in which: You first met Gojo Satoru at a friend's birthday party. He was by far the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen, but he was also married. A fact you chose to ignore the moment your eyes locked. But like every man, he lies, and he does it shamelessly.
warnings: age gap between gojo and reader, infidelity (not by or towards reader), um i do not condone cheating, this is just a work of fiction, smut, ANGST, fluff, hurt/no-comfort (maybe), famous gojo-ish, reader is 23, and gojo is 30, reader falls in-love easily, reader is kind of naive, reader is lonely, reader needs help, reader needs love and comfort someone save her. She’s kind of trashy but its okay (DON'T BE LIKE READER </3).
You fell in love with every person you ever dated.
It didn’t matter if they were smart or stupid, sweet or quietly cruel. It never mattered. Not enough.
What mattered, however, was that they were there, filling the apartment with noise and warmth and the smell of someone’s cologne. A body beside yours in the dark.
You didn't like to be alone. Being alone meant coming home to the particular kind of silence that lives in empty apartments. Cold floors, with dead air.
And you couldn’t stand it.
So you didn’t. You took whatever was offered with both hands, held it too tight, loved it too fast. Whether they treated you right or not was secondary. An ounce of attention was enough to temporarily mend whatever piece of you had come loose that week. You were very good at this. Very practiced. You’d had a lot of practice.
A quick scroll through your camera could tell the whole story for you. A new face every other month, and none of the endings were clean. Not a single one.
The echo of slammed doors and unreturned keys. Texts sent at 2am that you’d be embarrassed about by morning, except you weren’t. Not really. Not enough to stop.
Because here was the thing about you that no one except maybe your therapist (who you stopped seeing) understood:
Hurt was where you felt safe.
You knew the geography of heartbreak so well you could navigate it in the dark. You knew exactly how long the crying would last (3 days, 4 if you’d really meant it), knew the specific hollow feeling that came after, knew how long before the next one appeared and made you forget.
It was a reliable cycle. A terrible, reliable cycle that you had no real interest in breaking because at least inside it, you weren’t alone.
That was all before Gojo Satoru.
The club was the kind of loud that got inside your chest.
Bass moving through the floor, through your heels, settling somewhere behind your sternum like a second heartbeat keeping you alive, shaking your entire being. The lights flashed at a pace that should’ve been illegal. Sweaty bodies pressed tightly together on the dance floor, everyone moving the way people only move when they’ve had enough to drink to forget they’re watched.
You loved it here. You always had.
Your friend's twenty-first birthday, and she was glowing with heat.
Her tiara lay crooked on her head, drink raised to the ceiling, shrieking along to a song you didn’t know the words to. You were right there with her. Heels as tall as skyscrapers–that should hurt, but feel just right, a dress that was doing its job maybe a little too well, mascara that had already run once and been fixed in the bathroom mirror with practiced efficiency.
The bouncers knew your name. That said everything.
You’d been dancing for 40 minutes straight when someone tapped your shoulders. Your friend, not the birthday girl, the other one, the one who always noticed things. She leaned in close enough that her voice shockingly cut through the loud bass of the noise.
“That man,” she said, and tilted her chin in his direction.
You turned.
The VIP section was elevated slightly above the floor, blocked off by a velvet rope that felt more like a suggestion than a barrier for the people inside it. There was a group up there–laughing, easy with each other, the particular looseness of people who didn’t have to worry about anything. But your eyes moved past all of them immediately.
Because there was one man sitting slightly apart from the rest. Leaned back in his chair the way men sit when they own whatever room they’re in. One arm resting along the booth’s edge. A glass held loosely in his hand, nearly forgotten.
He was looking directly at you.
The first thing you noticed were his eyes. Even across the distance, even through the erratic lights, they were startling. A pale, blue and sharp in a way that felt deliberate, like they’d been designed specifically to make you feel seen. His hair was white. Not bleached, not platinum, but white. It looked silvery in the club light, falling across his forehead just slightly.
He dressed in a way that suggested he’d come from somewhere that mattered: a semi formal shirt with the top buttons undone, sleeves rolled to the forearm, like someone had interrupted him mid-meeting and he hadn’t cared enough to fix it.
He was older than the usual. Not in a way that put you off, but in a way that settled something, like a note that played different than the others yet better.
He smiled slowly. Like he’d been waiting for you to notice him, and had been entirely confident that you would.
The ring on his left hand caught the light. You saw it, and noted it. You filed it somewhere very far back in your mind and started walking toward him.
You didn’t remember which one of you spoke first. You thought maybe it was him. He had that quality about him. Like speaking first cost him nothing, like he’d never in his life been nervous about whether someone would respond.
His name was Satoru.
He said it like it was funny, like he knew what it did to people. He was charming in a way that felt almost lazy. The charm of someone who’d never had to try very hard for anything, which should’ve annoyed you, but instead just made you want to be the thing he finally tried for.
He bought you a drink. Then another. He wasn’t handsy or aggressive the way a lot of men were at places like this. He just talked to you, actually talked, like you were interesting, like your words were worth following.
He asked questions and then listened to the answers, really listened, head tilted slightly. You felt the warm glow of his full attention like stepping into the sunlight.
You were aware, somewhere beneath the music, the alcohol, and the particular electricity of his gaze, that you were in trouble.
You went with him anyway.
One thing led to another–with you it always did. And you found yourself in a penthouse apartment that wasn’t yours, standing in a kitchen that cost more than your entire building, wearing comfortably less than you’d started the night with.
He was a careful lover. Attentive in a way that surprised you. And afterward, when you were half asleep in sheets that smelled expensive, he was still awake, and he told you about her.
His wife.
The word sat in the air between you for a moment.
“We’re in the process of a divorce,” he said. Not defensive. Just matter-of-fact, he was informing you of something logistical. The way people say ‘it's raining’.
The breath you let out was so relieved it embarrassed you. You’d thought–for a second, lying there–that you’d just helped someone ruin something intact. But a marriage already in the process of ending was different. You were just on the other side of a door that was already swinging open.
You told yourself that.
He offered an arrangement. Simple, uncomplicated. Just this–whenever he needed it, whenever you both needed it. No expectations.
You said yes. You always said yes. It was so shameless.
Something shifted. You couldn’t tell when it happened.
Maybe it was the third time he stayed past sunrise. Maybe it was the morning you woke up to the smell of coffee already made, finding him in your kitchen, barefoot on your cold tile, looking completely unbothered and somehow at home. He’d found the good mug without being told. He’d figured out your coffee order by watching you make it once.
Small things. But your whole life, no one had ever paid enough attention to learn the small things.
He started cooking for you. Not anything crazy, just meals, easy and warm. Pancakes on Saturday mornings when neither of you had anywhere to be. He’d stand at the stove in nothing but grey sweatpants, and you’d come up behind him and press your palms flat against his back, and he’d hum–actually hum, some low song under his breath–and cover your hands with his for a moment before going back to the spatula.
And sometimes a simple tender press of your lips on his skin was enough to rile him up. He would grab you and fuck you senseless on the kitchen counter. Your moans would echo throughout the open space of his penthouse.
“Yeah, you like that?” he breathlessly asked, speeding up his thrusts. A deep groan leaves his lips at the feel of you clenching around him. “Dirty girl…”, panting against your neck before sweetly pressing a kiss on your throat. Your boobs bouncing, nipples grazing his chest. Pancakes long forgotten.
He was so passionate. In some moments, he would place a hand on top of your head, soothing you before the impending toe-curling orgasm that was approaching. Gojo never failed to talk you through any of it.
“Fuck–yes! Just like that baby” his harsh pace remained the same, but his moans and whimpers increased in volume. “I’m so close– please,” he begged.
He would beg you. No one had ever done that before.
At some point, he began to treat you like something more. He stopped using condoms and began to finish inside of you every time. Like he wanted to start a family–like he wanted a future with you.
Always telling you not to waste it, but he always stayed inside your cunt afterward, keeping the both of you connected, shifting his hips before he got hard again and would slowly thrust into your sensitive pussy again.
It was the bare minimum. You knew that. You’d been in enough situationships to know what men who are actually trying look like versus men who are simply doing the least required to keep you available.
But no one had ever given you the minimum before.
So to you, it felt like everything.
He was gentle with you in a way no one had ever bothered to be. He handled you carefully, like you were something that had value beyond just sex. After, what felt like, endless sex he’d help you with the small, tender domestic things: your hair, your clothes, the glass of water he always put on your nightstand without being asked. He’d pull you into his chest when you were both drifting off and keep you there, arm heavy and warm across your waist, chin against the top of your head.
It made you feel safe, and wanted.
And in the morning, still soft with sleep, you’d trace the lines of him with your fingertips. The curve of his shoulder, the dip of his spine, letting yourself imagine, just quietly, just to yourself, a life that looked like a permanent version of this facade you’ve created inside your head.
You never said it out loud. You were too scared to shatter the fragile image of what you both had.
But you felt it accumulating in you anyway. The particular helpless tenderness of someone who started to love someone they were never supposed to.
He stopped using condoms somewhere around the second month.
You noticed. You didn’t say anything.
It felt like a language you didn’t want to translate out loud, because the translation: He wants you close, he wants no distance, he wants— Was too much to decipher. So you kept it quietly, folded up small in your chest. Evidence of something. You weren’t sure what yet.
He would stay afterward, keep you close like he was in no hurry to leave, like there was nowhere else he wanted to be. He’d murmur low against your ear. Your name, sometimes. Small things that meant nothing and everything depending on how you held them.
You’re everything to me, he told you once.
You laughed it off, but quiet inside you’d gone quiet. Quiet enough to hear your heart beat in a rhythm that sounded a lot like the sound of love.
The rain started sometime after he left.
Or maybe it had already been raining and you’d only just noticed. It was hard to say. Time had gone soft at the edges. The room was dark except for the uncoordinated flashes of lightning that came through the window and lit everything up for a second before dropping you back into the darkness.
You were lying on top of the covers, the silk bedsheet pulled up to your chin, staring at the ceiling.
He’d been gone 30 minutes. You knew because you’d watched the clock. 3:20 am when the door clicked shut. 3:50 am now. 30 minutes of lying exactly like this, not moving, because moving would make it real. And you weren’t ready for it to be real yet.
The tears came without your permission to. Just slipped out sideways, running into your hair, and writing the pillowcase. You didn’t wipe them. You knew more were to come.
You thought about what he’d said before he left.
You’d asked him to stay. Not a big ask. Not an ‘I love you’, not a ‘what are we’. Just a tender, ‘stay, until morning, just stay with me’. You’d reached for his back while he was buttoning his shirt. He’d shifted before your fingers could land. Like he could sense you coming and had already decided.
‘Don’t be bothersome. I already told you, I can’t.’
His back still to you. His voice was completely flat.
Bothersome.
You pressed your face into the pillow that still smelled like him and let yourself cry properly then. The ugly kind, the kind that hurts your throat.
Outside, the rain was coming down hard enough that you could hear it against the glass, and you were grateful for it, almost. The city is crying with you.
He’d been like this for weeks now. Coming over, staying less and less. Leaving you in a particular way–not physically wrecked, but mentally scattered. Like he’d taken something when he left that you hadn’t agreed to give. His eyes had changed. They’d gone somewhere far away, somewhere you didn’t have access to. They looked at you now with a kind of absence that was almost worse than cruelty.
You could fight cruelty, but you didn’t know what to do with someone who looked through you.
You cried until you fell asleep with your fingers still curled in the pillow.
10 am.
The knock woke you. Your face felt swollen, tight with dried tears. Grey light was coming through the curtains. The rain is still going, soft and persistent now where it had been punishing this earlier this morning. You lay still for a second, oriented yourself.
Your apartment. Your bed. The specific quality of silence that meant you were alone.
You hated it.
The knock came again, sharper.
You got up. Caught your naked reflection in the mirror as you reached for the robe at the foot of the bed. Mascara tracked down both cheeks, hair a disaster, a bruise of a mark on your throat he’d put there last night while you were still something he wanted. You looked exactly what you were.
Someone who’d been having a very bad night for several weeks running.
The robe was pink satin. You cinched it tight and went to the robe.
There was only one person it could be.
You opened it.
Satoru.
He was dressed like he hadn’t been home. The same shirt from last night, untucked now, jacket over it. His hair was slightly disheveled in a way that looked beautiful on him. Everything looked beautiful on him. It was one of the most annoying things about him.
His eyes moved over you–quick, and professional. The way he assessed everything else.
They landed briefly on your chest where the robe gaped slightly, before he cleared his throat and looked past you into the apartment.
“Can I come in?” While he posed it like a question it felt more of a demand as he walked in, shuffling past you, “We need to talk.”
Something in his voice made the back of your neck go cold, and the rest of your skin prickle.
You sat across from each other on the couch, and you watched him find the words. More importantly his hands. They lay still on his knees.
Whatever was happening between you two had become too large to keep pretending it wasn’t there. Because a man who cooks you breakfast and keeps you close and looks at you the way he looked at you had to feel something.
You thought a lot of things.
“My ex-wife and I have decided to work our relationship out.”
The words landed in your chest like something dropped from a height.
You heard them. You understood them. Some part of your brain was already tallying the damage. But your face didn't know what to do yet, so it cracked into a small involuntary smile — the wrong reflex, the no this is a joke reflex — and then you saw the look on his face and the smile died immediately.
"What?" you asked. Your voice came out wrong. Too quiet, too small.
He sighed. The sigh that meant he found you tedious. You knew that sigh. You'd started to know all of his sounds.
"Don't make me repeat myself. You heard me."
The things he'd said.
‘We've been in the process of a divorce for over a year.’
‘I stopped loving her long before you.’
You stared at a point just past his shoulder.
A sudden surge of emotions crashing into you, and attached with them fleeting memories. You thought about the way he used to press a kiss to your forehead before he got up. About the Sunday morning six weeks ago when he'd fallen back asleep with his face in your neck and you'd lain there for an hour, not moving, not wanting to break it.
Don't be bothersome.
"Be realistic," he said. His voice was measured. Not unkind exactly, but the way a person is not unkind when they're saying something they've already decided. "This was always temporary. Until she and I could figure things out."
You didn't say anything.
The silence was so full it had a shape.
A single tear ran down your face. You didn't reach up to stop it. You let it go.
He was so full of shit, and he knew it.
The unmistakable glint of the wedding ring was there. It had always been there whether literally or figuratively. You’d seen it the very first night and looked away. Even when it got to a point where he no longer wore it, the ring had physically fused itself into his finger, leaving behind a vivid reminder of who he really belonged to.
The silence stretched.
Satoru waited. Patient, and composed. The way he was composed about everything. Like the world rearranged itself around his convenience and he’d simply learned to expect it. He watched you process it the way you imagined he watched most things: from a mildly curious to an already past it.
That composure is what broke you open.
"You told me," you started. Your voice came out wrong — too thin, too close to the surface of a thunderstorm in the middle of the ocean. You stopped, swallowed down the knot in your throat, and tried again. "You told me you weren't in love with her anymore."
"Things change."
"Things change." You repeated in a broken disbelieving laugh. It came out horrible, wet at the edges. "That's such—” You cut off, “okay.” You start again. “That's what you're giving me."
"I don't know what you want me to say." His voice was so even. So even. Like you were a mildly inconvenient meeting he hadn't been able to reschedule. "I was honest with you from the beginning about what this was."
"You weren't."
"I told you —"
"You told me you were getting a divorce." You were on your feet now, voice raising. You didn't remember standing up. "You told me you'd stopped loving her. You told me I was —" your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for it, hated how much he could still hear it in you "— you said things, Satoru."
"I said what was true at the time."
"At the time? Do you hear yourself? What’s wrong with you?"
"People's feelings change. That's not something I can control —"
"You are so full of shit." You cut him off, a shaky finger pointing at him in accusation. You watched it shake and couldn't make it stop. "Stop talking to me like I'm stupid. Stop using that voice with me."
"What voice?"
"That voice." You gestured at him, at all of him, the whole infuriating composed tableau of him sitting on your couch like he owned it. "The one you use when you've already decided the conversation is over. Don't do that to me. I deserve more than that."
Something flickered across his face. Gone before you could name it.
"You knew what this was," he said in a quieter tone. Almost gentle, which was worse.
And that — that — was when it cracked all the way through.
"I knew what you told me it was," you said, and your voice finally broke on it, split down the middle, and the tears came and you didn't even try to stop them because what was the point now, what was the point of any of it now. "I knew what you showed me. Every morning you stayed. Every time you — you cooked for me, Satoru, you used to hold my face and you'd just look at me like —" you pressed your hand over your mouth for a second, trying to hold it in, failing "— like I was something that mattered to you —"
"You did matter —"
"Did." The word came out sharp enough that he stopped. "Don't you dare say that to me right now. Don't soften it. If I mattered then look me in the eye and tell me she matters more and just say it, stop wrapping it in —"
"You're being dramatic."
The room went very still.
"Dramatic."
"You're spiraling. I understand you're upset, but —"
"Get out."
"—we're adults, and if you'd just —"
"Get out of my house." Your voice climbed and you let it. Three weeks of his cold eyes and his shorter visits and his back turned to you in the dark, three weeks before that of slowly understanding you were being managed, handled, kept at a careful distance by someone who knew exactly what distance to keep — all of it rose up in your throat at once. "You don't get to sit there and call me dramatic. You don't get to sit there and be calm right now, I swear to god —"
"You need to lower your voice —"
"I will not lower my voice in my own apartment!"
He stood. Finally, good — you needed him vertical, needed to be able to look at him properly when you said what you were about to say.
"You made me feel crazy," you told him. Shaking now, properly shaking, mascara already gone. "These last few weeks — pulling away and then coming back and then pulling away again — I thought it was something I did. I kept trying to figure out what I did." More broken sobs. "There's a headline about you and your wife right now. Did you know that? It's been out for six hours. Six hours while you were — while we were —"
His jaw tightened. First crack in the composure.
"That's not —"
"Were you with her before you came here tonight?"
Silence.
The specific quality of that silence told you everything.
Something in your chest caved in completely.
"Okay," you said very quietly. "Okay." However the tears in your eyes betrayed your vocal acceptance.
You walked to the door. Pull it open. Stood there with your hand on the knob and your robe coming loose at the tie and your eyes absolutely ruined and you looked at him across the apartment — at the man who had made you feel more cared for and more stupid than anyone in your entire life — and you said:
"Get out. And don't come back."
He looked at you for a long moment. That same unreadable thing moved across his face. You still didn't know what it was. You'd spent months learning his expressions and you still didn't know what he looked like when he actually felt something.
Maybe that was the answer.
He crossed the apartment. Then paused in the doorway close enough that you could smell him — his cologne, something else underneath it, something that didn't belong to you.
He didn't say anything.
Your hand found the vase on the entryway table before your brain caught up with it — the small ceramic one, blue, that you'd bought at a market in the West Village on a Sunday he'd come with you, that you'd carried home in a paper bag while he walked beside you with his hand on the back of your neck — and you threw it.
Not at him. Not quite. It hit the wall two feet to his left and exploded into pieces, and the sound of it was enormous in the small hallway, and blue ceramic skittered across the floor between you both.
Silence.
He looked at the wall. Then at the floor. Then, slowly, at you.
You were breathing hard. Your throwing arm was still extended. You looked insane and you knew it and you didn't care, you couldn't care right now, there was no room left in you for caring about how you looked.
Something moved in his expression — not fear, not even surprise, something more complicated and faster than either of those things. There and gone.
He left.
The door clicked shut and you held it together for exactly three more seconds before your legs gave out and you slid down the wall beside the door and sat on the cold floor and came completely apart.
–
You threw up in the bathroom.
Then you slid down the cabinet onto the floor and sat with your knees pulled to your chest and stayed there for a long time.
You felt pathetic. You were aware of the patheticness from a slight distance, the way you sometimes watched yourself from a removed angle during the worst moments. Look at her on the bathroom floor. Look at her crying over a man who was never hers.
Overall, you felt embarrassed.
But the awareness didn't help. It never did.
Because Satoru hadn't just been an affair, or a mistake, or a bad habit. He'd been the first person in your entire adult life who'd made you feel like your presence was something to be cared for rather than consumed. He'd taken the parts of you that were most obviously broken and handled them without flinching. He'd made you feel like being loved was possible. Not because he'd said it — he never said it — but because of the way, the small unspoken way of a person who is choosing you continuously, quietly.
Or so you'd thought.
You'd been so sure then.
Your hands found the little chain around your neck — the delicate one with the S, that he'd clasped there himself four months ago with such careful fingers — and you pulled it, hoping the clasp would break.
But no, Gojo never bought anything cheap. However the irrational part of your brain kept pulling. The chain left an angry thin red line on your skin.
You screeched in frustration before grabbing it at the edges and pulling it apart. You threw it against the wall. The sound it made hitting the tile was too small for how much you hated it.
Screaming at it like it personally offended you, and in a way, it did. Anything of his offended you.
Then you went through the apartment.
The things he'd given you, the things that smelled like him, the things that had accumulated in your space over months the way a person leaves traces of themselves without meaning to. You dealt with all of it. You were not gentle. It felt necessary, the way certain kinds of destruction feel necessary — not good, but necessary, like stabbing something.
The tears didn't stop. They had been going for so long now that they'd lost their urgency and become simply a condition. A weather front settled over you.
At some point you picked up your phone. A nasty habit of yours, reaching for your phone in desperate need of a distraction, even if it lasted for a few minutes.
The notification was already there. News alert, pushed to your screen, waiting for you.
"GOJO SATORU AND EX-WIFE DECIDE TO REKINDLE THE FLAME." CLICK HERE TO KEEP READING. (you can actually click it to read the newspaper i made one).
There was a photo. Him, and a woman who looked like the kind of woman men left other women for. She was beautiful in a composed, expensive way. His hand was on her waist. He was smiling.
You put the phone face-down on the floor.
You sat in the wreckage of your own apartment, and you let yourself feel every terrible bit of it.
It's not like you were dating.
That's the part that makes it worse, somehow. There's no clean word for what you were. And it was not a girlfriend. Not lover, even — lover implies mutuality, implies something shared and chosen. You were a situation nested between his chaotic life. Something to fill the space in his life while the real thing got itself sorted out.
You know that now.
You hadn't known it then — or maybe deep down you did and simply refused, the way you refused all kinds of information that threatened to interrupt what you wanted to feel. You were very good at refusal.
You could say it was a lifetime of practice.
But the possibilities — that's what kept getting you. Not what was, but what could have been if it had been real. If deep down somewhere inside he'd meant any of it. You'd built a whole quiet architecture of a future in the privacy of your own head, furnished it with Sunday mornings and inside jokes and a ring he would have chosen just for you, and now you had to take it all apart piece by piece, put it in boxes and there was no one to help you carry it out.
Three weeks of crying yourself to sleep. Three weeks of waking up and for one half-second forgetting, before it hits you again. Three weeks of his absence sitting in your apartment like a presence, like the negative space of a person.
So you did what you always did when something got too heavy to hold.
You put it down, walked away from it, and forced yourself to believe that it was fine.
It had never been real anyway, I am fine.
You put on the shortest dress you owned, called your friend, and went out.
Your oldest and most reliable skill: To forget and pretend.
✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: "And through some happenstance, casual and cruel, shaped by the hands of the Moon goddesses, you ended up face to face with what They considered your fated mates. Of course, they didn’t know that - how could they recognize their goddess-given match if you had no scent? As long as you didn’t reach maturity, only you would feel this pull, this constant urge pooling at your lower abdomen when their scents filled your nose and sent your eyes rolling back. You knew your place and it was not amongst royalty."
OR
The one where you find your fated alphas, but they can't find you.
✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔: Romance, Humor, Fluff, Angst, ABO, Soulmate AUs.
✿ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: This is a 18+ work! Minors, please do not interact. Also, there will be mentions of violence and abuse.
(Fanfic masterlist)
°•. ✿ .•°
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 - 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬
(<<< part two)
The couple of glimpses of the castle you had managed to get during your flimsy attempt at escaping could not compare to the real thing. The elaborate architecture filled your eyes with wonder, struggling to absorb all the gleam from the stained glass windows and complicated tapestry as Sophie pulled you, arm in arm with a skip to her step, happy with knowledge that she was not about to be fired.
“This is the great hall” she said, gesturing towards a large set of doors that opened to a room unlike anything you had ever seen.
“Is there an event coming up?” you asked, eyeing curiously the hustle and movement inside where people carried boxes from one side to another, cleaning every corner and dusting every surface.
“The king’s birthday, of course!” your companion exclaimed. “The festivities last a whole week, but the main party is held here. This year, I hear it’s going to be a masquerade. Isn’t it so exciting?”
You agreed softly, still focused on the flurry of busy staff illuminated by the sun shining on the glass dome above their heads.
Your mind conjured pictures of decorated arches and lavish meals, dancing couples under the moonlight and all the fun and romance you never had the chance to experience and most likely never would.
With a saddened heart, you pulled your companion forward, urging her to continue with the tour. There was no reason to linger on the things you could not have, as they were insurmountable and currently only seemed to be adding up.
The tour continued and you got to wander around different parts of the fortress: the lush gardens, the high-ceiling galleries, the stables… And everywhere you went, people seemed to work with a sort of chipper disposition you had never observed in your father’s estate. Tasks were fulfilled and chores done dutifully, but never in silence or with dragging feet. There seemed to never be a cloud of gloom in King Namjoon’s halls.
You sighed wistfully. You wished you could stay. Maybe find some quaint job tending to the poppies in the gardens that allowed you to spend your days outside. Alas, your body was a ticking bomb. You couldn’t stay, but you could enjoy this little moment of peace while you had it.
“You must be tired” Sophie said, misunderstanding your sighs. “We have been going around for a while, after all. There’s just one more place to show and then we can sit for tea.”
Sophie directed you to a big structure located behind the stable, made out of an octagonal set of walls. You could hear people inside as you approached and you twisted the fabric of your skirt between nervous fingers. Living a life as sheltered as yours did not allow for much socializing and you had never seen so many people gathered together at once. The large crowds of the castle still made you anxious.
“This is the guard’s training center. Sir Hoseok is very strict about their schedule. They’re here almost everyday” Sophie explained, waving flirtatiously at a sweaty guard passing by.
“Is… Is Sir Hoseok here?” you asked, curiosity getting the best of you.
Before Sophie could answer, someone stepped out of the building and the open door let out a wave of scents that crashed dangerously over you. Even under the layers of sweat and other odors, you could still pick out the one that called to you like a siren’s song, now much stronger and headier.
Hoseok stepped out after his men, panting and sweating, wiping the side of his face with the hem of his shirt. You watched entranced as he made his way outside, the thick haze of his scent getting heavier as he got closer. The way he moved caused his muscles to shift and flex, slow and calculated, bringing a rising heat to your neck that kept climbing up your body.
“Miss Y/N” Sophie called worriedly. “Are you feeling alright? You seem awfully flushed!”
An unknown sort of warmth was making its way through you, starting from your core and burning towards your extremities, leaving you light headed and aching for something you could not name. Suddenly, you could see alphas around you raise their heads and curiously sniff the air around them, trying to find the source of a new, overpowering smell.
Omega.
“Sophie” you whimpered pitifully, folding over yourself in pain. “Take me back to my quarters. Now.”
Hearing the urgency in your voice, Sophie grabbed your arm and dragged you away across the gardens and back through the halls until you reached your bedroom. Trembling, you collapsed on the soft mattress as Sophie locked the door behind her.
“Miss” she said softly, avoiding coming any closer with her nose scrunched “I think your scent is finally…”
Panic cursed through your veins, burning even more violently than the previous sensations. After years of starvation and various methods of self-containment, you could finally smell the one scent you had been avoiding: your own.
You stumbled back up, clumsily making your way towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. Quickly, you opened the faucet to the marbled tub, allowing it to fill up before you dropped any and all available scented products inside, the water turning yellowish with the amount of essential oils. The incompatible odors burned your sensitive nose and your skin started feeling pricklish, but you did not dwell on it before you fully submerged yourself, clothes and all, barely holding your breath.
You hoped the ice cold water would cool the feverish feeling inside you, but it only scratched the surface. You had never felt something as debilitating as that, the overwhelming combination of afflictions taking your strength and will-power, clearing the thoughts inside your head until it left only an echoing prayer, a scream for help that you could not verbalize.
Alpha, it clamored from within you, the most primitive part of your brain taking over the reins of your consciousness and saying it again and again: Alpha, alpha, alpha…
Alpha…
You stripped yourself from your clothes and undergarments, the fabric scratching and itching as you clawed it away from you.
Alpha…
You pressed your hand against your scent gland, nestled between your neck and shoulder, trying to bring some relief to the swelling skin.
Alpha…
Your mind brought forth once more the image of Hoseok, gleaming with sweat under the afternoon sun, his smell bringing you to a boiling point.
“Alpha” you finally said out loud, barely a whisper over the sound of the water, as your hands traveled down to your core to hopefully bring the pain and longing to a halt, even if temporarily.
“Hoseok…”
***
Hoseok could’ve sworn someone was calling his name.
It started when he was leaving the training compound after long hours trying to ease his frailed nerves, letting go of some of his pent up aggression on the slacking rookies. His skin was covered in sweat, but his body had finally started to cool off, bringing an end to the seemingly limitless streak of days on edge.
Until the wind blew towards him and suddenly everything turned black.
His alpha barely allowed him time to think before it took over his motor capacities, raising his face towards what he believed was the source of a fragrance so decadent and luxurious it made him feral.
Peaches and cream, all the sweetness in the world and the prettiest of blossoms, permeated the afternoon fog like a drug. Hoseok felt it so deeply it left him panting, tasting it, lying on top of his tongue like the only meal he ever wanted. In an almost synesthetic manner, it smelled of soft skin and pretty eyes, lush lips and opioid kisses. This scent had a name and he couldn’t place it, but his alpha could, gladly even.
Mate, it provided.
Hoseok came back to his senses and hit the ground running, growling at all the other recruits that had their noses up in the air. Whoever smelled like that was his only and the sound that came from his chest promised violence and pain to any who opposed.
Then he sprinted, something primal carrying him back to the castle. The stronger the smell got, the weaker he was, knees giving in with the sheer weight of what he had found. His mate was there, somewhere, waiting for him. In a world with so few omegas, a mate was nothing short of a blessing and Hoseok was unsure of what he had done to deserve such a serendipitous gift, but he was not about to question it. No, his mind was much too busy trying to pinpoint his mate’s location while creating elaborate fantasies of a pretty omega under him, calling his name with a moan, neck decorated with a crescent mark in the shape of his bite.
At this point, Hoseok was sure he looked animalistic, pupils blown out with need. He kept following the trace left behind by his mate like a hunter, taking deep breaths to let it penetrate his lungs and imprint the inside of his ribs. The smell got stronger and needier the closer it got to the guest wing and Hoseok could almost feel it on the tip of his grasping fingers until he reached a door and knocked violently and mindlessly.
Sophie, the maid, came out and with her the chemical smell of roses and lilies. Not sweetness, no sign of the desert-like signature of his mate. Just the faint scent of a beta and an overwhelming cloud of essential oils that burned his nose and made him recoil instantly .
“Sir Hoseok” Sophie bowed deeply, her face red and nervous under the slight manic stare of the Captain “H-How can I help you?”
His brain could hardly put a whole sentence together. All it could muster was a howl of disappointment. Not mate, it wailed, where is mate?
Before he could answer or do something stupid like growl at poor Sophie, you came behind her, wrapped in a fluffy robe, your skin wet and pink and your hair dripping across the floors. Could be mate?, his alpha asked and at this point it sounded almost like a whine. But the trail had been lost and all he could smell was soap and the clean aftermath of a long soak.
You squeaked, embarrassed and scared, hiding behind the door. That woke Hoseok up from the trance he found himself, the urge to make an omega comfortable taking place over the inner voice of his needy alpha.
“Sir Hoseok” your voice came from behind the door and he could hear your anxiety in it “I’m sorry, but I’m not exactly fit to receive visitors at the moment…”
“Miss Y/N does not feel well, Sir Hoseok.”
Instinct kicked in again, making him approach the door as if he planned to run poor Sophie over “Should we call a doctor? Is there anything-”
“No!” They said in unison, Sophie closing the gap in the doorway a bit more, blocking the view to the room “I’m taking care of her, Sir, please do not fret. Is there anything you need at the moment?”
You waited nervously behind the door, listening to the sound of his uneven breathing matching your drumming heart.
“No, I- I” he seemed lost and confused and indeed he was. He didn’t quite know how he got there, nor where he would go after, his schedule and obligations slipping away from his fraying mind. He tried to find a plausible reason to be panting at your door, especially at such an inappropriate moment, but all he could think about was the crossover of senses mixing peaches with the rosy color of your collarbones.
Sophie watched the exchange with confused fascination, unsure of what to make of the situation: the alpha Captain looking frazzled in the hallway and the runaway omega going through a late puberty behind her. It seemed like the beginning of a lewd joke or the plot of one of those romance tales the older maids hid beneath their mattresses.
“I’m sorry” he said at last and Sophie’s eyes widened, looking at you behind the door and back at the sweaty Captain almost kneeling at the door.
“Sir?” he heard you ask.
“I”m sorry I ran away the other day. I’m sorry I’m probably scaring you right now as well…”
“You’re not- You’re not scaring me.”
Hoseok froze, his alpha quiet for once on his side of the wall, as if he too was listening to you.
“I’ve met scary alphas. You’re not one of them.”
Hoseok could’ve sworn he heard Sophie mutter “Not to you, at least” quietly, but he was too focused on your voice and your words. I’ve met scary alphas. Goddesses, didn’t that just send a spear straight through his already tattered heart.
“I’m sorry” he repeated. “I’m sorry you went through that. If there’s anything I can do-” he didn’t finish his sentence, unsure how. Anything he can do to what? To help? To erase the memory of the abuse you endured? To make sure your father never got to see the sun again?
“Actually, I have one favor to ask, if it’s not too much…”
“Please, do tell!”
“Can you teach me how to read?”
°•. ✿ .•°
✿ The next chapter called "Nameless" is already available on my ko-fi to Calcifer Crew, my membership tier, and will be posted here soon! Click here if you want early access to all my updates :)
Desiring Defiance | Jeon Jungkook | Two Shot | Part One
Summary: Jungkook, as a ruthless Mafia Lord, takes care of his own, but when his priority becomes you, imagine his surprise...and delight when he figures out you want nothing to do with him.
Pairing: Business woman f!reader x Yandere Mafia Lord Jungkook (Contract Marriage) (Jungkook's pov)
Word Count: 28.2k for both parts (strap in)
Warnings: Dark Romance, Power Play, Smut, Explicit Language, Weapons, Drugs, Violence, Death...basically everything that goes along with a yandere mafia romance.
A/N: I'm re-uploading this and making Jungkook the mmc...Hope you guy'll enjoy it with him instead. Thank you @bluehaven143 for supporting my choice in changing it 🫶🏼 love you to pieces
p.s. I split this up into two parts based off what had happened to the most recent mutual help chapter to avoid Tumblr yeeting my post lmao
Requested by @bluehaven143 💜
Wednesday, December 24th
"I scheduled the jet and have alerted the local staff to be ready for your arrival," my assistant relays once I've wrapped up a leisurely meeting, my men scattered across my office, already soaking in the anticipated holiday respite.
"You should book this new stripper I found while we're there. I've heard she leaves her patrons thoroughly...satisfied," one of them suggests, wiping his nose after inhaling a line of a white powder that we all know leads to no good, the residue still visible on the end table.
The foundation upon which my empire has been built.
I wave him off, knowing that if I let him run his mouth, the suggestions will go from crude to obscene if left unchecked, my other hand tightening its grip on my armrest, the leather groaning.
"No stripper?" another chimes in, feeling as though he had been given a toy he was entitled to, only to have it taken away.
Others let their displeasure be known non-verbally. Furrowed brows and exaggerated sighs are the more popular ones, sensing something's off.
"None of you are coming this year," I relay, a look alerting my assistant that this is a matter that is worth discussing later.
The spacious dark-wood paneled room feels small now; their complaints bounce off the walls.
"What do you mean we're not coming?" a third chimes in, taking a drag off this cigar, tapping the ash into the crystal tray by his side. The smoldering end having gotten too long.
His mouth is set in a firm line once my eyes have settled upon him.
The smoke blown to the side once he's let the rich aroma flood his senses.
"I have other plans in mind this year, loosening my tie, too tight for my liking, hinting at my rising irritation with this conversation. Only a few seem to notice, giving up on the effort to comment further.
"Who are you going with if not us?" a fourth asks, putting down his empty glass with a loud thunk, throwing back the rest of his pick of poison for the night, the notion of me wanting to break tradition completely ridiculous from his self-centered point of view.
What an entitled lot.
"My wife," I announce, pulling out my phone to check her location, only to see that she's still at the office when she was expected to be home two hours ago.
Though I can't say much since I am running quite late as well.
I let out a breath and stand up; the group rises to their feet as a sign of respect.
"You mean the woman you paid to marry you?" Mumbled words reach my ear, a bold statement meant to be inaudible.
A dark chuckle passes my lips, a shake of my head accompanying.
Pace slow...deliberate as I walk up to him; the group parting like the Red Sea, clearing a path.
The man's throat works itself up and down, swallowing around the lump, aware now of how freely he's spoken, terrified as to what the consequences of his careless words may be.
A friendly hand lands on his shoulder, my lips curling into an equally warm smile before drawing my gun, the barrel resting against his temple.
The cold steel draws out a shudder; the implication of what a single pull of its trigger could do to him is frightening. His very well-being dancing in the palm of my hand.
Oh, so tempting to snuff out.
I show a sense of restraint and grind the barrel into his temple; the action in place of pulling the trigger.
He shrinks pathetically into the rug, the act of trying to get away from the painful pressure.
Everyone is as still as statues and as silent as the dead, knowing better than to intervene; signs of fear or protests resulting in the intent to kill being turned on them.
"I suggest you watch your fucking mouth when you speak about my wife," I say, gritting my teeth as the impact of my words makes him flinch.
He apologizes profusely, sinking further down.
The cocking of my gun made him freeze, fists balled as his fingers curled around the delicate threads of the rug, woven through as if grasping onto them any tighter might save his worthless life.
He chokes down the whimper that is clawing up his throat, knowing better than to show another sign of cowardice in what may be his final hour.
I stand there for a while, grinding the barrel harder, debating whether or not I should make an example out of him in the most extreme way possible, my trigger finger dragging along the curved steel.
I ultimately withdraw my gun and place it back on my person, a sigh of relief heard from the group, his body turning boneless when I take a step back.
I fix my suit jacket and run my fingers through my hair, a steady breath escaping me when I spare him a final glance.
"Take him out back," I toss over my shoulder as I turn to go, leaving his pleas for mercy to fall on deaf ears.
He should know better.
They all should know better than to question me or my judgment.
I turn to address the group once the guilty party has been taken away, his wails for mercy exchanged with wails of pain, muffled by the door now separating us.
"My business with my wife is none of your concern."
I make it a point to make eye contact with every one of them, nerves triggered by my direct statement shown on the faces of a few, others putting on a brave front. The rest are wary, given the sounds of agony audible from the other side of the wall.
"Plus, it's not like many of you remember the reason we go abroad at the end of the year anyway, so there will be no need for you to be included." All eyes turn down, disappointed but not surprised by the cemented consequence of one man's sin.
"Make sure there aren't any loose ends I need to tie up when I get back," a pointed look given to the group again, their silence answer enough.
"Clean up my office. I don't want to see a single crumb or anything out of place," looking at one man in particular who has been crunching on a bag of chips since I walked in, leaving him setting it aside.
A unison farewell is my exit song, my car now pulled around front, the night air chilling me to the bone as I walk out into the alleyway behind my warehouse.
Fuck, it's freezing.
"Where to, sir?" my driver, Andrew, asks once I slide into the back seat, brushing snowflakes off my coat.
"My wife's office," I order, leaving him humming. "You don't approve?" I cock my brow through the rear-view mirror, but he finds no fear in it.
"She's requested not to be disturbed until she's called for a ride home, sir," he relays, leaving me grumbling internally at her stubbornness, debating on whether or not I should respect her wishes.
Always so strict when it comes to her career, doing everything she can to keep my claws from sinking in.
However, I don't feel like listening tonight, especially not after what just happened.
I want to see her.
I need to see her.
"Sir?" a word used as a way to determine if I've changed my mind, given the new information.
"My wife's office," I repeat and sit back, knowing I'm making the obstinate choice, but I won't let anyone keep me from getting what I want.
Not even her.
~~~~
Walking into the high-rise building in the Skyline District, I'm met with close to zero resistance when walking through the lobby, gaining access to the elevators without a second glance from security.
The only roadblock between my wife and I is her assistant, insistent on stopping me on her way out once the elevator doors open.
"Mrs. Jeon is on an important call with a foreign client and has asked not to be disturbed," standing between me and the door, her line of defense laughable at best.
"Who do you think she got her last name from, sweetheart?" The muscle in my jaw feathers, the argument enough to make anyone think twice when the Jeon family name is uttered.
She recoils, knowing it would not be in her best interest to argue further.
"Mrs. Jeon will see you now," she mumbles, escorting me in and silently opening her office door.
Her desk sits as the focal point of the space, intentionally arranged to her liking as she sits on the stately chair behind it, its silhouette commanding, her paired presence dominating the space as all eyes set on her upon arrival.
Her brows furrow in concentration as she occasionally flips through documents, still seemingly unaware of my presence.
City lights cast shadows in the room, swallowing mine as I enter, concealing my presence.
"Go home," I whisper to her assistant, preferring not to have an audience for this exchange, an interaction that would expose the true nature of our relationship.
"Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir," hurriedly excusing herself, no doubt dreading what sort of Mrs. Jeon she'll be dealing with when she sees her again.
Her guilt consumes her, caused by her wavering resistance against me, knowing, however, that disobeying my command is more frightening than what my wife's wrath could ever be.
I slip inside and quietly cross the floor, the cozy seating area in the corner being my destination. A few armchairs and a small Christmas tree with soft, warm lighting being the festive, yet elegant backdrop.
I unbutton my suit jacket and settle in, content with spending the evening watching as she's hard at work.
She twirls her pen repeatedly as she continues the call, the motion catching my eye as she sits blissfully unaware of my presence.
That simply won't do, the wife of a mafia lord cannot be so easily snuck up on.
A skill we shall have to work on, no matter how much I love watching her face contort with fear when I've caught her with her guard down.
Her negotiation skills and ability to direct the conversation down a path she has carefully crafted are flawless. Her grace and poise are undeniable, leaving me even more desperate to call her mine...but of course, she'll never believe that.
"Thank you, Monsieur, see you then," she ends the call, slumping down on her desk. That once sexy, confident businesswoman replaced with a more vulnerable one riddled with exhaustion.
I can tell that call took a lot out of her, and even though her reaction might be seen as a sign of defeat, I know for a fact she closed that deal, resulting in a slow clap of approval.
She sits up immediately, physically scared straight until her eyes land on me, the tension in her posture relaxing...barely.
"Did Lizzy let you in?" she grumbles, standing up to collect her things, thankfully done for the night.
"Don't blame the poor girl, I practically pushed my way in. You shouldn't be working this late on a holiday anyway, darling," I remind, hoping it'll ice any burn the girl whose name I always manage to forget may get.
"I told her I did not want to be disturbed," making a beeline for the door as if she couldn't stand being alone with me.
"Blame me, honey. Even Andrew tried to keep me from coming," jumping up to open the door for her, which she begrudgingly allows, walking through it without so much as a thank you.
"Maybe you should've listened to them," she grumbles, hitting the down arrow to call up the elevator, her office being on the top floor, as she is the Director of International Relations.
Close enough to take over but far enough to deal with the power struggle.
She should be running the place at this rate. Her dedication to this company and the willingness to succeed by any means necessary are undeniable. Yet, always put on the back burner because of that fucking glass ceiling women face in most corporate settings.
When the time comes, though, I'll make sure she has that spacious corner office.
Her name soon engraved on the gold plate in that elegant cursive script she loves. Proudly mounted on the door with those three powerful letters informing everyone of her title when that crotchety old fuck retires.
But, as for now, he refuses to let go of the reins.
"And let them see the soft spot I have for you?" motioning for her to get in first as if she needed my permission.
"You could've waited at home," she mumbles, hitting the button for the ground floor, finger hitting close, allotting me seconds to slip past the doors before they seal shut.
"I couldn't pass up the opportunity to admire a display of a woman in power. My woman," I continue, my voice dropping an octave at the end, making her let out a quiet sigh to cover the shiver she no doubt felt run up her spine.
It's been like this since the beginning.
I attempt to woo her and show that although our marriage is contractual, it doesn't mean we can't have a little fun, whereas she always refuses to see it as anything other than one of her business deals, constantly hanging over her head.
"I assume he's waiting for us?" she asks in reference to Andrew when the elevator doors slide open. I hum, following the pointed sound of her heels clicking on the marbled floor, headstrong and confident and undeniably sexy.
I can't help but let my eyes drag up and down her form as I fall a few paces behind, that pencil skirt and matching blazer complementing her body so well, exuding dominance in this dog-eat-dog corporate hierarchy.
She knows she's attractive, and I applaud her for it, never denying myself the chance to admire her, even when I'm met with a scowl.
The cherry on top, and the thing I tend to look forward to the most.
There's no denying the fact that I find her frustration and distaste for me most days incredibly amusing. The simple act of me breathing too close granting me a scoff on one of her good days and a shove on one of her bad.
And oh, do I live for the bad ones.
Our relationship, although strained on the outside, is perfectly imperfect in my eyes; her constant push and my carefully crafted pulls leave our marriage dynamic. A clear contrast to the static one she no doubt thought she had signed up for six months ago.
Our wedding a short three weeks after, leaving us officially a married couple for a little over five months.
Five glorious months of getting on her nerves and pushing her until she breaks, which is proving to be taking a lot longer than anticipated.
Instead of being putty in my hands, I'm constantly the infuriating devil on her shoulder, asking her for a dance she'll refuse at all costs.
Once we finally make it out of the building, Andrew opens her door, which she shuts and locks immediately, forcing me to go around. His amusement is hardly ever hidden from her evergreen defiance against me.
A shake of my head is my only response to the matter as I walk around to enter through the other side.
"Home," a single syllable said, and he nods.
"Very good, sir," his constant regurgitated response comforting in some way.
The slightest form of consistency in my ever-turbulent lifestyle.
"I could've called for my driver," she grumbles once I've slid in next to her, angling her body away and choosing to observe the outside world instead of my devilishly good looks that make women weak in the knees.
Hers, although, are the only ones I'd do anything to see on the floor for me.
"You could do a lot of things yourself, but what kind of husband would I be if I left my wife to fend for herself all the time, hm?" My eyes focused on said knees.
Her smooth skin is on display, her upper thigh more visible from the small slit in her skirt that I'm starting to realize is far shorter than I would personally deem appropriate for the office.
Then again, that could be the hungry part of me that's craving her devotion, so I choose not to mention it, knowing she would use it to spite me eventually.
Blocks' worth of silence pass as city lights illuminate the backseat in staggered flashes.
"I have to go abroad this weekend," she mumbles, pulling up her calendar to give me the exact dates.
"So do I," I grin, as it all unfolds perfectly, teeing up the pitch.
"I'll be heading to Paris to have a couple of business meetings with some of our potential clients," she continues, ignoring my response in favor of relaying the information as quickly and efficiently as possible.
"I'll book the penthouse," I respond, sending a message to pull a few strings.
"That isn't necessary, especially since it'll only be me," she replies, hoping to get me to cancel the request. All I do is lock my phone in response, placing it back inside my suit jacket, a clear sign that shows I'll take no arguments.
"My wife deserves the best," I smile when I hear a sound of defeat, knowing I won't budge on this.
She mumbles a quiet 'Thank you,' catching me off guard, but I decide to keep my comments to myself and not ruin the moment.
"Anything for you," I respond tenderly.
The rest of our ride is silent until we're pulling into our driveway, the fifteen-foot black wrought iron gate slowly sliding closed behind us.
"You never said where you were going," she points out, curiosity getting the best of her.
"Paris," I answer and get out of the car, leaving her caught off guard and frozen in place for a moment before scrambling to get out with protests no doubt at the ready.
"I thought you were going to your island in the Maldives," she rushes to catch up to my leisurely stride through the front door.
"I was, but now I'm not," I say, making my way upstairs, her still trailing behind.
"Can I ask why?" she presses, following me into our bedroom, the one she begrudgingly shares with me.
"I thought it would be natural for me to want to spend time with my wife on my birthday," I shrug, taking my tie off and hanging up my suit jacket, setting it aside for dry cleaning.
"Don't you usually spend it with your inner circle?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the door frame, not daring to come any closer in case I start undressing further, a line we haven't crossed...yet.
If you're thinking to yourself that the reason I'm obsessed with this woman is that she has yet to let me have a taste of her, then the answer would undoubtedly be yes, amongst other things...
The only forms of physical contact she's forced herself to allow have been our obligatory kiss at our wedding, along with any other staged kisses and touches necessary when out in public.
I make sure to take advantage of those opportunities wholeheartedly.
The tabloids give us titles such as "Lovestruck" and "Fated," making her cringe whenever we're bestowed a new one, our act seemingly rather convincing.
"Why do you know so much about how I usually spend my birthday, hm?" thoroughly amused by the fact that she was curious enough to ask someone else in the first place.
She rolls her eyes at that, making my smirk grow wider.
"I like to be in the know about the dealings of this house that I can be privy to," she explains, and walks past me and to her wardrobe to get her sleepwear, getting ready to turn in for the night.
"Running away from me already? I thought we could have dinner, with it being Christmas and all," I offer, knowing her answer already, but loving being told no.
Only by her, though, the opportunity for others to do the same unheard of in my line of business.
"I ate while I was at the office," she walks past me and into the bathroom, turning on the shower, and placing her stuff down, coming back to close and lock the door, but my presence in the doorway makes it impossible.
"A drink perhaps? Just one" I tempt, knowing she could probably use a stiff one after the day she's had, especially since that's the only kind of stiff one she'll allow me to give her.
"Maybe later," she presses on my chest with one hand, guiding me to take a few steps back so she could close the door. I do my best to hide how her initiated touch affected me. The place where her hand once lay now burning.
I look down at it and look up at her, reminding her of exactly who she pushed away, and she crosses her arms over her chest.
"I want to shower so..." she excuses, leaving me putting my hands in my pockets and taking a couple of steps towards her.
"Not interested in having an audience? I promise I'll behave," I request, my dark gaze hungry, but she scoffs and slams the door, making me grin in response.
I always know the answer before asking, but the look on her face is reward enough, even when the answer is always no.
~~~~
Thursday December 25th
The next morning, I'm awoken by the sound of her unzipping her suitcase.
Peeling my eyes open, I blink, my vision going in and out of focus before the image of her walking back and forth becomes clear, her packing running smoothly, no doubt having planned out all of her attire in advance.
I take in the sight of her in her short silk robe, not having bothered with getting ready yet, since she clearly isn't going into the office today in favor of packing for Paris, which, from the looks of it, seems she'll be leaving for tomorrow.
"Getting an early start?" I rasp out, her gaze only flickering to meet mine for a moment before going back to focusing on her task at hand.
"I would've started earlier if I had my own room," blaming me for what she considers a late start, but as a result, alerting me to some sense of compassion she has, letting me sleep a little while longer.
When I check the bedside table, though, I do see that it was only a little longer as she's started at six thirty instead of six.
"How good of you to bestow me with an additional half an hour of rest. It must be Christmas," I yawn, stretching a bit before sitting up and resting against the headboard, watching her walk to and fro while packing the various items she might need.
"Don't you have anything better to do than lie in bed all day?" she grumbles, clearly feeling my eyes on her, watching her every move.
"No, I rather enjoy the view from our bed this morning," tilting my head when I watch as she bends down to grab a shirt she had dropped, her ass in those tight silk shorts to match her robe doing wonders for my imagination.
"Can't you stop?" she shoots me a sharp glare when she catches onto my obvious train of thought, not bothering to hide my desire for her.
"I'm not afforded the luxury of touching, but you can't prevent me from looking, darling. Especially when you're practically begging me to," I stretch, getting comfortable and settling in to watch her pack all morning, leaving her groaning in protest.
"Do you have a personal vendetta against me or something?" she asks, throwing a random dress inside her suitcase.
"No, but I do enjoy getting under your skin," I admit the obvious, leaving her muttering before leaving the room and going downstairs.
"Baby, come back to bed, I'm sorry," I call after her, laying it on thick to get to her even more worked up.
"No, you're not," she calls out to me, leaving me chuckling.
She makes it way too easy.
~~~~~
"Yes, we'll be there," I say into my phone once she's walked into my office, her brows furrowed together when she can tell that 'we' most likely includes her.
Smart girl.
I end the call a few minutes later while she listens closely, interest clearly peaked since I don't often give her the chance to.
"We'll be there?" she echoes once I've ended the call.
"Quite the curious one, aren't you?" I say, getting up from my desk and rounding to sit against it, beckoning her to come closer, which she reluctantly does.
She chooses to sit on one of the armchairs in front of me, before I have a chance to pull her any closer, but the submissive angle is one I enjoy just as much.
"A family friend has invited us to dinner while we're in Paris," I inform her, shifting uncomfortably in her chair, no doubt gearing up to protest, but I hold my hand up to stop her.
"He's also the owner of the hotel we frequent whenever we go, so unless you'd like to find a hostel to sleep in, I suggest you attend one lousy dinner party," but that still doesn't stop her from putting up a fight.
"First it was a dinner, and now it's a dinner party?" she asks, not happy with either one but knowing she has a bigger part to play in the latter.
"Have you forgotten that it'll be my birthday while we're there?" I remind making her even more uncomfortable.
"So first it's a dinner, then a dinner party, and now your birthday party? Can you please be up front about things from the beginning?" she mutters, rubbing both of her temples, no doubt trying to stifle the headache that's sure to pop up given this new information.
"Where's the fun in that?" I shrug and round my desk so I can sit down again. "Plus, I've checked your schedule, and there is plenty of open space on it, so there's no reason why you shouldn't be able to attend," I add, casually pulling up her calendar that I had my assistant acquire.
"That's an invasion of privacy!" standing up and stomping her foot in protest, making me smirk at the adorable reaction.
"Hardly. An invasion of privacy would be me having access to that hidden album you have in your camera roll full of all of those naughty pictures you take of yourself," I say unbothered, and when I look up, I see how her eyes go from horrified to downright murderous.
Fuck she looks so sexy.
"...oops," I say as if I've mistakenly revealed my little secret, but the look on her face is far too priceless to care.
"I...You...You're-"
"Handsome? Charming? Daring?"
"Infuriating!" she seethes, leaving my office, slamming the door behind her, stomping off to our room, and slamming that door as well for good measure, leaving me donning a devilish grin.
~~~~
Friday December 26th
"Andrew's here," she calls out the next morning from downstairs, clearly anxious and wanting to get to the airport on time. The thought of sharing my plane all the way to Paris is less than desirable, so she booked her own ticket on a commercial flight.
Business class is seemingly the tier that she usually flies, but I went behind her back and bumped it up to first class, always wanting to undermine her, especially if it's for her benefit, but she unfortunately has yet to notice.
I take my sweet time, though, making her anxiety grow as the time creeps closer and closer to her boarding time to the point where we're leaving with barely enough time for her to make it past security.
"We could've taken separate cars if you were going to be this late," she grumbles, obsessively checking on her flight once we're in the car, making sure it's still on time but praying that it'll be delayed so she's afforded a little extra time to get there.
"Sorry, honey, I guess I lost track of time." I apologize with zero sincerity, her cringing at the sickeningly sweet pet name that she's reluctantly permitted me to use, though I'm always using more just to watch her squirm.
"I have to be able to call you something," I told her soon after we got married.
"It's more professional if you call me by my name, isn't it?" she asks, but I scoff in response.
"Right, because I aim to be professional when it comes to my wife. Bullshit," I scoff, the fight being superfluous at best, but I love watching how bothered she looks while I'm clearly trying to get her to yell at me, which seems to be our dynamic.
One of us yells while the other couldn't care less, although I've monopolized the calm, cool, and collected role ever since I figured her out. Constantly doing things that I know will get her blood boiling or her skin crawling.
Expressions that I've grown to enjoy since normal ones like joy and love that you expect to see from your spouse are ones I've had kept from me ever since the topic of engagement was brought up.
"Andrew, can you please drive a bit faster?" she asks, bringing me back to reality.
"Andrew, drive as you normally do," making her grind her teeth, but she knows she's not going to get her way.
"It's best to arrive there in one piece than deceased, is it not?" pushing her buttons, both of us obviously knowing the dangers of reckless driving, but the opportunity to point out her irresponsibility is hard to pass up.
"You did this on purpose, didn't you?" she scoffs, crossing her arms and looking out her window.
"I'm a powerful man, but I assure you I cannot control the flow of traffic." I let out a low hum; everything playing to my favor this morning.
"This is ridiculous, I'm going to book the next flight out," pulling out her phone, but I slip it out of her grasp and place it in my pocket.
"Give me my phone," grinding her teeth, patience wearing incredibly thin.
"Just take the jet with me," I mumble, my argument holding weight this time because at this point she really is going to miss it, the next flight out making her more than fashionably late to her meeting.
And yes, I did make sure of that.
She grumbles to herself, muttering adjectives which include but aren't limited to how self-entitled, controlling, self-centered, and smug I am. Leaving me smiling as a result, letting her have her hissy fit in peace, which makes her even more furious.
"Why do you always have to stick your grubby hands into everything I do?" she mutters, louder to make sure I've heard it.
I look at my hands and turn them over, seeing that they look anything but grubby, making her roll her eyes and look away.
"I don't understand why you choose to do these things. Yes, we're married, yes, it was arranged, and yes, we hate each other, so why can't you leave me alone?"
"You think I hate you? Darling, that's not the case. Do I love you? Probably not. Do I get appalled by the sight of you? No, not at all," I admit, and I can see confusion and something else mixed in her expression.
"It's the game we're playing that I love. The way you glare at me, do things I explicitly tell you not to. The way you tease me, toy with me, drive me up a fucking wall, it's all a game. One, I intend to win," the rising and falling of my voice has her balling her hands into fists.
My enthusiasm and the admittance that she's another pawn to use for my amusement has her livid.
She knew that was the case. Knew that I wasn't begging for her attention because I loved her; no, she knew.
She knew, and that's what infuriates her.
The fact that I had the gall, the nerve to admit it out loud has her spiraling on a whole other level, and I love it.
I love how her eyes turn to slits and lips purse, telling me she's grasping at the last bit of her self-restraint.
All of them a clear sign she's seconds from blowing, seconds from losing her cool, but it's the absence of the rumbling engine in the car that catches her attention, the presence of Andrew opening the door for her that keeps her rage at bay.
One-nil for me.
She makes it all too easy.
~~~~
"We're ready for take off, Mr. Jeon," one of our two flight attendants relays, and I wave her off as a way to tell the pilot to get on with it. Settling down for the flight, my beautiful wife will be trapped with no escape from me or my antics.
I observe her as she barricades herself in the far back corner of the plane, making sure all the seats around her are occupied with things like her coat, bag, and even going as far as propping her feet up on one of them just to spite me.
I roll my eyes as she checks over everything with a seemingly victorious expression, not bothering to crush her dreams with the fact that I could, I don't know, move them.
She made her first mistake when she decided she felt safe enough to fall asleep, leaving her unconscious self to my mercy.
I, of course, wouldn't take advantage of that in any sort of extreme way other than using the opportunity to get closer to her.
I get up and walk over to where she's blissfully unaware of my intentions and move her purse and coat over to one of the other seats near us, sitting down in their place right next to her.
Being with her when she's sleeping is something I find strangely comforting. The rest of my life is turbulent and unsure, and although neither of us has any sort of affectionate connection, her peaceful presence while she slumbers helps me relax.
Giving me a sense of normalcy in my world of torment.
She adjusts her position a little while later, choosing to unknowingly rest her head on my lap. My thighs tense from the unexpected touch, but I relax soon after.
I grin, imagining the sort of reaction she'll have after realizing what she had done when she finally wakes up. The absolute horror of waking up on my lap and the thought of how she's cuddling up to me right now.
For now, I'll let her sleep, she deserves at least that much.
~~~~
She woke up hours later, practically jumping when she realizes the compromising position she had been in and ran to the other side of the plane to get as far away from me as possible.
The sight being so much better than I had anticipated.
"You looked adorable, honey. There's nothing to be embarrassed about," I say, adding on to it all, watching her squirm in her seat.
"Stay on your side," she grumbles while looking out the window, trying and failing to take her mind off me.
"This plane is mine, love, the entire thing is my side," I point out the obvious, and she tisks, grumbling about how insufferable I am.
I crack a smile at that, but decide to leave her alone for now, pulling out my phone to check in with my men who have already gotten to Paris.
~~~~
Saturday December 27th
"We'll be landing in about half an hour, sir," one of the flight attendants tells me, again waving her off without much of a thank you, walking over to my wife to tell her what's going to happen once we land.
I sit down in front of her, and when she tries to move, I grab her wrist and nod for her to sit back down, which she does eventually, glaring at me for a second or two, putting a smile on my face.
"Once we land, we're going to our hotel so we can settle in before I introduce you to the owner," she cocks a brow.
"I have a meeting to prepare for, so what I will be doing is going to the hotel to freshen up and going over my proposal before I have to leave," crossing one leg over the other as a further way to show how closed off she still is.
"No, what you'll be doing is playing nice and doing as I say. I am aware of your meeting and the fact that you are more than prepared for it. You won't be late," I say with finality, but she pushes still.
"Just like I wasn't late for my flight?" she fixes me with a look, but I smile.
"A harmless prank, love, I assure you. I wanted you here to keep me company, that's all". My intentions were seemingly pure, but we both know I did it to spite her.
We stare at each other for a while, me with a casual posture, while hers is as stiff as a board, but she gives up.
"I will go meet this friend of yours, and I will go to whatever stupid party he has planned for you, but that is it. The rest of our time in Paris is mine to do with as I please," not asking, not compromising, but telling me this is the way it is going to be, and that's final.
She looks so sexy when she thinks she's in charge...but I'll give in this time.
"As you wish, my darling," I agree.
But I'm not one to keep my promises.
~~~~
"Jungkook" Philippe, the owner of the hotel, greets us, getting up from his desk, ushering us to come closer.
"And this must be your lovely wife," he turns to address her, kissing her hand.
"Careful," I warn in a low tone, him chuckling as he straightens up.
"You never were one to let people touch what's yours. I see things haven't changed," he motions for the seating area he has off to the side.
I can see how uncomfortable that made her, not so discreetly wiped off the back of her hand once his back was turned.
"So what brings you to Paris this time of year? Aren't you usually on a beach somewhere celebrating another lap around the sun?" Philippe asks, motioning for the love seat for y/n and me to share, which I'm sure she's thrilled about.
"My wife has a few business meetings here, so I figured I'd spend my birthday a little more...romantically this year," I say, placing my left hand on her knee that she has crossed over the other, my wedding ring gleaming off the warm lighting.
"Has becoming a married man made you more sentimental, Jeon?" he jokes, watching the way I'm looking at her carefully.
"Something like that," I say, and I can tell she's more than uncomfortable now, but she's done well in not pushing my hand away.
"So, business meetings? I heard you were high in the rankings at the company you work for, but I had no idea your responsibilities spanned internationally," he says backhandedly, belittling her, making my grip on her knee tighten.
"That's what comes with being the Director of International Relations. There's only so much I can do from an office, don't you think?" she says sweetly, tilting her head as a way to make him feel stupid, and I can see how taken aback he is at how easily she got the upper hand.
"I like her," he smirks, "Although, are you sure you can handle such a headstrong woman?" he challenges, but the corner of my lip upturns. "You always did love a challenge," he corrects, swiftly taking the topic of conversation off of her.
"I have your party set for Tuesday night. It's a weeknight, but I figured you could use a day or so to get settled in before forcing you into a tux," he offers, and I nod, thankful to have some time to take care of a few things.
"Tuesday sounds perfect," I agree, but I can tell that she's clearly against that idea. "What's the matter, love?" I ask sweetly, the subtle change in her posture shows me I've laid it on too thick for her liking.
"I have a dinner set up with my clients on Tuesday night," she says plainly, and Philippe is quick to swoop in.
"Bring them along. I'm sure they'll have a better time mingling than sitting in a stuffy restaurant discussing business after having had similar discussions all day. Use it as a way to show them how charming you are," he says, and although all of these things are true, he's toeing a line that I'm not particularly fond of people coming close to.
"I'll think about it," she says with a forced smile, but Philippe takes that as acceptance and moves on.
"I have to get going," she whispers to me, and I nod, remembering I do need to keep this promise.
I stand up with her, following suit, Philippe looking up at us, questioning the sudden change.
"I promised her I wouldn't keep her too long so she can get to her meeting on time," I explain, and he nods, standing and this time choosing to nod to her in salutation, fixing his earlier greeting to one more suitable to my taste.
"Good luck, Mrs. Jeon," he says, gradually showing more respect. He can be a bit of a jokester at first, but I'd probably say he's the most approachable of all of my colleagues.
It's good to see that even with his more relaxed personality, she didn't let him walk all over her in the name of being polite.
She nods and excuses herself, one of my men escorting her back to our room at a glance from me, leaving Philippe and me alone.
"She's going to kill me if she finds out what kind of party this is, especially if she brings her clients." I shake my head, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"Is she really that scary?" Philippe asks, letting a smile play on his lips.
"Terrifying"
~~~~
After checking in with a few business associates, I decide to go pick her up, watching as she bids farewell to her company's prospective investors.
"Jungkook?" she starts, her countenance turning uneasy as I come closer, further cementing that I have shown up in the exact place she had forbidden me to come.
"Hello darling," I hum and place a kiss on her cheek, leaving her stunned to say the least.
"G-gentleman, this is my husband, Jeon Jungkook. Honey, this is the CEO of Nuvare, Monsieur DuPont, and the CFO, Monsieur Moreau," she says, making quick work of introducing me to shorten the awkward air between us.
"Apologies, I had merely stopped by to see if I could take my wife to dinner. I didn't mean to interrupt," I say, sweeping in to take the heat off of her, which she graciously accepts, although still wary, as this deal clearly is not finalized.
"No apologies necessary, Monsieur Jeon, we have taken up quite a bit of your lovely wife's time, so it's about time we set her free," DuPont assures, his comment leaving me placing a possessive hand on her back, although he's not quite bright enough to notice.
"Thank you for your wonderful presentation, Mrs. Jeon. We are very anxious to hear more about how we might move forward with working together," Moreau adds in as a way to wrap up the business portion of this conversation.
"Why don't you both attend the dinner party I'm having tomorrow night at L'Hôtel Étoile de Minuit? I heard from my wife earlier that the timelines might clash with a dinner that had been planned, so I wanted to extend the invitation to see if that would be to your liking." I offer, bringing up the topic that the three of us had discussed with Philippe earlier today.
"Étoile de Minuit? What's the occasion?" Moreau asks, and I can tell from his tone alone that he does not know who I am or the power I hold in this world.
"My birthday. It'll be some friends and colleagues alike. You may run into a few familiar faces while you're there," I inform, and the two of them realize what caliber of people I may associate with.
"We would love to attend," DuPont responds for both of them, and I can tell from that simple answer alone —my lovely wife, as they put it, is terrified.
Smart choice, gentlemen.
"Perfect. Don't you think so, darling?" I ask to bring her back into the conversation.
"Yes, of course. We'd love to see you there," she squeaks out, my hand more firmly placed on her waist as a way to remind her to contribute since she's no doubt dissociated.
"And bring your partners. All are welcome," I add on, an open invitation that I'm sure they'll take advantage of from the looks of it, moments later bidding them farewell.
Once seated in the car and on our way back to the hotel, we're bathed in silence.
She's furious.
~~~~
We sit across from each other at her favorite restaurant, as much of a peace offering as she'll get from me, and the only one she'll accept, although she's barely touched her food.
"You can order something else," I say after washing down the bite I finished with some wine.
Also, her favorite.
Her hand has barely left her glass since the waiter poured the first one.
This one being her fourth.
"You have to eat something, darling," I purr, but she doesn't bite, a nail scratching along the crystal glass being her only reaction.
I dab the corners of my mouth with my napkin and lay it back down on the table, waving for the waiter to bring the bill, placing my black card in the patent leather folder, handing it back without glancing at the total.
"Was the meal not to your liking, Madame?" the waiter asks when he sees evidence of her disinterest, only having pushed around a few morsels.
"Nerves, I assure you," I respond for her as she's left a pregnant pause, making the waiter no doubt regret his question.
He turns with his tail practically between his legs, the tension between her and I uncomfortable to say the very least for anyone who crosses our path.
"Would you like to go for a walk before we turn in? The tower should be lit by now," I offer, knowing that, amongst many other things in this city calls to her.
Her silence brings a ringing to my ears, my patience with her ebbing.
This entire meal has been met with silence, as is our entire car ride.
The silence, no doubt, will stretch throughout the journey to the penthouse, the tension in the air making you stand a little straighter.
She practically flies out of the car once the valet opens her door, storming through the lobby, her feet only stopping when pressing the button to call the elevator. Yet, the flicker of red to black from the bottom of her So Kate heels draws my attention as she paces back and forth.
Perhaps another pair would keep her from imploding?
Once I get closer, she turns and stalks towards the first elevator that emits a soft 'ding', her posture rigid, as if she'd been frozen in place, waiting for those doors to open.
Perhaps not.
No material item could calm the storm that's been building in her soul since the moment she laid eyes on me.
I slip past the doors again as she presses the button to close them, a twin to our situation a few days ago.
"We must stop meeting like this," I smile, her expression deadpanned, letting me know she has no intention of responding so I decide to keep quiet.
Letting the calm before the storm wash over me.
The ride up to our room is solitary, no other guests joining, making the way her breathing barely contained that much more apparent.
I'm tempted to say something, but I'll let her think for a bit longer.
Debating on whether she should bite my head off or serve it in a stew.
Probably both.
Once the elevator slides open, my man standing guard opens the double doors to our suite, leaving her, as a result, storming into the living room uninhibited, with me slowly strolling in after, the doors quietly clicking closed behind me.
"Now, darlin-"
"Don't try to sweet-talk your way out of this," she turns to face me, smoke practically puffing from her nostrils as if she were a bull waiting to be untethered.
"I-"
"How could you do that? Show up at my meeting and-"
"Technically, your meeting was over-"
"This isn't about the technicalities, Jungkook!" she says overtop of me, making me lean against the wall, holding my hand out, giving her the floor.
"This is about my job. The career that I've built and the lengths that I've gone through to make it here."
Like agreeing to this marriage.
Neither of us says it, but we both know, anyone with common sense can see it.
"I will not have you ruining everything that I've built because you want to flaunt the fact that you managed to tie down a woman like me."
"And what kind of woman are you?" I ask, pushing off the wall and taking a step towards her, then another one.
"Intelligent"
"Very"
"Independent"
"Frustratingly so"
"Confident"
"To a fault."
"Desirable"
"Without a doubt."
"Powerful"
"Is that so?" I question, and her list stops in its tracks.
"Yes, it is," she straightens her posture, each word having resulted in me taking a step closer while she remains rooted in place.
"I would argue, defiant." The distance between us closes, her stare as cold as ice while mine borders on crackling embers.
"Defiant?" she scoffs, "You act as though I need you."
"Don't you?" I hum, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, a shiver, although restrained, being her response, the intended yet accompanied reaction being a furrow of her brows.
"I don't," she says through gritted teeth, leaving me walking close, forcing her to take a step back.
"Of course not," I agree, contradicting my previous doubt, her posture easing up in confusion enough to make pressing her up against the wall that much easier.
"What are you doing?" she struggles, trying to shove me off, but my response is to merely pin her wrists above her head.
"I think that pretty little mouth of yours has had quite a bit of free rein, hasn't it?" Running my thumb along her bottom lip, which she turns away from, leaving me grabbing her chin, forcing her to face me.
"I think you tend to forget exactly who I am, love." A flash of fear, soon forgotten in her eyes in an instant at the threat.
I've never pulled rank with her.
Never reminded her of who she is, actually married to.
She knows.
But her indifference in the matter has made her careless.
She moves about, trying to get out of my hold, leaving me wedging a knee between her thighs, her sex grinding up against it as a result. A gasp being my triumph.
We've never been this close.
I've never forced anything on her, and this is the closest I'll get to it without her consent...but she doesn't know that.
"I've let you have free rein of your life, of our home, of the way you treat me, but you seem to forget that all of this is a gift. A gift you've come to believe is a right."
She swallows the lump in her throat, though her face remains resistant.
Defiant.
She proves it time and time again.
"You've played the part we agreed upon in the eyes of the public, but I've become lax in my judgment, believing that if I give you an inch that you won't immediately run a mile."
I can tell she wants to fight, yell, scream in my face, but she's smart.
She knows when she can get away with things and when she shouldn't dare.
"You can't keep me from doing anything. I've allowed you to keep your job. I've allowed you to pursue your career. I've allowed you to misbehave because I found it entertaining. But a lack of respect is something I will not tolerate anymore".
My grip on her wrists tightens as she balls her hands into fists.
"You're my wife, and as my wife, you will give me the respect I'm due. If you're smart, you'll start to revere me, and you are very smart, aren't you?"
Her eyes narrow, my mocking tone questioning her grasp of the arrangement she's gotten herself into, making her fume.
"Those eyes will get you in a lot of trouble, darling. No one's been granted the luxury of looking at me like that without becoming an adversary. Although one might argue we already are" letting go of her chin I opt to rest my hand on her waist.
I notice the way her teeth aren't grinding, the way her lips have stayed parted, that sweet scent of wine still lingering. Her cheeks are flushed, one might argue from anger, but no. No, I know what she looks like when she's angry.
And this isn't it.
I look in her eyes and see how they've dilated, how they haven't left mine, and how they afford themselves a flutter of her lashes and an upward tilt of her chin as I move closer.
"Didn't I say to be careful with those eyes?" I purr, but she doesn't listen, letting them dip down to see how my mouth moves around the words that I drawl out.
I feel something primal in me light when I see her eyes linger, wetting my lips and her as a result doing the same.
I lean closer, and her eyes flutter shut, I let my nose drag across her cheek, so close yet so so far from the connection we've both had on our minds.
Her hands have eased up. No longer balled into fists, and her arms have relaxed.
She's become more docile, pliant. But the desire is undeniable.
I can feel the way she still keeps herself in place.
Keeps herself from rutting against the thigh that is still firmly wedged between her legs.
Although we both know her restraint is slipping.
But I can feel the heat from her radiating, almost feel how wet she's gotten from this.
So this is what she needed.
This is what makes her tick.
She needs to be pushed, belittled, toyed with.
My grip on her waist tightens.
I let go of her wrists, her arms dropping in an instant. The absence of tension from my hand holding them hostage makes her calves relax, her core now firmly pressed against my thigh.
One free hand now moves to rest on my bicep, the other to grip the lapel of my suit jacket, the leverage she needs to keep me close, yet the other fights the losing battle of wanting to push me away.
Her choices surprise even herself, her grip on my jacket loosening, but not enough to fall away.
"Something you want, love?" I hum, allowing her the power to do as she wishes, a stark contrast to the not-so-subtle reminder of who exactly is in control here.
This, however, I don't mind.
I need to see her clear hunger for me. Need to feel the way she wants more, craves more.
I suck my teeth and turn away when she takes too long to make her move, but she pulls me closer, our lips mere breaths apart.
"Not a word to anyone," she warns, her compromising words show her want to hold onto some semblance of control, a feline smirk crosses my lips.
"Wouldn't want people to think a powerful, desirable, independent woman like yourself was getting ravaged by her husband now, would we?" I taunt, that too-tight coil that's been built up inside her since we signed that contract, ready to snap.
Her eyes are calculating, her want to never give in is slipping.
Just a little further.
"Or is that not what you want? Do you want people to know that you're spoken for? Know that a man as powerful would drop to his knees for you?" Her eyes widen as a hand slides down her thigh. Pulling it up to rest on my waist, my thigh wedged further between hers, making it impossible to run.
She snaps at that, smashing her mouth against mine. Lips, teeth, and tongues tangle messily with each other before finding our rhythm, the tension built up over these past few months finally finding its release.
She pushes my jacket off my shoulders, not noticing the heavy thud it makes when it hits the floor, my gun still securely tucked inside. Her hands soon go to my tie, stripping it off and unbuttoning my shirt as though she's done it time and time again.
Interesting.
A question I'll ask her at a later date.
My torso is soon bare, her hands running along my skin, pulling me impossibly close, our lips never parting in the process of undress.
When she tries to reach for my belt, I stop her, trailing my kisses down her neck, mumbling against her skin, "Not yet".
I slide my hand up her thigh, letting my fingers trail under her clothes, the hem of that tight pencil skirt I've been wanting to rip off ever since she put it on, riding up until her leg is bare.
I let my fingers find their way to the apex of her thighs, dragging my middle finger along her folds through the damp fabric.
I don't say anything, just let my pointer finger join as I drag them both along her clothed slit, her gasps coming more freely.
I drop to my knees like I said I would, pulling down that stupid piece of cloth that's keeping me from her. She steps out of it, then yelps when I throw one of her thighs over my shoulder, her fingers lacing through my hair and pulling me closer.
She knows what she wants, and she's not afraid to take it.
I run my nose along her slit, her arousal something I've been dying to taste. Something I've only caught wind of very few times when I've caught her with her hand between her legs.
Her cheeks always flushed as if she weren't shamelessly touching herself in our bed.
I curse when I stick my tongue inside her, finally granting myself a taste, her greedy whine for more amusing, but I don't dare laugh in fear of her taking something away that I've craved for so long.
What I've thought about more times than I'd like to admit.
I flatten my tongue and let it drag through her folds, circle it around her clit once, twice, before sucking it into my mouth.
I listen to the way she reacts, the moans and whines when I suck on her clit. The groans whenever I change pace or pressure.
Her fingers tug on my hair, my scalp sore from the abuse.
I couldn't give a fuck when the reward is having my face buried between her thighs.
"Ngh, mmm." Her sounds get more vocal, and I know she's close, clenching around my tongue every time I dip it inside her, a finger soon replacing it in favor of taking my time kissing, licking, sucking on her clit.
I curl it just right when she moans, my name finally spilling from her lips as a sign to tell me exactly what she needs, another one joining and dragging along the spot that makes her brows furrow.
I add a third and increase my pace, my tongue not wasting any of her arousal as I feel her close to breaking.
When she tries to grind down on my face, I press the free hand that had been gripping her thigh against her waist, pinning her to the wall.
"Stay fucking still," I growl against her and bury my face deeper, removing my fingers and lapping at her swollen bundle of nerves until she screams, coming undone and coating my lips in her release, drops of it dripping down my chin and onto my slacks, effectively staining the fabric.
Once she pushes me away from no doubt overstimulation, I finally come up for air, losing myself and track of time, all for the task of making her fall apart.
I get up off the floor and place a hand around her throat, pulling her into a kiss, forcing her to taste herself on my tongue, but it seems as though she expected it, craved it. Almost as if she was leaning into my touch and begging me to squeeze harder.
I pull back when I feel her showing signs of needing air, her want to keep our lips connected strong enough not to beg for the oxygen herself.
I rest my forehead against hers, my hand still firmly wrapped around her throat, but she finds no fear in it, delights in it almost.
The feeling of giving me enough control to take her life, but trusting I won't.
She knows I wouldn't. Couldn't. Knows I wouldn't dare try.
She means too much.
Deep down, I know I could hardly stand wandering this God forsaken planet without her in it.
She reaches for my belt now, not as rushed as before.
Methodical almost.
Taking her time.
Knowing it'll be worth the wait.
The metal on my belt tinking as it's finally unbuckled is a stark contrast to the panting of our breaths, diving in and kissing her senseless once undone, her hands faltering, leaving me taking over.
I free myself moments later, my length heavy and hard in my hand. The only thing I can think of is finally having her wrapped around me.
Fuck.
I hook her leg around my waist, and she pulls me closer with it, trapping me in the only place I want to be.
A smile plays on my lips as I dip my fingers inside her, knowing she can take two now, needing to continue stretching her out with a third.
I want her, but I'm not greedy enough to risk her comfort in something that's promised to bring pleasure.
Her nails dig into my shoulders when I push a third inside, curses spilling from her lips, the sensation no doubt still burning.
"Been way too long since this pretty thing has been fucked, huh? Denying yourself something you could have with a mere glance, all because you're too fucking stubborn," I rasp, her back bowing.
"Look at you now, begging for me to take you against this wall, knowing you will hardly be able to walk tomorrow. Careless for someone who insists on wearing heels every day. Don't you think?"
When she opens her mouth to argue, I curl my fingers deep inside of her, a moan her willing replacement.
I slip my fingers out and bring them up to see what she's done.
"This is what I do to you. When you're mouthing off or hating the sight of me, remember what the alternative can be," I say, pulling back enough to grab my length, rubbing her release up and down my cock, pumping and squeezing out a bead of pre cum, just to take the edge off.
I run my tip through her folds and smile at the way she mewls when I circle her clit, my brows furrowing now as I line myself up with her entrance.
Before I'm even able to look back up to get that final consent...before everything changes, her leg flexes and pulls me closer.
I press against her entrance as a result, begging to suck me in when I've barely made contact.
I let out a low laugh.
"So impatient," I rasp, but press a bit harder, my tip starting to stretch her out more than my fingers could. She rests her head against the wall, a whimper slipping from her lips as she pulls me closer, dragging her dark red fingernails along my back.
Perfectly polished as always.
I bite down on her neck as a way to stifle a groan, her grip on me still painfully tight.
"Shit, if you're always like this, I don't think I'll be able to survive," I pant out, controlling myself as I push in further, slowly bottoming out, gasping when the other makes the slightest movement.
I rest my forehead against hers and listen to her reactions, reading her body language and waiting for the sign that tells me to keep going, coming in the form of a shallow nod.
I pull out halfway and push back into her; the sounds she's making are melodic, almost, as if she had begun a song only I could hear.
No one else will see her like this.
Ever.
I start to set a pace, her continued physical and audible reactions stem me on further, her nails digging deeper, marks that no doubt will stay there for days.
"Jungkook," she gasps, her grip around my length tightening, a groan falling from my lips as my pace stutters.
"You can last a little longer, can't you?" I purr in her ear, shaking her head and calling out with pleas for release, a tear falling on her cheek.
I kiss it away before it can travel too far, moaning her name when her walls start to flutter around me.
"No," I bark out, and she sobs.
"Please, please, I can't." I delight in the sound of her struggle.
Her control, her restraint, her constant need to be independent from me are all meaningless when she's begging like this.
I groan as her back comes off the wall, so close to that release, but I pin her harder, whispering moments later directly into her ear, giving her that permission she was craving.
I pull back in time to see her eyes roll back, a moan rips from her throat as she cries out my name.
The skin on my back, no doubt broken from the way her nails have been clawing at it, as if I would disappear if she let me get too far.
I watch her body go from tense to convulsing to completely limp, the high that washed over her soon triggering mine, her name falling from my lips like a promise.
A promise to never give this up, never give her up.
No matter how far she runs or how much she tries to hide, she's mine.
Regardless of what she says.
~~~~
Part 2
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riea's comments: hi time! i got your request... i hope you like it!!! i haven't posted in *checks watch* two months which is really crazy but yk cookies and crumbling... i really really wanna get back into writing so send some requests my way :>> also if this is buns shoot me bro like bullet to my brain immediately
part of the takuma troops inofic secret santa event ran by @inotaku-talkz and time!
something about the holiday season makes takuma undeniably happy. getting to close out another year with you in the best way possible: gingerbread houses. after all, that's how you two met. if it wasn't for last minute plans formed out of pure boredom and the courteous words of "take it!" and "oh no, you take it!", you wouldn't be with each other today. but really, for two completely unrelated people to get bored and say "i'm going to make a gingerbread house" and end up at the same grocery store at the same time, exchanging the last box of graham crackers because neither of you want to take it, is some insane level of soulmatism
but for the past five christmases, you've been making them together, of course with actual gingerbread now, not graham crackers
you're running around the house, eyes scanning over every flat surface possible. "takuma!" you call out, "where's my–"
"i have your keys and mini bag! yes, it's packed. yes, your lip balm is in there. now come, i've already started the car!" takuma responds quickly, jingling your keys as a signal that he does, in fact, have them. following the sound to the front door, you flash your boyfriend a smile before fixing his scarf and walking to the car. you've always liked this time of year, it serves as a reminder of the unconventional meeting of your lover. if you never asked him to come over to your place so that you could split the box of graham crackers, takuma would've never had your number to ask you out for coffee the following week
the grocery store is just about as loud as you both expected it to be. people bustling for ingredients to cook, carts rattling, registers chiming, and holiday songs playing softly overhead. takuma tells you he's just going to grab one thing, because that's easier than admitting he's already forgotten what aisle the icing is in, like he hasn't been frequenting this store for the past three years. you give him a small nod, busy debating between two brands of wafers. you know he'll find his way back eventually
takuma doesn't get far in his search before he's stopped. an elderly couple catches his attention in the snack aisle, the woman smiling at him with the kind of warmth that makes him feel immediately exposed. he answers her small talk politely, laughing when appropriate, nodding along, thinking it'll end quickly. it doesn't. the woman asks what he's shopping for, and when he mentions gingerbread houses, her eyes light up. "oh, they're the one you're making them with," she says, not even phrased like a question. "i can tell."
takuma feels his ears warm, an old lady's intuition is no joke. "yeah, it's a tradition of ours."
the man, who's been quiet until now, looks him up and down like he's assessing something important. "so," he says, folding his arms, "when are you proposing?" the question hits takuma so hard, it knocks the air from his lungs. proposing? he never mentioned that. not out loud, not to anyone, even though the thought is constantly on his mind. "i—sorry?" he manages and the old man scoffs. "don't act surprised." the man says, jabbing the air with a finger, "i've been married for fifty-six years. i know what a man looks like when he's already lost."
takuma laughs nervously, unsure how to respond, but the old man isn't finished. he leans in, lowering his voice to the point where it feels like he's sharing a warning only meant for takuma. and his following words don't help his case, "do it soon. there's no guarantee someone like that will stay around forever."
a threat. that's a threat, right? takuma's grip tightens in his pocket, fingers brushing against a velvet case and suddenly, takuma is very aware of how fast his heart is beating. before he can respond, the old woman places a gentle hand on his shoulder, calming him down just enough that his heart rate won't be a health concern
"harold," she sighs, shooting a look at her husband, "you've scared the poor boy." she turns back to takuma, expression softening. "i'm sorry about him. he gets anxious when he sees young couples." she glances at him sideways before lowering her voice. "it was about your age that he messed up and nearly lost me."
"i did not—" the old man starts
"you absolutely did," she cuts in, then looks back at takuma with a knowing smile. "so. do you have a ring yet?"
takuma opens his mouth. closes it
then, because he is exactly who thinks he is, he nods. "i—um. yeah. i do, i have it right here actually."
both of them freeze before glancing at each other out of the corner of their eyes. the old man is the first to speak. "you disappoint me," he says, crossing his arms and shaking his head in disbelief. "why are you just carrying it around like—"
"can i see it?" his wife interrupts, already holding out her hand. takuma hesitates for half a second before pulling that pretty velvet box that he got custom made in your favorite color out of his pocket and opening it gently to uncover the ring. it's unmistakably you, like if takuma himself showed the jeweler a picture of you and said make them into a ring. the three of them huddle into a little circle in the middle of the snack aisle; chips, pretzels, cookies, granola bars and various other delicacies surrounding them
"it's beautiful," the old woman murmurs
"you did good," the old man admits, grudging but sincere
"takuma?" you say, voice bright as you round the corner. "oh, here you are! i've been looking everywhere for you."
he nearly drops the box
in one smooth, panicked motion, takuma shoves it back into his pocket like it's a live grenade and turns to you, cheeks already burning. "h-hi!" he stutters
you glance between him and the couple, waving and smiling politely. "uh… did i miss something?"
takuma gestures wildly with his hands. "uh—ring! marriage! couple! wedding—" he stops, bringing his hands to cover his face, horrified at himself. "never mind. i—...never mind."
you blink. then laugh, warm and easy, slipping your hand into his. "okay," you say, amused. "but we still need icing." he nods immediately, squeezing your hand a little tighter as you pull him away—ring heavy in his pocket and heart thankfully not the bpm it was a few minutes before but still faster than it should be
the trip back home is quick and uneventful, the kind that passes without either of you really noticing the time because you're there together—your shoulder brushing his when the car turns, your laugh filling the space whenever the radio lands on something familiar. takuma keeps one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, but his mind drifts more than once to the weight in his pocket, to the way the old woman's voice had softened when she'd said it's beautiful. he doesn't say anything. he just drives, content in the quiet
inside the house, grocery bags rustle as he sets them down on the kitchen island. you move around him easily, taking out small plates and cutting boards for the set up. takuma pulls out the supplies one by one, lining them up neatly—icing, candy, the boxes of wafers. he pauses when he reaches those, the two packs he'd grabbed without telling you, a completely different brand from the ones you'd been trying to choose between back at the store
"hey," he says, casual, though his heart skips when you look up at him. he sets the wafers on the counter between you. "what if, for this year, we make each other houses?"
it's a simple idea, really. almost stupidly so. but the more it settles in his chest, the more he likes it
"i mean," he continues, rubbing the back of his neck, "like—build it for the other person. pick the colors, the candy, everything. no peeking."
he watches you carefully as you open the oven to take out the gingerbread you two baked last night, focusing on the way your brows lift, the smile creeping in before you even realize it's there. takuma exhales, relieved, warmth blooming in his chest. he can already picture it—something lopsided and imperfect, probably collapsing in one corner, but made with you in mind the entire time
"deal?" he asks softly, holding out his hand.
"deal."
both of you had settled in opposite corners of the house, with the mutual meeting point being the kitchen to grab any extra supplies if needed. hours passed by with the only indication being the clock hand's turn and the setting of the sun; soon enough, you placed the final touches on the house, icing bags and small saucers scattered around your workspace
"okay," takuma says, clearing his throat and placing his house next to yours on the counter "no judging."
you laugh. "you're the one who suggested this."
"exactly," he mutters, sliding his house toward you. "which is why i should be protected by law."
you lean in, inspecting the figure. it's exactly what takuma thought it would be—one wall slightly crooked, icing a little heavy in places—but you wouldn't be convinced if someone told you anyone else made it but takuma. it's thoughtful in a quiet way: the colors are your favorites, he's even tried to make tiny details that don't really matter structurally but matter to you, like the small heart piped onto the side. you look up at him, eyes soft. "takuma… you made this for me." the words sound silly, but they're carried with so much love
he ducks his head, embarrassed. "well. yeah. that was the assignment."
"it's really cute," you say gently, reaching for his hand, "i love it."
his shoulders relax like he's been holding his breath the entire time. "okay. good. because if you hated it, i was going to cry and beg for forgiveness."
then, you slide your house toward him, watching as his expression shifts from curiosity to something you couldn't quite recognize. he studies it carefully, as if he's afraid to miss something. the way the colors match his favorite hoodie, the one you gifted to him on his birthday a few years back. the candies that don't match the overall aesthetic of the house but you added them anyway because they're his favorite. and it looks like you both had the same idea with the heart on the side. society calls that a match made in heaven
takuma exhales a quiet laugh, "you're evil." you hum questioningly, inching closer and closer to him, "how so?" the way his hand settles on your hip is natural, it honestly shocking that you've gone almost the whole day without feeling it there. takuma presses a kiss to your forehead, "no one else gets to call you their lover. they don't get to see how amazing and sweet you are." you melt into his touch before squishing his face with your hands, "my baby, always thinking about others. surely being with me isn't all that bad?"
he looks offended at this (rightfully so, you're the love of his life). "all that bad? what are you talking about. being with you is one of the best things to happen to me. like ever." he starts, flailing his arms around before they grab onto your shoulders and begin shaking you back and forth, "i don't even think you realize how happy i am just being able to breathe the same air as you. i love you. babe, i'm actually really—"
pats to his chest stop him mid-rant. "i love you too." you stare up at him, bright eyed, and suddenly his mind goes blank and he can't remember his next words. takuma struggles to form words so he decides to pull you into a tight hug instead, eliciting a string of giggles from you. "you're so cute!" you smile, returning the hug
"you're the cute one…" takuma whispers, face buried in your hair to try and mitigate his reddening face
soon enough, you find yourselves on the couch, a blanket pulled over your laps, a random show playing on the television, and the gingerbread houses on the coffee table before you. takuma tears off a piece of your house before handing it to you and doing the same for himself. "cheers," he says, barely audible above the sound of the tv. you clink candy against candy. "cheers."
eating slowly, you comment on the icing being too sweet, and steal pieces from each other's plates, laughing when a wall caves in. at some point, you tuck yourself into takuma's side without thinking, his arm coming around you just as naturally, fingers resting warm and familiar at your shoulder
"this was a good idea," you murmur. he hums, already sounding a little sleepy. "most of my ideas are."
"well..."
"…okay, some of them are."
his voice trails off, words growing softer, until his head tips against yours and stays there. you glance up at him, smiling when you realize he's asleep already, mouth slightly open, completely relaxed. you reach for another piece of your gingerbread house—and feel something solid inside
you pause
carefully, you pull out the small box, recognizing it almost instantly. a sigh escapes you before you can stop it, the sound fond rather than surprised. of course he would hide it there. of course he would forget
you look back at him, still asleep, then stand quietly and place the box on the dresser in the bedroom, next to a framed photo of you two. when you return, you slide back into the couch, nestling into his chest. takuma shifts in his sleep, arm tightening around you like he knows you're there even unconscious
the tv continues playing to no one. the gingerbread houses sit half-eaten on the table. and wrapped up in takuma's warmth, sugar still on your fingers, you drift off too, feeling full in every way that matters
Summary: Being friends with someone who has your heart it’s already hard, let alone when that special someone ends up falling in love with your best friend, the one you think would never make anything to hurt you . Will you be able to ignore it and move on? what will happen when everything gets too much for you to handle?
Genre: Friends to lovers; angst; body insecurities; bullying; friend betrayel;
Pairing: Jungkook x female!reader
Wordcount: 3.9k
A/N: Sooo.... SURPRISE. One final episode before we finally end this jorney ❤ Stay tuned for what December's about to bring. Thank you guys for every single word, suport and love. You guys are the best!
Happy December ✨
One year later
Jungkook and Y/n found the balance they needed.
Their home was more lively and coloured than ever, everything she had ever wanted and never thought could reach. Everything seemed settled... maybe too much for her liking. That's why her thoughts had room to breathe.
It had started last week, when Y/n sounded off when talking about something Jungkook did or said. Lisa noticed that change of tone but didn't want to get into their privacy. However, one week and a half later and Y/n still seemed down. It was late afternoon at the café when Y/n wiped down the counter, her eyes drifting to the clock for the fifth time. Lisa noticed.
"Okay, you've checked the time so much you could qualify as a human rolex. What the hell is happening?" Y/n hesitated. She set the cloth down and learned her palms against the counter.
"Nothing, i'm just tired that's all" Lisa sipped her tea with the slowest, most suspicious stare.
"You've always been a terrible liar, you know that, rigt? Always using the same excuses when you want to avoid something" Y/n just gave her an annoyed look, but remained quiet, glaning towards the window.
"Have you ever felt too comfortable in a relationship?" Lisa blinked
"Explain before I panic on your behalf"
"I don't know how to put it in words without you thinking I'm crazy" Y/n fiddled with her apron string. "Things are good between me and Jungkook, like REALLY good. We barely argue anymore, we wake up laughing every morning and don't get me started with the mind blowing sex. He still holds me like he can’t believe I’m real. It all feels so right and I’m grateful, I really am. I just -- I think he stopped thinking about marrying me." The words were soft, but they stayed in the air like something heavy. Lisa’s eyebrows lifted.
“What makes you say that?” Y/n shrugged, gaze distant.
"He doesn’t mention it anymore, not the way he used to at least. Back then he’d joke about everything related to it. About our wedding playlist or how he’d probably cry before I even walked down the aisle, but now it’s been months and he doesn’t say it at all. We haven’t talked about our future in months. He just seems content and I’m scared that’s enough for him now"
Who would've thought the one who said it was too soon to think about marriage was now the one worrying about the lack of bringing the topic on the table. Karma's a bitch, they say.
Lisa didn't mock her friend or laughed about it of, instead, she just studied the way Y/n's hands were shaking. "Do you want to marry him?" Y/n nodded without hesitation
"Goddamn I do. I think about it every day" Lisa set her cup down
"So why do you think he stopped thinking about a future with you?"
"I think maybe he realized I'm the type of person you love, but not the type you marry" Lisa stood slowly and walked around the counter, placing both hands on Y/n’s shoulders until she finally looked up.
"Listen to me young lady! You're absolutely the type of person someone marries. Hell, you’re the person someone builds a life with, don’t twist quiet into doubt"
"Then why hasn’t he said anything, anymore? No teasing, no dropping hints. Nothing"
"Have you?"” Lisa asked and Y/n stopped on her tracks.
"No"
"Then maybe he’s scared you don’t want it. Did you ever think about that? That maybe he’s waiting for a sign too?" Y/n blinked, realization starting to grow.
"What if I bring it up and it scares him? What if he doesn’t want it anymore?" Lisa squeezed her shoulders gently.
"He won't scare him away because he was the one bringing it up in te first. Besides, you’ll know the truth and the truth is always kinder than anxiety. You promised each other no more hiding, remember?"
Y/n felt her chest tighten. She remembered every promise, every night spent choosing honesty over silence. "Look, sometimes not talking about the future doesn’t mean he stopped seeing it, it might just mean he’s already sure of it."
"Do you really think he still sees it? I mean us, that way?" Lisa smiled.
"I think he never stopped babe, guess he's just waiting for you to be sure too" Y/n felt something shift inside her, not certainty yet, but the will to face it.
"Talk to him. Don’t wait for the future when it’s already sitting at your table.
✧┈┄─╌─╌─┄┈⪧✧┈┄─╌─╌─┄┈⪧✧┈┄─╌─╌─┄┈⪧✧┈┄─╌─╌─┄┈⪧
The sky was already dark when the café closed. Y/n stood by the door, rubbing her hands together as she fhad just finished mopping the floor. Lisa had left about an hour ago with her new boyfriend, leaving Y/n thinking about her words
« Don’t wait for the future when it’s already sitting at your table»
Then, the bell above the door chimed, this time being him. Hair tied back, hands in his pockets, eyes tired but soft. He didn’t say much, just held up his keys.
"You ready babe? Let's go home, it's freazing outside" She followed him through the cold night, the air crisp with the scent of fireplace smoke. He opened the car door for her, but the moment the doors closed, so did the space between them.
The silence followed them like a shadow. As he was driving, Y/n watched the streetlights pass in blurred gold through the window. Jungkook kept both hands on the wheel, jaw clenched tighter than usual. Truth is, she didn’t know what to say or how to start.
At one intersection, red light washing his face in crimson was when he finally spoke "You're quiet tonight"
"So are you" They both fell silent after that, no one making real effort to speak.
The drive felt longer than it was, like every street had stretched itself out just to make them feel the distance. When he finally parked outside their building, he didn’t move. Just sat there, hands still steady on the wheel.
"Baby, are we okay?" she nodded
"Yeah... I just think we should talk" She followed him upstairs, footsteps soft on the stairs but loud in the quiet. Their apartment felt strange when they entered.
Jungkook set his keys on the table, standing still for a moment until he finally looked at her. "Y/n, tell me what's going on"
"I -- I thought you were angry"
"I'm not angry, I'm just worried that I missed something. That you spent too long hiding something from me again."
"It's gonna sound so stupid what I'm about to say." The tears burned before she could stop them. "I've been thinking that maybe you stopped thinking about marrying me or wanting a future with me" Jungkook froze
"Why would you think that?"
"Because you haven’t talked about it in months and maybe… maybe you realized I wasn’t the person someone marries, just someone you love for a while" Jungkook cupped her face gently, eyes fierce in the dim light.
"Don't say that! Don't. Ever. Say that" Y/n tried to look away but he held her there. "I didn’t stop thinking about it. I stopped saying it because I don't see it as a joke, you know that, don't you? I'm just waiting to feel you ready for it"
"I thought you were content with just this"
"I'm happy being here with you. I don't know how to say that without sounding like I was already asking you to marry me. I see you in every version of my future. Every single one.” He rested his forehead against hers.
The silence didn’t feel heavy. It felt like relief.
Four weeks passed
After their talk, something shifted between them. Still… neither mentioned the word marriage again, even if they were both thinking it.
On a Friday evening, Jungkook picked her up from the café. Not unusual, but his hands were colder than the weather and Y/n could tell he was nervous. He drove without music, thing he did when his thoughts were louder than melodies.
"Are you alright?" she asked gently
"Yeah babe" he said, then glanced at her. "Actually no, but the kind of no that might turn into yes soon, hopefully" Y/n didn't understand but smiled anyway. He took a different road than usual, one that led outside the city. She didn’t question it, just watched the distant lights fade until the sky opened until they reached the river
Their river
The one that held every version of them: broken, healing, hopeful and in love.
Jungkook stepped out first and she followed him to the overlook, the same one from months ago. It looked different now or maybe they did. "I've been thinking" He started
"You always are, just not out loud" Y/n smiled. He nodded, aknowing exactly what she meant. They stood in silence a moment longer, then he turned around, facing her fully.
"Do you remember the night you asked me if I still thought about forever with you?"
"Yes?" Y/n's heart started to beat faster and faster, nervousness going through the roof.
"I haven't stopped thinking about it, not even once. I just stopped saying it because I was choosing the right moment to actually say it" He reached into his jacket pocket. He hesitated first, his hand lingering over the fabric like he was touching something sacred. What he pulled out wasn't a box, it was a small sketchbook, the first one she ever touched in his studio.
He opened it slowly, every page filled with her: laughing, sleeping, holding coffee, crying, dancing in the kitchen, resting on his chest, naked- just existing in all the ways that had become home to him- then he reached the final page.
A ring
Simple, delicated, hand drawn. Under it said:
If you say yes, the real one comes next
Y/n covered her mouth instantly, tears falling before she could stop them. Jungkook’s voice trembled, but the words? They didn’t.
"Baby I don’t want a perfect moment, I just want one that’s ours. We’ve already built a life out of quiet days and messy mornings, out of burnt rice and laughter and everything we thought would break us but didn’t, because love didn't have to be perfect- just real- as you always said to me"
"Jungkook" Her voice was barely a breath. He took a shaky breath and finally dropped to one knee.
"I love you. I want to marry you and spend the rest of my days with you. Will you choose this life with me, forever?" Y/n didn't speak. She fell to her knees and cried, then laughed and whispered against his lips.
"Yes! A hundred times yes. Today, tomorrow and the next day, it'll always be a yes, baby"
Just a simple and meaningful yes.
Y/n was folding laundry in the living room, half-singing to herself as Jungkook brewed coffee in the kitchen, music played low from his phone. "Hey" Jungkook called softly from behind her. "Got a sec?" She turned, still holding a towel in her hands.
"You need help with something?"
"No" he said too quickly. That tone made her blink, making her tilt her head, searching for his face
"Are you okay?" his hands were trembling
"You said yes to me, now I want to give you something real" She froze. The towel slipped from her hands and fell soundlessly to the floor. Slowly, Jungkook reached his hand into his pocket: a small, white box came to her vision. Jungkook came closer, thumb traced the edge of the box as if every second before opening it mattered too.
"I didn’t want to do everything in one night. I wanted you to feel every part of this. First the words, now the promise" He placed the box in her hand. "Open it baby"
Her fingers shook as she lifted the lid. Inside, nestled gently against velvet was a ring. Not huge or flashy, but beautiful in the quietest way: a thin gold band and a small diamond, round and delicate, bright as a sunrise. On the inside, engraved in tiny cursive letters
one day at a time
Tears blurred her vision instantly. She covered her mouth, breath catching. "You remembered what I said" He nodded, eyes glimmering
"I don't need forever all at once, just everyday with you. That's all I ever wanted."
"Put it on me" He took the ring, his hands steady this time and with a soft exhale he slipped it onto her finger. It fit perfectly, like it had always been meant to be there. Jungkook cradled her face gently
"Now, every morning you wake up, you'll remember you said yes to this life" Y/n pressed her forehead to his
"My yes didn't end that night, it started there. This is everything baby. I love you so much and I'm so ready to have my happily ever after with you" He didn't waste time on kissing her. He could already imagine them in their little apartment, with laundry left unfolded and coffee growing cold, holding each other, bodies tangled earing each others moans, embracing their touch, the way their bodies came closer together each time.
The definition of perfection
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Y/n was nervous the entire ride there. Jungkook kept one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped gently around hers. It was supposed to be just dinner, at least that's how Lisa worded it when she texted earlier that week:
Dinner next friday. Mandatory attendance or I publish your old selfies
"You okay?" she asked. He nodded, but his throat bobbed when he swallowed.
"I'm going to be once we tell them"
"You sure you want to do it tonight?"
"Letting go of the secret is the easy part. Letting it stay quiet would be the hardest thing I’ve ever done."
When they got there, Lisa opened the door dramatically, as expected.
"WELCOME TO THE PALACE OF MY GREATNESS" she announced with arms wide. Namjoon followed from behind the door, rubbing his forehead.
"We’re working on her humility." Sana waved from the kitchen. "I made mocktails! They taste like bad decisions!"
Dinner started chaotic, which meant it was perfect. Lisa tried to plate the pasta "artfully" and ended up dumping half on the floor. Sana claimed there was "energy in the air" Namjoon tried to explain why mushrooms are misunderstood and somehow monologued for seven minutes. Y/n couldn’t stop laughing. Jungkook couldn’t stop looking at her. Every time she smiled, his fingers brushed the ring in his pocket just to feel it there.
Halfway through dinner, Sana narrowed her eyes "Why are you two glowing?"
"We're not glowing" Y/n said too fast. Lisa pointed a fork at them
"Suspicious glow, almost radioactive. Something’s up." Namjoon leaned in with suspicious science voice.
"Actually, guilty people tend to show --" Jungkook cut him off, standing up and the table fell silent. Lisa blinked
"Why are you standing? Why is this dramatic? ISIT A BABY?" Jungkook shook his head gently.
"No baby, yet. Just something I need to say while I still have courage." He reached for her hand. She stood with him.
"When I met you all I didn’t think I would ever get a future like this. You guys made room for me when I wasn’t sure how to make room for myself and Y/n, you didn’t just save me, you found me" He lifted their joined hands and this time, he didn’t hesitate. Their ring — the real one — caught the light.
Every friend froze. Y/n saw Sana gasp and start crying. Namjoon clapped his hand over his mouth. Lisa dropped her glass. It shattered like a response. She didn’t even notice.
"Y/n said yes to me. For real this time. We're engaged" The apartment exploded with noise. Sana knocked her chair over. Namjoon hugged them both at the same time. Lisa stormed back into the room with a bottle of champagne and cried.
"YOU WENT AND GOT ENGAGED WITHOUT PANICKING FIRST?! WHO EVEN ARE YOU PEOPLE?!" Y/n laughed through tears. Jungkook laughed with her, forehead against hers. Over their friends chaos, over the music, over the spilled wine and broken glass she whispered the only words that mattered. "I love you"
"I love you too." Lisa yelled from across the room, notebook in hand.
"OKAY, LISTEN UP YOU NEWLY ENGAGED LOVE GOBLINS, WE’RE PLANNING A WEDDING AND I’M THE CAPTAIN!" Namjoon sighed.
"We’re never sleeping again, are we?" Jungkook wrapped his arms around Y/n.
"Worth it?" he murmured. Y/n looked around the room.
"Every second" she whispered back.
and she meant every single word
9 months later
The sunrise was gentle that morning and the sky turned gold slowly, like it didn't want to rush anything. Y/n caugh herself by the window of her dressing room, fingers curled around the lace of her gown. Her bridesmaid, Lisa and Sana, pretended not to stare at her in awe. They fussed over the buttons, make up tools and last minute emergency items. The expected chaos of watching a bride getting ready. However Lisa was extremely surprised.
"You're suspiciously calm today. I don't know if I should be happy or get worried. Blink twice if you're secretly panicking" But all Y/n did was smile, fixing herself one last time
"As incredible as it sounds, I'm not panicking at all. I'm calm and ready to walk down the aisle to see the love of my life waiting for me" And she was. That's all she has been thinking in the past months, the anxiety of getting this whole wedding thing done.
She never wanted something so big, but both hers and Jungkooks parents insisted on making it big. It wasn't everyday they'd see their first born get married for the first time. You could bet they were more nervous than you.
Lisa looked at you genuinely surprised while Sana wiper her eyes. She has been extremely emotion these last few hours and Y/n was trying her best to not ruin the make up before the big yes.
The venue was simple with an outdoor hall lined with rows of friends and family, wildflowers on every aisle. Jungkook stood at the altar, hands sweating and heart beating way too fast. Suddenly the music began to play.
When he turned around he saw her walking down the aisle looking breathtaking - dress flowing like morning light, eyes already glassy and lips trembling in a smile she couldn't hold back, as she walked to him with her dad beside her. Jungkook forgot how to breath, tears falling uncontrollably. To him, the woman in front of him was everything he asked and prayed for, and this moment seemed a dream. When she reached him, she wuped the corner of his eyes gently.
"You're crying to early" she smiled
"I'm running behind. I started loving you too early too." The cerymony went by smoothly and beautifully. Everyone around them getting emotional while they said their vows to each other. When they finally heard
You may kiss the bride
Jungkook cupped her face gently and kissed her like he was waiting all day to do it. After the cerymony, Y/n leaned her head on his shoulder. "So... This is marriage?" he laced his finders through hers
"No baby, this is the beggining"
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The next day Namjoon were already at their place to pick them up and take them to the airport. Y/n had never been inside a plane before and she was nervous, stomach acking. Before they left home she threw up 4 times already.
"Gosh baby are you alright? You have a stomach bug or something?" Y/n sighed, ganhando a postura novamente.
"I guess I'm nervous Kook, that's all. I promise I'm okay"
After all going on an airplane wasn't that bad.
The flight felt like a dream. Her head on his shoulder, their fingers intertwined, wedding bands still unfamiliar against their skin. Jungkook ended up falling asleep but Y/n couldn't sleep at all. She couldn't believe they were married- husband and wife- Those words echoed inside her like a warm reverbertion. After six hours, they finally on a quiet island. The villa overlooked the ocean, curtains lifting in the wind.
"Feels like heaven" Jungkook said, approaching her sensually. "just us, finally"
"Finally" Y/n smiled but something inside her felt unready and she didn't know how to make that feeling speak out loud yet.
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Their first night they decided to have dinner in their room, deciding to cook dinner together. Everything was perfect: them barefoot laughing like they didn't have a single worry in the world but the way she pulled slightly away when his hands touched her hips or when his lips hovered her neck? That was noticed. Jungkook didn't show it, but he wasn't ignorant either.
Later that night, in bed, he kissed her gently. Lips trailing her jaw, fingers tracing her waist like he always did; the kind of touch she always responded to immediately, but not that night. That night she turned her head to the pillow and whispered
"Not tonight Kook, i'm tired" A soft silence filled the room and he hesitated for a moment, only to press a light kiss to her forehead and lay beside her.
"Okay" he didn't ask anything but he didn't fall asleep for a long time.
The second night she kissed him first, slow and soft. But when his hand slid under her shirt she gently placed her palm over his and "Let's just cuddle tonight, is that okay?" Jungkook nodded, even though doubt began its quiet work.
By the third night Y/n saw something in his ees she never wanted to see there again: a mix of confusion and hurt. Like he was failling to understand something he didn't even know he needed to ask. That night they laid side by side staring at the ceiling until Jungkook broke the silence between them.
"Did I do something?" Her heart tugged painfully
"No baby. Of course not" He looked at her
"Then... why do I feel like you're stepping away from me? This is our honeymoon, we should be enjoying it but every time I try to get near you, you push me away or avoid any physical contact with me"
"I'm not Kook"
"You are baby. You've been distant every since we got here" Y/n stopped for a second, thinking if this was the time to give what she had intended to give him before. Getting up, she went to a small drawer and from inside she took a little white box with two ribbons: pink and blue. Jungkook sat up straight away
"What's that?"
"This... this is something I wanted to tell you before but we were so anxious with the wedding stuff I didn't want to put more pressure and worry"
"Can I open it?" she nodded, heartbeat unever. Jungkook opened the box carefully and inside, nestled on soft cotton fabric was something he couldn't believe:
a microscopic white onesie that said hi dad;
a positive pregnancy test;
a tiny polaroid of the calender with their due date circled
When he finally noticed what that was, his breath caught in his throat. His fingers traced the onesie like it was delicate silk and then his expression broke, eyes full of tears
"Is this what I think it is? Is this for real Y/n?" Y/n was only able to nod
"Yes babe. I found out before the wedding. I didn't want to make everything heavy so I waited. Besides I was scared if I said anything sooner that something bad could happen. We already had the flight booked and a million thoughts came. I got scared."
Jungkook stared at her with eyes wide open. "Are you really saying...?" she nodded, tears falling silently.
"I'm pregnant. Seven weeks. It's the size of a blueberry rigth now" Jungkook stood up and then knelt in front of her, touching her stomach. Then looked up at her with tears in his eyes.
"I already love him or her, just because they’re part of you." Her tears broke into sobs. Jungkook climbed onto the bed and held her tightly. "I’m honored you’re carrying the future for both of us"
She buried her face in his shoulder, staying like that for a long time. Then Jungkook kissed her stomach.
Summary: Being friends with someone who has your heart it’s already hard, let alone when that special someone ends up falling in love with your best friend, the one you think would never make anything to hurt you . Will you be able to ignore it and move on? what will happen when everything gets too much for you to handle?
Genre: Friends to lovers; angst; body insecurities; bullying; friend betrayel;
Warning: mentions of pregnancy;
Pairing: Jungkook x female!reader
Wordcount: 5.3k
A/n : not proofread! Sorry for any mistakes!
The lights were low, just the golden lamp above Jungkook’s desk and the faint glow from the street outside.
The machines were silent, the scent of ink and disinfectant fading under the smell of rain and coffee. Y/n was still there. She hadn’t planned to stay—just to talk, to finally finish the words that had been stuck between them for too long—but somehow, the conversation had turned to tears, then to a heated make up session, leading to the best sex they ever had.
Jungkook was beside her on the studio couch, still asleep, his hair tousled, arm draped loosely across her waist. For a long time, she just looked at him. This man who could drive her insane and yet still make her believe in something steady. There was a scar beneath his collarbone she’d never noticed before, faint and thin — a reminder, maybe, that everything beautiful came with its cracks. She reached up and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. He stirred, eyes blinking open slowly. “Hey,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
“Hey,” she whispered back. For a moment, neither moved. Then Jungkook exhaled, his gaze softening as memory returned.
“Last night… we didn’t really finish talking.”
“I know.” Y/n sat up slightly. “But I think we said what mattered.” He studied her carefully.
“Are we okay?” She nodded.
“We’re learning, growing and we love each other, I think that’s better than okay.” He smiled faintly — the kind that came from relief.
“That's all I needed to hear.” They stayed in silence for a while until Y/n spoke again, curiousity growing inside her
“Do you think anyone’s ever fallen asleep here before?” she murmured. Jungkook smiled.
“Not like this I guess.” they both laughed, then Jungkook pulled her closer to him, as if they weren't glued to each other already. She traced the tiny tattoo on his hand with her thumb.
“You know, when you tattooed me last time, I kept thinking how strange it was that pain could feel like healing.” He looked down at her, eyes soft.
“That’s what love’s supposed to feel like, isn’t it? Hurts a little. Heals a lot.” She smiled.
“Exactly that. With all we've been through that's one thing I learned the most. We have such a vague idea of love: that it's meant to be perfect and marvellous; that it's easy when it's not." She sat up comfortably next to him, so her eyes were on his. "I love us. I love what we have and I love you. I'm sorry I projected my insecurities and fears on you. What you had with Sewoon is past, I know that. I feel your love everyday, even when I tell you I don't need your protection; I know you do it for us"
Jungkook adjusted his position, sitting up close to her, hands grabbing the side of her face. "I love you Y/n and I will always protect you, even when I know you don't need it. You're my girl, of course I'll do everything in power to keep you happy and safe. Even if it makes you mad"
Jungkook closed the studio early. He didn’t tell Y/n where they were going — just told her to wear something warm and comfortable. She complained, of course, but secretly she loved when he took control of things and surprised her for no specific reason.
They drove until the city thinned into hills. The sky was still gray but softer now, with streaks of pale sunlight breaking through. Jungkook parked by a viewpoint overlooking the river — the same one they used to walk by when things were still uncertain, before “I love you” had ever been said out loud.
He pulled a thermos from the car, poured her a cup of coffee and handed it over with a grin. They stood there side by side, cups warming their hands, wind brushing against their hair. For a while, they didn’t talk.The silence wasn’t empty — it was full of everything they didn’t need to say out loud anymore until Jungkook finally spoke.
“You know, when I met with Sewoon, I realized something.” Y/n tensed slightly, but his voice was calm. “I didn’t feel anything. Not anger, not regret. Just… fear of what she could do to hurt you and then closure. It made me realize that I don’t want my past to keep deciding how I love you.”
Y/n looked at him, eyes soft. “You don’t have to prove anything anymore.” Jungkook laughed quietly.
“You’re getting good at this.”
“What?”
“Loving me in ways that make me want to love myself more.” Her chest ached — the good kind of ache. She smiled, pinching his nose
“Guess we’re both learning then. Together”
Weeks passed. The storm between them faded into a new kind of rhythm. They shared mornings and midnight talks and argued about silly things that no longer cut as deep. Sewoon’s name was never mentioned again — not because they avoided it, but because it finally stopped mattering.
One evening, Jungkook closed up the tattoo shop and found Y/n sitting on the counter, flipping through one of his sketchbooks. She stopped at a page and smiled — it was a drawing of her, laughing, hair messy, a little line of ink smudged on her cheek.
“You kept this,” she said.
“Of course,” he replied. “That was the day you spilled coffee on my shoes and still blamed me for it.” She laughed.
“You did get in the way of my enthusiasm.” He walked up, resting his hands on her knees.
“You were never second best, you know that?” She looked at him, something warm and steady in her chest.
“I know baby. I finally understood that. Thanks to you and your dedication and patience” He kissed her then — slow, gentle, nothing to prove. When they pulled apart, she whispered, “You’re still overthinking, aren’t you?”
“Always,” he murmured, smiling against her forehead. “But now it’s mostly about what our future’s gonna look like.”
“Then stop thinking,” she teased. “We’ll figure it out one day at a time.”
Months later, the café was still with the same amount of people and no time to breath. Today was one of those calm days where Sana and Namjoon were laughing in a corner and Y/n was wiping down tables when Jungkook walked in holding something behind his back.
“What did you do now?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Nothing criminal” he said, grinning. “Yet.”
He pulled out a small sketchbook — leather-bound, edges worn. Inside, on the first page, was a simple tattoo design: a small infinity symbol, twined with the outline of two hands meeting in the middle. “It’s us,” he said. “No names. Just… connection.” Her eyes softened.
"It’s beautiful."
“I thought maybe we could both get it. Not right now if you don't want to, maybe someday, if you feel ready. Something to remind us that no matter how messy it gets — we choose each other.” She bit her lip, smiling.
“You’re getting sentimental.” He shrugged.
“I’m allowed to be. You turned me into this.”
They did it that same afternoon, on her lunch break — two matching tattoos, tiny and quiet, etched into their wrists. Nothing flashy, nothing grand. Just a promise — silent, permanent, real.
When Y/n finished her shift, Jungkook was already waiting for her outside. That night, they sat by the river again, the city lights dancing over the water. Jungkook’s head rested on her shoulder; Y/n’s hand brushed against his, their new tattoos touching lightly.
“Do you still think about forever?” she asked. He looked at her, eyes bright.
“Every day.”
“Still want to marry me someday?” she teased.
“It's honestly all I want. No pressure tho baby, at your own time. I'm already yours anyway” he said softly, smiling. “But only if you promise to burn the rice at least once a week so I know it’s really you.” She laughed — loud, unguarded, free.
“Deal.” They fell quiet again, the hum of the bridge above them, the world soft around their edges. For the first time in a long time, there were no ghosts left to haunt them: no lies, no pasts to outrun, just two imperfect people, finally standing still in something real.
Y/n turned to him, whispering, “This — this is enough and all I ever wanted to live with you” Jungkook smiled, eyes closing as he pressed his forehead to hers.
“You were always enough for me baby girl” he said and the night held them there — two hearts that had finally stopped chasing, finally choosing to stay.
The café was quiet that afternoon, sunlight spilling through the blinds. Y/n was closing up early, her mind half on the task and half on the evening ahead. Lisa had decided they were all overdue for a proper dinner — no drama, no crying, no breakups allowed — were her exact words. She’d even made place cards, as if their small group needed them.
By seven, Y/n’s apartment smelled like rosemary and garlic. Lisa was darting between the kitchen and living room, glass of wine in hand, fussing over candles. “Joon texted; he and Sana are on their way,” Lisa said. "You nervous?” Y/n looked up from the salad she was pretending to toss.
"Why would I be nervous?”
“Because Jungkook’s coming straight from the shop and you’ve been staring at that clock for ten minutes.” Y/n rolled her eyes, but smiled.
“You’re impossible.” Lisa grinned.
“That’s what best friends are for. Also, you're incredibly cheesy when in love, let me tell you that” Y/n throws a pillow against Lisa, totally missing the target. Suddenly, the doorbell rang just as Y/n was lighting the last candle. Jungkook stepped in, still smelling faintly of soap and ink, his hair damp from a quick shower at the studio.
“Hey,” he said softly, smiling when he saw her. “You look… peaceful.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“The best kind.” Before she could answer, Lisa called from the kitchen.
By eight, everyone had arrived. The table was crowded with food and mismatched plates, laughter bouncing off the walls. Sana teased Namjoon about his endless trivia facts; Lisa told a story so exaggerated that even Y/n couldn’t stop laughing. Jungkook sat beside her, his knee brushing hers under the table. For the first time in months, Y/n felt completely at ease; no ghosts, no worries, just this — friends, warmth and belonging.
After dessert, when Lisa and Sana were arguing about music in the kitchen and Namjoon was scrolling through playlists, Jungkook caught Y/n’s hand. “Come here for a second,” he murmured.
He led her out to the small balcony, where the city lights stretched below them like scattered stars. The air was cool, carrying the faint hum of cars far away. Y/n leaned on the railing, smiling. “You’re quiet tonight.” He shrugged lightly.
“Just thinking.”
“About what?” He turned to her, eyes steady in the soft light.
“About how much time I spend wishing the day would end, just so I can see you again. And how weird it is that your things are already half at my place — the sweater on the couch, your mug next to mine, your books by the bed.” Y/n blinked, surprised by the softness in his voice.
“Are you complaining?”
“Not even a little.” He smiled, then took her hand. “Y/n… what if we just stopped pretending you don’t already live with me?” Her breath caught.
“Are you asking me to move in?”
“I am,” he said simply. “Not because it’s convenient. Because I want to wake up with you every morning. Because every time you leave, the place feels wrong without you.” Y/n looked at him and for once, there was no fear, no hesitation, just the quiet certainty that this was where she belonged.
“You sure you can handle me 24/7?” she teased, eyes glimmering.
He grinned.
“I’ll take my chances.” She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Yes! A 100 times yes" she whispered. “I’ll move in with you” Jungkook laughed softly, relief washing over his features. He kissed her forehead, lingering there as if to seal the promise.
“I should’ve asked you sooner,” he murmured.
“You asked me now” she said. “that’s enough for me.” Y/n gave him a small kiss on the lips before Lisa called them back —
“Lovebirds, dinner round two!” and Y/n laughed, pulling away reluctantly.
“Guess we tell them?”
“Tomorrow,” Jungkook said. “Let’s keep this one ours for a night.”
They went back inside, the smell of candle wax and laughter filling the room. Their friends were still arguing about playlists, the table messy and bright with crumbs and wine stains. Y/n sat down beside him, their shoulders brushing. For once, she didn’t feel like she was waiting for anything, she already had what she needed: a place to belong and someone who chose her every day.
Later, when the night ended and the lights dimmed, Jungkook squeezed her hand and whispered “Come home with me.”
And this time, she didn’t hesitate.
Y/n knew moving was a lot of work but she was so excited she didn't care that much. The morning sun spilled through Jungkook’s living room like a slow flood of gold. Boxes were stacked against the wall, half-labeled, half-forgotten. Y/n sat cross-legged on the floor, holding a roll of tape like a weapon.
“You realize we’ve packed this same box twice now right?” Jungkook looked up from the other side of the room, hair tied loosely back, a streak of ink still on his forearm from yesterday.
“I prefer to call it strategic reorganization.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, fighting a smile. “Strategic chaos.” Before he could reply, the door burst open and Lisa’s voice filled the apartment.
“Delivery crew is here!” Namjoon followed behind her, arms full of plants, with Sana balancing takeout boxes on one hip.
“Why are there so many boxes?” Sana asked immediately.
“Because Jungkook owns more sketchbooks than a supply store,” Y/n said.
“Because Y/n can’t throw away a single candle jar,” Jungkook countered. Lisa laughed, clapping her hands together.
“Okay lovebirds, less talking, more moving. We’ve got a truck, four people and an unreasonable amount of caffeine.”
They fell into a rhythm quickly — boxes moving down the hall, laughter echoing through the stairwell. Jungkook’s old speaker played faint music from his phone, the sound bouncing off the bare walls. Lisa was in charge of labeling (“If it’s heavy, it’s obviously art supplies”), Namjoon handled logistics (“We’ll load the heavier stuff first; trust me, I’ve watched videos”) and Sana took it upon herself to document the chaos on her phone.
Y/n carried the smaller boxes, her sweatshirt sleeves rolled up, hair tied messily on top of her head. Jungkook kept stealing glances at her — the way she looked at home already, barefoot among half-packed boxes, humming softly as she worked. At one point, she caught him staring. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, smiling. “Just… this feels so good.” She tilted her head.
“What does?”
“You. Here. Us.” He approached her. "We were bound to be together, I just feel sad it took us so long" She caressed his hair
"We're here now, that's what matters" then lifted the boxes she once had in her arms, carrying them upstairs. Jungkook gets near her again from behind
"Also... cant't wait to make you mine in every corner of our house" smacking her ass, caughting her by surprise -- cheeks flushed red with embarrassment and arousal at the same time. Although they had been together for some time now, their chemistry remained the same—and tended to intensify. Jungkook couldn't keep his hands off her and her mesmerizing curves and Y/n never tired of having him close, always wanting more and more.
By noon, the truck was loaded. Lisa, covered in dust, declared it was time for pizza or mutiny. They ate on the floor of the new place — Jungkook’s apartment, now filled with Y/n’s things, her colors, her laughter. Sana unrolled a rug in the middle of the living room.
“There,” she said. “Instant home."
Namjoon nodded approvingly. "You two officially have more plants than furniture."
"Plants are less commitment," Lisa said with a grin. "Unless you’re Jungkook, who somehow kills succulents." Y/n leaned against Jungkook’s shoulder, laughing.
"Don’t worry, I’ll handle the plants. You just handle… existing."
He pretended to think.
"That I can do, even though I can take care of plants perfectly fine" Everyone laughed while Jungkook sulked a littleflipping Lisa and Namjoon off for mocking him.
When the others finally left, the apartment was quiet again. The sun had moved lower, throwing amber light across the floor, catching the dust in soft swirls. Y/n wandered through the half-furnished space — the couch still wrapped in plastic, paintings leaning against the wall, her books stacked unevenly beside his records. It looked messy, lived-in and full of promise. Jungkook came up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist.
"You realize this is it, right?" he murmured against her hair. She smiled, leaning back into him.
"Our first place together."
"Our chaos" he corrected gently. She turned in his arms, looking up at him.
"You sure you’re ready for this much of me?" He brushed a strand of hair from her face.
"I’ve been ready. I just didn’t know how to ask until now." They stood there for a long moment, surrounded by sunlight and the quiet hum of their new beginning.
"This feels different" she whispered.
"It is baby” he said. "This time, we’re building something, not running from anything." That night, when the last box was unpacked and the city outside had gone quiet, they sat on the floor with takeout containers and a single lamp glowing beside them. Lisa had left a note taped to the fridge that read:
“Congrats, you domestic disasters. Don’t mess it up.”
Y/n laughed so hard she almost cried. Jungkook reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers.
“Too late,” he said softly. “We already got it right.” The room fell silent again, full of warmth and the faint scent of rain drifting through the open window.
And for the first time, Y/n felt something she didn't feel for years: what was like coming home
Three months later, the apartment didn’t look new anymore. It looked lived in.
Sunlight poured through half-drawn curtains, lighting up the trail of sketchbooks scattered across the coffee table and the half-empty mugs that never quite made it to the sink. There was always music playing — sometimes quiet lo-fi beats from Jungkook’s phone, sometimes Y/n’s playlist of songs she swore “made plants grow faster.”
The place smelled faintly of coffee, jasmine candles and ink. It was theirs now — a small chaos built out of patience, laughter and all the things they’d once been afraid to share. Jungkook was in the studio corner, bent over a drawing tablet. His hair was longer again, falling over his eyes as he worked. Y/n sat behind him, cross-legged on the floor, labeling appointment cards for the tattoo shop. Her handwriting was still neater than his, which he claimed was unfair and slightly intimidating. At some point, she looked up and smiled.
“You’ve been staring at that same line for five minutes.” He hummed.
“Thinking.”
“About what?”He turned, resting his chin on his shoulder.
“About how quiet it is. In a good way.” She tilted her head.
“You miss the mess?” He smiled softly.
“No. I just never knew peace could sound like this.” He dropped the pen in his hands. " This is everything I dreamed of and more"
Mornings began with burnt toast and stolen kisses in the kitchen; afternoons with clients and ink while Y/n dropped by the studio just to bring him lunch and stay a while. Evenings meant cooking together — her playlist on shuffle, Jungkook swaying her between cabinets just because he could. Sometimes they’d end up on the couch surrounded by half-folded laundry and unfinished art, laughing about something Lisa said or Sana’s latest business idea.
On rare nights when the city outside went still, they’d just sit in silence — her head on his chest, his hand tracing idle circles over her back. Then Jungkook would make a move, kiss her neck - make her moan, always ending up in amazing sex. That was their routine and she couldn't seem to find a better way to live.
One sunday morning, Lisa dropped by with Namjoon and Sana, pretending to “inspect” their living situation. Lisa stepped inside, looked around and nodded in approval.
“I give it a solid ten out of ten — domestic harmony with mild chaos.” Sana leaned over the kitchen counter.
“And plants! Alive ones!” Y/n laughed, throwing a dish towel at Jungkook.
“See? I told you I could keep them alive.” Jungkook caught it easily, smiling.
“Yeah, but you talk to them like people.”
“That’s why they thrive.” Lisa looked between them, her expression softening. “You two are disgustingly happy, you know that?”
Y/n shrugged. “It’s kind of the point.” Jungkook met her gaze, quiet amusement flickering in his eyes.
“Best decision we ever made.”
After their friends left, the apartment felt even warmer somehow — as if their laughter had soaked into the walls. Jungkook walked up behind Y/n, wrapping his arms around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder.
“Do you ever regret it?” he asked quietly.
“Moving in?” she said, smiling. “Not for a second.” He turned her to face him, eyes soft.
“It still surprises me sometimes. How easy this feels.” She traced a finger along his jawline.
“That’s because we did the hard part already.” They stood there in the fading light, surrounded by the quiet hum of their home — the drawings on the wall, the smell of coffee, the little details of a life they’d built together one patient day at a time.
Jungkook brushed a kiss against her forehead. “Thank you for saying yes.”
Y/n smiled up at him. “Thank you for asking.”
The window was open, the city outside alive with the sounds of evening — distant music, the buzz of people, the heartbeat of everything still waiting for them and in that small apartment above the tattoo studio, Y/n realized something simple and true: home wasn’t just a place they’d moved into.
It was him.
And then it was them.
A decision that changed everything — quietly, completely and beautifully.
Work was driving Y/n insane. Namjoon and Sana were on vacation and her boss made her do more shifts, more that she'd like. She was getting tired and tired each day.
Jungkook was working late tonight; something about a 'sleeve saving'. Y/n was closing up the café when Lisa showed up, sitting at their usual place, with Y/n following her with two tea cups. Lisa stretched, kicking her shoes off under the table.
“You’re too quiet tonight. What’s going on in that head of yours?” Y/n hesitated, stirring her tea though it didn’t need stirring.
“Can I tell you something and you promise not to freak out?” Lisa immediately leaned forward.
“You know that’s an impossible promise, but sure.” Y/n exhaled, voice low.
“A few weeks ago… I thought I might be pregnant." Lisa’s eyes widened, but she didn’t interrupt. She just reached across the table, her hand brushing Y/n’s wrist. "It was nothing," Y/n said quickly. “False alarm. Everything’s fine. I just— I never told Jungkook.” Lisa blinked.
“Wait, never?” Y/n shook her head.
“He was so happy about us moving in. I didn’t want to scare him. And honestly, I didn’t know what to feel myself. For two days I just… sat with it.” She let out a shaky laugh. “You ever have a thought so big it makes the room feel smaller?” Lisa nodded slowly.
“Every time my mom mentions marriage.” That made Y/n smile, then sigh.
“It wasn’t even real, but for a moment, I saw it — him, me, maybe a baby. And it didn’t feel wrong. It felt soon... but when I realized I wasn't, I got... sad.” Lisa tilted her head.
“So why didn’t you tell him?”
“I guess I didn’t want him to look at me differently. We’ve only just found balance, you know? I didn’t want to turn that peace into panic.” Lisa took a long sip of tea, thinking.
“You know he’d never panic about you. Maybe about diapers and money, sure. But not you.” Y/n smiled weakly.
“You think so?”
“I know so. He loves you like you hung the moon, besides, scares happen. It doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel it.” Y/n stared into her mug, voice small.
“I felt relief and disappointment and that second one really threw me.” Lisa’s expression softened.
“That’s not weird Y/n. It just means part of you started to imagine what it could be. Maybe you’re not ready now — but it doesn’t mean you wouldn’t want it someday. Even if it happened now, I know you'd be scared but thrilled” Y/n’s eyes glistened.
“You really think we could handle that? Me and Jungkook?” Lisa smiled, warm and certain.
“If anyone could turn chaos into a home, it’s you two. You’ve already proved it.” They sat in silence for a while, the rain slowing outside, the kind of quiet only best friends could share. Finally, Lisa nudged her gently.
“So… you gonna tell him?” Y/n let out a breath, thoughtful.
“Maybe. Not because I have to — but because I don’t want to hide the things that scare me from him anymore.” Lisa raised her mug.
"That’s my girl. Radical honesty and mild chaos — your love language.” Y/n laughed, clinking her mug against Lisa’s.
“Guess I learned from the best.” she mocked Lisa while taking the two cups, ready to leave that place- only to be back the next day.
The apartment was quiet, filled with the hum of the city outside and the faint scent of candle wax. Jungkook was in the studio corner again, sketching with his headphones half-on, the light from the tablet soft on his face.
Y/n stood by the window, arms folded, staring at the reflection of their home. Boxes were gone now, replaced by little pieces of them: her plants on the sill, his jackets on the hooks, a small photo of them taped to the fridge. It looked settled, stable and yet her chest was still tight.
She turned, watching him draw. There was something peaceful about the way he worked — how he leaned into concentration, how his brow furrowed and then smoothed when an idea clicked. That calmness made her decision harder but she’d promised herself: no more hiding.
“Jungkook,” she said softly. He looked up immediately, removing one side of his headphones.
“Hey. Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she said automatically, then corrected herself. “Actually… not really. Can we talk?” He sat up, alert now, closing the tablet.
“Of course." Y/n took a breath and crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the couch.
“There’s something I didn’t tell you. It’s not about work or us fighting or anything like that. It’s just… something that happened a few weeks ago.” He frowned slightly, but his voice stayed gentle.
“Okay. What happened?” She looked down at her hands.
“I had a pregnancy scare.” The words landed like a soft but unmistakable weight in the room. Jungkook didn’t move at first; she could see him processing, his fingers tightening slightly around his knee. Then he exhaled slowly.
“You thought you were pregnant?” She nodded.
“Only for a couple of days. It turned out to be nothing, but for those days I didn’t know what to do.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked quietly. Y/n swallowed.
“Because I didn’t want to scare you. We had just moved in together, everything was finally calm. I thought if I said the words out loud, it would change everything — make it heavy again.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on her.
“You were scared alone?” Her throat tightened.
“Yeah.” Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, sighing.
“I wish you hadn’t gone through that by yourself. I'm here baby, for everything.”
“I know,” she said softly. “I kept thinking I was protecting us by staying quiet. But it didn’t feel like protection, it felt like hiding and I promised I wouldn’t hide from you anymore.” He nodded slowly, letting her words settle. Then he asked,
“What did it feel like? When you thought it might be real?” She smiled faintly, more sad than amused.
“Confusing. At first, panic. Then this weird calm. I started picturing what it would mean — you, me, a baby. I wasn’t ready, but it didn’t feel wrong either. Just… too soon.” Jungkook leaned back, his gaze distant for a moment.
“You know, I’ve thought about it before. Not seriously, just… wondered what kind of dad I’d be.” Y/n’s eyebrows lifted.
“Really?” He laughed softly, rubbing his neck.
“Yeah. Every time I see you at the café helping someone or fussing over the plants like they’re living creatures, I think 'she’d be amazing with a kid' - then I scare myself with the thought and go back to my sketchbook.” Y/n smiled, a little tearful.
“You would be a good dad, you know. The kind that teaches them how to draw before they can even write.” He reached for her hand, thumb brushing the edge of her palm.
“Maybe one day. But I hate that you thought I’d panic. You could’ve told me sooner, Y/n.”
“I know that now,” she said. “It wasn’t about not trusting you. It was about being afraid of the idea itself — of losing what we finally built.” He was quiet for a moment.
“You know what’s funny? That’s the same reason I met with Sewoon without telling you — I thought silence would keep things safe. Guess we’re both still learning.” That made her laugh, a little watery but real.
“Guess so.” He squeezed her hand.
“So what do you want now? About… that possibility.” Y/n looked at their joined hands.
“I want to know that if it ever happens — by accident or by choice — we’ll face it together. Not as a crisis. Just… as us.” Jungkook nodded, eyes glimmering.
“That’s exactly what I want too.” The tension melted then. She leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her. .
“You know,” he said after a long silence, voice low, “I don’t think I’d be terrified. I think I’d just… want to get it right.” Y/n smiled into his shirt.
“You already get most things right.” He chuckled.
“You’re very biased.”
“Maybe,” she murmured. “But I’ve seen you try. That’s enough.” When she finally looked up, his expression was soft, thoughtful.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “You didn’t owe me that, but it means a lot that you did.”
“I didn’t want it to be a secret memory between us,” she said. “I wanted it to be something we learned from.” He nodded.
“Then maybe we’ll make a rule — no hiding, even from what scares us.”
She smiled. “Deal.”
Outside, thunder rumbled faintly, the tail end of a summer storm rolling past. The window flickered with light, and for a brief moment their reflections appeared — two tired, imperfect people still learning how to build something solid out of uncertainty.
Jungkook pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You and me against everything, yeah?”
Summary: Being friends with someone who has your heart it’s already hard, let alone when that special someone ends up falling in love with your best friend, the one you think would never make anything to hurt you . Will you be able to ignore it and move on? what will happen when everything gets too much for you to handle?
Genre: Friends to lovers; angst; body insecurities; bullying; friend betrayel;
Warning : smut; strong language
Pairing: Jungkook x female!reader
Wordcount: 8k
Y/n was ready to turn her back and leave, hearing more than enough. She was way to tired of this back and forth. However, Jungkook wasn’t going to let this slide. Grabbing her arm and pulling her close to him he said, venom coming from his mouth.
“I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.” The silence that followed stretched, heavy and final. Y/n’s pulse slowed, her breath steadying for the first time since she’d walked in. She didn’t need him to prove anything — but hearing it said aloud, in front of the person who’d once broken both of them, meant everything.
Sewoon stood, smoothing her coat. “Well,” she said with a thin smile, “I guess that’s that.” She turned to Y/n, eyes softer now — not kind, but real. “He’s too good for you.. If he got over me soon will get over you too” Y/n didn’t reply.
Sewoon lingered just a second longer, as if searching for one last reaction and when she didn’t find it, she nodded faintly and walked out. The bell chimed again — one last, clean sound — and then she was gone. For a long moment, no one spoke until Namjoon finally appeared from behind the counter, letting out a low whistle. “Well… that was dramatic.”
Jungkook shot him a look and Namjoon held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying -- at least no one threw coffee around.” Y/n let out a shaky laugh, the tension finally breaking. Jungkook reached for her hand, his thumb brushing against her palm.
“You okay?” She nodded.
“I am now.” He smiled, that small, honest smile she’d fallen for in the first place. “Good. Because I meant what I said.”
“I'm so glad to know that Kook.” And for the first time since Sewoon’s name had crept back into their lives, Y/n believed that the ghost had finally left them. Outside, the last of the daylight faded and the reflection in the café window showed two tired people, still a little uncertain, but together.
It was quiet again. Sewoon’s perfume still lingered faintly in the air -- something floral and sharp but it was fading with every breath. Y/n sat back down, hands wrapped around her untouched coffee. Her pulse was finally beginning to slow.
The city lights had started to blink awake, their glow stretching across the windows like soft brushstrokes of gold. Jungkook leaned against the counter, running a hand through his hair. He looked both exhausted and relieved, the kind of tired that comes after holding your ground for too long.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, voice low.
“I’m fine,” Y/n said quietly. Then, after a pause, “Actually, no. I’m not fine. But I will be.” Jungkook’s eyes softened.
“That’s honest. I’ll take it.” She smiled faintly.
“You really threw her off when you said you loved me like that.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I wasn’t trying to throw her off. I was just… done pretending I owe anyone silence about how I feel.” Y/n looked at him for a long moment. There was something steady in his face, a calm she hadn’t seen before. Not the restless kind of calm that came before a storm, but the kind that came after one. She reached for his hand.
Later they walked home together. The air outside was cool, the kind of evening that hummed softly with leftover tension. The world felt strangely still, like everything that had been loud and complicated between them had finally quieted down. When they reached Y/n’s apartment, Jungkook lingered at the door. Lisa was out for the week for a business trip, meaning she was alone.
“You don’t have to stay,” she said softly, though part of her hoped he would.
“I know,” he replied, “but I want to.” He followed her inside. The lights were dim, the apartment smelling faintly of jasmine and rain. Y/n slipped off her shoes and turned to face him.
“You handled that better than I expected.” He raised a brow.
“Better?”
“You didn’t yell, didn’t storm out, didn’t let her get to you. That’s new.” He smiled, small and self-aware.
“Maybe I’m growing up. Or maybe I finally learned what’s worth fighting for.” Jungkook stepped closer, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “You,” he said simply. The word landed softly, but it carried weight. Y/n looked away, her throat tightening.
“You know, she asked me once if I thought you’d ever really move on from her. And for a while, I didn’t know how to answer.” He tilted his head.
“And now?”
“Now I don’t need to ask. I see it.” The tension between them grew heavier and heavier, more noticeable. Jungkook's hands moved to her waist and he gently pushed her against the wall, lips pressed against each other.
The truth is that with each passing day, Y/n's feeling of insecurity with Sewoon's presence faded more and more and if the feelings Y/n had for him were strong, they were now even more intense. Having him so close to her was always everything she'd ever dreamed of.
Being with him like this, having him by her side for better or worse, knowing that the world could fall apart and he'd still be there for her--there's nothing better. And that gives Y/n confidence to take new steps, to make new decisions. She pulls away from him a little, murmuring briefly
"I'm ready." she noticed Jungkook look a little confused, even flustered.
"Ready? What are you---"
"I want to take the next step. With you." His wide eyes showed he seemed to be mistaken for the words he'd heard.
“Y/n, are you sure? I—I don’t want you to feel any way influenced by Sewoon’s presence today. We can take it slow, I’ll wait for you—” She grabbed him by the neck and pressed her forehead against his.
"It's not for Sewoon, it's for me. I'm sure and today you just proved it to me once again. Don't doubt my decisions, Jungkook. I want you. All of you! and I'm ready" Shedidn't have time to respond, as her lips met his as he picked her up and stood up, making Y/n wrap her legs around his waist, heading to her bedroom.
He sat on the edge of the bed, with her on top. While one of his hands was on her waist, the other moved up and down her back, leaving shivers in its wake until his warm hand began to make its way up
“You okay?” his voice rougher and deeper than usual. Not that she minded. “I need words baby girl. I need you to tell me what you feel comfortable with or not. Okay?”
She whispered “I’m more than okay Jungkook. Shut up and continue, please.” she gave him a smile for reassurance.
“May I?" He left the question hanging as he played with the hem of her top. She nodded and he bit his lip, carefully pulling the material over her head and throwing it on the floor. Her lips quickly found his again and the gentleness about the previous kiss had slightly been lost, even if it was still caring, but was now more passioante and full of lust and desire.
Jungkook got up, placing you down on the bed carefully, running his hands down your sides, watching as she shivers under his touch. “Are you sure you wanna do this?”
“Yes baby” Jungkook nodded and climbed on top of her, grinding his member experimentally down into yours, hands roaming your body before coming to a halt at the cup of your bra.
“Sit up, let me take this off you” She did as she was told and once the item was gone, she instinctively coiled her body into herself in an attempt to hide from him. “Don’t do that babe, you’re so beautiful. Love the way you look.” Jungkook’s lips goes from hers to her neck while one of his hands caress her breasts slowly making her moan. “I promise you don’t need to be nervous in front of me. Unless you wanna stop.” Y/n shook her head and brough her hand to trail her fingers across his sharp jawline
“Keep going”
Jungkook smiles and kisses her before pusihng her onto her back, his hands tugging at her nipple gently, smirking when he got a lustful moan in response. He moved down her body to rest his hips between her legs and lowered his head to one of her breasts, sucking on them as her hand gripped the back of nis neck. Y/n felt his hand travel back down her body and she lifted her hips up to help him remove her jeans. In turn, her hands skimmed down the expanse of his toned back and into the back of his jeans “take these off”
Shetugged at his jean and he chuckled, moving to unbotton them and pulled them down his legs, leaving him only in his boxers. She bit down on her lip to stop a moan from escaping when she saw the hardeness of his member. Jungkook knelt between her legs on the bed and slowly removed her underwear. “so beautiful baby. I've never seen someone as beautiful as you. Gosh, this view is enough to make me cum.” He whispered softly as his boxers were thrown onto the floor.
Jungkook kissed up her legs, to yoher ur thighs and up to her hips, where he sucked roughly on the skin there. You moaned. His fingers were quick to join him, stroking your skin as he made his way up to her core, stroking youher r wetness while she gasped, tangling her hands on his hair while he circled her clit with two fingers.
“So perfect baby girl. I wanna feel how good you take my fingers” he moaned as his fingers dipped lower to tease her entrance.
“Jungkook, p-please" He placed one last kiss to her hips before lifting his head so he could watch his fingers slowly slide into her. At first shefelt weird, not used to the feeling of anything inside her but also loving Jungkook’s touch.
His fingers pumped in and out of her and she could feel helserlf clenching every often around his fingers. Shelet out numerous pleas and he chuckled at her desperation as his fingers continued to work on her- in and out- moving his thumb on your clit.
“F--fuck- so good baby. I’m so close” she moaned as he pumped faster inside her.
“Cum for me baby” Herresponse was a series of strangled moans, feeling her climax building up inside. Then he sucks on his fingers, turning heron even more before kissing her again. “Are you ready?” he questions, in between kisses. Y/n nods as she lifts her legs to meet his member.
He grabs a condom and starts rolling it down when she puts her hands on his member, unraveling the condom on his dick. He pushes her down and slides his dick along her wet pussy, not entering yet. Her antecipation was turning him on even more. Then, he slowly pushed himself into her. At first she ounces in pain and he stops for a second so she can adjust to his size. Soon she tells him to move again and even if in the beggining she felt some sharp pain, it slowly turns into pleasure as he works himself in and out of her.
Y/n digs her nails into his back as he starts going faster and harder, making her bounce under him, moans grow louder and nails dig deeper. Her body quivers under his touch as he kisses her neck while his hands explore the curves of her body.
And you stay like that, losing yourselves in each others embrace.
The next few days passed almost too quietly.
When Lisa came back to town, she dropped by the café asking for iced coffees and gossip; Namjoon and Sana’s date turned out better than anyone expected. Life, for once, didn’t feel like it was constantly about to fall apart. But peace, didn’t mean stillness, it meant breathing through the small things — the arguments about music in Jungkook’s car, the way he always stole her fries, the way she’d roll her eyes but never really mind.
They were figuring it out.
On Friday night, they met by the river — their unofficial spot since before things had ever turned romantic. The city lights shimmered across the water and the bridge hummed faintly from passing cars. Jungkook leaned on the railing beside her, hands stuffed in his pockets.
As the night deepened, they walked along the water in silence. Every step felt lighter than the last. They didn’t know what the future would look like — there would still be jealousy, fear, arguments, bad days. But standing there with him, Y/n realized something she hadn’t before: love wasn’t about never falling apart; it was about learning how to build again, every single time.
Jungkook looked at her then, that soft, boyish grin breaking across his face. “You’re thinking too hard again.” She smiled
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just realizing how lucky I am.” He tilted his head, mock serious.
“Lucky to have me?”
“Lucky you still annoy me this much,” she teased. He laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“You wouldn’t have it any other way.” And she really didn’t, because in that moment — with the wind in her hair, the city lights reflecting in his eyes and the world finally quiet around them — she realized she didn’t need perfect.
Six months had passed.
Y/n and Jungkook were oficially together. When they told everyone around them it felt like it was the news of the year. Everyone was thrilled and happy for them, even though it was more than obvious. She wasn't spending so much time at Lisa's apartment and Jungkook would always meet her after work. They were together all the time, either at the tattoo studio or the café. Jungkook made her feel alive... loved. Being with him was everything she’d ever imagined and more. She also found a new addiction: sex. Sex with Jungkook was out of this world, they’d do it everyday- sometimes twice a day.
“ Wanna know something?” he tilted his head towards her, nodding. "If I knew sex would be this good I wouldn’t have waited so long to have it.” She was obsvioulsy teasing, but that was enough for Jungkook to feel a tiny bit of jealousy.
“Sex is only good because you’re having it with me and we’re in love with each other. That fire you have belongs to me, don’t have any ideas with anyone else. The only dick you’re getting filled with is mine”
Jungkook looked different too. Even tho he was still this young looking fabulous man, he also looked matured. His hair had grown a little longer, his voice had gotten rougher, deeper somehow — like the kind of change that only comes from growth and sleepless nights.
Right now he was working on this detailed piece for a client. Y/n was spending the weekend at his house but he still had work to finish so she was waiting for him while he did it, but got bored pretty quick. She walked in quietly, setting a cup of coffee on the table beside him.
“You’ve been here since dawn,” she said. He lifted the headphones slightly, grinning.
“I started this an hour ago.”
“That still counts as dawn.” She laughed, leaning over his shoulder to glance at the computer screen.
“You’re still stuck on that?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “It doesn’t click yet.”
“You need to get some rest. I don’t mind helping you with that” You winked, getting down on your knees. Let’s just say Jungkook forgot what he was doing for a long while after that. Not that he minded.
The rain had stopped hours ago, but the city still carried its scent — damp asphalt, petrichor, a faint sweetness in the air. Y/n stood by the window of the café, her reflection framed by the soft glow of the monitors behind her.
The clock on the wall blinked 1:37 a.m. There was a special event at her work so she had done more hours than she thought she’d need. She was finishing cleaning all the mess while Jungkook waited for her, however, he was too quiet for your liking. He’d only be this silent when he was overthinking – and he did that a lot lately
She leaned against the table he was sitting at drawing. His hair was messy, eyes tired, a faint stubble tracing his jaw — but he was beautiful in that fragile, human way she loved most. “What’s on your mind?” He scribbled on the sheet. Then, without meeting her eyes, he said quietly,
“What if one day this all stops meaning something to you?” Y/n blinked, caught off guard.
“What do you mean?”
“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely to them. “What if I wake up one day and you realize you want something else? Someone simpler. Someone who doesn’t come with all the weight I do.” Y/n stared at him for a long time. He wasn’t angry — he was scared. And it broke her a little, how softly he confessed it.
She sat beside him so he had no choice but to look at her. “You think love works like that? That it just... expires?” He met her gaze finally, eyes searching.
“People change.”
“They do,” she said. “But if it’s real, love changes with them.” He exhaled shakily.
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not,” she admitted, her voice small. “But neither of us were ever looking for easy, were we?” That made him smile — barely, but enough. Y/n reached up, taking his hand in both of hers. “Do you want to know the truth?”
“Always.”
“I still get scared too,” she said. “Sometimes I look at you and I think, ‘What if I lose this? What if I mess up?’ But then you do something stupid like burn the rice or forget your keys again and I remember — this isn’t a dream. It’s real. Messy, loud, exhausting… but real.” His thumb brushed over her knuckles, slow and tender.
“I don’t deserve you.” She laughed softly.
“Then we’re even.”
Jungkook tilted his head, something glimmering behind his eyes. “You really mean it?
“That I love you even when you overthink yourself into insomnia? Yeah.” He laughed then, quietly -- the sound shaky but genuine. Then he whispered,
“Marry me.” Y/n froze.
The world seemed to still — the hum of the monitors, the soft buzz of the city outside, even her heartbeat.
“Jungkook…”
“I mean it,” he said, his voice steady now. “Not today. Not next week. I just—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been thinking about it. About you. About us. And I realized I don’t want to keep waiting for the perfect moment. I just want a lifetime of imperfect ones with you.” Y/n didn't know what to say. She was stunned.
“You can’t just drop that on me at two in the morning while you’re half-sleepless and emotional.” He smiled, sheepish.
“Why not? That’s when I’m most honest.” Y/n scrunched her nose
“I hate you” he laughed
“No you don’t babe” He stood then, pulling her up with him. They stood close, the faint hum of rain returning outside. Jungkook cupped her face, his thumb brushing away some hair from her cheek.
“You don’t have to answer now,” he said softly. “I just needed you to know what I want — where I see us going. I’m serious about us” Y/n looked at him for a long time, memorizing every line of his face, every trace of vulnerability he never showed anyone else.
“Then let me tell you what I want,” she said. “I want you to keep waking me up with bad coffee. I want the arguments, the laughter, the chaos. I want this.” she grabbed his face. “But we just started our relationship and Sewoon’s it’s still in the picture” as you said these words you saw his face fall, emotions surpressed.
“It’s not a no Jungkook, it’s a let’s give it some time to see where we go” Jungkook nodded slowly, trying to mask the flicker of disappointment that passed through his eyes. He forced a small smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his lips.
“I get it,” he said quietly. “You’re right… we’ve barely begun. I shouldn’t have said anything yet.” Y/n stepped closer, shaking her head.
“No, Jungkook. Don’t take it back. I’m glad you said it. It means something — it means you’re serious.” He looked down at her hands, now resting over his chest. His heartbeat was fast beneath her palms, steady but aching.
“I just thought… maybe after everything, we were finally in the same place.”
“We are,” she whispered. “Just not at the same pace.” The words hung between them — soft, honest, heavy. Jungkook breathed out slowly, nodding again under the low café light.
“I’ve waited for you before,” he murmured. “I can wait again. Just… promise me you’re not pulling away.” Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat, her voice small but certain.
“I’m not pulling away. I just want to build this the right way this time, without rushing, without ghosts between us.” He exhaled, a shaky breath that carried both relief and sadness.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The hum of the city filled the silence — cars passing, the faint patter of drizzle outside. Y/n reached up and brushed her thumb over his cheek.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said softly.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re losing something.” He blinked hard, eyes darting away.
“I guess I just… wanted forever to start sooner.” Y/n smiled gently.
“It already did, Jungkook. It started the moment we stopped running from each other.” He let out a breath that sounded a little like a laugh, a little like a sigh. Then, almost instinctively, he pulled her into his arms. She went willingly, her head resting against his chest.
They stayed like that — two people still learning how to hold each other without fear. His hands rested against her back and for the first time that night, he felt his heart slow down. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered against his shirt.
“I know,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “I just needed to hear it.”
The rain began to fall harder outside, tapping gently against the windowpane. Neither of them moved, they didn’t need to. In the quiet of that moment, with the weight of words still lingering and the future uncertain — they found something steady: not a promise of perfection, but the quiet understanding that love, even when it hurt, was still worth holding on to.
Jungkook woke up first, blinking at the ceiling, his arm heavy around Y/n’s waist. She was still asleep breathing quietly beside him, her hair spread across the pillow like ink against the white fabric. For a long time, he just watched her, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the small furrow in her brow, the steady rise and fall of her chest.
It was weird how peace could feel so heavy.
He didn’t regret bringing up the marriage convo. They made a pact to be honest with each other and Jungkook’s been thinking about settling down a lot, especially since him and Y/n been together, but now, in the stillness of morning, her words echoed back to him — not a “no,” just a “not yet.” and somehow, that tiny difference hurt more than he expected.
He gently pulled his arm away and sat up, running a hand through his messy hair. The air was cool against his skin. He could smell coffee faintly — probably from the pot she’d brewed hours before falling asleep. The mug was still on the counter, half-empty. He stood and padded to the kitchen, trying to shake off the ache in his chest.
By the time Y/n woke up, Jungkook was sitting by the window, sketchbook in hand, though he wasn’t really drawing. Just holding the pencil, tapping it against the page, lost in thought.
“Hey,” she said softly, her voice hoarse from sleep. He glanced over his shoulder, forcing a small smile.
“Morning.” She pulled the blanket around her shoulders and walked over to him, her bare feet silent on the floor. She leaned against the back of the couch, peering down at the empty page.
“You’ve been up long?”
“A while.”
“Couldn’t sleep?” He shrugged.
“Just thinking.”
“Anything to do about last night?” He hesitated.
“Maybe.” Y/n circled around and sat beside him. For a while, neither of them spoke. The rain filled the silence between them, soft and steady. She reached out and traced a finger along the edge of his sketchbook.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said quietly.
“I know.” His voice was calm but still with a choked voice.
"I'm going to get breakfast, didn't fell like doing anything. Is there anything specific you want?" You shook your head.
"Whatever you bring for yourself, you can bring for me too. Do you want me to go with you?"
“No, I’ll go. It’s rainy and windy. Relax and get ready while I’m away. Be sure to be hungry too” He smiled but not with an ordinary smile, but rather with a faded smile. He kissed her forehead before putting on his coat and leaving, closing the door gently.
They both felt a certain tension but every relationship has that, right? Tension, different points of view, arguments. But things would work out, because you and Jungkook knew what you wanted. It was just a bad morning, nothing to worry about.
The café was quiet that morning — too quiet.
It was a Tuesday, the kind of day when the city still seemed to be stretching awake. Rain clouds hung low, though the air was dry for once. Y/n stood behind the counter, rinsing out mugs that no one had touched yet, her mind elsewhere.
Jungkook had left early — earlier than usual. He’d said something about grabbing breakfast with a client, needing to discuss a new tattoo design before work. She hadn’t thought much of it then. He’d kissed her forehead, told her to eat something and disappeared into the gray morning.
But hours later, when Lisa came in for her usual latte and gossip, she mentioned something that made Y/n’s hands still mid-motion. “I swear I saw Jungkook this morning,” Lisa said casually, blowing on her coffee. “Outside that little café near his tattoo studio, on 5th. You know, the one near the art supply store? He wasn’t alone though—” She looked up, noticing Y/n’s sudden silence. “Oh. Should I not have said that?” Y/n forced a tight smile.
“No, it’s fine. Who was he with?” Lisa frowned, clearly regretting bringing it up. “It could’ve been anyone, honestly. I only caught a glimpse. But… she looked like Sewoon” Y/n’s grip tightened on the cup until she was afraid it might crack.
“Thanks Lisa,” she said quickly. “Really. Don’t worry about it.” But the rest of the day moved like a blur — customers talking, music playing faintly in the background, yet everything sounding distant. Her chest felt heavy. A familiar kind of ache. Not sharp, not loud, but steady and exhausting.
By the time Jungkook walked into the café that afternoon, the air around Y/n had changed. She didn’t even look up at first. He leaned on the counter, smiling that easy smile that usually made her melt.
“Hey you.” She hummed in response, drying a mug. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was clipped. “How was breakfast?” He blinked.
“Good I guess. Why?” She finally looked up, and the way she met his gaze made his stomach twist.
“Who was it with?” he hesitated — just long enough for her to notice.
“A client,” he said carefully.
“A client,” she repeated. “And would this client happen to have a name?”
“Y/n…”
“Just answer the question.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“It was Sewoon.” There it was — the name she’d been dreading, sitting between them like a ghost that refused to leave. Y/n set the mug down slowly.
“And you didn’t think about telling me that?”
“I didn’t want to upset you.”
“Upset me?” She laughed, but it came out broken. “You think not telling me was better?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Jungkook said, his voice soft but urgent. “She came by the store a few days ago — about a tattoo. When Sophia talked to her she specifically asked for me. I figured it’d be easier if I just met her and cleared the air. She knows I moved on, that I’m happy. It wasn’t anything personal, it was all professional.” Her throat tightened.
“So you saw her, sat across from her, talked to her and decided I didn’t need to know?” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration slipping through his calm.
“Y/n, it wasn’t some secret meeting. It took ten minutes max”
“You stayed with her Jungkook,” she said quietly, trembling now. “After everything she put us through, you chose to sit with her and didn’t think I deserved to know.” He looked pained.
“It wasn’t like that goddamn! She wanted a tattoo, we talked about it. She brought what we had up and I told her everything she needed to listen, once again. She won’t come back. I promise you that.”
“But you didn’t give me that,” Y/n said, her voice cracking. “You let me find out from someone else. Do you know what that feels like?” He closed his eyes.
“Y/n—”
“No, seriously,” she cut in, her voice rising. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to stand here, smiling, thinking we’re finally okay, only to hear from someone else that you were with her?” The café was empty, but it suddenly felt too small for both of them. Jungkook took a step closer.
“You’re twisting this—”
“I’m not twisting anything!” she snapped, tears pricking her eyes. “You lied by omission Jungkook. That’s still lying.” He flinched at her tone. For a second, he didn’t speak. When he finally did, his voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it.
“I was being professional Y/n. I'm not one to let personal things get in the way of my job. That meeting was all about a goddamn business.” He sighed “I didn’t want to make things harder.”
“Then you should’ve trusted me enough to handle the truth.” Her words hit him harder than she meant them to. He looked down, jaw tight, breathing uneven.
“You’re right,” he said finally. “I should’ve told you. I just… didn’t want to see that look in your eyes again. The one that says you’re wondering if you made the wrong choice. The one you give when you don’t trust me enough to believe I love you.” She froze. The honesty in his voice disarmed her, but the pain behind it cut deep.
“Jungkook…” He looked up at her then, eyes glassy.
“You think it doesn’t kill me to know she still lives somewhere in your head? Every time I see you hesitate, every time you look at me like you’re still convincing yourself this is real — it wrecks me Y/n. We're together for about 10 months and you still don't trust me”
“I’m not the one who met with my ex,” she whispered.
“I know.” His voice broke. “But I’m still the one trying to protect what we have, even if I don’t always know how. I talked about marriage to you, shared my future expectations with you and all you gave me was an answer full of doubts. If we’re gonna talk about things, let’s start about the ones from the last few days” Silence stretched between them. The rain started again outside, soft and relentless. Y/n turned away, wiping her face.
“I need some space.” His chest tightened.
“Don’t do this again,” he whispered. “don’t run away” She closed her eyes.
“I’m not. I just… need to breathe. To remember that I can still trust you.” She paused at the door, hand trembling on the knob. “You say you always wait but you never tell me what you’re waiting for.” And with that, she walked out, leaving him standing in the quiet café with the sound of rain and the hollow ache of words neither of them could take back.
That night, Jungkook sat alone in his apartment. Ever since Y/n started to spend more time there, he hated how his house felt empty without her presence. Her sweater was still on the couch, her mug still half-full from that morning. He wanted to call her, to ease her; to explain the only reason Jungkook accepted meeting with Sewoon was a way of protecting Y/n, even himself and their relationship. But every version of the truth would sound like another excuse.
Instead, he opened his sketchbook. He drew her — not the smiling version he always drew, but the one from that afternoon: eyes fierce, heart bruised, still beautiful in her anger.
Across the page, he wrote three words that would never leave his lips:
I almost lost you.
The storm outside hadn’t stopped all evening.
Rain traced thin rivers down Lisa’s living room window, the city lights blurring into soft amber streaks through the glass. The scent of vanilla candles and freshly brewed tea filled the room, warm against the chill of the night. Y/n sat curled up on Lisa’s couch, wrapped in one of her oversized blankets. Her phone lay face-down on the coffee table, ignored for hours. Lisa appeared from the kitchen, carrying two mugs of tea, steam curling into the air between them.
“Chamomile,” Lisa said, settling beside her. “You look like you could use it.” Y/n smiled weakly, taking the mug with trembling hands.
“Thanks.” Lisa studied her for a moment, her expression softening.
“You’ve been quiet since you came in. What happened?” Y/n hesitated, staring into the tea as if it might answer for her.
“I found out Jungkook saw Sewoon.” The words hung there, heavy and sour. Lisa blinked, setting her mug down slowly.
“Wait — what? When?”
“This morning,” Y/n murmured. “Lisa… you saw them. You mentioned it at the café.” Lisa’s eyes widened.
“Oh my god, I didn’t think it was actually her. I swear, I just saw him with someone and—”
“It was her,” Y/n cut in softly. “He told me later. He said she reached out to talk about a tattoo. And he was okay with it.” Lisa’s mouth parted in shock.
“And he didn’t tell you?” Y/n shook her head, her voice breaking.
“No. I had to ask. I had to pull it out of him. And the worst part? He didn’t even think it was wrong. Said he didn’t want to upset me.” Lisa sank back against the couch, silent for a moment. The only sound was the rain outside, steady and unrelenting. Then she spoke, calm but careful.
“Okay. First of all — you have every right to be hurt. I’d be furious too.”
“Good,” Y/n said bitterly, wiping at her eyes. “Because I feel insane for even being this upset.”
“You’re not insane,” Lisa said firmly. “You’re in love. And when you love someone that much, the line between fear and anger gets blurry.” Y/n swallowed hard, setting her mug down with a soft clink.
“He promised me no more secrets. No more hiding. After everything with her… I thought we were past this.” Lisa leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees.
“Can I be honest?”
“Always.”
“I don’t think he meant to hurt you,” she said gently. “If Jungkook met with Sewoon, there has to be a reason. You know him, Y/n. He’s not careless with you. That man worships the ground you walk on.” Y/n laughed quietly, but it came out bitter.
“He didn’t seem like it when he was sitting across from her.” Lisa tilted her head.
“Did he tell you what they talked about?”
“He said it was about work — a tattoo design. But I don’t care what it was about Lisa. It’s her. He knows what she did to us.”
“I know,” Lisa said softly. “But maybe that’s exactly why he saw her. Maybe he needed to face her to finally let go of the last piece of that mess. Maybe it wasn’t about her — maybe it was about you.” Y/n frowned.
“About me?” Lisa nodded.
“Think about it. He’s been trying to prove to you that he’s all in; that Sewoon’s gone for good. Maybe seeing her, telling her face to face that he’s moved on, was his way of closing that door for good.” Y/n went quiet, her eyes flickering with uncertainty.
“Then why didn’t he tell me?”
“Because he’s dumb,” Lisa said bluntly, then softened. “Or scared. Probably both. You’ve seen how he gets — he overthinks everything. He probably thought he was protecting you from getting hurt again.” Lisa looks at Y/n “And because you’re also not easy to talk to when it comes to feelings” Y/n raised her head with a questioning look
“What do you mean by that?”
“You project your insecurities and fears on him. Then he does something to protect you and you get angry -- but tell me one thing: if he told you, what would your reacting be?” Y/n took a little too long to answer. “Exactly my point. I’m not saying what he did was the most correct thing, however I understand why he did it the way he did.” Y/n was quiet for a while until she finally had courage to speak up
“You really think I’m hard to talk to?”
“You witnessed their relationship, but you weren't there with them. You only heard what Sewoon told you and you know it was always with the intention of provoking you as much as possible. Whether you wanted to or not, you ended up projecting all of that onto Jungkook. Regardless of what he does, you'll always doubt him when it comes to Sewoon. That's why he wanted to protect you.”
“Well, that didn’t work,” Y/n muttered.
“No, it didn’t,” Lisa admitted with a small smile. “But, Y/n, listen to me. Jungkook is crazy in love with you. I’ve seen it. Everyone has. The man looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him breathing. He wouldn’t risk that for Sewoon — not in a million years.” Y/n’s eyes welled up again, but this time the tears weren’t just from anger.
“You really think so?” Lisa reached over and took her hand.
“I know so. You two have been through hell and somehow came out stronger. This isn’t the thing that breaks you — not unless you let it.” Y/n /n stared down at their intertwined hands, her thumb brushing over Lisa’s rings.
“It just hurts that he thought lying was easier than trusting me.” Lisa’s voice softened.
“Yeah, but maybe he thought losing you would hurt worse.” That landed deep. Y/n looked away, blinking hard.
“He always thinks he needs to protect me.” Lisa smiled faintly.
“If he was in danger or hurt, wouldn’t you do everything in your power to protect him too?” She didn’t answer --- she didn’t need to. The rain began to ease outside, turning into a soft drizzle that barely touched the glass. The room felt quieter now, the storm inside Y/n beginning to settle.
“Do you think I should talk to him?” she asked finally. Lisa nodded.
“I think you need to. You can be mad, but don’t shut him out. He’s not Sewoon, Y/n. He’s the guy who still texts me to ask what kind of flowers you like because he ‘forgot’ even though it’s always been tulips.”
That made Y/n laugh through her tears. “He really does that?”
“Every month,” Lisa said proudly. “He’s hopeless.” Y/n exhaled, leaning back into the couch.
“You always know how to make me see straight.” Lisa grinned.
“That’s what best friends are for — to remind you that love isn’t ruined just because it’s messy.” Y/n nodded, a faint, grateful smile crossing her lips.
“You think we’ll be okay?”
“I think you already are,” Lisa said softly. “You just have to talk it out — and maybe make him sweat a little first.” Y/n laughed again, wiping her face.
“Maybe I will.” Lisa leaned over, resting her head on Y/n’s shoulder.
“Good. But promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t let Sewoon’s shadow live rent-free in your head again. You already won, Y/n. You got the part of him she never could.” Y/n’s eyes softened, her chest warming at the words. “His heart.”
The rain stopped completely, leaving only the faint echo of it dripping from the windowsills and for the first time all day, Y/n finally felt something like peace.
The city had gone quiet by the time Y/n stepped out of the cab. The rain had left the streets glistening under the amber glow of the lamps, the air still heavy with the scent of wet asphalt and ink. She had gone to Jungkook's house, but it was empty, so the only place he could be was at the tattoo studio.
She had a key to his house and to the shop, in case anything happened. Jungkook’s studio sat at the corner of the block, its lights still on even though it was close to midnight. Through the wide window, she could see him hunched over his sketchbook, shoulders tense, headphones hanging loosely around his neck. He looked exhausted, lonely, even. Y/n hesitated by the door, her heart pounding hard enough to drown out her thoughts. Lisa’s words still echoed in her head:
He must’ve had a reason. He’s crazy in love with you.
She took a breath and pushed the door open. The small bell above it chimed softly. Jungkook looked up instantly, surprise flickering in his eyes. He stood quickly, unsure whether to smile or brace for another storm. “Y/n,” he breathed, her name small and careful on his tongue. “You’re here”
“Yeah,” she said quietly, stepping inside. “Can we talk?” He nodded, swallowing hard.
“Always.” She didn’t sit. Neither did he. The air between them felt fragile, full of things unsaid. Y/n crossed her arms, more to keep herself steady than out of defiance.
“You could’ve told me, Jungkook.” His shoulders sagged.
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do,” she said, her voice shaking. “You said you didn’t want to upset me, but what upsets me more is that you decided for me like I can’t handle the truth.”
“I wasn’t trying to decide for you,” he said quickly. “I just didn’t want to see that look again — the one that says you’re wondering if I’m worth trusting.” Her jaw clenched.
“Then you should’ve trusted me to decide what I can handle.” He exhaled, looking down at his hands.
“You’re right.” The honesty in his tone threw her off. She blinked, anger faltering just slightly.
“Then why didn’t you?” He lifted his eyes, tired and sincere.
“Because I’m scared,” he admitted. “Every time things are good between us, I start waiting for something to go wrong. And when Sewoon texted, I thought if I just met her, told her face to face that it’s over — I could protect what we have. I didn’t want her to find another way to reach you or stir things up again.” Y/n stood still, her throat tightening.
“So you went behind my back to protect me?”
“It sounds worse when you say it like that,” he murmured.
“Because it is worse,” she said softly. “ I’d hate the thought of you together for sure, but I would’ve understood if you told me it was something you needed. Now it just feels like a part of you still thinks you need to fight your battles alone.” He took a step closer, his voice low.
“That’s because I’m terrified of losing you in the way and I don’t want to make you feel pressured about Sewoon's shit anymore.”
“You almost did.” The words landed sharp and deep. Silence stretched, heavy and trembling. Jungkook’s eyes glistened under the dim studio light.
“I know,” he whispered. “And I hate myself for it.” Y/n blinked back tears, her anger finally softening into something more fragile — hurt, exhaustion, love.
“Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to believe in us again? How much it takes to trust that this—” she gestured between them “—isn’t going to fall apart every time something reminds us of her?”
“I know,” he said again, voice breaking. “I’ve seen how hard you try. I see it every day. And I keep screwing up anyway.” Y/n wiped at her cheek.
“Then stop hiding behind good intentions. I don’t need perfect, Jungkook. I just need honest. Even when it’s messy.” He nodded, eyes shining.
“You do deserve that. You deserve everything I can’t seem to say right.” For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Jungkook moved: slowly, cautiously, he crossed the distance between them. He stopped just inches away, searching her face for any sign to step back.
“Can I hold you?” he asked softly. Her chest ached, but she nodded. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close — not like he was claiming her, but like he was afraid she might slip through his fingers. Y/n buried her face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of coffee, ink, and rain.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “For not telling you. For thinking silence was safer. For being stupid enough to risk us.” She clutched his shirt, her voice muffled.
“I hate that you still make me love you even when I’m angry.” He smiled weakly against her temple.
“Then we’re even. You make me terrified and grateful at the same time.” They stood there for a long time — two people learning, again, how to forgive without forgetting. When she finally pulled back, Y/n looked up at him, eyes soft but steady.
“Next time just tell me. Even if it’s ugly. Even if it hurts.”
“I will,” he promised, voice trembling. “No more half-truths.”
“Good,” she whispered. “Because I don’t ever want to wonder what side of your story I’m in again. I don’t want to be second best anymore” He nodded, brushing his thumb across her cheek.
“You’re the only story Y/n, there’s no one else. You have never been second best. You were always the one.” Her breath hitched — not because she doubted him this time, but because, for once, the words felt true enough to believe. She smiled faintly.
“Then show me that.” He kissed her forehead — soft, hesitant, but full of meaning. When he pulled back, the quiet between them wasn’t heavy anymore.
“Fuck me baby – right here, right now. I need to feel you” she whispered in his embrace, close to his ear. She didn’t need to ask twice. He grabbed her and positioned her on top of the counter, woshiping every part of her.
Jungkook had to let himself remember he had to delete the footage otherwise he'd be mocked for days about things he didn’t want anyone to see.
JUNGKOOK WHY WOULD U NOT TELL HER??? even with context, u still met up a ur manipulative ex gf who caused sm pain to the both of u….sometimes even fictional men can be stupid😪
Summary: Being friends with someone who has your heart it’s already hard, let alone when that special someone ends up falling in love with your best friend, the one you think would never make anything to hurt you . Will you be able to ignore it and move on? what will happen when everything gets too much for you to handle?
Genre: Friends to lovers; angst; body insecurities; bullying; friend betrayel;
Pairing: Jungkook x female!reader
Wordcount: 8k
Author's note: Soooo it's been a while I know. I was so NOT inspired to keep this story going but guess I'm coming back on track. Hope you like it 💜
P.S : I'm sorry for any mistakes. English is not my first language!
Jungkook couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this kind of rush with anyone else. The need, the desire, the electricity between them, everything was so intense it almost hurt to stop. Maybe it was because all those feelings they’d buried for so long were finally breaking free, impossible to ignore, so of course, when Y/n’s phone began to ring, both of them groaned in frustration.
Who on earth had such terrible timing?
The phone kept ringing, insistent. With a reluctant sigh, Y/n stepped back to grab it, Jungkook’s hands still firm around her waist. Three missed calls: Namjoon.
“Shit,” she muttered.
“What happened?” Jungkook asked, his voice low and slightly breathless.
“It’s Namjoon. I told him I’d meet him at the café and… well, I got a little distracted.” Her cheeks flushed and Jungkook laughed softly, brushing his lips against her neck.
“You’re already here,” he whispered, his tone teasing. “Why not keep doing what we were doing?” The way his hands held her made it hard to think, let alone walk away. But she had promised Namjoon she’d meet him.
And she hated breaking promises.
“I’m sorry Kook. I wish I could stay — believe me, I do. But I’m already late.” He frowned, eyes darkening slightly.
“You really have to go? We’re in the middle of a make-out session and you’re leaving me to go see him? What’s going on between you two, anyway? You’ve never been this open with any other guy and I’ve known you for a while.” Y/n chuckled softly, shaking her head.
“Don’t be ridiculous Jungkook. It’s nothing like that. Okay… I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but I’ll make an exception since you’re clearly imagining things. I’m helping Namjoon plan a date with my coworker, Sana. They both like each other, but are too stubborn to admit it. Sana’s on her lunch break, so it’s safe to talk about it now.” Jungkook sighed, still holding her close.
“I don’t like it,” he admitted. “I hate the thought of him being that close to you. It feels like you’re closer to him than to me.” His fingertips traced her skin, sending goosebumps down her arms. He gently lifted her hands to rest around his neck. “I’m proud of how kind and thoughtful you are, but sometimes… I wish that kindness didn’t include other guys.” Y/n’s gaze softened.
“You’re not mad, are you?”
“Not mad” he said quietly. “although I’m not thrilled you’re leaving me for another guy. It’s not about trust — I do trust you. It’s just… strange. If I were him, I’d find any excuse to spend time with you too. As long as you come back to me, I’ll deal with it.” She smiled, a little shy.
“You know I’d never hurt you on purpose. I’ve been falling for you for so long… I love what we were able to construct, I don’t want to lose it, not now not ever. Being without you already felt like punishment.” Jungkook poked her cheek, smirking softly.
“That hurt, you know.” he confessed
“I was embarrassed,” she admitted. “After my vacation, I didn’t know how to act around you. One moment we were fine, the next we were fighting again. It was too much. Then I left and you didn’t stop me.”
“I needed time to think,” he said gently. “Sometimes I just need to process things too.”
“I know and I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he murmured, brushing her hair from her face. “We both need to get better at communicating, but what matters now is that we’re here. Together.”
“Right,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him again.
For a few long moments, neither of them spoke. The silence was warm, comforting. Then Jungkook clicked his fingers in front of her face, grinning. “Hey, earth to Y/n. You okay?”
“Huh? Oh yeah. I was just thinking. I’ve never done this before… a real relationship, I mean. It’s new. Scary. And Sewoon’s still somewhere in the picture. Great way to start something new, huh?” Jungkook sighed softly.
“I promise you Sewoon belongs in the past. I don’t care about her anymore — not like before. You’re the one I want, Y/n. There’s no pressure. We’ll go at your pace. I told you I’d wait and I meant it.” Her heart melted. She kissed him again, slow and deep, losing herself in the taste of him. She could never get enough.
“I really have to go now,” she whispered between kisses. “If I take any longer, Namjoon will kill me.” He chuckled, unlocking the door for her.
“Then promise me one thing,” he said. “Have dinner with me tonight. I’ll pick you up from wherever you are. We’ll go to the beach, watch the stars, maybe do absolutely nothing. I just want to be with you.” Y/n grinned, scrunching her nose the way she always did when teasing him.
“Never thought you’d be the clingy type.”
“I’ve always liked being around you,” he said. “You know I don’t waste time on people I don’t care about.” She kissed the tip of his nose.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night. And yes, dinner sounds perfect. Even if we just sit and stare at nothing, I’m in. You know I’m all in if it means being with you” With one last kiss, she left — her heart full, her lips still tingling, and her mind a whirlwind of thoughts.
The walk to meet Namjoon felt like drifting between two worlds. Y/n’s heart was still fluttering, her lips still tingling with Jungkook’s taste. She replayed every touch, every word, every smile — but alongside the warmth came a tiny spark of unease because even when everything felt perfect, Sewoon’s words still lingered like a ghost in her mind:
“The game with Jungkook isn’t over, my love. This is just the beginning. You’ll see him choose me every time — even if it’s just for a quick fuck.”
Y/n tried to shake it off, but the doubt stung. He’d never go back to her, she told herself. He wouldn’t. Not after today.
Then she felt her phone buzz again — a string of missed calls and texts from Namjoon and one from Lisa that made her laugh despite herself: “Get it, girl. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do 😉” They left her and Jungkook alone on purpose, she knew it and she loved them for it — even if it meant she now had to face an impatient Namjoon.
When she finally pushed open the café door, Namjoon was pacing behind the counter, running a hand through his hair. His expression was pure exasperation. “I know, I know!” she said before he could even open his mouth. “I’m sorry I’m late, don’t kill me! We still have time, right?”
“Y/n,” he groaned dramatically. “You’ve ignored three calls! I’ve been losing my mind here. Sana’s lunch break is almost over and if she walks in early and sees this— we’re doomed” Y/n dropped onto a stool, resting her elbows on the counter.
The truth was her lunch break would be over in two hours, so you guys had plenty of time to talk and plan everything, you just didn’t want to tell Namjoon he was overreacting. “You’re right, i’m sorry. Lisa dragged me to a tattoo shop and I thought she was the only getting one, but nope— surprise, surprise – I was getting one too. It took forever and my was almost dead and on silence” Namjoon stopped pacing and blinked.
“Wait— you got a tattoo?” Y/n hissed
“Focus Joon,” she teased. “You can panic about my life choices later. What’s the plan?” Despite his frustration, a small smile tugged at his lips.
“Fine. Here’s what I’ve got…” For the next hour, they huddled over his notes and cups of half-finished lattes, going over every detail of the date — the music, the flowers, the restaurant that matched Sana’s taste for quiet corners and soft lights. Y/n could see the nervous excitement flickering behind Namjoon’s composure. He cared deeply, even if he’d never admit it out loud.
When they finally wrapped up, he leaned back, a rare grin breaking through his usual calm. “If this doesn’t work out I’ll give up on Sana and take you on a date instead.” Y/n laughed and swatted his arm.
“Dream on Joon.”
Their laughter filled the cozy little café — but it faded quickly when Y/n turned to grab her bag and froze. Standing by the door was Jungkook, however, his eyes weren’t warm this time, there was a storm behind them — a mix of confusion and jealousy. Y/n’s stomach dropped.
She didn’t know how long he’d been there, but judging by the tightness in his jaw, it was long enough to get the wrong idea. “Hey there stranger,” she greeted softly, forcing a smile and patting the stool beside her, trying to light up the mood. Jungkook managed a half-smile and sat down
“Hi bug.” His voice was even, but his gaze kept flicking between her and Namjoon like he was trying to read invisible text between them. Trying to ease the tension, Y/n called toward the counter “Two lattes and a carrot cupcake with chocolate cream on top, please.” Namjoon gave a knowing look and went to prepare the order, giving them space.
Y/n turned back to Jungkook, her voice gentle. “Hey, are you okay? I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought we agreed to text later.”
“I did text you,” he said quietly. “I called too. Twice. No answer. Then it went straight to voicemail and I got worried. I figured I’d check if you made it here safely.” She grabbed her phone from her bag and sighed. Dead battery.
“Shit. I didn’t notice it ran out of battery. I’m sorry Kook, didn’t mean to worry you.” His expression softened, but only a little.
“It’s fine,” he murmured, though the tension in his shoulders said otherwise. Y/n reached for his hand under the table, brushing her fingers against his.
“Hey,” she whispered, “I’m really here for Namjoon and Sana, nothing else. You trust me, right? He was just joking” He hesitated — then nodded, eyes finally meeting hers.
“I do. I just… I don’t like the idea of sharing your time. Selfish, I know.” Her heart swelled.
“You’re allowed to be selfish sometimes. I like it, actually.” For the first time since he walked in, Jungkook smiled — the kind of small, shy smile that made her want to pull him close again and for a moment, sitting there in that little café, with the faint smell of coffee and the warmth of his hand in hers, it felt like the rest of the world had melted away.
No one could deny the chemistry between you two. Your friends would always mock you about it slighly but you’d always ignore it, thinking they were just teasing you about your feelings towards him but now, looking at things differently you can see it now. Feel it actually.
The sound of the espresso machine filled the café, soft and rhythmic, a poor disguise for the tension thickening the air. Jungkook’s hand rested in Y/n’s, warm and still, but his eyes were far away — fixed on Namjoon as he moved behind the counter. There was no anger in his face, not exactly; it was something quieter, heavier. A hurt he didn’t know how to name. Y/n squeezed his hand gently. “Don’t do that,” she murmured.
“Do what?” His tone was calm, but she could hear the edge beneath it.
“Overthink.” She smiled softly. “You already know what this is about. There’s nothing to worry about, I promise. If anything, I should be the one overthinking things.” He looked at her for a long moment, then sighed.
“I’m trying not to, it’s just… when I see you with him, laughing, talking so easily — it gets to me. You have this way of giving yourself so fully to people, Y/n. I can’t help but want that part of you to be mine.” Her chest tightened at his words. He wasn’t accusing her; he was confessing.
“I get it,” she said quietly. “but you already have that part of me, Jungkook. You’ve had it for a long time, I just didn’t know how to say it before.” That earned hir a faint smile — the kind that reached his eyes but didn’t quite erase the worry hiding in them. Just then, Namjoon returned with their drinks, sliding the latte and cupcake toward them.
“Here you go,” he said, cheerful but observant. He could sense the shift in energy, the unspoken tension and for a moment, his easy confidence faltered.
“Thanks,” Y/n replied quickly, hoping to break the awkward silence. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“No problem,” Namjoon said with a grin, leaning casually on the counter. “So, Jungkook — didn’t expect to see you here. You a coffee person or just following Y/n around?” Jungkook’s lips twitched.
“Maybe both.” It was a playful answer, but there was something sharp underneath. Namjoon chuckled, unfazed, though Y/n could tell he caught the undertone. She exhaled quietly, trying to pull the conversation back to neutral ground.
“Anyway Joon, I think your plan for Sana is perfect. She’ll love the restaurant choice — the view’s gorgeous at night.” Namjoon nodded, his focus shifting gratefully.
“Yeah that’s the idea. If everything goes right, maybe she’ll finally stop pretending she’s not into me.” Y/n smiled.
“She’s into you, trust me. She’s just scared.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said, glancing down with a shy grin. “Otherwise, I’m doomed.” At that, Jungkook’s jaw clenched — barely noticeable, yet Y/n saw it. His eyes flicked between them again and she knew he’d only caught bits and pieces of the conversation, enough to twist them the wrong way.
“Doomed for what?” Jungkook asked, his tone deceptively calm. Namjoon looked up, realizing the tension had returned. “For this date,” he said easily. “If it doesn’t go well, I might just steal your girl here for backup again.” It was a harmless joke but Jungkook’s eyes darkened. Y/n’s pulse skipped.
“Hey—” she started, but Jungkook was already standing. He pushed his chair back with a soft scrape against the tile, trying to mask the storm behind his expression.
“I should go,” he said quietly. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Y/n stood too, reaching for his wrist.
“Jungkook, wait it’s not what you think. He is joking around! ” He looked down at her, eyes soft but conflicted.
“I know,” he said, voice low. “I just… need a minute.” Before she could say anything else, he leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to her forehead — tender, but heavy with unspoken things. Then he turned and walked out, the bell over the door chiming softly behind him.
Y/n stood frozen for a moment, her heart sinking. Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Y/n, I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” she interrupted gently. “It’s not your fault. He’s just… scared. We both are, it’s been a hard ride between us” She stared out the café window, watching Jungkook’s figure disappear down the street. Her hand came up to touch her forehead where his lips had been and her chest ached with both love and longing, because she knew, no matter how strong the connection between them was, love was never simple.
It was messy, fragile, and sometimes it hurt — even when it was real. If it was real
The café felt colder after Jungkook left. The soft hum of the coffee machine, the faint chatter of a few customers — all of it faded into a quiet buzz behind Y/n’s thoughts. Her heart was still racing. She could still feel his kiss on her forehead — the gentle press of lips that said I care, even as his eyes had said I’m hurting.
Namjoon called her name softly, snapping her from the fog. “Go after him,” he said, his tone kind, not teasing this time. “He’s not angry at you. Just insecure I'd guess.” She nodded, grabbed her bag and slipped out into the street.
The evening air hit her skin, cool and crisp. She looked up and down the street — no sign of him. She tried calling, but then remembered her phone was off. Right, she thought with a frustrated sigh, still dead. So she walked past the quiet shops, the small bookstore Jungkook liked, the corner where they once stood for hours arguing about music and laughing about nothing.
Every step felt heavier than the last until she finally spotted him — a familiar figure sitting alone on a park bench, hood pulled up, staring at the ground — she felt both relief and guilt crash into her chest at once. She approached slowly, not wanting to startle him.
“Hey,” she said softly, her voice breaking the quiet between them. He didn’t look up right away.
“I knew you’d come,” he murmured, his voice low, tired. Y/n sat beside him, close but careful.
“You left before I could explain.”
“I don't need an explanation,” he said, eyes still fixed ahead. “I trust you Y/n. I really do. It’s just—” He exhaled, the sound more like a sigh than a breath. “Sometimes I hate how easily you can give your heart to people. I want it all to myself and I know that’s selfish.” She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his.
“It’s not selfish. It’s human.” Finally, he looked at her. His eyes were tired but soft, the jealousy fading into something more vulnerable — fear, maybe.
“I saw the way you looked at him,” Jungkook said quietly. “Not like you wanted him, but like you understood him. Like you care. And a part of me is afraid you’ll see I’m not enough”
“I do care,” Y/n admitted. “but not the way you think Kook. Namjoon’s my friend, he helped me a lot, listened to me. You—” she hesitated, searching for the right words, “—you’re the one I can’t stop thinking about. The one I keep coming back to, even when it scares me.” His hand tightened around hers.
“You make it sound like loving me is dangerous.”
“It is,” she whispered, smiling faintly. “You make me feel everything all at once. It’s terrifying and wonderful and… real. I never experienced this. You dated my best friend, the one who still lingers around us. Everything is confusing and messy and yet, I still want all of it Losing you means losing half of my heart.”
“I trust you so much, but sometimes trusting doesn’t stop me from being scared.”
“Scared of what?” He hesitated.
“Of losing you to someone who doesn’t deserve you. To Namjoon. Or anyone, really.” He laughed bitterly. “It’s stupid because I think I don’t deserve you too.” Y/n took a quiet breath, staring at their joined shadows on the pavement.
“It’s not stupid,” she said. “Because I’m scared too Kook. Just… for different reasons.” That made him look up. His gaze softened, curious, searching.
“I keep thinking about Sewoon all the time” Y/n admitted. The name tasted bitter, but it needed to be said. “What she told me, the way she looked at me like she already knew how this would end before it even started. She said and I quote: ‘The game with you isn’t over. I'll see you choose her every time — even if it’s just for a quick fuck.” Jungkook’s jaw tightened. His hands curled slightly on his knees.
“I hate that she said that to you,” he whispered.
“So do I,” Y/n said quietly. “But it stuck with me, because she meant it and I don’t know what scares me more — that she might try again, or that part of me believes she could still get to you. She had you first Jungkook and I can’t compete with that. She had you in ways I never had you and will probably take some time for us to get there.” That confession cracked something in her voice. She didn’t mean it as an accusation — it was fear. Jungkook turned toward her then, his expression softening. He reached out, took her hand and brought it to his chest. She could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm.
“Sewoon is my past,” he said. “Whatever she’s trying to prove doesn’t matter. She can play whatever game she wants, but I’m done playing. I don’t want her, Y/n, never really did. I want you.” her eyes flickered with uncertainty.
“Even if I doubt you sometimes?”
“Especially then,” he said, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Because that’s when you need me to remind you I’m not going anywhere.” Tears gathered in her eyes before she could stop them.
“You say that like it’s easy.”
“It’s not,” he admitted. “But it’s real. You’re real to me.” She laughed softly, shaky but genuine.
“You make it so hard to stay mad at you.”
“Good,” he whispered, smiling faintly. “ I can’t stand it when you’re not looking at me like you are right now.” Their eyes locked and they just looked at each other and when he leaned in, she met him halfway. The kiss was slow, lingering, full of the things they’d been too afraid to say.
When they finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his. “I don’t want to be scared anymore,” she whispered. “Not of Sewoon, not of us. If you’re willing to fight for this, so am I.” He smiled against her lips.
“Then that’s all I need to hear.” For the first time in what felt like forever, she believed him.
They stayed like that for a while — sitting on that weathered park bench, hands still entwined, hearts finally breathing in sync again. The world around them moved on quietly: a dog barked somewhere in the distance, the streetlights flickered and the breeze carried the faint scent of the ocean. Jungkook tilted his head toward her.
“Come with me,” he said softly.
“Where?”
“You’ll see.” There was a playful spark in his eyes again--- the one she thought she’d lost for good earlier that day. Without another word, he stood and offered her his hand. She took it without hesitation.
They drove in silence at first, the city lights fading behind them, replaced by the quiet rhythm of the waves calling from afar. The windows were down, the night air cool against Y/n’s skin, a faint melody played from the car’s speakers — one of Jungkook’s playlists. When they finally reached the beach, the world seemed to slow down. The horizon stretched endlessly, and the stars spilled across the sky like scattered diamonds. Y/n stepped out of the car and took a deep breath.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. Jungkook smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets as he watched her take it in.
“I used to come here when I needed to think,” he said. “When everything felt too loud.” She turned toward him, her eyes glimmering under the moonlight.
“And now?”
“Now,” he said, walking toward her, “it finally feels quiet — because you’re here wih me.” Y/n’s heart stuttered.
The simplicity of his words hit her harder than any grand declaration ever could. They sat down on the sand together, close enough that their shoulders brushed. The waves rolled in and out, steady and comforting, like the sound of forgiveness. For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence between them wasn’t heavy this time; it was peaceful. Then Jungkook reached into his pocket and pulled out two small bottles of soda.
“Sorry,” he said with a grin, handing one to her. “Didn’t have time to grab wine.” Y/n laughed softly.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“ Good thing you love that about me.”
“Maybe I do,” she teased, twisting open the can. He leaned back on his elbows, eyes fixed on the sky.
“You know,” he said, his voice quieter now “I was terrified today. Not because of Namjoon, not even because of Sewoon — but because for a second, I thought I’d messed everything up again.” Jungkook brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers tracing her jaw before settling beneath her chin.
“You really mean that?” He nodded
“With all of my heart. I don’t want to be afraid anymore –of anything or anyone” His thumb brushed against her cheek. Y/n turned to look at him.
“You didn’t mess anything up. You just… felt something real. And that’s messy sometimes.” He smiled faintly.
“You’re too forgiving.”
“I’m not,” she said. “For some time I couldn’t forgive you for being with Sewoon.” you said playfully. “I’m just tired of fighting something that feels this right. I don’t wanna hide what I feel or what I want anymore.” For a moment, all she could hear was the ocean. The sound of the waves, soft and endless, like the rhythm of her heartbeat when he leaned closer.
“Then let’s stop being afraid. Let’s stop running” And when he kissed her this time, it wasn’t hesitant or rushed. It was slow and certain, full of quiet devotion.
The kiss intensified and in an impulsive moment, he pulled her on top of him, to which Y/n responded perfectly, not showing herself bothered in the slightest for the intimate act. The kiss grew deeper and deeper and Jungkook's hands began roaming her body. That's when she realized what they were doing and pulled back a little.
“I’m sorry” He said, his voice low, tucking the strands of her hair behind her ears. When they finally pulled apart, Y/n rested her head on his shoulder, smiling to herself.
“You know,” she murmured, “I think I finally understand what you meant earlier.” He looked at her confused
“About what?”
“About peace. It’s not a place, it’s a person.” Jungkook smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“Then I’m glad you found yours.”
“Me too,” she whispered. The night stretched around them — infinite and gentle and for the first time in a long while, Y/n didn’t feel torn between fear and longing.
She just felt home.
The night slipped away softly, like a tide retreating from the sand. Y/n hadn’t realized how long they’d been sitting there until the stars began to fade — one by one giving place to the first streaks of dawn painted the sky in shades of peach and gold. Jungkook had pulled her close sometime during the night, his jacket draped over her shoulders, their fingers intertwined.
Neither of them had said much after that, they didn’t need to. The silence between them was finally easy — filled with warmth instead of worry. When the soft hum of waves met the hush of early morning wind, Y/n spoke first.
“Do you ever think about how everything started?” Jungkook shifted beside her, his thumb brushing lazy circles on the back of her hand.
“You mean us?” She nodded. Jungkook scrunched his nose. “I still remember when you pretended to lose the earring you never had” Y/n punched his arm.
“You noticed that?! Oh God” She said resting her face between her hands. He laughed, holding her.
“I did. I noticed you right away. It was no coincidence that I started going to that café every day. You captured my attention from the very first moment” Y/n hoped Jungkook didn’t notice the read stain on her cheeks or else he’d tease her about it too.
“Sometimes it felt like we were always meant to be together— but other times I wonder how we even made it this far.” He smiled feeling nostalgic
“A lot of stubbornness, even more chaos and you refusing to give up on me, even when I deserved it.” She raised her eyebrows
“You make it sound like I’m some kind of saint.”
“You kind of are,” he said softly, and when she rolled her eyes, he laughed. “I mean it. You’ve seen me at my worst and stayed. That’s rare.” Y/n looked down at the sand, her fingers tracing random shapes near his.
“I stayed because I saw the parts of you that no one else gets to see. The ones that don’t need to be perfect to be worth loving.” Jungkook was quiet for a moment, then turned to her, his gaze steady.
“You say that like you don’t know you’ve been saving me this whole time.”
“I wasn’t trying to save you.”
“Maybe not, but you did anyway.” The words hung in the air, fragile and honest. Y/n smiled softly, letting her head rest on his shoulder.
“You know, when I first met you I never thought you’d be the one I’d end up fighting for.”
“And yet here we are,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her hair. “Still trying. Still fighting.”
“I think that’s what love is,” she said quietly. “Not perfect moments or grand gestures. Just… choosing each other, even when it’s hard.” Only then she realized she had used the L word. “Not saying that you need to lov---” Jungkook turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss on her lips.
“ I’ll keep choosing you, every time.” She looked up at him then, eyes glimmering in the first light of morning.
“Even when I’m difficult?”
“Especially then,” he said with a grin. “You keep things interesting.”
Y/n laughed, soft and breathy. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet you’re still here.” She smiled, her gaze drifting back toward the horizon. The sun had finally begun to rise, spilling warmth across the water. For a long time, they just watched — two silhouettes against the morning light, hearts steady, breaths slow.
“I used to think peace was something you had to chase,” Y/n said quietly. “But now I think it’s something you find when you stop running.” And as the waves kissed the shore and the world turned golden around them, they stayed there, talking in whispers, laughing about nothing, tracing lines in the sand that would disappear with the tide.
Because for once they didn’t need forever, they just needed this.
The air was cool and sweet, the kind of morning that made the world feel like it was starting over. Y/n blinked awake slowly, the distant sound of waves still echoing in her ears. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was — only the scent of salt, the faint warmth on her skin and the weight of an arm draped loosely across her waist.
Jungkook.
He was still asleep beside her, hoodie pulled up, his face softened in a way she rarely got to see — peaceful, unguarded. Y/n smiled to herself. The sun painted soft gold across his skin and she felt that same quiet awe she always did when she looked at him like this — like she was watching the version of him no one else got to see. She brushed a thumb across his cheek and whispered,
“You’re impossible, you know that?” He stirred, eyes fluttering open.
“Morning, bug.” His voice was husky with sleep, and she couldn’t help but laugh softly.
“You sound like you smoked a whole pack of cigarettes.” He smirked, stretching lazily.
“You sound like someone who didn’t get enough sleep.” Y/n rolled her eyes.
“Maybe because someone refused to stop talking about how peaceful everything was until two in the morning.” He chuckled, leaning up on one elbow.
“I was trying to be romantic.”
“You were trying to avoid sleeping on sand.”
“Same thing,” he said, grinning. She threw a handful of sand at him and he dodged, laughing. For a moment, it felt like nothing could touch them — no past, no jealousy, no lingering ghosts of old relationships, just sunlight, laughter and the ocean breathing softly behind them, but even in peace, reality had a way of creeping back in. Y/n’s phone buzzed somewhere in her bag, faint but insistent. She sighed.
“It’s too early for anyone to be calling.” Jungkook reached over, pulling the bag closer and fishing it out. “It’s Lisa,” he said, glancing at the screen. “Want me to answer?” Y/n groaned, covering her face.
“She’s probably calling to ask if I’m alive.”
“Or to ask if we—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence" Y/n warned, throwing another bit of sand at him. He laughed, sitting up fully now.
“Fine, fine. But you know she’s going to find out eventually.”
“She always does” Y/n admitted, standing and brushing the sand from her jeans. She stretched, squinting at the sun climbing higher over the horizon. “We should probably head back before she sends a search party.” Jungkook stood beside her, sliding his fingers through hers.
“You regret staying?” She turned to him, meeting his gaze — that familiar mix of sincerity and mischief that always undid her.
“Not for a second.” He smiled.
“Good, because I’m planning on keeping you for a while.” Y/n laughed softly, shaking her head.
“You say that like I’m some lost puppy you found on the beach.”
“More like a storm I willingly walked into,” he said quietly, his tone shifting. “and I’d do it again in a heartbeat” Something in his voice made her chest tighten — that raw, gentle honesty she was still learning to accept. She squeezed his hand.
“Then maybe we both finally stopped running.” He tilted his head, eyes glimmering. “Or maybe we just learned to run together.” They stood there a moment longer — two figures against the morning sun, wrapped in silence that no longer needed to be filled.
It had been four days since the beach — four days of quiet mornings and stolen smiles and dozens of kisses. The kind of feeling Y/n wasn’t used to.
She woke to the soft hum of her phone buzzing on the nightstand, sunlight spilling through the half-open curtains. Jungkook’s hoodie was still draped across her chair, smelling faintly of ocean salt and his cologne. She stared at it for a moment, remembering the way he’d wrapped it around her shoulders that night, the way he’d said let’s stop being afraid.
For the first time in a long while, she believed him. But the peace she was learning to have never lasted long. The message on her screen read:
Lisa: Emergency meeting at the café. 10 a.m. Don’t kill me, it’s about Sewoon. Her stomach dropped.
She read it again, slower this time, hoping she’d misread it — but the words didn’t change. Sewoon. The name still carried weight, like a half-healed bruise you forget about until someone presses on it. Y/n sat up, rubbing her temples. A small part of her hoped it was nothing — maybe a work thing, maybe a coincidence — but deep down, she knew better. Sewoon didn’t just “show up.” By the time she got there, Lisa was already waiting outside, pacing with two iced lattes in hand.
“Okay, before you freak out—”
“I’m already freaking out Lisa, spill it out” Y/n interrupted, snatching the drink from her hand. “You said Sewoon. As in Jungkook’s ex Sewoon? My ex best friend?” Lisa nodded, biting her lip.
“She came by the shop this morning. Said she wanted to talk to Namjoon about a ‘collaboration’ or something. But she was asking about you.” Y/n froze mid-sip. “Me?”
“Yeah. She was... calm, which is worse. You know that kind of calm people have before they start chaos? That.” Y/n sighed, already feeling the headache form behind her eyes.
“Of course she shows up just when things start feeling normal.” Lisa placed a hand on her arm.
“Hey. Whatever she’s planning, you don’t owe her anything. Jungkook made his choice.”
“Yeah I just hope the choice is still the same when she tries to do something ” Y/n muttered, though part of her wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Lisa or herself.
Later that afternoon, she found Jungkook at the tattoo studio. He was sitting by his desk, tapping his fingers against the paper in front of him. Draws were scattered across the floor — messy but alive, like him. When he saw her, his face lit up instantly. “Bug! You’re early.”
“Don’t call me that here. Athena can hear it.” she said automatically, though she couldn’t hide her smile.
“Then why are you smiling?”
“Because you’re annoying.” He grinned.
“That’s not new.” She dropped her bag on the floor and sat next to him, her tone softening.
“I saw Lisa today.” He glanced sideways.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“She said Sewoon stopped by the café” The silence that followed was sharp. Jungkook’s fingers froze on the papers, his expression unreadable.
“What did she want?”
“She said she was looking for Namjoon, but she asked about me too.” He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “Of course she did.”
“You think she’s trying to start something?”
“She doesn’t know how not to.”Y/n studied him quietly. There wasn’t anger in his voice — just exhaustion. The kind that comes from fighting the same battle too many times.
“She still matters to you, doesn’t she?” Y/n asked carefully. He turned to her, surprised.
“Not in the way you think. I just... I hate that she still finds ways to make you doubt me.”
“I don’t doubt you,” Y/n said softly, though her heart stuttered at the half-truth of it. “I just don’t trust her.”
“That makes two of us.” They sat in silence for a while. The late-afternoon light poured in through the windows, painting gold across his skin. Jungkook reached for her hand, thumb brushing across her wrist.
“She doesn’t get to control the story anymore,” he said. “We do.” It was a simple statement, but it landed heavy on you.
That night Y/n couldn’t sleep. The city outside was quiet, but her mind wasn’t. She scrolled through her texts— half-written drafts to Jungkook she never sent, old group photos with Lisa and Namjoon and somewhere buried deep in her gallery, a picture she’d taken months ago: Jungkook and Sewoon laughing at some rooftop party, arms slung around each other like nothing in the world could touch them.
She didn’t know why she hadn’t deleted them. Maybe part of her still needed proof that what she had now was real — that he’d chosen her. When her phone buzzed again, she jumped. Unknown number.
Unknown: You really thought he wouldn’t come back, didn’t you?
Y/n’s pulse quickened. She didn’t need a name to know who it was.
Sewoon. She sat up, heart pounding, staring at the message until the screen dimmed. Then another one came through.
Unknown: I saw you at the café. You look happy. That’s cute.
Y/n exhaled shakily and set the phone down, pressing her palms to her face.
The next morning, Jungkook showed up at her apartment unannounced. He looked tired — not just from lack of sleep, but from the weight of something he wasn’t saying. “Hey,” she greeted softly. “You look like you didn’t sleep.”
“I didn’t,” he admitted, stepping inside. “Neither did you, apparently.”
She frowned. “How—”
“You post stories when you can’t sleep. Lo-fi music, empty captions. I know your tells Y/n.” She sighed.
“You’re not supposed to stalk my stories, you know.” He half-smiled, though his eyes stayed serious.
“Did Sewoon message you?” Y/n froze. “How do you ---”
“She messaged me too,” he said quietly. “Something about wanting to ‘talk like adults.’ I blocked her.” Relief and worry tangled in her chest.
“Good.”
“But she’s not going to stop there,” he continued. “She never does.” Y/n sank onto the couch, feeling the tension settle heavy in her bones.
“What does she want Jungkook?” He sat beside her, staring at the floor. “Attention. Power. Maybe closure. I don’t know. But whatever she’s doing, it’s not about me anymore. It’s about us.” Y/n met his gaze.
“Then we handle it together.” He nodded slowly, his hand finding hers.
“Together.” And in that small, quiet promise, something inside her steadied — a calm before whatever storm Sewoon was about to bring.
That evening, as the sun dipped behind the skyline, Y/n received another message — this time from Namjoon.
Namjoon: You might want to come by the shop. Sewoon’s here again. And this time... she’s asking for Jungkook.
Y/n stared at the screen, her chest tightening. The world outside hummed like normal — traffic, laughter, distant music — but inside her, everything went still, because she knew this wasn’t just another interruption. It was the start of something they’d both been afraid of facing — the test of whether love could really survive the ghosts of who they used to be.
The air inside the café felt different that evening — thick, tense, like even the walls were holding their breath. Y/n pushed the door open slowly, the bell above it giving a small, hesitant chime. The smell of roasted coffee beans and vanilla syrup filled the air, familiar and grounding, but her heartbeat didn’t slow.
Namjoon was behind the counter, pretending to wipe a glass that didn’t need wiping. When he saw her, his shoulders relaxed a little. “You came.”
“Of course I did,” Y/n said quietly, setting her bag down on a stool. “Where is she?” Namjoon tilted his head toward the corner booth — the one by the window that caught the last streaks of sunset. Sewoon sat there, one leg crossed over the other, phone in hand, perfectly composed.
Her hair was different — shorter now, darker — but her presence hadn’t changed. She was still the kind of person who filled a room even when she didn’t speak. When her eyes lifted and met Y/n’s, there was that same unreadable smile — polite, almost sweet, but carrying the faint scent of danger underneath.
“Y/n,” she said, her tone light, warm even. “It’s been a while.”
“Not long enough,” Y/n replied before she could stop herself. Sewoon laughed softly.
“Fair. But you’re here, so that means you still care what I have to say.” Y/n crossed her arms, refusing to sit.
“You texted me, you messaged Jungkook, you came here twice — you’ve made your point. What do you want?” Sewoon tilted her head, studying her.
“Straight to the point. I almost forgot how sharp you can be.” She gestured to the seat across from her. “Sit. I promise I won’t bite.”
“I’ll stand.”
“Suit yourself.” Sewoon took a sip of her coffee, her red lipstick leaving a faint print on the rim. “I wanted to clear the air. There’s a lot of talk and I hate unfinished stories.”
“This isn’t a story” Y/n said. “It’s people’s lives.”
“Same thing” Sewoon murmured, eyes glimmering. “People just forget that every ending has a version they didn’t see.” Y/n clenched her jaw.
“Is this about Jungkook?” Sewoon’s smile didn’t fade.
“Everything’s always about Jungkook, isn’t it?” Before Y/n could answer, the bell above the door rang again. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Jungkook’s voice broke through the tension, low and cautious.
“You said you wanted to talk.” Sewoon’s eyes flicked past Y/n, softening — or maybe pretending to.
“Kook. You came.” He walked closer, stopping beside Y/n.
“Don’t call me that.” Sewoon’s brows lifted slightly, the faintest hint of amusement curling her lips.
“Still the same. Defensive when you care too much.”
“Say what you came to say,” Jungkook said evenly. Sewoon leaned back in her seat, eyes flicking between them like she was watching a show she’d already seen the ending to.
“Relax. I’m not here to win you back. I just wanted to make sure she”—she nodded toward Y/n—“understood what happened between us wasn’t a game.” Y/n’s voice cut in before Jungkook could respond.
“You mean the part where you told me he’d always choose you?” Sewoon smiled faintly, not even flinching.
“That part too.” Jungkook’s fists clenched at his sides.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I told you” she said calmly. “Closure. You think you’ve moved on, and maybe you have. But I needed to see it for myself and let's be hones, I don't”
“This isn’t closure, Sewoon,” Y/n said sharply. “This is you reopening wounds just to see if they’ll still bleed.” Sewoon’s gaze turned to her, sharp and deliberate.
“You’re not wrong. But tell me Y/n — when you look at him, do you really not wonder if he still thinks about me? About us? How I touched him, how I fuck---” The words hit like a spark to dry leaves — quiet but dangerous. Jungkook took a step forward, voice steady and angry.
“Stop that Sewoon, that's enoguh! You don’t get to do that.” Sewoon blinked, feigning innocence.
“Do what? Ask a question?”
“No,” Y/n said quietly, her tone colder now. “You’re not asking. You’re trying to plant a doubt.” For a moment, the three of them stood in silence, the café humming faintly around them — espresso machine, distant chatter, the world still moving while theirs had stopped. Finally, Jungkook exhaled and spoke.
“Sewoon. Whatever we had ended for a reason. I’m not angry with you anymore, but I’m not yours to test. I love her.” The words were simple — no grand gesture, no performance. Just truth. Sewoon’s expression flickered for the first time. Her fingers tightened around her coffee cup.
“The question is, are you sure about that? because last time I checked that wasn't what you said.”
Sewoon always leaves Y/n feeling too little, too insecure, too everything. She wasn't one to hate, but damn did she start to feel that way towards her
riea's comments: did yall miss me yes or no. no? oh okay... well rieamena comeback after uhhh 6 months???? yeah i just couldnt bring myself to write... sorry... BUTTTT i was watching the news one day and this amazing idea entered my brain!!!! unedited!!! its lowkey not even good but who cares.
it's become a running gag at this point. it's normal for coworkers and friends to have inside jokes. it's just a bit hard for you to take things seriously when there's a big sign that reads…
DON'T FLIRT ON AIR.
"and for those of you planning to head downtown this weekend," you say, eyes fixed on the teleprompter for exactly half a second before shifting to the camera, "expect full crowds, plenty of pumpkins, and—hopefully—some decent weather to go with it."
your voice is clean, smooth, professional.
"speaking of," you add, lips curving slightly at the edges, "let's check in with our morning meteorologist, takuma ino. takuma—please tell me you're not about to ruin fall for everyone."
the camera cuts to him and he's standing at the weather screen in a crisp white shirt—rolled sleeves, no tie, and that lazy confidence that somehow reads as charming instead of arrogant.
"ruin fall?" takuma says, hand on his chest in mock offense. "come on, sweetheart, i'm hurt. i don't think i've ever ruined anything for you. surely you would tell me if i have?"
you blink slowly and just sip your water, and from the corner of your vision, you can see him crack a smile and shake his head.
"alright!," he says with a clap, turning toward the screen with a flick of his pointer. "we're looking at a mild day ahead. highs in the low 70s, mostly sunny skies, and a cool breeze coming in from the north—basically, fall's doing what fall should do."
"wind's picking up a little in the late afternoon," he taps a spot near the river, "so if you're planning to take a stroll—or i don't know, go pick apples with someone who gives you a hard time on live television—bring a jacket."
you don't flinch, (because you know he wants to get a reaction out of you) but you do glance down at your notes for a little too long. not because you need to go over them. just to hide the smile threatening to break through.
"tonight's lows are around 54 degrees," he continues, gesturing at the glowing map behind him, the studio lights bouncing faintly off his shirt sleeve as he moves. you watch from the desk, camera still on him, hands folded neatly in front of you. you're not supposed to look at him while he talks. the producer hates it. it pulls focus, blurs the frame. but you can't help it.
"your weekend's shaping up nicely," he starts again, after the screen changes to show a weekly forecast, "just keep an eye on some cloud cover moving in by sunday. nothing serious, but you might not be as sunkissed as you'd like."
"and that's the weather forecast," takuma turns slightly back toward you, "back to you."
the camera lingers for half a second longer than usual. just enough time to catch the mutual smirks before the switch back to the anchor desk.
you clear your throat, eyes back on the prompter.
"coming up after the break," you say, all business again, "a sneak peek into an exclusive interview with actor nanami kento."
the second the red light above the camera fades, the whole studio exhales. chatter returns, the sound guy laughs about something in his headset, and the floor manager calls for a quick reset before the next segment. you take another sip of water, keeping your eyes glued to the stack of cue cards in front of you as footsteps approach. you don't have to look up to know who it is.
"was that line about apple picking necessary?" you ask, voice low enough that only he can hear as he leans against the desk beside you. takuma grins, the kind of grin that means trouble. "what, too subtle?" he loosens his rolled sleeves even further. it's not even hot in the newsroom. "i thought i was being sweet."
"you thought you were being funny," you correct, sliding him a sidelong glance. "which is worse."
takuma hums. "you didn't seem to mind, gorgeous."
you don't. you really don't. but you know there's a dozen people behind the cameras who would start connecting dots if you smile too wide, laugh too long, or—god forbid—say his name the way you do off air.
so instead, you tap your cue cards lightly against the desk, trying to fight back the heat rushing to your face, and say, "you're lucky you're charming."
"that's in my job description," he replies, flashing that camera-ready grin again before he drifts back toward the green screen setup.
you watch him go, pretending not to. it's ridiculous how easy he makes this look. you've been anchoring for seven years. trained in restraint and stillness and knowing how to be composed even when everything around you isn't and yet, the second takuma ino stepped into this newsroom two years ago, you started learning what it meant to almost break character.
almost. because you two have made it into some sort of game.
"let's keep it a secret and see how long it takes them to figure it out."
you met takuma ino long before he became your coworker. back when he was just a guy with a telescope on his apartment balcony and you were the neighbor who thought he was spying. five years later, you're still bantering—only now it's on live television, with a camera crew and hundreds of thousands of viewers instead of your old apartment walls.
though, it'll be harder in a week's time to avoid any questions and curious looks when you walk into work with a specific piece of jewelry on one of your fingers, won't it?
Summary: Kim Namjoon finally got out of military and back to the unwilling makeup artist. You may or may not have promised to marry him after the military service just so he would leave you alone. And well, he was now out to collect your promise (One shot)
Warnings: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Smut, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: First of all, Happy birthday to me. Second of all, I love Namjoon okay bye I hope you enjoy
The kings were back and you were still here.
It was as though the entire eighteen months did not happen. Hybe, their own kingdom, welcomed them with open arms, fans were roaming the streets in show of their unwavering support for the group and media from all over the world were broadcasting of their return. Likewise, the boys headed straight to the company as soon as they stepped out of the military compound as though they couldn’t wait a single second to reclaim their thrones.
Except for the apparent changes in their bodies as they adapted to the rigorous routine of the military, it was like nothing changed. It was evident by the way he was shamelessly staring at you as the meeting presided. Unwavering. Unblinking. You could feel the hair at the back of your neck stood up from the crushing uncomfortableness brought by his unwanted attention. You kept your gaze fixed forward, refusing to meet his eyes, except for that one slip—when you caught him sitting back, arms crossed, eyes heavy on you. Taehyung chuckled lowly at the sight of his hyung who looked like he was barely constraining himself. Meanwhile, you wanted to leave the building and perhaps if not for the ironclad contract, the country.
You had gone without this for eighteen months.
You thought those months were enough to extinguish whatever fire he had for you.
You couldn’t have been more wrong.
You should have known that a man such as Kim Namjoon wasn’t someone who let go so easily as evident by the way he persevered to lead BTS from a small company’s gamble to a worldwide phenomenon.
You should have known that he was someone who held promises in high regard, especially when it came from you.
“And so, that concludes our meeting!” Bang PD announced with a clap before addressing Namjoon and Taehyung. “Welcome back, boys and let’s take over the music industry once again.”
The staff cheered for them, some clapped their backs, congratulating them. You, on the other hand, were already one foot out of the room, so close to freedom when Bang PD called you. You groaned inwardly. There just went your escape. “I’m sorry for pulling you out of the TXT team. I know how much you like working with them. But you know how particular Namjoon is,” he sighed, his tone apologetic. “He didn’t want to proceed with his schedule if his usual team is not there.”
You didn’t know how to react. It wasn’t that he was particular with his team. No. It was just that he was particular when it came to you. You must admit that the entire time you spent working for them was one of the best years of your life. Despite the job being demanding, the boys made it worthwhile with the salary, benefits and of course, the friendship you built with them. The job honestly opened a lot of doors for you, doors that you could walk through any moment had it not been for one foolish mistake.
Everyday felt like living your dreams. You were literally living the life people dreamed of until he turned it into a nightmare. Or was it you who sabotaged yourself? Was it you who flew too close to the fire only to find out that the fire would rather burnout than let go?
It honestly started with a simple, harmless admiration.
You were with them almost every single day. You weren’t blind. You saw how the boys held this unexplainable charm that inevitably drew the fans. You noticed. But it was harder not to notice Namjoon more. He was charming, polite, a true leader in every sense of the word, intelligent, and well… he was like a man written by a woman.
As someone who had to work closely with his face, you could see the dark bags in his eyes, the tiredness that could only be hidden by makeup. He was always quiet while you worked with him, only greeting you a quiet good morning before closing his eyes and letting you do the work while the other members filled the room with noise and energy.
The next schedule with him, you were sure to buy him coffee after asking around the staff what he preferred. When you placed it on the table in front of him, he blinked at it, bleary-eyed.
He looked surprised, blinking his sleepy eyes before slowly drinking the coffee, hiding his dimpled smile. It became a quiet ritual after that. You’d bring the coffee; he’d give you a warm smile and a soft “thank you.” And each time, those simple gestures were enough to warm you far more than the drink ever could. It started with coffee.
Then came the conversations—short at first, until one day he asked about the book in your bag. The next thing you knew, the two of you were trading thoughts about novels while you brushed powder across his skin.
He smiled more now. His eyes seemed brighter. And in those moments, it was easy to believe he was warmer too.
If there was a thing such as a slow burn, yours was probably the slowest.
You didn’t even think your crush would turn out to something more, and at that point you just truly felt bad for the guy. He was falling asleep from working too hard. You’d been pulled from your usual schedule and assigned to another group, accompanying them overseas for an entire week. By the third day, you were exhausted, halfway through a late dinner in your hotel room, when your phone lit up.
Where are you?
You stared at the unknown number.
I’m sorry. Who’s this?
A pause. Then—
Namjoon.
Before you could even process, another message came through.
Where are you?
You hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.
I’m in Japan. Do you need anything?
When will you come back?
On the 28th. Why?
The next day, you were asked by the company to come back immediately. You weren’t told why.
When you walked in the makeup room once again, you heard someone muttered thank god.
Namjoon was already there, one leg crossed over the other, glancing up from his phone—not at you, but at your reflection in the mirror. His gaze was sharp, unblinking, the kind of look that pinned you in place.
Looking back, that should have been the first red flag.
You weren’t assigned to another group since then.
Suffice to say, it was the beginning of Namjoon monopolizing your time —one subtle scheduling change at a time, until every shift, every day, every hour seemed to circle back to him.
“What are you two?” Hoseok once asked, the ever-present smile in his face was as wide as ever.
His question caught you off guard you until he clarified that he was asking about you and the group’s leader. You said that you were friends. Hoseok lost his smile right then and there.
You weren’t delusional to hope that a simple harmless crush of yours would turn into a relationship. First, you didn’t think you would survive being in a relationship with an idol and second, Namjoon didn’t even like you.
You shrugged off that peculiar interaction.
“You should come to the party!”
You were already shaking your head before they could even finish their sentence. Parties weren’t your scene, and after the exhausting wrap on their album shoot, all you wanted was to go home and collapse into bed.
“Just stop by, noona! We promise we’ll have the drivers take you straight to your apartment!” Jimin pleaded, leaning forward with that disarming smile that made it harder to say no.
“I don’t want to be an imposition, really—” you began, already rehearsing your polite refusal.
“I’ll give out a bonus if you come,” Namjoon said suddenly, his voice cutting cleanly through the room.
You turned to him, startled. He’d been quiet through the entire exchange, absorbed in his phone—or so you thought. But now his eyes were on you, calm, unreadable, as if he’d been listening the whole time.
“…I’m going.”
Jimin whooped in victory. Namjoon just went back to his phone, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth in the mirror.
It was where it all truly went down.
The party was exclusive only for Hybe, everyone was having fun with all the drinks, food and the music. The members were obviously enjoying themselves as they should. They deserved it after the crucial several months of back-to-back schedule. You’d been content to ride the wave of celebration for a while, but the alcohol was beginning to blur your thoughts, the heat of the room pressing in. Fresh air seemed like the only solution. You weren’t sure why the balcony called to you, but you went, slipping out into the cool night. The muted bass of the party thudded faintly behind you as you inhaled deeply, the crisp air clearing your head.
Leaning against the railing, you tilted your head back to admire the stars—until a puff of smoke curled into the air on your right.
You turned.
There, half-swallowed by the shadows, stood Namjoon. The glow of the ember lit the edge of his face, the cigarette resting casually between his lips. His eyes met yours through the haze, unreadable.
You blinked, owlishly.
He looked at your lips, heat in his eyes apparent. It was quiet, no one dared to say a word. Namjoon stepped closer to you, his thick thighs enclosed by dark slacks and he didn’t stop until he was just a shy inch from you.
Your eyes were at his chest, and ever so slowly, you met his draconic eyes.
He smiled.
And you were gone.
His hand was on the back of your head, the other tilting your jaw up to meet his as he kissed you.
It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t soft. It was hungry, ravenous, dangerous. Namjoon drove you back until your spine hit the wall, hidden in shadow. His lips devoured yours, his tongue claiming without asking, playing with yours as if it already belonged to him. He tasted right—alarmingly right.
His hands roamed lower, gripping your thigh, thumb tracing along the strip of skin your dress exposed. The restraint in his touch was thin, trembling.
“I’ve wanted to do this,” he growled against your mouth, “every single fucking day.”
A beat.
Your breaths filling the air.
“…What’s stopping you?”
That was your second mistake.
The night was a blur.
Not because it was unmemorable, but because everything happened so fast.
Before you knew it, you were in his apartment. You heard the door click shut behind you, and as ominous as it sounded, you remembered thinking you just sealed your fate. Namjoon was looking at you, the apartment dark saved by the moonlight from the floor to ceiling window.
His hand slid across your jaw, his eyes fascinated by you.
You touched his hand, grappling with a semblance of control even when his erection was pressing against your stomach. “I..I don’t usually do this-”
His smile was slow, dangerous, the kind that promised nothing good.
“Good.”
It was all he said before he lifted you by the waist and hoisted you up the table. He pushed your legs apart, his hips in between them as he kissed you, his lips soft against yours. You couldn’t help but moan as he peppered kisses down your shoulders then his lips landed on top of your breast.
He was patient, but not when it came to this as he ripped down your bra and suck on your nipples like he had been starving for so long. His fingers went down to your core, pressing on your clothed clit and without any preamble, ripped your panties.
“Fuck, baby, you’re wet just for me,” he growled before he lifted your legs over his broad shoulders. He thrusted his tongue while sucking your clit. He was animalistic, hungry, savage as he made you come and come again until your begged him to stop. At one point you did try to crawl off the table only to be stopped by his strong arms.
“Where are you going, baby? We’re not yet done,” he crooned at you as he fingered you, too overstimulated to notice that you didn’t once discuss about protection.
“N-Namjoon–”
“Yes, baby girl?” he whispered and you heard zipper and the buckle of belt. You looked down and your eyes widened at his size.
“I…I don’t think that’s going to fit..”
“Of course it will,” he assured and wondered what you were talking about when you were made for him.
He guided the bulbous head of his cock, bumping your clit every so often. You mewled from the sensation. You were a mess. He knew it and he loved it.
“Namjoon…baby, please daddy–”
“What do you need baby?”
“Y-your cock. Daddy please!”
“Hmm,” he pushed the head of his cock in you and you knew you came a little from being so overstimulated, his thumb rubbing your wet clit. “I only take what’s mine,” he murmured. “Are you mine?”
“D-daddy –”
“Are you mine, baby girl?”
“Y-yours –”
You didn’t even finish when he slammed in you. you were squeezing your tight cunt around his hard cock. You could feel everything. You could feel the vein, the hardness and how deep he was in you. To Namjoon, this was nirvana. He could feel himself already becoming addicted. Obsessive, even. This was why he never allowed himself to indulge on his desires.
He was an obsessive man.
He never expected it to feel this fucking good. His fingers were going to leave marks, your neck would display his ownership.
“You’re doing so good for me, baby. You feel incredible.”
He could feel you tremble as he shuddered out of his orgasm, his hot cum inside you.
You remembered waking up the next day with your body sore and his arm wrapped around you. You didn’t know how you made it out of his apartment quietly, but you did.
Shame burned through you, vivid and suffocating. You kept replaying the night in your mind—his hands, his voice, the way you’d let go of every line you’d sworn you wouldn’t cross. It wasn’t just unprofessional. It was reckless.
He must think you were the kind of person who let desire dictate their choices. You couldn’t even bring yourself to blame him if he did.
So when your phone began lighting up with message after message from him, you didn’t open a single one. You didn’t have to—not when you’d already decided you were taking the month off. No work, no meetings, no chance encounters in dim-lit rooms with him standing far too close.
“What do you mean I am off the group’s shoot?”
The manager exhaled heavily, like he’d been dreading this conversation. Around the conference table, the other staff avoided your eyes, staring down at papers, coffee cups, anything but you.
“Y/N,” he began carefully, “I wish I could give you a better answer, but… BTS specifically requested for you to be exclusive to them.” He hesitated before adding, “They said Kim Namjoon is… very particular.”
And there it was.
The consequence of your actions. The price for leaving his bed.
The weight of it settled in your chest, cold and suffocating. You didn’t have to ask why. You already knew.
It only worsened from there. Namjoon wanted you around all the time—on sets, in meetings, in the shadows of every event. You weren’t just working with BTS anymore; you were orbiting him, tethered by something you didn’t remember agreeing to but somehow couldn’t break free from.
You were starting to suffocate. How could you even know that that horrendous mistake would turn your life into a nightmare?
You didn’t want to be in this situation, much less being in a pseudo-relationship with the leader of one of the biggest groups in the world. You wanted your old life back. In fact, you tried to break it off whatever was between the two of you one dinner.
“I can’t keep doing this,” you said, barely able to meet his eyes. “It’s not… right. I want things to go back to normal.”
Namjoon, with that practiced calm that made you want to scream, simply asked, “And what happens if the industry finds out you left because you fucked one of the members… and you’re in a relationship with one of them?”
You blinked at him, pulse skipping.
“You’re not my boyfriend—”
He tilted his head slightly, setting down his chopsticks with deliberate slowness. “You’re right,” he said, voice soft but unyielding. “A husband and wife sounds better. More ironclad.”
Your stomach dropped. “Are you insane?” you asked, half-hoping he would laugh and tell you this was all some sick joke.
But he just shrugged, like the idea of marrying you on paper to keep you locked in his orbit was the most natural thing in the world.
The air in the meeting room was already taut, but the moment the door opened, the tension doubled.
Seokjin walked in during his rare break from service—still in casual military uniform, the air of authority he’d gained during service clinging to him.
You and the other staff scrambled to your feet out of habit, but Seokjin’s eyes didn’t waver from Namjoon.
“Stay,” he said—not to the room, but to you specifically.
You froze, halfway standing.
His gaze slid back to Namjoon. “Are you changing our plans because of her?”
Namjoon leaned back in his chair, hands folded loosely on the table as if this was nothing more than a routine discussion.
“She’s going to leave once I’m in there.”
The bluntness of it hit like a slap.
You opened your mouth to protest, but Seokjin’s eyes cut to you sharp, assessing before returning to Namjoon.
“That’s not a reason to disrupt the schedule,” he said, voice clipped.
“It’s reason enough for me,” Namjoon replied calmly, though his eyes flicked toward you like a silent warning.
And suddenly you understood: This wasn’t just about enlistment. It was about making sure you had nowhere to run.
And now, you saw an out. A rare opportunity for you to be free from him.
Eighteen months of freedom.
Eighteen months of breathing space.
Seokjin rubbed his forehead, the kind of motion that said he’d been dragged into too many of Namjoon’s storms before. He leveled his gaze at his younger brother.
“This isn’t you, Namjoon.”
“Is she not going to run?” Namjoon asked, voice calm, but the words were like a blade. “If I enlist?”
Your stomach sank. Hypothetical, he said—except you knew he already believed the answer.
Seokjin exhaled through his nose. “What if we get her to sign a contract? Will that be enough?”
Namjoon didn’t hesitate. “I want her to promise me that she’ll marry me after.”
Your head snapped toward him. “What?!”
He didn’t even flinch. He just looked at you—steady, deliberate—like the idea was no more outrageous than asking you to pass the salt.
“Promise me,” he said quietly, “and I’ll go.”
What would a false promise cost you, right?
This.
This was what it cost you—eighteen months of deliberate silence.
Eighteen months of ignoring every call, every text, every midnight voicemail where his voice cracked as he told you he couldn’t sleep without you. That he was wasting away. That he didn’t know how to breathe in a world where you didn’t look at him.
And maybe you should’ve felt something—guilt, pity, even the faint ache of what used to be but you didn’t. You were just counting days, waiting for the lock on your cage to rust.
Your contract was almost up. One more month and you could be free from HYBE, from the constant eyes, from him.
You’d already mapped out your exit like a military operation. No forwarding address. No lingering contacts. No chance encounters in dim-lit corridors with him standing too close.
You thought he got over you now.
You were wrong.
“It’s just for one two days. Think of it as the last thing you’ll have to do for the company before you leave,” Bang PD said with a smile before leaving the room. You sighed, shoulders sagging, and turned—only to freeze.
There he was, blocking the hallway like he’d been waiting all morning just for this exact moment.
You blinked, owlish and unprepared, words stuttering in your throat. What did you say to someone you’d ghosted for almost two years? Someone whose messages you’d ignored, whose calls you’d silenced until the sound of his ringtone felt like a warning siren?
“W-welcome back, Namjoon,” you managed, voice too soft, too unsure.
He didn’t return the greeting. His eyes stayed locked on you, dark and unreadable, his arms folded across his chest as though he had every second in the world to stand there and dissect you.
“You’re resigning?”
It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t even a question, not really. More like a quiet confirmation of something he already knew.
You hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
A beat passed.
“Okay,” he said finally, turning slightly to let you pass. “See you in the shoot.”
And that was it. No anger. No plea. No demand.
For a second—just a fleeting second—you thought maybe he really had gotten over it. That maybe eighteen months had dulled whatever hold he thought he had on you.
The shoot happened to be six hours away from Seoul. The company car dropped you off with your things in front of what seemed to be a rest house.
It was too quiet to be a shoot.
You were used to chaos—the constant hum of chatter, the thud of heavy equipment being hauled around, cars lined up outside ready to transport anything that needed moving. But now? Nothing. Not even the faintest echo of footsteps.
Peculiar didn’t even begin to cover it.
But still, this was your last work for the company. After this, you were done, you told yourself. You just had to suck it up.
You opened the door only to be met with silence. Despite the house being homey filled with paintings and books, there was something eerie about it that you just couldn’t put your finger to. You walked deeper into the house, your phone on your hand calling your co-worker about where they could possibly be.
“Honey, what shoot? We are all in a break.”
You froze. “What?”
A low, velvety whisper brushed against your ear. “Welcome home, baby.”
You gasped, spinning around only to find Kim Namjoon standing far too close. Shirtless, his broad chest damp and glistening, grey sweats hanging low on his hips. His hair was tousled, droplets still sliding down his temple.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “I didn’t know you’d be this early, but I cooked just in case. Come on.”
Before you could process, his hand wrapped around yours, warm and firm, pulling you toward the kitchen.
You struggled, twisting your wrist. “W-what’s going on? Where’s the shoot? W-ha—”
Namjoon chuckled, finally stopping. He turned to face you, closing the distance in a single step, his hand sliding to your waist until your bodies were flush. His breath was warm on your skin as he dipped his head to inhale at your neck.
“God, I missed you,” he murmured. “I barely slept in there, did you know that? I was losing my mind not being able to get to you.” His grip tightened, possessive. “Ah, but regardless… you’re here now.”
You attempted to push him away to no avail. “Namjoon, seriously, where is everyone? My team was supposed to—”
“They’re not coming.” His tone was casual, almost lazy, but it landed like a brick in your chest.
Your phone was still in your hand. You glanced at it, thumb hovering over the screen to call again only for him to pluck it away with ease. He set it down on the counter like it was nothing.
“You…” Your mouth went dry. “…you set this up.”
Namjoon didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in again, brushing his lips against your temple. “Do you know how many strings I had to pull to make sure you were here alone?” he murmured, almost proudly. “No interruptions. No distractions. Just you and me.”
The warmth of the house now felt suffocating. Your gaze darted toward the front door, but Namjoon’s body shifted subtly, blocking the way without even touching you.
The air between you crackled with something you couldn’t quite name—part longing, part danger.
You swallowed hard. “Namjoon… what do you want from me?”
He grinned then, eyes crinkling in a way that would’ve been charming anywhere else, with anyone else.
“Your promise, my dear wife.”
You froze. “That was… I didn’t mean it, Namjoon. We would never work out, and you know that.”
His gaze darkened—not with anger, but with a strange, unshakable certainty. “You know what I realized in there? I realized that I want… no. I crave a family. I was hoping the seed I kept on planting in you would bear us a child, but maybe it wasn’t time. I was so disappointed every time your period came. But we have all the time in the world now… wife.”
Your stomach churned. “I’m not your wife. I will never be your wife—”
“Baby,” he interrupted softly, almost pitying. “You already are. Didn’t you think I wouldn’t… pull strings for you?”
You shook your head, taking a step back, but his hand caught your wrist with the precision of someone who had imagined this moment a thousand times.
“What strings?” you demanded.
Namjoon’s smirk deepened. “Immigration can be so… accommodating when the right documents cross their desk. You signed things you didn’t read, remember? When you thought it was just for a work visa?” He leaned in, eyes locked on yours. “Turns out you signed our marriage license, too.”
The room tilted. The paintings on the wall blurred. “No—”
“Yes,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along your jaw, as if comforting you. “And now there’s nowhere for you to go. Korea is home. I am home.”
You tore your wrist free, stumbling back, breath ragged. “You can’t—”
“I already did.” His voice was gentle, final.
And then, as if to seal it, he reached over to the counter and slid a small velvet box toward you. Inside was a simple gold band.
Summary: Kim Namjoon finally got out of military and back to the unwilling makeup artist. You may or may not have promised to marry him after the military service just so he would leave you alone. And well, he was now out to collect your promise (One shot)
Warnings: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Smut, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: First of all, Happy birthday to me. Second of all, I love Namjoon okay bye I hope you enjoy
The kings were back and you were still here.
It was as though the entire eighteen months did not happen. Hybe, their own kingdom, welcomed them with open arms, fans were roaming the streets in show of their unwavering support for the group and media from all over the world were broadcasting of their return. Likewise, the boys headed straight to the company as soon as they stepped out of the military compound as though they couldn’t wait a single second to reclaim their thrones.
Except for the apparent changes in their bodies as they adapted to the rigorous routine of the military, it was like nothing changed. It was evident by the way he was shamelessly staring at you as the meeting presided. Unwavering. Unblinking. You could feel the hair at the back of your neck stood up from the crushing uncomfortableness brought by his unwanted attention. You kept your gaze fixed forward, refusing to meet his eyes, except for that one slip—when you caught him sitting back, arms crossed, eyes heavy on you. Taehyung chuckled lowly at the sight of his hyung who looked like he was barely constraining himself. Meanwhile, you wanted to leave the building and perhaps if not for the ironclad contract, the country.
You had gone without this for eighteen months.
You thought those months were enough to extinguish whatever fire he had for you.
You couldn’t have been more wrong.
You should have known that a man such as Kim Namjoon wasn’t someone who let go so easily as evident by the way he persevered to lead BTS from a small company’s gamble to a worldwide phenomenon.
You should have known that he was someone who held promises in high regard, especially when it came from you.
“And so, that concludes our meeting!” Bang PD announced with a clap before addressing Namjoon and Taehyung. “Welcome back, boys and let’s take over the music industry once again.”
The staff cheered for them, some clapped their backs, congratulating them. You, on the other hand, were already one foot out of the room, so close to freedom when Bang PD called you. You groaned inwardly. There just went your escape. “I’m sorry for pulling you out of the TXT team. I know how much you like working with them. But you know how particular Namjoon is,” he sighed, his tone apologetic. “He didn’t want to proceed with his schedule if his usual team is not there.”
You didn’t know how to react. It wasn’t that he was particular with his team. No. It was just that he was particular when it came to you. You must admit that the entire time you spent working for them was one of the best years of your life. Despite the job being demanding, the boys made it worthwhile with the salary, benefits and of course, the friendship you built with them. The job honestly opened a lot of doors for you, doors that you could walk through any moment had it not been for one foolish mistake.
Everyday felt like living your dreams. You were literally living the life people dreamed of until he turned it into a nightmare. Or was it you who sabotaged yourself? Was it you who flew too close to the fire only to find out that the fire would rather burnout than let go?
It honestly started with a simple, harmless admiration.
You were with them almost every single day. You weren’t blind. You saw how the boys held this unexplainable charm that inevitably drew the fans. You noticed. But it was harder not to notice Namjoon more. He was charming, polite, a true leader in every sense of the word, intelligent, and well… he was like a man written by a woman.
As someone who had to work closely with his face, you could see the dark bags in his eyes, the tiredness that could only be hidden by makeup. He was always quiet while you worked with him, only greeting you a quiet good morning before closing his eyes and letting you do the work while the other members filled the room with noise and energy.
The next schedule with him, you were sure to buy him coffee after asking around the staff what he preferred. When you placed it on the table in front of him, he blinked at it, bleary-eyed.
He looked surprised, blinking his sleepy eyes before slowly drinking the coffee, hiding his dimpled smile. It became a quiet ritual after that. You’d bring the coffee; he’d give you a warm smile and a soft “thank you.” And each time, those simple gestures were enough to warm you far more than the drink ever could. It started with coffee.
Then came the conversations—short at first, until one day he asked about the book in your bag. The next thing you knew, the two of you were trading thoughts about novels while you brushed powder across his skin.
He smiled more now. His eyes seemed brighter. And in those moments, it was easy to believe he was warmer too.
If there was a thing such as a slow burn, yours was probably the slowest.
You didn’t even think your crush would turn out to something more, and at that point you just truly felt bad for the guy. He was falling asleep from working too hard. You’d been pulled from your usual schedule and assigned to another group, accompanying them overseas for an entire week. By the third day, you were exhausted, halfway through a late dinner in your hotel room, when your phone lit up.
Where are you?
You stared at the unknown number.
I’m sorry. Who’s this?
A pause. Then—
Namjoon.
Before you could even process, another message came through.
Where are you?
You hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.
I’m in Japan. Do you need anything?
When will you come back?
On the 28th. Why?
The next day, you were asked by the company to come back immediately. You weren’t told why.
When you walked in the makeup room once again, you heard someone muttered thank god.
Namjoon was already there, one leg crossed over the other, glancing up from his phone—not at you, but at your reflection in the mirror. His gaze was sharp, unblinking, the kind of look that pinned you in place.
Looking back, that should have been the first red flag.
You weren’t assigned to another group since then.
Suffice to say, it was the beginning of Namjoon monopolizing your time —one subtle scheduling change at a time, until every shift, every day, every hour seemed to circle back to him.
“What are you two?” Hoseok once asked, the ever-present smile in his face was as wide as ever.
His question caught you off guard you until he clarified that he was asking about you and the group’s leader. You said that you were friends. Hoseok lost his smile right then and there.
You weren’t delusional to hope that a simple harmless crush of yours would turn into a relationship. First, you didn’t think you would survive being in a relationship with an idol and second, Namjoon didn’t even like you.
You shrugged off that peculiar interaction.
“You should come to the party!”
You were already shaking your head before they could even finish their sentence. Parties weren’t your scene, and after the exhausting wrap on their album shoot, all you wanted was to go home and collapse into bed.
“Just stop by, noona! We promise we’ll have the drivers take you straight to your apartment!” Jimin pleaded, leaning forward with that disarming smile that made it harder to say no.
“I don’t want to be an imposition, really—” you began, already rehearsing your polite refusal.
“I’ll give out a bonus if you come,” Namjoon said suddenly, his voice cutting cleanly through the room.
You turned to him, startled. He’d been quiet through the entire exchange, absorbed in his phone—or so you thought. But now his eyes were on you, calm, unreadable, as if he’d been listening the whole time.
“…I’m going.”
Jimin whooped in victory. Namjoon just went back to his phone, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth in the mirror.
It was where it all truly went down.
The party was exclusive only for Hybe, everyone was having fun with all the drinks, food and the music. The members were obviously enjoying themselves as they should. They deserved it after the crucial several months of back-to-back schedule. You’d been content to ride the wave of celebration for a while, but the alcohol was beginning to blur your thoughts, the heat of the room pressing in. Fresh air seemed like the only solution. You weren’t sure why the balcony called to you, but you went, slipping out into the cool night. The muted bass of the party thudded faintly behind you as you inhaled deeply, the crisp air clearing your head.
Leaning against the railing, you tilted your head back to admire the stars—until a puff of smoke curled into the air on your right.
You turned.
There, half-swallowed by the shadows, stood Namjoon. The glow of the ember lit the edge of his face, the cigarette resting casually between his lips. His eyes met yours through the haze, unreadable.
You blinked, owlishly.
He looked at your lips, heat in his eyes apparent. It was quiet, no one dared to say a word. Namjoon stepped closer to you, his thick thighs enclosed by dark slacks and he didn’t stop until he was just a shy inch from you.
Your eyes were at his chest, and ever so slowly, you met his draconic eyes.
He smiled.
And you were gone.
His hand was on the back of your head, the other tilting your jaw up to meet his as he kissed you.
It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t soft. It was hungry, ravenous, dangerous. Namjoon drove you back until your spine hit the wall, hidden in shadow. His lips devoured yours, his tongue claiming without asking, playing with yours as if it already belonged to him. He tasted right—alarmingly right.
His hands roamed lower, gripping your thigh, thumb tracing along the strip of skin your dress exposed. The restraint in his touch was thin, trembling.
“I’ve wanted to do this,” he growled against your mouth, “every single fucking day.”
A beat.
Your breaths filling the air.
“…What’s stopping you?”
That was your second mistake.
The night was a blur.
Not because it was unmemorable, but because everything happened so fast.
Before you knew it, you were in his apartment. You heard the door click shut behind you, and as ominous as it sounded, you remembered thinking you just sealed your fate. Namjoon was looking at you, the apartment dark saved by the moonlight from the floor to ceiling window.
His hand slid across your jaw, his eyes fascinated by you.
You touched his hand, grappling with a semblance of control even when his erection was pressing against your stomach. “I..I don’t usually do this-”
His smile was slow, dangerous, the kind that promised nothing good.
“Good.”
It was all he said before he lifted you by the waist and hoisted you up the table. He pushed your legs apart, his hips in between them as he kissed you, his lips soft against yours. You couldn’t help but moan as he peppered kisses down your shoulders then his lips landed on top of your breast.
He was patient, but not when it came to this as he ripped down your bra and suck on your nipples like he had been starving for so long. His fingers went down to your core, pressing on your clothed clit and without any preamble, ripped your panties.
“Fuck, baby, you’re wet just for me,” he growled before he lifted your legs over his broad shoulders. He thrusted his tongue while sucking your clit. He was animalistic, hungry, savage as he made you come and come again until your begged him to stop. At one point you did try to crawl off the table only to be stopped by his strong arms.
“Where are you going, baby? We’re not yet done,” he crooned at you as he fingered you, too overstimulated to notice that you didn’t once discuss about protection.
“N-Namjoon–”
“Yes, baby girl?” he whispered and you heard zipper and the buckle of belt. You looked down and your eyes widened at his size.
“I…I don’t think that’s going to fit..”
“Of course it will,” he assured and wondered what you were talking about when you were made for him.
He guided the bulbous head of his cock, bumping your clit every so often. You mewled from the sensation. You were a mess. He knew it and he loved it.
“Namjoon…baby, please daddy–”
“What do you need baby?”
“Y-your cock. Daddy please!”
“Hmm,” he pushed the head of his cock in you and you knew you came a little from being so overstimulated, his thumb rubbing your wet clit. “I only take what’s mine,” he murmured. “Are you mine?”
“D-daddy –”
“Are you mine, baby girl?”
“Y-yours –”
You didn’t even finish when he slammed in you. you were squeezing your tight cunt around his hard cock. You could feel everything. You could feel the vein, the hardness and how deep he was in you. To Namjoon, this was nirvana. He could feel himself already becoming addicted. Obsessive, even. This was why he never allowed himself to indulge on his desires.
He was an obsessive man.
He never expected it to feel this fucking good. His fingers were going to leave marks, your neck would display his ownership.
“You’re doing so good for me, baby. You feel incredible.”
He could feel you tremble as he shuddered out of his orgasm, his hot cum inside you.
You remembered waking up the next day with your body sore and his arm wrapped around you. You didn’t know how you made it out of his apartment quietly, but you did.
Shame burned through you, vivid and suffocating. You kept replaying the night in your mind—his hands, his voice, the way you’d let go of every line you’d sworn you wouldn’t cross. It wasn’t just unprofessional. It was reckless.
He must think you were the kind of person who let desire dictate their choices. You couldn’t even bring yourself to blame him if he did.
So when your phone began lighting up with message after message from him, you didn’t open a single one. You didn’t have to—not when you’d already decided you were taking the month off. No work, no meetings, no chance encounters in dim-lit rooms with him standing far too close.
“What do you mean I am off the group’s shoot?”
The manager exhaled heavily, like he’d been dreading this conversation. Around the conference table, the other staff avoided your eyes, staring down at papers, coffee cups, anything but you.
“Y/N,” he began carefully, “I wish I could give you a better answer, but… BTS specifically requested for you to be exclusive to them.” He hesitated before adding, “They said Kim Namjoon is… very particular.”
And there it was.
The consequence of your actions. The price for leaving his bed.
The weight of it settled in your chest, cold and suffocating. You didn’t have to ask why. You already knew.
It only worsened from there. Namjoon wanted you around all the time—on sets, in meetings, in the shadows of every event. You weren’t just working with BTS anymore; you were orbiting him, tethered by something you didn’t remember agreeing to but somehow couldn’t break free from.
You were starting to suffocate. How could you even know that that horrendous mistake would turn your life into a nightmare?
You didn’t want to be in this situation, much less being in a pseudo-relationship with the leader of one of the biggest groups in the world. You wanted your old life back. In fact, you tried to break it off whatever was between the two of you one dinner.
“I can’t keep doing this,” you said, barely able to meet his eyes. “It’s not… right. I want things to go back to normal.”
Namjoon, with that practiced calm that made you want to scream, simply asked, “And what happens if the industry finds out you left because you fucked one of the members… and you’re in a relationship with one of them?”
You blinked at him, pulse skipping.
“You’re not my boyfriend—”
He tilted his head slightly, setting down his chopsticks with deliberate slowness. “You’re right,” he said, voice soft but unyielding. “A husband and wife sounds better. More ironclad.”
Your stomach dropped. “Are you insane?” you asked, half-hoping he would laugh and tell you this was all some sick joke.
But he just shrugged, like the idea of marrying you on paper to keep you locked in his orbit was the most natural thing in the world.
The air in the meeting room was already taut, but the moment the door opened, the tension doubled.
Seokjin walked in during his rare break from service—still in casual military uniform, the air of authority he’d gained during service clinging to him.
You and the other staff scrambled to your feet out of habit, but Seokjin’s eyes didn’t waver from Namjoon.
“Stay,” he said—not to the room, but to you specifically.
You froze, halfway standing.
His gaze slid back to Namjoon. “Are you changing our plans because of her?”
Namjoon leaned back in his chair, hands folded loosely on the table as if this was nothing more than a routine discussion.
“She’s going to leave once I’m in there.”
The bluntness of it hit like a slap.
You opened your mouth to protest, but Seokjin’s eyes cut to you sharp, assessing before returning to Namjoon.
“That’s not a reason to disrupt the schedule,” he said, voice clipped.
“It’s reason enough for me,” Namjoon replied calmly, though his eyes flicked toward you like a silent warning.
And suddenly you understood: This wasn’t just about enlistment. It was about making sure you had nowhere to run.
And now, you saw an out. A rare opportunity for you to be free from him.
Eighteen months of freedom.
Eighteen months of breathing space.
Seokjin rubbed his forehead, the kind of motion that said he’d been dragged into too many of Namjoon’s storms before. He leveled his gaze at his younger brother.
“This isn’t you, Namjoon.”
“Is she not going to run?” Namjoon asked, voice calm, but the words were like a blade. “If I enlist?”
Your stomach sank. Hypothetical, he said—except you knew he already believed the answer.
Seokjin exhaled through his nose. “What if we get her to sign a contract? Will that be enough?”
Namjoon didn’t hesitate. “I want her to promise me that she’ll marry me after.”
Your head snapped toward him. “What?!”
He didn’t even flinch. He just looked at you—steady, deliberate—like the idea was no more outrageous than asking you to pass the salt.
“Promise me,” he said quietly, “and I’ll go.”
What would a false promise cost you, right?
This.
This was what it cost you—eighteen months of deliberate silence.
Eighteen months of ignoring every call, every text, every midnight voicemail where his voice cracked as he told you he couldn’t sleep without you. That he was wasting away. That he didn’t know how to breathe in a world where you didn’t look at him.
And maybe you should’ve felt something—guilt, pity, even the faint ache of what used to be but you didn’t. You were just counting days, waiting for the lock on your cage to rust.
Your contract was almost up. One more month and you could be free from HYBE, from the constant eyes, from him.
You’d already mapped out your exit like a military operation. No forwarding address. No lingering contacts. No chance encounters in dim-lit corridors with him standing too close.
You thought he got over you now.
You were wrong.
“It’s just for one two days. Think of it as the last thing you’ll have to do for the company before you leave,” Bang PD said with a smile before leaving the room. You sighed, shoulders sagging, and turned—only to freeze.
There he was, blocking the hallway like he’d been waiting all morning just for this exact moment.
You blinked, owlish and unprepared, words stuttering in your throat. What did you say to someone you’d ghosted for almost two years? Someone whose messages you’d ignored, whose calls you’d silenced until the sound of his ringtone felt like a warning siren?
“W-welcome back, Namjoon,” you managed, voice too soft, too unsure.
He didn’t return the greeting. His eyes stayed locked on you, dark and unreadable, his arms folded across his chest as though he had every second in the world to stand there and dissect you.
“You’re resigning?”
It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t even a question, not really. More like a quiet confirmation of something he already knew.
You hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
A beat passed.
“Okay,” he said finally, turning slightly to let you pass. “See you in the shoot.”
And that was it. No anger. No plea. No demand.
For a second—just a fleeting second—you thought maybe he really had gotten over it. That maybe eighteen months had dulled whatever hold he thought he had on you.
The shoot happened to be six hours away from Seoul. The company car dropped you off with your things in front of what seemed to be a rest house.
It was too quiet to be a shoot.
You were used to chaos—the constant hum of chatter, the thud of heavy equipment being hauled around, cars lined up outside ready to transport anything that needed moving. But now? Nothing. Not even the faintest echo of footsteps.
Peculiar didn’t even begin to cover it.
But still, this was your last work for the company. After this, you were done, you told yourself. You just had to suck it up.
You opened the door only to be met with silence. Despite the house being homey filled with paintings and books, there was something eerie about it that you just couldn’t put your finger to. You walked deeper into the house, your phone on your hand calling your co-worker about where they could possibly be.
“Honey, what shoot? We are all in a break.”
You froze. “What?”
A low, velvety whisper brushed against your ear. “Welcome home, baby.”
You gasped, spinning around only to find Kim Namjoon standing far too close. Shirtless, his broad chest damp and glistening, grey sweats hanging low on his hips. His hair was tousled, droplets still sliding down his temple.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “I didn’t know you’d be this early, but I cooked just in case. Come on.”
Before you could process, his hand wrapped around yours, warm and firm, pulling you toward the kitchen.
You struggled, twisting your wrist. “W-what’s going on? Where’s the shoot? W-ha—”
Namjoon chuckled, finally stopping. He turned to face you, closing the distance in a single step, his hand sliding to your waist until your bodies were flush. His breath was warm on your skin as he dipped his head to inhale at your neck.
“God, I missed you,” he murmured. “I barely slept in there, did you know that? I was losing my mind not being able to get to you.” His grip tightened, possessive. “Ah, but regardless… you’re here now.”
You attempted to push him away to no avail. “Namjoon, seriously, where is everyone? My team was supposed to—”
“They’re not coming.” His tone was casual, almost lazy, but it landed like a brick in your chest.
Your phone was still in your hand. You glanced at it, thumb hovering over the screen to call again only for him to pluck it away with ease. He set it down on the counter like it was nothing.
“You…” Your mouth went dry. “…you set this up.”
Namjoon didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in again, brushing his lips against your temple. “Do you know how many strings I had to pull to make sure you were here alone?” he murmured, almost proudly. “No interruptions. No distractions. Just you and me.”
The warmth of the house now felt suffocating. Your gaze darted toward the front door, but Namjoon’s body shifted subtly, blocking the way without even touching you.
The air between you crackled with something you couldn’t quite name—part longing, part danger.
You swallowed hard. “Namjoon… what do you want from me?”
He grinned then, eyes crinkling in a way that would’ve been charming anywhere else, with anyone else.
“Your promise, my dear wife.”
You froze. “That was… I didn’t mean it, Namjoon. We would never work out, and you know that.”
His gaze darkened—not with anger, but with a strange, unshakable certainty. “You know what I realized in there? I realized that I want… no. I crave a family. I was hoping the seed I kept on planting in you would bear us a child, but maybe it wasn’t time. I was so disappointed every time your period came. But we have all the time in the world now… wife.”
Your stomach churned. “I’m not your wife. I will never be your wife—”
“Baby,” he interrupted softly, almost pitying. “You already are. Didn’t you think I wouldn’t… pull strings for you?”
You shook your head, taking a step back, but his hand caught your wrist with the precision of someone who had imagined this moment a thousand times.
“What strings?” you demanded.
Namjoon’s smirk deepened. “Immigration can be so… accommodating when the right documents cross their desk. You signed things you didn’t read, remember? When you thought it was just for a work visa?” He leaned in, eyes locked on yours. “Turns out you signed our marriage license, too.”
The room tilted. The paintings on the wall blurred. “No—”
“Yes,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along your jaw, as if comforting you. “And now there’s nowhere for you to go. Korea is home. I am home.”
You tore your wrist free, stumbling back, breath ragged. “You can’t—”
“I already did.” His voice was gentle, final.
And then, as if to seal it, he reached over to the counter and slid a small velvet box toward you. Inside was a simple gold band.
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