Blossibun

[petalmelt]

Hard to Love || Masterpost

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; you just got cheated on by your now ex, your friends are desperate to get you out of your funk so you go out with your friends. While out something unexpected happens that’s changes your life forever.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - jungkook x reader(fem)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 - strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

Warning - explicit language, smut, jealousy, break up, from lovers to enemies, trust issues

Banner by: @jktny0

A/n: This is my first story ever, I’ve done little povs on TikTok and they have went viral before. I’ve never done things that are so intimate. I’ve read such incredible stories from amazing authors and I can’t wait where this story goes. I’m also in love with my banner thank you so much to axel she is the best. Enjoy the story🫶

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Chapter 1 - Cheater (wc: 1.2k)

B gets out a four-year relationship because of her cheater ex and her friends are there by her side.

Chapter 2 - One night stand (wc: 5.2k)

B’s friends take her out to enjoy her fresh freedom by going out to a club. There, she ends up meeting someone interesting...

Chapter 3 - Encounters (wc:3.6k)

B’s friends decided to surprise with “glow up” and ends up getting a new hair do. B ends up having very interesting encounters and it leaves her bewildered.

Chapter 4 - Guide and gamble (wc: 3.3k)

After the gym B and Jk are faced with regret on how things ended. B’s friend decides to act like a guide and wants to help her be sure about her feelings. Jk decides to gamble with fate and makes bet.

Chapter 5 - coming soon

4/?

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Started in 11/18/2025 -

[petalmelt]

Motorsport new chap out.

YES GUYS I STILL KEEP UP

I personally just can’t get away from it, the chapters be good af like the new one made me tear up. And omg the author, SHE TEA ASFFFF, I see her post on insta and omg she looks like a freaking goddess, one of the best looking authors out there. She was prob the reason I got into reading smut, that and silk sheets and this other story. She also got me inspired to finish one of my new chapters. But on a serious note go check that shit out

[writersisland]

If you want to write you need to read. Read everything you can get your hands on. Not just fiction from your genre. Read other genres, read articles, read the paper, read things you disagree with, read the same plot over and over because it’s that good, read pamphlets, read academic literature, read children’s books, read smutty erotica, read sweet coming of age, read jokes on social media, read posts made by friends and strangers, read texts, read folklore, read experimental texts, read lyrics, read plaques at the park, read info texts in museums, read books no one else has read, read reviews for the most popular books, read, read, read.

Read anything and everything you can get your hands on and let it all sink in until the written word becomes a language so ingrained in yourself that nothing is foreign to you.

[petalmelt]

This is lowkey very true might have to read sm more than love stories

[petalmelt]

I just got into your work and completed the 3rd chapter,until i read again and all i see is chatgpt.

This is funny idk if I should be upset or happy because that means my work is somewhat good that you think is chat gpt😂

I’m usually iffy about my own work but hearing from someone else that they think it’s chat gpt is funny. The only thing I would say I use is google to help me find the best words I can use for my stories that are more specific and intimate. People post as well prompts that will help other writers I also use this. This gave me motivation to write more chapters. It’s even more funny because you asked anonymous.

I’m sorry but not sorry if you think that way hope you have a nice evening☺️

[petalmelt]

Hard to Love || sneak peak of 05

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; you just got cheated on by your now ex, your friends are desperate to get you out of your funk so you go out with your friends. While out something unexpected happens that’s changes your life forever.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - jungkook x reader(fem)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 - strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

Warning - explicit language, smut, jealousy, from friends to lovers???

It’s been cold recently in Korea, the fall weather has been brutal but a nice feeling on your skin.

You went to go visit your family for about a week leaving Jennie alone in the apartment.

You asked her if she wanted to come since she’s been there a couple of times but she said assured you that she would be okay and to enjoy you vacation alone.

You’ve been enjoying your last couple of days of freedom before going back to your studies for your finals and everything else that’s gonna be going on. Your mom has packed your whole bag with food like she was feeding a family for Christmas. You’re leaving with more food than with the clothes you came home with.

“You better take care of your self, gain some weight while you’re at it” she says, scolding you for being too skinny while pointing at you.

You just smile and laugh it off

“Eomma I’ll be fine and I like how I loook but seriously I have to get going I have a big quiz this Wednesday” while rolling your bags out the door and putting your bag in the car and she hugs and kisses your head.

“Be careful, call if anything happens”

You nod

You get in your car and sigh, “great two hour drive here we come.”

The apartment welcomes you with the smell of vanilla candle being lit and warm orange lights around the apartment. It seems like Jennie decorated for fall break. Jennie walked out her room as you took off your shoes.

“Your back!”she hugs you and grabs the stuff from your arms. “How is your mom?”

“She is fine, the usual I guess her and my dad planted more stuff, well more like made my dad plant it for her,” you said giggling at the last part.

“What about you Kim Jennie tell me.”

She sighs softly as she twirls her hair as if she was ready to drop the lie you guys spoke on the phone about earlier

“Alright let’s sit so I can tell you the lore” you giggled from the sight of her getting so excited and impatient to drop the lore to you.

“So I started getting bored being in this apartment without you so I decided to go out with my friends to the club and I met this guy and he was sweet and really good looking we both started getting really touchy and things led to another and he ended up coming over and I don’t know when we were kissing it was fine he was a good kisser and finger stuff but it felt weird doing other stuff we just broke out laughing at us having sex he was also awkward, we both realize that we’re better as friends then a one night stand and he was sweet about it and not rude you know, I left him stay over like we even slept on the same bed and the next day he took me out for breakfast.” As she ended she finally made eye contact with you and saw the face you made.

There was no way your friend, KIM JENNIE,

the one who would be so picky about the guys she would have sex with, that if they gave her one ick she would kick them out decided to be a friend with a stranger.

“Jennie why would you be friends with a stranger you didn’t even know this man what if he was a serial killer and killed you in our home I wasn’t here to save you.” You said scolding her before she stopped you

“Stop it looked like I could break him with my tae kwon do in 10 seconds he seemed a little thin.” She replied while your rolled your eyes in annoyance.

“Come on B he is really nice trust me I’ve been meeting up for coffee every morning I found out that his job and mine are only 5 minutes away from each other.”

“Fine, what’s his name?” You asked

“Jimin, ” Jennie replied.

“His name sounds cute,” you say before she starts talking. “See maybe I can set you up with him. He is pretty good looking just not for me” she says and you roll your eyes. What’s up with her always trying to set up her friends.

• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰

A/n: this is a sneak peek, I’ve been inactive and it’s been killing me, I’ve been having quarter finals and Its been beating my butt and Ive also gotten writers block like kill me🫩✌️. But im doing a little better and picked up this story again and my other one unspoken connection. Trust guys they will be done soon.

[petalmelt]

Hard to Love || sneak peak of 05

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; you just got cheated on by your now ex, your friends are desperate to get you out of your funk so you go out with your friends. While out something unexpected happens that’s changes your life forever.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - jungkook x reader(fem)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 - strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

Warning - explicit language, smut, jealousy, from friends to lovers???

It’s been cold recently in Korea, the fall weather has been brutal but a nice feeling on your skin.

You went to go visit your family for about a week leaving Jennie alone in the apartment.

You asked her if she wanted to come since she’s been there a couple of times but she said assured you that she would be okay and to enjoy you vacation alone.

You’ve been enjoying your last couple of days of freedom before going back to your studies for your finals and everything else that’s gonna be going on. Your mom has packed your whole bag with food like she was feeding a family for Christmas. You’re leaving with more food than with the clothes you came home with.

“You better take care of your self, gain some weight while you’re at it” she says, scolding you for being too skinny while pointing at you.

You just smile and laugh it off

“Eomma I’ll be fine and I like how I loook but seriously I have to get going I have a big quiz this Wednesday” while rolling your bags out the door and putting your bag in the car and she hugs and kisses your head.

“Be careful, call if anything happens”

You nod

You get in your car and sigh, “great two hour drive here we come.”

The apartment welcomes you with the smell of vanilla candle being lit and warm orange lights around the apartment. It seems like Jennie decorated for fall break. Jennie walked out her room as you took off your shoes.

“Your back!”she hugs you and grabs the stuff from your arms. “How is your mom?”

“She is fine, the usual I guess her and my dad planted more stuff, well more like made my dad plant it for her,” you said giggling at the last part.

“What about you Kim Jennie tell me.”

She sighs softly as she twirls her hair as if she was ready to drop the lie you guys spoke on the phone about earlier

“Alright let’s sit so I can tell you the lore” you giggled from the sight of her getting so excited and impatient to drop the lore to you.

“So I started getting bored being in this apartment without you so I decided to go out with my friends to the club and I met this guy and he was sweet and really good looking we both started getting really touchy and things led to another and he ended up coming over and I don’t know when we were kissing it was fine he was a good kisser and finger stuff but it felt weird doing other stuff we just broke out laughing at us having sex he was also awkward, we both realize that we’re better as friends then a one night stand and he was sweet about it and not rude you know, I left him stay over like we even slept on the same bed and the next day he took me out for breakfast.” As she ended she finally made eye contact with you and saw the face you made.

There was no way your friend, KIM JENNIE,

the one who would be so picky about the guys she would have sex with, that if they gave her one ick she would kick them out decided to be a friend with a stranger.

“Jennie why would you be friends with a stranger you didn’t even know this man what if he was a serial killer and killed you in our home I wasn’t here to save you.” You said scolding her before she stopped you

“Stop it looked like I could break him with my tae kwon do in 10 seconds he seemed a little thin.” She replied while your rolled your eyes in annoyance.

“Come on B he is really nice trust me I’ve been meeting up for coffee every morning I found out that his job and mine are only 5 minutes away from each other.”

“Fine, what’s his name?” You asked

“Jimin, ” Jennie replied.

“His name sounds cute,” you say before she starts talking. “See maybe I can set you up with him. He is pretty good looking just not for me” she says and you roll your eyes. What’s up with her always trying to set up her friends.

• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰

A/n: this is a sneak peek, I’ve been inactive and it’s been killing me, I’ve been having quarter finals and Its been beating my butt and Ive also gotten writers block like kill me🫩✌️. But im doing a little better and picked up this story again and my other one unspoken connection. Trust guys they will be done soon.

[jjungkookii]

No Room For Secrets - Chapter 24: Sixty Candles, Minimum

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

→ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader(female)

→ Trope/AUs: roommates to friends/FWB/lovers, roommate!au, fwb!au, arranged marriage!au, New Girl!AU

→ Rating: Explicit 18+ (minors dni)

→ Word Count: 11,724

→ Summary: You begin to trust Jungkook again. You go snowboarding. Yoongi makes a life changing decision.

→ Warnings(by chapter): snowboarding incompetence, accidental body tackling, almost dying via tree well, repeated falling into each other, idiots in love, suspicious Jimin, secret proposal planning, excessive candle usage, Yoongi being disgustingly romantic, emotional speeches, Jin experiencing several realizations at once, fireworks, found family chaos, screaming crying throwing up, New Year’s kiss

→ A/N: hi my loves :( ♡ thank you for being so patient with me while i worked on this chapter. i know it took me a long time, and i just want to be honest and say that my mental health has been at an all-time low, so writing has been really difficult for me lately. there were so many moments where this chapter felt impossible to finish, but i kept coming back to it when i could, and being able to finally share it with you feels really, really special. your patience, kindness, and constant love for this story mean more to me than i could ever explain. seriously. thank you for staying with me through all of it. i love you all so much. also… jimin and yoongi in this chapter? i’m SICK over them. they are so precious and so in love and writing their proposal genuinely made me emotional. anyway, i really hope you guys love this chapter. thank you for reading, thank you for caring, and thank you for making this little corner of the internet feel so safe and full of love. ♡

→ Playlist: WA-R-R by Colde // Daylight by Taylor Swift // Off My Face by JB // I don’t think I’m okay by Bazzi

Somewhere in the strange, quiet limbo between Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve, you find yourself making decisions that a younger version of you would absolutely interrogate.

Not bad decisions, exactly.

Just… unexpected ones.

Like sitting cross-legged on the living room floor of a snowy cabin in the mountains, wearing Taehyung’s extra-fluffy socks and Jungkook’s hoodie—again—while Jimin insists that the correct way to build a thousand-piece puzzle is by “establishing the color tone of the edges first.”

Which, apparently, means staring at the box for ten minutes and refusing to touch any pieces.

Across the coffee table, Jin is nursing what might be the worst hangover ever in recorded human history, sipping water like it’s the fountain of youth.

“You all laughed,” he mutters hoarsely, glaring into his mug. “When I said the mulled wine was stronger than it tasted.”

“You bought it,” Hobi reminds him cheerfully from the couch, where he’s halfway wrapped in three blankets and humming along to a playlist only he can hear.

“That’s not the point.”

The day after Christmas arrives slowly in the cabin.

Nobody wakes up early. Nobody tries to be productive. The air inside the house feels heavy with warmth and leftover laughter, the fireplace still crackling from the night before, and every surface covered in some evidence of the previous evening’s chaos—wrapping paper, empty glasses, the infamous Sharpie-drawn Christmas tree still taped crookedly to the wall.

Yoongi is asleep again.

Not just casually asleep—fully unconscious on the couch, curled beneath the ridiculous Jin-selfie blanket Taehyung had claimed earlier but apparently abandoned sometime during the evening.

You’re pretty sure this is his second nap of the day.

“Should we check if he’s alive?” you murmur.

Taehyung glances over from where he’s lying flat on the floor, arms spread like a dramatic movie murder victim.

“He’s fine,” he says. “That’s his winter hibernation setting.”

On the couch, Yoongi doesn’t move. Not even a little.

You glance over again, just in time to notice Jimin quietly stealing the last of the tangerines from the fruit bowl beside him.

“Did you just take my snack?” Hobi asks.

“No.”

“You literally have it in your hand.”

Jimin looks down at the tangerine.

Then back up.

“…This is my snack.”

It’s domestic in the most chaotic, unstructured way possible.

People drift from room to room throughout the day. Taehyung starts three different puzzles and finishes none of them. Jin eventually recovers enough to declare that everyone is dehydrated and begins aggressively distributing glasses of water like a man on a medical mission.

At one point someone suggests a movie, but nobody actually watches it.

Instead, you all sit around the living room in various states of laziness—blankets everywhere, socks mismatched, the soft glow of winter sunlight bleeding through the windows while snow drifts quietly outside.

And through all of it…

Something small begins to settle in place. Not loudly, nor dramatically. Just… quietly.

You notice it in the way Jungkook refills your mug with coffee without asking when yours runs low.

In the way your shoulder brushes his when you pass each other in the kitchen, and neither of you flinches away.

In the way he tosses you one of the extra hoodies from his bag when you complain about being cold.

You don’t talk about what happened or what was said in the cellar.

You haven’t really had the chance to yet.

The memory of it lingers somewhere between you—warm and complicated and still unresolved—but the silence around it isn’t sharp and painful anymore.

It finally doesn’t sting.

It just waits, patiently.

That night, everyone migrates to the hot tub in the next room, steam curling into the cold mountain air because Tae opened the window, while snow piles quietly on the clear plastic roof.

Hobi brings drinks. Taehyung insists on music. Jimin somehow ends up halfway in Yoongi’s lap again, wrapped in a towel and complaining about the temperature like he wasn’t the one who demanded Taehyung open the window in the first place.

You sit along the edge of the sunken tub, feet in the water, laughing when Jungkook splashes Taehyung after he makes some outrageous comment about “romantic winter tension.”

For a moment—just a moment—you glance at Jungkook across the bubbling water.

He’s smiling. Not the teasing, chaotic grin he gives Tae. Not the polite, easy one he gives Jin.

The softer one.

The one that feels familiar in a way your chest still hasn’t quite figured out how to handle.

He catches you looking.

And instead of looking away, he just tilts his head slightly, like he’s checking in.

You smile back before you can stop yourself.

Later, long after everyone drifts back inside and the house settles into quiet again, you lie in bed staring at the ceiling while snow taps gently against the window.

You’re not spiraling. Not really. You’re just… thinking. Yeah.

About the cellar. About what happened. About the way Jungkook held you afterward like he didn’t want to move.

Your chest tightens slightly. You don’t know exactly what you and him are to each other now. Friends? Just exes?

But for the first time in a long time…

You’re not afraid to find out.

You’re dreaming about something peaceful.

Something warm. Something that definitely does not involve loud noises or physical activity.

Which is why the sound of a door slamming open somewhere down the hall feels like a fucking personal attack.

“WAKE UP, LOSERS!”

Your eyes fly open.

For a moment you just lie there, staring at the wooden ceiling of the cabin like your brain needs a minute to remember where you are.

Then—

“IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DAY FOR ATHLETICISM!”

That’s Kim fucking Taehyung. Of course it fucking is.

From somewhere across the hallway, Yoongi’s voice croaks like a haunted ghost.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up right now I will die of sleep deprivation and come back to fucking haunt you.”

You groan and drag the comforter over your head. But the peace lasts approximately three seconds.

Because then the door to your room bursts open.

“Y/N!” Taehyung announces dramatically. “Rise and shine, snow princess. We’re going snowboarding!”

You peel the blanket off your face just enough to glare daggers into his skull.

Taehyung stands in your doorway fully dressed in snow gear like he’s about to star in a North Face commercial.

Goggles already on his forehead.

Beanie. Jacket zipped. Snow boots. Gloves.

You squint at him. “…What time is it?”

He beams. “Ten.”

You blink. Then he keeps talking: 

“What? That’s not early.”

“It is when you went to sleep at three.”

“Life is suffering,” he agrees sympathetically.

From down the hall comes a loud thud. Then Jin’s voice:

“WHY IS THERE A BOOT ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER?!”

Hobi laughs somewhere nearby. “Because Tae is a goblin!”

“Hyung, I heard that!” Taehyung calls back.

You roll onto your side, burying your face in the pillow. “Go away.”

“No.”

“Tae.”

“No.”

“You’re ruining my life.”

“I’m enriching it.”

He claps his hands once. Dramatically loud.

“FIFTEEN MINUTES! WE LEAVE IN FIFTEEN MINUTES!”

Your pillow hits him square in the chest.

“GET OUT.”

He laughs and ducks out of the room.

The hallway immediately erupts into chaos. You hear Yoongi and Jimin’s door open.

“Why is everyone screaming?”

“Snowboarding!” Taehyung yells.

“Absolutely not,” Jimin replies instantly.

“Coward.”

“I have delicate bones.”

“You do not.”

You sit up slowly, rubbing your face. Through the wall you hear Yoongi’s voice again.

“Taehyung.”

“Yeah?”

“If you come into this room I will bite you.”

“Is that a promise or?? Maybe a threat?”

There’s a pause.

“…Both.”

You snort to yourself because this is comical. This is your fucking life.

By the time you drag yourself out of bed and into the hallway, the cabin looks like the aftermath of a clothing explosion.

Winter jackets everywhere. Scarves. Sweaters. Gloves.

Jin is standing in the kitchen downstairs holding a ski helmet like it holds the power to curse his bloodline.

“I don’t remember agreeing to this,” he says.

“You did,” Taehyung replies, stuffing snacks into a backpack. “You nodded.”

“That was during a conversation about pancakes.”

“Same thing.”

Hobi appears beside you with a mug of coffee and presses it into your hands like a life-saving medical intervention.

“You look like you died,” he says kindly.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Across the room, Jimin is leaning against the counter scrolling through his phone with a deeply suspicious expression.

“Why does the mountain website say the wind chill is negative twelve?”

Taehyung freezes. “…Fake news.”

“That is not fake news,” Jimin whines. “Tae! Be so for real right now. Will I die of hypothermia?”

Taehyung takes a second to pretend to think before saying, “Not if you actually wear socks this time.”

Yoongi shuffles into the kitchen looking like he fought the sandman and lost.

His hair is sticking up in every direction. His sweatshirt half-zipped. Eyes barely open. He stares at the group gathered around the kitchen.

Then at Taehyung.

Then back at the group.

“…Why are you all dressed like ski instructors?”

“Snowboarding,” Taehyung says brightly.

Yoongi blinks slowly. “Okay.”

Then he turns around. And starts walking back toward the stairs.

“Nope!” Jimin grabs the back of his hoodie and yanks him back.

“You’re coming.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“I’m thirty-three.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

Yoongi looks at you, “Help.”

You raise your coffee, “I’m staying neutral.”

“Souleater,” he mutters.

An adorable laugh cuts through the room. And it makes you glance up automatically.

Jungkook is leaning against the doorway to his room, pulling on a pair of snow gloves.

He’s already dressed for the mountain—black snow pants, dark jacket, hair slightly messy like he didn’t bother fixing it after showering.

When he notices you looking, he grins.

“Morning.”

Your stomach does something stupid but you lift your mug and reply, “Morning.”

He gestures toward the front door, “You ready?”

“Emotionally? No.”

“Physically?”

“Also no.”

He laughs that adorable soft laugh again, “We’ll start you on the easy slopes.”

“Bold of you to assume I won’t die immediately.”

“Confidence is key,” he grins.

“Confidence is overrated.”

Taehyung claps again, “EVERYONE. SHOES. NOW!”

Groans ripple through the room. But slowly—very slowly—everyone starts moving toward the door.

Boots get pulled on, jackets zipped, scarves wrapped. Jin sighs dramatically like he’s being forced into battle. Jimin steals another snack. Yoongi leans against the wall like a man accepting his fate. You finish the rest of your coffee and set the mug in the sink.

When you turn around, Jungkook is standing beside you.

Close. Not too close. Just enough that your shoulders almost touch.

“You good?” he asks quietly, so only you hear.

You nod, “Yeah.”

A comfortable beat passes between you in a way that’s familiar. 

Then Taehyung yells from the front door:

“IF WE DON’T LEAVE RIGHT NOW I’M DRIVING WITHOUT ALL OF YOU.”

“YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE THE KEYS,” Jin yells back.

Taehyung pauses. “…Who said I need the keys?”

Jungkook snorts. You bump his arm lightly as you walk past him toward the door.

“C’mon,” you say. “Let’s go freeze to death.”

He falls into step beside you. And for some reason, the idea doesn’t seem quite so terrible anymore.

The drive to the mountain is loud.

Not chaotic exactly—just the kind of comfortable noise that happens when four people are crammed into a car together and nobody has slept enough.

Yoongi drives with one hand on the wheel, the other loosely draped over the center console while Jimin scrolls through music beside him like a self-appointed DJ.

“You cannot put on sad winter music before a physical activity,” Jungkook says from the backseat.

“It’s atmospheric,” Jimin argues.

“It’s depressing.”

“It’s reflective.”

“It’s. Depressing.”

You snort from beside him, pulling your beanie lower over your ears as the road curves toward the mountain.

“You two have been arguing about the same playlist for ten minutes,” you point out.

“Because he has terrible taste,” Jungkook says immediately.

Jimin gasps dramatically.

“You’re the one who listens to gym remixes at two in the morning.”

“Those are motivational.”

“Those are terrifying.”

In the driver’s seat, Yoongi sighs the sigh of a man who has accepted that this is his life now.

“Both of you shut up,” he says mildly. “We’re here.”

Sure enough, the parking lot opens up in front of you—snow packed tight beneath rows of cars, the slopes rising high above the base lodge where clusters of people move like colorful dots against the white.

Yoongi pulls into a narrow space between two SUVs and kills the engine.

For a moment nobody moves.

Then Jimin claps his hands once.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

“Let’s not,” Yoongi mutters.

Everyone starts piling out of the car. Jimin hops out first, boots crunching against the packed snow as he stretches dramatically beside the door.

Yoongi follows, tugging his jacket straight while muttering something under his breath about “frozen toes.”

You climb out next, stepping carefully onto the icy pavement and shutting the door behind you while the cold air hits your face like a slap.

“Jesus,” you mutter. “It’s freezing.”

“Welcome to the mountains,” Jimin says cheerfully.

You’re halfway turning around when it happens.

Jungkook pushes the car door open on the other side—

Then immediately pauses.

“…There’s no space,” he says.

You glance back.

He’s still in the car, the space between Yoongi’s car door and the SUV parked beside it, barely wide enough for the door to open.

“Just climb over and out Y/N’s side,” Jimin suggests unhelpfully.

Jungkook sighs and squeezes out carefully, using the frame of the car for balance.

One step.

Two—

Then his boot hits a slick patch of ice.

“—shit.”

The word barely leaves his mouth before his foot slides out from under him.

Everything happens fast. You see him tipping forward. You barely have time to react before his momentum carries him straight into you—

And suddenly you’re both going down.

Your back hits the snow with a soft oof as Jungkook lands on top of you, arms braced on either side of your head to keep from crushing you completely.

For a second the world just… stops.

Cold air. Bright sunlight reflecting off the snow. His breath warm against your face.

Your legs have fallen open around him where he’s pressing you into the ground, his hips flush against yours as he catches himself.

You blink up at him.

He blinks down at you.

“…Hi,” he says breathlessly.

You stare into his warm boba eyes, “…Hi.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Then his eyes flick down. To your mouth.

Your heart skips. You see the exact moment he realizes how close you are—how his body is practically pinning you to the ground.

His gaze lingers there for just a second too long.

Your breathing becomes uneven.

And then—

“Ahem.” Yoongi clears his throat. Loudly.

Jungkook snaps out of it like someone hit a reset button.

“Oh—shit—sorry—”

He scrambles off you immediately, grabbing your hands to pull you upright while brushing snow from your jacket.

“You okay?” he asks quickly.

You nod, trying very hard not to think about the way his body had been pressed against yours a second ago.

“Yeah,” you say. “You?”

“Dignity destroyed, but otherwise fine.”

Behind him, Jimin turns slowly toward Yoongi with an expression of pure betrayal.

“You interrupted that,” he says accusingly.

Yoongi blinks at him as if he did absolutely nothing wrong. “They were lying in the parking lot.”

“They were having a moment.”

“They were having hypothermia.”

Jimin elbows him in the ribs. Hard. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters.

Yoongi just groans and rubs his side with a smile.

Across the lot, Jin’s truck pulls into a spot and Hobi and Taehyung spill out of the doors like excited children.

“Did we miss something?” Hobi calls.

Jimin gestures dramatically toward you and Jungkook.

“Yes,” he says. “Apparently.”

You groan and shove him lightly, “Shut the fuck up.”

But when you glance sideways at Jungkook, he’s already looking at you again. Cheeks pink, but not from embarrassment or awkwardness.

He’s just looking you… thoughtfully. Like he’s still thinking about the moment before Yoongi cleared his throat.

Taehyung slings his snowboard over his shoulder and grins.

“Alright, snow gremlins,” he announces. “Lift lines await.”

Jungkook adjusts his gloves and gestures toward the slopes.

“Have you done this before?” he asks you.

You glance up at the mountain towering above the lodge.

Then back at him.

“…Absolutely not.”

He laughs. “C’mon,” he says. “I’ll take you up first.”

And when you follow him toward the lifts, the cold doesn’t feel so sharp against your skin anymore.

By the time everyone gets their gear sorted, the mountain is alive with motion.

Snow crunches under boots. Boards clack against the racks. People shuffle through the lift line in slow zigzags, bundled in bright jackets and fogged goggles while the chairlifts glide overhead in an endless mechanical rhythm.

Taehyung is vibrating with excitement.

“I’m doing the black diamond first,” he announces confidently.

“You’re not even warmed up yet,” Jin says.

“That’s for rookies.”

“Your hamstring stretches are for rookies,” Jin replies flatly.

Up ahead, Jimin finishes tightening the straps on his board and straightens with a satisfied nod.

“Okay. Everyone ready?”

Yoongi stretches his back with groan like he’s about to clock in for a shift at a job he did not apply for.

“No but, anything for you my dear.”

“Great,” Jimin beams. “Let’s go!”

The lift line inches forward.

Taehyung ends up first through the gate, already talking loudly about the perfect snow conditions while Yoongi trudges along beside him like a very bored chaperone.

Jimin hops onto the moving chair between them with the grace of someone who’s done this a thousand times.

“You guys better not fall,” he calls back over his shoulder.

Yoongi mutters something that sounds suspiciously like I hope I do.

The chair swings forward, carrying the three of them slowly up the mountain.

Behind them, you shuffle forward next. The lift operator gives a quick nod.

“Next!”

You and Jungkook step forward together automatically. There’s a familiar rhythm to it—boards lined up, timing the approach, turning just as the chair glides in behind you.

The seat bumps the backs of your legs. Then you’re both lifted smoothly into the air.

For the first few seconds neither of you says anything. Just the sound of the lift cable humming overhead and the faint crunch of snow below as the ground begins to drift farther away.

Your board sways slightly beneath your boots.

The mountain opens up around you—white slopes, pine trees dusted with frost, the sky pale and bright above the peaks. Somewhere up ahead you can hear Taehyung already yelling about something.

You exhale slowly, “This feels like a trap.”

Jungkook snorts, “What? How?”

“You trapped me on a suspended moving chair with a snowboard attached to my feet.”

“That’s just… how you snowboard.”

“Well, it feels suspicious.”

He laughs quietly, leaning back against the seat as the lift climbs higher. The sound is warm in the cold air. For a moment you just watch the mountains pass below you.

Then he nudges your boot lightly with his.

“So,” he says casually.

You glance over, “So?”

“How was spa night?”

You groan immediately. “Oh my god.”

“That bad?”

“They both fucking interrogated me.”

He grins, “Sounds about right.”

You tuck your chin into the collar of your jacket, laughing softly.

“It started as skincare,” you admit. “Then somehow it turned into a fully emotional and detailed breakdown.”

“Classic.”

“…Classic.”

A beat passes. Then you sigh.

“…They know.”

Jungkook tilts his head. “They know what?”

You give him a look. He stares at you for half a second. Then realization hits.

“Oh.”

You nod. “All three of them.”

He lets out a small laugh and rubs the back of his neck, cheeks turning pink beneath the cold.

“Yeah,” he says. “I figured Jimin and Tae clocked it when they rescued us.”

You snort. “They absolutely did. And I thought we were in the clear.”

The lift creaks softly as it climbs higher.

Your eyes wander ahead where Taehyung’s chair is swinging a few lengths in front of you. Yoongi sits in the middle looking like a hostage while Jimin gestures wildly with both hands while talking.

You smile. “They were so happy,” you say quietly.

Jungkook looks back at you, “About what?”

You shrug slightly.

“About us. Happy for me.” A small pause.

“For trying to figure this out.”

His expression changes as he gazes at you. It softens. And you think you see hope flicker across his face so quickly, you almost miss it.

“For us,” he repeats quietly.

Your stomach flips, but you pretend to focus on the view below you.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. Now it’s just extremely full. Like there are a hundred things waiting to be said but neither of you is quite sure where to start or what to say right now in this moment.

You gaze at him again.

He’s already looking at you. Those big, dark eyes steady and thoughtful.

For a second it feels exactly like the parking lot again—like the world narrowed down to only the small space between you.

His gaze drops briefly again, to your lips.

Your breath catches and your eyes do the same.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something.

And then—

The lift jolts slightly as it reaches the top station.

“Alright folks!” the operator calls. “Boards up!”

You blink and reality suddenly rushes back in.

“Shit,” you say quickly, breathlessly, lifting your board as the chair approaches the platform.

Jungkook pushes himself forward, steadying you instinctively as the chair slides behind you. You both glide off the ramp, wobbling slightly before finding your balance in the packed snow.

Jungkook adjusts his gloves and glances at you. “You ready to shred?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

You stare down the mountain. The slopes suddenly more intimidating than the conversation that is yet to be had with your ex.

It’s colder up here than the parking lot.

Wind skims across the ridge, carrying the sound of distant laughter and the sharp scrape of boards carving into packed snow. Below you, the slope stretches wide and bright, the valley spilling out in white layers between dark clusters of pine trees.

You stare at it.

Then you stare at your board.

Then you stare at it again.

“Absolutely not,” you say quietly.

Beside you, Jungkook laughs.

“You’re gonna be fine.”

“People die doing this.”

“People die doing everything.”

“That’s not comforting.”

Ahead of you, Taehyung is already bouncing in place like he’s been waiting his entire life for this exact moment.

“READY?” he shouts.

“NO,” Jin yells back.

Taehyung ignores him and immediately launches himself down the slope like an overexcited golden retriever.

“Jesus Christ,” Jin mutters.

Jimin follows next, pushing off with easy confidence.

“C’mon!” he calls. “It’s fun!”

Behind him, Yoongi adjusts his gloves slowly. Everyone watches him expectantly.

“You don’t have to go,” Hobi offers gently.

Yoongi looks down the slope. Then back at the rest of you.

“…Okay.”

And without another word, he pushes off. For about half a second he looks exactly like you expected—slightly stiff, a little cautious—

Then suddenly he shifts his weight and carves sharply across the slope with smooth, effortless control. Snow sprays behind him in a clean arc. He glides down the mountain like someone who has done this a thousand times.

Everyone at the top just… stares.

“WHAT?!” Hobi shouts.

Jin blinks, “…Since when.”

Yoongi doesn’t even turn back around. “I never said I was bad at it,” he calls casually over his shoulder. Another sharp turn sends snow spraying again. “I just didn’t want to come!”

Jimin laughs so hard he almost loses balance. “Oh my God, you’re so hot!”

Jungkook shakes his head, grinning. “That’s such a Yoongi move.” Then he looks back at you. “Alright,” he says. “Your turn.”

You stare at him. “Hell no… I hate you.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Debatable.”

He steps closer and adjusts the angle of your board with his boot.

“Just point downhill,” he says. “Bend your knees a little and shift your weight in the direction you want to go.”

“That sounds like instructions for death.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re too optimistic.”

He smiles, “Just follow me.” And then he pushes off the slope.

You stand there for half a second longer before sighing deeply. Then you push forward.

Immediately your board starts sliding faster than your brain would like.

Okay. Okay. This is fine.

Your arms stretch out instinctively for balance as the slope pulls you forward. Snow hisses under your board. Your heart pounds hard in your chest.

Somewhere ahead of you Jungkook glances back, slowing slightly to stay just within reach.

“You’re doing good!” he calls.

You are not doing good. But you are technically still upright. Which feels like progress.

The mountain stretches open beneath you, wind brushing your cheeks while the cold air sharpens every intake of breath.

For a moment you actually start to relax. Your board glides smoothly over the snow. The rhythm becomes almost hypnotic. The quiet. The steady motion.

Your thoughts start drifting. Back to the lift. Back to the way Jungkook looked at you.

For us.

Your stomach flips again. You replay the moment automatically. The softness in his voice. The hope in his eyes.

God. You don’t know what you’re doing.

You still love him.

That truth sits heavy in your chest like it never actually left. You think about the cellar. About the way he held you afterward. About the way his eyes dropped to your mouth in the parking lot, then again on the ski lift.

Your heart beats a little faster. What are you supposed to say to him? Do you just… talk about it? Do you pretend everything is normal?

Do you—

Something flashes in the corner of your vision.

A tree.

Much closer than you expected. Your brain takes a second to process it. That’s weird. Why is that tree moving so fast—

Oh. Oh, no. You’re moving. Very fast. Directly toward it.

“Y/N!”

Jungkook’s voice cuts across the slope.

You barely register the panic in it before something hits you from the side. Really fucking hard.

Your board catches and suddenly you’re falling again—

Snow explodes around you as Jungkook tackles you sideways into the powder. You land with a soft whump, cold snow puffing into the air around you.

And for the second time today… Jungkook is on top of you.

His gloved hands brace in the snow on either side of your shoulders, his body hovering just above yours while he catches his breath.

“What the fuck was that? You good?” he asks quickly.

You blink up at him.

Snowflakes cling to his dark hair and the edge of his goggles that he’s pushed up on his forehead, his cheeks still flushed from the cold.

“…We have got to stop meeting like this,” he says breathlessly. The word slips out before he can stop it. “…babe.”

Your brain short-circuits in the most fundamentally down bad way ever.

Wait. What?

But before you can process that, he exhales and glances back up the slope.

“You almost rode straight into that tree.”

You follow his gaze. The pine tree stands just a few feet away, its lower branches heavy with packed snow.

“…Oh,” you say faintly.

Jungkook shakes his head. “That would’ve been so fucking horrible.”

You frown. “Why?”

He blinks at you.

“…Tree well.”

You stare at his beautiful flushed face. “A what.”

He shifts slightly, still hovering over you.

“It’s a tree well,” he repeats. “When snow builds up around the base of a tree it creates a pocket under the branches.”

He gestures toward the pine beside you.

“They’re basically like traps. If you fall into one you can get buried in the loose snow.”

Your eyes widen. “Buried?”

“Yeah.”

“Alive?”

“…Usually.”

You stare at him some more because it’s so hard not to in this proximity. “Jungkook.”

“What?”

“Why is that a thing.”

He gives you a look. “It’s snow.”

“That is not an explanation.”

He pauses.

“…The instructor explained it before we got in line for the lift.”

You squint. “I was too busy adjusting my gloves to comprehend so much info.”

“You were so absolutely not.”

“I so was! I was mentally preparing for my inevitable death.”

“No. You were staring at me the whole time he was talking.”

“Whatever. Same thing.”

He laughs with so much endearment in his eyes, your heart kicks up speed. The sound is warm and easy, his breath fogging slightly in the cold air.

For a long second neither of you moves. Snow drifts quietly around you. His weight presses lightly against you again. And suddenly you’re very aware of the way your legs are still tangled with his.

Again.

Your pulse jumps into your throat and your breathing becomes heavy.

He notices too. His eyes flick down your body. Then slowly slide back up to your eyes, before dropping to your tempting lips.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“…We really have to stop doing this,” he says quietly.

You swallow. “…Yeah, probably.”

Snow drifts quietly around you. For a second neither of you moves.

Jungkook’s weight presses lightly against you, one knee still between yours where he tackled you into the powder. His hands are planted in the snow beside your shoulders, keeping most of his weight off you, but you can still feel the warmth of him through layers of jackets and winter gear.

Your pulse is hammering.

His eyes haven’t moved from your mouth. And then slowly, carefully, he shifts forward a fraction, subtly testing the distance between you.

He pauses there, hovering just close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips.

Giving you time. Giving you space to stop him.

Your heart is beating so loud you’re certain he can hear it.

But you don’t move away. Instead your eyelids flutter closed.

And the moment he sees that, something in his expression softens and a small smile graces his face. Like seeing your eyes close was all the permission he needed.

Jungkook leans down. And connects your lips.

It’s so gentle at first. Cold air, warm lips.

It’s softer than most of what happened in the cellar, slower, like he’s making sure this time. As if he’s giving you every chance in the world to change your mind about this. About him.

You don’t. Your gloved hand slides up into the collar of his jacket, fingers curling instinctively against the back of his neck as you pull him closer and kiss him back.

He inhales sharp through his nose. Then he deepens the kiss more, one hand lifting from the snow to settle at your waist, steadying you against the slope. For a moment the world disappears. No mountain. No people. No snowboards.

Just the quiet sound of wind through the trees and the steady, familiar, warmth of him against you. And the very familiar feeling of kissing Jungkook.

Above you, further up the slope—

Jin and Hobi skid to a stop. Both of them freeze.

“…Oh,” Hobi whispers.

Jin’s eyes widen slightly behind his goggles as he watches the two of you tangled together in the snow.

Neither of them says anything. Hobi slowly turns to Jin. And Jin slowly turns to Hobi.

They share a silent, stunned look. Then Jin clears his throat quietly and grabs Hobi’s sleeve.

“Don’t say anything,” he mutters.

Hobi nods immediately. “Not a word.”

And the two of them carefully push off down the slope again like they saw absolutely nothing.

Back in the snow behind the privacy of a few trees, Jungkook finally pulls away from your lips.

Not far, just enough that your foreheads almost touch. His cheeks are a cute shade of pink from the cold—and maybe something else.

“…Okay,” he murmurs softly.

You blink up at him, “Okay what?”

A small smile spreads across his face.

“I think we’re definitely going to keep meeting like this.”

You laugh breathlessly. “Apparently. But I’m not totally against it.”

He squeezes your waist once before pushing himself upright and offering you his hand.

“C’mon, let’s catch up with the boys,” he says.

You take his hand. And together you slide down the rest of the mountain. By the time you and Jungkook reach the bottom of the slope, your legs are burning and your dignity is… questionable at best.

Snow sprays around your board as you skid to an ungraceful stop near the lift line.

You wobble for a second. Then immediately sit down in the snow.

“That counts as success,” you announce.

Jungkook glides to a stop beside you, brushing snow off his gloves. “Look at that! You didn’t die.”

“I almost did.”

“Nah, I would’ve dug you out.”

“Not if you didn’t see me.”

He laughs quietly, unclipping one foot from his board while you try to remember how knees work.

A few seconds later Taehyung rockets down the slope and stops beside you in a dramatic spray of snow.

“DID YOU SEE THAT TURN?” he shouts.

“No,” you say. “I was fighting for my fucking life, Tae.”

“Well, your loss because I made art in the snow.”

Jimin finished before everyone but rode the lift halfway up again to prove a point. He arrives next, carving cleanly to a stop and immediately pulling off one glove.

“Okay but actually—how are you still alive?” he asks you.

You gesture vaguely up the mountain. “Your best friend tackled me again.”

Jimin’s eyebrows shoot up. “Again?”

Jungkook clears his throat quickly, “You were about to ride into a tree well.”

Jimin freezes. “You almost what.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said! A tree well,” Jungkook repeats.

Taehyung gasps dramatically, “Wait, like the snow trap thingy?”

“YES,” you say, pointing accusingly at Jungkook. “The snow trap thing.”

“Which the instructor explained beforehand,” Jungkook adds.

“You’re always assuming I listened.”

“No, I know for a fact you weren’t listening to him because you were too busy ogling me.”

Jimin shakes his head slowly, “Imagine that. I leave you alone for five minutes and you almost get buried alive.”

“I resent the phrasing.”

Before the conversation can spiral further, another figure glides down the slope. With effortless form.

Yoongi carves through the snow like he’s part of the mountain itself—smooth turns, clean edges, barely any wasted movement.

He stops beside your group without so much as wobbling. Everyone stares.

Taehyung squints. “…Excuse me.”

Jimin blinks. “You’ve done this before.”

Yoongi shrugs. “I never said I hadn’t.”

“You said you hated snowboarding,” Hobi calls as he and Jin slowly approach from behind.

Yoongi adjusts his gloves. “And I do.”

Jin gestures down the slope. “Okay but—You look like you’re professionally sponsored.”

Yoongi shrugs again, “Hyung, I never said I was bad at it.”

Jimin points at him, “No, but you totally implied it!”

“I only said I didn’t want to do it.” He nods once. “Different thing.”

The group collectively groans.

“That is the most Yoongi sentence I’ve ever heard,” Hobi laughs.

Behind them, Jin carefully unclips from his board and stands up straight. Then he glances at Hobi. Hobi glances at him.

They exchange a very loaded look. Jin raises one eyebrow. Hobi widens his eyes slightly. Neither of them says anything.

Across from them, Jungkook crouches slightly to brush snow from the back of your jacket.

“Next run will be easier, I promise,” he says.

“I swear, if you say that every time—”

“And every time, I promise, you’ll survive.”

“That is still, not comforting in the slightest.”

Jimin watches the two of you for a moment, suddenly suspicious.

“Why do you two look weirdly calm,” he says slowly.

You blink. “Because. We almost. Died.”

“Yeah but like… romantically.”

You choke on your own breath. “What does that mean.”

Jimin narrows his eyes, “I don’t know yet, you tell me.”

Yoongi places a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Let it go.”

“But—”

“Let it go.”

Jimin sighs dramatically, “Fine.”

Taehyung suddenly claps loudly. “Alright snow goblins, lift again!”

Jin groans, “But we just got down here.”

“Again!”

“You’re so exhausting, it’s terrible!”

Taehyung points toward the lift line, completely ignoring Jin. “Up we go!”

As everyone starts shuffling toward the chairs again, Jin leans closer to Hobi.

Very quietly he mutters, “…We saw that, right.”

Hobi nods slowly, “Oh we absolutely saw all of that.”

Jin exhales. “…It’s so interesting.”

Hobi grins, “Oh this is going to be so much fun!”

And ahead of them, completely unaware, you and Jungkook walk side by side toward the lift again.

The cabin is loud again by the time everyone stumbles back inside. Boots thud against the wooden floor. Jackets get tossed over chairs. Someone—Taehyung—tracks half the mountain into the entryway with him.

“Shoes off!” Jin shouts immediately.

“They’re boots,” Taehyung argues.

“They’re wet.”

“They’re fashion.”

“They’re illegal,” Jin snaps, shoving a towel at him.

You peel off your gloves and drop them on the counter, your fingers still tingling from the cold. Snowboarding, it turns out, is a lot like surviving a natural disaster.

Your muscles ache in places you didn’t know had muscles. But the house is warm, the fireplace is going again, and the smell of something buttery—probably from Jin stress-cooking this morning—fills the air.

Behind you Jungkook shuts the door, shaking snow out of his hair.

Your brain helpfully supplies the memory of his lips on yours. Which is… very unhelpful right now. Because every time you look at him your brain immediately goes that happened. You kissed him. Again.

Which, to be fair, is accurate. But still.

You busy yourself pulling a mug out of the cabinet before you can spiral any further.

Across the room Taehyung stretches dramatically like he just completed a marathon.

“Okay,” he announces. “We need more wine.”

Jimin perks up immediately, “Yes.”

“We deserve it.”

“Tae, you almost killed me,” you tell him.

“You almost killed… yourself,” Jungkook corrects.

“That feels like a technicality.”

Jimin claps his hands together, “Perfect. Tae, come with me.”

Taehyung points at himself. “Me?”

“You drive like a maniac.”

“You love it.”

“That’s not the point.”

Jimin grabs his coat again. “We’re going to the little market down the road. They had those red bottles I liked yesterday.”

Taehyung already has his boots halfway back on. “Road trip!”

“Please buy snacks,” Hobi calls from the couch.

“Good snacks,” Jungkook adds.

“Expensive snacks,” Yoongi mutters from the armchair.

Jimin pauses in the doorway and turns around. “…I’m not buying expensive snacks.”

“You are. I gave Tae my card.”

Jimin looks at Taehyung and then back to Yoongi. “Okay! Sounds good! Thanks babe!”

The door slams behind Taehyung and Jimin, their voices fading as they trudge through the snow toward the car.

For a moment the cabin is quiet.

Not completely silent—there’s still the crackle of the fireplace and the faint hum of the heater—but quiet enough that everyone kind of… pauses. Like the house itself just exhaled.

You lean against the kitchen counter with your mug, watching the headlights outside disappear down the road. Your muscles are still sore from the mountain, your hair still slightly damp from melted snow, and your brain is doing that annoying thing again where every five seconds it replays the moment Jungkook kissed you in the snow like it’s trying to decide what to do with it.

Which sucks, because Jungkook is currently standing three feet away, leaning against the back of a chair. Looking like he knows for a fact you’re thinking about it too.

You quickly take another sip of your drink. Focus. Be normal.

Across the room Jin stretches his arms over his head with a tired groan.

“I am never snowboarding again,” he declares.

Hobi laughs from the couch. “You said that after the first run.”

“I meant it this time.”

“You say that every time.”

Jungkook snorts quietly. But before the conversation can drift any further—

Yoongi clears his throat. Not in a loud way, just enough to get everyone’s attention.

“Hey,” he says.

Everyone looks up.

Yoongi is still sitting in the armchair near the fireplace, but he’s leaning forward slightly now, elbows resting on his knees.

He glances toward the front door. Then back at the group.

“…Can I talk to you guys for a second?”

Something in his tone makes the room shift.

Jin lowers his arms. Hobi sits up straighter. You feel your stomach flutter slightly because you already know what’s coming, and even though you’ve known for weeks there’s still something weirdly exciting about watching it unfold again.

Jungkook pushes off the chair and moves toward the living room. “Living room meeting?” he asks.

Yoongi nods once, “Yeah.”

Hobi blinks. “Should we be scared?”

Jin immediately points at Yoongi. “If this is about splitting grocery bills for the trip again—”

“It’s not,” Yoongi says quickly.

That somehow makes Jin look more nervous.

Everyone drifts into the living room.

You take the arm of the couch beside Hobi. Jungkook drops into the chair across from Yoongi, leaning back casually like he isn’t also trying very hard not to look at you too long.

Jin remains standing for a moment before slowly sitting down. “…Alright,” he says. “What’s happening.”

Yoongi rubs the back of his neck. And now that everyone’s looking at him, you can see it.

The nerves.

It’s subtle—Yoongi’s version of nervous is basically just shifting his weight and looking vaguely annoyed at his own feelings—but it’s there. Excited nervous. Like the kind that lives in your chest and refuses to settle. He glances toward the door again. Then exhales.

“So,” he says.

Jin immediately points at him. “That is not a reassuring opening.”

Yoongi ignores him. “I paid Taehyung.”

The room blinks.

“…You what?” Hobi says.

Yoongi gestures vaguely toward the road outside.

“To make Jimin think the wine idea was his.”

Jin’s eyebrows shoot up. “You staged a wine run.”

“Yes.”

“So you could kick Jimin out of the house.”

“Yes.”

Hobi squints. “…Why.”

Yoongi leans back in his chair. And for a second he just looks at them. Like he’s deciding how to say it.

“Yoongi,” Jin says slowly tilting his head. “What is so important that Jimin couldn’t be here.”

Yoongi exhales. Then says it like he’s ripping off a bandage.

“I’m proposing.”

Silence.

Real silence this time.

Jin and Hobi stare at him. Not blinking. Not moving. Just staring.

Your brain starts counting the seconds because the pause stretches long enough that it almost becomes uncomfortable.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Four—

Jin gasps. LOUDLY. Like someone just stabbed him with romance.

“Oh my god.”

Hobi immediately dissolves into laughter.

“OH MY GOD.”

Jin grabs Yoongi’s arm.

“YOU’RE PROPOSING?”

Yoongi nods once, a little sheepish now. But there’s also this unmistakable excitement creeping into his voice.

“New Year’s Eve,” he says. “On the bridge near that frozen waterfall.”

Hobi claps both hands over his mouth. “That’s so cinematic.”

Jin looks like he might actually cry. “You’re getting married.”

“I’m asking him to marry me.”

“Same thing.”

Hobi leans forward. “Does Jimin know?”

Yoongi glares at him. “…Why would he know.”

“Fair.”

Jin looks between all of you suddenly. Then points dramatically.

“WAIT.”

His eyes narrow. “You two knew.”

You freeze mid-sip.

Jungkook raises both hands, “In my defense—”

“You were all keeping this from me?” Jin demands.

Yoongi shrugs, “You were the last two.”

Hobi clutches his chest dramatically. “I feel so excluded. I hate this feeling, omg.”

“You were going to ruin the surprise,” Yoongi says flatly.

“That is slander.”

“No dude, it’s fact.”

Jin shakes his head slowly. Then suddenly leans forward again.

“Alright.”

Everyone looks at him.

“If we’re doing this…”

He points at Yoongi.

“…we’re doing it right.”

Yoongi sighs. With relief? You can’t tell.

And you can’t help smiling, because the room suddenly feels electric with it again—that buzzing warmth of excitement and love and ridiculous planning energy that always seems to happen when this group decides something important together.

And somewhere beside you, Jungkook quietly laughs that adorable laugh.

The plan begins immediately.

Not because Yoongi tells everyone to start planning right this second—he actually tries to act very calm about the whole thing, like he’s simply mentioning a casual future event and not a life-altering romantic gesture that now involves five other people and an alarming amount of logistics—but because the second Jin says “we’re doing this right”, the entire purpose of the trip quietly shifts into this-must-be-perfect mode.

Which is how, twenty minutes later, you find yourself standing in the kitchen with Jungkook and Hobi, whispering over a notebook like you’re planning a small heist.

“You need candles,” Hobi says.

“Lots of candles,” you add.

“Not just lots,” Hobi insists. “A shit ton.”

Jungkook looks up from the list he’s scribbling on. “How many is a shit ton?”

Hobi considers this deeply, rubbing his chin. “…At least fifty.”

Jungkook writes it down, “Fifty candles.”

“Minimum,” Hobi corrects.

Across the room Yoongi is leaning against the counter pretending not to listen while Jin interrogates him like a detective.

“What are you planning on wearing?”

Yoongi blinks. “…Clothes.”

“Not helpful,” Jin says sharply. “This is a proposal. You cannot show up looking like you just woke up from a three-hour nap.”

“I probably will.”

“You absolutely will fucking not, Min Yoongi.”

Meanwhile your brain is on fire, racing ahead.

The bridge. The frozen waterfall. Candles lining the rails. Fireworks overhead.

God.

You glance across the room at Yoongi.

He looks… nervous, but not in a panicked way. Just that restless energy again, like the excitement is humming under his skin and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it or how to show it properly yet.

And something about it makes your chest squeeze tight in excitement.

Because Jimin has no idea. None. And the second he does he’s going to cry like a fucking baby. Which—honestly—feels so on par with his personality and how much he loves his boyfriend.

The next few days blur together in a strange, conspiratorial rhythm.

Not because you’re hiding anything poorly, but because Jimin is, unfortunately, very observant.

Which means every time someone whispers too loudly or disappears into another room he immediately turns suspicious.

“Why are you guys whispering,” he asks one afternoon.

“No reason,” Jungkook says instantly.

“Bro, you sound sus as fuck.”

“Paranoid much?”

“Correct.”

Jimin narrows his eyes, “…You’re all acting so fucking weird, lately. Gives me a headache.”

Across the room Yoongi coughs into his sleeve and studies his phone like it’s suddenly become the most interesting piece of technology in the world.

You quickly change the subject. “Jimin, do you want some hot chocolate?”

“OMG. Yes, please.”

Crisis temporarily averted.

Another day passes.

Taehyung becomes the unofficial aesthetic director of the whole operation.

Which is how you end up outside, a five minute drive away from the cabin, in the freezing fucking cold with him one evening while he studies the bridge like he’s an art critic.

“We need symmetry,” he says, holding his chin in deep thought.

“For candles,” you deadpan.

“For romance.”

You stare at the snow-covered railing. “How many candles is too many candles?”

“There is no such thing as too many candles.”

Behind you Jungkook is unloading boxes from the car. “Yoongi hyung said fifty.”

Taehyung turns slowly, swatting the air. “Fifty is amateur.”

“Sixty?”

“That’s better.”

You laugh. “Tae, this is getting ridiculous. Just stick to the plan.”

“It’s getting cinematic,” Taehyung corrects. “I want only perfection for Jimin hyung.”

Inside the cabin the planning continues.

Jin takes over food and drinks like it’s a Michelin-starred event. Hobi coordinates the fireworks timing with someone in town who apparently already owes him a favor.

And Jungkook—

Jungkook quietly assembles what he calls the Jimin Emergency Kit.

You find him at the dining table one afternoon packing things into a small backpack.

“What’s that?” you ask.

He holds up a tiny tin, “Lip balm.”

You blink. “For the… operation?”

“For the photos after the… operation,” he says seriously.

You laugh at his sincerity. He keeps packing.

“Snacks.”

“Important.”

“Hand warmers.”

“Also important.”

You lean against the chair watching him work. “You know him really well,” you say softly.

Jungkook shrugs. “Like the back of my hand.”

There’s a beat of quiet. Then he glances up at you. “…You do too.”

Your stomach flips a little. Because it’s true. You know exactly how Jimin will react.

The yelling. The crying. The way he’ll pretend to be mad for thirty seconds before collapsing into Yoongi’s arms.

Your chest warms at the thought.

And then, because your brain has absolutely no respect for emotional boundaries, it immediately slides sideways into another thought entirely.

What would it feel like to have someone look at you the way Yoongi looks at Jimin?

You look at Jungkook.

And he’s already looking at you.

You take in a tiny gasp. And for a second it feels like the air between you becomes full of a thousand words again—quiet but charged and bursting at the seams with things neither of you has actually said yet.

Then a loud voice from upstairs—

“WHO MOVED ALL THE FREAKING CANDLES?”

The two of you freeze in place.

That was Jimin’s voice.

You and Jungkook exchange a quick look of shear panic.

“Oh shit,” you whisper.

Jungkook grabs the backpack and zips it faster than the speed of sound. You grab the tea-light candle box that is sitting on the table by the backpack.

And together you sprint for the hallway and into Jungkook’s room like criminals fleeing the scene.

By the time New Year’s Eve arrives, the entire house is buzzing with barely contained excitement. Except for one person.

Jimin, who is blissfully unaware.

And as you stand in the kitchen that evening watching Yoongi pace near the fireplace—running his hands through his hair, muttering pieces of his speech under his breath like a man rehearsing for the most important moment of his life—you realize something.

You’re excited too. For them.

For the love that’s about to explode on that bridge. For the fireworks. For the way this group somehow keeps finding reasons to celebrate each other.

And maybe, just maybe—

For the possibility that some things really can start again.

The sky outside is already deepening into that particular shade of winter blue that exists just before night fully settles over the mountains. Snow glows faintly under the fading light, the lake stretching wide and silent beyond the trees like a sheet of dark glass. Every few minutes you catch someone glancing at the clock, then quickly pretending they weren’t.

Yoongi hasn’t been in the room for twenty minutes. Which is intentional. Which is necessary.

But also means he’s currently standing alone at the frozen waterfall bridge with approximately sixty candles, a ring in his pocket, and the kind of nerves that don’t normally exist anywhere in Min Yoongi’s body.

And unfortunately for him, tonight they do. Because while the rest of you move around the cabin pretending everything is normal—pulling on coats, adjusting scarves, Jin insisting everyone wear something “presentable for photos”—Yoongi is standing at the end of a snow-covered bridge staring at a sea of flickering candlelight and trying very hard not to spiral.

Okay. He exhales slowly into the cold air. Okay. This is fine. It’s gonna be fine.

He’s said these words a thousand times in his head. Practiced them in the mirror, in the shower, muttered them under his breath while pacing the kitchen floor at three in the morning like a man rehearsing a speech he’s not allowed to mess up.

But none of those rehearsals included the way his heart is currently beating against his ribs like it’s trying to escape. Or the way his hands keep flexing nervously at his sides. Or the way the frozen waterfall behind him glows in the moonlight like something out of a painting.

Don’t screw this up, he tells himself. Which is a ridiculous thought because the truth is so simple.

He loves Jimin. He’s always loved Jimin.

And if he forgets every word of the speech he’s been carefully crafting for weeks, that fact alone will probably carry the rest.

But still. His fingers brush the ring box in his coat pocket. Okay. He exhales again. You can do this.

Back at the cabin, Taehyung is currently convincing Jimin to change his outfit.

“Absolutely not,” Jimin says for the third time, arms crossed.

“Absolutely yes,” Taehyung replies, shoving a sweater toward him.

“It’s fireworks, Tae.”

“It’s New Year’s Eve fireworks.”

“That is the same fuckin’ thing.”

Taehyung gestures dramatically, “But we’re taking pictures.”

Jimin squints at him, “…Why?”

“For memories, duh.”

“You’re all acting so fucking weird today and I swear, if you’re planning on shoving Tae’s birthday cake in my face—”

“You look good in that sweater.”

Jimin hesitates. You watch the internal debate happen in real time.

“…Fine.”

Victory!

Ten minutes later everyone is piling into Jin’s truck, breath fogging in the cold as the engine rumbles to life.

The drive to the end of the lake is barely five minutes, but somehow the truck still ends up completely full.

Which is how you find yourself sitting sideways on Jungkook’s lap in the backseat while Hobi wedges himself beside the door and Taehyung leans forward between the front seats narrating absolutely nothing of importance.

Jungkook’s hands rest lightly at your waist to keep you steady as the truck bumps along the snowy road.

You pretend not to notice. Your brain is currently juggling too many things already.

The proposal, the candles, the fireworks.

The way Jungkook kissed you in the snow earlier this week. Your heart is already racing.

Across the seat Jimin suddenly frowns. “…Wait a sec.”

Everyone freezes comically. “Where’s Yoongi?”

For half a second the truck fills with silence. Then Jin answers smoothly from the driver’s seat.

“He’s already there.”

Jimin tilts his head. “What, why?”

“For the fireworks, silly,” Jin says.

“And what about them?”

“He’s making sure they’re set up right.”

Jimin considers this, then shrugs. “Yeah he’s pretty good at stuff like that.”

You release a quiet breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Beside you Jungkook’s thumb brushes absently against your side.

Your stomach flips. Focus. Focus. You’re almost fucking there.

The truck stops at the edge of the lake.

The air outside is colder here, sharper somehow, the wind sweeping across the frozen water as everyone climbs out and pulls coats tighter around themselves.

The trail down to the waterfall is narrow but familiar, a winding path through snow-covered pines that opens eventually to the bridge overlooking the falls.

Taehyung walks beside Jimin the entire time, strategically and carefully.

Everyone else hangs back just enough that Jimin ends up leading the group down the path without realizing it.

The trees grow thicker as you descend, branches heavy with snow, the sound of rushing water beneath the ice growing louder with each step.

Then—

There’s light. Soft and warm and flickering through the trees.

Jimin slows curiously, “…What is that? A bonfire?”

No one answers him. The trail curves once more, the forest opening suddenly—

And the giant frozen waterfall appears. Massive sheets of ice cascading down the cliff face like glass, glowing pale blue under the moonlight while the bridge in front of it burns with warm golden candlelight.

Dozens of flames flicker against the snow. Their reflections dancing across the ice.

Jimin stops walking in awe. “…That’s a shit ton of candles.”

Behind him, Jin and Hobi both burst out laughing.

Jungkook steps forward. “Hyung,” he says gently.

Jimin turns his head. Jungkook nods toward the bridge.

“Look closer.”

Jimin squints. And everyone watches.

He takes a few more steps down the trail.

Closer.

Closer.

And then he sees him.

Standing in the center of the bridge.

Black Valentino suit. Perfectly tailored.

Jimin knows it immediately because he’s the one who picked it out months ago before the gala disaster that ended too many relationships.

And yet, here he is. Waiting. Jimin’s breath leaves his chest in a soft laugh of disbelief.

“What the fuck are you doing, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s smile is the warmest thing you’ve ever seen. It’s soft and sincere and completely in love.

“Hey, baby.”

Jimin’s heart visibly melts.

Yoongi glances over him slowly. “You look nice.”

Jimin blinks. “…Thanks.”

“Was the drive over okay?”

Jimin stares at him, still confused. Still trying to catch up with what’s actually happening.

“…Yeah,” he says slowly. “It was fine.”

“Good.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath. His shoulders rise slightly as he exhales.

“I have a few things I want to say to you.”

Jimin’s eyes immediately start filling with tears.

Behind him the group falls completely silent. And somewhere in the middle of the quiet you realize something.

Your fingers are intertwined with Jungkook’s. You don’t even remember reaching for him. But his hand is warm in yours. And neither of you lets go.

The snow muffles the world around the bridge. The candles flicker softly in the wind, their reflections dancing across the frozen waterfall behind Yoongi like scattered stars.

Jimin stands at the beginning of the bridge, breathing very obviously uneven.

You can practically see the emotions colliding behind his eyes—shock, confusion, realization, love—until suddenly one of them wins.

He whips around. His gaze locks onto Jungkook.

“YOU KNEW.”

Jungkook freezes.

Jimin points at him accusingly, voice cracking somewhere between disbelief and outrage.

“You knew about this and you didn’t tell me?!”

Jungkook lifts his hands defensively, “Hyung—”

“You traitor!” Jimin shouts, half laughing and half crying at the same time. “You’ve been looking me in the eye for days!”

Taehyung immediately doubles over laughing. Hobi covers his mouth, shoulders shaking.

Jin mutters under his breath, “Here we go.”

Jungkook takes a cautious step forward. “Technically, I was legally sworn to secrecy.”

“You live with me!”

“That’s exactly why I couldn’t tell you!!”

Jimin glares at him like he’s deciding whether or not to tackle him into the snow right this second.

“You’re unbelievable, Jeon.”

Jungkook grins sheepishly. “Love you too.”

For a second it looks like Jimin might actually march over and shove him. But instead, he huffs a breath sharply and turns back toward the bridge.

Toward Yoongi. And just like that the anger dissolves, because the second Jimin looks at him again, the tears come back. Harder this time.

Yoongi is still standing exactly where he was—hands tucked loosely into his coat pockets, that soft, nervous smile lingering on his face like he can’t quite believe this moment is actually happening.

For a second neither of them says anything. They’re just looking at each other across the candlelit bridge.

Then Yoongi clears his throat softly.

“Are you done yelling at Jungkook?”

Jimin sniffles, “Not permanently.”

Yoongi nods. “I had a feeling.”

A quiet laugh ripples through the group.

Then Yoongi exhales. And something shifts in him. You see it immediately—the moment he steadies himself, the nerves settling into something deeper. Something more confident.

His gaze returns to Jimin, all soft and absolutely unshakable.

“You saved me in high school,” he begins quietly.

Jimin blinks.

Yoongi’s voice is calm now, but there’s something raw and honest underneath it.

“Not in some dramatic movie way,” he continues. “But in all the small ways that actually matter. Because you took the time to see me.”

His eyes drop briefly to the wooden planks of the bridge before lifting again. “I was… kind of a mess back then.”

Taehyung snorts quietly behind you.

Yoongi glances over Jimin’s shoulder. “I said kind of.”

More laughter, softer this time. Then he looks back at Jimin.

“You were the first person who ever looked at me like I was worth something.”

Jimin’s hand rises to his mouth. Yoongi continues, voice steady but thickening around the edges.

“You made me feel like I could actually be more than the angry kid who skipped class and slept through half his life.” A breath leaves him slowly. “And when we broke up… when I let you go…”

His jaw tightens slightly. “That’s the part I regret the most.”

The bridge is completely silent now. Even the wind feels quieter. Yoongi rubs the back of his neck, almost sheepish again.

“I spent years pretending I was fine with it.” A small laugh escapes him. “I wasn’t.”

Jimin’s tears spill freely down his cheeks now.

“And then somehow,” Yoongi continues, “after everything… after all that time… I got lucky enough to find you again.”

His smile softens. “And that first month we were together again…” He shakes his head slightly. “I was happier than I’d been in all the years we were apart.”

Your chest tightens. Beside you Jungkook’s fingers squeeze yours unconsciously.

Yoongi exhales slowly. “And then the gala happened.”

Jimin’s expression falters slightly.

“That whole mess.” He lets out a quiet breath. “Being separated from you after that… not being able to see you… talk to you… hear your voice…”

He laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “It was exactly what it felt like. A nightmare.”

Jimin wipes his face with the sleeve of his coat. Yoongi’s voice grows softer.

“The day after that gala… I was supposed to ask you to marry me.”

The words hang in the air. Jimin’s eyes widen.

Yoongi shrugs slightly. “I even got your family’s blessing that night.”

Hobi gasps quietly behind you. Jin covers his mouth.

Yoongi glances up at the sky for a moment before looking back at Jimin again.

“But maybe it was supposed to happen this way.” His voice grows steadier now. “Maybe we needed that time apart.” He takes a small step forward on the bridge.

“Because every single day we weren’t talking… every night I went to bed without hearing your voice…” His hand presses lightly against his chest. “It only made one thing clearer.” His eyes shine in the candlelight.

“I missed you more than I missed music.”

Jimin breaks completely at that and a sob escapes him.

Yoongi continues, voice barely above a whisper now. “I missed your laugh. Your hands. The way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.” His smile turns soft again.

“And your smile.”

He shakes his head slowly.

“God, Jimin… Your smile is the light of my life.”

The candles flicker in the cold wind. The frozen waterfall glows behind Yoongi like a wall of blue glass, and for a moment—just a moment—you think the entire world has gone still to listen to him.

His eyes never leave Jimin.

And standing there watching them, something settles in your ribs with a quiet certainty. Because the way they’re looking at each other right now—Wow.

You think, a little dazed, these two people might actually be love personified.

Yoongi exhales softly, the breath fogging in the cold air. His voice gentles even more.

“I never want to wake up again,” he says, “if it’s not your smile I get to see when I open my eyes.”

Jimin’s shoulders are fucking shaking as another tear slips down his cheek.

Yoongi takes a step forward. Then another. Until the two of them are finally standing only an arm’s length apart.

Slowly, Yoongi reaches out and takes Jimin’s hands. Their fingers lace together automatically, like they’ve been doing it their entire lives.

“I want to spend the rest of forever with you,” Yoongi continues quietly.

Jimin nods immediately, tears streaming now. “Yes,” he whispers hoarsely.

Yoongi huffs out a soft laugh. “Wait,” he says gently. “I’m not done.”

Jimin sniffles but nods again.

Yoongi squeezes his hands. “I want to adopt cats with you.”

A choked laugh escapes Jimin. Then Yoongi adds, very seriously, “But we can talk about that later, because I know you’re allergic to cats.”

Jimin lets out a watery laugh that sounds like it might turn into another sob at any second.

Behind you, Taehyung whispers, “Worth it.”

Yoongi smiles at Tae for a split second before looking back at Jimin.

“And kids,” he adds softly. “If that’s something you want.”

Jimin’s eyes widen slightly.

Yoongi shrugs a little, sheepish. “I wouldn’t be against it.” He squeezes Jimin’s hands again. “Because I plan on spending the rest of my life doing everything in my power to make you happy, baby.”

Your throat tightens and you just might cry.

Yoongi exhales one more time. Then says, with a small crooked smile,

“I want to spend the rest of my mediocre life with you.”

Jimin is already nodding, frantically now. “Yes,” he sniffles. “Yes, yes—”

Yoongi laughs softly and finally reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulls out a small black ring box.

The group behind you collectively inhales. Jimin’s hands fly to his mouth.

Yoongi drops to one knee. The motion is smooth but unhurried, like he’s been imagining this exact moment for weeks.

The candles flicker around them. The waterfall roars softly beneath the ice.

Yoongi looks up at the love of his life.

“Park Jimin,” he says. His voice is warm and steady. “Baby…”

Jimin is still nodding his head, overwhelmed tears still spilling down his cheeks.

Yoongi smiles.

“Will you spend the rest of your life making this grumpy old man happy… and marry me?”

Jimin doesn’t even pause. He’s still nodding when the word bursts out of him.

“YES!”

The sound echoes across the frozen lake.

Jimin lunges forward and tackles Yoongi in a hug as he stands, nearly knocking them both off balance. Yoongi laughs, wrapping his arms around him tightly as Jimin clings to him like he might never let go.

Behind you the group explodes with cheers and shouting.

Hobi literally jumps up and down. Taehyung hollers loud enough to scare a flock of birds from the trees. Jin claps a hand over his mouth like he might cry.

But on the bridge, the two of them barely notice their friend’s happiness.

Jimin pulls back just long enough to grab Yoongi’s face in both hands.

Then he kisses him. Hard. Deep. Repeatedly. Like he’s been waiting years for this exact moment.

Yoongi laughs into the kiss but doesn’t pull away, his hands sliding around Jimin’s waist as Jimin kisses him again—

and again—

and again.

Eventually Jimin lets him breathe long enough for Yoongi to slip the ring onto his finger.

All the little diamonds sparkle in the candlelight. Jimin stares at it like it might not be real.

“Oh my god, Yoongi, I love you so much.”

“And I love you more.” Then Yoongi turns slightly, reaches down—

and stomps a hidden button on the wooden bridge.

For half a heartbeat nothing happens.

Then—BOOM! BOOM! 

Fireworks explode directly above the frozen waterfall.

Brilliant bursts of gold and red light the sky, reflections scattering across the ice and snow while the entire mountain valley erupts in color.

Jimin gasps in utter awe. Yoongi laughs at his fiancés cuteness.

And everyone watches the newly engaged couple standing in the middle of the bridge, wrapped in each other’s arms while fireworks rain light across the winter sky.

Another burst of gold erupts above the frozen waterfall, the sound echoing across the lake as laughter and cheering ripple through the group.

In the chaos of it—Taehyung shouting something unintelligible, Hobi still clapping like he might never stop, Jin loudly insisting someone needs to record the next one—you barely notice when Jungkook’s hand slips into yours again.

It feels natural now, his hand is warm and soft despite the cold biting at your cheeks. You glance up just as another firework blooms overhead, and the shifting colors paint his face in pretty flashes of red and blue and gold.

He isn’t watching the sky though. He’s watching you. He’s always watching you.

For a moment neither of you says anything. The world feels strangely quiet despite the explosions overhead, the two of you standing just a step away from the rest of the group while the newly engaged couple laughs breathlessly at the center of the bridge.

Jungkook’s eyes drop briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes, that familiar question lingering there again. This time there’s no hesitation in your chest, only warmth, and the kind of certainty that sneaks up on you quietly when you’re not looking for it.

When the next firework cracks across the sky and the countdown from someone’s phone hits midnight, Jungkook leans down and you meet him halfway.

Your New Year’s kiss is softer than the one in the snow earlier, slower, like the two of you are savoring it.

His hand tightens gently around yours before sliding to your waist, pulling you closer while the sky above explodes into another wave of color.

Somewhere behind you someone shouts “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” and the group erupts into laughter again, but for a few seconds it’s just you and Jungkook and the warmth of his mouth against yours while fireworks shimmer across the frozen waterfall—like the universe itself decided to celebrate the moment with you, too.

End Chapter 24

© 2025 JJUNGKOOKII. Please don’t copy, translate, or repost—share the original link! ♡

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[petalmelt]

LOVEEEE THIS SERIES ITS AMAZING JIMING AND YOONGI ARE SOOO CUTEEE MAKES ME SO HAPPY EVERYTIME I READ A NEW CHAPTER I CANT WAIT FOR CHAPTER 25 ONE OF THE BEST AUTHORS IK

[inthelow]

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

pairing: student! fem reader x student! jeon jungkook

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

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

author’s note: ik smau is not supposed to have anything written but i did warned you that there was going to be some narration included!!!! and ik its first chapter but i couldn’t help myself 😓😓 u can still not read it if u want, u won’t be missing much (u will) (u better fucking read it u nasty ass hoes).

words count: +3k words.

chapter index | previous — next.

— chapter one: the fundraiser event

The fundraiser was loud. Music bleeding from cheap speakers, voices stacking on top of each other, the smell of sugar and alcohol and whatever food truck convinced the committee it was “for the cause.”

The quad looked nothing like it did during the week. There were fairy lights strung between trees, half-crooked banners with the charity name printed too small, and clusters of people moving from booth to booth like it was a festival and not a last-minute attempt to feel morally superior before midterms. There was a ring toss game that nobody understood, a table selling overpriced baked goods, and at least three separate places serving drinks with handwritten signs that said donation-based like that made it legal.

You were wearing the volunteer badge they gave you at the entrance, already peeling at the edges, and holding a clipboard you stopped looking at a five minutes after they gave it to you.

You were studying visual arts— cinematography, technically— but you were used to tell people “art” because it was easier and sounded cooler. Your friends were all somewhere in the same creative hell: Hobi in fashion design, Jin in film, Jimin in fine arts. You all shared studios, deadlines, and the collective understanding that none of you knew what you were doing but were doing it anyway. You also shared classes with other departments sometimes— music, sound design, performance— because the university loved a “cross-disciplinary experience.”

That’s how Chan happened.

Chan, who sat two rows ahead in your shared class, always on time, always with his notebook already open like he planned to be alive that day. Music production, composition, something annoyingly impressive. He took perfect notes, like actually perfect. Color-coded without trying too hard, handwriting that looked like a font you’d pay for. He laughed quietly but fully, like he meant it, and when professors made bad jokes he would still smiled because he was polite like that. He held doors. He said thank you to the barista and meant it. He once helped you pick up your pencils when they fell out of your bag and apologized like he dropped them. He was just nice in general. You liked that.

It had been months and you two had barely talked, just a few group projects, a couple of exchanged smiles, one conversation about an assignment that you replayed in your head for a week straight… but he was been living rent free in your brain ever since.

Chan, the perfect man.

And Chan, who wasn’t there.

The problem wasn’t that he didn’t say he’d come. The problem was that he said he would, and now it’s been over an five hours since the event started and you hadn’t see him anywhere.

The fundraiser had shifted into its late-night version of itself. Careless, less perfect. The part where the initial excitement has worn off and people stopped pretending they were there purely out of goodwill. Now they were just for the drinks.

The games were still running, but half-heartedly now. The ring toss booth was unattended, prizes picked clean except for a sad plush bear leaning sideways against a pole. Music hummed from the speakers, lower and more bass-heavy than earlier, the kind of playlist that assumed everyone’s already a little drunk. Fairy lights glowed softer as the sky turned properly dark, the quad illuminated in patches rather than fully lit.

And you were still there. Still wearing the volunteer badge. Still pretending you were doing something important while scanning every moving head like a surveillance camera.

Nothing.

By the time your friends started arriving, it was already late enough that the air felt cooler and the event felt looser.

Hobi appeared beside you with a drink already in hand, like he manifested it out of thin air, scanning the place slowly. “Wow,” he said, looking at your grimace. “Tragic times?.”

You crossed your arms and didn’t even look at him. “Go away.”

“Aw,” Hobi pouted. “What happened, babygirl? Talk to me.”

“Get lost.”

“Your boyfriend didn’t come, did he?.” He sighed, like he was disappointed too. “Come one, let’s get you something to drink.”

“I finish in an hour.”

“And?” He squinted at your badge. “Are you done pretending to be in charge or can I start acting out?.”

“I’m literally hosting.”

“Hosting what,” Jimin said, arriving just in time to be annoying. “A poor embarrassing moment?”

You exhaled through your nose. “I’ve been raising money. Doing charity”

“For who,” Jimin said, looking around. “I’ve been drinking in that booth looking at you for ten minutes and you were just on your phone the whole time.”

Hobi snorted. “Have you actually collected money or is this for show?” he took your paperclip to see the people who had donated. “Oh, okay. Impressive.”

Jin joined last, clapping once like he was calling a meeting. “Okay. I’m here. Where is that guy?.”

You rolled your eyes, “he’s not here yet.”

They all turn to you slowly.

Jin tilted his head. “Oh, you poor thing.”

Jimin’s smile spread like he’s been waiting for this moment. “Babe, he’s definitely not coming.”

Hobi squinted. “That’s sad.”

“He’s coming,” you said immediately. “I trust my man. He must be on his way.”

“It’s almost midnight,” Jimin raised an eyebrow. “Is he traveling from another continent.”

“He probably got busy.”

“With what,” Jin asked. “Okay, I gotta be honest. I’ve never seen this man. Are we sure he’s real?. I’m actually worried.”

“He has to be fictional,” Jimin nodded in agreement.

You glared at them. “He looks fictional. He’s too perfect.”

“I know almost everyone on campus,” the older shrugged. “I’m sure he’s fictional.”

“He’s not,” you snapped. “You’ll met him and see. We literally talked yesterday.”

“Wow, I’m shocked. You talked?”

“Well… I asked out loud how was coming and he said he was— So, yeah. You can say we talked.” You pressed your lips together and nodded. “Same, same.”

“Wow,” Hobi said. “You’re basically married.”

You ignored them, eyes scanning the crowd again and again.

Jimin followed your gaze. “You’ve been looking at the entrance like a pedophile waiting for the school to finish.”

“I’m not… I’m trying to get more people to donate.” You lied unconvincingly.

“Yeah, right.”

“Shut up, I know he’s coming. He said it.”

“And I said I’d go to the gym,” Jin put a hand on your shoulder. “We all lie.”

You pushed off. “That’s different.”

“How,” he asked. “Explain.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. “Because that’s my future husband. He’s… nice.”

Jimin gasped dramatically. “What? NOT NICE. That’s a dream.”

“You’re pissing me off,” you warned.

“He’s perfect because he’s nice?” Hobi asked incredulously.

“He takes perfect notes—” You started adding.

“You’re already pregnant.”

“—He’s polite,” you continued. “He opens doors.”

Jimin shook his head. “Amazing.”

“I saw him help someone carry equipment once, like without being asked.”

Hoseok pressed a hand to his chest. “That’s so husband material.”

“We should give him a nobel prize already. That’s a perfect man.”

“It is,” you said, staring at him ugly. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of what,” he laughed. “Your imaginary situationship with a fictional man.”

They pushed you to the nearest booth where they sell drinks, hovering near one of the drink tables that they had put in the garden, not so far away from the counter. Jimin handed you a cup without asking.

“Drink,” he ordered. “You’re unbearable sober.”

You took it. “Just one.”

“That’s what addicts say,” Jin muttered.

“Yeah, you all would know.”

The four of you started arguing.

Discussing getting louder over the table before settling into talking shit, about classes, about professors, about some guy Jin hated for no reason. You kept glancing around time to time, pretending not to care, pretending you were not building an entire life in your head where Chan showed up charmingly and was the one to asked you for your number before asking you on a date.

“Stop looking at the entrance. You’re not only embarrassing yourself, now is getting sad.” Jimin called you out.

You glared at him. “He’s coming.”

Hobi looked at you. “Based on what evidence.”

“Our soul-connection.”

Jin squinted at you. “Did you take your medication today?.”

“I know the love of my life wouldn’t miss this,” you insisted. “He knows I’m hosting.”

“He doesn’t know you like that,” the younger made a disgusting face.

“Yet,” you said confidently.

They groaned.

By the time you finished your drink, the event had slowed to a crawl. Volunteers were packing things up. The music was louder now, like it was compensating. Probably the DJ were going to do a small party there for people who wanted to drink and dance now that it was midnight and it was weekend.

You straightened suddenly. “I’m getting another drink.”

Jimin pointed at you. “Yes, get drunk and let’s hit a house party.”

Hobi nodded. “Get me another vodka lemonade, pretty please.”

“I still want to hit that target shooting boot before they close everything.” You pointed at them, already walking away.

“Well, hurry up then.”

You weaved through the remaining crowd at the open drinking booth, the ground uneven beneath your feet, until you reached the counter drink table. You asked for a shot that you took immediately to get it going and two vodka lemonade so you could go back to the table your friends were.

You were waiting for the drinks when someone bumped into your shoulder.

“Sorry, I— Oh, hey.”

You looked up and blinked. “Yoongi?”

He grinned, already halfway into a hug. “No way. You’re the one running this?” He asked, pointing at your badge still holding on for dear life.

“Running is generous. I volunteered.”

He chuckled. Yoongi was always easily to talked to. He was studying music production, always dressed like he might disappear into his room to take a nap at any moment.

You two worked together once, months ago, when he needed someone to design a set for a video project and you happened to be available. Since then, you’ve crossed paths enough to count as acquaintances. Coffee once, a couple of shared complaints about deadlines, nothing serious.

“This is actually sick,” he said, gesturing around. “Way bigger than I thought.”

“Yeah, people really liked this things,” you nodded, grabbing your drinks. “And also this improvised after party. Anyway, How’ve you been?”

“Busy. Tired. You know, same as always.” He glanced at your drink. “Celebratory?”

“Coping.”

He nodded. “Valid. How long have you been here?”

“Since morning,” you took a sip. “They got me asking for money for eight hours straight.”

“You did well?.”

“Enough for broken students,” you shrugged.

Yoongi smiled. “I gotta be honest, never considered you someone to volunteered for this type of things.”

“Yeah, me neither.” You did it for courage to asked for a guy’s number. Wow, maybe you were evil. “Guess guilty has been catching me up lately. I wasn’t the nicest in high school.”

“I believe that,” he chuckled. “By the way, are you still in that general knowledge in Art course? I heard the guys who was doing the class got arrested?”

“Oh my god, you didn’t know?. They shut it down because he was sleeping with that girl who use to talk about Beyoncé all the time—”

You two chat for a few minutes, easy and familiar. Catching up with some gossips about some class you shared and other things you had in common. He told you about a project he was drowning in. You complained about a new class you had to take for extra credit. It was comfortable, no pressure, no spiralling thoughts.

At one point, Yoongi checked his phone and groaned like an old man.

“My friend are looking for me,” he said. “I gotta go before they start something stupid.”

“Well, good luck with that.” You smiled at him.

He shook his head before giving you a hug. “See you around.”

You watched him disappear back into the crowd, feeling oddly lighter and more tipsy than before. It was always nice chatting with someone normal.

You decided to go back to your friends but before you could start your way to them a hand landed on your shoulder. Not rough, not startling, just enough pressure to made you turn.

“Hey,” a voice said, close enough that you heard it clearly despite the music. “Great event.”

You froze for half a second before you turned around, already knowing.

It was Chan.

Up close, he looked unreal in the most irritating way. His hair was slightly messed up like he had been running his hands through it all night, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, posture relaxed like he didn’t just derail your entire brain chemistry by existing within arm’s reach.

“Oh,” you said. “Thanks.”

It came out softer than you meant to. A fake sweet voice that wasn’t yours at all. You cleared your throat trying to compose yourself.

“I mean it,” he said quickly, like he was worried you’ll brush it off. “It’s actually really nice. Everyone’s in a good mood. It doesn’t feel… forced.”

You laughed. “You should’ve seen it earlier. People were feral.”

“I believe that,” he said. “I missed most of it, though. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” you said immediately, then realized how fast you answered and added, “I mean— people come and go. It’s a whole thing. The important thing here are the children.”

He nodded, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes flicking around before settling back on you. “Still. You’ve been here all night?”

“Since this morning,” you said. “I don’t remember my life before this event.”

He smiled at that, small and genuine. “You don’t look tired.”

“That’s because I’ve passed the point of exhaustion,” you said. “I’m running on vibes and now alcohol.”

Chan laughed, a real one, head tilting back slightly. “That explains a lot, actually.”

“Like what.”

“Like why you seem weirdly calm about everything.”

“Well it’s not like I did much work, to be honest.” You shrugged. “And I usually panic internally. I just don’t advertise.”

“Respect,” he said. “I panic externally.”

You grinned. “I’ve noticed.”

You two stand there for a moment, the music shifting to something louder, people brushing past you two. He stepped a little closer so he didn’t have to raise his voice, and the space between you two felt suddenly intentional.

“So,” he said, “how’s your semester been?”

You made a face, “horrible.”

He laughed again. “Yeah, same. That class we share is actually trying to kill me.”

“Ms. Kim is always criticizing everything.” You rolled your eyes..

“Yes,” he agreed immediately. “Why is he like that?.”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I leave every session feeling personally attacked.”

“At least your projects look good,” he said. “Yours always feel… finished.”

You blinked, it was a compliment. Chan was complimenting your work. “You think?”

“Yeah,” he said, like it’s obvious. “You have a good eye. Everything you do feels very intentional.”

Your chest did something stupid.

“Thanks,” you said, suddenly aware of your soft tone. “Your stuff’s really good too.”

Chan shrugged, a little bashful now. “I just mess around until I get it right.”

“That’s not true,” you shook your head. “You’re annoying about it. You’re always prepared for everything.”

He laughed. “Okay, maybe a little.”

You two fell into an easy rhythm, talking about classes, about deadlines, about how the building was always freezing no matter the season. He listened when you talked, the way you liked to be listened— nodding, reacting, asking follow-up questions like he actually cared what you were saying.

It felt like the first real conversation you were having with him. Your heart was beating so fast and your palms were sweating but in a good way.

You decided to order another two drinks after finishing yours and Hoseok’s very fast. He glanced at that. “Celebrating?”

“Recovering,” you said. “You want one?”

“I probably shouldn’t,” he said, then paused. “Actually— yeah. Just one.”

You gestured toward the bartender and he took his order. Same as yours, vodka lemonade.

He got closer, shoulder brushing shoulder. You grab his drink and handed him the cup with the excuse that the bartender left it too far for him. Your fingers touching briefly, electricity shooting straight up your arm like your body was being dramatic on purpose.

“This is dangerous,” Chan said after a sip. “I’m a lightweight.”

“Good,” You replied. “So am I.”

He smiled at you in a way that felt… different. Slower. Like he was thinking. You felt like you knew all his smiles by watching him for so long, and that one felt very intentional.

“This really suits you,” he said suddenly.

You frowned. “What does.”

“All of this,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Organizing, hosting, you look like the kind of girl who helps.”

You laughed. Because it felt like a good compliment. But it just wasn’t true, at all. You cared, of course, but you didn’t like doing the job at all, a lot less since that day.

But he didn’t need to know that.

“I like to. But I’m not in charge of this at all, I just barely participated”

“I don’t know,” he said. “You seem like you know what you’re doing.”

You looked at him for a second too long. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me then.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, interest clearly piqued. His voice was now deeper. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I’ll learn.”

The words settled between you two, heavy in the best way.

Your heart started beating so loud you were convinced he could hear it. You were already feeling dizzy, overwhelmed and slightly drunk.

Now or never, you thought.

“Hey,” you said, pulling your phone out before you could overthink it. “Can I get your number?”

He didn’t hesitate. Not even a second. You liked that, made you want to kiss him.

“Yeah,” he said, already leaning in. “Of course.”

You typed fast, thumbs clumsy, music too loud, the night spinning slightly. He watched you type your phone fast, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, nodded when you said his name again as a joke to save his number.

“There,” you said, trying to sound normal.

He smiled. “You better text me.”

Before you could respond, a group of his friends appear, calling his name, already halfway into chaos, maybe even drunk.

“We’re starting the game!” one of them said.

Chan looked back at you, apologetic but smiling. “I’ll catch you later?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Go.”

He hesitated for half a second longer, then let himself be pulled away, glancing back once before disappearing into the crowd.

You stood there, staring at the spot he was standing in like you were just imagining what had happened. Your heart beating fast, your palms sweating. You wanted to jump out of happiness and proudly. You turned around, founding your friends who were watching you already. All of them. Hobi’s mouth was open. Jin was shaking his head like he didn’t believe your crush was actually a real person. Jimin looked proud and disgusted at the same time.

You lifted your hands and showed them your middle fingers. They cheered.

gay means happy💜

ik this is too soon but this smau shit is so fun!!!

taglist: @louxmclll @fluffysheepmaster @labbbaaa @yooniebuns @oncyanii @taetaecatboy @yawnzshit @mniys @kit9doctordreamer @asyr97 @wonderlandkook

[petalmelt]

OMG THIS IS SOOO TEAAAAA LIKE IM INLOVEEEE.

I love how needy this jk is it’s a whole different side then what I usually read and the way it seems like it’s going to be a love triangle trope omgggg this is sooo good alr I can’t wait!!!

[jktny0]

ᯓ✦∘˙ Banner design for the absolute kindest:

@petalmelt

do not repost, copy, or claim as your own | design by me

[petalmelt]

She’s the best🫶💕

[jjungkookii]

No Room For Secrets - Chapter 23: Still With You (m)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

→ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader(female)

→ Trope/AUs: roommates to friends/FWB/lovers, roommate!au, fwb!au, arranged marriage!au, New Girl!AU

→ Genre: comedy, smut, fluff, slow burn, angst

→ Rating: Explicit 18+ (minors dni)

→ Word Count: 15,386

→ Summary: Trapped together, Jungkook and you confront the past, reconnect, are rescued, and end Christmas quietly choosing to take it slow.

→ Warnings(by chapter): explicit sexual content, detailed smut, emotional vulnerability, reconciliation sex, unresolved relationship tension, references to past breakup, discussions of guilt and regret, alcohol consumption, jealousy, confinement/being trapped, strong language, friends-with-benefits to lovers to exes-to-lovers dynamics, feelings-heavy angst followed by intimacy :D

→ A/N: hi yes hello i fear i am deeply, irreversibly in love with these characters. This chapter grabbed me by the throat and refused to let go, and honestly? getting them trapped together felt like a public service. wine cellar, forced proximity, feelings finally exploding—i regret nothing. thank you for letting me be unwell about Jungkook’s ability to love for several thousand words. AND because this story refuses to let me rest, up next we have Yoongi—all nervous but still devastating, and of course hopelessly in love—proposing to Jimin, the actual love of his life. expect all the softness, ✨chaos✨, maybe some tears, definitely lots of feelings. As always, thank you for being here and for screaming with me in the comments. i love you all almost as much as these idiots love each other. 💜✨

→ Playlist: “Killshot (Slowed+Reverb)” by Magdalena Bay, “Norman f*****g Rockwell” by Lana Del Rey, “uhgood” by RM, “Folded” by Kehlani (had this on repeat while writing the smut👀), “My whole world” by CAR, THE GARDEN

Jungkook plants both palms against the stone door and gives it another heroic shove, teeth clenched like he’s got something to prove.

The door doesn’t move. The lever doesn’t twitch. The ancient slab of medieval architecture doesn’t even pretend to care.

He exhales slowly. Defeatedly.

Okay. New plan. Fantastic.

“Well,” he says, turning back around with that oh-so-casual tone that makes you want to strangle him just a little, “now seems like the perfect time to… explore further, I guess.”

You stare. “…what.”

He gestures vaguely behind you, toward the deeper end of the cellar. The creepy end. The we-don’t-go-there end.

“I mean, we’re already down here,” he says, like that’s supposed to be comforting. “Might as well see what else is hiding before we panic.”

Before you panic, he doesn’t say—but you hear it anyway, loud and smug in its silence.

“I’m not panicking,” you lie, instantly. Convincingly. Except for how your voice cracks halfway through. “I’m just—okay, no, I am panicking, but it’s a very controlled panic.”

He nods solemnly. “Naturally, of course. Very dignified.”

You drag a hand through your hair, which is now freezing because why wouldn’t your fingers be turning to ice in this unheated stone coffin. “We’re underground. It’s cold. My phone is upstairs. Your phone is—”

“—not in my pocket,” he says, patting himself down like he hasn’t already done it three times. “Confirmed. I’m useless.”

“Perfect,” you mutter. “So we’re trapped in a stone wine crypt with no reception, no exits, no way to call for help, and Yoongi could sleep through a literal meteor strike and Jin and the others won’t be back until whenever they finish reenacting Mamma Mia in town—”

You’re pacing now. Loudly. Every step you take echoes like it’s trying to announce your anxiety to the ghosts of Joseon dynasty’s past.

“—and it’s freezing,” you continue, voice climbing to a shrieking octave… and the emotional ladder. “And this hoodie is the bare minimum of survival, and I cannot believe the irony of being stuck in a murder basement with my infuriatingly hot ex, who I absolutely do not still have feelings for, by the way, in case the universe was wondering—”

You stop. Mid-pace. Mid-step. Because Jungkook—who was watching you intensely—just froze. And you just realized you said that out loud.

“…wait,” he says, slow and low.

You blink. “What.”

He takes a step closer—not invading, but close. Closer than he needs to be. His mouth tilts, just slightly, in that familiar… dare-devil way it used to when you were together.

“Did you just say,” he begins, voice calm but eyes sparkling with the thrill of impending chaos, “that you’re ironically having the hots for your ex while you’re cold?”

Your soul straight-up evacuates your body. How, the hell, are you getting out of this one? Oh, that’s right! You’re not.

“I—what—no—” you sputter, tripping over the alphabet. “That’s not—I was speaking hypothetically.”

“Uh-huh.” He nods, solemn as a priest, smug as sin. “Very specific kind of hypothetical, don’t you think? Almost like a confession.”

You fold your arms, mostly to survive this conversation with some dignity. Unfortunately, all it does is yank his hoodie tighter around you, wrapping you in his warmth like a traitor. You can practically hear the hoodie taking his side.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter.

He hums, pleased. Dangerous. Having the time of his life at your expense.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” he says, and you both know it’s a lie. “I’m just… surprised. That’s all.”

You narrow your eyes. “Surprised by which part exactly?”

“The part where you said it out loud,” he says, voice all soft menace and devastating charm. Then—smug, gentle, absolutely lethal—

“Especially considering how hard you’ve been pretending not to notice me since I got here.”

Your heart does an aggressive backflip. Your dignity throws itself into a nearby barrel of vintage cabernet and drowns dramatically.

“I have noticed you,” you snap, defensive and doomed. “I’m not fucking blind.”

“Oh,” he says, airy and satisfied. “That’s good.”

That single phrase ignites a fire within you like a damn match to spilled gasoline.

You glare at him, fully aware it’s doing nothing to mask the rising flush on your face or the unfortunate heat curling low in your stomach. Your pulse is now performing percussion solos and honestly it should calm down before you make worse choices.

“This isn’t funny,” you bite out. “I’m cold, I’m trapped, and I—”

“—have the hots for your ex?” he supplies, helpful as ever.

“JUNGKOOK.”

He laughs—actually laughs—and the sound rings through the cellar like it owns the place. Warm in that way you miss. Familiar in all the ways you know aren’t appropriate right now. Unfair.

“Sorry,” he says, hands up in mock surrender. “Too far?”

“Yes, too far. The actual fuck?” You glare at him over your fingers.

He grins. “Just… the ‘warms’ then?”

You groan like it’s physically painful and drag your palms down your face. “This is exactly what I meant. This shit! You! This is why I’m spiraling like a greased-up idiot on a fucking tilt-a-whirl.”

“What. Because I’m annoying?”

For a half second, you imagine strangling him.

“YES BECAUSE YOU’RE—” You catch yourself. Suck in a breath through your teeth. Let it out slow like mommy taught you. “…Because this is more complicated than I thought it would be.”

When he realizes what you mean, his smile falters—just a little. Enough to register. Enough to hurt.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”

But the humor doesn’t leave entirely. It just… steps back. Gives space to something quieter. Heavier. The silence between you stretches, and suddenly the cold feels more unbearable—like it’s been waiting for its cue. It slips under your hoodie, curls around your spine, sinks its teeth into your legs. You shiver, a full-body tremor you didn’t authorize.

And of course, he notices. Instantly.

His eyes flick to you, roaming your body, then sharpen with instinct. That version of him you still know too well—the one that sees everything and says nothing until it actually counts.

Without a word, Jungkook steps in your personal space and shrugs out of the sweater he’d been wearing under the hoodie—layered like a Boy Scout with abandonment issues—and, this time, he doesn’t offer it. He just drapes it around your shoulders, smooth and casual, like he’s wrapping you in a decision you didn’t agree to but are somehow stuck with anyway.

“You’re freezing,” he says simply.

“I’m fine,” you shoot back automatically, because that’s your default setting apparently: lie first, deal later.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re fuckin’ shaking, Y/N.”

And sure, a couple full-body shivers betrayed you. Whatever. The issue was that he understood them. He shouldn’t have—unless he knew your body language a little too well.

And you hate that he knows your body this well. Hate it more that he’s right.

And you especially hate that when he guides you toward the ancient little seating area—like this is all very normal and not an emotional hostage situation—you actually go. Like some traitorous human-shaped sheep. You sit.

He hovers in front of you for a second. Then he takes the other cushion on the couch. Not touching you. Not even brushing. But close—close enough that his warmth reaches you, a steady, subtle kind of presence. It feels intentional. It feels like… permission?

But the cold doesn’t care about feelings. It takes what it wants—numb fingers, chattering teeth, a slow ache that crawls into your bones whether you acknowledge it or not.

You hug yourself tighter under both layers of his clothes and mutter, “Okay. Worst-case scenario, we’re stuck down here for… hours.”

“Worst-case,” he echoes.

“And best-case?”

“Someone notices we’re gone,” he says. “Yoongi might not. But Jimin will. He’s got separation anxiety.”

You let out a weak snort. “True.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s just… thick. Like the air down here’s had a too many years to ferment in emotional tension and is finally airing it out.

Your gaze drifts to the old bar setup. The wine bottles. The soft amber lighting. The ridiculously intimate vibe of the whole thing.

“This feels illegal,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Or like we were dared to do this.”

You glance over at him.

He’s watching you—not like he’s waiting to pounce, not like he’s reading a script—but with that quiet intensity that’s been simmering since you got here. Like he’s checking your temperature without a thermometer. Like he’s reading your tells. Like he’s still not sure what you’ll let him have.

Then, with a softer voice, he says, “I meant what I said earlier.”

Your breath ceases as you watch him.

“I won’t touch you,” he continues, voice low and raspy, “…unless you want me to.”

Your throat suddenly feels tighter. Like your body’s decided now is the time to stop cooperating entirely.

“That’s not exactly helpful,” you admit, voice low.

A slow smile pulls at his mouth—annoyingly knowing. “Yeah. I figured you’d say something along those lines.”

You let out a breathless laugh, somewhere between fond and deranged, because this entire situation is rapidly unraveling into some kind of emotionally loaded farce. “Of course you did.”

Another shiver rattles through you—full-body, traitorous, impossible for either of you to ignore.

Jungkook notices and exhales, glancing at the floor, then back at your shivering state.

“…Okay,” he says, with the reluctant finality of someone about to suggest something very stupid and slightly dangerous. “This is getting a bit impractical, Y/N.”

It takes an exhausting amount of effort to ignore what your name sounds like on his tongue in this proximity—what it does to your insides.

You swallow. “What are you suggesting.”

He gestures between you. “Shared body heat.”

Your brain almost explodes and you just stare at him. Because surely you’re hallucinating. Surely he didn’t just say that like it’s a perfectly logical, non-hormonal suggestion.

“I’m serious,” he says quickly, hands up in peace. “No funny business. This place is basically a fridge.”

You hesitate. Every rational instinct screams danger in flashing red lights. Every other instinct says: warm arms. ex’s sweater. smells good. give in.

And the worst part?

You want to. God knows it. Your body knows it. Shit… even your hormones know it.

Your emotional walls are still up—fortified, barbed, probably cursed—but sexually? They’re crumbling like a sad little sandcastle in a monsoon.

You nod once, stiffly. “Okay. But if you so much as breathe on me wrong—”

“I will simply… pass away,” he says solemnly.

You scoot closer to him. Shoulder to shoulder. Not touching a whole lot. Not really sharing any body heat—at least not enough to keep you from shivering, because—

you shiver.

Again. Stupidly. Involuntarily. And he moves without thinking, his arm sliding around your back. He’s warm and solid and cozy in that domestic way that hurts more than it helps keep you warm.

You go still under his limb.

“So,” he murmurs, far too close now. “Still hypothetically having the hots for me?”

You close your eyes, slowly. With intent. To reign in the beast.

“Shut up,” you whisper, eyes still closed.

He grins against your temple.

And somewhere above you, the cabin creaks—unaware, uncaring, that the universe has locked two emotionally stunted idiots underground with nothing to do but feel things. Against your will. In the cold. In close proximity.

The worst possible way.

For a moment, the silence feels almost bearable. Heavy, yes—but warmer now. Close. Tangled in something that tastes suspiciously like nostalgia and unfinished business.

But then—you feel this… Shift.

A vibration of mischief just under his skin.

You turn your head to him, eyes snapping open. “Don’t.”

He blinks, all fake innocence. “Don’t what?”

“Whatever you’re about to do.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

You narrow your eyes. “Jeon.”

He hums thoughtfully. “It’s just… interesting. That you’re shivering, even though you’re wearing two whole layers of me. Makes a guy feel underappreciated.”

“Oh my god—”

“I mean, I always knew I was hot,” he continues, voice full of mock reflection. “But this is kind of a rude awakening. My body heat, rejected in real time.”

You groan and drop your head back against the couch. “Why are you like this.”

“Tragically born this way.” He shrugs. “But listen. This is basic thermodynamics. You need stimulation to regulate core temperature.”

“Jungkook—”

“And since you won’t let me ravish you—”

You bolt upright with a look.

He grins, all shark-like. Totally pleased with himself.

“You’re literally the worst,” you mutter, already regretting the last ten minutes of your life.

“I’m saving you from hypothermia,” he says, all injured pride. “You’re welcome.”

You shove off the couch with a growl, swaddled in two layers of his clothing like a pissed-off nesting doll, and stalk toward the bar.

Behind you: “Wait—what are you doing?”

You don’t answer. You grab the first bottle of red you see, pop the cork with more force than finesse, and take a long, burning gulp straight from the bottle like the classy, unraveling human you are.

“Y/N—hold on, okay, I’m sorry,” Jungkook says, rising halfway off the couch, clearly alarmed. “I was just teasing—I’m just trying to help.”

You lower the bottle. Wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Deadpan.

“Help with what.”

He pauses. Guilty. Like he knows saying it out loud is either going to get him kissed or murdered.

“…keeping you warm.”

You stare at him.

He stares back, hesitant now, like even he didn’t expect to get this far with the teasing.

The wine burns pleasantly down your throat as your brain conducts a full emergency board meeting—each thought louder, more chaotic, all yelling over each other.

Don’t encourage him. He’s a menace.

But also… he’s warm. And close. And offering.

And you’re cold. So cold. For science. For survival.

You lower the bottle. Exhale through your nose. Regret this later.

“…Fine.”

He straightens slightly. “Fine?”

“Yes. Fine,” you snap, before you can take it back. “Jungkook. Whatever you want to do… to help keep me warm… do it.”

His eyes widen a fraction. “Do it?”

You level him with a glare. “Do it.”

There’s a beat of silence. Charged. Unmistakably heavy.

And then—without another word—Jungkook slowly starts walking toward you.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

You take a step back, instinctually. “What are you—wait—”

But he’s already in front of you, steady and tall, hands warm and sure as he plucks the bottle of wine from your fingers just long enough to get a better grip on you.

“Jungkook—Jungkook—”

And then you’re off the ground.

Just like that.

He picks you up and wraps your legs around his waist like it’s the most obvious, natural thing in the world—like you don’t weigh anything at all—and turns back toward the couch, wine bottle now dangling lazily from your fingers again like this is normal.

“Put me down,” you say weakly. His face is so close to yours.

“Nope,” he replies, already lowering backwards onto the couch.

And then you’re in his lap. Just—in his lap. Straddling his thighs, body curled between his arms before you can process what dimension you’ve fallen into.

You blink. “I meant help, not haul.”

“This is help,” he says calmly, one arm looping around your waist, the other adjusting the blanket that wasn’t even part of this equation three minutes ago but is now suddenly draped across both of you. “Stop complaining. You agreed to let me do this. It’s practical.”

You look at him, stunned. “You’re—You’re cuddling me l-like a man who owns the building.”

“I’m cuddling you like a man who’s tired of watching you freeze while pretending you’re fucking fine.”

You open your mouth to argue—and then close it again. Because unfortunately, your whole body has just melted against him like a popsicle in July. Heat radiates from him in pleasant steady waves, his chest solid beneath your cheek, his heartbeat frustratingly calm.

“…You’re actually so annoying,” you mutter, face buried in his hoodie.

“I know,” he says softly, pressing his cheek to the top of your head. “But you’re warming up now.”

And you are.

Damn it. You are.

You lie there in silence for a moment, refusing to acknowledge how nice it feels.

Or how natural.

Or how stupidly warm you are now that you’re basically tucked into him like a living space heater.

Then something clicks in your half-frozen, half-flustered brain.

“…Wait,” you mumble, squinting down at the blanket draped over both of you. “Where did this even come from?”

“The back of the couch,” he says casually, fingertips tracing lazy circles against your spine like it’s no big deal.

You freeze. “It was here this whole time?”

“Guess so.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“I was distracted,” he says, all innocent.

You pull back slightly to glare up at him. “You were distracted?”

He raises a brow. “You were the one ogling your ex like a walking thirst trap. Don’t blame me for giving you space to emotionally implode.”

You go rigid. “I was not ogling.”

He gives you a look.

You gesture with your wine bottle like it’s a weapon. “Okay. Fine. I glanced.”

“Glanced,” he repeats, nodding like he’s filing it away in a permanent archive. “Several times. Lingeringly.”

You groan and drop your face into his chest again. “Please shut up.”

He laughs—quiet and smug—and tightens his arm around your waist just a little.

“Gladly,” he says. “As long as you stay right here.”

And against all odds, you do. You really, really do.

You don’t know how long you stay like that. Pressed against him. Breathing slower. Heart finally starting to make a home in your chest instead of trying to break out of it.

The wine warms your stomach. His arms warm everything else.

Then, softly—so softly you almost miss it—he says:

“I should’ve told you everything. From the start.”

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t look at you when he says it. Just keeps his gaze somewhere over your shoulder, jaw tight like the words are scraping their way out.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he goes on. “But I did anyway. I know that. And it’s not because I didn’t care about you—in fact, I cared too much. I just… didn’t want to watch you walk away from what we had if I told you the truth about the arrangement that was promised to me years ago.”

You stay silent.

Not because you don’t have a response. But because there are too many.

He swallows. “And when you did walk away after you found out… I thought maybe it was for the best. That you deserved someone better. Someone with less baggage. Less family pressure. Fewer secrets.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the wine bottle.

“But every day since then,” he says, quieter now, “I’ve wanted to call you. To show up. To fix… everything I could. But I didn’t know if I even had the right to do that anymore.”

You finally glance up at him.

He’s not trying to look strong now. Not composed. Just present. Open. Still.

“But I still feel it,” he says, finally meeting your eyes. “The guilt. All of it. Every time I see you. Every time I think about what I didn’t say. What I had all the time in the world to say.”

Your chest aches. In that deep, slow way that means truth. But then, just as quickly, something sharp cuts through that softness.

You exhale. Sit back. The weight of his words still heavy, but now laced with frustration.

“Really?” you say, eyes narrowing. “We’re doing this now?”

He blinks. “What?”

“This whole… guilt confession. Again.” You gesture vaguely between you, biting down the sudden sting in your chest. “Like we haven’t already had this conversation. Like you didn’t already say all of this before.”

Jungkook’s brows knit. “Because you wouldn’t listen. I’ve tried—twice—since this trip started. I’ve tried to talk to you, and every single time you brush me off or say you’re not ready.”

“Maybe I’m not ready, Jungkook!” you snap. The words come out louder than you mean them to, but you don’t take them back. “I thought you said you weren’t going to corner me.”

“I’m not cornering you,” he says, jaw tightening. “We’re stuck down here. And we don’t know for how long. What’s wrong with talking about it now?”

You rub a hand across your face, suddenly exhausted. “I just… I can’t talk about this right now, okay?”

He pauses.

Then:

“Is it because of Kai?”

Your head whips toward him so fast it almost hurts. “Kai?”

“Yeah. Is he your new boyfriend or something?” Jungkook doesn’t mean for it to come out like that—it’s too bitter, too sharp—but it does. “I didn’t think you’d move on that fast, but I guess I was wr—”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Jungkook.”

The words cut clean through the room. Cold and final.

Jungkook goes quiet.

“He’s a friend,” you say, calmer now. “I met him at a coffee place in the city. He owns the shop. He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh.” His shoulders drop. “I just… overheard you and Jimin talking about him. So, I assumed.”

You cross your arms, still bristling. “Yeah, well. You’re real good at assuming.”

He winces but doesn’t argue.

There’s a beat.

Then he says, a bit hesitant:

“It’s funny, ‘cause I also made a friend at a coffee place… named Kai. And he’s the owner, too.”

You pause. Blink at him. “Wait. Is it called—”

“The Velvet Bean.” You both say it at the same time.

You stare at each other. And for the first time in the last fifteen minutes… you laugh for real. Just once, quietly in disbelief.

Because of course this trip is like a Hallmark movie. Of course the same coffee shop owner has befriended both of you like a romcom side character with main character energy.

You shake your head. “That’s so stupid.”

He smiles, soft and sheepish. “Yeah, a little bit.”

You glance at him, then at the wine in your hand. A smirk tugs at your mouth before you can stop it.

“I can’t believe you got jealous of Kai.”

He groans immediately. “Oh my god. No. That’s not—”

“I’m telling him when I get back.”

“Please don’t.”

“Oh, I absolutely am,” you say, warming to it now. “I’m gonna walk in, and he’s going to be like, ‘Hey, how was France?’ and I’m gonna be like, ‘Good, my ex thought you and I were dating and lost his mind in a wine dungeon.’”

“I didn’t lose my mind,” he mutters, cheeks now visibly flushing. “I just—overheard some stuff, and it sounded like…”

“Like I had a boyfriend?” you offer helpfully, raising an eyebrow. “Two months after a nine-month relationship? Two months after my first relationship since Jiwon? Two months—Jungkook—since walking away from the one person I was starting to love more than anyone in my life?”

Jungkook freezes at your words. His dark eyes searching yours for any semblance of a lie.

His breath stutters—you feel it under your palm, where it rests against his chest. His hands still on your waist, but his grip loosens like he’s afraid to hold on too tightly now. Like your words cracked something wide open.

“Y/N…” he starts, voice low and rough, but whatever he was going to say slips away.

You throw your head back and take another long gulp of wine—too long, too casual—and suddenly you feel the warmth of the alcohol pooling in your limbs, the flush rising in your cheeks, the haze softening your edges. You’re not drunk. Not even close.

But you are… loose. And maybe a little braver than you should be.

Still sitting on his lap, your eyes meet his. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he murmurs, still reeling.

“Like I just said something wild and unhinged.” You raise the bottle, grinning faintly. “You’re the one who started all this vulnerability.”

He huffs a breath—somewhere between a laugh and disbelief. “You’re definitely getting tipsy.”

“No,” you say, entirely unconvincingly, “I’m just being emotionally transparent and physically warm for once.”

“You’re also talking with your hands,” he teases gently, nodding toward the bottle you’re now gesturing with dangerously close to his face. “Classic sign of tipsy Y/N. That and fake confidence.”

You snort. “Excuse you, this is real confidence. It’s just… wine-enabled.”

Jungkook leans in slightly, the corner of his mouth tugging into something softer, more familiar. “So what else does wine-enabled Y/N want to tell me?”

You pause.

Your eyes search his.

And even with the fuzziness in your brain, the warmth in your blood, you feel—the inevitable tension of the atmosphere. Followed by an ache rising again in your chest.

“…I think,” you say slowly, more to the space between you than to him, “I was already so deeply in love with you when everything fell apart, that losing you broke a part of me I can’t ever fix.”

His warm expression falls apart. Just crumbles into nothing but guilt and maybe a hint of yearning.

“Y/N,” he whispers.

And just this once, you don’t stop him when his hand lifts to cradle the side of your face—thumb brushing lightly over your cheek, sympathetic, like he knows the exact feeling you’re talking about.

He cradles your face like it’s breakable. Like you’re breakable and he knows it from experience.

And maybe you are. Because everything inside you feels like it’s coming apart at the seams—slowly, gently, like a thread pulled from the hem of something irreparable.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says. Barely audible. “For all of it. For the things I didn’t tell you. The relationship I didn’t fight for. The way I hurt you by keeping it all secret.”

Your breathing gets heavier. You’re not quite crying, but your chest is tight and your throat feels full. And the wine is a hum in your blood that’s making it harder to stay guarded.

You lean into his soft touch, enough that he notices but doesn’t comment on it.

“I didn’t want to fall for you, you know,” you whisper. “I was terrified. You were supposed to be a fuck buddy. Something light, something safe.”

He lets out a broken laugh. “I was never safe.”

“No,” you agree. “You weren’t. You made me feel… everything. Like I was waking up after being numb for years.” You let out a sigh, “And it was wonderful.”

His thumb traces your cheekbone. His eyes haven’t left yours for a second.

“And then I had to pretend I was fine,” you go on, voice trembling against your will. “I had to walk away like it didn’t kill me. Like I hadn’t been—fuck, Jungkook—I was all in.”

He exhales shakily. “You were—I know you were. I felt it. Every fucking second we were together it was like nothing I ever felt with someone before.”

Silence swells. Heavy. Sharp-edged. Charged.

Your eyes drop to his mouth.

And then—slowly, like you’re both giving each other time to back out—you lean in.

Your nose brushes his. His tattooed hand gently moves to the back of your neck.

You’re so close now you can feel his breath against your lips—warm and uneven. Like he’s scared to believe this is real. Scared to mess this up.

And then, finally—finally—you kiss him.

It’s not rushed. It’s not desperate. It’s just full. Full of everything you’ve held back for weeks.

Full of pain and regret and the ghost of love that never really died.

His lips move against yours with a soft reverence, with care, with the kind of intensity that says I remember every part of you and I never stopped missing a single one.

His hand tangles in the hair at your neck. Yours fists in the fabric on his chest.

And for one suspended, fragile moment, there is nothing but this.

Just you and him.

And maybe the echo of something creaking open again—something raw and bright and real, and maybe still worth saving.

You kiss him like you mean it. Like you still mean it. Like you’ve been holding this in for all of time and it’s finally, finally been given air and water and sunlight.

And he kisses you back just as fiercely—his hand sliding deeper into your hair, his other arm tightening around your waist, pulling you into him like he’s terrified you’ll run away again.

You’re not sure who deepens it first.

Maybe it’s him—the way his fingers curl possessively into your hip.

Maybe it’s you—the way your chilled hand slides up under the layers of his sweater, palm skimming his hot skin.

He groans into your mouth. Just barely.

But you hear it and feel it. And then suddenly it’s more—mouths open, breathless, teeth grazing, lips crashing like they forgot how to do anything else but need. Your body shifts forward in his lap, straddling him closer now, wine bottle abandoned somewhere beside you on the couch.

His hoodie drowns you, his sweater is bunched around your elbows, and you’re half-covered in a blanket that no longer seems to matter—not when his hands are on you again.

You tilt your head, letting him in, kissing him impossibly deeper. He pulls you flush to him on instinct, like breathing. And just when you drag your hand up the back of his neck and into his hair—just when your hips grind with slow, lethal intent—

He breaks away. Breathing hard, lips red, pupils blown.

“Y/N—”

You kiss him again.

His resolve stumbles. He laughs softly against your mouth, dazed. “You’re killin’ me.”

“You like it,” you whisper, lips brushing his as you speak.

He exhales, half-laugh, half-prayer. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

You kiss down the side of his jaw now, greedy, confident in a way you haven’t felt in months—drunk on wine, on heat, on him.

His hand flexes on your waist again, more firm this time around. “Wait—”

You kiss him again.

He melts for a second—then pulls back just enough, forehead resting against yours.

“Y/N…” kiss

“We’re not—” kiss “doing what—” another kiss, hungrier now “Y/N, you’ve been drinking.”

You smile against his mouth. “Not that much.”

“You’ve had enough.”

You blink at him, pout forming instantly. “Are you rejecting me?”

He groans, tipping his head back against the couch like he’s trying to summon divine strength.

“God, no. No! I’m just… trying not to make another mistake.”

You soften. “This wouldn’t be a mistake.”

He looks at you then, like you’re every single answer he didn’t think he was allowed to have.

“I know,” he says quietly. “Which is why I want to wait until you know it too.”

And somehow… that’s hotter than anything he could’ve done with his hands.

But, you know what you want.

You grin, slow and wicked, emboldened by his restraint—the way he’s looking at you like he’s already lost the fight.

“You sure?” you whisper, voice low and syrup-smooth as you brush your nose along the line of his jaw. “Because you sound like someone who wants me.”

His fingers curl at your waist. “Y/N…”

“I mean, it’s fine,” you murmur, lips grazing his throat now. “If you don’t want me. Just say so.”

He takes a long, calming breath.

And then you rock your hips—slow, hard, and provocative—just once. Just enough.

Jungkook grips you, tight.

“You’re playing with fire,” he says, voice a low growl and fraying at the edges.

“I know,” you say sweetly. “But I’m just… so cold.”

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed for a second because he’s begging the universe for the strength he absolutely doesn’t have, to resist you.

And when you lean in and kiss him again—soft at first, then hot, open-mouthed, teeth catching his lip—he finally breaks. Succumbing, entirely.

“Okay,” he breathes, voice dark and strained. “Okay—Fuck it.”

He surges forward again, kissing you hard—no more restraint, no more hesitation.

Just pure want.

Months of it. Pinned between his hands and the low groan in his throat as he pulls you in like he can’t get close enough.

You gasp into him as he shifts, hands gripping your hips now, guiding your rocking movements, mouth dragging heat down your neck in a way that makes you arch.

“You already know you drive me fucking insane,” he mutters into your skin.

You tangle your fingers in his hair. “I do.”

His laugh is breathless. “You’re evil.”

You pull back just far enough to meet his eyes—flushed, pupils blown, lips red and swollen.

“Touch me, Kook.”

That short request does something to him. You feel it in the way he kisses you again—so deeply, so consuming, like he’s finally claiming something he thought he lost.

And when his hand slips under the hoodie he gave you—under your sweater—palms warm against your bare skin, you gasp into his mouth.

The wine bottle clinks against the floor, forgotten.

He twists. Your back hits the couch cushions and Jungkook is on you—one hand buried in your hair angling your head how he used to, the other hand finds your ass, pulling you hard up against him until your bodies lock together like puzzle pieces that never really stopped fitting.

Your chest heaves. His hoodie is slipping off your shoulder now, exposing skin, and his mouth follows—hot, open, trailing down your neck like a man possessed. You whimper when he bites down, just enough to leave a red mark, and his laugh is ragged against your collarbone.

“I don’t think you remember what you’re asking for,” he breathes, lips dragging, licking, sucking, down your throat, kissing the edge of your jaw, your pulse.

You pant. “I do! I know exactly what I’m asking for.”

His dark eyes lift to yours.

Something in them flickers—hunger, sure, but affection, too. That same devotion you saw before. Only now it’s tactile.

“I want to make you feel good,” he says, voice low and breathy. “Can I?”

You nod instantly, breathlessly. But that’s not enough for him.

“Use your words,” he says, kissing along the curve of your shoulder.

You gasp. “Yes. God—yes, Jungkook, please.”

That’s all it takes for him to slip down your body in one smooth motion, dragging the blanket with him as he kneels between your legs—pressing kisses to the skin of your stomach, then lower. Your sweater lifts higher. His hands curl under the waistband of your sweats and you hold your breath when he looks up at you again—his eyes blown wide, lustful, wild.

He pulls them down.

Sweats. Panties. Socks. Slippers. Everything. Gone.

The cold air of the cellar touches your skin for a split second and then it’s replaced by the heat of his hands and mouth.

He glides his warm hands up the sides of your legs, trailing kisses slowly on your inner thighs as he inches closer to your wet entrance.

Your head drops back as a moan rips from your throat, hand flying to tangle in his hair as he licks slowly up your slit once—deep, possessive.

“Fuck,” you gasp, body already trembling.

He hums against you like he missed your taste. Eyes rolling back before closing—pleased, and the vibration makes you jolt.

Then he finally gets to work.

His tongue movements are focused. Methodical. Tongue circling precisely the rim of your hole, then flattening, flicking against the exact bundle of nerves that makes your hips jump—and he knows, god, he still knows how you like it. Every little sound you make, every twitch, every breathy curse—he’s chasing it. Drinking it down.

Your legs tighten around his shoulders and he groans into you like he loves the way you’re coming apart.

He eats you like he’s starving. Like this is revenge. Like this is worship. Tongue lapping quick then pressing deep, lips sucking hard, fingers curling into your thighs to hold you still. You moan—loudly—and you don’t care anymore. The whole damn mountain could hear and you still wouldn’t stop.

“Jungkook—” you moan. “Fuck—like that.”

You’re absolutely gone. You’ve melted into the couch. Reduced to nothing but feeling. His mouth, his name, the pressure building and building like a tidal wave ready to rock your world.

He slides a slow finger inside of you, watching your face, then curling it just right, and your whole body jerks.

“Right there?” he murmurs, voice husky, teasing.

“Yes, right there, right fucking there—”

He adds a second finger now, mouth never leaving your clit, pace relentless now. Your hips roll urgently against his face, chasing it, riding the edge, and he lets you, hand gripping your thigh as he holds you right where he wants you.

His fingers pump and curl inside you, one, two, three, four—

And your orgasm crashes over you fast and brutal—white-hot, full-body and you cry out, hand flying to your mouth just in time to muffle it.

He doesn’t stop until your legs are trembling, until you’re gasping his name and dragging your fingers from his hair to his collar to anywhere you can touch, because you need his lips.

Finally, he pulls back—lips swollen, chin wet, eyes absolutely wrecked but starving.

He climbs up over you again, slow and smug and gorgeous, brushing the hair from your face as you stare up at him, dazed.

Your hands grab his face gently to pull him down for a kiss. His lips meet yours and there’s a soft, familiar clumsiness to it—your noses bump, you both adjust without speaking, like you’ve done this a hundred times in this exact way. (Cause you probably have.) He tastes like your juices—sweet and salty. His mouth is warm, wet, and he sighs into you like a boy in love.

You’re still catching your breath, mind floating somewhere between ruined and reborn, when he starts to get up—ready to retreat, to give you space. Because he did his job and warmed you up.

But you stop him.

Your fingers curl into his collar, your eyes locked with his, and you pull him back down—not for a kiss this time, but to switch.

He blinks when you push him gently back against the cushions.

“Wait—”

“Shh,” you murmur, already sliding down his body, the hoodie he gave you bunching around your elbows. “My turn.”

“Y/N…”

You settle between his thighs and he exhales, hard, already tense under your touch. His sweats are low on his hips—not really concealing his excited tent. When you tug them down just enough, his cock shoots free—hard, thick, flushed with need. Your mouth waters. And his head falls back against the couch with a curse.

You look up at him. “You okay?”

He laughs, strained. “No.”

You smile. Then lean in to devour.

Your tongue is on him before he can stop you—slow, intentionally teasing, a barely there lick—and it makes him twitch, one hand flying to your shoulder like he’s either going to push you back or pull you closer.

Then you take him all in your mouth at once.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Y/N—wait. I—”

You hum around him.

His hips jerk upward.

“I’m serious,” he groans, barely holding himself together. “I’m not gonna last if you do this—”

You lift your head, lips releasing his tip enough for him to see your smirk. “That’s kind of the point.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

You take him in again—slurping, wet, deeper this time—and his head thuds back against the cushions with a ragged noise that sounds like your name. His hand fists in the blanket beside him. Your head bobbing at a faster pace now, than before. He’s so close already because these months have been rather lonely, but then—

He pulls you off by your hair.

You blink, stunned. “What—?”

He’s panting now, eyes dark and wild, voice barely above a whisper.

“I want to be inside you.”

It punches the air from your lungs. And you make a rather quick and reckless decision.

You crawl up his body to settle your naked lower half on his very naked cock, mouth brushing his, heart thudding, both of you teetering on the edge of something probably irreversible.

And then—

“I don’t have a condom,” he blurts, voice rough.

And you freeze—not because of the words, but because of what they mean. Because he’s not just telling you he’s not prepared. He’s asking you something without asking. Silently.

You meet his gaze, soft and unwavering.

“We never needed them before,” you say in almost a whisper. That alone is your answer.

His breathing mellows, relieved. His hands tighten at your waist. You’re still wearing both his layers—completely undone beneath them—but you swear he’s never looked at you like this. Like you just said everything without saying much at all. Then, after a beat, you add:

“Unless you think we need one?”

Your eyes search his face for every micro-expression that he could be lying. Because you’re not really asking about protection. Neither of you were.

You’re asking what he’s been doing. Who he’s been with.

If you’re the only one.

And thank fuck, he doesn’t hesitate.

“No,” he says, voice low, clear. “I haven’t been with anyone since I was with you.”

And there it is. Honesty, laid bare. Heavy and real and devastating in a way that makes you want to stay here in this moment forever.

Your fingers lift to his face—tracing his jaw, the scar on his cheek, the beauty mark below his mouth—and you kiss him softly once, just once, before whispering:

“Me neither.”

And when you grind your very wet core against his very hard cock, teasing yourself and him, he groans like it’s killing him. Cause it is.

“Y/N…”

“Let me do it,” you whisper, forehead against his. “Please.”

He doesn’t answer with words. He just pulls you closer to his chest, one hand firm at your lower back.

You can feel how much he wants this. How much he wants you. How tightly he’s holding himself back.

Your fingers slide behind you, guiding his length closer to your slit until you’re hovering right above it—the tip of his cock is kissing your slick entrance.

You stop and hover right there. Only doing this for the sake of driving him insane.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice already breathy. “That’s not fair.”

You smile against his jaw, feeling brave and reckless and warm all at once. “You said you wanted to be inside me. But you didn’t say how soon.”

His head tips back against the couch again, eyes shut because he’s fighting for his fucking life. “I am barely holding myself back here.”

Still you don’t move. You let him feel it. The tension. The anticipation. The way your body fits with his like muscle memory.

“Tell me,” you whisper. “Tell me what you want again.”

His head shoots up, dark eyes snapping open—full of intent and completely serious.

“I want you,” he says immediately, like the words have been waiting behind his teeth, like it’s almost insulting that you ever doubted it. There’s no pause, no second-guessing—just the truth, dropped between you with the weight of feelings that are inevitable. “I’ve always wanted all of you.”

Your heart starts pounding. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum—as if it’s trying to climb its way out of your chest and into his hands. You can feel it everywhere: in your throat, behind your ears, pulsing under your skin… between your legs.

He watches you closely, as if he can hear it too. As if he’s counting the seconds it takes for you to react.

His words were a confession. The kind that’s been living between you ever since the breakup, unspoken but obvious, hiding in every look that lingered too long and every almost-touch that felt like a mistake you both kept making anyway.

Your heart keeps racing, refusing to calm down, because it knows the truth:

You’ve always wanted all of him, too.

“Okay,” your voice is like honey to his ears. “You have all of me.”

Your hand is still holding his length, feeling how hard he is, his tip poking teasingly at your folds. He twitches in your palm as you align him with your entrance, your body already slick, already open.

 You lower yourself onto him slow—achingly slow—eyes locked with his the whole way down.

Jungkook’s hooded eyes bore into yours as his mouth falls open, brows drawing tight in pleasure.

He exhales like he’s in pain, “Ahhh…”

Your head falls back as you slide down inch by inch, savoring the stretch, the way his cock fills you completely, deliciously. When he’s fully inside, you sit still on his hips, your thighs shaking slightly from the intensity.

You feel everything.

The weight of his hands as they slide up your sides. The heat of his breath. The way his chest rises against your palms as you plant them there for balance. His eyes are still on yours—lidded, lustful, like he can’t believe the way you look when you’re breaking open on top of him.

“You always did fit me so fucking perfectly,” he murmurs, barely audible.

Your voice comes out involuntarily breathy, “Jungkook, I nee—“

He doesn’t let you finish. His hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you in and crashing your lips to his.

The surprise only lasts a split second—just long enough for your breath to catch—before you’re kissing him back just as hard, just as hungry.

This whole situation almost feels surreal. You’re in a freezing cold cellar, half-naked, cock-warming your ex, as you make out with him like your life depends on it. And yet, you wouldn’t want to be in anyone else’s arms.

Your mouths move in sync, lips sliding on lips, breaths dancing. Tongues grazing hungrily—cause it’s been too long since you’ve connected this way. And you’ve missed his lips already.

He’s deep inside you and you’ve missed that too—though you’ve been missing his dumb brain most of all.

You start to move on him, slow, smooth rolls of your hips that grind your clit against his pelvis perfectly with every pass. He groans against your mouth and breaks the kiss, forehead leaning on yours, noses brushing, breaths mingling, hands gripping your ass, fingers digging into your skin.

Every motion is drawn out, intimate. Like you’re savoring him. Like he’s savoring you.

It’s not fucking anymore.

It’s something worse.

Something better.

As you’re slowly bouncing on him, he lets his hands explore—from your ass, up under your layers to your soft waist, then up to your chest. His thumbs brush just under your breasts, his palms lifting and squeezing them, admiring the way they feel with every slow grind you give. 

You’re flushed pink, panting, riding him like you need to feel every inch, as deep as possible—every drag, every subtle throb.

“Look at you,” he whispers, his forehead still pressing to yours. “God, I forgot how pretty you are when you ride me.”

You peck his lips briefly, sliding your hands up his biceps, feeling the flex of muscle under his sweater as he holds back his urge to take control, letting you control the pace. His lips chase yours—soft this time, almost tender. He kisses you, tasting something he thought he’d lost forever. His tongue traces yours, slow and seeking, matching the rhythm of your hips.

You moan into his mouth when he thrusts up just slightly, hitting that deeper spot within you, and you feel him smirk against your lips.

“Dead center again, huh?”

You nod, turning to rest your temple against his forehead, breathing uneven. “Don’t. Move.”

“I won’t.”

You thrust and grind harder instead. Your thighs burn from the continuous pace, but you don’t care. Your hands stay on his chest, fingertips dragging across his covered muscles, feeling his heart pounding beneath them.

You sit back a little, riding him with more purpose now, watching his eyes trail down your body as if he doesn’t know where to look first—your bouncing chest, your rolling hips, the point where you’re joined.

“You always looked so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs. “In control. Falling apart.”

You clench around him then, hard, and he groans, hips bucking up involuntarily.

You smile. “Don’t move, remember?”

“Jesus, Y/N…”

His hands grip your hips again, tight, pulling you down with each movement as your rhythm builds just slightly—still slow, still intentional, but more urgent now. His eyes flicker shut. His jaw tenses. You can tell he’s so close to coming.

And so are you.

Your fingers find your clit and you rub soft circles, matching the rhythm of your hips. The pressure of another orgasm builds again—slow and sweet this time. Deep, like an ache sparking from your center outward.

Your thighs start to tremble. Your breathing wavers.

“I’m—I’m go—” you gasp.

“Come for me,” he whispers, voice strained. “Please, baby. Let me feel you squeeze me.”

And just like that, your body gives in.

Your walls convulse around him, exploding, hips grinding down harder as your orgasm rolls through you like a tide.

He leans forward, arms wrapping around you as he thrusts up once, twice, and buries himself deep inside you—coming with a strangled moan against your shoulder, holding you tight as he paints your insides, pulse pounding in his cock as you milk every last drop.

The moment stretches.

You stay wrapped around him, your body softening, your forehead resting against his. He strokes your back slowly, chest still heaving.

Neither of you moves to pull away. Neither of you wants to.

“Now what?” you whisper.

Jungkook doesn’t answer. He just holds you closer.

And for once, you don’t expect him to answer—don’t need him to say it. Because you already know this just got a little more complicated.

You don’t know how long you stay that way.

But his arms haven’t moved.

One is around your back, hand splayed warm and wide between your shoulder blades. The other rests lower, fingers gripping your hip like he doesn’t quite believe you’re still here.

You’re the first to move. A soft shift of your hips, the ache blooming in your thighs reminding you just how long you rode him like that. You tilt your head and let your cheek rest against his temple, feeling the tickle of his eyelashes, the way he smells like sex and sweat and whatever cologne he always wore just to make you weak.

Your chest still rises unevenly, sweat cooling fast in the chilly air, but your skin hums with warmth anyway. With him. His heat. His cock still softening inside you. His hands still acting like you’re his, now and forever.

You snort quietly.

“Well,” you murmur, voice dry, lips brushing his jaw, “that was unexpectedly… affectionate.”

Jungkook hums without lifting his head. “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“You’re still sitting on my dick. That’s thanks enough.”

You laugh—quiet, low, surprised at how easy this is. Or maybe you’re just delirious. Everything feels too soft right now. Too warm. Too close.

“I missed you,” he whispers, voice so quiet you almost miss it.

Your throat tightens. You blink once, slowly.

He pulls back enough to look at you—just barely. Just enough to see your face. His hair’s a mess. His lips are red. His eyes are still clouded with emotion.

“I didn’t think I’d get to touch you like that again,” he admits, like it’s a confession he didn’t mean to say aloud. “Not after everything.”

You exhale shakily. Your fingers drag through the hair at the nape of his neck—gently. Absentmindedly. You used to do that all the time.

“I didn’t either,” you whisper back.

He swallows.

You both fall silent again—but it’s not uncomfortable. Just… full.

The silence is different now. Warmer. Deeper. Threaded with something tentative and new. Like whatever just happened didn’t fix everything—but it cracked something wide open.

And neither of you wants to slam that door shut again.

You shift in his lap, gently, and he helps you lift your hips slowly and slide off him. His hands twitch—like maybe he was going to stop you. But he doesn’t.

There’s a brief stretch of slick warmth between your thighs, gravity tugging at the mess he left inside you, and before it can drip down your leg—

—you reach between your legs, catch it with two fingers, and casually push it back in.

Jungkook watches in total silence.

You lift the same fingers to your lips, licking them clean.

A beat.

Another.

Then: “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You glance over to where the obscenities came from. He’s still sitting there on the couch, with his semi-hard dick out, staring at you with a look that’s somewhere between ruined and feral. His jaw clenched. Eyes dark. Cock twitching back to life and he knows you see it.

You lift an eyebrow.

“What?” you say innocently. “Waste not, want not.”

Jungkook exhales slowly, like he’s praying for strength.

“Don’t do that in front of me if you don’t want a round two.”

You grin. “Who said I don’t?”

He groans and covers his face with both hands, collapsing back onto the couch like he’s been physically assaulted. “I would literally die.”

You turn and stretch, back arching, bare-assed and unbothered now in the cold. “I mean,” you say, tossing a smirk over your shoulder, “there are worse ways to go.”

And yeah—you’re laughing. Really laughing. Not that sharp, armor-plated kind you used to wield like a shield in arguments. This is the real one. That quiet, caught-off-guard giggle that slips out when your guard’s nowhere in sight.

And under it… there’s something else. Something warm and dangerous and unfamiliar.

Forgiveness?

Maybe.

But no—didn’t you just promise yourself you weren’t gonna go there?

You tug your panties back on with the grace of someone who knows they’re being watched, slow and unbothered, and the thought flickers through you like heat: this feels good. Too good. The kind of good that hums in your blood and dares you to want more. And maybe it shouldn’t feel this addictive.

Jungkook’s still watching you, eyes tracking your every move because he doesn’t know if he wants to kiss you or drag you back down and fuck you again until someone stops him.

You toss him a look—half-pleased, half-wary.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you say.

“Like what?” he asks, already smiling.

“Like you’re serious about round two!”

He shrugs, shamelessly. “Maybe I am serious.”

Rolling your eyes, you settle beside him again. You curl into his side, your legs tucked close, one of his arms comes to wrap around you tight while the other reaches for the blanket.

He drapes it over both of you without another word.

You lean your head on his shoulder. Your fingertips tracing patterns on his chest, slow and thoughtless.

“…You okay?” he asks, after a beat.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“You’re not… freaking out?”

You lift your head to look at him. “Are you?”

He hesitates. “No. Just… trying not to assume anything.”

You stare at him for a long moment.

There’s so much you could say. So much you want to say. But everything still feels like it’s balancing on a ledge, and if you push too hard too fast, it might tumble.

So instead, you just touch his jaw—lightly. Just a brush of fingers. Then you kiss the corner of his mouth, soft and lingering.

“I don’t regret it,” you say, quiet but firm.

His eyes flutter shut for a second. Relief flickers across his features so visibly you feel it like a second heartbeat.

“Neither do I,” he breathes.

Another beat passes. You’re still close. Still tucked into each other like you’ve done this a hundred times—and in some ways, you have.

Then, you murmur, “I still don’t know what this means.”

He nods. “We don’t have to know yet.”

“But we can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

“No,” he agrees, hand stroking your arm now. “We won’t. I won’t.”

You sigh, nestling your face into the crook of his neck.

“…I think I just need to be in this moment right now,” you whisper. “With you. Not planning. Not spiraling. Just… here.”

He nods. Kisses your temple. Holds you a little tighter.

“Okay,” he says. “Then I’m here.”

And you stay like that—warmed by him, grounded in this strange little bubble of wine, silence, and vulnerability. Still tangled in a complicated history. Still messy and bruised and unsure.

But held. Together.

Your body is finally starting to relax—your muscles softening into his, your breathing syncing up. The chilled air of the cellar doesn’t bite quite as hard now, not with his warmth pressed into your side and the blanket wrapped around you both like a secret.

You’re on the verge of sleep. Barely hovering above it, your eyelids heavy and Jungkook’s heartbeat lulling you deeper. You think maybe if you could just stay here a little longer—

THUNK.

Your ears twitch.

Then, faint but unmistakable—

One.

Two.

Three.

Four car doors slamming shut.

You blink. Frozen. Listening hard.

“…Did you hear that?” you whisper, voice thick with drowsy disbelief.

Jungkook lifts his head slightly, squinting upward toward the low ceiling. “I think that was—”

“—voices,” you breathe, suddenly wide awake. “That’s definitely Jimin. That’s Jimin!”

You sit up so fast the blanket tumbles to the floor.

Jungkook’s reflexes kick in a half-second behind yours as you both scramble into motion. You grab your sweatpants from where they’d been discarded mid-chaos and wriggle them on with frantic, clumsy urgency. Jungkook’s pulling his hoodie down over his head and adjusting the waistband of his sweats like a man on the run.

You’re both a blur of limbs and adrenaline and very unsexy panic.

“Do I look like I just got railed?” you hiss, tugging the sweater into place and checking your reflection in the faint shimmer of a dusty wine bottle.

He snorts, breathless. “You look like you just took a three-hour nap in a meat locker.”

“…Better.”

He runs a hand through his hair—messy, but passable—and then does a double take. “Babe, your hair—”

“Don’t call me babe right now!” you whisper-scream, flattening your hands over your head. “Oh my god, they’re gonna know.”

“They won’t know if we stop yelling and just—” he yanks the blanket off the floor and tosses it over the couch like a crime scene cover-up. “Okay, okay—just act normal.”

You both freeze, now fully dressed, breath held.

Another burst of faint laughter filters down from above. Closer now.

“Jin!” you yell suddenly, hands cupped around your mouth. “Jin, we’re down here!”

Jungkook pounds on the door like a man possessed. “Jimin! Tae! Hobi! Guys, we’re stuck!”

You both start yelling over each other, voices echoing off the stone walls, desperation overriding any last hope of keeping this quiet.

“HELLO?”

“WE’RE IN THE CELLAR!”

“THE DOOR IS STUCK!”

“I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU GUYS WENT TO THREE SEPARATE BAKERIES AGAIN—”

Footsteps thud overhead—multiple pairs—followed by frantic voices and giggles and then the unmistakable creak of the wine cellar lever being tugged.

The door groans as it scrapes against the floor.

Then—CLUNK.

Light! Air!

Jimin’s face appears at the top of the stairs, eyes wide.

“…what the fuck?”

You nearly sob. “Jimin, oh my god, thank you.”

Jungkook’s already halfway up the stairs before Jimin even starts moving. “It jammed. We tried the lever. It was stuck.”

Tae appears behind him, blinking. “How long were you down there?”

“Since this morning,” you groan, dragging yourself up after Jungkook. “You guys were singing ABBA and shopping while we were freezing to death and fighting for our lives.”

“And making out?” Jimin adds dryly, arms crossed.

You freeze.

Jungkook trips on the second-to-last step.

“…What?”

Jimin’s eyes narrow. Tae blinks between you. Hobi steps into view from the hall, looks at the scene, and immediately snorts.

“Dude,” he says to Jungkook, “your hoodie’s inside out.”

You nearly die on the spot.

Jungkook glances down at his hoodie. Freezes.

It is inside out.

Immediately, his eyes dart to yours—then to the three pairs of very smug, very suspicious faces gathered at the top of the stairs.

“I—okay, no,” he says, lifting both hands like he’s diffusing a bomb. “Absolutely not. Nothing happened.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

“It’s literally a fridge down there, hyung,” Jungkook goes on, gesturing behind him. “I gave her my hoodie and my sweater because she was in a T-shirt and fucking shivering.”

You nod quickly, stepping up beside him. “Yeah. I was freezing. Hypothermic, practically. It was survival.”

Taehyung smirks. “Survival with the door locked and the blanket crumpled and—”

“—Survival,” you repeat louder, nodding earnestly. “No further questions!”

Jin squints, unconvinced. “And you couldn’t, I don’t know, call out for help?”

Jimin tilts his head, arms folded. “Yeah. Why didn’t you just yell for Yoongi?”

You don’t hesitate. “We did.”

Jimin stares.

You stare back.

“He could sleep through the apocalypse,” you add quickly. “We screamed his name like ten times.”

Jimin exhales through his nose, half-smiling. “…That’s fair.”

There’s a beat of tense silence in this half-circle of allies at the top of the cellar stairs.

Then, with the smoothest pivot you’ve ever seen in your life, Taehyung claps his hands once. “Anyway!” he announces brightly, like none of this just happened. “I’m suddenly feeling deeply compelled to do a full skincare reset after being in the dry-ass air of that truck for two hours.”

“Oh my god,” Jimin gasps, eyes going wide like this is the most urgent idea he’s ever heard. “Me too. Y/N, come upstairs. Let’s hydrate. Let’s exfoliate. Let’s get our glow back.”

You blink. “I—what?”

“You need this,” Taehyung says seriously, already taking your arm. “Your pores are crying.”

“And so is your soul, probably,” Jimin adds cheerfully, already dragging you in the other direction. “C’mon, self-care time. You’ve been underground like a little Victorian chimney ghost. We’re fixing it.”

Behind you, Jungkook snorts.

You don’t dare look at him.

As Jimin and Taehyung herd you down the hall like two pastel-colored sheepdogs, you glance back just in time to see Jin eyeing Jungkook like he’s doing some deeply aggressive math.

Then Taehyung squeezes your shoulder. “Give us one sec,” he says, and gestures to Jimin, who instantly veers off toward the living room.

You and Taehyung linger by the stairs, watching as Jimin tiptoes over to the sectional where Yoongi is still asleep—curled up like a black-clad cat under three blankets, oblivious to the world.

Jimin crouches down, tucks a hand gently against Yoongi’s cheek, and kisses his forehead. He whispers something you can’t hear, fingers brushing through his hair for a beat longer than necessary.

You smile before you can stop yourself.

Then Jimin straightens, slips back into his chaos goblin energy, and marches back over. “Okay!” he chirps. “Upstairs, mouthbreather. We have questions.”

“I knew this was a trap,” you mutter, but you don’t fight them.

Because honestly? You kind of want to talk about it, too.

Taehyung hooks his arm through yours. “Babe, we haven’t even started interrogating you.”

“And I have so many questions,” Jimin whispers dramatically, eyes gleaming as he leads the charge up the stairs.

Behind you, you swear you hear Jungkook laugh again.

And just like that, you’re being swept away to Jimin’s room—for a skincare routine that may or may not involve several very nosy best friends, a bottle of wine, and a full breakdown of what actually happened in that cellar basement.

“…Wow,” Jimin says, blinking at you with big round eyes, cucumber-print headband holding back his bangs and a glossy pink sheet mask glued to his face. “So all that really happened?”

You nod, one hand resting in your lap, the other absently smoothing your clay mask like you’re being interviewed on national TV. “Literally all of it.”

“No breaks?” he asks, still stunned. “No water? No ‘wait, should we talk about this?’ intermissions?”

“Just vibes,” you deadpan. “And feelings. And, like, full-on emotional whiplash.”

Taehyung lets out a loud sniffle and dramatically pats at his face with a tissue—only to remember it’s covered in a green bubbling foam mask. “Oh god,” he cries, staring at his hand. “Why did I do that.”

You burst out laughing. “It’s on your chin now.”

“I’m so glad you guys talked,” he says anyway, sniffling harder like he’s powering through for the sake of the bit. “It’s just so hard to hate on my homeboy. I tried. God, I tried…”

You exchange a look with Jimin—who nods solemnly and leans in like he’s about to say something deeply profound.

“I mean, the emotional constipation between the two of you was so bad,” he murmurs. “I thought we were going to have to stage an intervention with a crowbar.”

“It was like… painful,” Tae agrees. “Romantic! But painful.”

You lean your head back against the wall, clay mask cracking slightly at the corners of your mouth. “I didn’t think it was going to happen like that.”

“Well,” Jimin says, flicking imaginary lint off your pajama sleeve, “the universe trapped you two in a freezing wine dungeon for a reason.”

Taehyung points. “That’s fate, bitch.”

You exhale a quiet laugh, warm and a little dazed. “I still don’t know what we are now.”

“Well,” Jimin says, like it’s obvious, “you’re freshly re-traumatized soulmates with a raging sexual tension problem and a renewed sense of emotional honesty. Duh.”

You snort.

“Which means,” Taehyung adds, popping the cap off a tiny jar of serum like a scientist at work, “you need to hydrate. Inside and out. Forgiveness sex is dehydrating. That’s just facts.”

“I told you I wasn’t dehydrated—”

“You said you weren’t drunk,” Jimin interrupts, “and then you fell into the couch and said ‘warm me like a cinnamon bun, Daddy.’”

Your whole body short-circuits.

“I said what?”

They dissolve into wheezing laughter as you launch a face wipe at both of them.

“Oh my god,” you groan, dragging a hand through your hair. “I need to go back to the basement and never come out.”

“No, babe,” Jimin says seriously, reaching for a fluffy towel. “You need to rinse, moisturize, and then go talk to him.”

“What, again?”

“Yeah,” Tae says, suddenly sincere. “Y/N. That wasn’t just closure. That was something opening again.”

You stare at them—best friends in ridiculous spa gear, covered in skincare products and truths you weren’t ready to admit until right now.

Your chest tightens.

“I’m scared,” you admit, quietly.

Jimin’s voice softens. “I know. But you’re not alone.”

“And you look amazing,” Tae adds. “So if this turns into a make-up make-out again, you’re camera-ready.”

You blink. “Are you guys shipping us?”

They shrug—completely unashamed.

“I mean,” Jimin says, “he’s your idiot. And you’re his. That’s romance, babe.”

You shake your head and smile.

And then the door bangs open.

All three of you jolt, startled—and there stands Min Yoongi, rumpled from sleep, hoodie half-zipped, hair sticking up like he fought the pillow and lost.

He blinks. Freezes.

His eyes scan the scene: Jimin in his cucumber printed headband with sparkles on his pink face mask, Taehyung pointing a jade roller at him like a sword because he was startled, you wrapped in a fluffy robe with the aura of someone mid-existential crisis but still glowing.

A beat of silence.

“…So this is where everyone went,” Yoongi says, voice flat. “Great. Awesome.”

Jimin beams. “Hi, Yoon.”

Yoongi points at the glittery mess on his boyfriend’s face. “Is that my mask?”

Jimin nods proudly. “It has niacinamide.”

Yoongi turns to you and Taehyung, deadpan. “I see I was not invited to the girl dinner.”

Tae gasps. “You were asleep.”

“I was resting my eyes.”

You snort as Yoongi finally trudges in, peering into the chaos like a man betrayed. “I leave you people alone for five minutes—”

“It’s been two hours,” Jimin says helpfully, scooting over and patting the bed. “Come here. I’ll do your T-zone.”

Yoongi groans like he regrets waking up at all, but walks over anyway.

Except—you clock it immediately—his groan is mostly for show. The nap has clearly rebooted him. His movements are a little lighter, his eyes more alert, and there’s the faintest twitch of a smirk pulling at his mouth.

“Oh no,” Taehyung says, clocking it too. “He’s got energy again. The old man rebooted.”

“I’m thirty-three,” Yoongi mutters, dropping onto the bed with a dramatic exhale. “Almost.”

“Ancient,” Tae chirps, rolling his eyes as he reapplies his own mask like this is a competition. “You were snoring like a war veteran.”

Yoongi ignores him and turns to you, propping one knee up lazily. “So. What’d I miss?”

You open your mouth—

“She banged Jungkook,” Jimin blurts, already dabbing clay onto Yoongi’s forehead with laser focus.

Yoongi blinks. “I—sorry?”

“Not just banged,” Taehyung adds, practically glowing. “They reconnected. Deeply. Emotionally. Penetratively.”

Yoongi stares at you, then at them. “That all happened… when?”

“In the wine crypt!” Jimin says brightly, like he’s announcing a venue for a wedding. “While you were upstairs, drooling on the throw pillows.”

“I don’t drool.”

“You do,” Jimin says sweetly, spreading clay between his brows. “And you talk in your sleep. It’s cute.”

“I—wait, back up.” Yoongi looks at you again. “You and Jungkook—?”

You lift your hands helplessly, but you’re smiling, face warm. “It just… happened.”

Tae leans in. “There was so much tension, hyung. You could feel it through the stone walls. Like the Phantom of the Opera but horny.”

Yoongi opens his mouth, closes it, then side-eyes his boyfriend—who’s now humming while carefully painting his nose. “You’re just gonna tell me everything, huh?”

Jimin kisses his cheek without breaking rhythm. “Of course. You’re my favorite audience.”

And Yoongi just blinks at you again, almost fully clay-masked, as if silently confirming: Did I really sleep through all that?

You nod.

He exhales slowly. “Damn. I really need to stop napping.”

Yoongi leans back against the headboard, legs crossed, letting Jimin finish slathering the last bit of clay onto his chin. “Okay. Walk me through it. All of it.”

You glance at the other two.

Taehyung just nods, encouraging. “Start where it hurts.”

You exhale slowly. “I mean… it was mostly a lot of talking. At first.”

“And then a lot of not-talking,” Jimin quips.

You shoot him a look, but your expression softens almost immediately.

“I was just… really mad at him,” you say, voice quieting. “For how everything turned out. For what he didn’t say. And I think I tried so hard not to feel anything, that it just… kept piling up until we exploded in a literal medieval dungeon.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Romantic.”

You smile faintly. “We fought. We yelled. I said things I didn’t even know were still in me. And he… listened.”

You twist your hands in your lap, absentminded.

“He apologized,” you go on. “Not just once. Not just like—‘Sorry, I hurt you.’ But for everything. For the silence. For the way he didn’t fight for me. For the way he made me think I was someone he could just let go of.”

The room stills a bit. Even Jimin’s hands pause.

Taehyung is watching you with something soft in his eyes. “How’d that feel?”

You let out a shaky breath.

“Like I’d been holding my breath since the night I officially broke up with him.”

There’s a long pause after that.

Yoongi shifts slightly, gaze lowering. “I’m glad he said it,” he murmurs. “Not just for you. But for him, too.”

You glance at him, surprised.

“Jimin would always say he’s been… quieter since the breakup,” Yoongi continues. “Not sad, exactly. Just… less Jungkook. Less spark. Like he’s been punishing himself.”

Tae hums. “Makes sense. He was never really himself unless he was with her.”

The honesty makes your chest ache.

You nod slowly. “I wasn’t myself, either. I think I hated him more for that than for anything else. That he got to be my person, and then I had to unlearn that.”

No one says anything for a moment.

Taehyung slides closer and rests his chin on your shoulder. “But you didn’t.”

You look over at him.

“You didn’t unlearn it,” he says softly. “You just… buried it. For safety.”

And that’s what does it. That crack deep inside your chest finally gives way, and suddenly you’re wiping away tears with the sleeve of Jimin’s soft pajama top.

“God, I hate when you’re right,” you whisper, voice thick.

“I’m always right,” Tae says, smug and tearful.

“I know,” you sniff. “It’s the worst.”

Jimin immediately scoots in and wraps an arm around you too. “We’re proud of you, by the way.”

“For crying?” you sniff.

“No. For choosing yourself. Even when it hurt. Even when it scared the shit out of you. You gave him the chance to fix it after you already chose to stand on your own. That matters.”

Yoongi shifts closer now too—less of a hugger, but still offering his presence.

“I know I’m usually the ‘burn everything down’ kind of guy,” he says. “But… if it’s him, and if it’s real… then I’m glad it happened in a wine crypt.”

You laugh wetly.

And for a moment, it’s quiet again.

Three boys who love you more than anything, surrounding you with face masks and sleepy eyes and zero judgment. You don’t know how you got lucky enough to end up in a room like this, but you know you’ll remember it forever.

And then—The door creaks open.

Everyone turns.

And Jungkook blinks into the room.

He freezes when he sees the scene: you sitting on the floor in an oversized pink headband, clay mask half-dried on your face, flanked on both sides by Tae and Jimin—who both look over at him with matching unimpressed expressions.

Yoongi is sitting criss-cross on the bed like a bored sensei in a spa robe.

No one says anything.

Until Jimin lifts a hand and points his brush like a weapon.

“I love you, but—GET OUT!”

Jungkook immediately starts closing the door. “Sorry, sorry—I thought this was, like, a no boys allowed except me kind of situation—”

“OUT,” they all yell at the same time.

The door slams.

You stare at it, lips twitching.

Then Jimin snorts. Taehyung wheezes.

And Yoongi mutters under his breath, “I miss when he was still scared of me.”

Laughter erupts around you, sudden and sharp and full-bellied—and god, it feels good.

It’s been a heavy day. But maybe it’s turning into the best kind.

STILL CHRISTMAS DAY — DINNER TIME

It’s warm in the cabin now.

Golden.

The sharp chill of the afternoon is long gone, replaced by the heady steam of simmering pots and clinking glasses, the flicker of candlelight, and the familiar hum of six people who love each other far too much to say it plainly.

The table is full—stuffed to the edges with food and laughter and stories half-finished because someone keeps interrupting with more laughter. Jin and Hobi have somehow pulled together an entire Korean Christmas dinner from the local grocery store, and it smells like home. Jungkook had helped cook, but he doesn’t brag about it—he just keeps refilling everyone’s side dishes, quietly proud, his cheeks a little pink.

Everyone’s wearing a ridiculous Christmas sweater, courtesy of Taehyung, who had passed them out before dinner with a solemn “this is required.” Yours is oversized and green and features a dancing reindeer with sequins for eyes. Jimin’s has bells. Hobi’s lights up. Jin’s is a cool blue with too many fabric pom-poms. Yoongi’s has a red nose he’s already tried to rip off twice.

The sweaters make no sense. The table settings don’t match. The candles are all different heights, and someone (probably Jin) put a Santa hat on the corner of a painting in the living room.

And somehow… it’s perfect.

You’re tucked between Jimin and Jungkook at the long wooden table. Your arm keeps brushing Jungkook’s—not on purpose, but not not on purpose either—and every time it happens, your pulse does a little skip like it’s remembering how to hope.

You haven’t talked to him yet. Not really. Not about what comes next.

But something’s shifted now.

There’s no tension. No brittle, frayed edge. No pretending you aren’t aware of each other’s presence.

Now… there’s just warmth.

You glance over at him once, while he’s laughing at something Taehyung said, and he catches you. Doesn’t even flinch. Just gives you that soft, secret smile—the one he used to give you across crowded rooms when you both knew what was waiting at the end of the night.

You smile back.

And for the first time in months, it doesn’t ache.

It just feels… good.

This was not the Christmas you expected.

But somehow, against every odd, it’s becoming one of the best ones you’ve ever had.

You’re surrounded by your favorite people. You’re full. You’re warm. The wine is good. The world is still complicated, but here—at this table—it’s simple.

You’re safe. You’re held.

“Alright, everyone!” Jin claps his hands and stands with a flourish. “To the living room! Gift time!”

Groans rise from around the table, but only the lazy kind—too full, too content, too cozy to move quickly. Slowly, people start gathering their things and padding over to the living room, where a makeshift setup has already been… crafted.

There’s no Christmas tree this year.

What there is… is a large piece of paper taped to the wall with clear packaging tape. Drawn in black sharpie is a painfully lopsided tree, outlined in careful strokes with a glittery star slapped to the top. It is… hideous.

Also?

Iconic.

Beneath it—on the wooden floor, scattered in a haphazard huge pile—are about 36 small gifts. Some were wrapped before the trip, in cute festive wrapping paper. Others were wrapped in whatever scraps of paper and tissue could be found around the house, some in old shopping bags, one in a sock.

“Shoutout to me and Kook for making the tree,” Taehyung says, flopping onto the floor dramatically. “Art is suffering.”

“It’s giving depression and resilience,” Jimin nods, pulling Yoongi down onto the couch with him.

“I think it’s cute,” you say.

“Thank you,” Jungkook says, proud.

Yoongi raises a hand. “I’d like the record to show I was asleep during its creation and therefore can’t be blamed for the visual assault.”

“Shut up, old man,” Taehyung says sweetly. “You’ve been in a good mood since your second nap.”

“I have,” Yoongi agrees, settling in with Jimin practically draped over his chest. “Why does no one let me nap more often?”

Jimin beams and kisses his cheek. “Because we like when you're grumpy.”

Everyone settles in slowly—legs tangled, sweaters itchy, hearts full.

You’re curled up beside Hobi on the floor, with Jungkook sitting cross-legged nearby. You feel him glance at you once or twice, but not in a way that demands attention. Just… like he’s checking. Like he’s there.

You lean gently against Hobi’s shoulder, and he squeezes your knee.

It’s peaceful. Chaotic. Unfiltered.

Home.

Jin clears his throat dramatically and lifts a small scrap of paper from his pocket.

“This year,” he announces, “we introduced a sensible, reasonable, and very adult rule: a strict budget of 29,500 won—approximately twenty U.S. dollars—per person.”

He pauses for effect, eyes twinkling.

“So, you all had six people to shop for. Which means, if my math is correct—and it always is—no one here spent more than $120 total. Right?”

A round of nods. Some more convincing than others.

“Then let the gift exchange,” he says, striking a dramatic pose, “begin.”

The gifts are handed out one by one. The floor is scattered with tissue paper and ribbon. Everyone’s grinning.

You’re half-watching Jimin carefully tear open the wrapping from your gift to him when he gasps. “NO YOU DIDN’T.”

Two identical banana-shaped candles roll out into his lap.

“Y/N!”

You blink innocently. “You showed that candle to me and Tae and Jungkook, remember?”

“That’s because I was manifesting it!” Jimin clutches both candles to his chest like twin newborns. “And it worked twice. I’m powerful.”

Yoongi leans in. “You’re gonna light both?”

Jimin looks horrified. “No. I’m going to put one in the bathroom and one on my grave.”

Then it’s Taehyung’s turn. He pulls apart the wrapping paper on his gift from Jin—and immediately lets out a squeal so high-pitched that Jungkook winces next to you.

It’s a blanket.

But not just any blanket.

It’s a full-size fleece throw with a collage of Jin’s selfies printed across it. Some of them filtered. Some of them oddly cropped. All of them iconic.

Across the front, in cursive black font, are the words:

“World’s Best Hyung”

Taehyung launches himself across the room and tackles Jin in a tight hug.

“I’M GONNA SLEEP WITH YOUR FACE FOREVER,” he wails.

“You already dream of me,” Jin replies smugly. “Now it’s just externalized.”

The room’s still laughing when Hobi begins unwrapping Jin’s gift to him.

He pulls out a sleek white envelope.

Opens it. Reads.

And then—goes completely still. His cheeks go red.

“Hyung,” he says, voice almost scandalized. “The budget was twenty dollars. Why did you get me—” He holds up the envelope. “—two Tokyo Disney tickets?!”

The room goes silent for a beat.

Then:

“JIN—”

“YOU MADE THE BUDGET—”

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME—”

“YOU GAVE TAE A BLANKET WITH YOUR FACE ON IT—”

“I GOT JIMIN A CANDLE.”

“I hand-knit Yoongi’s leg warmers!”

“Did you bribe the Mouse?!”

Jin holds up both hands. “Okay, listen. There was a Black Friday sale. I got them at 40% off. It was still barely within budget if you round—”

“NO ONE is rounding forty percent into ‘twenty dollars!’” Hobi wails, face still red.

Yoongi, from the couch: “I didn’t even get a gift from him yet. I’m scared.”

Jin claps a hand to his chest. “I am a generous man. Is that a crime?”

“Yes!” comes the chorus.

Still—Hobi keeps the envelope clutched to his chest the rest of the night. And no one really stays mad.

Because the paper tree is crooked, and the sweaters are itchy, and the room is echoing with that kind of happiness that doesn’t need to be spoken to be understood.

You don’t even realize you’ve saved Jungkook’s gift for last.

Maybe it’s instinct.

Maybe it’s muscle memory—putting him off until your heart’s ready.

The box is small. Square. Wrapped neatly in matte black paper with a single burgundy ribbon tied at the center, like a bowtie. His name isn’t on it, but you know it’s from him.

You glance up once—just briefly—and he’s already watching you.

That same quiet smile you’ve seen a hundred times before. The kind that doesn’t demand anything. The kind that waits.

You lift the lid.

Inside is a thin envelope, and beneath it, a black velvet box.

You open the envelope first.

It’s a gift card.

The familiar green logo on the front belongs to the art supply store you’ve been frequenting in Seoul for years—the one you once dragged Jungkook to when you ran out of raw umber and walked out an hour later with six tubes of acrylic and no regrets.

You blink, smile tugging at your lips.

You’d mentioned—once, offhand—that you wanted to start painting again. That the space above your desk in your old room of the apartment felt empty.

He remembered.

You set the envelope down carefully.

Then—fingers trembling just slightly—you open the velvet box.

Inside are a pair of diamond earrings.

Delicate. Simple. Round-cut studs set in platinum, so sparkly and bright they catch the light instantly.

They’re real. You know they’re real.

They’re small, but they sparkle like hell. Too clean to be costume. Too classic to be trendy. Too Tiffany’s not to be Tiffany’s.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. No teasing about the budget. No wide-eyed gasp. No dramatic “JUNGKOOK!”

Just… stillness.

You look up.

And he’s still watching you—shoulders a little tight now, like he’s worried you might throw them at his head.

But you don’t.

You reach up and brush your hair back, giving him the tiniest nod.

A silent thank you. A silent I know.

And then you slip them in your ears.

They’re light. Cool against your skin. You barely feel them—except for the way they pull at something deep in your chest.

No one else notices the moment. Or, at least, they pretend not to.

You don’t even notice the smile Jungkook lets slip as he looks down at his hands—like he just exhaled something he’s been holding in for months.

You look away before you can think too much about it.

But you leave the earrings in.

And that says enough.

You’re still fiddling with the little velvet box, sliding it closed and tucking it back into your lap, when you remember.

“Oh—wait.” You straighten. “Your turn.”

Jungkook looks up. “My turn?”

You nod, reaching under the table where you stashed his gift earlier—flat, rectangular, and carefully wrapped in matte green paper with a silky black bow. The wrapping’s a little wrinkled from travel, and you notice as you pass it to him that one corner has already torn slightly.

“I didn’t have a ton of time,” you admit, brushing imaginary dust from the paper. “But I wanted it to be… something.”

Jungkook tilts his head, intrigued now. “Something?”

You shrug. “You’ll see.”

Everyone else is still distracted, knee-deep in their own gift chaos—Tae’s already wearing his Jin blanket like a royal cape, and Yoongi is trying to pry Hobi away from lecturing Jin about the rules of gift budgeting.

But you? You’re only looking at Jungkook.

And when he tugs at the ribbon and peels the paper back, the whole world seems to quiet for a second.

He stares down at it.

A hardcover photo album—sleek, black linen cover. No title, no embellishments.

Just his name printed neatly on the front in silver lettering.

He opens the first page.

And stills.

You don’t say anything.

You just watch him take it in.

Each page is laid out in soft, matte photo paper—printed, not stuck. Almost like a photobook. No messy glue or slotted sleeves. A mixture of Polaroids, digital photos, phone camera screenshots… things he took. Things you took. Things others caught when you weren’t looking.

Moments.

Him, mid-laugh with Tae in the apartment living room.

You and him, blurry in the mirror at a beach motel somewhere near Busan.

A quiet shot of him sitting on the apartment building rooftop at sunset, dark hair in his eyes, a flower stem dangling from his fingers. One of your favorites. One he didn’t know you’d kept.

Small captions in your handwriting are here and there.

“You didn’t know I was watching.”

“I forgot about this night.”

“The world through your eyes.”

And on the last page: a single Polaroid, tucked into a stitched corner.

It’s of him. From last summer. Shirtless. Messy-haired. In a parking lot, squinting into the sun, one hand holding a water bottle, the other reaching for the camera like he was going to cover the lens. You’d taken it at the last second before he could stop you.

There’s no caption.

Just the date. Sometime in August.

And a tiny, tiny heart.

Jungkook is completely still. His fingers don’t flip the page again. He just stares.

You bite your lip. “I know it’s not perfect. And maybe kind of weird, considering… everything. But I remembered how you said once that it freaked you out that your camera roll never makes it past your phone. So I thought maybe you should have something real.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Not with words.

His head is still bowed, eyes fixed on the album like it’s something he’s scared to break. Like it means more than he can say.

And when he finally looks up at you, there’s something unspoken in his expression.

Something soft. Something vulnerable.

“I love it,” he says.

You smile, small and nervous. “Yeah?”

He nods. Then gently, carefully, closes the album.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever made me something like this before.”

You feel your heart do a slow, guilty somersault in your chest.

“It was a little over the budget,” you say quietly. “But I didn’t care.”

He doesn’t say anything to that.

Just lifts a hand and rubs at his jaw, looking suddenly like he’s trying very hard not to kiss you get too emotional in front of everyone.

You don’t push him. You just sit there beside him.

And a moment later, he scoots closer. Enough that his thigh brushes yours under the coffee table. It’s subtle. Almost like he’s not even thinking about it.

But he is. He totally is.

You can feel it in the way he glances toward you, then flicks his eyes toward the rest of the group. The others are preoccupied—arguing over cocoa toppings, teasing Jin again about the Tokyo Disney tickets.

So Jungkook leans in, just a little.

And when no one’s watching, when the moment is perfectly invisible to everyone but you—

He presses a soft kiss to your cheek. It’s quick. Gentle. Barely a real kiss.

You inhale sharp. He pulls back like nothing happened. Like it wasn’t a spark behind your ribs.

He doesn’t say anything—just sits beside you, still close, still warm, looking forward like he’s not waiting for a reaction.

But your heart reacts.

It skips, stutters, then thuds like it’s trying to chase him down and ask what the hell that was.

Because you’re suddenly hyperaware of everything else. The wood grain of the table beneath your fingertips. The scent of cinnamon from a candle burning on the counter. The steady heat of Jungkook beside you—his thigh pressed flush against yours now, not pulling away.

You take a slow breath. Try to steady the flutter in your chest.

And without turning your head, without a single glance…

You bump your knee against his under the table.

His mouth pulls into a smile—small, secret, and entirely unfair.

And this time, you let your own smile bloom too. There’s still so much left unsaid between you. So much that has to be talked through, untangled, held up to the light.

But in this moment—warm, full, surrounded by laughter and lights and the scent of Jin’s perfectly crisp pan-fried dish—

It doesn’t feel so complicated.

Not with him sitting beside you like this. Not when everything else seems to fall away. Not when you can still feel his kiss on your cheek, like the promise of something real.

And somewhere, beneath the layers of noise and clatter and peppermint-sugar haze, something fragile and quiet begins to settle.

Something new. Something familiar.

You don’t know where it’s going.

But for now, you sit beside him—heart steady, hand still in your lap, warmth at your side—and let it be enough.

Let yourself have this.

Just for tonight.

End chapter 23

© 2025 JJUNGKOOKII. Please don’t copy, translate, or repost—share the original link! ♡

Index | Main Masterlist | NRFS Drabbles

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taglist: @sorilyae @cherrylovescheol @auroradamned @somehowukook @petroogorodnik @parkinglot-nights @irohase @butterymin @icylattae @kelsyx33 @kookienooki @whothefuckisthishoe @nabiisplanet @army7-013 @cravingforbangtan @j0cgr0c @yooniepot @mar-lo-pap @annyeongbitch7 @ggukkia @dorkyfangirl24 @loveu-always @moonchild-moonfairy @hamsss @bbtsficrecs @amarawayne @serenenotes @jksusawife @hoemeprazole @rinkud @pradaheeseung 

[petalmelt]

GUYS THIS WAS SO TEA OMG THE SMUT THE AND THE ANGST, OMG THE KISS HE GAVE HER AFTER THE GIFT I DIED SWEAR! And the word count be +10k EVERY TIME SHE POST, I mean always tryna be like her swear. omg I’m jst inlove with this series😣😣🥺🥺

[petalmelt]

Guys I’m stressing out I didn’t sign up for presale (I’m dumb ik) guys I’m so scared I asked all friends and they don’t Stan bts…. And bts is coming on my birthday so I felt like meant to be yk, so I have to wait till general sale and Ik imma have my hopes up I just pray to god he has something for me I’ve been saving and waiting, pray for me guys.

[igotnojamzzz]

Chapter 25

Rulers of Ruin!AU — Book 1

Genre: Mafia!au , Slowburn, Angst, Hurt, smut, TW (it is a mafia!AU, after all) 

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

Synopsis: In a world governed by clans and blood debts, nothing ever burns by accident; fading embers are nurtured carefully, mistaken for mercy and the gentle promise of warmth through the night. But fire answers to no one, and it has never spared what—or who—was foolish enough to keep it close. 

Wordcount: 4.2k

Masterlist 

Flight wasn’t freedom. It was the illusion of it. She should’ve known by now.

Still, there was nothing quite like the feeling of wind beneath her wings as she sliced through the sky—clean, bright, fast.

The kind of flight that didn’t feel like escape—just movement, effortless and clean. The air beneath her was warm, a living thing, holding her up. The wind curled around her black feathers like breath. Around her, others flew in rhythm—her flock, her formation, the only home she’d ever known. Their silhouettes stretched long across the sky.

She didn’t need to think. She didn’t need to lead.

She just followed.

The sun was low and full above her, burning gold, haloing the treetops below. It drew her gaze, slow and certain. She looked up.

Just for a second.

The heat on her beak, the weightless hush of altitude. She tilted into it.

And when she looked back—

They were gone. Her flock had vanished.

Or maybe she had.

The sky had swallowed them whole and left her behind.

No wings. No rhythm. No motion but hers.

She faltered. Her chest seized. The drumming of her heart pounding in her ears.

She spun once. Then again. A turn without direction, wings stuttering at the joints. The air felt thinner now. Meaner. Her body lost its hold in it. A storm brewing.

Something clutched at her chest.

She tried to call out.

No sound came.

Below, the forest opened like a wound—thick with smoke, black and rising. The air turned sour, metallic. Flames licked the edges of her vision. She flapped harder, faster, but there was no lift anymore. The sky let her go.

Feathers burning away in the heat. Her body pitched downward, fast and crooked, flapping hard, harder, harder—Her back blistered. Light seared her eyes. Her lungs filled with ash.

She was burning.

Falling.

She thrashed—wild, weightless, blind—but her wings didn’t catch.

And something grabbed her.

Not the air.

Arms.

Arms around her ribs. Tight. Only they weren’t pulling her out of the flames. They were pulling her down. Heat at her back, breath on her neck.

Dragging her.

She twisted, choked, thrashed, a scream stuck in her throat. Her body locked against someone else’s.

Down.

Down—

—

She woke with a start.

Her heart beat fast. Her spine ached, her clothes were damp, and something was pressed against her.

Warm.

Heavy.

Breathing.

Y/N didn’t move at first. Just blinked up at the dense canopy overhead, trying to piece together her body from the wreckage of the nightmare she wasn’t sure she had woken from. Her shoulder was pinned. Her thigh was numb. And—

An arm was around her waist.

Jesus, what the—

His leg was hooked loosely over hers. His chest pressed into her back. Not necessarily tight or purposeful. Just… there. Like it had ended up that way sometime in the night. Out of instinct.

She stared up at the leaves for another second.

Then jammed her elbow straight into his ribs.

Jungkook groaned, muffled. “Ow—fuck—what?”

She twisted out of his hold and shoved his arm off her. “Seriously?”

He blinked at her, eyes half-lidded, voice still rough with sleep. “What—what’s happening?”

“Don’t play dumb, » she snapped. « You were all over me.”

“I was asleep,” he mumbled, rubbing his face with one hand. “It’s not like I meant to—Jesus.”

“Maybe keep watch instead of sprawling like a damn octopus, next time.” She was already up on her feet, dusting herself off.

He sat up slowly, stretching his shoulders with a grimace. “Sure. Next time I’ll make sure to chain myself to a tree.”

“Do that.”

They didn’t speak after that. Just started gathering what little they had before walking off again.

She didn’t look at him, but she could feel the slight shift. The fact that something had happened, even if it was just proximity, heat, the terrible closeness of necessity.

At one point, she caught him glancing at her. Not a full stare. Just a flick of his eyes across her face, then back to the ground.

She didn’t say anything.

Embarrassed or annoyed. They were both too aware of each other’s bodies now.

Too aware, period.

It made the silence heavier than usual.

But when they set off walking again, they didn’t stray far from each other. Not too close. Not too far.

Just enough to hear each other breathe.

—

After over two days of walking in the wild, one could say that Y/N and Jungkook had settled into somewhat of a comfortable rhythm. A routine, if you will.

He moved too harshly. Was too loud when he got frustrated.

She complained constantly. Refused help until she nearly passed out.

They both cursed way too much.

But they didn’t fight. Not exactly. Not like before.

They’d passed through something else. Something quieter. Oddly casual.

They stumbled upon a creek mid-afternoon—thin and fast, slicing through the underbrush like a promise. Y/N dropped to her knees the second they reached it, cupping water into her palms, eyes fluttering shut as the cold hit her skin.

She drank too fast. Choked. Coughed once, then muttered a curse and kept going.

When she looked up, Jungkook was watching her.

“What?” she snapped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You’ve got blood on your cheek.”

She frowned—but he was already kneeling beside her.

His fingers lifted.

Calloused. Warm. Careful.

She flinched just as it brushed her skin.

“That’s not—” she slapped his hand away, too sharp, too fast. “That’s not blood. It’s just dirt.”

A beat.

He said nothing.

She turned away, wiping her cheek hard. The heat on her face was not from the sun.

“We should follow the stream,” she muttered, already standing. “It’s bound to lead somewhere.”

He didn’t argue. Just watched her for a second longer than he should have.

Then followed.

They walked in silence, the water running alongside them like a chaperone. Over time, the jungle began to open up—less claustrophobic, more green. More alive. Light filtered through in hazy beams.

—

They reached it with no warning, the trees parting like a curtain to reveal something near-mythical.

A pool of water, fed by a bubbling spring, the color of melted glass. It shimmered beneath the filtered sunlight, ringed with moss and slick stones. Ferns curled at the edges. The air here felt clean. Cooler.

Untouched.

Jungkook stepped forward first. Like he couldn’t help it.

She watched him drop his pack, then his jacket, then—his shirt.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned, tone dry.

He glanced back, already tugging at his boots. “It could be our last bath in weeks.”

“Could also be your last bath ever,” she muttered, arms crossed tight over her chest. “You never know. Could be a snake lurking under there.”

He didn’t answer. Just waded into the pool like a ghost returning to water, his back flexing, skin streaked with grime and old blood. He sank in up to his chest, exhaled like he’d touched heaven, and dunked his head once, water sliding down his shoulders in sheets.

Y/N stayed where she was, arms crossed.

He caught her eye from the center of the pool. Smirked.

“You okay there?” he asked, water glinting on his lashes.

“I’m fine.”

“Sure? Looked like you were staring.”

“You know I could grab your gun and make a run for it right now,” she said, stepping back. “Be free. Just me and the monkeys.”

Jungkook didn’t even turn. “No bullets left.”

“What?”

“Last one was used killing the beast that nearly tore your throat out yesterday,” he said over his shoulder. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her gaze flicked back to the pool. The surface shimmered like glass. The thought of clean water—actual clean water—on her skin was almost too much. Every inch of her felt like it had been dipped in rot. Her hair was stiff with dried sweat and mud. Her shirt clung like wet paper. There was dried blood on her thigh from a scratch she didn’t remember getting.

And the water was right there.

So—

She slowly walked to the far edge of the pool, where a large stone jutted out like a step. She didn’t say anything. Just peeled off her filthy clothes and stepped into the water in her underwear, teeth gritted against the shock of the cold.

She hated to admit it but—

It was glorious.

The dirt melted off her skin. Her muscles uncoiled. She dipped under once, twice, hair slicking back as she emerged gasping. She hadn’t felt this good in days.

On the other side of the pool, Jungkook turned.

She didn’t see it at first.

Didn’t notice the way he went still, water dripping from his jaw, his arms slack at his sides.

But then she looked up. And caught him watching.

His eyes were darker than she remembered. Not blank, not brooding—just focused. Like he was trying to memorize something. Or maybe forget it.

She raised an eyebrow. “You good there?”

He blinked. Looked away. “Yeah.”

“Sure?” she said, swimming lazily toward a patch of sunlight. “Because it looked like you were staring.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Uh-huh.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face and dove under again, vanishing beneath the surface.

Y/N lay back, letting herself float, arms outstretched, eyes half-shut against the burn of sun filtering through the leaves. It was peaceful. Briefly.

Jungkook kept his distance, chest-deep in the water on the opposite side of the pool. The water clung to his skin, cooling the worst of the heat, but not enough to dull the throb behind his eyes. Or the weight of the silence.

After a while, he said, “Think we’re fucked?”

She didn’t move. “That’s a broad question.”

“I mean about the rescue.”

She opened her eyes, squinting. “If you have to ask, then probably.”

“Cool,” he muttered. “That’s encouraging.”

She cracked one eye open. “What, did you have dinner plans?”

« Wouldn’t you like to know? » he smirked. Though she didn’t pay attention to him.

He raised an eyebrow. “You realize what this means, right?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“If we’re the last two alive,” he went on, voice drier now, “we may have to repopulate the Earth.”

She stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Oh my God, shut up, will you?”

“It’s the rules.”

“You’re unwell.”

“I’m just being practical.”

“You’re being delusional.”

“You say that now,” he said, voice low, “but give it a few months. No civilization. No alcohol. No vibrators.”

She threw water at him.

He laughed, shaking it off. “I’m just saying—”

“—I will drown you,” she said, cutting him off, deadpan. “Don’t test me.”

“Eden’s a lonely place.”

She looked away, back toward the trees. “You’re no Adam.”

He smiled, but it was quieter now. “No?”

“And I’m no Eve.”

« Is that so? »

The water rippled between them.

“Adam didn’t put Eve in a cage,” she said.

Jungkook went still.

“And Eve didn’t put a knife to Adam’s throat.”

He didn’t speak.

She turned back to him, eyes dark, unreadable. “They were the first people. Not the last.”

He stared at her, pulse thick in his neck. “What’s the difference?”

“They didn’t know better,” she said. “We do.”

The air changed. Just like that. The joke was gone. The space between them taut and raw again.

“And for the record,” she added, “if this is Eden—it fucking sucks.”

Jungkook gave a short breath of a laugh. “Come on. It’s not that bad,” he scratched at his jaw, shrugged. “No snakes in sight.”

« Yet. »

He laughed, but something in it was edged now. A hesitation. A little too hard.

She saw it happen—his gaze flick down, then back up. His breath stall for a moment too long. The joke, too close to something true. The quiet tug beneath it.

“What,” she said flatly.

“Nothing.”

—

He hadn’t meant to stare.

But then again, he hadn’t meant to be stranded in a goddamn jungle with her, either.

Still, there she was— at the edge of the pool, hair slicked back, shoulders glinting wet under the dappled light.

He tried to tear his eyes away but—

She was scrubbing at her back with her hand, brow pinched in frustration, jaw set like she was about to curse the sky itself.

His eyes followed the motion—her fingers reaching, missing, trying again. A patch of skin, high between her shoulder blades, was smeared with blood and grime. A long, shallow scratch, caked with filth.

It disappeared under the band of her bra.

She cursed under her breath and twisted, trying again to reach it. Her back arched slightly. Water trickled down the ridge of her spine.

Jungkook swallowed hard.

He didn’t think.

He just moved.

Walked through the shallows without a word, the water shifting around his thighs, until he was right behind her. Close enough to see the goosebumps forming along her arms. Close enough to see her body tense the second she felt him there.

“What are y—” she started, voice low, wary.

“There’s dirt in the wound,” he said, nonchanlantly. “You’ll get infected.”

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

He reached for her back—hesitated a breath—and then, with slow, deliberate fingers, unhooked the clasp of her bra.

She stiffened like a bowstring. But still, she didn’t stop him.

The band slipped loose, and he saw the full scratch now—red and angry across her skin, curling beneath the curve of her shoulder blade.

He dipped his hand in the water, letting it run warm and steady between his fingers.

Then, just as gently, he ran it down her back. Over the dirt. Over the blood.

Her breath hitched.

He could feel the tension vibrating off her skin like static—fight or flight hovering between them like a question. His fingers weren’t soft, not really. Scarred knuckles, calloused pads. But the way he touched her now, like she might break if he pressed too hard—he didn’t know where it came from.

She shivered.

He stayed quiet. So did she. Like something was about to be said. Or done. But neither of them moved.

Just heat curling low in his gut and the sharp, dangerous knowledge that she was letting him do this.

Letting him touch her.

And fuck—if that didn’t make everything worse.

His hands didn’t belong there. But they stayed. Fingertips grazing the back of her ribs. Her back arched slightly and Jungkook’s fingers slowed.

She smelled like heat—something that had been haunting him since the locker room. Since that goddamn attic. Since the first night her voice curled around his name like smoke and nearly undid him.

The left strap loosened, falling off her shoulder in a slow, wet slide. Her skin there—right beneath the edge—was paler than the rest of her, untouched by sun. His thumb dragged over it, just once.

She was still facing the trees, silent, water beading down the long line of her spine, disappearing into the waistband of her panties. Her bra hung slack unhooked but untouched, as if daring him to take it further.

And for a second—a single, maddening second—his mind offered him the clearest picture he’d ever seen:

He could.

He really could.

Press her forward. Just a little. Hands at her hips, mouth to the back of her neck, her breath catching not in protest, but in relief. He could taste the sweat on her shoulder, the salt on her skin. He could drag her underwear down her thighs and see how far that defiance of hers really went—if it’d hold when she was shuddering under him, lips parting, chest rising.

His jaw clenched.

Fuck.

The thought hit hot and fast.

He hadn’t meant to want her. Not like this. Not at all.

But the heat was in everything now. In the sticky air, in the slow drip of water off her elbows, in the way she still hadn’t looked back at him, as if she knew—knew what was starting to creep under his skin, thick and heavy and wild.

He took a breath, long and shaky.

If he wanted—God, if he wanted—he could ruin them both. Right here. Right now.

Against the rocks, with the water lapping around their waists and the jungle watching like a hungry god. Her hands scrabbling at the slick stone, her mouth opening in a choked moan that would echo through the trees.

He could grab her thighs and spread her wide.

And the worst part? She might let him.

And that scared the shit out of him.

His breath hitched, nostrils flaring.

This was wrong. Twisted.

But fuck—she was beautiful. Wild and wet and trembling beneath his touch, even if she’d never admit it.

He looked down at her back, her curves slick with water. His gaze dropped lower—where her thighs met, where the fabric was nearly translucent now, painted over skin he wasn’t supposed to imagine, wasn’t supposed to crave.

His hands were shaking.

He wouldn’t admit it.

Not to her. Not to anyone. Not even to himself on most days.

But he’d thought about it before.

Sometimes at night, when the house was quiet and the attic windows rattled in the wind, and she was two doors down, asleep in a room he’d been assigned to guard.

His hand would drift. Not intentionally. Not at first. It was habit. Relief. Something primal to bleed the tension out of his body after hours of keeping it locked behind his teeth. He’d lie back, fist curling around himself, slow and steady.

It was a normal thing for any young man, really. Healthy.

Only—the fantasy behind his closed lids was never faceless.

Not anymore.

Not since she’d—

It’d start innocently enough—a memory of her laugh, mean and dry. A defiant glance she’d thrown over her shoulder. The flush in her cheeks when she was furious at him. The mouth she never shut, the eyes that never softened.

Then it would spiral.

He’d picture her lips, wrapped around him, cheeks hollowing out.

Or her voice, ragged and wrecked, whispering his name between whimpers as he thrusted mercilessly.

He’d come like that. Fast. Violent. Jaw clenched and head thrown back, her name smothered against the inside of his teeth like a fucking curse.

And when it was over, when the haze cleared and the sweat cooled, he’d lie there—ashamed. He’d slide right back into denial.

And now?

Now she was mere inches away, wet and bare, her scent in the air, her body gleaming like some forbidden offering, and all he could think was:

Don’t move. Don’t touch. Don’t ruin this.

He stepped back slightly, chest heaving.

He wasn’t a good man.

But God help him, he was trying not to be a worse one.

His fingers dropped from her spine.

Enough.

He couldn’t afford this. Couldn’t afford her.

She wasn’t his to want.

And even if she were…

She was dangerous.

She was fire.

She was everything he’d been warned against—and now, all he could think about was getting burned.

He turned away, moving like someone forcing themselves to leave a room on fire.

One step. Two.

His pulse was so loud it felt external. A separate thing.

But then—

A shift behind him. Barely a sound.

The whisper of water. Her breath catching.

He stopped, turned back, thinking she’d be turned away, already climbing out of the water, already slipping back into the sharp-tongued, armored version of herself he’d come to expect.

But she wasn’t.

She was facing him now.

Chest-deep in the water. Hair clinging to her neck in dark ribbons. Her skin glinted in the slanting light—clean now, unmarred for once. Human again. Her bra was gone.

But it wasn’t her body that stopped him.

It was her face.

She looked—

Confused.

Not frightened. Not angry. Not even flustered.

Just wide-eyed, like she’d woken into something she didn’t recognize.

Like she hadn’t expected him to stop or pull back.

Like she didn’t know what to do with the space he’d left between them.

And Jungkook—he didn’t move, but he felt himself split somewhere inside.

Because he knew that look.

He’d seen it before. Not on her, but on other women. After the worst was over. After the room had gone quiet and someone hadn’t stopped.

Her lips were slightly parted. Her eyes—glassy, almost. He felt it land in his gut like a stone.

That look.

That soft, stunned, puzzled pause.

As though this moment—not being taken, not being forced or manhandled and bruised—was unfamiliar to her.

And that was the thought that nearly undid him.

Because suddenly he couldn’t stop seeing it.

The ghosts.

The other men.

The ones who had seen her bare and vulnerable and didn’t look away. The ones who hadn’t stepped back. Who had taken stillness for consent. Who had taken everything.

And just like that, he hated himself for even being here.

For seeing her like this.

For watching.

For letting his mind drift to her lips. The curve of her spine. Her breath.

He wanted—instinctively—to shield her. From everything, even himself. From his eyes. From whatever she saw when she looked at him.

She would punch him in the throat if she knew. She’d laugh in his face and tell him she wasn’t some trembling virgin in a field of daisies.

I’m no damsel in distress, you absolute fucking moron, she’d probably snap, before storming off, walls up high so he wouldn’t see what was hiding on the other side.

But she didn’t say that.

She didn’t say anything.

Just stood there. Watching him.

Quiet, unflinching and, for once, unguarded.

He turned from her.

Not out of shame, exactly. Not even guilt.

Just—distance. A reflex. The oldest muscle memory in him. Step away from the thing you want too much.

He stared down at the water, his breath coming in uneven pulls, and thought: That should’ve been the end of it.

Then he heard her move.

Not loud. Not fast. Just water shifting.

And then—carefully, almost curiously—a delicate hand reached up and touched his chin.

Just her fingertips. Light and steady.

And turned his face back to hers.

Made him look.

Because she was already bare. Not just her body—her self. Her expression open, unreadable. Her brow slightly furrowed.

She was studying him.

Like he was strange. Like he was something she didn’t expect to find in this world.

Her gaze moved slowly, methodically—from his eyes to his mouth to the bruise near his temple. Down to the black tattoo on his collarbone: the three tiger stripes of the Kim clan. A legacy carved in ink. Her eyes lingered there.

Then lower.

The scars on his chest. His shoulder. One near his ribs—ugly, pale, raised.

She reached for his hand.

And he let her.

No resistance. No question. Just instinct.

And she guided it back—softly, without breaking eye contact—to her ribs. Right where it had been before he’d made the choice to step away.

His palm landed over her skin.

She didn’t flinch.

Neither did he.

The touch was feather-light. Barely there. But it was hers, not his.

She placed it there.

And in that, everything changed.

Because for the first time, there was nothing to resist.

Nothing to survive.

Only a question.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t.

Her eyes flicked down once, to where his hand rested at her ribs, then back to his face. She didn’t speak. She didn’t flinch. She just held him there with her gaze, steady and unreadable, as though trying to decide whether this—his hesitation, his restraint—was a kind of violence or a kind of grace.

He couldn’t breathe. Not properly. Something caught just beneath his sternum and wouldn’t release.

It would be so easy.

To close the space. To press his mouth to hers. To find out how she’d taste when she wasn’t fighting him, when she wasn’t trying to be clever or right or impossible.

But it wasn’t about ease. Not now.

His fingers curved slightly against her waist. He felt her skin twitch under the contact, not pulling away, not drawing closer either. It was the kind of stillness that held decision inside it.

Here, in the middle of nowhere, with no clan watching, no brothers, no duty, no blood-soaked code hanging between them—

There was only this.

Her skin. His hand. Water and and heat and space.

And the knowledge that if he leaned in right now, she’d let him.

And the worse knowledge: if he didn’t, he might never get this again.

He looked down at her lips.

And she didn’t look away. Just blinked as though she didn’t know what to do with a man who didn’t reach for her like she was already his to grab.

And for one suspended second, they weren’t enemies, weren’t clan heirs, weren’t anything but two people stranded outside of any law, outside of war, outside of time. There was no Namjoon. No orders. No plan. Just the sound of their breath, and the possibility that, for once, want might not have to mean ruin.

He felt himself leaning in in spite of himself.

The tension snapped—not with a moan, or a gasp, or a plea—but with the low, unmistakable thrum of rotor blades cutting through the sky above.

A chopper.

—

—

Hope you all liked it! Stay tuned for more..

[petalmelt]

Guys Fr Fr this is so good wtfff and she posts everyday oh she will get tired of me liking her stuff everyday omg inlove with this and their is a book 2 omg yup im in heaven and the way she is writing this omg yup im done for. Literally can’t wait for more….

[petalmelt]

Unspoken connection || JJK || Teaser

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; A girl who stopped believing in love after getting cheated on meets a boy at a bar and makes her rethink that but there is only one thing. He is doesn’t do relationship, he stops them before they get too serious. He’s a flirt and is popular for his looks and known for being a playboy… But something about him can’t make her forget about him and same goes for him.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - jungkook x reader(fem)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 - strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, love at first sight?

Warning - explicit language, smut

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺

“Hey ma’am,” The bartender shakes you trying to wake you up as your slumped on the bar counter. “It’s almost closing time.”

You just hummed in agreement and put your head up rubbing your eyes and taking a sip of your drink.

“Would you like me to call someone ma’am for you?” You nod and put your head back down the counter. You were full on drunk. It was 11 pm and you still hadn’t left.

He grabs your phone and calls your emergency contact.

“Hello, where are you I’ve been looking for you?” Seo-ah, your best friend says her tone sounded anxious and worried. She was trying her hardest not to raise her voice. You had a habit of ending the calls if people raised their voice at you.

“Hey ma’am , im at bartender at (the bar’s name) and your friend is drunk right now and half asleep, I just called her emergency contact,” Seo-ah sighs in relief. “We’re going to be closing soon.” He says and she immediately replies.

“I’ll be right there thank you.” She says nicely and can be heard grabbing her keys before the call was ended.

He puts down your phone and looks at you before going back to cleaning.

“poor lady,” he looks at you, your head resting mumbling random words. He just puts a towel over his shoulder before going back to the kitchen to clean.

10 minutes passed by, an anxious lady walks and can been seen asking a worker something and the worker points at you.

She sighs and bows thanking her and the waiter just nodded at her before walking away.

“Omg what have you done” she moves a piece of hair that was covering your face.

She sees your mascara smudge, your under eyes puffy as if you were crying, and your cheeks flushed.

You’re now squinting at the person in front of you trying to recognize who it was. Your eyes widen and your frown forms into a smile when your realized it was your best friend.

“Seo-ah!” You immediately hugged her and and she hugs back, smiling at your clinginess before pulling away.

“How did you know I was here?” You say squinting and pointing a finger at her in a questioning voice.

“Come let’s head out and head home?” She ignored your question and trying to get you to stand up and walk to the car. You immediately pull your arm and walk forward but stumbling keeping your balance.

“No, I wanna stay here and party.” You start dancing even though there was no music playing in the background. Seo-ah breaks out in laughter at the sight in front of her. You were swaying your hips side to side, putting your hands up in the air and singing a song to your self.

She walks towards you with your purse in her hands, “come on we can dance at home.” She says pulling you towards the entrance. You whine but as soon as she shoots you a look you finally agreed .

She thanks the bartender and he smiles before telling her something.

“Hope this young lady feels better, she was making my evening interesting by telling me her story about the young man.” He smiles and looks at you, your head was down like you were a little kid who got scolded by their mother.

She nods thinking you were crying about your ex.

She puts you in her car and finally drives away. A minute into driving you went to asleep sleep and was even snoring.

She couldn’t believe it, you were at a bar drinking. You don’t really drink maybe 1 or 2 glasses and that’s the most you ever do, you especially don’t smoke. She was the opposite of you, she smoked and drinks but you never held that against her. You met her in your last year of high school and you guys just hit it off ever since. When you found out you guys both made it to the college of your dream you’ve been extra close.

Whenever you guys both went out she asked but never pressured you to do anything you didn’t want too. She was the only friend you trusted with your life. The friend who was by your side when you found out everything and held you in her arms till you fell asleep from exhaustion.

You broke up with your boyfriend of 2 years. He was your first boyfriend, your first time, the boy you thought you had a future with. You caught him cheating with his coworker at his job. Even thinking about that day makes you want to throw up.

He was in between her legs caressing her sides,he was touching her face, putting her hair behind her ear, and giving her kisses everywhere. She was giggling at the sight of him, she looked at him like she was deeply inlove, and thinking she was the only person he loved in his eyes.

You had your suspicions, him coming late for work, not saying I love you as often or forgetting to say it, spending less time with you on weekends saying he was “busy with work” but he was just with her. One thing that made you finally realize that he was cheating when you found a red thong in his jacket pocket while doing his and your laundry. Also the smell of strong perfume that you never wore.

You cried and cried to her and she just listened. You would apologize for still talking about but she nodded her head and said, “you would do the same thing if it was with me. It’s been one week it’s not gonna take that long to get over someone.” You smiled and hugged her and she gave a soft smile to you.

You guys arrived at your placed, she turned and saw you still sleeping with your mouth open. She took you out of the car and put your arm around her shoulder you were half awake going up to the apartment.

You guys got to your apartment and she set you down on your bed. She took off your makeup. It was too late to go back to her house so she stayed over.

She put a trash can on the side of your bed incase you wanted to throw up. You’ve been doing this for a week already, the womb was still fresh like it happened yesterday. She never minded, was just by your side. Luckily tomorrow was Saturday and you guys were planning to go out but she didn’t know if you were still up for it.

You kept talking in you sleep. Making her tilt her head in confusion

“He’s so handsome.” You huffed and went back to snoring.

Seo-ah didn’t know if it was about your ex. Did you meet someone today? Who was it? What is it someone she knew?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺

Flashback to a few hours

You were at a bar alone. Mixing your drink with your straw before you felt a presence beside you, not paying much attention, too deep in your thoughts.

You felt someone looking at you and felt the urge to turn. A handsome man was staring at you, he looked incredibly handsome, his features were just perfect, his hair, his plump lips, his tattoos poking through his long sleeve shirt. It made you stunned unable to speak.

“Yuna?” He questioned while sending you a polite smile and finally you came back to reality. You felt your cheeks started heating up as he sweet smile made you flustered, you just nodded your head no.

“Oh sorry, I thought you were her, sorry again.” He smiled at you before walking away. You looked at him walking away and him going on his phone calling someone.

He was handsome you thought to your self.

You turn back to your drink and to your useless thoughts.

You felt someone sit beside you again. It was him.

He came back?

“I canceled my date with her, you looked really pretty. Are you here with anyone?” He asked while smiling. His voice was soothing and just the way he said it you would think he does this for a living.

“No” you said before looking down, too scared to make eye contact with him again. He smiles at your shyness.

Some time passed by, you guys were playing pool together while talking together.

“So you just broke up with your boyfriend?” You nodded before hitting one of the balls. “Yup, he cheated on me with his coworker.” Your throat tightened as you said those words. He noticed you tensed up.

He made a shot in and you clapped.

“Wow you’re really good!” He smiled before say anything.

You shot a pool ball but it didn’t make it in. You scratched you head in embarrassment as your ears started getting red and he just giggled. He put his cue stick down and goes your way.

You suddenly feel nervous and he goes behind you and grabs your hand to position the cue stick and whisper in your ear.

“You have to go like this” you pushed it forward and the pool ball went in.

You immediately get up and start jumping, he smiles and put his hand up for a high five and you do it back. You realized you were embarrassing yourself and stopped and said sorry.

“Don’t be sorry.” He smiles at you and you look away. You guys head to the bar before you notice he has a tattoo. He has a full arm of tattoos but there is one specific tattoo that caught your eye.

A butterfly.

It wasn’t where his other tattoos were. It was behind his neck. It wasn’t too much, not colorful just black.

“What made you get a butterfly tattoo?” You asked and he smiled. “They symbolize freedom and beauty, I also love how each butterfly can look different with the patterns on their wings.” You nodded, the way he was talking about him made you think he is really genuine about them.

He noticed a flower tattoo on the side of your arm, just below your wrist.

A hibiscus flower.

A baby pink mixed with a darker shade of pink.

“What made you get that,” he replied.

You smiled. It was your first tattoo. It’s what made you want more. It was just perfect.

“There isn’t an exact reason, I really love them. They come in different colors and can mean endless things. My favorite is the pink I would dedicate to myself.” You looked up and see him smiling at you, seemed like he was actually interested in your story.

“Well I like it, it suits you” he said softly while touching it like he doesn’t have a whole sleeve of tattoos.

Maybe this healing process wasn’t going to be so bad after all..

Your ex hated your tattoo said it wasn’t proper or mature but that was the first time you drew the line with him, he never said a thing about it again.

The conversation was going well. He had excused himself to the bathroom.

10 mins has passed by and he still wasn’t back.

You’re not trying to be weird but something in your stomach is telling you to go and check.

You see he is with a girl, smiling the same way he did with. He had her phone and was typing something on it, his number.

Her smile immediately drops

Of course I should have known you thought to yourself. He was too good looking to not be a heartthrob.

You turn around and head for the door. Maybe this was your sign to stop that conversation and leave. You go to another bar and that’s why you ended up like this. A part was because of him and your ex. But you knew it as well it was too good to be true about him.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺

You wake up and see someone beside you. The lady thing you remember was about the dude at the bar. You gasped and held your hand over your mouth in shock.

Did I really do something with him?

You slowly pulls the cover down and see it was just Seo-ah. You sighed in relief and held your hand over your heart before nudging her.

“Your awake,” she immediately gets up and checks your head and cheeks. “you feel okay?”

You smiled, “I’m fine don’t worry just a slight headache”

“What happened last night?”

“You got drunk and I had to get you” she laughed while you groaned in annoyance.

“You need to chill, I’m not trying to be rude but you were talking to yourself yesterday,” she continued. “Did you meet someone yesterday?”

Your eyes widen

“How did you know?”

“You said, “He’s so handsome” in your sleep”

You cover your face as you feel yourself getting red, “Your lying.”

“So who was it?” She asked while checking her phone.

“I don’t even know, all I know is that he was super good looking.” She nodded her head and you lay back down

“We were talking and then I saw him flirt with another girl.”

She gasped then turns to you fully interested in your story

“Really?” And you nodded. “So I left, well thank god I won’t see him again”

“Did you even get his name?” It’s silent your trying to remember if you did.

“I don’t think so.” She smiled before talking, “well most likely you will never see him again.” You nodded and you guys laughed. Even thinking more about make you uneasy,

Will you actually ever see him again?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺

A/n: guys I’m scared this is another little series I wanna write. This is dedicated to nevertheless, omg my number one show. I rewatch it 3 times a year so good. I don’t get the hate, it shows what could be someone’s actual life. If you guys don’t like that story, you guys aren’t gonna like this one😞😞😞. But hope you guys liked it so far if you reached all the way here. Hope you guys have a wonderful week mwah see you soon.

[petalmelt]

Hard to Love || 04

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; you just got cheated on by your now ex, your friends are desperate to get you out of your funk so you go out with your friends. While out something unexpected happens that’s changes your life forever.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - jungkook x reader(fem)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 - strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

Warning - explicit language, smut

A/n: hope you guys had a great Christmas and happy new year hopefully 2026 brings you guys luck and happiness wish nothing but the best for you guys. I’m sorry for posting this so late I’ve been busy and I’ve been thinking how to add more descriptive wording into this. Hope you guys like this chapter🫶

You locked eyes with him.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your one-night stand.

The man you left behind because you were to emotional.

The man that made you feel so loved, even if it was for one night.

It felt like everyone around you was invisible when your gaze met his.

He was wearing a mask. Which threw you off for a second, but it wasn't a big deal. Masks were common here. The only thing that wasn't common was the way his eyes felt on you. His eyes felt sharp, almost suffocating.

He knew it was you.

You knew it was him.

Neither of you had the courage to look away.

You knew your reason but didn't know his.

Jungkook still had the weights in his hands, it was like he forgot he had them in his hands. He should be angry at you for not leaving but all of that disappeared the second his eyes met yours.

You looked.. different

Her hair, he thought to himself

It still looked beautiful maybe even a little bit better.

The silence between you guys felt long almost painful. Neither of you guys dared to move. It almost felt like you guys were scared to look away, not believing this moment was real or one of you guys were gonna walk away.

Then someone stepped between you guys.

A girl approached him.

Jungkook's jaw tightened. He didn't wanna look away from you but he couldn't just ignore.

"Hey" she said brightly, "Your Jungkook right?"

Namjoon and taehyung attention wasn't on the conversation it was now on him and the girl.

He cleared his throat, nodding politely. "Yeah."

"Oh my god," she laughed. "You're even more good looking in person, I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out maybe after this?"

She was a pretty girl. She was a brunette, tall, confident.

Here you were, standing looking at them.

Reality snapped back in.

I look like a creep

You felt your chest tightened. You needed to leave maybe that was someone important to him.

You left the gym and the cold air hit you instantly. It was cold but refreshing, you realized you were sweating from just eye contact.

You checked your phone for directions.

Oh.

The cafe was right next door.

"Sorry" jungkook said. His tone wasn't rude but more firm. "I'm not interested in dating right now."

It wasn't a complete lie.

The girl scoffed, clearly not believing his word. "Right."

She walked away, muttering under her breath.

"Bro," Taehyung said. "Why did you have to fumble her"

"Yeah, she was pretty" Namjoon added

Jungkook eyes widen, "did you not hear she was mumbling under her breath I just said I wasn't interested."

He tone was deep, irritated.

"That's not the point" Namjoon sighed, rubbing his temples. "You aren't even dating anyone why did you sa-"

He stopped like it clicked in his head.

"Oh my god," Namjoon chuckled. "Is it because of the girl in the club."

Jungkook didn't reply.

Taehyung and Namjoon shared a look before sighing in unison. They were in disbelief with their friend.

Meanwhile Jungkook didn't care. He turned around but you were gone.

Panic flicked through his chest.

He scanned the gym realizing you weren't there. He did see your gym bag on you, maybe you were leaving?

He checked outside. His friends called him but he ignored. Cold rushed though his skin, he didn't care. His eyes searched, through streets, people's faces.

Nothing.

"Fuck" he muttered. Running his hand through his sweaty hair.

Girls walking by stared at him. He had his muscles out, sweaty, tattoos, who wouldn't look but none caught his attentions.

His attention was on you.

He went back inside.

"Why did you run off like that" Namjoon asked, rasing his voice slightly before Taehyung bumped his arm.

Jungkook walked past them, walking back to where he was and lifting the weights he was holding.

"You good" Taehyung asked carefully.

"I'm fine" Jungkook said coldly "let's finish"

Namjoon and Taehyung shared a look, they knew he wasn't but didn't want to make matters worse.

The cafe felt unreal.

As soon as you entered the room the scent Pumpkin spice hit your nostrils hard. You didn't mind though it was comforting. You placed Jennie and yours order. When you got your drink you sat by the window, holding the warm mocha in your hands.

You sat there for a moment.

New hair.

No boyfriend.

One boy on your mind that wasn't your ex.

You laughed at the thought to yourself. A year ago you wouldn't believe it.

You only stayed for a minute. You stepped outside, th cold hitting you face harder this time.

You turned the corner.

You missed him again.

Jungkook was leaving the gym with his friends just seconds later. Fate let you guys go this time.

When you stepped into the apartment the smell of burnt food welcomed you in.

"What going on" you asked, taking off your shoes.

"Oh! B, your back" Jennie said while taking a burnt toast out of the toaster the then throwing it to the trash. "I was trying to make you breakfast."

"You didn't have to," you smiled. "I could've cooked when I came back"

"I wanted you to come back to a warm cooked meal"

You set the coffee on the table. "I brought you something."

"You didn't!"

You smiled while nodding. "I know you've been wanting to try it"

She hugged you giving you a smell of her perfume. She kissed your cheek, you laughed, that was her way of saying thank you.

You took a bite of the food. You froze.

"Jennie this is delicious"

Jennie eyes widen,"seriously?"

You made her try it and she stared in shock before laughing.

You guys both ate together. The warmth and comfort crept back in your chest.

You and Jennie were both done and decided to do dishes together. You washed while she dried.

"How was the gym" she asked casually.

You froze for a moment. "It was fine but then I ended up seeing him."

"Minho?"

"No," you told her while passing her a plate. "My one- night stand"

She gasped almost dropping the plate.

She stared at you like she mis heard you.

"You're lying," she said softly.

"Nope," you replied drying your hands.

"You actually saw him?" She stepped closer.

You just nodded and she shook her head in disbelief.

And? Did anything happened?" She asked.

"We started at each other for what felt like forever," you sighed even thinking back made you head hurt. "But a girl went up to him and I felt awkward so I left."

Silence filled the room.

"B," she said slowly and softly. "Please tell me your kidding" 

"thought she was his girlfriend," you rushed out. "And I felt awkward just standing there" 

"I'm going to kill you" 

"What?"

She picked up a towel from the counter and threw it at you. Luckily you dogged it but she then started chasing you around the apartment. 

"you left," she yelled. "again?"

You laughed, you started slowing down being out of breath. She caught you and pushed you on the couch. 

She was pinning you down, "Now tell me the real reason you left, Blossom"

you groaned, "I didn't wanna make a fool of myself. What if I was the only one who'd been thinking about that night?"

She flicked your forehead 

"Ow! What was that for?" 

"For assuming without confirming" 

She sits you up and holds your hand.

"What if she wasn't his girlfriend and just asking a question?" Jennie continued. "What is he was staring because he felt the same way?" 

You went still.

Her words hit you deep. She was right you let your thoughts get in your head. 

You put you hands in your face. "I'm so stupid"

Her face immediately softened at the look of you. She was rubbing your shoulders.  

"No, you're scared. There's a difference." 

The rest of the day disappeared while you locked yourself in your room working on a project for work. Luckily you had snacks in your room to not waste time eating. By the time you closed your computer the sun was already setting. 

You turned in your chair and nearly screamed. You hold your chest, scared to see Jennie in your bed half sleeping. 

"What are you doing here, I didn't notice you coming in" you laughed. 

Jennie opens her eyes still not up all the way and frowns. 

"Wow you were too focused on your work to notice me how rude," she mumbled. " Plus your bed is more comfier than mine" 

You jumped on the bed, on the spot next to her, fully waking her up. 

"Hey, I was comfortable" she protested and you just giggled. 

It was quite for a while. She just kept her hand on her head looking at you. She was examining your face, and noticed how quickly your amusement went away. 

"You wanna talk about last night?" She suggested it in a soft tone.

You felt your throat tightened.

"I'm fine." You tell her quickly, too quickly. 

"B, It might be better to get it off your chest." She says gently. 

You went silent for a minute before nodding your head. 

"When I saw Minho," you paused, you played with your finger, " my knees literally gave out, For a second, I forgot everything he did to me. I felt my world stop for a second." 

Your voice cracked, "Then I remembered he's not mine anymore and just seeing a girl next to him hurt me. That was supposed to be me. And I hate myself for thinking that" 

Tears slipped out. 

Jennie didn't interrupt you. She watched as you spoke in  awe. She was hurt, she couldn't let that pain go away. She could only guide you hoping you feel better. 

Jennie pulled you into a hug without a word. 

"He was a boy you loved for over 4 years," she said softly. "You can't just erase those memories. You shouldn't beat yourself up for that"

You sniffle and she just smiles at you. "You don't have to go through this alone. You have me, you have the girls, you have people in your life who love you." 

"I love you" you whispered.

She kissed the top of your head. "I know."

Meanwhile Jungkook wasn’t doing much better.

It’s been two weeks since his encounter with you.

He’s canceled twice on his friends already in the past 2 weeks. Usually if it was another member like his friend Suga they wouldn’t matter much because he was known for that. But if Jungkook cancelled it was major, happened once in a blue moon.

“Something’s wrong with Jk” Jin said from the couch. “He’s been distant, not active much in the group chat”

“Something at the gym messed him up” Taehyung replied. “I know it.”

“I’ll head home early to go and check up on him.” Taehyung added grabbing his jacket.

“I’m coming” Jimin added getting up instantly.

After a brief argument of cars, who’s going, and financial problems. They were finally on their way.

Jungkook frowned when he opened the door.

“It’s like 9” he muttered “what are you guys here”

“Well I live here and you’re bad at lying.” Taehyung said walking in with soju

“And worse at answering texts” Jimin followed.

Jungkook sighed while letting them in.

They sat in silence for a moment as Taehyung was pouring soju. They each downed a shot still not saying anything. Taehyung broke the silence.

“Talk Jungkook” Taehyung said eyeing Jungkook.

“What are you talking about” Jungkook looks down and Taehyung and Jimin gave each others look.

“Jungkook were being serious, you’ve been acting weird.”

Jungkook stared at his fingers before answering, “ I met this girl at the club.”

Jimin eyes widen, “You what? At a club?”

“She left after we hooked up,” Jungkook continued. “And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night.”

Taehyung nodded since he knew about that but he knows theirs more. “So what? Did you see her?”

Jungkook nodded, “Yeah, at the gym.” Jungkook admitted. “She left before I could talk to her.”

The room fell silent.

“She’s been in my head ever since that night but when I saw her again I don’t know it like did something to me.”

Taehyung steps closer to him. “That’s rough I’m sorry Jk.”

Jimin smirked, “sounds like fate.”

Jungkook scoffed. “Or bad timing.”

After they talked they just laughed and hungout with him keeping him busy. Jungkook was glad his friends came over.

Jimin was sleeping on the couch holding a bottle, Taehyung was in his room in a deep sleep. Jungkook was the only one awake.

You could hear the clock ticking. He’s just staring at the ceiling.

He had met people, dated, had flings, but at the end of the day he always moved on.

You were different.

You stayed on his mind, gym, work, even in the shower.

He hated it. He hated it because he was scared.

He didn’t wanna be that guy that only remembered having sex with you. You were real. Warm. Soft spoken. Even if you barely just found out his name.

He clenched his jaw, even thinking about it made him upset.

He made a promise to him self. If I ever see her again I won’t let her leave.

Even if that meant he gets hurt.

The living room was louder than usual in jungkooks apartment. Everyone came over, Taehyung invited them to hang out.

Jin was watching the tv laughing obnoxiously, Jimin was playing uno with Jhope and Namjoon. Yoongi was on his phone laughing at memes while showing Jimin, Taehyung was sitting watching them get frustrated at the game.

Jungkook was the only person in his own world. He was sitting near the window looking at the city doing its own thing.

Taehyung noticed him.

“You gonna sit there all night,” Taehyung said glancing at him, talking casually. “Or are you gonna tell them?”

“Tell us what?” Jin finally taking his eyes off at the tv already being suspicious why he’s been quiet.

Jungkook sighed giving the city one more look before tuning. He was rubbing his neck. He didn’t know how to start.

“It’s because of a girl,” Jimin snorted.

“I knew it,” Namjoon said.

“Can you not.” He says to Jimin and Jimin just looks down at his cards laughing not taking his word seriously.

Namjoon leaned forward, “Jungkook just tell us, we’ve all noticed you being weird.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything at that moment

“I met someone,” he said quietly.

Yoongi finally looked up from his phone, “Met…how?”

“At a club,” Jungkook admitted. “We talked. A lot. We then…hooked up. Then she just left”

Everyone froze.

All that could be heard was the tv and the cars out in the street.

Jin raised his eyebrow,”and you like this now?”

Jungkook nodded, “I saw her at the gym.”

Jhope tilted his head, “and you didn’t talk to her.”

“I couldn’t,” jungkook sighed. “I turned for a minute and then she was gone.”

Yoongi crossed his arms,”And you’re now thinking of her.”

“It not even thinking. I can’t get her out of my head” Jungkook said, jaw tightening and sit back on the couch.

The room fell silent. It’s been a while since Jungkook been in a relationship. They all know when he falls inlove he falls hard.

Jimin broke the silence, “How is that possible? You don’t even know her well enough.”

“I know just something about her” Jungkook said.

Yoongi hummed, “sounds like Mr. Jeon has unfinished business.”

Taehyung suddenly smirks.

“I don’t know, I don’t think they will see each other again.” He says taking a sip of his beer.

Everyone’s attention was on him even Jungkook’s.

“What? Think about it, it’s a big city. It was a one time thing.An accidental run-in. The universe was just being nice.”

Jimin sighs knowing how this is gonna end and tries putting an end to it. “Hyung stop”

“What it’s true.” Jungkook looks at him sharp. “I bet you”

Everyone turns their head to Jungkook.

“Jungkook you sure” Namjoon asks because last time they made a bet it caused an argument.

“Fine, you don’t meet her again. On accident, on purpose, at all”

“Fine,” jungkook says bluntly.

Taehyung smirks is still on his face, “You got yourself a bet Jeon”

Jungkook takes a sip of his drink, “Just so you know your wrong”

Everyone is shocked at Jungkook’s reaction.

“That confident jeon?” Taehyung smiles

“Well meet again, I know it” he says and he pushes his hair back.

Everyone breaks out laughing.

“You sound real confident for a girl you just met” Jhope says while laughing.

Jungkook shrugged, “I don’t know when or how,”

There’s a pause

“But I know I’ll see her again”

Jin nods his head in amused, “this just got way more interesting”

Jhope nodded, “yeah, what does the winner get.

Taehyung smirks again, “you take us all out to eat if I win-“

Jungkook cuts him off, “and if I win you don’t get to say ‘I told you so’”

Taehyung grinned, “very well”

Jimin lays his back on the couch, “I wonder whose side fate will be on”

Jungkook didn’t say anything.

He didn’t need to.

He knows deep down he’s sure you guys will see each other. One way or another.

You were curled up in your bed, in you own thoughts.

You were left in the apartment by your self. Jennie told you where she was going but you didn’t pay attention.

The city looked so loud but peaceful.

You mind drifted back to the gym.

His eyes on you.

The way he was just sitting holding the weights.

He looked so hot though you thought to yourself.

But another part of you is saying something else.

Why do I still keep thinking about him..

He’s a dude you had sex with one time. You barely know his name. One conversation doesn’t mean you actually know him. You guys were both drinking.

I wonder if he’s also thinking about me

You put your hands on your face.

“This is stupid” you muttered.

You then feel your phone vibrate. It was a message.

Jennie sent a phone of her, you heart it, she then responded with “Miss you, don’t spiral”

You laughed

“Too late” you texted her back. She sends a heart and you sent one back. You put your phone down and go back to facing the white ceiling.

Your gaze drifted to the window. You zoned out thinking what if he was living his life, with his friends getting drunk not thinking about you, getting with another girl.

You realized what you were thinking.

“I need to leave like now” you tell yourself.

You don’t know where but somewhere other than this apartment.

You grabbed you keys and shut the door.

You walked down taking in everything. You’ve missed taking these walks.

You look around the city and the lights, shops you’ve never been, but you come across one and you remembered.

“The gym” you scoffed at yourself looking at it.

You’ve got to be kidding me you thought to you self.

This is whats making your head going insane.

Your about to walk away but you don’t you don’t leave but don’t stay. You walk toward.

You suddenly feel the urge to not give up. Your mind goes back to what Jennie said.

“What if he’s feeling the same way?”

Maybe your story with him isn’t over just yet.

Somewhere across the city jungkook was telling his friends that he is going to see you again. But you didn’t know.

But somehow you felt hopeful now. You believed the same thing as him.

<<Prev || Next>>

[petalmelt]

Unspoken connection || JJK || Teaser

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; A girl who stopped believing in love after getting cheated on meets a boy at a bar and makes her rethink that but there is only one thing. He is doesn’t do relationship, he stops them before they get too serious. He’s a flirt and is popular for his looks and known for being a playboy… But something about him can’t make her forget about him and same goes for him.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - jungkook x reader(fem)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 - strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, love at first sight?

Warning - explicit language, smut

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺

“Hey ma’am,” The bartender shakes you trying to wake you up as your slumped on the bar counter. “It’s almost closing time.”

You just hummed in agreement and put your head up rubbing your eyes and taking a sip of your drink.

“Would you like me to call someone ma’am for you?” You nod and put your head back down the counter. You were full on drunk. It was 11 pm and you still hadn’t left.

He grabs your phone and calls your emergency contact.

“Hello, where are you I’ve been looking for you?” Seo-ah, your best friend says her tone sounded anxious and worried. She was trying her hardest not to raise her voice. You had a habit of ending the calls if people raised their voice at you.

“Hey ma’am , im at bartender at (the bar’s name) and your friend is drunk right now and half asleep, I just called her emergency contact,” Seo-ah sighs in relief. “We’re going to be closing soon.” He says and she immediately replies.

“I’ll be right there thank you.” She says nicely and can be heard grabbing her keys before the call was ended.

He puts down your phone and looks at you before going back to cleaning.

“poor lady,” he looks at you, your head resting mumbling random words. He just puts a towel over his shoulder before going back to the kitchen to clean.

10 minutes passed by, an anxious lady walks and can been seen asking a worker something and the worker points at you.

She sighs and bows thanking her and the waiter just nodded at her before walking away.

“Omg what have you done” she moves a piece of hair that was covering your face.

She sees your mascara smudge, your under eyes puffy as if you were crying, and your cheeks flushed.

You’re now squinting at the person in front of you trying to recognize who it was. Your eyes widen and your frown forms into a smile when your realized it was your best friend.

“Seo-ah!” You immediately hugged her and and she hugs back, smiling at your clinginess before pulling away.

“How did you know I was here?” You say squinting and pointing a finger at her in a questioning voice.

“Come let’s head out and head home?” She ignored your question and trying to get you to stand up and walk to the car. You immediately pull your arm and walk forward but stumbling keeping your balance.

“No, I wanna stay here and party.” You start dancing even though there was no music playing in the background. Seo-ah breaks out in laughter at the sight in front of her. You were swaying your hips side to side, putting your hands up in the air and singing a song to your self.

She walks towards you with your purse in her hands, “come on we can dance at home.” She says pulling you towards the entrance. You whine but as soon as she shoots you a look you finally agreed .

She thanks the bartender and he smiles before telling her something.

“Hope this young lady feels better, she was making my evening interesting by telling me her story about the young man.” He smiles and looks at you, your head was down like you were a little kid who got scolded by their mother.

She nods thinking you were crying about your ex.

She puts you in her car and finally drives away. A minute into driving you went to asleep sleep and was even snoring.

She couldn’t believe it, you were at a bar drinking. You don’t really drink maybe 1 or 2 glasses and that’s the most you ever do, you especially don’t smoke. She was the opposite of you, she smoked and drinks but you never held that against her. You met her in your last year of high school and you guys just hit it off ever since. When you found out you guys both made it to the college of your dream you’ve been extra close.

Whenever you guys both went out she asked but never pressured you to do anything you didn’t want too. She was the only friend you trusted with your life. The friend who was by your side when you found out everything and held you in her arms till you fell asleep from exhaustion.

You broke up with your boyfriend of 2 years. He was your first boyfriend, your first time, the boy you thought you had a future with. You caught him cheating with his coworker at his job. Even thinking about that day makes you want to throw up.

He was in between her legs caressing her sides,he was touching her face, putting her hair behind her ear, and giving her kisses everywhere. She was giggling at the sight of him, she looked at him like she was deeply inlove, and thinking she was the only person he loved in his eyes.

You had your suspicions, him coming late for work, not saying I love you as often or forgetting to say it, spending less time with you on weekends saying he was “busy with work” but he was just with her. One thing that made you finally realize that he was cheating when you found a red thong in his jacket pocket while doing his and your laundry. Also the smell of strong perfume that you never wore.

You cried and cried to her and she just listened. You would apologize for still talking about but she nodded her head and said, “you would do the same thing if it was with me. It’s been one week it’s not gonna take that long to get over someone.” You smiled and hugged her and she gave a soft smile to you.

You guys arrived at your placed, she turned and saw you still sleeping with your mouth open. She took you out of the car and put your arm around her shoulder you were half awake going up to the apartment.

You guys got to your apartment and she set you down on your bed. She took off your makeup. It was too late to go back to her house so she stayed over.

She put a trash can on the side of your bed incase you wanted to throw up. You’ve been doing this for a week already, the womb was still fresh like it happened yesterday. She never minded, was just by your side. Luckily tomorrow was Saturday and you guys were planning to go out but she didn’t know if you were still up for it.

You kept talking in you sleep. Making her tilt her head in confusion

“He’s so handsome.” You huffed and went back to snoring.

Seo-ah didn’t know if it was about your ex. Did you meet someone today? Who was it? What is it someone she knew?

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Flashback to a few hours

You were at a bar alone. Mixing your drink with your straw before you felt a presence beside you, not paying much attention, too deep in your thoughts.

You felt someone looking at you and felt the urge to turn. A handsome man was staring at you, he looked incredibly handsome, his features were just perfect, his hair, his plump lips, his tattoos poking through his long sleeve shirt. It made you stunned unable to speak.

“Yuna?” He questioned while sending you a polite smile and finally you came back to reality. You felt your cheeks started heating up as he sweet smile made you flustered, you just nodded your head no.

“Oh sorry, I thought you were her, sorry again.” He smiled at you before walking away. You looked at him walking away and him going on his phone calling someone.

He was handsome you thought to your self.

You turn back to your drink and to your useless thoughts.

You felt someone sit beside you again. It was him.

He came back?

“I canceled my date with her, you looked really pretty. Are you here with anyone?” He asked while smiling. His voice was soothing and just the way he said it you would think he does this for a living.

“No” you said before looking down, too scared to make eye contact with him again. He smiles at your shyness.

Some time passed by, you guys were playing pool together while talking together.

“So you just broke up with your boyfriend?” You nodded before hitting one of the balls. “Yup, he cheated on me with his coworker.” Your throat tightened as you said those words. He noticed you tensed up.

He made a shot in and you clapped.

“Wow you’re really good!” He smiled before say anything.

You shot a pool ball but it didn’t make it in. You scratched you head in embarrassment as your ears started getting red and he just giggled. He put his cue stick down and goes your way.

You suddenly feel nervous and he goes behind you and grabs your hand to position the cue stick and whisper in your ear.

“You have to go like this” you pushed it forward and the pool ball went in.

You immediately get up and start jumping, he smiles and put his hand up for a high five and you do it back. You realized you were embarrassing yourself and stopped and said sorry.

“Don’t be sorry.” He smiles at you and you look away. You guys head to the bar before you notice he has a tattoo. He has a full arm of tattoos but there is one specific tattoo that caught your eye.

A butterfly.

It wasn’t where his other tattoos were. It was behind his neck. It wasn’t too much, not colorful just black.

“What made you get a butterfly tattoo?” You asked and he smiled. “They symbolize freedom and beauty, I also love how each butterfly can look different with the patterns on their wings.” You nodded, the way he was talking about him made you think he is really genuine about them.

He noticed a flower tattoo on the side of your arm, just below your wrist.

A hibiscus flower.

A baby pink mixed with a darker shade of pink.

“What made you get that,” he replied.

You smiled. It was your first tattoo. It’s what made you want more. It was just perfect.

“There isn’t an exact reason, I really love them. They come in different colors and can mean endless things. My favorite is the pink I would dedicate to myself.” You looked up and see him smiling at you, seemed like he was actually interested in your story.

“Well I like it, it suits you” he said softly while touching it like he doesn’t have a whole sleeve of tattoos.

Maybe this healing process wasn’t going to be so bad after all..

Your ex hated your tattoo said it wasn’t proper or mature but that was the first time you drew the line with him, he never said a thing about it again.

The conversation was going well so far, made you take your mind off everything that’s been happening. He had excused himself to the bathroom.

10 mins has passed by and he still wasn’t back.

You’re not trying to be weird or protective but something in your gut is telling you to go and check.

You see he is with a girl, smiling the same way he did with. He had her phone and was typing something on it, his number.

Your smile immediately drops.

Of course I should have known you thought to yourself. He was too good looking to not be a heartthrob.

You turn around and head for the door. Maybe this was your sign to stop that conversation and leave. You go to another bar and that’s why you ended up like this. A part was because of him and your ex. But you knew from the start of your conversation with him it as well it was too good to be true.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺

You wake up and see someone beside you. The last thing you remember was about the dude at the bar. You gasped and held your hand over your mouth in shock.

Did I really do something with him?

You slowly pulls the cover down and see it was just Seo-ah. You sighed in relief and held your hand over your heart before nudging her.

“Your awake,” she immediately gets up and checks your head and cheeks as if your were deeply sick. “you feel okay?”

You chuckled at the sight of her before nodding, “I’m fine, don’t worry just a slight headache”

“What happened last night?”

“You got drunk and I had to get you” she laughed while you groaned in annoyance.

“You need to chill, I’m not trying to be rude but you were talking to yourself yesterday,” she continued. “Did you meet someone yesterday?”

Your eyes widen

“How did you know?”

“You said, “He’s so handsome” in your sleep and I know it wasn’t your ex because he ain’t even good looking”

You completely ignore her comment, you cover your face as you feel yourself getting red, “Your lying.”

“So who was it?” She asked while checking her phone.

“I don’t even know, all I know is that he was super good looking.” She nodded her head and you lay back down

“We were talking and then I saw him flirt with another girl.”

She gasped then turns to you fully interested in your story

“Really?” And you nodded. “So I left, well thank god I won’t see him again”

“Did you even get his name?” It’s silent your trying to remember if you did.

“I don’t think so.” She smiled before talking, “well most likely you will never see him again.” You nodded and you guys laughed. Even thinking more about makes you feel uneasy,

Will you actually ever see him again?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺

A/n: guys I’m scared this is another little series I wanna write. This is dedicated to nevertheless, omg my number one show. I rewatch it 3 times a year so good. I don’t get the hate, it shows what could be someone’s actual life. If you guys don’t like that story, you guys aren’t gonna like this one😞😞😞. But hope you guys liked it so far if you reached all the way here. Hope you guys have a wonderful week mwah see you soon.

[kookquettes]

OVERDRIVE ʲᵉᵒⁿ ʲᵘⁿᵍᵏᵒᵒᵏ ₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

chapter 2

SUMMARY: After discovering her brother's secret life as the leader of an underground racing crew, Y/N is pulled into a world of speed, danger, and rivalry. That's where she meets Jeon Jungkook - the fearless leader of the opposing crew, the one her brother can't stand, and the last person she should ever get close to. But Jungkook is impossible to ignore. And Y/N is impossible for him to forget. Because in a world where every choice could end in flames...falling for each other might be the most dangerous race of all.

PAIRING: racer!jk x model!reader

WARNINGS: brother's enemy, somewhat forbidden love, smut, angst, fluff, obsession, jealousy, possessiveness, masturbation, unprotected sex, sexting, bodily fluids, rough sex, multiple positions, public sex, degradation kink, dirty talk, sexual tension, sexual teasing, smoking, violence, illegal activities, mentions of blood, control

PLAYLIST ₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

GLOSSARY: chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 9 / chapter 10

SHAI’S NOTE: so…this is kinda my first series here on tumblr. i got inspired to write this after relistening to ohmami by chase atlantic (i love ca to death) and also afterrewatching culpa mia hehe. i’m hella scared to see how this turns out cus tumblr is filled with incredible writers and i’m a newbie. please be nice to me 🥹🙏

TAGLIST: @brokebitch-101 , @annpeachy , @ecwipsecoffee , @sky-23s-world, @pradaheeseung , @mar-lo-pop , @kookienooki , @lolakacie , @httpjeonlicious

Crossing Lines ₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

The engines didn’t just roar — they snarled. Metal beasts throat-deep in gasoline and ego, lined up beneath floodlights that buzzed like angry insects. The ground trembled as RPMs climbed, the vibrations crawling up Y/n’s legs like static. Colors bled into the air — red, blue, yellow, black — each gang marking the smoke with their own flag. The crowd pulsed forward, bodies tight, lungs full of exhaust and anticipation.

Marquise’s hand wrapped around Y/n’s hand again and tugged her through the bodies pressing inward toward the start line. “Don’t blink,” she shouted over the noise. “You’ll miss it.”

Yeah. Right now blinking felt illegal. Y/n’s gaze locked onto a familiar shade slicing through the haze.

Orange. Sleek. Deadly. Her brother’s obsession. His “baby”.

Yoongi’s Koenigsegg Jesko looked alive — predatory — the body glinting beneath the floodlights like a blade dipped in neon. One hand loose on the wheel, fingers draped like he owned gravity, the other elbow hanging lazily out the window. Jimin leaned in through the open space, talking fast, giving some pep-talk like this wasn’t a bad idea waiting to happen.

Just behind him, swallowed by shadows — the matte black phantom.

She didn’t know the brand of the car, didn’t need to. The car radiated something sharp. Cold. Calculated. Like it didn’t just want to win — it wanted to erase the idea of losing from the universe.

Jungkook lounged inside like a sin in human skin. Same posture. Same deadly calm. Only difference — a cigarette burning between his fingers, the smoke curling upward, kissing his jaw before vanishing into night. He took one last drag, lips ghosting around the filter — then flicked it out the window with a snap of his fingers.

The crowd lost their shit. Screams. Whistles. Especially the girls.

Y/n cocked her brows. Not impressed or surprised.

He didn’t even look at Yoongi when he spoke — eyes roaming the dashboard like he was bored.

“Hey,” Jungkook murmured, voice lazy, amused. “Don’t sweat it. You know I always win.”

Yoongi’s jaw worked. “Suck my dick, Jeon.”

“THREE!”

Across the hood of his car, Jungkook flashed him a boy-next-door smile that felt anything but harmless. “Mm. I should tell that to your sister.”

The air dropped ten degrees.

Yoongi’s knuckles whitened around the wheel. “Watch your mouth, asshole.”

“TWO!”

“Relax,” Jungkook chuckled, tongue pressing briefly to the inside of his cheek. “Just distracting you.”

Her heart hammered. Her throat felt tight. The asphalt looked like it was vibrating. A voice — amplified, sharp — cut across the crowd.

“ONE!”

Gunshot echoed. Engines screamed. Tires twitched. The night held its breath.

Jungkook rolled his shoulders once — predator testing muscle — then swiftly wrapped his fist around the stick, veins flaring like fault lines up his arm.

Yoongi exhaled slowly. Calm. Cold. Razor-focused — but Y/n knew that stillness. It meant he was seconds from burning everything.

Jungkook’s car launched first — not drove, not moved — launched. Like it had fangs and finally tasted blood. Yoongi followed a breath later, the Jesko snarling, eating track like it was starving.

The wind snapped the banners back. People screamed themselves hoarse. Smoke rolled across the lot like storm clouds.

Marquise laughed — giddy, feral. “That’s what we live for.”

Y/n couldn’t answer. Her pulse was racing right alongside them — metal bullets slicing the night, tail lights streaking like comets, swallowing distance, swallowing air, swallowing everything. Tradition wasn’t fireworks and champagne.

It was this:

Two kings trying to bury each other alive…without ever laying a hand. And somewhere inside the roar and smoke and madness…Y/n realized she wasn’t just watching a race.

She was watching a war.

The cars vanished down the stretch like gunshots finally freed from the chamber. Y/n barely registered her own breathing.

The music and lights still rigged along the containers flickered alive. The crowd surged forward as if pulled by the cars themselves.

“GO—GO—GO!” Marquise screamed, both hands gripping Y/n’s arm, nails biting straight through fabric and skin. “AHAHA!”

The Jesko howled, orange slicing through the dark like a blade dipped in fire. Yoongi drove like he always did—smooth, controlled, surgical. No wasted movement. No panic. His hands were steady on the wheel, eyes forward, jaw locked.

Inside the car, everything narrowed. Engine. Road. Timing.

Yoongi breathed through his nose, slow and measured, even as Jungkook’s matte black car crept into his peripheral vision like a shadow that refused to shake.

That fucker’s fast.

Jungkook, meanwhile, was grinning. His pulse was loud in his ears, adrenaline sharp and sweet like blood on his tongue. He loved this part—the stretch where fear tried to crawl up his spine and he crushed it under his heel.

He checked his mirror. Orange. Right there.

Good.

“C’mon,” Jungkook muttered to himself, knuckles tightening. “Show me.”

The cars tore through the first turn—clean. Second—tight. Tires screamed, rubber kissing asphalt like a threat.

“YOONGI’S STILL ON HIM!” Jimin shouted from somewhere behind Y/n, his voice cracking with excitement. “HOLY SHIT—LOOK AT THAT LINE!”

Hoseok whooped, jumping like a madman. “That’s my hyung! THAT’S MY HYUNG!”

Jungkook blasted past the barricades, the world narrowing to asphalt and headlights—and then, for half a second, he saw her.

Not screaming. Not jumping. Just watching.

Y/n.

Her face cut clean through the chaos, eyes wide but steady, lips parted like she’d forgotten how to breathe. The lights caught her profile and for the briefest, stupidest moment, Jungkook’s foot eased—just a fraction—as something unfamiliar tugged at his chest.

The model, his mind supplied uselessly.

Yoongi’s sister.

A dangerous distraction.

“Fuck—”

He snapped back instantly, jaw locking as the sixth turn loomed ahead, brutal and unforgiving. Jungkook’s hands tightened around the wheel, veins straining as instinct took over. No room for faces. No room for thoughts.

Only the turn.

Only survival.

Marquise leaned close, mouth right by Y/n’s ear, screaming over the chaos. “THE SIXTH TURN—WATCH THE SIXTH TURN!”

Y/n’s heart slammed into her ribs. Her eyes now concentrated on the colours of the cars that looked like lines.

Based on Marquise, the track bent sharply ahead—narrow, uneven, barely lit. The infamous sixth turn. No guardrails. Oil stains. Loose gravel. A mistake there didn’t mean losing.

It meant wreckage.

Inside the Jesko, Yoongi’s jaw flexed.

Here we go.

He downshifted, engine growling low and dangerous. His eyes flicked to the side—Jungkook was right there, parallel, so close Yoongi could see the tension in his shoulders through the tinted window.

For a split second, their gazes met. Electric. Hostile. Familiar. Neither smiled.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathed, foot hovering, calculating.

If I cut too early, I spin. Too late, he takes it.

In Jungkook’s car, everything sharpened. Sixth turn. His favorite.

He rolled his neck once, then slammed the accelerator harder than anyone sane would. The car surged forward, nose dipping just enough to unsettle the balance.

“Do it,” he growled, eyes wild. “Do it.”

Yoongi swerved. Jungkook swerved harder.

The crowd screamed as both cars hit the turn nearly side by side—tires shrieking, sparks kissing asphalt. Gravel sprayed like shrapnel. Yoongi’s car fishtailed just a breath too wide.

“YOONGI—!” Y/n gasped, fingers flying to her mouth.

“HE OVERCOOKED IT!” Marquise yelled. “SHIT—SHIT—SHIT—!”

Inside the Jesko, Yoongi grunted, muscles straining as he fought the wheel. Come on—come on— His rear tires slipped, traction stuttering.

Jungkook saw it. Opportunity bloomed like fire in his chest. He cut in, precise, ruthless, slipping past Yoongi’s front bumper by inches. His car straightened beautifully, obedient, perfect.

“Yes,” Jungkook laughed, breathless, feral. “That’s it.”

Yoongi slammed his palm against the wheel. “Fuck!”

He recovered—fast—but the damage was done. Jungkook was ahead now, black disappearing into the dark like a closing door.

The final stretch came in a blur—lights streaking, engines screaming themselves raw.

“COME ON—COME ON—!” Hoseok shouted.

“GO, GO, GO!” Jimin yelled, voice hoarse.

Y/n couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe.

The finish line flashed. Black crossed first. The crowd erupted.

Fireworks cracked overhead. Smoke swallowed the track. People screamed Jungkook’s name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

Jungkook hit the brakes hard, laughter tearing out of his chest as he rolled to a stop. He leaned his head back against the seat, chest heaving, adrenaline flooding every vein.

He won. Again.

Yoongi pulled in moments later, engine ticking angrily as it cooled. He stayed in the car, staring forward, jaw tight enough to crack teeth.

Jungkook stayed grounded beside his car. He patted the matte black metal twice, firm and affectionate, like rewarding a loyal beast that had carried him through war. Then—without hesitation—he leaned down and pressed a brief kiss to the hood.

The crowd went feral.

Jungkook straightened, grin sharp and unrepentant, before turning to his crew. Taehyung reached him first, pulling him into a rough dap that turned into a shoulder slam. Namjoon followed, clapping a heavy hand against Jungkook’s back, pride written plain across his face. The rest of Black Reign closed in—hands slapping, voices overlapping, laughter loud and victorious.

The cheers doubled.

Jungkook’s eyes scanned the chaos—then landed on Y/n.

For a second, everything else faded. He smirked. Cocky. Slow. Dangerous. Like he knew damn well he’d just won more than a race.

And Y/n felt it then—deep in her gut, twisting and unavoidable.

This wasn’t over. Not even close.

Yoongi shoved the door open harder than necessary. The cheers still rang in the air, but for him it all landed dull and flat. Jimin and Hoseok were instantly there — one on each side like instinct.

“Yo, what was that?” Jimin said, half-teasing, half-worried as he kneaded at Yoongi’s shoulder.

“It’s okay — you’re fine, dude.” Hoseok added, voice steady, hands firm. “Sixth turn caught you. Happens.”

But Yoongi wasn’t listening. His jaw was wired tight. His eyes had already locked onto the crowd where Black Reign was celebrating — a dark, moving sun and everyone else just… orbiting.

And nothing — absolutely nothing — stopped him from walking straight toward it. Didn’t stop Marquise either. She caught Y/n’s wrist and dragged her along after the boys like they were front-row guests to a disaster.

Jungkook had already wound down from the adrenaline rush, that lazy satisfaction sitting on him like a second skin. Then Jungkook’s head tipped back, throat exposed to the night as he breathed it all in — the noise, the smoke, the ownership.

That was the exact second he noticed Yoongi marching forward.

The smirk slid back onto his mouth like he’d never taken it off.

“Told you, Min,” he called out, voice smooth, carrying just enough to be heard over the crowd. “I always win.” He didn’t shout it. Didn’t need to. Confidence did the work for him.

Yoongi blew a slow breath out his nose, jaw ticking. Y/n watched his fingers flex open and closed at his side, like he was trying to squeeze the frustration out through his hands. Then he tilted his chin up.

“What do you want?”

No theatrics. No arguing. Just surrender to the rules.

Jungkook’s grin deepened like he’d been waiting for those words. He sauntered a few steps forward — not rushed, not threatening. Just that predator-calm he wore like cologne.

His gaze drifted lazily past Yoongi — toward the shadow just behind him.

Y/n.

Their eyes locked — and Jungkook’s chest pulled tight for a beat he did not allow to show on his face. He let himself look. Just for a second longer than polite.

And Yoongi noticed.

His head snapped back toward his sister, then forward again — already scowling.

“Fuck no—you’re not taking my sister.”

The crowd reacted — a few gasps, a few laughs, someone whistled. Marquise pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

Jungkook’s brows flicked up and he held his peck, feigning offense.

“Ouch, Min. How low of you to think I see your sister as a trophy.” He clicked his tongue, then chuckled. “Give me some credit.”

Yoongi didn’t buy it. Suspicion settled into his expression like a bruise. But Jungkook… didn’t look away from Y/n.

Not yet.

“Give me her number,” he said simply.

Not loud. Not sheepish. Just… fact.

Everything stalled. Yoongi. Jimin. Hoseok. Even Y/n — who suddenly wasn’t sure if she still remembered how lungs worked. Marquise? She was having the time of her life.

Jungkook slipped his phone from his pocket and held it out — angled not at Yoongi.

At her.

Y/n blinked. Once. Twice. Her lips parted, then pressed, then parted again. Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t rush her. Didn’t coax.

He just waited.

Yoongi leaned in toward her, muttering out the corner of his mouth, “I swear if you fucking—”

“Hey.”Jungkook cut in — still calm. Yoongi slowly dragged his eyes back to him.

“I won,” Jungkook said. “So I win your sister’s number.” Silence stretched. The air tasted electric.

Yoongi scrubbed his hand through his hair, pacing half a step away like the world had personally offended him. He didn’t say yes. He didn’t have to.

Y/n swallowed and stepped forward. Two steps. Close enough now that Jungkook’s shadow slipped over her shoulders. His eyes followed her movements like gravity.

Her fingers brushed his phone. Warm. Solid. Too real. She typed. Saved. Handed it back.

When she finally looked up through her lashes, Jungkook was already watching her — close enough she could see the glint in his piercing and the curl of a smirk that shouldn’t have looked as good as it did.

He dipped his head slightly, voice dropping low — just for her.

“Thanks, baby.” His teeth flashed.

And Y/n felt that word settle somewhere dangerous.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

The clink of cutlery filled the space between them, polite and dull. Their father leaned back in his chair, loosening his tie, exhaustion written neatly into the lines of his face.

“So,” he said, warm and unsuspecting, “how was you guys’ Sunday night? I know I wasn’t home but…when duty calls.”

Y/n didn’t answer right away. She dabbed her lips with a napkin, eyes drifting up like she was scrolling through memories.

“It was… fast-paced,” she said slowly. “Very loud. Lots of… testosterone.”

Yoongi froze. Under the table, his foot shot out and tapped hers — quick, sharp. She didn’t even flinch.

Their dad chuckled. “Sounds like you two actually spent time together.”

Yoongi swallowed and nodded, latching onto the lifeline. “Yeah. I took Y/n for a ride last night since she couldn’t sleep.” He lifted his glass casually. “Thought it’d help.”

Kick. Harder this time.

Y/n sucked in a breath like she’d just been reminded of something tragic. “Yeah… a ride,” she echoed, nodding. “Crazy fast cars. Real bonding experience.”

She glanced at Yoongi, sweet as poison.

“Yoongi even ended up racing someone on the road next to us,” she added, shrugging lightly. “Too bad he lost.”

Yoongi’s fork clattered against his plate.

“What?” their dad laughed. “Racing? Come on.”

Y/n smiled innocently. “Oh, nothing serious. Just some boys. Engines revving. People nearby. Very… community-driven.”

Yoongi leaned closer, teeth clenched. “Y/n,” he warned under his breath, foot pressing firmly into hers now.

She leaned back in her chair, unbothered. “What? I’m agreeing with you.”

Their father nodded, completely sold. “Well, I’m glad you’re looking out for each other,” he said warmly. “Nice to know you kids still do sibling things.”

Y/n beamed. “Always.”

Yoongi stared at his plate like it had personally betrayed him.

Under the table, she finally felt his foot retreat — surrender.

Victory tasted better than dessert.

Y/n escaped the dinner table the second the plates were cleared, mumbling something about being tired before Yoongi could invent another reason to glue her to his side. She didn’t wait for permission. She never did.

Her room greeted her like a familiar exhale — dim lighting, clothes half-draped over her chair, the faint trace of her perfume hanging in the air. She kicked off her fluffy slippers with lazy precision and collapsed onto her bed face-first, groaning into the pillow.

Her phone buzzed.

She stretched one arm out without moving the rest of her body, fingers patting around until she caught the device and flipped it over.

Nope.

Not Jin.

Unknown number.

Her brows furrowed… until memory slid back into place. The pier. The smoke. The dark eyes that didn’t blink. The stupidly attractive growl when he called her that pet name.

She opened the message.

Unknown: sleeping already, model?

Y/n stared at the screen, a slow smirk tugging at her lips despite herself.

Of course.

She rolled onto her tummy, propped up on her elbows, thumbs already moving.

Y/n: jungkook?

The reply came fast — way too fast.

Unknown: u already knew my name before i introduced myself

She could hear the smirk in that text. She hated that she liked it.

Y/n: you’re the talk of the town there

Y/n: it was inevitable

A beat. Then:

Unknown: good to know youve been talking about me behind my back

Another message followed before she could respond.

Unknown: i thought about u too

Unknown: almost messed up that sixth turn when i drove past ya

Her stomach dipped.

Unknown: almost

Unknown: but i didnt

Cocky. Infuriatingly so.

Y/n: congrats. want a medal or something?

His answer came like a wink.

Unknown: already got one

Unknown: ur number

Her chest tightened — annoyance, amusement, and something warm she refused to name all tangled up. Her fingers saved the contact before she could overthink it.

Jungkook.

Three dots appeared again — then disappeared. Came back. Vanished.

He’s doing it on purpose.

Her phone buzzed one more time.

Jungkook: so

Jungkook: u always this fun to chase

Jungkook: or do i get special treatment?

Y/n scoffed — quietly. To herself. Because no way in hell was he getting that satisfaction.

Y/n: who said you’re chasing?

Jungkook: trust me

Jungkook: i am now

Her heart betrayed her — one sharp skip. She typed slower this time.

Y/n: don’t get ahead of yourself

Jungkook: too late

Jungkook: i was ahead the moment the trigger was pulled

She rolled her eyes at her screen, biting back the smile that insisted on forming. That was when her bedroom door swung open.

“—what the fuck! You tryna snitch me to Dad or what?” Yoongi hissed as he shut the door behind him.

Y/n stoned.

Her phone flew from her hand on pure instinct, landing somewhere in the blankets like it had caught fire. She sat up straight, face blank — too blank.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes. “You think your little…sarcasm stunt back there..was funny?”

She blinked. “What? I didn’t say anything!”

They stared at each other.

Her phone buzzed again beneath the covers. Both their eyes flicked downward. Silence.

Yoongi’s jaw clenched. “Y/n.”

She smiled sweetly.

“Yes, oppa?”

Another buzz. And somewhere under the blankets, Jungkook was still texting.

Yoongi folded his lips inward and planted his hands on his hips, inhaling a breath so heavy it visibly sank his chest.

“Y/n,” he said, slower now, like he was forcing each word to behave. “I am serious.”

He drew a sharp line through the air with his fingers. “You are not to follow me back there. Ever.”

Y/n scoffed, pushing herself upright. “Dude—it was on your fucking table while I was doing your goddamn laundry. What? You expect me to put a blind eye to a note from some fuck-ass gang called Black Reign?” She waved her hand wildly. “What a fuck ass excuse for a name that is.”

Her phone vibrated.

Yoongi’s eyes flicked to it for half a second before snapping back to her. “Lower your voice,” he hissed. “Unless you want Dad hearing this shit.”

Another vibration.

“Oh, so I should scream it instead?” Y/n shot back. “Yoongi’s in an illegal ra—”

Yoongi lunged.

He dropped onto the bed behind her in one swift motion, slapped his palm over her mouth, and yanked her back into his chest. Her muffled protests fogged against his hand, hot breath tickling his skin.

Y/n started pounding her fist into his thigh.

“Okay—okay,” he muttered, teeth clenched. “If you shut up, I’ll let go.”

She rolled her eyes so dramatically it was a miracle she didn’t black out, then stilled. Yoongi slowly removed his hand.

They sat there for a second — her back facing his, both breathing harder than they wanted to admit.

“Y/n,” he said again, quieter this time. “I’m saying this once. Don’t go back there.”

She didn’t look at him.

“If you’re out there—” he gestured vaguely toward the window, the dark city beyond it, “—and something happens to you… I won’t be able to forgive myself.”

That did it. Y/n turned.

His voice had cracked. Just slightly. Barely noticeable — unless you knew him. Unless you were his sister.

She softened instantly, scooting closer until they were fully facing each other. She took his hand, squeezing it once.

“Yoongi…” she murmured. “You can’t keep blaming yourself for Mom.”

His gaze dropped to their joined hands.

“I lost her in that accident,” he said, voice rough. “I can’t lose you too.”

Her chest tightened.

Without thinking, she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, burying her face into the crook of his neck. Yoongi froze for a fraction of a second — he’d never been big on physical affection — but then his arms came up, one hand settling against her back, grounding and warm.

“I’ll be fine, oppa,” she whispered. “I promise.”

Another vibration.

Yoongi pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing with mild suspicion. “Are you texting someone?” he asked, tone curious rather than accusatory. “Your phone’s been… going crazy since I walked in.”

Y/n stiffened.

They separated just enough for her to dig under the duvet, fishing out her phone. The screen lit up immediately.

Jungkook: dont ignore me, baby.

Jungkook: before i start calling

Her eyes widened — not in panic, but in oh fuck.

She locked the screen with lightning speed and looked up, plastering on the most innocent smile she could manage.

“Oh—uh,” she said lightly. “Just Jin. Asking what bag I want from Milan.”

Yoongi squinted. “At eleven at night?”

“He’s rich and bored,” Y/n shrugged. “Unlike you, criminal.”

Yoongi snorted despite himself, shaking his head. “You’re such a pain in my ass.”

She grinned. “You love me.”

“Sure.”

Her phone buzzed again.

Yoongi didn’t miss it this time.

Y/n smiled wider — sweeter — already planning her escape.

And somewhere across the city, Jeon Jungkook was definitely not done.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Jungkook lay sprawled across his mattress like he owned the night. Shirt discarded somewhere on the floor. One arm tucked behind his head. Phone balanced loosely in the other.

His room was dim — only the glow of a streetlamp bleeding through the blinds, striping his chest in slanted gold. He stared at his screen, lower lip caught between his teeth as he waited for her reply.

Nothing.

He huffed out a laugh.

“Playing hard to get, huh?” he murmured to no one.

He closed his eyes and — annoyingly — she was there immediately.

That little smirk she wore when she thought she’d outsmarted him. The way neon lights washed over her at the pier, painting her skin in pinks and electric blues. How her voice rasped just slightly when she spits foul remarks at him.

How she looked like she didn’t belong anywhere near their world…and yet fit into it too perfectly.

He’d seen her modeling photos before — glossy campaigns, magazine covers, billboard smiles — but yesterday she didn’t look like a picture.

She looked real.

Too real.

And she’d called him out without fear. Without flinching. Like she wasn’t staring the leader of Black Reign in the face.

His tongue pressed against his cheek as he exhaled.

“Trouble,” he muttered — but his grin said he liked it.

He unlocked his phone. Opened the chat. Still nothing. Most people would’ve waited.

Jungkook didn’t.

His thumb hovered only a second before he tapped her number and pressed call — like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The line rang once…twice…He smirked lazily at the ceiling.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered, voice low and teasing even though she couldn’t hear it yet. “Don’t make me chase you too hard.”

The third ring echoed into the quiet room.

He was already picturing the sound of her voice.

“Hello?”

Jungkook’s brows knit together.

That voice.

Too familiar. Too sharp. A sound that crawled into his skull and stayed there, like a splinter he’d never bothered removing.

A slow, crooked smile tugged at his mouth.

“…Min,” he said, dragging the name out. “Don’t tell me I’ve been texting you this whole time.” He smiled, tone as if he was sleepy. The smile widened at the sharp inhale on the other end.

“Why the fuck are you calling my sister?” Yoongi snapped. “And what do you mean you’ve been texting me?”

Possessive. Protective. The tone of a man already halfway to violence.

Jungkook rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one arm, phone pressed lazily to his ear.

“I won her number,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world, with an obvious shrug that shifted against his sheets. “Figured I’d use my prize.”

The silence that followed was thick—loaded like a gun pulled back just enough to make a point.

“She’s not a fucking trophy.”

Jungkook’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened.

“But that’s exactly how you treated it last night,” he replied coolly. “And don’t get it twisted—I never called her one. You did, when you agreed to give it to me.”

A beat.

“This is about our race,” Yoongi said, voice dropping, controlled in a way that made it more dangerous. “You and me. Don’t drag her into your bullshit.”

Jungkook’s gaze drifted to the dark window, neon reflections ghosting faintly across the glass. Her face flashed behind his eyes—how she’d stood there, unimpressed, glowing under borrowed light like she didn’t belong to either side.

“Funny thing is,” Jungkook murmured, “she dragged herself into it. Walked right in.”

Another pause. This one heavier. Then, quieter but firmer—

“Put her on.”

A scoff crackled through the line.

“You think I’ll let that happen?” Yoongi said. “She’s busy.”

Jungkook’s brow arched. “Then why the hell do you have her phone?”

A tired sigh. “She’s in the bathroom.”

Jungkook’s smile returned, slow and dangerous, voice dropping into something almost playful.

“Oh,” he drawled. “All the more reason.”

“Stay,” Yoongi warned, every word measured, “the fuck away from her.”

Before Jungkook could respond—

“Yoongi?” Yn’s voice floated faintly in the background, distorted by distance and echo. “Who are you talking to?”

Yoongi stiffened.

“Nobody,” he barked, too quick. “Just some asshole blowing up my phone—”

The line went dead.

Jungkook stared at the screen that returned to her contact page, the fan still whirring above him, the echo of her voice curling somewhere in his chest. Then he laughed. Low. Soft. Like a man who’d just found something worth chasing.

For a long second, he didn’t move.

Then his jaw clenched.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, irritation crawling up his spine like static. The fan above him suddenly felt too loud, the room too quiet in the wrong places. He hated unfinished things—unfinished races, unfinished conversations.

Unfinished her.

He sat up, muscles tightening as he rolled to the edge of the bed, phone gripped hard in his palm like it had personally betrayed him.

Min Yoongi.

Always fucking interfering.

Jungkook scoffed, breath sharp through his nose. “Always gotta play the hero, huh?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, thumbs flying over the screen with more force than necessary.

Jungkook: ur brother hangs up on people mid sentence

Jungkook: rude as hell

Jungkook: tell him next time, let me talk to u

He paused, then added another.

Jungkook: or better yet

Jungkook: answer before he gets to ur phone

He dropped the device onto the mattress, running his tongue over his lip piercing, annoyance simmering hot in his chest—not at her.

Never her.

At Yoongi.

At the fact that she was right there and he’d been blocked from her like some kind of warning sign.

Jungkook leaned back, eyes closing briefly, her voice replaying in his head like a hook he couldn’t shake.

“Next time,” he murmured to no one.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Looking at the clock on the nightstand, it was 2 a.m. Everyone should have been asleep, tucked into their eight hours of rest, dreams locked behind closed eyelids. Y/n should have been sleeping, the soft rise and fall of her chest hidden under her blanket.

At least, that’s what Jungkook hoped not.

He couldn’t shake the frustration from earlier—Yoongi, the perfect little annoying brother, ruining what should have been his smooth, flawless moment with Y/n. If he could, he’d yank that smug little brat by the collar and shake him until the problem solved itself. Or at least until he stopped breathing fire at him.

But Yoongi was out of reach. Y/n… wasn’t.

Dialing…

Ringing…

Ringing…

“Hello?”

Finally.

It was her voice. Clear, sleepy, but soft. The tone that had made his chest tighten hours ago now sent a delicious jolt through him. Not some gremlin on the other end trying to sabotage him. Not Yoongi.

“Took you long enough,” he said, grinning so wide he could almost feel it across the line.

There was a pause, the tiniest inhale of her voice brushing against his ears. “W-who? It’s 2 a.m…” she murmured, the tiredness dripping from her words in a way that made him feel… alive.

“No shit,” he replied, chuckling low. “Isn’t it the perfect time for a call? You’re in bed, not hiding in the bathroom. Your phone’s within reach. No brother to yell at me for daring to ask you out.” He let his smirk slide audibly into the line, making her shift slightly in her sheets.

“…Did you—did you call me just to ask me that? To hang out?” The words slipped out, almost accidentally. Her tone was a mixture of exasperation and amusement, a dangerous combination that made him grin.

“You don’t sound mad,” he teased, letting the teasing edge crawl into his voice. “More like… intrigued.”

Yn rolled her eyes, burying the phone slightly in her pillow. “…Unbelievable,” she muttered, the tiredness still clinging to her like a cozy blanket, but something about his voice made her pulse stir.

Jungkook chuckled low, the sound vibrating through her phone and echoing straight into her chest. He loved that—the way his voice could get under her skin, make her shiver without touching her. He had never wanted someone this badly, and it was absurd.

“Romantic, isn’t it?” he whispered, teasing.

Yn’s brain betrayed her, fumbling for a comeback. “…You’re… incorrigible,” she finally shot out, the words half-complaint, half-admiration.

He let out that laugh again—slow, low, dangerous in the best way. Her pulse thudded harder. Why was she talking to her brother’s enemy at two in the fucking morning? Especially when his voice alone made her stomach twist and her thoughts messy.

“You didn’t say no,” he said, suddenly shifting into business mode. “So I’ll take it as you’re down to meet me tomorrow… at Gwanaksan Road. Let’s say… 6 p.m.”

Yn blinked. He said it so casually, so confidently, as if he already knew she wouldn’t say no. And for a second, she wondered… did she even want to?

“Alright,” she whispered, the word lighter than she expected, like it had a little charge behind it.

“Good,” he said, voice low, teasing. “Don’t be late, model.”

“Ha! I’m never late, cocky pants,” she shot back, smirk practically audible over the phone. Her tired brain finally caught up with her sass, and she smiled into her pillow.

“Perfect. Cause I can’t wait to see you.”

The line went silent for a heartbeat, and she almost faltered. Did she even want to say it back? Could she? She bit her lip, her pulse buzzing in her ears.

“…I’m hanging up. Don’t call me at 2 a.m. again,” she said finally, settling for sass over vulnerability.

“Bet,” he replied, his tone dripping with challenge. “Just wait… until the tables turn and you’re the one calling me at 2 a.m.”

Then, just before he hung up, his voice softened, almost intimate: “Sweet dreams, baby.”

Yn sat up a little straighter, staring at her ceiling, the phone still warm in her hand. Her chest tightened. Her lips parted. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to scream, laugh, or curl back under the covers and pretend none of it mattered.

What the fuck am I doing? she thought, heart thumping wildly. I’m going on a date with my brother’s enemy.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

“—and a pink lip should be just right.”

Y/n leaned closer to the mirror as Jin’s voice echoed from her phone, applying the Dior gloss with careful precision. The wand glided smoothly across her lips, leaving behind a soft sheen that caught the light just enough to look intentional without screaming trying too hard. She tilted her chin, lips pursed once, then twice.

“There,” she said, pulling back and turning toward the phone propped against her shelf. “How do I look?”

The camera captured her in full now. Her silhouette was carved by a charcoal-grey jersey dress that clung to her like it knew her body by heart—soft, forgiving, but daring where it mattered. The neckline slipped lazily off one shoulder, exposing a sliver of collarbone that felt almost accidental. The long sleeves draped down her arms, gathering at her wrists like they were tired of behaving, while the subtle ruching along her hips drew the eye downward to a hemline that flirted dangerously high.

It was the kind of outfit that whispered instead of shouted. The kind that said I didn’t try when, in truth, every detail had been chosen with intent.

On her feet, comfort met character—earth-toned suede ballet flats paired with crisp white crew socks pulled unapologetically high. Her hair was braided loosely, strands falling free around her face like they’d escaped on purpose.

Jin blinked at the screen. Then nodded slowly.

“Bomb,” he said. “Exactly the look for a date where you pretend you don’t care but still look offensively hot.”

Y/n scoffed, though the corner of her mouth twitched.

“It’s not a date.”

“Mhm.” Jin leaned closer to his camera, squinting. “Sure. And I’m your stylist.”

She reached for her clutch, fingers curling around the leather. “You’re impossible.”

Jin grinned. “I’m honest. Big difference.” Then he laughed—loud, dramatic, windshield-wiper-esque. “God, this Jungkook guy is gonna get his engines revved.”

“Shut up,” Y/n snapped immediately, cheeks warming as she pointed at the screen. His ironic joke about revving Jungkook’s engine played a part in her now heating face. She didn’t tell Jin about Jungkook in detail. Just, “I’m going out with a guy named…Jungkook.” No questions following that.

“Relax, relax,” Jin waved. “You’re the one who begged me for help.”

“I did not beg.”

“You sent three voice notes.”

“I was stressed.” Her voice went higher.

Jin hummed. “Sure you were.”

She sighed, exhaustion tugging at her shoulders now that the adrenaline had faded. “Okay, whatever. I need to go.”

She turned toward her shelf, grabbing her clutch, then spun back when Jin cleared his throat dramatically.

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t forget. I depart in the morning. Morning.”

Y/n groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Yes, windshield wiper. I know.”

Jin smiled fondly. “Be safe. And text me.”

She rolled her eyes but nodded. “Goodbye.” The call ended.

Silence settled around her room, thick and anticipatory, like the pause before a storm. Y/n exhaled slowly.

Great, she thought. Now I’m actually doing this.

She descended the staircase with her flats hooked around two fingers, socks already slipped on, steps light but her heart anything but. The living room lights were dim, shadows stretching lazily across the walls.

Two men sat there. One looked up mildly interested. The other looked like he’d just been personally offended by the universe.

“Where are you going, angel?” her father asked first, voice warm, curious rather than strict.

Before she could answer—

“Yeah,” Yoongi chimed in, dragging the pet name through sarcasm. “Where are you going, angel?”

Y/n ignored him completely.

She smiled brightly, that innocent, gummy grin she knew drove her brother insane. “Out.”

Her dad blinked. “Out?”

“I have a date.” The word landed like a dropped plate.

Yoongi’s head snapped up so fast it nearly disconnected from his spine. His eyes widened, neck craning forward as if she’d just announced she was going skydiving without a parachute.

“A what?” he croaked.

“Oh,” their father said, eyebrows lifting slightly. “You didn’t mention this… date.”

Y/n shrugged, casual to the point of cruelty. “Last-minute thing. I don’t think I can back out.” She awkwardly laughed.

Yoongi stared at her like she’d grown a second head.

“No, no,” their father chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. “Go. Enjoy yourself. Maybe bring this… boy over for dinner sometime.”

“Oh yeah,” Yoongi added instantly, fake cheer dripping from his voice. “Bring him. I’d love to meet him.”

Y/n shot him a look so sharp it could’ve cut glass.

She leaned down, kissed her father’s cheek. “I’ll be back later.” Then, without sparing Yoongi another glance, she slipped on her flats, Eric following from behind as her chauffuer, and walked out the door before Yoongi could squeeze in another sarcastic remark.

The night air kissed her skin as she stepped outside. Somewhere out there, her brother’s enemy was waiting. And for reasons she didn’t want to examine too closely, her heart was already picking up speed.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Gwanaksan Road breathed differently at night.

It stretched along the mountain like a slow exhale, asphalt curling and unfurling in long, serpentine bends, as if the road itself were alive—watchful, patient. Below, the ocean lay unseen but ever-present, its salt-heavy breath rising with the wind, brushing against YN’s bare calves like a whispered warning. The streetlights were spaced far apart, glowing amber and tired, flickering like they were debating whether to stay awake for whatever was about to happen.

YN stood near the guardrail, clutch purse tucked under her arm, phone resting loosely in her hand. She hadn’t checked it in a while. She refused to. Checking felt desperate—and she was not desperate.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suede flats scuffing lightly against the pavement. The mountain wind tugged at the loose strands of her braid, fingers threading through her hair without permission. It was colder than she expected, the kind of cold that crept up your spine and made you hyperaware of your own body.

Why did I even agree to this?

The thought slid in uninvited, smug and irritating. Last night replayed itself in fragments—Jungkook’s voice, lazy and sharp all at once; the way his presence felt like a challenge rather than an invitation. He wasn’t charming in the safe way. He was charming like a lit match hovering too close to gasoline.

Her phone vibrated. She stiffened. A text.

Jungkook: u always this punctual or just nervous for me?

YN scoffed, lips curling as she typed back.

YN: i’ve been here five minutes. relax, racer boy.

Three dots appeared instantly. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

Jungkook: cute

Jungkook: look up

Her breath caught—traitorous, immediate.

The sound came before the sight. A low growl sliced through the quiet, deep and mechanical, echoing off the mountain walls like a challenge thrown into the dark. Headlights curved into view from the bend ahead, cutting through the night in a clean, predatory sweep. The car emerged slowly, deliberately, as if it knew it was being watched.

Black. Sleek. Dangerous.

It rolled to a stop a few feet from her, engine still running, vibrating through the soles of her feet. The driver’s window slid down with a smooth whirr.

Jungkook leaned out slightly, one arm resting casually against the door, rings catching the streetlight. He wore black—of course he did—leather jacket, dark tee, hair slightly tousled like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. His eyes flicked over her in one slow, unashamed sweep.

Not rushed. Not subtle. His gaze lingered.

“Wow,” he said finally, voice low, amused, like he’d just won something he hadn’t expected to. “You look like trouble dressed as a good idea.”

YN rolled her eyes, but heat bloomed under her skin anyway. “You’re late.”

He glanced at the dashboard theatrically. “Thirty-two seconds late. You wound me.”

She stepped closer despite herself, resting a hand on the open window frame, leaning just enough to invade his space. “I almost left.”

Jungkook smiled—sharp, pleased, utterly unapologetic.

“Liar,” he said. “You were excited.” A smirk.

Y/n somehow couldn’t make up a comeback yet again. She ended up mocking a laugh that died down faster than a second.

The wind picked up again, colder now, tugging at her dress like it was trying to pull her back. Jungkook noticed. He reached behind him, grabbed a hoodie from the passenger seat, and tossed it toward her without a word. It hit her chest.

Okay, rude.

She blinked. “What’s this?”

“Gwanaksan gets clingy at night,” he replied. “Didn’t think you’d wanna freeze before the fun part.”

She hesitated—then slipped it on. It smelled like him. Cotten, definitely two sizes too big, something clean underneath, and danger she absolutely didn’t need.

Jungkook’s eyes darkened just a fraction. “Get in,” he said, nodding toward the passenger seat. “I’ll show you why this road ruins people for normal dates.”

YN stared at the car, then back at him.

“And if I don’t like it?”

His grin widened, engine purring louder beneath his palm.

“Then I’ll take you home,” he said easily. “But you won’t.”

The mountain loomed behind them, the road stretching ahead like a dare. YN opened the door.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

The passenger door shut with a solid thud, sealing YN inside the car—and with Jungkook.

The interior was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the dashboard and the city lights bleeding in through the windshield. Leather hugged her from all sides, the seat warm, almost intimate, like it had been waiting for her specifically. The air inside smelled sharper than the hoodie—engine heat, leather, a trace of mint, and something undeniably him.

Jungkook glanced over as he pulled back onto the road, fingers curling around the steering wheel like it belonged to him in more ways than one.

“Seatbelt,” he said, casual—but not careless.

YN let out an exaggerated sigh. “Relax. I’m not five.”

“Didn’t say you were.” His eyes finally cut to her, brief but sharp. “Just — seatbelt.”

Click.

The sound was stupidly loud.

They rolled forward, the road curling ahead like a black ribbon leading straight into nowhere. Trees crowded the sides, stretching over them like a ceiling trying to eavesdrop, and the city lights began shrinking behind them — like someone dimming the world.

YN rested her elbow against the door, chin in her palm, eyes following the sweep of the headlights as they traced each curve. The silence between them wasn’t awkward—it was taut, stretched thin like a wire pulled too tight.

“So,” she said finally, breaking it, “is this the part where you try to scare me?”

Jungkook’s lips twitched. “Depends. You scared easily?”

She scoffed. “Please. I grew up with Yoongi.”

That earned her a low chuckle. “Fair point.”

The road narrowed. The incline grew steeper. Jungkook’s foot pressed down just a little more, the engine responding instantly, eagerly, like a living thing recognizing its master. The acceleration wasn’t reckless—it was confident, precise. Every shift was clean, every turn taken like he’d memorized the mountain’s pulse.

YN cleared her throat. “So… aren’t you gonna— I don’t know…” She gestured lazily. “Go crazy with your speed or something? Thought that was your whole brand.”

A slow grin crept over his face — dangerous and unfair.

“You want me to?”

Her mouth opened. Nothing came out. Jungkook saw that. Of course he fucking did. And that was all he needed.

The engine roared, alive and hungry, and the car shot forward. YN’s back slammed into the leather like gravity had teeth. The wind punched through the cracked window, clawing at her braid, the guardrail speeding past like silver lightning.

“Holy shit—!” she hissed, grabbing the door — not screaming, just trying not to look like she was screaming.

But Jungkook? Completely calm. One hand on the wheel. Jaw set. Eyes forward. Like the road belonged to him. Like the mountain fucking bowed.

The car hugged a curve so tight it felt indecent. The city dropped away on her side — a glittering galaxy drowned under darkness. Her chest tightened, not with fear — but with something electric, crawling under her skin, riding her veins.

He slowed. Just a little. Just enough to say I’ve got you without actually saying it.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he muttered — not teasing this time. Just honest.

She swallowed. “N-no, no I’m cool.”

That grin came back — lazy and cocky and way too confident.

“Good.”

They kept climbing. The wind howled like the night was gossiping. The mountain wrapped around them, the road twisting like it wanted to test them. The engine purred, satisfied. Her heartbeat matched the RPMs, and it pissed her off that it felt… good. Alive.

“You…do this often?” she asked, voice steadier now.

Jungkook nodded slightly. “Yeah. When my head’s loud.”

“Dangerous therapy choice.”

“Staying still’s worse.”

The higher they went, the smaller the city looked, until Seoul wasn’t a place anymore — just a spill of stars beneath them.

“Almost there,” he said quietly.

The car rolled to a stop at the top like it had finally run out of secrets.

The engine cut. Silence rushed in — thick, buzzing, almost rude after all that noise. The wind up here was colder, sharper, like it had opinions. Seoul stretched below them, all glitter and glow, the city looking soft and harmless from this far up, like it couldn’t bite.

Jungkook was out first. He circled the car and, to YN’s surprise, opened her door with a little flourish, palm braced against the roof like some vintage movie lead. She blinked at him, unimpressed on purpose.

“Woah,” she deadpanned, sliding out slowly. “Look at you. Mr. Gentleman. From throwing a fucking hoodie at me like a projectile to opening doors now?” Her voice roughened at the end, scratchy with cold and attitude.

Jungkook laughed — full and unguarded — the sound bouncing off the trees. “Character development,” he shrugged. “I’m growing.”

“Yeah? Rapid growth spurt.”

She stepped past him without waiting, ballet flats crunching lightly on gravel. The wind tugged at her dress, lifting the hem just enough to remind her she was very much aware of her own body right now.

He didn’t stare. That annoyed her more than if he had.

“This okay?” he asked, nodding toward the front of the car.

She eyed the hood skeptically. “If I fall off and die, I’m haunting you.”

“Deal.” He helped her up anyway, hands warm and firm on her waist for half a second longer than necessary. She caught it. He didn’t apologize. She sat, legs dangling, arms crossed, posture screaming don’t get comfortable.

Jungkook leaned in briefly. “Don’t move.”

“Why—”

He was already walking away. “Be right back,” he tossed over his shoulder.

She watched him disappear behind the car, jaw tightening. The audacity. The confidence. The way he acted like she’d still be there when he returned. She stayed anyway. The hood was still warm beneath her palms. The wind threaded through her braid, teasing loose strands into her face. Below them, Seoul shimmered like a promise it didn’t intend to keep.

Jungkook returned a minute later, trunk creaking shut behind him. He came back carrying a bottle of red wine, a small bag of grapes, some strawberries, and a folded cloth like he’d planned this shit days ago instead of twelve hours.

She raised a brow. “You just… carry a picnic in your trunk?”

“Prepared,” he said simply.

“For what?”

“Whatever.”

She scoffed. “That’s not an answer.”

He popped the wine open with practiced ease — no corkscrew struggle, no dramatics — then set everything down between them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Do you always assume things’ll go your way?” she asked, eyes carefully studying his hands that were generously decorated with veins and some tattoos on one hand.

He poured. “Not always.”

“But tonight.” He handed her the glass. Didn’t push it when she didn’t take it immediately. “Tonight, I hoped.”

She took it. A sip. “You know I still don’t trust you.”

“Good.”

She blinked. “That was the wrong response.”

“No,” he said, sitting beside her now, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed. “Trust too fast and you stop asking questions.”

She studied him sideways. “And you’re okay with me interrogating you?”

“I’m used to it.”

“About what?”

He shrugged, plucking a grape and popping it into his mouth. “My choices. My speed. My mouth.”

“Your mouth especially,” she muttered.

He grinned. “You keep noticing it.”

Of course I did. Your goddamn lip piercing’s hot as fuck.

She rolled her eyes hard. “Don’t flatter yourself.” The wine burned warm going down. Her fingers curled tighter around the stem.

“So what,” she said. “You do this often? Bring girls up mountains…feed them fruit like it’s some ancient ritual?”

He leaned back on his hands. “No.”

“Just me?”

“Yes.”

She snorted. “Liar.”

He turned his head, meeting her gaze dead-on. “Ask anyone. They’ll tell you I don’t do gentle.” That sat between them — heavy, honest, uncomfortable.

She broke it first. “Then why now?” The wind answered before he did.

“Because,” he said slowly, “you didn’t look scared when I drove.”

Her jaw tightened. “Doesn’t mean I wasn’t.”

“But you didn’t tell me to stop.”

She looked away, city lights reflecting in her eyes like static. “Don’t read into it.”

“I won’t,” he said easily. “You do enough of that for both of us.”

She huffed a laugh despite herself. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re still here.”

She took another sip of wine, lips pressing thin. “Yeah,” she admitted quietly. “For now.”

And Jungkook didn’t push. He just sat beside her, the night stretched open around them, the mountain holding its breath like it knew something dangerous was blooming.

The bottle clinked against the tray when Y/N set it down, grapes rolling lazily like tiny, unwilling soldiers. Jungkook hadn’t touched his wine in minutes. Not because he wasn’t thirsty — he was just too busy watching her.

The way she drank: deliberate, unbothered, like she didn’t give a single fuck if he was staring. Her jaw moved with that slow, meticulous precision that made his chest tighten. Neon lights from the city below painted her skin in shifting golds and blues, turning her into something that felt unreal, like a damn painting come alive.

She caught him.

“Do I have wine on my face, or are you just a freak?”

He smirked, the corner of his lip twitching. “Relax. If you did, I’d wipe it off.”

“Uh-huh…with what, your giant, obnoxious ego?” she shot back, tone dripping sarcasm.

“Could borrow yours. Seems sharp enough,” he said, tilting his head.

She rolled her eyes, picking up another grape. “Alright, since we’re apparently doing twenty questions—why racing?”

He leaned back, stretching like a predator casually surveying his prey. “Why breathing?”

“Don’t get all poetic on me. You don’t strike me as the type.”

“That’s because you don’t know me.”

She popped the grape into her mouth and chewed, sharp eyes narrowing. “Don’t plan to.”

“Yet here you are,” he said, voice low, almost a tease. “Sitting on my hood, drinking my wine like you own the damn place.”

“Temporary lapse in judgment,” she murmured, and for a second, he saw it — the tiniest flash of mischief behind her eyes.

“Mm,” he hummed, amused. “Happens when people meet me.”

“God, you’re unbearable,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“And fast,” he countered smoothly.

“That too,” she admitted, just a little grudgingly.

He tilted his head, eyes scanning her like she was a puzzle he wasn’t in any rush to solve. “Racing’s simple. Road doesn’t lie. You…fuck up, it hits you immediately. No excuses. No filters. No…fake bullshit.”

“Sounds like a damn therapist would have a field day with that,” she quipped, smirk twitching at the corner of her lips.

He laughed — soft, dangerous, amused. “Probably. But honestly? Road keeps it real. You? You look real enough.”

Her fingers tightened on her glass as she took a sip, then glanced sideways. “Marquise told me you and Yoongi used to run neck and neck.”

“Still do,” he corrected casually, eyes flicking to her, then back to the city below.

“And that you…dated her,” she added, voice measured.

Ah. That word again.

He chuckled, slow, teasing. “You always sip before asking the loaded questions, or is that just with me?”

“Habit,” she shrugged.

“Good one.” He leaned back, stretching one leg casually over the hood. “Yeah. We dated. If you can even call it that.”

“And?”

“Nothing.” His eyes flicked back to her lips as she sipped again, and damn, it was like the world shrunk to just her. “She was…fun. Dangerous. Loud. Fireworks in human form.”

“Explains why it didn’t last,” she said, deadpan.

“Explains why it did,” he countered smoothly, and she couldn’t decide if he was joking or just that damn confident.

She hummed. “Marquise said you mostly fucked.”

He laughed, openly this time, the sound warm but cocky. “Straight to the point. Respect. Yeah, we fucked. But love? Feelings? Nah. Not part of the package.”

“Am I getting the same treatment?” she asked, voice teasing, one brow raised like a challenge.

He grinned, eyes flashing mischievously, a bunny-like smirk tugging at his lips. “You? Nah. You’re…different.”

Her eyebrows shot up in mock shock. “Oh? That’s what you tell all the women you meet on hood tops at midnight?”

“Only the ones who can keep up with my wine pouring skills,” he replied, taking a slow sip from his glass, eyes still glued to her.

She leaned back on her hands, feigning nonchalance. “You seem…proud of it. Fucking with no feelings, just messing around.”

He leaned slightly closer, not invading her space, just enough to make her heart skip. “I don’t regret shit that felt good at the time.”

Her chest betrayed her — heartbeat spiking like a damn drumline.

“And you?” he added casually, voice low, teasing. “Gonna interrogate me about every woman I’ve touched or just the ones that annoy your brother?”

She scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just like knowing what kind of mess I’m sitting next to.”

“Messy ones are fun.”

“For you, maybe,” she muttered.

He grinned, a predator’s sort of grin. “Yet here you are.”

She shook her head, muttering, “I’m not messy.”

Silence stretched, thick and buzzing, like electricity hanging between them. He poured her more wine without asking, the sound of liquid meeting glass punctuating the quiet.

Then, smoothly, he shifted gears. “So,” he said, voice low, casual, teasing, “why modeling?”

Her hand froze mid-grape. Barely noticeable. But he saw it. Always does.

“My mom was a model,” she said, curtly, lifting her glass.

He tilted his head, voice soft but sharp, teasing again. “Was?”

Her glare could cut steel. “Hey. I’m not sharing my tragic backstory with some asshole racer I met yesterday.”

He threw his hands up, laughing, playful, loud. “Okay, okay, truce! Truce, I swear.”

She studied him, suspicious, one eyebrow cocked.

He leaned back just slightly, almost surrendering. “Fine. Different question. Less tragic. Less personal. More…fun.”

She let out a slow, exaggerated sigh. “What?”

“Do you like modeling?”

Her fingers froze on the grape again, her eyes narrowing. The world around them — the city lights, the faint ocean breeze, the wine, the grapes — all blurred as the question hung there. And Jungkook didn’t rush her.

He just watched, like whatever she said next was the most interesting fucking thing he’d ever heard.

“Hmm…why modeling…” Y/N murmured, almost to herself, swirling the last of her wine in the glass like it was some goddamn crystal ball.

Jungkook stayed quiet, eyes drifting from her glass to the sharp curve of her jaw, then to the soft line of her neck. Gorgeous. Every careless tilt of her head made him want to map her like some treasure.

“It’s…effortless,” she said finally, shrugging like she wasn’t trying to impress anyone. “But I’m not just saying that because I don’t want to do actual work. I genuinely love fashion.”

A slight, knowing smile tugged at Jungkook’s lips. He didn’t interrupt; he just listened. Every word, every small movement, every subtle exhale she let slip made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t even try to hide. She wasn’t soft or delicate—hell no—but raw, real, and somehow mesmerizing.

“But it can be hell,” she continued, voice low but laced with irritation. “That’s what people don’t see. They just look at the hot body, the pretty face, the pretty dresses, and think…wow. Easy money, hot lifestyle.”

Jungkook tilted his head, a low chuckle escaping him. “You are pretty…” he said, almost as an observation, not a compliment.

“See—that’s the problem,” she snapped her head toward him, eyebrows arched like twin daggers. “Y’all don’t see the depth of it. You just see the surface.” She stuffed another grape into her mouth mid-rant, chewing with casual precision, and Jungkook’s eyes didn’t miss a fucking beat. He tracked the subtle movement of her throat, then jerked his gaze back up to her face when she spoke again, trying not to seem like a total creep.

“We models have insane schedules. One minute I’m stuck in a dressing room in fucking Madrid, the next I’m on a flight to Paris for a show. All this glamour bullshit? People don’t see the chaos behind it.”

She sighed, leaning back slightly, letting her hair fall over one shoulder like a lazy curtain. “But thank god I’m on a break now.”

“That’s…good,” Jungkook said casually, shrugging, but his eyes were fixed on her like he was memorizing her. “Means you’d have time to…visit me at the pier…or—I dunno—swing by when we have a party.”

Y/N choked slightly on her wine, eyebrows shooting up. “See me? Hah—no way. My brother would lose his shit if he saw me there alone.” She muttered it under her breath, still chewing, still defensive.

“You won’t be alone,” Jungkook said, leaning just slightly forward, voice low, teasing. “You’ll be with me.”

Her eyes narrowed, brows bouncing up.

“Or—Marquise,” he cut in, rolling his eyes as he raised his glass, taking a slow sip like it was no big deal.

She snorted, lips twitching in amusement. “So basically I’m your plus-one for whatever dangerous bullshit you’re planning?”

“Fuck yeah,” he said without hesitation. “You in, or are you too scared?”

“Scared? Me? You must be high on your own speed or something.” She leaned back, tilting her head, smirking. “I’m just…entertaining your delusions of charm.”

“Delusions?” he raised a brow, mock offended. “Baby, that’s your word for reality bending around me.”

She rolled her eyes, shoving a grape into her mouth like it was a peace offering to herself. “Yeah, sure, whatever keeps your ego in check, race king.”

He leaned back, wine glass dangling from one hand, gaze never leaving hers. “Race king,” he mused, repeating it like it sounded delicious on her tongue. “I could get used to you teasing me like that.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she warned lightly, though the faintest tremor in her voice betrayed her.

“Why? Afraid I’ll actually pay attention?” His smirk was cocky, teasing, but there was fire behind those golden-brown eyes, burning just for her.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop the tiny shiver that ran down her spine. Goddamn it, he was infuriating. And somehow, she wanted more.

Jungkook’s eyes didn’t leave her for a second. The way she held the glass, the subtle curl of her lips as she chewed grapes, the careless way she tossed her hair over one shoulder—it was like she was a painting moving in real time, and he was the only one allowed to look.

“You know,” he started, voice low and deliberate, “I can’t stop looking at you.”

Y/N snorted, almost choking on her grape. “Oh really? Shocking. I thought I was just some random girl on your hood, nothing special.”

“Random? Fuck no,” he countered, leaning back slightly, smirk teasing but his gaze sharp. “You—fuck, you’re…different. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen pretty girls, models, all that shit. But you…” His eyes raked over her like he could memorize every angle in seconds. “You’re…fuck, I don’t even know. Something about the way you carry yourself. Sharp, raw, unapologetic. Makes me wanna…watch you. Talk to you. Fuck, I don’t even care what you think about me, I just—want to be around it.”

Y/N blinked, her smug shield wobbling ever so slightly. She opened her mouth, but no words came out, so she just took another sip of wine, cheeks heating.

“Look at you,” he continued, voice softer now but still teasing. “Trying to act all untouchable, cool. But you’re not. Not really. I see it. You’re fire, and I don’t think I can or—want to—look away.”

She swallowed, flustered but masking it with a scoff. “Wow. That’s…fucking bold. You’re either insane or too full of yourself.”

“Maybe both,” he said, shrugging, that damn smirk curling on his lips again. “But it’s true. You got me fucked up, model.”

Her pulse kicked, her fingers tightening unconsciously around the stem of the wine glass. She was aware of how he was staring—like he could read every thought she didn’t want anyone to see—and it was equal parts annoying and thrilling.

“Mm,” he hummed, almost approvingly, letting the silence linger, letting the tension thicken between them like static in the air. “Yeah. I’m definitely…interested. Not saying I’m good at words, but there it is. You got my attention, and fuck me, I don’t want it back.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to sound unaffected, though her chest betrayed her, fluttering like a caged bird. “Okay, Kook. I hear you. Don’t get too cocky just ‘cause you noticed me.”

He leaned back, still studying her, eyes glinting with amusement. “Cocky? Me? Never. Just…honest. And seriously…fuck, you’re something else.”

Her brain scrambled. She could feel her pulse in her throat, her cheeks on fire. She had zero intention of looking like she was affected. So she shoved the topic elsewhere—sort of. “So…you gonna teach me how to drive, or what?” she asked, voice pitched like it was nothing.

“You don’t know how to drive?” he laughed, sharp and amused, the kind that makes your bones vibrate.

Y/N pushed his shoulder with the tip of her fingers, mock irritation masking the flutter in her chest. “No, I meant like…racing driving. You know, the fun, illegal, adrenaline-fueled shit.”

Jungkook’s gaze swept her up and down, chin raised, that sexy, calculated look that made her want to bite her lip. “Bet,” he said, grin wide and teasing.

Without warning, he leapt off the hood and offered his hand. She eyed him suspiciously, then allowed herself to be hauled down like a reluctant accomplice. His grip was firm, just enough to make her fingers tingle where they brushed against his.

He packed the wine, grapes, and fancy snacks back into the trunk with the precision of someone who did everything fast but right. She couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him, the moonlight catching the edges of his jaw, the way his muscles flexed as he moved—like a goddamn action figure come to life.

Finally, he slid into the passenger seat with a grin that dared her to roll her eyes. Y/N smirked back, hands on the wheel, the car purring beneath her like it knew it was part of this chaotic, charged energy.

“Ready to fuckin’ fly?” she asked, voice full of teasing fire.

“Born ready,” he said, voice low, smirk still there, leaning back casually but somehow impossible to ignore. “Don’t fuck this up, model.”

“Ha,” she muttered, turning the key and feeling the engine roar beneath her. “Me? Fuck up? You wish, cocky pants.”

And just like that, the neon city sprawled beneath them, the curving Gwanaksan Road ahead, and the night stretched wide like a promise of chaos and thrill.

The engine roared like it was alive, its growl vibrating through her bones as Y/N’s hands gripped the wheel tight enough to leave crescent-shaped impressions in her palms. The neon lights from the city below streaked past like molten paint, splashing blues, pinks, and golds across her dashboard. The wind screamed past the windows, tugging at her hair and the hem of her dress, and somewhere in the back of her mind, a part of her loved it.

Jungkook leaned just a fraction closer, his shoulder brushing hers as she hit the next bend. His presence was like a jolt of electricity in her chest—every inhale felt sharper, every exhale hotter. Adrenaline coursed through her veins like champagne fizzing up too fast, and she couldn’t tell if it was the speed or him—or maybe the perfect, messy combination of both.

“Faster,” he said, voice low, teasing, but laced with something dangerous. “You’re holding back.”

Her pulse spiked, a rush that made her stomach flip in beautiful chaos. “And you want me to die or something?” she yelled over the roar, laughing despite herself.

“Not die,” he shot back with a cocky grin. “Feel alive. Feel like you’re flying. Like—like this is just ours.”

Her laughter twisted into a sharp, breathless gasp as she pushed the gas a little more, the car sliding just enough in the corner to make her heart jackhammer. The tires screamed, hugging the asphalt like it was made for them alone. Every twist and swerve sent butterflies shooting up her spine, fluttering wildly, tumbling over themselves. Every glance she stole at him—his cheekbones, the dangerous curve of his smirk, the intensity in his dark eyes—made the butterflies multiply, like they were doing laps in her chest.

“You’re insane,” she yelled, grinning so wide she felt dizzy.

“Yeah? I like it when my passengers are insane too,” he shot back, leaning a little closer, letting his arm brush hers again. His warmth seeped through her skin, hot and grounding against the chaos.

The city fell away behind them as the mountain road twisted tighter, hugging the cliffs with drops that vanished into blackness. The ocean reflected the moonlight far below, a silver slash against the ink-black night. Y/N’s breath came in quick, messy pants, mixing with the engine’s roar and the wind’s wild howl. Jungkook’s hand brushed hers on the joystick to correct a swerve, fingers lingering, the touch electric and teasing, and she nearly forgot how to breathe entirely.

And then, it happened.

She laughed at something—maybe his teasing, maybe the rush itself—and for the first time tonight, he caught it: her gummy smile. Wide, unguarded, impossibly bright, teeth catching the neon in little shards of light. Her eyes crinkled just a little at the corners, not rehearsed, not practiced. Just pure, chaotic Y/N.

Jungkook felt like someone had dropped a live wire straight into his chest. His lungs tightened, stupidly, painfully, in the best way. Heat pooled low in his belly, blooming like fireflowers. His heart wasn’t just racing from the speed—it was hammering for her. Every nerve ending tingled, alive with something reckless and intoxicating.

He wanted to grin back. Wanted to lean over and touch her just to see it again. Wanted to memorize it, like it was a goddamn tattoo etched in his mind. His mind went fuzzy at the edges, all the things he usually felt sharp and in control—his arrogance, his cocky confidence—somehow melted into a puddle of giddy, lover-boy chaos.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, loud enough only for himself. “She’s unreal.”

The butterflies weren’t just in her chest—they mirrored in his own, tumbling, fluttering, colliding with the heat of desire that thumped through his veins. He caught himself staring too long, aware and unapologetic. If this car had been a cage, he wouldn’t have wanted out—not with her there, that smile lighting up his world like fireworks caught in slow motion.

“You’re crazy,” she gasped again, but there was awe behind it now. Pure, giddy awe.

“Not crazy,” he said, voice low, raspier. “Dangerous. Fast. Like this moment. Like you.”

She choked on her laugh, heart thumping so hard she felt it in her throat. The road curled ahead, a ribbon of asphalt lit by neon streaks, and she leaned into it, following the curve with perfect synchronicity, feeling every vibration through her hands, through her spine, through her chest.

Jungkook’s eyes never left hers, watching the way she grinned, gummy and unguarded, like she was untouchable, untamed, like the world was theirs for the taking. And maybe, in that stretch of night, it was.

“Look at you,” he breathed, not a question. “Driving like you’ve done this a thousand times.”

“Fuck you,” she said, laughing breathless, “like you’re any better.”

He leaned a fraction closer again, the scent of him sharp in her nose—cigarette smoke, leather, something wild and untamed—and she felt the butterflies dive, crash, and spiral in her stomach like they were holding a rave.

The road dropped them back toward the city, the skyline a river of lights ahead, and for a moment, Y/N felt like she could scream just to hear the thrill echo in the mountains, just to let the chaos of speed and heat and Jungkook’s proximity consume her.

She grinned, gummy and unguarded, and he caught it fully, like a thief stealing something priceless. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, more to himself than her, voice low, breathless, dangerous.

“Yeah, yeah,” she panted, slapping his shoulder playfully. “You really trying to make me fall for you at two hundred kilometers an hour?”

He only laughed, the sound rolling over her like thunder, and leaned back just enough to give her a taste of freedom and danger all at once.

And somewhere deep in the wind and engine’s roar, Y/N knew she’d never forget this—her heart pinned between the asphalt and him, wild and reckless, alive.

The engine was quieter now, the roar softened to a steady purr as Y/N navigated the final stretch back to her neighborhood. The city lights reflected off the windshield in fractured lines, painting her face in warm, golden streaks. Jungkook didn’t take his eyes off her. Not just because she was driving—he could watch her do anything—but because she looked effortless, like a goddess casting spells without meaning to. Every line of her jaw, every movement of her fingers on the wheel, was mesmerizing.

“You drive too well,” he finally said, voice low, teasing, but with a hint of awe.

She shot him a look over her shoulder, lips twitching. “Oh? And here I thought I was just barely surviving your insane speed.”

“Barely surviving?” he scoffed, leaning back in the seat, “Baby, you were untouchable back there. You didn’t even flinch.”

She smirked, finally letting a little smugness slip. “Well, I’m not exactly a rookie, unlike someone I know who seems to think the gas pedal is optional.”

Jungkook chuckled, the sound soft but magnetic. “Touché. You’re ruthless.” His gaze traced her face again, the way the streetlights caught the angles of her cheekbones, her eyelashes casting delicate shadows. He felt heat crawling up his neck—something about the quiet here, after the chaos of the mountain, made her radiance even more dangerous.

They hit the main drop off to her mansion. Y/N eased the car around the curve, wheels crunching over the gravel with precision. The lights from the estate bloomed in the distance, illuminating a sprawling façade of stone and glass, fountains throwing liquid light into the night. Jungkook’s jaw practically dropped.

“Damn,” he breathed, almost to himself. “Yoongi… living like this with a bomb-ass woman as a sister. Fuck.”

Y/N caught him staring, eyebrows raised. “You okay over there? Space cadet much?”

He shook his head, grin returning. “Yeah… yeah, just… wow. This place. Holy shit.”

She laughed, that rich, teasing sound that made him want to lean across the hood and pull her closer. “Welcome to my humble abode,” she said, rolling her eyes.

They both stepped out of the car, the night breeze ruffling her braid, tugging at his leather jacket. Jungkook’s eyes lingered on her, tracing the confident set of her shoulders, the sway in her hips as she moved. He could feel the lingering warmth of her from the car, and it made his chest tighten in a delicious, infuriating way.

“So… safe drive home?” he asked, voice playful, stepping just a little closer as she crossed the gravel toward him.

“Yeah,” she said, hands on her hips, sass fully activated. “Safe and spectacular. But don’t think I’m giving you a trophy for this, asshole.”

“I’m not looking for a trophy,” he countered, eyes glinting. “I’m just… impressed. That’s all.” He tilted his head, studying her like he wanted to memorize her. “You’re… a lot of things.”

“Oh really?” she shot back, mockingly curious. “Do tell, Jungkook. Enlighten me with your deep thoughts.”

He smirked, letting the teasing tone drip from every word. “Dangerous. Brilliant. Stubborn as fuck. Gorgeous as hell. And—fuck—funny. You’re really, really fun to watch.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes but there was heat behind it, that mix of amusement and awareness that he was hitting too close to something she didn’t want to admit.

They lingered, the night quiet except for the distant hum of city life. He reached up, fingers brushing her jawline, thumb grazing her chin in the softest, most deliberate way. Y/N froze, blinked, and for a heartbeat, the air between them crackled. Then he let it slide off slowly, that touch lingering in her skin even after he pulled back.

“See you, baby,” he whispered, low and magnetic, the words melting into the night.

Y/N’s gummy smile faltered just slightly, a slow curve disappearing as she turned and walked up the steps toward the mansion. Jungkook leaned against the car, arms crossed, watching her go, letting her disappear inside before he finally walked back to the driver’s side, still grinning like a man who’d just stolen a secret.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

The mansion swallowed her whole.

No humming AC. No clinking glasses from the kitchen. No whispered footsteps from staff. Just silence — thick, heavy, pressing against her skull while Jungkook’s laugh still echoed somewhere in the back of her mind.

Great. Just what she fucking needed.

More noise inside her head.

Jungkook’s voice. His laugh. The way the streetlights kissed his jaw. The fucking hoodie still clinging to her skin like a bad decision she wasn’t ready to regret.

Getting closer to her brother’s rival — no, worse, a racer tangled in illegal shit and underground violence — was the opposite of what she needed. She didn’t need drama. She didn’t need adrenaline. She definitely didn’t need him.

And yet.

He hadn’t scared her. Hadn’t cornered her. Hadn’t made her feel small. If anything… she’d felt safe. Annoyingly so.

She climbed the stairs, dragging the mess of her thoughts behind her. Halfway down the hallway, she paused — eyes flicking to the door a few steps away.

Yoongi’s room. Closed. Dark. Silent.

Good.

He was probably asleep. She didn’t have the energy for him tonight. She didn’t even have the energy for herself.

Her hand wrapped the handle to her bedroom door. Turn. Push—

She flicked on the lights. And stopped breathing.

“YO— what the fuck?!”

Yoongi sat on her bed like a goddamn gargoyle, arms crossed so tight his knuckles were white. His chest rose slow and deep — the kind of breathing people did right before they snapped. His eyes were knives.

He didn’t even blink.

“What are you doing in my room?” Y/N demanded, stepping back like distance might dull the burn of his glare. His reply shot out instantly.

“What are you doing in Jungkook’s car. Wearing Jungkook’s hoodie. With Jungkook.” He said his name like it tasted like poison.

Her stomach dropped. She looked down.

Right. The hoodie.

Still on. Wrapped around her like a fucking billboard.

Fuck.

“How did you even know?” she tried, voice sharp, defensive, exhausted.

“Heard a car,” he said flatly. “Came to your room. Balcony has a clear fucking view.” He jerked his chin toward it. “Saw you step out of his car. In his hoodie. Saw him touch your fucking face.”

Her stomach twisted.

“Ugh—oh my god, Yoong, you’re overreacting.”

He scoffed. He stood. Quickly.

“You think this is an overreaction?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. He took a step closer. “You know exactly who he is. You know the shit he’s in. And you go out with him? Alone?”

“It wasn’t—” she started. “He didn’t do anything,” she snapped back. “We drove. We talked—that’s it. Calm your fucking balls.”

Yoongi laughed — humourless. Sharp. “Calm down? You went out with Black Reign’s fucking leader and you want me calm?”

She felt heat crawl up her neck. “He didn’t do anything.”

“That’s the problem,” Yoongi shot back. “He will.”

Silence crackled. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears — not fear. Frustration. Shame. Something twisted in her ribcage.

“He’s not some…rabid dog, Yoongi.”

“No,” he muttered, eyes burning. “He’s worse. He’s smart.”

She scoffed. “Wow. Okay. Since when did you become his character analyst?”

His jaw flexed. “Since he decided to drag you into his shit.”

“He didn’t drag me anywhere,” she snapped, finally raising her voice. “I went. On my own. And nothing happened to me.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No,” he shot back, taking a step toward her. “The point is you went out with him. Alone. After everything I told you—after everything Marquise told you!”

She scoffed. “I didn’t sign a fucking contract with you.”

His eyes flashed. “You’re my sister.”

“And I’m not five.”

Silence stretched — taut and ugly.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping in front of her. “You think this is just some…cocky asshole with a fast car? That world eats people alive.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re acting like I ran off to join a gang.” Her brows flew up as she tried to let Yoongi get the irony. “Shouldn’t be an issue if you’re in one too. Bonus, you’re even the leader!” Sarcasm hit.

“You’re standing in his clothes.”

That landed harder than she expected.

She swallowed. “It was cold.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“It’s the truth.”

His voice softened — barely. “I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

Her chest tightened.

“You don’t get to decide that,” she said quietly.

“I get to worry,” he snapped. “I get to lose my fucking mind thinking about you getting hurt.”

Something cracked behind her ribs.

“You can’t protect me from everything,” she said. “And you can’t project your shit onto him.”

He froze. “What the hell does that mean?”

She hesitated — then sighed. “It means you’re scared. And you’re taking it out on me.”

His shoulders sagged just a little.

“I lost mom,” he said hoarsely. “I’m not losing you.”

The room went still. Y/N’s anger dimmed, guilt creeping in like fog.

“I’m fine,” she said softer. “Nothing happened.”

He looked away for a second — like even seeing it hurt. Then back at her.

“I’m not…mad at you,” he said, quieter — though his voice still trembled with anger. “Y-you’re right—I’m scared.”

That disarmed her more than yelling ever could’ve.

She swallowed. “Don’t be,” she tried — but it came out small.

“I have to be,” he said. “You don’t see what I see. What he does. What…that world is.”

She said nothing. Because she could still feel Jungkook’s hand ghosting her skin. His laugh. His stupid fucking wine. His stupid fucking gentleness he pretended wasn’t real. And she hated that a part of her wanted to defend him.

Yoongi scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling hard. “I don’t want you anywhere near him again. I’m serious, Y/N.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

Her chest felt tight — rebellion curling under her ribs — but guilt was louder. Exhaustion heavier.

She nodded once. Not agreement. Just… acknowledgment. But Yoongi didn’t know that.

Yoongi studied her one last time — searching her face for something he didn’t find — then brushed past her toward the door.

He paused at the threshold.

“And take that fucking hoodie off,” he muttered.

Then he left. Leaving her alone with silence. And Jungkook’s warmth wrapped around her shoulders.

And feelings she did NOT sign up for.

previous ❯❯❯❯ next

hiya luves!! i just wanted to briefly thank all of you who’s been showing your support towards my first ever work on tumblr. its so flipping intimidating to post here but i feel so loved and motivated to create more when you guys spread the love 😓 so thankchuu so so much and i hope you enjoyed this chapter! lowkey, i feel like yoongi’s getting a little annoying, that’s on me 🥹. luv ya gais mwahhh 💗💗

- 𝐒𝜗𝜚

[petalmelt]

She did amazing on this. I love how she says this was her first story but looks like she’s written over 5 books. I love how depth she has in her stories. Can’t wait for the rest of the series.

[matchastwb]

ᯓ ➤ BOYFRIEND HOTLINE | JJK | SESSION FOUR

synopsis: need a shoulder to cry on or someone to get you off late at night? fear not, because boyfriend hotline is a brand new app that will match you with someone who is more than happy to fulfill any of your boyfriend-related needs.

genre: jjk x reader (fem), smau mini-series, smut, fluff, crack

tags/warnings: phone sex, he calls her a brat and princess, mentions of getting slapped, big dildo, mutual masturbation, voyeurism, orgasms, minor angst towards the end, they have deep talks!

wc: 7.0k (woohoo!)

a/n: heyyyy guys... *tentatively peeks head through door* im sorry it's taken me a literal month to update this, it's a written chapter and i had a lot of big life stuff going on so i've just been so busy fjasdjfjf IM SORRY! but shout out to @gukcnt and @lluciboo for being the number 1 fans like i love u guys sm. and despite how long it took, i actually had SOO much fun writing this teehee. so i hope u guys love it too! as always thank u sm for being here, enjoy!!!

series masterlist | main masterlist

Shuffling in bed, you position your phone so that when Jungkook picks up, he can see your face and chest clearly, maybe only getting a glimpse of the cream-colored headboard behind you.

You check your reflection in your phone camera, touch up your face with some lipgloss from your bedside table, and take a deep breath before hitting “start one-time video call.” 

Heart pounding. Palms sweating. Hands trembling—to the point that you almost press the wrong button. But you don’t, and the phone starts to ring. 

Good thing you already have your “pretty” pajamas on, you think, which just consists of white Brandy Melville booty shorts and a pink skin-tight spaghetti-strap tank top. No bra. 

Fuck. Your nipples poke through a little. You hide, bringing your covers above your chest and tucking them into your armpits as you wait for Jungkook to pick up. 

Does your hair look okay? Do your dark circles show? You clear your throat, shaking your head and trying to calm yourself. He’s just Jungkook. The guy you’ve sexted a few times and may or may not have developed a small crush on and gotten slightly (very) emotionally attached to. 

Yup. Just Jungkook. Any moment now, he’d appear on the screen. 

After five rings, he finally does.

Your breath catches. Holy shit.

Your heart thrashes in your chest, doing somersaults and all kinds of acrobatics when you finally get a good look at him. 

His hair looks fluffier than in his picture, and his features appear softer as well. He’s sitting on what is presumably his couch, wearing a devilishly tight black Nike compression shirt. When he shifts slightly, you can see his grey sweatpants and a sliver of his signature Calvin Klein underwear. 

Unsurprisingly, he is gorgeous. 

What is surprising is how freaking cute he is when he smiles.

“Hey there, pretty lady.”

Oh screw that. His voice is the most pornographic thing you’ve ever heard—soft, low, and manly in a way that doesn’t intimidate but still feels gravelly.

Maybe you’re just losing your mind, but you can almost feel his breath tumbling from your speakers. He also sounds annoyingly smug—so much so that you want to scoff out loud.

“Hi,” you reply, fighting the awkward tinge in your voice. “So this thing really works, huh?”

You wonder if you sound as nervous as you are. 

“Well, we are here, aren’t we?” He brushes his hair back with his hand, which you notice is inked with intricate tattoos. “So princess, do I look as good as I do in my picture?”

He really does—even better, in fact—and that makes you go a little bit insane, but you sure as well aren’t going to show it.

“No comment.” 

He chuckles, huffing out a half-laugh through his nose. “Crumbs. That’s all you give me, princess, crumbs.”

You roll your eyes. “Again, I’m not the service provider, you are. I don’t have to ‘give’ you anything.”

“Fiesty as always,” he says good-naturedly. “Lucky for you, I’m into that. You look really good, by the way. Profile picture doesn’t do you justice—you’re way cuter.”

You try not to be swayed by his kind words. He’s just doing this because he’s getting paid to, you remind yourself.

“Ever the sweet-talker, huh?” You force a neutral—maybe somewhat stern expression on your face. “So tell me, what is it that you needed to say so badly but couldn’t say over text?”

He takes a deep breath, repositioning the camera slightly. 

“Alright,” he sighs. “I guess we’ll get right into it then.”

“Sure. Let’s hear it.”

Curiosity peeks through your voice despite your efforts to sound bored.

“I wanted to tell you about Yumi.” Your lungs stop working for a moment. He continues. “She’s probably my most regular client—and she’s been with me the longest.”

Yumi—the girl whose comment sent you spiralling for a good few hours—is his oldest and most frequent client. Not shocking, but still painful. 

Really, you have no reason to be hurt. This is what you signed up for: a service provider. A boyfriend for thirty minutes. Something temporary and transactional. Of course he’d have other clients. 

But something about seeing another girl claim to have “such a special connection” with him gave you a reality check. You were getting too possessive and emotionally invested over a man that wouldn’t have spared you a second glance if you weren’t putting money into his pockets.

 Yes, it’s true that you are underfucked. Yes, you’ve been particularly lonely recently.

Your last relationship ended with you chucking another girl’s underwear towards your ex and storming out of his apartment in tears, certain that your sexual desires were far too obscene and that’s what drove him away from you.

Your last date ended with you finishing an entire bottle of wine by yourself at some overpriced Italian restaurant, stumbling home with a broken heel. 

Still, that doesn’t mean you can just start falling for some guy who’s being paid to text you. Unfortunately, Jungkook is making it really hard to not do just that.

“But I want you to know that she’s really nothing special to me. I think she likes me a lot because, well, she kind of knows me in real life and we have similar social circles. It’s kind of an unspoken secret between us: the fact that she’s horny enough to use this app and the fact that I’m broke enough to have this kind of job.”

“I see.”

So they know each other in real life. And they probably lock eyes whenever they attend the same parties and gatherings, laughing silently to each other as their sexts from the night before resurface their minds. Totally cool.

“But aside from that, she’s really just another client. A little clingy, yes, but still a client. I’ve never seen her as anything else.”

“Really? Seems like the perfect plot for some trashy smutty Tumblr fanfiction.” Each word feels like biting into a brick. “You sext someone on some dating app and then find them in your friend group the next day and then hook up in a club bathroom afterwards.”

“It’s not like that, I swear—” he cuts himself off to let out an exasperated breath, “—I’ve only seen her in real life like, twice. And I’ve never hooked up with any clients.”

Your heart stutters.

“All she does during our sessions is rant about her life and I tell her to—I don’t fucking know—forget about it and focus on talking to me instead. She likes that, I guess. But honestly, I don’t really care. It’s the same fucking routine every time. But with you—” he stops for a moment to laugh, “—you’re always surprising me. You don’t make things easy. And I like that a lot.”

Although he’s just a moving image behind your screen, you can see the vulnerability in his face and the desperation in his voice. He’s probably infringing on some employee contract, telling you private details about his sessions with another client.

“Why are you even telling me this?”

He gives a half-hearted snicker, leaning back onto his couch with a sigh. The call’s static whirrs as he thinks of a response. 

“I don’t know,” he says. You can tell it’s an honest answer. “But I couldn’t stand the thought of you thinking that you’re just another client to me.”

“If I’m not just another client,” you start, voice almost giving up on you, “What am I?”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“I… don’t know,” he finally replies. You’re not sure if that’s the answer you wanted, but his sincerity shakes you nonetheless. “I don’t know what you are to me, but I know that you’re… special. And I wanted you to know that too.”

You shift slightly in your bed, searching for a suitable response. 

You don’t want to give in and tell him how much you look forward to talking to him. You don’t want to admit how much of an effect he has on you. But here he is, pouring his heart out, and what can you even give in return?

“Do you believe me?” he asks.

 What kind of game does he think he’s playing? And why does it feel like he’s winning?

You stare at him through your phone screen and consider your next move as he looks at you anxiously, his composed facade flickering away with every second that you leave him hanging. A part of you wants to let it go and move on, while the darker, more evil part of you wants to make him beg for forgiveness, even though he hasn’t technically done anything wrong.

The latter part prevails. 

So, you choose to be annoying—to piss him off—and make him feel as bad as you did when you saw Yumi’s review and his reply.  Make him consider dropping the whole Boyfriend Hotline thing altogether to pursue you as his one and only client instead. 

Selfish? Yes. Sorry? No.

“I guess I believe you,” you start. “But I hope you don’t start thinking that you’re necessarily anything special to me, though.”

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Haven’t I told you? I’ve been talking to other guys, too. I only use you when I want a quick fix. I mean, isn’t that what Boyfriend Hotline is for?”

A moment of stunned silence passes. 

Then, he laughs, boyish and low with his head thrown back and Adam’s apple bobbing. 

“You’re really trying to piss me off, aren’t you?” 

“Not particularly trying,” you lie, biting your lip. “Am I, though?”

“I expect nothing less from a brat.” Anger looks good on him, you think. “Are you really that jealous?”

“Jealous? More like offended,” you scoff. “You say all this shit about wanting me so bad only to do the same thing to ten other girls, probably. I’m not a fan of liars.”

You intend to be mean. You want to make him panic. But you’re amused—a little giddy at his previous confession—and it shows in the playful lilt of your voice, which he no doubt notices. 

His eyes darken. 

“I promise, no other girl has turned me on the way you have.” 

“Oh yeah?” You smile slowly. Sinister. Bold. “Then prove it.”

You’ve folded. He’s won. You know it and so does he.

“And how would you like me to do that?”

Fuck playing hard to get. Fuck making him feel bad or guilty or whatever.  He’s right there—eyes glued to you, desperate for your attention—and you want him. Badly.

“Show me.” Your mouth goes dry. “Show me what I do to you.”

His face hardens, staring at you intently through the screen.

“Only if you do exactly as I say, dumb brat,” he finally says, practically grunting. “You want me to jerk off to you? Then give me a show, princess.”

This is really happening. You muster all of the courage you have and ignore the somersaults in your stomach.

“Deal.”

He smirks. You squirm.

“Wait,” he commands sharply, standing up and bringing his phone with him. 

“Where are you taking me?”

You catch blurred glimpses of his house as he walks by. Eventually, he sets you down on a counter and faces you towards tile walls.

“Bathroom,” he mumbles into the microphone, voice tickling your ears. “I’ll be back.”

He disappears for a moment, and you hear the sound of doors opening and closing along with his urgent footsteps. 

Without you realizing it, your covers rolled down mid call, revealing your hardened nipples and the curve of your chest through the thin fabric of your tank top. Lifting your covers, you sneak a hand into your panties, marveling at the slick gushiness that returns. 

Alright, so when the fuck did that happen? You really need to get fucked soon. You can’t be getting this turned on by a man behind a screen.

You hear a door open, and then close. Jungkook enters the frame.

Except this time, he’s shirtless, only wearing his low-hanging grey sweatpants, which have been pulled down even more, somehow, providing a clearer view of his happy trail and white Calvin Klein boxers. 

But even more surprising is his fucking body. Not only does he have a full fucking sleeve of tattoos, going all the way from his knuckles to his collarbones, but he has a full on six-pack, with broad shoulders and biceps that look like they can crush you with a single curl. 

“Like what you see?” He seems amused by your ogling.

From the tiny corner at the top of your phone, you realize that all he’s seeing is your wide eyes as you hold the phone close to your face and gawk at him. 

“Shut up.” You move the camera to show a more respectable angle of your face. 

He grins, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

“Never gonna say a nice thing to me?”

“Never.” 

“So cute,” he murmurs under his breath, as if it isn’t meant for you to hear. “Anyways, I have a surprise for you.”

That catches your attention. “A surprise?”

“Mhm.”

You wait. He doesn’t say shit about the “surprise.” 

“What is it?” you finally ask. 

He snorts, beefy arms caging the frame as he leans down. “Well, you’re going to have to earn it, brat. Where’s my show?”

Fuck. Right. 

You’re the one who has to turn him on right now. Why the hell did you say that earlier?

“I can’t believe you always make me do stuff first,” you grumble, sitting up and pulling down your covers. “Worst service provider ever.”

He takes the jab easily. “Alright, alright,” he concedes. “How about I help you get started?”

You nod. “Yes please.”

A slow, amused chuckle. So he finds this cute. 

“Why don’t you start by showing me what you’re wearing tonight, princess?”

God, Jungkook’s voice should be illegal. If he ever switches his profession to an audiobook reader, you think that he can make even your required readings sound interesting.

Gulping, you lay down flat, swinging your covers to the side, and slowly dragging the camera down. 

From his perspective, he’d be seeing your body from a bird's eye view. Your shorts have rolled up slightly, showing off more of your thighs, and your tank top’s equally a mess, straps down, nipples poking through, belly button playing peek-a-boo.

The reaction is immediate.

His lips part, breath spilling out in a desperate huff, and his eyes go matte, pupils dilating as he leans toward the phone camera with two hands on the sink counter as if steadying himself somehow.

“Like what you see?” you mirror his earlier line.

He acts composed. “Mhm, I really do,” he mumbles, voice rumbling close to the camera. 

The sudden coldness from the absence of your covers gives you goosebumps.

“Want to… see more?”

“Yeah.”

Heart hammering against your chest, you lift up your tank top, letting the cotton pool at your collarbones. Your boobs are exposed, nipples already embarrassingly hard. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Wanna touch yourself?”

Over text, you didn’t have too many reservations about saying dirty things—it was why you downloaded the app in the first place. But now, when your voice carries your thoughts into the open, it feels more real. Obscene. Lewd. Scandalous. And you love it.

“Hell yeah I do,” he says immediately. “But you know what would really turn me on?”

“Hm?” you hum, breathless already.

“If you touched yourself too.” His voice is quiet. “Can you do that for me, baby?”

Fucking hell. 

You hum an affirmative response.

Suddenly, all of the tension and banter from before is gone. Both of you are silent, anticipating the other’s every move. You can barely speak.

A deep breath. 

Okay, you can do this. You set your phone down, propping it against a pillow at the edge of the bed so that it can stand up without you physically holding it. 

He watches as your tank top falls back down, covering your body again.

A show. You have to give him a show, you think. There must be dozens of girls who he’d seen naked before over video call. For goodness sake, he makes girls masturbate for a living.

You want to stand out.  

From the drawer at the bottom of your bedside table, you take out a dildo. His breath hitches, eyes trained on you like a hawk. 

You gulp, your saliva feeling like cotton.

You get on your knees, sit on your heels, and check the tiny corner at the top of your screen to see what you look like to him.

The purple, bumpy dildo is front and center. You’re right behind it, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, and chest heaving. Your bed, large with fluffy white covers, serves as a backdrop.

“That motherfucker is huge,” he finally comments. “Are you sure you can take it, princess?”

“How big are you?” 

He snickers. “Bigger than that.”

“Then yes. I can.”

His eyes twitch and stomach clenches. You marvel at the reaction. 

A bulge starts to form at his sweatpants—or maybe it’s been there for a while and you’ve only just now noticed. A small area is splotted dark from his precum. Holy shit. Are you even breathing? 

“Fuck,” he finally leans back, starting to gently palm his cock through his sweatpants. “Take off that fucking top. Wanna see your tits.”

Wordlessly, you comply, pulling it off and inviting the cold that bites your skin. 

He physically chokes out a breath seeing you topless, properly, for the first time. 

You take the liberty to roll down your shorts, as well, ignoring the wet spot at the crotch area. 

The grip on his cock gets tighter.

You see his chest rising and falling faster. The arm that’s still holding onto the sink counter flexes involuntarily. It’s like his whole body spasms with every move you make. 

“Touch yourself.”

The permission is more needed than you’d like to admit. 

“How?”

“Start with those pretty tits of yours,” he says immediately. “Slow circles. Pinch them a little if you want. Tease yourself.”

You nod in response, warmth tingling between your thighs. Electricity at the pit of your stomach.

When you touch your nipples, your head feels light. You can’t help but let out a soft, desperate sigh. Your eyes close, eyebrows scrunching up as pleasure wraps around you. 

“Show me that pussy.” He tugs down his sweatpants and boxers in one go, his dick springing to life and slapping against his stomach. “Been dying to see it.”

You think you’ve seen big dicks before. But, he’s… not just big; he’s girthy, with veins so thick they could probably carve entire canals in your walls. So pretty. So pink. Deliciously leaking with precum. 

You comply, sitting back and spreading your legs, baring your womanhood to the camera. 

“Look at you, talking shit when you’re already this wet.” He stares at you, eyes clouded with desire. “Fucking brat. You’re dripping all over the place for me.”

You don’t reply, instead responding by starting to rub gentle circles on your clit. Your head falls back, a hiss slipping from your mouth. Your other hand comes up to tweak at your nipples, which elicits another whimper.

He spits on his hand—eyes never leaving you for a moment—and he starts pumping his length slowly. 

“Pretty girl,” he coos. 

On the screen, you see him hunched over, one hand on his shaft, and the other pressed on the counter by his phone. His tattooed arm flexes with every pump, abs twitching with every choked breath as he loses himself in the sight of you.

Fuck. You need more. So, you slide two fingers inside. Your pussy welcomes the stretch, but it’s not enough. Not enough when you curl them against your gummy walls. Not enough when you drag them in and out, letting your juices drip down and drench your bedsheets.

But still, Jungkook is watching you touch yourself. And it does something to you. It really does.

“So fucking pretty,” he pants. “God I wish I was there. I want to touch you so bad.”

You imagine how it’d feel—his hands on your body, his nose on your clit, tongue sliding through your folds.

“Yeah?” you reply, feeling breathless yourself, your ecstasy growing with every time you jam your fingers into your throbbing cunt. “What would you do if you were here?”

“I’d fucking ruin you.” He grits his teeth. “I’d suck the life out of those perfect little tits of yours and use my fingers to make you cry for me.”

With three fingers inside now, you curl them against your throbbing walls, arching your back when the pleasure it brings has you quivering. He continues.

“You’d beg me to make you cum. But before you can, I’ll stop, and then I’ll slap you in the fucking face when you complain about it.”

You think of Jungkook slapping you—stinging and leaving a mark—then cupping your face with those huge, warm hands, gently wiping away your tears and calling you a princess. Telling you that you did so good after mercilessly denying you an orgasm.

“And you’ll like it.”

You hate that he’s right.

“Then I’ll make you cry and slobber all over my dick,” he grunts, picking up the pace.

Holy shit.  You can feel your pulse in every fiber of your being, thumb rolling at your clit as you fuck yourself silly with your fingers.

“And after that I’ll fuck you all night until you can’t even remember your own name.”

Holy fucking shit. Your back arches, your skin crawls—you’re already embarrassingly close.

He’s fucking his fist, wet sounds echoing through his bathroom to your speakers. His eyes screw shut for a short moment before he glares at you.

“Don’t you dare think about finishing right now,” he snaps. “You’ll come when I tell you to.”

You all but whimper in response, forcing yourself to slow down. Body twitching all over, you will yourself to stop, pulling your soaked fingers out of your sopping cunt, panting hard.

He spits in his hand one last time, using it to give himself a few more pumps before coming to a halt as well.

A breathless chuckle. His face is flushed, a thin sheen of sweat all over. “I think you earned your surprise, princess.”

Still catching your breath, you watch curiously as he grabs something from behind the camera.

It’s a marker. A permanent black marker. Must’ve been what he went to get earlier in the call.

A cocky smirk dances on his face as he unscrews the cap. Nothing prepares you for what he does next.

He drags the tip of the marker across his pelvis, ink flooding his smooth, pale skin, slowly weaving through his happy trail.

It spells out… your name. 

Messy. Crooked. But yours. He’s written your name on his body. 

“You think I do this for every client?”  

Oh fuck this shit. His voice is rough and needy, maybe a little bit angry, but it’s everything that’s ever been in your wet dreams. You might actually lose it.

Your thighs squeeze involuntarily—which he notices right away—and your pussy clenches, desperate to be filled up with something. 

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “You’re… insane.”

“You drive me insane, princess.” He chucks the marker away, returning his hold on his shaft. “Now sit on that shit for me and imagine you’re riding my cock.”

How this man has managed to make you so horny through a fucking phone screen needs to be studied. 

The purple dildo seemed intimidating moments before, but now you’re not even sure if it’ll be enough. You lift up your hips and position the head to your entrance, sighing as you sink down on it slowly.

You’re so fucking wet that you manage to take all of it in practically one go.

Eyes closed, you imagine that the bumps on the dildo are Jungkook’s veins. The mattress you steady yourself on is his sturdy chest. The ticklish bedsheet that meets your pelvis is his.

“Shit,” he grunts under his breath, “You’d take me so fucking well, princess. Fuck—” he grips his length harder, “—wish that were me. So fucking bad.”

“Me too,” you mewl. “I want your cock, Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” Sticky sounds from your speaker. He’s getting impatient, too. “What do you want to do with my cock?”

“I want it inside me.” You start moving up and down, letting the dildo ease your walls from that beautifully stretched-out sensation, only to sink back down a moment later and nearly break yourself in half. “Wanna ride you all night.”

He groans, pupils blown out. “So fucking hot. God, I want you so bad.”

As you repeatedly ram yourself into the dildo, you force yourself to open your eyes and watch the screen.

Low angle. Clenched abs. Huge fucking dick all covered with his spit. Your name on his pelvis in that messy black ink, like a declaration that he’s yours.

Yours. That gets your heart racing. 

His eyes are trained on you: the way your tits bounce with every rise and fall, the way the sheets are soaked underneath you, and the way your face contorts with every high-pitched whimper. 

“Jungkook,” you whine softly, “I’m really close.” 

You rub frantic circles on your spasming bundle of nerves as you bounce up and down, moans and whimpers spilling out of you as you chase your high. A coil of tension tightens at the pit of your stomach. You don’t think you can hold it in much longer.

“Shit, me too,” he whispers, out of breath. His eyebrows are furrowed and he’s heaving—chest quivering like he’s struggling to hold it together.  “Let go for me, princess.”

And you do.

White. Hot. Blinding. Loud. Even you are impressed by your pipes.

Your orgasm comes faster than expected, as if his permission was the final ingredient you needed to let go. You want to hate how well your body responds to him, but you don’t. 

Soon, he too spills out right toward the camera, and you see white ropes dribble down his skin as he lets out several harsh grunts. The ink on his pelvis gets partially splattered with some of his semen—droplets decorating your name.

When you finally slow down and come to a stop, it takes all of your energy to lift yourself off the dildo. It’s a while before you figure out how to breathe normally again.

Your eyes meet. 

Well. He definitely looks like he just had sex, and God, sex looks good on him—hair all tossed up and skin glowing. You’re a clammy mess as well, with sweat all over, your hair sticking to your face, and juices drenching your bedsheets.

Conclusion: he’s a wreck, and so are you. 

He laughs first, delicate. You follow shortly.

“So…” you trail off, “I take it that you like the show?”

“Something like that,” he chuckles, grabbing some tissues to clean up.  “This enough for a raving review?”

He holds the camera over his cock, letting you see the mess you made. 

It’s… everywhere. Dripping down his length to his balls, splattered all over his sink and floor, droplets scattered along his pelvis. You gulp.

He starts wiping himself, muttering when he almost uses up the entire roll of toilet paper, “You goddamn witch.”

You giggle, satisfied, also taking the liberty to clean yourself up with a nearby towel, slipping your Brandy Melville shorts back on. 

A comfortable silence.

There’s a spare hoodie on the floor, which you quickly tug on for warmth. The purple dildo is tossed into your bathroom sink, which you tell yourself you’ll clean later. 

When you return to the phone, you find that Jungkook has taken you to what seems to be his bedroom. 

He’s lying down, snuggled in the covers all cutely as if moments before he wasn’t watching you fuck yourself stupid.

“Hi.”

Oh, so this motherfucker can be cute, too?

You roll your eyes and put your phone on the bedside table. “So this call really never ends?” 

“Nope. I mean, it’s not supposed to, but I’ve never really tested it, either.”

“Has no one else ever used it?” you ask, settling into your bed.

“Oh yeah, one time.” He rolls onto his back and starts chuckling to himself. “This poor old lady thought she was on an app that would connect her with her old boyfriends. I had a hard time explaining things over text so I asked her to say her safeword so I could explain over call instead.”

“No way,” you laugh, “Did she take it well?”

“She was sweet about it, yeah,” he confirms, laughing himself. “She started telling me about all her past boyfriends and everything, actually. Fun day.”

You reply with some quirky comment about how older people never really get embarrassed about anything. He agrees, sharing stories of older clients being completely unashamed of their desires and younger clients always being a little hesitant at first. 

Somehow, the conversation shifts to discussing sweet old ladies you’ve encountered in your lifetime—like the woman who helped him tie a tie for his first job interview, or your favorite teacher in primary school. That leads to you discussing your kindergarten teacher job hunt and your cafe side hustle. 

This is how an hour goes by, just talking. Really talking.

He shares his useless college days where he studied computer science. You tell him about how education majors actually have hard classes. He laughs at your jokes and you can’t help but find him incredibly charming as he rolls around in bed with that fluffy hair and dangerous smile. 

His bedding is all white like yours, and his room is similarly minimalistic, with light-colored curtains and little to no decor. For a moment, you imagine that his image on the screen can melt into reality.

You imagine him lying next to you, telling funny stories and smelling of some manly scent. Your head would lay on his chest, his arm wrapped around you. You’d laugh into his neck and he’d chuckle into the top of your head, pulling you closer. Holding you tight.

Even though you know it’s a fantasy, you can’t help but entertain it.

“So how’s the bar thing going?” you ask, since you realized that you’ve been yapping about your career prospects for a while now.

“Pretty good,” he responds. “We’re set to open in a month, I think? The place is coming together real nice, now that it’s been constructed and all the contracts and boring stuff has been taken care of.”

“That’s so cool,” you say, and you mean it.  “Why a bar?”

He shrugs. “Friends wanted to do it and I was like, why the hell not. I hated my tech job anyway. So I quit and picked up this Boyfriend Hotline thing to do in the meantime since it’s pretty flexible and makes good money.”

“Is that the only reason? Or were you also just enjoying the female attention?” You mean to sound teasing and curious, but it comes out a bit more accusatory than you’d like. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Oh come on,” he chuckles, rolling his eyes. “I just happen to be good at it. Not my fault.”

“Sure, whatever,” you grumble, unimpressed. 

He pauses for a second, shakes his head, and asks, “What about you?” 

“Hm?”

“Getting on Boyfriend Hotline,” he supplies. “We haven’t talked about it too much, but you’re here after a breakup right?” he asks tentatively. “You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to. But I’m just letting you know that I have two ears and they’re great at their job.”

“You can just say that you’re a good listener, you know,” you snicker.

“I like to be poetic.” His tone is lighthearted, but there’s an underlying curiosity—like he actually cares about your answer. 

You decide to tell him.

“Honestly?” you sigh. “My ex and I always had trouble in the… intimacy department. I always thought I was more freaked out than him—like, I’d ask him to call me a slut and he’d go pale—but I found him kind of cute for that so I just let myself be vanilla for him,” you explained. “But then he went and cheated on me, as you know, and it was with some pretty frilly pink petite mousey bitch who—”

He snorts. You glare. 

“I’m sorry—it’s just the way that you described her—”

“What’s so funny about that?” you pout.

“Nothing,” he says, swallowing back a laugh. He exhales, calming down. “Nothing,” he repeats, softer this time. “Sounds like a bitch.”

You chuckle, amused at how he immediately takes your side.

“She’s… alright,” you finally say. “It’s just that—” you stop yourself, sighing in frustration, “—she’s like the mirror version of myself, but better.”

“What do you mean?” he tilts his head.

“Well, to start, she’s also studying education,” you say. “She’s my age, has a similar sense of style, and… she’s really cute. She wears dresses and always has her hair done in some effortless updo. She speaks really softly and covers her mouth when she laughs. She doesn’t curse and always has a first-aid kit in her bag. She’s just that type of girl, you know?”

In the silence that follows, you think about Mina.

Everyone teased that you guys could practically be sisters with how you were both so soft and sweet. But you knew that you were always just a little bit more rough around the edges. A little more rowdy. You laughed louder. Cussed more. 

Finally, Jungkook says something.

“But how does that make her better?”

You freeze for a moment, unsure of your answer. “Well… I guess people always said we were similar, but it was kind of an unspoken agreement that between the two of us, she was way more suited for teaching kindergarten. They’d say she was born for the job, since she was so naturally sweet and gentle and all.” You laugh dryly. “It just sucks that I wasn’t only competing with her for job positions, but also for my boyfriend, too.”

Because frankly, always being compared to her never made you insecure until your last boyfriend, Jackson Wang. 

He’d only shower you with love when you were… more like her. When you were quiet and submissive and just a cute little thing. He didn’t like it when you talked back. He didn’t like it when you wanted to be called obscene things and actually had an opinion in the bedroom.

So maybe it was no surprise when you walked into his apartment to find condom wrappers and underwear that definitely wasn’t yours on the floor, looking up to find him tangled with her in his bedsheets. 

It was so cliche, you almost laughed—and you kind of wished that you did—instead of losing your shit and throwing things at them before storming off. That only made it more cliche. Didn’t make it hurt less.

“Okay, listen.” He props himself up on his elbows, clearing his throat like he’s about to give a life-changing speech. “I, for one, really like your laugh. I like girls who cuss. I like it when you tell me what you like and when you challenge me.”

His gaze is insistent. You try not to falter under it.

“It honestly seems like he’s just some freak who only likes girls when they’re submissive.” You chuckle a little bit at that. He continues passionately. “He didn’t leave you because she was ‘better’ or whatever—that’s bogus. He left you because he’s an asshole who can’t handle a real, independent woman.” 

At this point, it’s getting harder to control your face. You’re biting your lip, trying to hold back tears. He’s saying all the right things—and you’d be annoyed at how good he is at this if it wasn’t tugging at your heartstrings. 

He pauses, eyes flickering to the side with slight hesitance. 

“But… I can,” he declares. “And as someone who literally talks to women for a living, I’ll go ahead and say that if all of them were lined up against a wall and I could only choose one to hang out with… I’d choose you.”

The bold statement lingers. You try not to break. Just who is he? How can he make you feel this way after having known you for only a little while?

“Thanks,” you finally reply, voice quiet.

He gives a small smile, eyes unwavering and kind. 

“You’re welcome.”

Something has changed. You’re not sure what it is exactly, but you feel it and so does he. There’s tension in the air, tight with a tacit agreement that taking this any further would be really crossing the line.

You hear a buzz from his phone. His face comes closer to the screen as he checks the notification.

“Hey, uh, I think I might have to go now,” he says, a little bit awkward.

“Okay.” You nod, humming lightly. “Your friend?”

He shakes his head. Exhales nervously. “No it’s… it’s actually another client.”

“Oh.” Your stomach drops. 

He looks away. “The safeword thing takes a few hours to work, so I should probably take on a few clients while I can before I’m jobless for the next week,” he jokes, but it doesn’t elicit any laughter.

Right. He’s still being paid to be here. Even if you’re his favorite client—the best among dozens—you’re still a client. Just someone on his phone who he’s being paid to talk to. 

He’s setting that boundary before you start getting any weird ideas.

“Okay,” you reply softly, straining a smile. “This was fun.”

“I should be back in a week,” he says slowly. “Will you request me later?”

There it is. The question. He really does just need you for the money.

“Maybe.”

He chuckles. “So ambiguous.”

You try to laugh, but it’s painful. He notices.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks. “I don’t have to accept every client’s—”

“No,” you cut him off more harshly than you want to. “Go ahead. I’ve already taken up enough of your time, and I don’t want you to be broke.”

You intend to be playful; instead it sounds mean. 

“Alright.” He nods slowly, still not entirely convinced. Your heart pinches. “Are you sure? I can—”

“I’m sure.”

You give an encouraging smile, acting like your whole body didn’t go cold under your covers—like this entire session was purely transactional.  Acting like now that you’ve gotten your needs fulfilled, you’re entirely happy to let him go. 

“Okay,” he finally relents, eyes watching you carefully. “I’ll go.”

You start waving at the camera, giving a soft smile.

“Bye Jungkook,” you say. 

He scooches closer, hand coming up to the phone.

“Alright,” his low voice rumbles. “Goodnight, princess.”

The term of endearment hangs in the air long after he ends the call and your phone screen goes black. You stare at your face in the reflection, unmoving as you gather yourself.

You need to delete the app.

This can’t be good for you—the butterflies, the laughter, and the inevitable heartache that follows. 

You don’t think you can go through this again. With every session, you’ll just keep growing more attached, and you’ll keep getting hurt. It’ll be a vicious cycle that’ll get harder and harder to escape if you let it go for much longer.

With newfound clarity, you sit up straight and grab your phone, fingers trembling as you enter the app for what you hope will be the last time. You should do it while you have the courage.

But before you can press “delete account,” your deranged mind entertains an evil thought.

If he can go play around with other clients, what’s stopping you from requesting sessions with another service provider?

Maybe it’ll give you clarity. It’ll act as a benchmark for your interactions with him. You’ll know what’s normal and what’s not. You’ll learn if everyone is as charming as he is, or if he’s really treating you differently. 

You rationalize why it’d be good for you, but deep down in your heart, a part of you hopes that he’ll find out about you being with another service provider and he’ll feel exactly what you’re feeling right now: jealousy.

You’re not even sure if that’s even possible. But the thought strikes you nonetheless, cementing itself in your mind as the underlying objective behind your next move.

Maybe in a few days, when you’re horny and curious enough, you’ll try it out. Jungkook will be unavailable anyways, right?

You aren’t doing anything wrong, you convince yourself. This is totally fine.

You remove him so that he’s no longer your primary service provider. Click onto the tab where you can look at others. Swallow your guilt with your saliva.  

A few minutes go by as you scroll through profiles. A few catch your eye, a few don’t. You read each person’s blurb, look at their faces, and read their reviews. 

Then finally, you select one.

a/n: *evil laughter* did you guys enjoy!?! let me know pleaseeee i wanna know all your thoughts so bad hehehehe. i went back and forth on this chapter a LOT! i rewrote it like 3 times JFKDSJFLS there was a version with no smut where they just talk actually, but then it got boring because i couldn't describe shit since they are just ON THE PHONE? but im very happy with how the smutty version turned out so! yeah. anyways i dont want to spoil things too much but you can expect smau + written chapters from now on since we are well into the plot now hehe. that also means that updates will be unfortunately slower, but im going to work very hard so that they are worth the wait! thank u sm for being here lovelies!

taglist: comment or reblog with a note to be added!

[petalmelt]

Left on a cliff hanger is lowkey the best. Especially when she does it. Love this sm and the smut omg ate.