pinklasagna

mindful delusions 𓆉 namjoon’s wife (bro trust me)

[riaarivic]

The Space Between Us - Kim Seokjin (BTS Jin) x You - PART 3

🍞 Pairing: Idol!Jin (Kim Seokjin) x Baker-Wife!Reader

The thing about caramel is that it looks perfect a full thirty seconds before it tips. Your husband, Kim Seokjin showed up to your bakery at 11:53PM on a Tuesday and the way he had his mouth on your neck against your own prep table told you everything you needed to know.

Fifteen years knowing him. Ten years together. Four years married. A house always full of food and laughter and Jungkook eating everything that isn't nailed down. Two people stupidly, completely in love — and somehow, without naming it, falling just slightly out of reach of each other.

🍞 Genres: Established Relationship, Smut (married and trying for a baby, do the math), Angst with a Lot of Hope, Hurt/Comfort, Endurance Romance, Found Family, Trying-to-conceive storyline handled with heart, He is obsessed with his wife and it shows, Two stupidly stubborn people learning to ask for help, Kim Seokjin and his laugh (yes that is a genre), Jungkook ate everything in their fridge again

🍞 "Ten years and they still can't keep their hands off each other. The problem isn't the love. It never was." 🍞 Chapter list: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 ⚠️TW: this chapter centers around miscarriage, marriage issues, and miscommunication. if this triggers you in any way, please read at your discretion.

🖤 THE B-SIDE SERIES MASTERLIST

The isomalt cracked.

Again.

You set down the scraper. Looked at the crack. Didn't pick it back up.

It was the third attempt this morning and it was barely six AM and the bakery was empty and quiet — just you and the low hum of the ovens and the specific, terrible stillness of a space that was waiting for the day to start while you were still somewhere inside a night that hadn't ended yet.

You had driven here straight from the house.

Not because you had planned to. Not because there was work that couldn't wait — there was work, there was always work, the event was in eight days and the centerpiece still wasn't right and the wedding catering brief was due by Friday, but that wasn't why you were here at six in the morning with flour on your wrists and your eyes still raw from crying alone in a living room while your husband walked out the door.

You were here because the alternative was going back upstairs. Back to the room that still smelled like him — his cologne, the warmth of him, the specific combination that had meant home to you for ten years — and lying down on sheets that were cold on his side, in a house where Jungkook was asleep down the hall, oblivious and snoring, and Jin was somewhere in the city with his armor back on getting ready to stand in front of cameras and perform like four in the morning hadn't happened.

Like the living room floor hadn't happened. Like he hadn't said there's everything to fix and then walked out the door and left you standing alone in the dark with all of it.

He had given you his entire broken heart and then left.

And you weren't angry. That was the thing — you kept waiting to feel angry, kept looking for it the way you'd look for a light switch in a dark room, because angry would have been easier. Angry would have given you something to do with your hands. But it wasn't there. There was just the grief of it, sitting in you like something waterlogged and heavy, and the quiet, and the particular loneliness of being the person someone loves completely and still leaves.

So you had come here.

And you had started the isomalt because your hands needed something and because the centerpiece still needed to be right and because you had spent your entire adult life solving things you could solve when the things you couldn't were too large to look at directly.

And it had cracked three times more.

You looked at it now — the clean line down the middle, the two halves sitting slightly apart, the thing that was supposed to be beautiful broken on the marble in the grey early light — and something settled in you. Something that was not defeat exactly, and not peace exactly, but something in between. Something that felt like finally seeing what had been in front of you the whole time.

Maybe I've been trying to fix the wrong thing.

Not the isomalt. Not even the centerpiece.

The whole approach — the picking up and trying again, the adjusting the temperature, the telling yourself that this time if you just got it right, if you just controlled the variables carefully enough, it would hold. You had been standing here for hours doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, and the truth, the actual truth, was that some things didn't crack because the technique was wrong. Some things cracked because they needed something different entirely. Because what you were asking them to hold was more than they were built for. Because you couldn't fix something back into a shape it had already left.

Some things you couldn't fix by trying harder.

Some things needed to be broken down completely and started from nothing.

You looked at the cracked isomalt on the marble for a long moment.

And then you looked past it.

When did we break? you thought. When did the space start? There must have been a beginning. A first thing. If I can find the first thing maybe I can find the way back to before it.

You stood in your empty bakery in the early morning quiet and you went looking.

You went all the way back.

The house.

Technically, your house now, even if half of it still looked like a moving company had lost an argument with it — smelled like fresh paint and cardboard and the candles you'd been burning for two weeks trying to make it feel like home before it was ready to feel like home.

There were still boxes in the hallway.

Not many — you'd been working through them slowly, weekends and late evenings when Jin was home and you'd put on music and unpacked things together and argued about where the books should go, which was the most married-people thing you had ever done without technically being married, which your mothers had both noticed and expressed opinions about.

His mother over tea, delicate and pointed.

Yours more directly, over the phone, on a Tuesday. When is Seokjin going to finally propose to you?, she had said, which had made you roll your eyes so hard you'd had to sit down.

It made sense, moving in together. You had been together for almost six years, you were both in your thirties, the new house was big enough and living together was practical and also the truth was that you had been sleeping at each other's places in alternating rotation for the last four years and the moving in had mostly just been admitting what was already true.

Your parents knew this. They had accepted it. They had also, separately, expressed their feelings about the natural next step, which both of you had been nodding along to while privately knowing that the natural next step would happen when Jin's career allowed it, which was not a romantic way to think about your future but was an honest one, and you had made your peace with honesty a long time ago.

When we feel ready, you said to your mother, and to his, and to your brothers, and to every cousin who asked.

It was not entirely a lie.

You both did need to feel ready. But underneath that — underneath the practical truth of it — was the other truth, the quieter one, that readiness in your life together had never really been about feelings. It had been about windows. About the tour ending, the album cycle finishing, the schedule clearing enough that something personal could exist in the space it left behind. You had gotten very good at finding those windows. You had gotten so good at it that you had almost stopped noticing that you were doing it.

Almost.

It was June. Beautiful, warm, the kind of early summer evening that made Seoul feel generous, light still in the sky past eight o'clock. You were in the kitchen — the kitchen that was fully unpacked because the kitchen was always unpacked first, always, because that was where you both lived — when you heard him hit the keypad in the door.

You heard him come in.

You heard him stop.

Not the usual stop — not the coat coming off, the keys in the bowl, the particular sound of him arriving and settling into the space the way he always did, easy and immediate, like the house exhaled when he walked in.

This was different. This was a stop.

You looked up.

He was standing at the end of the hallway, still in his jacket, one of the moving boxes beside him that hadn't been there this morning — he'd moved it, sometime in the last thirty seconds, without thinking, something to do with his hands — and his expression was the one you didn't have a name for yet.

Not the camera face. Not the face he gave interviews or variety shows or even the members when something was wrong. Not the real face you got at two in the morning when the guard was fully down. Something else entirely. Something you had never seen before, that looked like a man who had been carrying something for a very long time and whose arms had simply given out.

"Hi," you said.

"Hi," he said.

He didn't move.

"Are you okay?" you said.

"I've been thinking," he said.

And then he stopped. Laughed — short, slightly wrecked, the laugh of someone whose rehearsal had just completely deserted them — and pressed his hand over his eyes.

"I practiced this," he said, to his palm. "I've been practicing this for months. I had a speech. A whole speech. Namjoon helped me with some of it, which — he cried when I read it to him, which I thought was a good sign—"

"Namjoon cried?"

"He said he was allergic to the sentiment. He wasn't." He lowered his hand. Looked at you down the hallway, past the boxes, past the half-renovated wall that the contractors were supposed to finish in August, and his eyes were bright in a way that was doing something to your chest. "I had a plan," he said. "I had a whole plan. I was going to rent a venue—"

"Seokjin—"

"You said once — you said once that you wanted something big. The whole thing. You were very specific about it. You said theme park."

"You were the one who said theme park," you said. "You were drunk. You said you were going to rent all of Lotte World."

Something crossed his face. Something that was almost a smile and also, underneath it, wasn't. "I was going to," he said, quietly. "I was going to do it exactly like that. I had it planned out. The whole thing. I even looked into what it would cost to—" he stopped. Exhaled. "And then I thought about the cameras. About someone with a phone getting close enough to photograph us. About what happens if the wrong person sees, if it ends up somewhere, if—" he shook his head. "And I couldn't. I couldn't give you that. I couldn't give you the theme park or the big venue or the proposal that gets photographed and shared and — I couldn't give you the thing that everyone else gets to have, and I kept thinking, I'll find another way, I'll find something that works, and I have been thinking that for a year and I—"

His voice caught.

Just slightly. Just for a second. You had known him for ten years and dated him for six and you had heard his voice do a lot of things and this specific catch — the one that happened when he was feeling something he hadn't decided to feel yet — you knew it the way you knew the sound of his footsteps at the door.

"I've been carrying this ring in my pocket for a year," he said. His hand went to his jacket pocket. Stayed there. "I bought it in Vegas. We were on tour. I went with Yoongi and Jungkook and Jimin and they helped me choose it and they were—" he exhaled through a small, helpless laugh — "so embarrassing about it. Jimin cried. In the store. He said the lighting got to him."

"It always gets to him," you said, because your throat was doing something and you needed a second.

"The point is," he said, and his hand came out of his pocket, and there it was — small, simple, the kind of ring that meant someone had paid attention not to a magazine or a trend but to you, to the specific person you were, and you felt the sight of it somewhere below your ribs — "I have been waiting for the right moment for a year. And I've been waiting for the right life for longer than that. And I think—" he looked at you across the hallway, past the boxes, his jacket still on, his shoes still on, the house still half-finished around him — "I think there is no right moment. I think there is never going to be a right moment because our life doesn't have those and I have been asking it to have something it can't give me."

He walked toward you.

He stopped when he was close enough that you could see exactly how nervous he was — the slight tension in his jaw, the way he was holding himself very carefully, like something would spill if he moved too fast.

His hands were shaking slightly.

"I watched myself announce today that we're going on hiatus," he said. "I sat there in our old dorm with the members, in front of that camera and I said the thing and I smiled the way I smile and I—" his jaw worked — "and all I could think, the entire time, was: I have not asked her yet. I have been in love with this woman for fifteen years and I have not asked her yet." He looked at you steadily. "I fell in love with you the second you asked me what I wanted for lunch. That first Tuesday. You didn't even look up from your order pad." He shook his head, something between a laugh and a confession. "I spent the next five years trying very hard to pretend I hadn't, because admitting that I fell in love with someone over a lunch order felt like information that should not leave my body. And then I stopped pretending. And it has been fifteen years and I am still — every single day — more certain than I was the day before."

"Seokjin," you said. Your voice was not steady at all.

"We have a mortgage together," he said.

You blinked. "We do."

"I know." He reached into his jacket pocket. "AND YET."

He got down on one knee.

Right there. In the hallway. With his shoes on and boxes stacked against the wall and the unfinished plaster behind you and the evening light coming through the kitchen at that specific gold angle, and he was looking up at you with the ring in his hand and his eyes were very bright and his hands were still shaking and he was the most ridiculous, most wonderful, most entirely himself person you had ever known.

"I want the paperwork," he said. "I want your name next to mine on everything — the house, the accounts, all of it, every single thing I have is already yours, I just want the legal documentation to confirm what has been true for ten years." He exhaled. "I want to leave in December knowing you are my wife. I want to come back to my wife. I want you to have every protection, every right, everything — while I'm gone and when I'm back and for the rest of our lives." His voice softened. "And I want it because I love you. Not because of the paperwork. The paperwork is just — the paperwork is how I make sure the whole world knows you're mine even when I can't say it out loud."

You were crying. You hadn't decided to cry. It had simply happened.

"You would make me," he said, "the happiest, luckiest, and objectively handsomest man on this earth — already the handsomest, that's established, that's a fact — if you would do me the honor of becoming my wife." He paused. "Please. I'm on one knee and this floor is not as forgiving as it looks."

You laughed. A real laugh, a surprised one, the kind that came out before you could catch it, and then you were crying and laughing at the same time and he was looking up at you with that face — the real one, the underneath one, the one that was just him, just Seokjin, completely undone and completely certain — and you crossed the hallway and took his face in your hands.

"Get up," you said.

"Is that a—"

"Yes," you said. "Obviously yes. Get up. Come here."

He got up.

He kissed you in the hallway, shoes on, ring in hand, boxes all around you, and you were so completely, entirely happy that the happiness felt like something physical — like it had weight and warmth and took up all the available space.

He put the ring on your finger. His hands had stopped shaking.

It fit perfectly. Of course it fit perfectly — he had known your hands for ten years, had held them enough times to know them without looking, and he had apparently described them in enough detail in a Las Vegas jewelry store that four grown men had managed to find the exact size without you there. Gold band, because you had never once in your entire life worn a silver accessory, not a single one, and he knew this the way he knew everything about you — not because you had made a point of telling him but because he had been paying attention for fifteen years. And at the center of it, a pink diamond, soft and warm and the exact shade that made your chest do something you couldn't name, surrounded by a small crown of white diamonds that caught the evening light coming through the kitchen window and threw it in every direction.

You didn't want to think about what it cost.

You thought about it anyway, briefly, and then set it aside, because the price of it was not the point and he would tell you the price was not the point and you both knew the price was not the point.

The point was that it was beautiful. That it was exactly what you would have picked for yourself — had dreamed of picking for yourself, actually, since you were a girl with opinions about jewelry and a very clear internal picture of the ring you would someday wear. The point was that he had walked into a store in Las Vegas with Yoongi and Jungkook and Jimin and between the four of them, somehow, they had found the exact thing. Not similar to it. Not close. The thing itself.

Not only did he love you.

He knew you.

They all did.

Your eyes were already stinging before you'd fully processed that thought, because there was something about it — about all four of them standing in a jewelry store being collectively, embarrassingly invested in getting this right — that undid you in a way that the ring itself almost didn't. He loved you. And the people he loved most in the world had stood in a store and cried about the lighting and argued about settings and helped him choose something that proved it.

That was the whole thing, really.

That was all of it.

And underneath it — you think now, in the bakery, in the early morning quiet, the isomalt still cracked on the marble — underneath all of that happiness, already, so quietly I didn't even feel it happening:

The ghost of the theme park.

The version of that moment that existed in a life slightly different from yours — where someone could have photographed it, where you could have posted the ring with his name, where your mother could have called her friends and your father could have told the whole restaurant and your brothers could have shared it and it would have just been a thing that happened, a normal, visible, joyful thing that everyone who loved you got to be part of.

You would never have that.

You had known this before you said yes. You had known it when you said yes. You had said yes anyway, completely, without hesitation, without regret.

But standing in this kitchen now — three years and a space you can't name and a husband somewhere in the city putting his armor back on — you finally let yourself feel the full shape of it.

Not the theme park.

Not even the proposal.

The version of your life where love didn't have to hide.

Where it got to be loud.

You had set it down so quietly. So willingly. With so much love.

You had been so happy you had almost not felt the weight of it.

Almost.

You stood at the prep station and the isomalt sat cracked on the marble and you thought: that's where it started. Not the space — the space came later. But the first thing we set down — that was in a hallway, four years ago, still in his shoes, a ring in his hand and the theme park already somewhere behind us that we'd never go back for.

And you had been so happy.

You had genuinely been so happy.

And still, underneath it, the very first thing you had given up was already given up.

And you had never once said so.

You reached for the scraper.

Started again.

The wedding was on a Saturday in October, two months before he enlisted.

You had planned it in six weeks. Not because you wanted to — you had dreamed about a wedding your whole life, had grown up watching your brothers get married in big, loud, beautiful ceremonies with three hundred people and full banquet tables and every cousin you had ever met crying in the front row. You had wanted that. You had both wanted that, in the abstract, in the version of your life where the math worked differently.

The math did not work differently.

So you planned it in six weeks, in a private venue forty minutes outside the city, on a guest list of thirty-two people that had required more painful editing than anything you had ever done. Not even all of your family could come — no aunts, no uncles, no cousins, none of the sprawling warm chaos of the people who had raised you. Just your parents. Your three brothers and their wives. Jin's parents. His brother and sister-in-law. Sooah, Minji. The members. A handful of people from the company.

No children. Your brothers and his had decided this together, quietly, practically — the kids were too young to understand why they couldn't tell anyone, and a child who couldn't keep a secret at a secret wedding was a problem nobody needed. You had agreed. You had smiled and said of course, it makes sense, it's fine.

You had not told anyone that you had imagined your nieces as flower girls since they were born.

You set that down too. You were getting good at it by then.

The venue was beautiful. That was the thing — it was genuinely, completely beautiful, small and warm and full of flowers you had chosen yourself, the kind of place that felt intentional rather than reduced, like you had chosen this on purpose rather than arrived here through a series of things you couldn't have.

The members had shown up early and collectively stressed about everything, which had mostly expressed itself as Jimin crying before the ceremony even started, Taehyung telling him to stop which made Taehyung also cry, and Yoongi standing in the corner watching both of them with the expression of a man who was absolutely not going to cry and was doing so with great effort.

Namjoon had written something to read. He had practiced it so many times he had it memorized, and he stood up there and said it with his whole chest, and by the end of it your father was crying and Jin's mother was crying and even the company representative was blinking more than usual.

Jungkook had cried openly and without apology. He had decided early that this was an acceptable thing to do and had committed to it completely. You had loved him for it.

You walked toward Jin and his face did the thing.

Something that was him, stripped of every single layer, looking at you walking toward him in this small perfect venue forty minutes outside the city with thirty-two people watching, and his eyes went wet immediately, and he didn't bother to hide it, and you thought: whatever we had to set down to get here, it was worth it. It was worth every single thing.

You still believe that.

Standing at your prep station at six in the morning with cracked isomalt on the marble, you still believe it.

But you are also, finally, letting yourself ask: what did it cost?

You had stepped outside to take a call.

Ten minutes, maybe. Your boss at the restaurant, something that couldn't wait, the specific bad timing of a business that did not know you were getting married today. You had slipped out through a side door, phone to your ear, still in your dress, and you were standing in the small garden at the side of the venue when you heard the commotion at the front.

You didn't understand it at first. Just voices — raised, unfamiliar, the sound of something not going the way it was supposed to. You ended the call and moved toward it, and then you came around the corner and there he was.

Junho.

Your ex-boyfriend from high school and a handful of months into your first year of university — a relationship you had ended cleanly, eight years ago now, eight years of you living your entire life while he had apparently never fully accepted that the version of himself that existed in relation to you had stopped being relevant the day you walked away.

He was standing at the gate in his regular clothes, arguing with two men from the security team with the energy of someone whose script hadn't accounted for other people having lines. You stood there and ran through the questions in the order they arrived — how did he find the venue, how did he know today was the day, what version of himself did he decide to be this morning — and underneath all of them, quieter, the one that actually mattered: eight years. He had eight years to accept it. And he is at my wedding.

He saw you.

"I just need five minutes," he said. Not to the security. To you. "Five minutes, I just need to—"

"No," you said.

"Please—"

"No," you said again, and your voice came out steadier than you felt, and then someone was beside you — one of the members, you didn't even look to see who, a hand on your arm — and two men from the company were moving Junho away from the gate, firmly, not cruelly, and he was saying something that you stopped listening to because you turned and went back inside.

You stood in the small anteroom just inside the door and took three slow breaths.

And then you heard it — behind you, low, from one of the members talking to another, not meant for you to hear:

"—could have been seen. He almost came out. You know he almost came out."

"I know."

"If he'd been photographed—"

"I know. I know. It's fine. It's handled."

You stood very still.

You had known, in the moment, that Jin was inside. That he would have heard the commotion. That his instinct — his immediate, complete, entirely predictable instinct — would have been to come out. To stand between you and whatever was happening at the gate. To be your husband in the most visible way possible.

And someone had stopped him.

Not cruelly. Not wrongly — you understood why, you had always understood why, the logic of it was exactly the logic you had agreed to when you agreed to all of this. A photo of BTS Jin at a secret wedding, at a gate, confronting an unknown man, would have been a disaster. A photo of him and you together on your wedding day would have been the end of the careful thing you had built.

He had had to stay inside.

He had had to stand in a venue forty minutes outside the city and listen to something happening to his wife at the gate and stay inside and trust that the company's security would handle it.

And the first thing one of the members said after was not are you okay or is she okay but he almost came out, he could have been seen.

You had gone back to the ceremony. You had married him. You had been so happy.

And you had never, once, said to him: I know you wanted to come outside. I know you couldn't. I know what that cost you. I know what it cost both of us.

You had set that down too.

The honeymoon was a weekend in the mountains.

It was the only thing that made sense — Jin couldn't leave the country, not this close to his enlistment date, not with the paperwork and the restrictions and the specific bureaucratic reality of the situation — so you had packed a bag and driven three hours to a house that belonged to his family, tucked into the countryside in a way that made Seoul feel very far away and very small.

There was a strawberry farm.

An actual strawberry farm, right there, attached to the property, and you had spent a whole morning walking through it in wellies that didn't quite fit while he trailed behind you eating strawberries directly off the plants with the complete lack of remorse of someone who considered this a personal right.

It was not France. It was not the Maldives.

It was not Universal Studios in Orlando, which you had both talked about with the specific longing of two enormous nerds who had never quite outgrown the part of themselves that wanted to run toward a theme park holding hands — but it was quiet, and green, and the house had a kitchen with a window that looked out over the mountains, and you had cooked for him for the first time in a space that was neither yours nor his but somehow felt like both.

For an entire weekend, you called each other husband and wife every chance you got.

Every single chance. Completely without shame. Husband, can you pass the salt. Wife, I think it's your turn to make the coffee. Husband. Wife. Mine. You said it over breakfast and over dinner and standing in a strawberry field and lying in bed at night listening to the countryside be quiet around you, and it was so ridiculous and so wholesome and so entirely you that by Sunday evening you had both said it so many times it had started to feel like breathing — just the word, just the fact of it, the simple staggering reality that you were each other's.

It wasn't France.

But he was yours for a whole uninterrupted weekend, no schedule, no cameras, no anything, just him and you and a strawberry farm and the mountains, and when you drove back to the city on Sunday night his hand was over yours on the center console the whole way and neither of you talked much and you didn't need to.

You think about that weekend now. How full it was. How enough it was.

You also think about France.

You had never said: I am so happy with the strawberry farm and I also wanted France.

And you should have.

Not because it would have changed anything — it wouldn't have, there was no version of that conversation that produced a honeymoon in Paris — but because saying it would have been honest, and you had spent a long time curating your honesty around him, keeping only the parts that were useful and setting the rest down somewhere he couldn't see it.

The bakery came eleven days after you got back.

He told you he was taking you somewhere. He wouldn't say where, deflecting every question with increasing smugness, and you watched Seoul go past the window and told yourself to be patient and failed at it, and he talked about nothing in particular the whole drive — just talking, easy, the warm familiar sound of him filling the car — and then he stopped outside a building in a neighborhood you loved.

You had mentioned it to him once. That you loved the light here, the way it came through at a specific angle in the late afternoon. A single passing comment in a conversation about something else entirely, months ago.

He had remembered.

Of course he had remembered.

The windows had balloons. Soft pink, pastel — the exact shade you had told him was your favorite in a conversation so casual you had barely registered having it, about colors, about nothing, about everything he quietly filed away without ever indicating he was filing. Inside, before he could say anything, you walked.

The kitchen first.

Always the kitchen — but this one, this one, was the kitchen from your head. Not similar to it. Not inspired by it. The actual kitchen, the exact proportions, the counters at the precise height that meant you could work for twelve hours without your back protesting, the ovens already installed and already the right kind, the shelving built the way you had once described shelving to him at midnight when neither of you could sleep and you had been talking about nothing and apparently he had been storing everything. The prep station. The pass-through window into what would be the front of house. The light — south-facing, full in the afternoons, the kind of light that made everything look like it was worth making.

You had described this kitchen to him across six years of conversations. Not all at once, not as a plan — in pieces, in passing, the way you talked about things you wanted so much you were almost afraid to want them directly. Someday I want a kitchen where I can actually move. Someday I want to make things that don't exist yet. Someday I want something that's mine. Not a blueprint. Just the language of a dream that had been living in you since you were twelve years old watching your family cook in their restaurant and thinking: I love this and I also want something different. Something mine.

You had spent four years working as a pastry assistant chef at a hotel restaurant with a Michelin star and a head chef who was one of the best in the city and also one of the most miserable human beings you had ever encountered, a man who had perfected the specific art of making talented women feel like they were lucky to be allowed in the building. You had learned from him and resented him and stayed longer than you should have because the credential mattered and because you were stubborn, and you had come home from shifts and told Jin about it and Jin had listened — had always listened, had never once told you to quit or stay or do anything at all except be heard — and somewhere in all of those conversations he had been building this.

Not because he felt guilty about the honeymoon.

Not because he was leaving in six weeks.

Because he loved you. That was all. That was the whole of it — he loved you and you had wanted something and he had paid attention and built it, the way he built everything he cared about, quietly and completely and without announcement.

You stood in the middle of your kitchen for a long time.

When you turned around he was by the door, hands in his pockets, watching your face with an expression he was trying very hard to make casual and failing completely.

"I know it's not Paris," he said.

"Seokjin—"

"I know it's not the honeymoon we—" he stopped. "I know I'm leaving and I know the timing is—" another stop. He looked at you steadily. "I just wanted to give you something that was yours. That couldn't be taken away. That was there when I was gone." A pause. "That was there when I came back."

You crossed the kitchen.

You took his face in your hands.

"It's ours," you said.

"Yours," he said.

"Ours," you said, and kissed him before he could argue, and he laughed into it and held you in the middle of the kitchen — the biggest room, the one he'd built first because he knew you — while outside the pink balloons pressed against the glass and the afternoon light came through at exactly the angle you had always wanted.

You were so happy.

You held onto that. The happiness was real and whole and entirely true.

But standing at your prep station now, years later, with the cracked isomalt on the marble, you let yourself ask the question you had never asked out loud, not once, in all the years since:

He is so good at making everyone around him happy. His members, his family, his fans — you. Always you.

But is he happy?

Has he ever, even once, put his own happiness first?

Have you ever made sure he did?

You looked at the cracked sugar.

You looked at the bakery he had built you, the kitchen that was exactly right, every detail assembled from years of you talking and him listening.

When did I stop listening back?

The question sat in the empty kitchen and you didn't have an answer for it and the isomalt was still cracked on the marble and somewhere in the city your husband was getting ready to go to practice and you were standing here in the thing he built for you, realizing that you had no idea how long he had been the one holding the door open while you walked through.

Seven thirty.

You looked at the clock on the wall and felt the number land like something physical. Cameron would be here in thirty minutes. The isomalt was still cracked on the marble. The kitchen smelled like butter and sugar and the particular quiet of early morning, and you had been standing here for — you didn't know how long. Long enough to have gone back through the proposal and the wedding and the strawberry farm and the bakery and all the small, quiet, accumulated things you had both set down without saying you were setting them down.

You had been looking for the moment. The place where the crack started.

And you had been circling it this whole time without letting yourself land on it, the way you circled things that were too large to look at directly, the way you had been circling it for three years.

For the first time in almost three years, you were ready to look at it.

The thing that broke you both.

He had been a year into his service.

He was, unsurprisingly, doing well. Because that was who Kim Seokjin was — someone who looked at hard things the way other people looked at weather, as simply part of the condition of being alive, as something you moved through rather than argued with. He called when he could. He was funny on the calls, warm, present in the specific way he was always present even across distance. He said he was fine. Happy, even. I have everything I want, he said. My members, a beautiful wife, and yes, this whole thing is difficult, but the good thing about difficult things is that they end.

You knew the other members were not doing as well. You knew because the last time they had all been at your house — a leave that had overlapped, a miracle of scheduling — they had gotten so drunk that every single one of them had ended up crying. All of them, at your kitchen table, in various states of undone, even Yoongi, who had excused himself to the bathroom for twelve minutes and come back red-eyed and claimed he had allergies. Even you had cried. The collective grief of people who loved each other and were being asked to be apart and were pretending, most of the time, that it was fine.

But Jin said he was fine.

And because he said it with such complete, warm certainty, you had believed him.

That night — the night they were all at your house, the night everyone cried and then recovered and then ate everything in your kitchen at two in the morning — Jin had held you differently.

Slower than usual. More careful. Like he was doing something intentional, something he had thought about. He said I love you more times than he usually said it, which was already a lot, and each time he said it he looked at you in a way that was very still and very certain and very present, and you had thought, half-asleep and warm: he knows something. He knows exactly what he's doing right now.

Five weeks later, you found out exactly what you had made that night.

You called Minji first. Then Sooah. They were at your house within the hour — Minji with food, Sooah with the efficient calm of someone who cried only after she had handled everything that needed handling. You all cried anyway, together, at your kitchen table, the three of you, and it was the happiest crying you had ever done.

Then you called your mother, who cried so hard she had to put down the phone and come back to it.

Then his mother — usually composed, always elegant, the kind of woman who considered public displays of feeling to be optional — who made a sound you had never heard from her before, something that was pure joy before it was anything else, high and overwhelmed, and then she was laughing and crying at the same time and you were laughing and crying at the same time and neither of you could finish a sentence.

You were so happy.

You had grown up in a loud, enormous family — three brothers, their wives, the nieces and nephews who had started arriving before you were finished being a niece yourself — and you had known for as long as you could remember that you wanted that. The fullness of it. The noise. The chaos of a house that was always full of people who loved each other. You had accepted, quietly, sometime in the last few years, that the fullness you'd dreamed of might look different with Jin — smaller, more careful, built around the shape of a life that didn't always have room for everything you wanted. You had accepted it. You had made peace.

And now this.

You waited until his next leave to tell him.

He went completely still when you said it. Two full minutes — you counted, not because you were counting but because the silence was so total you became aware of every second of it — completely silent, completely motionless, like his body had simply stopped while his mind went somewhere it needed to go alone.

You thought he might faint.

And then he started crying.

Not the quiet kind — the loud kind, the uncontrolled kind, the kind that came out of him in a sound that turned into a laugh that turned back into crying, and he was jumping, actually jumping, in the hallway of your house saying I'm going to be a dad, I'm going to be a dad like if he said it enough times it would become more real than it already was. He hugged you and then immediately, comically, let go — I don't want to hurt the baby — and then hugged you again more carefully, and you were laughing so hard you had to hold onto him just to stay upright.

He made lists. Actual lists, written on his phone, items appearing faster than autocorrect could keep up: crib, mobile, white noise machine, books — what age do you start books, fishing rod (small), pink things (pink is for everyone, I am a very manly man who loves pink). He decided the baby would be beautiful — obviously, have you seen us, we need to hire security in advance — and that he would be fine being second-favorite once the baby arrived, truly fine, he was evolved enough for that.

He video-called Namjoon and Yoongi from your living room, both of them appearing on screen looking alarmed at the volume of him, and announced that they were going to be uncles. Namjoon had immediately teared up. Yoongi had looked at the ceiling for a long time and then said, very quietly, that's good. That's really good. Which from Yoongi was a standing ovation.

You laughed so hard that night.

You laughed until your stomach hurt and your face hurt and you couldn't remember the last time you had laughed like that.

You wished that happiness had lasted longer.

He went back to the base.

The next day you went to the doctor with your mother.

The doctor was speaking and you were nodding and somewhere underneath the nodding your heartbeat was so loud you could feel it in your teeth, and then he said high risk and absolute rest and complicated and the words arrived one at a time like something being dropped from a height, each one landing separately, and your mother's hand found yours under the table and held on.

Iron shots. Transfusions. Supplements and tests and monitoring schedules and a list of restrictions that turned the next few months into something that needed to be managed rather than experienced. You went home. Your mother came. Then his mother. Then your brothers and their wives and your father and his brother and people kept arriving and meaning well and loving you loudly and filling the house with their worry until the house felt like it was pressing in on you from every side.

You loved them.

You sent them home.

You needed quiet. You needed to breathe. You needed to lie in your bed in your house and not have to perform okay for anyone for five minutes, and you needed Jin, who was not here, who was kilometers away on a base being fine and happy and completely unaware that the thing you had made together was fighting to stay.

You told yourself it would be fine.

You told yourself this so many times it became a kind of prayer, something you said before you fell asleep and the first thing you thought when you woke up, a promise you were making to no one in particular because there was no one there to make it to.

It was three in the morning.

You woke up and knew before you were fully conscious, the way your body sometimes knows things before you have the words for them. The sheets. The cold. The feeling that something enormous and irreversible had happened while you were sleeping.

You don't remember getting to the bathroom.

You don't remember calling your mother. You must have, because she came, but the call itself is gone, some mercy of shock erasing it cleanly.

You remember the sound.

A sound you didn't recognize for a long time afterward — high and broken, coming from somewhere that didn't feel like you — and then your brother was there, your oldest brother who had always been the one you called when things were too large, and he carried you. You don't remember getting to his car but you remember the feeling of being carried, of not being able to make your legs work, of the cold night air and his arms and the specific smell of his jacket.

Then the hospital.

The lights. The particular antiseptic smell of an emergency room at three in the morning, that specific smell that you will never, for the rest of your life, be able to separate from this night.

The doctor's face.

The way he looked at you before he said it — that particular arrangement of professional composure over genuine human sorrow that doctors learn and that tells you everything before the words arrive.

There is nothing else we can do.

Your mother crying. Not loudly — your mother didn't cry loudly — just the tears moving down her face while she held very still, the way she held still when things were too large for movement.

Your sister-in-law's hand in yours. Holding on. Not saying anything. Just there.

Your brother's voice, low and steady, somewhere near your ear: it's going to be okay.

You didn't say anything back.

You were thinking about Seokjin.

About his face when you told him, the two full minutes of stillness and then the jumping, the crying, the I'm going to be a dad said over and over in your hallway. About the lists. About fishing is for everyone and so is pink. About the boxes that had started arriving — things he had ordered from the base, tiny things, soft things, things that were going to need to go somewhere now.

He was on a base kilometers away, completely asleep, completely unaware that the thing you had made together was gone.

He was going to wake up tomorrow still a father.

How could you call him and tell him that he wasn't anymore.

You didn't call him.

You told yourself it was practical — the information could leak, the timing was catastrophic, Yoongi was already in the papers, the press were looking for any thread they could pull. You told yourself it was protective. You told yourself it was the right decision.

You avoided him on calls. Said you were tired. Said the bakery opening was taking everything. He believed you, because why wouldn't he — you had never lied to him before, not really, and this was the biggest lie you had ever told, the lie of omission, the performance of fine while sitting on a kitchen floor some nights unable to stand up.

He had a leave in six weeks.

You waited.

He was still in uniform when you told him.

Standing in the hallway — the same hallway where he had proposed, still in his shoes, the same hallway that held everything now — and you told him.

He went completely still.

The same stillness as when you told him you were pregnant. But this time the stillness didn't break into jumping and crying and lists. This time it lasted, and lasted, and then he dropped to his knees.

Right there. On the floor of your hallway. And the sound that came out of him was nothing like the sound you had heard from him before, not even on the living room floor last night — it was something older, something that didn't have a shape yet, grief that hadn't learned its own name.

You were both on the floor.

You don't know how that happened either. You were just there, both of you, on the floor of your hallway, holding on.

He never let you apologize.

Every time you started — I'm sorry, I should have told you, I should have called — he stopped you.

Gently.

Firmly.

Don't.

He asked what you needed. He asked what the doctors were saying, what came next, what your body needed to recover. He was so careful with you. So specific. He quietly made things happen — the company gave him extra days, the boxes stopped arriving, the house became yours again — and he sat with you and mourned with you and let you be as bad as you needed to be without once asking you to be anything else.

He told you he would never forgive himself for letting you go through it alone.

That he would never let that happen again.

Three years.

It had been almost three years and you had never talked about it directly. Not really.

You had survived it side by side and mourned it separately and kept going the way you both kept going — by showing up, by being present, by being the safe place for everyone else so that neither of you had to look at what the loss had done to the space between you.

You had seen it from your side. The things you lost. The night alone. The call you couldn't make. The way the house had felt after — too large, too quiet, the house that was meant to always be full.

You had carried all of that.

But standing here now, in the kitchen he built for you, looking at the cracked isomalt on the marble —

He lost something too.

He had lost it in a hallway.

Still in his uniform, still with his bag over his shoulder, still carrying the exhaustion of someone who had just traveled a long way to be home.

Standing in the same hallway where he had proposed to you, where he had still had his shoes on, and you had watched his face go through every stage of understanding in the space of thirty seconds — the confusion first, then the listening, then the stillness, and then the thing underneath the stillness that broke your heart completely.

He had come home expecting to hold you and instead you had told him, and he had dropped to his knees right there on the floor, and you had gone down with him, and you had both stayed there for a long time.

He had been so careful with you after.

So specific.

So entirely focused on what you needed — and then his leave ended and he went back, and he took all of it with him, everything he felt, packed up and carried back to a base where there was nowhere to put it and no one who knew what he was carrying.

What did he do with it?

Who sat on a floor with him?

He told you he would never let you go through something like that alone again.

But who made sure he didn't go through it alone?

The question arrived and didn't leave.

Eight AM.

The back door opened. The specific sound of Cameron — his keys, his particular way of coming through the door, the small sounds of someone starting their day with reliable warmth.

"Morning," he said. Took one look at you. Said nothing else.

"I need to go," you said.

He didn't ask where. He didn't ask why. He just looked at you the way he looked at things he understood without needing them explained.

"Go," he said. "I've got the fort."

You took your jacket from the hook. Your keys from the counter. You didn't look at the isomalt.

You walked to your car.

You sat in it for a moment before you started it, your hands on the wheel, the morning going on around you, ordinary and indifferent.

For three years you had been looking at the miscarriage from inside your own grief. The things you had lost. The night alone. The things you had given up. The weight of it that you had carried quietly because carrying quietly was what you did.

But Seokjin.

He had jumped around a hallway saying I'm going to be a dad. Jin who had made lists and ordered boxes and called his members from your living room to tell them they were going to be uncles. Jin who had come home in his uniform and dropped to his knees on your floor and never let you apologize. Jin who had gone back to a base and held it alone, all of it, the way he held everything — quietly, efficiently, without telling anyone the cost.

He was just as broken.

He had always been just as broken.

You had just never let yourself see it.

You started the car.

You started driving.

You didn't know yet where you were going. You just knew you were finally, after three years, moving toward him instead of around him.

That felt like the first true thing you had done in a very long time.

— JIN —

He had been in the studio since five in the morning.

Not the practice room — the small room on the upper floor that he had claimed over the years as his own, the one nobody else used much, with the couch that had a permanent dent in it from all the times he'd sat in the same spot and the window that looked out over a city he had known for fifteen years and still sometimes found surprising. He had a gaming setup in the corner that he barely touched anymore. He had come here because the house was empty and the only thing worse than being alone was being alone somewhere that was supposed to be full.

He sat on the couch and he did not turn on the games.

He thought about the living room floor.

He thought about your face when he'd asked is it enough and the way you had answered with such fierce, immediate certainty, and how he had known you meant it and had still walked out the door. He thought about the cheek kiss — how he had done it without deciding to, how his mouth had just landed there instead of where it wanted to be, some cowardly last-minute redirection that you had noticed, that you always noticed, because you noticed everything he did even when he wished you wouldn't.

He thought about what you had asked him.

Are you happy?

He had said I love you.

He knew that wasn't an answer. He had known it the moment it came out, had watched your face understand that he wasn't going to answer the real question, and he had let you understand it and walked upstairs anyway. Because the real answer — the honest version, the one that didn't have a performance built around it — was something he didn't know how to say out loud yet. Not because it was bad. Not because the love wasn't real.

Because he didn't know what the answer was.

And not knowing — after thirty-four years of being the person who knew things, who held things, who had an answer ready for every room he walked into — not knowing was the most frightening thing he had felt in a very long time.

The concert was in four days.

The choreography for this comeback was harder than anything they had done in years — the members had pushed for it, and he had agreed, and he was going to do it because he always did it, because showing up was what he did. But his body was thirty-four years old and he had been honest enough with himself, in the private space of his own head, to admit that thirty-four felt different than twenty-four in ways the cameras wouldn't see and that he would never say out loud because saying it out loud would make it a story and he was so tired of being a story.

He went down to the practice room three hours before rehearsal because he couldn't sit still anymore.

Hoseok was already there.

Not practicing — just standing at the mirror, looking at his own reflection with the expression of a man having a conversation with himself that wasn't going well. He turned when he heard Jin come in, and something in his face shifted from whatever it had been to something more ordinary.

"Hyung," he said. "Practice is in three hours."

"I know," Jin said.

He went to the mirror too. Stood beside Hoseok and looked at himself — the face he had been performing for fifteen years, familiar and strange at the same time, the face that had gotten easier to wear and harder to take off — and felt very tired.

The silence between them was not uncomfortable. It was something more interesting than comfortable — it was honest, which was different. Jin had always felt slightly misaligned with Hoseok in a way he couldn't fully name, not distant exactly, just — differently built. Like two instruments in the same key that didn't naturally harmonize. Hoseok's stage presence was sunshine in a container, warm and enormous and relentless, and Jin had always known that the real Jung Hoseok — the one behind it — was something quieter and considerably harder to read. More serious. Someone who felt things deeply and processed them privately and showed you the result rather than the process.

Not unlike you, he thought, looking at his own face in the mirror.

"Why do I feel like you're also here running from something, hyung?" Hoseok said.

Jin let out a sound that was supposed to be a laugh and wasn't quite. "Are you."

Hoseok was quiet for a moment. "Yeah," he said. "I am." He said it simply, without self-pity, just the fact of it laid out clean. Then: "Do you want to run the choreography?"

Jin looked at him.

"Together," Hoseok said. "Three hours is enough time to either fix it or break ourselves. Both seem useful right now."

Jin almost smiled. Almost. "Yeah," he said. "Okay."

They ran it twice before either of them spoke again.

Hoseok was — as he had always been, as he would always be — devastating to watch. The kind of dancer whose body understood music as a first language rather than a translation, who moved through choreography the way water moved through a space, finding every angle, filling every beat. Jin moved beside him and felt, as he had felt for fifteen years, the particular frustration of working very hard at something that someone else simply was.

He was not a bad dancer. He knew that. He had worked himself into being a good dancer through sheer accumulated effort, the way he had worked himself into everything — through showing up, through doing it again, through deciding that the gap between where he was and where he needed to be was just a distance to be covered and covering it was his job.

But watching Hoseok dance was still, after fifteen years, the most efficient way to feel inadequate he had ever found.

"Stop watching me," Hoseok said, without stopping.

"I'm not—"

"You're comparing," Hoseok said. "Stop."

Jin stopped watching. Looked at his own reflection instead.

"You know what I've always admired about you," Hoseok said, slightly breathless now, both of them three-quarters through the second run. "You always show up. Doesn't matter how hard the day was or how hard the thing is. You show up."

"Showing up isn't the same as being good," Jin said.

"No," Hoseok agreed. "But it's rarer than being good. And it matters more." A beat. "Jimin is the best dancer in this group. Maybe in the world, honestly. But you are the reason this group still exists. You know that, right?"

Jin didn't say anything.

"Hyung." Hoseok stopped. Turned to look at him properly, the way he did when he had decided a thing needed to be said and was going to say it. "We all see it. We've been watching you carry something for months if not years and none of us have said anything because—" he stopped. "Because you always seem fine. And it's very convincing." He exhaled. "How's your wife?"

The question landed differently than Jin expected.

Not gently. Not cruelly. Just directly, the way Hoseok said things when the performance had been set aside.

"She—" Jin started. Stopped. "Things are. We're—" He stopped again. Pressed his hand over his eyes. "I don't know," he said, into his palm. "I don't know how she is. I don't know how I am. I said things last night and this morning and then I left and I don't know how to go back to the conversation and I—"

"Hyung."

"I know."

"You need to talk to her."

"I know."

"Not the version of talking where you say the things you've decided you're allowed to say," Hoseok said. "The actual version. The whole thing." He paused. "I know you've been hurting. We all know. But we are not teenagers you need to protect anymore. You can lean on us."

"I know," Jin said, quieter.

"And your wife—" Hoseok paused. Something moved across his face. "She has been choosing you every single day for ten years. That means something. Don't make her choose in the dark."

Jin looked at him.

Hoseok held his gaze, and something in it was complicated in the way that things between them had sometimes been complicated — the specific, textured history of two people who had spent fifteen years in each other's lives and had, at various points, been wanting different things that couldn't all exist at once.

"You had a crush on her," Jin said. It came out flatter than he intended, a little harder, the edge of something he thought he'd long since dealt with.

Hoseok didn't flinch.

"Yeah," he said. Simply. "I did."

Jin looked at the mirror.

"Hyung." Hoseok's voice was quiet now, all the performance stripped out of it. "I don't say that to make anything harder. I say it because — she is the most real, most warm, most completely herself person I have ever known. And I say that as someone who has been in every room this group has ever been in." He paused. "I had feelings for her. And then I watched the way she looked at you. And I understood — not slowly, not eventually — immediately. From the moment I saw it." His jaw worked slightly. "It was always going to be you. There was never any version of that where it wasn't. I don't think she even knew she was choosing. She just — was."

Jin was quiet for a moment.

"I broke someone," Hoseok said then, low, mostly to himself. "Someone who deserved better than what I gave her. And I would give anything to have the chance to sit with her the way you can sit with Y/n and say the thing that needs to be said." He looked at Jin. "So don't waste it, hyung. Whatever is happening between you two — go fix it. Because I would trade everything to be in the position you're in right now."

Jin opened his mouth.

His phone buzzed.

A staff member's voice through the door: "Mr. Kim? Your wife is downstairs. She's in the small meeting room on the second floor."

The practice room went very quiet.

Hoseok looked at him.

"Go," he said. Simply. And then, after a beat, something crossed his face that was complicated and honest and fond all at once: "And yeah. I was jealous of you. For longer than I should have been." He almost smiled. "But she chose you. She was always going to choose you." He picked up his water bottle. Turned back to the mirror. "Now go fix your marriage."

— JIN —

You were sitting in the small meeting room with your hands around a paper cup of something you wern't drinking.

You looked up when he came in. Your face was — he couldn't read it completely, which almost never happened, and the almost-never was its own thing to sit with.

"We need to talk," you said.

"Yes," he said.

He sat down across from you.

"I think it would be good for both of us to have some space," you said. "Just — for a few days. While things are—"

He went very still.

"No," he said.

"Seokjin—"

"No." He said it quietly. Without anger. But absolutely. "No. I am not doing that."

"I'm not leaving," you said. "I'm not — this isn't—" you pressed your hands flat on the table. "You need space. I need — I don't know what I need. I don't know, okay? I don't know, and I need to figure it out somewhere that isn't—"

"Somewhere that isn't our house," he said.

"Yes."

"Without me."

"Yes."

"Because?"

"Because—" your voice caught. "Because I have been so scared," you said. "I have been so scared for so long and I don't know when the fear started and I don't know how to be in our house right now and feel anything except—" you stopped. "Except afraid of losing something I can't name yet."

The room was quiet.

"What are you afraid of losing?" he said, very carefully.

You looked at him.

"I don't know," she said. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."

He looked at his hands. "Is it me?"

"No," she said immediately. Then: "I don't know. It's not — it's not you, it's — it's us. It's the version of us that we've been performing and I don't know where the real version went and I'm scared it went somewhere I can't get back to."

Something in his chest that had been very tight for a very long time cracked open.

"I'm scared too," he said.

You looked at him. Slightly surprised. Like you had been expecting him to argue rather than agree.

"I've been scared since—" he stopped. The word sat in his throat. He hadn't said it directly between them since the week he came home, since the floor of the hallway, since the boxes stopped arriving. "Since we lost our baby," he said. "I have been scared since then and I haven't said it. I came home and I tried to take care of everything and I went back and I—" his jaw worked — "I didn't tell anyone. I went back and I carried it and I didn't tell anyone because that was what I did, and then you said you wanted to try again and I—"

"You were terrified," you said.

"Yes."

"So was I."

"I know."

"We never said that to each other," you said. "We just — kept going. Like if we kept going fast enough the thing behind us wouldn't catch up."

"It caught up," he said.

"It caught up," you agreed.

They sat with it for a moment.

"I want to try again," you said, finally. "I want that. It's not about not wanting it. I'm just—" you exhaled. "I'm so scared of losing again. And I'm scared of trying while we're—" you gestured between you two. "Like this."

"Like what," he said. Not challenging. Genuinely asking.

"Broken," you said.

The word landed.

He didn't argue with it.

"Then we fix it," he said.

"You can't fix things by—"

"I know," he said. "Not by pushing. Not by performing. I know." He looked at you. "But I am not going to sit across from you in a meeting room and agree to not see you for days and call that fixing anything."

"I'm not asking you to—"

"You're going to your parents," he said.

"Yes."

"That's—" he stopped. Breathed. "Okay. Okay, if you need to be somewhere that isn't the house—" something crossed his face — "I'll stay. You're not—" he shook his head. "That's your house. I'm not asking you to leave your house."

"I can't be in that house alone," you said. Very quiet. "I can't. I need you to understand that."

He looked at you.

He understood.

He understood completely, and the understanding of it — the image of you alone in that house, the specific night three years ago that he hadn't been there for, the reason she couldn't be in that house alone — sat in him like something swallowed wrong.

"Okay," he said. His voice came out rough. "Okay. Go to your parents. I'll — I'll stay home."

You nodded.

You stood up.

He stood too. And he wanted — he needed — to cross the room, to put his arms around you the way he had put his arms around you a thousand times, to feel the specific, particular weight of you against him, the thing that had always been the most reliable home he had ever had.

He didn't move.

Because he knew — with the certainty of fifteen years of knowing you — that if he touched you right now he would not be able to let go. And letting go was what you needed. And he had spent fifteen years learning to set things down that needed to be set down.

So he stood there.

He watched you pick up your bag.

He watched you walk to the door.

"I'll call," you said, at the door.

"I know," he said.

You left.

He stood in the empty meeting room for a moment, hands at his sides, and then he went back upstairs to rehearsal.

He was not present for any of it.

His body was there — hitting the marks, executing the formations, doing the work with the accumulated muscle memory of fifteen years — but his mind was in a car, watching her drive away. His mind was on the living room floor at four in the morning. His mind was in a restaurant fifteen years ago watching a girl behind a counter raise an eyebrow at his father's black card and not say a single word about it.

Then Jungkook was beside him, breathless from the final run, sweat on his forehead, with the guileless energy of someone who had worked hard and was ready to be done with working hard.

"Hyung, can I come to dinner, tonight?" he said. "Noona said she'd make—" he named a dish, cheerful, already assuming — "she told me this morning she said she had the ingredients—"

"She's not home, Jungkook," Jin said.

The words came out flat. Not unkind. Just true.

Jungkook blinked.

The rest of the members went very still in the particular way they went still when they had understood something before they were supposed to. Staff members moved quietly, reading the room, creating small excuses to be elsewhere.

Namjoon looked at the room. Made a small gesture. The remaining staff filed out.

"Hyung," Namjoon said, carefully. "Are you okay?"

Jin opened his mouth.

Closed it.

"No," he said. "Actually, no. I'm not."

Nobody said anything. Nobody tried to fill the silence with comfort or deflection or the usual architecture of making hard things easier. They just — sat with it. All of them, in the practice room, still in their rehearsal clothes, and let him have the space to say the true thing.

So he said it.

All of it.

He didn't perform it. He didn't make it light. He said it the way it actually was — the album, the writing block, the feeling of holding a door open for so long he'd forgotten what was on his side of it. The miscarriage. The guilt of not being there. The three years of carrying it quietly and moving forward and never saying I am still inside this, I never actually left this. The question she had asked him — are you happy — and how he had said I love you because it was true and also because he was a coward.

When he finished the room was very quiet.

Then Jimin said, simply: "You never told us you felt this way, hyung."

Jin looked at him.

"How can we fix something," Namjoon said, "if we don't know it's broken?"

The words hit him somewhere specific.

He sat with them for exactly four seconds.

And then he stood up.

"Thank you," he said. "For listening. I need to go."

"Hyung—" someone started.

"I need to go," he said again, and he was already moving, already out the door, already down the corridor with his jacket half on, because Namjoon was right, Namjoon was completely right, and he was not going to lose his wife over his inability to say the true thing to the person who had always deserved it most.

He got to his car.

He was driving before he had fully decided to be driving, the city moving past him in the dark, the streets wet from the rain that had been falling since early evening, and he was going too fast, he knew he was going too fast but he needed to get there, he needed to say the thing before another hour passed with it unsaid—

The light ahead turned green.

Then red.

He hit the brake.

The wet road.

The slide.

A sound he did not have time to process.

Author's Note: Yes, several bricks were kissed before being violently thrown at you on this one. i am so sorry. i am not sorry at all. both things are true.

okay so. i need to say a few things before anything else.

first — trigger warning for pregnancy loss. i want to be really clear about that before anyone goes into this chapter without knowing. the miscarriage storyline is handled with as much care as i know how to give it, but i know it's a topic that can hit very differently depending on where you are in your own life. please take care of yourselves. 🤍

second — this chapter is personal. more personal than most things i've written. i wanted to write it with the rawness it deserves. not as a plot device. as a real thing that happens to real people and changes them in ways that don't announce themselves.

the core of this story — the thing i keep coming back to — is that these two people are not broken because they love each other too little or because they made a terrible mistake or because they don't know each other. they are broken because they love each other so much that they have spent years trying to protect the other person from their own pain. they have been so busy taking care of each other that they forgot to tell each other the truth. and i think that's the most real kind of broken there is. the kind that sneaks up on you. the kind where you're standing in your kitchen at six in the morning trying to find the exact moment the space opened and realizing you can't, because it didn't happen all at once. it happened slowly, in all the small things you set down without saying you were setting them down.

i also did something in this chapter i have never done in the main series before — a POV change. jin gets his own section. and that was entirely intentional, because this is a story about both of them. every other story in this series centers the reader's experience, and that's by design. but for jin and his wife, i needed you to be inside his head too. i needed you to see that the space between them looks the same from both sides.

there is so much more coming. part four and part five are going to have a lot of real, hard, healing conversations — and some things that are going to make you want to throw your phone and then immediately pick it back up. as i always say: i don't write sad endings. every brick i throw, i kiss first. everything is going to be okay. just not yet.

and finally — coming very soon: the don't look at me like that teaser (jimin finally gets his moment 👀), the what happens when you fall special summer chapter, and the summer chapter for this series as well. i am so excited i can barely stand it.

thank you for reading this one. thank you for trusting me with the hard chapters. these two mean everything to me.

— ria 🍞

ps. yes. that ending happened. no i will not be taking questions at this time. ps. 2 If you want to be on the tag list send me an ask or comment below!!

Tag list: @whoisbts @sexytholland @btsevxn @kacythecarat @granataepfelchen @goawaysha @unknownbeknowst @joonmonjagi @cherryblossom1234567890 @blamgyuuuu @swagtimemachinecherryblossom @leftmensh @mikrokookiex @busanbby-jjk @jungkook97l @singularitypromise @angelarin @cherrycheolie @proudnoona @leeknowsbigtoe @pleasantheartsworld @lobbera @pinklasagna04

[wintrbears]

Cradle Robbers: First Anniversary Special | JJK

Summary: Naru’s a preschooler now and of course, that comes with a whole new world of parenting challenges, but neither of you expected just how many issues would arise throughout her first year of school.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Parents AU, Established Relationship, Angst, Smut, Fluff, Crack

Word Count: 22.0k

Warnings: jealousy, insecurity, feeling inadequate, arguing, parental challenges, disappointment, broken promises, apologies, crying, hospital, illnesses, fever, ambulance, medicine, doctors, nurses, medical terminology, fear, anxiety, yearning, menstruation, pregnancy scare 👀, procedure, doubt, work-life balance (or lack of), busy schedules, feeling overwhelmed. SMUT: kissing, groping, titty play, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, missionary, cowgirl, makeup sex, choking, dirty talk, creampie, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), face riding, that’s all.

Author's Note: OMG I’m so excited to finally be posting this!! I still can’t believe it’s been a year since cradle robbers, the fic that really started it all! you guys know how much I love these two so it was such a pleasure returning to their world. this is fairly different from the other cradle robbers fics and a lot more angsty than I anticipated, but it’s the good kind that just makes them come back together stronger than ever 🥹 I truly hope you all enjoy this and as always, let me know what you think! happy first anniversary to all my beautiful readers :)

-> Cradle Robbers Masterpost, Cradle Robbers x Two Masterpost

Abundant tears are shed the morning of Naru’s first day of preschool. But ironically, only a quarter of them are from her own eyes. Another quarter fall from yours, while the remaining half all stem from her loving father. 

In fact, once Naru’s little legs carry her through the school’s front doors, Jungkook literally coils himself around a tree and refuses to take a single step towards the car. Leaving you to desperately tug at his waist in hopes of forcing him to let go. 

“Jeon Jungkook!” You scold him between harsh yanks that require your entire body weight. “You are a grown man! Release the tree!”

“No!” Jungkook sulks. “I have to be here when she gets out!”

You groan so loud you’re positive he can feel it against his back. 

“That isn’t for another four hours, honey.”

“I don’t care.” 

Another pull, at which point he plants his feet so he won’t budge an inch. Jungkook’s usually the pinnacle of a good husband, but right now he feels like a fourth child. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” you remark. 

It’s clear any further effort on your part will be useless, so you step away while crossing your arms over your chest. When Jungkook realizes you’re relenting, he glances back at you over his shoulder. 

“You know what I think is ridiculous? A four year old going to school. She’s practically a baby!” 

You chuckle in disbelief.

“Funny how that baby is acting more mature than her father.” 

Jungkook pouts, but your comment seems to do the trick because he lets go a second later before turning to face you. 

“I just… what if she needs us?” He poses. “What if the other kids are mean to her or she gets scared and wants to come home early?” 

A part of you wants to be mad, but Jungkook’s love for your daughter is so damn sweet you can’t help but smile. 

“Then it’s a good thing we live right up the street and can come back to get her ASAP.” His lips curve down even more as you close the gap between you to cup his face. “I know it’s hard, baby, but we should be proud and excited for her rather than moping about her growing up.” 

He shakes his head as best he can with it trapped by your hands. 

“I don’t have it in me.”

It’s your turn to pout while deciding how to best approach this; both so you can actually get him to leave and make him feel better. 

“What if we go on a little shopping spree and surprise her with some first day of school gifts?” 

Although your husband hates spending money unnecessarily, he adores buying stuff for you and the kids. Plus, there’s no reason to rush home since your one-year-old twins are currently with their grandparents. 

As expected, Jungkook’s face lights up at the idea and his arms suddenly wrap around your waist so he can pull you in for a smooch. You giggle into the kiss until he breaks it to steal your hand and lead you towards the car. 

You hit multiple different places, including a toy store, book store, and clothing store. Jungkook also shoves you into a jewelry store as an apology for his erratic behavior earlier. Which you and him both know is just an excuse to spoil you. 

Since you’re equal opportunists, you purchase some items for the twins, but not nearly as much because it isn’t their special occasion. 

Naru deserves to be ravished after being so brave this morning. She was pretty nervous leading up to today, but she only cried for about a minute after hugging you both goodbye before the teacher guided her into the classroom. 

It’s your sincere hope she enjoys herself at school. Not only because it’s unavoidable and she has to go whether she likes it or not, but also because she doesn’t have too many friends her age. 

Taehyung and Mina’s son, Leo, is just over a year and a half old, so he’s still too young for playdates with her, as are her own brothers. There are a couple neighborhood kids in the right age range, but you don’t see them around very often. 

When school lets out, you and Jungkook are the first parents outside for pick up, and your husband spends every second practically vibrating with excitement about seeing his little girl. Meanwhile, you anxiously gnaw on your thumbnail in fear she’ll look miserable when she finally emerges. 

As the doors swing open and a hoard of toddlers come scurrying out, you two gasp and bend down so Naru can run straight into your arms. 

“Mommy! Daddy!” 

She weaves through the tiny crowd before barreling into you by throwing one arm around each of your necks. You both cradle her impossibly close while she nuzzles her head between your faces. 

“Oh, we missed you so much, pretty girl,” you tell her. 

“I missed you, too, Mommy,” she chirps. 

All three of you separate and you feel instant relief over how happy her expression is. She looks positively radiant, with flush cheeks, a toothy grin, and those big eyes you fell in love with while she was still in your womb. 

“Was it okay, princess? Nobody was mean? The teacher was nice? You understood everything?” Jungkook asks. 

“Mmhm!” She enthusiastically nods, causing you and him to chuckle. “I made a bunch of friends and my teacher was super nice! She even explained stuff again whenever I had a question.” 

While you beam over the good news, a slight frown distorts Jungkook’s features. That’s when you realize he was secretly hoping she’d hate it and beg to never go back. Not because he wants her to dislike school, but to protect his own ego. No father wants to hear that their child enjoys being away from home; from them. 

“Are you sure? You know, your mom can always homeschool yo — ow!” 

Normally, you would refrain from affectionately abusing him in front of your kids, but this calls for drastic measures. Hence Jungkook having to massage his bicep. 

“No, I loved it, Daddy,” Naru responds after giggling over his predicament. “I can’t wait to go back tomorrow!” 

Your poor husband nearly falls backwards in defeat. If it were up to him, she’d skip going to school altogether and tag along at work with him. In fact, he’d probably prefer all four of you staying by his side twenty four hours a day. 

Naru opens her many gifts in the car before all three of you drive to your parents’ house to pick up the twins.

She’s rightfully ecstatic about her new clothes, books, and toys, which she immediately shows off to both her grandmothers once you arrive. 

The three of them are in the living room as Naru performs a mini fashion show and raves about her first day of school. In the meantime, you and Jungkook greet your twins after missing them like crazy all day.

Jungkook has Ken high above his head while he makes ridiculous baby noises and funny faces so your son will giggle. On the contrary, Kai’s resting on your shoulder where his arms are tightly wrapped around your neck. 

“I missed you, sweet boy,” you tell him with a kiss to his head.

“Missie,” he responds in the most adorable voice imaginable. 

Both him and Ken can only parrot short words at this point, but you’re still able to interpret their thoughts after knowing them for over a year.

“That’s right.” You delicately pry him off so he can rest on your hip instead as you comb through his soft, black hair. “That’s what we say when we’ve been away from someone we love for a while.” 

His massive obsidian eyes peer up at you with such adoration you almost believe he understands. Although your theory’s instantly disproven when he ignores you in lieu of slapping his hand on the apple of your cheek.

“Mama.”

You giggle and brush your noses together.

“That’s right, too.” 

Behind you, the sound of Jungkook and Ken goofing around together echoes throughout the kitchen. You turn to face them and find your husband playfully nibbling on one of Ken’s chubby cheeks. 

“Mama!” The little boy cheers and begins reaching for you. 

Jungkook passes him to you while you do the same with Kai. You were both initially terrified of having two infants to care for at once, but now you're a well-oiled machine. It’s effortless to swap children or even carry them on one hip each. 

“Dada,” Kai coos as soon as he’s safe in Jungkook’s arms. “Dada, Dada, Dada.”

Your husband blushes and smiles so brightly both rows of bunny teeth appear. The twins may have a soft spot for you, but all three of your boys absolutely adore each other. You’re even eager for Kai and Ken to get older so you can watch them interact more. 

“Me? I’m Dada?” The baby boy in Jungkook’s arms starts rapidly nodding. “Uh huh. And Dada loves you so, so much!”

Kai squeals when Jungkook pulls him close for an affectionate nuzzle that sends their hair flying in all different directions. Ken’s clearly tuckered out in comparison, since his head falls to your shoulder with his tiny hand resting on your collarbone. 

“You wanna go home, little man?” You ask while tickling his tummy. 

He giggles and buries his face in your neck, which you accept as an affirmative reply. 

All three kids are fast asleep by the time you pull into your driveway, so you carry the twins upstairs while Jungkook scoops Naru up to bring her to her room next door. 

After everyone’s tucked in for the night, you two meet in your own bedroom which now resides in what was once the basement. You’re both obviously exhausted, considering you unceremoniously flop onto the mattress together. 

On instinct, Jungkook’s arm loops around your waist to pull you closer and you follow his lead by curling into his chest. His lips meet your temple where he places a few lazy smooches and you can’t help but contentedly hum at the sensation. 

“We did it,” you quietly declare. “And no one even died.”

Jungkook scoffs.

“My heart did.”

His response makes you snicker as you lean back so you can look into his eyes.

“It’ll heal, my love. Everything’s new right now, but watching her grow up, make friends, and learn about the world will be so exciting.” 

“I know, but every time I look at her I still see that baby girl you handed me after she was born,” he laments.

The memory produces a warm grin and watery eyes, both belonging to you. No matter what, her birthday will always be the best day of your life. Nothing could ever compare to holding Naru for the first time with Jungkook by your side. 

“She’ll always be our baby girl, Koo. Her age doesn’t change that.”

He sighs and cradles your cheek, letting his thumb gently brush back and forth across your skin. 

“But I can’t protect her out there. Here, at home with us, at least I know she’s happy and safe.” His eyes look to be holding all his emotions, and you can’t help but frown. “I’ve heard so many horror stories, Bams. If something were to happen to her…” He shakes his head. “I don’t just mean physically, but to her heart.” 

“Things will happen. That’s just part of life. But even though we can’t prevent them, we’ll be here to help her through anything and everything.”

You’re pretty good at talking Jungkook down from ledges and he soon concedes his position with a gracious kiss. But unfortunately for you and your assurances, his fears are quickly proven right. 

One issue every child faces when they start school is getting sick far more often. Being around all the new people, places, and things just breeds bacteria and germs no matter how often they wash their hands. The problem is, you and Jungkook aren’t as good at producing healthy babies as you once thought. 

It turns out Naru has a weak immune system. Your poor daughter spends the first three to four months of preschool fighting off a variety of coughs, stuffy noses, and mild fevers. Thankfully, it’s treatable with daily vitamins and medicines to keep her white blood cell count in range. But you guys don’t figure out she has a medical issue beyond her recurring common cold until it puts her in the hospital. 

Every weekday, Jungkook leaves for work around 7 am after kissing you and the kids goodbye. You usually rise about an hour later to wake said kids, get them and yourself ready, and feed everyone breakfast, all to ensure Naru gets to school on time. Since they can’t be at home alone, the twins always accompany you for drop off and pick up. Which Naru loves because it means spending more time with her little brothers. 

This morning begins like any other, with the ghost of Jungkook’s lips on your forehead and his familiar, honey voice whispering that he loves you. Your alarm goes off not long after and you quickly get dressed before heading to the twin’s room. Once they’re secure in their high chairs at the kitchen table, you head back upstairs for Naru. 

She’s been sick the last couple days, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. When you and Jungkook tucked her into bed last night, her mild fever had just broken and she was only coughing once every hour or so. 

Every time one of the kids isn’t feeling well, you leave a baby monitor in their room because your bedroom is two floors away. Nothing of note happened during the night, so you’re expecting her to be healthy enough for school. 

Upon cracking her door open, the first thing you notice is the sound of heavy breathing. It doesn’t worry you too much considering she has to sleep with her mouth open due to all the nasal congestion. You then flip on the light and sit on the edge of her bed to wake her up. 

Except as soon as you rest your hand on her forearm, you gasp at how scalding hot her skin feels. Up close, you see she’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat that’s matted down her hair and even darkened her pajama top.

“Naru?” You pull the covers away while using the back of your hand to gauge her temperature, but it’s hardly necessary when she’s burning up so badly. With the sheets gone, you can tell she’s shivering and suddenly all you feel is sheer, unadulterated panic. “Naru, sweetie, wake up.” 

Gently shaking her shoulders, you wait with your lip between your teeth for her eyes to open, but even when you push a little harder, she doesn’t budge. 

“Naru, can you hear me?” She’s obviously breathing, and when you peel her eyelids back, her pupils respond to the influx of light, but it doesn’t relieve any of your terror. “Baby, it’s Mommy. You gotta wake up, okay?” 

When she still doesn’t reply, you swear your lungs collapse and your chest cavity concaves around your heart. 

“Naru.” Your hands try once again to wake her by force. “C’mon, baby.” At this point you’re practically hyperventilating and you feel the pressure of fresh tears in your eyes. “Naru!”

After your final attempt fails, you fish your phone from your pocket to call an ambulance. You’re a total wreck as you weep to the paramedic about her condition before they assure you they’ll be there soon. You call your mom next to ask if she can stay with the twins and your waterworks continue relentlessly while you explain the situation all over again. 

Notably, you don’t call Jungkook. You know once he hears the fear in your voice and finds out something's wrong with your precious little girl, he’ll lose it. So, you decide to inform him after you reach the hospital and know more about her condition. You’re already a goddamn basket case and it won’t do Naru any good if you’re both in shambles. 

You remain at her side while waiting for the ambulance to arrive, holding one of her clammy hands and brushing back the sweaty locks of black hair stuck to her forehead. You’re still hysterically sobbing, but do your best to whisper encouraging phrases about how she’ll be alright and that her mom’s right beside her.

It’s so hard without Jungkook beside you. Not only are you a team, but he’s your anchor. Whenever he’s near, you have the strength to face what you aren’t able to on your own.

The paramedics thankfully appear before you completely lose your mind and allow you to sit in the back so you can keep holding Naru’s hand. 

They start by checking her vitals as well as giving her an oxygen mask and what they call an “ice jacket” to bring her temperature down. Besides her extremely high fever, her other vitals are fine, which gives you just enough peace of mind. 

By the time you arrive at the hospital, she’s actually beginning to groan as her eyelids flutter a little. Everyone says they’re good signs, but you won’t be able to breathe freely until you’re certain she’s okay. 

Once inside the emergency room, someone places a chair for you at her bedside while the team of doctors and nurses give her a new ice jacket, turn on some cooling fans, and retake all her vitals. Within five minutes, her voice lifts an indescribable weight off your shoulders. 

“Mommy,” she weakly rasps. 

Her big eyes blink open as her head turns in your direction. That one word alone sounds like a symphony from heaven and you immediately grab her hand again while leaning over to caress her cheek.

“Hi, my princess.”

“Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital, but you’re gonna be okay,” you explain.

She looks scared despite your assurance, so you squeeze her hand and try distracting her by combing your fingers through her hair. 

The doctors give her medicine to bring the fever down, but her temperature’s already astronomically lower than it was when they first checked in the ambulance. Not long after she swallows the cherry flavored syrup, she falls asleep again and you take it as your cue to finally call Jungkook. 

Except only moments after stepping out into the hall, you hear rushing footsteps and someone frantically shouting your name. Not your actual name, though.

“Bambi!” 

Your eyes widen, but you quickly piece together that one of your parents must’ve called him. The only issue is, Naru’s condition was far worse when your mom saw her being rushed into the ambulance. 

Jungkook barrels into you with enough force to knock you both to the ground, but he thankfully has the foresight to slow his momentum before that happens. 

“Where is she?” 

His hands land your shoulders where you can feel them shaking, prompting you to cradle his flushed, panicked face in your own hands.

“She’s okay,” you profess.

“Your mom said —” 

“I know, I know.” He looks so terrified his whole stature appears smaller. The drive from his office is at least thirty minutes and you’re positive he was in agony the entire time. “But she’s okay, Koo. I promise.”

“What happened?” 

“She had a really high fever, but they brought it down and now she’s resting.”

“Your mom told me she wouldn’t wake up,” he states across shallow breaths; no doubt from all the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “And I… I was so scared, Bams.” Tears instantly well up in his already red eyes. “Please don’t ever scare me like that again.” 

“I know. I’m so sorry, baby.”

“You can’t… you can’t scare me like that.” When his voice breaks and a few droplets roll down his cheek, your heart shatters. “Please don’t ever… you can’t do that to me. Please, baby, don’t ever do that to me again.” 

He collapses into you when the silent tears turn into harsh cries, his arms wrapping around your torso so tight it almost hurts. Your own limbs circle his back so one hand can rest in his hair while the other softly traces his spine. His body’s trembling in your grasp, but you just pull him closer.

This is precisely what you were hoping to avoid by only relaying the situation to him once you knew more. You’re sure your mother meant well and thought she was being helpful, but it put Jungkook through an onslaught of unnecessary fear. 

You continue apologizing and reassuring him of Naru’s condition, even though you know he doesn’t actually fault you for anything. He may be asking you to spare him from something like this in the future, but in reality he’s begging the universe itself. 

Once Jungkook eventually calms down, he lifts his head and trails his hands up your back until he’s cupping your jaw.

“Can I see her?”

“Of course.” 

He surprises you with a kiss rather than bolting right into the room. It isn’t just a peck, either, but a soft, reverent press of his lips to your own. Your foreheads meet once your mouths part, where you remain for a moment before he sighs and forces his head up.

Without another word, you take his hand to lead him into the room where Naru’s still sound asleep. 

She looks perfectly peaceful as you two approach her bed, but Jungkook still drops straight into the chair and presses one of her hands to his lips.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, Naru,” he whispers.

You pull up another seat for yourself before placing your own hand on his lower back. 

“You couldn’t have known, honey.”

Jungkook shakes his head and turns towards you while resting his cheek on his and Naru’s intertwined fingers. 

“I should’ve.” His eyes flicker towards her again. “I was in a rush this morning, so I didn’t kiss the kids goodbye like I normally do. Instead I just peeked my head in to say I loved them. If I had, I would’ve known something was wrong, and we could’ve gotten her here faster or maybe even avoided it entirely.” 

“Don’t do that to yourself,” you instruct. “She’s here now and she’s going to be just fine.” 

When you tuck some hair behind his ear, a gentle smile appears as he twists his head to kiss your fingertips. 

“I’m sorry to you, too. I haven’t even asked about you yet.” 

“Me?”

“You must have been so terrified dealing with this all by yourself.”

The statement makes you recall how helpless and frightened you felt, but you didn’t focus on your emotions for a single second; Naru’s all that mattered.

“I, uh, I don’t even know how to describe it. On one hand, I remember being petrified, but my mom-brain was also running a million miles a minute.” 

“That’s because you’re a goddamn superhero.” 

You giggle at the familiar compliment before leaning on his shoulder. 

“As long as you’re my sidekick.”

Jungkook chuckles and gives the top of your head a smooch. 

“Always,” he promises. You both shift your attention to Naru to watch her chest gracefully rise and fall at a steady rhythm. Her little hand’s still locked with Jungkook’s as his thumb grazes her knuckles. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel more afraid than when I saw you pass out during the twin’s birth.” 

It’s fairly difficult to forget the traumatic experience of bringing your boys into the world, and it was even worse for Jungkook. 

“Then this morning happened?” 

He nods. 

“The whole drive over I just kept thinking about what I would do if… if the worst happened. Since the moment you told me you were pregnant, I’ve been Naru’s dad, and it was the first time in my life a title actually meant something to me.” His lip begins to quiver. “I don’t even know who I am, or who I’d be, if not her dad.”

Your mouth drops open in shock until a frown takes over. 

“Koo,” you call to him while lifting his chin with your fingertips. “You will always be Naru’s dad, even after both you and her have left this earth. Which won’t be for a long, long time, by the way.” 

A small smile accompanies Jungkook sniffling to prevent any more tears from falling. Just then, you hear a soft moan and Naru’s eyes slowly open, causing you both to gasp and eagerly stand so you’re closer to her.

She still appears a little disoriented, but once her sights set on Jungkook above her, she starts beaming.

“Daddy!”

His expression automatically mirrors her own as he bends down to kiss her forehead and brush some hair back.

“Hi, baby,” he coos. “How are you feeling?”

Her brow creases when she glances down, almost like she isn’t entirely sure.

“I had a weird dream,” she answers. “There were flashing lights, a loud ringing, and lots of strange voices. At first I was hot, but then I got really cold.” 

You decide to move your chair to the opposite side so she can see you both, and unsurprisingly, her eyes light up once you’re in view. She stretches her hand out, which you gladly accept before pressing a couple kisses to her skin. 

“That must’ve been scary,” Jungkook responds to her.

Naru nods.

“I could hear Mommy’s voice, too, but it sounded far away, like she was underwater or something.”

“Well, it’s all over now and the doctors will take great care of you until we go home,” you explain. “Does that sound good, pretty girl?”

Her smile grows and she nods again while sitting up in bed. You click the call button so they can reexamine her now that she’s awake, but it isn’t a doctor who knocks on the door a few minutes later. 

Instead, you hear the frantic padding of a very pregnant, very anxious Jihyo. 

“Is she okay?” Your best friend pants while traveling as quickly as her swollen feet will allow. 

Rather than responding to her yourself, Naru leans back until she’s no longer hidden behind Jungkook. 

“Hi, auntie Ji!” 

Jihyo stops in her tracks before her entire body visibly relaxes and she sighs in relief.

“Oh, thank God.” When she begins walking again, Jungkook stands to join you so she can sit. “I almost had a heart attack when I saw her name on the ambulance intake list.” 

Naru excitedly stretches her arms wide for her beloved aunt, who gives her one of the tightest hugs she’s ever received. She also peppers Naru’s head with kisses until your daughter squeals in protest. 

After plopping down in the empty seat, Jihyo’s hands immediately start massaging her baby bump in large circles, bringing a smile to your face because of how adorable she looks with a bun in the oven. 

“I didn’t check anything in her file before running… well, waddling, over here. Is everything okay?”

You pet Naru’s hair as she settles back into the bed and pulls the sheets up to her chest. It’s obvious she’s still exhausted from everything her body’s been through, so you lull her to sleep before explaining the situation to Jihyo. 

It was fairly soon after her and Namjoon’s wedding that they announced their pregnancy, and now she’s already in her third trimester.

“I can’t believe you’re working seven months pregnant,” you tell her.

She shrugs.

“I’d be too bored if I didn’t.” 

Jungkook’s eyes instantly look in your direction and you reply with a warning glance, but he still chuckles under his breath.

“Funny. I don’t remember that being a problem at all for Bambi,” he teases.

Your elbow jabs his side, leaving him hunched over and overdramatically groaning despite your lack of force. 

The three of you continue to chat until Jihyo has to return to work, at which point you and Jungkook meet with the doctors to discuss Naru’s condition. They explain the details of her condition and why she keeps getting sick before prescribing her a handful of medications and vitamins to take every day. But they assure you she should only need vitamins to keep her immune system healthy once she’s done with the regimen. 

She’s kept overnight just to be safe, so your mom stays at your place with the twins. Thankfully, there’s a small couch in the room you and Jungkook are able to squeeze onto. Except only an hour into the night, Naru begs one of you to join her in the unfamiliar bed. You volunteer for the position and climb in beside her, but once Jungkook sees you two cozied up together, he pouts from across the room.

“So you guys get to snuggle all night while I’m over here by myself?” 

Naru giggles and cuddles closer to you.

“It’s girls only, Daddy!” 

Jungkook’s lips purse until he looks cartoonishly hurt, causing you and your daughter to laugh at his expense. 

“Well, you know what? When we get home, the boys and I are going to have a sleepover and neither of you will be invited!” 

“Please do. I’d love a night off from diaper duty,” you counter. 

Your very mature husband sticks his tongue out, but you’re not much better when you simply blow raspberries right back. 

Although you two love messing around, you genuinely hate sleeping without Jungkook. Of course, Naru’s a great substitute, but having her small frame curled up beside you just isn’t the same as feeling his arms around you or his heartbeat against your back. 

With the knowledge of what’s been causing Naru to get sick, you’re able to prevent further illnesses. It’s honestly life changing because you’re finally able to find a rhythm as a family with her consistently going to school.

The only downside is how damn busy you are all the time. Being a stay at home mom with three kids was challenging enough, but it’s nothing compared to leaving the house twice a day to grab Naru. One might believe it can’t possibly be that complex, but dressing, feeding, and strapping two one-year-olds into car seats for both pick up and drop off while still remaining on time is a Herculean labor. 

It’s also unexpectedly lonely, because while other parents get to mingle outside the school as they wait for their children, you have to stay in your car with the twins. You don’t mind too much considering you have plenty of friends, but it’s difficult planning play dates for Naru when you’re not familiar with any of the parents. 

Which is what you’re currently explaining to Jungkook while moving in and out of the en-suite to complete your nightly routine. 

“So then I feel terrible telling her no because I’m not comfortable sending her to someone’s house I don’t know, and since the other mom feels the same, it’s a wash. We could always do a public play date, I guess, but those are logistical nightmares,” you ramble in the middle of applying moisturizer. 

“Can’t you just get to know this other mom over the phone or something?” Jungkook suggests from where he’s lounging in bed.

“No.” After setting down your last product, you return to your bedroom and lean against the doorframe. “I swear, parents are crazy these days. I would be perfectly fine with it, but everyone else is super strict.”

Your husband sighs and puts his phone down on the nightstand so he can give you his full attention. It’s obvious how distressed you are, which means it’s up to him to fix it.

“C’mere, babygirl.” 

His hand stretches towards you and on instinct, you cross the room so he can guide you into bed. His opposite arm naturally loops around your waist as you straddle his thighs and relax in his lap. Feeling Jungkook’s fingers dance across your ribcage and up your back is mundane, but the familiarity doesn’t make it any less comforting.

“I feel like I’m failing,” you quietly confess.

Your fingertips are drawing nonsensical shapes along his collarbones, one of which is decorated with pretty ink that continues onto his shoulder. 

“I know even if I tell you that you aren’t, you won’t believe me.” Can’t argue there. Your husband knows you a little too well on behalf of him spending the first part of his life as your best friend. “So is there anything else I can do to help? Maybe I can talk to my boss about working remotely in the evenings so you don’t have to lug the twins around. I could even pick Naru up from school myself depending on how busy I am.”

The suggestion makes your brow scrunch.

“No… no.”

“Why not?”

Jungkook’s staring at you with those big, chocolate eyes you can never resist. It’s impossible not to melt in them, including relenting to his idea despite feeling the need to prove yourself as a mom. 

“Because your job’s outside the home, and mine’s in it. You shouldn’t have to pick up my slack when every other stay at home mom does just fine.”

He scoffs.

“Just because we decided to have you stay here with the kids doesn’t mean I’m absolved of my responsibilities,” he argues. “We have twin toddlers, Bams. I don’t give a damn what other moms can or can’t do. I only care about you. And if you’re driving yourself into the ground trying to balance everything, the least I can do is help.” 

“I don’t —” 

“Nuh uh. Look at me.” One of his hands slides up your back to grip your jaw and force your eyes to meet. You were purposely avoiding his gaze both for your resolve and so he wouldn’t see how watery your own are. Once he does, his entire expression softens as he leans in to slowly kiss across your cheeks and nose. “I promised to always take care of you, so please let me.”

Following a deep sigh, you fall forward until your foreheads press together.

“I shouldn’t need to be taken care of, Koo. I’m supposed to be the caretaker.”

Jungkook shakes his head.

“That’s not how it works, Bambi.” His thumb glides along your cheekbone, catching the stray tear that escaped from your waterline. “You’ve got me and I’ve got you.”

You can’t help but smile when his words are sweeter than candy. Nevertheless, it’s always been difficult accepting help from anyone, especially after becoming a mom. There’s a constant need deep inside to prove yourself, even though you aren’t sure to whom. With Naru in school, it’s easy to compare yourself to the other parents, and you have a suspicion you just don’t measure up. 

But you can’t deny how much stress it’d relieve to have Jungkook around. Your pride’s still on the line, but you think you know how to trick your brain into accepting his help.

“Well, I would love to see you more often,” you state. “I miss you so much during the day.”

He knows precisely what you’re doing, because of course he does. Prompting a wide grin to appear.

“Exactly. How could you ever say no to more time together?” 

You giggle and shrug your shoulders.

“And why would I?” 

“Right!” 

The two of you share a bright laugh until Jungkook muffles it by stealing a kiss. His hand on your face roams into your hair as the arm around your waist brings you closer. Your fingers follow his lead, sliding along his shoulders so you can play with the soft hair at his nape. 

With how busy life’s been lately, you can’t remember the last time you kissed and touched one another without rushing. Being parents means most sexual encounters are quickies at best, and ever since Naru started school, even those happen sporadically. 

Hence why Jungkook’s leisurely rolling his tongue into your mouth while your lips collide between quiet moans. 

You miss the slow moments; chunks of time reserved solely for you two. This hectic period won’t last forever, and you both know that, but it’s still hard when you’re going through it. 

“God, I missed the way you taste,” Jungkook mumbles before trailing kisses across your jaw. “Just missed you.” 

The sensation of his warm, wet lips on your skin makes your head lull as you sigh and your fingers rake through his hair. 

“Koo,” you whisper with a gentle tug. 

He merely hums against your throat while continuing to paint you in saliva. 

“I love you so damn much, baby.” 

It’s his last remark before his face disappears in your cleavage, his tongue darting out to trace the curve of your chest. He eventually switches to sloppy kisses as his hand on your ribs moves to caress your neglected breast over your top.

“I —” A short giggle interrupts you. “I love you, too.”

If he hears you, he doesn’t make it known; far too busy gorging himself on your tits. The only problem is tomorrow’s an early morning because the twins have their final infant vaccine appointment. You’d love nothing more than to let Jungkook do whatever he wants with you for hours on end, but it just isn’t possible tonight.

“Honey, we shouldn’t.” Your husband growls his dissent into your chest. “Jungkook.”

“No,” he whines before shoving his face between your tits. It leaves you relentlessly giggling until he glances up with his infamous puppy eyes. “Please, baby.”

If only you could give in, especially considering you haven’t been able to do anything besides him bending you over a counter or pushing you up against a wall in a long time. Alas, parental duty calls.

“I promise the next time we get a chance, we’ll go all night. Okay?” 

Jungkook groans while flopping onto the pillows and you hate the sudden loss of his hands on you.

“It’ll get easier soon, right?”

“Of course, it will,” you answer as your fingers comb through his hair. “Everything’s just so new right now, but once we get a hang of things, we’ll be back to normal in no time.” 

He sighs, but he must believe you somewhat because he flashes you a warm smile that you echo right back. 

“I can’t wait,” he declares. 

You obviously feel the same, and convey your agreement via a chaste kiss.

The following Monday, Jungkook talks to his boss about the possibility of working remotely and they agree to discuss it after the current game launch. 

As much as you hate to admit it, you’d be beyond grateful to have help. Even if Jungkook remains in his home office all day while you go about your normal routine, being able to leave the twins at home with him will lift a huge burden off your shoulders. You also can’t deny wanting to see him more often since you’ve both been so busy lately.

A couple weeks later, you and your pair of rambunctious boys are lying on a playmat in the living room as they match toys of different shapes and colors. They’re both so smart already, just like Naru was at their age, making it all too easy to cheer them on. 

“Re!” Ken shouts while holding up a red cube.

“Red,” you softly correct him, emphasizing the last letter.

He simply giggles in response before slamming the cube down over the circle hole and moving onto the next one. 

Kai, on the other hand, is much gentler in his approach. He rolls the shapes around under his palm to examine them and even gives them a nice bite just to see what information it’ll provide him. Once he’s done investigating, he places the shape into the corresponding hole.

“Good job, little man!” 

Your son smiles as though it’s the biggest compliment in the world, his chubby cheeks rising like freshly baked dough. 

Ken begins to crawl away from you after finishing his pairs, so you keep a close eye on him. He uses the couch to stand and guide himself towards the entrance of the room and you realize his actions have a purpose once you hear footsteps coming up the stairs.

The little boy laughs like a maniac, no doubt recognizing his dad’s familiar gait. He does his best to walk without holding onto any furniture, but he only lasts a couple steps before he’s on his knees again.

Thankfully, Jungkook waltzes in at the perfect moment, and Ken doesn’t even register the fall because he’s too excited. 

“Da! Dada!” 

Like always, a massive smile overtakes Jungkook’s face when he bends down to scoop up the toddler. 

“There you are,” he cheers. “What’s my little buddy been up to, huh?”

Ken joyously squeals while kicking his feet in the air until your husband lowers him onto his hip and gives him plenty of kisses. 

Clearly feeling left behind, Kai makes a break for the action by crawling at light speed towards his father. Jungkook notices immediately, prompting him to place Ken down so he can lift up Kai instead. 

“Hey, you!” As soon as he’s able, Kai wraps his arms around Jungkook’s neck and burrows his face in his chest. “Were you having fun with Mommy?”

Your little boy nods without ever lifting his head and Jungkook snickers in adoration before pressing his lips to Kai’s hair.

After momentarily admiring them together, you stand to greet Jungkook as well. Ken reaches for you as you pass by, so you snatch him from the ground and rest him on your own hip.

“What are you doing here so early?” 

Before replying, Jungkook leans in for a kiss that causes both boys to giggle. 

“Boss gave me the rest of the day off to celebrate another successful launch. Which also means I get to work from home in the afternoons starting next week. All I have to do is come in an hour earlier,” he explains. 

Your jaw drops open when you delightfully gasp. 

“Really?” 

“Yes, ma’am. I know mornings will still be tough, but I hope it’ll help, even just a little.”

“It will,” you assure him. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Jungkook scoffs.

“Are you kidding? More time at home with my wife and kids? Oh, the torture!” 

You smack his bicep with your free hand, but he just laughs and swoops in for another smooch. 

The babies in your arms begin getting fussy, clearly ready to be put down so they can play some more. You gently return Kai to the floor and he instantly takes off on his hands and knees towards the toys. Jungkook follows your lead by setting Kai down, who races after his brother to join the fun.

A moment later, you feel the familiar sensation of your husband's arms around your waist and you naturally melt into his embrace. His head falls to your neck where he places a few kisses while you trace the tattoos staining his right arm. 

“When’s the last time this happened, hm?” Jungkook asks. “Just you, me, and the troublemakers.”

You snicker before resting your head on his shoulder to look at him. 

“Maybe four months?” 

“We should make the most of it, then.”

“Absolutely,” you concur with a peck. 

Suddenly you and Jungkook are standing side by side behind the couch, where you’ve laid down multiple playmats and blankets to form a makeshift aisle. You’re both hunched over with a twin each dangling from your fingertips. The two boys joyously screech and cackle as they hover just above the ground, obviously enjoying being airborne. 

Bam and Usagi watch with hesitant curiosity from their place on a nearby chair. Your loving Doberman’s slightly less relaxed than the cat curled up beside him because his protective nature always keeps him on high alert. 

“On three?” Jungkook proposes.

“You better not cheat.”

Your eyes are already locked on the opposite side of the room, your target destination, but you still hear his lighthearted chuckle.

“I would never.” With a click of your tongue, you readjust your feet to be ready to run as Jungkook counts down beside you. “Three… two… one… go!” 

The very second he shouts the order, you both place your respective child on the floor before taking off towards the end of the last playmat. It’s the finish line for today’s race and the sooner you reach it, the better your chances of victory. 

There’s hardly any time between when you two drop to your knees so you can begin encouraging the boys to head in your direction. From the outside, you probably look like a pair of maniacs as you enthusiastically cheer and holler for them to keep crawling.

“That’s a good boy! C’mere, Ken,” you call while motioning at yourself. 

“You got it, bubba, come to Daddy.” Jungkook adds motivation by clapping, which seems to grab Kai’s attention. “Yeah, there you go!” 

Both twins eagerly follow your commands by crawling across the soft surfaces as fast as they can. They’re neck and neck, so the race will definitely be down to the wire. 

You and Jungkook are already trying your best to guide your sons closer, but once they’re within arm’s reach, you really go all out.

“That’s it, Kai!” 

“Go, go, go!” 

“No mercy!”

“You can do it, baby!”

Their tiny hands are perfectly aligned with only a few steps to go, causing you both to hold your breath in anticipation. 

In a surprise twist, Kai slows down just a hair when he glances up at his beloved dad. Once Jungkook realizes what’s about to happen, his eyes expand in horror and he begins frantically waving his hands.

“No, no, no,” he pleads in desperation.

It’s too late. Your son halts only a couple inches before the finish line to mirror Jungkook’s claps with a massive smile on his face. Meanwhile, Ken crawls right into your awaiting arms for a landslide victory. You let out a celebratory squeal as you stand and twirl the toddler high above your head.

“You did amazing, sweet boy!” You applaud him. “Who’s Mommy’s little champion?” 

Ken coos and stretches his hands towards you. Because despite not realizing he just won you bragging rights for the foreseeable future, he understand his mom’s proud of him. 

After returning Ken to your chest for a loving kiss attack, you notice Jungkook still on his knees with a completely dejected expression. Kai’s just ahead of him, rolling on his tummy while pulling at the playmat. 

“Don't look so down, baby.” His gaze shifts to you with the fury of a thousand suns. “At least you lost because your son loves you so much.”

He tsks.

“There’s no place for love in competition, Bambi.” 

Kai has impeccable timing when he finally crawls to Jungkook, which instantly wipes away his sour face. It’s impossible for him to resist one of his precious babies gesturing for him. Hence why Kai receives a consolation prize of being aggressively snuggled by his dad. 

“What was that again?” 

Jungkook shoots you another melodramatic glare that you respond to by blowing him some kisses. His face automatically burns bright pink, as though you don’t kiss him multiple times a day, but you still feel prideful regardless. 

The twins are more than ready for their afternoon nap after all the fun, so you and Jungkook head upstairs together. Once they’re both tucked into their respective cribs, your husband takes your hand to lead back to the first floor. 

It’s serene with the boys asleep, especially since you’re not alone like usual. 

Maybe it’s weird, but you really love holding Jungkook’s hand. They’re much bigger than yours, but his fingers still fit perfectly in between your own somehow. His hands are always warm and soft, and he also has a habit of squeezing every few minutes as a reminder that he’s there. 

You remember as kids, your parents would constantly tell you two to hold hands while crossing the street or among big crowds. Back then, Jungkook would envelope your entire hand in a firm grip so you wouldn’t lose each other. 

He’s always been so protective of you and it wasn’t until you got older that you realized all the little things. If you were walking along a sidewalk together, he’d stand on the side closest to the road. In packed spaces, his hand would hover near your lower back. On a night out if you chose to separate, he’d ensure you’re at least still in his line of sight. 

It’s just second nature to him, and although you’re not physically intimidating enough to return the favor, you like to think you’ve done the same for him emotionally over the years. Maybe you can’t protect him, but you’re able to protect his heart. 

Your little reverie causes you to miss Jungkook guiding you across the room near the stereo beside your TV. It isn’t until you hear music floating through the air that your eyebrows perk up in a silent question. 

“Don’t worry, I know Naru gets out of school soon.”

“Then…”

He smirks and commandeers your other hand before walking backwards to a spot with more space. 

“You know, sometimes I feel sad we never got to be a couple before having kids,” Jungkook confesses. “There’s a lot of stuff we didn’t get the opportunity to do, so whenever we do have alone time together, I wanna make the most of it.” 

“And how do you propose we do that?” 

“I don’t know.” An obvious lie given the mischievous smile on his face. “Maybe by dancing around the living room?”

You two often grab your kids for a rhythmic twirl around the house, but it’s been quite a while since you did so by yourselves. 

“You’re so cute when you’re being romantic, baby,” you tell him.

Since you aren’t protesting the idea, Jungkook pulls you close and secures your waist with one arm so you can dance together to the slow beat of the music. Your free hand moves to his shoulder as he lifts your intertwined fingers into the proper position. 

“So I’m not cute all the time?”

He raises a challenging eyebrow, causing you to snicker.

“You’re everything all the time.” Your fingers resting on his shoulder slide into his hair and he immediately smiles at the familiar touch. “Cute, cool, charismatic, gorgeous, sexy. You name it.” 

“Wow, you must really love me,” he remarks.

Similar to your wedding day, Jungkook lets go to spin you under his arm before guiding you back in place. You continue swaying along to the song, although you’re both much more focused on each other than dancing. 

“I’m so in love with you it’s scary.” 

“Oh, yeah? What’s so scary about it?”

Your fingertips scratch his scalp and elicit a low, content hum while he awaits your response. 

“Because it’s overwhelming,” you admit. “And because I’d do anything for you without a second thought.” 

Jungkook pensively nods.

“It’s like that for me, too.” As if to show you with actions instead of words, he tugs you closer until your chests brush and uses his arm to anchor you there. “Sometimes I think about you and I worry my heart will beat right out of my ribcage.” You giggle as a light blush spreads across your cheeks. “And I honestly feel a little crazy.”

“What? Why?”

His tongue hits the roof of his mouth. 

“All the guys at work talk about their wives like marriage is a chore,” he explains. “Sure, they might not openly talk bad about them, but their feelings are clear based on their tone and word choice.” He shakes his head. “Then there’s me, who genuinely can’t shut up about you.” His candor makes you chuckle again. “I’m serious, Bams. I’m so fucking obsessed with you I think something might actually be wrong with me.”

You burst into a fit of giggles, but you also know he’s being completely honest.

“Koo, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“But I don’t understand how I can be the only person who’s still just as in love after all these years, when other people’s ‘honeymoon’ phases don’t last this long.” 

“Well, you’re not the only one,” you correct him. 

All the tension in Jungkook’s features disappears as a brilliant smile takes it’s place.

“Of course. How could I forget?”

“I don’t know.” You flash him a playful grin. “But it better not happen again.” 

Instead of replying, he releases you for another twirl, but rather than bringing you back into his arms, he dips you across his body after.

“Or what?” 

Your eyes are stuck on each other, causing you to almost forget you’re in your living room and not somewhere only the two of you exist. 

“Or I’ll have to remind you just how obsessed I am with you in return.” 

Jungkook’s smile widens.

“Promise?”

In an instant, he effortlessly leads you back to your feet before giving your hand a gentle kiss and bowing as if it was a formal dance. Except the charade doesn’t last long because Jungkook seemingly gets an urge he can’t resist and surges forward for a kiss. 

His hands cradle your face while yours sneak around his back to pull him closer. Despite this being at least your one billionth kiss, it always feels like the first because Jungkook kisses you with so much ardor and devotion it steals your breath. Even when the lip lock is short and sweet. 

Which isn’t exactly how you’d describe this one. 

As your lips mold into one, he gracefully walks you backwards until your spine meets a hard surface. The sound of you bumping into the wall makes you both snicker before your tongues wrap around each other inside your mouth. 

Unfortunately, your alarm to pick up Naru goes off before you’re able to do anything else. Jungkook groans and presses his forehead against your own while you sigh in defeat. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” you lament. “We can pick up where we left off later?”

He shakes his head and stands to his full height, letting his hands drag along your curves until he squeezes your hips and drops them. 

“If we get a chance,” he counters. Your face falls, but Jungkook reaches out to caress your cheek. “I’m not upset, baby. I just miss taking my time with you. I can’t even remember the last time I ate you out or… kissed you for longer than a minute.”

Unlike when it was just Naru, you can’t call up your parents or friends to babysit for the evening or weekend. Looking after three kids, especially two under two, is nothing like watching one. Nowadays you can only ship them off to someone’s house during important events or emergencies. 

Not to say your friends and family aren’t still extremely helpful. You genuinely don’t know what you’d do without them, but you aren’t the only couple with kids anymore so you have to handle a lot more on your own. 

Besides Jihyo and Namjoon recently welcoming their beautiful little girl, Yoongi and Jimin adopted a two year old boy and are doubly busy planning their wedding. Seokjin just proposed to his girlfriend and both Tzuyu and Nayeon have moved in with their partners. Mina hasn’t told anyone besides you, but she found out she’s pregnant with her and Tae’s second child. Hoseok and Yujin are still going strong and although Chaewon started seeing someone a couple months ago, Eunchae’s still looking for the right person. 

Unfortunately, no matter how crazy you and Jungkook still are about each other after all these years, life often moves faster than you want it to. It feels like just yesterday everyone in your friend group was single and now half of you have kids. 

It’s like you told Jungkook a few weeks ago, everything’s new and you’re the first couple out of your friends to send their child to school. But you’re confident this dry spell won’t last forever and hopefully your return to normalcy happens sooner rather than later. 

“I know.” You catch Jungkook’s hand on your cheek to lace your fingers together. “Maybe we can find some time this weekend?” 

Even though he’s obviously skeptical, he smiles and nods. 

It’s the first time you’re able to pick up Naru without the twins in tow, allowing you to finally meet some of the parents of the kids she always talks about in her class. 

Your routine becomes a lot easier after that. Mornings are still a mad dash, but having Jungkook home in the afternoon relieves even more stress than originally anticipated. Not only does it mean you can leave without hauling the twins along, but he’s even able to start dinner and take care of some chores depending on his workload. 

Now you’re finally acquainted with all the other parents and you’ve gotten fairly close with a few of them. Naru being friends with their children also helps. You don’t know what you’d do if she got close with kids whose parents you didn’t like. 

The person you get along with the most is Seojun, the father of the little girl Naru calls her “BFF.” He’s chill like you and has a similar sense of humor, so you poke fun at the more uptight parents together. For the past month you’ve stood side by side to wait for your daughters to exit, along with some other easygoing moms and dads. 

Today’s a special occasion because Jungkook and the twins are accompanying you to the school. You’re all heading to your parents’ house for dinner and you need to leave right away to avoid being late. 

Jungkook stays in the car with the boys while you wait for Naru outside the classroom doors like normal. After giving him a quick kiss and crossing the street from the parking lot, you join your usual group on the sidewalk. 

“Afternoon,” Seojun greets you. 

“Howdy.”

“It looks like you’ve got an entourage today,” one of the moms comments.

Your eyes flit back to the car where you see Jungkook turned around playing with the twins. 

“Yeah, we’ve got a fun night with the grandparents ahead of us,” you explain.

“Do they get along? Your in-laws and your folks?” Seojun asks.

The question almost makes you laugh.

“Oh, yeah. Our moms were college roommates and our dads were already friends when they met them. Not to mention, they’re neighbors.”

Everyone chuckles at the cute backstory, but Seojun clicks his tongue once the laughter dies down.

“You’re lucky. I’ve never even met my in-laws because the relationship’s so bad.” 

You frown.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be,” he replies with a wave of his hand. “We don’t need anyone like them in our lives, anyway.”

It’s certainly a great mindset to have, even if you still can’t help but feel bad. 

The conversation shifts to more small talk as you all wait for your kids. You and Seojun exchange your regular jokes and chitchat until Naru finally emerges from the double doors holding hands with none other than Seojun’s daughter, Jia.

“Hey, little bug,” you call to her. 

Her already large smile widens to reveal the small space where her first tooth fell out not too long ago. The older she gets, the more she looks like Jungkook did at her age, down to the adorable dimple in her cheek. It makes denying her anything nearly impossible, just as it is with your husband. 

“Hi, Mommy!” Naru replies.

“Dada!” Jia cheers. 

They drop each other’s hand in order to run at you two and you both bend down at the same time to haul your girls into your arms.

“Did you have a good day at school today, little lady?” Seojun questions his daughter.

“Mmhm. We learned all about colors!” 

“And about why everyone’s eyes see different ones,” Naru adds. 

Jia vehemently nods in agreement.

“Wow,” you comment. “You know what might be fun later?” Your daughter’s eyes go wide while awaiting your explanation. “You can practice by pointing out all the colors in Daddy’s tattoos.” 

Naru gasps before rapidly clapping her hands.

“Let’s do it, let’s do it!” 

“Your daddy has tattoos?” Jia asks in wonder. 

“Yup. A whole bunch of ‘em right here.” 

She raises her right arm and slides her other hand up towards her shoulder to show Jia.

“Mine does, too, but his are all over.” 

You and Seojun snicker at their conversation before informing the girls it’s time to go and wishing one another goodbye. He mentions he’ll text you about setting up a playdate soon and you holler an affirmative response over your shoulder as you cross the street with Naru. 

By the time you reach the car, Jungkook’s leaning on the passenger side door to properly greet you both. Naru, who you put down once you’re in the parking lot, bolts straight into his awaiting arms.

“There’s my princess,” Jungkook remarks while lifting her onto his hip. She’s getting bigger everyday and you know sooner or later neither of you will be able to pick her up, so you’re trying to savor the time you have left. “How are you doing?”

“Good. Mommy said I can use your tattoos to practice learning about colors,” she tells him.

“Of course, you can. But only if you finish eating all your dinner tonight. You remember we’re going to grandma and grandpa’s, right?” She nods. “Good girl.”

Jungkook kisses her head before strapping her into the open car seat while you hop in the driver’s side. He joins you a second later, but unlike usual, he doesn’t take your hand or lean over to kiss your cheek. 

You don’t pay it too much attention since you know it’s been a long week and you still have the entire evening ahead of you. The only issue is, his weird behavior doesn’t stop there. He doesn’t necessarily avoid your touch, but he isn’t welcoming it, either. 

Before, during, and after dinner you notice multiple moments when he does something totally opposite from normal. When you ask him to grab a spoon so you can help taste test for your mom, he doesn’t kiss the top of your head as he so often does. Then at the table, his hand never lands on your thigh despite him always wanting to touch you.

By the time you’re done with the dishes, you’re spiraling too much to ignore it any longer and ask him to join you in your childhood bedroom while the kids play with your parents. 

After shutting the door behind you, you wait with your arms crossed as Jungkook peruses the room.

“I can’t remember the last time I was in here,” he notes.

“What’s going on with you?”

He stops mapping the walls to face you, but his expression’s unreadable.

“Nothing.”

“Koo,” you flatly counter.

“I’m serious, Bambi.” 

You step closer and the way he ever so slightly recoils reveals everything you need to know.

“I’m sorry, since when do we lie to each other?” 

Jungkook shakes his head.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he defends.

“Then what are you doing?” 

His jaw ticks and he clears his throat as his eyes glance everywhere but at you. But after a lingering breath, he finally returns his gaze to your face. 

“Who was that guy you were talking to earlier?” 

A single eyebrow flies up your forehead before you scoff.

“Wait, have you been giving me the cold shoulder because you’re jealous?” 

“No!”

You know Jungkook well enough to see right through him, and even if you didn’t, the instant denial makes his feelings obvious. 

“He’s Jia’s dad. You know, the one Naru really likes,” you answer. “And the parent I get along with the most. We talk everyday before pick up.” 

“I can tell. You guys seemed pretty friendly with each other,” Jungkook declares while crossing his arms and turning his body away from you. 

“Are you being serious right now?” When he doesn’t respond, you take matters into your own hands by stomping over until you’re face to face again. “You do realize this was the whole point of you working from home, right? So I could get to know the other parents.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect you to get close with some random man.”

Your eyes nearly roll right out of your head. 

“Random man? He’s our daughter’s friend’s dad!” 

“I don’t care, Bams!” For the first time since you came up here, Jungkook’s emotions are evident in his features. The hurt, longing, and even deep green envy. “I realized today you have a whole other world I’m not a part of. A different friend group, new inside jokes… and I’m just an outsider.” 

All your defenses drop when you hear his explanation. It never occurred to you Jungkook might feel left out as the working parent and now your heart aches. 

“Baby, you’re not an outsider, you just haven’t had a chance to meet everyone yet.”

He shakes his head again.

“You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me.”

You’re staring too intensely to shy away, even though that’s clearly his desire. Thankfully, his arms soon unravel before he pushes his hair back with both hands. 

“I just miss you so fucking much, baby,” he confesses. 

His answer causes your eyebrows to pinch together.

“Miss me? I know our sex life’s been a little dry, but I’m right here, Koo.”

“No, not like that.” You gesture for him to elaborate, but the tension in his face and rigidness of his posture tells you he doesn’t fully know how. “You may be here in front of me, but you feel so far away.” He sighs heavily and combs through his hair again. “Every night you tell me about your day, but your stories are full of names I don’t recognize and moments I can’t relate to. Even if I grabbed Naru from school instead, it’s not about knowing those people, it’s about knowing you.”

“You know me better than anyone,” you argue.

“Yeah, I do.” His hand grazes your arm, but he doesn’t actually grab you yet. “Which is why it broke my fucking heart to see you laughing with someone else. To have to sit in the car while you banter with a guy whose name I’ve never heard before.” 

It’s still too difficult to piece together his feelings. You hear him, but you aren’t sure how to interpret what he’s saying. 

“I wasn’t hiding anything from you, if that’s what you’re implying.” 

Another head shake.

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Bams. I was jealous. I am jealous. Just not in the way you think.” His fingers finally coil around your arm and you release a deep sigh of relief you didn’t even know was being held hostage. “I know you as the mom who spends hours mixing different paints together to make the perfect shade of pink, who pauses and replays movie scenes a hundred times because they make her daughter laugh, and who wakes up early on weekends just to cook her kids’ favorite breakfast foods.”

“Right…”

He chuckles before continuing, unable to hide his endearment even in serious moments. 

“But that guy knows you as the mom who cracks jokes about all the stupid shit other parents do, who drinks a fresh cup of coffee in the afternoon so she has enough energy for the evening, and who signs up for PTO bake sales without a lick of baking experience.”

Ohhh. Now you get it. 

Jungkook isn’t jealous because he thinks you’ll cheat, which is good because that’s absolutely ludicrous. He’s jealous someone knows a side of you he’s yet to witness. 

School and home are two entirely different realms and other than a couple exceptions, Jungkook’s never crossed the divide between them. It’s like you’re playing a video game together and you unlocked a new map, but he’s still a couple levels behind and isn’t able to explore it with you. 

“That’s true,” you state. “The thing is, everyone sees a different side of me. I don’t act the same way with Jihyo and the girls as I do with our guy friends. My mom, dad, and even our kids all experience different versions. Everyone but you.” Your hands encompass his free one so you can pull him closer. “You’re the only person who knows every side, angle, and edge of who I am. No one else gets to see my puzzle pieces put together. You have all of me, Jungkook, and you always have.” 

His eyes turn into miniature oasis, prettier than any night sky you’ve ever witnessed. You watch his mouth open and close a few times like a fish out of water, leading you to save him a reply by pressing your lips to his own. 

He hums at the initial spark of affection; something that sounds like a mixture of pleasant surprise and immense relief. The hand on your arm glides upwards until he’s holding the side of your face as you wind yourself around his neck and force your chests together. 

You’re both needy after months of never having enough time to worship each other like you want, but even so, neither of you turn the kiss into something more. It’s gentle and soft, albeit contrary to Jungkook’s fingertips on your skin. His mouth may be moving in leisurely harmony with yours, but his grip on both your head and waist feels desperate. 

Once you have to break for air, his arm circles your back to keep you close as his lips move to your cheek and then your temple.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I think I really need to hear that.”

A big smile causes your eyes to crinkle in the corners.

“So you’ll stop ignoring me now?”

Jungkook sighs before a matching grin forms on his lips.

“Yes. I don’t… I don’t know what I was thinking. I just felt so hurt and like… like I was losing you.”

“Koo, that’ll never happen,” you assure him.

“I know, Bambi. I don’t mean it in a literal sense.” He adjusts his hand to cradle your jaw so his thumb can run back and forth across your cheekbone. “I’m so selfish when it comes to you, and I always have been. It doesn’t help that Naru starting school makes time feel like it’s moving at the speed of light. I just can’t shake the feeling of losing control no matter how hard I try.”

You chuckle upon realizing where his brain’s at. 

“You don’t like having to share us with other people.” 

It’s clear you’re right on the money when his lips curl into a lopsided smirk. 

“Not at all.” 

His immediate affirmation makes you both giggle, which helps break the tension still lingering in the room. 

“I would love to say something to make you feel better, but you’re going to have to share me, Naru, and the boys with plenty of people over the years. I mean, you’ll eventually have to give Naru away at her wedding.”

“Woah, hey! Why are you bringing that up? I’ve still got time to prepare myself for that.” 

He’s so full of love you can nearly feel the excess seeping into your own skin. You’ve known Jungkook your whole life, so you understand his possessiveness isn’t from a place of control or ownership, but how huge his heart is. 

“Would it help if I told you Naru still thinks boys are absolutely disgusting?” 

Unsurprisingly, the light in his eyes flickers alive.

“She does?” You nod. “Well, what about you, huh? What’s your opinion on boys?”

It’s obvious he’s alluding to Seojun. Because even though he knows deep down there’s no reason to be jealous, hearing you reaffirm your loyalty always eases his mind. 

“Can I show you something?” 

Jungkook’s face scrunches in confusion, but he still nods and peers over your shoulder when you pull your phone from your pocket. 

A minute later, you lift the device up so he can clearly see the photo on the screen.

“Who are they?” He asks while wagging his finger at the three people in the picture. 

You quietly chuckle under your breath.

Just as Jia described earlier, the other man in the photo has visible tattoos on both arms, one of which is resting on Seojun’s shoulders. 

“That is my new friend Seojun, his daughter Jia, and his husband Hyungsik.” 

Poor Jungkook’s left sputtering as he searches for an adequate response, causing you to snicker. 

“Well, he could be bi,” he poses. 

All you have to do is send him a blank, vexed expression for him to smile and try pacifying you with loving pecks. As always, feeling his lips pepper your skin in warmth makes you squeal and melt into his embrace. 

You two rarely have conversations like this and yet you navigate them like pros every time. It’s undoubtedly because of the many years of friendship between you, but you’re grateful nonetheless. You don’t even know what a relationship without all the trust, compassion, and understanding you and Jungkook have for each other would look like.

Thankfully, you’ll never have to find out. 

After he’s done painting you in affection, you lead him back downstairs by the hand, where your kids and all four parents are waiting for you. 

A Disney movie is already set up on the TV, so you and Jungkook slip between Naru and the twins, who are each sitting on your mothers’ laps. Once everyone’s comfortably cuddling on the couch, your dad presses play while Jungkook’s dad turns off the overhead lights. 

You honestly don’t pay much attention to the film, too enamored by how warm and cozy the room feels with your entire family together. Naru’s head is resting on your lap as your fingers comb through her hair and your opposite hand is being cradled by Kai. Similarly, Jungkook’s playing with Ken’s short, black locks while giving Naru an absentminded foot rub. The scene is bookended by both sets of parents, who are curled up like teens in love. 

At one point you turn towards Jungkook, triggering him to follow suit. As soon as you catch one another’s gaze, his head flops onto the backrest with sparkling eyes full of admiration. His reverence makes you blush, although he can’t see it in the dim light. 

“I’m sorry,” he mouths to you. 

An apology isn’t necessary, and you’re both aware of that, but you still appreciate the gesture. 

“Me, too,” you mime in response. 

His hand stretches across the back of the couch to reach you, momentarily leaving Naru without her massage. He doesn’t do anything special, merely brushes his knuckles along your cheek, and yet your heartbeat speeds up. 

Unfortunately, there isn’t much you can do about Jungkook’s feelings regarding this new chapter of your lives, but you still do your best to show him nothing's changed besides a busy schedule. The easy answer would be alternating who picks up Naru from school, but even though he’s home in the afternoons, he still has to work. 

Things return to their regular rhythm after that night. You become even more familiar with your fellow parents and set up multiple playdates for Naru, she makes plenty of friends who she always raves about in the evenings, and the twins learn and grow bigger everyday. 

The only issue still at large is your sex life. You two do manage to find time amongst the chaos, but it’s either short and sweet or hard and fast. 

You totally understand what Jungkook meant by missing you when you’re right here. It’s been over a month since the last time any foreplay was involved and even longer than that since you actually got naked to have sex. 

Alas, you’re both on the same page about wanting to get your old routine back as soon as you have the chance. 

Speaking of, it’s easy to fall into a comfortable candance when life’s going well. Hence why checking the calendar lately has totally slipped your mind. Not the one of events for Naru’s school or the twins’ doctor visits, but the very familiar, monthly period tracker on your phone. 

As if history’s repeating itself, you don’t realize until you’re restocking the bathroom one evening. Your fingers glide down the cabinet to double check all the supplies and upon landing on a tampon box, you instantly freeze. 

When was the last time you got your period? 

You whip out your phone to search the tracking app you use, but when you look at last month, it’s blank. 

Contrary to your insides coiling around each other, you start laughing to yourself. The volume’s low at first, but the longer your mind reels with all the possibilities, you cackle louder and louder until you sound like an insane person. 

“No, no, no, no,” you chant under your breath. “This isn’t fucking happening. Not again.” 

One child overpowering your birth control was already bad luck, so there’s no chance in hell another one managed to sneak past your impeccably placed IUD. 

God, you knew you should’ve urged Jungkook to get snipped right after the twins were born instead of waiting. 

No, it’s important to stay calm. A missed period doesn’t automatically mean you’re pregnant. All you need to do is run to the corner store for a few tests to find out. 

Your legs feel unstable as you exit the bathroom and of course, Jungkook notices your strange demeanor when you pass him to reach the front door. 

“Bams?” 

The kids are all asleep already, so he’s just lounging with Bam and Usagi on the couch. 

“I’m heading out for a few items, you need anything?” 

Before you’re even able to slip your shoes on, Jungkook’s fingers stop you by grabbing ahold of your wrist.

“Woah there.” He turns you around and his suspicious expression tells you any attempts to sneak out will be useless. “What do you need from the store that’s so urgent?” 

“Just some toiletries. It’s no big deal,” you answer as nonchalantly as possible. 

Obviously your best friend of over thirty years doesn’t buy your little act. His head tilts and his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he surveys your face for a proper explanation. 

“Bullshit,” he accuses. 

“Why would I lie, baby?” 

“I don’t know. Why would you?” 

You don’t want to freak him out before you know anything, but you’re also certain he won’t let go until you reveal your true intentions. 

“Please, Koo, I’ll explain as soon as I’m home.”

He shakes his head.

“I’m not letting you out of the house looking like you’re on the run from a serial killer.” 

Well, it was worth a shot. Without another choice, you inhale and stare into his eyes.

“My period’s late,” you announce.

A singular beat passes before Jungkook’s eyes expand and his mouth drops open. After another weighted moment, he releases your arm to run his fingers through his hair while a disbelieving chuckle escapes his parted lips. 

“You think you’re pregnant?” 

You shrug. 

“I’m not sure. That’s why I have to go grab a test.” 

“That’s… impossible. I was there when they stuck that birth control device in you, okay? It’s way up there.”

“I know. I was there, too,” you retort. “But if you remember, your magical dick just loves putting babies in me.” 

Jungkook frowns and steps closer to rest his hands on your biceps. 

“You’re not pregnant, Bambi,” he assures you. 

“I better not be or I will fucking kill you, Jeon Jungkook.” 

Even when you’re threatening his life, he still smiles at you like you’re all he sees.

“Then who will help you take care of our four kids?” 

“Ahh, God.” 

You feign a gagging sound, but the idea genuinely sets your nerves ablaze. There’s no way you can handle having another child right now, or ever. You’re both already struggling to keep up with everything as is. 

“Listen.” He gently grasps your chin to bring your attention back. “Whatever happens, whatever the result is, we’ll be okay. I promise, baby.”

His finger swipes away a stray tear before you even register one falling.

Rather than wasting more time on “what-if,” you nod assuredly and give him a quick kiss before slipping out the door. 

You spend the entire drive to and from the store praying this is all just some big, bodily misunderstanding. According to your calendar, you’re only about a week and half late, so it could easily be for another reason. Such as stress, something you’re certainly not lacking.

Upon your return, three heads rise to attention at the exact same time. Bam, who’s always on guard duty, Jungkook, looking as nervous as ever, and Usagi, who immediately relaxes once she realizes it’s you. 

Jungkook offers to join you, but you order him to stay put until he hears the timer go off. It’s for his own safety, really, because if you are pregnant, you may strangle him. 

Just like five years ago, you pee on a multitude of pregnancy tests and then wait with bated breath for three minutes to pass. You try not to agonize over the outcome, but you honestly might be more nervous this time than back then. 

When your phone alarm finally rings, you inhale deeply before checking all the tests lined up along your counter. The results carry the weight of an entire elephant and your head drops forward as you slowly exhale. In the midst of your own mental processing, Jungkook throws the door open so he can find out as well.

“Bambi?” He nervously calls for you.

Following a loud sigh, you grab the three little fortune tellers and hold them up for him to see.

“Negative,” you declare with a relieved smile. 

“Oh, thank fuck.” The next thing you know, Jungkook’s hoisting you in the air by your waist. “I’ve never been so happy to see a negative test in my life!” 

Now that you know nothing’s cooking in your oven, you giggle as he swishes you back and forth in little semi-circles. 

“I was so fucking terrified.” 

Jungkook sighs and buries his face in your neck.

“Me, too.” Although your feet meet the floor again, you two stay wrapped up in one another. “I almost lost you last time. I can’t imagine ever watching you go through that again.” 

Even more than a year later, you know how much that day still haunts him. It doesn’t matter that everything turned out fine; Jungkook’s so protective just the memory of you passing out sends chills down his spine.

When you eventually untangle from each other’s embrace, a sense of overwhelming relief is evident on both your faces. In a perfect world, you’d be more than willing to pop out kids until you can’t anymore, but unfortunately, three is all you’re able to handle. 

“Koo.”

“Yes, my love?”

He’s always sporting the most doting, sweet expressions, which is why threats work wonders on him.

“If you don’t call your doctor on Monday, I’ll castrate you myself.” 

Of course, he merely snickers before pecking your cheek.

“Consider it done.” 

Besides you having to take care of Jungkook and force him to keep his hands to himself for a full six weeks to ensure the procedure actually works, that heart attack-inducing incident comes and goes like anything else. 

Before you even realize, the end of the school year’s fast approaching and you couldn’t be happier. Summertime means going back to sleeping in and spending all day with your precious children. Not to mention the boys turn two soon.

Alas, there are still plenty of events to celebrate school coming to a close, like the year-end recital the kids put on for all the parents. It’s a talent show, for lack of a better term, and your daughter’s part of the group who’s chosen to do a ballet dance. 

Naru’s actually pretty good, if what you’ve seen of her practicing is anything to go by. She’s also extremely excited about showing off her new skill to you, Jungkook, and her grandparents. And like the supportive mom you are, you obviously volunteered to help with the event. 

Along with the actual performance, there’s a rehearsal the night before parents are encouraged to attend. 

Unfortunately, Jungkook hasn’t been able to work from home for the last few weeks because of a new game launching soon, so the twins are at Chaewon’s house while you hand out snacks and water at the rehearsal. He mentioned he’ll try to make it tonight, but sometimes duty calls. 

You’re currently passing out bags of trail mix and mini water bottles to students and parents alike. It’s boring, but you love seeing the kids in all their different costumes. 

During a lull in customers at your station, you check your phone for an update from Chaewon, who just sent an adorable picture of her and the boys at a park. 

In the middle of typing your reply, you hear a quiet gasp from the women at the other table, but you’re too focused to glance up. You quickly realize the sound is because they’re gawking at someone who just walked in, based on the conversation you overhear. 

“Whose dad is that?” Someone whispers.

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen him before.” 

“More importantly, is he a single dad?” 

You chuckle at their gossip, but once you hear the man in question’s voice, your heart drops.

“Hi, is this where the preschool rehearsal is?”

That’s when you realize the person they’re talking about is your person. Which is the only downside to having a husband so handsome he’s probably a k-pop idol in another life. 

“It is. Can we help you find a certain someone?” 

Upon finally observing the interaction, you find the three women looking positively enamored with Jungkook, and the one who just spoke is literally twirling her hair like a schoolgirl. You’re also fairly certain one of them is married. 

To make matters worse, he looks fucking delectable. He came straight from work so he’s in slacks and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You’ll have to scold him afterwards because he knows those gorgeous, veiny forearms are for your eyes only. 

Although, that’s a minimal betrayal compared to how he’s graciously smiling back at the women behind the table. You know he’s just being polite, but you can’t help how your feral lady-brain reacts whenever people encroach on what’s yours. 

Which, unfortunately, happens often with a husband as good looking as Jungkook. 

“Honey,” you call before he has a chance to respond to the question.

His head turns in your direction as his smile grows exponentially, satisfying the green demon in your chest. 

“There you are, beautiful!” 

With a pep in your step, you scurry out from behind the table to join him. His arm automatically opens wide for you and once you’re tucked perfectly by his side, he wraps the limb around your waist. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to come.” 

“I know. Thought I’d surprise my girls,” he responds with a kiss on your cheek. 

“Y/N,” one of the women grabs your attention. “This is your husband?”

It might be a little petty for your age, but you’re absolutely riddled with pride when you examine the three surprised faces ahead of you. 

“Yeah! Ladies, meet Naru’s dad, Jungkook.” 

He waves with his free hand and all three of them mirror the gesture like they’re in a trance. 

“Wait, your husband as in your childhood best friend turned husband?” Another one asks. 

You nod. 

“Oh,” the final woman chirps. “If only we were all lucky enough to have a built-in perfect match, huh?” 

“I know, right?” Jungkook chimes in while admiring you beside him. “I am without a doubt the luckiest man alive.” 

It’s obvious she was referring to you being lucky and you adore seeing all their eyes widen when Jungkook flips the script. 

But at the same time, his ardent gaze is causing you to blush like a maniac, so you retaliate by lightly elbowing his side. He giggles at your faux annoyance before tightening his hold, which you certainly don’t mind. You’ll never complain about showing him and your affection for each other off, especially to women like them. 

“Well, we should probably go find Naru before it’s her turn,” you announce. “Would one of you mind taking my place over there?” 

One of them volunteers as you take Jungkook’s hand to lead him into the auditorium. Even while strolling away, you sense their eyes following you. It’s clear Jungkook can tell as well, based on how he snickers a moment later. 

“You weren’t kidding about women and rolled up sleeves. What’s with that?” 

You chuckle and glance back at him over your shoulder.

“It isn’t the sleeves, Koo. You’re fucking sex on legs.” 

It’s his turn to glow bright as a tomato and he even hides his face in your shoulder while you head further into the room together. It isn’t often you get to make him blush in return, so you feel especially satisfied. 

The rehearsal goes off without a hitch and it was helpful because now you’re fully aware what Naru needs for tomorrow. So just before tucking her into bed, you place her costume and other essentials on her dresser to ensure nothing’s forgotten. 

Jungkook’s already sitting on the edge of her bed to kiss her goodnight and you join him once everything’s laid out. 

“You excited about the recital, bug?” You ask her. 

“Yes! I can’t wait for you guys to see it,” she exclaims. “I just wish all my aunts and uncles could come, too.”

The school only gave each family six tickets, not including other children, so none of your friends are able to attend. 

“I know, but we’ll video your performance so they can watch it later.” 

She giggles and enthusiastically kicks her feet, making you both smile from ear to ear.

“Alright, princess, you need lots of rest if you’re going to do a good job tomorrow, right?” Jungkook suggests.

Naru nods while shimmying under the blankets.

“Wait, are you sure you’ll be there, Daddy? You’ve been away at work a lot.”

He frowns at the question.

“Of course, I will. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He leans in to kiss her forehead. “And I promise to sit as close to the stage as possible.”

Your little girl beams and reaches up to hug him before doing the same to you and plopping back into bed. You and Jungkook leave after telling her you love her, which she parrots as you shut off the lights. The twins were tucked in hours ago, so you two sneak away to your bedroom downstairs once you’re sure they’re all set for the evening. 

The next day’s a whirlwind, but thankfully your parents are there to help with the twins while you triple check that Naru has everything she needs. 

Jungkook will have to meet you there because of work, so the eight of you head to the school together. After dropping Naru off with her teacher, you find seats in the auditorium and text him the row number. The problem is, his work’s at least forty five minutes away and when you check his location shortly before the recital’s supposed to start, it shows him still at the office. 

His mom shoots you a worrying glance as the lights go down, but Naru’s group doesn’t perform until the end, so you’re hopeful he’ll make it in time. 

You spend the entire show anxiously gnawing on your lip and surveying the entrances to see if he snuck in the back since you can’t check your phone. Jungkook doesn’t break promises, and he certainly doesn’t miss important moments like this. Even though he was at work, you’re worried something else is keeping him from being here. 

Once it’s time for Naru’s performance, you attempt to focus on her, but when her face falls after realizing Jungkook isn’t sitting with the rest of you, it absolutely shatters your heart. 

The lights come on at the end of the show and all five of you scope the auditorium just in case, but you’re certain he isn’t sitting anywhere else. Which is doubly verified when you look at your phone again to see his location hasn’t moved. 

Both your mom’s send you hopeful expressions that maybe you’re all wrong, but after a single head shake, their eyes drop to the floor. Truthfully, your own disappointment doesn’t matter in the slightest. It’s the look on your daughter’s face you know is coming that terrifies you. 

Everyone does their best to distract Naru when she first runs out from backstage to give you all hugs and accept the flower bouquets each of you brought. But it isn’t long before her eyes flicker between your faces and begin to water as she looks to you for an explanation. 

You bend down to her height and pet her hair that’s slicked back in a ballerina bun to match her leotard and tutu. Even before you open your mouth, it’s clear she knows what’s coming, and it makes your own eyes misty as well.

“I’m sorry, baby, Daddy couldn’t get out of work in time,” you tell her. 

“But… but he promised,” she quietly counters.

“I know.” 

She initially tries to be strong by nodding her head, but then she chokes on a harsh cry and collapses into your arms. You scoop her up and cradle her head so she can let out all her emotions into your shoulder. It kills you to hear her helpless sobs and hiccups, and it’s even more difficult to refrain from crying yourself. 

Your dad drives you back so you can continue consoling Naru, who cries ceaselessly until she’s able to bear hug Bam once you arrive at home. 

After wishing your dad goodbye, you put the twins to bed while Naru cuddles with her beloved pets. As much as you want to let her hug Bam and Usagi all night long, you know sleep will be beneficial for her broken heart. 

Even though you manage to get her upstairs, she refuses to change out of her costume aside from the tutu so she can perform for Jungkook when comes home. You don’t fight her on it, but your chest aches at the thought of her still wanting him to see her dance even after letting her down. 

Once she’s sound asleep, you flop onto the couch and hold Usagi close for some cuddles of your own. You’ve been so busy looking after Naru you haven’t really processed your own emotions. Although, there isn’t much to decode or decipher. You’re fucking angry. Which isn’t an emotion you’ve ever felt towards Jungkook. 

Sure, your pregnancy hormones may have caused you to act a little crazy and sometimes you pretend to be mad or annoyed with him, but you’ve never actually been. You’ve never had a reason to be before tonight. There hasn’t been a single moment in the last thirty-something years when he’s disappointed or betrayed you. 

You hear the door unlock downstairs and inhale a huge gulp of air while returning Usagi to the ground. It’s clear from his footsteps alone he’s dreading whatever’s waiting for him, but that doesn’t make you any less furious. 

He unceremoniously enters the living room and you actually see a large flower arrangement before you see him. His eyes land on you sitting on the couch and he looks relieved at first. Until he notices the fire in your irises. 

“Bamb —”

“I am not the person you need to be apologizing to,” you state as you stand. 

“Baby, listen to me.”

“No!” You drag your fingers through your hair while your mind decides where to begin. “You looked our daughter in the eye and promised her you would be there.” 

“I know, okay?” He responds across an exasperated sigh. “But we had to finish the game tonight in order to meet the deadline. My boss wouldn’t let us leave.” 

“Aren’t you a VP? They couldn’t make an exception for you?” 

“Maybe, but it wouldn’t have looked very good if I’d asked, Bams.” 

You scoff and cross your arms over your chest at the same time Jungkook places the flowers on the coffee table so he can come closer, but you immediately take a matching step back. And you’re far too upset to care about his lips tilting down in response. 

“We only get one shot at this, Jungkook. Naru won’t ever have another ‘first recital.’ So forgive me for not caring if it might've made you look bad.” 

“Do you think I wanted to miss it? You think it wasn’t the only fucking thing on my mind the whole night?”

“I don’t care if it was because that doesn’t change you not being there when she needed you!” Before you can stop yourself, your eyes begin to water and your lip trembles. “You should’ve seen her face when she realized you weren’t in the audience. She cried the entire drive home. We couldn’t even take pictures because she was fucking inconsolable.” 

Jungkook’s expression crumbles after hearing your words and soon enough, you both have tears on your waterline. 

“I never…” He sniffles as a single droplet rolls down his cheek. “Baby, you know I’d never let her down if I had another choice. I just couldn’t be in two places at once.” 

“You could’ve chosen to put her first. To put our family first,” you argue. 

“I put us first every single day! That’s why I get up every morning and go to work. To provide for this family.”

“And what happens when providing for us starts to take precedence over watching our kids grow up?” 

A heavy second passes before Jungkook’s head shakes. 

“It was one night.”

Cue another scoff.

“Until it isn’t.” 

“Bambi, you’ve known me your entire life. You know this isn’t the norm,” he counters.

“Exactly!” He looks confused, but the situation’s as clear as day to you. “I know you better than anyone and not once in more than thirty years have you ever let me down. I remember when you almost lost out on a scholarship to your dream college just because I got dumped and needed a shoulder to cry on. That’s why I’m so fucking terrified about what this means, Koo. Because if after three decades of never breaking a single promise, you could do something like this to our daughter, then maybe I don’t know you like I thought anymore.” His mouth drops open in shock while you wipe away the fresh tears on your cheeks. “I mean, after everything that’s happened this year it just feels like our whole world’s falling apart. Naru was in the hospital, for Christ’s sake. And then everything with her school; me not being able to handle it all and you having to work from home. I understand if you resent me for that. I’m sure I would if you couldn’t uphold your end of the bargain. Not to mention the stuff with Seojun and our fucking sex life that’s practically nonexistent. Also those women the other day. I know you could have anyone you want and I just can’t help feeling like maybe this is all because of me. Maybe you’re falling out of love with me or —”

“No, no, no. Stop right there,” Jungkook commands as he closes the gap between you and cups your face in his hands. “Don’t you ever suggest something like that. Do you hear me?” Your eyes only water more. “Tonight happened because I can be a fucking idiot sometimes. It’s my fault and mine alone. And my mistake has absolutely nothing to do with you, and more importantly, it has nothing to do with how much I love you. Because I do, Bams. I fall more in love with you every morning when I wake up. And I’ll love you more tomorrow than I do at this very moment. Nothing in the world matters to me more than you and our family. I don’t care what happened this year. I don’t care how hard it was or all the bullshit we had to deal with. I wouldn’t care if we never had sex again. I’d still love you more than anyone’s ever loved another person. Do I make myself clear?” Even though his grip on your head’s practically a vice, you manage to nod. “You’re everything to me. And nothing will ever change that. Nothing.” 

You would love to reply to his grandiose proclamation, but you’re crying too hard to speak just yet. Of course, Jungkook’s already working tirelessly to swipe away the cascade of droplets on your face. 

“It feels like everything’s changing and I’m so scared. I’ve never been mad at you before. I hate it. I don’t wanna feel like this,” you confess. 

“But you should be mad at me,” Jungkook declares. “I fucked up. I should’ve done everything in my power to be there and instead I broke our baby’s heart. And even worse, I left you all alone to pick up the pieces.” 

As your waterworks begin to ebb, he drops one of his hands to pull you closer by the small of your back. You don’t stop him, because no matter how angry you might be, he’ll always be your safe space.

“This was only year one, Koo. What if we aren’t a strong enough couple to make it through the other thirteen?”

He inhales while tucking your hair behind your ear and cradling your cheek again, using his thumb to soothe your flush skin. 

“You’re right that this is just the beginning, but the school year’s about to be over and this is only our first fight. You really think we can’t withstand whatever else life might throw at us?” 

You sniffle as a hint of a smile pulls at your lips.

“Okay. That’s… fair.” 

An actual smile appears on Jungkook’s face before he uses his fingers to tilt your head up. 

“I am so fucking sorry, baby. I swear, I’ll never let you or our kids down ever again.” 

After a deep sigh, you shake your head.

“Like I said, I’m not the person you need to be saying that to.” 

His eyes flicker towards the stairs.

“Is she awake?” 

“No, but she only went to sleep about an hour ago.”

“May I?” 

You nod in approval, leading Jungkook to kiss your forehead before you walk upstairs together. As he quietly enters Naru’s bedroom, you flip the light on and lean against the doorframe. 

Her eyes begin adjusting to the influx of light before he sits down at her bedside and once she notices him, her entire face shines with joy. 

“Daddy, you’re home!” She cheers while throwing her arms around his neck. 

Jungkook returns the affection tenfold, hugging her tight and resting his hand on her head to keep her close. 

“I’m here, baby.” His lips press to her temple. “I’m so sorry it wasn’t sooner.” 

After they pull away from one another, the excitement slowly fades from Naru’s expression.  

“What took you so long?” 

“I couldn’t leave work in time. But Naru, that isn’t an excuse for missing your recital,” he explains. “I promised you I would be there, so it doesn’t matter why I wasn’t.” He takes her hands and squeezes them, making her smile again. “The thing is, everyone makes mistakes sometimes, dads included. They’re inevitable even if we don’t intend to do anything wrong, so although preventing mistakes is good, what we do afterwards is even more important.” Naru hums in acknowledgment. “Apologizing is the first step, but an apology doesn’t mean anything unless it’s followed by action. I broke a promise, so now I have to earn your trust back so you know I mean what I say. And that’ll take time, but I’m going to do everything I can to make it up to you, bug. I swear, you’ll never look out and not see me there supporting you ever again. Okay?” 

She nods, but it’s along with a sniffle as she wipes away a stray tear. 

“I was really, really sad when I couldn’t find you in the audience,” she admits. 

“I know, princess. I’m so, so sorry. It won’t happen again.” He gently dries her cheeks with his sleeve. “But it’s alright if you don’t believe me yet. That’s why I have to prove it to you, and I will.” After her cries subside, Jungkook smiles and playfully tilts his head. “Can you forgive me?” 

Naru mirrors his grin.

“Of course, Daddy.” 

“Yeah?” 

With another enthusiastic nod, she hugs him again. It leaves you with a massive smile of your own as you watch them with utmost affection. You knew Naru wouldn’t hold his tardiness against him, but it still warms your heart. 

Following their hug, your daughter looks incredibly eager and you already know why. 

“Can I show you my dance now?” 

“Huh?” 

That’s when Jungkook finally notices her outfit and realizes she’s in a leotard instead of pajamas.

“She wouldn’t let me do anything but take her tutu off,” you add from behind them. 

He glances at you over his shoulder where you shake the pink tulle skirt to show it off. 

“So, can I?” Naru asks again. 

Jungkook fondly giggles and gives her a big, wet smooch on the cheek before gesturing towards the door. 

“Go on, Mommy and I will meet you down there.” 

Naru practically leaps out of bed and grabs her tutu from you on the way out so she’ll be ready for her impromptu performance. 

In the meantime, Jungkook stands to join you near the door. There’s still an unnamed, heavy tension between you, but neither of you mention it. 

“That was a really good apology,” you compliment him. 

Per usual, he smirks and proudly clicks his tongue.

“I may not mess up often, but I always know how to fix it.” 

“Hmm. I suppose it’s easy when you’re the best dad in the world.” 

He shakes his head.

“No, I don’t think I’ve earned that particular title back just yet,” he remarks. “But then again, I don’t know if I’ll ever measure up compared to you.”

“I’m not —”

“Yes, you are.” Jungkook brushes your cheek with his knuckles, eliciting another smile before you can stop it. “You’re the perfect mom, the perfect wife, and the perfect woman. Always have been.” 

You’re unable to counter the statement because he grabs your hand to lug you downstairs where Naru’s waiting with the music already queued on the TV. Jungkook plops on the couch for a front row seat, bringing you down beside him as your pets jump up to watch as well. 

Despite it being a solo performance this time, Naru does an amazing job and it’s just as entertaining. Obviously, Jungkook loves every second, and he’s sporting the widest grin imaginable as his eyes twinkle with adoration. 

When she finishes with a theatrical curtsy, you both pick individual flowers from the bouquet he brought home to toss in her direction.

“Brava!” You shout. 

“Amazing! We want an encore!” Jungkook cheers. 

Naru continues bowing as you throw compliments and roses alike until she eventually b-lines for Jungkook instead. He stands and effortlessly lifts her high above his head, followed by them hysterically giggling together while he spins her around in the air. 

“Did you like it, Daddy?” She asks once he cradles her to his chest. 

“Are you kidding? You’re a star, pretty girl!” The compliment causes Naru to squeal in delight as she rests her head on his shoulder and squeezes his neck. “I can’t wait to see you perform on stage one day. I’m sure it’ll be even better.” 

“Me, too, Daddy.” 

She looks perfectly cozy in her Jungkook’s arms, as always, but you can also tell how tired she is. He notices just after you, triggering a silent conversation that he’ll tuck her in again while you turn down the house. 

“Don’t forget the pretty flowers Daddy bought you,” you remind her while handing over the arrangement. 

Her eyes crinkle in the corners as she takes them and holds them close to her chest before Jungkook carries her back upstairs. 

By the time he joins you in your master bedroom, you’ve already completed the majority of your nighttime routine.

“Did it take her a while to fall asleep?”

Jungkook shakes his head while leaning back against the closed door. 

“No, I just stayed with her for a bit,” he explains. 

“Good. There are only a few days left of school so I’d hate to mess up her sleep schedule now.” 

You hear a responsive hum. 

“Are we okay, babygirl?”

The question gives you pause because your brain, heart, and body are all saying different things. 

“I want to be,” you eventually answer. 

It stings to see Jungkook’s crestfallen expression and you’ll truly do anything to fix it, except you don’t know how after your conversation earlier. Sure, it’s clear your love’s still as strong as it’s always been, but that doesn’t automatically clear away the emotional rubble between you. 

“Then just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” 

You aren’t sure what words to use, so you cross the room to hold his hands instead. He visibly relaxes when your fingers touch and even pulls you closer until you’re chest to chest.

“I don’t know what I need, Koo. I’m not mad anymore, but I still feel a divide between us.” 

“I feel it, too,” he admits. “And we could probably talk for hours to solve it, but I might have a better idea.” 

If you didn’t know him so well, you’d have to question what he means. Alas, the gleam in his eye and his arm hooking around your waist reveals his intentions without any explanation. 

“Baby…”

“C’mon, Bams. We’ve never had makeup sex before.” 

“Because we’ve never needed to,” you retort. 

He smirks while tugging your body into his own. 

“There’s a first time for everything.” 

You affectionately roll your eyes.

“Then let’s also make it the last. Deal?” 

“Deal.”

It’s barely left Jungkook’s mouth when he tightens his hold and hoists you into the air. You’re already well aware it’s your cue to wrap your limbs around him, even though you can’t recall the last time he carried you to bed like this. 

Months have passed with nothing but speedy rendezvous, so makeup sex or not, you’re thankful about having time to be together without any responsibilities on the horizon. 

Your back meets the mattress as Jungkook gently lays you down in the center of the bed so he can crawl over you. He always looks so handsome above you, the overhead light creating a hazy glow around him. His honey skin, striking features, and obsidian hair are a perfect combination you swear only an artist could think of. Yet here he is. Gorgeous, breathtaking, and yours.

His elbows land on either side of your head when he dips down to kiss you and after all the stress this evening, it feels like being doused by cool water in the summertime. 

As your lips meld together, Jungkook settles between your thighs. You can already feel his bulge pressing against your stomach and it causes all your pent up desire to flicker into a roaring flame. Suddenly all you want is for him to remain buried inside you until the sun comes up. 

In a strange sense, the urge doesn’t feel all that sexual. You always crave him, but tonight it’s the connection itself that matters most. Maybe that’s the reason everyone loves makeup sex so much. 

“I’m so fucking sorry, baby,” he whispers, pulling you from your devoted reverie. “I’m gonna make it up to you, okay? All night long.” 

He kisses you again before you can respond, making you whimper around his tongue when it slides inside your mouth. 

“If you want me to forgive you,” you interrupt the lip lock. “You have to make me come a few times.” 

Jungkook snickers as his lips move to your neck.

“You’re lettin’ me off easy.”  

You echo his laugh while raking your fingers through his hair and down his back. Your sharp nails catch on his shirt, prompting him to lift his head enough to pull the fabric completely off. 

“Wait.”

Before he can return to your throat, you press a hand to his chest so you can admire him properly. It’s been far too long since you’ve seen him shirtless. So, you trail your fingers down his stomach, tracing all the pretty indents and curves. 

“You’re gawking,” he teases. 

“I’m inspecting what’s mine.” 

He giggles and his nose scrunches.

“And is it all up to your standards, ma’am?” 

“Hmm. I think I have to do a more thorough examination.” 

In one smooth movement, you hook your legs around Jungkook’s waist to flip him over. The abrupt action leaves him relentlessly cackling while you get comfortable in his lap, but his hands still cradle your hips by muscle memory. 

Once his laughter fades, he watches with lustful eyes as you descend his torso one kiss at a time. Your lips find his collarbones, then his pecs and sternum, before stalling at the first dip of his abs where your tongue darts out. 

He hums in appreciation while you slowly map him with your mouth. It’s actually a little unfair how ripped he is, but then again, you’re the one who reaps the benefits of his diligent workout routine. 

His fingers slink into your hair as you alternate between light smooches and long licks. He softly moans above you, and although he’s clearly enjoying himself, this is more for you than him. If you had enough time, you’d drag your lips across every inch of his body. 

“Feels s’good, babygirl,” Jungkook quietly slurs. There’s a tug on your scalp that causes you to look up and after your eyes meet, he guides you back to his mouth. “But I need to taste you.” 

Your lips crash into each other, but you’re well aware that’s not what he’s alluding to. Even still, his tongue chases your own while he peels your shirt off and starts unbuttoning your jeans. Once you’re entirely bare, he guides your body higher, leading you to pull back with raised eyebrows.

“What are you doing?” 

“Want you up here.” He kisses you again for good measure. “Come ride my face.”

“Are you sure? I’m not as light as I —”

“Oh, shut up.” 

Next thing you know, Jungkook’s shoving you towards his head before yanking you down by your hips. As soon as you feel his mouth on you, you keen and grab a fistfull of his hair. He groans over the pressure while forcing his face deeper into your cunt so he can begin avidly licking your slit. 

You have no idea how long it’s been since the last time, but it’s always an unequivocal sensation. Especially in this position, where he can use his face’s every contour to bring you pleasure. Which he does joyfully every time, like right now as he slurps your arousal and bobs his head so his nose catches on your clit. 

“Jesus, how do you always taste so good?” Jungkook asks during a brief reprieve. He glances up from between your legs, causing you to make eye contact because your face is buried in your elbow resting on the headboard. “You’re like fucking candy, Bams.”

The praise makes you giggle. It doesn’t help that he looks adorable from below with his big, doe eyes blinking up at you. 

“I think you just love me too much.”

“Well, there’s that, too.” 

His lips wrap around your clit in an instant, leaving you whimpering as your legs shake on either side of his head. He starts by gently sucking on the nerve endings before switching between swirling and flattening his tongue. 

You’re certain you’re gushing all over the lower half of his face, but Jungkook never seems to mind. Rather, he enthusiastically moans into you while moving down to circle your hole with the tip of his tongue. As he begins pushing the muscle into your pussy, the intense pleasure leads you to grind against him. 

There’s a slight fear you’ll crush or hurt him, but he merely tugs you closer with a muffled growl. His fingertips are digging into your hips and ass to keep you right where he wants you, but he also uses the grip to guide your body back and forth. 

All your most sensitive parts are being dragged against his face and it’s sending you tumbling towards an orgasm faster than you can comprehend. Jungkook can obviously tell, since he ramps up the efforts of his mouth and tongue to make you fall over the edge. 

Your climax hits you hard and without warning, at the same moment Jungkook teases your hole and forces his nose into your clit. A loud, desperate whine spills from your lips as you convulse above him, but he doesn’t stop pushing and pulling you so he can continue throughout your entire high. 

“Koo,” you cry. 

“I’m not stopping,” he warns you. “You can handle more, can’t you, baby?” 

Your eyes meet again, although yours are filled with tears. 

Instead of responding when your head’s so high in the clouds, you nod until he buries his face in your cunt once more. 

Jungkook swallows every last drop of cum before soaking your pussy all over again. The second round’s much messier. He drags the flat of his tongue up and down your slit before spitting and slurping the filthy mixture of you and him into his mouth.

It feels heavenly despite being such a sinful act and you can’t resist grinding harder with every lick and lap. 

“That’s it, babygirl. Use me.” 

He only pauses for a second to speak; immediately diving back in so he can wet your clit before suckling on it. 

You come almost as soon as his lips wrap around your pearl and Jungkook groans and grunts in pleasure when you drown his features in arousal. 

“Baby, I can’t. It’s too much,” you whimper while he greedily eats your cum throughout your orgasm. 

Even though the overstimulation’s setting your nerves on fire, your hips have a mind of their own and continue gyrating above him until he loudly inhales and leaves you alone with a final peck. 

“How was that, huh?” 

You sigh and flop onto you back beside him to catch your breath. 

“Fucking amazing. You’re never going that long without eating me out again.” 

“I sure hope not!” Jungkook shouts as he rests on one elbow. “It’s been like wading through the Sahara desert, Bambi. I was parched without the taste of your sweet, sweet nectar.”

His dramatics send your eyes rolling before you playfully shove him away from you. 

“You’re so ridiculous.”

“But I’m serious.” He returns to his previous position and you naturally turn to face him as well. “I would’ve kept going if you didn’t tap out on me.”

“Hey, I need time to work up to our old routine. Okay? She’s not used to back to back orgasms anymore,” you explain. 

Jungkook smirks while pulling you closer by your waist. 

“Well, she better get reacclimated fast because I’m about to fuck you until you can’t feel your legs.” 

In a single second, he tugs you beneath him and puts his weight on his opposite arm so he can hover above you. Even through his pants you can feel the large bulge rubbing against your core and your body naturally arcs towards his own despite having just come down from a high. 

“Is that really your plan to make it up to me? By crippling me so I can’t get anything done?” 

“Mmhm. Because then you can’t stop me from waiting on you hand and foot.”

You can’t stop the laughter bubbling in your chest due to his familiar antics. It’s been so long since you’ve had the chance to just banter in bed together and you’ve missed these moments dearly. 

“What a coincidence. Suddenly there are a multitude of chores to do this week.” 

He parrots your giggles.

“Good. The least I can do for letting you down is scrub some damn floors,” he professes. 

That might be the sexiest thing he’s ever said. It’s no wonder your hands sneak down his back to help him out of his pants. Jungkook cackles upon realizing his words’ effect on you. Only a stay at home mom would get turned on by the idea of not having to clean. 

“You know what, why don’t you do your worst, then? I think I’d like a nice, long break from housework.” 

Jungkook’s responding smile is brilliant as always, and you mirror it as he goes in for another kiss. 

“As you wish, my love.” 

The sound of his pants hitting the floor echoes a mere second before he thrusts forward to spear you on his cock. He has to cover your mouth because of how loudly you wail in ecstasy, even though you’re multiple floors away from your children. Call it a force of habit from parenthood. 

Your next moan is muffled behind Jungkook’s palm when he pulls back, only to return even deeper inside your cunt. 

“Fuck,” you sob into his hand.

“Holy shit, babygirl.” 

He begins at a steady, calm pace, but with each stroke he pushes himself farther into your warm walls. His face falls to your neck as his free hand captures one of your own to force it beside your head. Your other arm’s draped over his shoulder where your nails repeatedly dig into his muscular back. 

“Koo.”

Jungkook softly groans against your skin while leaving lazy kisses all along your throat.

“You feel so fucking good. I missed you so much,” he tells you. “I’m sorry, Bams. For everything this year. I’m… so fucking sorry. I love you so damn much.” 

His hand drops to the pillows to hold himself up, allowing him to find an even deeper angle. You want to reply to his reverence right away, but a whimper’s all you can manage initially. 

“I love you.” You lift his head from the crook of your neck, cupping his jaw and staring into his starry, lovetruck eyes. “Please don’t ever make me mad at you again. I don’t ever want to feel like that, Jungkook.”

“I know.” A reassuring smile lights up his face. “You won’t have to, baby. I promise.” 

He solidifies his vow with a sharp thrust and poignant kiss. One that leaves you moaning into his mouth as his hips pick up both speed and force. 

By the time your lip’s part, he’s fucking you too good to continue speaking to each other. All either of you can accomplish is punctuated grunts that seem to whisper the other’s name. 

Your fingers crawl into his hair once he returns to painting your neck purple. His soft lips encourage your head to tilt so he has more space to venerate you, which quickly sends your mind into a frenzy. Especially when in tandem with the deliberate rolls of his hips. 

Jungkook’s bringing himself in and out of your pussy with ease. Of course, he is, your body’s practically his second home. Your velvet walls know him almost as well as you do and they always welcome him inside without any resistance. 

He knows it, too. Not only is he completely in tune with your emotions, but he can feel your cunt clenching and pulsing around him. 

Hence why he knows you’re going to come again soon. Similarly, you can tell how close he is. His heavy balls are slapping your ass with each thrust and whenever his moans start coming out airy and faint, it’s a tell tale sign. 

“Fill me up, Koo.”

“No,” he rasps while glancing up again. “Not yet. Not after so long of not being able to fuck you exactly how I want.” 

It’s hard to fully comprehend his next movements, but you recognize the sensation of him pulling out and flipping you over so you’re straddling him once again. 

You certainly don’t need to be told what to do and Jungkook whines and claws at your hips as you sink onto his cock until he’s entirely sheathed inside you. 

“Really? Make up sex and you’re putting me on top?” 

Cue an eye roll. 

“Oh, please. Like I won’t be doing all the work.”

After theatrically gawking, you smack his chest. 

“Hey! That’s no way to talk to your wif —”

“Oh, just c‘mere.” 

A gasp slices your word in half when Jungkook wraps his fingers around your throat and pulls you down for an erotic kiss. His tongue conquers your mouth without any mercy at the same moment he flattens his feet on the mattress. The extra leverage presses his dick into your g-spot and once he begins bouncing you on his thighs, you fear he’s buried so far he’ll get stuck.

Everything becomes a haphazard mixture of bodily fluids, panting, squelching, and breathless whines from then on. You can’t even continue arguing with Jungkook because he is putting in all the effort. Between him choking you and pounding into your pussy from below, you’re helpless to do anything but enjoy yourself. 

Sex is always phenomenal in this position and having his large hand on your neck only makes it better. With every plunge inside you, his cock stretches you open and rubs against your tight walls. You two fit together like puzzle pieces and there’s nothing better than feeling his hot skin and thick veins moving in and out of you. 

Your faces are still only millimeters apart, but rather than kissing, you're practically just breathing into each other’s mouths. 

That changes when you push on Jungkook’s chest to sit upright. It creates an impeccable new angle and you enthusiastically cry his name. In response, he tightens his grasp on your throat and goes into overdrive. 

The sudden influx of skin slapping against skin is deafening, yet it pales in comparison to you incoherently sobbing. 

“That’s it. Take this big cock.” 

“Baby,” you pant. “I need your cum. Please, I feel so empty without it.”

“Empty?” Jungkook squawks. “Do you even realize how many inches are inside you right now?” 

As if to prove his point, he wraps his other arm around your waist so he can hold you in place and drive his dick even deeper. The uptick in force causes you to shriek as salty tears roll down your cheeks and neck until they’re stopped by his hand. 

“Fucking hell, Koo.” 

“That’s what I thought. I’ll fuck my cum into you when I’m good and ready.” 

He squeezes the sides of your throat while continuing at the same monstrous pace. In the meantime, you clutch his pecs for support and let your head fall back.

Whether or not he’s going to finish soon, you’re already on the precipice of your third orgasm. Everything feels way too amazing to hold back any longer, but you still want to come together. Which means you have to bring him to the edge along with you. 

“Jungkook.” You purposely make your voice sound airy and seductive while catching his eye again. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if we hadn’t made up.” He still seems entirely focused on fucking you, but you notice his eyebrows twitch just a hair. “I needed this so badly, baby. It’s all I’ve wanted for months. Just you and your perfect cock inside me.” 

“Oh, fuck, Bams.” His eyes roll back as his rhythm momentarily falters. “Don’t stop. Your voice drives me crazy.” 

“I was so angry with you, but as soon as I felt you stretching my pussy open, none of it mattered.” 

“Shit.”

“C’mon, handsome, give me what I need to forgive you.” For good measure, you scrape your nails down his chest and lean over to whisper in his ear. “Put your cum right where it belongs.” 

A loud, throaty groan rumbles through Jungkook’s chest before his hips stutter and you feel the familiar warmth of his seed coating your walls. His release sets off your own and you both wail and shake as your respective climaxes wash over you. 

It takes a full thirty seconds for you two to completely return to earth, at which point you slump on top of Jungkook. He releases your throat so both his hands can roam your back, but you can only graciously hum in your weakened state. 

“You alright, babygirl?” 

“Mmhm.”

“Was the makeup sex worth it?”

You shake your head.

“Would much rather have sex without a fight first,” you answer. 

He chuckles while kissing your hairline.

“I have to agree,” he replies. 

You sigh as he delicately rolls you on your back and once you look comfortable enough, he leaves to find a rag. Per usual, you’re nearly half asleep as he wipes your thighs and pussy with a warm towel. But after he joins you under the covers and pulls you into his arms, you perk up again. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows rise.

“I’m sorry, do you even have to ask?”

Following a light laugh, you sit up so you aren’t lying flat on his chest. 

“So, I know when you realized you were in love with me. But I wanna know when you started falling in love. Is there a moment or something that looking back you see was where it all began?” 

Your inquiry clearly surprises him, but a smile begins to form as he debates on an answer.

“Honestly? No. Kinda how you can’t pinpoint exactly when you realized your feelings for me, I have no idea about the beginning of mine.” His grin turns nostalgic. “But if I have to guess, I think I was slowly falling in love with you throughout my entire life and you getting pregnant just accelerated the process.” 

“Oh, yeah?”

The idea of Jungkook’s feelings being a calm waterfall that turned into fierce, whitewater rapids as soon as you got pregnant makes your heart soar. 

“Yes. No matter what, you were always gonna be my girl, Bambi.” 

A childish giggle leaves your lips as you bury your face in his neck. 

“What about you, huh?” Jungkook’s fingers slide along your cheek to lift your head up. “If you asked, you must’ve considered your own answer.”

You’re already blushing like crazy and have to bite your bottom lip to suppress a shy smirk. 

“You remember the night we conceived Naru?”

“Of course. It’s what I think about whenever I jack off.” 

That earns him a melodramatic glare. 

“Well, there was this moment after we reached my room when you were sitting on my bed and I’d just taken my pants off. You grabbed my hand to pull me between your legs, then leaned in and kissed my stomach while I ran my fingers through your hair. I obviously didn’t know at the time, but after thinking it over for a while, I’m sure that’s when I started falling for you.” 

Jungkook sends you a show stopping smile before capturing your lips in a sultry, but romantic kiss. Your mouths move as one in order to convey any other thoughts words simply can’t. It ends all too soon, but you keep your foreheads together to pacify yourselves. 

“I love you more than life itself. You know that, don’t you?” He asks.

“I know.”

“Then just… don’t ever forget again, okay? Above all else, the one thing I can never have questioned is my love for you and our kids.” 

You sigh while moving away so you can actually look into his eyes. The same eyes he shares with the three beautiful children he’s talking about. The ones you’ve found solace in all throughout your life and always will. 

“I promise, Koo,” you assure him. “I know exactly how you feel because I love you more.” 

A single click of his tongue seals your fate; that you won’t be getting much sleep this evening.

“Is this really the game you wanna play, Bams?”

Between Jungkook playfully growling when he attacks you and your screech of fake terror, you aren’t sure which noise is louder. 

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[differenttastemakerkitty]

Just saw the picture of Mark wearing a confederate flag shirt. I don't want to hear anyone defending this near 30 year old man who spent the last decade benefiting from black music/culture. Just to turn around and wear a symbol that our oppressors use to this day.

They always want our rhythm but never care about our blues. This is actually disgusting to me.

[pinklasagna04]

i’m such a good person, why do i have to go back to work tomorrow???

[jung-koook]

so adorable please 🥹 (cr. movewithsope)

[labskeever]

reblog to boop prev

[deedzreads]

[natti-ice]

[maisy1111]

me staring at the search bar trying to decide which fictional man I’ll read about tonight:

[my-dailydreams]

[vancruejovi]

[write-on-world]

[what-even-is-thiss]

Where’s the YA protagonist teen girl and her two boyfriends that are supposed to save us from this mess anyways

[what-even-is-thiss]

The dystopia books lied. The teen throuples aren’t coming to save us.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Save me teen dystopia love triangle

[what-even-is-thiss]

Teen dystopia love triangle save me

[kittenan]

A Love Written in Politics

Pairing: Politician!Kim Namjoon x Fashion_Designer!Reader Genre: Political marriage of convenience, Arrange Marriage AU, slow-burn, jealousy, obsession , possessive smut, yearning (both sides) Rating: 18+ | Minors DNI Word count: ~14k [Ik!! Again it's a long one but I hope y'all like it.] Warnings: Arranged marriage [Arranged by him], age gap (3 years), power play, dirty talk, marking, size kink, praise kink, dom-sub-switch dynamic, wall sex (little rough), car sex (jealousy fuelled sex), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (refrain IRL), angst, fluff, and Namjoon being completely unhinged for his wife. A/n: Honestly... I’m not from a political background, and I definitely don’t know how politics works in every country. So if something feels a little unrealistic or not perfectly accurate… Kindly ignore it and enjoy the drama. [MASTERLIST]

You were seven when you learned your father hugged like a politician.

Quick. Calculated. For cameras only.

After the flash, he would straighten his suit, pat your head like you were a puppy, and walk away without looking back.

To everyone else you were “the Minister’s daughter.” To your father you weren’t even that. You were… “just an investment.” A future bargaining chip.

Only Chairman Kim ever treated you like a kid.

Every Saturday afternoon, he showed up for tea with your father while discussing politics. He always brought you strawberry candies in golden wrapper.

“For you, little princess,” he’d say, tapping your head, handing you candies while you smiled brightly.

His son always stood behind him. Tall. Quiet. Too serious for a kid.

Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t pay attention to him at first. But at nine, you noticed him properly for the very first time. He was twelve, wearing a navy suit, hair neatly combed. He looked like a tiny adult who had forgotten how to be a child.

You were sitting under the grand staircase with a sketchbook, drawing princess dresses made of candy wrappers.

He walked past.

Then stopped. and looked down at you.

You froze with your pencil mid-air.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t even say a word. He just stared at you for five quiet seconds... long enough for your heartbeat to learn something new, then kept walking.

That night, you tried to draw him.

It was terrible. His head was huge, his body tiny. But you kept the drawing with you like a treasure anyway.

You didn’t know he stopped at the top of the staircase that day, looking back over his shoulder, wondering why a little girl designing candy wrapper dresses felt more alive than the whole house.

National Foundation Day.

It was your first grown-up banquet. You wore a yellow silk sundress embroidered with daisies. Your mother said it made you look “too bright.” Your father said nothing.

Namjoon was also here. He was twenty-one now. Taller... Sharper... Even more handsome in a way that hurt to look at. You saw him from across the ballroom. He was talking to a senator, but your heart already tripped over itself.

When he finally stood alone by the balcony doors, you took a deep breath, lifted your dress slightly so you wouldn’t trip, and walked toward him.

“Hi, Oppa,” you said, trying to sound casual and not like you’d practiced that exact greeting fifty times in the mirror.

He turned.

His eyes skimmed down your yellow sundress… then immediately lifted back to your face.

Too fast. Too controlled.

“Hello,” he said gently, voice and smile polite but distant.

You hated how cold it sounded.

Still, you tried.

“I, um… I saw your speech last week,” you said. “It was really, really good.”

He blinked at you like he wasn’t expecting genuine praise.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Then... “Excuse me.” He stepped around you and walked away.

You stood there alone, gripping your glass so tight your fingers ached.

But.. what you didn’t see was, Namjoon slipped behind a marble pillar twenty feet away, leaned his forehead against the cold stone and whispered under his breath, “…Why did she have to wear yellow? Why did she have to look so bright and cute?”

He stayed there until he calmed his breathing.

Because you were eighteen. And he was twenty one. And he wanted things he absolutely should not want.

At nineteen, you left your hometown to chase your bachelor’s degree—finally free from the suffocating walls of politics and expectations. You ran as far away as your world allowed. Your mother supported your dream.

Into color palettes. Into soft fabrics.

Into a life where people chose you because you made things beautiful, not because you fit into a political chessboard.

Your father fought you for years.

“This career is useless,” he scolded. “You’re embarrassing me.” “Come back and try to join politics.”

You didn’t. You kept sketching. Kept sewing. Kept breathing in a world full of art, not strategies. But when Autumn Festival came around, you had no choice but to return home.

And after a full day of polite smiles, fake compliments, and your father’s constant reminders of “behave,” you needed air. You needed space. You needed escape.

So you slipped away the first chance you got. Straight to the National Assembly library... your secret escape since childhood.

Quiet. Dusty. Safe.

A place where no one asked you to be perfect. A place where you could breathe again. A place filled with old books that smelled like freedom.

You didn’t expect him to be there.

Namjoon was twenty-two, round glasses perched on his nose, surrounded by policy reports. He looked annoyingly attractive in that serious, bookish way.

You hesitated before walking to his table.

“Hi... I didn't expect you here,” you said, softly.

He looked up. And for a second, his expression softened like sunlight touching snow. “You’re home for Chuseok,” he said. It was not a question... cause he already knew.

You nodded. “My house is too loud. I needed to hide.”

He smiled a little at that. “Same.”

You sat across from him.

You talked for forty minutes. Softly. Comfortably. About nothing and everything.

You: “Do you ever get tired of all the grey suits?” Him: “Grey is safe.” You: “Safe is boring.” Him, after a long pause: “…Some of us don’t get to pick exciting.”

At one point, you reached for his pen—even though you had three of your own. Your fingers brushed. He sucked in a sharp breath and pulled his hand back like you’d burned him.

You pretended not to notice.

When you left, he watched you walk all the way to the door. And when the library finally closed, he was still staring at the spot where your fingers had touched his.

Few months later, chairman Kim passed away unexpectedly, it felt like all the color drained from Namjoon’s world.

At the funeral, he stood expressionless. Those deep, thoughtful eyes carried a grief so restrained it almost hurt to look at him. He bowed and thanked guests, all robotic and polite.

It was the first time you saw Namjoon truly break.

You placed a single strawberry candy on the funeral wreath—one he used to give you every weekends.

Namjoon stared at it for a long moment.

When he looked up at you, his eyes were red, his voice rough.

“…Thank you,” he whispered.

You wanted to hug him so badly your chest hurt. But you didn’t. You walked away before you cried.

After that, something hardened inside him. He returned to politics sharper, colder, impossibly composed. He became ice who forgot how to melt.

You approached him once at a diplomatic dinner months later. You wore a dress you designed yourself—lavender silk, soft draping, delicate straps.

Your heart was fluttering like always.

“Oppa… you look thinner,” you said quietly.

“I’m fine.” He replied.

Short. Cold. Clipped.

His eyes flicked away the moment your friend approached.

It hurt. You told yourself he didn’t care. Didn’t feel anything. Never did. But you never knew he went home that night and punched a wall, furious at himself for reacting to you that way.

After that, you stopped trying to get close. He always stepped back anyway. Always kept his distance. Always refused warmth.

To you, it looked like indifference.

But in truth, he kept his distance because you made him feel things... dangerous, irrational things, and in politics, feelings were fatal.

Senior year felt like breathing after holding your lungs tight for ten years. Semester exams were done. Your brain was empty. Your heart finally felt light.

And that night… you wanted to forget everything.

The silver slip dress you wore clung to your skin like moonlight made of silk. You didn’t dress for anyone. You dressed for yourself... for freedom.

“Come on, babe, don’t overthink. Just dance tonight,” your friend Hyejin yelled over the music, pulling you to the center of the crowded Gangnam club.

The bass hit your body first.

The peach soju washed away the last bit of doubt. And the moment you started moving, everything—politics, your father, expectations, Kim Namjoon—blurred into nothing.

Jimin, your classmate, spun you around with a grin.

“You look dangerous tonight,” he joked, laughing.

You rolled your eyes. “Please, I look like someone who needs sleep.”

He laughed louder and pulled you closer. “Lets have fun and just dance before real life crushes you.”

You giggled, letting him guide you. Just harmless fun. Just dancing.

His hands slipped lower on your waist.

You didn’t notice... didn't care... cause he was just a friend. But someone else did.

Namjoon had not planned to stay.

He only came to discuss a campaign donation. He wore a black suit jacket undone, shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked like sin in human form.

He lifted his whisky glass. He was mid-sip when he saw you.

And the world… stopped.

One of the donors said, “Assemblyman Kim, shall we go over the proposal—?”

“Hold on,” Namjoon said without looking away.

Because there you were. Shining... Laughing... Dancing with another man. You spun, silver dress flashing under neon lights. Jimin’s hands settled on your waist.

Namjoon’s fingers tightened around the glass.

He whispered under his breath, “No… absolutely not.”

His jaw flexed. His shoulders locked. He shouldn’t look. He tried not to look. But he failed.

Jimin leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

“You’re seriously glowing tonight,” he shouted.

You laughed, warm and drunk. “It’s just glitter! Hyejin dumped half a bottle on me!”

He grinned. “Well, it's working and you are shining.”

You smiled back without thinking.

Namjoon saw that smile. And the way Jimin’s chest pressed to your back and how naturally you leaned into the touch. His heart slammed inside his ribs.

One donor asked, “Kim Namjoon-ssi? Are you listening?”

“No,” he said honestly, eyes locked on the dance floor.

“Namjoon-ssi, about the contribution—”

“Not now,” he said, voice clipped, icy.

He barely heard himself. All he heard was the blood roaring in his ears, one thought slamming over and over.

She’s mine. Why is he touching her? Why is she letting him touch her? Why wasn’t I there first?

Your laughter floated up to the balcony.

Something in him snapped.

Namjoon didn’t let them finish. He stood so fast his chair scraped loud across the marble floor. “Excuse me,” he said sharply. He didn’t wait for an answer.

He was breathing too hard. He reached the middle of the staircase and stopped. His chest hurt with how badly he wanted to drag you away from that boy.

He wanted to storm across the floor. He wanted to pull you into him. He wanted the whole club to see who you belonged to. But then another thought punched him.

She still thinks you don’t want her. She still thinks you’ve never looked at her that way.

He squeezed the railing until the metal groaned.

“Not like this,” he whispered. “Not drunk. Not in a club. Not when she doesn't know.”

He forced himself to turn around. Forced himself to walk back up. Forced himself to finish his drink. The glass cracked in his hand before he even realized he was squeezing it that hard.

Blood dripped down his palm, warm and slow.

He was too busy staring at the back of your silver dress in his mind.

Too busy remembering the very first time he wanted to kiss you—in that stupid yellow sundress years ago. Too busy losing the last bit of restraint he had left.

He left early.

He didn’t trust himself to stay.

Not when he knew exactly how good you’d feel pinned against the wall. Not when he knew exactly how easy it would be to claim your mouth and whisper, “I never stopped wanting you.”

He sat in his car for a long moment, hands shaking on the steering wheel. Then he whispered into the dark. “I’m done waiting.”

Meanwhile, You… You danced until your heels hurt and your hair stuck to your neck. Jimin offered to walk you home.

You shook your head. “I’m fine! Taxi is enough.”

He ruffled your hair. “Your loss.”

You laughed and waved goodbye.

You fell into bed at 4 a.m., cheeks flushed, heartbeat warm, mind airy.

And you didn’t think about Namjoon even once. Because you still believed he didn’t want you. You had no idea that the man you thought was cold and uninterested…

…just walked away because he was terrified he’d kiss you in the middle of a crowded club.

Terrified he’d finally lose control.

And deeply unaware that his control was already gone.

The dining room in your family’s official residence was always cold, even in summer.

Crystal chandelier, long mahogany table, portraits of presidents staring down like they were judging the food.

You were twenty-one, home for the weekend from university, wearing an oversized cream sweater and soft linen pants, hair still damp from the shower.

Your father sat at the head of the table, tie loosened for once but jaw locked tight. The staff brought the food in, quietly as always, never making eye contact. He didn’t let them finish.

He put his phone on the table—flat, heavy, decisive. “We need to talk about your future.”

You paused mid-bite, chopsticks hovering. “My… future?”

You tried to smile. Failed. “Dad, I already told you and mom. I got that internship in Paris. Remember? The eco-fashion collective? They only choose seven people in the whole...”

“I’m not talking about hobbies,” he interrupted, dismissing your dream with one flick of his hand.

You froze. “Hobbies?”

Your chest pinched. “Dad, it’s not a hobby, it’s my—”

“A marriage proposal has come for you and you will marry Assemblyman Choi’s son,” he continued, calm and cold. “Next month. You can finish rest of your last semester from here. I know attendance isn’t mandatory for this semester.”

The words slammed into you like a fist. Your chopsticks slipped and clattered onto the bowl. The sound echoed far too loudly.

“…What?” you whispered.

Your father didn’t flinch. “It’s already arranged. The Chois are powerful allies. This is a good match.”

“No.” You pushed your chair back. “Dad, absolutely not. Minhyuk is—”

“A respectable young man,” he cut in.

“A creep!” Your voice cracked. “He hits on my friends! Last month at the gala he cornered Ji-eun—”

“Rumors,” he snapped. “Girls exaggerate.”

Your jaw dropped. You felt sick.

“Dad, he’s a walking scandal. He literally bragged about cheating on his ex because she was ‘too clingy.’ I’m not marrying a man like that—”

“You will,” he said, slamming his palm on the table.

The glasses jumped. So did you.

“Because I said so.”

“Why won’t you listen to me?” Tears piled hot behind your eyes. “I’m building something. Fashion is important to me. I’m actually good at it—my professor said my designs could get into Seoul Fashion Week...”

“Enough.” His voice boomed. “Stop embarrassing yourself with glitter and fabric scraps. You have my name. That means something. And you will honor it.”

Your throat burned.

“Is that all I am to you?” Your voice trembled. “A tool? A deal? A pretty bargain chip?”

He didn’t deny it. He didn’t even hesitate.

“You are a disgrace to this family! Wasting your time on useless creative fields... drawing dresses like some starving artist! Do you know how many doors my name opens? And you throw it away for fabric scraps and glitter?”

Tears stung your eyes, hot and angry. “It’s not useless! It’s my life! You never even asked what I want!”

“What you want?” He stood too, towering over the table, face red.

“You want to embarrass me? Parading around in those ridiculous clothes, partying with those artsy nobodies? No daughter of mine will live like that. You will marry Minhyuk. You will smile at events. You will give me grandchildren who will carry this legacy. End of discussion. Or I pull every penny of your tuition, your apartment, your precious little fabric budget. You’ll be on the street by Monday.”

You went still. Absolutely still.

“Dad…” Your voice was barely air. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” he said simply. “And I will.”

Then he buttoned his jacket.

“Dinner is over.”

He walked out, door slamming behind him so violently the chandelier trembled. You sat back down slowly, shoulders trembling, tears falling silently into your lap.

You whispered into the empty room, “I hate you… I hate you so much.”

The staff pretended not to hear. But everyone did.

Namjoon’s office was dim, lit only by a desk lamp as he reviewed policies. He’d been working for hours; exhaustion clung to him like smoke.

His chief of staff entered quietly.

“Sir… there’s news. I think you should know.”

Namjoon didn’t look up. “What is it?”

The chief hesitated. “Minister Park just informed Chairman Choi… that his daughter agreed to marry Minhyuk.”

Namjoon’s pen froze mid-sentence.

“…What?” His voice was so low, it barely counted as a word.

“They’re planning the wedding for next month.” Chief replied.

Namjoon slowly lowered his pen, staring at nothing. “She agreed?” he repeated, like he needed confirmation.

“He says so...” The chief nodded, but continued, “... but I heard she was threatened too.”

Snap...

The pen broke clean in half in Namjoon’s hand. Ink bled over his skin, but he didn’t feel it. Namjoon stood abruptly, grabbing his coat.

“Sir... where are you—?”

“Get the car.”

“Sir?”

“Now.” He roared.

He drove faster than he should have through the quiet streets of Seoul. Every muscle in his body was tight. His grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled. His jaw was locked so hard it ached.

She agreed? Did she really? I can't believe it... I know her father force her? Does she think she has no choice?

His heart hammered.

He couldn’t let this happen. He wouldn’t. He knew your father might have forced you or threatened you.

You were his... No one can dare to touch you... He couldn’t even finish the thought without losing control of the car. He reached your father’s residence in minutes. Security let him in without question.

Your father looked up from his brandy as Namjoon entered unannounced.

“Namjoon,” he said calmly, “it’s very late.”

Namjoon didn’t bow... Didn’t sit... Didn’t even breathe properly.

“I’m here to discuss about your daughter.”

Your father smirked faintly. “You heard the news.”

“I did.” Namjoon stepped closer. “And I’m here to tell you something.”

Your father raised an eyebrow. Namjoon’s voice was steady, but beneath the calm was something dangerous.

“She will not marry Choi Minhyuk.” He pause a beat. “She will marry me.”

The amused expression disappeared from your father’s face. “You’re serious.”

Namjoon’s chest rose and fell once. “Completely.”

Your father set his glass down slowly. “Namjoon… you are an excellent young man. Too excellent for someone like her. You can easily aim for someone from a stronger political family.”

Namjoon’s jaw flexed. “I’m not asking.”

Your father stiffened. “…What did you say?”

Namjoon stepped directly in front of the desk, lowering his voice.

“I’m telling you. I will marry her... Not Choi... No one else... Only Me.”

Your father narrowed his eyes. “And why should I agree to this sudden… demand?”

Namjoon leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. “Because I’m the only man in this country who can give you what Choi never will... stability. Power. Control.”

Your father blinked.

Namjoon continued, tone razor-sharp. “Choi Minhyuk will embarrass you within a year. His scandals will drag your legacy through the dirt. But with me? Your family name becomes untouchable. I don’t lose. I don’t slip. I don’t fail. Tie your daughter to me, and your future is secure.”

Your father stared at him for a long, heavy moment. Then he slowly reached for his phone. “Prepare the marriage documents for Kim Namjoon,” he said into it. “Have them sent to his office by morning.”

Namjoon straightened.

Your father looked up. “The wedding announcement will be next week.”

Namjoon nodded once. “Thank you, Minister.”

He turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. “One more thing.”

Your father looked up again.

Namjoon’s voice dropped to a quiet, deadly softness.

“If you ever threaten her tuition, her career, or her freedom again, I will personally make sure you spend the rest of your career counting paper clips in a provincial office. Do we understand each other?”

A flicker of fear crossed your father’s face. “…We understand each other.”

“Good.” Namjoon left.

Outside, in the cold night air, he leaned against his car, finally letting the breath he’d been holding escape.

His hands were still stained with broken pen ink.

He closed his eyes, head falling back.

He’d waited eight long years to claim you... Eight years of distance, of control, of swallowing every feeling.

Now? You were finally, undeniably his.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, heart pounding.

“I’m coming for you,” he whispered to the night.

“And this time… I’m not stepping back.”

The hallways smelled like polished wood and ambition.

You didn’t call ahead. You didn’t care that his secretary tried to stop you. You shoved past her, heels clicking like gunshots on the marble, coat half-on, hair wild from the wind outside. You pushed the heavy oak door open so hard it banged against the wall.

Namjoon was standing at the window, phone pressed to his ear, back straight, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. He ended the call without turning.

“I wondered how long it would take you to find me,” he said, calm, almost too calm.

You slammed the door behind you. Your hands trembled.

“How dare you,” you said, voice shaking with anger. “How dare you walk into my life like you own it and decide who I marry!”

He finally turned, slowly, eyes unreadable.

“I didn’t decide anything,” he said. Calm. Infuriatingly calm. “Your father did. I just changed the name on the contract.”

Your feet pounded across the floor until you were standing right in front of him, barely an inch apart.

“Who the hell asked you to play hero, Kim Namjoon?” you spat, chest heaving.

He looked down at you, jaw tight. “You preferred Choi Minhyuk?”

The name tasted like poison.

“I prefer no one!” you said. “I want to finish my degree, open my own studio, live my life... my way!”

He chuckled, low and sharp. “And you think your father was going to let you do that?” His eyes darkened. “He would have sold you to the highest bidder the second you walked across that stage. I know it. You know it.”

Your hands flew to his chest, shoving, angry, desperate.

He didn’t budge. Not an inch.

Instead, in a move so fast it stole your breath, he caught your wrists and yanked you toward him. You stumbled, crashing into him, palms flat against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat thundering beneath your fingers.

Your faces were inches apart. His breath brushed your lips... warm, faintly minty, with a rich undertone of coffee that made your stomach clench.

You hated how good he smelled.

You hated how your anger faltered for a split second, leaving your body betraying your mind.

“You should be thanking me,” he said, voice low, rough.

“Thanking you?” you spat, trying to pull away. He didn’t let go. “For what?”

“For saving you from him.” He glanced at your chest, then up at your eyes. “Choi Minhyuk would have destroyed you. Made you quit your passion, smiled at cameras while crying alone in bathrooms. I’ve seen what he does. I’ve seen the bruises he leaves on hearts like yours.”

Your stomach sank.

Namjoon’s voice dropped even lower. “I will never lay a hand on you in anger. I will never ask you to be less than you are.”

He leaned in until his forehead almost touched yours. “With me, you graduate. You design. You travel to Paris, Milan, New York, wherever the hell you want. You keep your name on the label. You keep your freedom.”

His grip loosened, but he didn't let go. “You’ll just have my last name too.”

You trembled. Rage mixed with something hotter, something dangerous.

“And what do you get out of this, Namjoon?” you whispered. “A political boost? Bragging rights? Or… a pretty little trophy wife?”

His jaw flexed.

He let go of one wrist to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone like you were fragile glass. “I get to sleep peacefully at night knowing that you are safe and no one else is touching you.”

The words landed between you, raw and sharp. You sucked in a breath. He saw it, eyes darkening.

Then he stepped back, regaining control.

Cold, smooth control that had nothing to do with kindness.

“Two days,” he said. “Think about it.”

He walked back to his desk. He didn’t glance at you again. You left, shaking, slamming the door behind you.

You drove to your mother’s apartment, the one your father pretended didn’t exist after the divorce. She opened the door in loose silk pajamas, hair falling around her face, eyes tired but alert.

You collapsed into her arms, crying like a child.

When the story spilled out, she didn’t flinch.

She poured chamomile tea, sat you on the couch.

“I married your father because I had no choice. I was young and scared,” she said quietly. “I thought love would grow. It didn’t. Every year, I got smaller.”

She held your hands. “Namjoon… that boy has watched you since you were sixteen. He’s never smiled much, but his eyes… they were always on you. Keeping you safe. Waiting.”

You swallowed hard. “He… he doesn’t even like me.”

“He’s in love with you,” your mother corrected gently.

“He’s giving you a door your father wants to slam shut forever. Take it, baby. You can always choose whatever destination you want later through that door.”

Next Morning, you walked into his office again. The secretary didn’t even try to stop you this time. He was at his desk, pen in hand, signing papers. He looked up as you closed the door softly.

Hands shaking, you forced your voice steady. “I have conditions.”

He leaned back, eyes never leaving yours. “Name them.”

“I finish my degree, my internship. No interference.”

“Done.”

“I keep my studio, my brand, my name on every label.”

“Done.”

“I am not a doll. I will not quit my life to smile next to you at banquets.”

He stood, crossed the desk until he was in front of you. “I don’t want a doll. I want you. Safe and peaceful.”

Your throat tightened. “One more,” you whispered.

He waited.

“If you ever try to control me the way he does—”

“I won’t,” he said, voice steady, eyes locking with yours.

You exhaled, relief, fear, and something wild all at once. “Then… yes.”

For the first time, Kim Namjoon smiled.

A real smile, like he’d been holding his breath for years.

“Thank you,” he said, voice rough.

“You won’t regret this,” he murmured, softer.

You lifted your chin. “I’d better not.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Welcome home, Mrs. Kim.”

You rolled your eyes, heart thundering for a completely different reason. “Technically I’m not Mrs. Anything yet.”

“Give it one month,” he whispered, stepping closer. Close enough that stepping back wasn’t an option anymore.

And for the first time, you didn’t even try to.

The wedding had been quick.

Too quick.

A blur of black suits, white flowers, and your father’s satisfied nods. Nothing warm, nothing soft... just contracts, handshakes, and a single fleeting glance from Namjoon that left your stomach twisting for reasons you couldn’t name yet.

Moving into his penthouse felt like stepping into another world... luxury that almost hurt your eyes, marble floors that echoed every step, and a quiet so deep it was suffocating.

You unpacked in your separate room, the one at the far end of the hall. He had his own, just a few doors away. That night you lay in that big bed and stared at the ceiling until dawn.

You came down the stairs at 9:15 a.m., legs bare in those tiny silk shorts, drowning in your oversized hoodie. You were still sleepy, still warm, still looking like trouble.

He was already at the kitchen island in fresh suit, sleeves rolled up, black coffee steaming beside a tablet full of boring government stuff.

He heard your footsteps. He looked up once... just once, and his eyes stopped dead on your legs.

A quick inhale. A tiny freeze in his action.

Then he ripped his gaze back to the screen like his life depended on it. You shrugged and pretended not to notice.

You grabbed a bowl and poured cereal. The clinking sounded like a loud gunshot in the silent kitchen.

Still, you tried.

“Good morning,” you said softly.

He didn’t look up. Not even a little.

“Morning,” he answered, voice low, careful… like if he looked at you again he would do something stupid.

You sat down three stools away, dramatically... like a queen claiming her territory.

Then… silence. Awkward, heavy, warm silence.

You stared at him. Then at his shoulders. Then at the tiny muscle twitching in his jaw. You lasted forty-three seconds.

“Do you always eat alone?” you blurted, poking at your cereal like it offended you.

He finally glanced at you—this controlled, composed look with eyes that were way too soft for someone pretending not to care.

“I’m used to it,” he said. Not coldly but honestly.

You huffed, stirring your cereal aggressively. “Yeah, well… you have a wife now. So get unused to it.”

His mouth twitched. The closest thing to a smile he’s allowed himself at 9 a.m.

“Noted,” he murmured, voice warm this time.

You tried not to smile.

He tried not to stare at your legs again. Both of you failed.

Soon, he finished his coffee, slipped into his blazer, and paused by the front door. “I’ll be late,” he said. “Long session at the Assembly.”

You nodded, sipping your coffee. “Come home safe.”

He froze for half a second—like the words did something to him, but then he nodded, voice lower now.

“I will.” And then he was gone.

You didn’t see him again for 18 hours, but the warm echo of that tiny, hard-won smile stayed with you the whole day.

It was 6:12 a.m., another morning at house where silence lived more louder than the conversations you two ever had.

It was way too early for your brain to function, but cravings don’t care about sleep schedules. You stood on your toes, tiny cotton shorts riding up your thighs as you reached, struggling—for the top-shelf.

You didn’t hear him come in.

But you felt him first.

A warm breath hit the back of your neck... soft, slow, like he was tasting the moment. You stiffened, fingers curling on the cabinet edge.

And then his bare chest—still faintly damp from his early gym session, pressed against your back.

Hard muscle. Hot skin.

A silent, dangerous wall of him.

He reached past you, arm brushing your cheek, body pinning you to the counter without even touching you intentionally. Your breath caught. He didn’t move away.

For five heavy, stretched-out seconds, the whole world narrowed to heat radiating from his body, your pounding heartbeat, and the thin layer of your shirt separating your spine from his chest.

He spoke low, voice rough with sleep and sweat. “This shelf is too high for you.”

Your throat tightened. “I'll manage.”

He didn’t answer right away.

He just lowered the cereal box… slowly… setting it on the counter with deliberate care.

His knuckles skimmed your hip on the way down.

A soft graze. Barely a touch.

But your breath hitched like he’d put his hand under your shirt.

His chest finally pulled away from your back, and you exhaled without knowing you’d been holding anything in.

You turned to face him.

He was already halfway across the kitchen, shoulders stiff, jaw flexing so hard you saw the muscle jump near his cheek. Like he was holding something back. Like touching you, even accidentally, was a test he barely passed.

You opened your mouth to say something but he didn’t look back.

Just tossed over his shoulder, voice low. “You shouldn’t have to struggle for basic things.”

Then he disappeared into his room.

The next morning, you shuffled into the kitchen, hair messy, eyes half-shut and froze.

Everything... Every single thing, was rearranged.

The cereal. The snacks. The spices. The ladles. The jars. All placed lower. All placed where you could reach without stretching.

You blinked, stunned. “This wasn’t like this yesterday…”

You heard his voice behind you, softer this time but with the same deep rumble. “You don’t have to struggle for anything in this house.”

You turned.

He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with those unreadable eyes.

“Why did you…? And when...?” you asked.

His jaw flexed again before he admitted, quietly, “Because I didn’t like seeing you struggle.”

Your heart did a stupid flip.

Every morning started the same way and night ended the same way.

Maybe it was the brush of his fingers against yours when he handed you a glass, the touch so light it felt like an accident but lasted just a second too long.

Maybe it was a care and love hidden under those tiny acts and moments. Or maybe it was the way your eyes met in the dim hallway, his gaze sliding down to your mouth, yours flickering to his collarbone, silence stretching warm and unbearable between you.

Someone always looked away first, pretending nothing had happened… even though you both felt it.

That unfinished moment followed you to your separate rooms, settling under your skin, making the air heavier the next morning. Nothing was ever resolved.

Nothing was ever said.

And every night the tension just… lived there, growing thicker, waiting for one of you to finally stop walking away.

It was supposed to be a quick phone call.

Instead, your father’s voice sliced you open like it always did. “Three months married and not even a single public appearance! Do you want people to talk? Do you want to embarrass me again? And along with me Namjoon too!”

Your throat tightened. “Dad, I’m finishing my degree... I need to submit my designs...”

“Nonsense. Namjoon is being polite, but that doesn't mean you will take advantage of it. He is gonna run for Mayor soon and he needs a proper wife beside him. Get your priorities straight.” He hung up before you could breathe.

You sank onto the cold marble floor of the hallway, hugging your knees, trying to swallow the knot in your chest, but the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable.

You didn’t even hear footsteps.

Just a sudden shadow falling across you.

“Hey…” Namjoon’s voice dipped low, gentle in a way that cut deeper. “Hey. What happened?”

You shook your head, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “It’s nothing. I’m just… being... dramatic.”

He dropped to his knees in front of you so fast it startled you.

“No.” He took your shaking hands, prying them away from your face. “You don’t cry like this unless someone hurt you.”

Your lips parted, breath trembling. “I... I talked to my father.”

Namjoon went still.

His jaw flexed once. Twice. Something dark moved behind his eyes.

“What did he say?” His voice was so calm it was dangerous.

“That I’m… embarrassing him... and you too. That I’m not being a proper wife. That I should forget my stupid degree and—” Your voice cracked.

His thumb brushed a tear off your cheek.

Then another.

Then the next.

“Live your life the way you want,” he whispered, inching closer. “I’ll handle everything else.”

You swallowed, a sob escaping before you could hold it back.

He cupped your face with both hands—warm, large, steady. Your breaths tangled. His forehead almost touched yours.

You could feel his heartbeat.

Fast. Hard. Uncontrolled.

For a moment, you thought he’d kiss you. His eyes flicked to your lips but he stopped himself. Pulled back like your lips were fire.

His hands fell to his lap.

He looked away, breathing unevenly.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t…”

You didn’t understand what he meant cause he never completed the sentence. You only knew your chest hurt when he stood up and helped you to your feet, careful not to touch you too long.

“Let me take care of my campaigns,” he said gently. “You focus on your dreams.”

You nodded, thinking he was just being kind.

He walked away with fists clenched, jaw locked, like he was punishing himself for wanting you too much.

A week later, you were hunched over your laptop in the living room, surrounded by fabric swatches and sketches. Your leg bounced restlessly, your teeth worrying your bottom lip.

You didn’t hear him come in until he spoke. “You’re overthinking.”

You jumped. “Uh... I’m working.”

“Torturing yourself isn’t the same thing,” he replied calmly, sliding his hands into his pockets as he walked closer.

You glared. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” His voice was unshakeably gentle. “Tell me what you are struggling with. Tell me what you need.”

You shook your head. “Materials. But the supplier is out. And the backup is too expensive. And the design idea is good but I can’t finalize it because the fabric isn’t right and—”

“Okay.” He stopped in front of you, lowering his voice. “Slow down. Which materials?”

You blinked, surprisingly.

He listened as you rambled, your hands moving animatedly, describing textures, cuts, colors, structure.

He didn’t interrupt. Not once.

He looked at you like the world’s gone quiet and you’re the only thing worth hearing.

Hours later, when you stepped out of the bathroom after a shower, you noticed boxes stacked neatly by the wall.

Your heart stopped.

Everything you mentioned. Even the items you said were “impossible to get at very short notice.”

You found him in the hallway, sleeves rolled up, opening the last box.

“You did all this?” you whispered.

“I told you,” he said without looking up, “I’ll handle everything else. And I hate seeing you struggle.”

The next morning, he led you to a door you had never opened.

Inside?

A full studio. Your dream studio.

Tailored exactly to the way you work.

You turned to him, stunned. “Namjoon… this is—this is too much.”

“No,” he said, meeting your eyes steadily. “It’s not enough.”

You swallowed hard.

He stepped closer, gaze gentle. “You deserve space to build your future. You’re not supposed to fit your dreams into a corner of the living room.”

Your chest tightened. “You made this… for me?”

“I made it because I like watching you work,” he said, then immediately looked away like he didn’t mean to be that honest. “It—uh—it’s important to you. That’s all.”

But you heard it.

Two weeks later, everything had blown up—posters everywhere, meetings stacked on meetings until he was nothing but a shadow passing through the house. You hardly saw him anymore... except in the quiet hours of the morning.

And the day he officially filed his candidacy, you dressed him in the first suit you’d finished for him.

A midnight–navy wool-silk… smooth, rich, beautiful with hand-stitched lapels. A thin silver pinstripe that showed only when he moved.

He looked unreal in it. But you pretended you weren’t staring.

He stood in the center of your studio like a perfectly-behaved mannequin, while you circled him with pins in your teeth and your heart somewhere in your throat.

“Arms up,” you said, tapping his elbow.

He lifted them instantly. No hesitation. No argument. Just complete obedience to your soft little command.

You pretended it didn’t affect you.

He watched you in the studio mirror, eyes following every move you made.

Your palm slid over his shoulder, smoothing the fabric. You stepped closer, fingertips smoothing down the length of his bicep, then flattening the jacket across his chest.

His chest was warm. His heartbeat was fast.

You tried to pretend you didn’t notice.

“Is it too tight here?” you asked softly, pressing your hand over his heart to check the fit.

A low sound escaped him... half-laugh, half something else. His eyes flicked to yours in the mirror.

“If it were any looser,” he said, “I’d look like I borrowed my father’s suit.”

You smiled under your breath and moved behind him to check the vents. Your hands skimmed lightly along his waist to adjust the back seam.

He inhaled sharply—so sharply that you felt it through the fabric.

“Stop moving,” you scolded, nudging him with your knee.

“Believe me,” he muttered, “I’m trying.”

You stepped to his front again, reaching for the tie you dyed yourself—a deep burgundy that warmed against his skin. You slid it under his collar, your knuckles brushing his throat.

He swallowed. You felt everything.

“Hold still,” you whispered.

He didn’t. He swayed almost imperceptibly closer.

You tied the knot slowly, adjusting it until it sat perfectly. Your hand smoothed down the tie, down the firm line of his chest… and lingered over his heart again without meaning to.

Your voice dropped. “There. You look…”

You swallowed the rest.

He turned his head, meeting your eyes through the mirror like the way a man does when he’s trying very hard not to cross a line.

“How do I look?” he asked, voice deep and rough.

You let out a shaky breath. “Like you’re going to win.”

His eyes dropped immediately to your mouth. “And if I do win?”

You stepped back a tiny bit—barely an inch. “Then the city gets a mayor who dresses well.”

He gave a soft, humorless laugh, like it hurt him. “That’s all?”

Your fingers were still brushing his chest, even though you were trying to drag them away. His heartbeat was wild under your palm—louder, faster, like he was afraid you’d hear everything he’d been holding back.

“Mhmm...,” you said quietly.

He closed his eyes for a second, breathing like he needed to calm himself, then stepped back with visible effort. His hands clenched at his sides.

“One more month,” he told himself in mind, almost like a promise. “Just one more month…”

He left before you could say anything further, afraid he’d grab you, afraid he’d kiss you, afraid he’d ruin the careful control he’d been holding onto.

You watched him on the television from your new studio—half-finished sketches on the table, fabric scissors forgotten in your hand.

He stepped onto the stage for his first town-hall speech wearing the suit you made for him.

Under the bright lights, the midnight navy shimmered. Every turn caught the silver pinstripe. The burgundy tie glowed against his throat.

He looked powerful... Confident... And heartbreakingly handsome.

A reporter leaned forward. “Mr. Kim, your suit looks fantastic today. It's different than what you usually wear. May we ask who designed it?”

He smiled—small, soft, secret.

“My wife,” he said.

Those two words hit you harder than the studio lights above you. You felt your breath catch, your chest tighten, your heart race against your ribs.

He said it with pride. With ownership.

With something warm and protective in his voice that made your knees weak.

You pressed a hand to your chest as he continued speaking on screen, his voice steady and strong. But all you could hear was the smile in his voice when he said it.

My wife.

You’d promised one night for yourself before finals took over everything. Just one night to forget the weight on your shoulders. One night to laugh with the friends who pulled you out of the suffocating world of politics and lit up your college days.

One last night before all of you drifted toward your own futures.

So you went out with your friends to a rooftop bar in Itaewon—fairy lights hanging above you, cheap cocktails in plastic cups, music loud enough that your overthinking finally shut up for a few hours.

Jungkook, your playful, chaotic friend, offered to drive you home when your cab cancelled. At 2:13 a.m., his matte-black Jeep stopped in front of the entrance to the penthouse.

You leaned over the console to side-hug him, laughing at something stupid he had said. “Thanks for the ride, Kook. Seriously.”

He hugged you back briefly and grinned. “Anytime. Text me when you’re alive tomorrow.”

You hopped out, still giggling, hair messy, heels dangling from your fingers.

You didn’t know someone else had watched the entire thing.

Namjoon had been pacing the living room for two full hours, phone in hand, pretending he wasn’t waiting for you. He saw the hug. He saw you smiling. He saw another man’s hands around you.

And something inside him burned.

The moment Jungkook’s car drove off, you stepped inside—humming softly, completely unaware of the storm brewing for you.

You stopped dead.

Namjoon stood in the dark living room, facing the window, the city lights outlining his tall frame. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly wild like he had been dragging his fingers through it.

His voice cut through the darkness like a knife. “You should have told me you’d be late.”

Your heart jumped. “God, Namjoon. Don’t stand in the dark like that. It’s creepy.”

“I wasn’t trying to scare you,” he said without turning. “I was waiting.”

“For what?” you asked, dropping your heels by the door.

“For you,” he said simply.

You blinked. “I texted you. You didn’t reply.”

He finally turned toward you. His eyes were sharp. “I was in a strategy meeting until 11.”

You let out a breath. “Okay… then what’s the problem?”

He stepped forward. Slowly. Controlled.

But his jaw was tight, and you saw the muscle tick.

“The problem,” he said softly, “is coming home and watching some guy put his hands on my wife.”

Your lips parted. “Jungkook just hugged me. He was driving me home...”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It DOES matter. He’s my friend!”

“I don’t care,” Namjoon growled, taking another step. “I don’t care about him. I care that his hands were on you. I care that you were laughing in his car. I care that you didn’t tell me you’d be with him that late.”

You stared at him, stunned.

Then a sharp, humorless laugh escaped you.

“You don’t get to be jealous,” you said. “You don’t even TOUCH me, Namjoon. You barely LOOK at me. You treat me like a roommate you’re forced to live with—”

His voice cracked open, raw and ragged. “Because I’m trying not to ruin you before you graduate.”

The room fell silent. You swallowed, the anger melting into hurt.

“Then why... why do you act like you don’t want me?” Your voice shook. “Every time I get close, you step away. We sleep in separate rooms. You treat me like I’m made of glass. You don’t even love me. You’re just stuck with me. So why the hell do you care who drops me home?”

Something inside him broke. You could feel it.

He moved faster than you could process.

In two strides, he had you caged against the wall, his hands on either side of your head, chest rising and falling, breath shaking.

He wasn’t touching you. But the air between you felt electric.

His voice was low, furious, trembling. “You think I don’t want you?”

Your breath stopped.

He leaned closer, lips almost brushing your cheek.

“I have wanted you,” he whispered, “since you were sixteen and I was nineteen. And it was wrong. It was illegal. And I hated myself every single day for it.”

Your eyes widened, heart slamming against your ribs.

He continued, voice breaking, “I married you because the thought of another men breathing near you made me want to burn the world down. I married you so no one else ever would.”

His forehead pressed gently against yours. His whole body shook with restraint.

“I count the hours until your graduation,” he murmured, “because if I touch you now... if I kiss you now—I’m afraid I won’t let you leave that bed for days.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer until your lips hovered an inch from his.

“Then stop being fucking coward,” you whispered.

“I’m twenty-two. I’ve been yours on paper for three months and yours in every way that matters. So fucking show me. I’m not a kid anymore.”

His breath hitched. His grip tightened on the wall. His eyes dropped to your lips like he was starving.

And that was the moment... everything snapped inside him.

He made a sound you’d never heard from him before—half-groan, half-growl, like something wild had finally been let out of its cage.

Then his mouth crashed onto yours. There was nothing soft about it.

No pause. No hesitation.

Just years of hunger slamming into you all at once.

His lips were hot, desperate, almost angry with how long he’d held himself back. Your teeth bumped, your tongues tangled, breath mixing in messy gasps that tasted like whiskey, jealousy, and every held-back fantasy he’d buried for years.

You moaned into him... high, needy—and he swallowed the sound like he’d been starving for it. His hand slid into your hair, fingers curling tight, controlling your head with an ease that sent heat pooling between your legs.

The other hand grabbed your thigh, hauled it up around his hip, dragging you flush against the thick, hard heat straining against his slacks.

His hips rolled, rough and frustrated.

“Fuck…” he breathed against your lips, voice torn open. “Feel that? That’s what you’ve been doing to me for years, sweetheart. Every damn day.”

You couldn’t even speak.

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed at his shirt, popping buttons, pushing fabric aside until your palms met his bare chest.

Hot. Solid. Trembling.

His heart hammered so hard you felt it against your fingers.

He groaned—a deep, broken sound, and dropped his mouth to your neck. The first kiss was hot. The second was harder. Then he sucked, teeth dragging, leaving a mark that made your knees almost give out.

“Tell me to stop,” he gasped against your skin. He was breathing like he’d run miles. “If you say stop, I swear to God I will. But this is the last time I’m asking you. Last chance, baby...”

“Don’t you dare,” you panted, nails dragging down his back hard enough to make him hiss. “Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

Something in him snapped clean in half.

He spun you so fast you gasped, your back hitting the wall as his body pressed into yours from behind. His mouth found the nape of your neck, kissing, biting, breathing you in like he’d been drowning in restraint.

His hands slid under your cropped sweater, warm palms gliding over your stomach, up your ribs, until they cupped your breasts completely. He groaned into your skin as his thumbs brushed your nipples through the lace—slow first, then firmer when he felt you shaking.

“God,” he whispered, voice shaking, “I dreamed about this. I dreamed about touching you like this. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You arched back, grinding against the hard line of his cock. He cursed—low, filthy, helpless.

“Baby…” he rasped, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath hot on your skin. “If you do that again, I’m gonna lose every bit of control I have left.”

You did it again.

And he broke all over you.

“These clothes,” he snarled, yanking your sweater over your head, bra following in one impatient tug. Cool air hit your skin and then his mouth was on your shoulder, your spine, licking a hot path downward as he dropped to his knees behind you.

He spun you so fast the room tilted, hands rough on your hips as he folded you forward, palms slamming flat against the wall for balance. Your skirt was already bunched at your waist, panties dangling uselessly around one ankle now.

Cool air kissed your soaked skin for half a second, and then his mouth was on you, no warning, no mercy.

“OW... FUCK... Namjoon—”

He groaned, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating straight through your core. “Fuck, you taste better than I dreamed,” he rasped, voice muffled against you. “So fucking sweet.”

Another long, deliberate lick, slower this time, flattening his tongue so he could feel every shudder that rolled through you. When he reached your clit he circled it once, twice, then sucked it between his lips, hard.

Your knees buckled.

You would’ve hit the floor if his hands weren’t gripping your hips like iron.

“Stay right there,” he ordered, voice wrecked. “Legs open. Let me eat this pretty pussy the way I’ve been dying to for months.”

He spread you wider with his thumbs, exposing you completely, and dove back in. This time his tongue speared inside you, thrusting deep, curling, fucking into you like he couldn’t get far enough.

You felt the wet drag of it, the obscene sounds of him drinking you down echoing off the walls.

“Namjoon... oh god—”

You whimpered, pushing back against his face shamelessly.

He moaned again, louder, the vibration making you clench around nothing. “That’s it,” he growled. “Fuck yourself on my tongue. Show me how bad you wanted this.”

You did, rocking back, chasing his mouth.

He let you for three desperate strokes, then took control again, tongue flicking fast over your clit, relentless, before sucking it hard enough that stars burst behind your eyes.

“Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name,” he promised, words slurred against your slick folds. “Then I’m gonna do it again with my cock.”

Two fingers pushed inside you without warning, curling hard, and you cried out, palms slapping the wall for balance.

“So wet,” he growled, voice muffled against your skin. “Been wet for me for months, haven’t you?”

“Yes—fuck—yes—” You clenched around his fingers so hard.

“Come for me, baby,” he demanded, voice raw. “Come all over my face, right now, let me taste it...”

The orgasm crashed over you so hard you screamed, thighs clamping around his head, hips jerking helplessly as wave after wave tore through you.

He didn’t stop, just kept licking, gentler now, drawing it out until you were sobbing from overstimulation, pushing weakly at his forehead.

Only then did he pull back, lips shiny, eyes black with lust, your wetness glistening on his chin. He stood slowly, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip like he was savoring the taste.

“Turn around,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

He made you stand in one motion, spinning you again to face him. His belt clinked open, zipper rasping down. You reached for him desperately, fingers wrapping around his cock... hot, thick, leaking—and he hissed, head falling back.

Your back hit the wall again as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The head of his cock nudged your entrance, slick and burning.

“Look at me,” he demanded, voice shaking.

You did.

His eyes were wild, pupils blown, lips swollen from your kisses. Sweat glistened at his temple.

“I love you,” he said, raw and reverent. “I love you so much it’s fucking killing me.”

Then he pushed in... one long, slow, devastating thrust that stretched you open and seated him to the hilt. You both froze, trembling, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s air.

He didn’t move yet.

Just held you there, buried deep, pulsing inside you.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered against your mouth.

“I’m yours,” you breathed. “Always was.”

His control snapped a second time.

He pulled back and slammed inside again, hard enough that your moan cracked in half.

“Fuck—” you sobbed, head banging back against the wall.

Namjoon didn’t give you time to breathe.

He set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward with wet, filthy slaps of skin on skin, the wall trembling behind you with every relentless drive. Each stroke dragged the ridge of his cock over that spot inside you that made your vision spark white, made your toes curl.

Your nails raked down his shoulders, carved burning lines across his back, and he hissed through his teeth, fucking you harder.

“Like that?” he growled against your ear, voice ragged. “You want it rough, baby? Been dreaming about splitting this tight little pussy open for years.”

“Yes—yes... Fuck... harder—” you chanted, barely sane.

He shoved one hand between your sweat-slick bodies, fingers finding your clit, swollen and slick, and started rubbing fast, merciless circles that matched the brutal pace of his cock.

“Listen to you,” he rasped, breath scorching your throat. “Listen to how wet you are for me. Can hear it every time I fuck into you—soaked down my balls, dripping on the floor.”

The obscene sound of it filled the room... slick, rhythmic, filthy, mixed with your broken moans and his low, animal groans.

“Namjoon—please—”

“Please what?” He slowed just enough to grind deep, rolling his hips so the head of his cock pressed hard against your wall, making you see stars. “Tell me what you need.”

You clawed at his back again, legs shaking around his waist. “Make me come... want to come on your cock... please—”

He snarled, snapped his hips faster, fingers working your clit in tight, ruthless circles. “Gonna give you everything,” he promised, voice cracking. “Gonna fill this pussy up so good you’ll feel me for days. Every time you move tomorrow you’ll remember who you belong to.”

The pressure coiled viciously tight, your walls fluttering around him.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, dark and filthy. “Squeeze me... fuck... milk my cock, baby, show me how much you love this—”

His fingers pressed harder, rubbing side-to-side now, fast and perfect, and you shattered.

The orgasm hit you sooner than earlier, ripping a scream from your throat as you clenched around him, vision whiting out.

He followed seconds later, burying his face in your neck, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you with a broken groan of your name.

You stayed locked together, shaking, sweat-slick, his cock still twitching deep inside you, your legs trembling around his waist.

After a long moment he lifted his head, eyes soft now, almost scared.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, thumb brushing your cheek. “I lost it. Did I hurt you?”

You laughed, breathless and wrecked. “You better do that again in approximately five minutes.”

Relief flooded his face.

He kissed you slow this time, tender, like he was memorising the taste. “Bedroom,” he murmured against your lips. “Now. I’m nowhere near done proving how much I love you.”

He carried you there without pulling out, your bodies still joined, and kicked the door shut behind you.

Neither of you slept that night.

The gala felt unreal.

It was Namjoon’s first major campaign event after your graduation, and he stood in the centre of the room in the deep wine-coloured suit you had made with your own hands. The silk lapels caught the light every time he moved.

He looked powerful. He looked calm.

He looked like the future of the city.

And he looked like yours.

You stood half a step behind him in your backless blood red dress, silk flowing around your legs like spilled wine. The diamond choker around your throat glimmered with each breath.

Namjoon had clasped it himself before you left, his fingers warm on your skin, his lips brushing the nape of your neck as he whispered, “Perfect.”

You had felt warm and proud and so unbelievably happy.

Until she arrived.

Councilwoman Lee Soojin.

Young. Elegant. Confident. And very aware of her beauty.

She moved through the crowd like she owned the floor, eyes locked on Namjoon before she even reached him.

“Mayor-to-be,” she said in a silky voice, placing her hand on his forearm like it was a habit. “You absolutely must tell me who designed this suit. It should be illegal to look this good.”

Her fingers travelled along the lapel, far too close to his throat.

You felt heat rise in your chest.

Namjoon stiffened almost instantly. His smile froze into something polite and cold.

“My wife designed it,” he said, turning slightly so he could gesture toward you. He said it calmly, proudly, like there was never any question.

Soojin’s gaze flicked to you... one quick, dismissive glance, before she turned back to him as if you were decoration.

“Well,” she said with a soft laugh, “she must have measured every inch of you very carefully. It fits you perfectly.”

Your hand tightened around your champagne flute.

Namjoon’s jaw tightened in the way you knew meant he was seconds from snapping.

You stepped forward before he could.

“Every inch,” you said sweetly, letting your voice glide like honey over steel. “Twice, actually.”

Soojin blinked, startled.

You slid your arm through Namjoon’s, pressing your palm firmly against his chest. “Enjoy your evening, Councilwoman.”

She stepped back. Her smile finally cracked.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. But his heart was slamming against your palm like a drum.

He stayed silent the entire walk to the car.

The drive through Gangnam was a slow burn.

Neon lights flashed across the windshield, slicing across the tense air between you. The city looked alive outside, but inside the car everything was quiet and heavy.

Namjoon drove himself tonight.

No driver. No witnesses. No escape.

You sat with your arms crossed, face turned toward the window, trying not to show how furious and jealous and stupidly, painfully in love you felt.

He kept glancing at you.

Once. Twice. Every few seconds.

“Baby—” he tried.

“Don’t,” you said sharply.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking wrecked. “I didn’t like how her hand...”

“I said don’t.”

Your cheeks were flushed, chest rising and falling, your lipstick bitten off from how hard your teeth dug into your lip.

And Namjoon?

He looked like he was seconds away from either apologising or pulling over and kissing the breath out of you.

At the next red light, he reached over... slowly, as if not to startle you. His hand brushed the seatbelt strap across your chest… sliding down to adjust it.

Completely innocent. Until it wasn’t.

His knuckles grazed the soft swell of your breast. His hand paused.

Your breath caught.

His fingers stayed there—just barely—but enough to make your entire body tighten.

“Namjoon,” you warned, voice low, trembling.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t move his hand. Didn’t even blink.

Green light.

He jerked his hand back and accelerated, jaw clenched so tight you could see the strain in his neck.

Next red light.

You unbuckled your seatbelt.

His head whipped toward you instantly. “Baby… what are you—”

You didn’t wait.

You climbed onto his lap in one smooth, furious motion. Silk sliding, your dress riding up, knees pressing into the narrow space between the seat and the console.

His hands snapped to your waist on instinct, eyes wide, breath gone.

“Drive,” you ordered when lights turned green, voice shaking with possessiveness, like you ruled the whole damn city.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. His body reacted before his mind did, hardening against you inside his suit pants.

“B-Baby…” he breathed.

You rolled your hips once—a slow, deliberate grind that made him choke.

His head fell back against the seat with a thud. “F-Fuck...”

“You’re mine,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear. “How dare she flirt with you? No one touches you. No one leans in like that. No one puts their hands on what belongs to me.”

You bit his earlobe... hard enough to make his breath shatter. He jolted, hips bucking up helplessly.

“Say it,” you demanded softly. “Say you’re mine.”

His answer came without hesitation, voice raw.

“I’m yours... Babe,” he rasped. “Only yours. Always. I swear... no one else even exists to me.”

You started grinding.

Slow, deliberate, filthy circles that dragged the soaked lace of your panties over the thick line straining his trousers.

The friction was perfect, maddening, every roll of your hips grinding your clit against the rigid line of him until your breath came in sharp little gasps.

Namjoon’s head fell back against the headrest with a thud, throat bared, Adam’s apple working as a broken sound tore out of him, half groan, half prayer.

“Fuck… just like that,” he rasped, voice shredded.

“Keep moving on me, baby. Make me feel who I belong to.”

You leaned in, lips brushing the frantic pulse hammering under his jaw. “Gonna leave marks,” you whispered, tongue flicking out to taste the salt on his skin. “So tomorrow, when she sees you again, she’ll see my marks all over you.”

His answering growl was feral. “Do it. Mark me so deep I feel you for days. Want the whole fucking world to know I’m taken.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You latched onto the spot just below his ear, sucked hard, teeth scraping, tongue soothing the sting.

Then lower, yanked his collar aside with impatient fingers, buttons straining, and sealed your mouth over his pulse. You sucked until you felt the skin give, until the hickey swelled hot and purple under your tongue.

His cock jerked against your clit, a fresh flood of wetness soaking through your panties onto his trousers.

You pulled back just enough to admire your work, lips swollen, eyes glittering. “Sensitive here, husband?” you purred, tracing the fresh bruise with your thumb.

He laughed, breathless, wrecked. “Only when it’s you.”

You rewarded him by grinding down in one slow, torturous circle, dragging the lace seam right over the head of his cock. His hips snapped up to meet you, chasing the pressure.

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth. “You’re soaked. I can feel you through my suit. Gonna ruin these trousers, baby?”

“Good... I can design 10 more,” you whispered, nails raking down his chest, catching on the buttons.

His hands slid from your hips to your ass, fingers digging in, spreading you wider so you could feel every inch of him.

“Take whatever you want,” he said, voice raw and desperate. “Use me. I’m yours, every part of me, fucking take it.”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He jerked the wheel, turned into a narrow service alley behind closed boutiques, cut the engine.

City sounds disappeared.

Only your breathing and the soft tick of cooling metal. He stared at you... eyes black, chest heaving. You didn’t wait.

You finally attacked his mouth, teeth scraping, tongue sliding deep, pure, feral possession. He met you with the same violence, one hand fisting your hair, the other already shoving under the silk of your dress, fingers sinking into the bare skin of your thigh.

“Fuck,” he snarled against your lips, “do it. Take me. Right here.”

Your hands dropped to his belt... metal clinking, leather whipping free. You tore the zipper down, reached inside, wrapped your fingers around him.

He was scorching.

Thick, pulsing, slick with precum that smeared over your palm as you pulled him free.

“F-Fuck—” His head slammed back against the headrest.

“Look at you,” you whispered, stroking once, slow and firm, thumb circling the wet tip.

“So fucking hard for your wife.” You leaned in, voice poison-sweet. “Did you like her fingers on your arm, Namjoon? Did it feel good when she laughed while standing too close?”

“No,” he growled, hips already fucking into your fist, frantic. “Only want you. Only ever you. Swear to God...”

You squeezed, just hard enough to make him choke on the words.

“Then prove it.”

You shifted, shoved the soaked lace of your panties aside with trembling fingers, and lined him up.

Just the head. One cruel inch.

You sank down.

His groan was guttural, broken, hands flying to your hips like he was trying to stop himself from slamming you down the rest of the way.

“Wait... fuck... baby—”

You didn’t wait.

You took him in one slow, relentless glide until he was buried to the root, stretching you open, filling you so perfectly your vision blurred.

“Holy shit...” His voice cracked. “So tight... so fucking perfect—”

You rolled your hips once, slow and deep, clit grinding against the base of him.

“Mine,” you breathed against his mouth, starting to ride him in deliberate, punishing strokes. Every downward slide took him to the hilt... every upward drag tore a curse from his throat. “This cock is mine. This body is mine. These sounds—”

“Yours,” he panted, fingers bruising your ass as he guided you harder, faster. “All yours... fuck... take it, take everything—”

You found the angle that made you see stars and ground down, circling, owning.

He lost it.

One hand shot up, fisted the front of your dress, and ripped.

Silk tore with a sharp, satisfying sound. Cool air hit your skin and then his mouth was on your breast, hot and wet, sucking your nipple hard enough to make you cry out.

“N-Namjoon—Yes... Fuck!”

He growled around the sensitive peak, teeth grazing, tongue flicking, while his hips snapped up to meet every roll of yours. The car rocked violently, windows completely fogged.

“Say it again,” he rasped, switching to the other breast, leaving it swollen and shining. “Tell me who I belong to.”

“You’re mine,” you moaned, nails raking down his scalp, holding him to your chest. “Only mine. No one else gets this—no one else gets to hear you fall apart...”

He released your nipple with a wet pop, head falling back, throat exposed, sweat glistening in the hollow of his collarbone.

“Never,” he swore, voice shredded. “Never wanted anyone the way I want you. Fuck... look at me.”

You did.

His eyes were wild, wrecked, completely gone for you.

“I love you,” he said, raw and desperate, hips still driving up into you. “Love you so much it fucking hurts. Want you on me, in me, around me.. always—”

The words snapped the last thread of your control.

You slammed down hard, grinding in tight circles, clit dragging against him with every thrust. The pleasure coiled vicious and bright.

“Come inside me,” you ordered, voice trembling on the edge. “Right now. Want to feel you lose it while I’m wrapped around you.”

He groaned your name, hands forcing you down one final time as he erupted... hot, thick pulses flooding you, cock jerking deep inside as he came apart with a broken groan.

The feeling of him spilling pushed you over.

You shattered, walls clamping down, milking him through it, your own release crashing so hard your vision whited out.

The car was a haze of sex and shattered breathing.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you breathing hard, your heartbeats thumping in the same fast rhythm. His arms wrapped around you instantly, strong and warm, like he wanted to keep you pressed to him forever.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, kissing the warm skin there, brushing your lips over the marks you’d left in the heat of the moment. Your voice came out softer now, almost tender.

“No one touches you like that,” you whispered. “No one gets you like that. Only me. Understand?”

He let out a weak laugh... the kind that sounded breathless and almost shy, but so, so happy. “Understood, Mrs. Kim,” he murmured, and you felt his smile against your hair.

His fingers slid slowly down your spine, not rushing, just tracing you like he was memorizing every inch.

Then his lips brushed the top of your head.

“I love it when you’re jealous,” he confessed quietly. “I love knowing you want me just as much as I want you. It… does something to me.”

Your lips curved into a smile against his skin.

“Then get used to it,” you said softly.

He tipped your chin up with two fingers, guiding your face to his. His kiss was slow this time.... deep, sweet, almost fragile.

Like he was pouring his whole heart into it.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“Good,” he said softly. “Because I’ve been yours since the day you spilled acrylic paint on my shoes at sixteen just to get my attention.”

You froze.

Your mouth slowly opened.

“You… you knew I did that on purpose?”

He smiled—the soft, shy kind he never showed anyone else. “Baby… you looked up at me like I hung the moon. How could I not know?”

Your chest tightened, emotion swelling painfully.

After several long minutes of quiet breathing and soft touches, he whispered, “Stay still.”

You blinked up at him. “Why?”

He shrugged out of his blazer and wrapped it around you carefully, covering the torn front of your dress with slow, protective hands.

“Let’s go home,” he said gently, touching your cheek with the back of his hand.

And as he pulled the car back onto the road, both of you wrapped in each other’s warmth and outside, Seoul kept passing by in streaks of neon and streetlight.

Sunlight spilled gold across the sheets.

You were tangled in Namjoon’s arms, face buried in his neck, one of your legs thrown over his hip, his hand resting possessively on the curve of your ass like it belonged there... because it did.

He stirred first, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Baby,” he whispered, voice gravel-rough from sleep. “I have to get up. Assembly budget meeting at nine.”

You made a small, wounded sound and tightened your arms around his neck. “No. Stay… I wish we could stay like this the whole day.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest into yours. “You know we can’t. I have a meeting at the assembly…”

You nuzzled closer, lips brushing his throat. “Mhmm… just five minutes…”

He didn’t argue. He never could when you asked like that. Instead he rolled you both so you were fully on top of him, your hair spilling over his shoulders like silk.

His palms slid up your bare back, tracing lazy circles.

“Why so clingy today, Mrs. Kim?” he murmured, thumb brushing your spine. “What’s going on in that pretty head?”

You hesitated for too long.

He noticed instantly. His fingers stilled. His eyes searched your face.

“What happened?”

You lifted your head, biting your lip.

“I got the letter yesterday,” you whispered. “The internship… in Paris. Starting next week.”

The room went perfectly still. His arms locked around you tightly. “How long?” he asked, voice suddenly careful.

“Three months.”

He exhaled, long and slow, and stared at the ceiling.

You felt his heart hammer against your chest. Then, without a word, he reached for his phone on the nightstand. You watched, confused, as he dialled.

You blinked. “Joon… what are you doing?”

“Calling in sick,” he said simply, already dialling.

Your mouth fell open. “What?! You never call in sick... Wait... Stop—”

“Hyung,” he said into the phone the moment it was answered, “I’m not coming in. Fever. Cancel the meetings, reschedule everything. All of it. I’ll update you tomorrow.”

He hung up.

You stared at him. “You actually did that?”

He tossed the phone aside like it meant nothing and flipped you beneath him in one smooth, warm, authoritative motion.

His body hovered over yours. “Of course I did.”

“I can’t stop you from going,” he said, voice low, serious. “And I won’t. I told you the day we got married... I never want you as a trophy wife. I want you chasing every dream you have, even if it takes you across the world.”

He brushed your hair back, eyes fierce.

“But the next three months are going to be hell for me. Campaign, debates, polls… and you won’t be here. So today...” he kissed your forehead, your nose, your lips, “...today is ours. I’m not letting anyone else take a single second from us.”

You laughed through the sudden tears. “You really want me to go?”

He smiled... small, pained, proud.

“I’m proud of you,” he said fiercely.

“I want you to fly. And when you come back, I’ll be waiting exactly like this. Besides... his grin turned wicked, “...I’m going to wear the suits you designed for every single campaign stop. They’re my lucky charm and I'll feel you close.”

You leaned up and kissed him softly.

He kissed back slowly, deeply… then broke away to stare at you with an expression you’d never seen before.

“Can I tell you something? The things you never knew... The things that I kept hidden for so long under my cold personality.” he whispered.

You nodded.

He exhaled shakily. “I wanted to kiss you senseless years ago.”

Your brows furrowed. “When?”

His eyes softened as memory pulled at him. “That day you came to the banquet wearing that yellow sundress. You remember? You came to me and praised me for my speech…”

He shook his head, almost embarrassed. “You looked so bright I swear it hurt to look at you. All I could think was... if I kiss her right now, I won’t stop.”

Your heart thudded. “Namjoon…”

“And the library,” he continued, voice getting lower, warmer. “When you reached for the pen and your fingers brushed mine… later you walked away like nothing happened.”

You blinked. “But back then... I thought you were not into me—”

“No... that's not true.” he said. “I stared at my hand the entire damn night like a teenager. I didn’t sleep. I kept touching the spot where your fingers brushed.”

Your breath hitched.

He wasn’t done.

“And at my father’s funeral…” His voice cracked—the memory still sharp. “I saw you standing with that candy.”

You swallowed. “I... I wanted to hug you. But there were reporters and people—”

He shook his head. “Baby… I wanted to walk straight to you. Fall on my knees. Put my head in your lap and cry like a child. You were the only person I wanted that day.”

Your chest tightened with something fierce and tender.

“Joon… I promise... You will always have me by your side.”

You lifted your arms around his neck and pulled him down until your foreheads touched again.

“I love you,” you whispered.

His smile was pure devotion. “I love you more. Now come here...” He slid his hands down your sides, gripping your hips.

“...we have only one day to make up for ninety nights.”

Three Months Later... Jamsil Stadium.

Forty thousand people... Cameras everywhere... Screens lit up with Namjoon’s face. He stood at the podium, looking powerful, calm, every inch the man Seoul had placed its faith in.

“And together...” he said, voice rolling through the speakers like thunder, “...we will build a Seoul where—”

His breath caught.

Because he saw you.

You’d just arrived from Paris, suitcase still in the car, still wearing the cream coat you’d left in. Your hair was a little longer now, your eyes a little tired but glowing, and you stood at the very back of the VIP section.

His mouth opened, but no words came out.

The crowd went silent, confused.

Then he smiled. That helpless, warm, completely ruined by you smile. He cleared his throat, trying to recover.

His voice softened as he continued, almost trembling... “…a Seoul where every dream...” His eyes stayed on you. “...no matter how far it takes you… always finds its way home.”

He drew a steady breath and continued, voice rising with purpose— “A Seoul where every citizen has the chance to work with dignity, where passion and opportunity isn’t a privilege but a right, and where our growth is shared... not by a few, but by all.”

The crowd roared, moved by the promise. People didn’t know why the line hit so hard.

But you did. And he did.

The stadium erupted, forty thousand people screaming his name. He won by a landslide. But the only victory that mattered walked back into his life was wearing a cream coat and tired eyes.

That night, you barely stepped inside before the door of penthouse slammed shut behind you. Namjoon grabbed your face and kissed you so desperately it knocked the breath out of you... like he’d been starving for three months straight.

Your coat slipped off your shoulders and hit the floor.

You were laughing, breathing his name, tears slipping down your cheeks because you’d missed him so much it hurt.

His hands slid into your hair, gripping gently.

“God,” he breathed against your lips, “you’re really here. You’re really—”

You cupped his cheeks, thumbs brushing away the tear he tried to hide. “Of course I’m here,” you whispered. “Where else would I go?”

You kissed him again, harder. He broke into a messy laugh that almost sounded like a sob.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, “how many nights I imagined this.” His mouth found your neck, your jaw, your lips again.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered, voice shaking.

He didn’t answer.

He just lifted you... effortlessly, and carried you down the hallway, kissing you the whole way like he was making up for every day you were gone.

He laid you on the bed with a tenderness that made your chest ache. Then he crawled over you, suit jacket already on the floor, shirt half-open, tie loose around his neck.

He cupped your face with both hands.

“You showed up,” he said softly, breath uneven. “You came back to me.”

“I’ll always come back to you,” you whispered, fingers brushing his cheeks. “You’re my home, Joon.”

His eyes went glossy. “Baby…”

His voice broke. “I thought I’d be strong... you know? If I keep myself busy with all these elections stuff, I thought I’d be fine while you were gone. But every night, I… damn, I missed you so much it hurt.”

You pulled him closer, your hands sliding into his hair. “I missed you too.”

He kissed you... slow, deep, like he was memorizing you all over again. When he finally pulled back, he hovered above you, chest rising fast.

“You’re the only person,” he said, touching your lips with his thumb, “who keeps me sane… but also makes me completely fucking insane at the same time.”

You laughed softly, eyes wet.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I’m going to keep doing that for the rest of our lives.”

His smile... your favorite dimple smile... spread slowly, beautifully. “Promise?”

You hooked your finger around the front of his shirt and tugged him down until his weight settled on you just right, warm and solid and his. “Promise.”

He exhaled like you’d just given him air after months of living underwater.

Outside, the city celebrated its new mayor.

Inside the penthouse, the man himself only cared about the woman beneath him.

And somewhere between the city lights and the sound of his name on your lips, Seoul crowned its new king and queen.

Obsessed. In love. Unbreakable.

A/n: First of all… my brain was short-circuiting whole time while writing this story. Because let’s be honest... Namjoon as a political leader? We all know that man would look unfairly hot standing behind a podium, sleeves rolled up, addressing nation in his deep voice.

And the driving part? Yeah... well... I know, he doesn’t have a license in reality… but if he did? Lord have mercy on me.

Because the thought of him driving... One hand gripping the steering wheel… The other resting on your thigh… Eyes focused on the road with his clenched jaw... Ahhhhhhhh.... He’d look as dangerously sexy driving a car as he looks driving all of us abso-fucking-lutely insane.

Taglist: @3racha-agustd . @jeonjamiekim . @jinnieminie  . @minpdrecs . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @bts-fic-recs-mess . @nocturnalsingularity . @ninisficrecs . @lovingkoalaface . @afgbbf . @hiilovetata . @namjooniverse . @petersasteria. @orionsworld420. @amarawayne . @unknownbeknowst

[ktownshizzle]

Hot & Bothered | interlude

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: You’re horny af one night so you login to your fave hook-up app for a quick fix. You match with Min Yoongi, expecting a cocky rapper with a filthy mouth, but instead, you get a soft-spoken man in a designer shirt and a gummy smile. He keeps asking you out, but there’s no kiss, no sex, nothing. Each date winds you up tighter than the last, your patience (and your lingerie) hanging by a thread, and now you can’t tell what’ll snap first: his restraint or your self-control. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, smut, strangers to lovers, non idol ✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: 18+ MDNI, eventual smut... ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 788 ✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: YEARNING, DOWN BAD YOON. mentions of masturbation, MC being a tease ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Hello! Still working on date no. 6, but I wanted to share a short interlude, a teaser if you will, because y'all showed so much excitement for the Yoongi POV chapter! Thanks tea and aqua for betareading. Here we go~

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Min Yoongi is a busy man. He keeps his days packed tight on purpose. There’s work, composing, lessons, appointments, whatever keeps him moving forward. Today, it’s finishing some beats, a meeting with a collaborator, a visit to the dermatologist, and 30-minutes of Duolingo to keep his Japanese language streak (now at 678 days). 

He’s always been like this—wired to fill every hour with something “useful,” something that feels like progress. A creature of habit some might say, his life runs on quiet routines he’s refined over the years. It’s the same rotation of projects and hobbies that he’s already mastered enough to feel comfortable in. Everything in his world is set up exactly how he likes it: predictable, familiar, no gimmicks. The kind of life pattern that doesn’t surprise him, doesn’t ask too much of him, doesn’t shift under his feet.

The only shenanigans he allows involve his friends and the recent one led him to you. So suddenly, a new slice quietly appeared in the pie chart of his day. It’s not the biggest chunk, but it’s significant.

You.

Thinking about you. Texting you. Waiting for your texts. Calling you at night just to hear you laugh. Sending you cat memes. And uh, tugging one out to thoughts of you more often than he’s proud to admit.

Somehow you have carved a spot in his daily life, and it’s a part he ends up prioritizing without even trying. The thing is, he doesn’t mind it at all. In fact, he wishes he had met you sooner.

One afternoon, he sees an e-mail from a Japanese recording group. The next day he is in front of Fujii Kaze, discussing his new album. It’s typical for Yoongi to have overseas trips, attend writing camps, things like that. What he anticipated was in the midst of being productive, he would miss you.

But fuck, he just didn’t know it would be this bad.

The first week, he pretends he’s normal about it. He texts you in the mornings, sends you a pic of one of the studio cats, updates you that he is in fact, eating and not skipping meals. You tell him he’s a good boy for it, and he beams, making a heart emoji appear underneath your chat bubble. Every time your name lights up his notifications, he’s biting his lip.

By week two, he decides to video call more often. He misses your face so much, he made one of his pictures of you from your hiking date his lock screen.  He tries not to be obvious about how much he misses you, but you probably can tell at this point.

One night, he almost drops his phone when the camera opens because you’re a domestic goddess in the kitchen, this gingham apron across your chest with the words, “Not the best cook. Eat me instead.”

0h yeah. He wants to eat you out real good.

He coughs lightly to cleanse the thoughts polluting his brain, while you tell him your bestie gave it to you as a gag gift last Christmas.

“When are you coming home?” you ask. Using the screen as a mirror, you’re pulling your hair up in a claw clip and letting some tendrils fall out to frame your face. 

“Yoongi?”

Oh, he got distracted. “Yeah, sorry? What did you say?”

“I asked when you’re coming back.” You smile. 

He takes a moment to actually respond because— Holy shit, he wants you. He wants you in his kitchen, his bed, his hoodie. He wants to slot behind you while you’re whisking something and kiss the back of your warm neck.

He clears his throat. Plays it cool. (Fails miserably.)

“What are you making?” He tries for casual but it comes out lower than intended.

“Brownies,” you say, moving back so the apron comes fully into frame. “Been craving for something sweet.”

Yeah, no. He is absolutely not thinking about brownies. He’s thinking about pushing that apron up and—

“Yoongi? You okay?”

He blinks. “Yeah. You just look… cute.”

“Shut up.”

He grins like an idiot.

But then he watches you dip a finger into a bowl and suck the batter off your fingertips. 

Oh shit. That mouth is sinful.

And you had the audacity to moan? "Taste so good..."

His jeans are suddenly so tight so he had to go, pretend he had to do something, be somewhere, but in reality he is in his hotel, spread-eagle on top of his comforter, controlling his breathing.

By week three, he’s so far gone. You’ve done it. You’ve switched off something in his brain, and now all he can think about is how much he wants you. How much he wants to come home to be with you.

A/N: Hope you're excited for Date No. 6 - The Fuzzy Sweater <3

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[landsccape]

[doncastersqueenoftherails]

These are cats who have been snogged.

[sourdough-seal]

“what are you doing this weekend” i am going to fantasy land. i am hiding under the covers in bed. i am making things up. i am contemplating events that didnt happen. i am talking to fake people. i am listening to my tunes. i am envisioning scenarios

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

MAY YOU NEVER LOSE YOUR HYPERFIXATION