°˖➴ falling for lane four | jjk | bad timing
summary: y/n has always kept her distance from her father’s high-stakes swimming world. Until Jeon Jungkook, a star swimmer on the brink of greatness, becomes entangled in a public scandal that threatens to ruin his career. With no other option, her father, Jungkook’s coach, turns to her for help. Known for salvaging the reputations of celebrities in crisis, y/n reluctantly steps in, only to find Jungkook resistant to her control and far more trouble than she expected. As tensions rise and clashes turn personal, y/n is forced to decide how far she’s willing to go to fix his image, especially when it starts costing her more than just her professionalism.
pairing: jeon jungkook x reader
tags: athlete!jungkook, enemies to lovers, romance, slow burn, sports romance, mature, smut, 18+, coaches daughter, swimmer!jungkook, series
a/n: Hi everyone! Sorry chapter 3 is so late, but honestly I've had so much fun writing this chapter! Hope you enjoy :) let me know in comments if you wanna be on the taglist! (5.1k words)
°˖➴ Chapter 3 | bad timing
I wake up slowly, like my body’s taking its time catching up with me.
For a while, I don’t move. I just lie there, staring up at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded, letting the quiet sit. No headache, no nausea, just a strange heaviness, like I’ve slept enough but not well.
Two whole days, and somehow they’ve slipped past without really landing. Meetings, calls, half-finished thoughts, everything blending into one long stretch of autopilot.
I exhale softly and roll onto my back, dragging a hand through my hair before finally pushing myself up. The sheets fall away as I sit on the edge of the bed, feet hovering just above the floor for a second before I let them drop.
Sunlight filters through the blinds in soft, golden lines, stretching across my room and catching on everything; my mirror, the edge of my dresser, the faint crease in the bedsheets. Dust floats lazily in the air, undisturbed, and the whole space feels… still. Quiet in a way that almost feels intentional, like the world’s giving me a moment I didn’t ask for.
Waiting to hear whether Jungkook is actually going to agree to this whole situation or not, as if I even want to do this.
I hate not knowing where I stand, hate that in the middle of everything I’m the one left in limbo while he gets to decide whether this works for him.
More than irritating, actually.
Because every time my phone buzzes, there’s that split second where I think that’s it, only for it to be something completely unrelated. Work emails. Messages. Anything but what I’m actually expecting.
And it leaves me feeling… unsettled.
Like I’m standing still while everything else moves forward.
Of course, that hasn’t stopped the girls from focusing on something entirely different.
The one my friends haven’t shut up about since that night.
Every conversation somehow circles back to him, every detail I didn’t even realise they noticed getting picked apart like it’s some kind of group investigation.
“He was definitely into you.”
“The way he looked at you??”
“And you just left him like that??”
I roll my eyes just thinking about it.
I still haven’t messaged him.
And at this point, I can’t even pretend it’s because I’ve been too busy.
If I’m being honest, I’ve had more than enough time.
Because as easy as it felt talking to him, as straightforward as everything about him was… that’s exactly what makes it feel like something I’m not ready to deal with right now.
My life is already too full.
The last thing I need is someone new stepping into it, shifting things around, making space where there isn’t any.
I guess you could say that I’m emotionally unavailable??
I exhale quietly, pushing the thought aside as I finally force myself out of bed, padding toward the bathroom with slow, unmotivated steps.
The mirror does not do me any favours.
My hair is a complete mess, sticking out in different directions like I’ve fought something in my sleep and lost, and the dark circles under my eyes are just deep enough to make me look permanently unimpressed with life.
“Wow,” I mutter under my breath. “You look… incredible.”
I reach for my toothbrush, squeezing toothpaste onto it before sticking it in my mouth, brushing lazily as I stare at my reflection.
I rinse, spit, then lean forward slightly, turning the tap on to splash cold water over my face. It wakes me up just enough to feel human again, droplets sliding down my skin as I grab a towel and pat my face dry.
A quick glance back at the mirror.
My phone buzzes just as I’m about to start getting dressed.
I pick up, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder as I move around my room.
“Morning, pumpkin,” he says, his voice already carrying that distracted edge that tells me he’s juggling ten things at once. “I’ve got an update.”
I pause slightly. “That sounds ominous.”
He lets out a quiet breath. “Jungkook’s agreed.”
I still for half a second.
Of course he has, or is he just saying that.
“Right,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. “And?”
“And I need you to head down to the aquatic centre today,” he continues. “Meet him there, go over everything properly. It’s better if you both start on the same page.”
I walk over to my closet, pulling something out without really thinking about it.
“Yes, today,” he says. “The sooner this gets sorted, the better.”
“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll go.”
“Good,” he replies quickly, clearly relieved. “I’ll call ahead, let him know you’re coming.”
We hang up not long after, and I stand there for a moment, staring at nothing in particular.
I exhale slowly before moving again, this time with a bit more intention as I get dressed properly. I go for something simple but put-together, dark grey trousers and a fitted top that sits just right. I throw on a light jacket, more out of habit than necessity, and keep my jewellery minimal, small hoops, a watch, nothing that requires thought.
My hair takes a bit more effort. I run my fingers through it first, then brush it out, taming it into something that sits neatly but still looks effortless. Not perfect. Just… controlled.
My car sits exactly where I left it, clean but not overly so, the kind of car that fits into my life without drawing attention to itself. Reliable. Practical. No unnecessary statements.
I unlock it and slide into the driver’s seat, the familiar interior settling around me almost immediately. The faint scent of my perfume still lingers, mixed with something neutral and clean.
The drive starts off normal.
The kind of quiet, uneventful drive where my mind ends up wandering whether I want it to or not.
Traffic is light, the roads clear, sunlight reflecting off the windshield just enough to make me squint slightly. The weather’s still holding up, bright, warm, with a light breeze that moves through the open gaps between buildings.
I tap my fingers lightly against the steering wheel, my thoughts drifting despite myself.
Everything that comes with it.
I’m already bracing myself for how irritating this is going to be.
Just enough to make me frown.
I press the accelerator slightly.
I stare ahead, blinking once like that might somehow reset the situation.
Not even a proper attempt.
I let out a long, slow exhale, my grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel before I drop my head back against the seat.
Of course this happens today.
I grab my phone, already dialing before I can overthink it.
“My car broke down,” I cut in flatly. “Completely dead. I’m not even exaggerating.”
There’s a pause on the other end.
I glance around properly this time, taking in my surroundings. I’m pulled over on a quieter stretch of road just off the main route, the kind that doesn’t get much traffic unless you’re cutting through. A row of trees line one side, their leaves shifting softly in the breeze, while the other side opens up into a long, empty stretch of pavement with no real landmarks.
“Some side road off the main route to the centre,” I say, squinting slightly as I look around for something more useful. “There’s trees on one side, nothing on the other. Not exactly helpful, I know. I’ll share my location.”
“Alright,” he says after a second. “I’m in the middle of something right now, but don’t worry, I’ll sort it out.”
I narrow my eyes slightly. “Sort it out how?”
“I’ve got someone nearby,” he replies smoothly. “A friend. I’ll send him to pick you up and take you to the aquatic centre.”
I don’t even have the energy to question it.
“Fine,” I sigh. “Just… make it quick.”
“I will,” he assures me. “Stay in the car. I’ll text you.”
I drop my phone onto the passenger seat, leaning forward to open the glove box, rummaging through it out of pure frustration more than anything else.
Papers. Receipts. Useless clutter.
Across the city, Jungkook is already having a day that feels like it’s been designed specifically to test his patience.
He’s halfway through pulling on his training gear when his phone starts buzzing on the bench beside him. He glances at it once, already expecting another notification from his coach about times, schedules, corrections, something–
He hesitates for half a second before answering.
“Jungkook,” your dad’s voice comes through immediately, clipped but calm in that way that usually means something has already been decided for him. “I need you to do me a favour.”
Jungkook pauses, towel still draped around his neck. “I’ve got training in like–”
“This won’t take long,” your dad interrupts, not even pretending to listen. “There’s someone stuck nearby. Car trouble. I need you to go pick them up.”
That makes him stop properly.
He straightens slightly. “Pick them up?”
“Yes,” your dad continues, like it’s the most normal request in the world. “They’re on their way to the aquatic centre, but their car’s broken down. Just bring them in.”
Jungkook exhales through his nose, already feeling the irritation creep in. “And you can’t send anyone else because…?”
“I’m tied up,” your dad says smoothly. “And you’re closer.”
A beat of silence passes.
Jungkook runs a hand through his damp hair, jaw tightening slightly as he looks toward the pool through the glass wall. He can hear splashing, distant shouting, the rhythm of training still going on without him.
He doesn’t have time for this.
But he also knows that tone.
That “this isn’t optional” tone.
“Alright then,” he mutters finally. “Send me the location.”
“I’ll send it through now,” your dad says quickly, like he expected that answer. “Thanks, Jungkook.”
The call ends before he can say anything else.
He stares at his phone for a second longer than necessary.
Pick them up and bring them in.
Except something about it already feels off in a way he can’t quite explain. Not important enough to justify the feeling, just enough to linger at the back of his mind as he grabs his keys.
He exhales sharply before moving again, grabbing a black t-shirt and pulling it over his head, the fabric sticking slightly against his still-damp skin. He swaps out his slides for trainers, pulls on some sweatpants and runs a quick hand through his hair to push it back into place before grabbing his jacket and shrugging it on.
His bag gets thrown into the back seat of his car a little harder than necessary.
He gets into the car, shutting the door with a dull thud.
For a moment, he just sits there.
Hands resting on the wheel.
He debates ignoring it entirely.
Because whatever this is, it’s coming from his coach, and his coach doesn’t waste time on pointless errands.
He pulls out of the centre, merging smoothly onto the road as the building fades into the background behind him. The route is simple, the GPS guiding him through a series of quiet turns, and for the most part, he drives on autopilot; one hand resting loosely on the wheel, the other tapping lightly against it in quiet impatience.
It doesn’t take long before he spots it.
A car pulled off to the side of the road, hazard lights blinking steadily in the otherwise still stretch of space. It looks almost abandoned at first glance, sitting there on its own with nothing but open road and a line of trees nearby.
“That’ll be it,” he mutters under his breath.
He slows, pulling up behind it before shifting into park. The engine idles for a second before he turns it off completely, the quiet settling in almost immediately.
He sits there for a brief moment, staring at the car ahead of him.
“Alright… let’s do this then.”
It’s less confidence, more reluctant acceptance.
He pushes the door open and steps out, the warmth of the day hitting him straight away as he shuts it behind him. His gaze fixes on the car in front, eyes narrowing slightly as he tries to make out whoever’s inside through the rear window.
“Long hair…” he murmurs, squinting just a little more.
For some reason, he’d been expecting someone older. Someone closer to your dad’s age. Not… this.
Still, he doesn’t think too much of it as he walks forward, steps unhurried but purposeful. He comes to a stop beside the driver’s side window, lifting his hand, ready to knock–
A long breath leaves him, slow and heavy, his head tilting back just slightly in disbelief.
I’m sat in the car, waiting.
But in reality, I’m already over it.
Part of me wishes I never got out of bed this morning. The other part is debating how socially acceptable it would be to just abandon my car here and disappear for the rest of the day.
Instead, I lean forward again, opening the glove box for what has to be the twentieth time, rummaging through it like I’ve missed something important.
I don’t even realise how quiet it’s gotten outside. Don’t notice the presence behind me. Don’t register that someone’s already here.
It’s only when I feel it–
Like someone’s standing too close.
A shadow falling just slightly across the side of the car.
At first, all I see is black fabric. A fitted shirt, stretched just enough to make it obvious that it fits very well.
My eyes flick upward without thinking.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Of all possible people, it had to be him.
I feel the reaction immediately, something between disbelief and pure internal frustration hitting all at once.
This cannot be happening right now.
I push the car door open, stepping out quickly, like if I move fast enough this might somehow make more sense.
If anything, it just makes it worse.
“In a hurry?” he says, his tone dry, like he’s already regretting being here.
I look at him, genuinely surprised my eyes haven’t rolled so far back they’ve disappeared entirely.
“Is it a crime for me to get out of my car now?”
He just stares at me for a second, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m serious or just deliberately making this harder than it needs to be.
“Incredible,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head slightly.
I cross my arms, leaning lightly against the side of my car like I have all the time in the world, even though I very much don’t.
“Anyway,” I continue, brushing it off like this whole situation isn’t already spiralling, “I’m sure my dad made a mistake. You know how his head’s all over the place.”
Then he looks at me properly.
Not amused. Not convinced. Not buying it for a second.
The silence stretches just enough to be annoying.
“Y/n,” he says, cutting straight through that excuse like it means absolutely nothing, “just get in the car before I decide to leave you stranded here.”
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“Get in the car,” he repeats, already turning slightly like he’s done entertaining this.
I hesitate for half a second, mostly out of principle.
Then I push myself off the car with a quiet huff, grabbing my bag and walking past him a little too deliberately.
“This is unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath as I reach for the passenger door.
“Tell me about it,” he shoots back instantly.
I slide into the seat, pulling the door shut a little harder than necessary as he shifts the car into drive without another word. The engine hums quietly as he pulls away from the side of the road, merging back onto it like this is just another normal part of his day.
Like this isn’t completely ridiculous.
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
The silence settles in, thick but not quite awkward, just… loaded.
And for some reason, my eyes drift.
To his hands on the steering wheel.
They’re steady. Controlled. Fingers relaxed but firm against the leather, like he knows exactly how much pressure to apply without thinking about it. There’s a faint tension in them, though, something subtle beneath the surface. Veins tracing along the back of his hands and up his forearms, more noticeable when his grip shifts slightly as he turns the wheel.
It’s annoyingly distracting.
What the hell am I doing?
I wish he was ugly. Honestly.
Or maybe this is just what happens when I’ve been avoiding any form of romantic interaction for too long.
“What?” he says suddenly.
“Huh?” I respond, a little too quickly, my eyes snapping straight ahead to the windscreen like they’ve always been there.
He glances at me briefly, just a flicker of his eyes, like he doesn’t even need to fully look to know I’m lying, before turning his attention back to the road.
I internally facepalm so hard it’s almost physical.
I shift slightly in my seat, clearing my throat as I forcibly redirect the conversation before I can embarrass myself any further.
“So,” I start, tone a little too casual to be natural, “did you actually agree for me to be your crisis manager, or did my dad just tell me you did?”
“Well,” he says, voice even, “I don’t really have much of a choice, do I?”
I turn my head slightly at that, narrowing my eyes just a fraction.
“Wow,” I mutter. “Good to know how enthusiastic you are about it.”
He lets out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh, not quite anything else.
“Didn’t say I was thrilled,” he replies, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “Just said I agreed.”
“It should be,” he says dryly. “Means I’m not going to make your job harder than it already is.”
I huff lightly, crossing my arms as I settle back into the seat.
“Let’s not make promises you can’t keep.”
That earns me the slightest glance from him again.
Something unreadable this time.
“Same goes for you,” he says.
The second I step out of his car, it’s like the air hits differently, like I can actually breathe again without feeling hyper-aware of everything I do.
I shut the door behind me, adjusting my bag on my shoulder, taking a small step away from the car like I need the distance.
“You should be thanking me for practically saving your morning,” he says, leaning back slightly against the door, arms crossing over his chest. “You would’ve been sitting in that car for hours. You’re acting like you just escaped a kidnapping.”
I pause mid-step, slowly turning back to look at him.
“First of all,” I say, lifting a finger slightly, “that’s dramatic.”
“Second,” I continue, “you didn’t save me. You were sent. There’s a difference.”
A quiet huff of amusement leaves him, like he doesn’t even need to argue that.
“Right,” he says. “Because I definitely volunteered for this.”
“Exactly,” I nod, like that proves my point entirely.
He starts heading into the aquatic centre without waiting for me.
“Thanks,” I mutter under my breath, just loud enough for it to count, before following him inside.
The moment we step in, the atmosphere shifts– cooler air, the sharp scent of chlorine, echoes of water cutting through lanes and voices bouncing off tiled walls. It’s busy, focused, loud in that controlled way that comes with routine.
And all I’m seeing is his back.
Broad shoulders, steady stride, completely unbothered.
To be honest… it’s not a bad view.
“You interrupted my training so,” he says suddenly, stopping just enough to turn and face me, walking backwards a step or two. “You’ll have to wait about an hour.”
“What?” I blink at him, disbelief hitting instantly. “Training for what? To go on holiday to the Maldives or something? Because from what I’ve been seeing online, it doesn’t look like you’ll be having a swimming competition any time soon.”
His expression shifts, not dramatically, but enough. The casual irritation from earlier sharpens into something quieter. Colder.
“You’ve got a lot to say for someone who just got picked up off the side of the road,” he mutters.
“Yeah, alright. Just hold that against me for the rest of your life.”
I don’t wait for a response this time, already turning and starting to walk past him, more focused on getting away from this conversation than anything else.
It happens in a split second. One step is fine, the next isn’t. My foot slides out slightly on the polished tiles, too smooth, too unforgiving, and my body tips forward before my brain can even register what’s happening.
These damn slippery floors.
I reach out instinctively, but there’s nothing there to grab. My balance goes completely, and I’m already bracing for impact, for the very public embarrassment of eating the floor in front of him of all people.
His hand lands at my waist, pulling me back before I can fully go down, steadying me in one controlled motion. Not harsh, not rough, just precise enough to stop me from falling entirely.
My breath catches slightly as I’m pulled upright, closer than I was a second ago, my body suddenly very aware of how close he is behind me.
His grip stays at my waist for a beat longer than necessary, like he’s making sure I’m actually steady before letting go.
“You good?” he says, voice lower now, right behind me.
I blink, quickly straightening myself, stepping forward just enough to put space back between us.
“Yeah,” I say immediately, too fast. “I’m fine.”
I clear my throat, pretending that didn’t just happen, pretending my heart didn’t just do something incredibly inconvenient.
“I had it under control,” I add, more for pride than truth.
A quiet exhale of amusement leaves him.
“Sure,” he says. “Looked very under control.”
I turn slightly, shooting him a look.
He’s already watching me, expression unreadable, like he’s deciding whether to push it or leave it alone.
Just tilts his head slightly.
“Try not to fall again,” he says simply. “I’m not catching you twice.”
“Don’t worry,” I mutter. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”
“I’ll meet you in the coach’s office in an hour,” he says, already turning away. “You can– well, I dunno, you don’t really have a car to be going anywhere. There’s a café here.”
And just like that, he walks into the men’s locker room without waiting for a response.
The door swings shut behind him.
So much has happened in such a short span of time that I don’t even bother replying to the remark hanging in the air. If anything, arguing with him right now feels like an unnecessary use of energy I don’t currently have.
I exhale through my nose.
Might as well get myself a coffee.
I make my way over to the café tucked inside the aquatic centre, the smell of roasted beans and chlorine mixing in a way that shouldn’t work but somehow does. The space is small, functional, mostly filled with parents, athletes, and people who look like they’ve been here longer than they planned to be.
I order an iced americano.
Strong. Necessary. Non-negotiable.
When they hand it over, the condensation is already forming on the plastic cup, cold enough that it immediately grounds me a little. I wrap my fingers around it anyway, letting the chill bite into my skin as I turn away from the counter.
Every table inside is taken. A couple of people are spread out with laptops, someone’s stretching over a chair like they’ve claimed it for life, and the rest are occupied by quiet conversations and half-finished drinks.
My eyes drift instinctively toward the glass wall separating the café from the pool area.
Through it, I can see rows of empty benches along the viewing side. Long, wooden seats lined up neatly against the tiled expanse, overlooking the water. Completely free.
I hesitate for half a second, then sigh softly.
“Fine,” I mutter to myself, adjusting my grip on the cup.
I push through the door and step out toward the poolside seating, the sound of splashing growing louder again as the café noise fades behind me.
I sit on one of the benches along the viewing side, the wood slightly cool beneath me as I settle in. The glass barrier stretches out in front, separating the quiet hum of the café behind me from the controlled chaos of the pool below.
I take a slow sip of my iced americano, letting the bitterness cut through the lingering irritation from earlier, and pull my phone out with my free hand.
I scroll through them half-heartedly, skimming subject lines, mentally flagging the ones I’ll pretend are urgent later and the ones I can ignore until they become someone else’s problem. It’s familiar, almost grounding, the kind of routine that usually keeps my brain occupied enough not to drift.
Until my phone decides it’s done.
“No,” I mutter immediately, tapping it once like that’s going to resurrect it out of spite. Nothing. Just a blank, unresponsive screen staring back at me.
“Of course,” I exhale, leaning back slightly. “Perfect timing.”
I toss it lightly onto the bench beside me, like I’ve officially disowned it, and let my attention drift elsewhere.
Because my eyes find the pool almost immediately.
Cutting through the water like it’s the only place that makes sense for him to exist. Every movement is sharp, controlled, almost aggressive in its precision. Arms extending cleanly, body streamlined, disappearing and reappearing through the surface with practiced ease. There’s no hesitation in him, no wasted energy. Just rhythm, speed, repetition.
Professional, apparently.
I take another sip of my coffee, watching him for longer than I probably should, pretending it’s purely observational. Work-related curiosity. Nothing more.
The water ripples around him as he turns at the wall, pushing off with force, gliding down the lane again like the pool belongs to him and everyone else is just passing through.
My eyes follow him from one side of the pool to another, I can practically feel my day passing by.
The motion is abrupt in contrast to how controlled he’s been in the water, one final push off the wall, a glide, then he surfaces with a sharp inhale and moves toward the edge of the pool. He hooks an arm over the lane rope briefly before pulling himself out with practiced ease, water streaming off him in steady lines.
I don’t know why I keep watching.
He reaches for his water bottle, fingers curling around it like it’s the only thing tethering him back to something human. The cap twists off quickly, no hesitation, and he tips it back.
My gaze, unfortunately, follows.
His head tilts slightly as he drinks, throat working with each swallow, the movement slow but deliberate. Water still clings to his jaw, dripping down the line of his neck in uneven trails, catching on his collarbone before disappearing into the damp fabric of his training gear.
He lowers the bottle for a second, exhales through his nose, then drinks again, longer this time. His shoulders rise and fall subtly with each breath, chest still moving with the aftermath of exertion, like his body hasn’t fully settled back into stillness yet.
he runs a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back, forcing it out of his face.
Water flicks off the ends, scattering in tiny droplets under the overhead lights. His neck tilts slightly as he does it, exposing the line of his throat again, muscles shifting under skin still flushed from the pool.
It’s controlled. Effortless. Completely unbothered.
Like he isn’t even aware anyone’s watching.
And that lasts until it doesn’t.
Casual at first, scanning the viewing area like he’s checking for nothing in particular, then they land.
There’s a beat where neither of us moves. Just distance, glass, and the faint echo of the pool filling the space between us.
Then his brow lifts slightly.
Like he’s caught me doing something I absolutely shouldn’t have been doing.
And before I can even look away properly–
Not subtle. Not accidental. Deliberate enough to be annoying.
My stomach drops a fraction out of pure secondhand embarrassment and rage I refuse to acknowledge as anything else.
He doesn’t linger on it. Doesn’t wait for a reaction. Just grabs his gear in one smooth motion, swings his bag over his shoulder, and turns away like that interaction didn’t just happen.
Like I’m not sitting here fully re-evaluating my entire existence.
He disappears into the men’s locker room without a second glance.
I sit there for a moment, staring at the empty lane where he was, then down at my coffee like it personally betrayed me.
Can I catch a fucking break?
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