyone realised you were missing.”

“Precisely!” you answered, a little too excitedly. 

"What happens if the Sisters will not have you? If they ask questions you cannot answer, or send word to your father the moment you arrive?"

"Then I will have lost a day and gained nothing," you said, "but I do not intend to fail for lack of preparation. I have already written the letter I mean to present them,explaining precisely what I wish to pursue in the convent and why. I have even practiced more than once, exactly how I mean to say it."

"You have thought of everything."

"I have thought of it a great deal," you said.

"Do you remember," he said, "when we were children, and you decided the two of us should run away and live in the old boathouse by the lake?"

"I remember you eating all the food we had packed within the first hour,” you answered.

"I was a growing boy," Taehyung answered, laughing at the memories coming back to him, "and you were entirely too focused on your book to notice I was hungry."

"We lasted four hours before your mother found us."

"Four glorious hours," Taehyung said, "the finest afternoon of my childhood, and here we are again, planning the same sort of scheme only with considerably higher stakes,” Taehyung’s expression turned even more serious when he concluded, “I will accompany you to the convent, ____."

"Are you certain?" you asked, looking at him anxiously.

"Entirely," Taehyung said, taking your hand and pressing it between both of his, "I promised you, a very long time ago, that I would always come when you needed me. I do not intend to start breaking that promise now."

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The study in the Jeon townhouse was lit by only a few candles. The windows were shut, and the curtains had been drawn tightly across them.

Jungkook returned from the reception an hour earlier, still carrying the faint smell of champagne. He barely finished changing out of his uniform when the first of the revolutionists’ leaders arrived.

Jimin came in first. Seokjin followed soon after, tracking mud across the carpet without the slightest sign of regret. Dennis and Kilian arrived together, still arguing quietly about a shipment. Hana slipped in behind them without drawing attention to herself. And Walter, as usual, came last and appeared to be amused that everyone else bothered to arrive on time.

Owen was already there, seated on the floor beside the fire with his back against the fireplace. He looked far more pleased than he usually seemed. 

“You look rather satisfied with yourself,” Jungkook said, lowering himself into the chair behind his desk. He reached for the small stack of correspondence Jimin had left there earlier, “which usually means something has gone either very right or very wrong.”

“Neither,” Owen replied, “or maybe both. It depends on how you choose to look at it.”

"That is not an answer," Seokjin snorted.

"I will only say it until everyone is seated," Owen said, "I would rather not tell this story twice."

Seokjin, who claimed his usual spot by the fireplace next to Owen, said, "If this is another story about the Duke of Pemberton's new stables, Owen, I swear I will throw you into the fire myself."

"It is not about the stables," Owen confirmed.

“Then I am all ears,” Seokjin said.

Once everyone had settled, Owen leaned forward, looking far too pleased with whatever he had discovered, “You will all remember that I have a man in service at the Rohan estate,” Owen said, “he has been there for a little over two years, mostly pouring wine and pretending not to hear what the nobility says in front of him and as it turns out, they say considerably more than they should.”

“We remember your man at Rohan,” Jimin said dryly, “you have mentioned him once or twice.”

“Yes, well, tonight he earned every mention,” Owen said, overly proud of the man, “he was serving refreshments near the garden this afternoon during the wedding, less than ten feet from where Captain J’s fiance was having a conversation with an old friend of hers, a Mister Kim Taehyung. If I remembered correctly.”

Jungkook was going through the correspondence with only half his attention but at the mention of Taehyung’s name, he stopped and set the letters down, “Go on,” Jungkook said.

"My man did not think much of it at first," Owen continued, "young people talk, and he had a tray of champagne to attend to. But then he heard the word convent, which is not a word young nobles typically mention and he had the good sense to linger a moment longer than necessary."

"A convent?" Dennis repeated, glancing towards Jungkook.

"The Sisters of Saint Joseph," Owen said, “ten hours journey from the capital. Apparently your lady has spent her free time reading Church law in her father's study, and has arrived at the conclusion that a woman who presents herself to a religious order, cannot be dragged away from it. Not by her family, and as far as she has been able to find out, not even by the Crown."

The room went silent.

"She means to become a nun," Kilian slowly said.

"Yes," Owen said, "or to make herself inconvenient even for the Crown to marry her off.”

Seokjin let out a long whistle, "That is genuinely brilliant for a noble lady to come up with," he said, “Captain, your future wife has found a loophole, and she stumbled upon it in her father's study out of what, boredom?"

"Is it true? Could it really work?" Hana asked, turning towards Kilian, who has the closest thing among them to formal legal training.

“It is true,” Kilian said, “the law has fallen out of common use, but it was never formally removed from Church law and no monarch in the last two centuries has cared to challenge it publicly, not when doing so would risk an unnecessary conflict with the church.”

Kilian glanced towards Jungkook, “If Lady Ashwell presents herself willingly and the bishop agrees to accept her, the Crown would need his cooperation to remove her. Forcing the matter could provoke a conflict with the Church, and I doubt the Crown cares enough about this marriage to risk one.”

“So it would work,” Dennis said, “Lady Ashwell could avoid the marriage.”

“It could work,” Kilian agreed, “provided the bishop has no particular loyalty to the Crown and that is not something any of us can determine from this room tonight.”

"I am this close to writing to the woman myself and offering my services," Seokjin said, "purely out of interest. It is not every day one meets a noblewoman capable of citing Church law to inconvenience the Crown."

"You would be wasting the paper," Jimin replied, "she despises soldiers, and I imagine she would despise you within the first three sentences you say to her."

“I am remarkably charming in writing,” Seokjin protested, “far more charming than I am in person.”

Jungkook ignored their bickering and leaned back in his chair, resting one hand against his mouth. For a long moment, he said nothing, but the look in his eyes made it clear that he was considering the matter far more carefully than his silence suggested.

"Well, Captain?" Seokjin said, after the silence stretched long enough, "you have gone very quiet. Should we be concerned?"

Jungkook let out a short and unexpected laugh that startled everyone into glancing up to look at him.

"Look what we are up against," Jungkook said, shaking his head slightly, "she is clearly an intelligent noble lady.”

Jungkook lowered his hand from his mouth, “I have spent the better part of the week wondering whether she might eventually discover what goes on in this house. Now I find she has already devised a way to outplay the Crown, entirely on her own with nothing more than books.”

"You sound almost proud of her," Seokjin said. 

“There is more,” Owen continued, “she does not intend to travel alone. Her friend, Kim Taehyung, has agreed to accompany her. And he will be arranging the carriage and driver through a contact of his own. They are meeting the day after tomorrow, late in the morning, outside a pastry shop on Fenwick Lane. From there, they intend to travel directly to the convent.”

"A driver," Walter answered, speaking for the first time that evening, "did your man happen to overhear a description of this driver?"

"Kim Taehyung apparently described him as someone who has done far stranger favors for him before and never once spoken of them again."

Walter went silent for a moment, and then, slowly, a smile began to spread across his face, "That," Walter said, "sounds a very great deal like Theo."

Every head in the room turned towards Walter.

"Theo," Jimin repeated, "our Theo?"

"How many discreet men in this city do you imagine go about arranging carriages for young lords who cannot be seen doing anything themselves?" Walter said, "Kim Taehyung has used him three times before, to my knowledge. Theo has been moving things and people around the capital for nobles for half a decade which is precisely why he has been useful to us for nearly as long."

"You are telling me," Jungkook said slowly, "that the very driver Kim Taehyung intends to hire to help Lady Ashwell move out of the city already belongs to the revolutionists."

"Yes," Walter confirmed, " the city is smaller than any of the nobles ever care to admit, and that discretion from a servant is a rarer trade than they assume. There are only so many men in the capital willing to drive a carriage and ask no questions.”

Seokjin let out a delighted laugh and clapped his hands together, "This is the finest turn of luck I have heard in months," he continued, "the woman devises a plan clever enough to trouble the Crown, and it will be for nothing because the driver she has actually works for us."

"Here is what I believe we should do," Jungkook said, standing up from his chair, “first, Kim Taehyung cannot be permitted to travel with her. If he is present, he will become a pain in our plan. He clearly cares for her, which means he will not simply stand by and allow anything to happen, however carefully we stage it."

"You want him delayed," Dennis said.

"I want him to be occupied by something else," Jungkook corrected, "somewhere convincing enough that he won’t suspect it was arranged. Otherwise, he will go straight to her, and everything that has just fallen into our hands will become considerably more difficult.”

“An emergency,” Owen interrupted, “something urgent enough to demand his assistance.. an accident, perhaps or a stranger in distress.”

"He strikes me as precisely the sort of man who cannot walk past someone in need without stopping to help," Jungkook said, "arrange it for the morning of. Somewhere along his route to Fenwick Lane, close enough that he will still believe he has time to reach her afterward, and far enough that by the time he realises otherwise, it will already be too late to matter."

“How long a delay are we aiming for?” Dennis asked, already reaching for a scrap of paper and pencil, as he always did once a plan began to take a shape.

“Thirty minutes. She may wait that long, but no longer, she does not strike me as the sort to wait indefinitely when something of this nature is concerned,” Jungkook replied.

“Then we should also think of the possibility that she might not pick Theo’s carriage at all, without Taehyung present,” Dennis said, “if her patience runs out, she may simply hire the nearest available coach herself. In that case, Theo may never be the man who drives her.”

“Then Theo should not be the only man we rely on,” Kilian said, “I shall speak to others besides him, men I trust to take her where she is to be taken. Better more nets than one, Captain, considering how clever she has already proved herself to be.”

"See to it," Jungkook said, "I would rather spend the day bribing every coachman on Fenwick Lane or making sure they are all part of the revolutionists than risk losing track of her because we assumed she would behave predictably. What concerns me is what becomes of every person in this room and everything we have spent years working toward if she succeeds in leaving. because the future of the revolutionists are relying on this marriage.”

“I can deploy two men to delay Kim Taehyung, so consider him handled,” Jimin said, still scratching notes across his his paper.

“Good,” Jungkook said, before turning his attention to Walter, “I shall leave Theo to you. He is to do precisely as Kim Taehyung expects until it no longer serves us for him to do so. She must not suspect the carriage itself, and she is not to be taken to the convent at all.”

Jungkook paused, his expression turning even more serious, “I want her to be brought somewhere more convenient for us, and I would prefer that she discover the change of plans only when it is far too late to alter her own.”

"You are enjoying this," Seokjin said, teasing his Captain.

"I am doing what is necessary," Jungkook said, though the corner of his own mouth curved into a small smile, "the fact that I might also find it entertaining is a separate matter."

Seokjin held up both hands in surrender, grinning as he made his way toward the door, "For what it's worth, I would pay a great deal of money to see her face the moment she realises."

"So would I," Jimin admitted.

Jungkook thought to himself for the second time that week, that it was a great pity you would never know how much your intelligence have impressed him.

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The next two days you spent behaving exactly as you always do. But your mother, it turned out, could somehow see straight through you regardless.

Breakfast the following morning was  quieter than usual, Margot already moved to the Rohan’s household, and your father was already gone to his study with a stack of correspondence relating to your marriage. 

Your mother was the only one present, sitting just across from you, "You have not touched your eggs," she said.

"I am not hungry,” you answered.

"You are never hungry the morning after you have decided to do something," your mother said, setting her cup down, "I have watched you do this since you were seven years old, ____. You go quiet, you push your food around your plate, and then, within a week, something will happen."

"Whatever do you mean, mother?" you asked, before adding, "I am simply tired. The wedding required a lot of standing, socialising, and smiling, and I am not naturally suited to these."

"Mhmm..” she answered, “well, what you said to those ladies at the refreshment table, half of the society was still discussing it by the time the reception was over."

You felt your face warming up slightly and busied yourself with the tea in front of you, of course the words have reached your mother, you thought to yourself.

“It was nothing but a misunderstanding," you said.

"Mhm.." your mother said, in a tone that suggested she did not believe you, "you know, I was rather like you once, before your father."

This was, you have to admit, not where you expected the conversation would go, and you looked up properly for the first time since sitting down, "You were never like me, Mother."

"I was more like you than you imagine," your mother said, "I was seventeen, and my own mother arranged a match with a man I met twice, and I spent a full month convinced I would rather run off and live with my aunt in the countryside than marry a stranger."

"Then what happened?"

“Your father saved me, which is not the same thing as what you are going through," your mother said, before continuing, "I am not encouraging you to fall in love with Captain Jungkook. I am only telling you that I understand better than you seem to think I do. He does not seem like a bad guy, it is better than being married off to someone twenty years older than you. Just try to hate him less."

"I do not hate the Captain," you answered, "I find him arrogant and infuriating, and I do not trust him, but I do not hate him."

"That is how a great many marriages begin," your mother said, "and a surprising number of them end rather better than anyone expected."

"This may not end up like one of those marriages, Mother."

"Maybe," your mother agreed, reaching across the table to briefly cover your hand with her own, "but I would ask you, whatever you have decided, whatever it is you are not telling me this morning, to be careful, ____. You have always been the clever one of my daughters. But being clever does not always keep a person as safe as they believe it will."

You held her gaze a moment longer, wondering how much your mother truly suspected, and how much she simply chose, out of some motherly kindness, not to ask outright.

“I will be careful,” you said.

"See that you are," your mother said, releasing your hand, "now eat your eggs. You will need your strength for whatever it is you are not telling me, and I would rather not spend the next fortnight explaining to your father why his youngest daughter has fainted from an empty stomach."

You laughed and picked up your fork.

Your mother did not press the matter further, though you caught her watching you once or twice more over the course of the meal, with an expression you could not entirely read, it was something between concern and a resignation that oddly looked almost like pride.

You spent the rest of the day exactly as you always do: reading in the library, taking tea, eating lunch with your parents, all the while turning your plan over and over in your mind until every detail has been perfected.

You would tell Daisy that you intended to spend the morning at the library, as you so often do that the excuse would not be suspicious at all. From there, you would walk your usual route to the pastry shop on Fenwick Lane, where Taehyung would be waiting with the carriage and the driver he had arranged would arrive around the same time. Together, you would make the journey to the Sisters of Saint Joseph.

Your parents would be searching for you, of course. But by the time they discovered where you were gone, you would already be within the convent walls, under the protection of the Church and beyond their power to bring you home.

You packed a small bag the night before and hid it under your bed, taking only what you think will be necessary: a modest amount of coin, several pieces of jewellery that might fetch a handsome price if needed, two changes of clothing, and the book you have been reading.

And inside of the bed, folded carefully was the letter you have written and rewritten more times than you cared to admit. You intended to place it directly into the hands of whichever Sister welcomed you first. It explained precisely what you meant to pursue and why, leaving no room for anyone to send you home before you have been given the chance to be heard.

You did not sleep well that night, whether from nerves or anticipation you could not entirely say.

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Taehyung was planning to arrive at Fenwick Lane earlier. He was dressed in plain clothing to attract less attention from his surroundings. 

What Taehyung did not know, and had no reason to suspect, was that he had been followed for the last two days by a man who reported everywhere Taehyung went, everyone he spoke with, and the hour at which he planned to leave his estate.

He made it exactly four streets before a man stepped directly into his path, breathless with an expression of alarm across his face that stopped Taehyung mid-walk.

"Sir," the man said, "forgive me, I would not trouble a stranger under normal circumstances, but there has been an accident, just around the corner, a woman has fallen and struck her head badly, and I cannot find anyone willing to help me carry her to a physician."

"Where?" Taehyung said, already turning his full attention towards the stranger.

The man led him down a narrow side street, where, sure enough, a woman lay slumped against a wall. Another man knelt beside her, pressing a cloth to what appeared to be a wound at her temple. The entire scene looked urgent and tense that it did not occur to Taehyung, not even for a second, that any part of it might have been staged.

“She needs a physician at once,” the kneeling man said, “there is one only three streets from here, but I cannot carry her alone, and my friend has a weak back. If you would lend us your strength, sir, it should take no more than a few minutes.”

“Of course,” Taehyung was already taking his coat off, folding it carefully beneath the woman’s head, “here, allow me.”

“Bless you, sir,” the woman murmured, her eyelids fluttering weakly, “bless you, truly. I feared no one would stop.”

“You may thank me once we have delivered you safely to the physician,” Taehyung said, “for now, let us get you there.”

Only then did Taehyung think of you, waiting at the pastry shop and searching the street for him. Just a few minutes, surely a few minutes would make no difference. 

This shouldn't take long, please wait for me, I will not take long, I promise, Taehyung thought to himself as he lifted the woman carefully between himself and the kneeling stranger. 

in the end, it took longer than a few minutes. 

The physician's office was further than promised, the streets were more crowded than expected, and once they arrived, the woman herself insisted on thanking Taehyung at such length and with such tearful gratitude that he could not simply turn and leave her mid-sentence. 

It did not occur to Taehyung that the woman’s injury appeared less severe once the cloth was removed from her temple nor did he notice that both men vanished the moment the physician’s door closed behind them.

Once the woman was finally safely delivered into competent hands, Taehyung realised with horror that nearly forty minutes had passed.

"Forgive me," he said to the physician, already backing towards the door, "I am terribly late for an appointment," and did not wait to hear the reply.

He ran the entire way to Fenwick Lane, and when Taehyung arrived at the pastry shop, he only found the street outside it empty.

"____?" he said, to no one, looking for you at every corner of the street. Taehyung then checked inside the shop itself, asked the woman behind the counter whether she saw a young lady waiting outside, and received only a sympathetic shake of her head in response.

He stood there for a long moment afterwards, his hands pressed to his knees, catching his breath. 

Wherever you have gone, Taehyung understood that you have gone there alone.

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You waited exactly ten minutes before you started becoming anxious.

Taehyung has never once in all the years you have known him, failed to arrive when he said he would, and you reminded yourself of this fact with each passing minute.

You tried to divert your focus by pretending to examine the pastries in the shop window, by walking slowly, and by checking the small clock mounted above a shop nearby.

"Will you be wanting anything, miss?" the shopkeeper asked, for the second time in the past ten minutes now.

"No. Thank you," you said, "I am waiting for someone."

Taehyung is coming, you told yourself, he promised.

Ten minutes became twenty and twenty became closer to thirty, and you were doing your best not to count. But you have chosen this street at this specific hour because it would not draw attention, but the longer you stand there, the more aware you became of every person who glanced your way and every possibility that someone might recognise the youngest daughter of the Duke of Ashwell standing alone on a public street with a small bag at her feet.

A woman leaving the bakery looked at you twice, a delivery boy looked at you as if he recognised who you were, and even the shopkeeper started to stare at you from behind the glass of her store.

You could not wait much longer. 

Every minute was a minute in which your absence from home might be noticed. Daisy might begin to wonder why you brought your small bag to the library, even after you told her it’s filled with books. Your mother might send someone after you, worse, your father might learn of it before you could travel far enough.

You looked once more towards the far end of the street and there was still no sign of Taehyung.

A coach stood near the corner, its driver leaning against one wheel. And for one brief moment you wondered whether waiting a little longer might be wiser.

You made your decision and there was no time left to waste. You grabbed your bag, you and walked across the street towards the driver, “I need to travel north, along the river road, to the convent of Saint Joseph,” you told the driver, “as quickly as you are able to get me there.”

The driver was a large man dressed in a plain black coat. He tipped his hat, took your bag from your hand, and opened the carriage door without asking a single question.

At the time, you mistook his silence for discretion.

What you did not notice was the glance he exchanged with a man standing across the street.

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The driver slowed down the horses and glanced back at you through the small window between the carriage and his seat around one kilometre into the journey.

“It is a long journey to Saint Joseph, miss,” he said, “almost a day in good weather, but it would take almost twelve hours since the roads became poor due to yesterday’s weather.”

You leaned forward slightly, “I thought it could be reached in ten hours?”

“It can, ordinarily. But I would not advise travelling the northern roads after dark and in this grey weather,” he said, nodding toward the grey clouds, “there is an inn six hours outside the city where drivers making the journey commonly stop. It is a nice inn, and the road beyond it is safer taken in daylight. I suggest we remain there tonight and continue at first light.”

The suggestion was one you didn’t particularly like because right now every hour mattered, and you hoped to be safely within the convent before anyone at home discovered where you were gone.

For one fleeting second, you wished you were able to take one of your family’s private cars instead. It would have been faster, safer, and far less dependent upon the judgement of a stranger. But at this time and age, traveling by car was reserved only for the head of the household, and a disappearance of one of your father’s expensive vehicles could never be done without the whole estate taking notice. 

Hiring a public coach was the only choice that offered you any hope of secrecy.

“Is stopping truly necessary?” you asked.

“I would not recommend otherwise,” he replied, “the road passes through several kilometres of woodland, and there have been robberies there after nightfall. I would rather lose a few hours than place you in danger, miss.”

You looked through the window at the city gradually becoming smaller behind you. Returning was no longer an option, and seeking another coach would only waste more time. The delay was inconvenient, but not unreasonable and by the following morning, you would still be beyond your father’s immediate reach.

“Very well,” you said at last, “we shall stop at the inn.”

The driver tipped his hat at you, “A wise decision, miss.”

You settled back into your seat as the carriage moved forward, telling yourself that the stop was only a sensible precaution.

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The lobby of the inn was small and warmly lit.

There was a modest sofa arranged near the entrance, occupied by several men in military uniforms who briefly looked up as you opened the door, and returned to their conversation right after.

Except for one of them, who did not look away at all.

He sat in the centre of the sofa, one of his arms stretched along the back of the sofa. 

He was wearing a white shirt with the top three buttons left undone, revealing his chest. He looked as if he has been waiting there for some time.

For one brief moment, you told yourself it could not possibly be him. But the longer you stared, the less room there was for doubt.

It was him.

His broad shoulders, the composed way he held himself, and the way his eyes found yours the instant the door opened and did not once leave them, there could be no mistake.

The plan you spent days carefully arranging collapsed all at once.

Captain Jeon Jungkook slowly stood up from the sofa, and the smile that spread across his face was without question, the most infuriating smile you have ever seen.

"Oh," Jungkook said, slowly approaching you, "fancy seeing you here, my lady."

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You wanted to run. 

But there was nowhere left to go. The driver was already at the desk, talking to the innkeeper. The sky outside was almost dark, and Jungkook was already walking towards you. 

You were furious, how could he possibly have known? Who told him? 

Only Taehyung knew of your plan, and he would never have betrayed you, not after everything the two of you have shared. So, there was only one reasonable explanation.

“You followed me here,” you said, confronting the Captain in front of his men, “you followed me here.”

"Did I?" Jungkook asked, tilting his head as if the accusation genuinely puzzled him, "I was under the impression that I arrived first at this inn, my lady, which would make it rather difficult for me to have followed you."

"Do not lie to me, Captain," you said, taking a step closer to him despite every instinct urging you to not do so, "I can see right through you."

"I rarely lie," Jungkook answered, "it requires far too much effort to keep track of it afterwards. As it happens, I visit this inn often and many of my men live in the surrounding villages, as you can see,” he said as he nodded towards the sofa, and the men seated there raised and waved their hands in greeting.

You did not greet them back. You hated soldiers too much to spare them more than a passing glance, so your attention remained focused entirely on Jungkook.

"Explain yourself," you demanded.

"Well, if you insist," Jungkook sighed, closing the distance between you, as he looked down right into your eyes, “First, I did not lie. I do come here often, ask any one of my men if you doubt me. Second, your mother came to see me two days ago. She told me she feared you might try to run."

Jungkook was telling the truth. 

Even though the leaders of the revolutionists knew of your plan for two days now, your mother's visit to Jungkook's estate was not something any of them had orchestrated. It was something Jungkook and his men did not expect. It was as if the final piece of their plan had simply fallen into their hands.

You remembered your mother across the breakfast table, watching you for far longer than usual. And you clearly remembered the strange warning she gave you about how being clever is not always enough to keep a person safe.

You knew she suspected you running away, but you didn’t realise that your mother would act on her suspicion. It was very out of her character to do so.

You felt as if you have been betrayed. Your mother, who let you keep to your books, silences and excuses, had gone behind your back to the one man in the kingdom you least wanted informed of your plans. 

And yet, she also did not go to your father who would have gone through even greater lengths to prevent you from running away. And you realised, what your mother did was its own kind of protection, but simply was not in the form you hoped for. 

"You should not run from your own house and leave your poor mother to suffer her anxiety alone," Jungkook said, "she was quite beside herself, my lady. I have rarely seen a duchess so sad."

"My mother's mental state is none of your concern, Captain," you said.

"It became my concern the moment she cried in my living room," Jungkook said, "you may resent me for many things. But I came here because a woman who is about to be my mother in law, asked me to make sure that her daughter did not get herself killed travelling alone. 

“Did you even have a plan, my lady?” Jungkook asked, you could tell he was teasing you and it infuriated you even more, “or did you simply just trust the coachman to bring you somewhere far enough?”

"I had a plan," you said, rolling your eyes at him, aware of exactly how little that plan was worth now with your soon to be husband standing three feet away from you.

"Oh?" Jungkook said, tilting his head with what looked like genuine curiosity, "so what was your plan, exactly? I confess I am rather eager to hear how far you intended to run away before someone recognised a duke's daughter travelling alone."

You sighed again. 

There was little point in trying to keep your plans a secret now.

Since you would never have another chance like this. The moment you returned, the estate would be placed on high alert, guards would follow your every step, servants would report your movements, and every door beyond the grounds would be watched.

There would be no second escape.

You have admitted your defeat.

You will soon be marrying the man in front of you, and there was no way for you to escape.

"There is a convent, just ten hours north of the capital and if a woman presents herself and asks to commit to the Church, she cannot be removed from the convent, not by her family, and as far as I could understand, not by the Crown either.”

"You meant to become a nun," Jungkook said, before adding, “and act against a royal decree.. that is the most reckless yet intelligent idea I have heard from a noblewoman.”

"It hardly matters now," you said in defeat.

“You are correct,” Jungkook agreed, with a smile so smug you had to stop yourself from slapping his face.

You suddenly became aware of the innkeeper hovering near the two of you, waiting with an apologetic look of a man who had bad news, "Captain," the innkeeper said, playing with his hands, "forgive me, but I have only just been informed. With the weather tonight, we have considerably more travelers than usual, and I am afraid we have exactly one room left in the house."

"One room?" you repeated.

"One room," the innkeeper confirmed, looking between the two of you, "I truly am sorry, my lady, and Captain Jungkook. I would offer you my own quarters, but my wife would have my head."

You were now even more annoyed and furious at the universe for turning your evening this way. A perfectly good escape plan, days in the making, was reduced to this; an inn, a fiance you did not want, and now, apparently, a single room the two of you have to share.

But beneath the annoyance, you could not entirely erase the satisfaction the moment you noticed the irritation across Jungkook's face at the innkeeper's announcement. 

This was clearly the one thing the Captain failed to anticipate, and you found yourself taking pleasure in watching him realise it.

"Ah," the innkeeper added quickly, sensing the tension, "but the room is an ensuite, it is very spacious. And there is a sofa in the room itself, it is large enough to be used as a bed if the Captain does not mind sleeping on it for a night."

"How reassuring," you stated.

"Well," Jungkook said, ignoring your remark as he looked at you, “my lady, it appears that our evening is about to become considerably more interesting than either of us planned."

[joonam]

(not) his wife - part 1 | jjk

Pairing: non-idol!Jungkook x Reader (f)

Genre: arranged marriage, forced proximity, one-sided love, angst, childhood friends

Summary: Jungkook is your husband who believes he lost his chance with your sister because of you. Now you're married to him, and revenge was the only reason he said yes to this marriage.

Warnings: jungkook is a walking red flag and oc is a dumb girl in love so read at your own risk? again, neither of their brains is fully developed here. toxic relationship, angst.

Word count: 11k

a/n: nine days in the making and here we are.... anon, i hope i did your request justice!! there will be a part two because yall i genuinely don't even know where to begin with this man’s redemption arc.... at this point, i fear the redemption arc alone is going to take over 10k words (lmk if you have any ideas, lend me ur creativity bbgs). all I can say is: please do not date men who do not kiss the ground you walk on!!!

taglist: @jiwikiwi @scriptved

You remembered the first time you saw him.

Your sister, Suji, was two years older than you and ever since you were ten, she brought her friends home nearly every weekend.

There were four of them: Jimin, Yejin, Taehyung, and Jungkook.

They were inseparable and exactly the kind of friendship you only ever read about in books or watched in movies. On weekends, your house was always filled with their voices and you never minded it, especially since two-years was not much of an age gap, hence you were included in almost everything they did.

That only changed after they graduated from high school and scattered across the country. Even then, the distance never truly separated them. They would stay in touch, called regularly, and planned a holiday together at least once a year.

As a child, being included in their group made you feel important. There was something exciting and cool about being ten and spending most of your time with older kids.

It did not take long for you to realise that Suji was the one holding them all together and her friends always orbited around her without noticing they were doing it. That never surprised you because Suji has always been the main character wherever she went, both at home and everywhere else.

You never resented her for it because she was the kindest sister you could have asked for. She never made you feel smaller than her, she invited you to parties you were too young to attend, defended you when Taehyung teased you about your missing front tooth, and let you borrow her clothes without ever complaining about it.

Her friends were kind to you too.

Jimin and Yejin were the first ones you met. You remembered them sitting beside you at the kitchen table, patiently helping you with your maths homework. Now they were married, with a daughter who was as cheerful as the two of them.

Then there was Taehyung, around whom fourteen-year-old Suji started acting differently. She became shy in his presence, more careful with her words, and she would glance at him now and then whenever she thought no one was looking. They were married now and, as far as you could tell, still having the time of their lives together.

And then there was Jungkook.

You, Suji, and the rest of her friends had been playing hide-and-seek throughout the house one Saturday afternoon, and Jungkook was the seeker. You hid behind the living-room curtain, holding your breath as you listened for his footsteps.

You were certain you would be caught first, because you barely had time to find a proper hiding place.

And you were right, Jungkook did find you first.

He pulled the curtain aside just enough to see you. But instead of dragging you out and gloating the way Taehyung or Jimin would have done, he merely smiled at you and ruffled your hair.

Then he let the curtain fall back into place and walked away to find the others.

You stayed behind the curtain for another full minute, your heart beating so loud that you considered asking your mom to call an ambulance.

At ten years old, what was that if not a knight in shining armour?

You have been in love with him ever since.

By fourteen, you assumed the feeling would have disappeared. It was supposed to be puppy love; something harmless and embarrassing that you would laugh about with Suji over wine in ten years time. But it did not just disappear like you thought it would. 

In high school, Jungkook became one of the popular boys. His face made insecure boys resent him and hopeful girls imagine they had a chance with him. Yet he never seemed interested in any of it, he only cared about being around Suji and the rest of their friends, and he never seemed to mind having you around either.

Well, mostly because you were his best friend’s little sister.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

At fifteen, you finally told Suji about your little embarrassing crush. 

She was not surprised when you confessed that you had a crush on one of her best friends. Jungkook was handsome too so it wasn’t really weird. You learned much later that she had known for years, but that night, she only laughed softly and said, “I’ll help you get together with him when you’re a little older, okay?”

Not long after you told her, Jungkook stopped coming to the house.

The rest of the group continued gathering in your living room every weekend as loud and inseparable as ever, but his usual seat was always empty. You still caught glimpses of him in the school hallways. He never said hello, though that wasn’t really strange since he rarely greeted you at school even before he stopped coming around your house.

Then you noticed that Jungkook started spending time with a different crowd. And it happened around the same time Suji and Taehyung finally started dating. These two quickly became the school’s “it” couple, with every photograph of them posted online always accompanied with the same ‘#CoupleGoals’. 

But them getting together never surprised you.

What surprised you was that the moment Suji and Taehyung got together, Jungkook noticed you again, but not the way you wanted him to. The time your paths crossed again, he spat onto the ground in front of you and looked at you as if the sight of you disgusted him.

You didn’t understand it. You’ve adored him for five years by then, and you had no idea what you did to deserve that kind of hatred.

When you asked Jimin whether you somehow offended Jungkook, he only sighed and told you not to take it personally. And that Jungkook started spending time with wealthy, arrogant boys, and he has changed. 

To you, it made sense for him to hang out with a different crowd, especially since he came from a different tax bracket than you did.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You were twenty-two when you received the phone call from your mother. 

By this time, Jungkook was somewhere not in your life; he was just a name that came up at your school reunion and nowhere else. You’ve heard things about him; that he helped his father ran their family’s company, then him eventually becoming the CEO. 

Your mother has been a single mother almost your whole life, and she has never once, in twenty-two years, called you sounding like she was preparing for you to leave her life.

"Can you come home?" she asked, "tonight, if you can. I need to talk to you about something and I don't want to do it over the phone."

You asked if everything was okay, and she said she'll explain when you were there, which is somehow worse than any answer she could have given you, and you spent the whole drive over with your stomach tightened in knots.

Your mom was waiting at the kitchen table when you arrived, two cups of tea already going cold in front of her like she made them an hour ago and forgot they existed the moment she poured them. 

“Mom?” you asked as you sat down in front of her, “this is reminding me of horror movies,” you chuckled. 

"I need to tell you something," she said, "and I need you to not hate me."

You immediately became silent and didn’t even dare to say anything. So you let her say whatever she wanted to say in her own time, because she seemed as if she was going to burst into tears.

"I owe some family a great deal of money," she said, finally opening up after what felt like fifteen minutes, "forty million dollars. It's to the Jeon's family. Jeon Jungkook, do you remember him? From when you were kids, Suji's friend.."

You couldn’t help the gasp that followed, "How?" was all you could manage to respond with. 

forty million dollars was more money than you have ever seen in your life. Your mother was an investment banker at a small firm, so your family has never been poor, but you were nowhere near forty-million-dollars rich. But then, compared to the Jeon family, you might as well have been poor.

“I’d been at the firm for three years by then,” your mother said, her eyes fixed on the table, “I was young enough to be desperate for a win. I wanted to prove myself, especially in rooms full of men who called me sweetheart and honey during meetings and constantly tease me.”

She paused, playing with her fingers in her lap, “One of my colleagues brought me a deal. It was a startup that was supposedly going to be bought out within eighteen months. It was the kind of tip that could make someone’s career if it worked.”

“And you believed him?” you asked.

“I believed in the startup,” she corrected, “enough to pass it on to a client I’d been trying to win over for months. Jungkook’s parents. I told them it was a sure thing,” your mother said, her voice slightly breaking on the word sure, “I wasn’t lying to them. I believed it too.”

She looked down at her hands, “That’s the part that still keeps me awake. I didn’t do it because I wanted to hurt anyone. I did it because I wanted them to trust me. I wanted it so badly.”

“And it failed?”

“Not at first. For a few months, everything looked promising, then the company’s lead investor pulled out after a fraud investigation. None of us saw it coming and the entire company collapsed within six weeks.”

She paused before continuing, “Jungkook’s parents lost almost everything they invested. And because I was the one who brought them the deal and told them their money would be safe, they came to me. forty million dollars was what they believed they would have earned if the deal had succeeded, added to everything they had lost.”

“They expected you to pay all of that?” you asked in disbelief.

“They said I could take as long as I needed and I could repay it at whatever pace I could manage, and they would never tell anyone what happened,” she said, before finally looking up at you.

"How much have you paid so far?" you ask, though some part of you already knows the answer will hurt you.

"Five hundred thousand. A little more, actually, slowly but steadily I was paying it off, but it has been years since the deal, ____," she said, her eyes filled with tears. 

You have never seen her crying this much, not even at your father's funeral where she held back her tears for her children, "I didn't want you or Suji to know. It’s a debt I don’t want the two of you to carry.”

"And the rest of it?" you finally asked, "you wouldn't have called me here just to tell me about the debt or the amount. There's something else, right?"

Your mother's hands tighten in her lap, "They want to erase the whole forty million debt, if.. "

"If what?" you asked nervously.

"If you marry their son, Jungkook."

You laughed at your mother, because what she just said sounded like an opening line of a story or a cringe fan fiction you read on Wattpad years ago. 

Then you looked at her face and understood she wasn’t trying to fool you at all.

“Mom,” you quietly said, your voice shaking out of anger, confusion, and sadness, you couldn’t really tell. 

“I barely know him anymore. We haven’t spoken in years, and he’s not the boy from my childhood anymore. I don’t even know who he is now.”

“I know,” she said, and she sounded as if she dreaded saying the idea aloud, for even thinking of asking you to do this, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for even considering asking this of you,” her voice trembled, “I’ve thought it over in my head for weeks, and I feel so bad as a mother, it feels as if I’m selling you to fix my own mistake.”

She drew in a breath, “It’s fine, you don’t need to do this. I’ll find another way. I will not make you responsible for a debt that belongs to me.”

“Jungkook is a good-looking man, Mom. He’s rich too and he could have anyone he wanted,” you hesitated before asking further, “so why would he agree to this? Why me?”

“He’s refused everyone his parents have introduced him to,” she said quietly, “for years, apparently he has refused half a dozen women. From what I understand, he turned every one of them down.”

She paused before adding, “But this time, his parents told me it was his idea,” her eyes lifted to yours, “he chose you.”

You thought it was bullshit, why would Jungkook choose you out of all people? It was clear as days that his eyes were never on yours, and all of the sudden he has chosen you? 

Jungkook was an old friend you spent years hoping never to see again. What could someone like him possibly want from you now?

You couldn’t help but wonder if being chosen meant being wanted by Jungkook, or if you were simply the easiest answer to him; something he agreed to because saying yes was easier than arguing with his parents over a marriage he did not care enough to refuse.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You said yes.

Because when you did the math more than once that week, lying awake in the dark, trying to picture your mom at seventy still working even during the weekends to pay down a debt that is almost impossible to pay off. 

You just couldn’t make yourself accept a future that looks like that when you have the power to end it with a single word.

You said yes because you have spent your whole life being the person who helps everyone around you. The little sister who never made anyone feel lacking in anything, the daughter who learned early not to add her own weight to a household already struggling with just one income. You were always the person who takes care of others when they are sick and never asks anyone to do the same for you.

It is the only thing you have ever known what to do. And some part of you just does not know how to look at someone who needs you and say no, even when the person who needs you most is yourself.

Then there is the other reason.

 That small part of you that is still ten years old, still standing behind a curtain while Jungkook smiled at you, has never fully stopped hoping there might be a version of this where Jungkook looks at you without hatred.

You know how ridiculous that sounded.

You know it is not the kind of reason anyone sensible enough should agree to a marriage. But you were ten when you fell for him, and somehow, despite everything, a part of that girl never really went away. When your mother said Jungkook had chosen you, that little girl came rushing back.

You understand, even as you agreed to the marriage, that this is a stupid reason to ruin your life. Yet you said yes anyway, because you have never been as rational as you would like to believe when it comes to Jungkook.

Because some part of you would rather walk willingly into the fire than spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened if you had turned away.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Two weeks later you were standing in a hotel lobby, your hands were trembling despite the summer heat outside, because his mother suggested or insisted, really, that the two of you meet before anything was finalized. 

You spent forty minutes deciding what to wear and hated yourself for even caring about it.

Jungkook was already there when you arrived, sitting at a corner table with his jacket off and his sleeves pushed up, and his phone in his hand. He didn't stand up when you sat down.

Up close, he still looked familiar, only older now. He had tattoos all over his right arm and there was very little left of the boy who used to smile at you like the two of you shared a secret.

"You're late," Jungkook said, not even looking up to look at you.

"By only four minutes," you answered.

"Four minutes I didn't have."

"Then you should've told your mother not to schedule this in the first place," you scoffed.

That finally made him look up from his phone. Something changed across his face, you could tell that Jungkook was surprised that you answered back at him instead of backing down like he seemed to expect you to do.

You remembered, vaguely, a boy who was gentle to you. There was very little of him left in the man frowning at you now, and you hated that some part of you still mourned the loss of someone you barely knew anymore.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Jungkook asked. 

"Oh, I remember you," you said, “though you used to be nicer."

"You used to be shorter," Jungkook said, rolling his eyes at you.

You ordered coffee neither of you touched and spent the next forty minutes arguing about the wedding neither of you wanted. 

And some small, foolish part of you enjoyed that meeting because arguing with Jungkook meant he was looking at you. It meant you mattered enough to annoy him. 

It meant, for those forty minutes at least, you managed to take up space in his mind.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You married him six weeks later, on a bright Saturday in August, in a dress that cost more than your mother's monthly salary, in a ballroom filled with flowers your mother-in-law chose without consulting you.

The man standing in front of you was not the boy who once found you behind a curtain during a hide-and-seek game. 

Jungkook shook your hand instead of kissing you when the officiant told him he could. He even came up with a charming joke about how shaking hands was an inside joke between the two of you, which made the room laugh.

When you told Suji and Taehyung that you were marrying Jungkook, neither of them believed you. It happened too quickly, you have never told them you were in a relationship, there was no engagement or anything that might have explained how the two of you have gone from never speaking to planning a wedding.

You could not tell them about the debt. You didn’t want them to be angry with your mom, so you insisted it was a long time coming. You told them you have always loved Jungkook and that, somewhere along the way, he secretly started to feel the same way. 

Suji and Taehyung did not believe that either, of course they didn’t, they knew Jungkook has always liked Suji. They just didn’t want you to know it, that was what they have been protecting you from since you were ten. So, at the wedding, neither of them cried. Even Jimin and Yejin didn’t bother to congratulate you either. 

Suji only held your hands for a moment, while Taehyung stood beside her with an expression you couldn’t bring yourself to read.

“We’re here for you,” Suji said.

“Anytime,” Taehyung added.

You couldn’t tell whether that was a warning, but you knew then that they knew something you didn’t. 

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Jungkook’s hand on your waist during the first dance felt cold, because he was touching you only because the event expected him to. He never pulled you closer or whispered something sweet in between of the dance. His eyes stayed fixed somewhere over your shoulder, while you moved together with the applause of people who believed they were watching two people in love.

Later, in a hotel suite far too large for two people who had nothing to say to each other, you and Jungkook sat at opposite ends of the couch, still dressed in your wedding clothes.

Jungkook's tie had been pulled loose and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. Your veil was folded beside you and the hand bouquet of flowers were placed right between the two of you.

“Just so we’re clear, we’re only married on paper,” Jungkook eventually said. 

Jungkook didn’t think he was being cruel to you. If anything, he believed he was doing you a kindness by being honest from the beginning. 

“I won’t cheat on you. I can’t afford to have my company being caught up in a scandal,” he continued, “but I’m not going to treat you like a wife. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just my roommate.”

“Okay,” you said.

It was the only word you could utter at that moment. 

You did not know how to explain how his words made you feel. You only knew that you already decided Jungkook would never see you cry over something he clearly would never think was worth grieving.

You changed out of your wedding dress in the bathroom because it felt strange to do it in front of a husband who barely looked at you since the ceremony.

That night, you slept on opposite sides of the same bed, with a pillow placed between the two of you like a line neither of you was meant to cross. 

By the time you woke up the next morning, Jungkook was already gone. 

At the very least, Jungkook had the decency to leave a note on the counter with his flight time. Much later in the marriage, you would realize it was the first of countless mornings that started the same way:

waking up to find out that Jungkook already left.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

first year of marriage

Jungkook moved into the guest room during the very first day you started living together. That first night, you lay awake in the enormous bed you were apparently meant to have all to yourself, listening to the faint sounds of Jungkook moving around the apartment. 

Then during the first year of your marriage, you found yourself keeping track of everything Jungkook never did.

You stupidly believed that if you counted the nights he came home, the meals you shared, and the times he looked at you like he cared about you, then you might be able to prove that things were getting better. And when they did not, the numbers became proof that you had not imagined how lonely the marriage made you feel.

You hated that you cared enough to count it all and you hated yourself even more for still waiting for Jungkook to change.

Pathetic did not feel like a strong enough word for measuring your marriage by how little your husband gave you, only to find yourself disappointed each time the answer was almost nothing.

You counted the nights he came home before midnight: 11 out of 365 days. 

You counted the meals you ate at the same table: 4, and two of those were during the week his grandmother visited. To Jungkook, keeping up appearances to his family mattered more than whatever existed between the two of you.

You counted the number of times he asked how your day was: 0.

Well, what did you really expect? 

This was an arranged marriage, and Jungkook chose you because he knew you would be easy to please without ever having to worry that you might leave the marriage. At some point, you realized maybe Jungkook had always known how you felt about him. Perhaps that was why he had chosen you as his wife in the first place.

Yet what some stupid part of you wanted was to know undoubtedly that he cared for you, even just a little. 

Whenever you were out with friends and thought of him, you would bring something home and leave it on the counter with a note telling him it was his to eat or drink.

By morning, the food was always still sitting there on the counter, clearly untouched.

Jungkook never ate any of the food you brought home for him, not once that entire year. So eventually, you stopped being surprised and then, sometime near the end of the first year, you stopped bringing anything home at all.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Family holidays were the worst because Jungkook never bothered to show up. So you had to act and lie to everyone around you that the marriage was fine and Jungkook is just one busy businessman. 

“He’s on a business trip,” you told your mother at Chuseok, “the company’s expanding into three new markets this quarter. He barely has time to sleep.”

“He’s swamped with work,” you told Suji at your father’s memorial dinner. That was the one day you truly wanted him there. Just once, you wanted your fake husband to stand beside you at your father’s grave, so you didn't have to lie when you were already drowning in grief and sadness. “Jungkook sends his condolences,” you added.

He did not.

You made it up, the way you always did. He did not come because he did not want to, because you were not worth giving up even a single hour of his life for. You could not say any of that to the people who loved you, not yet and maybe not ever.

Besides, you had no one to blame but yourself. 

No one had forced you to say yes. Your mother would have been fine if she had to keep paying the debt, even if it took the rest of her life, and you could have helped her without marrying Jungkook. There were always other choices you could have picked, harder ones perhaps, but they always existed.

Yet you chose this route.

You walked into the marriage willingly because some foolish part of you wanted an answer to the question you’ve always had since you were ten: what would happen if Jungkook chose you to be his partner? 

Well, now, the adult version of you know.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

What you didn't know that first year was that Jungkook noticed all the empty containers more than he let on, he noticed all the food you brought home for him to consume.

Jungkook would come home late most nights, and sometimes later than he actually needed to, because coming home early meant having to sit in the same room as you, and Jungkook never knew what to say to you.

He would see the food you left for him on the counter with a small note on top of it. And every time he saw it, something in his chest felt weird. Jungkook told himself what he felt had to be guilt, there was no other reason for him to care about you.

A few times, Jungkook found himself standing in the kitchen in the middle of the night, holding the food you brought home and he would just stare at it for a while before putting it back exactly where you left it. Because he didn’t want you to know he had even looked or noticed the effort you put in for him.

To Jungkook, the whole point of this marriage was revenge.

You ruined his life, so he was ruining yours. 

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

second year of marrtiage

By the second year of your arranged marriage, you were used to the coldness between you and Jungkook. You stopped hoping for him to change his ways, you stopped waiting for him at dinner and setting out a second plate.

You started going to Suji's for girls’ nights and coming home late on purpose, just to see if Jungkook would notice and he never did. Thankfully, it didn't hurt you as much as it would have in the first year. Most nights, he was either still out or locked inside his study. Sometimes the light under the door was the only sign that he was even home.

The apartment stayed exactly the same whether you were there or not.

At New Year, your aunt cornered you before dinner, “Where’s your husband? We’ve only met him twice in two years, and one of those times was at your wedding.”

“He’s closing a deal in Singapore,” you answered easily as lying about Jungkook was almost natural by now, “it’s a big one, so he had to be there.”

What she did not know was that you cried in your car before coming upstairs. You gave yourself exactly ten minutes to cry, sitting in the dark parking lot with the engine off and your forehead pressed against the steering wheel. Once ten minutes were over, you went upstairs to greet your family and smiled as if nothing was wrong.

It was also during the second year that you flew to Jeju for the wedding of one of Jungkook’s business partners.

You assumed you would sit together since it was still a public appearance. It felt stupid now, standing at the gate of priority passengers with your boarding pass in hand, but you didn’t think to check your tickets until Jungkook told you.

“I’m flying first class,” he said, “you’re in economy.”

“Oh,” you forced a small laugh, trying to sound as if it didn’t bother you, “I thought you would’ve booked us seats next to each other.”

“Economy seat should be fine for you. It’s only three hours.”

You spent the flight in a middle seat between two strangers, leaning past the person beside you whenever you wanted to look out the window. 

Years ago, you believed being noticed by Jungkook would feel like winning something.

Now you were his wife, and he couldn’t even be bothered to sit beside you.

When the plane landed, he was not waiting for you, just as you expected. You had to book a taxi to the hotel alone and texted him to say you have arrived. And his only reply was the number of the room you had to share together since most of his colleagues and friends are staying in the same hotel. 

When you let yourself into the room, he was on a call, feet up on the balcony railing as he sat on the balcony couch. It was thankfully an ensuite room with 2 separate beds, so you didn’t have to share a bed with him. Your only interaction with Jungkook then was when he lifted his finger in front of his mouth to tell you to be silent as he was talking on the phone.  

At the wedding reception, you sat at a table full of his friends, who happened to be the group he used to hang out with at school, and you smiled throughout a dinner where no one asked you a single question about yourself, because to them you were simply "Jungkook's wife.”

You weren’t paying much attention to the conversation until one of the women at the table turned to you, “Is that even a real Van Cleef?” she asked, nodding at your bracelet, “it doesn’t look like it.”

“It isn’t,” you said, “it was handmade by a small business.”

“Huh,” she looked at it again, her mouth twisting slightly in disgust.

Another woman leaned closer, “Don’t you think you should make more of an effort with Jungkook’s friends? You never come to any of our gatherings. We barely know anything about you besides the fact that you’re Suji’s younger sister.”

Jungkook has never invited you to any of those gatherings, but you couldn’t tell them that, it would only give them something else to laugh about, “I’ve been busy,” you said.

“Jungkook is much busier than you,” one of the men cut in.

The first woman looked at you again, “You should be more careful about how you dress too, wearing cheap jewellery makes your husband look bad.”

It was not as if Jungkook has ever given you money to buy anything, not that you would have taken it even if he had.

 “I see,” you muttered.

You stared at her bracelet before standing up from your seat, “Well, at least mine was made responsibly by someone who was paid fairly,” you said, “can you say the same about yours? Or do you just not care about the children who had to mine the diamond and stones as long as your jewellery came in an expensive box?”

Then you picked up your bag and walked away before any of them could answer.

Later, near the bar, you overheard your husband's name.

"Jungkook, honestly, I always thought you would end up with the sister. Suji, right? The one who's married to Taehyung now? She would've made more sense since you had always fancied Suji too. I mean, no offense, your wife seemed sweet, I guess, but.."

"She doesn't really fit in with us, does she?" someone else said, finishing the sentence the other couldn’t.

You turned away before you could hear Jungkook’s response, already heading back towards a table where you felt just as out of place, then his voice stopped you mid-step.

“Yeah,” Jungkook answered, sounding almost bored, “I guess Suji would’ve made more sense for me.”

That was the day you found out Jungkook fancied your sister.

You waited until you were in the hotel bathroom to cry. You locked the door, sat on the closed toilet lid, and pressed both hands over your mouth because Jungkook was somewhere on the other side of the wall and you could not let him hear you.

It should not have hurt as much as it did, you knew he did not love you. Jungkook made that clear from the first night of your marriage.

But knowing he did not want you was different from finding out he liked your own sister.

Suddenly, everything made sense to you.

The way Taehyung and Suji looked at each other when you announced the marriage to them and the way they never congratulated you. They knew, everyone knew except you.

And the worst part was remembering that you told them you have always loved Jungkook, and that he secretly liked you too.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

A few weeks later, back home, you went to dinner at one of Jungkook’s business partner’s houses. You wore the nicest outfit you owned, but you knew the second you walked in that it still was not enough for them. 

One of the wives looked you up and down before smiling, “Cute,” she said.

And you knew it was not a compliment.

“No ring upgrade yet?” another woman asked during dessert, nodding at the plain band on your finger, “Jungkook usually doesn’t do anything halfway. I guess he’s saving the good jewellery for later.”

“She likes simple things,” Jungkook said without looking at you and then he continued, “Suji always said less is more too.”

You quickly excused yourself and went to the bathroom before your face gave you away. When you came back, they were talking about Suji, about how smart and impressive she was. 

“You know,” one of his friends said to you as he refilled his glass, “we always thought Jungkook would end up with your sister. You seem sweet, but Suji and Jungkook would’ve made much more sense together.”

“None taken,” you said. This was a conversation you have heard before, so you didn’t really care much of it, at least that was what you thought. 

You looked at Jungkook across the table and waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. Jungkook could have told them to stop. He could have done anything that made you feel like you were not just the wrong sister sitting in Suji’s place. But instead, he looked away and didn’t even bother to correct them.

You didn’t speak during the entire drive home, Jungkook didn’t ask what was wrong or maybe he didn’t even notice how your silence was different, or maybe every silence with you sounded the same to him.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The next morning, you tried to talk to him about it, because some stubborn, hopeful part of you still believed that if you just explained it clearly enough, he would understand how you felt.

"You compared me to my sister in front of your friends," you said, over coffee he was drinking standing up, already half way out the door. 

"It wasn't a big deal," he said, checking his watch, “it was a joke."

"It didn't feel like a joke."

"I don't have time for this right now," he said, "can we talk about it tonight?"

You knew, even as you nodded, that tonight would turn into tomorrow, and tomorrow would become some vague promise of “later”. By then, you already knew what later meant with Jungkook, it meant never.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

What you did not know was that Jungkook kept thinking about what he said in Jeju.

“Suji would’ve made more sense.”

The words came back to him at random times; in the shower, in the elevator, during meetings when he was supposed to be listening, and he kept telling himself it was true. Suji was always the one he wanted and everyone knew that.

Still, he could not understand why saying it had made him feel so bad.

Jungkook should not have felt guilty. You were the reason he lost Suji in the first place. You were the reason she had chosen Taehyung and left him behind. 

So if anyone deserved to feel guilty, it was you.

Later that year, on a night you were out, he opened the cabinet and took out two plates without thinking. He stared at them for a few seconds before putting one back.

You stopped setting a place for him months ago, but he watched you do it so many times during the first year that the habit had somehow stayed with him. He stood there longer than he needed to, wondering why he reached for two plates when he knew you were not coming home.

For years, Suji had been the person Jungkook believed he wanted. His friends still mentioned her like she was some great love he lost, and he let himself believe that was true because it gave him a reason to stay angry.

But whenever Jungkook tried to remember her, his mind kept going somewhere else. He remembered sitting at your family’s kitchen table, helping you finish a puzzle because no one else wanted to. Jungkook remembered finding you behind the curtain during hide-and-seek, and he remembered how easily you used to laugh around him.

Jungkook has not heard your laugh in a long time and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

One night, while you were out celebrating a friend’s birthday, he sat alone in the living room with a drink in his hand. He remembered you mentioning the party, though he couldn’t remember whether you told him directly or if he saw the birthday card on the counter.

Jungkook looked around the apartment and thought that you were probably happier when he was not there.

And Jungkook did not like that thought. He did not like knowing that you could leave the apartment and become a completely different person around everyone else; someone happier. 

He poured his drink into the sink and went to bed early.

Jungkook told himself what he was feeling towards you was guilt that would pass if he ignored it long enough.

It did not.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

third year of marriage

By the third year of marriage, you stopped hoping at all.

Whatever hope you carried into the marriage was nowhere to be found. You could not remember the exact moment it happened, you only knew that one day, you stopped expecting anything from Jungkook.

The two of you have been living separate lives under the same roof.

You paid for half of everything, the groceries, bills, and all the other small expenses neither of you ever discussed. 

You have also gotten even better at lying during family gatherings; “he’s travelling,” “he’s busy,” or “the company is going through an important season.” You said the same excuses so often that the lies came out without any effort nowadays, even Suji stopped asking you questions about Jungkook. 

“You know you don’t have to keep covering for him,” Suji said quietly at your mother’s birthday after you finished explaining Jungkook’s empty chair for the hundredth time, “we’re not going to think less of you if you tell us the truth.”

“I know,” you said.

You just didn’t have the energy to say it out loud. Once you told them, they would worry, they would ask what you planned to do, they would want you to leave him, and then you would have to explain why you even stayed for so long.

Some nights, you sat alone in the apartment and thought about how long it has been. Three whole years; you have spent three years living with someone who barely knew you.

You counted everything during the first year, but eventually, you stopped doing so. The amount of things Jungkook has done for you has become too embarrassing. There was no point keeping track of shared meals when there were barely any to count.

You feel like a different person now, sometimes, you almost feel sorry for yourself.

You waited so long for your knight to choose you, never knowing that when he finally did, it would be the very thing that broke you apart.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Sometime during the third year of the marriage, Jungkook finally began to understand something he spent most of his life getting wrong.

It has never really been Suji.

For years, he has been so sure she was the one he wanted. Suji was beautiful, confident, and always at the centre of everything. Everyone liked her, so wanting her had always made sense to Jungkook, especially when everyone around him seemed to expect it.

But when Jungkook thought back to the years he spent at your family's house as a kid, the memories that stayed with him were never really about Suji. 

It was you sitting beside him at the kitchen table, asking for help with a puzzle even though you were too shy to look directly at him. It was you hiding behind the curtain during hide-and-seek and him trying not to laugh when he found you. It was the way you used to save him a seat at lunch, the way you followed him around when you were younger, the way your face lit up whenever he paid attention to you, as if he'd done something far kinder than he actually did.

Somehow, Jungkook took all of those memories and put Suji's name all over them instead. Maybe it was because Suji was his age, and she fit so easily into the rest of his life. You have only ever been Suji's little sister, or at least that was what he always told himself. And the truth came to him slowly, then all at once.

It would have been easier if Jungkook could have kept blaming you.

Jungkook was sixteen when he finally found the courage to tell Suji how he felt, he was certain she felt the same way, only for her to turn him down. Suji told him she liked Taehyung, not him. Then she told him that even if she felt differently, she could never be with him. She told him that she couldn't bear the thought of you finding out that the boy you adored since you were ten had fallen for your own sister instead.

That was the day Jungkook decided you were the reason he lost Suji. He never could decide who he was angrier at; you for telling her first or Suji for choosing you over him. 

And Jungkook found it easier to be angry at you.

He told himself for years that marrying you was a way of taking back what he lost, except somewhere in the second year of your marriage, the plan stopped feeling like justice and started feeling like something he will regret his whole life.

Because somewhere in that same year, without meaning to, Jungkook started noticing you.

He noticed that he memorised the sound of your keys in the door. He noticed he wasn't surprised your mug was blue, because he remembered you telling him back when you were still a kid that blue was your favourite colour. 

Jungkook started noticing the shows you watched in the living room that he could hear from his room, the nights you came home late and laughed quietly on the phone before disappearing into your bedroom, and the way the apartment felt different when you were gone.

He noticed you took your coffee black in the mornings but liked your tea with milk at night. Jungkook noticed the light under your door usually went out around midnight, and on the nights it didn't, he found himself lying awake wondering what was keeping you up. 

Jungkook noticed how you would go still for a second before answering your mother's calls, then soften your voice the moment you picked up. He noticed you still bit the inside of your cheek when you were concentrating, exactly the way you did at ten years old.

He spent years insisting he had no interest in getting to know you, and somewhere along the way, he memorised you completely.

He even started coming home earlier on the nights he knew you would be there; early enough that he could hear you moving around in the kitchen, or catch a glimpse of you before you went to bed.

Jungkook remembered that night in Jeju more clearly than he wanted to. He watched you leave the table after his friends made fun of your bracelet, and for a second, he almost went after you. Yet he did nothing instead and later at the bar, he told someone that Suji would have made more sense for him. It was just easy to say because he has been telling himself the same thing for years. 

It was easier to believe he lost Suji than to admit he was ruining whatever chance he had with you.

The night he finally realised it, he tried to think about Suji, tried to search for whatever he spent years insisting was still there and there was nothing. Whatever he felt for Suji disappeared a long time ago. Jungkook only kept holding onto it because it felt familiar, because blaming you was easier than admitting he was the one in the wrong.

He knew more about you than he ever bothered to learn about Suji, and that was when he finally understood that all along, the person he has been thinking about was you.

Somewhere in the middle of an arranged marriage he agreed to as a revenge, Jungkook had fallen for the person he was punishing, and he only realised it after you had already stopped caring whether he came home.

The only question left was whether Jungkook had realised he witnessed your devotion too late.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You didn’t come home that night, instead you called your sister for an emergency meeting at your mom’s place, "Come by mom’s house tonight," you pleaded, "please."

Suji and Taehyung were already there when you arrived. 

You sat down at the kitchen table where you grew up doing homework, "I need to tell you guys something," you said.

So you told them about how he treated you, you told them the reason behind the empty chair at every holiday, and every single thing that happened during your marriage. 

The moment you stopped talking, your mother went to her knees in the middle of the kitchen. You have never, in twenty-six years, seen your mother on her knees for anything, not even at your father's funeral where she stood so straight and so still you worried she had forgotten how to bend her knees

"I did this to you," your mother cried out, and she was frantic in a way you have never once witnessed, her hands were shaking as she reached for yours, "I owe them the money, not you. I sold you to fix my own mistake and I have watched you smile through three years of a marriage that's been eating you alive and I told myself it was fine because you never once complained, because you're so good at never complaining, and I am so sorry, I am so sorry, please forgive me."

You dropped to your knees and held her, and you cried the way you haven’t let yourself cry in years. You cried until your throat was hurting, until Suji came around the table and wrapped her arms around both of you, until Taehyung stood a few feet away with his jaw tight and his hands curled into fists.

"It's okay," you said, when you could speak again,"I'll always help you, Mom. I mean that, I’ll help you pay that debt. But this time, I want a divorce."

Suji was already standing next to you, and the look on her face was one you'd never seen there before, "I am going to kill him," she said, “I’m sorry, ____. I never.. I should have known. I should have asked you harder. I should have protected you."

"Don't," you said, “please. I don't want any of you doing anything. I don't want him in my life anymore, and I don't want to spend one more minute of my energy on him. I just want it to be over. I want to be done."

They didn't like it. 

You could see in all of their faces that it was hurting them not to do anything in your stead. But they loved you enough to hear you out. 

For the first time in three years you slept in your childhood bedroom, and that night, you slept better than you have in a long, long time.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

At first, Jungkook didn’t think much of it when you weren’t home. You went out sometimes. Three years of marriage taught him your routine; Tuesdays with your girlfriends; the occasional weekend at your mother’s. 

Jungkook came home the first night to an empty apartment, ordered food, and ate it standing at the kitchen counter. Your disappearance didn’t seem unusual enough for him to question it.

By the second day, the apartment felt different and he couldn’t immediately work out why. The coffee maker hadn’t been used, there was no bitter smell in the kitchen when he walked in that morning and the mug you always used for tea was still sitting where he left it two days ago.

Jungkook looked at it for longer than he should have, then he checked the entryway for your shoes and they weren’t there. An hour later, Jungkook checked again, and still you weren’t back home.

By the third day, he texted you.

Jungkook: You okay?

No message came back. He stared at the screen until it dimmed in his hand again, and when Jungkook unlocked it, there was still nothing.

By the fourth day, the uneasiness became too loud for him to ignore. It followed him into the shower, the car, and the office. Jungkook sat through meetings without taking in a word. Jungkook asked his assistant to repeat what they just said three times, and afterwards Jungkook still couldn’t remember what they were even discussing.

Jungkook called you once in the afternoon, then again on the drive home, but both calls went to voicemail.

Jungkook wasn’t used to this. 

Jungkook is used to handling problems, hell, he has built companies and sat across from men twice his age and made them agree to terms they had sworn they would never accept. Jungkook knew how to remain calm when everyone else in the room was losing their mind. 

But that night, at two in the morning, Jungkook lay awake thinking about one unanswered text, thinking about where you were, if you were eating well, if you were sleeping soundly, if you will ever come back home to him.

When did he become like this? 

By the fifth day, Jungkook drove past your mother’s street twice. 

The first time, he told himself he had taken the wrong turn. The second time, he slowed down near your house and looked for a light in the windows. Jungkook wanted proof that you were there, that you were somewhere and you didn’t simply disappear beyond his reach.

Jungkook hated how badly he needed you. He opened your contact on his phone again and again but never pressed call, his thumb only hovered over your name until the screen went dark again.

The past three years of marriage have been made up of small things he never should have done. The meals you prepared that he barely touched, the questions he answered without looking at you, the evenings when you sat beside him and eventually stopped trying to start a conversation.

You tried to make a life with him, yet Jungkook treated every attempt as an inconvenience.

For years, he told himself that he was the victim, that Suji was the person he should have been married to. But when Jungkook forced himself to remember exactly why he liked Suji, he felt nothing.

What Jungkook remembered was always you and everything the two of you had done together. He remembered a girl half his size sitting across from him, looking up at him like he was her world. He remembered playing hide-and-seek with you and he remembered pretending not to see you.

Jungkook always said Suji was the person he was the happiest with, but all the memories that felt warm to him, belonged to you.

Admitting the truth would have meant admitting that Jungkook spent years hurting the wrong person. And tonight, Jungkook sat alone in the living room and finally clearly admitted the one he always wanted was you.

Jungkook didn’t want a divorce and he did not want you to leave him.

When he imagined the apartment being empty of your things, Jungkook’s chest started hurting. When he imagined another man hearing you laugh, learning what food you liked, being invited to your mother’s house, he felt something pressing against his chest that it was hard for him to breathe.

Jungkook wanted you to remain his wife and the thought made him feel ashamed of all the things he had done to you the past three years.

“My wife,” Jungkook said to his empty apartment.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Jungkook tried to call Suji, but she didn’t answer. So, the next morning, he called Taehyung and to his surprise, Taehyung answered on the second ring.

“Stay away from my family,” was all Taehyung said when he picked up.

“I knew you had feelings for my wife,” Taehyung continued, “I have known for years, I knew since we were children, Jungkook. I didn’t say anything because I thought you would get over it. I thought it was some pathetic thing from when we were younger that would eventually die out.”

“Taehyung,” Jungkook tried to cut him off, but Taehyung wouldn’t let him.

“No. You don’t get to say shit. It’s been years,” Taehyung said, “and while you were busy feeling sorry for yourself, you destroyed her sister. Three years, Jungkook. She carried your marriage alone for three years and still smiled through every family dinner because she didn’t want anyone worrying about her. We recently found out it was an arranged marriage, fine, you didn’t have to love her, but you could have treated her decently.”

“You knew she didn’t deserve it,” Taehyung continued, “that’s the part I can’t understand. You knew exactly who she was, and you still treated her like she was responsible for everything you hated about your life.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” Taehyung let out a short and bitter laugh, “But I hope you do now. I hope you finally understand what you’ve done, and I hope you feel every second of it.”

Then the call ended.

Jungkook spent years blaming you for a decision neither of you had made. Every humiliation, disappointment, and every bit of grief he carried since he was seventeen, he somehow found a way to make it yours.

It was easier than looking at you, who stayed beside him and asked for so little, and realising he had still given you even less than that.

Now you were gone and there was no one left for him to blame but himself.

Jungkook was not the man he always imagined himself to be. He was pathetic, petty, cowardly, and far smaller than the woman he spent three years treating like nobody.

Jungkook has been nothing but a pathetic, petty and frightened boy wearing a man’s face.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The next day, Jungkook went to your mother's house.

She opened the door and just looked at Jungkook with disappointment across her face. It was the same look she gave him when he didn’t kiss you at the altar.  

"I'm not here to see her," Jungkook quickly said, before your mom could close the door, "I know she doesn't want to see me yet. I'm here because I need to say something to you, and I need you to hear me out."

She didn’t say anything, yet she opened the door wide enough to let him in. Unlike the other guests who have visited her home, your mother did not offer Jungkook tea. There was no need to treat him like an acquaintance, soon Jungkook will be her ex son-in-law and someone whom she’ll never ever meet in her life again. 

She sat him at the same kitchen table where you cried just a few nights before.

"I owe your family a lot of money," she said, folding her hands in front of her, "I understand that. I understand this was an arranged marriage none of you asked for or wanted, and that you were as much a pawn in it as my daughter was.”

She drew in a small breath before continuing, “What I do not understand, Jungkook, is how you could treat another human being, my daughter, the kindest person I have ever raised and the one who never once in her life made anyone feel small… How could you have treated her the way you have done the past three years? I am in as much pain watching what this did to her as she is living it, maybe even more, because I was the one who put her in this situation with you in the first place. So tell me, why should I forgive you? Why should I let you anywhere near her again? What exactly do you intend to do?"

Jungkook has never been shaken by anything in his life, not until tonight, sitting in front of your mother.

"I don't have a clear answer," he said, "I wish I did. I spent years being angry at _____ for something that was never even her fault, something I won't even go into right now, because it's mine to explain to her first. And then I spent three more years married to her and still treating her like she was the one who wronged me. I'm not asking you to forgive me." 

Jungkook looked at her, and he looked so broken your mother couldn’t help pitying him, "I'm asking for the chance to keep showing up until it means something to her. I'll beg for her forgiveness, I'll keep coming back even when she tells me not to, even when she has every right to slam the door in my face. But we'll talk, we'll argue, we'll probably fight, more than once, because I don't think she's going to make this easy for me, and she shouldn't and I wouldn’t want her to. I just know I can't bring myself to just let this end without actually trying for the first time in this whole marriage. I want to be someone worth her time. Without knowing it, I realised that the small things she has done throughout our marriage was never small at all. She loved me despite the ugly things I have done. I was just too busy being furious at my past to notice I was standing next to the person I actually wanted."

Your mother stared at him for a long moment, long enough that Jungkook thought she might ask him to leave without another word.

Her marriage to your father hadn’t always been easy. There were years of arguments over parenting, finance, and many more. There were years where she wondered if she married too young.

But when he died, something in her broke apart and it never quite put itself back together.

She remembered how you used to climb into their bed on Sunday mornings, how your father would let you win at cards, how you cried at his funeral so quietly like you were trying not to take up too much space even in your own grief.

you see, your mother knew about your crush on Jungkook. She watched you for sixteen years, she saw the way your face changed whenever Jungkook's name came up at the dinner table, and pretended not to notice the way you used to volunteer to answer the door whenever Suji’s group of friends came around, just in case it was Jungkook. She knew, long before you ever confessed to it, that you had loved him since you were a child. 

And when she told you about the arranged marriage, some small, guilty part of her had let herself believe that maybe this could help. Maybe if she was going to ruin your life with her mistake, it could at least be with the one person you had always wanted to have a relationship with.

She was wrong. 

She watched that hope change into something else these past three years, watching you get smaller in ways you thought she hadn't noticed, watching you repeating lies about a man who could not even be bothered to accompany you for your own father’s death anniversaries.

She was, is, a bad mother for that. 

But she also knew you. She knew that if she asked you right now, whether some part of you still wanted to know if he was willing to try, you wouldn’t say no.

"Sit up straight," she finally said, and Jungkook blinked at her, caught off guard.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me," your mother’s voice was firm and steady, "If you're going to sit in my kitchen and tell me you intend to fight for my daughter, you're not going to do it slouched over like a boy waiting to be punished. Fighting for her means showing up like you mean it, every time, starting now."

Jungkook immediately straightened his posture.

"I'm not telling you this because I forgive you," she continued, "I will not forgive you for a long time, and that will be my right to decide, just as it will be hers." 

She took a deep breath, before continuing, "But I have spent three years watching my daughter lie to the people who love her because she didn't want anyone to know how badly you have hurt her. If you're serious, then you do not need to convince me. You show her, you keep showing it to her, and you need to accept that she may never let you back in, and you don't get to be angry about it, not after all the years you've taken from her already."

"She was ten years old the first time she talked to me about you," she said quietly, "I used to think it was sweet. I didn't know I was watching the beginning of something that would be a long time pain for her. So if she gives you a second chance, you do not waste whatever time she gives you, Jungkook. She has given enough of it away for free, do you understand me?"

"I understand," he said.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

You came home from a work trip three days later and found Jungkook sitting at your family home’s dining table, his laptop open and a stack of papers beside him like it was any other weekday.

He was sitting there as if it wasn’t your first time seeing him since you walked out of the home you shared with him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?” you sneered.

Your keys were clenched in your hand, and your entire body went rigid at the sight of him sitting in a chair at your family home.

"I'm here to date you," he said, slowly looking up at you.

You stared at him in disbelief, "You are here to what?"

“Date you,” Jungkook said as he closed his laptop, “I want to date you properly this time.”

For a second, all you could do was look at him. 

"I know what I did,” Jungkook continued, “I know what three years of this marriage to me did to you. I'm not asking you to forget it. I just.. I want the chance to earn what I should’ve earned before we ever got married.”

You let out a dry and humourless laugh, before asking, “What the fuck?!”

You dropped your keys onto the counter, and they hit harder than you intended it to be, “You think you can just show up here and ask to start over?”

“No matter what you do, my heart is not going to change, Jungkook. I'm not a child anymore. I know better than to give you a second chance, hell, I gave you a hundred chances over the last three years and you didn't take a single one.”

“You are beneath me now,” you said quietly, “do you understand that?”

“Then give me one last chance,” Jungkook said, almost pleading.

“Let me court you,” he continued, “let me date you the way I should have the past three years.”

You didn’t answer.

You just walked past him and went to get changed.

You were meeting your friends that night, and had no intention of spending another minute in that kitchen listening to Jungkook act like he could fix three years with a few words.

He stayed where he was while you moved around the house, but you could feel his eyes on you. It shouldn’t have felt unfamiliar, he was your husband. Still, you couldn’t remember the last time he actually noticed you. 

but you hated that your body enjoyed the feeling of being noticed by him, hated that some part of you still wanted to be seen by him.

"Can I come?" he asked, from the living room, he sounded quieter than you have ever heard him speak, “I would love to get to know your friends.” 

You scoffed out loud in response and left without answering him.

When the door shut behind you, something in your body felt at ease because for the first time in years, your life felt like it belonged entirely to you again. 

[rosalescent]

read the fine print || JJK

Company Heir x Employee — ᨳଓ — Jeon Jungkook

Summary: After years of trading sleep for a degree and surviving far too many 3 A.M. breakdowns, landing her dream job should mean that life is perfect now, and it is for a few years… despite the long hours and sudden matrimonial pressures. Sick of this and in a panic, she lies, claiming to be taken, leaving her desperate to find a fake boyfriend, fast. Who better than Jeon Jungkook? The company's future heir himself. It's strictly business, of course. Just to keep her parents off her back, naturally. But as quiet glances replace the professional distance and the act starts feeling dangerously unscripted, the rules stop mattering. She really should've read the fine print.

Genre/Tags: workplace setting, fake dating, romance, fluff, angst, slow (kinda) burn.

Word Count: 0k (so far)

Warnings: strong language, parental pressure, workaholic, emotionally distant parents, toxic family dynamics, emotional neglect, violence (will update as I go along)

Notes: I love me a bit of fake dating, I feel like it's sooo underrated asw despite how good it is and how much u get from it: the fluff, the funny moments, the slight awkwardness, the chaos, the slips ups, the tension, the silent yearning, thoughts of unrequited love, the realisations, the denials, the angst.... ughhh one of my favourite tropes istg. I hope you like this and I hope I did this trope justice🤞🏼🤞🏼I haven't finished writing it yet but I'm posting this to get my ass motivated to finish it 😭 This is also not gonna be like a super super long slow burn type thing, I don't have the patience to write something like that yet (although in the future I deffo really want to 👀)

Requested By: @poetryrosee

.✦ ݁˖ Chapters:

01 - <coming soon>

[outrokoo]

𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙪𝙨 | 𝙟𝙟𝙠 • 11

˙⋆✮ They say having feelings for your brother's best friend is never a good idea...

But loving Jungkook feels like the easiest thing in the world.

He's been by your side for as long as you can remember, so it's only natural for you to feel devastated when your brother, Dohyun, tells you that Jungkook is about to get married.

For the first time ever, loving him doesn't feel easy at all.

paining: brother's best friend!jungkook × f!reader

genre: unrequited love(?), brother's best friend trope, angst, fluff, smut, slow burn

WC: 6k

cw: age gap (jk is 32, reader is 22 ops), tension, reader is WHIPPED, pining, initial unrequited love (my fav), eventual smut (adding new warnings when needed!!)

>>english is not my first language

chapter 10 | masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Jungkook likes to think of himself as a patient man. Ever since he was a child, patience had always come naturally to him. He had been quiet, respectful, the kind of kid who never caused trouble and always knew when to keep his head down, which was exactly why his mother loved bragging about him to anyone willing to listen. She would smile so proudly every time she called him her ‘golden boy’, and although he used to roll his eyes whenever she did, deep down he had always cherished the warmth behind those words.

Looking back now, Jungkook can’t help but laugh at the sudden memory of Dohyun being the complete opposite. Even after all these years, he still finds himself wondering how two people so fundamentally different could have formed a bond that refused to break no matter what life threw at them. While Dohyun spent his teenage years surrounded by people, chasing every opportunity to go out, party, and make memories that usually involved loud music and even louder laughter, Jungkook gravitated toward the sidelines. He was never antisocial- quite the opposite, actually. He enjoyed conversations, always had something to say whenever someone spoke to him, and never struggled to make people comfortable around him. He simply preferred observing rather than being the center of attention, finding comfort in watching everyone else enjoy themselves while quietly existing somewhere in the background.

Patience had become more than just a personality trait over the years. It had turned into the thing that kept him standing whenever life seemed determined to test him.

It was patience that allowed him to survive the countless nights spent listening to his parents scream at each other from opposite ends of the house, neither of them caring enough to lower their voices despite knowing their son was only a few rooms away. Jungkook remembers lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling as if counting every crack in the plaster could somehow drown out the sound of plates slamming against kitchen counters and voices growing harsher with every passing minute. He never interrupted them. Never cried loud enough for them to hear. Instead, he simply waited for the storm to pass, convincing himself that if he stayed quiet long enough, everything would eventually go back to normal.

Most of the time, though, normal never came.

Whenever it became too much, Jungkook found himself making the familiar walk to Dohyun’s house without even thinking about it. He was welcomed so often that he had eventually stopped knocking, already knowing the front door would be unlocked and that someone inside would greet him with the same warmth every single time.

And then there was Y/n.

She was still just a little girl back then, always running around the house with endless energy, completely unaware of the weight the older boy carried on his shoulders whenever he stepped inside. Somehow, though, her presence alone was enough to quiet the noise in his head. Watching her laugh over the smallest things, hearing her excited stories that jumped from one topic to another without making much sense, or simply seeing her happily exist in her own little world managed to pull him away from the thoughts that constantly threatened to consume him. She became an unintentional escape, a reminder that life could still be light even when everything around him felt unbearably heavy. Thinking about it now, Jungkook realizes she helped him survive far more than she could have ever known, even helping him make peace with the reality of his parents’ divorce when it finally became inevitable.

Patience was a gift.

It was the same gift that, years later, allowed him to win Sophie’s heart. His beloved Sophie.

The way Jungkook viewed love by then was nothing like the fairytale he had imagined as a child. Ten-year-old Jungkook had genuinely believed he would grow up to become someone’s prince charming, destined to spend the rest of his life beside one person and one person only. Back then, love had seemed pure. Permanent.

His parents’ divorce shattered that illusion piece by piece. After watching two people who had once promised each other forever slowly become strangers sharing the same house, Jungkook could no longer bring himself to believe that true love was something everyone was lucky enough to find. He wanted to believe in it- God, he really did- but doubt had quietly settled somewhere deep inside him, refusing to leave no matter how much time passed. Maybe soulmates only existed in books. Maybe forever was just another promise people made until life gave them a reason to break it. Then he met Sophie. And for the first time in years, Jungkook found himself believing again.

The moment she walked into his life, all those doubts that had followed him for so long suddenly felt quieter, almost insignificant compared to the warmth growing inside his chest. She made everything seem effortless, as though loving someone wasn’t supposed to feel frightening after all. For the first time since he was a little boy, Jungkook truly believed he had finally found his princess. Love at first sight isn’t something everyone believes in. It certainly wasn’t something Jungkook believed in either.

At least, not until the morning a girl sat down beside him at the bus stop, completely unaware that she was about to alter the course of someone else’s life. She had a pair of headphones resting over her ears, gently nodding her head along to whatever song was playing, one foot tapping absentmindedly against the pavement while the early morning breeze brushed strands of hair away from her face. She looked so comfortable that Jungkook remembers catching himself staring for a second longer than he should have before quickly looking away, embarrassed by his own curiosity.

He saw her again the next day, and then the day after that. Before he even realized it, those brief encounters had quietly become part of his routine, something he found himself looking forward to every morning without ever admitting it out loud. Days passed before he finally gathered enough courage to speak to her, rehearsing countless introductions in his head only to forget every single one the moment she looked at him.

She smiled at him anyway. Jungkook remembers thinking that maybe, just maybe, destiny had finally decided to be kind to him.

That hopeful feeling didn’t last very long.

His heart sank the moment he found out she already had a boyfriend. He remembers forcing himself to smile through the disappointment, pretending the news hadn’t affected him nearly as much as it actually had. It wasn’t her fault, after all. She had done nothing wrong by falling in love before he ever had the chance to meet her.

As said before, Jungkook has always been a patient man, so instead of walking away entirely and pretending they had never met, he accepted what she was willing to give him. Her friendship wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but it was infinitely better than never hearing her laugh again, never exchanging another conversation with her, or never having her somewhere in his life. Looking back now, he realizes he would’ve settled for almost anything as long as it meant she stayed.

The day Sophie broke down in his arms, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe as she told him that her relationship with Yoongi had finally come to an end, Jungkook’s heart ached for her. Seeing her in so much pain hurt him more than he could ever put into words, and he remembers holding her tightly while gently rubbing circles against her back, whispering quiet reassurances he wasn’t even sure he believed himself.

Hidden beneath all that guilt and sympathy, however, was another emotion, one so small and shamefully quiet that Jungkook almost hated himself for recognizing it in the first place: relief.

He buried it the second it surfaced, refusing to let it show on his face because Sophie deserved someone who cared about her heartbreak without secretly benefiting from it, and Jungkook tried with everything he had to be exactly that person.

Two months later, they became a couple.

Jungkook realizes that patience has shaped almost every meaningful chapter of his life. Waiting had given him friendships that lasted years, had helped him survive heartbreak before it had even begun, and had eventually led him to forgive the woman he genuinely believed he would spend the rest of his life with for cheating. Patience had never failed him.

Until now.

Because remaining calm feels nearly impossible.

The silence filling the room is almost deafening, stretching between the two of you until it becomes unbearable. Your gaze drifts everywhere except toward him, lingering on the floor, the walls, and the edge of the bed as though looking at him would somehow make this conversation more bearable.

“Are you in love with me, Y/n?”

The question lingers in the air long after the words leave his mouth, echoing inside Jungkook’s mind as though even his own thoughts can’t quite believe he actually asked it.

He doesn’t move, simply watching you while waiting and hoping you’ll finally say something before the silence swallows him whole.

When no answer comes, his hand instinctively disappears into his hair, fingers pushing it back before tangling through the dark strands. It’s an old nervous habit, one he has never managed to outgrow, and the agitation tightening every muscle in his body makes it impossible for the patience he has relied on his entire life to calm him now.

“Y/n.” he says again, his voice noticeably softer despite the tension threatening to betray him. “You need to talk to me.”

Only then do you finally gather enough courage to lift your head. Your eyes meet his.

The moment they do, Jungkook isn’t sitting in this room anymore. He’s remembering.

He can’t help noticing that, despite all the years that have passed, your eyes haven’t changed at all. They’re still just as big and just as bright as they were when you were a little girl, untouched by time in a way that almost feels unfair.

They’re the same eyes that watched him cry over his parents’ divorce when he was too young to understand why his family had fallen apart. The same eyes that looked at him with quiet concern after he showed up at your house completely shattered, struggling to process the betrayal that had turned his entire world upside down. They’re also the same eyes that quietly lost a fraction of their light the day Dohyun proudly announced Jungkook and Sophie’s engagement, though at the time he had been far too distracted to notice what now seems painfully obvious.

How could he have missed it?

Every memory suddenly feels different- every moment he had dismissed without a second thought rearranging itself inside his mind until an entirely different picture begins to emerge. The signs had always been there, scattered through years of memories that now seem so painfully obvious he can’t understand how he managed to overlook every single one of them.

Jungkook thinks he’s an idiot.

He doesn’t know whether to feel guilty, ashamed, or completely devastated by the realization that you had been quietly loving him all this time while he remained hopelessly oblivious.

For the first time in years, Jungkook has absolutely no idea what he’s supposed to do.

“Sweetheart, please… I need to hear it from you.”

He watches as tears finally spill from your eyes, tracing a slow path down your cheek, and every instinct in his body urges him to close the distance between you and wipe it away with the pad of his thumb, just like he has done so many times before whenever you found yourself crying in front of him. The urge is almost impossible to ignore, but he forces himself to stay exactly where he is, afraid that even the smallest gesture might make you pull away from him, and he isn’t willing to risk losing the little closeness you still allow him to have.

“Why are you doing this to me?” you whisper, your voice barely louder than your own breathing, and for a second Jungkook genuinely wonders if he only imagined hearing the words, until he catches the way your lower lip trembles and realizes that the pain in your eyes is very, very real. He can’t understand why you sound as though he’s the one hurting you when all he’s been trying to do since he walked into your room is understand what’s been going on inside your head.

Without saying anything, he shifts a little closer, leaning forward just enough to shorten the distance between you as he tilts his head in a silent attempt to meet your eyes, refusing to rush you even now because he reminds himself that patience has always come easily to him, especially when it comes to you. If anyone deserves every bit of understanding he has to offer, it’s you.

“I’m not… no… Why would you think that?”

One of his eyebrows arches almost instantly, and although this is probably the worst possible moment for it, he has to suppress the disbelieving smile threatening to appear on his face because your acting is awful. You have never been able to lie to him, not successfully at least, and the way you avoid his gaze after denying it only confirms what has been circling his mind ever since that afternoon.

The memory of the pool comes rushing back with frustrating ease. He remembers how close you had been, close enough for your warmth to linger against him even after everything was over, and he remembers standing completely still because the entire moment had caught him so off guard that his mind simply stopped working. Looking back now, that isn’t the part he keeps replaying the most. What stays with him is the way you looked at him, the uneven rhythm of your breathing and the feeling of your fingers tightening ever so slightly around the back of his neck.

Jungkook has always paid attention to people, and you’ve never been an exception. Over the years he has learned to read your expressions long before you put them into words, so he knew that what he had seen that day couldn’t possibly be the quiet affection you had always shown him growing up. Your usual shyness had disappeared completely, replaced by something that carried a weight he had never seen in your eyes before, something far deeper than simple fondness, something that lingered between the two of you long after you had stepped away from each other.

He understood it in that exact moment.

You were in love with him.

“Just be honest with me, Y/n.” he says quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You owe me an explanation.”

Jungkook knows he fucked up the second he watches the sadness lingering in your eyes harden into something much sharper. Your lips press into a stubborn little pout, your arms fold tightly across your chest as though you’re trying to keep him out, and the look you give him is enough to make him realize he has pushed far harder than he should have.

“What?” you snap, your voice rising for the first time since he walked into your room. “I don’t owe you shit! You can’t just come into my room at three in the morning and expect me to answer to whatever question you throw at me.”

The sudden change in your tone catches him completely off guard. In all the years he’s known you, you’ve never spoken to him like this, and despite the knot tightening in his stomach, a traitorous part of him can’t stop noticing how ridiculously adorable you still look with your cheeks puffed out in frustration, your brows furrowed so deeply that he almost wants to laugh.

“And explain what, exactly?” you continue before he can get a single word in. “I don’t owe you any explanation.”

Jungkook exhales through his nose, his jaw tightening as your insistence on pretending you have no idea what he’s talking about slowly chips away at the patience he’s been desperately trying to hold onto ever since this conversation began.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about” he replies, his voice quieter than yours, though no less firm. “Don’t play dumb. You were in that pool too.”

He hates the way those words sound the moment they leave his mouth, but he hates the feeling sitting in his chest even more.

Ever since that afternoon, the possibility that you might actually be in love with him has followed him everywhere, slipping into his thoughts when he least expects it and refusing to leave no matter how hard he tries to convince himself he’s overthinking everything. He can’t put a name to the emotion it stirs inside him, can’t understand why it leaves him feeling so restless whenever it crosses his mind, but he knows one thing with absolute certainty. He doesn’t like it.

“You know what, Jungkook?” You let out a bitter laugh as another tear rolls down your cheek. “Fuck you. Get out of my room.”

He stares at you, genuinely speechless.

Not once, in all the years you’ve spent growing up together, have you ever shouted at him.

Not once have you ever sworn at him or looked at him as though you couldn’t stand the sight of him.

He watches you push yourself off the bed, your cheeks burning with anger as you march toward the bedroom door and yank it open before turning back to face him.

“Leave.”

Jungkook gets to his feet almost immediately, his own frustration finally catching up with him as the patience he has relied on his entire life begins slipping through his fingers one piece at a time.

“Why are you acting like this?” he asks, taking a slow step closer. “You know I have every right to ask.”

Without answering, you point at him before swinging your finger toward the open doorway, repeating the silent order with nothing but the furious look on your face.

For reasons he can’t even begin to explain, the gesture pulls a short, incredulous laugh out of him. “We were inches away from each other, Y/n.”

You shake your head immediately, refusing to let him finish, but Jungkook barely registers it anymore. He’s spent hours replaying that afternoon over and over in his head, questioning every detail until there was nothing left to question.

“You were about to kiss me.”

Your composure falls apart in front of him, tears spilling freely down your face as your breathing turns uneven, and guilt twists painfully in his chest because seeing you cry has always been enough to make him back down. Every argument you’ve ever had ended the moment you looked even remotely upset, yet tonight he can’t bring himself to take back a single word.

“Jungkook, get. out.”

He steps closer to you, already feeling the weight in his own legs as though every step is becoming harder than the last. His hand reaches for the door that’s still standing open behind you, and with a small push he closes it, the quiet click echoing through the room before he turns to face you completely.

You’re still avoiding his eyes.

Your arms remain wrapped around yourself, your shoulders trembling ever so slightly as you struggle to steady your breathing, and the knot that’s been tightening in his chest ever since he got here only pulls tighter.

“Why are you acting like this?” he asks, his voice strained despite his effort to keep it under control. “I know you’ve been avoiding me and I hate that. Why is it so hard for you to just talk to me?”

He waits for some kind of reaction, any reaction at all, but you remain silent, your gaze fixed somewhere below him while another tear slips down your cheek.

“Y/n, please, for the love of God, just answer the goddamn question truthfully.” His voice cracks with frustration, though there’s something else beneath it now- desperation. “Are you in love with me or not? Stop acting like a 5 year old and just-“

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, JUNGKOOK…” you cry, your voice breaking so violently that it cuts straight through him. “YES. I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU.”

The words hit him so hard that, for a moment, everything inside him seems to stop.

More tears spill down your cheeks as your chest rises with another broken breath, and Jungkook can’t bear to see you like that. The sight alone is enough to make something inside him crack, a sharp pain spreading through his chest before he instinctively presses a hand against it, almost as though he can physically hold himself together.

He can’t believe the words that have just left your mouth.

He’s been almost certain you have feelings for him, piecing everything together little by little until there was no explanation that made more sense, but no amount of suspicion could have prepared him for the sound of your voice finally admitting it out loud. Somehow, hearing those words from you feels infinitely more real than every conclusion he’d reached on his own, and all at once he understands just how much they’ve been hurting you.

His lips part, but nothing comes out.

Every question that had been spinning through his mind only seconds ago suddenly feels meaningless compared to the tears still running down your face. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say anymore, doesn’t know how to respond to a confession that clearly costs you everything.

“Sweetheart…” he whispers, his voice barely above a breath as his eyes never leave yours, the nickname slipping from his lips with an instinctive tenderness that almost hurts as much as the confession itself.

A wave of sadness washes over Jungkook so quickly that, for a moment, it feels as though it’s pulling him under. His chest tightens around a feeling he can’t even begin to put into words, and despite everything you’ve already confessed, one question forces its way into his mind, impossible to ignore. He isn’t sure he’s ready for the answer, yet the uncertainty is already eating him alive.

“Since when?” he asks, his voice almost giving out as the words leave his mouth.

He watches as you instinctively take a step back.

You slowly retreat until the backs of your legs meet the edge of the bed, your eyes darting anywhere but towards him, like a deer caught in the headlights with nowhere left to run.

“It doesn’t matter.” you murmur, your voice colder than he’s ever heard it. “We’ve talked enough. I’m tired… you should go.”

The fact that you’ve avoided his question does nothing to reassure him. If anything, it only confirms that the answer is far worse than he’s prepared to hear.

“Sweetheart…” he says, taking an unconscious step toward you. “I need to know.”

You don’t answer. “How long have you loved me?”

The distance growing between the two of you feels unbearable. Seeing you back away from him goes against everything he’s grown used to over the years, and before he can even think twice about it, he closes the space between you in three long strides.

He stops right in front of you, desperately searching your eyes for the slightest hint of softness, some sign that you’re still the person he’s always believed he knew so well. Instead, all he finds is something he can’t quite understand, and for the first time, it occurs to him that maybe he has never known you as well as he convinced himself he did.

“I think I’ve always loved you.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“From the moment I met you, I couldn’t picture myself with anyone else.” he watches as you visibly pause to swallow the lump in your throat before forcing yourself to continue. “It became something I couldn’t ignore when I was fifteen.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen in disbelief. He knows you were aware that, back then, he never would have looked your way. You were younger, and the age gap between you was impossible to ignore. Even so, he can’t stop wondering about how your feelings kept growing with every passing year, making them all the more painful to carry now that you’re a woman.

He can’t stop thinking about how oblivious he’s been all this time. Every hug that had always felt comforting to him, every warm smile, every affectionate touch he’d given you without a second thought… while he was simply happy to show you how much you meant to him, you were standing on the other side of those same moments, quietly falling apart each time, loving him in silence while accepting whatever pieces of him he unknowingly placed in your hands.

The guilt slowly becomes louder than any other feeling Jungkook is trying to deal with. It takes over his thoughts until everything else starts to fade, leaving him with only one painful realization: you have been carrying all of this alone for years, and he was there through every moment without ever understanding what was happening right in front of him.

The regret he feels now is almost unbearable, heavier than the hurt his parents caused him when he was younger. He remembers what it felt like to be a kid who couldn’t understand why the people who were supposed to protect him were the same ones who made him feel unseen, how painful it was to keep everything inside because he never knew how to explain what was going on in his head. And now, somehow, he is the person who made someone else feel that way.

“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart.”

The apology comes out broken, carrying more emotion than he is able to put into words. Jungkook knows that saying sorry won’t undo the years you spent hiding your feelings or change all the moments where he unknowingly made things harder for you, but right now it is the only thing he can give you.

He tries to hold himself back, to listen to the part of his mind telling him that you need space and that the right thing to do is step away instead of reaching for you. He knows you have just exposed a part of yourself that you have kept hidden for a very long time, and the last thing you should have to do is deal with his emotions when you are the one who has been hurting. But then he looks at you, and all those thoughts disappear.

Before he can convince himself otherwise, he moves toward you and pulls you into his arms, wrapping them tightly around your body as if he could somehow protect you from all the pain you have been carrying. The familiarity of holding you almost makes it worse because this has always been something natural for him, something he did without hesitation, never once stopping to wonder what those moments felt like from your side.

He waits for you to hold him back, but you never do.

The lack of your usual response makes his chest tighten, and instead of letting go, he holds onto you even more, not wanting you to feel pressured into comforting him or forgiving him before you are ready, but unable to stand there while you are falling apart in front of him.

“I’m sorry” he whispers again.

And that is when the tears finally take over.

You start crying uncontrollably, your sobs breaking through the silence of the room as your entire body shakes against his. The sound is so raw and painful that Jungkook feels his own eyes burning, struggling to keep himself together while one of the people he cares about most is breaking apart in his arms.

He has always known that you were important to him. The love he feels for you has never been something temporary or insignificant- it has always been there, warm and familiar, built through years of memories, trust, and a connection he never had to force.

But it has never been the same feeling he has for Sophie.

Sophie is the person he has chosen to spend his life with, the one he sees when he thinks about the future waiting for him. His love for her is overwhelming in a way that has always felt impossible to question, so deep that being away from her for too long leaves him feeling like something essential is missing. Jungkook has never found the perfect way to describe what she means to him, but he thinks of her as the air that keeps him alive, something so necessary that he cannot imagine what it would feel like to exist without it.

With you still in his arms, Jungkook can’t stop himself from thinking about how different everything could have been if his life had taken another direction the day he met Sophie.

If he had chosen the car instead of the bus, if he had been somewhere else at that exact moment, if one decision had changed the chain of events that brought him here, standing in this room with you breaking apart against him, he wonders who he would’ve become and what the two of you could have been.

Maybe he would have realized sooner.

Maybe he would have understood that the way you looked at him was never just affection, that every moment he thought was ordinary had been something you held onto because, to you, it meant so much more.

Maybe he would have had the chance to love you in the way you always deserved.

The thought hurts because there is no way for him to know if that version of his life ever truly existed, yet he can’t stop imagining it. A life where he didn’t miss the signs, where he didn’t unknowingly make you fall deeper while believing he was only giving you the same love he had always given you.

A life where the person in his arms now wasn’t someone he had to let go of, before eventually going to sleep into someone else’s bed.

And as painful as it is to admit, Jungkook knows that if everything had happened differently, the person he would have chosen could have been you.

.✦ ݁˖

The next morning, you have no idea how you’re supposed to act around Jungkook.

Before either of you gets the chance to bring up what happened the night before, everyone somehow ends up back on the beach. From the outside, nothing seems out of the ordinary. The others are laughing as they split into teams for a game of beach volleyball, while you stay where you are, sitting on your towel with your knees drawn up, letting the sun warm your skin instead of joining them. Anyone paying close enough attention would probably notice that something isn’t quite right. While everyone else is busy having fun, you haven’t moved since you got there.

After almost fifteen minutes, Taehyung is the first one to walk over. He slows to a stop in front of you, slightly out of breath after running across the sand “Come on. We need one more player.” he tilts his head with an expression that already tells you he isn’t about to take no for an answer.

“I’m perfectly fine here, honestly.”

The excuse does little to convince him. Before you can think of another one, his hand closes gently around your wrist and he pulls you back onto your feet with surprising ease. As you brush the sand off your legs, he leans in just enough for only you to hear him. “We’ll talk later.”

You don’t trust yourself to answer, settling for a small nod before following him toward the others.

You’ve never been the most athletic person in the world, so once the game begins, you spend most of your time standing in the same spot, hoping the ball keeps finding someone else instead. It doesn’t take long for Dohyun to notice.

“You’re actually terrible at this.”

The smugness in his voice lasts all of a few seconds before a volleyball flies across the court and hits him square in the face. You smile to yourself at the instant karma, and without meaning to, your gaze drifts toward Jungkook.

The moment your eyes meet his, you realise you have no idea how you’re supposed to be feeling. Hiding your emotions had become second nature over the years. Every small gesture had always been measured carefully enough to keep anyone from suspecting what was really going through your mind. Now all of that feels pointless. Knowing that he finally understands what every look meant leaves you feeling exposed in a way you never thought possible, yet underneath the embarrassment sits a quiet sense of relief. Telling him the truth hurt more than you ever expected, but keeping it to yourself had become exhausting long before you found the courage to say it out loud.

You barely have time to look away before a pair of strong arms suddenly lifts you off the ground. The grin spreading across Taehyung’s face is all the warning you get before he takes off toward the water, laughing to himself while you struggle against his grip, hoping you’ll somehow manage to break free despite knowing it’s completely useless.

“Taehyung, I swear I’m gonna punch you.”

Your threat earns little more than an amused laugh as he keeps running, and by the time the water reaches the two of you, you’ve stopped trying to push him away altogether. The sea isn’t deep enough to soak either of you straight away, but it’s cold enough for you to feel it around your legs, making you tighten your arms around his neck without even thinking about it.

“Tae, please… take me back.”

Instead of listening, he walks even farther into the water, and a second later you’re completely soaked.

Water drips from your body as you walk back toward your towel, still throwing him a glare over your shoulder that promises he’ll eventually pay for this, although judging by the way he’s laughing with Jimin, he doesn’t seem the least bit worried.

You crouch down, reaching for your towel, only to realise it’s covered in sand. After staring at it for a moment, you quietly abandon the idea of using it, knowing you’ll only make things worse if you try to dry yourself with it.

Beside you, Jungkook gets to his feet. He walks over without saying a word and stops in front of you, holding out his own towel. The unexpected gesture catches you off guard, and for a second you simply look at him before carefully taking it from his hands.

“Thank you” you murmur, your fingers tightening around the fabric.

As you unfold the towel, your gaze lingers on him a little longer than it probably should, and that’s when you notice the way his jaw has tightened. His eyes aren’t on you anymore, but somewhere behind you instead. You turn your head to see what has caught his attention, only to find Taehyung still standing by the water, joining the others as though nothing has happened. The thought crosses your mind before you can stop it, absurd enough that you almost dismiss it the moment it appears, yet impossible to ignore completely. After handing you his towel, had Jungkook just looked at Taehyung with something dangerously close to jealousy? The idea feels ridiculous, and yet you can’t quite bring yourself to shake it off.

───────────

author’s note:

guys!! i finally finished writing chapter 11 😭 you have no idea how many times i scrapped entire scenes and started all over again. this chapter fought me every step of the way, but i really hope it’ll be worth it and that you’ll enjoy it 💘

i didn’t want to give away too much of what goes on inside jungkook’s head just yet, but i figured it was finally time to let you peek into his mind a little!

let me know what you think!! and don’t worry… this definitely isn’t the last time they’re going to have this conversation :3

alsooo, you asked for it, so here you go!! jealous jk is on his way :P

kisses <3

[outrokoo]

𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙪𝙨 | 𝙟𝙟𝙠 • 11

˙⋆✮ They say having feelings for your brother's best friend is never a good idea...

But loving Jungkook feels like the easiest thing in the world.

He's been by your side for as long as you can remember, so it's only natural for you to feel devastated when your brother, Dohyun, tells you that Jungkook is about to get married.

For the first time ever, loving him doesn't feel easy at all.

paining: brother's best friend!jungkook × f!reader

genre: unrequited love(?), brother's best friend trope, angst, fluff, smut, slow burn

WC: 6k

cw: age gap (jk is 32, reader is 22 ops), tension, reader is WHIPPED, pining, initial unrequited love (my fav), eventual smut (adding new warnings when needed!!)

>>english is not my first language

chapter 10 | masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Jungkook likes to think of himself as a patient man. Ever since he was a child, patience had always come naturally to him. He had been quiet, respectful, the kind of kid who never caused trouble and always knew when to keep his head down, which was exactly why his mother loved bragging about him to anyone willing to listen. She would smile so proudly every time she called him her ‘golden boy’, and although he used to roll his eyes whenever she did, deep down he had always cherished the warmth behind those words.

Looking back now, Jungkook can’t help but laugh at the sudden memory of Dohyun being the complete opposite. Even after all these years, he still finds himself wondering how two people so fundamentally different could have formed a bond that refused to break no matter what life threw at them. While Dohyun spent his teenage years surrounded by people, chasing every opportunity to go out, party, and make memories that usually involved loud music and even louder laughter, Jungkook gravitated toward the sidelines. He was never antisocial- quite the opposite, actually. He enjoyed conversations, always had something to say whenever someone spoke to him, and never struggled to make people comfortable around him. He simply preferred observing rather than being the center of attention, finding comfort in watching everyone else enjoy themselves while quietly existing somewhere in the background.

Patience had become more than just a personality trait over the years. It had turned into the thing that kept him standing whenever life seemed determined to test him.

It was patience that allowed him to survive the countless nights spent listening to his parents scream at each other from opposite ends of the house, neither of them caring enough to lower their voices despite knowing their son was only a few rooms away. Jungkook remembers lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling as if counting every crack in the plaster could somehow drown out the sound of plates slamming against kitchen counters and voices growing harsher with every passing minute. He never interrupted them. Never cried loud enough for them to hear. Instead, he simply waited for the storm to pass, convincing himself that if he stayed quiet long enough, everything would eventually go back to normal.

Most of the time, though, normal never came.

Whenever it became too much, Jungkook found himself making the familiar walk to Dohyun’s house without even thinking about it. He was welcomed so often that he had eventually stopped knocking, already knowing the front door would be unlocked and that someone inside would greet him with the same warmth every single time.

And then there was Y/n.

She was still just a little girl back then, always running around the house with endless energy, completely unaware of the weight the older boy carried on his shoulders whenever he stepped inside. Somehow, though, her presence alone was enough to quiet the noise in his head. Watching her laugh over the smallest things, hearing her excited stories that jumped from one topic to another without making much sense, or simply seeing her happily exist in her own little world managed to pull him away from the thoughts that constantly threatened to consume him. She became an unintentional escape, a reminder that life could still be light even when everything around him felt unbearably heavy. Thinking about it now, Jungkook realizes she helped him survive far more than she could have ever known, even helping him make peace with the reality of his parents’ divorce when it finally became inevitable.

Patience was a gift.

It was the same gift that, years later, allowed him to win Sophie’s heart. His beloved Sophie.

The way Jungkook viewed love by then was nothing like the fairytale he had imagined as a child. Ten-year-old Jungkook had genuinely believed he would grow up to become someone’s prince charming, destined to spend the rest of his life beside one person and one person only. Back then, love had seemed pure. Permanent.

His parents’ divorce shattered that illusion piece by piece. After watching two people who had once promised each other forever slowly become strangers sharing the same house, Jungkook could no longer bring himself to believe that true love was something everyone was lucky enough to find. He wanted to believe in it- God, he really did- but doubt had quietly settled somewhere deep inside him, refusing to leave no matter how much time passed. Maybe soulmates only existed in books. Maybe forever was just another promise people made until life gave them a reason to break it. Then he met Sophie. And for the first time in years, Jungkook found himself believing again.

The moment she walked into his life, all those doubts that had followed him for so long suddenly felt quieter, almost insignificant compared to the warmth growing inside his chest. She made everything seem effortless, as though loving someone wasn’t supposed to feel frightening after all. For the first time since he was a little boy, Jungkook truly believed he had finally found his princess. Love at first sight isn’t something everyone believes in. It certainly wasn’t something Jungkook believed in either.

At least, not until the morning a girl sat down beside him at the bus stop, completely unaware that she was about to alter the course of someone else’s life. She had a pair of headphones resting over her ears, gently nodding her head along to whatever song was playing, one foot tapping absentmindedly against the pavement while the early morning breeze brushed strands of hair away from her face. She looked so comfortable that Jungkook remembers catching himself staring for a second longer than he should have before quickly looking away, embarrassed by his own curiosity.

He saw her again the next day, and then the day after that. Before he even realized it, those brief encounters had quietly become part of his routine, something he found himself looking forward to every morning without ever admitting it out loud. Days passed before he finally gathered enough courage to speak to her, rehearsing countless introductions in his head only to forget every single one the moment she looked at him.

She smiled at him anyway. Jungkook remembers thinking that maybe, just maybe, destiny had finally decided to be kind to him.

That hopeful feeling didn’t last very long.

His heart sank the moment he found out she already had a boyfriend. He remembers forcing himself to smile through the disappointment, pretending the news hadn’t affected him nearly as much as it actually had. It wasn’t her fault, after all. She had done nothing wrong by falling in love before he ever had the chance to meet her.

As said before, Jungkook has always been a patient man, so instead of walking away entirely and pretending they had never met, he accepted what she was willing to give him. Her friendship wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but it was infinitely better than never hearing her laugh again, never exchanging another conversation with her, or never having her somewhere in his life. Looking back now, he realizes he would’ve settled for almost anything as long as it meant she stayed.

The day Sophie broke down in his arms, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe as she told him that her relationship with Yoongi had finally come to an end, Jungkook’s heart ached for her. Seeing her in so much pain hurt him more than he could ever put into words, and he remembers holding her tightly while gently rubbing circles against her back, whispering quiet reassurances he wasn’t even sure he believed himself.

Hidden beneath all that guilt and sympathy, however, was another emotion, one so small and shamefully quiet that Jungkook almost hated himself for recognizing it in the first place: relief.

He buried it the second it surfaced, refusing to let it show on his face because Sophie deserved someone who cared about her heartbreak without secretly benefiting from it, and Jungkook tried with everything he had to be exactly that person.

Two months later, they became a couple.

Jungkook realizes that patience has shaped almost every meaningful chapter of his life. Waiting had given him friendships that lasted years, had helped him survive heartbreak before it had even begun, and had eventually led him to forgive the woman he genuinely believed he would spend the rest of his life with for cheating. Patience had never failed him.

Until now.

Because remaining calm feels nearly impossible.

The silence filling the room is almost deafening, stretching between the two of you until it becomes unbearable. Your gaze drifts everywhere except toward him, lingering on the floor, the walls, and the edge of the bed as though looking at him would somehow make this conversation more bearable.

“Are you in love with me, Y/n?”

The question lingers in the air long after the words leave his mouth, echoing inside Jungkook’s mind as though even his own thoughts can’t quite believe he actually asked it.

He doesn’t move, simply watching you while waiting and hoping you’ll finally say something before the silence swallows him whole.

When no answer comes, his hand instinctively disappears into his hair, fingers pushing it back before tangling through the dark strands. It’s an old nervous habit, one he has never managed to outgrow, and the agitation tightening every muscle in his body makes it impossible for the patience he has relied on his entire life to calm him now.

“Y/n.” he says again, his voice noticeably softer despite the tension threatening to betray him. “You need to talk to me.”

Only then do you finally gather enough courage to lift your head. Your eyes meet his.

The moment they do, Jungkook isn’t sitting in this room anymore. He’s remembering.

He can’t help noticing that, despite all the years that have passed, your eyes haven’t changed at all. They’re still just as big and just as bright as they were when you were a little girl, untouched by time in a way that almost feels unfair.

They’re the same eyes that watched him cry over his parents’ divorce when he was too young to understand why his family had fallen apart. The same eyes that looked at him with quiet concern after he showed up at your house completely shattered, struggling to process the betrayal that had turned his entire world upside down. They’re also the same eyes that quietly lost a fraction of their light the day Dohyun proudly announced Jungkook and Sophie’s engagement, though at the time he had been far too distracted to notice what now seems painfully obvious.

How could he have missed it?

Every memory suddenly feels different- every moment he had dismissed without a second thought rearranging itself inside his mind until an entirely different picture begins to emerge. The signs had always been there, scattered through years of memories that now seem so painfully obvious he can’t understand how he managed to overlook every single one of them.

Jungkook thinks he’s an idiot.

He doesn’t know whether to feel guilty, ashamed, or completely devastated by the realization that you had been quietly loving him all this time while he remained hopelessly oblivious.

For the first time in years, Jungkook has absolutely no idea what he’s supposed to do.

“Sweetheart, please… I need to hear it from you.”

He watches as tears finally spill from your eyes, tracing a slow path down your cheek, and every instinct in his body urges him to close the distance between you and wipe it away with the pad of his thumb, just like he has done so many times before whenever you found yourself crying in front of him. The urge is almost impossible to ignore, but he forces himself to stay exactly where he is, afraid that even the smallest gesture might make you pull away from him, and he isn’t willing to risk losing the little closeness you still allow him to have.

“Why are you doing this to me?” you whisper, your voice barely louder than your own breathing, and for a second Jungkook genuinely wonders if he only imagined hearing the words, until he catches the way your lower lip trembles and realizes that the pain in your eyes is very, very real. He can’t understand why you sound as though he’s the one hurting you when all he’s been trying to do since he walked into your room is understand what’s been going on inside your head.

Without saying anything, he shifts a little closer, leaning forward just enough to shorten the distance between you as he tilts his head in a silent attempt to meet your eyes, refusing to rush you even now because he reminds himself that patience has always come easily to him, especially when it comes to you. If anyone deserves every bit of understanding he has to offer, it’s you.

“I’m not… no… Why would you think that?”

One of his eyebrows arches almost instantly, and although this is probably the worst possible moment for it, he has to suppress the disbelieving smile threatening to appear on his face because your acting is awful. You have never been able to lie to him, not successfully at least, and the way you avoid his gaze after denying it only confirms what has been circling his mind ever since that afternoon.

The memory of the pool comes rushing back with frustrating ease. He remembers how close you had been, close enough for your warmth to linger against him even after everything was over, and he remembers standing completely still because the entire moment had caught him so off guard that his mind simply stopped working. Looking back now, that isn’t the part he keeps replaying the most. What stays with him is the way you looked at him, the uneven rhythm of your breathing and the feeling of your fingers tightening ever so slightly around the back of his neck.

Jungkook has always paid attention to people, and you’ve never been an exception. Over the years he has learned to read your expressions long before you put them into words, so he knew that what he had seen that day couldn’t possibly be the quiet affection you had always shown him growing up. Your usual shyness had disappeared completely, replaced by something that carried a weight he had never seen in your eyes before, something far deeper than simple fondness, something that lingered between the two of you long after you had stepped away from each other.

He understood it in that exact moment.

You were in love with him.

“Just be honest with me, Y/n.” he says quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You owe me an explanation.”

Jungkook knows he fucked up the second he watches the sadness lingering in your eyes harden into something much sharper. Your lips press into a stubborn little pout, your arms fold tightly across your chest as though you’re trying to keep him out, and the look you give him is enough to make him realize he has pushed far harder than he should have.

“What?” you snap, your voice rising for the first time since he walked into your room. “I don’t owe you shit! You can’t just come into my room at three in the morning and expect me to answer to whatever question you throw at me.”

The sudden change in your tone catches him completely off guard. In all the years he’s known you, you’ve never spoken to him like this, and despite the knot tightening in his stomach, a traitorous part of him can’t stop noticing how ridiculously adorable you still look with your cheeks puffed out in frustration, your brows furrowed so deeply that he almost wants to laugh.

“And explain what, exactly?” you continue before he can get a single word in. “I don’t owe you any explanation.”

Jungkook exhales through his nose, his jaw tightening as your insistence on pretending you have no idea what he’s talking about slowly chips away at the patience he’s been desperately trying to hold onto ever since this conversation began.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about” he replies, his voice quieter than yours, though no less firm. “Don’t play dumb. You were in that pool too.”

He hates the way those words sound the moment they leave his mouth, but he hates the feeling sitting in his chest even more.

Ever since that afternoon, the possibility that you might actually be in love with him has followed him everywhere, slipping into his thoughts when he least expects it and refusing to leave no matter how hard he tries to convince himself he’s overthinking everything. He can’t put a name to the emotion it stirs inside him, can’t understand why it leaves him feeling so restless whenever it crosses his mind, but he knows one thing with absolute certainty. He doesn’t like it.

“You know what, Jungkook?” You let out a bitter laugh as another tear rolls down your cheek. “Fuck you. Get out of my room.”

He stares at you, genuinely speechless.

Not once, in all the years you’ve spent growing up together, have you ever shouted at him.

Not once have you ever sworn at him or looked at him as though you couldn’t stand the sight of him.

He watches you push yourself off the bed, your cheeks burning with anger as you march toward the bedroom door and yank it open before turning back to face him.

“Leave.”

Jungkook gets to his feet almost immediately, his own frustration finally catching up with him as the patience he has relied on his entire life begins slipping through his fingers one piece at a time.

“Why are you acting like this?” he asks, taking a slow step closer. “You know I have every right to ask.”

Without answering, you point at him before swinging your finger toward the open doorway, repeating the silent order with nothing but the furious look on your face.

For reasons he can’t even begin to explain, the gesture pulls a short, incredulous laugh out of him. “We were inches away from each other, Y/n.”

You shake your head immediately, refusing to let him finish, but Jungkook barely registers it anymore. He’s spent hours replaying that afternoon over and over in his head, questioning every detail until there was nothing left to question.

“You were about to kiss me.”

Your composure falls apart in front of him, tears spilling freely down your face as your breathing turns uneven, and guilt twists painfully in his chest because seeing you cry has always been enough to make him back down. Every argument you’ve ever had ended the moment you looked even remotely upset, yet tonight he can’t bring himself to take back a single word.

“Jungkook, get. out.”

He steps closer to you, already feeling the weight in his own legs as though every step is becoming harder than the last. His hand reaches for the door that’s still standing open behind you, and with a small push he closes it, the quiet click echoing through the room before he turns to face you completely.

You’re still avoiding his eyes.

Your arms remain wrapped around yourself, your shoulders trembling ever so slightly as you struggle to steady your breathing, and the knot that’s been tightening in his chest ever since he got here only pulls tighter.

“Why are you acting like this?” he asks, his voice strained despite his effort to keep it under control. “I know you’ve been avoiding me and I hate that. Why is it so hard for you to just talk to me?”

He waits for some kind of reaction, any reaction at all, but you remain silent, your gaze fixed somewhere below him while another tear slips down your cheek.

“Y/n, please, for the love of God, just answer the goddamn question truthfully.” His voice cracks with frustration, though there’s something else beneath it now- desperation. “Are you in love with me or not? Stop acting like a 5 year old and just-“

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, JUNGKOOK…” you cry, your voice breaking so violently that it cuts straight through him. “YES. I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU.”

The words hit him so hard that, for a moment, everything inside him seems to stop.

More tears spill down your cheeks as your chest rises with another broken breath, and Jungkook can’t bear to see you like that. The sight alone is enough to make something inside him crack, a sharp pain spreading through his chest before he instinctively presses a hand against it, almost as though he can physically hold himself together.

He can’t believe the words that have just left your mouth.

He’s been almost certain you have feelings for him, piecing everything together little by little until there was no explanation that made more sense, but no amount of suspicion could have prepared him for the sound of your voice finally admitting it out loud. Somehow, hearing those words from you feels infinitely more real than every conclusion he’d reached on his own, and all at once he understands just how much they’ve been hurting you.

His lips part, but nothing comes out.

Every question that had been spinning through his mind only seconds ago suddenly feels meaningless compared to the tears still running down your face. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say anymore, doesn’t know how to respond to a confession that clearly costs you everything.

“Sweetheart…” he whispers, his voice barely above a breath as his eyes never leave yours, the nickname slipping from his lips with an instinctive tenderness that almost hurts as much as the confession itself.

A wave of sadness washes over Jungkook so quickly that, for a moment, it feels as though it’s pulling him under. His chest tightens around a feeling he can’t even begin to put into words, and despite everything you’ve already confessed, one question forces its way into his mind, impossible to ignore. He isn’t sure he’s ready for the answer, yet the uncertainty is already eating him alive.

“Since when?” he asks, his voice almost giving out as the words leave his mouth.

He watches as you instinctively take a step back.

You slowly retreat until the backs of your legs meet the edge of the bed, your eyes darting anywhere but towards him, like a deer caught in the headlights with nowhere left to run.

“It doesn’t matter.” you murmur, your voice colder than he’s ever heard it. “We’ve talked enough. I’m tired… you should go.”

The fact that you’ve avoided his question does nothing to reassure him. If anything, it only confirms that the answer is far worse than he’s prepared to hear.

“Sweetheart…” he says, taking an unconscious step toward you. “I need to know.”

You don’t answer. “How long have you loved me?”

The distance growing between the two of you feels unbearable. Seeing you back away from him goes against everything he’s grown used to over the years, and before he can even think twice about it, he closes the space between you in three long strides.

He stops right in front of you, desperately searching your eyes for the slightest hint of softness, some sign that you’re still the person he’s always believed he knew so well. Instead, all he finds is something he can’t quite understand, and for the first time, it occurs to him that maybe he has never known you as well as he convinced himself he did.

“I think I’ve always loved you.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“From the moment I met you, I couldn’t picture myself with anyone else.” he watches as you visibly pause to swallow the lump in your throat before forcing yourself to continue. “It became something I couldn’t ignore when I was fifteen.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen in disbelief. He knows you were aware that, back then, he never would have looked your way. You were younger, and the age gap between you was impossible to ignore. Even so, he can’t stop wondering about how your feelings kept growing with every passing year, making them all the more painful to carry now that you’re a woman.

He can’t stop thinking about how oblivious he’s been all this time. Every hug that had always felt comforting to him, every warm smile, every affectionate touch he’d given you without a second thought… while he was simply happy to show you how much you meant to him, you were standing on the other side of those same moments, quietly falling apart each time, loving him in silence while accepting whatever pieces of him he unknowingly placed in your hands.

The guilt slowly becomes louder than any other feeling Jungkook is trying to deal with. It takes over his thoughts until everything else starts to fade, leaving him with only one painful realization: you have been carrying all of this alone for years, and he was there through every moment without ever understanding what was happening right in front of him.

The regret he feels now is almost unbearable, heavier than the hurt his parents caused him when he was younger. He remembers what it felt like to be a kid who couldn’t understand why the people who were supposed to protect him were the same ones who made him feel unseen, how painful it was to keep everything inside because he never knew how to explain what was going on in his head. And now, somehow, he is the person who made someone else feel that way.

“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart.”

The apology comes out broken, carrying more emotion than he is able to put into words. Jungkook knows that saying sorry won’t undo the years you spent hiding your feelings or change all the moments where he unknowingly made things harder for you, but right now it is the only thing he can give you.

He tries to hold himself back, to listen to the part of his mind telling him that you need space and that the right thing to do is step away instead of reaching for you. He knows you have just exposed a part of yourself that you have kept hidden for a very long time, and the last thing you should have to do is deal with his emotions when you are the one who has been hurting. But then he looks at you, and all those thoughts disappear.

Before he can convince himself otherwise, he moves toward you and pulls you into his arms, wrapping them tightly around your body as if he could somehow protect you from all the pain you have been carrying. The familiarity of holding you almost makes it worse because this has always been something natural for him, something he did without hesitation, never once stopping to wonder what those moments felt like from your side.

He waits for you to hold him back, but you never do.

The lack of your usual response makes his chest tighten, and instead of letting go, he holds onto you even more, not wanting you to feel pressured into comforting him or forgiving him before you are ready, but unable to stand there while you are falling apart in front of him.

“I’m sorry” he whispers again.

And that is when the tears finally take over.

You start crying uncontrollably, your sobs breaking through the silence of the room as your entire body shakes against his. The sound is so raw and painful that Jungkook feels his own eyes burning, struggling to keep himself together while one of the people he cares about most is breaking apart in his arms.

He has always known that you were important to him. The love he feels for you has never been something temporary or insignificant- it has always been there, warm and familiar, built through years of memories, trust, and a connection he never had to force.

But it has never been the same feeling he has for Sophie.

Sophie is the person he has chosen to spend his life with, the one he sees when he thinks about the future waiting for him. His love for her is overwhelming in a way that has always felt impossible to question, so deep that being away from her for too long leaves him feeling like something essential is missing. Jungkook has never found the perfect way to describe what she means to him, but he thinks of her as the air that keeps him alive, something so necessary that he cannot imagine what it would feel like to exist without it.

With you still in his arms, Jungkook can’t stop himself from thinking about how different everything could have been if his life had taken another direction the day he met Sophie.

If he had chosen the car instead of the bus, if he had been somewhere else at that exact moment, if one decision had changed the chain of events that brought him here, standing in this room with you breaking apart against him, he wonders who he would’ve become and what the two of you could have been.

Maybe he would have realized sooner.

Maybe he would have understood that the way you looked at him was never just affection, that every moment he thought was ordinary had been something you held onto because, to you, it meant so much more.

Maybe he would have had the chance to love you in the way you always deserved.

The thought hurts because there is no way for him to know if that version of his life ever truly existed, yet he can’t stop imagining it. A life where he didn’t miss the signs, where he didn’t unknowingly make you fall deeper while believing he was only giving you the same love he had always given you.

A life where the person in his arms now wasn’t someone he had to let go of, before eventually going to sleep into someone else’s bed.

And as painful as it is to admit, Jungkook knows that if everything had happened differently, the person he would have chosen could have been you.

.✦ ݁˖

The next morning, you have no idea how you’re supposed to act around Jungkook.

Before either of you gets the chance to bring up what happened the night before, everyone somehow ends up back on the beach. From the outside, nothing seems out of the ordinary. The others are laughing as they split into teams for a game of beach volleyball, while you stay where you are, sitting on your towel with your knees drawn up, letting the sun warm your skin instead of joining them. Anyone paying close enough attention would probably notice that something isn’t quite right. While everyone else is busy having fun, you haven’t moved since you got there.

After almost fifteen minutes, Taehyung is the first one to walk over. He slows to a stop in front of you, slightly out of breath after running across the sand “Come on. We need one more player.” he tilts his head with an expression that already tells you he isn’t about to take no for an answer.

“I’m perfectly fine here, honestly.”

The excuse does little to convince him. Before you can think of another one, his hand closes gently around your wrist and he pulls you back onto your feet with surprising ease. As you brush the sand off your legs, he leans in just enough for only you to hear him. “We’ll talk later.”

You don’t trust yourself to answer, settling for a small nod before following him toward the others.

You’ve never been the most athletic person in the world, so once the game begins, you spend most of your time standing in the same spot, hoping the ball keeps finding someone else instead. It doesn’t take long for Dohyun to notice.

“You’re actually terrible at this.”

The smugness in his voice lasts all of a few seconds before a volleyball flies across the court and hits him square in the face. You smile to yourself at the instant karma, and without meaning to, your gaze drifts toward Jungkook.

The moment your eyes meet his, you realise you have no idea how you’re supposed to be feeling. Hiding your emotions had become second nature over the years. Every small gesture had always been measured carefully enough to keep anyone from suspecting what was really going through your mind. Now all of that feels pointless. Knowing that he finally understands what every look meant leaves you feeling exposed in a way you never thought possible, yet underneath the embarrassment sits a quiet sense of relief. Telling him the truth hurt more than you ever expected, but keeping it to yourself had become exhausting long before you found the courage to say it out loud.

You barely have time to look away before a pair of strong arms suddenly lifts you off the ground. The grin spreading across Taehyung’s face is all the warning you get before he takes off toward the water, laughing to himself while you struggle against his grip, hoping you’ll somehow manage to break free despite knowing it’s completely useless.

“Taehyung, I swear I’m gonna punch you.”

Your threat earns little more than an amused laugh as he keeps running, and by the time the water reaches the two of you, you’ve stopped trying to push him away altogether. The sea isn’t deep enough to soak either of you straight away, but it’s cold enough for you to feel it around your legs, making you tighten your arms around his neck without even thinking about it.

“Tae, please… take me back.”

Instead of listening, he walks even farther into the water, and a second later you’re completely soaked.

Water drips from your body as you walk back toward your towel, still throwing him a glare over your shoulder that promises he’ll eventually pay for this, although judging by the way he’s laughing with Jimin, he doesn’t seem the least bit worried.

You crouch down, reaching for your towel, only to realise it’s covered in sand. After staring at it for a moment, you quietly abandon the idea of using it, knowing you’ll only make things worse if you try to dry yourself with it.

Beside you, Jungkook gets to his feet. He walks over without saying a word and stops in front of you, holding out his own towel. The unexpected gesture catches you off guard, and for a second you simply look at him before carefully taking it from his hands.

“Thank you” you murmur, your fingers tightening around the fabric.

As you unfold the towel, your gaze lingers on him a little longer than it probably should, and that’s when you notice the way his jaw has tightened. His eyes aren’t on you anymore, but somewhere behind you instead. You turn your head to see what has caught his attention, only to find Taehyung still standing by the water, joining the others as though nothing has happened. The thought crosses your mind before you can stop it, absurd enough that you almost dismiss it the moment it appears, yet impossible to ignore completely. After handing you his towel, had Jungkook just looked at Taehyung with something dangerously close to jealousy? The idea feels ridiculous, and yet you can’t quite bring yourself to shake it off.

───────────

author’s note:

guys!! i finally finished writing chapter 11 😭 you have no idea how many times i scrapped entire scenes and started all over again. this chapter fought me every step of the way, but i really hope it’ll be worth it and that you’ll enjoy it 💘

i didn’t want to give away too much of what goes on inside jungkook’s head just yet, but i figured it was finally time to let you peek into his mind a little!

let me know what you think!! and don’t worry… this definitely isn’t the last time they’re going to have this conversation :3

alsooo, you asked for it, so here you go!! jealous jk is on his way :P

kisses <3

[inthelow]

TEMPORARY FRAGMENTS— jeon jungkook (2).

summary: When you meet Jungkook— an older man who is amazing in bed, you thought it would be a simple arrangement of casual sex. Except things start getting serious and before you know he’s asking you on dates and introducing you to his daughter… Of course, he doesn’t know that you’re bad with kids and never wanted one of your own— well, at least it was just something temporary… right?.

pairing: business! fem reader x dad! jeon jungkook.

genre/warning: fluff, crack, smut, angst / a lot of themes like insecurity, jealousy, death, dysfunctional family, etc. — This chapter contains sexual talk/scenes (fingering, penetration, dirty talk). Read under your own discretion

chapters: intro; one; two; three; four; five; six; seven; eight; nine; ten; eleven; twelve; thirteen; fourteen; fifteen; sixteen; seventeen; eighteen; epilogue. | series masterlist

word count: +10k words

It was almost five in the morning when you stepped out of the town car in full couture and stilettos and nearly tripped over a pigeon. You adjusted your dress, a midnight blue Valentino that cost more than most cars, and started toward the glowing yellow “M” of a McDonald’s at the corner of the empty avenue. Already feeling tired of all the movement of the day.

“Regal,” Bohyung murmured, holding the door open like the perfect gentleman he was. “Very Grace Kelly meets city vermin.”

You flipped him off with manicured precision. Se-hoo followed behind, barefoot and holding her heels in one hand, her updo slightly unraveling. Now her hair was blonde. “This is how the Roman Empire ended, you know. Arugula soufflé at midnight, then fries at dawn.”

“Good,” you muttered. “Let it burn.”

Inside, the place was blissfully empty except for one kid asleep at a table and a cashier who blinked twice before realizing three severely overdressed adults had entered his domain.

“Table for three, darling,” Bohyung said, with a wink. “And a round of hash browns, keep ‘em coming.”

Of course, you didn’t need a host to take you to your table. Your friend was just kidding. So when you finish ordering, the three of you took a seat next to the window to sit comfortably and wait for the food. You wanted to take out your shoes and take a pill to sleep until next week. The night had been exhausting, too many uncomfortable situations to handle, even for you. Luckily, the food didn’t took too much to be done. And Bohyung went to get it for all of you.

You didn’t speak until your Diet Coke arrived. “If my mother mentions my posture one more time I’m legally changing my name and joining a cult.”

“She does have a thing for shoulders,” Bohyung nodded. “It’s almost… sexual.”

Se-hoo made a face, poking at her McMuffin. “Let’s not unpack that. Ever.”

The three of you sat in the corner booth, sleeves rolled up, zippers slightly undone, glittering jewelry catching the faint buzz of fluorescent light. Around you, the world was quiet. Street cleaners, the occasional bus. Somewhere a cab honked, but it felt far away. You three were in that strange, suspended hour where time didn’t really exist.

“So,” your blonde friend said, unwrapping a cheeseburger with disturbing elegance. “Tonight was… what? A six out of ten?”

“Generous,” you said. “I’d say a four. The wine was warm. The speeches were endless. And did you see my cousin talking to that crypto guy like she was pitching a Netflix deal?”

Bohyung snorted. “I was more concerned with your aunt whispering to everyone that you’re ‘still young, still beautiful, there’s still time.’ Like a fertility countdown.”

“She’s obsessed with wombs,” Se-hoo deadpanned. “I think she thinks if you don’t use it, it shrivels.”

“Let it shrivel,” you said, raising your cup. “I’ll donate it to science and go on a yacht.”

You clinked your drinks together, laughing.

Then Bohyung leaned forward. “Hey, are you still going to see Rosa’s next week?”

Your smile softened, just slightly. “Yeah. Wednesday, probably. I couldn’t see her last week and I already feel like I want to cry about it.”

“She’s been okay?”

“As okay as she can be. She forgets sometimes. Some days she thinks I’m still twelve.”

Se-hoo reached across the table and touched your hand briefly. “Want company?”

You shook your head. “No. It’s fine. She’d probably try to feed you both soup and yell at your bad Italian.”

“She always liked Jungwoo,” Bohyung said casually, sipping his coffee.

You looked away, but the silence was warm, not heavy. “Yeah,” you said softly. “He always went with me.”

They didn’t push. Just let the moment pass, like you all always did. It wasn’t that Jungwoo was a delicate subject. After all, you both ended the relationship in good terms, but it was always a little spine when talking about ex’s. Specially one who was planned to be your forever. But now it was a subject that was already finished. You both had moved on.

Suddenly you phone buzzed on the table. You picked it up and saw the name. A little confused on why someone would text you that early if your office opened at eight.

Jungkook: Hey, are you busy tonight?

You raised an eyebrow. “Subtle.”

Bohyung leaned over. “Is that your tattooed dilf?”

You didn’t answer. Just typed:

Y/n: I’m out. Free now if you’re down

Jungkook: Come over then

You grinned.

“Oh my God,” he said. “You’re going.”

“You never do the post-event hookup,” Se-hoo added, delighted. “You’re always in full-body Spanx and Clonax mode.”

“Well,” you said, standing, smoothing your dress like you were about to strut a runway, “I’m not staying to listen to you both psychoanalyze my uterus.”

Bohyung cackled. “Tell him to hide the Legos.”

“Or the kid,” Se-hoo added.

“She’s with her mother, probably asleep,” you said, grabbing your purse. “Which is the exact state I like children in. Silent. Horizontal. Preferably unconscious.”

They laughed and booed you, Bohyung threw a fry at your back as you walked to the door. “Be safe!” he called.

“Don’t get emotionally attached!”

You flipped them both off behind your back and waved for a cab.

Outside, the city was just starting to stir, that strange early hush before the chaos. And for a second— a short, strange second— you thought about the fact that you used to go home with Jungwoo after these things. That you’d take off your fancy clothes and sit on the kitchen floor with wine and leftover cake, talking about the day or politics or people you hated… Now you were going somewhere else. To someone else… But that someone else wasn’t him, and that someone else wasn’t serious.

You smirked at the thought. No strings. Just fun. You didn’t like kids. You didn’t do emotional complications when you weren’t looking for a relationship. You liked clean exits and smart men and good sex. And Jungkook? He we was exactly that. And he was just a chapter…

It didn’t take you too long to arrive at his house. Probably 20 minutes ride before you were ringing his doorbell and a second before he opened it for you. He was wearing some sweatpants and a compress shirt that embraced him in all the right places. You smiled slightly and he looked at you from your head to your toes, an expression you knew very well from men.

“Wow,” Jungkook let out a breath.

“I know. Don’t get too close, though. I smell like Mcdonald’s.”

“You dress like this to go to McDo?” he smirked. “You look amazing… Should I always make you come over at five in the morning?.”

You snorted before walking in, pushing your body to his and closing the door with your heel. “Why don’t you make me come first?.”

He smirked. “I can do that.”

“Show me then.”

Jungkook grabbed you by the head and kissed you hard. His lips were moving slow, but the kiss felt desperate. Two people looking to kill some stress out of their system. And one thing you really like about him was how he always seemed to want you in such a desperate way, even if he was taking control of the situation.

His hands slowly moved down to your waist, pressing you against his body. Your hands slid down to his hair, your fingers sinking into his hair so you could pull him closer to you, if it was even possible. Jungkook moved forward until he hit you against the door. A small gasp escaped your lips as your back hit the cold wood. His lips moved to your chin and slowly moved down to your neck, gently biting your skin.

You let out a sigh as Jungkook’s hands found the straps of your dress, his fingers delicately trailing down them off your shoulders. His lips met yours again, kissing you slowly before parting slightly so he could look you in the eyes.

“You look breathtaking with that dress,” he kissed you on the mouth one more time. “But even better without it.”

Jungkook’s fingers trailed the dress down until it dropped to your feet, taking your Spanx with it. You let a breathy laugh before kissing him again.

You could feel how hot you were for him. The way his hands were running over your body, the way he touched you. He made you feel great, he made you lose your mind a little bit. He made you not think about anything else and that was something you loved. And you liked the way he touched you, the way he always showed you how much he wanted to pleasure you. There was always something in his touch, like he had been waiting for you. Like he liked having you this way, so vulnerable in his hands.

Jungkook took his right hand down your body, the tip of his fingers tracing your skin from your shoulder to your hip before going down to your right tight, slowly grabbing the back so he could put it around his waist. You hold it there. He pressed his hips to yours, making you feel his bulge in your core. You press your lips trying not to make a sound when he start humping you slowly. You could feel his hard over his sweatpants, your panties getting wet for the way he was touching you there.

Your left hand travelled from his hair to his sweatpants, trying to take them off. He took your hand immediately. Smiling slightly over your lips.

“Relax, pretty. I want you to soaked my fingers first.”

Jungkook gave you a peck before leaving your hand in his cheek. He got apart a little, enough to move his hands to your core. His fingers moved down to your center, his thumb starting to rub your clit on top of your underwear. When his fingers started getting wet and your panties soaked, he pull away his fingers, leaving a wet spot in your underwear. Jungkook took two fingers to his mouth, licking them slowly before looking at you.

“Sweet. I wanna taste you.”

“Why don’t you fuck me first.”

You grabbed his hair to kiss him again. His mouth met yours in a deep and hard kiss. It was slow and full of purpose, like he wanted to map every inch of you with the taste of it. His hand slid down your back, anchoring you to him, and you melted, reluctantly, hungrily, against him. You moaned on his mouth when he presses you harder against him, his hard and clothed cock pressing against your cunt.

Your hands move to Jungkook's hair to grip down on the soft locks and when you tug a little harder than you meant to, you're meet with a low moan coming from him. When his slick muscle of his tongue slips into with mouth to find yours a whine slips from your throat, he was tasting you. Every part of it. Your eyes flutter for a second, you can almost feel the throb of his cock as the only barrier on was your panties and his thin sweatpants. It was almost too much. You were soaking his pants.

Jungkook's hand slide down, large palm gripping onto your bare thigh to keep it around his waist, he lowered a little to hit you perfectly. He took an experimental thrust of his hips, both of you shuddering from the feeling of it.

“But this isn’t enough, huh. You want a real fuck?” Jungkook voice was low. His breath on your mouth. You let out a rush nod, lips seeking his out when he grinds down a little harder. “Of course you do. Always greedy— But you will take what I give you. You’ll take anything I give yo— Shit, uh, right, baby?.”

You can feel your own slick against your core and inner thighs as Jungkook keeps his pace, hard and slow. His fingers gripping your tight hard, almost leaving a mark. His other hand grabbed your jaw, making you stay in the place he wanted. You throw your head back when he leans down, mouthing at your collar bone, his wet, wet tongue leaving trails when he licks up your skin, biting a little bit. Your breath hitches when he bites down a little hard. You let out a pitiful moan when his hips pick up a rougher movement, thrusting hard into yours. His chest pressed against yours, his hands grabbing at your hips roughly and his face buried into your neck.

Jungkook thrusts his hips upwards, the new angle hitting your clit perfectly. You can feel the outline of his cock perfectly even through the pants… And you have enough. You want him to fill you up, you want him to fuck you hard.

So you push him, a little hard so he can look at you. “Jungkook. Please, fuck me already.”

He stop, almost freezing. And you don’t know exactly the reason why until his eyes look at you and a slow smirk starts growing on his face.

“You want me to fuck you?” he whispers before making you jump on him. Your legs wrapped around his thin waist. Jungkook looks at you, eyes dark and wild. “Say please again, baby.”

“Shut up.” You said while he walks you to his bedroom, his smirk not leaving his face.

“Nah, uh. Say it again.” He pushes you down on the bed and sits upon his knees, taking your panties with roughness. You look at him, holding you up with your elbows. Jungkook. He pushes his pants down with one hand, the other one lowering himself to kiss your lips with a hard peck. “Beg a little for me.” he quickly grabs a condom of his nightstand before going back to the same position. “Say ‘please’, baby.”

“Jungkook—”

“You want me or no?” before you could blink up at him, you feel the slide of his hot thick cock against your folds. Your breath hitches and his hands find your tights, gripping them hard to pull you closer to him.

Jungkook hums in appreciation and drags his cock against your cunt, letting your slick coat his thick length. You moaned in his mouth when he drags his tip a little slower over your clit, the hood pulling back and the swollen little button gains more fraction.

“I swear—”

“Beg,” his voice is rough, and he cocks his head as he gives a hard drag of his cock against your clit.

“Okay— shit,” you sigh, too hot to even be bothered to say the words again. “Please, fuck me.”

“Again. Louder.”

“Please, fuck me.”

“You can do better.” He pouts, mocking.

“Fuck. Please, Jungkook!.”

“That’s better.” His wide eyes watch your face as he grips down on your hips and thrusts into you as hard as he can.

Your back arches, and you let a moan scape out of your lips. And he loves the way you feel around him. He falls a little into you, his chest touching yours, one hands pressing hard against the mattress and the other one grabbing your thigh with strength. Your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer as possible.

“Ugh, Shit— Jungkook.”

“Scream louder for me, baby," he demands to you and drags his cock out of you, just until the tip is the only thing in, before slamming back into you. A choked moan escapes your lips as he repeats the action, harder. “Shit, you feel so good. So good— Fuck, do you like it?. Am I making you feel good?…”

“Stop talking” you groaned, “fuck me harder.”

You were going to be the dead of him.

Jungkook does as you wish. He fuck you, he slams his hips harder into you. The sound of skin slapping against yours is pure filth. Your bodies pressed together so tight and his face buried into your neck, biting down to hear you again. He looks at where your bodies met and a filthy thought of filling you with his cum swims on his mind. He groans, imagining how you would feel raw.

He snaps his hips harder against yours. Again, again, and again.

You could feel the ache blooming low in your lower stomach, the fluttering pulse of wanting—of needing something that was coming. And Jungkook noticed. He notices the way you wrapped around him, the way your eyes roll back, the way you tighten around his dick. He tugs at your hair until you're looking up at him, he presses himself, flush against you and rolls his hips into yours, all while his hooded eyes stare down at you.

“Yeah?. Come for me, pretty.” He whispers in your mouth. “Look at me, come around me…”

Your nails scratched his back, digging into the toned muscle and you know there's going to be red marks all over later. Jungkook lets out a groan when your walls squeezed his length so tightly that his eyes roll to the back of his head for a moment.

You come. And it doesn’t take too long for him to do so too. Jungkook rolls to the side until his back hits the bed, taking you with him so you can collapse on top.

Sweat dripping down his body and yours. Breathing too heavy. He’s still inside you. And it takes you two some minutes to calm down. His fingers creasing the small of your back, your head against his chest. It felt good, coming from the high. Both taking the time to recover from such an intense act. It always felt good, even the aftercare.

After some minutes you move to the other side of the bed. Sighing tiredly before looking at him.

“I think I need a shower.”

Jungkook snorts before smiling, looking at you. “Use my bathroom, I’ll use the other one.”

“Deal.”

It wasn't the first time you used Jungkook's shower. There had already been several occasions when you took a bath before going home, especially when you two got together with time. Specially those week. However, this time you didn’t have a clothes change or anything and you realized about it when you finish your shower, looking around with his towel around you to look for your dress again. Knowing you weren’t going to home with your dirty panties.

You opened the door to tell him about maybe borrow some of his but chuckled when you found some clothes over his bed ready for you. Your dress nowhere in sight. You were one hundred percent sure that he had put your dress and underwear to wash already. You put the clothes and tried to dry your hair with the towel as much as you could before throwing it to the dirty basket.

You stretched, a little sore. Before walking to out of the room.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old pipes in the walls. You padded barefoot across the hardwood floor, wearing nothing but an oversized black T-shirt and a pair of thin cotton underwear— his boxers— that had started to slip as you reached for the glass. You didn’t care. Not here. Not with him.

You filled two glasses from the filtered pitcher and glanced at the dim light of the kitchen clock. It was almost 7 a.m. The city outside was still rubbing its eyes. Jungkook walked into the kitchen a moment later, hair a wet mess, T-shirt clinging to his chest, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. A small towel in his hand. He looked like something out of a Calvin Klein ad, except warmer. More real.

“You’re already stealing my water,” he said, voice gravel-thick.

You held out one of the glasses. “You were literally just inside me. I think the water’s fair game.”

He took it, smiling. “Can’t argue with that logic.”

You two leaned against opposite counters, quiet for a moment as you sipped the water. The air between you two was lazy now, comfortable. Your bodies relaxed, your skin still faintly warm.

Jungkook ran the towel through his hair and nodded toward you. “Why the hell were you awake at five in the morning? Or did you just never go to sleep?”

“Gala,” you said, with a sigh. “My parents throw one every spring. It’s this ridiculous charity auction-slash-brand showcase thing. Everyone’s overdressed and pretending they care about public housing while drinking champagne worth more than their monthly rent.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sounds classy.”

“Oh, it’s hideous. But the canapés were decent.”

He chuckled. “So you left a black-tie gala to eat McNuggets and then come here?”

“Technically I had a cheeseburger,” you corrected. “But yes. That’s the summary.”

Jungkook tilted his head, leaving the towel over his right shoulder. “You always do that? Fancy event followed by post-party hookup?”

“No,” you said honestly, looking down at your glass. You thought about Jungwoo for a second. “Usually I just go home, take off the Spanx, and sleep for ten hours. This was… spontaneous.”

He studied you, quiet for a beat. “I like spontaneous.”

You glanced up at him. “You seem like someone who plans his grocery trips three weeks in advance.”

“I do,” he said without shame. “I’ve got a kid. My life runs on calendars and fruit snacks. But… spontaneity has its charm.”

You two smiled at each other, then fell into another lull. The kind that didn’t feel heavy. Just… real.

“So why were you up?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Jungkook leaned his head against the cabinet behind him. “Couldn’t sleep. Too much going on in my head. Shop stuff. Sunni stuff. Life.”

You nodded, thoughtful. “Isn’t it weird how you can be dead tired and still feel like your brain’s at a rave?”

“Exactly.”

You two stood there, sipping water like two slightly feral adults who had no intention of pretending to be normal right now. You turned and hopped onto the kitchen counter. You had an average height, but the countertop made your legs dangle slightly, which annoyed you a little bit. Jungkook leaned against the opposite side, watching you.

You squinted. “Okay. Be honest. What’s the dumbest tattoo idea someone’s ever come in with?”

He laughed, hard. “Oh man. Where do I start? The guy who wanted a ‘live, laugh, lube’ tramp stamp?”

You choked on your water. “Shut up.”

“I wish I could. Or the girl who wanted an infinity symbol made of spaghetti.”

“Wait” you paused, very deep in thought. “That’s kind of brilliant.”

“I told her it was existential. She cried.”

You giggled, swinging your legs. “God, people are insane.”

“But also kind of great,” Jungkook said, still smiling. “The stories, the weird moments, they make it worth it.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I guess when people care too much about looking cool, they stop being interesting.”

He raised an eyebrow, impressed. “That’s a good one. Write that down.”

“I will,” you said, half-joking. “Put it on a tote bag and everything.”

Jungkook walked a little closer, glass still in hand, watching you with something softer in his eyes now. “You’re smart,” he said, without thinking.

You blinked. “I know.”

He smiled. “No, like, I mean, I knew you were clever. But you’re… quietly smart. You see things.”

You tilted your head, wary. A little confused what comment of yours made him said that. “Are you flirting with my intellect?”

“Guilty.”

“That’s dangerously close to intimacy.”

He grinned. “Relax. I’ll be emotionally unavailable by breakfast.”

You both laughed, and something in the room shifted. Not in a heavy way, but like a puzzle piece had just quietly slid into place. Neither of you pointed it out. But it was there. You jumped down from the counter, walked past him, and set your glass in the sink. He followed you back to the bedroom. You didn’t have sex again. You just climbed into the bed and lay there, both of you on your backs, quietly breathing in the stillness of early morning. You thought yourself you were waiting for your clothes to dry out to leave. You realized it was the first morning you were spending with him after agreeing of the casual sex arrangement. But you didn’t give that thought too much mind.

You turned your head toward him. “Do you ever think about what you’d be doing if you didn’t have a kid?”

Jungkook looked up at the ceiling. “Sure. But I never imagine it better. Just different.”

You nodded. “I like that answer.”

He turned to look at you, his hand resting just a few inches from yours. “What about you? Ever think about the version of yourself who went corporate law instead of restaurants?”

“All the time,” you whispered. “She’s probably divorced with a ski house in Aspen and a drinking problem.”

Jungkook smiled in the dark. “Sounds boring.”

“Painfully,” you agreed. A pause. Then you murmured, “You know, you’re kind of great at this.”

He glanced over. “At what?”

“Just talking.”

He huffed a laugh. “That’s not what you said earlier.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was me being horny, not a formal review.” He chuckled. And then, after a minute, you added, quieter, “I mean it, though. You’re good at making people feel safe,” you smiled tiredly. “I guess it comes in your Dad profile.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just reached over, touched your fingers lightly. It wasn’t a grab, just a trace… and then let his hand rest between you two.

You both fell asleep like that. Nothing said. Nothing declared. But something… slightly shifted. And neither of you could unfeel it. And it was the first time you slept over after declaring it was just an arrangement of casual sex. The first time the blur of casual was happening.

———

The day was warm in a way that made you resent spring. Not hot enough to sweat, but just humid enough to turn your blouse into a sauna and your hair into a delicate halo of expensive chaos. You stood outside the restaurant’s loading dock entrance in four-inch heels, barking into your phone with your sunglasses pushed up your forehead like a crown of passive aggression.

“No, I don’t care if the mushroom guy swears he sent us shiitakes—he sent button mushrooms, Vince, and if you think I’m putting that on the primavera, you’ve lost your mind and your palate.” A pause. “No. Send them back. He can climb into his little mushroom van and cry all the way home, but I’m not serving mediocrity”

You hung up before he could whine.

Inside, the kitchen staff moved like clockwork. Organized chaos, clatter and steam, the music on low and the scent of garlic and herbs threading through the air like a symphony. You walked through like you were born in motion, offering sharp, kind greetings as you passed. You were glad the AC was always on in the place.

“Antonio, the garlic confit looks stunning, thank you.”

“Maya, did your kid win the spelling bee? You promised me updates.”

“Bomgyu, I told you to not wear those damn earrings with the uniform. You look fifteen.”

And then you stopped short in the hallway between the wine cellar and the manager office. There was a familiar vase of flowers on the table. White ranunculus, blue thistle, tiny orange roses. You blinked, a little caught off guard. You turned to your new assistant, a twitchy twenty-something named Lila who idolized you and kept a spreadsheet of everyone’s birthdays, even from the people who worked in the restaurants.

“You remembered my Nonna’s flowers,” you said, a little too surprised.

Lila beamed. “You mention one time she always said the orange ones brought good luck. I figured you had a long day coming.”

You stared at the arrangement for a moment, then smiled. “You’re good.”

“I’m underpaid.”

“That too.” You pointed at her. “I like you.”

By late afternoon, you were sliding into the passenger seat of Bohyung’s matte black convertible with a coffee in one hand and your phone in the other. Your sunglasses were sliding off so you tuck them in your purse, your blouse tucked neatly into high-waisted pants, and you looked—as always— like you belonged on the cover of some aggressively chic magazine titled Dominate. Bohyung looked like trouble in linen. Hair perfectly styled, watch glinting in the sun, an iced tea sweating in the cupholder— and another drink for you—. He handed you a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses from the dashboard.

“I’m not wearing that shit.”

“They match your attitude.”

You put them on. “Bitch.”

“Princess.”

You pulled out into traffic, the breeze light and the city loud as always.

“So,” you asked, crossing one leg over the other, “what are we looking for exactly? Minimalist loft? Sleek mid-century penthouse? Or are you finally going full cottagecore and getting a lemon tree field?”

“I’m torn between ‘man of taste’ and ‘man of trauma,’” he replied, flicking his turn signal. “But honestly? I just want a place where I don’t hear my upstairs neighbor doing Zumba at midnight.”

“Sounds personal.”

“It’s spiritual warfare. She’s seventy. I think she has tap shoes.”

You laughed, tossing you hair back. “You know you’ll end up somewhere with exposed brick and one sad fern you keep forgetting to water.”

“Excuse you, Fernie is thriving.”

“He’s dead, Bohyung.”

“A little crispy. There’s a difference.”

You cruised through the city, turning down quieter streets. The light was soft now, golden and slanting sideways across storefronts and balconies.

After a moment, your friend spoke again. “I met someone.”

Your eyebrows rose slightly. “Define ‘met.’”

“She almost hit me with her Prius.”

“Romantic.”

“She was parallel parking and I was texting. Honestly, it was kind of my fault. But she jumped out of the car in this huge scarf, like something out of a French noir, and immediately started yelling at me in a British accent.”

“I’m listening.”

“We ended up having coffee while waiting for my heart rate to stabilize. Her name’s Margot. She teaches film history. Has opinions about Truffaut and refuses to drink iced coffee after October.”

You blinked. “Is she…real?”

“I think so. She poked me to check.”

There was a quiet beat. Then you smiled. “You like her.”

“I might,” Bohyung admitted, adjusting the rearview mirror. “She’s weird in the right ways. And she called me ‘aesthetic poison’ with that weird accent which, frankly, it kinda turned me on.”

You snorted. “You’re such a freak.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

You both pulled up in front of a narrow building with modern lines and too many plants on the balcony. Bohyung killed the engine but didn’t get out right away.

“You ever think about it?” he asked suddenly.

“About what?”

“Moving. Starting over. New apartment, new vibe, new view.”

You leaned your head back against the seat. “I don’t know. I like my place, it feels like a museum. Or like—an airport lounge that became sentient but it’s mine.”

He looked over at you. “You’ve had the same place since Jungwoo.”

“I know.” Another quiet moment. You looked out the window. “But it was always mine— or at least it’s mine now. I like my routine. I like knowing where the mugs are. Where the creaky floorboard is. I like the silence.”

“Yeah,” Bohyung said softly. “But sometimes silence isn’t peace. It’s just noise you’re used to.”

You didn’t respond right away. Just stared out at the street, then finally turned to him and smiled. “You’ve been reading poetry again, haven’t you?” you raised an eyebrow. “Your new girl got you reading again?.”

He grinned. “Shut up.”

You climbed out of the car, laughing again. You adjusted your sunglasses and looked up at the building. “Alright. Let’s judge some real estate.”

The real estate agent was fifteen minutes late. Bohyung had already knocked twice on the glass front door like a polite criminal before giving up and declaring, “We’re breaking and entering. If I go to jail, you’re posting bail and picking the mugshot.”

You leaned against the building’s sandstone façade, sipping your lukewarm iced coffee. “If you go to jail, I’m starting a GoFundMe and telling everyone it was insider trading.”

“Better than tax fraud.”

“We both know it wouldn’t be fraud. You’re too obsessive. You file before the fiscal year starts.”

“Okay, fair.”

The agent finally arrived, breathless, apologetic, wearing a blazer two sizes too big and a permanent smile that made your skin crawl. Bohyung was unfazed. He’d already pulled up the unit’s tax history and HOA fees on his phone before you two even walked in.

“I have a feeling you’ll love this space,” the agent chirped, unlocking the front door.

Your friend didn’t even glance at her. “Don’t oversell it, Stacey. Let the poor walls speak for themselves. I already know this game.”

You stifled a laugh and followed him in. The unit was on the third floor, high enough to avoid street noise, low enough that Bohyung wouldn’t “accidentally die” hauling groceries. It opened into a spacious living area with tall ceilings, exposed brick on one wall, and arched windows that poured in buttery sunlight.

“Oh,” you said, impressed despite yourself. “It’s giving… adult man who has his life together and also maybe cries to jazz sometimes.”

“Exactly what I’m going for,” he said, stepping inside like he was already king of the castle. “I want it to say, ‘I own linen napkins’ but also ‘I’ve emotionally healed.’”

“You’ll need a rug,” you said, eyeing the hardwood floors. “The acoustics in here are going to sound like an AA meeting for ghosts.”

Bohyung wandered into the open kitchen. Modern, sleek, matte black cabinetry and brass fixtures. He ran a hand across the marble countertop and whistled. “I’ve made worse decisions for less square footage,” he murmured.

You opened a cabinet. “Soft-close. You could throw a tantrum in here and still be elegant.”

He shot you a look. “We don’t all throw tantrums in kitchens, my love.”

“One time. I threw one plate. And I was twenty-three.”

“It was a Versace charger.”

“It was chipped.”

“It was Jungwoo’s favorite.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t psychoanalyze my crockery choices.” You moved into the hallway, past a small office nook and two bedrooms. The master had a walk-in closet that you immediately stepped into and spun around, arms wide. “This is bigger than my first dorm room,” you declared.

Bohyung leaned against the doorway. “That dorm room was disgusting.”

“We had charm.”

“You had mold.”

“Whatever. You still snuck in through the fire escape every other night.”

He smirked. “Because I couldn’t stand my roommate. He played acoustic guitar at 3 a.m. and said things like ‘capitalism is a prison but also my dad owns a yacht.’”

You laughed, loud and full, the kind of laugh that cracked the glossy topcoat of your usual poise. You two sat down on the marble floor. No furniture yet, just sunlight and the soft echo of space.

“So,” Bohyung said, after a pause. “What do you think?”

“I think it suits you,” you said honestly. “It’s warm. It’s clean. It has personality. And you won’t be woken up by tap shoes.”

“I’m gonna have to fix it a lot, The floor, the walls…” He exhaled, his expression softening. “But I’m ready for something new.”

You looked at him. “You really are.”

A quiet moment passed between you two. Then he leaned in and nudged your shoulder. “You know, when we were sixteen, I always thought we’d end up living in the same apartment building. You in a penthouse, me in the garden unit, trading lovers like vinyl records.”

“Please. My lesbian phase was over the third month and you’d have stolen all my conditioner.”

“Your lesbian phase was iconic and I did steal your conditioner.”

“Never dating a lesbian fem again. Some nights I still think about her,” you smiled before touching his hair with your fingers. “ And you still smell like honey and cashmere.”

He winked. “Only for you.”

“You’re only for me.”

You two smiled before standing up and wandered back to the living room, where the agent was nervously scrolling through her tablet like a Sim whose needs weren’t being met.

Bohyung clapped his hands together. “I’ll take it.”

The agent’s face lit up. “Just like that?”

You, arms crossed, smiled slowly. “He knows what he wants. And also, he already pulled your building records and spoke to the HOA president on LinkedIn. This tour was theater.”

Bohyung grinned. “We’re dramatic like that.”

As you two stepped outside again, the sun had shifted to its late-afternoon slant, warm and golden on the pavement.

“You gonna help me move in?” he asked.

“I’ll supervise,” you said. “With champagne. And judgment.”

He laughed. “I wasn’t expecting more.” You stood on the sidewalk a moment longer, easy in the silence. Then he said, “You know… you’ve been different lately.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Define different.”

“I don’t know. Softer. Calmer. Less likely to throw cutlery.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you implying I’ve become… reasonable?”

He smirked. “No. Just calmer, less tense.”

“Uhm,” you shrugged. “Sex is good.”

He snorted. “Of course, the dilf.”

“Shut up and let’s go eat something. I’m starving.”

Bohyung rolled his eyes before nodding. “Come one, I’ll take you to a high-elegant, five start restaurant.”

Half an hour later you arrived at the place.

The restaurant was one of those too-cool places in Downtown. All warm lighting, exposed wood, hand-thrown ceramic plates, and wine menus written in cursive so delicate it might’ve been penned by angels. Bohyung had chosen it, of course. “It’s not even on Google Maps yet,” he’d joked, pushing the door open like he owned it. “Very exclusive, very sustainable. Everyone who eats here is either very rich, or pretending to be.” You laughed at his jokes, knowing how he liked to joked about your work like he didn’t know the places when he had been the one to help you choose where to build them and like he hadn’t eat there over a thousand times already.

You followed behind him like a cat being led by someone you secretly liked. The day had run long, your head was still full of floor plans and color palettes and HOA fees, and all you really wanted was a glass of red wine and three different kinds of carbs.

You were halfway to your table when Bohyung stopped short, turning around with a surprised smile. “Well, look who’s not doing Zumba tonight.”

You blinked, following his gaze. And there, at a table by the window, sat Jungkook and another man you hadn’t met. Jungkook looked up from the wine list, eyebrows arching in something between amusement and disbelief. He looked like he always did: relaxed, clean but a little rumpled, his tattooed arm exposed in a simple henley, a silver ring on his thumb catching the light as he raised his glass. The man across from him— his friend, presumably— had the kind of lazy charm that came with being both too attractive and too comfortable with that fact.

You were caught off guard, but not unpleasantly. You tucked your hair behind your ear, then stepped forward.

“Small world,” Jungkook said, voice low and amused.

“We were just coming in for dinner,” you said casually.

Jungkook stood and leaned forward slightly, gesturing between you and his friend. “Jimin, this is Y/n.”

Jimin’s eyebrows lifted just slightly before stretching his hand to you. A smile forming in his plump and red lips “Nice to meet you”

“Likewise.”

Your friend. stepped in. “I’m Bohyung, best friend and estate acquisitions if you’re looking for something new to buy.”

Jimin grinned. “Park Jimin, broke tattoo whisperer and unwilling babysitter.”

“And Bohyung, this is Jungkook.”

“Nice to met you” your friend pretend he hadn’t seen the guy weeks ago in that bar. Hot enough for him to recognize after all that time.

“Nice to meet you too.”

The two men shook hands, and then there was a brief moment, the kind of social micro-glitch, where everyone realized this could be awkward, or funny, or both.

Jungkook broke it. “You two want to join us?”

You blinked. “Are you sure? We don’t want to bother.”

Your friend shrugged, already sliding into the seat across from Jimin. “Well now we have to say yes or look like snobs.”

“Which we absolutely are,” your muttered under your breath, but followed him anyway.

The waiter appeared as you two settled, and Bohyun— ever the host, even at a table that wasn’t his— waved toward the wine. “We’ll take another bottle of what these two are drinking. Unless you’re drinking something horrifying like chilled red.”

Jungkook raised his glass. “White Rioja. You’ll live.”

You leaned back, studying him for a beat. “Your taste surprises me.”

“I get that a lot,” he said, smiling.

You shook your head before looking at the waiter. “We’ll take a bottle of Masseto Toscana” you said.

“Yea, ma’am.”

The two men in front of you tried not to made an obvious face of the wine you order. Not when ten minutes ago they were laughing about never ordering that wine because it was too expensive, specially when it had the same effect that all wines had. You clearly didn’t have the same mindset.

The waiter left after taking yours and Bohyung’s order, and the table found a quiet rhythm, initial discomfort smoothing into something slower, more curious. You were four very different people, like someone had taken two different movie casts and dropped them into the same restaurant scene without warning.

“So,” Bohyung said, “how do you two know each other?” he pretended not to know.

You and Jungkook exchanged a glance. It wasn’t scandalous just… charged. The wine quickly arrived, Jungkook was quick to purred you a glass.

“Bar,” you said.

Jimin snorted. You had an idea that maybe he already knew too.

Your friend raised an eyebrow. “How Victorian.”

“We had drinks,” Jungkook added casually. “Then more drinks. And then… drinks.”

Bohyung looked at you, you sipped your wine and smiled. Jimin grinned like he was thinking of something, pointing his fork at you. “So you’re the woman Jungkook’s been refusing to tell us about.”

“I wasn’t refusing,” he said. “I was… maintaining privacy.”

“You were suspiciously vague,” his friend replied.

Bohyung nodded sagely. “That’s how one know it’s real.”

You laughed. “It’s just sex and banter.”

“Which,” your friend added, “is your love language.”

“You’re not wrong,” you said.

Jungkook realized, it wasn’t just you. It was your friend too. Maybe all your inner circle. The way you all shamelessly talk about things that could be so scandalous for other people. Jungkook was glad he wasn’t one to get scandalized easily, and Jimin much less. So you all laughed, and the food arrived. Plates of heirloom tomato salad, gnocchi bolognese, spaghetti carbonara and some pizza, something foamy and unidentifiable that Jimin immediately inhaled.

Conversation turned. As you four ate, you began swapping stories, the way people do when they’re warming into each other, half-guarded and half-trying to impress. Jimin told a story about a woman who got a tattoo of her boyfriend’s Snapchat handle on her collarbone and came back two weeks later to have it covered with a butterfly. Bohyung recounted an unhinged brunch in Mykonos that ended with someone’s prosthetic leg getting thrown into the Aegean Sea. Jungkook and you both listened, amused, like you were witnessing each other in parallel universes.

“So,” Jimin said, wiping his mouth, “what do you do, Y/n? Besides terrify waitstaff with your heart-shaped glasses.”

“I run a group of restaurants,” you replied, picking at the prosciutto pizza. “Italian-focused. Mostly in Korea but now I’m extending the name to Europe, Spain first.”

“Extending?” Jungkook looked over, realizing you were talking about running a chain of restaurants. “You never told me that.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You never asked.”

Bohyung smirked. “She’s modest about it. But also not.”

“I’m brilliant,” you said calmly. “But it’s tasteless to brag about it in front of the poor.” Jimin howled. Jungkook choked on his wine. “Don’t worry,” you added with a faint smile. “You’re all in middle class. You’re safe.”

Jungkook leaned back, watching you like he was seeing something new. “You ever slow down?”

You tilted your head. “Why would I?”

There was a beat. Jimin and Bohyung had wandered into a side conversation about wine regions, but Jungkook kept watching you.

“Just curious,” he said.

“Don’t be. It’s dangerous.”

You kept eating. The sun dipped lower, casting golden streaks across the tabletops. Conversation drifted to childhood memories… Jimin growing up in a weirdly talented family, Bohyung going to boarding school in Switzerland for some months with a boy who later became a YouTube magician, Jungkook mentioning the first time he ever got detention for tattooing his best friend’s ankle with a pen lid.

“You were probably a nightmare,” you said, grinning.

“I was the good kind of nightmare,” Jungkook replied. “The one with potential.”

“Still are.”

At the end of the meal, the waiter dropped off a paper and Jungkook reached for his wallet automatically.

“I got it,” he said.

You stopped him, raising a hand. “It’s okay. Really.”

He gave you a look. “What, you picking up dinner for four now?”

But before you could reply, the waiter returned. This time not with a paper, but with a carefully packed white paper box. “Y/n,” he said politely, “your tiramisù. From Alessandro. He says you should stop coming if you’re not going to drink his new coffee mix.”

You snorted. “Thank you, Hwan. But tell him I won’t stop by anymore.” You grabbed the paper he left behind, a note. “And tell him to stop sending notes about espresso ideas. I already hate them all.”

The waiter laughed nervously, grabbing the paper. “He made me do it, ma’am.” He said something like a goodbye before leaving to attend other clients.

Jungkook blinked, looking at you still. “This… this is your restaurant? You run Mariani’s food?

You smiled, tucking the box into your purse. “I own Mariani. So yes, this is one of them.”

Jimin stared for a second, then let out a low whistle. “Well, shit. That is insane,” Jimin was grinning now. “Oh, this is so good. You got played, man.”

Bohyung lifted his glass. “To being casually dominated by powerful women.”

They toasted. The plates were cleared. The wine was finished. And you four said goodbye. And as you walked out into the warm Seoul evening a little fuller, a little looser, a little more intrigued… it was clear something had changed. Nothing dramatic. Nothing declared. But there it was again, that shift. You were no longer strangers in orbit. You were circling each other now.

The street was quiet in the way cities get just after midnight… not dead, but dreamy. Shop signs dimmed, terraces cleared, the distant hum of a scooter somewhere down the block. Jungkook shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as they walked, the night air cool against his skin. Jimin, beside him, was chewing on a toothpick he definitely hadn’t had at the restaurant, talking with the lazy rhythm of someone who’d three glasses of wine and was feeling chatty.

“That was fun,” his friend said, side-eyeing him. “Different. But fun.”

Jungkook let out a little huff of a laugh. “You’re shocked I know people with social skills and high class?”

“I’m shocked you’re sleeping with a Bond villain.”

He smirked. “She’s not a villain.”

“Kook. She got a dessert to-go from her own restaurant like a mafia Don. I think I actually heard the waiter salute her before talking to her.”

“She’s just confident.”

“She’s a one-woman boardroom,” Jimin said, turning to face him as they paused at a crosswalk. “And hot. In a scary way.”

“She is hot,” Jungkook nodded.

“And scary.”

“A little,” he admitted.

They crossed the street, the soles of their shoes tapping against the pavement. Jungkook’s apartment was fifteen minutes away. Long enough for Jimin to keep going.

“So,” the older continued, “you been seeing her since that night at the bar? I thought it was only from last month.”

Jungkook shrugged. “Off and on. Late nights, quick texts. Nothing… labeled.”

Jimin whistled. “And you like that?”

“I like her,” Jungkook said, and it came out easy. But slower, like it surprised him even a little.

His friend stopped walking. “Hold up.” He turned back. “You like like her,” Jimin repeated, squinting at him. “Since when?”

Jungkook scratched the back of his neck, suddenly a little self-conscious. “I don’t know. Since… now? Since she order without shame a bottle of $900 wine in clothes that cost the double of my rent, acting like a brat, and then proceeded to charm the entire table without trying?”

“She didn’t charm me.”

“You almost came in your pants when she threatened to have your tattoo license revoked.”

Jimin grinned. “It was sexy.” Jungkook laughed again, deeper this time. They walked a few more steps in silence. “You ever bring her home when Sunni’s there?”

Jungkook shook his head. “She doesn’t want that.”

“And you’re fine with it?”

Jungkook paused. “Yeah.”

Jimin gave him a look. “Liar.”

He sighed. “I don’t need her to meet Sunni. I’m not trying to… build something. It’s just casual.”

“Mm-hm.”

“But—”

“There it is.”

Jungkook frowned, like he finally realized something. He stopped in his tracks. “But it’s not just casual. I mean… I don’t think about casual people this much. You know what I mean?”

Jimin nodded slowly. “You’re wondering if she’d ever be cool with… your life.”

“I’m not trying to merge our schedules or introduce her to PTA moms. But… I like talking to her. I like the way her brain works. I definitely sleeping with her… And when I’m with her, I’m not thinking about anything else. That’s rare.”

“You sure she’s not just hot?”

“She’s not just anything.”

Jimin whistled again, low and slow. “Wow. So now you’re out here catching feelings.”

Jungkook chuckled, but didn’t deny it.

They passed a bakery closed for the night, shutters down and a chalkboard sign still out front: Fresh madeleines tomorrow, 8am. He barely noticed. His thoughts were somewhere else.

“She’s got this thing,” he said finally. “Like she’s been surviving on instinct and ambition for so long, she doesn’t know how to do soft. But then she says something about her life, or corrects your grammar mid-sentence, and it’s like… she feels more than she lets on.”

The older nodded. “And you like the challenge.”

“It’s not a challenge.”

“It’s totally a challenge.”

“Okay, maybe.” Jungkook smirked. “I like working for things, especially if it might become into something worthy.”

A few more steps, and his building came into view. A familiar doorway, the light in the lobby still on. But he didn’t go in yet. Jimin slowed beside him.

“So,” Park said, hands in his pockets. “Where’s this headed?”

Jungkook looked up at the sky, faint stars fighting with city haze. “I don’t know.”

“You want to know?”

He hesitated. “I’m not sure I want to ask that question yet.”

Jimin clapped him on the back. “Then don’t. Just keep walking. See where it goes.”

The younger smiled. “For a guy with two expired parking tickets and a Pikachu tattoo on his ass, you’re oddly wise.”

“I contain multitudes.”

Jungkook laughed, the kind that felt like exhale. They said goodnight, and Jungkook watched his friend head down the block. Then he stepped inside, past the quiet lobby, into the elevator, up to the soft hum of the home he’d made. In the hallway, he checked his phone. No new messages from you. No reason to expect one.

But still, he smiled. He liked not knowing. He liked wondering what might come next.

———

The nursing home was tucked into the edge of the city, just far enough to feel removed from it. All soft lawns, wide windows, and the dull hum of distant traffic. You hated the silence of it, the way the air felt padded, like every sound was being swallowed in real time. Still, you came. You always came. Your heels clicked against the polished floor as you walked through the hall, waving politely at the receptionist, who knew your name by now. Third floor. Room 312. Rosa had been moved here after the last fall, nothing dramatic, just enough to scare them both into admitting she needed more help than you alone could offer.

You slowed near the door. Took a breath. Composed your face.

Inside, the curtains were half-drawn, light spilling in across the pale blue sheets and the floral chair by the window. A small pot of pansies sat on the sill. You had brought them the week before. Rosa was sitting up in bed, her grey hair pulled into a soft bun, thick glasses perched low on her nose. She was reading, naturally. Some tattered old Italian novel that smelled like dust and secrets.

You knocked gently and let yourself in.

“Ciao, nonna,” you said softly.

Rosa looked up, and her face lit like a sunrise. “Ma che bella sorpresa, la mia ragazza!”

You smiled. “I told you I was coming.”

“You always say that. But sometimes you’re late.”

“I’m early.”

“Exactly.” You leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks, breathing in that familiar scent that felt like home. “You look thin,” Rosa said immediately, peering at you. “Have you been eating?”

“I eat…” she gave you a look. “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes is not enough. You think wine and money keep you warm in the winter?”

“They help.”

Rosa swatted at you with a tissue. “You look tired.”

“I am tired.”

“Well, sit. Come talk to me.”

You settled into the chair by the bed. You crossed your legs, brushed an invisible thread off your slacks, and folded your hands. For a moment, you just looked at each other, the old woman with her sharp eyes, and then you who grew up in her gaze.

“I missed you,” you said, and it came out a little softer than you intended.

Rosa’s expression gentled. “And I missed you. But I see your face everywhere. In the paper. On the website. On the restaurant menu.”

“I put your name to the restaurant, and you’re complaining about seeing me everywhere?” you said with a little grin.

“You should’ve put my first name, not the last.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re stubborn.”

You shared a smile, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, like it had been for years, in kitchens and backseats and long evenings when you had no one else to talk to but the sharp-tongued, iron-spined woman who’d raised you better than your own parents ever had.

You talked for a while, about normal things. Food. The weather. A nurse Rosa hated. A neighbor who coughed too loud.

“You should visit more,” Rosa said.

“I come every week.”

“Yes, but I’m old. I forget. You could lie and say it’s every day.”

“I could,” you nodded, “but you’d call me out.”

“Exactly.” There was a pause. Rosa adjusted the blanket over her knees and looked at you sideways “And the boy?” she asked.

You blinked. “What boy?”

“The one who bought you that ring. The one with the careful hair and the too-nice shoes.”

You exhaled. Of course. It was the tenth time she asked about him, the tenth time you were telling her it was over. The tenth time she wasn’t able to remember him, even after calling him a ‘soon’ one day.

“Oh,” you said lightly, “Jungwoo’s fine.”

“You still see him?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“It just… didn’t work.”

Rosa studied you. “He was a good boy.”

“He was.”

“Did he break your heart?”

“No.”

“Why are you lying?”

You looked down at your hands. “I’m not lying. We just weren’t… right. That’s all.”

Rosa didn’t press. She just nodded, once, like someone folding a letter and tucking it away. “You’ll find someone,” she said. “Someone who sees you. All of you. Even the parts you hide.”

“I hide nothing,” you muttered. Rosa gave you a look.“Okay, I hide a lot.”

“But you love hard, cara mia,” Rosa said gently. “Even when you pretend not to.”

You felt a sudden tightness in your chest, something like grief and comfort braided together. Someone who knew you like nobody and was forgetting that day by day. You reached over and took Rosa’s hand, just for a moment, and you two sat like that for a while, watching the light fade through the curtains. Eventually, Rosa started nodding off, her head slipping slightly to one side. You stood, quietly, smoothing the blanket, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Ti voglio bene,” you whispered.

Outside, in the corridor, you leaned against the wall and pulled out your phone. You scrolled through your contacts, thumb hovering over a name you hadn’t tapped in months. Jungwoo Lee. You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks. Maybe more. But today… seeing Rosa, thinking about how he used to come with you, hold Rosa’s arm, smile and ask her about her old days in Italy… it stirred something. Not love. But remembrance. A gentleness you’d once felt for him. A part of you still wanted to share this day with him, even if it was just one small message.

You typed quickly:

Just saw Rosa. She asked about you. Said you were a good boy. I told her you were fine. Hope you are.

You paused. Stared at the screen. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t even emotional. It was just real. Your thumb hovered over “Send.” The… a buzz. A new message.

Jungkook: Are you free tonight? I was thinking pizza and maybe a bad movie.

You stared at it for a second. Your thumb wavered. You weren’t the type to see a movie and eat with a guy you were only fucking. You were just having casual sex not hanging out like friends. But then… you did what you didn’t expect. You backspaced the message to Jungwoo. All of it. Every word. You didn’t delete his number, you knew you never would, but you let the screen go dark and reopened the new thread.

Y/n: I’m free. But if the movie sucks, I’m leaving. With the pizza.

Jungkook: Deal. You just bring your cute ass, I’ll bring the pizza from the best restaurant in town

Y/n: Mine?

Jungkook: of course

You locked your phone. Slipped it into your bag. And walked out into the cooling evening, your heels echoing softly down the corridor. Rosa was right. Maybe you did love hard, even when you didn’t mean to.

When you drive to the road, you had already made up your mind about this arrangement again. It was becoming too neutral. You weren’t friends with benefits. You were people who knew each other at a bar and decided to keep fucking after one night stand. But now it was becoming a little blurry, like you were slowly becoming friends. And that wasn’t something you wanted from him. You had enough friends. And you didn’t fuck them, you didn’t want to. And if you wanted to keep fucking him you knew you had to make things clearer.

Maybe it was normal for Jungkook to be-friend his hookups but not for you. So, after deciding you weren’t going for a movie night that end up in sex, you made your mind in only going for sex and nothing else. You didn’t need a build up. You didn’t need something to want him or make small talk. You both knew what you wanted— and that was only sex.

By the time you reached Jungkook’s front door, your coat was already half undone and your thoughts were speeding past you. You weren’t sure what the night was. You didn’t want to know. You’d told yourself, clearly, after the text— pizza and a bad movie— that this was just another night of not dating. Not talking. Not thinking. Just fucking and going home. Clean and easy.

He opened the door before you could knock, like he’d been waiting.

“Y/n.”

“Hi,” you said, stepping past him before he could say anything else. The house smelled warm. Cedar, laundry, and the hot oil of pizza recently put out of the oven. His hoodie sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. There was a quiet hum of music playing from the kitchen. You ignored all of it.

You turned, pressed your hands to his chest, and kissed him. Hard. Jungkook leaned into it without hesitation, one hand gripping your waist, the other sliding up to the back of your neck. He kissed you like he meant it, like he always did, with heat and certainty and just enough gentleness to make your nerves ache. You pulled at his shirt and walked him backward toward his bedroom without a word.

No talking tonight. You didn’t want talking.

You two stumbled through the hallway, mouths never parting, until you hit the bed in a tangle of clothes and breathless, impatient hands. You climbed on top like you were making a point, like you were keeping control. And he let you. He always let you take control when you wanted to... But he never let you forget that he could take it back any time.

It was slow and fast, sweet and filthy. The kind of sex that lived somewhere in the middle. Not soft, not rough, just full. Like something had been building quietly and needed somewhere to go.

And after, you two lay tangled in the sheets, your skin still warm, breath still not all the way back. you stared at the ceiling. Jungkook shifted beside you, one arm thrown casually over his head.

“You ever go five minutes without trying to distract yourself?” he asked softly.

You turned your head. “Excuse me?”

“You came in like your mouth was on fire.”

You gave a lazy smile. “Would you prefer small talk?”

He turned his head too. “No. But I’d like to take you out.”

Your smile faded, just a little. But it was noticeable the way you froze for a second, he caught you out of guard for the first time and it make Jungkook feel a little amused that he made it.

“What?”

He shrugged, still catching his breath. “A date. Real one. Dinner. Somewhere that doesn’t involve you walking in like you’re trying to set me on fire.”

You sat up slightly, brushing your hair back. “Jungkook…”

“I’m not proposing,” he said calmly. “I just want to sit across from you in a place with chairs. Where we talk more. Where I don’t have to guess what version of you I’m gonna get just in bed.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because I like you.”

You looked at him like that word didn’t compute. “Jungkook.”

“What?” he said, propping himself on one elbow. “We’ve been doing this for a while now. You like me. I know you do. I like you, I know that.”

“I’m not… looking for something.”

“I didn’t ask you to be.”

“Then why—”

“Because I’m not seventeen,” he said simply. “Because I like seeing your face when you’re not trying to be clever. Because I think if we slowed down five percent, you’d actually enjoy us both more.” You let out a breath and looked away. The silence stretched. “Look,” he said, voice lower, steadier. “You can say no. You don’t owe me anything. But I’m telling you this… when I want something, I ask for it. I want to take you out. Like an adult. Not as a game. Not as a performance. Just us. Real.”

You were quiet for a long time. Then: “And if I say yes?”

“Then I’ll pick you up. Open your door. Probably insult your outfit in a charming way. Feed you something good. And we’ll talk. I enjoy talking to you, I’ll probably do more if I can do it for more than ten minutes after sex.”

You glanced over. “And if I say no?”

He smiled. “Then I’ll see you the next time you come over and pretend I didn’t care about the rejection.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. He was calm. Not cocky. Not trying to win. Just… standing there, emotionally and physically naked, still half-wrapped in the sheets, telling you what he wanted.

And he looked so fucking good doing it. So manly, so hot.

You pulled the sheet tighter around yourself, heart thudding a little faster now, but not from nerves. From something else. Something more dangerous.

“You’re not playing fair,” you murmured, not sure.

“I’m not playing at all.”

Another silence. And you thought he was the hottest when he was being clear and direct like that.

“Fine.”

Jungkook arched a brow. “Fine?”

“One date,” you said, holding up a finger. “If you call it anything else, I’m leaving mid-appetizer.”

He smiled, slow and warm. “Deal.”

You rolled your eyes and flopped back onto the bed. “You’re such a dad.”

He laughed. “And yet, you keep coming back.”

“Shut up.”

“Just saying…”

“Jungkook.”

“Yes?”

You turned your head toward him again. “You better take me somewhere good. I have big standards.”

He grinned. “Already made the reservation.”

SKJEIISJAJZJSSNS second chapter here!! guys thank u so much for ur sweet msg on the first chapter, they made me so happy >_< //€./‘ thank u hehe,, let me know how you liked this chapter too

also GUYS THIS IS THE SECOSN CHAPTERR,,, like u have NOOOO idea what’s about to come, just look how many chapter this fic has 🤭🤭🤭

so anyway tell me if you’re liking it so far;:; btw i had to tag so many people, i had to repost with the rest of them>_<<< thank u my children

taglist:

@sanguchitodeternera @yneisstuff @smoljimjim @almatiarau @annpeachy @mar-lo-pap @taetaecatboy @rrosiitas @httpsmei @jeonnabi11 @gigi4evr @sabrinahiddig @tatzzz-25 @slythermania @yuyu0y11 @ultracnt @baekpop05 @tinyxrose @satisfied18 @kissyfacekoo @synamon @smut02 @alextgef @lindsayjoy444 @ottergirl @imagine-this-motherfucker @dream-lover200 @astralovesu @dragons-flare @jungkookswifeeeeeee @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @yuniesluv @kookooquette @lanyia @dearkayzel-blog @katie-tibo @strawberryacethingz @jalexad @llallaaa @eyesforjungkook @wandabillywrites @flowinj @strawberrysweetness @osakis-gf @bambijuicee @dollyunjinz @jjeonjjk7 @focused-island @cravingforbangtan @elinaki92

[inthelow]

TEMPORARY FRAGMENTS — jeon jungkook (1).

summary: When you meet Jungkook— an older man who is amazing in bed, you thought it would be a simple arrangement of casual sex. Except things start getting serious and before you know he’s asking you on dates and introducing you to his daughter… Of course, he doesn’t know that you’re bad with kids and never wanted one of your own— well, at least it was just something temporary… right?.

pairing: business! fem reader x dad! jeon jungkook.

genre/warning: fluff, crack, smut, angst / a lot of themes like insecurity, jealousy, death, dysfunctional family, etc— This chapter contains sexual talk/scenes (fingering, penetration, oral sex, dirty talk). Read under your own discretion. — reader mentions her age but just for the plot of the age difference.

chapters: intro; one; two; three; four; five; six; seven; eight; nine; ten; eleven; twelve; thirteen; fourteen; fifteen; sixteen; seventeen; eighteen; epilogue. | series masterlist

word count: +12k words

You woke up to the smell of coffee. Not burnt espresso or whatever horror Se-hoo brewed from your capsule machine when she crash in your apartment — this was rich, earthy, and freshly ground. It filled the air like something deliberate. Comforting. Domestic. You blinked your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the dim, warm light spilling through the window. The sheets were cotton, the good quality, not stiff or scratchy. The bed was too big for one person but clearly used to being slept in alone. You could tell by the symmetry of the pillows, the quiet in the air. No mess. No clutter. No sign of another woman.

Your head didn’t ache. Your limbs didn’t feel heavy. There was no immediate rush of regret flooding your chest. Instead, there was quiet. You turned your face into the pillow, let out a breath, and muttered to no one, “Okay.” Time to face the uncomfortable talk after sex.

You sat up and took in the room. Simple. Masculine. Clean lines, warm colors, nothing flashy but nothing lazy either. There were books on the nightstand — actual books, not decorative ones —, a leather jacket slung over the back of a chair and some paintings around the drawers. On the dresser: a watch, a set of keys, and a single photograph of a little girl with messy hair and a missing tooth smile, holding a glitter-covered rock like it was treasure. You stared for a second and then looked away.

You found your dress draped neatly over the foot of the bed. Your heels were lined up side-by-side. Your phone was plugged in. He had plugged in your phone.

Jungkook was already annoying.

You uncomfortable put the dress on and wandered barefoot into the apartment, your shoes and bag in one hand. The smell of coffee led you to the kitchen, where you stopped. It looked like a catalog ad. Sleek counters. Stainless steel. A French press on the counter, half-full. And Jungkook — standing at the stove, shirtless, in grey sweatpants, flipping something in a pan like this was a Tuesday. You could see all his tattoos better now in daylight.

“Morning,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Hope you like eggs.”

“Are they poisoned?” you asked, voice scratchy with sleep.

“Only slightly,” he said. “I didn’t want you getting attached.”

You smirked, leaning against the wall. “You cook breakfast for all your one-night stands?”

“Only the ones who snore like they pay rent.”

“I don’t snore.”

He shrugged. “You snore pretty.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled.

There was something infuriating about how comfortable he looked. Like your presence didn’t throw him at all. Like he’d been cooking for someone his whole life and had learned the art of giving without asking. He handed you a mug of coffee without being prompted.

You took a sip. “Okay, fine. This is good.”

“Roasted it myself,” he said. You narrowed your eyes. He raised a brow. “What? You think tattoo artists can’t have hobbies?”

“No, I think you’re trying too hard to be impressive.”

“I’m really not,” he said, plate in hand now. “You’re just easily impressed.”

You followed him to the kitchen island, sliding onto the stool while he set down two plates with eggs, toast, avocado. Clean, unfussy, hot.

“You know,” you said between bites, “I was expecting more… chaos.”

“Because I have tattoos?”

“Because you have a child.”

Jungkook nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “Fair. But I like things in order. When you’ve got a seven-year-old who believes glitter is a personality trait, you need to carve out the calm somewhere.” You paused mid-chew. He caught it. “Yeah, you saw the picture.”

“I saw a glitter rock,” you said carefully.

“Sunni’s masterpiece,” he said. “It lives in my glove compartment now. She made me promise to take it with me ‘in case the car gets sad.’” You blinked, and for the first time that morning, something twisted slightly behind your ribs. Jungkook reached for the pepper grinder. “Relax. She’s with her mom this week. You don’t have to run screaming just yet.”

Now you knew his daughter’s name. You needed to leave that place as soon as possible.

“I’m not running.”

“Yet.”

You tilted your head. “You’re older than me, aren’t you?”

He smirked. “What gave it away? The bad jokes or the emotional regulation?”

“Both,” you said. “How old?”

“Thirty-three.”

“Shit.”

“You?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Seven years,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Not bad.”

“Debatable.”

“Oh, come on. That just means I had a flip phone while you were still wearing glitter lip gloss.”

You gave him a long look. “It was Dior glitter lip gloss, thank you.”

Jungkook chuckled. “Of course it was.”

You two ate in a companionable silence for a moment. The kind that only came when both people knew exactly what this was and weren’t pretending otherwise.

“You live alone?” you asked.

“Most of the time. Sunni’s here on weekends and some weeknights. Her mom’s got a career that eats up a lot of travel.” You nodded, impressed by how easily he said it. No drama. No resentment. “And you?” he asked. “What do you do when you’re not scaring men in bars?”

“I run a company.”

“What kind of company?”

“Some Italian restaurants” you shrugged.

Jungkook blinked. “You don’t look like a woman who tolerates gluten.”

“I don’t,” you said, joking. “But I respect the culture.”

He smiled. “You’re funny.”

“I know.”

There was a pause. He leaned back, watching you now. Not ogling, but observing. Calm. Focused. The kind of gaze that made most men look like they were fidgeting.

“You’re smart,” he said. Not like a pickup line but just a fact.

You didn’t hesitated. “I am.”

“Went to school for it?”

“Law. Worked in a firm for three months and then I got bored.”

“Of course you did,” he said. “You’ve got that ‘I will destroy you with precedent and poise’ energy.”

You laughed again. Goddammit. Jungkook reached for something on the counter— a pen, a sticky note — and scribbled quickly. Then slid it toward you across the granite like it was a contract.

“My number,” he said. “In case you ever want to feel in control again.”

You stared at it for a second, amused. “You giving this to all your hook-ups?”

“No,” he said. “You’re the first one who’s tried to negotiate my egg seasoning.”

You folded the note, sliding it into your bag. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Didn’t say it did.”

“I’m not looking for anything serious.”

“Neither am I.”

You two locked eyes for a beat too long. Then you stood, brushed invisible lint off your dress, and said, “Well. This was surprisingly pleasant.”

Jungkook leaned on the counter, smiling like a man who had nothing to prove. “You say that like it’s a threat.” You didn’t reply. He watched you slip on your heels, toss your hair over one shoulder, and head toward the door. “Hey, Y/n,” he called out as you opened it.

You turned. “Huh?”

“You left your phone” he said, holding it up.

You crossed back, snatched it from his hand, and paused. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

You left. And Jungkook… shirtless, with two empty plates and the smell of coffee still warm in the air, just stood there for a second. Then he smiled to himself, shook his head once and thought softly, “Trouble.”

—————

The Mariani office didn’t look like a restaurant headquarters. It looked like a magazine spread — clean marble surfaces, white oak floors, carefully curated vases that changed weekly, and coffee that somehow tasted like it had flown first class. You stood at the far end of the long glass conference table, arms crossed, legs sharp under a tailored navy suit dress that made people listen harder. The sunlight hit your hair just right, enough to not make you more annoyed that you already were.

You weren’t yelling. You never needed to yell. You just asked one question, the kind of question that made three department heads rethink their career choices.

“Why,” you said, tapping your finger once on the printout, “are there plastic menus in a space with velvet chairs and hand-painted walls?”

The woman across the table, Marisa, Events Director, blinked once. “They’re temporary. Just for the soft launch. We thought—”

“No. You didn’t think. You assumed,” you said, calm as possible. “Do you know what assumption tastes like, Marisa?”

The woman swallowed. “…cheap.”

“Exactly.”

You turned, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the street below. Your office was just the penthouse floor of a restored building full of different offices in the heart of the city. Elegant but not flashy. Just like you. The newest Mariani location was three blocks away, still about to finish some last touches but the soft launch was already sending out invitations to critics and investors who had the collective power to destroy or elevate a brand in one dinner.

“Look, I’m not being difficult for sport,” you added, softer now. “We’re selling an experience, not just spaghetti and rigatoni. That means everything, from the plates to the fucking bathroom soap, tells the story of who we are. And we are expensive.”

There was silence. Then murmurs of agreement. You didn’t gloat. You just sipped your cold espresso and moved on when everyone agreed that it needed to be changed immediately.

Later that morning, you stepped into your personal office, shut the door with a firm click, and let yourself exhale. The new espresso cup you had was stale. You didn’t care. You hated interruptions when you were working, and this place - this bubble you’d built of quiet control - was the only space that ever felt fully yours.

You sat behind your desk and opened your laptop. Three dozen emails. Menu revisions from the Spain team. Budget approvals for Valencia. A note from the lawyer about a new licensing regulation. You moved through it fast, efficient, razor-sharp, completely in command. You weren’t just pretty or rich or terrifyingly well-dressed— you were brilliant. The kind of person who caught the missing zero in a spreadsheet before the finance guy noticed. Who remembered the name of the pastry chef’s dog and the exact shade of red the director had painted their front door.

And yet, despite your ruthless control, there was something fragile beneath it. Something you kept buried.

Halfway through responding to an investor memo, your phone lit up with a notification from the nursing home. You stared at it. Then clicked.

Rosa Mariani - Medical Update Available.

Rosa had been the only person who ever told you “no” and meant it. She had raised you between revolving door babysitters and parents who treated affection like a tax write-off. Rosa, with her gruff voice and soft hands. With her biscotti that could break teeth and the gentlest lullabies in Italian you had ever heard.

Now she was fading. Slowly, stubbornly, but definitely fading.

You sat back in your chair and ran a finger along the edge of your espresso cup. You didn’t cry. You never cried at work. Instead, you picked up your phone, dialed the facility, and asked for an update in that same composed, expensive voice you used with investors. After a few minutes of reassurance and politeness, you hung up.

Then you sat there for a moment, just breathing.

No one in the office would know that you were two seconds from driving to the other side of the city to sit at a bedside and beg a woman with Alzheimer’s to remember your name. No one would see that the CEO of and Italian chain food, a rich egocentric girl, was still the twelve-year-old girl who once clung to an apron and begged for another bedtime story in Italian.

You straightened. Pulled your jacket tight. And got back to work. Because vulnerability was not part of your brand. You decided to walk it off. Going to see the next thing in your list of duties of the day.

The new photos of the new - at least, about to be- Mariani location in Spain was a construction site dressed in potential. You were sure it smelled like sawdust and cement dust, but you could already picture the finished space in perfect detail: soft warm lighting, high arches, the curve of the host stand, the brass cutlery that would feel cool in a diner’s hand. You could see it like memory— because you’d built it in your mind a hundred times. You were ready to invest in that place. A step closer to Italy.

With a better mood, you decided to visit the new location in Seoul. The one that was about to launch soon and was just some streets away from the office.

You moved through the site in Louboutins, naturally. Your team… architects, designers, the head chef, a frazzled assistant named Gina with three iPads and a mild caffeine addiction, swarmed around you like bees trying to keep up.

“This wall was supposed to be Venetian plaster,” you said, voice calm, pointing at a freshly primed panel. “That’s drywall. Fix it.”

“Noted,” the contractor muttered, scribbling.

“And the sconces?” you asked, turning toward the entryway.

“Delayed. Backordered,” Gina jumped in, already scrolling.

“Find alternates. Hand-blown, amber glass, minimum three inches in diameter. If you show me anything that looks like it belongs in a Marriott I will walk into traffic.”

“Yes, boss.”

You turned on your heel, barely glancing at your tablet. “And where’s the espresso machine?”

“We change it for the bigger one you wanted. Shipping tomorrow,” one of the kitchen leads said. “Alessandro said he’d handle the calibration once it lands.”

“Good. Alessandro likes the pressure at 9 bars, not 11. It messes with the crema. And it actually makes the cortado taste better.”

There was a pause. “How do you know that?” Gina asked, blinking.

You looked at her. “He’s always bitching about it”

You knew the effect you had in people. The scary boss, the annoying CEO. The hateful manager. You knew what most people thought about you the first time they met you. Annoying, only cares for money and her business. It was true, in part.

You never smiled for effect. Never performed softness. But you remembered birthdays and food allergies. You caught mistakes before they became issues. You knew which chef refused to work under fluorescent lighting and which server got anxious before inspections. You expected excellence but you rewarded loyalty. And most people would rather disappoint a god than disappoint you. So you let the hate happened, because your team knew you by now. Specially when the pressure got you.

This, the life you had worked for. It was something that made you happy.

—————

Your apartment sat like a crown atop the building — two floors of steel, glass, and unapologetic luxury. The kind of place people only saw in movies or real estate porn. High ceilings, dark marble floors, a spiral staircase that curved up like sculpture. Every detail was intentional. The lighting was soft, the art minimalist but personal — a giant abstract canvas from an artist Bohyung had once drunkenly hooked up with in Berlin, a few framed black-and-white photos from a trip the three of you had taken to Tokyo five years ago. The penthouse smelled like fresh basil and roasted tomatoes, the aftermath of your very rare decision to cook. Not that you couldn’t cook, because you definitely could. But it usually meant taking time for it — and you couldn’t waste seconds when you were running a big company— so you just preferred not to, unless you were showing off or trying to forget something.

Tonight was neither. Tonight was routine. Tuesday night dinner. An unspoken tradition between your two best friends and you, no matter how busy or jetlagged or generally dramatic your lives got.

Bohyung was already barefoot on the couch, swirling wine in one hand like a bored nobleman. His linen shirt was half-buttoned, his hair messily perfect. He worked in luxury estate acquisitions aka convincing rich people to buy even more properties they’d never live in. He had a gift for languages, for diplomacy, and for saying devastatingly rude things with a charming smile. Se-hoo sat across from him, legs crossed, sipping slowly from a glass of Barolo she’d brought. She ran a private consulting firm for high-profile rebrands— politicians, CEOs, scandals waiting to happen. She had a mind like a scalpel and the emotional range of a Russian novelist. Beautiful, deliberate, and cool as ice— except when she laughed, which was rare but honest.

You and Bohyung had been friends since kindergarten— trauma bonded over ballet recitals and broken curfews. Se-hoo arrived later, in your second year of university, transferring in after a semester scandal involving someone else’s fiancé and a shattered Baccarat tumbler. You two hated her for a week, then fell in love with her for life.

“You used real garlic,” Se-hoo said, tasting the pasta like she was judging it for a Michelin star.

You poured yourself a glass of wine. “I’m not a monster.”

“I mean, you are,” your other friend said, “but a monster with taste.”

“Thank you,” you said, pleased.

The three of you sat around the open-plan kitchen island, warm lighting and an already half-finished bottle of wine in the centre. The three of you ate, the three of you bitched. The three of you gossiped. And eventually, after the pasta had been cleared and the gelato opened, Bohyung struck.

“So,” he said casually, “how was mystery man?”

You rolled you eyes. “There is no mystery. He was just… you know.”

“Oh,” he said, lips twitching. “Just a fuck.”

“Exactly.”

Se-hoo raised an eyebrow. “A nameless fuck?”

“Jungkook,” you muttered.

“That sounds hot. He was hot.” she pointed out

Bohyung snorted. “Oof. That’s such a daddy’s name.”

You took a slow sip of wine. “Funny you say that.”

There was a beat of silence before Se-hoo blinked. “No way.”

“Yeah.”

“Like… actual dad?” she asked.

“Seven-year-old daughter,” you said, licking a bit of pistachio gelato off your spoon. “Mild glitter obsession, according to him.”

Bohyung leaned back. “Jesus. How did that come up? During foreplay?”

Se-hop snorted. “Did he show you her report cards between rounds.”

“No, he didn’t. And Ew, disgusting.”

Your friend raised his glass. “Honestly, missed opportunity.”

“He mentioned it over breakfast.”

“Oh, you stayed?”

“He made eggs. I didn’t want to be rude.”

Bohyung put a hand over his heart. “Wow. Look at you, supporting single fathers. You’re basically a philanthropist.”

You gave him a flat look. “It was good sex. He was hot. I was bored.”

“And emotionally repressed,” Se-hoo added helpfully.

“Exactly,” you nodded.

“He was hot.”

You laughed. Not in a cruel way, just the kind of laugh that came with knowing someone too well to lie. The kind of laugh that loved you, even when it roasted you.

“He was…” you trailed off, then shrugged. “Fine.”

Bohyung narrowed his eyes. “Oh no. She said fine. He was not fine. He was big and broad and responsible, wasn’t he?”

“He owns a tattoo shop,” you said, as if that answered something.

Se-hoo blinked. “Of course he does. Did you fuck a romance novel, Y/n?”

Your other friend leaned forward. “Wait. Does he have forearms? The kind that look like they could carry you and the weight of your childhood trauma?”

“Dude.”

“Did he call you sweetheart in that ‘I pay my taxes and use my hands to built furniture without instructions’ voice?”

You bit back a smile. “You are both insufferable.”

Se-hoo smiled lightly. “You’re still thinking about him.”

“I’m not. He gave me his number and I took it because I’m polite. I don’t even know his last name.”

“Sure,” Bohyung said. “And I only follow hot rugby players for their footwork.”

You moved on, eventually— because you always did.

Talk shifted to other things. Se-hoo’s newest nightmare client, a tech CEO with the personality of a wine cork. Bohyung’s latest business trip to Paris where a billionaire tried to buy a 17th-century chateau without seeing it. Your upcoming launch event and whether or not you were going to wear the red heels that cost too much.

It was comfortable, easy. The kind of dinner that felt like a deep exhale. A reminder that no matter what the world expected from you all… clean lines, sharp deals, expensive control. There, in that room, you could let it bend.

As the night wound down, Bohyung curled into the corner of the velvet couch and sighed. “Honestly, I love us.”

Se-hoo drained her glass. “I tolerate us.”

You leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, lips twitching. “You both wish you were me.”

The girl stretched. “I do wish I had your closet.”

Bohyung smirked. “And your apartment.”

“And your cheekbones,” she added.

“But not your daddy issues,” he said.

You raised your glass. “Cheers for that.”

You clinked glasses

Somewhere in the city, Jungkook was probably folding glitter-stained laundry or putting a little girl to bed. And here, in your castle in the sky, you were full, half-drunk, adored. And exactly where you belonged.

—————

It was almost midnight when you stepped into the coffee shop.

The street outside was mostly empty, lights low and hazy from the rain earlier. The café sat on the corner of a quiet neighborhood you rarely visited— a little too slow, too far from the pulse of the city. But you’d had a meeting nearby that ran late, and after hours buried in contracts and menus and talking to architects who couldn’t follow instructions, you needed caffeine and a quiet table that wasn’t backlit by luxury branding. The place was warm, dim, and half-empty. Mostly college students with headphones and a couple of people staring blankly into their screens. The barista looked half-asleep. Jazz played low on the speakers, old-school and moody.

You stepped in, ordered a double espresso with an oat milk cookie— which took longer than it should— and turned to find a seat… when you heard it.

“Y/n.”

You looked up. Jungkook sat in the back corner, sleeves rolled, sketchbook open in front of him, a pen twirling loosely between his fingers. There was a mostly empty mug beside him, and a pastry he’d clearly forgotten existed. His hair was a little messy. He had glasses. His eyes were calm and sharp and amused… He looked better than you remembered. Or maybe exactly the same, and that was the problem. It had been almost three weeks.

“Well,” you said, walking over slowly, one brow raised. “If it isn’t the tattooed dad.”

Jungkook grinned. “Still remembering me by my most defining trait, I see.”

You sipped your coffee. “You wish. You’re also ‘that guy who made very decent eggs.’”

“High praise from a woman who probably eats in Michelin star kitchens by accident.”

“I don’t eat in them,” you said, sliding into the chair across from him. “I own them.”

He laughed, low and warm. He seemed amused by you “Of course you do.”

There was a pause. A beat where the past sat between you two like static. Both maybe trying to remember what was said that morning after the one-night stand. The first one that wasn’t awkward for you.

You tilted your head. “What are you doing out here? You work… where, exactly?”

“Ten minutes that way,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the window. “I was working late at the shop. One of the guys stayed late to finish a sleeve and the AC jammed. Took me an hour to fix it.”

Of course he fixed it.

You nodded, leaning back. “So, caffeine and quiet?”

“Exactly. And you?”

“Work. I had a meeting with an investor who likes to schedule things at strange hours like he’s in some kind of high-stakes European thriller. I was ready to strangle him halfway through.”

Jungkook grinned. “Did you?”

“No. I just charged him an extra three percent.”

He laughed again. “Still terrifying.”

“I’m efficient,” you said, lips twitching. “Terrifying is a bonus.”

You two talked for a while. Nothing big. Just easy words in a quiet space. About the neighborhood (you still hated it), about tattoo machines and supply issues, about espresso and bad lighting and why good jazz never played in the places that needed it most… It wasn’t flirty. Not obviously. But there was something in the way he looked at you— calm, curious, still very much aware of every detail. And something in the way you kept glancing at his hands, remembering without meaning to.

Eventually, you both stood up at the same time.

Outside, the air was cool, damp from the earlier rain. Your steps slowed at the corner, where you’d have to split.

Jungkook looked at you. You looked back, lifting an eyebrow. “What?”

“You never saved my number, did you?” he stated more than asking.

You smirked. “I didn’t think we were doing that.”

“We weren’t.” You two stood there for a beat. Then he asked it. Quiet. Direct. “Do you want to come back to my place?”

You didn’t hesitate. You just smiled and said, “Lead the way.”

You walked off down the street. Not together, exactly. Just side by side. No promises. No labels. Just two people with unfinished business and nothing to explain.

His house wasn’t that far from the coffee shop. You remembered. Since he didn’t bring his car, he took your keys from your hands and drive you both to his place. At least you had a drive for later to go back home. It didn’t take you too much to arrive. Five minutes later you were walking inside his building and he was already grabbing your hand to lead you to the elevator and to his apartment.

It didn’t take him long to lose control and kiss you

Jungkook leaned you against the wall of the hallway, next to his door. His hands wrapped around the sides of your face as he kissed you hard and needy, as if he had been waiting for this more than he would like to admit. His lips pressed against yours with strength and excitement. It made you remember the first and only night you spent together. Slightly - too - drunk to remember it perfectly but sober enough not to forget how good it was.

His touch. His lips. His naked body against yours. You remember every moan and every thrust. You could remember the feeling of every sigh and every touch.

You wanted him more.

His lips were soft. His kiss searing and full of desire. The fire inside you almost flooded his, flaming and full of heat. His hands roamed to your body, from your cheeks to your hips, tracing every part of you with his fingers, burning every part of your skin over your dress and under your coat. He pressed harder on your hips and moved the hem of your dress to start pulling it up slowly until your your panties showed. The dress giving him better access to you.

He was burning for you. You could hear your heart trumping in your ears, Jungkook made you feel so alive and energetic, and you knew you made him feel the same way, for the way he kissed you hard and deep, coaxing your lips open and forcing his tongue inside. He wanted to burn his name inside your mouth and keep anyone else from kissing you again.

He takes one hand on your jaw to keep your mouth open and pliant while the other travels down to squeeze your hip and run wildly across your tummy to your core. Jungkook moved his mouth to your jaw, sucking the skin and trailing his lips down to your neck. even just touching you through your panties is getting him lightheaded. His fingers moved down to your center, his thumb starting to rub your clit on top of your underwear.

You threw your head back to the wall, sighing of pleasure.

“Wait— Jungkook, we’re in the…”

“Let me take care of you, pretty.” he didn’t let you finish, finger working on making you wet. His tongue laves over your skin as he pants into your neck. He has to keep himself from rutting against your thigh, getting too heady at the feeling of finally touching you again. “Tell me you like it.”

You sighed again, feeling your panties getting soaked wet, his fingers working slowly on you. Your voice barely hold its own. “I like it.”

But that wasn’t enough for him.

He wants to see your knees buckle and give up. He wants you crying. He wants to watch your eyes get glossy and wet. He wants you trembling and begging for mercy, wants to give you more and more because he knows that you’ll be good and take it. Because this time he wasn’t going to give you the control, he was the one to have it.

You gasp as his fingers circle your clit, and he’s starting to feel how wet you are even through the layers of clothes. He moves your underwear, his fingers tease your entrance and he presses down on your clit, watching your mouth drop open as he swipes it fervently, needing to get you dripping and ready. He steals your lips for another kiss, letting you pant into his mouth as he takes everything he wants from you.

“You want me to fuck you with my fingers, baby?” He asked, voice lower and rough, full of desire. “Is that enough for you, uhm?”

Baby.

“Shit— Just fuck me.”

Your voice was low, trying to keep it together. Jungkook liked how you tried to keep control, even in this situation. So he chuckled, a dark and grutal one that made you freeze slightly.

“Not yet, pretty. I’m just starting with you.”

He circles his finger around your entrance, teasingly applying pressure just to watch you squirm before slowly fucking two fingers into you, with the intention of making you lose your mind little by little.

And he wants to smile. With the way he has you pressed against the wall of his building, fingering you slowly and making you sigh in pleasure with the low lights of the hallway barely holding on. And he wants to fuck you there, where anyone can show up and see you breaking apart like this— but he had enough control to just made you lose your mind to have you beg for it. Just enough so you could ask for it— His cock sits hot and heavy in his pants, but he barely pays it any attention. He’s much more focused on working you up, make you dripping on his fingers.

He increases his pace a little more, curling his fingers up and fucking you harder. It takes him a minute to find the spot he was looking for, but he knows he’s got it when you moan and your leg kicks out helplessly. He keeps pressing into that spot, curling his fingers up to hit it every time, relishing in the garbled moans that spill out of your mouth.

“Ngh— shit, go harder.”

“Yeah?. Are you feeling good?” He increased his pace, fucking his fingers deeper into you. “You’re dripping on my hand, baby.”

His fingers continue to rub recklessly at your cunt, making you a little dumb. For a moment, Jungkook doesn’t care about being sweet or gentle or slow— he wants you to be blinded by your need for him, to ache for him so bad you’d cry. But then— he feels you tightening around his fingers so hard he can barely move, stuck pressing into you relentlessly to get you to your peak. And you’re getting there, so fast and excited—

But it stops.

Your orgasm doesn’t come.

Jungkook takes his fingers out of you and your hips involuntarily move to reach them in a needy way. He presses his palm to your tummy and you make a sweet little noise of complaint that he founds adorable and so hot it makes his cock twitch in his pants.

“What are you doing?” your voice sounds more needy that you wanted it to be.

“I won’t fuck you here, baby. Come on now.”

You blinked. Thinking how you were so horny you didn’t mind getting fuck like a whore in the middle of a hallway. But it makes you feel a little good how he was such a man to not do it and take you to his bedroom to fuck you properly.

It doesn't take you two long to get to his room. Jungkook giving you a quick kiss on the lips before pushing you onto his bed, moving you with little to none delicacy so he can spread your legs and kneel in front of you. Knees pressing hard on his cold carpet. He holds your legs open, staring at your center with a wicked grin, your panties ruined and soaked in full display. He kisses up your leg until he gets to your core, ghosting his lips over your heat and blinking up at you.

“I’m going to taste you. And I want you to look at me until you come in my mouth.”

His voice was rough. It wasn’t a request, it was a command.

And you were dripping for him. He was so hot you wanted him to fuck you all day long. The only thing you could do was nod slowly. And he smirked. Because you were such a bossy bitch and now you were spread, lying in bed and nodding like a good girl for him. And you knew how much he wanted that after the first night where you had him under you, grunting and trying to keep his composure while you were taking control.

He likes you that way. Too much to admit. Spread for him and ready to take him in any way. His hands roamed over your tights before taking your panties off. And it doesn’t take him long to give you what you want. Because he wants you more than he likes to admit. In less than a second, he’s salivating like a dog, abandoning all his patience and smothering his face between your legs without a care in the world. He brings his mouth to your clit, sucking lightly and rolling his tongue over the bud his tongue dives into your cunt, desperately pushing into your walls. He wants to hear you cry, to feel you squirm— for him. He likes to find relief in knowing he can make you feel good.

His nose is right against your clit as he fucks his tongue into you. You’re moaning out, a little louder, much whinier than the first night you had and what he’s heard from you. And that does crazy things to him. He wants to fuck you so bad. He’s rock hard, almost leaking from his jeans. Your fingers fist his hair, your back aching at the pleasure that his tongue was giving you.

Jungkook pushes his face further against you, desperate to get as close as he possibly can, reach as far into your cunt as his tongue will allow. He is aching to finally taste your orgasm. His fingers immediately moved to your cunt across your clit, he comes back down to your hole, lapping up the arousal that spills out of it hungrily, moaning at the taste.

But before he can taste all of your juices, your cunt dripping of your orgasm, you pulled his hair to look at him— too serious that he freeze for a moment.

“Jungkook, fuck me already.”

And he obeys.

He immediately pulls away from your cunt— not before sucking one last time your clit—, he stands up and kneels in bed, between your legs. Quickly taking off his shirt in one motion before using it to clean off your juices from his jaw. And he looks so hot on top of you. Perfect clean skin. Broad shoulders and back. Toned arms and abs. Tight stomach and narrow waist. He looked like a sin, specially with one arm all inked full of tattoos you want to lick to death.

Jungkook moves over you. His heat poured onto your torso immediately and you shivered, letting your fingers glide over his narrow waist, getting under the waistband of his jeans and pulling them down to his thighs with his underwear. You see his cock, jumping hard until it hits his lower stomach. Red, veiny and big, his tip leaking pre-cum. You wanted to lick it off clean. He was so hot and such a manly man.

Jungkook fisted your hair before kissing you, hard and open. His hands moved to your dress, taking it off fast as possible and leaving you naked. His body stretched as he reached for his bedside table, opening the drawer and haphazardly pulling out its contents until he found what he was looking for. Your mouth only left his mouth once he rose up, taking out a condom, looking down at you from between your legs. His eyes never left your body as he pumped his cock slowly, leaking more. He looked like a sin staring down on you as he rolled the rubber on.

“You looked so hot” He told you a little breathless. “I’m gonna fuck you hard now, okay?. And you’re going to take it.”

Jungkook kissed you again, hand in your jaw to keep you in place. He taps his tip against your entrance. And before you have time to register he slides his cock between your slick folds, aching to be inside you. You wrap around him tight, making his head spin, nothing but primal instinct driving his actions. He groaned into your mouth as he fucked you, keeping your hips still with his harsh grip.

He squeezed your thigh, pushing it down on the mattress, and you spread your legs wider. A whimper leaving your mouth when he came down grinding on you. Your back arching, eyes closing as he sucked a nipple into his mouth

His hips dipped again, rolling against you. And you bit your lips, pulling his face toward your mouth. “You told me—” you tried as another roll of his body made you clench. “Uhm— Is this hard for you?.”

Jungkook stops before looking at you. His hand in your jaw moving to your cheeks to squeeze tight, looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“This isn’t hard for you?” he nods, looking at your eyes. Dark and blown out. “This isn’t enough, right?. You’re a greedy girl, you want more. Fucking—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he proves you wrong. He slammed his hips into yours with strength. He sank into you, filling you to the brink, so deep, stretching you so completely that a single whimper torn straight from your throat. His mouth crashed into yours, making you moan, bringing your legs to the small of his back as he withdrew and sank back in deeper and harder. He fucks you hard, not faster. He thrust into you with meaning, deeper and meaner. Jungkook pressed a hand hard in your lower stomach, making you feel him better.

Your back arches and you moaned his name with meaning, feeling him so good, so rich. Jungkook rolled his hips into you on command.  Sweat glistened your bodies, and it was getting hard to breathe for both of you. You moaned, relishing how he stretched you. You gasped, trying to mold his body to yours as your orgasm started building. Your nails dragged down his back, burning his skin as you arched into him again. His mouth finds your neck again, kissing harder. His fingers in your cheeks find your clit, moving them to it faster so you could reach your high.

“Shit— Jungkook. Fuck, wait—”

“No.” His voice is demanding, manly. In a way that makes you know you’re not in control. “This is what you wanted, right?. You can take it. You’re gonna take it, pretty”, Jungkook bites your neck and your eyes get glossy in tears. “Shit— Come on, you’re so good. You’re doing so good for me…”

You squeezed him hard, and his hips stumbled at the feeling. He moans, and lets a growl when you moaned his name into his ear. A sweet noise he’s sure he will remember for weeks. You cried out as you found your release. The world spinning, your body wrecked as euphoria crashed into you. Jungkook came completely undone a few erratic thrusts later, with the sexiest moan you’d ever heard in your life. He managed to hold himself from collapsing on top of you, shifting gently to the side. 

It takes you both some minutes to come down from the high. Your body too tired to even get up to shower or clean yourself. Luckily, Jungkook seems to notice because— after catching his breath— he stands up to grab some tissues and clean you and him. With a softness that didn’t match the way he was fucking you just some minutes ago.

When he finish cleaning you off and putting his shirt over you, your face touched his pillow and you almost passed out of tiresome.

And you knew, that wasn’t going to be the last time you’ll be seeing Jungkook.

—————

Sunday morning in the city was quiet in the way you liked: no traffic, no emails, no one asking you about marble tile samples or supplier invoices or which appetizer would look better on the press photos. Just the low hum of things waking up slowly. The clatter of silverware in cafes, the hiss of espresso machines, the shuffle of strollers and dogs and hungover twenty-somethings pretending they were early risers.

You were already on the street, oversized sunglasses on, coat tied loose at the waist. You hadn’t slept over. You never slept over. You’d left Jungkook’s place around five… still dark enough to pretend it was nighttime, early enough to pretend it wasn’t a walk of shame. Not that you felt any shame. You’d brushed your hair with your fingers, borrowed his comb, stolen a sweatshirt that definitely didn’t match your skirt, and left with your heels in one hand and your phone in the other. No kiss goodbye. Just a muttered “see you” that didn’t mean anything.

Which was exactly how you liked it.

By the time you reached the café, Bohyung and Se-hoo were already seated at a sidewalk table under the heaters, sipping coffee like they’d been there for hours instead of ten minutes.

“Y/n,” Bohyun said, without looking up from his phone. “You look like a sexy widow escaping a crime scene.”

“I am,” you said, slipping into the chair between them. “And I’m very tired of hiding the body.”

Se-hoo handed you a coffee. “Who was it this time?”

You took a sip before answering. “Same as last time.”

Your friend raised an eyebrow. “The tattooed dilf?.”

“God,” you groaned. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Well what do you want me to call him?” Bohyung asked. “Zaddy Ink?”

Se-hoo smirked. “How is he, anyway?”

You shrugged. “Still hot. Still knows what he’s doing. Still very much not my boyfriend.”

“Good,” your other friend said, dramatically relieved. “Because if you start dating a man who’s emotionally balanced and knows how to make eggs, I will actually die of neglect.”

“He does make excellent eggs,” you muttered.

Bohyung clutched his chest. “This is how it starts.”

“It’s not anything,” you said. “We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks. We text. I go to his place. We have sex. I leave. That’s it.”

“No sleepovers?” Se-hoo asked, eyebrow raised.

“No after we establish this was casual sex,” you said firmly. “And before you ask— no, I haven’t taken him to my place. I’m not an idiot.”

Bohyung leaned in. “So you’re just casually boning a very hot, very grown man with a child, feelings nowhere in sight, and no complications whatsoever?”

“Exactly.”

He nodded. “You’re going to explode.”

“I’m fine,” you said, half-laughing. “You two are so dramatic.”

“You say that like it’s an insult,” he said, biting into a piece of toast.

You settled into your chair, sighing like you were exhausted by them both but secretly comforted. You liked this part of your life, the routine of brunch with your friends, the rhythm of easy conversations that didn’t require explanation or effort. The way Se-hoo always ordered the same thing and ate it with a knife and fork like a villain. The way Bohyung flirted with the waiter just enough to get them free mimosas but not enough to get banned.

You talked for a while. about her latest campaign (a tech CEO with a scandalous burner account), his new client (a Russian heiress trying to buy a vineyard in Spain because she liked the name), and whether or not you all should all just run away to Tokyo again and start over.

Then Bohyung leaned back, stretching, sunglasses catching the sun. “Oh, by the way,” he said, casually. “Your parents’ thing is next week.”

You groaned. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You can’t skip it,” Se-hoo said, not looking up from her phone.

“I absolutely can.”

“You skipped last year,” she reminded you. “And the year before that.”

“And the year before that,” Bohyung added.

“And you know what happened?” you said, sipping your coffee. “Nothing. They made awkward conversation with people who don’t know my name, toasted to overpriced wine, and pretended to love each other. No one died.”

He grinned. “Come on. It’s a party. The food’s good. The gossip’s better. And your dad always hires at least two jazz bands for no reason.”

“Because he likes to feel cultured,” you muttered.

Se-hoo put her phone down. “You should go. Show face. Wear something sharp. Remind them you exist and are terrifyingly successful.”

You made a face. “You mean remind them I’m successful thanks to their money and that I didn’t marry Jungwoo and give them photogenic grandchildren.”

“Oh god,” Bohyun said, dramatically fake-gagging. “Jungwoo. I forgot that was almost a thing.”

“Same,” you lied. “Blessed amnesia.”

“Please, you loved him” Se-hoo said to your friend. “Smart. Witty. Generous. Could keep up with us.”

“Honestly, he was kinda perfect” Bohyung sighed. “Knew too much about my job and the laws of it. Was pretty funny, smart and hot. The perfect man— except for his ability to disappear for weeks because of his job.”

“And you didn’t have to have sex with him,” you said dryly.

He shrugged. “A perfect arrangement.”

You laughed, finished brunch, and ordered another round of coffee just because you could. After some talk, you said goodbye to your friends, you called your driver to start work.

Your car moved through the city like it had memorized every route. Your driver, Oscar, barely spoke unless you asked— which you never did— and the ride was silent except for the quiet hum of pop music from the speakers and the steady tap of your acrylic nail against your phone screen. You were way to a meeting with a wine distributor who had the social skills of a taxidermied cat but owned vineyards in Tuscany, so charm was optional. Your mind was already sifting through numbers, names, details— the things that mattered.

Then your phone lit up.

The name of a woman you knew.

You stared at the screen for a second before picking up. You adjusted the volume and cleared your throat.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Honey! Good morning,” your mother said, voice like a soft silk scarf, warm, polished, controlled. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“I’ve been up since five.”

“Of course you have,” your mother said with a light laugh. “You’ve always been my little early bird.” That wasn’t true. you hated mornings but always did the effort for work. “How are you?” she continued. “I feel like we’ve barely spoken this week.”

You tilted your head back against the seat, watching the buildings pass. “Busy. I bought the place in Spain so the launch it’s calculated to be in eight months or less so everything’s chaos.”

“You’ll make it perfect. You always do.”

There was something in the way she said it… kind, proud, but… automatic. Like she was reading it off a script.

You exhaled through your nose. “Thanks.”

“And how’s everything else? Life, love, health? Eating well?”

“I’m fine.”

“Just fine?” you mother’s tone lifted slightly. “You’re not burning yourself out again, are you? You know you tend to overdo it when you’re in your perfectionist mode.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s every mode.”

“Well,” she laughed, “then I suppose it’s genetic.”

Another thing that wasn’t true. You had no idea what mode your mother operated in. You barely remembered her outside being on a plane or in another time zone for most of your childhood.

“What about you?” you asked. “Where are you guys now?”

“London. Your father’s giving a lecture at the Royal Academy, something on architectural postmodernism and Eastern symmetry— I stopped trying to follow halfway through.”

Right. Your father and his lectures. Your mother and her panels and consultancy projects. They were always somewhere. You sometimes joked with Bohyung that you learned geography based on your parents’ voicemail greetings.

“How long are you staying?”

“Just until Thursday. Then back in time for the gala.”

You tensed slightly. “Oh, right.”

“I just wanted to remind you,” your mother said gently, as if she sensed it. “Next Saturday at the house. Cocktails at seven, dinner at eight. You don’t have to bring anyone, of course.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“But you’re coming?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause. Her voice softened. “I know it’s not your favorite thing. But it means a lot to your father.”

“I know,” you said. “It’s fine.”

It was always “fine.”

The party wasn’t a surprise. They hosted them every year… formal, elegant, full of silver cutlery and floral centerpieces and the kind of people who called you “impressive” and then forgot your name. Technically, it was a fundraiser. Your father’s favorite word for throwing himself a well-lit celebration. This year it was for the city’s heritage commission. Last year it was for a scholarship. The year before, clean energy. All good causes. All good optics. And always the same. Same guest list. Same photographers. Same sense of standing in a house that wasn’t yours, surrounded by people who knew your face and none of your history.

“You still like the blue Valentino?” your mother asked suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“The dress I brought you last spring. You looked stunning in it. I thought you might wear it again.”

You paused. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“You can bring Bohyung and Se-hoo, of course. I mean they’re always there for the champagne but they’re always very fun to be around.”

You smiled, despite yourself. “You mean they know how to talk to people without sounding like hypocrites?”

“Exactly.” Another silence, not awkward, just empty. Your mom cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your day. I know how busy you are. I just wanted to hear your voice. You’ve always had the most beautiful voice.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I love you, darling.”

“Love you too.”

The call ended. The car kept moving.

You stared out the window, lips pressed together, hands resting on your lap. You knew your mother meant well. Always had. She was gentle, thoughtful, generous in her own manicured way. But there had always been a kind of space between you two. Like the difference between a hug and a photograph of a hug. Familiar, but never quite lived in. It wasn’t that they didn’t love you. They just… loved the version of you that they had imagined. The girl who never threw tantrums. The girl who skipped stages. The girl who grew up well, with straight teeth and good posture and business acumen.

A perfect product of two people who missed everything in the middle.

Fifteen years ago.

You had made it your personal mission to destroy every nanny who stepped foot into the house. It wasn’t that you liked being difficult — not exactly. But at twelve years old, you’d already learned that the quickest way to get your parents’ attention was through disaster. Broken windows. Expelled tutors. Hysterical voicemails. You didn’t cry anymore when they left for Tokyo or Berlin or Buenos Aires. You just got mean and loud.

It worked... Sometimes.

Today, you stood barefoot in the front hall, arms crossed, watching the newest casualty storm out of the house muttering something about demon children and emotional abuse. Your mother hadn’t even been there. Your father had sent a driver to escort the woman out, followed by a politely distant phone call:

“We’ll find someone new, honey. Don’t worry. We’ll be home next month.”

Next month. Always next month.

You kicked the wall and left a black scuff mark just because you could.

Two days later, the door dinged and out stepped a small, sharp woman in orthopedic shoes and a beige wool coat. She didn’t smile when she saw you. She didn’t compliment the apartment or coo over your name or ask if you liked ice cream or what hobbies were you into. She just looked you over, slowly, as if examining a stray cat on the edge of a good shoe.

“So,” the woman said, thick Italian accent curling the word. “You are the bambina selvaggia.”

You blinked. “What?”

The woman dropped her bag on the floor with a grunt. “Wild girl. The one who chases the nannies. You look smaller than I thought.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Who are you?”

“Mi chiamo Rosa,” the woman said. “But you can call me Nonna Rosa. Because I am too old for this shit, and la signora told me I could do whatever I want if you don’t end up in juvenile prison.”

You crossed your arms tighter. “You won’t last a week.”

Rosa shrugged off her coat and hung it— not on the rack, but on the bannister.

“You think I want to last?” she said, already walking toward the kitchen. “I came here to eat well and keep my bones warm. Your mother pays like a royal and doesn’t ask me to clean the floors. Perfetto. If you run me off, I’ll go back to Sicilia and you’ll still be crying in your golden room.”

“I’m not crying!,” you snapped.

“Not yet,” Rosa called from the other room.

It went downhill fast.

You refused to follow her schedule. You stomped around the apartment slamming doors. You threw a tantrum when Rosa moved your tablet charger without asking. At dinner, you dumped the minestrone Rosa made straight into the trash. Rosa said nothing. She just poured herself a glass of red wine, sat across the table, and ate the rest of the soup in silence.

On the second week, you locked yourself in the guest bathroom and refused to come out for hours. Rosa didn’t knock. Didn’t coax. Didn’t bribe. She just stood outside the door and said:

“Va bene. Then you stay in there. You don’t come out until you want to act like a person and not a porcupine with lip gloss.” Silence. “You’re not the first lonely girl I’ve met, bella,” Rosa added. “But even the loneliest wolf learns not to bite the hand that feeds it.”

You kicked the door. “I’m not a wolf!”

“No?” Rosa said, voice amused now. “Then come out and prove it.”

It wasn’t immediate.

But over the weeks, things shifted.

Rosa never coddled you. She corrected your Italian, rolled her eyes when you whined, and once smacked a Vogue magazine out of your hand and told you to read something with a brain. She throw you an Italian old book about the cold war— you didn’t understand anything at that time but for the first time you wanted to try. She made dinner every night. She remembered that you hated the smell of coconut lotion, that you didn’t like too much parmesan in your pasta. She asked about your day without making it sound like a checklist.

And one evening, when your mother called to cancel another return flight, you didn’t scream or cry. You just handed the phone to Rosa, sat down at the table, and ate your ravioli without speaking.

After the call, Rosa sat next to you, poured you both a tiny glass of wine. Your first one, even if you were twelve, and said, “You don’t need them to grow up strong.”

You looked at her. “Then why do I still want them to be here?”

Rosa sighed. “Because you are not a rock. You are a little girl. And little girls deserve to be held.”

Then she placed a hand on your head, softly, like she was checking your for fever and left it there a long time. And it made you a feel little more light to know someone was there, home with you. Hearing your nonsense and your feelings. And giving you your first taste of a good wine.

Present.

You blinked.

The memory lingered in your chest like a breath you forgot to exhale. You were still in the car, the city moving past the tinted windows, the sky turning the color of pewter. You didn’t know why you’d remembered Rosa just then. Maybe it was your mother’s voice still echoing in your head. Maybe it was the look on that little girl’s face you’d seen crossing the street, the one gripping her father’s hand like she didn’t want to let go… Or maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t called Rosa in over a week.

You pulled out your phone. Scrolled to ‘Nonna’ in your contacts. Paused. Then typed:

“Ti penso sempre. Sto venendo a trovarti questa settimana.” I’m always thinking of you. I’m coming to visit this week.

You hit send. And for the first time all day, you felt something close to peace.

—————

Jungkook slammed his hips against yours hard. Your head fell back over his shoulder as you tried not to make louder sounds. He was fucking you good. Like he had learned how to better than before now that he knew your body better. There were little things you love lately about putting yourself out there in your single life, the first one being getting— very well—fucked.

Jungkook had you pressed against him, with your back against his torso. Fucking you against his mattress. His right hand was pressed against your neck so that you wouldn’t get far away from him every time he slapped his hips hard against yours. His right hand was pressed in your lower abdomen to hold you in place. He kissed and bit your neck delicately— delicately that was at odds with the way he slammed his hips against you. Your right hand was gripping his hair and the other was held tightly against the bed so you could have some control not to fall passed out in bed.

He was fucking you so good it almost made you cry.

“You feel so good, pretty.” he groaned against your ear. “Are you close?.”

You were only able to nod. Jungkook was becoming greater at making you feel good. Every damn time. And he knew it.

He slipped out of you. Man-handling you around to turn around. Your back hit the bed and he was quickly to grabbed your right thigh and put it around his hip before slipping inside you again. This time faster.

“Fuck me— faster.”

“Fuck, fuck. You’re so hot, baby.”

It didn’t take you too long to finish. And neither it did for him.

You leaned against the bed trying to come back to your senses, same as Jungkook who stayed on top you for a couple more seconds to come down from his high. It was good being like this. Quiet and close. It was after some minutes more that he kissed your naked shoulder softly before pushing himself to his drawer to take some tissues and start cleaning you both. It had become kind of a routine for him to be the first one to come to his senses and start the aftercare.

Your were both still catching your breath when you flung one leg off the bed like you were dramatically escaping a scene of seduction. Jungkook laughed quietly from where he lay, one arm behind his head, entirely too satisfied with himself.

“You always leave like you just robbed me,” he murmured.

You didn’t even look back as your reached for his shirt.

“That’s because I did,” you said, moving your hair outside the fabric. “You had something I wanted. I took it. I’m leaving victorious.”

“Criminal mastermind,” he said, smiling.

“Don’t compliment me,” you called over your shoulder. “It’ll go to my head.”

You padded barefoot out of the bedroom and down the hall, headed vaguely in the direction of the kitchen—or the bathroom—or anywhere that would lead to caffeine and/or soap. But then it happened. A crack, a pop, and a sound so visceral it could only come from one thing. A LEGO. Right beneath the arch of your left foot.

You let out a shriek that could’ve shattered glass. “FUCKING FUCK, FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?”

A worried voice came from the bedroom “Whoa—what?! What happened?!”

You limped forward like you’d been shot, one foot dangling mid-air like it had touched lava. “I stepped on a fucking landmine is what happened!”

Jungkook appeared around the corner in nothing but boxers, already looking half-concerned and half-amused. “Wait—did you just step on…?”

You held up the offending piece of plastic with the drama of a courtroom prosecutor. “This. This is what your spawn has left to assassinate me.”

Jungkook burst out laughing. “A Lego? You screamed like someone got murdered.”

“Because I was,” you snapped. “By a three-centimeter block of doom.”

He stepped closer, still laughing, and grabbed your waist before you could hobble any further. “Let me see.”

“I don’t need medical attention—”

“I’m not medically trained, I’m just trying not to let you die in my hallway.” You glared at him as he crouched slightly, inspecting your foot with exaggerated seriousness. “Okay,” he said gravely. “I think the Lego punctured your dignity.”

“Ha-ha,” you muttered, balancing dramatically against his shoulder. “Remind me again why people choose to breed.”

Jungkook looked up at you, biting back another smile. “We’re really doing this?”

“I’m just saying,” you continued, still wounded. “I never understood the appeal of tiny humans whose hobbies include screaming, spilling, and laying traps like this.”

“She probably dropped it by accident.”

“Oh, yeah?” you said, eyes narrowing. “You think it was a coincidence that the one Lego left in this fortress of neat-freak masculinity just happened to be where my foot landed?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think my seven-year-old daughter set a booby trap to take you out?”

“Absolutely,” you nodded. “She can sense I’m not one of them.”

“One of what?”

You gestured vaguely, still balancing. “The… happy kid people. You know. The ones who like park picnics and Baby Shark and post photos like ‘My whole life’ with a sticky toddler eating sand.”

Jungkook full-on laughed then, and it vibrated through his chest as he pulled you in slightly. “You’re insane,” he said, grinning.

“I’m in pain,” you corrected. “Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually.”

Still smiling, he gently set you foot down and looked up at you. “Come on. You survived it. You can have coffee. On me.”

“I want coffee and an apology from your child.”

“She’s at school,” he said, already turning toward the kitchen. “But I’ll write one on her behalf and draw a sad dinosaur. Will that help?”

“It might,” you muttered, limping dramatically after him. “But only if it cries.”

You were, once again, reminded why you didn’t like kids.

—————

Jeon Jungkook’s mornings didn’t start with silence or introspective stillness. They started with cereal. More specifically, the sound of cereal being aggressively poured into a ceramic bowl by a seven-year-old who hadn’t quite figured out ratios.

From the bathroom, toothbrush in mouth, he called out, “Sunni, are you using the entire box again?”

“No!” came her innocent voice.

He stepped into the kitchen. The entire box was in the bowl. He just grinned, grabbed a second bowl, and redistributed the mountain of chocolatey puffed sugar without a word. It was a routine. Mess, correction, minimal drama. He liked those kind days, the ones where everything was the same and at the same time it wasn’t— you never knew what you could get from a seven-year-old child.

Sunni sat on the barstool with her hair half-combed and her socks mismatched. “Is it library day or music day?” she asked mid-bite.

“Music,” Jungkook said, sliding a thermos of coffee into his bag. “And don’t forget your recorder this time or Ms. Jennings is going to give me that look again.”

“She always looks at you like that.”

“Because she’s terrified I’ll volunteer to perform with you.”

The little girl snorted, and he ruffled her hair.

After school drop-off and a quick drive through traffic with his windows cracked and Springsteen on low, Jungkook walked into his tattoo shop just as the first artist of the day was setting up her station. The shop— “My Time” —sat on the corner of a leafy street just far enough outside the city’s most tourist-clogged parts to feel like a hidden gem. The windows were full of plants. The walls were covered in framed art, flash designs, vintage photographs. It was clean, calm, and smelled faintly of eucalyptus and ink.

It had taken him seven years to build it. Five artists, one piercer, and a rotating assistant manager who kept the books and occasionally brought him pastries he didn’t ask for but always ate.

“Morning, boss,” called Mia from her chair. Her hair was pink today.

“Morning,” he said, setting down his sketchbook and rolling up his sleeves. “Client at ten?”

“She’s early. Wants a floral rib piece. Showed me a Pinterest board the length of the Constitution.”

Jungkook groaned. “God bless Pinterest.”

He headed to his station, thumbed through his design folder, and sipped the coffee he didn’t really need.

The day passed in a quiet, rhythmic loop. Appointments, sketches, cleaning, music in the background, and the satisfying silence of people letting you create something permanent on their skin. He liked it. The small talk. The intimacy. The trust. Between clients, he leaned over the front counter where his best friend and shop partner, Park Jimin, was sketching in a notebook, AirPods in. Jungkook tapped his pen on the paper. The older looked up.

“You done ruining another collarbone or did your floral girl flinch again?” He pulled one earbud out.

Jungkook leaned on the counter. “No flinching. She was great. Talked about her dead grandmother for two hours and then tipped like a saint.”

“Damn. And here I thought tattooing grieving millennials would be the death of you.”

“Nah,” he said, stretching his shoulder. “They cry, I hand them a juice box, and we both survive.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “So… speaking of surviving. How’s your hot younger non-girlfriend?”

Jungkook snorted. “You mean Y/n?”

“Oh, we’re on a first-name basis now? Cute.”

The younger rolled his eyes. “It’s not a thing. We’re just— hooking up. Casually. Like grown-ups.”

“Right,” his friend said, leaning back in his chair. “Totally casual. No emotional involvement. Just penis diplomacy and the occasional Lego-related injury.”

Jungkook shook his head, laughing. “She stepped on one fucking Lego and acted like she got sniped by a Navy SEAL.”

“That’s because she’s a childless woman, man,” Jimin said, mock-serious. “They don’t understand the sacrifices we make daily. We’re warriors. Foot soldiers in the plastic toy trenches.”

He smirked. “You don’t even have kids.”

“I babysit my niece every two weeks. I’ve stepped on a Polly Pocket heel. I know pain. I actually empathize with that poor girl. You should clean your place better.”

Jungkook chuckled, flipping to a fresh page in his sketchbook. “Well, she’s hilarious. Kind of ridiculous. But smart as hell.”

“Yeah? She got a job or is she just hot and angry?”

“I think she manage some Italian restaurant. She’s very vague but brags a lot about it.”

The older blinked. “Damn. You’re dating a pasta tycoon?”

“I’m sleeping with a pasta tycoon. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is,” Jimin said, nodding sagely. “Until she meets Sunni and runs for the hills.” Jungkook didn’t say anything for a moment. Jimin looked up. “She hasn’t met the little one yet, right?”

Jungkook shook his head. “Not even close.”

“Smart. Don’t introduce your kid to a woman who’s allergic to Play-Doh and feelings.”

Jungkook let out a breath, one of those little huffs that was half amusement, half… something else. “I like how easy it is,” he admitted. “I don’t have to explain anything. She doesn’t ask about the future. We text, we hook up, we joke around, and she leaves with her earrings in her purse like a criminal.”

Jimin narrowed his eyes. “But?”

Jungkook shrugged. “No ‘but.’ Just— haven’t had something uncomplicated in a while. And that’s good.”

“Unless you start liking it too much.”

The younger made a face. “Christ. Spare me the Dr. Phil speech.”

“I’m just saying,” his friend said, putting his sketchpad down. “Don’t let the hot sex and sarcastic banter distract you from the fact that dating with a kid is like driving with a trunk full of explosives. You crash, the whole car goes.”

Jungkook nodded slowly. “Noted.”

But he wasn’t worried. He liked where things were. He liked that you made him laugh. That you never tried to impress him or prove too deep. That you didn’t flinch at his age or his kid or his life or his life before you. He liked that you weren’t also one of those who were crazy to just be in a family or try to get him because he was divorced with a daughter. And yeah, you definitely weren’t in it for Sunni. Or family vibes. Or cozy domestic bullshit. But it worked. It worked better than anything had in a long time for him. And he liked it enough to keep it that way for the moment.

That evening, He picked up Sunni from her after-school theater club. She ran to him with her backpack bouncing and her ponytail crooked, and he crouched down just in time to catch her mid-jump.

“Dad! I was the narrator! And no one forgot their lines except Thomas but we pretended he was a ghost so it still made sense!”

“Genius,” Jungkook said. “Absolute star behavior.”

She wiggled out of his arms and reached into her backpack. “Also I drew a tiger wearing a leather jacket. But I ran out of orange so it’s actually a bear.”

“Perfect. We’ll hang it on the fridge next to disco dinosaur.”

“Disco dino is sacred,” she said seriously.

They walked to the car, Sunni chatting nonstop about her music teacher, the cafeteria cookies, and whether or not dogs dream in color. Jungkook listened. Nodded. Threw in a “hmm” and a “tell me more” at the right beats. He’d gotten good at that, letting her talk and giving her space to be. He had learned how to be present and how to be patient. He knew how to move around any part of life without being scared or playing. He was mature enough to know how to do things right.

Back home, she ate spaghetti with too much cheese while he cleaned up the kitchen and checked a few shop messages. After she’d fallen asleep in her bed, diagonally, surrounded by stuffed animals it was almost dramatic, he showered and finally collapsed onto the couch with his phone. One new message.

Y/n: You alive or did your daughter finally kill you with Legos?

He smirked. Typed back:

Jungkook: She spared me today. You free tomorrow night?

Three dots appeared. Then:

Y/n: Sure. Your place. But hide the toys this time. Or I’m charging you for physical third-party abuse

Jungkook leaned back, smiling at the ceiling. No strings. No pressure. Just good sex, good banter, and the occasional Lego-related injury.

Perfect. For now.

so first chapter here!! i was supposed to put it out tmrw but i got excited hehehehe

WHY AM I SO NERVOUS ABOUT POSTING THIS??? guys i wrote this long ago and i edit it this week so if you see any mistake,NO you didn’t. Also:; you guys put me in so much pressure cuz why the fuck so many people wanted to read this??? anyway tell me how it was and if you guys are liking it so far pls >_<

anddd don’t quote me with my italian cuz it’s gonna be a lot more in the future hohohoh i cooka da pizza

taglist:

@sanguchitodeternera @yneisstuff @smoljimjim @almatiarau @annpeachy @mar-lo-pap @taetaecatboy @rrosiitas @httpsmei @jeonnabi11 @gigi4evr @sabrinahiddig @tatzzz-25 @slythermania @yuyu0y11 @ultracnt @baekpop05 @tinyxrose @satisfied18 @kissyfacekoo @synamon @smut02 @alextgef @lindsayjoy444 @ottergirl @imagine-this-motherfucker @dream-lover200 @astralovesu @dragons-flare @jungkookswifeeeeeee @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @yuniesluv @kookooquette @lanyia @dearkayzel-blog @katie-tibo @strawberryacethingz @jalexad @llallaaa @eyesforjungkook @wandabillywrites @flowinj @strawberrysweetness @osakis-gf @bambijuicee @dollyunjinz