Guys Guys I HAVE TO TELL something that happened in Brazil with this influencer who attacked BTS because of their halftime show.
Pietra is a far-right influencer who is openly xenophobic, homophobic, and has publicly argued that women shouldn’t have the right to vote, her biggest mistake for sure was decided to attack BTS during the World Cup.
While everyone else was celebrating football, she spent the day posting insults about the members, mocking their appearance, questioning their masculinity, and trying to damage their image. Unsurprisingly, Brazilian ARMY took that personally.
Now, you need to understand one thing about Brazilian fandom culture: This is REAL, intense and the tropics lines made our blood really hot. B ARMY don’t just argue online. They mobilize.
Fans reportedly signed her up as a volunteer poll worker.!!!!! IN EVERY brazilian state! Just so you know In Brazil, that’s basically the equivalent of signing someone up for possible jury duty. If you’re officially selected, you have to spend your entire election day working at a polling station unless you have a valid legal excuse. If you don’t show up you’ll have legal consequences.
They leaked her personal information. Id number, adress, full name, parents names. Everything. Her life is a living hell right now.
People also signed her up to receive campaign material from the left-wing political party she hates the most. Others flooded her online spaces with pictures and references to President Lula the politician she despises because of his progressive policies and support for minority rights.
The backlash became so massive that she announced she was taking a break from social media and deactivated her Instagram account, which had over one million followers.
Whether every single action actually worked as intended or not, the level of coordination was unbelievable. Brazilian ARMY collectively decided, “You picked the wrong fandom,” and the internet got to witness the consequences in real time.
This is crazy nuts and a lot of brazilian ig Pages are THANKING army for made this person got out of influence.
People outside fandom are claiming the social service Army made and starting to STREAM BTS to support ARMY ahahahaha i just cant with my people
Sinopsis. Los últimos meses de tu relación han sido un desastre, tu novio se volvió distante contigo y un día descubres que ha estado mintiéndote. Luego de terminar con él y mudarte del departamento que compartían, tus mejores amigos te presentan a Jungkook, un amigo en común que busca un roomie. Todo se vuelve confuso cuando luego de una noche de despecho, la rutina cambia y tus sentimientos crecen.
Y/N stirred her tea withboth hands, cheeks pink from the sun and her soft cardigan slipping off one shoulder.
“Aw, you’re so cute,” Jimin cooed from across the table, snapping a picture before she could protest.
She giggled, flustered, hiding her face behind her mug.
“I’m not that cute,” she mumbled.
But no one believed her.
Y/N was the one who always offered to drive people home. Who cried at sad commercials. Who baked cookies for birthdays. The one you introduced to your mom because she’d call her Mrs. Lee and bring her flowers.
She wore soft pastels. Pink gloss. Sweet perfume. She blushed when someone flirted too hard.
Of course, no one would ever suspect what she really liked.
What she really needed.
That night, she was on her knees in Jungkook’s apartment, throat full of him, eyes glassy with tears and spit dripping from her chin.
“Look at you,” Jungkook snarled, hand wrapped in her hair, forcing her deeper until her nose was buried against his abs.
She moaned around him.
He pulled her off with a wet pop, grabbing her jaw in one hand and dragging her mouth open. Her tongue lolled out automatically—trained—and he spat straight onto it.
“Swallow.”
She obeyed, cheeks burning, thighs clenching from nothing more than the sound of his voice.
“Get on the bed.”
The mattress creaked under her knees as she climbed up, heart pounding, soaking through the cotton of her panties.
Jungkook didn’t waste time. He grabbed her by the hips, ripped the panties down, and drove into her in one quick motion.
Y/N screamed.
He stretched her. Made her feel full, like none of those “nice guys” ever had. Her nails clawed the sheets, mouth wide open in a moan as Jungkook pounded into her from behind, rough and fast, no mercy.
“You let all those boring, soft little boys touch you?” he growled, leaning down, fingers bruising into her hips. “Bet they asked if this was okay every time they moved. Bet they couldn’t even make you cum.”
She whined. “They didn’t—I didn’t—I couldn’t…”
Jungkook chuckled darkly, thrusting harder. “Of course not. You needed someone to ruin you.”
She gasped as he spanked her hard, once, then again, the sting blooming instantly.
“You needed someone to fuck you stupid, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, eyes fluttering shut, spit glistening on her lips. “Yes, Jungkook—please—don’t stop—”
He grabbed her hair and yanked, forcing her arch back sharper. Her back bowed, breasts bouncing with every thrust as his pace turned savage.
“That’s my girl,” he muttered into her ear, biting the shell of it, then dragging his teeth down her neck. “My filthy little angel.”
Her eyes rolled back. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”
“Cum for me,” he ordered. “Right now. Make a mess for me.”
She shattered with a scream, clenching hard around him as her body convulsed. He didn’t stop, even as she trembled violently under him, whimpering from overstimulation. He fucked her straight through it, his hand coming down again to leave a red palm print on her ass.
When he came, he was grunting curses into her skin, spilling deep inside with one final hard thrust before collapsing over her.
They lay there for a beat, tangled and breathless, her face buried in the sheets and his teeth gently grazing her shoulder as he pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses over the bite marks he left.
“You’re mine now,” he murmured into her skin.
She nodded weakly, blissed out and ruined.
And all the while, her phone buzzed on the nightstand with a new message from Jimin.
hey yn! dinner next week? my mom’s in town, i told her about you :) hope you’re free!
Y/N stared at the screen for a moment before giggling quietly.
No one had a clue.
————————
It was supposed to be a regular group hangout—loud music, cheap beer, someone rolling joints in the back room, and everyone crammed into Jins’s place like always.
Y/N was perched on the armrest of the couch between Hobi and Jimin, giggling softly at something they said, sipping from a cherry-flavored drink with her legs tucked up.
Then Jungkook walked in.
A few cheers went up. "Finally!" "Where the hell were you?" "Late as always."
But Y/N’s drink nearly slipped from her hand.
Because there it was—a fresh black tattoo crawling up the side of his neck, bold and sleek, inked right over the tendon like it owned him. Like he owned it.
He said he got it on impulse. Shrugged it off.
The group swarmed him, admiring it, hyping him up. “Dude, that’s hard.” “Badass as fuck.” “Did it hurt?”
Y/N said nothing.
Because she was too busy crossing her legs tighter, breath caught in her throat, heart pounding in her ears.
And Jungkook knew it.
He felt her staring.
And when his gaze finally dragged across the room and landed on her—slow and cocky—he smirked.
Like he already knew she was soaked.
That night, she was crawling toward him in nothing but soft white lingerie—delicate lace cupping her tits, thin straps sliding off her shoulders, the tiniest bow between her thighs.
“Jungkook,” she whispered, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes. “Please.”
“Use your words, angel.”
“I need you,” she breathed. “Need your cock—need to feel you. Can I ride you?”
He didn’t even speak. Just dropped onto the couch, jeans halfway undone, cock already hard and heavy against his stomach.
Y/N straddled him, needy hands guiding him inside her inch by inch, her mouth falling open in a broken gasp.
“Fuck,” she whimpered, rolling her hips. “You feel so good—so full…”
Jungkook grabbed her ass in both hands, slapping it hard, making her jolt with a cry.
“Yeah? You love this cock, don’t you?” he growled, thrusting up into her. “Love how I fuck you open like no one else ever did?”
“Yes—yes, Jungkook—only you.”
She raked her hands through his hair, pulling his face toward her neck, and then she bit him—hard, teeth sinking in as she rode him faster.
Then her lips were on his neck, licking, sucking, worshipping the ink she’d been fantasizing about since the moment she saw it. Her tongue traced the edges of the new tattoo as her hips snapped down faster.
Jungkook groaned, slamming his hips up into her. “Yeah, suck it, angel. You love this shit, huh? Love my tattoos, my piercings, my fuckin’ hands on your ass.”
“I love everything about you,” she babbled, out of breath and cock-drunk. “Your tattoos, your voice, your hands—your hair, your fucking mouth—”
“Then cum on it,” he hissed, voice ragged. “Ride it like you mean it.”
And she did.
Head thrown back, hips grinding wildly, eyes fluttering shut as she moaned his name like a prayer, cumming hard around him with a sob. He followed with a groan, grabbing her hips and holding her down as he filled her deep.
They kissed through it—sloppy, desperate, messy—and she stayed on his lap for a moment, trembling, hearts pounding together.
Jungkook pressed a kiss to her temple. “Fuck, angel…”
She smiled against his shoulder. “Carry me to bed?”
He scooped her up with ease, still half-hard, walking them to the bedroom like he couldn’t bear to let her go.
Sometime later, when the world had quieted and their bodies were tangled in soft sheets, Y/N reached into her bag and pulled out a tiny tin.
“What’s that?” Jungkook asked, voice thick with sleep and sex.
She straddled his waist gently, soft thighs pressing against his hips, her hands warm.
“Tattoo balm,” she said with a shy little smile. “Saw it at the store. I figured you’d forget to take care of it properly.”
He blinked, speechless, as she opened it and dipped her fingers inside.
Then, carefully, she leaned down and began rubbing the soothing cream into his neck with slow, tender circles. Her touch was gentle—nothing like the way she fucked.
“Don’t scratch it,” she murmured. “Even if it itches.”
He watched her. Silent.
No one had ever done this. Not for him.
The way she touched him—like he was something worth caring for—made something tighten in his chest.
She looked up then, fingers still gently massaging balm into his skin. “What?”
Jungkook didn’t answer.
He just pulled her down and kissed her.
And this time... it wasn’t rough.
It wasn’t even about sex.
It was soft. Slow.
Maybe even a little dangerous.
Because Jungkook realized something as she curled up against his chest after:
This might not be just a hookup anymore.
——————————
The party was already loud when Y/N walked in, the soft shimmer of her dress catching the light and her sweet little smile lighting up the room more than the string lights ever could.
Jungkook saw her the second she stepped through the door.
He was leaned against the kitchen counter, drink in hand, talking to Jin, but his eyes never left her. Not when she hugged people. Not when she laughed. Not when she slipped off her coat and revealed the bare skin of her shoulders, that smooth glow he’d had his mouth on too many times to count.
He was just about to go to her when he showed up.
The guy in the leather jacket.
Tall. Tattooed. Cocky. Just like Jungkook.
Y/N was leaning against the wall, smile soft, drink cradled between her hands as Leather Jacket started talking to her. Something about music. Or her dress. Whatever it was, it made her laugh.
Jungkook’s jaw tightened.
The guy stepped closer.
Y/N didn’t push him away—of course not. She was sweet, she was polite. She was herself. But it didn’t matter.
Jungkook slammed his cup down, already walking.
“Yo,” he said, tone calm but eyes sharp as he stopped next to them. “Back off.”
The guy raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, didn’t realize she was taken.”
“She is.”
Y/N blinked up at him, confused. “Jungkook?”
He didn’t answer her. Just slid his hand into hers—warm, firm—and pulled her away from the crowd without another word.
The hallway was quieter. Dimmer.
Her heels clicked softly against the wood as he backed her into the wall, but this time he didn’t pin her.
He didn’t growl or bark orders or rip anything off.
He just leaned down and kissed her.
Slow. Deep. Desperate.
Y/N melted instantly, her arms sliding around his shoulders, mouth opening for him as their lips moved like they were trying to memorize each other.
“Jungkook,” she whispered when they broke apart. “What was that about?”
His forehead pressed to hers, breath shaky.
“I don’t like people flirting with you,” he muttered, kissing her jaw. “Don’t like the way he looked at you like you’re available.”
Her breath hitched as his hands gripped her hips.
“You’re not. You’re mine.”
She blinked, wide-eyed. “Jungkook…”
Another kiss, slower this time. A thumb brushing under her eye like she might cry. His voice came low and honest against her mouth.
“I don’t wanna fuck around anymore,” he said. “I want you. Just you. Be mine, angel. Be with me.”
Y/N smiled, soft and glowing, her heart pounding as she kissed him again and again between her words.
“I already am.”
He smiled too—grin lazy and a little stunned—and kissed her until the noise of the party faded into nothing.
They didn’t have sex in that hallway.
Not that night.
But the kiss?
It was the dirtiest, most tender thing Jungkook had ever done.
And for the first time, it meant everything.
——————————
Being his girlfriend didn’t change a thing.
Jungkook still kissed like he wanted to own her soul. Still fucked like he didn’t believe in mercy. Still looked at her like she was his favorite sin.
But now?
Now he did it with even less restraint.
They barely made it through the door.
Her back hit the wall of his apartment with a dull thud, dress already shoved halfway up her thighs, lips swollen from how long he'd been kissing her—at the bar, in the Uber, now here, pressing her against the wall like she’d dare think of anyone else.
“Mine now,” he whispered against her lips, fingers gripping her jaw tight. “No more sneaking around. No more hiding. You belong to me.”
“I do,” she breathed, already dizzy. “Jungkook, please—”
His mouth crushed hers in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss, tongue pushing past her lips like he owned the space. And he did. She let him. She wanted it.
He bit her bottom lip, pulled, made her whimper.
Then his hand wrapped tight around her throat—not choking, just claiming.
“I want you ruined,” he growled. “Want you to forget your name. Just remember mine.”
He dragged her into the bedroom, kicked the door shut, and had her on the bed in seconds—panties ripped off and thrown somewhere behind him, her thighs spread wide as he knelt between them.
One long finger slid into her dripping pussy.
Then another.
Then his thumb found her clit.
“Oh—oh my God—” she gasped, hips jerking, already clenching. “Jungkook—fuck—”
“That’s right,” he smirked, watching her squirm. “Say it again.”
“Jungkook—Jungkook—please—”
He kept rubbing harder, faster, curling his fingers just right until she came once, then again, body arching and twitching as tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.
“Too much—”
“You can take it,” he said, voice calm, confident, cocky. “You’re my good girl, right? My dirty, perfect girl?”
She nodded frantically, already overstimulated, but when he unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock out, she was already reaching for him.
“Please,” she begged. “I need you—I need—”
“You have me,” he snarled, dragging her to the edge of the bed and slamming into her with one brutal thrust.
Y/N screamed.
He didn’t give her time to adjust. Just started fucking her hard, one hand pressing into the bruises already forming on her throat, the other tangled in her hair.
“Look at you,” he groaned. “So fucking wet. You love this, huh? Love when I wreck you? Make you forget everything but this dick?”
“Yes—yes, Jungkook, fuck—!”
Her legs were shaking, heels digging into the mattress, mouth open and eyes rolled back as he hit that perfect spot again and again, fast and deep, balls slapping against her soaked pussy.
“Say it again,” he growled, biting her neck hard enough to leave a mark. “Say my name while I fuck the thoughts out of you.”
“Jungkook—Jungkook—JUNGKOOK—”
“That’s it, angel,” he breathed. “Only word in that pretty little brain. Just me. That’s all I want.”
He pulled out suddenly, flipping her onto her hands and knees like she weighed nothing, and slammed back in. She cried out, body wrecked and trembling, but still took every thrust like she was made for him.
He grabbed a fistful of her hair, tugging her head back, mouth pressed to her ear.
“Mine,” he whispered, slower now but deeper. “My pussy. My girl. My fucking everything.”
“Yes,” she sobbed. “Yours, yours, yours—!”
She came again, choking on a scream, her walls fluttering around him so tight he could barely move.
He didn’t last much longer.
“Open,” he panted, pulling out just in time to shoot hot over her tongue, her lips already open like she knewwhat he wanted.
She swallowed every drop with a blissed-out smile, completely and utterly drunk on Jungkook.
And that’s exactly how he wanted her.
They laid there in silence after, tangled and sweaty, her body marked up in bites and bruises and his name echoing in her head like a prayer.
And when she curled into his chest, still naked, he kissed her temple and whispered—
“Next time? I’m putting a ring on your finger before someone else tries to flirt with you again.”
Y/N smiled against his skin, lips brushing a new mark on his throat.
“Good,” she whispered back. “I want everyone to know I’m yours.”
-----------
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Jungkook fell in love with you after a disastrous programming midterm during freshman year and has been in love ever since. So when you invite him over after your'boyfriend' suggests you guys take a break, he makes a very stupid offer. Now all he can do is pray you don't slap him across the face and maybe, just maybe comply to his request. He's looking out for you after all, isn't he?
PAIRING: best friend!jk x reader
GENRE: smut, angst
WC: 6.3k
WARNINGS: boyfriend!kai kinda, they're on a 'break' so it's up to you guys to decide if there's infidelity or not, jk's hungry and yearning, unrequited love (gotta write the fluffiest fluff after this), jealousy, smut wise: oral (f receiving), he fucks her w his nose kinda? i don't fucking know, dirty talk, missionary (he's in love okay eg), big d jk but when is he not at this point
NOTES: so if you think you might have seen this before, it’s because you have!!! this is an edited repost because i hated it the first time i posted it. i feel terrible and completely not in my element because i’ve abandoned both this blog and writing for so much longer than i anticipated. pls lmk i can still write and did not lose the entirety of my talent, if i ever had any. lmao love you guys hope you like it <3
The first time Jungkook met Kim Jongin, your tongue was down his throat and your hips were drawing eights on his lap.
Literally.
He remembers it all too clearly because you had introduced your boyfriend approximately five seconds earlier before he pulled you back into his lap like he was trying to prove to the whole world that he had somehow managed to bag a girl like you and wasn't planning on letting anybody forget it. He had spent the whole night with you between his arms as if a sole minute of separation would mean risking losing you to somebody else.
Jungkook still thinks about that day sometimes, with a large emphasis on the sometimes. He thinks about that big, alluring smile on your pretty face when you'd excitedly introduced your boyfriend. He thinks about the sound of your laughter whenever Jongin whispered sweet nothings into your ear, or the way you'd curled closer into his embrace as the night grew darker and quieter like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jungkook still thinks about it all. Sometimes.
Oh how he wishes Jongin really did lose you that day.
But he didn't. In fact, he kept you on his lap for a solid two devastating years.
Not that Jungkook could blame him. He couldn't. Not when he was one glance away from busting a nut the moment he saw you walk into the room that day in his favorite pink skirt of yours.
But the feeling was short lived, only lasting for a few seconds until his eyes dropped down to the man's hand you were holding in your own. Lucky bastard.
You were Jungkook's best friend. So, in retrospect, the ways he'd shamelessly picture you at night were no where near normal. In fact, it made the best friend title he had once loved so much sound utterly ridiculous when said out loud. Because Jungkook was, in the humblest way possible, obsessed with you.
And well, you see, the thing is— Jungkook didn't slowly fall in love with you. Yes, he is in love with you, okay? Life is life and he is long past the point of trying to deny or rationalize the feelings he has for you. You are, in Jungkook's words, an angel fallen from the sky. A temptation disguised as something innocent.
He thinks he would've went to war for you— okay, maybe that is a stretch. But he would crack a one wish willow for you. Responsibly, of course.
Anyways, Jungkook has been in love with you for three entire years and he remembers the exact day it all happened. He remembers the exact moment his heart rate picked up, the exact second he felt birds shitting inside his stomach. He remembers everything.
It happened sometime during freshman year on a random Thursday evening after a truly horrific programming midterm (half the reason why he remembers it so vividly is because of how successfully he managed to fail that exam).
The two of you had ended up sitting on the floor of your tiny dorm room, backs pressed against the sides of your bed, discussing how south your academic careers magically went in the span of ninety minutes.
One minute you were talking normally, making stupid jokes about the fact that neither of you knew where the recursive function was supposed to stop, and next you were crying. Actually crying. All because of the semicolon you forgot to include somewhere between the endless lines of codes you were miserably trying to write and hell handled the rest of it.
He doesn't really remember if the code ever worked, or whether you failed the class as terribly as he did. What he remembers is the way you kept apologizing for crying, as if being upset and vulnerable around him was just so horrible. Unaware of how he was already so down bad he'd give you his kidney if you ever asked.
Even though he knows when, he doesn't really know why. Maybe it was the fact that you trusted him enough to let him see parts of yourself you tried so damn hard to hide, or maybe it was the way you folded into his arms when he hugged you properly for the first time ever, as though your body was made to be molded with his and continue living as one.
But it doesn't really matter, because he's still pathetically in love with you the same way he was three years ago. Maybe now it's even worse.
How can he not be when you look like that? People would sit up straighter when you walked into a room, look up at the sky and the birds and everything in between just to try not to stare too much.
Jongin, however, stared anyway. And the next thing he knew, you were screaming Jongin's name late at night while Jungkook was fisting his own cock wishing it were him instead.
And, despite how sick it sounds when said out loud, the most unfortunate thing according to Jungkook was that you were happy. Like, genuinely happy. Because Jungkook knew it would be easier to move past everything if Jongin was an absolute piece of shit and didn't treat you the way you deserved.
But he did. He made you so happy that even the idea of hating him was logically impossible. Because every time Jungkook tried, and trust me he tried, he'd catch you looking at your boyfriend like he gifted you the stars and suddenly feel like the biggest asshole alive.
But Jungkook never really claimed to be a decent person.
So he hated Jongin anyway. Quietly, in between ugly moments that belonged to the two of you and had nothing to do with him. He hated him when you weren't looking, when you were too upset to care, when you were over the moon and way too happy to notice the pettiness in his eyes.q He hated Jongin without letting you know. He wasn't that terrible of a friend, after all.
The point is, Jungkook watched your relationship take root and bloom into flowers from behind the fence of a beautiful garden and behaved admirably well about it.
He silently counted the remaining petals of your seemingly undying love as months dragged themselves into years. The fragile little bud slowly flourished into a ravishing dahlia and Jungkook watched it bloom. He watched two years pass in a devastating haze as you loved your boyfriend loudly with the kind of devotion that made everybody else in the room gag and roll their eyes in envy.
Now the dahlia is dead.
Jungkook had thought about this before. He'd fantasized about your break up and everything that would come along with it. He thought that when the flower finally faded, all that's left of it would be wilted petals scattered across your apartment floor and your tear strained face laying on his shoulder while you tried to explain through sobs and hiccups exactly how bad said Kim Jongin broke your heart.
Except, when the day finally comes, that's not what happens.
Right now you look…fine?
"You know what his problem is?" You say, irritation written all over your features.
Jungkook, who has spent the last two years hearing the everlasting matters of an impressively detailed list of Kim Jongin's problems, takes a sip from his beer. "Several things come to mind."
You squint your eyes at him, hands dropping at both your sides. "Be serious for a second."
"I am! I'm being dead serious." He says, throwing both hands in air, but the grin on his face keeps on growing.
You don't know why he has been grinning stupidly for the past hour, mostly because you can't really see yourself the way he does. But Jungkook can, obviously. And he can not help that smile from growing as his gaze drifts over you for what must be the hundredth time today, taking in the sight of his favorite hoodie and your bare legs and the fact that you're finally single.
Well, sort of. Kind of. Maybe.
"Okay." You continue. "Tell me if i'm being ridiculous."
"You know i will."
"Good." You say, fixing your posture as Jungkook braces himself for what's to come.
"He asked for a break."
Jungkook blinks. "Okay."
"And then he spends the next four days acting like we're still together. He texts me good morning, sends me TikToks when i'm supposed to be sleeping," You pause, inhaling a short breath. "He went feral yesterday because Mingyu commented under my post."
Oh. Oh.
"And then he proceeds to tell me maybe some distance would be healthy."
Jungkook's eyebrows pull together. "Distance from what?"
"That's what i'm asking!" You exclaim, walking over to the couch, plopping your body next to his. "He's driving me insane."
"That's because he is insane."
You roll your eyes. "God, you hate him."
"That's a reach." You send a look in his way at the words, then he sighs. "Okay, maybe i like him a teeny tiny bit less than the average person."
You groan, dropping your head against the couch cushion. "Knew it."
And besides you, that stupid smile has already made its way back onto Jungkook's lips and it takes a whole lot in you to refrain from throwing the TV remote at his face.
Your head snaps towards him. "Can you stop looking so happy?"
He cocks a brow. "Happy? I'm not happy. I've been sitting here listening to you complain for at least an hour"
"You're enjoying this."
He lets his head fall onto the backrest. "God, i'm not. It's just that you've been miserable for a week and now you're finally angry."
"I've been angry all week." You say like it's obvious.
"No, you were sad."
Okay, to be fair, you never really thought of it like that. But it seems as though Jungkook has and for some reason, he's kind of correct.
You've spent the past week trying to find out what Jongin wanted. You tried so hard to understand and fix and make sense of it all so that you wouldn't need to have this conversation with Jungkook right now. Maybe this is the first time you've let yourself be angry instead and it feels significantly better.
"I think what's bothering me isn't the break." You tuck your legs beneath you, settling further into the couch. "It's that he can't even bother to tell me what's actually going on yet still acts like we're perfectly fine."
Jungkook's eyes lift from the coffee table he was staring at, then turns towards you. "Can i be honest?"
You sigh dramatically, already giving him the permission. "When are you not?"
Jungkook laughs awkwardly, then scratches the back of his neck. Terrible, terrible sign. "I think you're giving him too much power."
You blink. "Jungkook, he's my boyfriend."
God, woman. Do you have to say it like that?
His stomach drops at the word, but doesn't let it show. "I know what he is. What i'm trying to say is, he won't tell you what he actually wants and still you're the one trying to solve it."
You stare at him silently, and he continues. "Maybe this time, focus on what you want instead of losing your mind over what he wants."
Silence paints every corner of the room, coating everything from the pillows and the furniture all the way to the fruit on the table in shades of blue. Until you finally break it.
"What if i don't know?" The way the question leaves your mouth is so small and quiet Jungkook thinks he wants to chew your cheeks until they're pink and puffy.
"Then figure it out." He says instead, then shrugs.
"Wow, your capacity is two logical sentences before you go back to being an unhelpful asshole."
A smile tugs at his lips. "I try my best." He says, then winks as the can of Stella sways carelessly in his hand.
You groan before grabbing a pillow and screaming into it, causing Jungkook to snort and the beer to bubble at the corners of his mouth.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, chuckling before speaking. "You really want me to help?"
You nod, swift and immediate, big eyes looking up his face innocently as Jungkook tries so hard not to milk his cock at the way you're currently batting your eyelashes at him.
He sighs, allowing his body to get more comfortable on the soft cushion of your sofa. "I think you should…unwind a little."
Your mouth parts in disbelief. "Of course you would think that!" You exclaim, surprising Jungkook a little by how sudden and loud your voice comes out. "Your sole purpose in life is to fuck every living organism with a pussy and i'm sitting here expecting you to give me solid advice. But it's my fault, i should've known."
Jungkook's eyes widen slightly. "Woah. First of all, ouch, princess. I didn't know you thought of me like that."
Guilt arrives the moment his voice reaches your ears, the sarcastic comment that was once ready to be fired back getting caught somewhere in the middle of your throat before dying out completely.
You didn't mean it like that, that's for sure. But you didn't expect Jungkook to take it the way he did, either. He's still smiling, still looking at you like you're the light of his universe, but there is something behind his eyes that makes your stomach churn and chest sting in a way that almost makes you nauseous.
"Sorry, you know i didn't mean that." You recollect yourself quickly, finding your courage back in the smile he gifts you. "What i'm trying to say is, it's been a week since we broke things off. A week, Jungkook. I'm not even sure if we've really broken up or not."
"What i think," Jungkook settles his beer on the coffee table, then shifts closer to you. "is that this is an excellent opportunity to explore your options." He says, tone dropping down by an octave.
You scoff. "I'm not throwing myself onto a stranger's lap just to relax a little."
"Nobody said anything about a stranger."
Excuse you?
You choke on fucking air, trying to breathe through a constellation of short breaths and coughs. "Sorry, i don't think i'm following." You manage to say once your breath is evened out.
"You know exactly what i mean, princess." Now he's staring straight into your eyes and you're not sure if the way your heart is handling the situation is actually healthy. His voice is quieter, deeper in a way that's the exact opposite to how one should be talking to their best friend.
"You want to…help me unwind?" You ask carefully. Damn that word. What the fuck does it even mean to unwind?
Jungkook places a hand on your thigh, pulling you closer. "Think of it as a…favor. You remember that one time you saved my hamster's life last semester?"
"No," You shake your head, completely and utterly lost in a daze. "No, not really." Yeah. He doesn't either.
He nods slowly, the corners of his mouth curling. "Yeah, you did. So let me return the favor. Please."
You think you're going to throw up. You think you're going to throw up so hard the both of you will be drowned inside the disgusting green liquid and won't ever see the light of day again.
What do you mean Jungkook is asking, begging for you to let him fuck you so that you'll be exploring your options and letting yourself unwind? What do you fucking mean Jeon motherfucking Jungkook, your dear, beloved best friend, is offering himself up just for you to relax a little and take your mind off of your ex-but-not-really-ex-boyfriend?
Okay, in all honesty, you'd be lying to say you've never thought about it. Never seriously, really, but you have. Because, you see; sky is blue, gravity is times ten, and Jeon Jungkook is attractive. Half the female population has reached that conclusion within the first thirty seconds of meeting him and it doesn't take you to make that into a fact.
There had always ben teeny, tiny moments where you'd find yourself thinking about him for a fleeting second longer than you should have. Moments where he'd smile, moments where his biceps would flex a little too deliciously while doing basic human activities essential for survival, moments where somebody would ask if you were together and your stomach would twist for just a fraction of a second before pretending it never happened.
Those moments were very much real and already carved into the history books of you and Jungkook's years long friendship. But you had never thought of it like that, you never let yourself to think about it like that. You were in a fully committed, fully devoted relationship for two whole years, for god's sake.
And you don't even know if you're still in it or not.
Maybe you're reaching and he only wants to do something oh so nice for his best friend. Maybe he's pitying you, maybe he doesn't even find you attractive and the only reason he's doing this is because he's fed up with your sulkings and wants to have a peaceful night for once.
Point is, said Jeon Jungkook is still sitting next to you. He's still looking right into your eyes with his big brown ones. The warmth of his hand is still occupying your thigh and maybe— Maybe, the idea of fucking Jeon Jungkook isn't so bad after all.
You collect every ounce of dignity that's left in you and find your voice. "Do you hear yourself, Jungkook?" You ask, voice quieter than you planned it out to be.
"Crystal fucking clear, princess."
You feel his breath on yours when he says that, and it burns. It burns your lips and your stomach and before you know it, you feel it all the way down between your legs.
"Will you let me?" He says into your ear, and even though the words are barely above a whisper, the weight of them feels so heavy you feel yourself crushing underneath it. Your bare legs are draped over his thick thighs now, the closure of your bodies making it impossibly harder to refrain from crashing your lips into his.
You've completely abandoned every form of coherent thinking as you finally find the fortitude to nod. And before you can do anything reasonable fix it, you feel Jungkook's lips on yours.
He kisses you hungrily, as if he wants you to wither and decay until you exist for him and him only. His hands wrap around your waist while you pull him in deeper by his neck, his fingertips kissing the silver of skin exposed by the thin fabric of your tank top.
Your head feels dizzy as his hands roam all over your body, feeling and carving every inch of your skin into his mind so that he can draw the outline of body and get it inked onto his heart. He pours every ounce of his heart and soul and coats your lips with it, leaving pieces of his love and marking them onto your bare skin.
Jungkook lays you down on the couch, the action feeling way too gentle with his arms wrapped around you, body hovering over yours as his warm tongue swipes against your bottom lip. You're the one to pull away first, because it seems as though Jungkook has the stamina of a fucking dolphin and doesn't need oxygen to survive like the average human.
He stares into your eyes like the entirety of his world is living inside them. You watch the rise and fall of his chest before pulling him in once again, fingers grazing the back of his neck.
When his teeth tugs at your bottom lip, deepening the kiss, your legs part instinctively to accommodate his body. Jungkook starts grinding his hips over your clothed core, and your legs part even wider, then wrap around his waist.
His cock presses deliciously into your core, already so hard and so ready, desperate for any type of friction. And God, is he desperate. This man has spent years dreaming about your warmth and he is going to make every second worth it.
"Jungkook," You moan into his mouth, and Jungkook swallows it right back. He slides his tongue into your mouth at the opportunity, searching you deeper and deeper.
"Gonna take such good care of you." He says after pulling away, placing wet kisses onto your jaw, then your collarbone. He stops when he reaches your chest, hands toying with the hem of your tank top. The only thing you can do is squirm under him.
You give him a consensual nod when he eyes you from below, silently letting him know you want it off of you just as much as he does. Jungkook pulls the thin fabric over your shoulders, then physically falters at the sight of your boobs. And they're not even bare.
He's going to fucking die.
He wants to bury his face in your chest and suffocate between your tits. He wants his lungs to be completely rid of oxygen until he can register nothing but the feeling of your soft boobs against his skin.
He presses a few kisses on the soft swell of your boobs, fingertips tracing lines over the white lace before unhooking your bra. You arch in aid for him, lifting yourself up slightly so that he can reach a little easier. Jungkook lets the lace fabric fall onto the ground near the couch, then gasps audibly at the mere sight of your naked tits.
"Fucking hell." He says, and you can't help but let your chest swell with pride when he reacts oh so desperately, worries you once had of him not finding you attractive disappearing completely.
If Jungkook ever heard that you were self conscious in the slightest bit, he would fuck you so impossibly hard until you understood how weak of a man he was for you— not that he won't regardless.
He takes a nipple into his mouth and toys with the other, flicking the hardened nub between his fingers. The sounds you let out are obscene, pornographic even. You're a mess from so much as him sucking on your tits and Jungkook can only imagine how unreal you're going to sound when he finally fucks you.
He crawls further to the opposite end of the couch, hands fiddling with the zipper of your tiny denim shorts that are a terrible excuse of clothing. Because they cover absolutely nothing and Jungkook has been hard since the moment you opened the door for him earlier.
He pulls down your shorts along with your panties, patience running way too thin to tease you over the delicate lace fabric. There is nothing delicate about this. Jungkook has been starving for years and he is going to make sure you know it.
He spreads your legs, placing both hands on your inner thighs to open you up for him. He feels his breath physically hitch at the sight of your bare pussy right in front of his eyes. Wet, aching and already leaking with arousal. Straight out of his dreams. Literally.
Jungkook hooks your legs over his shoulders, then pulls you closer towards his face. You whimper when he first feels you up with his fingers, dragging his fingertip up and down your slit before opening up your folds, spreading them wide with two fingers.
"Such a perfect fucking pussy. And you've been hiding it from me for years, baby. Letting boys who can't even satisfy you touch you while i'm right here."
He slowly slides a finger inside you, eyes focused on your face as he watches over the way your face evolves through the depths of pleasure.
"Fuck, Koo. More, please." You moan, grinding your hips in air, eager for his touch.
"Yeah? Want more, baby?" He asks, sliding another finger into your pussy, pace devastatingly slow. "Holy shit, you're so fucking wet."
You nod rapidly from above, tears building at the corners of your eyes, pussy aching and begging for his mouth. "Y-yes, yes Koo. So wet for you. Please."
Jungkook complies without another word. He pulls out his fingers before diving into your cunt. He sucks on your clit first, and you cry out in pleasure the second his hot, wet mouth contacts your bare core.
Jungkook moans into your pussy when your hands fly to his hair, fisting his soft locks and pulling him impossibly closer. He slides his tongue down to your aching hole, then places his nose on your clit, having absolutely no desire to leave it untouched.
As he fucks into your hole with his tongue, his nose presses against your clit, and you swear it makes you see white light for a second. Your back arches involuntarily and you keep on tugging at his hair as he forces you to your high, nose continuing to draw circles on your clit as he stimulates your cunt
"Shit, Jungkook, 'm so close." Jungkook's tongue strokes through your folds faster as your cries grow louder and louder. Your thighs shake embarrassingly and your back arches even further when you finally reach your high, and Jungkook grounds you with a hand on your hip through it all, rubbing your clit in circles.
Once you've fully ridden out your orgasm, he licks you clean, slurping the entirety of your juices. "Tastes fucking incredible."
He comes up to kiss you again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You tug at the hem of his shirt as he sucks on your bottom lip, then pulls it over his head to grant you your wish.
It takes everything in you and more to not gasp at the sight of his naked body when he pulls down his sweats after. Because suddenly, Jungkook looks like you want to give him three babies and a house.
You have seen him shirtless countless times before. You've went to pool parties and summer vacations and places that require the least amount of clothes. But never has it affected you like this.
You knew Jungkook was attractive. You knew he had a solid physique and a face that would probably be worth millions if he was smart enough to abandon the misery of engineering and pursued modeling instead.
But it had never once felt like you need to drop to your knees and take every inch of his cock into your mouth until he's bleeding and crying and can not produce sperm anymore.
"Like what you see, baby? Want me to fuck you stupid?" He says, stroking himself over the fabric of his boxers as he watches you squirm beneath him.
You nod frantically. "Please, Jungkook." You beg for the nth time in the span of twenty minutes, not even thinking anymore, voice standing somewhere between a cry and a whine.
He drags down his boxers, and your mouth parts at the sight of his bare cock. Because what the actual fuck? Your best friend has been packing, walking around with that all this time and you didn't have a single clue?
Your mouth opens before you can help yourself. "I don't think that's gonna—"
He cuts you off. "It will, baby. If you stop talking and take it like the good girl you are, we'll make it fit."
You shut your mouth immediately after that, laying on the sofa silently as he pumps his length while staring down at you. Legs spread, body spent, everything so hot and messy.
He positions himself at your entrance, dragging his cock over your folds, spreading your slick all over your swollen pussy. He enters you in a pace dreadfully slow, making sure you feel every inch of his length between your wet walls. And god, it's so fucking wet. Arousal is dripping down your pussy all the way to your ass, slick staining the beige fabric of the couch cushions. You almost feel embarrassed at how wet you are, because you're soaking to the point where he'll slide right in without even trying yet he's doing the complete opposite.
You want him to slam into you. You want him to fuck you so hard you cry on his cock. You want Jeon Jungkook to fucking break you because if you think about whatever today will mean for you in the future, for even a split second, you'll cry like a fucking baby.
Because you don't know what to do with any of this. The things he's saying, the way he's looking at you, the way he's holding you…It all feels way too intimate for a guy like him.
You don't know for sure if it's the high speaking but if not, it seems as though your best friend has built entire dreams around you that you never knew existed.
"Do you know how many times i've thought about this? Fantasized about this pretty pussy while you played house with your pathetic little boyfriend?" Yeah, that confirms your worries.
Once he's fully inside you, you feel deliciously stretched, walls clenching around his length. Your back arches off the bed involuntarily and you cry out in pleasure before he even properly thrusts into you.
You don't think you've ever taken a cock this big. Honestly, you don't think anyone else has a cock this big. Certainly, if you did, you'd never shut up about it.
Jungkook finds his pace after you adjust yourself to the stretch, fucking you fast and hard without wasting any more time. But the funny thing is, he looks into your eyes with so much love through it all, as if he isn't fucking you brutally, splitting you open on his massive cock.
He lets out a trenchant moan of your name. "I'm right here." He says, completely lost in the moment, and you'd think he was about to cry if he wasn't pounding into you at a pace so inhumane. "I've always been right here."
You decide to completely disregard his words, grabbing him by the neck and crashing your lips onto his. You need him to stop talking. You need him to shut up and fuck you like it means nothing.
Your head is a mess, your heart isn't beating properly, a million different thoughts pass through your mind, and the way Jungkook is kissing you doesn't help at all. This isn't helping you unwind. Not even close. This is fucking with your head even further and you have no idea the kind of morning you will wake up to tomorrow.
When you cum, it happens big and loud. You cry out his name, legs shaking and back arching off the couch. Jungkook fucks you through it, chasing his own high as you try holding yourself together through the overstimulation, because he fucks you until it hurts.
"Where do you want me?" He asks, voice low and breathy.
You sabotage yourself one last time— hopefully. "Inside, please. Fill me up, Jungkook."
That seems to be the last straw. Jungkook groans loudly, then spills his seeds inside you, making you feel so hot and full. His head falls back as he thrusts into you a few more times. And before you can open your eyes, he collides onto you and the warmth of his body spreads concurs yours.
Afterwards, the sound of your shared breaths and pants are the only indicators of life. His chest stays pressed against yours, breath hot in your ear, sweat trilling down both your bodies and mixing into each other.
The silence feels painful, because you have never experienced it with Jungkook before. There had never once been a moment where you didn't know what to say or what to do when it came to Jungkook. Turns out, there is a first for everything. Because each word, each sentence you construct in different parts of your brain dies down before you can even think about feeling them on your tongue.
Your breathing gradually settles, but your heartbeat doesn't. You stare at the ceiling over his shoulder, because there is absolutely no way you can look into his eyes right now.
You clear your throat first. "Well…
Jungkook lets out something between a breath and a laugh. "Yeah."
"I think," You begin carefully. "That definitely counts as unwinding.",
His lips twitch despite himself, then lifts his body slowly off yours. "I deserve a thank you gift, then."
You scoff. "I'm not gonna suck your dick, Jungkook."
He laughs loudly, reaching for his boxers. "You said it, not me."
A smile lingers on your lips, because for a moment, everything feels normal. The sound of his laugh, the look on his face, the words on his tongue…For a moment, you feel like none of it really happened. Until you look down at your naked body and realize you're desperately in need of covering up.
Jungkook hands you his shirt as if he just read your mind, and you give him a tight lipped smile before sliding it on. "We're…" You start, but your voice trails off.
Jungkook's eyes soften. "We're okay."
But are you really? Because in all honesty, you don't really know what okay feels like anymore. Just five hours ago, Jungkook was your best friend. Now, he's still your best friend. Except you've crossed a line that's now completely blurred. Somewhere between his touch and your heartbeat and all the things he whispered pretending they don't matter, everything started to feel too heavy you're not sure you can continue carrying it all without letting it mean something.
And the problem is so much bigger than Jungkook. You know you love that man. You love him so much your chest aches. Maybe not in the way he so desperately wishes you do, but there is no doubt you'd get there in no time if you gave it a try. So if tonight costs you your best friend, you'll never forgive yourself.
The bigger problem is that, there is still a part of you that belongs to the two years you spent loving Jongin. It's impossible to erase two whole years just because one conversation went wrong and the following days were managed terribly. God, you fucked up bad.
"I don't regret it, i want you to know that."
He exhales slowly. "I do."
"I just…" You search for the right words, but it feels as though they don't exist. "Everything's a mess, i don't know where to go from here." You close your eyes for a brief second, trying to recollect your heartbeat.
"It's only been a few days, and we're not even…officially…" Your voice trails off, because you can not bring yourself to finish the sentence. Because if you say the words out loud, it will feel even more real than it already does.
Jungkook stares at the floor, eyes still stuck there as he starts speaking. "You don't owe me anything."
Your head snaps towards him. "What?"
"This didn't happen because i pity you or something. I don't want you to think that. I know exactly why it happened and however you want to go about this is fine with me."
Your brows pull together. "Why then?"
Jungkook smiles gently, sitting down next to you. "Are you sure you want to hear it right now?" He says, catching your eyes in his.
You nibble at your bottom lip, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes at the silent confirmation he gives you. No, you don't want to hear it right now. What you feel is already way too much and hearing him say it out loud will break you thoroughly if it didn't already.
"I don't want to lose you." You manage to mutter out, voice quiet, the words breaking around the edges.
He offers you another smile, pulling you into his chest. "You won't."
You want to believe him. You want to believe him so fucking bad but it feels like you've already lost parts of him you can never reach again.
And Jungkook knows that. He swears he's in full knowledge of every thought flashing across your mind right now and he can do nothing about it besides comforting you that everything will be okay.
He could tell you. He could finally say the three words that have spent three years trapped inside the dearest corners of his throat. He could tell you that this impulsive mistake wasn't born from a few bottles of beer and a broken heart. He could tell you he'd loved you long before tonight.
But instead, he swallows every word and tucks them right back into where he has kept them locked all this time. He loves you too much to become another lump in your throat, another weight for you to carry. If pretending this means less to him than it does will let oxygen pass easier through your lungs, then he'll pretend.
He has loved you long enough to know he shouldn't be selfish tonight.
And he will continue loving you. Quietly, like he has done all this time. And whenever you let him, if you ever do, he will love you so loudly you'll never be in this position again.
He will lock this memory somewhere safe and offer you the keys whenever you're ready. Until then, he will keep replaying parts of it late at night wishing every form of sorry known to mankind on his heart.
you were supposed to sabotage your best friend's blind date. make him lose interest. scare him off a little, maybe accidentally insult his ego enough that hed go home and tell his parents there had been “no chemistry.” you were absolutely not supposed to make him want to marry her. or technically you in her form.
pairing: ceo!jeon jungkook x you/reader
warnings: none
word count: 14.9k
authors note: a little late hihi. if you want to be added to the taglist let me know in the comments. (pls!! make sure that the feature to tag you is on/activated in your settings.)
series masterlist
sitting in the auditorium wasn't exactly how you had imagined spending your friday morning. honestly, having to work on a friday morning already felt unfair enough. cruel, how you knowingly had to sit here when the weekend was so close, only for reality to remind you that there were still several hours standing between you and two full days of doing absolutely nothing productive.
somehow you had accepted the fact that adulthood involved working five days a week. you had even accepted that fridays weren't magically exempt from meetings, deadlines and emails. what you hadn't and couldn't accepted was being pulled away from your actual work to sit in an auditorium because the company had decided welcoming its new president required an audience. but were you really sad about that?
whoever had organized this had clearly never considered the emotional state of office workers before the weekend. most people (you) were already mentally halfway home, counting down the hours until they could leave, and yet here everyone was, packed into rows waiting for an assembly nobody had volunteered to attend. the room buzzed with quiet conversations that died down whenever someone important walked by, only to pick up again a few seconds later. people leaned toward one another, whispering in small groups, while others pretended to scroll through their phones despite checking the entrance every few moments. even the employees who usually looked ready to fall asleep during the shortest presentations suddenly seemed awake.
well, everyone wanted to know the same thing: what kind of person the new president would be. whether he planned to change anything, whether he was one of those executives who liked to "shake things up", or whether everyone's routines would remain untouched. there were already enough rumors floating around to keep the office entertained for weeks, ranging from complete restructuring to mass layoffs to the comforting possibility that absolutely nothing would happen at all. nobody actually knew anything, which naturally meant everyone had an opinion.
the rumors certainly hadn't helped.
young.
single.
ridiculously wealthy, according to half the company.
which, to be fair, wasn't exactly difficult to believe. he was the new president of your company. someone stepping into a position like that was bound to attract attention, whether they wanted it or not.
for the past week, he'd been the only topic anyone seemed capable of discussing. every coffee break somehow drifted back to him. whispered conversations outside meeting rooms always ended the same way. each person claimed to know something the others didn't, even though every version contradicted the last. nobody seemed willing to admit that, beneath all the speculation, they knew almost nothing.
there was only one rumor everyone repeated with surprising confidence.
apparently, he was exceptionally attractive.
the amusing part was that almost nobody in the company had ever met him. president jeon was a name people knew, but a person they didn't. according to what everyone had heard, he had spent the past few years working overseas, mainly in canada, handling things far away from the company's everyday operations. at least, that was the story everyone repeated.
whether it was completely accurate was another question.
"i heard he's hot," yejin whispered beside you. lowering her voice as though she were passing along highly confidential information instead of the least useful rumor currently circulating through the company.
you turned your head slowly to look at her.
yejin met your stare without the slightest hint of shame. as if she ever felt shame at all.
"what?"you added, "that's what you're worried about?"
she frowned.
"it's not worrying."
"then what is it?"
"preparation."
you blinked.
"preparation?"
"yes."
you rolled your eyes.
"so you're telling me the company gets a new president, and your first concern is not whether he's going to cut budgets or fire people?"
yejin shrugged so casually it was almost insulting.
"those are all possibilities."
"he could make everyone work overtime," you argued.
"that's unfortunate."
"he could cut our bonuses."
"tragic."
"he could make this office an absolute nightmare."
"i know."
what were you expecting? this was yejin.
instead, she smiled.
"but if he is attractive," she said with complete confidence, "at least i'll be miserable in a visually pleasing environment."
you pressed your lips together so hard they almost disappeared.
you genuinely tried not to laugh but you failed.
a quiet laugh escaped before you could stop it, and you shook your head. "you're unbelievable."
but suddenly the lights faded.
yejin leaned closer one last time.
"please let him be hot."
you sighed but before you could come up with a response, someone on the stage stepped forward.
the room went quiet in an instant.
for a second, everyone seemed to wonder the same thing.
was that him?
a man stood at the podium. and, to be fair, he was definitely good looking. like really good.
he adjusted the microphone calmly, completely unaware or maybe completely uninterested in the silent evaluation happening across the room.
"good morning," he said, his voice steady and controlled. "i'm mr. kim namjoon, chief secretary to president jeon. i'll be speaking on his behalf today."
so it wasn't him.
a quiet disappointment moved through the auditorium almost immediately. or through you.
a few sighs escaped. someone behind you muttered something under their breath. another person shifted in their seat like they had been personally tricked by the universe.
namjoon didn't react.
he simply looked down at the papers in his hands and continued with the same calm expression, completely unaffected by the fact that an entire room had just collectively lost a little bit of excitement.
"i'll now deliver president jeon's inaugural address."
the room settled again, slower this time, accepting that this was all they were getting for now. curiosity hadn't disappeared, though. if anything, it had only grown stronger.
after all, if a man nobody had ever met could create this much anticipation before even stepping into the building, everyone wanted to know what kind of person president jeon actually was.
namjoon began reading.
"first," he said evenly, "thank you to everyone who organized today's ceremony despite me explicitly saying i didn't want one."
you blinked.
for a second, the entire room seemed to process the sentence at the same time.
then you slowly turned toward jimin your other coworker who was really quite till now. very unlike him.
"rude."
"honest," he corrected immediately.
beside you, yejin leaned forward slightly, her expression changing as if she was trying to rebuild her entire impression of president jeon based solely on the first ten seconds of a message delivered by someone else.
namjoon continued without hesitation.
"i hope that moving forward, we'll meet for business matters rather than impractical ceremonial events."
another silence settled over the auditorium.
it wasn't the same kind of silence from before. the disappointment of not seeing him was still there, but it had been replaced by something closer to confusion. nobody knew whether they were supposed to find the message arrogant, reasonable, or somehow both at the same time.
jimin leaned slightly closer to you, lowering his voice as the people around you started whispering again.
"i don't know who mr. jeon is."
a small pause.
"but i think i like him."
you let out a quiet breath of laughter.
"of course you do."
"he canceled his own ceremony," jimin said, as if that alone explained everything. "that's efficient."
"or disrespectful."
"or practical."
"or slightly terrifying."
"those aren't mutually exclusive."
you shook your head, still looking toward the stage where namjoon remained completely unaffected by the reactions around him. he simply continued readin as if delivering a message from a man nobody had ever met to an entire room full of curious employees was part of his everyday schedule.
and maybe, based on what everyone had heard about president jeon, that was exactly the kind of thing people expected from him.
when namjoon reached, what you assume, the end of the page, he paused briefly, his eyes moving over the lines before looking back up. "president jeon will properly introduce himself soon," he said.
he lowered the paper.
"thank you."
and that was it.
the lights brightened again. chairs shifted, conversations restarted, and you could hear theories began forming before anyone had even left their seats.
yejin turned toward you, completely serious now.
"okay, but he looks really hot." dear god.
"since it's ms. y/n's birthday, i made reservations at auntie's street food for our team dinner today. ms. y/n's favorite."
the announcement barely had time to settle before the office reacted as if someone had just delivered the most exciting news of the entire week. which, considering how everyone had spent the last few days buried under deadlines and meetings, wasn't even that much of an exaggeration. apparently, the promise of free food and leaving work together was enough.
within seconds, conversations started overlapping. people began discussing what they wanted to order, who was going to sit where, and whether they should get extra portions of certain dishes, even though nobody had even left the office yet.
well quite frankly the office and the people was only jimin, yejin, sora and you. something about "we don't need a big group of people checking the quality of the food" acting like it was a job for four.
"all right, how long has it been since we actually went out together like this?" jimin said loudly, looking at you with far more enthusiasm than he ever showed in your years of working here.
typical.
you blinked when you noticed the attention slowly shifting toward you, and despite the warmth that came with realizing they had thought about you, you still felt slightly uncomfortable being the center of it. birthdays had never really been something you made a big deal out of, especially not at work.
"you guys really didn't have to do that just for my birthday," you said with a small smile, trying to make it sound more casual than it actually felt. "but thank you."
"what are you talking about?" jimin replied immediately, his expression making it seem like you had just suggested something completely unreasonable. "as a team, we stick together. birthdays are basically mandatory emotional maintenance."
you looked at him for a second. calm down sassy queen.
"that is not a thing."
"it is now."
he said it with such certainty that arguing against him made no sense at all. jimin had a strange ability to say something completely made up and deliver it with enough confidence that, for a brief moment, you wondered if you had somehow missed an official announcement.
yejin, who had been listening beside him, slowly nodded.
"the concerning part is that sometimes people let him get away with this."
"because i'm convincing."
"because people get tired."
"same result."
you shook your head, laughing quietly despite yourself as the office continued to fill with noise. people were already collecting their things, pulling on jackets, and making plans for the evening as if the dinner had somehow erased the exhaustion from the entire day. it was almost impressive how quickly everyone forgot about deadlines the moment there was food involved.
not that you could blame them.
after all, a team dinner was probably one of the few things that could make everyone willingly stay together after spending eight hours in the same building.
your phone vibrated in your pocket at exactly the moment everyone started getting ready to leave.
which was either terrible timing or suspiciously perfect timing.
taehyung.
for a second, the noise around you continued as normal, but your attention had already shifted. the conversations, the laughter, the sound of chairs moving and bags being picked up all blurred slightly into the background as you looked down at the message waiting on your screen.
one simple sentence.
taehyung [4:08p.m.]: seeing you today?
you stared at it longer than necessary.
because technically, it was just a question. a normal question. something that didn't require a complicated reaction. but unfortunately, your brain had never been particularly good at treating taehyung like a normal person, and apparently today was not going to be the day it started.
a simple message. a simple, harmless message. you reaped in your head.
and yet, somehow, it still managed to shift something in your chest in a way you couldn't immediately name. that quite familiar feeling. it was just a question, a few ordinary words from someone you happened to know very well and somehow still couldn't quite understand. there was nothing special about the message itself, but the fact that it was from him seemed to be enough to make your entire brain react like it had received something much more complicated.
which was honestly a little embarrassing.
your thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before you finally let out a quiet breath and slipped your phone back into your pocket after a quick reply. hopefully your expression hadn't changed too noticeably. but unfortunately, still a small smile crept its way slowly to your lips. staying there just long enough for you to notice it and immediately become annoyed with yourself for noticing it.
apparently, one message was all it took.
great. really great.
you made your way over to sora's desk. "sora," you said, leaning slightly toward her desk, "i can't make it to dinner tonight."
sora looked up at you. and the lack of surprise on her face immediately told you that she had already figured out the reason.
she slowly leaned back in her chair, studying you with that calm, slightly too observant expression she always had when she was about to say something you probably didn't want to hear.
"and that definitely has nothing to do with a man," she said, tilting her head slightly, "and the fact that your dead eyes suddenly look like they remembered how to function?"
you stopped.
"dead eyes?"
"yeah," she replied casually, "those."
you stared at her for a moment before letting out a quiet breath that was halfway between a laugh and surrender.
"that's actually rude."
"but accurate."
you opened your mouth to argue, then closed it again because unfortunately, there wasn't much of an argument available. instead, you adjusted the strap of your bag and looked away, accepting that trying to defend yourself would probably only make her more convinced she was right.
"yes," you admitted eventually. "something like that."
sora raised an eyebrow but didn't push any further.
"plan change and only us three without y/n."
before you could escape, yejin's voice came from the side.
"so it's going to be just us without the birthday girl?"
she leaned back in her chair with exaggerated disappointment, looking almost personally betrayed by the situation. considering she had been completely ready to spend the evening eating good food and avoiding work-related thoughts.
you glanced at her while adjusting your bag.
"yeah, looks like it."
jimin, who had been sitting nearby, placed a hand over his chest, looking genuinely offended, and then slowly mouthed one word at you.
traitor.
you stared at him. did i not say? sassy.
because apparently missing one dinner had officially become a betrayal of the team.
you couldn't help the small laugh that escaped as you shook your head. "you'll survive," you said, already stepping away before he could turn this into another dramatic argument. "have fun without me."
jimin narrowed his eyes at you, clearly still committed to the performance, and then exaggerated his expression even further, silently forming another accusation with his lips as if he wanted to make sure you understood the emotional damage you had caused.
you didn't even try to figure out what he was saying. you simply waved him off and started walking away.
"i'm going," you added, more to yourself than anyone else, already moving toward the exit as the familiar.
outside, the air felt cooler than it probably should have for the time of day. your attention was already somewhere else, divided between watching where you were walking, trying to keep your bag from slipping off your shoulder again, and pretending you weren't thinking about the fact that your phone had started ringing before you had even properly decided where you were going.
you already knew who it was before you looked.
young-seo.
you answered without hesitation, which, you know probably deserved at least a little more consideration.
"what is the birthday girl doing right now?" her voice came through instant. bright and far too energetic for someone who had apparently been stuck working overtime. "since i have to work overtime."
you smiled despite yourself, because of course she sounded like she had been waiting for the exact second you answered.
"i told you it's okay."
"but still, it's your birthday." she let out a long, exaggerated sigh."do you understand how unfair this is? i'm supposed to be there. i'm your best friend. i've earned birthday privileges."
you adjusted your bag as you continued walking.
"birthday privileges?"
"yes," she said immediately, completely serious. "annoying you in person. stealing food from your plate. reminding you that you're not allowed to pretend your birthday is just another normal day. i had an entire plan."
"that sounds exhausting."
"it was going to be exhausting," she corrected without hesitation. "for you."
you laughed quietly.
"but seriously," she continued after a moment, her voice softening slightly. "i do feel bad. i've been thinking about it all day. every few minutes i remembered it was your birthday and thought, 'wow, i'm actually the worst best friend alive.'"
"you're not."
"i know," she replied immediately.
you smiled.
"that was fast."
"because i know myself better than anyone else does," she said confidently. "i'm dramatic, but i'm also usually correct about my own greatness."
"that's not how that works."
"agree to disagree."
you shook your head, already knowing there was no point arguing.
"so," she continued, changing the subject, "what are you doing?"
"i have plans."
there was a small pause.
then came the sound. that quiet little "mm" that immediately made you suspicious. of course she noticed.
"with who?"
you hesitated for half a second.
which, unfortunately, was probably enough information by itself.
"taehyung."
there was silence on the other end.
"oh."
another pause.
"well."
you frowned slightly.
"well?"
"i take it back."
you blinked.
"take what back?"
"feeling sorry for you."
you stopped walking for a moment, mostly because you needed to process how quickly the conversation had changed direction.
"what?"
"i spent the whole morning thinking, 'wow, my poor best friend. it's her birthday and i can't even be there.'" she paused, letting the dramatic sadness of her earlier thoughts exist for exactly two seconds before destroying it herself. "turns out you're spending it with the guy you've been losing your mind over for ages."
"young-seoya."
"what?" she asked, completely unbothered.
"stop it."
"stop what? teasing you about your crush? when wilk you even confess?never or never?" you could practically hear the smile in her voice.
"look, i'm still sad i can't be there," she added, sounding a little more genuine. "obviously. i wanted to spend your birthday with you. but i'm happy that you're at least not sitting alone in your room eating convenience store food and staring sadly out a window."
you couldn't help laughing.
"i wasn't going to do that."
"i know. but you know i have a talent for making things sound like they could happen."
you shook your head, smiling as you continued walking.
there was a short pause after. then she hummed quietly.
"actually, that reminds me."
you immediately became suspicious.
you knew that tone.
young-seo had a very specific way of introducing a topic when she had been thinking about it for longer than she wanted to admit.
"what?"
"that necklace."
your steps slowed slightly.
"what about it?"
"the one i found at the restaurant and showed you hello?."
you didn't answer right away, and you already knew that the silence probably told her more than you wanted it to.
"i've been thinking about it," she continued. "and the more i think about it, the less i believe your explanation."
"young-seoya."
"wait, just listen."
you sighed quietly because there was no point stopping her once she had decided she was making an argument.
"the packaging wasn't cheap, there was a handwritten card inside, and it wasn't exactly something someone accidentally leaves behind without noticing. i mean, unless people have started abandoning expensive jewelry as some kind of weird public service, i don't really see how your explanation makes sense."
you looked down at the necklace in your hand, turning it slightly between your fingers.
"you still think it's nothing?"
"i think," you said, "that it's probably just a misunderstanding."
there was a pause.
"mm."
you already knew what that meant.
"what?"
"i'm just appreciating how committed you are to pretending everything is completely normal."
"because it is normal."
"sure."
you could practically hear her expression through the phone.
"you literally told me before that it was too thoughtful to be something you'd expect from 'just friends.'"
you frowned slightly.
"i never said it exactly like that."
"you absolutely did."
"you're remembering it differently."
"no, i'm remembering it correctly. you're just editing the conversation now because the original version makes you uncomfortable."
you let out a quiet groan.
"stop analyzing my life."
"i'm not analyzing your life."
"you are."
"no," she corrected calmly. "i'm observing patterns."
"that's literally the same."
she laughed softly.
"okay, fair."
you smiled despite yourself.
the restaurant came into. light spilling through the windows. you slowed slightly before entering, suddenly becoming aware of every small thing you had successfully ignored until that exact moment. your hair, your clothes, your expression, the way you were standing, even the way you were breathing somehow felt like something you should be paying attention to.
which was ridiculous.
it was just dinner.
with taehyung.
on your birthday.
okay.
maybe your brain had a point.
"romantic dinner incoming," young-seo's voice immediately appeared in your head, completely uninvited and incredibly unhelpful.
you exhaled quietly.
"shut up," you muttered under your breath, even though there was obviously no one there to hear you.
you caught your reflection in the glass one last time and adjusted your collar, fixed your grip on your bag, and attempted to make your expression look like that of a completely normal person arriving at a completely normal dinner.
whether you succeeded was questionable. but at some point, you had to stop preparing for a moment that was already happening.
so you pushed the door open.
taehyung looked up almost immediately.
the moment he noticed you, he stood and walked toward you with two plates in his hands, looking completely relaxed, as if this was just an ordinary thing and not something that had caused your thoughts to become unnecessarily complicated for the past several hours.
"just sit," he said simply. "i'll bring everything."
you obeyed much faster than you intended to.
the table was already prepared when you reached it, candles flickering softly in the middle, the kind of small detail that should have been easy to ignore but somehow wasn't. you stood there for a second longer than necessary, trying to convince yourself that it wasn't meaningful, that it was just a nice setup for dinner.
your brain, unfortunately, was not convinced.
when taehyung returned, he placed the dishes down carefully and sat across from you like nothing about the situation needed further explanation.
"i made japchae," he said. "your favorite."
something in your chest tightened slightly.
small but annoyingly noticeable.
"you remembered that?"
he looked at you as if the answer was obvious.
"of course."
you immediately tried to brush it off, because apparently accepting kindness normally was not something your brain was interested in doing.
"you really didn't have to—"
"it's your birthday," he interrupted gently. "today is for you."
you laughed softly, but it didn't completely hide the way the words affected you. the conversation continued easily after that, moving between simple topics and familiar jokes, everything comfortable on the surface while something quieter remained underneath.
and maybe that was the problem.
because with taehyung, even ordinary moments had a habit of feeling more significant than they probably were.
after dinner came dessert.
cheesecake.
another thing he somehow remembered.
and just when you thought you had finally settled into the evening, he stood again and reached into his apron pocket.
naturally, your brain reacted immediately.
because apparently a man reaching into his pocket during your birthday dinner was enough to make your thoughts jump ahead before you had any control over them.
he pulled out an envelope.
"before i forget."
your stomach dropped slightly before you even understood why.
a simple envelope. not the necklace?
the realization felt strangely disappointing.
which was honestly ridiculous.
because why exactly were you disappointed about a necklace that had never belonged to you, had never been promised to you, and had only become important because your own imagination had decided to make it important?
apparently, your brain had decided that creating emotional attachment to an object you didn't even own was a completely reasonable hobby.
great.
very healthy.
he placed it in front of you with the same calm expression he always had, completely unaware that small gestures tended to stay in your mind much longer than they probably should.
"happy birthday, y/n," taehyung said, bringing your attention back to the envelope in your hands. "tickets to your favorite singer's concert."
you looked down at the envelope, momentarily unsure what to say. it wasn't just the fact that he had bought the tickets. it was the fact that he had remembered. you had mentioned the concert once, casually, without expecting him to actually keep it in mind, and somehow that small detail made the gift feel much more personal than the tickets themselves. which was inconvenient, because apparently your heart had decided that remembering one small comment was enough to become emotionally significant.
exactly what you needed.
it was a good gift. a meaningful gift.
you should have been completely happy. and you were. mostly. except your mind kept circling back to the necklace.
and now you had an answer.
it wasn't for you. if it wasn't for you, then who was it for?
you immediately disliked how quickly that thought appeared.
because what exactly were you supposed to do with that information? start making a list of possible people? investigate his gift history? casually wonder who else he might have been thinking about?
apparently.
because here you were.
you looked down at the tickets in your hands and reminded yourself that he was sitting right there. that he had remembered your favorite singer. that he had taken the time to do something thoughtful for your birthday.
"they weren't easy to get," he added, almost immediately making the moment feel less serious again. "so make sure you actually go."
you looked back up at him, smiling slightly because, of course, even after doing something thoughtful, he somehow managed to make it sound like a simple practical matter. as if he hadn't spent time finding something you liked, as if this wasn't your birthday, as if your brain hadn't already started creating unnecessary meaning out of everything.
"and go with a guy."
you blinked.
"what?"
"not with young-seo."
for a second, you just stared at him, waiting for him to laugh or explain that he was joking. because surely that was the part where he was supposed to realize how that sounded. unfortunately, taehyung simply smiled like he had just given you the most obvious advice in the world.
"thank you taehyung. you didn't have to do that." a smile on your lips. at least something that resembled a smike.
"friends do this kind of thing."
friends.
of course. right. friends do this kid of thing. what were you even expecting? a necklace?
you lowered your gaze to your hands before your expression could betray you. your throat tightened slightly, and you swallowed once, then again, as if your body had decided that a normal reaction would be far too easy and therefore unnecessary. unfortunately, the dramatic internal performance continued without your approval.
you blamed the lighting at first.
the warm lamps. the candles on the table making everything look suspiciously more emotional than a regular dinner probably deserved.
restaurants really did have questionable timing.
they created a romantic atmosphere, played soft music, made people sit across from each other while sharing food, and then acted surprised when someone accidentally developed feelings. honestly, the entire concept felt slightly suspicious.
you blinked again.
unfortunately, the problem remained.
you pressed your lips together, trying to collect yourself before he noticed anything.
he noticed anyway.
his smile slowly faded, not completely disappearing, but changing into something more concerned. he tilted his head slightly as he studied your face, his expression quiet and difficult to read.
"aren't you happy?"
you looked up a little too quickly.
"what?"
"the gift." his voice stayed gentle. "you don't look very happy."
for a moment, you didn't know what to say.
because technically, he was right.
you probably didn't look happy.
you wondered what he saw. whether he noticed the way your eyes kept avoiding his, the way you were holding yourself too carefully, the way your smile appeared slightly delayed because you had to remember to put it there.
smiling was easy.
convincing someone you were fine was where things became complicated.
"of course i am," you said, forcing out a small laugh. "it's just—"
you stopped.
because the actual explanation was impossible.
how exactly were you supposed to say: "thank you for the thoughtful birthday gift, unfortunately my brain is currently distracted because you casually reminded me that i am only your friend"?
probably not the ideal birthday conversation.
"unexpected," you finished instead.
he watched you quietly for another moment, trying to understand something that didn't fully make sense. because apparently your words and your face had decided to have completely different opinions.
"i thought you'd like it."
"i do."
the answer came immediately.
"i really do."
and that was the frustrating part.
you meant it.
you loved the gift. you loved that he remembered something you had mentioned. you loved that he had taken the time to choose something based on your interests and somehow still acted like it was nothing special.
none of that was the problem.
the problem was that he had done it as your friend.
and somehow, that simple fact was the one detail your heart had conveniently forgotten to consider.
the silence between you stretched gently after that, and you realized you probably couldn't stay much longer. every additional minute made it harder to keep your expression under control, and you had the uncomfortable feeling that if you stayed, you might accidentally reveal something you had spent months trying to hide.
so you stood.
a little too quickly.
the chair scraped against the floor, causing a few nearby people to glance over before returning to their own conversations.
which was fair.
they probably had much more normal birthday dinners happening.
"i should go," you said, already reaching for your bag. "my parents probably need some help."
the excuse sounded weak the second you said it.
even you didn't believe it.
which was not exactly encouraging for your imaginary acting career.
but taehyung didn't question it.
he simply nodded, accepting the explanation without making you defend it.
"of course," he said softly. "should i pack something for you?"
"no."
the answer came far too quickly.
you cleared your throat and tried again.
"it's fine."
you focused on your bag strap instead of looking at him. because looking at him felt dangerous now. one kind expression, one gentle smile, one more reminder that he cared about you in all the ways that somehow still weren't the way you wanted.
"thank you," you said quietly.
and you weren't even sure anymore what you were thanking him for.
the dinner.
the gift.
his kindness.
or maybe for unintentionally making something clear that you had spent far too long hoping would stay uncertain. friends.
"get home safely."
there it was again.
that same effortless warmth that had made everything complicated.
he wasn't trying to hurt you. that was the worst part. if he had been careless, if he had been distant, if he had done something obviously wrong, maybe it would have been easier.
but he wasn't.
he was thoughtful. he was kind. he was exactly the person you had always known him to be. and maybe that was why it hurt.
because you had spent so much time worrying about saying the wrong thing that you had never considered he might not even realize there had been something left unsaid.
you managed one last smile.
"i will."
this time, you didn't wait for another reply.
you turned, walked toward the door, and pushed it open before either of you had the chance to add anything else.
which was probably for the best.
because apparently your emotional stability had already suffered enough damage for one evening.
your parents restaurant was louder than usual. filled to the brim with loud customers you had grown up inside of without ever really questioning it. orders were called out across the kitchen in overlapping voices, plates clinked somewhere near the counter, and the music your father refused to change because you quote "it was so hip." the smell of fried chicken, garlic, soy sauce and oil hung in the air, you could swear had already clung to your clothes within minutes.
you were standing in the kitchen helping your mother, hands moving out of habit, coating chicken pieces in flour and seasoning while your mind kept slipping somewhere else entirely, refusing to stay in the present no matter how many times you tried to pull it back. it kept returning to the same sentence,
friends do that.
you pressed the coating into another piece of chicken a little harder than necessary, watching the flour stick unevenly before correcting it with practiced fingers. the problem wasn't that you didn't understand what he had said, it was that you understood it too clearly, cleanly enough that there was no space left for misinterpretation, no comforting ambiguity to soften the edges. it had been simple, but your mind had turned it over so many times it no longer felt simple at all.
friendzoned to say it in easier words.
you had been put in the friend zone before you could even confess anything. not that you liked him. you absolutely did not. not in that way. but if, for some completely theoretical reason, you did like him, then congratulations; you were already trapped in the friend zone with no way out.
wait.
"mom," you called suddenly, voice sharper than intended.
she turned slightly, startled. "gosh, what? you scared me."
you exhaled, already gesturing toward the bowl in her hands as she was about to drop the chicken into the fryer. "i told you, you have to coat it properly if you want it crispy. you can't just toss it in and hope for the best, you have to be thorough or the batter won't stick."
your mother looked at you for a moment, then down at the bowl, completely unbothered. "but i am tossing it."
"that's not the same thing."
"then what is it?"
"it's everything but."
she blinked at you.
you let out a long breath, taking the bowl from her before she could argue further, instinctively slipping into the role you had never officially been given but somehow always ended up in. "if we're not going to do things properly, we should just close the shop," you muttered, already pressing the seasoning in the way you had shown her countless times.
from the front, your father laughed loudly enough that you didn't even need to see him to know he was grinning. "listen to her," he called out proudly. "future ceo of fried chicken."
your mother sighed. "more like dictator of fried chicken."
you ignored both of them or tried to.
"that's why the chicken y/n makes always tastes the best," a familiar voice said from the dining area.
you looked up briefly. mr. han was sitting at his usual table, smiling. a egular-customer. still hard to tell whether he was genuinely complimenting you or just enjoying his routine of teasing your father. you gave him a small polite smile in return.
"of course it does," your father answered before you could, chest puffed out with obvious pride. "she works at a major company, after all. discipline carries over."
you slowly turned your head toward him. "dad."
"what?"
"how exactly does office work translate into better fried chicken?"
he thought about it for a second. "precision."
"that's not an answer."
"it is to me."
your mother rolled her eyes so hard you briefly worried she might dislocate something. "must not be very fun working on your birthday," another customer added sympathetically from nearby.
before you could respond, your mother spoke instead, completely unfiltered as always. "please, i spent twenty hours in labor giving birth to her. compared to that, her working a birthday shift is nothing."
the kitchen went quiet for a beat.
you closed your eyes briefly. "mom."
"what?" she asked innocently.
"why do you always bring that up."
"because it's relevant."
"it's not."
"it is to me."
your father nodded solemnly like this was an established fact in science. "she did almost break my hand." how tragic.
"nobody needed that detail."
despite yourself, a small laugh slipped out of you. you focused a little harder on the chicken in front of you as if it could keep your thoughts from drifting again. but even as you worked, even as the restaurant noise filled every corner of the space, that same sentence found its way back in, softer this time, almost patient.
friends do that.
you swallowed slightly, pressing another piece into the bowl.
you were counting the cash register after closing, sorting the bills while matching the receipts one by one. after an entire day of smiling at customers, explaining the menu, carrying trays, and apologizing for things that weren't even your fault, silence should have felt comforting. instead, all you could hear was the humming refrigerator and the clinking of coins between your fingers.
"what's the point of group reservations?" you sighed while still counting the money.
without looking up, you flipped another receipt over and checked the total. "you give them a discount," you said annoyed. "and then they spend the entire evening filling themselves up with the free side dishes instead of ordering anything."
a tired laugh spread through the restaurant.
you leaned back for a second, rubbing your eyes before letting out a long breath.
"hey, y/n," your mother called from the kitchen entrance. "don't you have a boyfriend who could throw you a birthday party or something?" the irony was almost impressive, considering she had somehow managed to mention the one thing you very much did not have.
you opened your mouth, already preparing a sarcastic answer, when a voice from outside cut through the restaurant so loudly that everyone froze.
"i didn't leave anything in front of your store!"
the room fell silent.
you exchanged a confused look with your parents before instinctively moving toward the entrance.
"what's going on?"
the moment you stepped outside, the scene answered the question for you.
your younger brother was standing in the middle of the narrow street, pointing furiously at the owner of the seafood restaurant across from yours. between them sat a large plastic bucket.
"i told you i saw it!" your brother shouted, his voice echoing down the street.
his accusation carried far more confidence than most people his age could manage, which was both impressive and slightly concerning.
the restaurant owner barely reacted.
he stood in front of his entrance with the kind of expression that suggested this entire situation was nothing more than a minor inconvenience in his way too busy day. not a serious argument. not a problem. just another annoying interruption between him and whatever he had actually planned to do.
"you've got a big mouth for a kid," he replied, completely unimpressed.
"yes, i do!" your brother fired back immediately.
you almost sighed. of course he did.
there were many possible ways to respond to an insult. ignoring it. walking away. pretending to be the bigger person.
your brother, unfortunately, had never shown much interest in any of those options.
"hey!"
you hurried over, grabbing his arm before he could take another step closer.
"what are you doing?"
instead of answering, he pointed furiously toward the bucket sitting between the two restaurants, his entire body practically vibrating with frustration.
"why is it always in front of our store?"
the question had been asked so many times that you could almost hear the exhaustion behind it. your family had spent years trying to avoid unnecessary conflicts, especially with neighbors, especially with people who seemed determined to create them.
but apparently, avoiding conflict only worked if the other person was also interested in avoiding it.
the owner shrugged.
"i put it there for one minute because a customer parked in front of ours."
then, without another word, he kicked the bucket across the pavement toward your family's entrance.
"that's all."
the sound of the bucket scraping against the concrete was somehow more irritating than the argument itself.
"you do it every chance you get," your brother accused, refusing to let the matter disappear.
"did you actually see me do it?" the owner asked, raising an eyebrow. "or are you just making things up again?"
"it's obvious!" your brother said it like it was the simplest fact in the world.
your mother had already joined the argument by then, still wearing her apron from the kitchen, a clear sign that she had left in the middle of work because apparently managing a restaurant and managing unreasonable neighbors were both somehow included in her daily responsibilities.
"we keep finding fish bones outside our restaurant," she said, her voice sharper than usual. "we don't sell fish. we sell chicken."
"take it," the owner replied without the slightest trace of embarrassment.
he nudged the bucket toward your family again with his foot. "we don't sell fish either."
"it literally says it right there," you and your mother said at the exact same time.
both of you pointed toward the menu hanging inside his front window.
"fish. dried fish. mackerel. squid," your mother continued, counting each item with growing disbelief. "what exactly are we supposed to think?"
the owner didn't even bother turning around.
"take it."
another careless kick sent the bucket sliding over the pavement.
your father stepped between everyone before another argument could grow into something worse. he raised both hands, the universal gesture of someone who had spent years learning how to calm people down before they made situations impossible to fix.
"come on," he said calmly. "we're all neighbors here. there's no need to fight. let's just talk this through."
"i'm doing this so we don't have to fight," the owner replied coldly.
your brother let out a bitter laugh.
"fine."
before anyone could react, he bent down, grabbed the bucket with both hands and shoved it straight against the owner's chest.
"then take it."
the man's eyes widened.
for the first time during the entire argument, he actually looked surprised.
he stumbled back slightly before immediately pushing the bucket away from himself.
"this is a new shirt!" he shouted. "i had it shipped from abroad!"
because apparently, in the middle of an argument about fish bones and restaurant boundaries, the most important victim was his ugly shirt. i mean look at the colours. since when do yellow and purple match?
he shoved the bucket back toward your brother.
"you take it. do whatever you want with it."
"hey!"
you stepped between them before your brother could throw it again, pulling the bucket out of his hands.
"don't throw things at—"
you never finished the sentence.
maybe it was exhaustion.maybe it was watching your parents apologize over and over to people who never seemed to think they owed anyone the same courtesy. maybe it was the years of swallowing frustration because keeping peace always seemed easier than admitting you were tired of being the only ones trying. or maybe it was the dinner with taehyung, him friendzoning you.
whatever the reason was, your body moved before your brain could catch up.
your arms lifted and you threw the bucket.
harder than you intended.
it flew across the short distance between you and the owner with a speed that even surprised you, hitting him directly in the chest with a dull, heavy impact.
for one second, nobody moved.
the man's expression changed completely.
the confidence disappeared. the arrogance disappeared.
then his balance gave out.
his feet slipped awkwardly against the pavement, his arms reaching for something that wasn't there, and before anyone could react, his entire body crashed backwards onto the concrete.
the sound echoed through the street.
silence followed immediately.
even your brother stopped talking.
the owner groaned, one hand moving to his back as his face twisted in pain. he tried to sit up, clearly more shocked than anything else.
your heart dropped.
"i—"
your voice barely came out.
"i didn't mean—" oh you did.
the apology got stuck somewhere between your thoughts and your mouth.
your brother, however, looked down at the man without the slightest hint of guilt. he crossed his arms over his chest, tilted his head slightly, and shrugged.
as if to say: well. you deserved it.
"you were the one who started it."
your mother, unlike your brother, found absolutely nothing entertaining about what had just happened.
the second you stepped through the front door, she caught you by the ear and began dragging you toward the apartment upstairs before you could even gather enough courage to defend yourself. you stumbled after her, trying to keep up more out of necessity than willingness, while your brother wisely stayed outside. somehow, the boy who had been shouting at a grown man only seconds ago had suddenly discovered the remarkable survival instinct of pretending none of this had anything to do with him. all this years of you raising him, all the ramyeon you brought him with your pocket money. for what? traitor.
"get in here."
"ow ow ow"
"don't 'ow' me. get inside."
the apartment door closed behind you with a loud click. only then did your mother finally stop walking, although she made no effort whatsoever to release your ear. instead, she turned to face you with the kind of expression every child recognized immediately, regardless of age. it was the look that announced a lecture was no longer avoidable.
"breaking the man's store sign, throwing buckets around—" she began, her voice calm in exactly the way that made it dangerous. "why do you have such a temper, y/n?" guess from who.
you stared at her in complete disbelief.
"me? having a temper?" you repeated, almost laughing at the accusation. "he was throwing the bucket at joon-seo. he kept kicking it back toward our restaurant, yelling at everyone like we were the problem. what was i supposed to do? just stand there and applaud?"
you reached for her wrist, trying to loosen her grip, but she simply held on tighter, making you wince.
"that hurts."
"i don't care."
"you should."
"i don't."
you sighed dramatically, mostly because arguing while someone was holding your ear hostage felt oddly undignified.
"mom."
"don't 'mom' me."
"i'm just saying he started it."
"and you finished it by throwing a bucket at him."
"i wasn't aiming for him."
"oh?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "were you aiming for the store sign you managed to break instead?"
you opened your mouth.
closed it again.
"that part wasn't intentional."
"exactly."
you let out a long breath through your nose, already knowing you had lost this argument several minutes ago but continuing anyway out of pure principle.
"he deserved it."
"whether he deserved it or not isn't the point."
"then what is?"
"the point," your mother replied, finally letting go of your ear only to fold her arms across her chest, "is that you're a grown woman, not a child getting into fights after school. you cannot solve every disagreement by throwing objects."
"i only threw one object."
she stared at you.
"one too much."
you rubbed your sore ear with an exaggerated frown.
"you know, this is a wonderful birthday so far."
"don't try to change the subject."
"i've been working since this morning, dealt with impossible customers all day, almost watched joon-seo start a street fight, and now i'm getting punished in my own home." you sighed. "honestly, i expected cake before the lecture."
"what you should expect," your mother replied without missing a beat, "is your salary getting smaller this month. i'm deducting every cent of the damage from your paycheck."
"fine."
"don't say 'fine' like that."
"what do you want me to say?"
"say you're sorry."
you looked away.
"i'm sorry the bucket was heavier than i thought."
her eyes narrowed.
you couldn't stop yourself.
"and maybe a little aerodynamic."
"y/n."
"okay, okay." you held up both hands in surrender. "that one wasn't my best."
at that exact moment, your father quietly appeared in the doorway carrying the careful expression of a man who had survived decades of marriage by mastering the art of entering arguments as gently as possible.
"honey," he said softly, offering your mother a small smile. "it's her birthday."
your mother's head turned toward him with impressive slowness.
"you be quiet."
your father immediately nodded.
"yes, dear."
he looked over at you with an apologetic smile that somehow managed to communicate i tried without actually saying it.
you looked back at him.
he gave the tiniest shrug imaginable before wisely deciding silence was, in fact, the safest contribution he could make.
closing the door to your room.
the apartment fell quiet for a moment, leaving only the sound of someone washing dishes downstairs and the distant traffic outside. you rubbed your ear again, convinced it would stay red for the next three days, while your mother continued looking at you with the weary expression of someone who couldn't decide whether to scold you more or simply accept that this was the daughter she'd been given.
you, on the other hand, leaned against the wall and looked toward the clock.
what a spectacular birthday.
you had worked overtime, survived what you though was a date, witnessed your brother nearly starting a neighborhood war, thrown a bucket at a seafood restaurant owner, accidentally broken his store sign, been dragged upstairs by your ear and were now lying in bed wondering whether adulthood had always been this humiliating or if today was simply making up for lost time.
outside your room, your parents' voices carried easily through the thin apartment walls.
"i'll make her seaweed soup," your mother said after a long silence.
there was a pause before your father answered, his voice quieter, almost careful, as if he already knew that saying it out loud would only make the guilt sitting between them heavier. "you forgot to cook her seaweed soup today."
another silence followed, longer this time.
"just stop it."
you closed your eyes.
seaweed soup.
great.
because apparently after everything that had happened today, the final thing capable of affecting you was the thought of food. of course it was. apparently your body had decided that emotional damage was not enough and wanted to add hunger into the mix as well.
you couldn't even be properly upset about it because your stomach immediately betrayed you by reminding you that you had barely eaten. after spending the entire day dealing with everyone else's emotions, it seemed almost rude that your own body was now demanding attention. honestly, the timing was impressive.
with an annoyed sigh, you turned away from the noise outside your room and let yourself fall onto your bed. the mattress caught you easily, and for a moment you simply stayed there, staring at the ceiling while the sounds from downstairs slowly faded into the background.
you were outside during your break, standing a little away from the office entrance. for a few minutes, you could just stand there without having to be someone's daughter, someone's friend, someone who always had everything under control, which was apparently a full-time position nobody had bothered to pay you for.
your phone buzzed in your hand, pulling your attention down immediately.
hospital bill.
you stared at the words for a moment, letting them sit there on the screen while your brain caught up. then you lowered your head slightly.
your mother was, unfortunately, not completely wrong.
that was the annoying part. admitting.
it would have been much easier if you could simply be angry at them. if you could tell yourself they didn't understand, that they weren't there, that they had no idea how exhausting it had been to keep everything inside for so long while pretending you were perfectly fine. it would have been convenient, almost comforting, to put all the blame somewhere else.
but you knew.
you knew throwing the bucket had been too much. you knew it the second it left your hands.
you just hadn't cared enough in that moment to stop it.
slowly, almost reluctantly, you opened the attachment because ignoring it wouldn't change anything. pretending you hadn't seen it wouldn't erase what happened, and closing your eyes wouldn't magically make the situation disappear, even though a small, completely unrealistic part of you had apparently still hoped life might occasionally work like that.
it didn't.
your body went still as soon as the number appeared.
800,000 won.
you didn't react immediately, not because you didn't understand it, but because your brain needed a second to confirm that something like that was actually allowed to exist in your life. the number sat there on the screen with complete confidence, like it belonged there, like it had every right to casually rearrange your entire month without asking for permission first.
you leaned back against the wall outside the building, the cold surface pressing into your shoulders as you stared at it longer than necessary. your thumb hovered near the screen but didn't move, as if touching it again might somehow make the amount smaller. unfortunately, numbers had never been known for their sympathy. your mind immediately started doing what it always did when things became overwhelming, slipping into calculations before your emotions could fully catch up.
"my tiny monthly pay minus money from my savings, work loan and spending money," you muttered under your breath, quieter now, almost absentmindedly, as if saying it out loud was simply part of the process. the numbers came automatically, stacking themselves together in ways that never felt particularly fair. "i barely have anything left."
it wasn't even surprising anymore, which somehow made it worse.
"where am i going to get 800,000 won?" you said, a little louder than intended.
a couple of people passing by the entrance briefly turned their heads, then quickly decided whatever they had heard was not important enough to investigate.
you straightened immediately, clearing your throat and staring forward like the pavement had suddenly become the most interesting thing in existence.
"hups."
you exhaled through your nose, shoved your phone back into your pocket, and stayed outside for a moment longer than necessary, mostly because going back inside felt like admitting you were supposed to continue the day normally after reading something like that. apparently, adulthood was just receiving life-changing problems during your lunch break and then returning to work like your inbox wasn't waiting for you.
that was when the office door opened behind you.
"you didn't hear this from me, but mr. park got fired," jimin said as he stepped outside quickly, slightly out of breath like he had rushed the last few meters just to deliver the news before anyone else could.
you turned your head slowly.
for a moment, the table didn't react in a coherent way, not because the information wasn't interesting but because it needed time to settle, to shift from rumor into something that actually felt real. sora was the first to fully turn toward him, eyes wide, already leaning in like she had been personally invited into the scandal.
"and how do you even know that?"
jimin didn't even hesitate, as if he had been waiting for that exact question. "maybe i overheard something while walking through the hallways."
"through the hallways," sora repeated slowly, narrowing her eyes. "or while you were conveniently listening at doors again?"
"i prefer to call it environmental awareness."
you let out a quiet breath through your nose, swirling your coffee slightly as you watched them. jimin didn't just spread information, he curated it, shaped it, delivered it with timing that made it impossible to ignore, and somehow everyone still kept giving him more opportunities to do exactly that.
"are you sure you heard that correctly?" you asked, not because you doubted him completely but because with jimin there was always a small possibility that facts had been polished a little before reaching the table.
"he's one of the chairman's men," sora added immediately, lowering her voice slightly as if the title itself carried weight. "how does someone like that even get fired?"
right. people like that didn't simply disappear from the system without something serious behind it. not unless someone above them had decided the risk was no longer worth keeping around.
jimin leaned forward slightly, clearly enjoying the fact that he had everyone's attention, but you didn't let him drag out the suspense any longer than necessary.
"why did they fire him?"
he paused just long enough to make it obvious he had planned the timing, then finally leaned in as well, voice dropping slightly.
"apparently he's been accepting bribes from subcontractors."
for a second there was nothing, just a collective stillness as everyone processed it, as if the sentence needed a moment to fully register before anyone could decide how to react. then it broke all at once into overlapping voices, disbelief spilling out in different directions, shock turning into questions that nobody had the answers to yet.
"what?"
"no way."
"are you serious?"
sora covered her mouth slightly, eyes still wide as she tried to make sense of it. when she spoke again, her voice had lowered into something more thoughtful.
"i mean i heard mr. jeon is really strict," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "so maybe those rumors weren't just rumors after all."
the table went a little quieter at that, because there was a strange discomfort in realizing that something everyone had treated as distant gossip might actually have been true. all those warnings, those half-finished stories, those vague comments people made whenever his name came up suddenly felt less like exaggerated office talk and more like pieces of something people had been careful not to say too loudly.
your phone started ringing before the conversation could fully move on.
you reached for it, still half listening to the table as you glanced down, expecting nothing specific, until the name on the screen made your entire focus narrow immediately.
you answered, turning slightly away from the table as the noise of the office and the conversation behind you blurred into the background.
"hi, young-seo," you said.
"you're telling me he bought you a ticket for a concert and told you to go with a guy?"
young-seo stared at you from across the desk, her expression slowly shifting from confusion into complete disbelief. a look people gave when they were waiting for you to admit you were joking because surely there was no way the situation could actually be as ridiculous as it sounded. unfortunately for you, there was no punchline coming. no hidden explanation waiting to make everything suddenly make sense. no moment where you could laugh and admit you had exaggerated.
that was really what happened.
and after a few seconds of processing it, young-seo laughed. sharp, slightly hysterical, and completely unhelpful, making the people around the coffee turn to you.
"i'm sorry," she said, although the fact that she was still smiling made the apology questionable at best. "i'm trying really hard not to laugh."
"you're doing a terrible job."
"i know."
she shook her head, still amused. "but you have to understand how ridiculous this sounds from my perspective. you spent all this time wondering if there was some hidden meaning behind the gift, and then the explanation is that he friendzoned you."
"you're the one who planted that idea in my head," you reminded her. "you were the one who made it sound suspicious."
"because it was suspicious," she argued immediately. "the timing, the effort, the fact that he remembered things about you. i wasn't inventing anything."
"and now?"
she leaned back slightly, thinking about it for a moment. "now i think maybe the mystery isn't that he secretly likes you. maybe the mystery is that he somehow knows you well enough to buy you a gift but not well enough to know you don't like that kind of music."
you gave her a tired look.
"wow."
"what? i'm being realistic."
"you're supposed to comfort me."
"i am comforting you."
"how?"
"by reminding you that even your crush is capable of being confusing."
you opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, her phone rang. cutting through the conversation. one second you were listening to young-seo make fun of your situation, and the next your attention had already moved somewhere else entirely.
your eyes dropped to the screen.
biological father.
the amusement disappeared before you could stop it.
for a moment, neither of you said anything. young-seo's expression softened as she looked from the screen back to your face, not asking what was wrong because the name itself already explained enough. there was something strangely distant about the way you had saved him, almost like you had chosen a label instead of a relationship. not father. not dad. just a description. something factual. something that didn't require feelings attached to it.
"biological father?" you repeated quietly.
she didn't answer. she didn't really need to.
"did you fight with your dad again?"
a small breath left her, almost a laugh but without anything funny behind it.
"when were we ever on good terms?"
her thumb hovered over the screen while the phone continued ringing. it was almost annoying how patient it was, as if it had all the time in the world and she were the one being unreasonable for hesitating.
"why is he calling me at this hour?"
you shrugged.
young-seo was drunk. and, objectively speaking, that was never a good combination. not when it involved anything with her father, social expectations, or any situation that required even the smallest amount of self-control. especially not when said father had apparently decided that the perfect solution to her life was a blind date.
"how could he tell me about a blind date on the day of the blind date?" she shouted, her voice cutting through the street.
you sighed, adjusting your bag as if that could somehow make the situation more stable. it didn't. unfortunately, bags had limits, and apparently so did your ability to keep young-seo from turning every minor inconvenience into a public performance.
"i thought blind dates were off the table," you said, glancing at her as she swayed slightly on the pavement. "considering you performed what can only be described as a small exorcism at your last one."
"you're still getting offers?" she shot back immediately, offended on principle rather than out of actual curiosity.
"i suppose the rumors didn't spread as much as i thought," you replied dryly. "damn it."
she didn't even wait for a proper response after that. she simply turned and started walking down the street like she had personally declared war on the entire concept of parental interference.
"i get wrinkles from overtime and now i'm supposed to go on a blind date?" she muttered, louder than necessary, as if the universe itself was responsible for explaining the unfairness of her situation and not her father.
"isn't it more efficient to just go on a blind date with some ridiculously rich guy and call it a day?" you asked, half serious and half amused by how dramatically she was falling apart in real time.
"no," she snapped immediately, stopping mid-step. "i will never enter an arranged marriage. i will marry for love. with someone i meet by accident. by fate."
"you're so spoiled," you said, not unkindly. "talking about fate like it's a delivery service."
that was enough to make her laugh. a real laugh this time, the kind that briefly made you forget she had been complaining about her entire future five seconds earlier. then, without warning, she grabbed your arms and turned you slightly to face her.
"i'm going to need your help again," she said, her eyes locking onto yours with a seriousness that didn't quite match the alcohol in her system.
"i told you," you answered, already shaking your head before she even finished the thought. "i stopped doing this after i got the job."
"i'll pass."
you tried to step away, but she tightened her grip just enough to make it clear she wasn't finished negotiating.
"this is the last time," she promised, immediately contradicting every known law of friendship and probably several laws of reality. her expression softened into something dangerously convincing, almost innocent if you ignored the chaos that usually followed her innocent expressions.
"can you just act like you're possessed again? just once."
for a moment, the memory surfaced anyway.
the last time.
young-seo sat across from him in the blind date restaurant, except she wasn't really young-seo at all. it was you sitting there, painfully aware of how ridiculous this entire situation was and yet already far too committed to the performance to escape without making everything worse. which, unfortunately, had become a recurring theme in your friendship with her.
your posture was stiff in a way that didn't quite belong to the character you were supposed to be playing, your hands hovering near your face as if you were still deciding whether you were acting or simply slowly losing your mind in real time. meanwhile, the man across from you kept smiling politely, wearing that fragile, hopeful expression people had when they assumed silence meant shyness instead of someone mentally preparing to ruin an entire evening with fake spiritual possession.
"you must be nervous," he said gently, leaning forward slightly. "you haven't said a word since we sat down."
you didn't answer immediately. you let the silence stretch just long enough to make it uncomfortable, partly because you needed the dramatic timing and partly because you were still trying to remember exactly how young-seo had acted the last time she made you do this. though, realistically, young-seo herself probably wouldn't remember either, considering she had been drunk enough that night to believe your terrible acting deserved an encore.
slowly, you shook your head.
a little too sharply.
your expression tightened as if something about the all of this was physically bothering you, like the restaurant had suddenly become unbearable for reasons nobody else could detect.
"what's wrong, young-seo?" he asked again, concern beginning to replace his polite smile. "are you okay?"
that was your cue.
and unfortunately for everyone involved, you took it seriously.
you exhaled sharply, your shoulders jerking as you lifted both hands toward your face, swiping at the air in front of you as if something invisible was pressing too close, too invasive, too annoying to tolerate. it wasn't subtle. it was dramatic enough that anyone watching would immediately know you were performing something, but just convincing enough to make him hesitate between laughing and wondering if he should call someone.
"no," you said flatly, lowering your voice into the deepest, most serious tone you could manage.
the man blinked.
before he could properly process what was happening, you leaned forward and grabbed his wrist as he instinctively reached toward you. you pushed him back into his chair just enough to make him freeze, not enough to hurt him, but enough to completely destroy whatever confidence he had entered the restaurant with.
you immediately released him, staring at your own hand like you had just touched something deeply unpleasant. then, because apparently you had already crossed the line and there was no reason not to continue, you lifted your fingers and sniffed them with exaggerated suspicion.
"let go," you muttered under your breath, still refusing to look directly at him.
"what?" he started.
but you were already standing.
your movements became slower and more deliberate as you reached into your bag and pulled out a small pouch of salt, along with a few other completely unnecessary items that probably raised more questions than they answered. the moment you started scattering salt across the table, his expression shifted from confusion to genuine concern.
because apparently there was a point where a strange date became a spiritual emergency, and you had somehow managed to find it.
"do you have any idea who you are addressing?" you asked, your voice steady now, almost frighteningly serious. "you are sitting in the presence of the noble host of the spirit of the great general."
he stared at you.
"what spirit?" he repeated slowly, like hearing the words out loud might somehow make them logical. "what are you talking about?"
you didn't stop.
salt continued to fall in uneven circles across the table as you moved around it, your face completely serious. that was probably the part that made the whole thing worse. if you had laughed, if you had broken character even once, it would have been obvious. but you didn't, because apparently once you committed to a terrible idea, you committed fully.
"what have you done," you continued, your voice lowering slightly, "to make something like that attach itself to you?"
he leaned back now, hands hovering helplessly in front of him.
"i haven't done anything," he said quickly. "this is a blind date. what is happening right now?"
you ignored him completely.
instead, you tilted your head slightly, staring past him as if you were seeing something he couldn't. your expression sharpened.
"something vengeful," you whispered, "has followed you."
his face slowly lost color and then you stopped.
your head turned. toward the left corner of the restaurant. where a girl, which he didn't know was the real young-seo, in a white dress stood completely still, long hair covering her face, silent and perfectly positioned like she had been waiting for this exact moment.
the blind date followed your gaze.
his voice came out thin. almost fragile. "am i the only one who can see the ghost?"
for a second, everything went completely silent.
then his chair scraped against the floor as his body went rigid, his eyes widening in absolute disbelief. before he could ask another question, he collapsed backward into the chair with a dull thud, completely unconscious.
against your better judgment, a small laugh escaped you.
"that's what i'm talking about," she said instantly, triumphant, like she had just won an argument nobody had actually agreed to have in the first place. we both laughed a little then,
"can you help me out again? please?" she tried once more, softer this time.
"no," i said, still smiling, still refusing.
"come on, my acting won't get me so far. help me."
she didn't let go of the idea that easily. young-seo never did, especially not when alcohol had already settled comfortably into her system and convinced her that every impossible request was simply a negotiation waiting for the right offer. with her, "no" was rarely the end of a conversation. it was more like the opening statement, the part where she gathered information, adjusted her strategy, and prepared to wear you down until either your patience disappeared or she somehow made the situation sound reasonable.
which, unfortunately, she was surprisingly good at.
"no."
"i'll pay you."
you paused not because you were interested. just because refusing to hear the offer would have been unnecessarily dramatic, and apparently one person in this friendship had to maintain some level of professionalism.
"i'm listening," i admitted.
"i'll pay you a generous amount."
"i'm still listening."
"the bag you wanted. it's yours."
"continue."
"two months of soju. no, three."
"no," you said immediately, flat and practiced, already tired of the conversation before it had even properly restarted.
"no, listen," she argued, pulling you slightly closer like the physical distance between you was the only thing preventing you from understanding. "you're not seeing the bigger picture. this isn't just a blind date. this is a social rescue mission. for me. for my future. for my dignity." way to overreact.
"no," you repeated, slower this time, as if maybe the issue was that she hadn't heard the word clearly enough.
she stared at you for a moment.
"okay, you really only have one response now, don't you?"
you ignored that because acknowledging it would only encourage her.
young-seo sighed, tilting her head back for a second as if she was asking the universe for better arguments. apparently even fate was struggling with her at this point, which was understandable. dealing with young-seo required a certain level of patience that most higher powers probably weren't prepared to provide.
"okay, but think about it properly," she continued, hands moving in wide, uncoordinated gestures. "you come, you sit, you act normal, maybe a little mysterious, maybe a little possessed again if necessary, and then i survive the evening. everyone wins."
"no."
by now, the word had almost become a routine between you. less a refusal and more background noise to her ongoing campaign.
there was a pause where she simply stared at you, processing the fact that your vocabulary had apparently reduced itself to one syllable.
"you're not even considering it," she accused, pointing at you like you were personally responsible for the collapse of her entire plan.
"i considered it. i rejected it," you replied calmly.
she stepped closer again, lowering her voice as if making the request quieter would somehow make it more reasonable.
"i'll add more soju."
"no."
"and snacks."
"no."
"fine," she said quickly, immediately changing direction like the previous attempts had only been warm-up rounds. "then don't think of it as a blind date. think of it as emotional support. you're just sitting there. existing. silently judging people. you're already good at that."
"no," you said, although it sounded convincing.
she grabbed your sleeve again, gently this time, but with the unmistakable desperation of someone who had already imagined the entire plan and simply needed you to catch up.
"please. just this once. you're my best friend. please. i swear i won't ask again. i swear on my father's questionable life choices."
"no," you repeated, though there was the faintest hesitation underneath it now, buried somewhere between resignation and the unfortunate realization that you had known young-seo long enough to recognize the exact moment she stopped asking and started emotionally blackmailing.
she leaned in, eyes narrowing as she searched for another weakness.
"i'll tell everyone you're my emotional bodyguard."
"no."
"i'll say you saved me from a tragic arranged marriage fate."
"no."
"i'll—"
"no," you interrupted, but this time you were already looking away, which was unfortunate because your refusal was starting to argue with itself.
young-seo noticed, of course.
her expression shifted, the teasing disappearing for just a second as she switched tactics completely. it was almost unfair how quickly she could move from dramatic nonsense to something genuine, like she had been saving the honest part as her final weapon the entire time.
"i really need you," she said quietly.
and there it was.
the unfair part.
not the ridiculous offers, not the exaggerated speeches, not the promises that she definitely would not ask again despite both of you knowing she probably would. it was the simple sincerity underneath all of it that made refusing harder than it should have been.
"just be there," she continued. "i can't do this alone."
the street suddenly felt quieter.
you looked at her for a moment, weighing every possible version of how this evening could go wrong, and unfortunately there were many. enough possibilities to make you wonder whether agreeing was actually less exhausting than continuing the argument.
you exhaled through your nose, already tired of a night that hadn't even started yet.
"no," you said finally.
but it didn't sound as convincing as before.
and young-seo, smiled like she had just heard exactly what she needed to hear.
god you were the best friend on earth.
and somehow, against every reasonable instinct you had and whatever part of your brain was still capable of refusing young-seo, you ended up standing in the middle of a luxury store. a luxury store that looked like it had been designed for people who considered normal prices a personal insult. everything about the place was almost suspiciously perfect, from the carefully arranged displays to the employees who somehow managed to look elegant while doing absolutely nothing more than standing there. even the lighting seemed expensive, which felt unnecessary. the mirrors were spotless, the floors were polished enough to make you question whether anyone was actually allowed to walk on them,
the entire store seemed to quietly suggest one thing: spend an unreasonable amount of money on a dress.
normally, you would have walked straight past a place like this. not because the clothes weren't beautiful, because they were, but because you still had an absurdly overpriced hospital bill waiting for you to pay. the more you thought about it, the less sense it made. what exactly had they done during those few days to that man? had they given him some kind of luxury treatment package? you were sure that he willingly stayed in the hospital's presidential suite. because you were paying.
but thankfully, none of that was your problem. at least for now.
young-seo had insisted on paying because apparently this shopping trip was part of the bribe. and honestly, you weren't exactly going to fight her on it when she was the one reaching for her card. there were many situations where you could proudly stand your ground, but rejecting free designer clothes from someone who was determined to buy them for you to wear them on a blind date. hello? yes.
"hello!"
young-seo's cheerful voice echoed through the quiet boutique as she stepped inside, clapping her hands together once with the enthusiasm of someone entering an amusement park instead of an expensive clothing store.
one of the sales associates looked over, politely smiling.
"we're going for a tough-girl concept for marine beauty's new product line," young-seo announced as she walked further inside, already scanning the racks. "and while we're here, we're also finding the outfit you'll wear for your blind date."
you blinked.
"those sound like two completely different objectives."
young-seo didn't even hesitate.
"they're actually the same objective."
"how?"
"branding."
you stared at her.
"i'm a person."
"exactly."
somehow, that was her explanation.
and somehow, she seemed satisfied with it.
young-seo had already disappeared between two racks, humming quietly to herself while pulling out dresses like she had been preparing for this moment her entire life.
you followed more cautiously, still resisting the urge to look at the price tags. not because you intended to buy anything yourself, but because you valued your ability to remain calm. there was no reason to emotionally damage yourself by discovering how much a single piece of fabric cost.
the first dress she picked was black with delicate lace sleeves.
young-seo held it against you, stepped back, tilted her head, and studied the result with the seriousness of someone making an important decision.
"this."
you looked at the dress. then at her.
"lace?"
"yes."
"and your argument is?"
"people underestimate lace."
you stared at her.
"i think you're overestimating lace."
young-seo looked genuinely unconvinced.
"that's because you're thinking like prey."
"prey?"
she nodded.
"predators understand these things."
you looked around the store for a moment, almost expecting someone else to step in and confirm that this conversation had become unreasonable.
"young-seo."
"yes?"
"we're picking an outfit, be serious."
instead, she calmly returned the lace dress and reached for something else.
a few seconds later, she lifted a thick leather belt with the confidence of someone who had just discovered the missing piece of a complicated puzzle.
"this."
you took it, held it against yourself in front of the mirror, and, unfortunately, had to admit that it worked better than the lace.
"okay," you turned slightly. "this actually looks tough."
young-seo immediately smiled.
"see?"
she folded her arms proudly.
"you're already halfway there."
"halfway where?"
"emotionally unavailable for the blind date."
you sighed. what have i gotten myself into.
the next half hour quickly was stressful. every time you stepped out of the fitting room, young-seo looked at you with the concentration of someone judging a competition,
a dress was rejected because it made you look too soft. another was dismissed because it gave off the impression that you were too easy to approach. in on ahe called you "you look like a fox."
"like a fox?" you repeated, staring at her through the mirror.
young-seo nodded as if she had just pointed out an obvious flaw.
"yes like a cute fox."
you did a fox like sound. young-seo looked at you. "stop it."
this time, when she returned, you immediately became suspicious.
the outfit in her hands was noticeably smaller than the others.
you looked at it.
then at her.
"there's a concerning amount of missing fabric."
"it's fashion."
"that's usually what people say right before making questionable choices."
young-seo simply handed it to you. "try it."
you didn't move.
"you're enjoying this."
she placed a hand over her chest, looking personally offended. "i can't believe you would accuse me of something like that."
"because it's true."
there was a brief pause before she finally admitted, "maybe a little."
at least she had enough honesty left to acknowledge it.
you changed anyway, mostly because at this point you wanted to know how far she was willing to take this experiment. the answer became clear the moment you stepped out and immediately crossed your arms against the cold.
"i'm freezing."
young-seo didn't look at you first.
she looked at the outfit.
"you look crazy that's good."
you frowned. "thank you?"
by this point, even the sales associate had probably figured out what was happening. she had watched young-seo reject enough perfectly normal dresses that the process had stopped looking like shopping and started looking like a very specific investigation into how many ways a person could accidentally appear too pleasant.
"try this one," young-seo said.
this time, you didn't argue.
when you stepped out of the fitting room, you immediately knew something was different.
the dress wasn't too much. it didn't look like you were trying too hard to prove a point. it wasn't covered in unnecessary details or designed to make you seem impossible to approach.
it was simple.
black.
elegant.
and somehow, exactly the right amount of intimidating.
young-seo didn't say anything at first.
you looked at her through the mirror.
"well?"
she tilted her head slightly, studying the result.
for once, there was no immediate criticism.
no list of problems.
no explanation involving predators, emotional risks, or strategic distance.
just a slow nod.
"that's it."
you looked down at yourself.
"really?"
"really."
you turned slightly in front of the mirror.
"i don't look too nice?"
"no you look perfect."
you looked at your reflection one more time.
"for sabotaging the date?"
"for making sure that there won't be a second date."
"life is a party that one day ends, and you were my unforgettable dance"
title: baile inolvidable (explicit)
pairing: ex!yoongi x reader
rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; exes to lovers au
summary: there’s only one person that you’re better off never running into again. but when fate decides it’s time for you to face him, you prepare yourself for complete destruction. because he never told you what you wanted, and you never told him goodbye.
note: literally nothing redeeming to say i wrote this in two days all bc of a guy wearing a jersey lol barely edited so pls excuse any typos!
note 2: also tell me why i wrote all of this and then looked for a title, only to fucking weep when this song matched perfectly. anyway, here we go, first new fic in years! enjoy and i’m so sorry if it hurts a bit.
note 3: highly highly recommend listening to the title song and reading the lyrics if you don't know them. it's beautiful, and knowing it enhances the angst tenfold.
warnings: language, explicit scenes, an unforgettable dance, pining, angst but truly who is shocked anymore, men that give The Ick, exes, yoongi in that gd madrid jersey, the chains stay on (hi hello it’s me), alexa play Like Animals, hoseok also needs his own warning, tension, more angst, jk is the biggest mood, kissing as a warning, guilt, yearning, yoongi hands, the ending is worth it<3
disclaimer: all characters are my own and just happen to look like members of bts! purely a work of fiction. just had a lot of feelings.
mood: baile inolvidable - bad bunny ; qlona - karol g, peso pluma
explicit warnings: under the cut and it's a mouthful lmaooo
drop date: june 30th, 2026, 7pm est
word count: 13k have mercy!
explicit warnings: manhandling, public sex, rough sex, hair/head pulling, oral (m rec), choking, cowgirl, spitting, reverse cowgirl, unprotected sex, breast play, fucking an ex.... lol, multiple orgasms, the chains stay on, hella backshots, emotional sex, creampie OOP, club sex, reader is bad, yoongi loses his gd mind, couch sex, wall sex, chair sex, umm yeah alexa play like animals thanks
-
-
“What’s taking you so long!”
Groaning, you concentrate on getting your lashes just right. “Told you it’d be just a minute!”
“I know.” Hoseok pops into your hotel bathroom, deep neckline and even deeper scent of cologne almost making you jab yourself right in the socket. “But it’s been ten.”
It’ll end up being a lot longer than that if he keeps cocking that perfect brow. Shouldn’t he know the rule of getting ready already?
Done with your current task, you blink and inspect yourself in the wide mirror spanning the master bath. “Yeah, a minute means twenty. So I have ten to spare, right?”
Bright teeth shine as he shakes his head. And you know it’s because you’re both slated to be super early anyway.
Everything’s going according to schedule. All your old friends flew in yesterday, and the plan for today is to head to dinner to watch the night game with everyone. After that, you’ll walk straight to the club a few blocks down that you’ve heard to be the best in town.
Well. Best in town for absolute eye candy. Taehyung warned that everyone that’s been to Lo Prohibito knows the dress code is simple but effective: luxurious. Unless your face card is so lethal you get in on that alone, or you happen to have celebrity status.
And your confidence can only take you so far. You look fucking good, but you aren’t risking being turned away just because you were lax getting ready.
So ten more minutes it is. Hobi will just have to deal with it.
Goddamn, he could get in without a single issue, though. Honestly, he could be wearing a linen shirt and shorts with sandals and they’d mistake him for a millionaire. “I’ll be ready before you know it,” you say over your bare, perfumed shoulder. “You’ll be able to see your lover soon enough.”
Hoseok shoots you a grin before huffing out, “Got me, huh.”
“You’re the easiest person in the world to read.” Leaning over your makeup bag, you rummage through your brushes. “Whatever you’re thinking is always written all over your face."
Quick laughter coats the bathroom in more light. “I can’t help it, okay! It’s always been that way.” When you focus in the mirror and pat your face, he suddenly drops two pitches in tone. “Sorry about yours.”
Here you go again. You know exactly what he’s talking about.
“Hobi,” you sigh. “I don’t care anymore, okay? It’s been a month.”
“I know, but…” Expelling a heavy, sympathetic breath of his own, he leans against the double door entryway. That dulcet yet gravelly tone of his rolls across marble floors as he says exactly what you don’t want him to, “You seemed pretty happy with them.”
You were. In fact, you were more than happy.
But something just didn’t feel right. Sure, the days you spent with your most recent fling were perfect. You felt comfortable with them, you admired how thoughtful they were and how attentive.
It was the nights that made you more than hesitant.
Because no matter how many times you slept together, you never felt truly understood. What you wanted, what you needed? They would get so close to getting it right, only to never reach that level of intensity and passion you were looking for.
So you broke it off one quiet, cherry-red sunset on the beach weeks ago.
Only to find out that they were seeing someone else the whole time anyway.
Fuck love. To hell with happiness. Why do all your relationships end up this way? Why do you always attract the people that seem perfect on the surface but hide so many flaws underneath? It’s starting to fucking annoy you and you may damn well swear to the single life forever.
Though. There was one relationship that didn’t exactly end this way.
But you’re never thinking about that one again, so no point in shuffling through those beautiful, tragic, regretful memories now.
“And now I’m happy without them,” you finally respond to Hoseok, who tears his gaze from the white floors to see you staring in the mirror. “Probably happy without anyone else, actually.”
What a fucking lie.
“I mean, there’s time to find someone you...” Your friend pockets a hand while adjusting his loose top, shadows naturally accenting his abdomen. “Never mind. See you out there. Love the red.”
You swish the silken floor-length material of your gaudy, quite revealing dress. “Thank you. This is my favorite part, look.”
Hoseok watches as you stomp your leg out of the thigh-high slit so comically it catches him off guard, cackling before a lighthearted, “Careful with that!”
“Says the man who’s practically naked.”
All you get is a shameless shrug before your friend spins on this heel to leave, no doubt checking the texts on his phone.
At least he's excited about seeing his gorgeous pull after so long. And you do not blame him one bit. The way he looks at her? She may as well be a goddess because his gaze turns almost reverent every time.
A blurry memory consumes your mind like a haze, and you see completely different eyes with just as much fervor. They watch as you mount slow, chests slick with sweat and breathing deep from hours of—
Manicured hands grip the sink as your brush skitters onto granite counters.
Fuck. Never again.
Never, ever, ever again.
Pull yourself together. You’re a whole different person with a whole different future. That version of you is one you left far behind, as well as the life that came with it.
You extend ten minutes into fifteen.
And Hoseok’s outright whistle at your emergence lets you know the extra time was worth it.
—
—
Dinner is loud and vibrant, with the whole restaurant locked in on the game and erupting in cheers when the home team scores. Or at least, the team that the majority of fans want to win scores.
You aren’t completely sure, because there are jerseys of every country everywhere you look. It’s the one time you feel a sense of togetherness, with everyone giving each other friendly jabs and your group doing and saying anything to rile each other up.
Hoseok is downright lethal with his date, the two of them showing off jawlines that can kill as they watch the nearest screen. But they’re on the other end of the long wooden table, so you have to find other people to converse with.
Unfortunately, you find that the person sitting in front of you is a stranger, seemingly knowing someone else in the group and just happened to tag along. He quickly offered small talk when you all started ordering, which you already found a little awkward because you were trying to focus on what to get.
Now, he keeps giving you more and more information about his achievements and endeavors, not once asking for your name. Figures.
Both the friends you’re sitting next to are no help, either.
To your left, Jeongguk’s checking his phone for the fiftieth time this hour, scrolling through videos to avoid having to speak to anyone.
And to your right, Taehyung cheers and stands when another goal is scored, locking elbows with the stranger behind him and drinking from his glass mug. Apparently he had been making fast friends while you were entertaining the guy that keeps staring at you. How cool. Happy for him. Can you both switch seats?
Your wish doesn’t get granted for another hour. So that means you’re still talking to and giving polite encouragement to this gentleman. Though the term gentleman is very, very generous. It became more than obvious he just wants to fuck from the way he's been shamelessly ogling your plunging neckline.
Mercifully, Jeongguk finally saves you, leaning in and pretending to show you a reel or tiktok or whatever the fuck he’s scrolling through. Instead, a text he typed into your message thread is all you see.
Wanna go outside?
Going along and laughing at his fake share, you give him a grateful smile and nod. Turning to the man watching you with curiosity—and is that really jealousy?—you excuse yourself,
“We’re gonna check out the second floor! Be right back.”
Not even waiting to see nor hear his reaction.
—
—
Outside the restaurant and not on the second floor, you can finally breathe again, watching the city come alive with its vehicle rush and streetlight hum.
Next to you, your tattooed savior takes a long hit of his vape, and you run a hand across the thin gold chain around your neck.
Without your permission, another memory slips through your defenses. And this one proves sharper, astonishingly clearer than the first.
Hands grab a string of gold from a nightstand, and you instantly ache because you remember what comes right after. As soon as it’s clipped onto a slim neck, you watch the necklace lower, and lower, right before you angle your mouth up to take it between your—
“Fuck.”
Jeongguk whips his head right as your eyes snap open. “You okay? What’s wrong?”
No. There are a thousand things wrong. You didn’t even fucking realize your vision went dark until light flooded out your unwanted nostalgia.
Fuck, you hadn’t thought of that summer afternoon in years. Your reaction was visceral enough to spurn an oncoming headache. “Nothing,” you whoosh out. “What time is it?”
“Almost time to head over to Lo Prohibido.” Gripping his phone, the man asks with concern, “You sure you’re good to go?”
Head pulsing, you nod. “Yeah, I’m fine, just dehydrated. Can you pick a city that won't try to burn me out next time? I'm down for traveling but it's been hell here.”
Unconvinced and unfazed, Jeongguk cocks his head to the door. “Let’s go back in. I know your favorite person is waiting, but you gotta drink water.”
“Don’t,” you groan. “He’s cute, but I got the biggest ick like halfway in.”
Your amused friend giggles as he holds the door open, “You lasted a lot longer than I thought you would.”
Laughing when more cheers erupt from inside, you give his jacketed arm a playful shove as you look down the street. “I’m nice, okay? Don’t—”
Your heart.
It booms.
In an instant, the whole world blurs, lights and bodies making solid, serpentine lines and even sound itself rolling to a deep, dull hum.
The only one you can see. The only person you can make out with perfect clarity.
Is the one you’ve been trying your fucking hardest to not remember.
Staring right at you with eyes you’ll never, ever forget.
Yoongi.
He’s just down the way, standing amongst a group with a striped jersey, dark hair swept so perfectly your chest pangs. Even though everyone around him is animated and laughing, the look on his face makes it undeniable he’s not focused on anything else.
And with a stopped heart, neither are you.
Until your lower back is held, tugging you out of the dream as Jeongguk’s question is laden with worry,
“Seriously, what’s going on? Do you need to go back to the hotel?”
You jolt away from his touch, but the action isn’t warranted. For fuck’s sake, he’s a friend you’ve known just as long as you've known the spectre down the street. Why did you feel the need to escape his worrisome hand? He isn't like the guy you just met.
If that dude had been the one to touch you, though, you would’ve fucking decked him. You are not letting him feel an inch of your skin, and that includes the majority of it you’re baring at the back.
“No, I’m—I’m fine,” you manage to get out. “Just thought I saw.. Never mind. Water.”
Yoongi would’ve damn near murdered that creep, too.
Shit.
Right before stepping back in, you turn to peer back down the sidewalk, brain concluding that what you saw was your imagination and your heart adamantly disagreeing.
However, there’s no sign of Yoongi anywhere. That same group of people continues to chitter away outside, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
So your logic is sound. It was just a dream. There’s no way he’d be here, and he looked way too fucking handsome to be real anyway. Maybe your mind is just playing tricks on you as an act of revenge for making it remember him this much today.
Because you’re remembering everything. The way he knew exactly how to get under your skin. The times he proved so patient. The way he absolutely knew how to act under your sheets.
And his. And elsewhere. Anywhere the two of you decided to make love.
And that singular word is exactly why your flame burned its brightest before choking out.
You were ready.
He wasn’t.
And you regret your decision to leave more than anything else in your entire life.
Because you could’ve fought harder. You could’ve given him more time. But when you confessed under a blanket of stars and didn’t hear those three words reciprocated, every single celestial plummeted from the sky, plunging you headfirst into a deep, dark ocean of insecurity and bubbling self-loathing.
The night you left, you left everything. You left your room, your apartment, the city you called home your entire life. Like a coward that couldn’t face rejection.
Because you didn’t even tell Yoongi goodbye.
And that’s the last damning reminder you hurl at yourself before rejoining your friends inside.
—
—
You readily down two glasses of water.
Inwardly laughing at the fact that the same dude straight up left to “meet up with his brochachos.”
—
—
Lo Prohibito is decibels louder than the restaurant, and that includes the moments everyone cheered to the max.
A dazzling laser show beams from behind the raised DJ booth, and machines shoot out air to provide much needed circulation and boost the spread of confetti.
To your delight, everyone here is just as pretty as you imagined. You’re thanking all your lucky clovers that you were accepted inside, strutting in on your heels with chin held high.
Maybe not as high as it could go.
But you refuse to let anything else bring you down tonight. You’re supposed to be having another great outing, spending it with your friends and enjoying the nightlife while you’re still able.
Bright colors span across every surface as a thumping bass shakes your toes, and you wait for the rest of your group to trickle in to find a good dancing spot—and a much needed drink because you are desperate for one.
At this point, you’ll pay any price to forget whatever the fuck you saw earlier.
Be it a figment of your imagination, or a devilishly attractive ghost, you just need to wipe that achingly handsome face from your mind.
There’s no way he’s here. And even if who you saw was real? It wasn’t the man you loved.
Because there’s no way Yoongi would even look your way again.
Not like you want him to anyway. Forget him. He gave you everything except the one thing you ultimately wanted, and you couldn’t live in his moonlight without your stars slowly burning out.
Breathe. Focus on the present. Stay in the now.
“Come on,” he instructs, holding your fingers before grabbing your waist. “Stay with me.”
“Sorry,” you whisper to your stumbling feet. “I just keep messing up that damn step and it’s annoying.”
“I know.” He grips your hand, turning so that you land against his chest, comforting tone soothing your burning ear, “But you got a lot more chances to get it. We got time. Stay in the now.”
“Okay.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Come on!”
Your past whisks away with the club fog, and you follow Hoseok and the rest off the crowded floor. “Where are we going!”
Hand on the nearest winding staircase, he turns with a smile. “Got us VIP! We’re up here.”
“No fucking way?” How the hell did Hobi manage to do that? Wasn’t this place booked up the last time you both checked yesterday? “How!”
Cheekily, the man simply plucks at his undone overshirt and wiggles, smirking as his date doubles over in a laugh.
“Oh, you’re a freak,” you call out behind him with praise. “Thank you for your service.”
Thank Jung Hoseok and those abs indeed because the VIP booth is a godsend. Sure, it’s still crowded on the second floor, but at least you don’t have to worry about standing shoulder to shoulder the whole night. You have somewhere to retreat to when you need a breather.
Which Jeongguk is already taking the most advantage of, settling into the middle of the booth and planting elbows on the long table stretching end to end. Music blares while people shout all throughout the club, but he seems quite zeroed in on his phone.
Maybe you can both use each other as a scapegoat again if you need to leave. He’s been enjoying himself for the most part, but you can tell he’s extremely ready to go home and the night just started. If you weren’t desperate to let loose and forget years of your life tonight, you would’ve offered to get shitty fast food with him and walk around the city instead.
Mm. That still sounds like a backup option.
“Who wants drinks!” Taehyung calls out from the far end of the booth, standing to wave someone down and glancing at everyone giving him their orders all at once. “Let’s just get bottles!”
Perfect. He knows exactly what to do, so you let him drive and settle into the booth to wait for the liquid ailment to your problems.
This club has it all, you muse as you take everything in. From endless bottles and extravagant cocktails sailing over the crowd, to sparkler shows and pops of streamers raining down from above, it’s a paradise of a getaway.
But the outfits? To your surprise, you feel slightly out of place, even arguably overdressed wearing the most expensive thing you own. Yes, there are loads of tens walking around, even some elevens and twelves if you’re honest. But you do see quite a few people in outfits as casual as Jeongguk’s leather.
Either way, almost everyone is dripped in the most lavish jewelry and clothing, from designer to exclusive to wait someone got in wearing a jersey?
How the hell? Despite the outfits you saw there hasn’t been anyone in here with a jersey, is he famous? It's the same one you saw on the sidewalk when you—
Fuck. That’s not him, is it? You can’t quite see his face, but that back is so…
No. No no no. You’re staying here for awhile so that better have been another mind trick or you're taking that backup plan with Jeongguk immediately—
“Here,” Taehyung catches your attention while hastily holding out a glass. “This is what you wanted, right?”
You take it with shaky fingers. “Yes, it’s perfect, thank you.”
When you turn back, the red and white stripes are gone.
And you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.
“You okay?”
Turning, you notice that Tae’s eyes are extremely focused on yours. You nod as you down your shot in one go. “Yeah, I’m good.”
His honey rasp slows on the way out, “You sure..?”
“Yeah.” When you push more of the stinging, sweet alcohol down, you decide to start telling him what you saw. “I just… I thought I saw…”
Taehyung is one of the only ones that never questioned why you left town. Which you’re grateful for, because you couldn’t handle all your other friends sending you text after text after call. It was fucking overwhelming, but you had one person that just allowed you to make decisions and live with them.
“Saw who?” He asks, cutting through your vision with long fingers in a wave and calling you back to reality.
“No one.” You don’t even wanna say his name. It carries the weight of the world. “Forget it! I’ll be good as soon as we start.”
Unconvinced but letting you have space, Tae doesn’t pry.
“If you say so.”
—
—
For the next hour, everything is great. You play stupid drinking games with your friends, cheer for the most random shit the house emcee yells, and you start to slowly wash the unwanted memories from your mind.
At one point, Jeongguk stuns the section by dancing on booth cushions and swinging his jacket, revealing he only had a thin tank underneath. Many people stare slackjawed at his physique and understated choice of outfit, but you can only cackle with your friends because you all know he’s gonna go right back to his phone in seconds. He just really, really likes the song playing.
And you’re enjoying the DJ set, too. As long as they don’t play specific songs, you can enjoy the rest of the night in absolute peace.
Especially the one song that haunts your every waking moment. The first time you heard it, in a club somewhere along pink lemonade sand, you trudged knee deep into the crashing tide and didn’t leave until the sun dipped under the horizon.
Because it hit too close to home. And your deluge of tears gave back infinite saltwater to the sea.
Relax. Don’t throw any possibilities into the atmosphere, especially when your mind is fucked up tonight. Your friends are heading down to the dance floor, so go with them and forget everyone else.
Making sure your drink is finished, you feel ice hit your lips before clinking it down, rushing to join your group at the top of the staircase.
Only to stutter so close to the edge your heart leaps out of your chest.
It keeps falling, and falling. Because there’s no mistaking this time. That man you saw wearing the outfit that’s starting to haunt you? He’s talking animatedly to someone across the second floor, dusty pink elbow perched on the railing with a drink in his still so veiny hand.
And your mouth turns sour at the way his shoulder is tapped by pretty nails, tongue hot and darkly spiced when Yoongi just laughs into his cup.
God. He’s here. He’s devastating without even trying.
And, as your blasphemous logic reminds you, that beautiful smile will never be yours anymore.
But that doesn’t stop you from staring. Because while on the street, you could’ve argued he was a hallucination birthed from dehydration. Right here, in this moment, you’ve sobered up in a snap and you know for a fact what you’re seeing is real.
Maybe it was better when you assumed he wasn’t.
At least then, you didn’t have to entertain any worse outcomes than just seeing him. You didn’t have to think about how you’d feel seeing him so close to someone else.
Looks like the universe is giving you the final consequences of your escape. Yoongi has your fate in the warm, rough palm of his hand, and you know he’ll do nothing but let it fall to the rumbling floor below. Just to watch with unblinking eyes.
“Hey, you gonna go down or what?”
Turning, you start to move to the side, embarrassment heating the skin of your back that was just lightly grazed, “Shit, sorry—”
A strong arm pushes you sideways into hard metal as a duo of guys head down the stairs. You figure it’s an accident, but that doesn’t stop your face from contorting in pain and a curse to fling from your mouth. Because damn that fucking hurt.
“Dude, watch it!” The one behind looks back at you to apologize, “Sorry about my—”
Oh… Really…
The guy from dinner halts in his apology, and your brow lifts right before he waves you off.
Waves you off.
At least your intuition is always spot on. Good riddance, you were completely valid to ditch his brochacho ass earlier.
Rolling your eyes skyward and even aiming a petulant tongue at his retreating back, you scoff before leaning on chilled metal, letting a moment pass before heading down to Taehyung and the rest of them.
Where are they anyway? If you don’t spot them from here it’s gonna be hard to find them on the.. ground..
Your heart looks up before you do.
And you catch your ex watching intently from across the way, phone sliding from his ear before he straightens to start walking.
…Towards you?
Fuck.
It’s been bad enough catching glimpses of Yoongi and seeing him entertain someone else. If he gets one foot right in front of you? Everything you’ve worked so hard to build up against him and the haunting memories of your relationship will collapse into dust. You can’t bear him seeing how you haven’t changed your fucking mind.
To your utmost pain, all roads have always led back to him. No matter how deep you relate to or click with someone, no matter how happy another person makes you, no one has come close to how Yoongi made you feel.
Because he’s the only one that understood even the darkest parts of you. And he’s the only light in your life you ran away from.
There’s a reason you watch every sunset. There’s a reason you stand on the beach back home and don’t move your sandswept legs until the last rays give way to the ocean line.
It’s because of the guilt. The guilt of turning away from the warmth you held in your hands and the warmth you left behind.
Your eyes stay tethered as your ex makes his way down the long side of the upstairs balcony, partiers smushing together and bottles roving over his head as ladies take them to VIP tables.
Based on the heat in his eyes? Yoongi’s on the universe’s side. There’s no way he’s seeking anything else other than revenge.
Shit, shit shit. This isn’t good for you. Literally nothing great nor healthy can come out of this if he ends up in your orbit. One word, two words, and even worse, three words from those unforgettable lips would destroy you and never let you recover.
But your hands stay tight on the warming railing. And they won’t fucking let go.
Downstairs. Go down the stairs. Go.
Yoongi’s almost here. All he has to do is round the corner. He's close enough for you to notice the silver chains adorning his neck.
And the last thing you think with a withering heart is how devastatingly handsome he’s become.
With a tight breath, you pelt high heels downward one hasty step at a time. Winding, winding, spiraling like the thoughts storming your mind. The further down you go, the farther away he is.
Your heel catches on your dress before you stumble, but you don’t look back to see if Yoongi’s even still behind you.
Chill the fuck out and don’t fucking trip. You already had nasty falls before with scars to prove it and a sticky club floor is the worst place to sprawl onto.
Keep going. Disappear into the crowd. Go find your friends.
And deal with the unmoving, gaping hole in your chest later.
—
—
It takes you awhile to find them, but soon enough, you're back to having the time of your life. The lineup of DJs is all stellar, with only a few misses here and there, even getting Jeongguk to stay on the dance floor longer than you expect.
What's even better? There's no sign of Yoongi. Surrounded by sweaty bodies and flashy grins, you don't catch a single glimpse of him in the crowd.
Good. That's good, right? You wanted this. You wanted to avoid him and run, just like you did the last time.
Your group starts to split up in the commotion of lights and confetti and streamers, but you're fine dancing on your own. With each ebb and flow of music, you lose yourself, letting your heart get swept away by stories of love and loss. Every song holds a piece you understand. Every verse carries the same message.
You aren't alone in being alone.
So embrace it. Let the hurt come later. Smiling wide, you await the next song up, arms thrown in the air with everyone in beautiful togetherness around you.
Then it starts.
The one song you knew you'd hear at some point but sure as fuck didn’t want to.
While people around roar at the familiar opening, you feel like disappearing entirely. Where’s the nearest coastline? You need a rising tide.
As the melancholic notes buzz up your chest, you slowly, quietly, lower both arms to your sides. Around you, the floor moves in sensuous circles and dips, and you envy everyone for not feeling how you feel. This glowing, searing pain setting your chest ablaze until it’s nothing but a pile of cinders, only to be washed away with the waves crashing against your knees.
With each scathing line, your heart cries, remembering exactly why it hit too deep. All those lessons you took that started on a whim. All those sunny afternoons practicing and stumbling about your living room. All those times you were held close and knew there’d be no one else.
Your heart isn't strong enough to stay in the now. It doesn’t want to. It will always remain in the past, on a rooftop gazing into a sea of stars and hoping for a different outcome.
Night, after night, after night.
Suddenly, you’re back in the past, too.
Because a hand, so sure and so steady, settles onto your hip from behind, and your eyes burn when another slides along your bare shoulder. Heat from a body you can sense from anywhere in the fucking universe warms the skin at your back, and you shake as lips touch the shell of your ear to whisper three words that shatter what’s left of your soul,
“One last time.”
You aren't in the past. You're here. And so is he.
Breath whooshing out in a hitch, your throat is in absolute flames as your eyes slide shut. Then you nod, because you can’t think of doing anything else, and you allow him to lead.
And he feels so perfect against you it hurts.
You feel how strong he’s gotten, how sturdy and lean. And yet, you also feel the same soft give you used to feel all those years ago. You know how pliant he could become under your mercy, just like all those times he gave you complete control. If you faced him, you could run your hands along that stomach you’ve kissed every inch of a thousand times over.
But you’re too much of a pathetic coward to turn around.
When you back into him, his quick hiss into that groan you miss so fucking much flips every warning light in your body. But you can’t help it. You know this dance, this connection, this reunion will be the last you will ever have.
He never loved you. You never said goodbye.
Everything that’s left unsaid swirls around you as you move in perfect sync, both your hips moving as one and your hand snaking up and back to grip his neck fuck he feels just like home.
Yoongi… Still feels like home.
A single, hot tear leaks from your eye as you sway, burning a path down your cheek as your other hand closes tight around fingers holding your side. When he grips you even tighter, another tear betrays you, and you feel his lips so close to your neck you expect him to kiss there if he wanted to.
But he doesn’t.
Of course he doesn’t.
So you take what you’re given. A dance. Just one. One last unforgettable dance before your life changes all over again.
Knowing this song by heart, you know it’s approaching the end. The bittersweet last chorus clues you in, and you tense around his neck just a little tighter, hoping Yoongi didn’t catch the need in your fingers for this moment to never end.
Mother Earth can swallow you whole as soon as the last word is sung. You give her your express permission.
Because you feel so hopelessly in love all over again, and you can’t bear your affection to be unreciprocated a second time.
Just like that. Against your deepest, sincerest wishes.
The song dies.
And immediately after, as if your world hasn’t just been upheaved and tossed to the wayside, the next number booms. Everyone on the dance floor cheers again when it’s extremely familiar and a faster tempo. Even more people fill the floor because they need to feel this one in their bones.
And you need nothing else but to leave.
Get out. Go. Yoongi said so, right? One last time. It’s over. This tension between you needed an outlet and that song was the one out you both could use to set it free.
And it’s done. So you start your brisk walk away.
Only for your wrist to be held and your heart to fall out of your ribcage.
Fuck.
When you turn, you forget you’re tear-streaked and full of painful regrets.
And the look on Yoongi’s face heats your soul all the way through.
Because his eyes are unwavering, brows cut deep and mouth completely shut. Over his forehead, tendrils of mussed bangs sweep slow, and his chest rises and falls with every hard, wordless breath he takes.
And you finally get the courage to whisper his name.
Without a word, he slowly pulls you in, not stopping until your hands softly push into his strong chest and your face is inches from his. All heavy bass and bright beats of music fall away. All lights shift until you can only see him.
Time. All that time apart vanishes when you finally feel this close again, his steady expression watching you with an emotion you can’t place but feel ripping at your walls to destroy them.
What is happening? What’s he doing?
Does he know he has the power to hurt you in ten million different ways?
Fingers rise to wipe the sadness from your face, only inviting more to pour from your eyes. “Yoongi,” you whisper again, breaking the dam you’ve been building block by block this whole time, just like you were afraid of. And you can’t fucking stop. “Yoongi…”
Then, when his eyes slide shut, you think he’ll let you go. Why can you only say his name? Why the fuck are you ruining this singular moment that you’ve only dreamed of having wait wait why is he resting his forehead against yours fuck wait—
“You know how long,” he breathes out, “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that again.”
Have mercy.
Your soul finally snaps in two.
You can only say it once more, broken and chipped, before Yoongi grips your jaw and kisses you like it’s his last minute on earth.
And you push back with a ferocity that’s been dormant for years, a magnificent flame never awakened by anyone else. Nothing else. Just him. Only him.
Rivers stream from your eyes as his arms circle you, hands gripping the skin of your back as your nails rake down his. Around you, people dance and bump into your bodies, but neither of you seem to fucking care. No one else exists. The only music you hear is every deep breath Yoongi takes and it’s your favorite, favorite, favorite.
You shouldn’t be doing this. There’s no possible way this doesn’t leave you without a broken heart and a shell of whatever intact spirit you have left.
But goddamn if you don’t stay in the now more than ever.
“I don’t give a shit,” you tumble into his mouth, waiting until he pulls away enough for you to spill every forbidden thought you’ve harbored in your beating chest. “I don’t care if you never loved me. I don’t care if you moved on. I just—just tonight, Yoongi, I need you—”
Your plea is engulfed by another soulshaking push of his lips, and you think that’s the end of it until he tugs away from you before swerving his head around the floor.
“Come here,” he orders, gripping your hand and reminding you just how perfect his fingers slot with yours.
Time. You’re getting more time? Your tears and the burning in your chest don’t quell as you’re led through the crowd. When you get strange or pitied looks, you don’t care. All these perfectly dressed people can fuck off.
When they stare at the man guiding you, that’s what gets your stomach flaring. They can have him. Just after you get one last time to carry you through the rest of your loveless life.
Yoongi suddenly turns to look at you trailing behind, and he waits to bring you in front of his side, now leading you both together through the rest of the packed floor.
Ah. This is the man you remember.
And that just makes everything hurt even more.
Soon, you’re led off the dance floor and through a series of turns, Yoongi heading up a long back staircase before rounding into a hallway of doors before he checks each one.
What are these? Karaoke rooms? Party rooms? You don’t know, but the ache in your body hunches you over, and it takes everything to not crumble before he finally stops and yanks open a door.
“Yoongi, what are you—?”
A dim, neon-lit room is what you come to, and you hear a faint click while noticing the long window looking out into the club below. Different lounge chairs and couches fill the space, and you can see just enough out the glass to know you’re even high above the VIP tables. The room feels exclusive but you don’t get to observe anything else as you’re being pushed into the nearest wall to be liplocked again.
Fuck, he’s gotten even better at this.
Just like you have.
As your dress is gripped tight, your thoughts all blur together in a lustful slurry. How many has he taken to bed after you? Do you remember your own count? Has anyone else made him feel like you do? With a searing green flare, you remember that no one has come close to him. How awfully one-sided would that be if he found someone that completed him.
A veiny hand grips the side of your neck before sliding to your head. “Fuck,” Yoongi grits out. “I… I can’t.”
...What?
No. No no no.
Your heart begins its fast descent. Because if Yoongi doesn’t want this, you have to respect that. As much as you will scream into the night, you’re not gonna stop him if he gets up and leaves.
Because you did. So why shouldn’t he get that same chance to destroy you?
“I get it,” you hitch out, holding his strong wrist with shaky fingers. It’s only fair. This felt too good to be true anyway. “I know.”
“It’s not that.” Yoongi slides his free hand on the wall, holding it at your shoulder. “I just… Fuck, if we do this, I can’t promise I’ll hold back.”
Oh. Fuck that.
You tug the warm silver around his neck. “Then don’t,” you urge to his grunt. “If this is all we get? I don’t fucking care.”
“Even if I t—”
“Do it, Yoongi,” you plead with a gritted cry. “You can do anything to me, whatever it is just do it.”
“Fuck.”
All doubt flees from his eyes as your back gets smushed into the wall, your lips puffed and parting when he places hot, open mouthed kisses down your column.
Hands keep their quest in gathering up your dress. And you make quick work of his belt before pulling, tugging, yanking it out of its holster.
“The fuck,” he shoots out. “Who the fuck taught you that?”
Your eyes flicker to his as you grip the hem of his jeans. “You really wanna know?”
“No.” He switches up on a dime. “Don’t tell me.”
Your lips collide again before he rips his mouth down to attack your chest, nipping at a spot that has you flinching and hand sliding between your legs. When he runs a finger along your underwear, his eyes practically burn out as he growls, “You’re this fucking wet already?”
“I told you,” you gasp out. “I need you.”
Your hand is yanked to the front of his jeans, and shock and emotion completely cover the expanse of your face feeling how unbelievably hard he is.
Unfazed, Yoongi continues kissing up to your shoulder, leaving hot saliva trails all over your skin and bunching your silk in his hands. “Seeing you in this? Lost my shit.”
“You're lying.”
“All fuckin' night."
“Liar.”
Liar, liar. A bold faced lie. You saw him talking to other people. You saw his anger piercing across the club. But you watch as his look levels, and your cheeks sizzle at the way he shifts his jaw,
“I’d never lie to you.”
Shit. Your heart bats eyelashes before you shove it out of frame.
The organ in your chest is a walking liability, especially when it’s connected to your mouth. So there are many, many things you might reveal tonight in the throes of agony and passion. Things you will regret come morning waking to an empty bed.
The best way to not say anything that could potentially do more harm than good? Keep your lips occupied. And that’s exactly what you intend to do.
“We’ll see,” you grit out, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. When Yoongi lets you twist to shove him back against the wall, his eyes flare in dark need when he hisses,
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
To show him how you’ve grown in the years you separated, to show him what he could’ve fucking had.
To show him that you aren’t taking a single bit of this last, serendipitous night for granted.
Kneeling slow, you slide your hands along his clothed chest, kissing his chains exactly how you used to and smearing lipstick all the way down his jersey.
“Fuck…”
Balancing on your heels, you wince at the tight bend in your knees, but you aren’t going down completely because your kneecaps aren’t what they used to be. Fuck that. You can do plenty in a low squat anyway, and he’s seen you look a hell of a lot more awkward many times. “Shit,” you still whisper. “You’re lucky I can’t wait to swallow you.”
A curse flings out of his mouth. “Get up, babe.”
Heart ringing at the name, you reject his order with a harsh, “Shut up.”
You want this, and you know for a fact he does, too. When Yoongi tries to bend, you pull down his underwear, springing his cock free and almost salivating at the sight.
Just like you remember. Everything about him is just how you remember, and yet his body has only gotten stronger and filled out in all the perfect places. Yoongi’s a man now. A real, grown man.
If you both just met tonight, you know he would’ve asked for your name before anything else.
Cut the shit. You are not getting into that now, not when you have him with hands trembling against a wall before you take him in your palm. As soon as you touch, Yoongi expels a deep groan, kicking his head back and gripping the wall with a large hand.
What’s going on? You haven’t even done anything yet. Why does your chest constrict at how sensitive he is? This isn’t the time to relax, but you really can’t help but soften at his complete and utter unravelling.
It’s almost as if nothing’s changed.
Yoongi lowers his gaze, and you lock glistening eyes before you take him in your mouth, slow on the tip and swirling to get it coated and prepped just right. Your hand expertly glides along his solid, slick length, squeezing at the spot you know makes him fold.
“Holy fuck,” he gasps out, hand hesitating to palm your head before balling in a fist against plaster. “Shit, babe..”
Again? Does he even realize what he’s saying? Is he trying to hurt you because if that’s his goal it’s fucking working.
Anger, regret, painful nostalgia drives you forward, sinking his velvety ridges inside your throat and proving to him how much better you’ve gotten. With every plunge, you hollow your cheeks, already feeling the telltale searing at your eyes and spiraling up your throat. His endless stream of sounds and praise tumble down your skin, and you keep sucking mercilessly even when his hips buck and his eyes squeeze tight.
Releasing with a loud pop, you feel a huge strain on your soaked legs as you adjust, tilting your drenched chin to bury your face in his sack to lick and take it in.
“Baby..”
At this new, old nickname, you grip his cock tighter, swallowing him whole again just to hide your real tears behind the ones streaming from taking him in so deep.
More. You give more, and more, and more. Time will take away everything else so what you can give is all you got.
Hands grip your head in desperation, and you let Yoongi push you onto his length until your airway is closed tight, nose and cheeks flush against the skin of his thighs. His scent is heady and just like you remember, if only slightly different due to the new musky cologne he’s probably sticking with nowadays. Not like you can focus on it too long because your airway is screaming to be freed again.
Tears leak over your lashes as want slicks your cunt, and you hear syllables that could be words before you finally give his legs a telltale tap.
Oxygen floods your lungs as more tears stream from your eyes, lips sopping wet and saliva leaving your chin in strings. Gulping, you go right back to it, taking him in again and pumping his slick ridges quick.
“Get up,” he commands with a rasp so deep it rumbles your chest. “Get the fuck up.”
You’re pulled upward so fast your legs cry at the bends, and you’re spun so quick the wall hits your shoulderblade and you cry out into a furious mouth.
Pleasure and pain intertwine as you match his intensity, raking at his shoulders and clawing into his hair. With each kiss, he reaches deeper into your throat, and you know he can taste himself on your tongue with the way he claims it in waves.
For a moment, there’s no one else in the world. You aren’t in a dimly lit lounge in a club away from home. You’re right here in his bedroom, getting slung and dragged along his wall and knocking every one of his plaques and posters off-kilter.
“Yoongi, I—”
“I know.”
Without further prompt, Yoongi wrenches at your dress to shove it up to your hip, burning a path along your leg with expert fingers. As you hook itover his smooth forearm, your lips part when his other hand slides between your thighs.
You know your underwear is soaked all the way through.
And now, so does he. “Goddamn.”
“I can’t take it anymore,” you gasp out. “Just—”
“Are you still on the—”
“Yes.”
Shifting the sodden material to the side, Yoongi wastes no time, angling himself to rub over your folds and moaning in tandem with you because holy fuck this already feels so—
“This fucking pussy,” Yoongi grits out, sliding in perfectly and so smoothly it’s like neither of you ever left each other's sides. Your high moan cuts into the cherry ceiling when he sounds like he’s just struck gold, “Shit, you’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Yoongi, please—”
He’s talking absolute nonsense. Gonna be? How is that possible when you won’t see him again?
All questions vaporize when Yoongi’s hips snap up, launching you up the wall again, and again, and again. Pops of need and lust zoom straight to your head, sparkling out of your eyes when you feel his lips smothering your neck.
You’re in heaven. You’re in hell. It feels so good it hurts. Caught in a flurry of need and anguish, your nails rake down his shoulders before scratching at his arms, shivering at his outright growl,
“Don’t do that.”
“Oh, I—”
“Do that shit again and I’ll come.”
Shit. You don’t understand how he could be so shameless. You’re trying your hardest to keep it together and here he is saying whatever the fuck he wants? If you let your mouth just as loose as he has there’s no telling what you’d be shouting out.
But you settle for an apology for now, just in case you actually hurt him, “Sorry.. My nails are super long right now.”
“I noticed.” Another thrust launches you into the sky. “They look good but they hurt like hell.”
“Oh.. Sorry again.” A moan escapes when he shoves into you, mind hazy because he’s still placating you.
“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.” Devilish, he breaks into a slow smirk you haven’t seen in ages, and your ribcage folds inward and inward. “I’m just not fucking done with you yet.”
Oh. He doesn’t want this to end, either.
Now that changes every fucking cog in your brain.
You keep yourself upright as long as you can, arms slung around his neck as you both move together, dip and lean together, breathe so hard it scorches your chest together. Every muscle in your planted leg burns, but it’s nothing compared to the stare you have connected to his eyes. With each deep thrust, his brows furrow and his teeth peek from his lips, and every groan you hear goes right into a chest for safe keeping. Right next to all the other memories you want to lock away.
Yoongi’s pace starts to quicken the more your mewls encourage him. What was sensuous is now unbearable and, as your dress threatens to shift, you know your breasts will be on full display soon, and Yoongi bites his lip with a grunt with his next hard thrusts.
Soon enough, you feel a chill on your nipples as they’re freed, moaning to the ceiling when Yoongi immediately heats one whole with his tongue. “Baby!”
Goddamn it. You weren’t supposed to address him like that, too. But maybe it’s better than saying his name because every time you do there’s a charge sparking the air.
So you decide to switch, moaning the same word over and over as he licks and sucks, dragging his teeth along your exposed chest and littering it with heavy proof of his lips. Just like the lipstick on his jersey, you know he’s claimed his own marks on your skin.
And neither of you will be able to hide them when you part.
Expelled tension flits about in light streaks as you move with him, slick with exertion and tight with muscles working in double time. You both know this is the last time and you’re acting like it. And you send a prayer to the heavens to let time stop just to keep holding him in your arms.
Suddenly, your heel slips, and you yelp before strong arms keep you upright. “Shit, sorry.”
“I got you.”
Summer sunsets smother your vision as you let him guide you from the wall, gently placing your leg down and leading you to a sofa. Everything simmers to a lull, and you have a moment to catch your breath and steady your racing, racing heartbeat.
When Yoongi sits on vibrant cushions, you admire the way his biceps fill those sleeves right as he tugs his jersey clean off. And you have to fight to not teeter over, continuing to stare in awe at him, so perfectly filled in some placed and chiseled in others that you start to wonder how you even left in the first place.
Of course you know why you did. So why bring it up now when you’re right here? Why agonize over the past when you’re standing right between his legs?
“Baby.”
You flick your gaze back up to his.
“Stay with me.”
Tears zing up your eyes as you nod, heart plugging your throat as you mount his toned thighs. When you feebly place hands on his searing shoulders, you hate the way your words shake on the way out, “Stay in the now. I know.”
Yoongi’s eyes shine with a light in them you weren’t sure was there before. But you can’t wait long enough for confirmation because your heart is keeling over with ache.
He remembers. He remembers. Does that mean he’s thought about you, too?
Focus on something else. No time to think about the past, nor the future. No time to notice that the way Yoongi looks at you now is so heartbreakingly similar to how he worshipped you before. Back when things were perfectly imperfect. Back when you were sure he loved you before he proved to you that he didn’t.
“Still so beautiful.”
Liquid fire fills your eyes as your breath hitches, guiding his length to your entrance before sinking onto him with no issue. When you both groan, you let your glittery vision watch the ceiling instead of him when you admit,
“You look so fucking good in red.”
There’s no response as you breathe, angling yourself to feel him deep and moving in a slow push and pull along his legs. Your thin chain tightens as your neck strains above Yoongi’s head, and you wish you had the guts to look down at the ones around his neck. They’re already deadly resting on his clothes, but rocking against the flush of his skin is how you love them the most.
Still, you can’t bear to look. You know you’ll lose yourself in those eyes if you dare stare long enough. Because what you saw earlier looked too close to longing, which would be impossible because that only exists in yours.
“And,” you whoosh out in tired breaths, gripping your fingers on him a little tighter, “Looks like you.. finally hit the gym.. like I kept fucking saying.”
A puff of warm laughter hits your chest before sweaty hands grip your waist. “Always said I would.”
“But you never did,” you huff out, grinding on him harder and melting at his little sounds. One thing you will keep giving this man credit for: he isn’t ashamed to be just as vocal as you are. The more people you ended up meeting? The rarer and rarer you realized that bedroom quality was.
“I did eventually,” he grits, holding you in place and surging into you so hard you yelp to the stars. “Didn’t I.”
“Fuck you,” you bite, moaning when your argument dies the moment his tongue swirls around a nipple again. What’s left comes out a garbled mess of a groan, and you hate, hate, hate the dark chuckle against your breast. Partly because he’s a constant problem, and partly because you yearn to see his smile again.
“What else is new about you,” Yoongi suddenly rasps, hands lowering to rest on your hips as you ride him. “Aside from clearly getting better at this.”
Lost in lust and surprised at his question, you finally peer down to see him looking up already. “No thanks to you.”
And your world stills as he doesn’t respond right away, any hint of sunlight fading from his features. “No thanks to me,” he slowly agrees.
Fuck. You didn’t mean to do that.
Slowly slipping hands from his body, you rise from his length and mourn the disconnect before standing. When Yoongi only regards you with eyes on fire, you slowly turn and rest on his thighs.
He’s not gonna like this. But he asked.
You turn your head before slowly sliding one side of your dress completely down, revealing a rough scar on your back a little lower than your shoulder.
And your soul immediately clenches when Yoongi heats your back with his body heat. “The fuck?” His fingers feel so light, so protective as they caress your mark. It’s confusing, and you abhor it as much as you need it. “What happened?”
“I fell,” you whisper. “Pretty hard.”
Details of how and when it happened don’t matter. But he wanted to know what was new, and the scar on your heart isn’t exactly readily available to show.
“I did, too.”
What? At his voice over your shoulder, you strain your neck to see him. “When?”
Why is he kissing your scar? Exes don’t do that. Exes don’t do anything you’re doing right now.
“Before you left.”
Now you feel worse. When the hell did that happen? Why didn’t you know about it? “Sorry,” you breathe out with sorrow. “I didn’t know.”
Another slow, calm graze of his mouth tightens your throat. Because he’s since moved across your back, lips now touching where your shoulderblade hit the wall.
“I know,” Yoongi sighs. “I never told you.”
He never told you many things.
Stepping into dangerous territory is making you regret showing him your worst moment. So you shift your ass to push over his cock, feeling it throb against you when you wisp out the worst reminder, “We don’t have much time.”
“Mm.”
When you feel his hands shift your dress, you lift up and allow you both to effortlessly situate you back where you wanna be. Your back hits his chest as he guides himself up into your folds, and your head kicks back to lie across his shoulder like the red silk flowing over your thigh.
“Just like you said,” you start to whisper, eyes already welling with oncoming regret, “One last time.” Every syllable just as melancholic as the notes of your favorite song.
When Yoongi starts, your heart weeps at the pace. Because it reminds you of better times, sensuous and intentional and convincing you to confess all over again. It takes everything not to speak, your moans escaping in weak puffs and your hips swelling in a calm wave.
This is too much. This is way too fucking much and you finally break when his name leaves you like a prayer. “Harder,” you beg. “Please, please go—”
You’re cut off as soon as his hips jolt up, flinging you to life before going at a menacing pace. Yes yes yes this is the one you need. The one you crave. The one that leaves no room for feelings and decisions. Your dress threatens to slip off your sides with each pound, slowly rolling and accentuating your chest in seconds. “Shit, holy shit!”
“Fuck, you’re so tight—”
“So fucking big—”
As if knowing exactly what you want, your arms are held back, locked into place as you’re under the absolute mercy of his dick slamming up into you over and over, skin slapping obscene and thighs burning from the stretch across his lap.
Yoongi knows you better than anyone else. A frustrated growl tears from your lips as you arch so far back you connect clouds, and a strong forearm wraps across your stomach to pin you so fucking close you may as well mold right into him. Passion streaks down your limbs as sweat beads along your skin, the heady scent of sex and forbidden fruit swirling into your nose.
More. More more more he’s giving you everything. As your arms are freed, you can only grip the other forearm slinging over your upper chest, nails digging into creamy skin and leaving angry, cherry red lines.
Words, praise, everything under the sun is being spewed onto your slick shoulders as you mash your teeth and eyes tight. You even hear a word you’ve been wanting to hear for years, but that can’t possibly be true because there’s no way Yoongi would ever—
A hand closes around your throat, and your eyes fly back into your head.
You’re so close. Fucking hell, your thighs are singing and your throat is burning and your abdomen strains from the arch but you need this release. You need this tidal wave to consume you. If only to forget for a split second that Yoongi isn’t—
“—yours.”
What?
Another fierce round of thrusts almost topples the two of you over, and white hot pressure paints the edges of your eyes as you strain for breath. You’re so close. So fucking close it’s right within reach.
But it all vanishes in a snap as Yoongi stops, and you cry with a teary rasp, “No, please, baby—”
“Not yet.” He hauls you up, making you sit straight and facing away yet again. “You know what to do.”
Fuck. There’s no way he remembers this, too. You flinch at the slap to your breast before shakily getting up, legs wobbly but positioning yourself on his cock perfectly before sliding down.
Both heels planted on the ground, you brace his strong knees and work his slick length, eyes rolling at his breathy groans and curses leaving his mouth in spurts.
You know exactly what to do to make him lose his goddamn mind. So you do it all, swirling and swerving your hips while flicking off your silk, showing him the best view of your ass as it bounces. Your legs tire, but you don’t, and you use the music leaking into the room to set your sickening, aggravating pace.
“Fuck, baby..”
“You asked for it.”
“Don’t regret a goddamn thing.”
You can tell he’s on the brink of madness, and you can only picture the way his head thumps back on the couch, mouth torn by his teeth and brows furrowed to hell. His muscles are probably contracting in waves, including the ones in his perfect, bulging arms.
“You shouldn’t,” you hum. “Since this is all you get.”
Without a word, hands reach out and tug you backward, and you’re up on your feet and tripping before your hands slap the firm cushions of the next chair over. “What the fu—”
To your absolute delight, Yoongi plants a foot on the chair before gripping the pliant dip of your hips, pushing tears from your eyes with each quick, deep thrust he rams forward. Stars dance along your vision as drool leaks endlessly from your mouth. “Baby—! Fuck!”
“This pussy’s so.. Fuck.” You’re shoved so far down that your moist cheek smushes into firm cushion. “Say my name.”
“Babe—”
“As much as I wanna hear that every fucking day”—Yoongi shoves into you again and keeps his cock thrumming inside your cunt—“Right now, I’m gonna hear my name. So say it.”
“Yoongi—”
His deep, gritted command makes you snap, “Louder.”
“Yoongi—!”
You feel it. You’re at the brink again. With every snap of his skin pounding against yours, you’re inching closer and closer and closer to the edge, waiting for the fall that will end you. “Baby, I’m gonna—”
Firm arms haul you upward and you’re both travelling the room again, legs skittering until you hit back first into the nearest wall fuck that took your breath out.
Yoongi’s breath catches as he slams a hand against the plaster to steady, face burrowed in your neck and hair brushing harsh against your ear as he buries inside of you again. Fire spews from his mouth as you feel his cock squeeze up into your cunt, and his arm tenses tight behind your knee as he commands,
“Come for me, love.”
You don’t know what the fuck you just heard but you know he didn’t just say—
“I said come.”
Instinct. Pure, animalistic instinct surges your orgasm forward in a high crest, breaking onto shore in hot, white waves as you tremble around him. Your cunt squeezes and tugs, your poor leg threatening collapse as Yoongi roughly hums so deep against your chest. Pleasure, starlight, the warmth of an afternoon faraway heats your body just right, and one crash leads into the next so effortlessly that tears zip down your cheeks.
Your name rips from Yoongi’s throat.
And it’s enough to send you right over the edge again.
How the fuck is this possible how the hell can someone break you with your own name how can Yoongi have this much of a hold on you when it’s been literal years? It doesn’t make any sense and the cries into his neck as he holds you close are akin to sobs. Maybe they are. Maybe they’re your way of mourning everything that could’ve been. Everything that will never be.
But at least you were able to have him, shaking in your grasp and pulsing in your core. One more night. One last time.
“Fuck it, come here.”
Your sobs are yanked from the wall again, and you don’t know up from left as you're thrown onto a sofa, back curling as Yoongi tugs your head upright. Your tears slide down your neck, wetting your necklace as he breathes out,
“Again.”
Fuck! Your cunt tightens around him as you gasp out, “I can’t… I can’t—”
“Don’t lie to me,” Yoongi growls, clutching your chin and flinging hot spit onto your face that catapults you into another level of need you’ve never been to holy fuck. Smothering it against your cheeks, he taps you once and it brings destruction. “I said again.”
All your limbs lock at the bends as you throw your head in a strained cry, a release that overpowers all the others flushing through your veins and igniting beams out of your sweaty chest. Wave upon wave crashes into your soul and your ears ring so loud you can barely hear or see Yoongi watching from above. You can’t. You’re too caught in chaos. You can’t see the way he looks at you.
“Come for me, Yoongi,” you suddenly plead, “Let go.”
“Let me pull—”
“Do it now,” you hitch out. “Come inside.”
A prolonged moan leaves his mouth as he launches into a pace that has you screaming, teeth gritted to hell and fingers gripping you so hard you know they’re going to bruise. But who cares when your skin will match your heart? Who gives a fuck about anything else anymore?
Beautiful weight crushes your chest as Yoongi’s body turns erratic, jolting and seizing up. And you know he’s racing to his own cliff to dive and you’re gonna be right there to catch him. Slinging your arms around his drenched back and fisting the wet base of his hair, you’re already ready and waiting with harsh harsh breaths, because you're about to break him.
“That’s it, baby,” you whisper to his ear, ravaging his slick neck with your lips and scraping teeth over his ear just how he likes, hearts beating as one when you stop just to connect your forehead to his. With a singular, throaty gasp, you plead,
“One last time.”
Yoongi’s sudden release sends a pulse through the air, and your core beats and beats with each pump of essence he spews inside. Heaven and earth collide with stars as you hold tight, and your thighs shake as he finishes filling you with the longest orgasm you have ever, ever seen him endure.
The float down doesn’t come quick, both of you softly suspended in time and air. Steam radiates from your skin and flows from your mouths with each breath, and beads of sweat slip down his jewelry as he stares with a deep vastness in his eyes.
Why is he so quiet?
Why are you so quiet?
Why do you feel like crying again?
With one more shaken breath, Yoongi swallows, chest heaving right after as he struggles to gather himself. His shoulders are so broad when he moves under your hands, closing his eyes as soon as your brows touch,
“I know it’s over.”
Your heart flares.
“But I need you to know.”
Stars light the night sky.
“I love you. And I always will.”
A sob breaks your silence, hand flying to cup your mouth before you hunch forward into his trembling chest. Days and days of pent up anger and sadness spill out all at once, and you weep into his chest because you can’t bear to let go.
“I know you’ve moved on,” Yoongi continues with a shake to his words, not pausing at the way you choke and weep. “But I’ve regretted never saying it back then. And I’m not gonna get another chance.”
What the fuck is happening. What does he mean? What does he mean? Your body can’t stop as it locks and locks, sobs wracking your chest because this is fucked up and confusing and everything you’ve been wanting for the longest time. This is all you wanted. And you only get it at the very end.
“I didn’t even say goodbye,” you shake out. When you lift your trembling head, his lips are already so achingly close to yours and his hand moves to steady your neck. “I left and never came back.”
When his eyes are the only ones that speak, you start to spill everything out, words tumbling into one another and pinging to the floors around your tired feet,
“I tried so hard to forget you. Tried so, so hard to stop loving you. Every day, I’d wake up wanting nothing to do with you, only to see you in my dreams and remember how it felt to—to—”
Bright red flares across Yoongi’s eyes as he keeps listening, jaw pulsing and brows so tense.
“At first, I was so angry. At you, at myself, at the world for letting me love you when you never loved me back. But now, I know what I did was wrong. And I regret it every day that I live.”
When your face contorts in sorrow, Yoongi brings a hand up to wipe your cheek, thumb brushing away your tears. “I did, babe.” Your breath stops and your eyes splay wide. “Just never had the guts to say it first.”
First.
Yoongi loved you all the way back then? Before that starry night that’s kept your heart captive for so long? It pulses against your chest, ramming and ramming into your ribcage to get to his.
Only one question barrels through your mind. “…Why?”
Yoongi looks from one eye to the next. “Because I didn’t think I deserved to.”
Everything clicks into place and you suddenly feel so, so upset. You are going to fight this man to the moon and back. Or, better yet, you’re gonna fight him to the moon and leave him there. “You think I thought that way?”
“No.” He sighs, chains shaking over your chest. “And I replay that night over, and over. Knowing that I’d do anything to go back and tell you how I felt.”
Yoongi never lived in the past. He was always adamant about staying in the present. So knowing he’d been stuck there right next to you makes your chest collapse before slipping down into the deep sea.
“When I saw you today? Every day I told myself I’d get over you didn’t matter. Every reason I told myself I couldn’t be with you was bullshit.”
Your throat constricts again.
“But when you kept running.. I knew you were done with me for good.” Yoongi’s hand falls. “And there was nothing I could do to change your mind.”
“Yoongi…”
All this time, you both had your own reasons for avoiding each other. Everything you fed into your logical side was just a ploy to project your feelings, and it turns out Yoongi did the exact same thing.
He said he wouldn’t be able to hold back if you did this tonight. And now, you’re blessed to know exactly what he meant.
So you also let everything go.
“I was never done with you,” you choke out, seeing a swath of emotion brush across his face. “Because I’m still in love with you, and I will be even if you walk out of here without me.”
Musk and heaven consumes you in a hug, and you cry into a bare shoulder as you hear Yoongi vow something so full of longing and conviction you hold him tighter,
“I’m not going anywhere else without you.”
Music continues to pulse outside, lasers continue to dance around the room. But you see nothing but the light in your lover's eyes.
And it’s a beautiful, beautiful sunrise.
—
—
When you both finally part, it’s only to let him get dressed and for you to use the nearest restroom. In the quiet wake of your emotional storm, Yoongi walks you to the window spanning the far wall of the lounge, and you both watch the club floors move and sway from above. And it’s only now that you feel shy. It’s only now that you feel nervous seeing everyone below.
But a thought occurs to you that dashes all others away,
“How did you know to come up here?”
Yoongi gives you a look that you raise a brow at. “I…” He sighs. “Let’s just say I know my way around this place.”
Ah. Of course. “Come here often?”
“Not for the reasons you think.”
Your brows are fully bent now. “…Huh?”
“I own the building.” Hands busy, he adjusts his jersey as if he didn’t drop the biggest shock of the century on your toes. “And a couple others in the city.”
What.
Pause pause pause hold the fucking phone.
Yoongi lives in this city? He owns what? This is a little too much to take in, but you have time. And you’re gonna hound him for every single detail of his life that you’ve missed.
You have time. Your prayer had been answered tenfold. And you send endless gratitude to the sky.
But suddenly, a second realization pierces your mind and you lightly shove him. When Yoongi looks at you in shock, you yell out, “You asked what’s new and I showed you a scar! Now you tell me you own a fucking building?”
Your lover laughs, and the sun rises even higher over your horizon. Ducking your next swipe, he’s already back to irritating you again as he clarifies, “I said more than one—”
“Oh, fuck you!”
He rushes forward and gathers you in his arms, not caring if anyone sees your embrace in the window. “You wanna go again?”
Your face heats as your eyes roll heavenward, exactly where you feel like you are in this moment. “I have a pretty big hotel room,” you divulge. “And no one to share that bedroom with unless someone else catches my eye tonight, so…”
Yoongi’s eyes crease as he kisses your forehead. “Fuck that. Take me home.”
Your giggles into his chin bubble out in pink, poppable spheres.
As magnificent and dreamlike all of this has been, you're starting to find logic again. Because more than one question badgers into your mind.
How long have you been gone? Have your friends not even checked on you? Did they try? Did they leave do they even still have the... table…
Wait.
Everything else clicks into place.
The random city everyone flew to that Jeongguk picked. The infamous club and dress code you heard about from Taehyung. The table that Hoseok bragged about getting…
“...You're the one that got us VIP.”
That stupid, annoying, ridiculous grin. Of course this is how you'd be reminded of how much you love to hate it.
“Now come dance with me,” he says with teeth still flashing wide. “Let’s see if you ever got that step.”
Eyes sparkling, you let him lead you down and onto the dance floor, moving through until you’re suddenly next to your friends that shout and holler at your arrival together.
“All of you are crazy!” You yell out, tears in your smile as they burst into laughter. “Why didn’t you just tell me!”
Yoongi grabs hold of you before chuckling into your ear. “I told them not to.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t know if you were really done.” He grips you tight, face falling into seriousness. “But I heard you broke up with someone a month ago. This was my only chance and I took it.”
Holy fucking shit.
“Thank you.” You kiss his cheek with purpose. “I love you.”
Yoongi’s cheeks rise high, dimples prominent and eyes carrying the light of the universe. Lips close, he responds how he wanted to the first time.
And you seal your devotion with a kiss full of starlight.
“Ugh, here we go.”
“Already at it again, huh.”
"Figures. Didn't you see his jersey?"
“Get another room—!”
Suddenly, the same song that used to haunt you comes on once more, but this time, you welcome it with a swell of freedom in your chest. The waves of your mind calm, washing onto an empty beach and fading into a mesmerizing valley of blue.
Yoongi grins as he holds your hand, and you can't help but stretch your mouth wide as you both immerse into the crowd, moving and spinning and stepping perfectly together on every beat. Laughter and joy fills the space between your hearts as you all cheer, sharing this infinite moment together as fate intended.
In a beautiful, unforgettable dance.
-
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fin :)
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hi lovelies what did we think !! | main masterlist
a/n: so don't ask how i managed to write all of this in a single day (now two) lol i think this madrid yoongi broke me. anyways, here's the sidequest that became the main quest for a bit! i'm back to writing three tangerines so 3tan13 will be finished here real soon :D thank you all for reading and i hope you enjoyed this irresistible ex turned lover yoongiiiii :DD did i cry? yes. can you prove it? no!!!!
a/n 2: as always, reblogs and comments and asks are always super appreciated! i love sharing things with you guys and a big part of that is getting to hear what you all liked and what you're excited about. happy to chat, and thank you for reading!
++ feedback box:
⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated!
⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think!
⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like!
⇥ here!
SUMMARY. After a brutal breakup, you pack up your entire life into your Honda Civic and drive 24 hours to a new life, away from the liars and dirty cheaters of New York City. Fortunately for you, there’s a new man on the terrain, and he adores you from the bottom of his boots to the top of his hat.
word count. 13k
warnings/genre. cowboy!jungkook, corporate!reader, strangers to lovers??, this is based in texas, usa which earns its own warning, alcohol consumption, smut, fingering, car sex, you ride him while wearing his cowboy hat
note. howdy yall! yeehaw brethren! or whatever they say out there in bumblefuck texas 🙊 cowboy jungkook is near and dear to my heart after he put on a bandana and a cowboy hat … he’s literally just a walking wet dream. this is just the plot of a porno so enjoy sluts! (inspired by this tiktok so pls go watch)
ok final final thing: tysm for 9k i still cant believe it!!!!!!! i love all you horndogs sm here's to love here's to honor if you can't cum in her, cum on her
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| playlist
banner creds | masterlist
At some point in life, everyone must find themselves alone in a run-down bar in the middle of Texas, drinking whiskey and wearing a blazer.
Or, well... maybe that's just rock bottom for you specifically.
You don’t even fucking like whiskey. You’re not a masochist. But after the day you’ve had, self-inflicted suffering feels like the least you deserve.
You set the glass down and take a look around the bar.
The place is called Coyote’s—it’s the first place you stumbled upon on your drive home from work. There's a coyote skull mounted above the door, walls wood-paneled and covered in neon beer signs and old license plates. The floor is sticky with mysterious liquids, heels glued to them when you walked in. Somebody’s boots are keeping time to the Zac Brown Band song bleeding out of the speakers, and two men in actual, non-ironic Wranglers are playing pool in the back while eyeing the girls in skimpy outfits.
It’s a disorienting environment, especially when you’re still dressed in a blazer and slacks after your first day at your new job.
You had upped sticks in need of a change from New York City, without bothering to think much about the vast differences between Austin, Texas and New York City.
New York City bars had exposed brick and cocktail menus with names like “Forbidden Muse” and men who wore blazers for their fancy, high-paying finance jobs. Nobody dared to wear cowboy boots, definitely not when they were surrounded by their stuffy superiors.
New York City was crawling with men that were exactly like your conniving, narcissistic ex-boyfriend, Daniel.
Fucking Daniel.
You take another sip of the whiskey you don’t like.
You’d caught him on a Wednesday. Not even a Friday night—a Wednesday. He couldn’t even be bothered to cheat on you on a respectable day of the week. You had come home early from work, key in the door, bag on your shoulder, and there he was in your shared apartment. Balls deep in a girl who was, insultingly, very pretty.
Then, he had the nerve to act surprised to see you in the apartment you two shared.
Texas was never supposed to be in the cards. In fact, it wasn’t even a blip on your radar. It was a job offer that paid two times what you made in New York, but giving up your city lifestyle had sounded deranged. You only applied because a very eager recruiter reached out to you and begged you to.
But getting cheated on really put things into perspective for you, and before you knew it, being a marketing director at a regional firm in Austin that paid good money, offered a fresh start, far enough away that you wouldn’t have to see Daniel’s face sounded ideal. You’d accepted it at 11PM that same Wednesday, half a bottle of wine deep.
You look down at your outfit again. Silk blouse underneath your blazer, tailored slacks and pointed heels. Nothing like the girls line-dancing by the jukebox, batting their eyelashes flirtatiously at the men with cowboy hats on.
Honestly, you didn’t think cowboys were real up until you landed in Texas three days ago. Lo and behold, they’ve managed to outdo your wildest fantasies.
Clearly, you’ll need to redo your wardrobe if you plan on enjoying your new gig. Your boss wore a bandana around his neck in the office, and if that was the norm, you were either severely underdressed or accidentally cosplaying as someone’s accountant.
You take another slow scan around the room, mostly to give yourself something to do that isn’t drinking whiskey you hate and thinking about Daniel.
The women here seem to move differently. Easy and dallying, hips finding the beat of the music. A line of them near the dance floor step and turn in unison, boots striking the wood, and there’s something hypnotic about it—they laugh without covering their mouths, take up space without apologizing for it. Not for the first time tonight, you feel like you’re watching a nature documentary from behind glass. The men in Texas are far more shameless, with no pretense of disinterest. A guy in a tan Stetson tips his hat when a brunette catches him staring. She grins back, winking.
Your gaze drifts toward the back, toward the crack of pool balls and low laughter. Groups of men pile around the table, clearly big-dicking each other. They all look similar. Tall, muscular, chiseled, charismatic…
Your eyes land on the far right of the pool table, where one man in a black cowboy hat stands. His arm is covered in tattoos, hair poking out underneath the hat in what you assume is a mullet. His tongue pokes out, toying with the lip rings adorning his bottom lip.
And despite the commotion buzzing around the bar, or the game of pool that’s been ongoing for at least an hour, he’s not paying attention to any of it. He’s watching you.
Your neck snaps back toward the direction of the bar, struggling to focus as the bartender, Stacey, pours bourbon into a glass for a patron. You’d barely gotten a full look, but you’d caught enough, you think. Broad shoulders filling out a black button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbow, black cowboy hat pulled low and a black bandana tied loose at his throat.
Fuck. You need another drink. Or about two shots of straight whiskey to handle the kind of eye contact that man is making with you.
“Uh, Stacey?” You’d only learned her name an hour ago, but now’s as good a time as any to use it. She whips to face you, blond hair tousled from the rush. “Am I able to get another glass of whiskey?”
“Sure thang, sweetheart.” She grins.
While she pours, your eyes make a point to not care about the man staring you down across the room. He can’t possibly be looking at you, what with your corporate outfit, heels, and resting bitch face. There are better options in this bar, ones who know how to two-step and ride a horse.
Stacey places the glass of whiskey in front of you. “This one’s on the house. Looked like you needed it.”
Before you can protest, she tosses you a wink and saunters off to serve two men. Clearly, you’re not as unreadable as you thought you were.
The brown liquid slithers down your throat, burning your lungs. The thing about drinking whiskey neat is that you’re not going to remain a respectful amount of tipsy for long. Instead, you’re going to teeter on the line of drunk, something you don’t normally allow yourself to get.
And transparently, drunk you wants another look at the dark-haired cowboy.
Maybe you should let her. Maybe you should stop being so weird about it. It’s not like you’re not going to marry the man. Maybe you just need to get fucked.
Your eyes scan the crowd, lingering on every man wearing the same black bandana, half-convinced one of them might transform into him. With each passing moment, your heart skips in your chest like a toddler playing hopscotch.
Maybe he went home. Probably realized the women here were duds and made his grand exit. Honestly for the best. You can’t even remember the last time you flirted with someone who wasn’t Daniel, and look how spectacularly that turned out.
You down the rest of your whiskey in one go. Stacey whistles playfully from the sidelines. All you can manage is a feeble smile in response. It feels as though the lights dim a little lower, the sound of boots hitting the hardwood floor echoing in your ear. Euphoria pumps through your bloodstream, and then Country Girl (Shake It For Me) starts blasting on the jukebox, and well—your brain just sort of short-circuits.
“Can’t possibly be comfortable in that outfit, sugar.”
Warm breath fans against your ear, woodsy cologne trailing close behind. Your heart thumps, almost as if the organ knows who it is before you do.
Slowly, you turn to face the owner of the voice.
The first thing you see is a black bandana. Your eyes travel further up, up, up, until they snag on the plumpest mouth you’ve ever seen on a man, two metal rings looped through the bottom lip. They continue their climb, landing on captivating eyes that sink their teeth into you. Dark brown tresses poke out from under the brim of his hat, but you can still make out every inch of his sharp features.
“Never seen you ‘round here before.” He raises an eyebrow. “Anyone with that outfit on gotta be from the East. Ain’t seen a girl in heels in this bar in my whole life.”
“Maybe I like standing out,” you say, tilting your chin up and puffing your chest out. The whiskey’s doing wonders for your nerve. “Someone’s got to remind you boys what real shoes look like.”
The edges of his mouth curve upwards, pondering if he’s impressed or amused by your bite. Secretly, you hope it’s both.
“Sugar, those things are a workplace hazard. You’re tellin’ me you can run in ‘em?” Under the dim lights, his eyes twinkle, setting your chest ablaze with something other than the burn of whiskey.
“I don’t need to run anywhere. I’m a New Yorker. We walk at a fast pace in 7-inch heels.” You’re not well-versed in the whole flirting thing, but this has to be what it’s like… right?
That gets a real laugh out of him, head tipping back, and you feel an absurd little spike of pride at having caused that sound.
“That so?” He moves from behind you, leans an elbow against the bar, angling his body toward you. He travels in languid movements, like he’s got nowhere else on earth to be. “And here I thought you Yankees just had bad manners and worse weather.”
“We’re not rude,” you scoff. “We’re blunt. Honest. There’s a difference.”
He takes a step closer, and the scent of him encroaches, your brain turning fuzzy. “Mm. Didn’t realize those were the same thing.”
“Cousins. Close enough.” You shouldn’t have downed that drink. Now you really need another, because you’re certain you won’t make it out of this conversation in one piece.
“Then let me ask you somethin’, since you’re so honest.” His eyes flicker to your parted lips before jumping back to your eyes.
“Go ahead.”
The music comes to a halt, and Carrie Underwood’s voice blasts through the speakers. You’ve never really liked her music all that much, but her misplaced pep talk might be exactly the kind of bad influence you need.
His head tilts in your direction. “You ever met a Southern boy before me?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“So you must not have heard ‘bout Southern charm, sugar. That’s supposed to be our whole thing down here.” His eyes dare you, jaw twitching with glee at the way you press your thighs together.
“I’ve heard that.” Carelessly, you shrug. “Haven’t seen much evidence of it yet.”
“Keep talkin’ like that and I might have to prove it to you,” he says, voice only a little mocking.
Your body can’t help but lean in his direction, like sunflowers facing the light on a warm summer’s day. “I’d like to see you try, cowboy.”
“Mm.” The man hums, studies you for another moment. Then, he straightens and reaches for the brim of his hat. “Well. Where are my manners?”
He pulls the hat off his head, revealing disheveled chestnut hair that’s longer than you anticipated. You want to run your hands through it, know what it feels like to tug on the locks. The gesture is almost comically formal against the backdrop of the bar, but on him, it doesn’t look like a joke at all. He reaches for your hand. His palm is warm, calloused, swallowing yours whole. “Jungkook.” His eyes don’t dare leave your face. “And who do I got the pleasure of speakin’ to?”
A shuddering breath escapes you, legs clenching.
“[Y/N],” you stumble over your words, trying to find your voice.
“Pretty name for a pretty girl. Must be my lucky night,” he grins, and you have to wonder if he says that to every girl who isn’t from here. You stick out like a sore thumb in this bar, but how his eyes track your every movement suggests he doesn’t mind one bit.
“What’re you drinkin’, sugar?” he asks, nodding toward your empty glass. Oh. That. You had almost forgotten it was there, lonely and sad.
“Whiskey.”
His eyebrows lift, mouth curving into disbelief. “You sure about that? You don’t seem like a whiskey girl to me.”
He’s right, which only makes it worse. Turning to the bar, he lifts two fingers. “Stace. You mind makin’ one of those strawberry margaritas for our city girl here?”
Stacey’s already grinning cheek-to-cheek before she even gets close, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Absolutely.”
While Stacey works, you take the opportunity to look at him properly without the panic of being caught. He’s tall, like most cowboys that are written in romance novels. His chest looks like it could double as a wall. A very nice wall you wouldn’t mind being pressed against.
Stacey slides the margarita across the bar, sugar-rimmed and flamingo pink. “Here you go, hon.”
“Add it to my tab,” Jungkook says, not bothering to glance over.
“Of course, Kook.” She tosses you another friendly wink, and the swell of confidence bubbles up inside you.
He nudges the glass another inch toward you with two fingers. It’s a little dominant, something you’re not normally used to. But you follow the order, taking a sip. It’s exactly what you wanted. Cold, candied, the tequila barely whispering under the sugar, and you have to stop yourself from outright moaning at the bar.
“So why you out here, sugar?” he asks, “Don’t seem like a bar for a girl like you.” Jungkook places his hat atop his head again, and you’re almost devastated to see his hair go.
You set the glass down, lick a stray grain of sugar off your bottom lip. His eyes stalk the movement. “I live here now. I work downtown.”
His gaze doesn’t move from your mouth fast enough. “Like a corporate job?”
“Indeed.” As you speak, you notice his pupils are blown so wide there’s hardly any brown left. He hasn’t moved his eyes from your lips. “And I’m assuming you ride horses?”
He barks out a laugh, loud enough that a couple heads turn near the pool table. “A little more than that.” His finger points off toward the back of the bar, toward a broad-shouldered man laughing with the group by the pool table. “That’s Namjoon. Owns a ranch a few miles out. I handle his shit. Y’know, paperwork, horses, bulls, all of it.”
“So you’re a rancher.” You toy with the straw in your glass, and you can’t miss the way he seems entranced by every move you make.
“I’m a lotta things.” His tongue runs over his bottom lip. “Rancher’s one of ‘em.”
“What are the others?”
There’s something lingering in the air. New city, new boy, new life. You’re back to square one, the bottom of the societal food chain. You get to forge your own path here in Austin. For one night—and maybe other nights—you get to be someone else.
“Depends who’s askin’.”
“I am,” you retort coolly.
“Then I guess you’ll find out,” he leans in, lips brushing against the shell of your ear “Eventually.”
The bar noise fades around you, Carrie Underwood’s righteous fury bleeding into another tune, until it’s just the two of you and a few inches of space neither of you seem all that interested in closing yet. “Hmm,” you hum. “Horses and bulls sound dangerous.”
He chuckles. “Knowin’ how to handle somethin’ wild is mostly about knowin’ when to be gentle and when not to be.”
“Is that supposed to be a metaphor?”
“Could be." He shrugs. “But also, I just really like my job, sugar.”
“As do I,” You take another sip, making a point to pucker your lips around the straw.
Jungkook’s gaze is different, far more scandalous than any other man you’ve been with. It almost feels dirty when his eyes scan your face. “Figured someone like you’d be home by now. What is this, your first night out since you got here?”
It is, in fact, your first night out since you got here, and you’d rather die than confirm it.
“I wanted to immerse myself in the culture,” you say instead, lying through your teeth with admirable conviction. “It’s one of my greatest fantasies, actually. Cowgirls, horses, the whole lot of ’em.”
“Oh really?” he smirks. You’re distracted by the strand of hair flopping from beneath his hat, and you wonder if the curtain matches the drapes. “How ‘bout cowboys?”
“I’m still gathering data on them.” You tap the rim of your glass thoughtfully. “Field research, if you will.”
His knee brushes against yours as he leans in. The man has never heard of personal space. “I would love to hear your findings.”
“Well, actually, I think I need to run a few final experiments.”
“Like what?” He tuts, fingers migrating from the bartop to your pant-covered thigh. They linger, not pressing down harshly. “Humor me, sugar.”
A burst of confidence rushes through you. You get one chance, and you really, really, really don’t want to make the same mistakes again. Reaching up, you pluck the hat right off his head.
It’s heavier than you expect, but soft in your grasp. Warm, like it’s been sitting against him long enough to steal some of his body heat for itself. You settle it on your own head, tipping it back so it doesn’t slide down over your eyes. You must look ridiculous, blazer and silk blouse under a cowboy hat that’s seen ranch work.
But how he’s looking at you, you might as well be wearing nothing at all.
Jungkook’s jaw goes taut, gaze darkens, and the fingers placed on your thigh flex before relaxing.
“Well, sugar.” His voice drops several octaves, and the whole bar spins on its axis until you nearly topple over. “If you’re gonna wear my hat, you know what they say?”
Your response is no louder than a whisper. “What?”
Smirking, he leans in until his breath ghosts your ear.
“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.”
Oh god.
Your eyes flicker down to his lips, then his captivating eyes, and he follows suit. If he really wanted to, he could probably kiss you right now, could take you right on the bartop and you’d let him. The sugar from the margarita and the whiskey swirls in your stomach, mixing with butterflies you haven’t felt in years. There are moles scattered across his face, a few near his lip and some under his cheek, and you think that you could connect them into a constellation if you had a pen and several more drinks.
But then he steps back, and tips two fingers toward the brim of the hat that’s no longer on his head.
“I’ll see you ‘round, sugar.”
He strolls off toward his friends, and you blink into the void, hat heftier on your head than when you first put it on.
God help you, you really want that ride.
Frankly, this is the most desperate thing you’ve ever done.
That’s really saying something, considering one time, you sprinted after a situationship four blocks down Fifth Avenue in four inch heels, caught your foot on a crack in the sidewalk, and introduced your face to the concrete in front of a hot dog stand. Or, there’s also the time you showed up to a first date a week early, realized halfway through appetizers that something felt off, checked your phone, and had to sit alone with a bread basket before leaving.
All of that pales in comparison when you realize you’re sitting at the same bar, in your corporate outfit, awaiting a man who you may never lay eyes on again.
You take a nervous sip of your strawberry margarita, the periphery of your eyes doing more work than usual. Coyote’s is quieter tonight, a few stragglers nursing drinks at tables, and playing something slow on the jukebox. No pool game in the back, no men in cowboy hats, no broad shoulders filling out a black button-down.
You’ve probably made a colossal mistake.
“Need a refill on the marg?” Stacey circles back after tending to some older men at the end of the bar, brows raised.
“Nah, I’m okay,” you sigh. “Thanks though.”
Slowly, Stacey looks around the bar, stares at the drunk men at the end of the bar, and decides you’re more worth her time. She places both elbows on the bartop and leans in. “You lookin’ for someone special, hon?”
“No!” you yelp, practically leaping out of your stool in dissent. “Absolutely not. I just—don’t even know anyone here. I just like the margaritas.”
“Uhu,” Stacey nods, something in her eyes twinkling.
“I really do. You make a mean marg.”
“Sure you do,” she toothily grins. Her eyes pan over your outfit, a similar vibe to the one you wore yesterday to work. Today, you’re wearing a silk blouse and a pencil skirt that jugs your curves. “You know, most people take their work clothes off before they come out for a drink.”
“Well, I came straight from the office.” You square your shoulders, puff out your chest as though you have something to prove.
“Two nights in a row?”
“I’m testing out the bars in the city,” you quip.
“Mhm.” She doesn’t believe a single word coming out of your mouth, and she’s not even trying to hide it. “What is it you do, exactly?”
“Marketing director. I just started.” You take a sip of your cocktail to bide time as Stacey widens her eyes in shock.
“No kidding.” Her eyebrows lift. “What brought you all the way out to Austin? You don’t exactly scream Texas, no offense.”
“None taken,” you giggle. You’re not entirely sure how your silk blouse and skirt could come off as anything but condescending, uppity New Yorker. “Believe it or not, an ex-boyfriend who doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants.”
Stacey’s pupils blow up, and she throws her head back to cackle, loud enough that one of the older men down the bar glances over. “Oh, honey,” she says, reaching for the cocktail shaker without seeming to realize she’s doing it. “You’re gonna have to give me more than that.”
“Well,” you swallow, exhale a shaky breath. And then you say, keeping your eyes on nothing but your near-empty glass, “My boyfriend of three years was always upset I was busy at work. He said I cared too much about it, but not about him. I thought I was doing a good job at dividing my time equally… but I guess not. Found him in bed with a girl on a Wednesday night in our apartment we shared.”
Your mouth is so dry your tongue sticks to the roof. Retelling the story allows you to replay the night like a horror movie film outtake reel. And everytime, you ask yourself, how could you be so stupid? So naive? So nonchalant?
Stacey slides a fresh margarita across the bar. “Please tell me you at least threw something.”
“Nope. Just stood in the doorway, said his name, turned around and left.” Even now, it’s as clear as day; you marched out, heart drumming in your chest as you fled down the stairs of your building, not even bothering to listen if he even said your name or chased after you. It didn’t matter either way, because he never once tried to beg for you back.
He let you go.
“Men,” Stacey snorts, shaking her head. “Wouldn’t know a good thing if it slapped them ‘round the head.”
“Men,” you agree.
Sometimes, you can’t help but blame yourself, and wonder if it’s less about men, and more about your inability to care about anything but your career growth.
“You know what your problem is?” she says, pointing at you. "You’ve been datin' the wrong kind of man. All that New York finance guy, blazer-wearing, artisanal-coffee-drinking bullshit. What you need is a little Southern charm.”
“Oh really?” You have to hide the smile that threatens to bloom on your face.
“I’m just sayin’ what the people are thinkin’.”
“No one, especially me, is thinking that.” Except you are. More precisely, of one that loaned you his hat and never claimed it back.
“It’s what I’m thinking," she says, wiping down the bar. "You ever even dated someone who works with their hands? Outdoors?”
You open your mouth to argue and realize you don't have a rebuttal for that. Every man you’ve ever dated has had some stuffy job, like finance or law, which is somehow the most depressing thing that’s popped into your head all week.
“I just need to get back on my feet,” you say instead. “New city, new job, new start. I’m not looking for anything.”
“Sure, sure.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll pretend I believe ya.”
You slump forward on the bar. “I just need to focus on myself for a while. Get settled. Figure out what I actually want without someone else’s opinion clouding everything.”
“Healthy, but you’re no fun,” she pouts, flinging the rag over her shoulder. “Look hun, your ex sounds like a real piece of shit. But you deserve way better than that.”
“Yeah,” you swallow past the lump in your throat. “I’m starting to think so too.”
Stacey wipes her hands on the towel over her shoulder, turning back to you. “A fresh start in Austin, Texas. You picked a hell of a place for it.”
“Yeah…” Your eyes avert around the shoddy bar. You try not to make eye contact with the coyote head. “It’s a lot.”
“You’ll love it. Give it a month.”
“You think?”
“Ella Langley didn’t write Choosin’ Texas ‘bout us just for shits n giggles,” she chuckles. “People come here thinking it’s temporary and then they wake up one day and they’ve got boots and a favorite two-step song.”
A shiver runs down your spine. “Good god.”
“That’s just Texas, hon.”
You laugh, and she looks awfully pleased with herself. The two men down the bar gesture her over, and her eyes flick over your shoulder before a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips.
“Southern charm might be closer than you think,” she murmurs, and then saunters off to her customers.
Shaking your head, you take a sip of the margarita, and you swear it’s stronger than your last. Stacey clearly plans on fucking you over.
“Didn’t think lightning struck the same place twice. Guess I was wrong, sugar.”
The hair on the back of your neck stands tall. Anxiety and desire blend in your stomach until the two become indecipherable.
The sip of your margarita stalls its path down your throat, making a home, and an embarrassing croak exits your mouth. Your eyes water, one hand firmly placed on the bar, looking like one of those warning ads for choking customers.
A strong hand lands between your shoulder blades. Pats once, twice, with an ease that makes your heart rate kick up a notch.
“Easy there. Bar’s not the place to go out.” You can hear the sarcasm in his tone, the smirk that’s probably curled upon his pink lips.
“I’m fine,” you wheeze.
“Uhu.” He takes the stools beside you, coming into plain view. You;re not sure what you expected him to look like this evening, but somehow, he looks even more delectable than last time. He’s sporting a new cowboy hat, a black one with white detailing that matches his jeans and top. Once he settles, he signals to Stacey for a drink with two fingers. “Surprised this place didn’t scare ya away after the first time.”
You square your shoulders, wiping the final tears from your eyes. “New Yorkers are resilient.”
“Hmm,” he mindlessly hums, letting his eyes drag up and down your figure, a clear assessment that has your thighs clenching to hide the arousal pooling in your panties. “Nice to see you again, by the way.”
There’s a smudge of something on his forearm, below the edge of his tattoos. Dirt, maybe, or grease. You wonder if he came straight from work, or errands, or whatever it is Jungkook does with his day besides looking like a wet dream.
“Is corporate attire all you own, sugar?” He tosses bills on the table as Stacey slides a cold beer toward him. You do your best to ignore her pointed smirk.
“Are boots and hats all you wear?” you retort.
He laughs and leans an elbow on the bar, angling toward you the same way he had last time, almost as if his body naturally points in your direction. As you gaze into his brown irises, you can’t stop thinking, can’t slow the waterfall of thoughts gliding down your brain. You’re not from here, don’t dress like anyone in this bar, don’t know the words to a single song on that jukebox, and can’t two-step to save your life. There are women in this city right now who are objectively better suited for him. Your brain implodes trying to understand his interest in you.
“Can I ask you something?” you say.
“Go ‘head.” He takes a swig of his beer, lips shiny from the liquid.
“Why are you over here?”
He deadpans. “Come again?”
“I mean…” Vaguely, you gesture around the room, at the bar that’s filling up with women laughing near the jukebox. “You could be anywhere in this bar right now. Talking to anyone. So why are you sitting here talking to me?”
A flash of expressions shift across his face. “You think you’re not worth talking to?”
“Never said that.”
“Implied it,” he grins. He pauses, traces the condensation on his beer bottle. “Maybe I’m intrigued.”
A feeble laugh escapes you, but he doesn’t mirror the action. Oh. He’s not joking. “For the record, I don’t know how to ride a horse.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “You’re real terrible. Don’t know why I bother.”
“I am serious. I have no plans on learning either.”
He holds your gaze for a moment. “Never asked you to get on one, sugar.” His eyes rake over your face as if he’s searching for more, and finally, he pushes on, voice steady. “I’m over here because I wanted to be. That a problem?”
It’s an offer as much as it is an out. If you told him it was a problem, you’re certain he’d leave you alone, never talk to you again. But you really, really don’t want that.
“Not at all.”
Jungkook nods in finality and takes a pull of his bar. Silence follows, but it’s not uncomfortable.
“Can I ask you something now?” he says.
“Fair’s fair.”
“You don’t got someone back in New York, right?”
“No,” you sigh. “Not anymore, at least.”
His eyebrows scrunch together. “He let you go?”
“Kind of.” You don’t really feel like elaborating, and he lets it go, but you don’t miss the way his jaw clenches, there and gone in a breath.
“His loss.”
“What about you?” you wonder. “You’ve got to have someone, or something.”
“Ain’t got a girl,” he shrugs. His body slants toward you so that your knees brush. Your cheeks warm at the contact, but he doesn’t move away.
“No?” Your margarita is watered down and vile now, but you take a sip anyway.
“Ranch takes up most of my time. Sun up to sundown, most days. Not a lot of room left over for much else.”
“Doesn’t that get lonely?” you ask.
He considers it, tilts the neck of his beer bottle between two fingers. “Sometimes… but it’s a good life. I don’t need a lot. Just the ranch and the right company, every now and then.”
His pupils are blown so wide you can’t spot any brown in them. He’s staring at your parted lips. “I could probably settle for the right girl. A good girl. Smart, funny, prettiest in the damn room.”
You think he’s talking about you. He must be. It might be wishful thinking, but just maybe, just this time…
“That’s a very specific type,” you retort.
“Gettin’ more specific by the minute.” With that, he takes a swig of his beer, eyes never leaving yours.
You pick up your own drink, taking a long sip that burns your esophagus. “Stacey made this too strong,” you awkwardly laugh. It feels like someone turned the temperature up on the thermostat by ten degrees, shut all the fans off.
“Stace always does,” Jungkook shrugs.
When he sets his beer down, you can calculate how little space exists between his stool and you. Mere centimeters divide the two of you, and you can soak up his scent, a woodsy musk. “If you’re up for it, I’d love to show you the ranch sometime. Horses get real excited around pretty girls. Scout’s honor.” He holds up two fingers.
“You were a boy scout?” you laugh.
“Three weeks in the 4th grade. Got kicked out for letting the ponies loose at the state fair though,” he shrugs. “In my defense, they looked very unhappy.”
He watches, mystified, as you laugh again. “I don’t know if the ranch is for me.”
“It’s just horse, open land, some fresh air. Nothing like what you’re used to, I’d imagine.”
“Exactly,” you knowingly smile. “All we have is smog, overpriced coffee, and tall buildings.”
“Can’t have that.” Disapprovingly, he shakes his head. “Come out to the ranch. I’ll make you coffee that costs nothing and tastes better than anything you’ve had in your life.”
“Bold claim, cowboy,” you tease.
“Think you can tell I always get what I want, sugar,” he retorts. You open your mouth to reply with something witty, but a tingle, pins and needles, lands on your thigh, and when you look down you see Jungkook’s veiny hand resting. Fingers splayed wide, palm radiating heat through the thin fabric of your slacks.
“How many horses do you have on the ranch?” Your voice has gone airy.
“Seven right about now. We lost one last spring, and Joon took it hard.” His hand doesn’t waver. Instead, his thumb moves, carelessly tracing patterns on your pants.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” you mumble, staring daggers into how large his hand is compared to the rest of you.
“It’s the nature of it. You get attached. Hard not to.”
“Do you…?” you pause, swallow thickly until your tone gets warbly. “Get attached?”
The double entendre isn’t lost on him. “I do.”
You are going to need Stacey to pour a glass of ice water directly over your head. His thumb traces another path up the inside of your thigh. Your mouth dries up like the Sahara desert in late August.
You want to be someone who leans into this. Want to be the girl from night one, the one with liquid courage and reckless new-city energy. You want to tilt toward him and let whatever this is become whatever it wants to be. But underneath it, a quieter voice resides within you.
The one that remembers thinking everything was fine right up until it wasn’t.
“I don’t know if I’m..” you start, then press your lips together. He taps your thigh twice, urging you on. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be attached yet.”
Automatically, your body is bracing for impact, like he’ll toss you on the side of the road for something shiner, something ready.
But Jungook’s expression does not falter. He finishes the last of his beer and sets the bottle down, rising from the stool to his full height. “When you’re ready, sugar,” he reaches out, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “you know where to find me.”
For most, life isn’t sunshine and rainbows.
And it’s not like one wakes up and the color has drained from everything overnight. It’s small increments, tiny ones, that add up, and they’re unrecognizable until you can’t remember the last time you did something for yourself. You used to believe in love the way meteorologists believed in weather—inevitable acts of nature that happened to everyone sooner than later, in its own time, in its own particular way. You believed that people who found each other meant to find each other.
But just like weather, the clouds part and things unravel in messy ways. The couple in your freshman dorm who were so in love you deemed it aggressive, who broke up over Thanksgiving and couldn’t look at each other in the dining hall after. Your college roommate, whose boyfriend of four years sat her down on a Sunday morning and said I just don't think I’m in love with you anymore. She sat very still for a long time after she told you, and you thought I will never let that be me.
But then it was you, it was your own demented heart, it was your own boyfriend who cheated on you, and you suddenly didn’t know which ordinary Tuesday was the last good one.
You still don’t know if there was a last good one at all.
“You gonna liquidate my bar tonight, hon?”
Stacey’s shrill voice cuts through your train of thought, and you blink back into the bar. The neon sign flickers above the bar, and the usual horny men sitting down the bar tip their hats at you. A shudder of disgust travels through you. She’s leaning on the bar in front of you, brow arched, nodding at the margarita you’ve been nursing for the better part of an hour, contemplating the nuances of life.
“Perhaps.”
She refills your water glass without asking and props her chin in her hand. “You know damn well not to do all that thinkin’ round my bar. Tell me what’s wrong, I might be able to help.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” you sigh, playing with the straw wrapper. You slump against the bar, the fatigue of your mind raving catching up to you.
“I ain’t Sherlock but I can tell something’s up, sweetie.”
You could deny it one more time, but you think Stacey will dropkick you out of the bar and leave you without any more alcoholic beverages.
For a week, you’ve avoided this very bar. Thus, you haven’t run into Jungkook in a week. It was on purpose, simply because you couldn’t give him the hope that you were ready by running into him again. But bars that you felt comfortable being alone at were far and few between, and you knew Stacey would be waiting for you.
It’s been seven days of you daydreaming of walking into this bar and scanning the back corner by the pool table before you’ve even found a stool, of telling yourself you’re not looking while very obviously looking, and telling him you’re ready for whatever he wants to offer. And at the very least, give it a shot.
One week feels longer than it should for a man you’ve spoken to twice. You don’t know his middle name. You don't know his family lore or his favorite pair of boots or whether he’s ever read a book for pleasure or what he sounds like when he’s just had a bad day.
But you do know one thing: he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room, like he was ready to lean over the bar and devour you whole.
No one’s looked at you like that in a long time.
“Fine,” Stacey squints her eyes into evil little slits. “If you won’t talk I will. You’ve looked at that door eleven times since you sat down, and I’ve got a fresh margarita with your name on it, and sometimes thinkin’ about nothing looks a whole lot like thinkin’ about something… or someone.”
A massive gulp of your margarita slithers down your throat. Then another, and another, until you set it down and peer at Stacey with drunk goggles. Her jaw is set in a no-nonsense way, and you recognize how she’s only ever seen you at your most pathetic across this bartop.
What’s one more time to add to the tally?
“Am I stupid for not hooking up with Jungkook?”
Stacey’s face remains stone cold. She reaches for the tequila. It’s not your usual brand, a more expensive one you haven’t touched since New York.
“The thing is, I wanted to.” Stacey should really file a restraining order against you for sharing your deepest, darkest thoughts with her under the influence of one very strong margarita. “I really wanted to. He’s very attractive. And he’s not how I expected him to be, like a bimbo cowboy.”
Stacey says nothing. Continues making the margarita, pouring strawberry puree into the shaker.
“And it’s not even, it’s not like I’m opposed to it. I am a grown woman. I know how sex works. I’ve had one night stands before, and they’ve generally been fine, sometimes better than fine, and Jungkook looks like he would be better than fine, which is part of the problem too.”
Her hair flips wildly as she mixes the shaker behind her shoulder. You barrel on, “I don't know if I’m actually not ready or if I’m just scared, and I don’t know how to tell the difference anymore between self-preservation and self-sabotage. Daniel made me feel like an idiot.”
You prop your chin in your palm. “Was it my body? My personality? Was it the way I talked too much at dinner parties or the fact that I can’t fall asleep without the TV on or just, like, was I boring? Was I just boring to him? Am I even hot?”
A glass filled with pink liquid slams in front of you, dropping with a decisive thunk, sugar on the rim.
“Drink.”
Your nose scrunches up in disgust as the smell of tequila wafts into your nostrils. Stacey rolls her eyes, smacking your arm playfully, and you fold under zero pressure.
“Sweetheart, even in that god-awful collared shirt, I can see you’ve got a hell of a body on you. I would throw you down on that pool table and find out for myself if I swung that way,” she nonchalantly shrugs, and it takes all your might not to spit out your drink.
“Stacey,” you scold.
“Nuh-uh,” she tuts, “You’re stunning, darlin’. You are not the problem. You were never the problem. The problem is a man who ain’t know what he had and traded it in for a girl who’s probably not even half of you. That’s his cross to bear, not yours.”
When you sip the margarita, the tart taste of strawberries floods your tastebuds. Stacey has ruined every margarita you will ever have anywhere else for the rest of your natural life.
She raises an eyebrow. “What are you scared of with Jungkook, specifically? Ol’ Kook has been around the block, but he ain’t dangerous.”
“Well… I’m more scared that it’ll be good.”
It even sounds ridiculous leaving your mouth. You know it’s idiotic to place all of your emotional baggage on a cowboy who wants to fuck you.
“I’m scared it’ll be good. That he’ll be… that it’ll be good, and I’ll want more of it, and wanting more of it means having something to lose again, and I just,” you stifle a humorless laugh. “I just got here. I just put my furniture in an apartment I’ve never lived in, in a city I don’t know yet, in a state I didn’t grow up in.”
Stacey purses her lips in the way your mom usually does when you know you’re being irrational. “I’ve worked at this bar for nine years. I’ve watched a lot of people sit on that stool and talk themselves out of things, and not one of them has ever come back and said I’m so glad I stayed scared.”
“Whatever.” You wave your hand in the air dismissively. “I don’t even know why I’m getting all worked up over this. He probably doesn’t even think about me. Probably just another girl on his list to bother when he’s drunk.”
Stacey deadpans, expression souring. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
“Uh, I don’t think so.” Although, after two of her strong margaritas, you might be.
Her dish rag comes flying across the bartop, smacking you straight in the arm, leaving a vibrating pain in your arm. “Ouch!---”
She flings it again, leaving another welt on your skin. “Stacey, what the fuck—”
One more on the other arm to even the score out. “Alright, enough with the smacking, I’m a customer—”
“You’re my charity case and you’ll take what you can get.” She tucks the rag back into her apron. “That man has come into this bar every single night for the past week lookin’ for you, only to take one look around, find me instead, and leave lookin’ like somebody canceled Christmas. I’m insulted.”
Before you can even roll your eyes, the rag comes flying out of her pocket once more, aimed at your arm.
“I said enough—”
“Then don’t roll your eyes at me.”
“I didn’t even—”
“Kook doesn’t care about girls,” Stacey continues. “Never has. He’s got his ranch and his boys and that’s the full extent of his social calendar. He doesn’t go out of his way to chase people.”
Then, as almost an afterthought, she adds, “I ain’t never seen him look at someone the way he looks at you in those little work outfits.”
Under wishful thinking and margarita-induced delusion, you have been trying to ignore the truth of her words. Even as you think about that first night when you met him, you remember it as the most natural thing in the world. Neither of you seemed to be searching for anything other than a drink in the bar. But of all the connections people make in this world, you two stumbled upon each other.
Jungkook could’ve kissed you that night, you think. You probably would’ve let him. But then he let you have the out, left you sitting there with his hat on your head, the hat that sits on your windowsill now as a reminder of your almost.
Stacey’s expression resembles compassion, eyes softening as she watches the gears turn in your head. “Can I tell you something without you waving your hand at me again?”
“Probably not, but go ahead.”
“He did ask me about you the other day,” she says. “Asked if I’d seen you and if you were doing alright. Last night, you two just missed each other. He sat right where you’re sitting now for twenty minutes nursing one beer before he gave up and left. Kook nurses a beer for nobody.”
“He doesn’t even know me,” you snort, gathering the condensation of your watered-down drink.
“He knows what kind of drink you like. For some men, that’s further along than most.”
And that’s a lot more than you plan on giving to anyone else but him.
“Stacey, can I ask you something else?”
“‘Course, darlin’. Anything for you.”
You know what to do. It’s as clear as the sun after a summer storm.
“What do cowgirls wear?”
Oh god.
Oh god.
Who knew cowboy boots were this tight around the calves? The white fabric digs into your skin, leaving imprints you’re sure will never erase. The hem of your ridiculously short denim shorts rise up your ass, practically digging into your thong. Before you left your apartment, you made a promise to yourself—one you’re very close to breaking—that you won’t pull those shorts down.
This get-up can’t possibly be comfortable, but never mind what you think. It’s not about you or your outfit choices tonight.
This was not what you had in mind when you asked Stacey what cowgirls wear. What you had in mind was something tasteful. What Stacey had couriered to your apartment via her cousin Deanna, who runs a boutique off Fifth Street, was a white lace top cropped to somewhere just above your navel, distressed denim shorts, and boots the color of fresh cream that zip up the side and are currently engaged in warfare with your calves and ankles.
You felt like a prize cow up for auction. A very well-dressed prize cow, but one nonetheless.
You swing the door open to Coyote’s. It’s rowdier on a Friday night. The place is packed shoulder to shoulder, girls in outfits like yours and boys in their finest everything, hats and buckles and boots, the jukebox fighting to be heard over the noise of two dozen conversations happening at once. You push your way through the packed space, fighting your way to the bar where Stacey and her counterpart are furiously making drinks.
God, these shorts are really tight up your ass.
Her hair whips around as she tries to tend to five people at once. You don’t dare try to get her attention on a busy night like this. But as if she can sense your presence, she turns around, and the shaker nearly flies out of her hand. “Good god almighty.” Her eyes grow to the size of saucers, then lets out a whistle that anyone can hear above the music. “Atta girl!”
She slaps the counter with one palm, then grabs her colleague by the sleeve without looking at him. “Pete. Pete, turn ‘round.”
The aforementioned man turns around, mimicking Stacey’s expression. “Well. Welcome to Texas, ma’am.”
You smile politely. “Thank you, Pete.”
“Told ya,” Stacey squeals, reaching for the tequila, pointing at you like she’s won first place at an arcade. “Told you. Did I not tell you?”
“You told me.”
“What’d I tell ya?”
Your brows furrow, racking your brain as you try to remember words, which for your sake, were many. “That I had a hell of a body and you’d throw me down on the pool table—”
“No!” she rolls her eyes. “That you’d clean up nice,”
She shoots Pete a look that makes him stop ogling your tits and find the other end of the bar very interesting. She starts on your margarita, and you settle onto your stool and try not to let your eyes do the thing they want to do, which is scan the back corner by the pool table.
Three older men are nursing beers at the far end, next to a couple sharing a basket of fries. A row of women line the jukebox, scanning the room in hopes of finding their cowboy for the night. Somehow, you relate to them now more than ever.
“Ain’t no way a pretty girl like you is all alone tonight.”
A man’s voice appears behind your left shoulder… and it’s completely and utterly the wrong fucking voice. Not the right timbre, or warmth, or scent underneath it that makes you want to lean into it.
Said man sidles up beside you, and you peer up at him. All things considered, he’s not unattractive. Brown hair, good jaw, a Miller Lite in one hand and a handsome smile that’s probably worked on most people. He tips his hat and leans against the bar. “Colin,” he offers.
“Nice to meet you. [Y/N].” You give him your hand to shake, and he does so politely.
“You new ‘round here?” His flirting is more than apparent.
“That obvious?”
“Little bit.” He grins. In a life where you hadn’t spent the last two weeks being dismantled by a man with a lip ring and a ranch, you might have smiled back with intention. “Can I get you a drink?”
“She’s got one.”
Stacey slams the margarita down on the bartop with enough force to make the sugar on the rim jump, and looks at Colin with an implacable expression. “Move it Colin. This one’s Kook’s girl.”
Colin’s hands defensively come up, the universal gesture of a man who knows what hills are and are not worth dying on. “My bad. Have a good night, ma’am.”
“Sorry about her,” you call after his retreat. Colin was perfectly nice and none of this is his fault.
“Don’t you dare apologize to him,” Stacey scolds. “You’ll be fending ‘em off all night with that outfit. I hope you prepared.”
You gaze down at yourself, and a flicker of doubt moves through you. “I don’t look dumb, do I? Be honest. I can handle it.”
“Sweetheart, the only person in this bar who’s gonna think you look dumb is you.”
Of their own accord, your eyes drift around the bar again.
Stacey takes the time to add, “And Jungkook, is definitely not going to think you look dumb.”
You fight the urge to roll your eyes for the nth time since you’ve met her.
“Move along,” Stacey says, turning back to her next customer, waving you off with the dish rag, “Go on. I’ve got work to do.”
“I haven’t seen you care about a work since the day I met you—”
“Scram, kid.”
You peel your hand off the bar like a kid being dropped off on the first day of school, a pit of reluctance settling in your stomach.
Almost immediately, the attention begins. A few men tip their hats at you, while another does a double take while aggressively elbowing his friend in the ribs. Someone lets out a low whistle that you feel in your spine, and you nod politely, keep moving.
It’s profoundly strange. Sure, you can recognize you’re a pretty girl. But in New York, you were invisible, which is to say completely unless someone wanted something from you. Here, people look at you like you’re someone they want to be near, no matter what they can get from you. You just wish it was one specific person doing the looking.
Migrating towards the back, you push through clusters of people, squeezing through gaps in the crowd. The women are less forgiving than the men. Some eye your outfit, then look away in disgust.
Eventually, you find a sliver of wall near the back and stand near it, not on it, margarita held tight to your chest. From here, you can see the layout of the bar. The dance floor, the jukebox, bodies packed between you and the exit. Groups of men cluster together like men do at bars.
“Kook! Over here, man!”
Your eyes find the source before your brain catches up. A blonde, fit man weasels through the crowd, waving down the one person you’ve been hoping to see.
There’s no slow motion, no cinematic lighting change, no romantic song swelling up from the jukebox at the precise moment. People around him part without noticing they’re doing it, a gap opening up like the bar itself is making room for Jungkook’s grand entrance.
Your stomach drops through the floor. Butterflies that you want to convince yourself are just anxiety or tequila detonate all at once, wings beating against your ribs so feverishly you press your hand flat to your chest to hold it all in.
This is stupid, you think. This is so stupid. He’s just a man.
He reaches his friend, and you can see him under the dim lights. Jungkook’s in a black jean jacket, wife beater underneath, black hat adorned on top of his head. He’s smiling, saying something, unaware of you pressed against this wall.
Two women near the jukebox drop their voices, heads together as they giggle. A girl in red boots nudges her friend while eyeing him.
Fuck. You hadn’t once stopped to think about all the competition you might have.
You wonder how many girls he’s offered a ride, or to see his ranch.
His eyes move across the bar, and on instinct, your spine straightens. He seems to scan the bar, eyes moving through the crowd. Past the jukebox, the dance floor, past the bar.
And then, after what feels like eons, his eyes land on you.
The noise of the bar goes fuzzy around the edges, heart leaping into your throat as you hold his gaze. His eyes drag down the length of your body, pausing at the sliver of your waist. He continues on, past the shorts and down to the boots that hug your feet. From meters away, you watch his jaw set and gaze darken.
Jungkook tips his hat, and you raise your glass.
Turning to the friend beside him, he whispers something brief into his ear. The friend turns to look at you then swivels back to Jungkook to shove him in your direction.
Electricity lights behind your sternum and radiates outward, down your arms, into your fingertips where they’re wrapped around the cold glass, and you think Carrie Underwood was right. Those damn cowboy casanovas.
He moves through the crowd in your direction, eyes unwavering from yours. His musky, tree-like scent hits you first. Up close, the black jean jacket sits across his broad shoulders. His lips are curled into a sinister smirk that would scare you if you didn’t find him unbelievably attractive.
“Howdy, cowboy,” you grin up at him.
Jungkook cocks his head. His hand comes out, two nimble fingers catching the hem of your lace top. Your heart leaps clean out of your chest and goes somewhere it can’t be retrieved from. “This all for me, sugar?”
“Don’t get too cocky.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I’ll try not to.” He doesn’t bother pretending he’s not ogling you.
“Trying to get in touch with my Texan roots, y’know?” you joke, playing with the straw in what you hope is flirtatiously.
“Yeah? C’mon then.” He holds his hand out, chin tilting up. “Give me a twirl, sugar.”
With a smile, you place your hand in his and turn, jutting your hip out. You rotate under the light and when you come back to face him, his eyes have darkened enough that you can hardly see the brown in them.
He politely whistles, still holding your hand but bringing it down. “Well. If I knew Texas was gonna do that to a city girl, I’d have started recruitin’ from New York a long time ago.”
“You scouting for others?”
“Never,” he chuckles. He braces one hand against the wall beside your head. “You know, I’ve had a cowgirl fantasy or two as well.”
“Have you?”
“Mhm. Used to think it was about the boots." His eyes drop to your shorts, the way your hips hug the fabric. “Think I might’ve been wrong about that.”
“What’s it about then?”
“The girl wearing ‘em.”
“Scout’s honor?” you tease, and the smile that curls upon his lips sets your insides on fire.
“Always,” he salutes. “I was getting worried I wouldn’t see you ‘round here no more.”
From here, you can really see the height difference between you two, the way he towers over you. “I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
“Is this a goodbye, sugar? Don’t break my heart,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest.
Involuntarily, you grin. “I wanted to make sure when I came back here, I knew what I wanted.”
For a moment, he’s quiet, expression shifting. His fingers are still intertwined with yours, and his thumb rubs circles on your knuckles. “And now what do you want?”
“Hi, Kook.”
It’s one of the girls you spotted earlier. She’s batting her eyes like she’s got a speck of dust in it, and is eyeing Jungkook in a way that makes her intention crystal clear.
“Hey.” Jungkook glances at her for a second, maybe two, before his gaze is back on you.
“I wanted to come over and say hi. Know it’s been a while since we last saw each other,” she purrs, ignoring your daggered eyes.
“I guess,” he shrugs, a protective finger looping through the belt holes in your shorts to pull you an inch further into him. Suddenly, you feel painfully inadequate. She’s actually trying to dissuade him to pick her instead of you.
“Remember when we spent that night under the stars last month? Just you, I, and a bottle of Jack—”
She shifts her weight onto her other foot, and she casts a furtive glance at you as if to question your presence. You’re questioning your existence right about now too.
“Hm.” He interrupts, tucks a strand of your hair behind your ears. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
Her lips twist as though she’s just bit into a lemon. Then she sends a harrowing look in your direction, and you’re reminded that you’re the reason he won’t give her the time of day. You don’t really give a shit, though.
“Oh. Alright, then. Have a good rest of your night.” Her tone is tinged with hurt as she turns on the heel of her boots and flocks back to her group of girls, all of whom are busy throwing dirty looks at you.
Jungkook nods, but he doesn’t pay much mind. His dark eyes are still fixed on your face, thumb still looped through the hole.
“That wasn’t very nice,” you say into your drink.
“You want me to be nice to her?” he coyly smiles.
You think you’d rather lose all your limbs in a fire.
You shrug in silence. Jungkook tilts your jaw up to meet his eyes. “You were about to say something before.”
“Was I?”
“Before we were interrupted,” he retorts, settling his hand in your jean pocket.
“Oh.” Finding the words doesn’t come easy, even if you know exactly what you want to say. Instead, you settle on, “Did you drive here?”
“‘Course, sugar.”
“Well… you wanna get out of here?”
Amusement crosses his face. “Damn right I do.”
He plants a warm hand at the small of your back, guiding you toward the door. You drop your half-drunken margarita on a nearby table. As you let yourself be steered by him, there’s a smug smile glued to your face, especially when you catch the eyes and whispers of girls. There’s something about this city, this man, that makes you confident in yourself.
Jungkook parked his car in the back of the filled lot. From there, the noise dissipates into nothingness, nothing but the sound of bugs chirping and cars in the distance on I-40. Out here, you can forget about your old life.
“Earlier, you asked what I wanted.”
“I did, sugar.” He’s loitering with his keys in his pocket, a smirk evident on his lips as he leans against the driver’s door of his pickup truck.
You gnaw at your lower lip. “I think I want to repay my debts to you.”
“Really?” In the dark of the night, you can hardly make out his obsidian eyes, the shadows on his face settling. “How do ya plan on doing that?”
“Think I owe you that ride still.”
His lips come crashing down onto yours, large hands weaving into your hair, tugging on it. You unabashedly moan into his mouth as he tugs you further into him, like he wants you to live in his skin. Your hand lands on his chest, and you feel the broad muscle under his tank, the rapid flutter of his heart. His tongue licks into your mouth, sloppy and full of desire, and you don’t even care about how your whimpers sound against him. It’s all so sudden your body takes a moment to find its rhythm, but when you do, you realize how soft his lips are, how such a good fucking kisser he is. You probably shouldn’t have expected anything less from the Austin's communal mattress, but that’s neither here nor there.
The hand once pressed against your back wanders down, down until he’s cupping your ass firmly. He kneads the skin, and he groans into your mouth, lips hot and wet against your own. Austin, Texas is known for its sweltering heat, but with Jungkook’s body against yours, the brisk, night air can’t even cool you down.
His lips trail off your lips, pressing against your cheek, and you feel the cold metal of his piercing against your burning skin. “You look so pretty in this outfit, sugar.”
Your body combusts under his weight and words. His tongue slides back into your mouth, hand moving from your ass to your neck where he gently clutches around it. “Wore it for you,” you whisper between kisses.
“Hm.” he pecks your lips once more. “I was hoping so. Must be real lucky to be the first cowboy to have you.”
“And the last,” you say before leaning back in for another messy kiss, drunk off the way he tastes, more than any alcohol could ever give you.
His hands come down to cradle the back of your thighs, and before you can protest, he’s lifting you, pressing your back against the door of his truck. Gasping, your hands scramble for purchase around his neck, thighs snugly hugging his waist. Jungkook’s lips press against your neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses wherever he can. You want all of him, more of him, by any means you can get it. Your fingers entangle in his dark locks, tugging at the nape. He groans, “F-fuck, we need to get in the car, sugar.”
“Mhm, take me there, then,” Your smile is dopey as he carries you around to the passenger side, opening the door and sitting down so he can plop you directly onto his lap. His thighs are firm muscle beneath you. He slams the door shut, lips finding yours once more. Your knees cage him in, and he digs his fingers into your flesh. You can hardly keep up with the movement of his tongue, can’t really do anything but open your mouth and take whatever he gives you.
For once, you don’t care about anyone seeing you, or what anyone might think. Luckily, the lot is empty, save for people who are far more worried about entering the bar than leaving, or whatever you’re doing in this vehicle.
“Lift your hips up for me, doll,” he mutters, lips hardly breaking from yours, fingers deftly unbuttoning your shorts. You do as he says, allowing him access. He slides your shorts down your legs, depositing them on the floor of his truck. Your knees feel like jelly, quivering with anticipation as he tugs your underwear off next. Desperately, you fall back into his lap, clit pressed against his jeans for as much friction as possible.
Beneath you, you can feel his hard length poking through his jeans, and your cheeks warm up at the thought of him getting hard from just some kissing. You gently test the waters, hips rolling into his crotch. He grunts, hands steadying your movements. “Fuck, sugar, I won’t last long if you plan on doing that.”
“Who says I want you to last long?” you whisper, lips tracing the shell of his ear. And then he’s grabbing you by your jaw and pulling you in, in, in, kissing you like he wants to swallow your essence entirely. He pulls the straps of your top down until your tits pop out. You gasp at the sudden exposure, cold air causing your nipples to perk up. His fingers come to play with the pert bud, and you whimper atop him.
“Most perfect tits I’ve ever seen, sugar.” He trails open-mouthed kisses down your neck to your collarbone, tongue licking a path down to your breasts. His lips wrap around your perked nipple, and a choked moan escapes you.
Your fingers intertwine in his hair, tugging, and that elicits a groan from him. His tongue flicks the nipple up, down, and your back arches against the dashboard. You tug at his hair as he messily sucks your tits, leaving bruises you’re sure will last weeks. Jungkook’s hips rut into your sopping entrance hopelessly, and his length pokes into your inner thigh. You’re pretty sure you’re creaming all over his pants, not that he even minds. On every hitch of his hips forward, his teeth grazes your nipple, undoing you.
Truth be told, you’ve been soaked since the moment you laid eyes on him. Since the moment you saw the hat upon his head, muscles bulging out of everything he owns. You push his jean jacket off his shoulders, seeing the tattoo that extends across his biceps and collarbone, a myriad of color.
Finally, he peers up at you, swollen lips and blown pupils. You waste no time in pressing your lips to his again. He can probably taste the remaining sugar from your margarita on your tongue, and if anything, the thought seems to excite him, the thought that other parts of you may be sweet as well. Gripping onto his biceps, you can feel the veins that trace up his arms. A whine exits from the back of your throat. “Jungkook, touch me.”
“Hm, where, sugar? Use your words.” He presses a chaste kiss to the edge of your lips.
Words aren’t something you can muster, so you take his hand and place it against your clit, right where he can feel how fucking soaked you are, dripping onto his jeans. “Shit,” he curses, swallowing thickly. “You’re dripping. You been like this the whole time?”
Eagerly, you nod like a broken bobblehead.
One finger dips between your folds, gathering your essence before taking it back to his mouth and licking it clean off. “Just as sweet as I imagined.”
There’s no air left in your lungs to form words with, no brainpower beyond the feeling of wanting more, more, more. His finger finds your clit, and you throw your head back, moaning loudly that you’re damn near certain the entirety of Texas heard you. Toothily, Jungkook grins, pointer and middle finger rubbing circles against your clit. His tongue comes to lick a trail up your neck, sucking the sweet spot behind your ear. It’s like he has a map to you, knows exactly where to touch you to have you writhing.
A finger slides through your wetness before finally pushing into your entrance, down to his knuckle. Your fingernails rake down his biceps, leaving red marks in its place. He fucks the finger steadily in and out, thumbing at your clit simultaneously. “Ngh—fuck, don’t stop,” you moan, grinding into his finger. Just one isn’t enough, you know it won’t be, need to feel him fill you up.
“P-please,” you beg, although you’re not quite sure what you’re begging for. But he seems to understand, pushing a second finger inside you, curling upwards to your sweet spot. Your body jolts forward, nails now digging crescent moons into his skin. “Oh fuck, feels so good.”
“Can’t wait to be inside you,” he groans. “Your pussy’s so tight and warm. Gonna be a dream to fuck you, sugar.”
“M-me either.” You shiver, and on autopilot, your shaky fingers come to undo his belt buckle, unzipping his jeans. “Please fuck me, Kook. I want it. Want to feel you inside me.”
“Yeah?” He presses open-mouthed kisses against your cheek and nose, “Want me to fuck you the way you deserve?”
A long, languid moan escapes you, anticipation leaping into your throat. “Please. Please l-let me give you that ride.”
“If you insist,” he devilishly smiles, pulling his fingers out of you, licking them clean once more. He pulls down his boxers as much as he can with you on top, gets out his cock, and hisses as he strokes himself a few times.
Shit. You should’ve known he would be big, but he’s at least twice the size of your ex. Saliva pools in your mouth at how veiny and red his cock is. His hat hangs over his eyes as he looks down at his cock, chest heaving and bottom lip tucked underneath his teeth.
It’s like a lightbulb flashes over your head, with an idea so sinister you almost can’t believe you came up with it yourself.
You get your hands on the soft fabric of his hat, nudging it off his head and placing it on yours. It’s a little too big, hangs over your eyes, but Jungkook’s jaw goes slack nonetheless. “You gonna give me that ride while you wear my hat?” His cock twitches in his palm as he lazily strokes it, eyes never leaving yours.
“Uhu,” you agree, replacing his hand with yours on his cock. He’s girthier than you imagined, can hardly fit the whole of him in your palm. He quickly moves to kiss you again, and you take the opportunity to glide the tip of his cock through your folds, gathering the arousal that’s pooled. You both moan in unison.
“Fuck, don’t tease me, sugar,” he grunts, eyes glazed over with lust.
Whimpering, you obey him, and his cock enters you in one go. Your walls stretch to accommodate him, and it’s a slow, torturous slide down, until your folds hit his pelvic bone. He sharply inhales, cursing as his head hits the headrest. Your legs tremble with how full of him you feel, how much of him bulges in your stomach when you look down. “Fuck, Kook. Y’you’re so big.”
Jungkook’s calloused hands run up and down your sides. His face is mostly hidden behind the shadows in his car, but you can make out his rosy lips and cheeks. “I know, baby, but you can take it. Go ‘head and give me that ride you owe me.”
Slowly, you move up and down, only a mere inch at a time. Just enough to see the bulge inside your stomach move a tad. The hat slides further over your eyes as you gently move. He tips it back, cupping your cheek so he can see how fucked out you look already. “C’mon, use me, sugar. Show me how you ride dick.”
You nod in response, your cunt clenching around his length. Arousal drips down his cock onto his abdomen, and your head hits the ceiling as you use all your strength to bounce on his cock. Loud whines and curses fill the space, Jungkook’s mouth buried into your neck, hands coming to spread your ass cheeks so you can take him deeper. “Yeah, that’s it. Ride my fucking cock, sugar.”
The sounds fog up the window—your pussy squelching with each thrust, the slap of his balls against your ass, his throaty groans.
“These fucking tits. Wanna see them bounce in my face all the time,” he says, a hand coming up to slap your hardened nipples, and you moan. A trickle of sweat falls down your back, falling into the fabric that has now pooled around your waist. “You doing good, sugar?” His voice is sinful, and your cunt clenches around him again.
“Mhm. Your cock is so deep inside me.” Bouncing becomes more tiresome, thighs trembling with pent-up desire. Unfortunately, it’s not as easy to ride cock as one had hoped, but you’re determined to get you and him over the edge.
His hair is ruffled by your fingers as he trails a path of sloppy, wet kisses to the valley of your breasts. “You look so fucking good with my hat on.” Even though the edge is tipping over your eyes again, he fondly peers at you, how utterly blissed out your expression looks, cheeks ruddy.
Somehow, he must feel the exhaustion creeping upon you, because he plants his boots onto the floor and bucks up into you, causing moans to elicit from you. “Fuck, your pussy’s so tight n’ wet. It’s like a fucking drug, sugar,” he croons into your neck.
His cock plunges in and out of you with more force. Jungkook wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you tight, tight, tight to his chest, tits bouncing against him. You hold onto the hat, leaning against the dashboard so he can hit your sweet spot, just where you want him. “Oh—fuck, right there, Kook!”
His teeth drag against your skin, hips pistoning in and out. Puffs of breath escape his mouth and hit your skin. “If you were mine, would never let ya go,” he babbles, clearly pussy drunk. “Ain’t never letting you get near another cowboy. You’re all mine now, sugar.”
Clearly, your body takes a liking to the buckets of filth he’s pouring in your ear, and your walls clench around his length, your imminent orgasm creeping up on you. “Jungkook,” you whimper, and the pit in your stomach grows and grows, the knot almost coming undone as he continues hitting what you think might be your cervix.
You swear you feel him in your stomach as he says. “You gonna cum? Gonna cum all over my cock? Make a mess of my truck?”
“Gonna cum, Kook. Please make me cum,” you chant, and then it’s a gush of wetness escaping you, back arching far enough that the hat falls onto the console, thighs trembling and jaw slack. Normally, you’d be embarrassed, but all you can think about is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, walls frantically clamping down on him as you ride out your orgasm.
“Are you gonna cum inside me?” You’re sure you sound desperate when you ask, but he peers up at you with hooded eyes and responds, “If that’s what you want, sugar.”
It only takes a few more pumps of his hips to send him over the edge as well, hips stuttering, before groaning and emptying himself inside you. Slumping against his chest, his cock twitches, then softens inside you, and all that can be heard in the truck is the sound of you two struggling to catch your breath.
“Holy shit,” is all you can say.
His nails gently run down your spine, sending goosebumps blossoming across your skin. “Good ride?” he jokes, pressing kisses down the slope of your shoulder.
“Totally worth it.”
And you mean it, every ounce of it. Can see the sunshine and rainbows, the things you thought were once hidden behind dark clouds.
Just like you thought it would, it was good. Probably even better than that, probably impossible to find a word in the English dictionary to describe it. Enough so that maybe, you’ll extend your year-long lease in Texas. Make it two, perhaps.
“Jungkook?”
“Hm, sugar?”
“Can you take me to the ranch?”
A chuckle reverberates through his chest, and you feel it everywhere his skin touches yours. “Yeah, darlin’. How ‘bout tomorrow?”
Your boyfriend is extremely needy tonight. And you’re busy with a long gaming session, focused and locked in for what feels like forever… until Jungkook’s patience finally snaps.
𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: needy boyfriend!jungkook x gamer-gf!reader
𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: SMUT. pwp tbh, heavy tit worship (he’s obsessed), motorboating your tits, jk on his knees for you, sloppy toppy fr (oral sex), tongue fucking, pussy whipped jk, spitting, unprotected sex/creampie, soft couple banter, established relationship.
𝗹𝘂𝘃𝗶’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: this is lowk just me practicing how to write some more.. nasty ? smut , just a quick lil something lmao 🗣️ // also, shoutout to my pookie @cupidsbling for inspiring me to write this! mwa ♡
𝘁𝗼𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.8k
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You were deep in a Marvel Rivals match with your headset on, fingers flying across the keyboard. The glow of your monitor lit up your face in the dimly lit room, the only bright light present was coming from the RGB lights on your setup. You were wearing one of your boyfriend’s oversized black hoodies and nothing underneath — your usual gaming uniform when you didn’t feel like putting on real clothes.
Your boyfriend: Jungkook on the other hand — had been quiet for the last twenty minutes, sprawled on your bed behind you, supposedly watching you play. But you could feel his eyes on you the entire time.
A soft sigh escaped him.
“Baby…” he mumbled.
“Not now, Kook. I’m in the middle of a match,” you said without looking back, focused on the screen.
Another sigh.
Then you hear the sound of him getting up.
You felt him before you saw him — his warm hands resting on your shoulders from behind as he leaned onto the back of your gaming chair. His chin settled on your shoulder, breath tickling your neck.
“You’ve been playing for hours,” he whispered, his voice low and needy. “I miss you.”
You bit your lip, trying not to smile. “I’m almost done with this game, babe.”
He didn’t listen. Instead, he moved and dropped to his knees in front of your gaming chair, wheeling you back slightly so he could fit between your spread legs under the desk.
His hands slid under the hem of your hoodie, exposing your bare pussy, his palms settling warm against your stomach.
“Jungkook…”
“Please,” he murmured, leaning in to press soft kisses along your stomach as he spoke against your skin, voice soft and pouty. “Give me your attention… just a little. I’ve been so good and patient.”
You exhaled shakily as his hands moved higher, sliding up to cup your bare breasts. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, and they hardened instantly under his touch.
“Oh fuck,” he breathed, sounding completely in awe.
Even though the hoodie stayed on, the way he pushed the fabric up just enough to expose your chest to his hands and mouth made everything feel filthy and intimate. His large hands kneaded your tits slowly, squeezing the soft, heavy flesh like they were the only thing keeping him alive right now. He rolled your nipples between his fingers, pinching lightly, then soothing with gentle circles until you were squirming in the chair.
Your pussy was already exposed and dripping, the cool air of the room brushing against your wet folds as he knelt between your spread legs.
You tried to keep your eyes on the screen, fingers still hovering over the keyboard, but your focus was slipping fast. The match felt distant now, nothing compared to the heat of his hands on you.
Jungkook leaned in closer, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, slow and teasing. His lips were warm and soft, leaving faint wet marks on your skin as he moved higher, dangerously close to where you were already aching for him. You shifted your hips forward slightly, silently hoping he’d finally put his mouth on you, but he didn’t. He just kept kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, like he wanted to drive you crazy on purpose.
“Jungkook…” you breathed, voice shaky.
He hummed against your thigh but stayed right there, teasing, before finally moving upward again. He pushed the bottom of your hoodie higher with both hands, then ducked his head completely underneath the fabric.
The world went darker, warmer, and suddenly all you could feel was him.
His face was buried in your chest now, hoodie tented over his head as he worshipped your tits with single-minded devotion. He pressed his face between them, inhaling deeply like your scent was his favorite drug, then he started kissing and licking everywhere he could reach.
“So fucking perfect,” he groaned, voice muffled under the hoodie. “I love your tits so much… they’re so soft, and so warm.”
He took one breast into one of his hands, pushing it up so he could wrap his lips around your nipple. He sucked slowly at first, savoring it, tongue swirling around the stiff peak before sucking harder. The wet heat of his mouth made your back arch, pushing more of your chest into his face.
He moaned loudly against you, the sound vibrating through your whole body. While he sucked on one nipple like he was trying to pull pleasure straight from it, his other hand kneaded your free breast, squeezing and bouncing it gently in his palm. His thumb kept flicking over the nipple, keeping it hard and aching.
You lost all focus on the game. The keyboard clicks slowed to nothing. Your character probably died minutes ago and you didn’t care. All that existed was Jungkook’s mouth and hands devouring your tits under the hoodie.
He switched sides, giving the other nipple the same filthy treatment — long, slow sucks that made obscene slurping sounds, followed by quick flicks of his tongue. He pushed both breasts together, burying his face between them again, licking and kissing the soft valley while his hands continued squeezing and playing with them.
“Love how they feel in my hands.. in my mouth,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and desperate. “So full… so pretty when they bounce like this.”
He motorboated them gently, the soft jiggle making him groan in pure bliss. Then he was sucking marks into the undersides, leaving little bruises that only he would see later. His tongue traced every curve, licking broad stripes across your skin before returning to your nipples to suck them deep into his mouth again.
The hoodie trapped his heat and breath against you, making everything hotter, wetter, more intense. Spit coated your tits, dripping down your stomach as he got sloppier, completely lost in his obsession.
He kept talking between kisses and sucks, voice wrecked.
“Could stay here forever… just sucking on these pretty tits. They’re so sensitive for me… look how hard your nipples get when I play with them.”
He pinched both nipples at the same time, rolling them between his fingers while his tongue flicked rapidly over one. You moaned loudly, thighs trembling around him, one hand gripping the edge of the desk while the other pushed his head deeper under the hoodie.
He loved it. He moaned even louder, sucking harder, kneading your breasts with both hands like he couldn’t get enough of their weight and softness.
You finally reached up with a trembling hand and closed the game entirely, not even bothering to save or exit properly. The screen went dark, but you barely noticed.
“Fuck, Kook… that feels so good,” you moaned softly, your voice shaky with pleasure. “Please don’t stop...”
Jungkook didn’t stop. If anything, knowing he finally had your full attention made him more eager. He kept his head buried under your hoodie, face pressed against your chest as he continued his relentless worship — sucking, licking, squeezing, kissing every inch of your tits like they were the center of his universe.
“God, yes… just like that,” you whispered, fingers tightening in his hair. “You’re so good, babe.”
Jungkook stayed completely buried beneath your hoodie, his face pressed eagerly into the soft warmth of your tits. The thick material trapped his hot breath and the wet sounds of his mouth, turning the space into something intimate and filthy. He moaned loudly as he sucked one nipple deep into his mouth again, the vibration shooting straight down to your core. His hands never stopped moving — kneading, squeezing, pushing your breasts together so he could lavish attention on both at once.
He was obsessed. Completely, shamelessly obsessed.
You were breathing hard, hips shifting restlessly in the chair. The ache between your legs was growing unbearable, but Jungkook took his time, drawing it out. He licked broad, slow stripes across your breasts, then returned to sucking your nipples with filthy, wet sounds that echoed under the hoodie.
Minutes blurred together as he worshipped you.
“So fucking pretty,” he whispered, almost reverently. “My favorite thing in the world.”
Jungkook finally pulled his head out from under the hoodie, his hair a complete mess, cheeks flushed dark, and lips shiny and swollen from how long he’d been worshipping your tits. He looked up at you with those big, soft doe eyes, still dazed and hungry. You couldn’t help but smile at how gone he was for you.
You tugged at the hoodie gently. “Off,” you murmured.
He sat back on his heels between your legs and helped you pull the oversized black fabric over your head, tossing it somewhere onto the floor. Now fully naked in the gaming chair, you reached for him, pulling him into a deep, messy kiss.
He tasted like you — warm, slightly sweet from all the time he’d spent with his mouth on your body.
When you pulled back, he was grinning.
“Now do I have your attention, baby?” he asked, his voice teasing but eyes still dark with want.
You laughed softly, cupping his face with both hands. “Yes, you have my full attention, you needy idiot.”
He grinned wider, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. Still on his knees between your spread legs, Jungkook didn’t move from his position under the desk. His hands now stayed on your thighs, thumbs stroking the soft skin as he looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes.
Without a word, he leaned in closer, pressing soft kisses along your inner thighs again. But this time he didn’t tease for long. His hands moved up, gently spreading your pussy lips with his thumbs, exposing your wet, swollen folds completely to the cool air of the room.
You whimpered at the feeling, already so sensitive from all the earlier stimulation. Jungkook’s eyes were locked on your pussy, mesmerized.
“Look at you,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “So fucking wet for me already,”
Jungkook leaned in slowly, his warm breath fanning over your exposed pussy. He stuck his tongue out, flat and wide, and pressed it against your slick folds. The first long, slow lick from your entrance all the way up to your clit made you shudder hard, a soft whimper escaping your lips.
He moaned deeply the moment he tasted you, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. “Fuck…” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut like he was in heaven. He licked again, even slower this time, dragging his tongue through your wetness with his mouth wide open, devouring every drop.
His tongue was hot and soft, sliding through your folds like he was trying to taste every inch of you. He licked broad, messy strokes — from your dripping hole up to your swollen clit, then back down again. He did it over and over, savoring you, moaning loudly into your pussy like he couldn’t get enough.
You were shaking, one hand gripping the arm of the chair, the other tangled in his hair as he ate you out with pure hunger. His tongue working messily, licking and lapping at your folds like a man starved. He spread you wider with his thumbs, holding your pussy lips open so he could bury his tongue deeper, thrusting it inside you in slow, deep strokes.
The wet, filthy sounds filled the room — loud slurping, his constant moaning, the slick glide of his tongue against your soaked cunt. He was completely lost in it, eyes half-closed, cheeks flushed as he devoured you.
Then he sucked gently on your folds, then moved up to circle your clit with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. His tongue flicked rapidly against the sensitive bud while two fingers rubbed your pussy in slow motion.
You were a mess, moaning and whimpering, hips grinding against his face. He just kept going, tongue devouring everything — licking, sucking, tongue-fucking you with slow thrusts.
He was so pussy whipped, completely addicted to the taste of you, moaning and groaning like eating your pussy is the best thing in the world.
He pulls back slightly, lips shiny and swollen, a thin string of your arousal connecting his mouth to your pussy. His eyes are dark and hazy as he looks at your dripping cunt.
With his index and middle finger, he spreads your pussy lips wide again, holding you completely open. He leans in and spits directly onto your swollen clit, the warm saliva landing right on the sensitive bundle of nerves.
You gasp sharply at the feeling.
Jungkook groans at the sight, then uses two fingers to rub his spit into your clit in slow, firm circles. He rubs it really good — pressing down just enough, moving in tight, deliberate circles that make your thighs tremble.
“look at that pussy,” he murmurs, voice thick. “So messy and pretty.”
He keeps rubbing, spreading his spit and your slick all over your clit, occasionally dipping his fingers down to gather more wetness before returning to that perfect rhythm on your swollen bud.
“Mmph— kook—”
You are whimpering, hips twitching uncontrollably as he plays with you, completely focused on making your pussy even wetter for him.
Your breathing gets heavier, thighs starting to shake more and more. The pressure builds fast, that familiar heat coiling tight in your belly as you get closer and closer.
“Kook… I’m getting close,” you moan, voice shaky.
But Jungkook suddenly slows down, pulling his fingers away and pressing soft, teasing kisses on your inner thighs instead. He looks up at you with a small, wicked smile, eyes gleaming.
“Not yet,” he whispers.
You whine in frustration, hips chasing his fingers, but he just chuckles softly and leans in again, licking one slow, torturous stripe up your slit.
And without another word, he scooped you up from the chair like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. You clung to him as he carried you the short distance to the bed, dropping you gently onto the mattress before crawling over you.
He quickly took off his clothes, his body settled perfectly between your spread legs, cock hard and heavy against your inner thigh. You ran your hands down his back, pulling him closer as he leaned down to kiss you again.
“You always do this,” you complained half heartedly between kisses, even as you tilted your hips up to grind against him. “I’m trying to climb ranks and you just attack my tits until I can’t even remember what game I’m playing.”
Jungkook chuckled against your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin as he lined himself up at your entrance. “Can you blame me?” he murmured, voice low and affectionate. “You look so fucking hot when you’re focused, especially when you're wearing only my clothes. It’s impossible to resist.”
He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, both of you moaning at the stretch. When he bottomed out, he stayed there for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried deep inside you.
“Besides,” he continued, starting to move with slow, deep thrusts, “you always end up liking it. You get so wet for me every time I distract you.”
You gasped, legs wrapping tighter around his waist as he fucked you steadily. “That’s not the point,” you breathed, nails digging lightly into his back. “One day I need to actually finish a full match without you turning me into a mess.”
He grinned down at you, hips snapping a little harder. “Mmm, but then I wouldn’t get to fuck you like this right in the middle of your gaming session.” He leaned down to kiss you again, swallowing your moans. “And we both know you secretly love when I can’t keep my hands off you.”
You laughed breathlessly, pulling him closer. “You’re the worst.”
He grins again, thrusting deeper, grinding against that perfect spot inside you with every roll of his hips. The conversation faded into soft moans and whispered praises as the pleasure built. He fucked you with that perfect mix of deep and steady, making sure you felt every inch, every drag against your walls.
“Love you,” he whispered against your lips, voice tender even as his pace picked up. “Love how you let me distract you. Love how wet and tight you get for me every single time.”
“Love you too,” you moaned, meeting his thrusts. “Even when you’re being a needy, horny, distraction.”
He chuckled, burying his face in your neck as he fucked you harder, the bed creaking under you. His hand slid between your bodies to rub your clit in circles, pushing you closer to the edge.
You came first, clenching around his cock with a broken cry, thighs shaking around his waist. Jungkook followed right after, groaning your name as he spilled deep inside you, hips stuttering through his release.
After, he collapsed on top of you, both of you sweaty and breathing hard. He nuzzled into your neck, pressing lazy kisses there while you ran your fingers through his damp hair.
“See?” he mumbled sleepily, voice satisfied. “Much better than grinding out that match.”
You stood in the kitchen doorway with a mug of tea cooling between your hands.
Jungkook was kneeling on the living room floor. Seoa, your four-year-old daughter, was pulling apart every single one of his neatly stacked financial reports and rebuilding them into what she proudly called a castle.
Jungkook didn’t say a word about the mess in his usually pristine living room.
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Fatherhood had softened him in ways you still found funny. With Seoa, almost everything was allowed, unless you said otherwise. Left to his own devices, Jungkook probably would build Disneyland in the backyard if Seoa asked for it. You secretly prayed and hoped she never would.
Documents that once waited for Jungkook’s signature now formed the northern wall of a kingdom under attack from an invisible dragon only Seoa could see. Jungkook had been assigned the role of guard, and he was taking it just as seriously as he took his actual job.
Jungkook loved being a dada more than anything.
He dropped Seoa off at the daycare whenever he was home, no matter how early his meetings started or how packed his schedule was. If he had to fly overseas, he would always book the later flight just so he could take her himself first. And when he was overseas, he made you or Taehwan video-call him in the morning so he could still watch her walk into the daycare.
Most mornings, Seoa insisted on holding the phone herself, giving Jungkook a shaky view of her forehead while she showed him her shoes, backpack, and whatever toy she managed to smuggle into the car.
“Dada, look! Bunny is going to school with me today,” Seoa giggled.
“I can see that,” Jungkook said seriously, “make sure Bunny listens to the teacher.”
He never ended the call until she walked through the daycare doors. Even then, he kept staring at the screen a few more seconds, like she might come running back out.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
The two of you never parented the same way.
You were stricter, because you knew how easily wealth could distort a child’s sense of the world. You didn’t want Seoa growing up out of touch with the real world, spoiled, or thinking she deserved more than everyone else just because she was born a Jeon.
Jungkook wanted to give her everything, and so did his parents.
Grandpa Jeon treated every visit like a national holiday. If Seoa mentioned liking something once, it would show up at his house the next day in three different colours. Grandma Jeon was quieter about it, which made her more dangerous. She would hide sweets in Seoa’s coat pockets and would buy her dresses without telling you.
They were terrible influences. Once, Seoa said she liked horses. Grandpa Jeon started looking into riding lessons that same day and Grandma Jeon ordered a tiny riding outfit with boots and helmet included.
“She is four,” you reminded them.
“She’ll grow into it,” Grandpa Jeon said.
Jungkook didn’t help you, he was already searching for 'how to build a child-friendly stable'.
You had to remind all three Jeons that Seoa was a child, not a princess in need of her own private estate.
Another time, Seoa mentioned she liked butterflies. By the end of the week, Jungkook had ordered butterfly bedsheets, butterfly hair clips, butterfly pajamas, and a child-sized gardening set covered in butterfly stickers.
“She said she liked one butterfly,” you told him.
“She might like the others too,” Jungkook replied.
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Eventually, the two of you met with a child psychologist to work out how to raise Seoa with privilege without allowing that privilege to shape her character.
There were rules now. Seoa had to say please and thank you, clean up after herself, apologise when she was wrong, and treat everyone with the same respect regardless of their background. Seoa also has small chores and every time she gets a new toy, she would need to pick an old one to give away.
Jungkook still spoiled her, but he learned to do it without letting her become spoiled.
Mostly.
Jungkook still slipped an extra biscuit into her lunchbox when he thought you weren’t looking. He still let her stay in his arms long after she insisted she was too big to be carried. Jungkook still comes home from business trips with his suitcase half full of presents, though he has learned to space them out over months so you wouldn’t notice.
You always noticed.
But Jungkook had also started bringing Seoa along whenever he donated to charities or visited the Jeon Foundation’s community programs. He made her hand over the boxes herself and taught her to greet every employee.
And every night before bed, Seoa had to name one thing she was grateful for, her answer was usually the same.
“Dada!”
Jungkook would look at you with the most unbearable expression of triumph. Then Seoa would add, “And Mama! And ice cream!”
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“Guard,” Seoa said, holding out her tiny hand, “give me the blue one.”
Jungkook obeyed. The blue report happened to be a projected earnings summary for the Osaka expansion.
“Now the huge one!"
“Which huge one?” Jungkook asked confusedly.
“The one with lots of numbers, silly!” she said giggling at her confused dada. Seoa has recently learned what the word silly meant after Grandma Jeon called her one, and she has been repeating it in almost every sentence.
“They all have numbers, princess,” Jungkook said, letting out a small laugh.
Jungkook had become more expressive since Seoa was born. Not with everyone, since most people still get the same unreadable face, the same measured tone they always hear. But around his family, Jungkook is now completely different.
“The one with the most, most, most numbers,” Seoa explained patiently, “the dragon doesn’t like numbers because they make him sleepy. So he won’t attack us!”
“That’s an excellent strategy,” Jungkook said, completely serious. He handed her what you recognised as the report his finance team had spent an entire week preparing.
Seoa folded it in half and added it to the top of her tower.
“Silly dada, now you lie down,” Seoa said, pointing at the floor.
Jungkook looked at her, “Why?”
“Because the castle needs a river, and you’re the river, silly!” Seoa giggled.
Jungkook stared at her with the same flat expression he usually has right before dismantling someone’s entire argument in four sentences or fewer. Then, without a word of protest, Jeon Jungkook, heir to one of the largest conglomerates in South Korea, laid flat on his back in the middle of the living room floor.
Seoa immediately began arranging cushions around him, “No moving,” she warned, “rivers don’t move.”
“Rivers do move,” Jungkook corrected her.
Seoa frowned at him.
Jungkook stayed still, and eventually agreed, “This one doesn’t move.”
“And you have to make water noises!” Seoa said.
So Jungkook made water noises. They were, frankly, a terribly low and unenthusiastic sort of shhh that wouldn’t fool anyone, but Seoa accepted it anyway. She looked around, and you knew exactly what she was thinking about. She wanted to build a bridge which she once built with a stapler she found in Jungkook's office.
“No stapler,” you called from where you were standing, unable to help yourself from getting involved.
“Hear that princess,” Jungkook said to the ceiling, still playing the river, “your mama, the queen, has spoken. No stapler.”
“Fine,” Seoa let out a sigh so dramatic you couldn't help but laugh, “I’ll use silly Dada’s watch instead!”
You watched, delighted and a little disbelieving, as Jungkook unclasped a watch worth more money than most people will ever see in a lifetime and handed it to his daughter without a second of hesitation.
Seoa balanced it carefully across two stacks of reports, “There,” she said proudly, “we now have a bridge!”
Your gaze drifted past them to the pothos on the kitchen windowsill. It had grown enormous over the years, its vines trailing halfway down the cabinet.
You didn’t mean to go back to the past. But if you looked at that plant for too long, it always pulled you back to when you’d just gotten married to Jungkook, before you could stop your thoughts.
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The biggest fight you ever had with Jungkook happened two months into the marriage.
Back then, the penthouse still looked more like Jungkook than you. Back before there was a nursery and way before an ultrasound photo was stuck to the fridge with a magnet. Back when you were still learning Jungkook’s habits as a husband, still figuring out which parts of the intense, controlling man you fell in love with had softened into something livable, and which parts hadn’t softened at all.
The fight started over something small.
That was what still unsettled you most, thinking back on it now. How something so ordinary, so embarrassingly domestic, almost tore the two of you apart.
You bought the plant from a Sunday market during your first week of moving in, back when you were still moving boxes from your old apartment in stages. You had no real intention of buying anything until you saw it: a small, slightly crooked pothos, half its leaves gone yellow. It was tucked into the back corner of a table crowded with plants that are healthier.
“No one’s going to take that one,” the vendor said apologetically, already reaching to move it aside.
“I will,” you said.
Something about the way you said it made him look at you a second too long before he wrapped the pot in newspaper and handed it over for less than the price on the tag.
That evening, you placed it on the kitchen windowsill, where the morning light would hit best. That small patch of green made the penthouse feel less cold, like a home people actually lived in.
You watered it every Sunday and turned the pot each time so it would grow evenly. It became a small proof to you that a thing could be given up on by everyone else and still quietly get better.
Then, one evening, you came home, kicked your shoes off at the door, and went to check on it out of pure habit.
And it wasn’t there.
For a second you just stood in the kitchen, blinking at the empty windowsill, like it might reappear if you looked hard enough. You told yourself not to overreact. Maybe the housekeeper moved it to water it, or took it down while cleaning.
You checked the guest bathroom first. Then the pantry, shifting cans and boxes aside. You even stepped onto the balcony in your socks, searching the outdoor furniture.
Then you found the pot. It sat upside down on the drying rack in the laundry room. The pot was scrubbed clean and the plant, your pothos, wasn’t in it. You looked in the bin beside it and found the plant lying right on top, its leaves already wilting.
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“Did the housekeeper throw out my plant?” you asked Jungkook that night.
Jungkook didn’t even look up from his laptop when he answered, “I asked her to. It was dying and didn’t fit the penthouse.”
It was the calmness in his voice that got to you. Not just what he said, though that was already bad enough, but how easily he said it like a matter-of-fact, something obvious that even you should've understood why he told the housekeeper to throw it away.
You didn’t like that he talked about your pothos like it was a thing that failed to meet a standard, his standard.
“It wasn’t dying, Jungkook. I was nursing it back to recovery, that was the whole point of having it there, so I would see it every day and remember to take care of it,” you said, already visibly pissed off.
Jungkook looked up then, and you watched genuine confusion across his face, “I can buy you a healthier one tomorrow. There’s a florist two blocks from the office.”
“That is not the same plant,” you said quietly.
“I will get you the same plant,” Jungkook said, setting the laptop aside, giving you his full attention in a way that somehow made it worse, because it meant he genuinely didn’t understand what he had done, “they’re replaceable.”
“You threw it away without asking me," you said, shaking your head. you couldn't believe that you had to explain to him what he did wrong.
“It was dying,” Jungkook replied.
“I don’t care,” you said, your voice dropping quieter now, “I hate that you decided, all on your own, that something I loved didn’t belong here anymore. You didn’t ask me, you didn’t even tell me afterwards.”
“I didn’t think it mattered enough to mention," Jungkook now completely closed his laptop and set it aside, “It’s a plant.”
“It’s not about the plant,” your voice cracked on the last word, and you hated that it did, hated that he could hear exactly how much this hurt, “it’s that you think you get to decide what parts of my life are allowed to be in this house, our house! This isn’t a partnership, Jungkook. You’re trying to control me all over again.”
“I wasn’t trying to control you,” his jaw tightened, “I was trying to keep the place presentable.”
“So my plant made the entire penthouse unpresentable?” you asked in disgust, you couldn't believe what you were hearing.
“Don’t twist it,” Jungkook shot a glare at you.
“I’m not twisting anything, you threw away something I chose, without asking me first, because it didn’t match your idea of this apartment, and now you’re standing there acting like I’m the unreasonable one for being upset that you did that behind my back.”
“I saw a dying plant sitting in the middle of the kitchen, so I had it removed,” Jungkook stood up, keeping his voice controlled even as his face hardened, “I didn’t realise every decision in my own home required your permission.”
“Your own home,” you repeated quietly, laughing at the absurdity of his words.
His face changed the moment he heard you, he knew what he said was wrong, but the words were already said, “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” You let out a small laugh, though there was nothing funny about it, “I’ve been living here for two months, Jungkook. My clothes are in your wardrobe, my books are on your shelves and I sleep beside you every night, and the second I do something you don’t like, it becomes your home again?"
“I said it wrong, I didn't mean it that way,” Jungkook said, defending himself.
“No, you were just being honest," you said, correcting him.
His face hardened, “You’re turning this into something it isn’t. We are fighting over a plant right now, don't you think you're being ridiculous?" Jungkook asked, you've never heard his voice this high, not even during wedding planning which were the most stressful days you had gone through with him, and not even once in all the years you’ve known him, “I don’t understand why this is the hill you’re choosing to die on.”
“Because it’s never just the plant with you!" you raised your voice to match his, “you couldn’t stand looking at something imperfect in your kitchen, so you got rid of it. What happens next time something I bring into this house doesn’t meet your standards? What else disappears because you’ve decided it doesn’t belong? Are you going to control what I can and cannot own? Are you going to control what I should and should not like?”
“That’s not what happened,” Jungkook answered.
“We’re married, Jungkook. You don’t get to control everything anymore andm y opinion is supposed to matter too," you said slowly, you didn't mean to sound defeated, but you were so tired of it, so tired of him subtly trying to control you thinking you wouldn't notice it.
“It does matter," Jungkook sighed.
“It doesn’t feel like it," you said looking around the apartment, the spotless counters and the carefully arranged furniture, “I’m your wife, but I feel like I’m slowly disappearing in here. I don’t know how to keep living somewhere that makes me feel like I don’t fit in.”
Jungkook dragged a hand down his face, his breathing had gone uneven for a man who usually controlled every visible reaction, “I need space to think,” Jungkook said.
Your whole body went still. There was nothing cruel in his words, but it felt like a door closing anyway, “Fine.”
You walked across the room and pulled your coat off the hook by the entrance. Your hands were shaking badly enough that you missed the second sleeve twice, “Take all the space you need. I’m going to my mother’s.”
“Y/N.”
You ignored him and reached for the door. Jungkook followed behind, you could hear his footsteps and for one foolish second, you thought he might take your hand, and that he might apologise or ask you not to go.
But instead, you heard his voice coming from behind you, “Mrs. Jeon.”
You froze with your hand on the door. He has never called you that way before. And now your married name sounded like a warning, like he was trying to pull you back into place with just two words. You would be lying if you said it didn't scare you, because you understood now that he was as furious as you were.
You opened the door and stepped out without turning around. For one second, the door stayed open behind you, long enough for you to feel him there, and long enough for some foolish part of you to believe he might stop it from closing.
But then it clicked shut.
You stood there alone, staring at the door, your coat hanging crooked off your shoulders, and your hands still trembling.
Pride was such a stupid thing to lose a marriage over. Both you and Jungkook knew, yet neither of you moved to stop this from blowing up even more.
Jungkook didn’t come after you and you told yourself that was fine. You told yourself you didn’t want him to, not until he understood exactly what he had done.
But some small, aching part of you were listening and hoping for the door to open again behind you until the elevator doors slid closed and took that hope with them.
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You stayed at your mother’s house for four days.
You laid in bed the first night with your phone face-down on the nightstand, listening to it buzz twice, then go quiet, twice more an hour later, then again close to midnight. You didn’t answer any of his calls.
Your mother didn’t ask many questions that first night. She made tea, set it in front of you without comment, and let you sit at her kitchen table in silence until you were ready to talk.
“He threw away my plant,” you finally said, even to your own ears it sounded absurd. It sounded like the tiniest thing to fight over and something that shouldn’t send you fleeing across the city to run away from your husband.
Your mother didn’t laugh, she just wrapped her hands around her mug and said quietly, “It’s never really about the plant, is it?”
“No,” you admitted, “it’s not.”
"You married a man who spent his whole life making sure nothing around him could surprise him," she said, "which means loving you is going to demand that he change a lot of his ways, over and over, probably longer than either of you wants it to take."
“That’s not really comforting,” you answered.
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He called every night you were gone and every night, you would let it ring twice before answering, because some tired and petty part of you needed him to sit in that uncertainty a few seconds longer. It was the third night that something finally changed.
“I bought the same kind of pothos and it's on the windowsill like the one you placed before,” he said quietly.
“It was never about the plant, Jungkook,” you sighed and your voice wasn’t as steady as you wanted it to be, “It’s about you doing something without asking me first. Deciding on your own what stays and what goes, and only telling me once it’s already gone and after I asked you about it. You can’t just decide things without telling me, you have to ask me first every time. and I don’t want you to control me. I want you to make room for the things I love."
There was a long pause on the other end, long enough that you almost pulled the phone away from your ear to check the call hadn’t dropped. When Jungkook finally spoke again, his voice had changed, “I miss you,” he said, “I miss you so much and this apartment doesn’t feel right without you in it. and I’m sorry it took you leaving for me to understand what I actually did.”
“I’m not asking you to come back tonight,” he added quickly, like he needed to get it out before you could stop him, “I’m not asking for anything. I just need you to know I’m not fine without you. I’ve spent three nights telling myself I was giving the two of us space, and really I was just too much of a coward to admit how badly I need you here. I don’t function right without you. I never do. Please tell me what to do and I’ll do it, I just don’t want you sleeping somewhere that isn’t next to me."
"Come get me," you finally said, "just come get me, and we’ll figure out the rest of it together."
And Jungkook was there in forty minutes, which meant he left the house the moment the call ended.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You didn’t fully forgive him that night.
You told him so plainly, sitting across from each other at your mother’s kitchen table, “I’m not saying it’s all fine that now you are here and even after you apologised,” you told him, “but I’m willing to keep trying, because I know you’re willing to keep trying too."
“I understand,” he replied.
Trust, you would learn over the years, wasn’t a single door that opened once and stayed open. It was hundreds of small doors scattered through life and you had to walk through each one separately sometimes more than once.
Jungkook didn’t lose the instinct to control everything overnight. But after that night, he began learning to stop deciding anything on his own without you involved.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
“Mama, look!” Seoa’s voice pulled you back into the present.
Your daughter stood proudly over a wobbling tower made from what used to be Jeon Group’s third-quarter projections on a stack of pillows with her arms spread wide, “I built it so tall Dada can’t even see over it!”
“I can see over it,” Jungkook said, entirely serious.
You noticed that he made no effort to stand and prove it. He stayed flat on his back in his role as the river, letting Seoa have the victory.
“You have to say the magic words,” Seoa told him, “or the dragon eats the castle.”
“What are the magic words?” Jungkook asked.
“I don’t know, you have to guess silly!”
“Please don’t eat the castle, dragon,” Jungkook said in a flat tone.
“Wrong, you so silly dada!” Seoa shook her head, “it’s actually, ‘Pretty please with a cherry on top, Dragon Sir.’”
“Pretty please with a cherry on top, Dragon Sir,” Jungkook repeated from the floor, again with a flat tone and expression. You had to press your lips together to keep yourself from laughing.
There was something precious about watching the most feared businessman in South Korea beg an imaginary dragon for mercy in his own living room, doing it without a trace of impatience or anger, like this was the most important event of his week.
“Good,” Seoa said, finally satisfied, “the dragon says the castle is safe. For now.”
“For now,” Jungkook repeated like he fully expected the dragon to break the agreement later on.
Seoa laughed so hard she nearly knocked over the eastern tower. She caught it with both hands at the last second, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in full concentration.
Once the castle was declared stable, Jungkook finally sat up and Seoa climbed into his lap without saying anything and his arm wrapped around her automatically.
“Dada,” Seoa murmured, already growing sleepy now that the excitement of ruling a kingdom had worn off, “can we build it again tomorrow?”
“We can build it again tomorrow, princess,” he said, before kissing Seoa's forehead.
Seoa yawned against Jungkook’s chest, her small fist curling into his shirt the way it always does before she falls asleep. Jungkook adjusted his arm immediately, supporting her head before it could slip from his shoulder. You walked across the room and lowered yourself beside them, directly into the wreckage of paper towers, cushions, and a kingdom that would be gone by morning.
You looked to the kitchen windowsill and the pothos Jungkook offered as an apology from years ago was still there.
Jungkook looked at you and for a moment, neither of you spoke.
“It’s getting closer to the tap,” Jungkook said.
You looked at him and nodded. Years ago, he would have moved it before you came home. He would have chosen a cleaner pot, cut the crooked vines, and placed it somewhere that better suited the room. Now he asked, “Do you want me to move it?”
You smiled at the question, Jungkook was learning. You rested your head against his shoulder, “No,” you said, "leave it.”
Jungkook nodded once and he agreed to leave it exactly where it was.
Beside you, Seoa slept peacefully against his chest.
Around you, financial reports lay crumpled beneath cushions, an expensive watch held together a collapsing bridge, and the living room Jungkook once kept immaculate had become completely unrecognisable.
The pothos continued growing above it all, crooked, imperfect, yet it fits perfectly at home.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
Two years later.
Jungkook was halfway through reviewing the quarterly performance report when Seoa appeared in the doorway of his study. At six years old, she already knew that a closed door meant her father was working and that she was supposed to knock three times before entering.
It was a rule you established after she once interrupted a video conference wearing fairy wings and demanded that twelve Jeon Group directors judge her dancing.
This time, she didn't knock. Jungkook looked up immediately and closed the report in front of him. Seoa stood in the doorway wearing pink pajamas and one hand hidden behind her back.
Her expression was unusually serious, which was never a good sign.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Nothing," she answered cheerfully.
Jungkook studied his daughter's face. Seoa has inherited your habit of saying nothing when something was very clearly wrong.
Unfortunately for her, she also inherited several of Jungkook’s mannerisms as a child, including the small movement of her fingers whenever she was hiding something.
“What are you holding?” Jungkook asked.
Seoa slowly brought her hand forward, “Dada, what is this?”
For the first time in several years, Jeon Jungkook’s mind went completely blank.
Seoa was holding a pregnancy test. It was capped, thankfully, but that wasn’t what held his attention. Two pink lines as clear as the day was shown across the test, and Jungkook stared at them longer than necessary before looking back at his daughter, “Where did you find that?”
“In Mama’s bathroom,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
Jungkook stood so quickly that his chair rolled backward and struck the bookshelf.
Seoa flinched at the sound, her eyes widening as she pulled the test closer to her chest, “Am I in trouble?”
“No,” Jungkook answered instantly. He walked around the desk and crouched in front of her, carefully taking the test from her hand before inspecting her fingers as if the plastic object could somehow have harmed her, “did you touch anything else?”
Seoa shook her head, “It was beside the sink.”
“Wash your hands.”
“But what is it?” Seoa asked again.
“Wash your hands first,” Jungkook answered.
She sighed dramatically but obeyed, walking towards the nearest bathroom while Jungkook followed directly behind her. He stood beside the sink as she washed her hands, making sure she used enough soap and cleaned between every finger, but his attention kept returning to the two lines on the test.
You had been tired recently. You had fallen asleep on the couch twice that week, refused wine at dinner with his parents three nights ago because, according to you, it smelled disgusting, and you stood in front of the refrigerator yesterday with one hand pressed over your mouth.
Jungkook noticed all of it because he noticed everything about you, but every time he asked whether something was wrong, you told him you were fine.
“Dadaa!” Seoa said, trying to get his attention.
Jungkook looked down and found Seoa holding her wet hands in the air, “Towel,” she demanded.
Jungkook dried them himself, carefully wiping each finger before lowering her hands, “There.”
“Now tell me what it is dada!"
Before he could answer, you stopped outside the bathroom, your eyes moving first to Seoa, then to Jungkook, and finally to the pregnancy test in his hand.
Seoa looked between the two of you with growing suspicion, “Mama, Dada won’t tell me what your stick is.”
You closed your eyes briefly before looking at her, “Seoa, could you give Dada and Mama a minute?”
“But I found it,” she argued, “that means I should get to know.”
Jungkook would have agreed with her reasoning under different circumstances, but your eyes shifted toward him, silently asking for help, “Wait in your room,” he told her.
Her small brows furrowed, “Why? Are you fighting?”
“No,” Jungkook replied.
“Is Mama in trouble?” Seoa frowned.
Jungkook’s expression hardened before he could stop it, “Your mother is never in trouble.”
Something softened across your face, but Seoa remained exactly where she was, clearly unwilling to leave without an explanation. Jungkook exhaled through his nose and crouched in front of her again, “This test means your mother has a baby growing inside her.”
Seoa’s eyes widened until they looked impossibly large, “A real baby?”
“Possibly.”
“In her stomach?”
“Her uterus,” Jungkook corrected automatically.
You let out a laugh, “She’s six, Jungkook.”
“She should learn to use the correct word," Jungkook said matter-of-factly.
Seoa ignored the exchange entirely, “Does that mean I’m going to be a big sister?”
“We need a doctor to confirm it first,” he answered, but the qualification did nothing to contain Seoa's excitement.
Seoa screamed loudly enough for the sound to echo down the hallway before throwing herself at Jungkook and wrapping both arms around his neck, “I’m going to be a big sister!”
“Possibly,” he repeated, steadying her with one arm.
“I can teach the baby everything! I can teach them how to read and draw and build castles. Can the baby sleep in my room?”
“No,” Jungkook answered.
“Why?” Seoa pouted, disagreeing with her dada.
“Babies wake up throughout the night.”
“I don’t mind.”
“You will," Jungkook chuckled.
“What if it’s a girl? Can I name her?”
“No,” Jungkook said.
“What if it’s a boy?” Seoa asked, trying to gain the rights to name her sibling.
“Still no,” Jungkook said before kissing her cheek.
Seoa pulled back and frowned at him, “You say no too much these days.”
You laughed quietly, and Jungkook turned to look at you again. His attention shifted immediately from Seoa’s excitement to the nervous way your fingers were knotted together in front of you.
He lowered Seoa carefully to the floor, “Go to your room. We’ll talk after your mama and I finish talking.”
Seoa opened her mouth to argue, but you quickly added, “You can start making a list of things you want to teach the baby.”
Her face lit up at the responsibility, “I need paper and coloured pens!” Seoa ran down the hallway without another word. Jungkook waited until her bedroom door closed before turning back to you, the pregnancy test still held tightly in his hand.
“How long have you known?”
“About ten minutes," you answered.
You had only known for ten minutes, but something irrational in him still resented that the test had existed anywhere in the world without his knowledge. He wanted to ask why you had taken it alone and why you hadn’t called him into the bathroom. He wanted to know why he had learned that his wife might be carrying his child from someone else. But Jungkook stopped himself.
Years ago, he would have demanded answers first. He would have scheduled a doctor, cancelled your work, contacted the hospital, and reorganised the next year of your life before allowing you to process what just happened. He still wanted to do all of those things. Jungkook's mind was already arranging bloodwork, appointments, your schedule, his flights and meetings, and every meal you have eaten over the past month.
Still, he learned that caring for you didn’t mean moving so quickly that you had no choice but to follow.
“Are you alright?” Jungkook asked instead.
“I don’t know yet,” you answered honestly.
Jungkook nodded once before asking, “Do you want to keep it?”
The question visibly surprised you, but after spending the past 10 minutes over it, you knew you wanted to keep it, “Yes,” you answered.
Jungkook walked closer to close the distance between you and pulled you into a hug. He remembered the first pregnancy too clearly; the nausea, hospital visits, and fear that sat beneath his ribs for months disguised as planning and preparation. He remembered waking in the middle of the night simply to place his hand over your stomach and reassure himself that both of you were still there.
He once told himself that a second pregnancy would be easier because he would know what to expect, it wasn’t.
“You’re quiet,” you murmured against him.
“I’m thinking.”
You leaned back enough to look at him, “What are you thinking about?”
“How soon the hospital can see you, whether you’ve eaten anything unsafe, which overseas meetings I need to cancel, and which guest room should become the nursery,” he answered.
“Jungkook,” you teased him as you giggled.
He ignored the teasing in your voice, “You need bloodwork.”
“I know,” you agreed, "you can arrange the appointment,” you told him.
"I'll do it now," he said as he pulled his phone from his pocket, but before he could unlock it, Seoa appeared at the end of the hallway holding three sheets of paper covered in bright colours.
“I made the list!” she screamed.
“You were supposed to wait in your room,” Jungkook said.
“I was, but then I finished," Seoa argued back as she ran toward both of you and held up the first page. Across the top, in uneven purple letters, she had written:
ThINgS I WIlL TIcH mY BaBY
Underneath was a list that included reading, drawing, swimming, building castles, hiding biscuits from Mama, and making Dada say yes to everything.
Jungkook read the last item twice, “That one isn’t happening.”
Seoa grinned, “It will happen.”
You laughed beside him, and despite himself, Jungkook felt the corner of his mouth lift and form into a smile. Seoa squeezed herself between the two of you, wrapping one arm around your waist and the other around Jungkook’s leg, “Can I tell Grandma and Grandpa?”
“Not yet,” you and Jungkook answered at the same time.
Jungkook reached for your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours, keeping Seoa tucked closely against his side.
There had been a time when he had never imagined himself having a child. Fatherhood seemed too uncertain and vulnerable, and too far removed from the controlled life he had built for himself.
Jungkook certainly had never imagined having two children.
But then he married you, and Seoa entered his life, filling his home with noise, a hell lot of questions, paper castles, and a kind of love he had never known he was capable of carrying.
Now, with the possibility of another child growing inside you, Jungkook realised there was nothing he wanted more than to expand the little family the three of you had created.
Jungkook had always believed in proximity. He had spent years convinced that the only way to keep you from disappearing was to stay close enough to see you, hear you, and know exactly where you were.
Marriage had not changed that belief, neither had fatherhood.
The difference was that he was no longer following just from the shadows. You were beside him, Seoa was wrapped around his leg, and perhaps another child was already growing beneath his hand.
a young man returns to a small town he hasn't seen in years, and a house he hasn't lived in since before the last president was born, only to find that a stray cat has given birth to kittens in his closet.
pairing: vampire!jeongguk x nerdy f veterinarian!reader (with a special interest in the science and biology aspect of the supernatural lol)
genre: sorta scifi-ish, fluff, minor angst, some smut later on
You spend the rest of the evening in front of the TV, your notebooks and a whole gaggle of pencils laid out on the coffee table before you. Whatever notes you manage to take during your meetings with Jeongguk aren't exactly as neat as you'd prefer—or even entirely legible, if you're being honest. But now, alone on the floor in your apartment with the news on in the background, you take the time to go through your scribbles and transfer them neatly into your Nice Notebook, the one that also contains all your drawings.
It takes you an hour, mostly because you keep going back and forth regarding the layout, but when everything's transferred, you can't help but grab your favorite graphite pencil. It glides over a fresh page, depicting something you've had a hard time letting go since you saw it.
Another hour, maybe one and a half, and they're there: Jeongguk's laser-focused black eyes. Not pictured: the paperclip.
You keep going, and not long after, the next page contains a profile portrayal of his upper teeth. The central incisor, the lateral one, and then the long, thin, clearly superhuman canine. Behind it, you can glimpse the regular canine.
At nine-thirty pm, you're unlocking the heavy door, peering around carefully. There are no inpatient animals tonight, meaning the clinic should be entirely empty. Also meaning: you have no business inside the building.
Thus, it's dark as you enter, and you only turn on what light you absolutely need as to not risk being found out if any of your colleagues were to drive past—or God forbid, return to retrieve something forgotten—and see the place lit. Walking through the quiet corridors, you note that you have approximately twenty-five minutes to prepare.
At five minutes to ten, your phone dings. Since your outfit for once consists of something other than scrubs, you grab the device from your jean pocket to read the text displayed on the screen.
Jeon Jeongguk: I'm here
You don't reply, just stand from the chair you've been sitting on to note down some things, and head toward the entrance.
Like so many times before, you spot the tall, dark shape waiting just outside the door as soon as you enter the reception area, your heart skipping an excited beat.
With quick fingers, you unlock the door, and then you're peering up at him.
"Hi," you greet, backing up and watching as he steps inside, a tiny gust of wind accompanying him and making goosebumps rise on your arms.
He's wearing black again. A black leather jacket over a black shirt, and dark-wash jeans of the looser kind.
"Hi," he echoes, smiling down at you. His hair is windswept, and you swear his eyes might be even darker than last time you saw him.
You'd say you're quite a talented artist, but God, your drawing of his eyes is nothing compared to the real thing. You almost want to ask him whether all vampires are beautiful because you do remember his friends at the bar, and they were gorgeous as well.
"This way," you say, turning around.
Wordlessly, Jeongguk follows as you lead the way back to the room where he first apologized with the empty crate. Should someone, for some reason, visit the clinic, you'll be safest from discovery hidden away in the farthest room.
Keeping a distance of around a meter or so, Jeongguk's boots thump heavily against the floor as he trails behind you, a sound you're almost starting to find comfort in.
The door to the exam room is open, just like you left it, the light from inside pouring out into the otherwise dark hallway. You enter, shutting the door behind you when Jeongguk's through as well. You're not surprised to see him take his usual spot on the exam table, removing his jacket and folding it to lay beside him.
"You know, you can say no to this, right?" you ask, grabbing the sterile sheet of supplies you've prepared from the counter and placing it on the table next to him.
"It's fine. Consider it my apology for scaring you," he smiles warmly at you.
You return his gesture, pulling on some nitrile gloves.
"I'm very grateful. This is like…." you don't even know what to say as you drag the chair closer to him with your foot, sitting down and grabbing an antiseptic wipe to wipe down the inside of the elbow he wordlessly offers you. His skin is warm, radiating heat even through the gloves. "I feel like I'm the vampire, essentially vibrating at the thought of your blood."
He laughs at that, a lovely deep sound that goes straight to your heart.
"Well, I definitely don't need a tourniquet," you then mumble as you focus on his thick arm, pressing two fingers to the biggest vein and feeling it react almost like that of a human. It does give under pressure—but much less than a human's—quickly filling back up when you let go.
"Do you think this will work?" you ask, grabbing a needle and holding it up for him to see. It's one designed for the largest of dogs; the next step up in strength from a human grade needle.
"I don't know? I've never had my blood drawn."
Your eyes widen. "Really?"
You guess it makes sense, but it's still a surprise to hear.
"Yeah. Not really any use for it. And it wasn't really a thing when I was human."
"You sure you want to?"
"Yeah. How bad can it be? I'm not scared of pain or anything."
"Okay. Then I'll try with this one. It's usually a straight forward process, especially with veins like yours when you don't have to search for them. Or in my case, shave and search for them while holding the patient still."
Jeongguk grins.
"I'll try sticking you, and if it works, then I'll fill a few of these," you nod toward the vials on the blue sheet. "When I'm done, I'll remove the needle."
"Sounds good."
"Great."
Biting your lip, you focus on the needle as you angle it properly against the thick vein. You can't tell if Jeongguk is looking at your hands or your face, but you try not to think about his eyes on you.
Even though you've established that his skin doesn't feel too different from a human's besides the temperature, the needle is met with a surprising amount of resistance.
"Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?" you mumble, a little worried by the amount of pressure you're slowly forced to apply. You really don't want to accidentally stab him if his skin suddenly gives way.
Jeongguk only hums, clearly not that bothered. Slowly and very, very carefully, you increase the pressure, and then, the needle finally pierces through.
Relieved, you turn to the gathered equipment, reaching for some tape to fasten the needle against his skin, and then you're grabbing the first vial, attaching it.
Immediately, there's blood. It trickles in quicker than it would for an animal, or how you've seen your own blood do whenever you've had it drawn, and when you lean in, you notice that it's almost black. The gears inside your head are turning as you consider what it might mean. There's still a slight hint of red—a very dark red, which makes you wonder if his red blood cells are simply so tightly packed that—
Barely having time to finish the thought, you have to reach for the next vial, seeing the current one practically already filled to the brim.
Removing the full vial, you attach the new one, glancing up at his face when you're done. "Feeling okay?"
He nods and smiles softly, as if he realizes your (most likely very unnecessary) words are meant to be caring and not infantilizing.
"God, it smells of iron." You point out, blinking in surprise.
Jeongguk laughs. "Yeah. The iron also makes it a lot darker than human blood."
"I can see that," you say, replacing the second vial with the third and last one. "It looks like it's slightly more… viscous too," you comment, turning that second vial upside down. As you do, the blood pools at the new bottom, leaving a coat of dark red behind. Although it moves slower, its consistency is far from that of syrup; just a tiny bit less watery than your own blood.
"What are you going to do with them?"
"I'm bringing them home with me just so that no one sees them. I'll be looking at… Well, whatever I can see. Usually, putting a drop of blood under a microscope will let you see the red and white blood cells—which carry oxygen and keep one's immune system working, respectively—and then the platelets and plasma.
"Platelets can show things like how quick the body can heal a wound and plasma is basically the liquid that holds the proteins and electrolytes. So I'll be looking at shapes, amounts, and behaviors of the cells. Other than that, I can't really plan ahead because I have no idea what I'll see."
He nods, and you remove the last vial, placing it next to the other two on the sheet beside him. Giving him a quick warning, you then swiftly remove the needle, prepared to wipe any escaping blood with a bit of gauze. But there isn't any; not even a tiny pink dot remains as evidence.
"Uh…" you continue, trying to find your thoughts again as you peer between his flawless skin and the needle you definitely know you just pulled out. "Right… And if I can manage to do it without anyone noticing, I'd also love to analyze some of your blood here at the lab.
"I won't be able to look at the proteins themselves with my microscope at home, but I am particularly curious about them and why you can be so warm without the proteins in your blood essentially cooking. And also whether the lead poisoning you described has left any visible traces. And, of course, to see just how much iron is in your blood and whatnot."
You stand up, disposing the needle in the sharps container and remove the gloves to throw them in the trash. When you're done, you grasp two of the three vials from the table, backing toward the door. "I'll be right back, I'm just gonna put these in the centrifuge."
"Alright."
The dark hallways don't pose a problem for you, knowing every door and every turn like the back of your hand. Therefore, it doesn't take you more than a minute or two to locate the lab with the desktop centrifuge, popping the two vials in and starting the machine. It comes to life with a hum, and you leave the room to let it work in peace.
When you return to the exam room, Jeongguk is standing in front of the ultrasound machine you rolled into a corner prior to his arrival. It's an older model, bulky and ancient compared to the portable ones you take out into the field.
While he's watching that, you're watching him, having an embarrassingly hard time tearing your eyes from his wide, muscular back. And even though you just got to sit eye to eye with his veins, your gaze trails those veins spanning the back of his forearms almost hungrily. God, you can't remember the last time you had a crush like this. Wait, what?
"You wanted to use this one, right?" Jeongguk interrupts your thoughts as he gestures toward the machine, still inspecting it curiously.
"Yeah…" you confirm. He keeps looking at the machine as you retrieve the rest of the blood draw supplies, setting them on the counter along with the third vial; the one you're keeping un-centrifuged for your microscope at home.
"…But what?" he asks when he notices the slight hesitancy, looking back at you to see you leaning back against the counter, crossing your arms and biting your lip as you think.
"Well… your heart was a little hard to hear with the stethoscope, and considering everything—like how strong you evidently are—I'm just wondering if… maybe your muscles are somehow so dense that it's harder for sound to penetrate them?"
"Which would… make it difficult to see anything on an ultrasound as well?" he fills in.
Momentarily, your eyes lose their focus, staring into nothing but the air. "Realistically, they should still be soft enough to ultrasound 'cause, you know… they're not solid, but that bad boy over there is getting up there in age," you nod toward the ultrasound machine. "The portable one is with Yoongi, who's on call."
Jeongguk hums, dark eyes watching you and patiently waiting for your decision.
A thought hits you.
"Would you—" you start, gesturing toward the exam table before you have time to really consider whether your spontaneous idea will help or not. Unbothered, Jeongguk returns to his seated spot.
You approach, looking at his arm (entirely professional this time). You're curious about his muscles, and well, the arm he used to lift the car with is as good as any.
"Do you mind if I…?" you reach carefully for him.
He shakes his head, lifting his arm slightly toward you. You grasp it by the elbow as you consider where to start. God, it never stops surprising you how warm he is.
"Okay, relax," you mumble.
Besides warm like a radiator, his arm is so incredibly heavy, almost to the point where you lose your grip on it when he obeys your request and lets it go limp. Adjusting the hand under his elbow for support, you move the other to the inside of that same joint. All the while, you feel his curious gaze on you as you get to work.
"Not sore?" you ask, referring to how you just stuck a needle into that same spot.
"No. What are you searching for?" he asks, eyes on your fingers as you work them as gently as you can into the crease of his elbow.
"Your distal biceps tendon. Can you do this for me real quick? Make a fist and flex your arm, just a small bend at the elbow?"
He copies your brief demonstration, the contrast between your flexed arms almost comical. Still, it works, and you feel the tendon pop out under your thumb, its thickness and strength very obvious. The question is only: to what extent?
Using both hands again, you move one up his semi-flexed, very impressive biceps, and you try your best to trace the underlying anatomy, your eyes focused on the wall behind him. He's… firm. That's the best way you can describe him. Warm and firm.
"Can I fold this up?" you ask, tugging a little on the sleeve of his t-shirt in order to get to his shoulder.
"Yeah. Or I can just—?"
You take a step back when he grabs the shirt by the back of his neck and yanks it off.
"Yeah. Or that," you smile, trying not to stare at his golden chest. He just has to have your absolutely favorite body type, doesn't he? Wide shoulders, overall muscular but without too much, stringy definition. And that itty-bitty waist, complete with two tiny skin rolls as he sits? Not to mention the veins, but those practically never leave your mind anyway, spanning his hands and running all the way up his shoulders, even. And that's just his body; his face is even more gorgeous.
Oblivious to your infatuated thoughts—or maybe not, but you're not even going to consider that—he puts the shirt beside him, once more offering you his arm.
"Flexed? Or relaxed?"
"Relaxed. I'm just trying to locate some of your tendons and see if, for any reason, I wouldn't be able to ultrasound them."
"What would that reason be?"
"Not sure," you shrug, putting your hands back on his upper arm. "Maybe they're covered by super dense muscle? Maybe you have bone-plated armor covering weak spots like the crease of your elbows? Actually, nevermind; I wouldn't have been able to draw your blood if that were the case, but you get my point."
He grins, amused, eyes focused on your hands again as you start to move them, feeling the top of his shoulder.
"The two biceps heads go here," you explain, pressing your thumb near the front of his shoulder joint and your middle finger just a bit higher and inward. "Should be able to see them on the ultrasound as well. And the muscle, itself… It's definitely soft when relaxed," you murmur, running both hands down his relaxed arm again, palpating the thick tissue.
"While you have your shirt off… Can I..?" Slowly, you let go of his arm, pointing to his side.
"Yeah, go ahead. Whatever you want."
You laugh quietly at his complete compliance. "I appreciate it. Your sacrifice for science."
He chuckles too, moving his arm out of the way as you pull the chair closer with your foot again, sitting down. With your right hand, you feel his side, where multiple layers of muscle cover his ribs.
"I heard your heart better from here, and… while your serratus anterior is quite dense and strong—yeah, I can barely feel your ribs under these muscles—those are probably the real problem," you nod toward his pecs. "But I think I'll be able to see your heart as well, unless there's an internal aspect causing issues. If I can get a probe between your ribs, that is."
"Between them?" he lifts an eyebrow.
"I'm not gonna jam something between them or anything," you're quick to explain, placing two fingers against his side, in the space between two ribs. "I'll put the probe here in an intercostal space, against your skin, and hopefully the sound waves make it between the ribs."
"Hm," he leans back on his arms, and you remove your hand from his skin. "Well, you're welcome to try whatever you want."
Why does he always have to say things like that? Why?! Simply pretending like he said something that didn't make your chest warm, you offer a grateful smile and stand up.
The ultrasound machine squeaks as you roll it over to where you want it, positioning it next to the exam table.
"Do I lie down? People lie down for these, don't they?"
Walking over to the light switches, you flick one of the two main ceiling lights off. "You can, but it might not be very comfortable—"
Turning, you see him already flat on his back, his lower legs hanging freely off the edge and toward the floor.
"It's not so bad," he comments, earnestly.
"Heart this way, though, please," you smile as you approach, even more so when he sits up to lie the other way.
"Is there a reason you turned the lights off? Or just for coziness?"
You laugh. As if you—trying so hard to be professional in the most unprofessional situation ever—would turn the lights off for 'coziness.'
"It makes it easier to see the screen. These old screens aren't as powerful as the new ones."
Spending a moment in silence going through the probes available, you then settle for one and reach for the gel on the little tray.
"This can be a little cold," you warn, squeezing an appropriate amount onto the probe.
He doesn't say anything, his eyes focused on the ceiling.
"I'll start with your heart," you add, sitting down and adjusting the long white cable attached to the probe.
But then you realize that his arm is in the way. "Could you… put your arm either above or under your head?"
"Sure," he agrees calmly, lifting his arm and putting his hand under his head. It gives you a whole new angle of not only his thick and defined arm but his side and abdomen as well. Naturally, your eyes do a quick scan. There's a dark tuft of hair growing in his armpit, something you find unreasonably attractive.
Jeongguk doesn't react when you put the gelled-up probe to his pec. Using your left hand to angle it against his skin, you push the old, worn-down buttons on the machine's small desk with your right, trying to find not only the best angles but also settings.
You mutter your slight frustration when the display merely shows a foggy outline of a mass. Even though this particular machine still performs well enough on animals, it might just have met its match in Jeongguk's pectorals.
"Try to relax as much as possible for me, okay?" you say, eyes locked onto the screen as you hope a slightly softer muscle will be easier to see through.
It doesn't work though, and you're forced to give up. But only after another few minutes of double checking angles and settings, of course; you don't admit defeat that easily.
Jeongguk lets you work in silence. It's comfortable and calm, not awkward in the slightest. He breathes slowly and evenly, taking the odd deep breath when you ask him again to please do his best to relax as much as possible.
Moving the probe to his abdomen, right below the junction of his ribs as you try to tilt it up and underneath them, you spot something.
"Well, your liver looks rather… normal," you state quietly, watching the organ show up on screen like that of any human. At least as far as you know; you don't do ultrasounds on humans, but there shouldn't be that much of a difference.
"Oh—and there's your heart."
Jeongguk turns his head, and the movement has you losing the angle. "Wait. Hold on, lie still; I'll show you."
He keeps his head turned, his eyes warming your face as you adjust the probe, trying to find the image again. It takes you a few seconds, and then you feel yourself light up.
"Look," you say, carefully turning the machine to face him while trying not to move the probe. "It's not the best image, and it's from below, but there it is."
It's fascinating, the small, grainy glimpse of the powerful organ that graces the screen. It beats just like you've heard it, slowly, every contraction precise. Even watching it, a sense of calm washes over you. There's no rush; it does what it's done since long before you were born and what it will continue to do for however long Jeongguk lives. Another few centuries? Millennia?
"Cool."
You chuckle. Jeongguk grins youthfully when you meet his gaze. Of course, he's not as impressed by his own heart, maybe more so the technology that actually lets him see it.
"Yeah. And even though the image is kinda… meh, look here," you trace the faint outline of the heart wall with your finger. "See how thick it is?"
"Uh…" he watches but doesn't seem to quite understand your fascination.
"Okay, hold on," you say, removing the probe from him, and with a little more gel on the top of it, you grab the lower hem of your shirt and move the probe underneath. It doesn't take you nearly as long to find the corresponding angle on yourself—your abs aren't made of steel…—and there it is, only sharper and clearer.
"Do you see the difference? The walls of your heart—the muscle itself—are much thicker than mine," you trace the same shape on your own visualized heart; almost pathetically small compared to Jeongguk's. Not only that, but it beats fast, contracting quickly as if you're in the middle of a marathon. The contrast is almost absurd.
"Yeah," he smiles. "Seems like you're excited about something?"
You huff and remove the probe from your skin, watching the screen go dark. "Mean. And here I was going to show you my condition."
He tilts his head, his curiosity having lost that teasing edge, the tone bordering on worried. "You have a condition?"
"Kinda."
"Well, show me."
You give him the sternest look you can muster.
"I'll be nice, I promise."
"Fine."
Luckily, the shirt you chose to wear today is of the looser, boxier kind, allowing you to slide the probe back under it and against your side. You breathe slowly, trying to calm your heart at least a fraction.
Jeongguk sits up, dark eyes glued to the sight of your beating heart. It thumps evenly—if only faster than his—until it doesn't.
"Wait, that beat was much quicker?"
"Yeah."
"Is that not… dangerous?"
"Keep looking."
He returns his focus to the screen, watching intently. "It happened again. Your rhythm isn't even like mine."
"No. I have 'regular irregularities,'" you explain softly. "It's not dangerous since the rhythm doesn't deviate. Or at least from what's normal for me. It's more like a little quirk."
He bites his lip, and, for a long second, looks at you.
"Can I feel?"
"Feel?"
"Your pulse."
"Uh," you start, more surprised than unwilling. "Sure."
Before you know it, he's reaching his large hand out, gently grasping your neck—the back of it, at least—and with his thumb on your artery, immediately finds your pulse. You guess that's maybe even more of his expertise than it is yours, so you don't bother reminding him that it's generally best to feel for someone's pulse with a finger other than the thumb, which has its own pulse, easily confused with the subject's.
You try desperately to calm your poor heart, willing yourself to breathe slowly as every thump beats against his thumb.
"Relax," he mumbles.
"Be nice—"
"I didn't imply anything," he defends. "I think I have yet to meet even one human whose heart doesn't race when a vampire feels for their pulse. It's instinctual."
Maybe also because you're hot, you almost want to say.
It's only because he's staring into the air as he feels your pulse that you manage to lower it even slightly. A moment passes. And then another; the room enveloped in a thick silence, Jeongguk's warm hand still around the back of your neck, and his thumb on your carotid artery.
"Interesting. I'm not… new to wacky heartbeats, but I don't think I've ever felt one that's… regularly irregular."
He lets go of your neck, and you look at him. "Well, do you listen often? To someone who's not scared you'll eat them?"
"No, not really. Not that I eat humans, cause I don't—you saw the powdered blood I use—I just don't really listen to heartbeats," he explains, which has you nearly rolling your eyes. It's sweet, how he still really doesn't want you to misinterpret him. "Do you feel anything? Is it noticeable?"
"No, I don't feel it," you answer. "I've probably always had it. It's just the rhythm my heart has."
He hums, accepting your answer before he lowers his gaze to the probe in your hand. "…You're not done with me, are you?"
You grin. "No."
Admitting defeat with a smile of his own, he lies back down. You reach for the gel again, turning the screen back.
"Arm up, please."
He lifts his arm and tucks his hand under his head again. This time, you touch the probe to his side, trying to find another view of his heart.
Just like you hoped, a few moments of quiet searching later, and you have the clearest side view of his heart yet. The resolution still leaves quite a lot to be desired, but you're grateful nonetheless, your fingers tapping the buttons to activate the color Doppler mode.
"Do you want to see more? How your heart moves your blood?" you ask, smiling brightly but realizing that far from everyone is as nerdy as you.
"Sure," he answers. Having learned from last time, he doesn't move a muscle, instead waiting patiently for you to turn the screen toward him.
"So, this setting visualizes the blood flow as colors; red is the blood coming toward the probe. Blue is the blood going away from it."
"That's interesting."
"You think so?" you ask. You wouldn't be surprised if he's mostly pretending to be polite.
"I mean, yeah? It doesn't really tell me much, but it's fascinating to see. And I can tell that it makes you happy."
You turn the screen back, eyes locked onto his grainy, slightly foggy heart. With every slow beat, a portion of the screen lights up in red, then blue. You think that's when another realization hits you; not one that douses you in ice water, whispering that you're prey in the presence of a predator, but a calm excitement that… you found something. You found something amazing, something out of this world, and for all you know, you're one of few to ever have a heart like this under your ultrasound probe.
Calm yet powerful like nothing else, his heart moves what must be an immense amount of blood with every contraction.
"Have you ever had your blood pressure taken?" you mumble, pressing another button on the control pad.
"No. It's the tube that goes around your arm, right?"
Nodding, you turn your head to watch him. Or more specifically, his arm. "I'd love to measure yours," you admit almost longingly. "But we don't have any cuffs here that would fit you. We typically measure a horse's blood pressure around the base of their tail, so that's just a human cuff, but it's in the field bag with Yoongi. The canine cuffs we have here won't even clear your forearm."
"Well, if you find a way…" he says, still watching you with that calm, slightly curious look.
You return your attention to the screen, taking the chance to see Jeongguk's heart from every angle possible.
Ultrasonography is a skill learned through time and experience: lots of it. Still doesn't mean it's easy for you or that you can just slide the probe around willy-nilly and find what you're looking for simply because you've got hundreds of them under your belt. You need a light yet stable hand and the knowledge of where to go. Also a bit of luck.
"Do you need me conscious?" Jeongguk's low voice asks after a few more minutes. "Cause I might fall asleep."
"It's that boring?" You look at him, endeared and smiling. "Wait. You sleep?"
You're not sure why you're so surprised, staring at him like he just told you he can levitate. It would be exponentially weirder if he didn't sleep; it just never crossed your mind that he would. He chuckles.
"Yeah. It's not boring, it's just that I'm lying down, in a quiet and dark room. That… touch is pretty soothing, and you keep ordering me to relax."
You try not to blush, removing the probe from his skin and looking around for the tissues to remove the gel. "Do you want to stop? Or at least continue another day?"
"No. I don't mind," he yawns. "Continue. Test me, stick me, feel me up; I don't mind."
You pause, forehead creasing. "While you sleep?"
"Yeah? Just a warning, I sleep pretty heavily. If you need me awake, just… shake me. I'll wake up sooner or later."
"Okay," you snicker. That is such an apex predator advantage. No one is going to eat you, so why bother be on guard?
Not even five minutes later, he's out; his eyes closed and his breaths slow and even. Not entirely satisfied, you're still looking at the blood flow from his heart on the monitor, moving the probe around ever so slightly.
When you were in university, your class got to visit a zoo. The on-staff veterinarian demonstrated how they sedate their animals—large predators, mostly—by dart, and then they opened the enclosures and let you all inside. You particularly remember the lion, who they suspected had torn a ligament, and the brown bear requiring dental work.
It's a feeling like no other, working on a sleeping predator—the sleeping bear, quite literally—and with your elevated heartbeat, hoping to God they don't wake up before you're done and safely outside.
Working on Jeongguk while he sleeps feels similar in ways you can't really explain. While he's not a 200 kg lion, he's huge, lying on the table in front of you with his legs hanging down. And even if you're not actually scared that he'll wake up because you don't think he'll eat you, it's there regardless; the deep, subconscious knowledge that everything he lets you do to him, even if it's essentially whatever you want, is on his terms and his terms alone.
So while the smallest change in Jeongguk's breathing doesn't scare you shitless like the tiny groan the lion let out as you touched its paw, you're still aware of it.
Twenty minutes later, when you suspect you've seen everything the machine can show you of his heart, you carefully wipe the gel from his chest and move toward his abdomen. The moment you put the probe to his skin again, you wait, eyes on his face and awaiting a reaction of some kind, but there's nothing.
Considering his words of consent, you continue, moving the probe around to locate his organs. In humans and most animals, the intestines are always—to some extent—noisy. Food, liquid, and gas are constantly processed by the interior muscles, and it creates a steady background hum of activity. But from what you can see of Jeongguk's abdomen, it's entirely silent and still.
You see the organs relatively clearly through his abdominal muscles, which—despite being thick and surely strong as hell—aren't quite as dense as his pecs. And his organs are there; blood is circulating to and through them; they're just…dormant.
But as you glide the probe over to where his bladder should be, you don't find it. Only on the third pass do you spot it, appearing entirely empty and therefore tiny. It confirms what he said about his near-perfect closed-loop system, where his kidneys don't really output urine unless to get rid of excess fluid.
Quietly amazed, you wipe the gel from his abdomen and some stray streaks that you previously missed on his chest.
Your next target is his arm, but before you do anything else, you quietly stand from the chair, softly padding out of the exam room to pay the locker room a quick visit. Considering everything Jeongguk is doing for you and your curiosity, you can at least make it as comfortable as possible for him. That's the reasoning behind bringing him your personal pillow, carefully putting a hand under his head to slide the pillow in under it.
Just like the lion's paw, Jeongguk's limp arm is—besides warm—incredibly heavy. Struggling a little more than you care to admit, you maneuver it to hang off the edge of the table and into your lap, where his body heat radiates straight through your clothes.
Holding onto that big, heavy, veiny arm, you touch the probe to his biceps, and what you find is so, so interesting. While his heart looked a tad bit bigger than that of a regular man his size, it appeared disproportionately strong, the muscle responsible for its contractions dense and thick, almost like his pecs.
Similarly, the muscles in his arm show up bright on screen, so dense that you barely see through them. It explains perfectly why he's quite a bit heavier than he appears.
You don't rush, feeling alright about taking your time since Jeongguk is sleeping either way. Besides the muscle bellies themselves, you spend quite a while inspecting the different tendons in his arm. As well as you can, at least.
Where the tendons are exposed, like the biceps tendon on the inside of his elbow, they're thick and bright on screen. Clear and sharp. But where they disappear in under too much overlaying muscle, they blur as the soundwaves scatter. You can't conclude much more than that they're thicker than a human's, but you felt that even when you palpated him earlier.
The biggest discovery, however, is probably when you move the probe to the inside of Jeongguk's biceps and over his brachial artery. It's the arm's main blood supply, and it should be well-developed for any relatively fit and strong man. In fact, its size shouldn't be that much of a surprise when you can feel the outline of Jeongguk's even while he sleeps.
But the moment the artery is centered under the probe, and you see the on-screen numbers measure the diameter to be 5.6 millimeters wide, you blink in shock. Almost dropping the probe, you scramble to dig your phone out of your pocket and open the browser, searching for the average brachial diameter for a human man.
3-4 millimeters. Ish. Apparently, an exceptionally strong climber measured at 4.4 millimeters and attributed his almost superhuman strength to his wide arteries. And Jeongguk's is 5.6 millimeters.
His arm rests limply in your lap as you note the numbers down on a nearby stray piece of paper, underlining it twice, as if you'd possibly forget. That has to be one of the big explanations, right? For his super strength? His muscles and tendons are disproportionately strong on their own, yes, but they can generate so much more force and for so much longer because his body can provide them with an almost endless supply of oxygen.
God, now all you need to know is what the hell is in his blood. With that additional puzzle piece, you feel like you're one step closer to solving the mystery that is his strength.
When your own heart finally calms down from the discovery-induced adrenaline high, you find yourself simply watching the flow of his blood for a few minutes. For some reason, it's very soothing, like watching waves hit the shore on an empty beach.
Before you turn off the machine and clear Jeongguk's skin of the remaining gel, the last thing you do is adjust the settings to also thoroughly inspect the uppermost level. His skin.
As expected, and aligning with what you've already seen, it is noticeably thicker. There's not much fat, but the skin itself is thick. You reach for the pen again, writing down a question.
'Sensitivity?'
You power the machine off, the absence of the low humming suddenly making the room almost eerily quiet. Jeongguk is still fast asleep, his handsome face so youthful. You smile to yourself; he wasn't lying when he said that he was a heavy sleeper. Still, you don't watch his face for too long, for some reason convinced that he, at any second, will open his eyes and stare at you. You don't know what you find scarier: him suddenly and unceremoniously staring at you, or finding you staring at him.
Pushing the ultrasound cart away slightly, you settle back into your chair again, carefully grasping his arm. It's one thing to see something on screen—pretty badly portrayed, at that—it's another to feel it. In your line of work, your patients can sometimes show you what's wrong, even if they can't outright tell you. But they can also be entirely stoic or just simply unreliable, and so you've learned to rely a lot on your hands, feeling for whatever's not right.
Rolling your chair just a tad closer, still with his hand in your lap, you run your hands softly up to his shoulder, planning to get a better feel than the previous preview. Throwing a quick glance at his face, you confirm that he hasn't reacted.
You start by tracing your fingers over his shoulder cap, feeling exactly where the thick muscle fibers anchor onto his collar bone. Lifting one hand from his skin, you trace the same part on yourself just to compare. While your attachments are distinctly human; still relatively strong but with a certain degree of "give," Jeongguk's feel much harder. It makes sense because, as established, a muscle can't be stronger than its bone attachments allow it to be.
Returning your hand to his shoulder, you slide your fingers down a little further, carefully prodding the inside of his armpit for the lymph nodes.
There's a sound.
Almost like a quick exhale of air. Your gaze snaps to Jeongguk's face, but he hasn't moved a muscle, still entirely quiet and relaxed. You must've imagined it, or it was the ultrasound machine finally powering down completely. Old things like that make random sounds, after all.
You let your hands move again. Just like the lymph nodes in his neck, the nodes in his armpit are harder than normal, for a human at least.
Continuing further down, your hands reach his biceps and triceps. You've seen the thickness of his upper arm before, even had your hands on him briefly earlier tonight, but it's another thing to really get to feel. You won't deny that palpating the dense muscles makes your heart skip maybe an extra beat, but you'd absolutely keep that fact to yourself. Besides increasing the inevitable attraction you feel toward him, the curious scientist in you is thrilled.
Jeongguk's biceps is incredibly well developed, no surprise there, but you're almost surprised at just how dense his triceps is. Additionally, as you prod the muscles, eyes unfocused on the wall, you note that there's basically no intramuscular fat, or at least you can't feel any. You continue to trace the three heads of the triceps, mapping where they anchor to the elbow.
Concluding that, yeah, he's got a physique rather similar to human men, just leveled up and engineered to withstand more force—like… a lot more—you slide one of your hands down to his wrist, grasping it and lifting.
Struggling just a little, you move his heavy lower arm slowly back and forth, folding it at the elbow, just to get a glimpse of his range of motion. You think perhaps it's a little greater than what's considered normal in a human, but flexibility in humans is highly individual. It could be for vampires as well? You wouldn't call his range of motion unnatural, at least.
With that out of the way, you continue your descent, feeling for the elbow's attachments in the other direction, toward his forearm. They feel just as strong, no surprise there. With your left hand, you feel for the right spot in the middle of his forearm, carefully digging your thumb into the flesh. There's not a lot of give, and it takes a quite a lot of pressure, but then you see it; how his middle finger twitches. Moving your thumb a little to the side and pressing, you get the index finger to react, too.
His wrist is thick and so are the veins running on both sides of it. Actually, all sides of it. You lift his hand again, gently rolling his wrist to test the range of motion of that joint as well. There's zero friction, no sounds or jumps, just fluid motion.
The results remain consistent when you move on to feel the muscles in his hand and his fingers, very gently stretching and curling them. Your own wrist pops occasionally—something it's always done—a reminder that you, at least, are human.
"What are you feeling for?"
The low voice breaks the silence just as you're done with his pinky. It startles you, and your wide eyes flit to his face to find his dark eyes watching you.
"God, don't scare me like that," you complain, exhaling. But you also feel your cheeks heat. His voice didn't sound… newly awoken. "How long have you been awake?"
"Uh, since you started feeling me up," he grins lazily.
"I wasn't feeling you up," you defend, groaning internally. You've been 'feeling him up' for way too long. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Don't worry, I said that you could, didn't I?" he continues, and you can tell he doesn't mind. "And it felt nice; I didn't want you to stop."
You roll your eyes, cheeks very warm.
"So did you learn anything?"
You nod, excitement overriding your embarrassment because you did. "Yeah. So, in conclusion: your muscles are dense. So much so that it does make it more difficult to see past them on the ultrasound. And probably why it was a little harder to hear your heart as well. Your heart is a little bit bigger than what I'd consider normal in a human man, but it works roughly the same, only stronger and capable of moving more blood around. Your brachial artery, however," you say, lightly tapping the spot on his inner biceps. "Is insane."
Jeongguk lifts his eyebrows and sits up, stretching briefly. "How is it insane?"
"The average brachial diameter for a human man is around 3 to 4 millimeters; some peaking at roughly 4.5. Yours is not only thick and extra muscular, but it's 5.6 millimeters in diameter; that's a lot. Logically, that would mean that not only is your heart pumping a lot of blood around, but your veins and arteries are better equipped to deliver that blood to your muscles. And to your other organs, of course."
Jeongguk listens intently, quietly curious, as you continue.
"So not only are your muscles denser, your heart bigger, and your veins and arteries thicker to handle the added pressure, your tendons are crazy thick as well. If they weren't, you'd probably risk tearing the muscles from your bones with how strong you are. You also seem to have a slightly wider range of motion? I don't know if that is a vampire thing or a you thing? For humans, it varies a lot, even among those that don't have connective tissue disorders like Ehlers-Danlos."
"Never thought about it."
You shrug. "Then it's probably not a big deal. The movement of your joints, at least your elbow, wrist, and fingers, is very smooth. No clicking or incongruence."
"Like you have?"
"You noticed that?"
He smiles and nods. Then he tilts his head. "What… was it that you did when you pressed on my forearm?"
"I was feeling the tendons that control your fingers. Seeing if I could manipulate them."
"My fingers?"
"Mhm. Look," you say, holding your hand out.
Jeongguk fulfills your request, holding out his forearm and watching as you trace his warm skin to find the spot again. "Relax your hand. Hold on. Okay, see?"
With your thumb pressing down, his middle finger moves, curling slightly.
"Oh? That's cool."
"Yeah. A bit of a party trick," you grin, letting go of his arm and leaning back. "Oh, almost forgot. Your abdomen is very… quiet. Not a lot going on there as you probably knew. And your bladder is practically entirely empty, which supports what you said about your mostly 'closed loop' system."
"Yeah. That, I knew," he smiles widely.
With your cheeks burning yet again, you reach for his shirt, handing it to him. "Thanks for… letting me do all of this."
Telling yourself that it's not weird to be fascinated by him and his anatomy doesn't make you feel any less of a perv, unfortunately.
"No problem. If this is how it is going to the doctor, I kinda wish I could go too."
You laugh. "This is not how it is at the doctor's. And if it is, you need to report the doctor."
"Why?" he smiles, and fuck, you dug a grave and stepped right in.
Why? Because it's inappropriate?
"Well… for one, I'd say we're… friends? I don't have the responsibility to treat you for something like a doctor would for their patient. I'm actually not even a doctor; I'm a vet, and the way I work is a bit different than how a doctor would with human patients."
"You go by touch?"
"Yeah. I use my hands to evaluate a lot. Besides, you're not a human, and you shouldn't be asleep at the doctor's."
He puts the shirt back on, amused.
A thought hits you. "You don't have any doctors of your own? Vampire doctors?"
It's still odd to say the word out loud.
"We do, but not a lot since we rarely need them. We have a few different… services, but they're more like caretakers. Like, if someone gets poisoned or actually dehydrated, they can help take care of them. Quite a few vampires live in solidarity, so it can be hard to survive things like that if you don't have anyone to take care of you."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Those friends you were with, at the bar that night?"
"Also vampires," he grins. "They're not from around here but Tae—Taehyung—is thinking of renting a house here for a few months."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
It makes you wonder…
"There aren't any other vampires here. At least not right now," he says, clearly having realized your train of thought and met you at the station.
"Oh."
He tilts his head. "Are you relieved?"
You think about it. "Uh… I don't know? I guess that makes the chances of being killed by something supernatural… lower, but… I mean, you're nice."
He laughs, lifting his arm to look at his watch. "Oh, shit. I have to go."
"You have… plans? At ass o'clock?"
"Uh… yeah. Vampire plans," he starts, eyes however widening slightly at his own words. "…That definitely do not involve hunting humans for food."
It's your turn to laugh. Does he sound like a bad liar? A bit, but it sounds more to you like he just wants to make sure you're not getting the wrong idea and trips a little over his words in the process.
"Okay. Have fun? And, uh, thank you again for… you know, letting me do all of this."
He grins. "Anytime. Text me when you're home."
Your cheeks get no break tonight, it seems. Still, you nod as you watch him throw the jacket back on as well.
You drive home, falling asleep right after putting his blood in the fridge. And you dream about his warm body and dark eyes. And it hits you as you wake up, that you weren't scared. Nervous and... aware, sure, because you inevitably like the very handsome and charming vampire, but even as he joked about his vampire plans, you were never truly scared.
<previous | next>
author's note: i hope you liked it!! <3
permanent taglist (for all my works), sign up here:
Hiee, I recently read a office au fic, where jk and the reader are co workers. Would loveeee to read more fics in this au, since many fics are just ceo jk trope. Anything with this trope would be So cute >-<. 💌
Out of Office (And Into His Bed)
Summary: You and Jungkook have always been "just coworkers"—or at least that's what you keep telling yourself. While the rest of the office can clearly see what's between you, you're too afraid to admit your feelings.
Pairing: coworker!jungkook x f!reader
Genre: coworkers to lovers, office au
Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, slight possessive behaviour, dirty talk, rough sex, penetrative sex, creampie, degradation, slight tit play, ass slapping, fingering, male receiving oral, multiple orgasms
wc: 5.5k
A/N: Thank you so much for the req! Sorry if this is a bit rushed, my brain has been malfunctioning lately, but I hope you still enjoy <3
The office is always loud in a quiet kind of way.
The printers hum, the sound of keyboards clicking, and someone is always arguing over email formatting like it’s a life-or-death situation. The smell of coffee is strong, with a slightly burnt scent that lingers in the air like a permanent resident.
It’s the same every morning. Predictable and manageable.
You walk in and immediately hear laughter spilling from the far corner like spilled ink. You don’t even need to look to know who it is.
“—I’m telling you, that font choice was criminal.”
“That’s not a crime,” Namjoon replies, calm but clearly fighting a losing battle against the caffeine deficiency in his voice. “It’s just bad taste.”
“Same thing,” Seokjin insists, dramatically offended on behalf of design everywhere, hand pressed to his chest.
“I liked it,” Jimin chimes in, smiling with that dangerous, innocent sweetness.
“You would,” Yoongi mutters, not even looking up from his dual-monitor setup.
“That’s rude.”
“That’s honest.”
You shake your head, trying to hide your smile as you navigate the narrow aisle past their cluster. You’re already thinking about the mountain of spreadsheets waiting for you, but then—
“Rough morning?”
Jungkook is already leaning against your desk, looking like he owns the square footage. He’s got that relaxed, lanky posture that makes your breath catch in your throat, his phone tossed carelessly onto your desk surface.
You set your lukewarm coffee down with careful precision. “Define rough.”
He studies you for a second, his dark eyes tracking the concealer under your eyes and the way your ponytail is slightly loose. A knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his perfect mouth.
“You haven’t taken a sip of your coffee yet.”
“…And?”
“And that’s concerning.”
You roll your eyes, grabbing the cup just to prove a point, taking a long, deliberate sip. “Maybe I’m pacing myself, Jungkook.”
“Or,” he says, pushing off your desk, taking a step closer to you, “you’re just exhausted.”
You glare at him, but there’s no real heat in it. “Why do you sound so pleased about that?”
“Because,” he says, stepping into your personal bubble just enough to make your pulse jump, “it means you might actually accept some help today.”
You scoff, sitting down as you turn towards your computer. “I don’t need help.”
“Sure you don’t.”
Behind him, Hoseok, who is the human equivalent of a surveillance camera, calls out, “She definitely does, Jungkook. I saw her staring at the same file for ten minutes yesterday. It was painful to watch.”
You whip your head around to stare at your other coworker, “You were watching me?”
“I observe everything,” Hoseok says, tapping his temple, with a wide smile, the same one he always has.
“You’re creepy,” you mutter, turning back around to face Jungkook.
“Helpful,” Hoseok corrects.
Jungkook just laughs, a melodic sound that vibrates right through your veins, making your chest warm and heavy. His gaze stays locked on you, “Offer stands. If you need me.”
You nod, turning back to your screen, acting like it doesn't matter. Like you don't feel his stare burning a hole in your shoulder blades for a solid minute after he walks away.
You and Jungkook are just coworkers.
That’s the mantra. The holy gospel you repeat to yourself in the elevator. Just coworkers who always end up sitting in the same row of cubicles. Just coworkers who somehow find themselves in the breakroom at the exact same time every day, like your internal clocks are synced to the same frequency.
Just coworkers who get relentlessly teased by everyone else.
“You two are actually predictable,” Seokjin says, sliding into the chair beside you in the breakroom, abandoning his own lunch to join the fray. “Same time, same table, same everything. It’s pathetic.”
“It’s called routine,” you reply, stabbing at your salad, reluctantly eating it even if all the teasing has made you lose your appetite.
“It’s called a pattern,” Jimin adds, popping a grape into his mouth with a grin.
“A suspicious pattern,” Hoseok agrees, tapping his spoon against his bowl.
“Can you all relax?” you sigh, feeling the heat creep up your neck, you straighten your posture, cracking your neck as you try to make yourself more comfortable.
Across from you, Jungkook looks entirely unbothered, his ramen steam curling around his face. “What?” he says lightly, eyes dancing. “They’re not wrong.”
You blink at him, jaw slightly agape, shocked. “You’re supposed to defend me, you traitor.”
“Why?” he asks, leaning his chin on his palm, staring right at you. “I like our routine.”
Your stomach does a backflip. You focus intensely on a stray piece of lettuce. “It doesn’t mean anything,” you mumble.
“Mm,” Yoongi hums from the next table, not even looking up from his book. “Sure.”
Namjoon doesn’t even look up. “Denial is a powerful thing. It’s also very loud.”
“I hate all of you,” you announce to the table, grabbing your lunch as you throw it out.
Jungkook just laughs under his breath, and when you glance at him, he’s already watching you with that soft, dangerous look in his eyes, the one that makes you feel like the only person in the room.
You swallow your feelings down, forcing yourself to shake your head as you smile at him, just how a coworker would.
Everything shifts the day you’re assigned the project together.
“Deadline’s tight,” Namjoon says, dropping a file on your shared desk. “You two will handle the cross-department integration. Get it done.”
You nod. Jungkook nods.
Behind you, Seokjin whispers, “Finally.”
You ignore him, but the air in the office suddenly feels thinner.
Working together shouldn’t feel different. But it is. It’s quieter, even when the hum of the office is at its peak. The space between your chairs seems to shrink every hour. Your conversations aren't just about data anymore; they're about the way he drinks his water, the way you chew your pen when you're stressed.
“Move,” he murmurs, nudging your chair with his knee so he can angle his monitor toward you.
“You’re invading my space, Kook.”
“You invited me,” he replies, his voice steady.
“I did not—”
Your arm brushes his. The contact is electric, it feels like a jolt that freezes the air in your lungs. You both pause, just for a heartbeat, two people caught in something they’re too afraid to name. Then, you both pull back, staring at the screen, pretending you didn't just feel the world tilt.
The later it gets, the more the office sheds its layers. The hum of the printers dies. The clatter of keyboards ceases. One by one, the others pack up.
“Don’t stay too late!” Hoseok calls, grabbing his coat.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Seokjin adds, winking.
“That doesn’t narrow it down,” Yoongi mutters, trailing behind them.
“Fighting~” Jimin says, a little too sweetly, and a little too deviously.
Then, it’s just you and Jungkook. The silence is heavy, draped over the desks like a blanket. Accidentally, you let a sigh slip from your lips, brushing back the hair that fell from your ponytail.
“You always do that,” you say quietly, your voice sounding small in the empty room.
“Do what?” he asks, cocking his head.
“Stay. Even when you’re done.”
He leans back, his chair creaking. “So do you.”
“That’s different.”
“How?” he asks, his dark eyebrows furrowing slightly.
You hesitate, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. “It just is.”
He studies you for a long moment, the blue light from the monitor casting shadows across his sharp features. “Have you ever thought about it?”
“About what?”
“This,” he says, gesturing vaguely between you. “Us. Spending every hour in the same room. The way we look for each other the second we walk in.”
Your heart stumbles before you can even stop it, it almost felt like you dreamt those words, as if they didn’t really come out of his mouth. “We’re coworkers, Jungkook.”
“Right.” His face drops, and you can see it clear as day. The word feels heavy, like a stone dropped in a well. You already regretted saying those words, but now you feel even more terrible.
He exhales, a ragged sound. “Forget it.”
But you don’t forget. Not even when you go to bed, staring up at the ceiling.
The next day’s a disaster. Not because anything happened, but because the silence is screaming. You and Jungkook have barely talked, and didn’t even have lunch together. He made up a simple excuse, something about not being in the mood to eat.
“Did you fight?” Jimin asks as you sit down beside him, stabbing at your food like it was a nuisance to you.
“No.” you replied, shaking your head.
“Did something happen?” Taehyung tries.
“No.”
“You know what’s funny,” Jimin added, a suspicious look on his face, staring as you violently pick at your rice. “Jungkook said the complete opposite.”
You immediately snap your eyes up at him, your attention focused, “What did he say?”
“Ah! So something did happen!” He replied. Great, you unknowingly gave yourself into the hands of Jimin, without even realizing he was lying.
“You liar!” You groaned, rubbing at your face, before putting them down to look at him. “Fine. After everyone left, he insinuated that there was… something between us.”
Jimin and Taehyung looked at each other, then back to you. You thought they would have more of a reaction, but it was as though you were just telling them about the weather.
“Well, we all know that.” Taehyung shrugged, crossing his arms as he leaned back. “Is there something between you?”
“I don’t know. I told him that we were coworkers, and he basically shut down after that.” you bit at your lip, worrying.
“You what?” Jimin gasped, face palming.
“Y/N, you idiot! He was clearly confessing to you, and you shut the poor boy down.” Taehyung explained.
You stared blankly at them, last night playing back in your head. There was no way Jungkook was confessing to you right? He couldn’t have liked you, he simply just thought you were friends.
“There’s no way. He was just playing with me, if he liked me it would’ve been more obvious!” you retaliated.
“More obvious?” Taehyung let out an incredulous laugh, nearly dropping his fork. “Y/N, are you kidding me? The man practically stares holes into your soul every time you walk into the breakroom. He brings you coffee exactly how you like it without you ever asking. He practically fights the air if someone looks at you the wrong way.”
Jimin nodded, his eyes wide. “He’s practically been doing the ‘I’m in love with you’ dance for months. The only person who hasn’t seen it is you, and apparently, Jungkook, because he clearly thinks he’s being subtle.”
“He’s not subtle,” Taehyung added, shaking his head. “He’s just pathetic. And now he’s probably sitting at his desk thinking he’s been rejected by the love of his life.”
You felt your stomach drop. The memory of his face, and the way it had gone blank, the way he’d said forget it, suddenly didn't look like indifference anymore.
"I didn't mean to..." You started, but the words felt hollow.
"Look," Jimin said, his expression softening just a fraction. "He’s been acting like a wounded puppy all morning. If you want to fix it, stop overthinking and go find him. He’s probably hiding out in the supply closet or the archives, sulking."
You didn’t even finish your lunch. You stood up, your chair scraping loudly, and walked out of the breakroom with a singular goal in mind.
You found him in the archives, a dim, quiet room tucked away in the back of the office. He was standing by the tall filing cabinets, a stack of folders in his hands, but he wasn't doing anything. He was just staring at the wall, his shoulders slumped in a way that made your heart ache.
"Jungkook?"
He stiffened, the sound of your voice clearly catching him off guard. He didn't turn around right away, but you saw his knuckles tighten around the folders. "What are you doing here?"
"I... I wanted to talk," you said, closing the heavy door behind you, muffling the distant sounds of the office.
He finally turned, and the look in his eyes shattered you. He wasn't angry; he just looked tired, guarded, and incredibly sad. "There’s nothing to talk about. You were right. We’re just coworkers. I shouldn't have made it weird."
"You didn't make it weird," you said, taking a step toward him. "I did. I was scared, Jungkook. I've spent so long telling myself that you were just being nice, just being a good coworker, that when you actually asked... my brain just defaulted to the safest, stupidest thing I could say."
Jungkook dropped the files onto the nearest table, the thud echoing in the small room. He looked at you, his gaze searching yours, desperate for a hint of truth. "You were scared?"
"Terrified," you admitted, stepping into his space. You didn't give him a chance to pull away. You reached out, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt before settling on his chest, right over his racing heart. "I’m terrified because I’ve wanted you to say that for so long that I didn't know what to do when you finally did."
The tension in his shoulders seemed to snap. His hands came up, hovering for a second before he cupped your face, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones. "I thought I’d lost my chance. I thought you were just being polite when you called us coworkers."
"I was an idiot," you whispered.
"Yeah, you were," he murmured, but his expression was anything but harsh. He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, his breath hot and uneven. "But I think I can forgive you. If you promise never to say it again."
"I promise," you whispered
He didn't wait for another word. He surged forward, his mouth finding yours. It was desperate and needy; he pressed you back against the rows of cold metal cabinets, his hands sliding down to your waist, anchoring you.
You froze, his words settling into your bones, warm and steady. The stifling silence of the archives vanished, replaced by the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.
He didn't pull away. Instead, he pulled you into a tight, grounding embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He let out a long, shaky exhale, the kind that only comes after you’ve been holding your breath for months.
“I was so worried,” he murmured against your skin, his voice muffled but entirely sincere. “I walked into work today and every time you looked at me, I felt like I was losing a little piece of myself. I almost called in sick just to avoid the awkwardness.”
You laughed, a soft, breathless sound, and wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him as close as physics would allow. “I spent the whole morning trying to figure out how to apologize without sounding like a total wreck.”
Jungkook pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes soft and bright. He reached out, his thumb brushing away a stray lock of hair from your forehead with such care it made your heart ache. The intensity from a moment ago had melted into something sweet, something domestic and easy.
“You’re not a wreck,” he said quietly, his gaze roaming over your face as if he were memorizing the way the light caught your eyes. “You’re exactly who I’ve been waiting for.”
He leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. “We don’t have to rush this, you know. I just wanted you to know I’m not going anywhere. We can be coworkers, we can be friends, or... we can be something else entirely. Whatever you need.”
The kindness in his voice made your chest swell. You stood on your tiptoes and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to his nose, then his cheek, before resting your head on his shoulder.
“I don’t want to be just coworkers anymore,” you whispered into his shirt, feeling the familiar, comforting scent of his cologne. “I want to be with you.”
Jungkook chuckled, a low, melodic sound that vibrated against your ear. He squeezed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours and bringing them up to rest against his chest.
“I want to be with you too,” he said, his voice dropping into that familiar tone you’d grown to love. “I also have a feeling the rest of the office is going to be incredibly annoying once they find out.”
You groaned, a smile breaking across your face. “Oh, definitely. Jimin is going to have a field day.”
After that, you spent the rest of your day trying to not stare at Jungkook as he worked, but you were failing miserably. It was even worse when he invited you over to his home.
The door to his apartment had barely clicked shut before he had you pinned against the entryway, his mouth crashing onto yours with a hungry force that left no room for hesitation. The professionalism he’d practiced for months was completely gone, replaced by a need that made your pulse hammer against your throat.
"I’m done acting like a coworker," he growled against your lips, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you flush against his hard, unmistakable erection. "I’m done watching you from across the room and wondering what you sound like when you're finally mine."
He didn't wait for a response, sweeping you up into his arms and carrying you toward the bedroom. His hands were everywhere, fumbling with the buttons of your blouse, sliding under the hem of your skirt to press his hot palms against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.
"You look so beautiful," he rasped, his voice dropping into a rough register that sent a shiver straight down your spine. "And you’re going to be so loud for me tonight."
He moved quickly, stripping away your clothes until you were pressed together, skin to skin. He trailed his tongue down the column of your throat, biting gently at your collarbone until you whimpered, your fingers raking through his messy hair.
His mouth latched onto your already hard nipple, swirling his tongue until it became sensitive. You let out a whimper, watching as he did that to both of your tits.
His hand then moved lower, slipping between your thighs with precision, circling at your clit. Your hips lifted in response, a moan escaping from you.
“Fuck, Jungkook—“
"That's it, baby," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, his voice thick with want. "Tell me exactly how much you’ve been thinking about this. Tell me you wanted me to do this to you while everyone else was only a few feet away."
"I did," you breathed, your voice breaking. "I wanted you to take me right there at my desk. I wanted to crawl to you and suck you off."
He let out a groan, the sound vibrating through your chest as his fingers dipped inside you, finding you already slick and pleading for more. He began to move his fingers, thrusting them into your pussy. His thumb rubbing against your clit until your head fell back, your breath hitching in sharp, uneven gasps.
"You have no idea how much I wanted to hear you say that," he rasped, as he watched your face with an intensity. "I spent all day watching you, picturing exactly what you'd look like on your knees, tasting me while everyone else was just feet away, completely oblivious."
He took his fingers out and pushed you back gently, guiding you until you were kneeling between his legs. His eyes were heavy, fixed on you with a mixture of worship and barely-controlled demand. He leaned back against the headboard, his breathing already ragged, and looked down at you.
"Go on," he rasped, "I’ve spent months wondering what your mouth would feel like around me. Show me exactly how much you’ve been thinking about it."
As you took his cock in your mouth, he let out a low, shuddering moan. His hips hitched forward, forcing you to take more of his length. His fingers tightened in your hair, guiding your head, his thumb tracing your jawline with a possessive stroke.
"Fuck," he hissed, his head falling back again, his teeth biting his lip as he fought to keep his composure. Spit was dripping down his cock as you continued, your head bobbing up and down, while your tongue teased his soft tip.
"This is better than I imagined. You’re so fucking hot, taking me like that... like you were born to do it."
He watched you through half-lidded eyes, his gaze following each movement and of your lips. He dropped his head down onto the pillow, never taking his eyes off you. The noises that left his lips made you soaking wet, your core filled with an ache.
"Keep doing that—don't you dare stop. I want to feel every bit of your mouth. I want you to memorize the taste of me so that every time you look at me across that office, you know exactly what I taste like, what I feel like."
He started to move his hips more rhythmically, his hands still holding your hair.
"That's it," he groaned, his voice breaking. "You're so good at this, it's driving me out of my mind. Does it make you feel good to know that I’m the only one who gets to see you like this?"
"I love it," you took your mouth away for a second, only to reply, before dragging your tongue along the side.
"Good," he growled, his grip in your hair intensifying as he got close. "I’m going to ruin you for anyone else, you hear me? Every time I look at you, you’re going to remember exactly how this felt. You’re going to be thinking about how much you want me to do this to you again."
He let out a ragged, strangled moan as he came, his hips bowing off the mattress as he finished into your mouth, his hands trembling. He held you there for a moment, his breathing heavy and uneven.
"God," he rasped, finally pulling you up, his skin flushed and slick. "You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that to you. Now, sit down on my cock—I’m not done with you yet."
You wiped the spit away from your chin with the back of your hand, before straddling him comfortably. Your nails scratched against his chest, before resting on his abs.
He moved slowly, pushing into you with a heavy pressure that made your breath catch in stuttering gasps. Each thrust made your body twitch, every movement a silent declaration.
"Look at me," he commanded, "I want you to see exactly what you’re doing to me. You’re so fucking tight. Every time you clench around me, I wanna fuck you harder."
He leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, "I spent months watching you walk down that hallway, wondering if you were wet for me. I used to go to the bathroom and just close my eyes and imagine exactly this—your pussy wrapped around my dick, your voice begging for me to go faster."
You let out a broken, needy sound, your ass slapping against his pelvis to meet his rhythm, and he let out a harsh, jagged laugh.
“Yes! Fuck, yes— I was so wet for you, Jungkook. I needed your cock so badly.” you gasped, grabbing onto his shoulders.
"That's it," he hissed, his hand sliding down to grip your ass, his fingers gripping the flesh before slapping it harshly. "Keep begging for it. Tell me how much you need me to ruin you. Tell me you’re never going to let any other man touch you after this."
"I'm yours," you choked out, your walls tightening around him, the friction becoming an agonizing, perfect heat. "Only yours, Jungkook."
"Good," he growled, his pace accelerating, his hips slamming into you with a power that shook the entire bed. "Because I'm going to own every inch of you tonight. I’m going to make you scream my name so loud that even if you wanted to go back to being just a coworker tomorrow, you wouldn't be able to look me in the eye without remembering exactly how I felt inside you."
He moved faster, his movements becoming more frantic and demanding, his hands sliding under your ass to haul you up against him, deep and heavy.
"Fuck, you're perfect," he rasped, his voice breaking as he reached his own climax, his body shuddering with every powerful thrust. "Take it all. I want to fuck you so deep, that you feel it every time you sit at that desk tomorrow."
When the orgasm finally hit, it was a blinding, shattering force that left you both gasping. He collapsed against you, his forehead resting on your shoulder, his skin slick with sweat and his breathing ragged. His cum was seeping out of you, dripping down his twitching cock.
He didn’t let you recover for long. Even as his heart was beating fast against your ribs, his hands were already sliding down to your waist, his grip firm and insistent. With a groan, he pulled himself out of you, the absence leaving you feeling cold and aching for more.
"Not done yet," he rasped, his voice dropping into a demanding tone. "Flip over."
You obeyed, gasping as he pushed you onto your hands and knees, the mattress shifting beneath your weight. He positioned himself behind you, his hands sliding over your thighs to pull you back against him. When he entered you again from behind, he hit a spot so deep it forced a raw, breathless sob from your throat. He pounded into you, long and heavy, his thrusts stretching you, filling you so completely you felt like you might snap.
"Look at that," he panted, his hands sliding up to grip your hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh. "You’re already so hungry for me again. You’re such a greedy girl."
He tilted your hips, finding the perfect angle, his movements becoming a punishing thud. "Does it feel good to be used like this? To have me own you from behind, where you can't even see my face while I ruin you?"
You didn't have an answer, only a series of breathless, broken whimpers as he hit that same spot, over and over again. He leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck, his breath hitching as he felt you tightening around him, milking every inch.
"Fuck, you’re so tight," he whispered, “You’re going to be so sore tomorrow. I want every single person in that office to look at you and know exactly what you were doing all night."
He gripped your hair, pulling your head to the side, forcing you to look over your shoulder at him. His eyes were filled with a terrifying, beautiful hunger. "Say it. Tell me you’re my little slut, and that you’re never going to be anyone else’s."
"I'm yours," you panted, the friction building in your lower abdomen. "Only yours, Jungkook. I'm your slut."
He slammed into you with renewed power, his hands leaving bruising imprints on your hips. You were sobbing his name, your body arching as the pleasure built.
He didn't slow down, instead leaning forward to bite down hard on your shoulder, his own breath coming in broken gasps as he came inside you once more, his body shuddering with every hard, final thrust that pinned you into the mattress.
He held you there, panting, his head buried in your hair as the world finally stopped spinning. Slowly, he pulled back, his heavy, spent body collapsing over yours, his arms wrapping around you to keep you anchored to him.
The silence that followed was heavy and languid, the kind of stillness that only exists when two people have completely unraveled each other. Jungkook didn't pull away immediately. Instead, he stayed right where he was, his weight a grounding comfort against your back. He kept his arms locked tight around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he focused on catching his breath.
He shifted slowly, rolling off you and pulling you back so you were curled against his chest. He reached over to the nightstand to grab the duvet, pulling it up to cover you both, shielding you from the cool air of the apartment.
"You okay?" he murmured, his voice now stripped of its earlier, demanding edge. It was soft and hesitant, the voice of the man who brought you coffee every morning, just layered with a new intimacy.
You hummed, burying your face in his chest, feeling the steady, calming thump of his heart beneath your cheek. "I’m good," you whispered, though your voice was still raspy.
He didn't just leave it at that. He began to stroke your hair, his fingers carding through the tangles with an almost reverent tenderness. He traced soothing patterns down your spine, his palm warm and steady against your skin. It was a sweet contrast to the intensity of the last hour, and it made your chest ache in the best way possible.
"I didn't mean to go so hard," he admitted, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. "I just... I’ve waited so long to have you like that. I forgot how to be gentle when I’ve spent months just watching you."
"It’s okay," you whispered, turning your head to press a kiss to his collarbone. "I liked it."
He chuckled and pulled you even tighter, tucking you securely into the crook of his arm. "I'm going to take care of you, you know. I’m going to make sure you’re alright tomorrow."
He reached for a glass of water on the nightstand, guiding it to your lips with one hand while he held you with the other. He watched you drink, his gaze softened by an affection that felt permanent. Once you were settled back down, he pulled the duvet up higher, tucking it around your shoulders like a cocoon.
"Stay right there," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. He kept his hand on your waist, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles against your hip, keeping you grounded. "We’ve got all night. No meetings, no deadlines. Just us."
He continued to hold you and as the adrenaline finally faded into a hazy, warm exhaustion, you felt him kiss your forehead one more time, his hold deepening.
"Go to sleep," he murmured, his voice drifting into the quiet of the room. "I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere."
And as you finally drifted off, the last thing you felt was his heartbeat against your ear and the secure, protective warmth of his hand resting firmly against your side.
The next morning, you walked into the office feeling like you were walking on air, despite the fact that every muscle in your body felt like it had been put through a professional-grade blender.
You walked past Seokjin’s desk. He stopped mid-sip of his tea, squinted at you, and then let out a sound like a deflating balloon. "Oh. My. God."
You kept your head down, trying to look busy with your files, but then Hoseok popped up from his cubicle like a meerkat. "Y/N! You’re… glowing? Or is that just a very aggressive highlighter?"
Then, the final boss appeared. Jungkook walked in. He looked perfectly fine, annoyingly well-rested, actually, and he was carrying two cups of coffee. He walked directly to your desk, his hand resting on the small of your back for a very deliberate, lingering second.
"Morning," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "Got your coffee. Just how you like it."
He didn't pull his hand away. He just stood there, leaning slightly against your chair, looking at you with that soft, goofy smile that said I’m completely obsessed with you.
The entire office went dead silent. You could literally hear a pin drop, if a pin were to drop in a room full of people holding their breath.
"So," Jimin said, slowly spinning his chair around to face you. "Are we going to talk about the fact that Y/N is walking like she’s carrying a backpack full of bricks, or are we going to talk about the fact that Jungkook is currently vibrating with smug satisfaction?"
Yoongi didn't even look up from his screen. "I already won the office betting pool. I knew they’d fuck by Friday."
You turned bright red, burying your face in your hands. "I hate you all. I really, truly do."
You grabbed your coffee and realized that yes, this was a disaster. Yes, your coworkers were chaotic, annoying monsters. And yes, your legs were killing you. But as Jungkook pulled a chair up next to yours, effectively ending the concept of "personal space," you decided it was definitely worth it.
“Jungkook comes home from a mission only to find out that his father sent you on The Path – a test of strength which will kill omegas such as yourself without mercy. This is a story of loss, true mates always finding together and a son finally standing up against his cruel father.”
Pairing: Alpha!Jungkook x f. omega!Reader
Genre: Angst, Hurt & Comfort, Werewolf!AU, Found Family!AU, Romance, Smut
Warnings: 98% of this is in Jungkook's POV, so much plot, heavy themes of loss & grief, knowing that the grief will always be part of one, potential loss of her and it fucking breaks him, his dad is abusive and Kook finally had enough, he is indeed the True Alpha omfg, this story will have you weeping and sobbing but also smiling and panting, Jungkook is THE best character omfg i love him so much, having the “kids? yes or no?” conversation but pregnancy/parenthood etc. is not gonna happen, just the conversation yk, scenting for comfort, so many hugs and so much love <3, FOUND FAMILY, they’re so right for each other, they’re so gentle and loving with each other, you will get angst and pain and closure in the first part and then very horny smut and fluff in the second part fdsafj, the next warnings are for the smut: Dom in love!Kook, sub in love!Reader, lingerie kink, how is this so soft and yet so hot? because it’s sex with feelings <3, body worship, gentle marking, tears, so much kissing and touching and being tender <3, hand holding, lots of possessive talk, hair pulling (m.receicing), oral sex (f.receiving), rimjob & massage, pussy eating premium, vaginal fingering, nipple licking & sucking, she leaks omega juice ;), sexual scenting, cowgirl at first and then passionate missionary, she is not very good at being at top please her subby heart <3, he takes such great care of her :(, he hugs her as he is inside, he has a big dick, creampies, breeding for the sake of being each other’s one, this is the love makingstes love making these two did as of now, omfg they're so in love!, loving aftercare
Wordcount: 19.2k
a/n: to anyone who is just here for the smut, i don't apologise. you will get the angsty plot because it is needed. OMFG this genuinely made me ugly cry at some parts. omfg i forgot how heartbreakingly fun it is to write angst. this story really had everything i love as a writer. angst and pain and moments of victory and love and adoring smut and :( AH! i’m so in love with this universe and with this jungkook, i don’t think i’ll ever be normal again 🖤
Jungkook comes home to an empty house. He was gone for three days and four nights. Another one of his father’s missions. It left him feeling drained and the thought of coming home to you was the only thing keeping him going. He thought of your warmth, your scent, your embrace and soft skin during his lonely nights, wishing for nothing else but to be close to you.
And now he is home.
And you are gone.
You don’t answer the phone, you don’t read your texts, you don’t respond when he calls your name. You are nowhere to be found, scent faded from the air. It is as if you never even existed.
Jungkook feels sick in the stomach as he hurries to your parents’ house. He hopes that you are there. That maybe you just forgot to charge your phone as you left for a visit. Otherwise he would lose his mind.
Your mother opens the door.
“Oh”, she chokes out and falls around Jungkook’s neck, sobbing. The grief in her scent hits him punishingly.
“What happened?” Jungkook almost yells, trying to comfort your mother despite his body wanting to give up.
The rest of your family has gathered behind her by now. The scent of grief and fear soaks the entire house.
“Please, what happened?”
“He send her on the Path. My ___, my little girl, she isn’t going to survive this.”
“The Path? Don’t tell me this is real.”
Your mother sobs harder. Your little sister weeps as well. Your father manages to speak through his tears.
“They came for her two nights ago. He said that it was necessary for the Alpha’s mate to fulfil the rituals.” Your father snarls his next words. “She is going to die because she bonded with you.”
“No. No, this isn’t true. I will fix this.”
Jungkook wiggles out your mother’s embrace. His hands are shaking but he tries to hide it. His emotions are all over the place. Fear. Guilt. Worry. And anger. So much fucking anger.
“Please I beg you, Jungkook, save my little girl”, your mother begs, clutching his hands. Her hands are shaking more than Jungkook’s, her eyes plead with him for your life.
“I will save her. She’s everything to me. I have to go.”
“Where to?”
“To fix what wasn’t his’ to ruin.”
-------
The public gathering hall is busy today. A banquet. Most of the pack is present. Chattering quiets down as Jungkook storms past them. Your family follows him not far behind.
The door to his father’s throne room falls open loudly. The music and conversations instantly grow silent. Nervous murmurs go through the hall.
“Have you gone insane?!” Jungkook roars, filling the entire room with his presence.
“Jungkook. Son. You aren’t supposed to be back yet. Have you taken care of what I asked you to take care of?” his father greets him, voice contorted from wine. He seems jolly, having conversed with a few of his trusted people. As if he was celebrating a long awaited victory.
Within seconds after Jungkook’s arrival, his father is on the ground as Jungkook lands a punishing fist on his face. His father flies a good five meters before he bounces on the ground.
The room vibrates in screams of horror and shock. Then silence follows. His father is too flabbergasted to react.
“You sent ___ on the Path? Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Jungkook has never screamed as he screams right now.
His father gains his composure, crawling back to his throne with the help of a few pack members. He is embarrassed, but tries to mask it with anger. His face is still bleeding.
“It was about time that she went. She is your mate now.”
“She is supposed to be one of our nurturers! The Path is for future warriors! She doesn’t need to pass the fucking maturity ritual! She isn’t a fighter!”
“It doesn’t matter! We will see if she is meant to be a fighter or not.”
“It’s going to kill her!”
His father stays silent which angers Jungkook even more. He screams with his fangs bared.
“I love her! Isn’t this enough? To know that your son loves her?”
“You aren’t in love, son.”
“Don’t tell me what I feel! You have no idea what I feel. Or what love is! You give no shits about me. I’m your son but I’m a stranger to you and now you are going to take away the only happiness I have! Why do you hate me so much?”
“You do not talk to me like this”, his father tries to start his usual shit again, but Jungkook isn’t having it tonight.
“Shut the fuck up!” he roars, silencing the entire room with it. Even his father, who for the first time in Jungkook’s life actually listens. He listens. Like someone who is under the influence of his Alpha’s voice. Jungkook isn’t aware of what he did yet. Blinded by anger, hurt and worry he cannot see the change in the pack dynamics. And how everyone seems to hold their breath as they watch their supposed Alpha lose his voice under the influence of Jungkook. The wish for Jungkook to step up has been present in many, but to watch it truly happening so naturally is mind blowing.
“You are going to step down once I come back!” Jungkook yells at his father, pointing his finger at him, “you aren’t fit to be our Alpha anymore!”
His father panics.
“You do not know me! I am fit enough to rule!”
“You sent one of our nurtures to the maturity rituals! You sent her to certain death! She’s supposed to be under your protection! You’re her Alpha. Your job is to keep our nurturers safe!” Jungkook’s voice almost ruptures at this point. He never screamed as loud before.
His father is quiet.
“You went too far! I’m done playing nice and I’m done listening to your bullshit! You are unfit to lead the pack! You’ve been unfit for many years!”
His father tries to intervene, but Jungkook gives him no chance.
“You are going to give up the leadership once I’m back. Doesn’t matter how much you protest, I will make sure that you do. And if I find out that you hurt my pack in retaliation, I will kill you”, Jungkook spits with deathly seriousness and turns to leave.
His father shakes out of his shocked trance, clutching the throne in panic. The effects of Jungkook’s voice are still shaking him. He cannot take the reality of the situation, now lashing out in his last attempt to keep control.
“You do not get to walk away from this conversation, Jungkook!”
“You’re not my Alpha anymore”, Jungkook says without looking back and slams the door closed behind him.
“You should have died in your mother’s stead!”
-------
Two days. That’s how big your lead is. Two fucking days.
A path up a mountain may sound like something easy to do, but it is not. The paths of maturity are cruel. Leading up a mountain with no rest stops or offers for help, it really tests the will to survive of whoever walks them. It is steep at parts, steep enough that climbing knowledge was necessary. There are parts where one must cross a wild river on nothing but slippery stones. But the worst part comes two days into the trial. A sky bridge reaching between two mountains. Every second plank of the bridge was missing on purpose and the distance between each plank was wide enough that many fell to their deaths this way.
And if the climb itself isn’t bearing danger, it is the environment around it. The mountain is crawling with monsters and werewolf hunters. Going there without fighting experience means certain death. And you have been out there for two days.
Jungkook tries not to let the tears blur his visions as he runs along the path. He left his human form behind the moment he stepped out of the community hall, running his paws sore to catch up with you as quickly as possible.
The scents are overwhelming to him, but none of them is yours. He stops once he caught up with half a day. He left town an hour ago. He can barely breathe, even in wolf form he tastes blood, and yet he still manages to let out a howl. Loud and filled with pain, it echoes through the valley. The effects of it ripple through town even all the way down the foot of the mountain.
Jungkook receives pained howls in answer. They are distant, but not yours. Deeper into the forest. He needs to go deeper.
He runs in with monsters, switching between his wolf and human form smoothly as he rips through them. He feels nothing as he does. Just fear. Fear that he is already too late. If he runs in with enemies here, does this mean that they won against you? There are no signs of a fight anywhere. He can’t decide if this worries him more or if it comforts him. No traces of a fight but also no traces of your blood. Maybe they weren’t here when you came through. Jungkook climbs the first wall within minutes, stopping to howl once atop. The howls of his pack are little whispers in the wind by now, but no sound of you.
Jungkook curses, switching into his human form to scream your name on top of his lungs.
It’s been three hours since he left town and it is getting dark. He fears that you might not survive another night out here.
“Please mama!” Jungkook screams at the sky, face hot in tears, “please give me a sign that she’s alive! Please mama, please!”
The sky rumbles in thunder.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip, drip.
Drip, drip, drip.
Rain starts pouring down on him. Lightning strikes the very crown of the mountain just as Jungkook screams into the sky as his chest bursts in relief.
“You’re here right now, aren’t you? You’re looking out for her aren’t you, mama?”
The sky pours its heart out as Jungkook cries with it, body stretched as far as possible to reach what can never be reached.
“Help me, please! I can’t find her.” He hits his own chest, “I love her so much, mama. Please help me, mama. Please, I need you.”
The sky roars, sending blinding lightning east into the forest of him. Jungkook screams in emotion, feeling painfully overwhelmed by the situation. His mother is guiding him. At least this is what it feels like. His mama is with him. Jungkook could wail but he knows that this wasn’t the time. He has to go where the lightning hit the ground. The stench of burning wood guides him. He manoeuvres the dark forest skilfully, trying to call for you with howls which you don’t answer.
He can see the fire. One of the trees. The lightning split it in half. The rain actively kills the fire, preventing it from spreading.
Jungkook looks around panickedly, jumping and running around the area. You should be here. His mother guided him here. You should be here.
But you aren’t.
He was a fool. He trusted the ways of the environment to be something more. He trusted nature to be his mother. But his mother is dead. She has been dead for years. He was a fool for thinking that she was helping him.
Just as he was a fool for hoping that you were still alive. The mountain took you and now he is truly alone. You will never get a proper burial which means that you will never find your way into the hall of your ancestors. Even in death he won’t see you again. He is truly alone.
Jungkook howls louder than the roaring thunder, pouring his entire pain into it.
He is too far gone from the pack to hear their answers. Or for them to hear his lonely song.
He is truly alone. Just as you were when you died, scared, hungry and hurt.
The mountain shakes in heartbreak as Jungkook sings his song of grief. The sky cries harder for him, showing him its pity with lightning.
The mountain is bright for a good second, showing him everything.
He saw something.
Not far from where he stands. Jungkook runs to it, changing into his human form mid run which ends in him falling to his hands and knees those last few inches. He cuts his palms and bruises his knees, but doesn’t feel it.
He found your body. A huge branch covers your legs. It must have broken in the storm.
“___! No, ___! Please be alive!” He throws the branch off you and picks you up to flip you.
Your body flops lifelessly, your eyes are closed and your mouth agape.
“Please don’t do this to me. Please I can’t find your corpse. Please”, he begs you, wiping the dirt from your face to search for any signs of life. His hands are shaking.
“Please baby, please wake up. Please”, he begs, pulling your chest against his ear. His ears are ringing so loudly that he can’t hear your pulse.
He forces himself to calm down by taking deep breaths. Nothing. Just ringing. Jungkook breathes in. Breathes out. In. out.
“Please, be alive please.”
In. Out. In. Out.
“Please, I can’t lose you.”
In. Out. In.
Tudun. Tudun. Tudun.
Your pulse. He can finally hear it. It’s there. Your pulse is there.
Jungkook sobs and laughs at the same time, hugging you against him.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” He doesn’t know who he is thanking but he knows that he never meant it more.
“She’s alive! Mama, she’s alive! I found her! Thank you, mama! Thank you!”
And he also knows that he needs to act fast. He can’t stay here. The storm is picking up. If he stays here, a fallen tree will take both of you out.
Jungkook knows this path and he has enough clarity left to know where it will be safe to hide from the storm. He carries you to safety, talking to you and hoping that it will soak into your subconscious.
“You’re safe. I’m here now. Everything’s over.”
There is a small cave not far from the path. It is sheltered from the rain and his equipment from his last climb is still there. Jungkook lies you down on the thin mattress and tugs you in.
“You’re safe now. I’m here. Please hold on. I’m here now, okay? I’m here.”
He forces his tears down. Not now.
“Please fight for me, please.”
He leans down and kisses your cold forehead, caressing the side of your head at the same time.
“Fuck, you’re freezing. Don’t worry, I’m going to warm you.”
He works quickly to get a fire set up and started. He works carefully to get you and him out of your wet clothes, checking for wounds as he undresses you. Except for a few scratches and broken nails, you seem okay. The branch didn’t damage you. Jungkook swears that he wants to cry again, but doesn’t because he can’t get emotional right now.
Not when you are still so cold. Hypothermia is lethal to a lot of mammals and werewolves are no exceptions. As a matter of fact, it might be even more lethal for them than for other species because werewolves have a naturally higher body temperature and having it drop rapidly is dangerous. And Jungkook has no idea how long you have been freezing already. What if he already comes too late?
He puts another blanket on top of you and makes sure that it covers all of you. You lie closer to the fire. He climbs under the covers with you, pulling you against his bared body. Your skin hurts as it melts with his’ because of how frozen you are.
“You’re so cold, holy fuck. Please don’t let it be too late, please”, he buries his face in the crook of your neck while he presses his body closer in hopes of transferring his heat to you. Your scent is barely present, a reminder that you were barely alive. “I can’t lose you like this. I didn’t even get to grow old with you. I wanna grow old with you, ___. Please let’s grow old together, please.”
It has been six hours since he left town. The aches of his insane run finally catch up with him. Everything hurts. He abused his paws enough that even his human palms ache and bleed. The soles of his feet feel on fire. Everything hurts, but nothing compares to the pain in his chest as he considers the possibility of losing you. He doesn’t want to think about it, but it still happens. He thinks of how it would be if you died in his arms. He imagines your funeral. How it would be to carry your dead body back to town. How it would be to hand you over to your family. How it would be to look into his father’s eyes and see the victory upon breaking him.
And then he thinks of how it was when he buried his mom. How it was to see her dead body. How it was to say goodbye eventhough he didn’t want to say goodbye.
How it was to sit by her grave each day and wish for her to suddenly appear behind him. How it was to lie awake in bed wishing for the reset button to be a real thing just so he can reset his life back to the moment she left so he could undo it.
And he imagines how it will be the same when you are gone. And the grief never hurt as much as it does right now. And Jungkook cries. He cries into the crook of your neck because he cannot hold it in anymore.
-------
It has been eight hours since Jungkook left town. Jungkook isn’t aware of this yet. Because he has been crying.
He still is.
Then there is a hand atop his hand, which wasn’t there before.
Jungkook lifts his head in a flinch. Your eyes are still closed, nothing seemed to have changed and yet everything did.
Your hand is atop his hand. You moved. Jungkook flips his hand to intertwine fingers. You don’t squeeze him back, but your fingers twitch as you hold his hand.
“___ my love, oh ___”, he croaks, feeling overwhelmed in relief. You are moving.
Jungkook cries. He cries as he hugs you closer. And he cries until sleep enslaves him.
-------
It has been sixteen hours since Jungkook left town. Stress and anxiety wakes him. The rain stopped. Sunshine enters the cave. The scent of wet soil fills the air.
It feels like a dream until reality sets in. This is a nightmare. He fell asleep. He shouldn’t have. Not when your life was on the line.
“No please”, he gasps and props himself up on his elbow.
You are facing him.
His heart stops.
Your eyes are open. You can barely keep them open, but they are open. Your eyes are open.
“___!” He sits up, pulling you with him by cradling your cheeks. Sudden awe overcomes him afterwards. He barely dares to hold you, caressing your cheeks as if you were made of glass.
“Is this real?” he whispers, eyes racing between yours.
“I don’t know. I hope it is. I can’t do this anymore, Koo.”
“___”, he presses out, resting his forehead against, “oh your voice”, he squeezes his eyes shut, “say something again.”
“Jungkook, I love you.”
He sobs softly.
“I love you too.”
He hugs you against him, holding you with such urgency that nothing could manage to claw you from him again.
Reality finally sinks in for you too. This isn’t the last dream you have before you finally die. This is real. He actually exists. He came to save you.
You sob and melt into him.
“You’re actually here.”
“I’m here, baby. I’m here.”
“You came to save me.”
“I did. You’re safe. And alive. You’re fucking alive.”
“Koo please don’t ever leave me for so long again.”
“I promise. My love, oh, my everything.”
You and he hug each other for a long time this morning. All while the sun slowly wakes up and kisses the remnants of rain goodbye. All while the light entering the cave dances on the ground. And all while the last glowing embers of a fire past fall asleep.
You clean up with what little Jungkook has in this cave while he hunts for food. You were so hungry. And he couldn’t watch you starve. So he left after making you promise him that you wouldn’t leave again.
-------
It has been eighteen hours since he left town when he comes back from his hunt. He enters the cave with a tight chest, imagining the worst. That he just hallucinated you. That you never existed. That you are gone. Or that you were real, but somehow died while he was gone.
He enters the cave feeling anxious, but instantly melts upon laying eyes on you. You are lying curled up on the blanket, looking exhausted but alive. Your ears twitch as they pick up his footsteps, eyes opening a second later.
“You’re back”, you say, getting to your feet.
Jungkook drops the deer and hurries to you, taking you into his arms like only a lover could.
“Hey ___, hey”, he says, burying his nose in the crook of your neck. Your scent surrounds him, so alive and strong.
“Hey”, you whisper, eyes closed and heart racing. He hugs you as if he missed you for decades. You need it this morning.
“You’re actually real, right?”
“Yeah, I’m real.”
He steps back, cradling your face so he can kiss it. It ends up making you giggle and hold his wrists. Your thumbs pick up his racing pulse.
“It tickles”, you giggle.
“Get used to it. I will be glued to you from now on.”
You snicker. Jungkook smiles and straightens up, gazing at you with adoring eyes.
“I got breakfast. I know it’s not what I normally get you but-”
“It’s perfect. Thank you so much.”
“Should we share it outside? Where the sunlight is warm?”
“Yes.”
And so you and Jungkook share breakfast in your wolf forms, digesting it by cuddling in front of the cave where the sunlight is warmest. Of course still in your wolf forms and it makes you realise just how safe you feel in his presence. Even as wolves, Jungkook is a lot bigger than you. It is an easy thing for him to completely shield you from the world as he keeps you safe and grooms you carefully. You groom him back, hoping that his sore paws find healing through your licks.
You were never like this with anyone before. Neither was Jungkook. Being wolves together is a very intimate state to share. Not many couples take this step because it is rare to reach this level of intimacy. You had good partners before Jungkook. You all loved them in their own ways and yet you could have never imagined being wolves together with any of them. It feels so goddamn right to do with Jungkook. And you realise that even when your bodies change, your hearts still remain the same.
-------
It has been twenty four hours since Jungkook left town when you decide that it is finally time to start your journey home. He finishes the last touches in his shelter to make sure that it was ready for when he needs it next. You are outside, looking up at the mountain.
“Are you ready to leave?” he asks.
“I want to finish the path”, you confess and shift your eyes to him.
“What? No. No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “No, I won’t allow it.”
“But I want to.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want. I’m not gonna let you go on a suicide mission.”
“I have to.”
“You don’t, ___.”
“Yes I do, Jungkook. I’m done feeling like I’m not right for you.”
Jungkook closes the distance, cupping your face and making you look at him this way. His eyes are widened in urgency.
“I hate when you talk like this. Do you understand? Don’t talk like this. Don’t. You’re right for me.”
“No, I’m not. You’re such a perfect werewolf and I’m…normal. I don’t have the pack piercings or the pack tattoos. I’m just there. I didn’t even finish the rituals.”
“You’re a nurturer. You are not supposed to walk the path. Nobody expects you to do what you aren’t meant to do.”
“But your father.”
“My father has no power anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means that I’m done watching him ruin My pack. I told him to step down once I’m back. He won’t be the True Alpha anymore when we return.”
“Holy fuck, you did?”
“I did and I regret nothing. My father’s not my family anymore. He went too far when he sent you on the path. I’m better off without him.”
“Jungkook, oh my god”, you cup his face, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t. It was about time that I stepped up. He is unfit to be Alpha. I can’t let him hurt my pack any longer.”
“And you think that he will willingly step down?”
“If he has any sense of honour, he will. If not, I will make him.”
“But you could kill-”
“I know. I’m prepared to do whatever I need to do to keep the pack safe.”
“Oh my god, Koo. I’m so sorry, this is so awful”, you croak and pull him down for a hug. You nuzzle your nose against his scent spot to spread your comforting scent instinctively.
Jungkook closes his eyes, melting in relief. This is his home. This right here.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. It’s not gonna be easy but I…honestly, I’m scared shitless. He’s still my dad. I don’t wanna fucking kill my own dad.”
“Of course you don’t and I hope that you won’t have to. You’re right, he isn’t fit to be Alpha anymore, but I also don’t want him to die for it.”
“Me neither. I just want him to step down and somehow become normal again in his retirement. Am I a hopeful idiot for wanting this?”
“No, you’re not. You’re a son who just wants a normal dad.”
“I do. I really do.” He holds you closer. “I mean my mum loved him and he loved me too. In the past, long ago... I just… I want him to see his faults and be normal.”
“You’re not alone in this, Koo. Many people feel like you feel and I’m here for you. You can rant and cry as much as you need, I’m here.”
“I know. I’m so glad that you are.”
He takes a step back, running his hands down your arms until he can intertwine fingers with you.
“I’m sorry for before”, he says.
“What do you mean?”
“I got a little controlling. I’m sorry that you had to see me this way. The thought of losing you to the path just-” He shakes his head. “I can’t even think about it.”
“God, Koo.”
“Last night was without a doubt the second worst night of my life. The night after I lost my mama comes first, but last night? I thought that I lost you too and I can’t go through this.”
“I hear you. I’m sorry for putting you through all of this. I thought that I had no choice but to go. I thought that I could handle it, but I couldn’t and I’m…”
“Hey, don’t cry”, he soothes you in a soft voice, wiping your tears, “you’re okay. You’re an omega and you said being a nurturer is in your blood. You’re not weak for struggling at something you’re not meant to do.”
You listen to him with great attention, looking into his eyes because his eyes really comfort you. There is always so much love in them.
“Please stop beating yourself up about it. I really ask you to stop seeing yourself so unworthy, please.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good. Because you’re perfect in my eyes. I wanna grow old with you. I wanna spend decades by your side, ___. I wanna laugh and cry and laugh some more with you. And if you ever feel ready, I wanna have pups with you and be a great father to them. I wanna be a grandfather with you and maybe even a great grandfather. I see my future with you, ___.”
“Oh”, you let out and fall around his neck.
Jungkook hugs you back tightly, engulfing you in his warm embrace fully.
“But it’s also totally okay if you don’t want pups of our own. We can be the cool aunt and uncle”, he adds just in case.
You laugh into his chest, pulling him closer. God, you were so stupid for ever going on this journey. His father made it seem as if this was the only way to prove your worth and yet all this time, Jungkook already saw you as perfect.
You raise your head, cradling his cheeks.
“I’m so in love with you, Jeon Jungkook.”
“Wow, you…I’m in love with you too, Jeon ___.”
You snicker, “I think this has such a nice ring to it.”
“It totally has.”
You and he meet eyes.
“So what now?” you ask.
“Now, I’m taking you back to town. It’s gonna take us a long time. Come on, let’s go.”
“Koo, wait.”
“Yes?”
“Is there really no way for me to finish the path?”
Jungkook says your name in disappointment, sagging his shoulders.
“I’m just asking. Can I seriously not do it? Even with you by my side?”
Jungkook first learned instinct is to explode in anger. That’s what his father always did. But he doesn’t, instead he takes a deep breath to regulate himself.
“Why do you want to finish it?” he asks in a calm voice.
“Because I could be the first nurturer to ever finish it”, you whisper shyly. You lower your eyes, “and I could tell others what the path looks like.”
“So you want to know how it looks?”
You nod your head.
“Alright, look”, he says and turns you gently. He back hugs you with one arm around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder. He uses his other arm to point at the different parts of the mountain.
“Around one hour from here, there will be another steep climb, followed by a very tense forest. Huge crab spiders like to nest in it. Their sting is even fatal to a werewolf.” he kisses your neck gently, speaking in a soft voice, “and then you have to walk half a day along very steep serpentines until they end at a cliff.”
“A cliff?”
“Yes, a cliff. Between two mountains. A bridge connects them.”
“But a bridge doesn’t sound so scary.”
“Except each second blank is missing on purpose and the distances are far enough that even I could fall through it.”
“Why would anyone make this? That’s insane.”
“It is.” He kisses the other side of your neck right on your scent spot.
You instantly sigh and drop your head against his chest. This right here is what being loved feels like. This is home.
“I feel like you’re being unfair”, you get out, shivering.
“I’m just trying to take you on a tour of the path. If you manage to cross the bridge, you’ll have to climb one more high wall and then you will have reached the peak. Up there, the oxygen is so thin that you can barely stand. And you have to do all of this again when you climb down. Climb and jump and fight.”
“What’s up there? At the peak?” you crane your neck to look at him. “I always wondered.”
“Rocks and stone and a wooden cross. And the ritual tree you have to get a cone from.”
“Is it really leaking red resin? Like blood?”
“It is.”
“Wow. What else?”
“There’s bodies.”
“What?”
“Yeah, bodies of wolves which died of lack of oxygen or exhaustion or starvation or hypothermia. Because the air is thin and cold, it takes a lot longer for the rot to set in, so most of them are still perfectly intact even after years of being dead.”
“I didn’t know that. Oh my god”, you confess and turn in his arms to seek comfort in his chest, “I heard enough. I want to go home. It’s so scary and sad.”
“Okay”, he whispers and kisses the crown of your head, rubbing your back, “let’s get you home, babygirl. Yes?”
“Yes, please take me home.”
You hold his hand very tightly as you and he begin your descent.
“And you had to see this when you were only eighteen?” you ask him.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Koo, I’m so sorry. How are you handling it?”
“I guess. I never even asked myself this question. It’s sad. Those wolves could have lived a good life if our traditions weren’t so fucked. Maybe they wouldn’t have become warriors but there are so many other fields they could have flourished in. It’s sad.”
“It is. Oh Koo, I’m so sad for them. Can we get them somehow? Help them get proper burials?”
“We can’t. It would take too many people to get them and the risk of losing more people to the path is too high. They’re safer up there.”
“It’s so sad. Now I’m really sad.”
“I know, I’m sorry”, he says and pulls you close until he can drape his arm over your shoulder. “Let’s watch a funny movie when we’re home.”
“Yeah, I’d like that a lot. Koo, do want to be wolves for a while? It was so nice to be free with you.”
“I’d like this a lot. It’s easier as wolves anyway”, Jungkook says and so you and he turn back into wolves to run through the forest side by side.
-------
It has been fifty eight hours since Jungkook left the pack. They welcome you and him by the gate as if they waited for your safe return.
You greet each person with a smile and some sort of innocent touch, but you can’t really concentrate.
“Where’s my family? Where are they?” All you could imagine as you were cold and alone was the Alpha exiling your family or hurting them. You can’t feel at home until you know that they are safe.
“___! My baby, oh my little girl!” Your mother fights her way through the crowd, almost knocking you off your feet from how aggressively she hugs you.
“Mama”, you press out and instantly breaking into tears.
“Praise the moon, you are safe! My little girl is safe. I love you, baby.”
“I love you too, mama.”
“Princess. My little girl”, your father takes you and your mother into his arms, sobbing in relief. “I’m so glad. I’m so glad.”
“I love you, dad.”
“I love you too.”
Now you are home again, hugging your parents and later your siblings. You are home. Jungkook is nudged between your parents by now, consoling them as much as he bathes in praises.
“You brought our little girl home. More than once you brought her home. How can we ever repay you?”
“Just keep loving her and being good parents to her. It’s all I want. Knowing that whenever she visits you and she leaves her parents home, she does so with a warm feeling in her chest. Just love her right, it’s all I’m asking for.”
“We love her so much. Our little girl.”
“I love her too”, Jungkook says and pulls you into a group hug. Your siblings join as well. Now you are really home.
But Jungkook isn’t allowed to rest yet. Reality settles in not soon after. The memory of how he left town is still brand-new for everyone. They expect him to act, to say something, to keep his promises. He has a duty to fulfil. Talk to his father.
“Should I come with you?”
“No. Stay with your family. I’m gonna be okay.”
You take his hand in front of everyone and kiss his cheek.
“You’re part of my family too.”
He meets your eyes. They are filled with emotion.
“Should I come with you?” you try again, but Jungkook shakes his head.
“Please stay with your family. I have to do this alone.”
“You don’t have to, you know?”
“I know. I want to.”
“Okay, then…good luck and I love you no matter what happens.”
His eyes soften. He cups your face and kisses your forehead in front of everyone to see. He even stubs noses with you, which is a very loving gesture for wolves.
“I love you too. So goddamn much”, he whispers, voice slightly shaky in emotions, and steps back. He straightens his back and scans his eyes over the pack.
They expect him to act and speak like the leader he wants to be. And so Jungkook steps up. He acts a leader.
“I know what everyone is thinking. Here he is after causing a scene. I know that some of you are probably unhappy with how I handled the situation and I know that some are happy that I did what I did. The truth is however that things are going to change from now on. The pack matters to me, every single one of you matters to me and I refuse to let the greed of one man ruin it.”
There is a rock not far from where he stands on which he could easily stand and make himself taller than the rest. He could tower over the pack, but he doesn’t. He stays eye to eye with them.
“You all know how Alphas love to make promises only to break them, so I’m going to keep my own promises short. I promise to have an open ear for each of you. I promise to spend my energy on creating community not division. And goddamn, I promise to end these greedy, pointless fights with other packs. And if the fight comes to us? I’ll be the first on out there to keep you safe, to bloody fight for you. That’s what I promise you. Being heard, community and protection!”
He looks at each and every single part of the pack, giving a feeling that what he says is directed at the person and not the mop. And as he stands, surrounded by the people he will lead from now on, after finishing his speech, the pack is silent. Not in disgust, but in pure awe. It only lasts for a second but it feels like eternity to Jungkook. Is this it? Are they not going to accept him as his Alpha?
Taehyung, one of his best friends and a beta, steps forward and takes Jungkook’s hand by his wrist just to stretch it high into the air.
“To Jungkook!” he yells and howls.
The pack finally breaks from its awed trance, joining Taehyung’s howls loudly. You join as well, watching with tears in your eyes as Jungkook gets the appreciation he deserves. Look at him. Look at him, surrounded by his pack, eye to eye and yet shining so much brighter than the rest. His eyes are widened in disbelief and his lips are parted because he can’t believe that these loud howls are for him.
But why shouldn’t they be? He sacrificed so much for the pack. He sacrificed his childhood, his adolescence and his innocence. He gave up the knowledge of clean hands just so his father’s enemies wouldn’t rip the pack to shreds. He lost the sweet blissfulness about true pain as he took the punishing blows of his father and his enemies instead of the pack. Over and over again, he cleaned up the messes, kept the people safe and pushed his own happiness aside just to make sure others have it better than he ever did. Hell, he wasn’t even allowed to cry at his own mother’s funeral. And this right now is what he deserves.
He deserves the appreciation, he deserves the howls. He fucking deserves to know that his efforts are appreciated and that he will always be this pack’s true Alpha. That they have his back just as much as he has theirs.
The howls do not die down as he makes his way to his father’s halls, staying by his side during this difficult time.
-------
He is by your parent’s front door when it is already dark outside. Your little sister opens the door. She is around nine years old and looks at him as if he was the coolest adult she has ever met.
“Hey there”, he greets her.
“Hey”, she murmurs shyly, “___! Jungkook is here!” she yells and runs off giggling.
He chuckles. Children are so funny sometimes. He can see the hallways from where he stands. In the very back, you stick your head out of the kitchen.
“Hey”, you appear in the hallway, making your way to him. “Come in. We’re almost finished.”
“Finished with what?” Jungkook asks, locking the door and taking off his outside clothes.
“Dinner.”
“What?” he breathes out.
You hang his jacket for him and put his shoes next to yours.
“I hope you’re hungry. I told mum what you like and we are making it together.”
Jungkook follows you with his hand in yours, unable to say a single word because he is in shock. He is getting a home cooked meal?
“Everyone, Jungkook is here”, you say into the kitchen, holding his hand oh so tightly.
Your family gives Jungkook welcoming waves as they greet him.
“How did it go with your father? Are you the Alpha now?” your father asks.
“I am.”
“How did he take it? How are you doing, son?”
Jungkook squeezes your hand. You instantly know that this struck a nerve.
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it tonight”, you say.
Your parents understand, nodding their heads.
“Why don’t you show Jungkook your room? Dinner is going to take another fifteen minutes”, your mother says.
“Good idea. Do you want to see my room? The last time you were here, I still played with toys.”
“Yeah, show me”, Jungkook says, following after you as you lead him upstairs.
The paths are familiar to him, these halls have seen him so many times as a child.
Just as he remembers, your room is at the end of the hallway. Your door, once covered in colourful stickers, is slightly ajar. Jungkook tries to take in everything. The sights, the sensations, the scents. Nothing here smells threatening, instead a very deep scent of a safe home soaks the fibres of this house.
Just like he remembers. It was his escapism whenever his father screamed at home. He really would have needed it after his mother died, but father didn’t allow him.
“So here we are. This is my room.”
The last time he was here, your walls were bright pink and your floors were covered in dozens of toys. Your bed was children-sized and the rest of your furniture was castle themed because you were obsessed with playing princess and knight (you were the princess and he had to be the knight).
Nothing of that child-like wonder remained in this room. The walls are painted a soft yellow, the wooden floors are covered in green rugs and the furniture is made of wood and has a modern yet cozy touch to it. The bed also grew exponentially and on the window sill a series of orchids bloom. Remnants of teenage interests are displayed on a shelf, and the last memory of childhood sits on the bed in the form of a teddy bear. But at the core of it, this is an adult’s room.
“I bet it’s weird to be back here when everything is so different”, you say, studying his features. He is tired and exhausted, you can see it clearly.
“Maybe a little.”
You close the distance to him, drawing his eyes to you with a touch.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
“No.”
“Did you have to, you know?”
“No, he’s still alive but…” he shakes his head, “…I should be used to it, but his words still hurt.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry”, you hug him.
Jungkook sinks into your embrace, seeking your scent spot like it was instinct. He closes his eyes, melting close to you. As long as he can smell you, life is manageable.
“I’m here for you.”
“I know.”
“And whatever he called you, it’s not who you are. You are loved so much and you are not a bad person or mean or whatever he said.”
“Thank you”, he chokes out, holding you tighter. Maybe you’re right and his father was wrong. Maybe Jungkook isn’t a selfish son, maybe his mum wouldn’t have been disappointed to see him take the leadership in such ways, maybe he is not a disappointment. Maybe his father was simply his father again.
He exhales shakily, cradling your head.
“You smell so good”, he says against your neck.
“It’s probably because I took a shower. I felt really yucky.”
“No, it’s not that. You smell so good.” Jungkook breaks the hug and stares at you with such intensity that you get nervous. He furrows his brows. “I feel like a robot. I just exist tonight”, he confesses, voice heavy.
“I get it. Too much happened. Do you want to take a shower and then wear something cozy? This always helps me feel better.”
“I don’t want to be rude and use your hot water.”
“Why? This is your home too.”
“Oh.” He closes his eyes. “Maybe I’d like a shower then”, he whispers shakily.
“Of course. Follow me, I’ll show you how to use it. We renovated the bathroom since the last time you were here and we got a new shower. Actually, we also got a new sink and new floors and walls. Basically, everything is new.”
“Yeah? That’s cool. Remember when we had to share a tomato juice bath because we hunted a skunk?”
“And it sprayed us? Oh my god yes, I completely forgot about that. My mum was so mad at us. The house reeked of it for two weeks after.”
“Yeah and then she called my mum because you ran out of tomato juice.”
“Remember what they said at the end?”
“That we should never lose our curiosity. Because bad smells can be washed away, but knowledge will never be taken from us again.”
“Yeah. Ah good times.”
You and he share giggles as you reminisce in the memory. His bad day feels far away when he can be like this with you.
“So. Here is a towel and you can start the water there and with this one you can change the temperature. You can use my shower gel and my shampoo”, you explain.
“Okay. Do you have a bag where I can store my clothes?”
“Huh? Just throw them in the hamper. My dad will wash it with the next load.”
“But.”
“No buts, you’re family. It’s okay.” You peck his cheek. “Just feel at home here. Okay?”
He nods his head, chest threatening to burst in emotion.
“Good. I’ll bring you some clothes”, you say and leave the bathroom. Jungkook stands frozen for a while, hearing you scream outside. “Jungkook is showering so nobody enter the bathroom!” to which faints voices from downstairs answer you with “okay”s.
It was so easy for your family to accept him in your home. The very second he stepped foot into this house, he was already part of it. He left fifteen years ago and once he returned, it was as if he never even left. Yes, rooms might have been renovated and toys might have been stored away, but at the core of it nothing changed. The layout is still the same, the scents as well and most importantly, the feelings. It still feels safe to come here.
Jungkook undresses and throws his clothes into the hamper because it is okay for him to do.
Your father will wash them because he is part of the family.
Jungkook steps into the shower and turns the shower on, and he turns up the temperature as high as possible because it was okay for him to use the hot water. He is part of the family.
Jungkook uses your shower gel and your shampoo, and maybe he uses a little bit too much but he knows that it’s okay to do. Because he is part of the family.
Tears run down his cheeks and he lets them. Water washes them away. He thought that after today, he truly lost his family. That he will never know having a “parent house” again, that he won’t know “coming over because he wants to feel like a son again”, that having somewhere where he will always be pampered was erased for him. But it is not.
Jungkook set foot into your home and became part of it. He has somewhere he can feel like a son in, somewhere where he can simply come over to.
The door opens. It doesn’t startle him because he knows that it is you.
“Jungkook?”
“Yes?”
“Can I come in? I’m not looking.”
“Yeah.”
“’I’m putting your clothes here.”
“Yes, okay.”
“Take your time, okay? I’m in my room if you need something.”
“Okay, my love.”
You leave again, filling the bathroom with a lingering feeling that everything will be alright one day. He might hurt tonight, he might hurt tomorrow and the day after that, a week from now, a month, maybe even two, but it will be alright one day. Because he has a family that cares and that means he can heal from everything.
Jungkook cleans the shower after using it and dries himself with the soft towel you laid out. He puts on the clothes you brought him, they must be some of your fathers. They’re just a little too small for him, but he does not mind. He never had a father figure who did not mind sharing his clothes when he needed a new pair. He would accept any kind of rag because they came from a place of care.
Just as he remembers, Jungkook leaves the door open. He enters your bedroom. You are on your bed, but sit up when you see him.
“Oh you look so cute. The shirt is so small on you”, you say as you roll off bed.
“I think my body is starting to change now that I’m the Alpha”, he says, tugging on the shirt. “Do you think that your family minds that my stomach is kinda out?”
You inspect the small strip of exposed skin. He seems even more muscular than he did before. Maybe his body is really settling into his new role.
“No”, you rub his stomach innocently, grinning up at him, “you’re so cute like this.”
He smiles shyly.
“Sit by the bed, I’m drying your hair.”
Jungkook obeys gladly, closing his eyes when you begin to pat him dry. It is so nice to be groomed by you.
“Did you like the shower?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“That’s good. I really hoped that you would.” You nuzzle his scent spot affectionately, lighting up his heart. Afterwards you kiss the nape of his neck, reminding him that he is loved.
Every second with you is like a dream. Jungkook doesn’t want to wake up.
“And how are your hands? Are they still sore?” you ask, patting him behind his ears.
“No, they healed.”
“Good.” You dry the left side of his hair with the towel. “I was never in my wolf form with someone else before you.”
“Me neither.”
Your dry his right side, “it was really nice.”
“Yeah, it was.”
You dry the top of his head, sending shivers down his spine.
Grooming each other is something very loving to do between wolves. Getting pat dry is very healing to receive. Jungkook wants to burn every single second of this current moment into his memory. It will serve as a reminder that bad things aren’t meant to last forever, even if they make him feel like they will.
“Dinner is ready!” your little sister screams from downstairs, interrupting the gentle moment.
“I guess dinner is done. Are you ready?” you ask and climb off bed.
He nods his head, following you with giddy nervousness in his chest.
-------
Your family waits by the dining table, welcoming him with hugs and sweet words. And Jungkook takes the affection as much as he stares at the food in shock.
This looks exactly like the special dinner his mother always made when you came over for dinner. All these years and you remembered it?
“Is this…”
“Your mom’s special dinner? Yes. I know how much you loved it and we wanted to make it for you.”
“To thank you for bringing our ___ home and for giving her happiness”, your mother says.
“And as a cheer me up because what you did today wasn’t easy”, your father adds.
“We cut the vegetables.” “Yeah and stirred the pot.” Your siblings say proudly.
Jungkook is speechless. His chest feels so tight, but not in a bad way. He feels grateful and loved and deeply scared of taking the first bite. But he has to. Your mother is filling his plates and talking about hoping that he will love it.
He has to take that first bite. And so he does. He takes that first bite and suddenly he is nine years old again and his mother ruffles his hair, telling him to eat a lot so he can grow up big and strong. All of a sudden, he tells her about his day on the playground with you. All of a sudden, the smell of her perfume and the sound of her voice is so clear to him that it brings tears to his eyes.
“Sorry”, he presses out and hides his face behind his hand.
“Oh, sweetheart. What’s the matter?” your mother gasps and rubs his shoulders exactly how only a mother can do.
“It tastes like hers”, he whimpers his words, shoulders shaking in silent tears. “I’m sorry I didn’t want to cry, but this week’s brought up a lot.”
“Oh you, come here sweet boy”, your mother says and hugs him from behind.
Jungkook seeks the motherly comfort instantly, hugging her arm and letting his head sink into the warmth of her chest.
“I miss her so much.”
“Of course you do. She left too soon. It’s unfair what happened to Aera. No child should lose their mother the way you had to”, your mother comforts him with tight hugs and motherly kisses on his head. Just like she did whenever he came over after being yelled at by his father.
Jungkook doesn’t feel embarrassed to cry in front of your family. He was a boy in this house first before he returned as a man. These walls saw him snotty and sniffly after falling in your front yard. These ears heard him whiney and pouty during a childish innocent quarrel about toys. These eyes saw his cheeks wet in tears when his father was harsh and he fled to your house for refuge.
He was a snotty, teary boy in this house first and it is coming back to him now. All these days spent on this exact chair in this exact kitchen as you enjoyed dinner together. He returned. He was so lost for so many years and he finally returned.
“Thank you for being there for me. I felt so lonely ever since mum died”, he gets out.
“Oh, don’t thank us. That’s what family is for, son”, your father says.
“You will always have a mother in me, my boy”, your mother says and steps back to ruffle his hair.
Jungkook won’t ever be without family. He won’t ever be alone.
“I’m so glad that I do”, he gets out squeakily, wiping his eyes.
“Here is a tissue, Kookoo”, your little sister says and smiles shyly.
“Thanks, this is exactly what I needed.” He accepts it, blowing his nose.
Your little brother, he is only five, rubs his knee comfortingly.
“I would be really, really, sad too if my mama died.” He tugs on Jungkook’s pants until the latter lifts him up on his lap. He wipes the tears from his cheeks. “I’m sorry that you lost your mama, but we can share mine. She is the best mama ever.”
“She really is. I’m so grateful to have you all”, he says, taking your hand and letting your brother cuddle into his chest.
“We’re glad too”, you say, eyes filled with love.
Your parents exchange a knowing and giddy look. As if they carried the knowledge of the universe in their hearts.
“How lucky it is.”
“How lucky indeed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your connection. How lucky it is to find your true mate in your best friend.”
You and Jungkook look at each other in shock, then back at your parents. They seem baffled and confused.
“What do you mean true mate?”
“Don’t tell me that you don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“That you two are true mates.”
“We are?”
“Of course you are.”
“Oh my god”, you gaze at him. He retorts it.
If you and he were alone, it would all be different.
You would be in his arms, getting hugged and kissed, but you aren’t alone and your love still feels so new in front of your parents. And so he leans over and kisses your cheek, giving you a fleeting side hug.
“I’ll hug you better once we’re alone. I feel like we need to be respectful right now”, he says, sending laughter through the room.
-------
Dinner finishes late. He ate a lot and he ate it gladly. Jungkook is in the hallway leading to the kitchen when you return from the toilet. He is looking at the family pictures on the wall, but shifts his eyes to you when you touch his arm.
He opens it and lets you melt into his side, kissing the crown of your head. The crickets sing outside. The overhead lights are turned off for the sake of some fake candles burning on the dresser. It is time to go home, but he does not want to leave yet.
“We should really retake our bonding picture. I look so tense”, you say, pointing at yourself.
“Mhm-hm yeah.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Just thinking about earlier. Sorry, it’s difficult not to.”
“Don’t apologise.” You hug him. “You can feel sad, you’re with family.”
He stares, eyes racing all over your face in disbelief. It doesn’t get easier to accept that he is. He fears to wake up any moment.
“Should we stay a while longer? We could ask if everyone wants to watch a funny movie. What do you think?” you suggest.
“Yes, please.”
Jungkook lets you take his hands and lets you lead him to the living room where the rest of your family is sharing time. Your parents cuddle on the couch and your siblings play on the floor.
The room smells of so much familial love and comfort.
Jungkook finds it so remarkable. After what your older brother did, your family could have crumbled apart. You could have taken his betrayal and the resulting runaway and let it destroy your bond, but you did the very opposite. You stuck together through it, growing even stronger.
“Should we watch a funny movie tonight?” you ask into the room.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” your siblings are instantly on board, jumping around happily.
“Were you not about to leave?” your father asks.
“We were, but our plans changed. Family night sounds nice. Right, Kook?”
He nods his head, squeezing your hand tighter. He hasn’t had family night since his mother died. He feels so much but your siblings rip him out of it as they both grab his clothes and tug.
“You can pick the movie, Jungkook.”
“You have to pick something cool. With dinosaurs.”
“No Dinosaurs, I want austronauts.”
“They’re called astronauts.”
“You’re annoying.”
“No, you’re annoying more.”
“Okay, okay no fighting you two. How about we pick something together and let Jungkook rest tonight? He did a lot of things today”, you step in.
“Yes, alright. But it has to be cool. Not boring like the movies daddy always watches.”
“You will appreciate a good documentary one day”, your dad says, picking up your little brother to attack his face with kisses. Your brother giggles and squeaks, entirely proud about teasing his father.
He settles on his lap afterwards, finding comfort against his father’s chest. No wonder you turned out so wonderful. Jungkook can feel, smell and see how much love your parents have for you and your siblings.
It is good. He is glad that you have a loving family.
You and Jungkook snuggle up on one end of the couch and your sister insists to rest her head against Jungkook’s arm. Obviously, because he is the coolest adult ever. Even cooler than a dinosaur. He doesn’t mind. It is nice to know that children feel safe in his presence. It is a different kind of calm to be such an adult in a children’s life. He stopped having that when his mother died.
It is far into the movie, both your siblings are asleep by now, that a sense of deep comfort finally settles in Jungkook’s chest, like he woke up from a long nightmare. He shifts his eyes from the movie. Your parents share one end of the couch, their young son spread out on their laps. You are snuggled into a blanket, laughing at the jokes and filling the air around you with a happy scent. Your sister is rolled into a small ball, slumbering on the pillow. This is a family so intimately at peace and Jungkook is part of it.
He has a family. He is part of family night. He might have lost his father tonight, but he did not lose family, maybe he even gained more than he lost. He tightens his arm around you, making you glance at him for a second. You seem worried at first until you see the adoration in his eyes, settling deeper into his embrace as a result.
You pull his hand to your lips, placing kisses on his knuckles. Jungkook kisses the crown of your head and rests his cheek against it afterwards, allowing himself to fully sink into the comfort. It is alright. He does not have to fight to stay afloat anymore.
-------
You leave your parents’ house when the clock almost shows midnight. Your mother insists that you take the leftovers.
“So Jungkook can have his mother with him a little longer.”
He carries the little basket of glass containers whilst holding your hand and wishing for those warm feelings in his chest to never fade.
“I’m so glad that we’re walking. I ate so many snacks”, you say, rubbing your happily stuffed tummy.
“Right. I’m glad too. The night’s so nice.”
“Yeah. Can I tell you something my mum said to me when you were upstairs putting my siblings to bed?”
“Yeah, tell me.”
“She said that she knows that we probably already noticed some stuff when we did couple things.”
“Couple things? What are couple things?”
“Like the knotting and the scenting and stuff.”
“Oh my god, you told your mum about my knot?”
“I didn’t and we didn’t even talk about it. She insinuated.”
“Urgh, this is embarrassing”, he whines, throwing his head back.
You snicker, “no it’s not. It’s romantic.”
“How is this romantic? Your mom knows I knotted you. That’s so embarrassing.”
“It’s romantic because she said that the stuff happening is because we’re true mates. Kook, our bodies always knew what we didn’t even notice.”
“Oh.”
He stops on the sidewalk and puts the basket on a strangers’ windowsill.
“What are you? Oh.”
He hugs you. Like he wanted to do when he first found out. Like he did when he found you in the forest. Like he will always do for as long as you let him.
He hugs you like you are his everything, as if he wanted to make sure that you can’t slip from his arms, as if it will always be you for him.
And you hug him back the very same way because it will always be him for you.
True mates. It explains so much and makes it so much sweeter. True mates. With such a title, nobody can ever question your relationship.
“I knew it”, he whispers.
“Knew what?” You whisper too.
“That my feelings for you were so much more than just normal love.” He nuzzles his nose against your neck. “When I thought that I lost you, it was like someone cut out my heart and made me watch. It was like I was suffocating. Now I know why and I’m so glad that it’s you.”
“I’m glad too. If it’s anyone, thank god it’s you. I don’t want anyone but you.”
You and he look at each other. He cups your face, closes the distance for a kiss only to stop.
“Don’t stop”, you whisper, fingers hooked behind the nape of his neck.
“If I kissed you right now, I wouldn’t stop.”
“Then don’t stop.”
“We’re almost home. Come, I wanna kiss you and hold you.”
You let him take your hand and then continue the way home. The basket is on his arm again and he seems just a little more determined to get home.
“By the way, my mum told me something else too.”
“What did she say? Please tell me you didn’t tell her about my rut.”
You laugh, “no, doofus. She said that we werewolves can only procreate when we’re in wolf form. Anything we do as humans is for fun and nothing else. So that means we can take our time and figure out what we want in the future without being scared of an accident.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Me neither. Can you make it a rule to give better sex education in schools? Now that you’re the Alpha and everything.”
He laughs, “this is a really good idea. I’ll put it on my list.”
He pulls you close, draping his arm over your shoulder.
“Figuring it out together sounds nice to me. We’ve still got so much time and if you’re ever ready to give me your answer, I’ll still love you afterwards”, he says.
“Even if?”
“Even if. I love you for you not for what you could potentially give me. Besides, I’m not ready either. I wanna have you all to myself for a while.”
You snuggle into him. “I like this.”
“Me too. Especially when it means that we can continue being horny without risks.”
You laugh, “this is indeed a very good point.”
“Is it bad that all I think about is being with you right now?”
“No, I’m thinking the same thing. I miss you like crazy.”
“Me too. I want to hold you as you fall asleep. I miss you so much.”
“If you keep talking like this, I might actually race you home.”
He grins, “fine, if you’re asking for it. Last to get home is a stinky loser”, he says and sets off, laughing.
“I wasn’t serious! Oh my god, wait for me!” you call after him and start running, cackling and squealing.
It is impossible to win against him. He welcomes you with open arms, lifting you off your feet and using the momentum to twirl with you. Your laughter and squeals fill the streets.
Jungkook laughs with you, setting you down afterwards to rub noses. He cradles your hands against his chest, swaying from side to side.
“I love you”, he whispers, gazing at you despite the close proximity.
“I love you too”, you breathe, heart racing like crazy.
“You’re home again, baby.”
“I am and I’m a stinky loser?”
He laughs, “yeah, you are.”
“Wow okay, I thought you would at least say that I’m not.”
“No, this is where the romance ends. You’re a stinky loser.”
“Shut up”, you whine, nudging his chest.
Jungkook snickers mischievously, sweeping you off your feet a second later.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
“Carrying you. If I don’t, I might try to reach for the stars.”
-------
Jungkook lets you change in the bathroom, while he uses the bedroom. Because it is already late, he decides to get comfortable under the covers. He feels so good, despite everything which happened today, the feeling deep inside his chest is happiness.
He is home and you are safe again. Nothing will ever separate you and him.
“You’re cozy already.”
He looks at you and his eyes soften, “yeah I am. I’m really tired.”
“I wanna join you.”
“Join me.”
You hurry to the bed and get under the covers, closing the distance to him so you can rest in his arms. You are facing each other, sharing intimacy with only a gaze. He cradles your face, caressing it softly.
“If I had to redo my life again in order to find you, I would. I’d walk through the fires of hell for you. If you were Eurydice and I Orpheus, I would carve out my own eyes so I couldn’t accidentally look at you”, he whispers.
“Oh.”
He drops his forehead against yours.
“Thank you”, he lets you taste his sweet words, “thank you for taking me in.”
You look up at his eyes. He loves you so much. It is so obvious.
“I will always take you in, Jungkook.” You cradle his cheek. “For as long as I breathe, you have me.”
He smiles softly. It is honest. You retort it.
“I’m happy despite everything.”
“I’m so glad that you are”, you say and close your eyes, “I’m really sleepy. The past few days have been a lot.”
“I know, they have.” He kisses your forehead. “Sleep. We’re home again.”
“Yeah, home. I’m so glad you’re part of it.”
Jungkook closes his eyes and hugs you against his chest. He will never find the words to tell you just how glad he is to be part of it.
-------
Empty arms wake him the next day. He shoots up in alarm, screaming your name.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, looking up at him from your side of the bed. The pounding of his head stops, peace returns.
“Oh my god, I thought that I dreamed it”, he gets out, burying you under him in a hug.
“Dreamed what?”
“That I found you. That you’re okay and alive and home.”
“No, I’m really here.”
He squeezes you gently, kissing your neck. You smell so insanely good to him.
“I was so scared for a moment”, he mumbles against your skin. “Why were you so far away?”
“I got ready earlier and then kind of watched you sleep.”
“Ready for what?”
“I, uhm, I wanted to do something, but now I feel stupid.”
“No, don’t. I won’t judge. What did you want to do?”
“I have to show it to you, but please don’t laugh.”
“Alright.” He scoots back, inspecting you. You wrapped yourself in your bathrobe, rolling out of bed. “Show me, my baby.”
“Please don’t laugh.”
He scoots to the edge of the bed, “I promise.”
“I uhm. I got it so I could surprise you once you got home, but then the thing happened and yeah. I guess it’s still our first morning together again so maybe it counts.”
“Okay. Show me, I’m so curious.”
You open the knot of your robe and slip it off your shoulders. It pools by your feet, lying forgotten.
“Woah.”
You are wearing a sheer negligee and matching panties, held in soft pastel pinks and with delicate lace elements. The hems are decorated with the smallest of frills and at the lowest point of your neckline, a soft pink satin rose only as big as a pebble sits. The negligee reaches you around the middle of your thighs and allows your chest to sit freely.
“Wow, this is…” Jungkook feels lost for words, rubbing his hand over his mouth in utter shock. “Damn.”
This is the first time you are showing yourself this way to him. As of now, you only wore normal PJs and your underwear was comfortable and most of the time mismatched. Which he loves and he wouldn’t want it any other way.
It still would be a lie if he said that this right now didn’t affect him. Because it does. He feels in awe, completely enchanted and entirely in love with you.
“This is the first time I’m doing something like this, please say something.”
“I don’t know what to say, I’m in shock. You’re so beautiful.”
“I’m not wearing anything underneath.”
“I can very clearly see that”, he says in a breathy laugh and reaches out to pull you close by your waist. His eyes take you in hungrily, his breathing is just a little sped up.
“What are you thinking?”
“That I’m the luckiest man and that you’re the sexiest woman ever. Holy fuck, your body. Baby. Wow. Wow.”
You straddle his lap, chasing his touch.
“You drive me insane and get me fucking giddy at the same time.” He smiles at you, hands tracing the shapes of your hips. “My heart’s racing like crazy.”
“Mine too.” You scrunch your nose cutely. “I never did that before. It’s like in the movies when the woman surprises the man. I hope I got the vibe right.”
“You got it more than right. I’m in shock at how beautiful and sexy you are.” He looks at your body again, eyes burning in desire. “I can’t take my eyes off you. Please stand up one more time, I want to see you.”
It is easy for you to fulfill his wish.
He laughs in disbelief, running his fingers through his hair in a mindless habit.
“This is insane. This is literally insane. Holy fuck. Babygirl, oh my god.”
His positive and excited reactions are so encouraging, heating up your cheeks.
“Now turn around for me.”
Again, it is easy to fulfill his wish.
“Nope, I’m out. This is too much. Look at you. What the actual fuck”, he says and collapses on the bed dramatically.
You snicker, looking over your shoulder.
Jungkook meets your eyes and drops his head again, squeezing his eyes shut to play dead. He peeks after a few seconds, making you giggle.
He chuckles, straightening back up. He pats his lap.
“Come here.”
You obey his wish gladly, climbing his lap. He tugs you atop his cock, growling softly. His eyes practically fuck you, his lips are curled into a playful smirk and his strong hands cradle your buttocks. No one’s touch feels like his’ does.
“What am I gonna do with you, mhm?”
“Maybe be with me because we, you know, we haven’t been together for so long”, you started off strong but end up whispering the last words. Jungkook still gets you so shy and giddy. It’s just that you like him so much and you can’t believe that he likes you back.
“I can do that with you.” He squeezes your buttocks. “Nothing sounds better to me.”
“Then uhm, you…”, you snuggle your face into his neck, “…you have to tell me what to do. I can’t think right now.”
Jungkook swears that no one makes him feel like you do. He feels so protective over you, and cuteness aggression. So much cuteness aggression. He lets it out by lifting you up just so he can throw you onto the mattress and bury you under him. He attacks your face and neck with kisses, making you laugh and squeal.
“I’m gonna eat you. Get in my mouth, I’m gonna eat you.”
“This tickles. Eek! Please this really tickles!”
“You’re so consumable, and cute and cute. God, you’re so cute.”
“Please Kookie, I’m gonna choke.”
He purrs and kisses your cheek, lifting his head afterwards. As expected, his cock is already hard and you are already soaked. It should be studied how easy it is for you and him to get horny for each other. Neither of you address it right now, gazing at each other. Jungkook traces your features, you stare in awe.
“I wanna go gentle about it. Just take time to really savour the pleasure. Is this alright with you?” he speaks softly, like a purr.
“It’s really alright with me”, you say, nodding your head vigorously.
“This makes me so happy.” His features darken, brows furrowing. “You make me so happy”, he adds in a shaky whisper and drops his forehead on yours, lacing his left hand with you.
“Jungkook…”
“Promise me to never leave again.”
“I promise.”
“Holy fuck”, he whimpers, biting his lip so it wouldn’t tremble, “this feels so good to hear.”
“Koo, are you sure that you want to have sex? If you want to scent instead, we can just do that.”
“I want this. Just…be gentle with me today. I feel soft.”
“Yeah, okay. I like soft you.”
He smiles, kissing your cheek. He doesn’t stop afterwards, instead he kisses your jawline, your ear, down along your neck. He is so turned on, but he wants to go slow. Savour each second because it can be taken away so easily. He will never take you for granted again. He never did, but from now on he won’t even consider it.
A wave of emotion forces him to put his arms behind your back so he can lift you up into a hug.
His face is buried in your chest, his eyes closed.
“Mine.” He sets you down again, kissing your face with his elbows on each side of your head. “Mine in the gentlest of ways.”
“Yours with my body and soul”, you promise, heart beating in your chest.
He writes his promise onto your body with kisses to your collarbones and shoulders, hands guiding his lips and fingers so eager to explore. He leaves no marks, because your connection does not need physical evidence to be real.
True mates. That’s what you and he are. Fated lovers, destined partners, forever friends. It is real. It has always been about you and him. No marks are needed because it has always been written in the stars.
Jungkook leaves out your breasts purposefully. He knows that it would drive him too mad if he adored you there. Your sweet scent plagues him lovingly even from a distance.
So he ghosts his touch along the shapes of them, focusing his kisses on your upper stomach instead. You sigh so much in reaction, filling the air around him with your mellifluous scent and confirming for him that he would not have stayed normal if he had buried himself in your breasts.
“Can’t wait to be alive in there”, he says, quoting back to your first fateful night together. You described the feeling of his orgasm inside you as being alive. Jungkook was so moved by these words that it stuck. “Can’t wait. My beautiful, loved babygirl.”
You can’t wait either, but you cannot tell him that right now. He has you sighing so much. Ten days without him are too long, but you will never have to worry about this again. Jungkook is the Alpha now and that means he doesn’t have to leave for dangerous missions anymore.
“What are you thinking?” his raspy voice tickles your inner thigh.
“Just, I’m happy.”
“Mhm, I can smell that. Is it me?”
“Yeah, you”, you sigh and part your legs.
“I fucking love you.”
Jungkook kisses your inner thigh. First the left, then the right. Happiness, safety, love, desire. The scents are making his eyes water. It is truly difficult to exist so close to your spots when he feels so much for you. He thought that he will never be able to smell you again, but here he is. Back where he belongs with his true mate and best friend. The love of his life. His sweet, darling omega.
Salivating, he lifts his face, looking up at you.
“Can I eat you out?”
“Yeah”, your voice is shaky, your panties soaked.
With your consent, he hooks his fingers in them and pulls them down. You help him as best as possible, having to take a look when you hear two dull sounds of impact. He fell to his knees in front of the bed, gesturing you to put your legs over his shoulders.
“Let me take care of you, babygirl. There we go. Are you comfortable like this?”
Your legs are over his shoulders, skin getting caressed by his hands and muscles so relaxed.
“I’m so comfy”, you assure him, nodding your head. You love when he feels soft because he is even more attentive and loving with you than he already is.
“That’s good to hear. Your comfort matters. Ah, fuck I feel so soft today”, he chokes out and buries himself in your thigh to adore it closer and closer to your pussy.
Again, you love when he feels soft. He cherishes each moment, adores your every inch and makes you feel like a treasure in the process.
A very, very, wet treasure if one might add. You can feel it run down your butt, soaking the sheets in the process.
Drawn in by the smell of you, Jungkook changes his kisses to your buttocks, lifting your hips to gain better access. You are not in heat right now, but you are still so wet.
“You’re soaked, baby.”
“Mh-hm, yeah”, your voice is higher and softer than usual, and your hips twitch a little as if to confirm how soaked you are.
He feels so lucky. He has the most perfect mate.
He might just have to take a taste. Gently. Right where you feel so vulnerable. You gasp in reaction, tender rim tensing under his tongue as he licks you tentatively.
This is new territory he is treading on. Of course he snuck glances at it whenever you were bent over, and of course he wondered how it would be to exist in there, but as of now he has never taken a step into this direction.
He circles his tongue, listening to your rippling gasps. You don’t seem keen on pushing him away, on the contrary you shift closer to him eager for pleasure on this new, unexplored spot. Jungkook gains confidence, sliding his thumbs to your pussy to frame her. He massages you right beside where you need it most, while his tongue presses itself flat against your hole.
His nose comes into contact with your pussy, picking up your arousing scent. You are practically begging him to fuck you. His rimjob does this. It makes you needy.
It makes Jungkook needy too, but he holds himself back. He won’t rush today, not after everything, cherishing every grind of his tongue as if he was the one getting them. It is so wonderful how much you twitch, body warming up more and more.
So much more.
Dangerously more. Your hole is starting to leak as well, self-lubricating itself just as nature intended for an omega. It mixes with the sweetness of your pussy. Rich and flavourful, like aged honey. His fingers tighten on you, he grunts as if punched in the mouth. His breathing becomes rapid, heavy. His thoughts threatening him.
Fuck her ass until she is raw, push it in there without warning she’ll get used to it, take your omega, take her now. Those stupid instinctive voices tell him. He doesn’t want to listen to them. Why would he ever do something like this to you? You trust him, you rely on him to keep you safe.
He breaks away for a moment, kissing your inner thigh as he is calming himself. This was intense, holy fuck. He almost lost himself in the exploration.
“Good puppy, good girl”, he murmurs, more for himself than you to remind himself that he can be gentle. That he is still soft. That he is better than his instincts.
“Koo, more”, you beg, unknowing to his thoughts and therefore incredibly needy. You forgot how much you like it when your ass gets attention. And especially from Jungkook, whose spit has an almost aphrodisiac effect on you. You need more of him, tensing your thighs in hopes of pulling him closer.
Jungkook releases the skin he sucked tender, swirling his tongue down you thigh until it sits on your pussy. He stays by your entrance to lap up your nectar. Your shaky hands bundle his hair, your legs twitch on his shoulders. This is familiar but still just as exciting. Paths walked before have their own charm. Expect the expected, find safety in knowledge. Your taste soaks his tongue and coats this throat, and its familiarity forces tears to his eyes.
In return, his tongue so deep inside your pussy is something you know well, which makes you fall deep into a relaxing state of pleasure. You cannot deny, however, that your hole still tingles because of his previous attention.
“More please”, you beg, bucking your hips in hopes of feeling his nose against your clit.
“Anything, baby. Anything”, he purrs, replacing his tongue with one of his thumbs. He fills you just as he begins to lick your clit, your warm walls fluttering around him as they are trying to suck him inside. His cock twitches painfully, forcing him to fumble with his briefs one-handed and clumsily. It’s a distraction, his clothes, he cannot concentrate on what matters.
“Fuck.”
He slips away just long enough that you lift your head. Jungkook works as quickly as possible, setting your legs down and taking off his clothes. His muscles are bulging, dark nipples swollen hard and thick cock dripping heavy globs of slick.
“Are you going to fuck me now?” you ask with a hint of a beg in your voice.
“No, just the clothes rubbed on my nips and cock. It was distracting”, he says and falls back to his knees, lifting your legs back over his shoulders and burying himself in your pussy. His thumb returns to your walls, his nose finds its place back in your thick bush and his mouth locks around your clit.
She is so swollen that you practically throb into his mouth, sitting between his lips hot and sensitive. The burning pleasure returns instantly.
“Kook…” you grip his hair, clenching around his thumb. He never did that before: get naked because of desire only to withstand his instincts and lick you again. Mentally, as well as physically, you were ready to get fucked hard. It is difficult to accept your current situation, because of how needy his undressing made you.
“Koo…Koo”, you squeak each time you breathe out, fingers shaking in his thick hair and clit pulsing in his mouth.
He hums, sucking on your clit once, twice, three times and a fourth before he outlines her in slow circles with his tongue. A path walked before meant each step can be calculated, and Jungkook knows exactly how to work you up to an orgasm gradually.
No rushing it, not today. This isn’t just sex, this is your reconnection and your first morning as true mates. Your orgasm should hit you not like a violent punch to the gut, but like gentle waves during a warm evening.
He pumps his thumb in and out of you as he circles your clit, and because you leak so much, he lets his other thumb disappear to your hole.
He picks up some of the lubey, honey pleasure and spreads it on your hole.
Sharp pain flinches through his scalp, your legs lock behind his head. You pulled his hair, very unlikely for you, but the new kinds of sensations are doing it. Jungkook takes a mental note of it, remembering in this moment that female omegas are just as sensitive in their holes as they are in their pussies. How could he forget that? Fuck, he feels like a selfish prick. He should have adored you sooner, pushed forth into the last unexplored place of you.
He really wants to, you are self-lubricating enough and you are terribly relaxed. He really, really wants to push his thumb inside, but he doesn’t.
He teases, massages and circles your leaking rim while his tongue works up your clit. Not today. Especially because those mean voices tell him to. He doesn’t want to listen to them, he wants to listen to your blissed-out sounds.
His nickname sighed, mere syllables of his name squeaked, incoherent noises moaned and urgent gasps followed by silence as you hold your breath.
Your ass can wait, there is no rush. He will have so many more intimate hours with you. His heart flutters at the thought, tongue taking on a new pattern. He switches out the circles for upwards strokes like he would lick an ice cream.
“Oh god”, you get out, muffling his ears with your thighs. The new stimulation affects your body like electricity. The muscles in your pelvic floor tighten, your stomach tenses.
“Can you please stay there? Please.”
“Mh-hm.”
He could never say no to you. Whatever you want, he does it. Whatever you need, he gives it. People might think that the True Alpha rules over his omega naturally, but it isn’t so. Jungkook would wag his tail if you asked him, he would bark in command and do a little trick if it made you happy. Your wish is his command and he wouldn’t want it any other way.
He keeps the pattern going, gazing up at you while his thumbs work your other pleasure spots.
The fabric of the negligee sticks to your breasts and swollen nipples, glistening wetly wherever he kissed you. He is so into the view. Being seductively hidden fits you so well. God, he just wants to fucking push himself inside you and feel your cute walls struggle around his thick cock. The voices begin again, urging him to push his thumb into your ass, urging him to slip another finger or two into your cunt, urging him to abandon his quest for your orgasm and take what’s rightfully his’. He is the True Alpha for fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t have to kneel for an omega, he should breed her till she is bloated from it.
Jungkook closes his eyes and buries his nose deeper in your soft bush, focusing on your scent instead of the voices. They don’t know him. They’re just a by-product of nature, not his real feelings for you. He made a plan, a good plan. Your ass can wait and your pussy isn’t yet to be stretched too far. He wants to make you orgasm, this is what he wants.
“You’re gonna make me cum”, you whimper, following it with pathetic whines every time he flicks his tongue. You are shaking so much, motivating him to keep going. He loves when you shake.
“Kook, please can I cum?”
Of course you can, you don’t have to ask for permission. Not after everything that happened lately. You will never ever have to ask for permission again. His princess, his darling omega, his babygirl.
“Please? I-I really have to.”
Jungkook nods his head vigorously, flattening his tongue so he would stimulate every single micrometre of your swollen clit. Because you deserve it, because you are worth everything.
“Koo”, you let out and grow silent, back getting stuck in an arch and thighs almost painfully squeezing his head.
Your walls pulsate around his thumb, your hole flutters desperately and your clit throbs under his tongue. You are having an orgasm, pleasure so intense he has you stuck in a frozen, painfully tense state. He licks you through it, eyes burning in desire as he looks up at you. That’s his fucking wife. So fucking beautiful. He counts ten seconds before life returns to your body. You drop your back, hips instantly beginning to writhe and thighs falling from his ears to wiggle instead.
“Koo, Kook, Koo, ah Koo”, you squeak between gasps, lips looking so desperate for a kiss. He knows it’s not over yet. Your body has just about accepted that you are having an orgasm and begins riding on it. You can cum for such a long time when he licks you. It’s fucking impressive and quite frankly, he is a little jealous of this ability. It must feel so fucking good to climax for so many seconds, to think that it’s over only to be surprised by another wave. He feels it every time a new wave hits you, they are timed with the convulsing of your pelvic floor and run through you aggressively. He can count another fifteen seconds. Then your body begins to slow down and your pleasured squeaks become overstimulated. Five more seconds of it, even if you flinch and grasp his hair. Now he is happy. Thirty seconds. That’s a good number. Half a minute of bliss for you. That’s what he wanted. Jungkook lifts his messy lips from your pussy, connecting them with your inner thigh. His eyes are closed, his hands map out the kisses. He knows one is never enough for you, so he isn’t worried about whether or not you want more. He knows that you do. You are his omega, he knows you. Nobody can take this from him. The knowledge, the facts and titbits, the familiarity. You are his into the deepest parts of him.
Guided by his gentle hands, he kisses your stomach and waist, bunching up the negligee as he goes. You twitch a lot more than before, skin sensitive from the orgasm and his gentle treatment of it. He reaches the chest seam, redirecting his touch to your breasts. The thin fabric is wet and sticky where your nipples leaked. He licks it, purring deeply because of the taste. So sweet.
Feeling Jungkook’s tongue through the fabric is even more intense than you could have imagined. Your nipples swelled up so much because of him. They are so big that Jungkook can comfortably suck them through the fabric. If this keeps going, you will beg him to breed you. You are so ready to be his’. You leak because of him, suffocating him in your scent.
Jungkook is right where he wants to be. Suffocated by your scent and with your hard nipples leaking on his tongue. He swears that the fabric only adds to it. It is thin enough that he can feel your warmth, but the idea of mystery is still present. Like he is unwrapping a present. If that present was sweet, scent-heavy nectar.
He messies the sheets, cock throbbing angrily. This is too sweet, you smell so intensely. You do not need words to communicate with him, your scent tells him everything he needs to know.
That you are happy, that you feel safe, that you feel entirely submissive and that you want to be bred. The last nuance of your scent goes straight to his cock, his instincts threaten to kick in again.
Fuck her into a stupid mess, they tell him. Use her like a ragdoll, they threaten him.
“Argh shit”, he shoots up in an attempt to control himself, but your taste left him so dizzy that he drops on the pillow next to you.
“Jungkook! What’s wrong?!”
“I feel like I’m on drugs.” He reaches for you, tugging you close. “Kiss me, come babygirl be close to me.”
You climb his lap and fall to your elbows. Jungkook pulls your face down and kisses you. The negligee tickles his skin where it touches him, your soaked cunt is sticky on his thighs. It gets so difficult to hold back. Perhaps even impossible. You suck his tongue and lick his lips like you were starving for the taste of your own orgasm. Your hand ruffles his hair so well, scalp tingling from the touches. Your tits are so soft against his chest and your nipples keep leaking on his skin. Jungkook does what any needy alpha would do and runs his hands down to your hips. He guides them, mewling into your mouth in hopes that you understand. There is resistance at first where you are trying to figure out what he wants from you, until it finally clicks and he has an easy time shifting you to where he needs you.
Sinking into you is like heaven on earth. Your pussy squelches, squeezing out thick globs of slick to make space for his big cock. Your lips tremble, a small “oh god” tickles his skin. He can feel your walls struggle to adapt at first, clenching and throbbing around him like they were trying to get rid of an intruder. He sinks you down further until he bottoms out and another small “oh god” tickles his lips. Your hand leaves his hair. He opens his eyes and follows it to your tummy where you press down. He feels it in his cock: the pressure and growing warmth. It is enough to tell him that you are sensing his cock inside yourself.
He engulfs your hand under his’.
“Am I hurting you?”
Your eyes shift to meet his gaze. It is the first time he is underneath you like this, the unfamiliarity makes you nervous.
“Does it hurt?” he repeats his question, eyes racing between yours.
“No, but you’re bigger than usual.”
Your eyes flit to his chest, then his arms.
“Everything about you is.”
You slip your hand from your tummy and grasp his chest. Jungkook grunts from the sudden stimulation to his nipples, muscles tensing.
“You grew over night. Ah, you’re so big inside me.”
“I told you, it’s because I’m the true Alpha. My body is adapting.”
“Jungkook”, you drop your head.
“Yes?”
“You’re so big”, you whimper and lift your hips. Your knees, still shaky from your previous orgasm, protest and force you to fall back onto his thighs. His cock buries itself in your insides against your will, reshaping you because you are too weak to escape.
“Big.”
“Adjust for me, babygirl. I know you can do it.” He talks softly, rubbing your full tummy. “Mhm? Can you do it for me, babygirl?”
“Yeah, do it for you”, you lull, lifting yourself only to drop again. He makes you feel so dumb and weak and wobbly. You love cock so much and he presses to your favourite spots. Those are your weaknesses.
“Good girl, stretch yourself open on me. That’s my girl”, Jungkook’s voice is raspier than usual, brows tight. His cock hits his own hand every time you drop. Tummy full of him. His omega stuffed with nothing but him. It makes the animal in him so fucking happy. Jungkook squeezes down on your stomach, making you tense and gasp.
“Big…”
“Mhhm filling up your tummy”, he purrs, rubbing it gently.
“Yeah”, you whimper, furrowing your brows, “full of you.”
“I’m so proud of you, you’re doing so well.”
Your knees shake uncontrollably, barely holding up your weight. You feel so vulnerable on top and weak. You’re so weak. No matter how much you try to move, your legs don’t want to work with you because every time he bottoms out a little piece of yourself gets lost in a soup of dizziness.
You know that Jungkook expects more of you. His possessive hand on your stomach is sign enough. He wants you to work harder. But how can you work harder when you can’t even properly lift yourself. You don’t even know what you want. Or how you want to move. Jungkook normally does that. He moves. He takes the lead.
“Come baby, speed up a little. Do it for me.”
You want to obey him. That’s your alpha and he wants something from you. But you are so weak. Your legs tremble as you lift yourself, the climb up his cock is exhausting, the fall down way too short. The increased speed means you have less time to recover from the climb. It makes it so difficult.
Your hips begin to wobble and writhe. This is so difficult. All you want is his cock but you aren’t doing it right.
Jungkook sits up, stilling your hips with a gentle but firm touch. You meet his eyes.
“I think we both know that this isn’t working”, he whispers, wiping your frustrated tears.
“I’m sorry. I-I tried but it’s so overwhelming.”
“That’s alright, baby. You’re alright, I’ve got you.” He lifts you, holding you against him as he gets to his knees. He slips out this way, but it doesn’t matter because it isn’t for long. “I’m sorry for putting you on top.”
“It’s okay, I’m sorry I couldn’t do it right.” you sob. “I wanted to be your good girl.”
“You are my good girl, baby. Don’t worry, you’re so alright”, he whispers to you, kissing you gently as he lies you down on your back, crawling between your open legs and pushing back inside.
The familiarity of your position makes your entire body tremble. You clamp down around him, leaking heavily. Jungkook is covering you from the world completely, he is so big and strong and protective. And you completely at his mercy. This is where you feel most comfortable, this is your safe space. Underneath him as he makes the sweetest, most pleasurable love to you.
You reach up with tears in your eyes, cradling his face.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I want to cry.”
Jungkook lowers himself to his elbows, caressing the crown of your head.
“Don’t cry right now. I’ve got you”, he whispers, rolling his hips into you to remind you of his promised presence.
He drags out each thrust, savouring how he sinks into you inch by inch over and over again. You are so much tighter now that you are in your happy place. Jungkook swears he might tear up too.
“But you feel so good and I missed you so much.”
“Baby, oh god, my baby”, Jungkook presses out, pushing his nose against your scent spot. He hugs your head this way, rubbing his face into your neck just so he can inhale every single molecule of your scent. His hips barely move, buried deep inside you and swirling with minimal effort.
You do not even mind that short break, melting into a puddle as Jungkook’s scent engulfs you.
He is so happy. It is soaking his skin.
You hug him, burying your hands in his hair.
“I’m happy.”
“Me too, baby. Fuck, you feel so good. Ah”, Jungkook talked normally at first until the feeling of your pussy creeped up on him and turned his voice into a moan.
You can feel the exact moment the realisation hits him because his hips pick up speed and his cock depth, forcing a trembling flinch through your body. You could have never created this kind of pleasure. No matter how hard you had tried.
“Holy fuck baby, holy fuck. I wanna live inside you, holy fuck your pussy. Ah, your pussy.”
Jungkook is getting greedy, thrusts gaining in strength. It was only a matter of time that he would. It is in your nature. There are no wolves who fuck gently, who drag it out and slow it down. It is just not instinctual.
“I fucking love your pussy. Fucking love her.”
He is so rough. Oh god. You grasp his hips and wail. The sound is like an alarm to him, forcing him to still instantly and lift his head.
“What’s wrong?”
“So big.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Everything is so big. I-I didn’t feel this way before. Koo, what if I can’t take you anymore? What if I’m not your good girl?”
“What?” His eyes darken. “You’re my true mate, there’s no one else for me you stupid fucking girl”, he spits and kisses you with tongue. It is a harsh kiss, dominant, angry and possessive. He loves you and he needs you to understand that. No time for air, or to find a rhythm. Jungkook decides the rhythm for you and it is intense. His arm snakes itself under your head and takes it in while he uses his other hand to pinch your nipple.
You squeal, squirting nectar all over his chest despite the fabric barrier. Again. Pressure and a tug. Like he is milking you. Or perhaps punishing you for your words. His aggressive kiss would suggest so.
Oh god you have to breathe otherwise you will pass out. Wiggling is fruitless, fleeing him as well. Air. Please air. You claw at his neck.
Jungkook breaks the kiss, giving you a chance to breathe but not really. Because while he breaks the kiss and air is yours again, he also pulls out of you only to thrust into you and begin his punishing rhythm.
You gasp, eyes going cross and toes curling.
“Silly girl. Not mine? You wanna say it again. Not my good girl? I’m gonna show you how fucking dumb this is.”
He takes you into a headlock and presses his lips against your cheek, letting you feel his fangs.
“You’re my fucking everything, babygirl. Don’t ever lessen your status again.”
Your pussy weeps just as much as you do. He is definitely making sure that you remember. Holy fuck, you have never been stretched as much before and that means a lot because you are used to his cock.
“Don’t do it. Don’t ever fucking do it. You’re mine.”
His heavy musk surrounds you, lulling you into a state of intoxication. His muscles are so big and his skin so soft in contrast. Oh god his cock. You love his cock and his scent and his skin. You love being fucked.
“Never let you go. Mine. All mine. Mine forever. Mine, mine, mine, mine.”
You definitely are. And it is getting easier to take him. You don’t want anyone else, sobbing loudly as you try to hug him closer to you.
“Tell me. Tell me you’re mine.”
“Yours.”
“Louder.”
“Yours”, you mewl, grasping is tightening arm. “Koo, I can’t breathe.”
He relaxes, calming himself by licking your neck. He growls and huffs air, feral like a feeding wolf. He must be trying to get used to his changed body as well. Perhaps a true alpha is a lot less human in the way he fucks. Perhaps his voices are loud today.
You know about them because Jungkook told you once. It was late at night after especially intense, but satisfying, sex. He told you what they urge him to do, how violent they can get and how much he hates them because he would never want to hurt you.
Maybe the voices of a true alpha are even more violent, maybe he is figuring out how to be himself again one heavy thrust at a time. Weak, but determined, you tilt your head.
“Kiss me, I love you, please kiss me.”
His hips stutter, a particle of normalcy returns.
“Love. Yes, I love you. Oh baby, I love you. Say it again.”
“I love you.”
“Mine.”
“Yours.”
Jungkook moans, kissing you. He slips his hand from your aching nipple to massage the other instead. He is softer with it, urging it to leak with patience not possessiveness. His kiss is less scrambled as well. Still passionate and messy, just less violent. Oh his hips move as if they were trying to make the sweetest love to you. He feels so good.
You melt under him, spilling tears as much as you spill new slick. Just a few more thrusts and you will finally have adapted. Truth be told, you were really doubting your own bodily limits at first. He grew a lot now that he is the true alpha. His cock is heavy, thick with throbbing veins and massive breeder balls which constantly press against your ass. His knot is still a mystery to you, but you can only imagine the absolute bliss it will bring in its enlarged state.
You truly feared that your body wouldn’t ever adapt, but of course it did. Because Jungkook is right, you and he are true mates. There is no one else for him, and no one else for you. You will fit together no matter what.
Jungkook breaks the kiss, panting against your lips. His face is flushed, his lips swollen and pink.
“Your pussy’s so soft”, he sighs, mewling softly as he drops his forehead against yours.
“I adjusted, Koo. Yours, yours, yours, yours.”
“Baby. Mine. Mine, mine, mine. Fucking mine. All mine.” He cups your cheek, hips speeding up again. “I love you so much. My babygirl.”
“I love you so much. My Jungkook.” He hits your sensitive cervix with his next thrust, raising your voice. “Ah! Yours!”
Cervix stimulation is like ecstasy for omegas, every thrust fills your veins with masses of it. Electric and fiery. Never-ending because Jungkook fucks relentlessly.
“Mine. Tell me again, baby, tell me.”
“Yours. Y-yours. Yours.”
“Yes baby, again. Mine. Tell me.”
“Yours! Ah, yours!”
It is like a prayer you are both trapped in. A blissful prayer of pleasure and possession. Nothing feels better than to be owned and to own in return. Nothing feels better than to be each other’s, connected by your sticky middles.
“Sorry I doubted myself, sorry I said it.”
“It’s okay, babygirl. You’re okay, my good girl. Yeah?”
“Yeah, good girl. Kiss me please.”
Jungkook moans, fulfilling your wish gladly. He kisses you slowly at first, feeling soft again because you pulled him back to humanity. But your pussy is a powerful weapon and he is so weak to you. As his thrusts drag out and your tongues dance slowly, some of the roughness returns again. A desire for more, an itch he cannot scratch. The kiss turns sloppy, your hands fall to his hips and squeeze.
“Right…there…”
“Good girl, take me. You’re doing so well.”
“Jungkook…right there, please right there.”
“I know babygirl, I can fucking feel it. I’m made to be inside you, baby, you’re such a perfect fucking fit. Good girl, so good.”
His praise is everything you need, your legs lift only to lock behind his butt. It tightens you around him, forcing him deeper into you.
Jungkook shudders, buries his face in the crook of your neck and moans loudly. He hugs you to his chest, rubbing his scent all over your skin. Everywhere. Your neck, your chest, your inner thighs and inside your pussy. It just happens, spilling out of him because he simply loves you so much.
Perhaps he has to let go soon, head pounding aggressively and parted fangs dripping saliva. It’s because you are hugging him. His heart might very well explode right with his cock.
“Your pussy’s so soft, so soft, soft”, a new chant begins to spill out of him, soaked in pleasure and dripping in desperation.
“Koo, you’re gonna make me cum soon.”
“Yeah? Good, cause I’m”, he laughs breathily, “fuck, I’m really fucking close too.”
“Please don’t change anything.”
“I won’t, baby. Just let me get you there, let me take care of you.”
He makes you feel so fucking protected, pampered and loved. His name leaves you in a shaky whimper, followed by a moan. You have to grab more of him, making him yours just as you are his’. Any thrust could do it at this point. Any movement could be the one. You are balancing on knife’s edge, tensing every time he pushes in and shuddering every time it isn’t happening. The build-up is making you want to fucking scream. Almost. Just a few more.
You moan loudly, arching your back and toes curling. You throb around him, riding on the kind of intense high only he can give you.
“Oh fuck. Yes babygirl, yes. Cum on my cock, fuck this is so fucking good.”
“Jungkook please give me your cum”, you beg.
“Really? I’m gonna breed you so much.”
“Please.”
“Oh god, baby. Yes baby, yes. Yeah, ah fuck now.” He whimpers loudly, slacking on top of you as his high knocks him down. It doesn’t matter to you, you pull him deeper into you, hugging him with your arms and legs and sobbing in gratefulness because nothing will ever feel as good as Jungkook does.
“Thank you! Ah!”
“Baby.. girl..”
He doesn’t knot you this morning, neither do you get trapped in an endless loop of orgasms. It is okay, the sex still leaves you just as breathless and fuzzy. Maybe even fuzzier because it was filled with so much mutual love this morning. You don’t really know how much time passes between the end of your shared orgasm and the first time one of you speaks. It was all very fuzzy and blurry. You feel so out of it in the best way possible.
“Fuck”, Jungkook sighs into the silence, head heavy.
“Yeah, right. Did you like the lingerie on me?”
“I fucking love it so much. It’s so hot. I think I blacked out in the middle of it.”
You snicker, “yeah, you got a little rough.”
“Yeah”, he chuckles breathlessly, “fuck, I’m sorry if I hurt you. I swear you are affecting me too much.”
“You didn’t hurt me, I loved it so much.” You stub his neck with your nose. “I hope that you and I never ever stop being together.”
“Yeah, I hope so too.” Jungkook gets to his elbows, smoothing his fingers over your forehead and temples gently. Pearls of sweat have gathered on it. Jungkook feels sweaty too.
You smile at him, scratching his back.
“You know that I love you like crazy, right?” he says.
“I love you too.”
He finally smiles, eyes softening. You snicker because of it, cradling his face so you can squish his cheeks. Jungkook lets it happen, having to snicker right with you. Nothing feels as electric as being with you.
“So I guess we are kinda running the pack now, aren’t we?” you say.
“I guess we are.”
“What’s first on our agenda?”
“Mhm.” He thinks for a moment, tingling with every touch you place on his skin. “Mhm, probably cooking a massive breakfast and then devouring it in ten minutes.”
You laugh, “yeah okay, deal.”
“Deal. I’m so hungry.” He slips out and sits up. You follow suit, spilling him all over the sheets.
“Maybe I have to clean up first”, you say, shifting uncomfortably.
“Mhm?” He studies your messy thighs and messier pussy. “Fuck, yeah maybe you should. Wanna share a shower? True mates style.”
“True mates style? What’s that?”
“It means that I’m gonna look at you a lot and tell you how much I need you in my life”, he says, making you giggle.
Summary: Being one of the best assassin’s come with its faults. One of them? The worst of them all would want you. Jungkook only kills deranged, evil men, but as a threat is offered to the only support in his life, Jungkook realizes he’ll kill you to keep his bestfriend Hoseok alive. Problem is? You’ve had a crush on him for months, your need for him being painfully obvious by your words. He thinks it will make the job easier. Until he realizes he can’t kill you. Who would be the one to end up dead? You or Hoseok?
wc: 10,900
warnings: FAST BURN (love at first sight)!, ending is rushed but just deal with it, reader has been crushing on him for months, jungkook needs to kill reader, jungkook is 11 almost 12 years older than reader, harsh and foul language's, reader is crazy for jungkook (pushes every common sense away), jungkook’s life is hell, hoseok is sick, near death for the reader, jungkook is forced with blackmail, choking, unprotected sex (wrap it guys) , frustrated sex, fingering, jungkook has foul words but soft at the end, jungkook is rough, smoking while fucking, breast play, etc…
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ─ "Your friend is at the hospital, right?"
Jeon Jungkook's day— although starting off with a mild migraine— actually was pretty tame. His day at work was just boring at its most, and Hoseok had woken up for the morning.
They spent all of Jungkook's visit there chatting about usual topics that made Hoseok beam, even with the oxygen tube sitting uncomfortably in his nose. Jungkook's presence, let alone, had the injured man's mouth run for hours although the doctors clear instructions to stay at caution.
His day simply would've been perfect if it weren't for the rent bill waiting for him, almost tauntingly, at his doorstep.
But now, as an older man with crinkled eyes and polished teeth stared down at Jungkook, Hoseok's name resting like a fishing bait on his tongue— his days, like every other, had plummeted into horrid.
He was Mr. Choi, a man whose wealth was built on the kinds of foundations that rotted from the inside out. He stood in the narrow hallway of Jungkook's apartment building, staring into his eyes as his teeth chewed down on a wooden toothpick.
Jungkook kept his face dangerously straight, his breathing calm. He took a sigh in, the sound almost reaching Mr Choi, and reached into his pocket where his thumb reflexively traced the blade kept there.
"Hoseok," Jungkook repeated, his voice devoid of emotion although his heart was racing. "What about him?"
Choi chuckled, taking a step closer. The sound of his cologne hit Jungkook straight as the man seemed to kill Jungkook's personal space. "He had a bad fall, huh? I've seen the police records, it's a shame they were just so close to finding the small business the two of you walk under. Maybe so, he wouldn't be asleep twenty hours of the day."
Jungkook felt a familiar coldness bloom in the center of his chest. It was the same stillness he felt before pulling a trigger—the world slowing down, the heartbeat leveling out.
He knew what this was.
Jungkook felt his eyes twitch. "Keep his name out of your mouth."
Choi reached into his coat and pulled out a single, thick envelope. The kind of envelope that had people wondering if the weight was just the check that could pay off every debt— or the weight of the person that was brutally murdered from your own hands.
"There is a woman," he said, pulling out a cigarette. "A young one. She thinks she's anonymous, living in the heights of the city, but she's becoming a complication for me and my associates. Her death could bring her father to finally sell his companies to us."
Jungkook looked down at the photo inside of the envelope.
It was a young girl— you— possibly so much younger than him that when you were learning to count, Jungkook was learning how to pull a guns trigger. You sat under a university's plaza, smiling at your friends like there weren't any problems surfacing around you.
Like you were living in the world Jungkook had forgotten existed.
"She's a student," Jungkook noted, his brow furrowing. "University of Seoul."
"She's gold," Choi corrected. "The exact death that could have the boys and I thriving."
"I kill stuck up men," Jungkook sneered, gripping his door so hard his knuckles had flushed a pale white. "People who have done wrong to the world."
Jungkook serged his arm forward, ready to slam the weight of his door in the older man's face. But he reached out, palm slapping against the wood in a force it had Jungkook's brow rising.
"If you want to keep your friend's medical equipment running, you'll make sure she stops breathing by the end of the week. Do this, and you're set for life. Fail, and Hoseok will find his oxygen supply a memory."
Jungkook was almost positive a dagger was sliced through the small of his heart.
Was this a fucking threat?
A threat to murder Hoseok— the man who's seen Jungkook through light and day, sadness and guilt, pain and agony? The man who's saved Jungkook's life countless times where he's genuinely lost count? The same man that Jungkook breathes and wakes every day for, much to his dismay?
In a blink of an eye, his tatted hands were wrapped around the rough skin lining Choi's throat. Jungkook watched, his heart racing as his face turned from a slick smirk to a shade of slight purple. His eyes that held that glint? They were opposed at the sides, the red blood vessels looking way too familiar of blood gushing out of Jungkook's wrists.
"If you ever go fucking near Hoseok or his hospital, I will burn every single ground you choose to walk on. Life in prison seems like a fortune if that means I could snap the necks of every single loved one of yours, peel their skin, torture them until I see you die from the grief. I will ruin your life before I send you under—I will make the last months of your life a personal hell, just to brace you for your visit—"
"Kill the girl," Choi choked out, his smile brunching up skin around the pure death of his eyes. "And your guy will be okay."
Cursing under his breath, Jungkook released Choi with a shove until his back had hit the neighboring wall behind the two of them. His heart was pounding and his veins swelled in the crave to light a cigarette, maybe consume anything that would take him out of the reality that Hoseok had gotten a threat.
The reality that just maybe, one day, Hoseok wouldn't be around to be used as blackmail.
But seriously? Hoseok? A threat to kill him out of any other accomplice Jungkook would get his hands all bloody for? Hoseok, the man who's so skilled at sneaking and killing no matter how naturally loud and sunshine he is? The man who has people racing at their swelled feet just to have an offer for him?
'No,' - his dirty conscious yelled in his ears. 'You know that's not why you think he'll be gone soon. A threat won't end him. Simply his own body would.'
"Fine," Jungkook let out a painfully hard breath. "I'll do it."
"Great," Choi smiled although his hands were gently kneading at the pink flush marking his neck right where Jungkook spat out his rage. "I know i'll have her body at the end of this week, Jeon. Please don't make my expectations come as false."
Jungkook watched, his hand squeezing harder against the wood of his door as he watched Choi's back, his retreating frame giving an echo of footsteps that sung too loudly in his ears.
He looked over his shoulder, eyes falling on a small portrait. Him and Hoseok smiling together on the edge of a bridge although the height was well enough to have one dead. Hoseok was simply his light in Jungkook's world of dark corners and twisting stomachs. The softness to his rotten exterior.
A small noise choked from his throat along with the thought that he'd do anything to keep Hoseok breathing.
-
You flowed perfectly with the crowd.
There was a way you walked, almost elegantly, so eye-catching and alluring it had the swarms of people around to discreetly move away to not interrupt your movement. It was an act of absentminded worship, a type of worship that only you were aware of. A worship that made your hands feel as if they were weighted— pressed down with all of the hearts you held clutched into your palms.
Fingers digging into the pumping flesh, blood daring to get caught under your nails. The blood was concealed. Hidden by the manicure you didn't have to ask for, your father just granted with the swipe of his card.
You sat down at your usual booth, sunlight and the cushions vinyl adjusting to you properly just like any other thing was expected to do.
There was a way your bones curved at the spot just between your neck and shoulder, how they slightly indented in as you reached out to take a sip from your coffee. A coffee that only took a small glance into the baristas ashy eyes to have. A coffee that would keep you and your attitude in place for the day.
Sunlight seemed to blend in perfectly at your soft dermis, a much needed action that had Jungkook's heart malfunctioning.
This is the woman he had to kill?
The woman that— even this far away— Jungkook knew would have the perfect curve against his own frame? The woman that his eyes struggled to peel away, even if the hair on your neck rose from the feeling with a simple woman's tuition? The woman that was eleven years younger than him, young smiles and eyes that gave such an unwanted punch to his groin?
The woman that had yet another soul kneeling at her feet.
The woman that already had her eyes on him.
He didn't even realize until the corner of your lips lifted into a sweet, teeth-showing smile that squished your cheeks. Your hand raised, offering the starstruck man an inviting wave, not stopping until Jungkook started his shirt journey over to your booth.
He stopped once the wood table had a few centimeters short of brushing his thigh. His eyes completely locked on you, a dark gaze that you had prayed for nights on end to feel pierce through your nerves.
And it was just as you expected.
His gaze was strong, pulling as if his eyes were magnets and your curves metal. The gaze that felt raw and broken, a feel that had your thighs tightening together and your neck swallow up a light pink. A pink that matched the gloss coating your lips. The gloss Jungkook struggled to look away from.
"About time you noticed me," You said immediately, giving that usual dirty hint at the edge of the sweet melody. A hint that you used whenever you found a male simply intriguing. "I was starting to think I was invisible to your eyes."
Invisible to the eyes that had your fingers shoved between your thighs whenever you thought of them.
It was pathetic sounding.
And you hated it.
A sudden clench came from his jaw, a movement that had the skin over his throat shifting for. A bob his throat when he asked, "How do you know me?”
"How could I not?" Manicured nails curled around your plastic coffee cup. "I took a first glance at you and I was intrigued. Just one look and I knew you had already engraved somewhere in my mind."
His pierced brow gave a slight raise. "Is that so?"
"Yeah," you watched his eyes fall to your lips as you gave them a small lick of your tongue, a then bite of the flesh. "Jeon Jungkook, I'm Y/n."
You watched, heart beat unnaturally hard as the dark of his eyes hardened with a sudden thought. The pure black irises giving a small glint as a sudden thought seemed to change his face.
The thought gave his mouth a sudden, barely noticeable curve.
"Y/n," he repeated your name under his lips, resting how it felt on his tongue. The sound vibrated through your skin, giving a sudden clench of need bursting through your mannered state.
It wasn't the sound of a man being introduced to a stranger— it was the sound of a predator acknowledging his prey, though you were far too intoxicated by the proximity of him to even notice.
He leaned forward, his hands on the table top, bringing his face down to your level. Up close, the lines of his face were even rougher. A manly scent coming from him that made your head swim.
"You seem very sure of yourself, Y/n," he murmured. "Most people don't make a habit of staring at strangers until they're forced to say hello."
"Most people aren't worth the effort of being noticed," you countered while tilting your head, your hair falling over your shoulder and you saw his gaze track the movement. "I've been watching you for weeks. You can be a pretty rough man... it's just my type."
"Watching," he repeated along with the narrow of his eyes. "I didn't know I had a pretty little stalker on my ass."
"I wouldn't say stalker," you replied, leaning in just enough the air between you disappeared. "But I like pretty. You fuck pretty girls, huh?"
Jungkook was telling himself this could work.
If the closeness between the two of you was tight— never broken— but close until it was suffocating, it could have his job pass easier than it needed to be.
It could have Hoseok live.
"I don't fuck girls with big egos," he countered. "It's exhausting to hear."
"Let me show you real exhaustion then, Jeon." You were being unfiltered but you didn't care. Months of the thought of him inside of you was driving you nuts and the reality was the only thing that could calm you down. "Then maybe, you'll change your mind on bitches with ego's."
"I have places to be tonight," was all that he replied instead. And when his face finally moved from yours, a wave of disappointment flood through you. "And things to do. I don't like to get interrupted."
You opened your mouth to protest, but he had beat you to it.
"Tomorrow, I want to see you at Fantasy's. Ten at night. Don't be late."
You had finally done it—you had pulled him into your orbit.
-
Your nerves were at an all time peak. You weren't the one to get nervous but the more your mind drifted to how close Jungkook had gotten to you yesterday— how he promised a night at the club— the more your body gave a persistent squeeze.
You remember when you first saw him.
You were at your father's gym, a pink two piece sticking to every provocative inch on your frame. Like always, you came whenever your father wasn't sitting in his office, it just made your experience there way more easier.
Your father noticed what type of effect you brought to the people around you. He's known for long, first noticing when you simply were just a toddler.
Your father knows what type of people surround him.
And just what they could do to you.
He was overly protective, you weren't exactly too sure why he was so, the man never telling you the dangers someone like you face without knowing. You didn't see it that way. You just saw him as annoying. A nuisance.
Your skin was flushed pink, almost matching the two piece around you. You gripped a water bottle around your exhausting fingers, the bones trembling as you wiped sweat off your forehead.
You were panting, your lips parted for gasps of air. You completed your sets, your focus now being locked to going home and relaxing in the comfort of your own bed.
But then you saw him.
A build of perfect, taut muscles lined together to craft pure perfection. His biceps flexed, veins popping, as he pulled the sharpness of his chin to the tall bar above him. Lines of sweat fell down the honey of his skin, a heated sight that had you stopping dead in your tracks.
He didn't look like the other men who frequented your father's business– he didn't check his form, he didn't boast, and he certainly didn't seek approval.
He looked like a man who had seen the end of the world and was currently deciding whether or not to hurry it along.
A wave of desire mixed with the heat already throbbed through your frame.
There was something about his naturally quiet, dismissing tone to his presence that had you aching with curiosity.
Who is this man and how could you get your hands on him?
Your eyes were blinkless as he reached down to grab ahold of his phone, bicep flexing by the action.
The moment he answered his phone, his smooth voice cutting through the clanks of nearby weights– your heart beat so hard you stumbled back onto a nearby squat seat.
"Hoseok," He greeted with a pant, reaching down to wipe the back of his neck with a white towel.
It was an intimate, raw and laced with fragility that it caught you fully off guard.
He was entirely consumed by the person on the other end of the line, his features softening in a way that made your chest ache with a sudden spike of jealousy.
"Yeah, I'm heading out now," he murmured, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly against the side of his phone. "I'll be there in twenty. Just... keep breathing for me, alright?"
He ended the call, his expression shifting back to that cold mask. He tossed the towel over his shoulder, the motion fluid and predatory, and began to pace toward the exit.
Every muscle in his back moved in a slow, hypnotic movement that made your throat go dry.
He walked past the rows of benches, past the grunting powerlifters who instinctively cleared a path, but he never turned his head.
To him, you were just part of the background noise—the hum of the treadmill, the static of the gym, a girl in a pink set who didn't even exist in his orbit.
He didn't notice you.
You were pacing to the front stand desk before your brain could even process anything.
The workers saw you and instantly bowed. "Hey, ma'am."
"Hey," you replied, masking a sweet smile onto your lips although your insides were on fire. You felt like you were suffocating. "Can I, uh, check the visitor list please? By my father's request."
The lady– Mrs Han– let a moment of confusion mask her features. A drawn of her eyebrows, leaving crevices, a sharp of her eyes. But before it could become anything too apparent– she quickly changed into that nice formality.
"Sure," she motioned you around the counter, using the mouse pad to log into the mountain of members piling on her screen. "Because your father said so."
It took you a while, a time that had Mrs Han whispering questions on why you were so invested into this hunt.
But you didn't care.
You rested your chin on your palm, sweat now dried over your skin and body back to normal temperature– but the place between your legs? It gone haywire. You couldn't stop thinking about him.
Flashes of members came as you scrolled on and on, your agitation growing as you struggled to find that hint of pure art.
But once you saw that familiar face– the piercings, the dead face, the eyes that looked heavy as if they carried something most don't– a slow, warm smile spread over your lips.
You clicked on his profile.
Jeon Jungkook. 34. 09/1/97.
God, he was older than you.
So much older than you, almost twelve years of life he experienced until you took your first breaths.
It was hot.
You needed him.
Badly.
Now, hours before the club tonight, that memory was a burn in your mind.
A twisted, desired, perfect burn.
You sat in front of your large vanity, your fingers trembling in excitement as you applied a dark gloss to your lips.
Everything about you tonight was laced in darkness. You knew he loved the dark and if it means to change your whole appearance to make his heart churn– you'd gladly do it.
You weren't just getting ready for a night out, you were dressing for a needy massacre.
You knew he was a dangerous man– every instinct, every drop of blood in your veins told you that he was capable of snapping your neck just as easily as he could press you against the wall.
The thought didn't make you want to call for help or scramble away. It made you want to run faster into his line of fire.
The mountains of tattoos and scars told a wordless story.
But they also told you how much you craved to drag your tongue against the taste.
You checked your reflection again. You looked perfect, alluring, so lethal in your own way you knew it would drive your dad crazy. But that's not who you wanted to watch spiral.
You wanted to haunt Jungkooks dreams just like he invaded yours.
-
Fantasy was a place of striving violent lights and speaker bass' so loud it felt like a physical heartbeat. It was a place where people came to lose their identities, tucked away in the city's corners—the perfect hunting ground for a man who lived in the shadows.
Jungkook leaned against a support pillar near the bar, his eyes tracking the room with an assassin's gaze.
He wasn't drinking.
He held a glass of something strong and untouched, his gaze constantly shooting back to the entrance. When he saw you walk in, the air around him seemed to thin.
You were wearing a dress of dark silk that clung to your skin like a second layer of desire. You moved through the crowd with that same alluring grace, your presence carving a path through the jumping bodies.
Jungkook watched as your hips swayed slightly with every intoxicating step. How the lights reflected off your skin, a thrashing blind that almost made him choke on his breath. Your lips were stained with a deep gloss, a darkness that he couldn't help but wonder how sweet the taste could feel against his tastebuds.
When you finally found him, your smile was small and entirely intentional.
You stopped in front of him, the heat radiating from your skin clashing with the cold, controlled stillness of his posture.
"You came," he said, his voice barely audible over the thrum of the speakers.
"Did I forget to tell you, Jeon?" you whispered, stepping into his space, your hand sliding up the rough leather of his jacket. "I'm not a woman who gives up on what I want."
Jungkook's jaw clenched, the dagger now sitting heavy in his pants pocket. You were staring hard into his eyes, a glisten so soft it made his heart go haywire. He needed to kill you, he needed to see your blood on his hands.
He closed his eyes, a sigh threatening to tear from his throat.
He needed to get close to you, needed to make this job easier from him.
But the more he looks at your eyes— the more he realized it may as well have made things harder.
He opened his eyes again, his heart skipping a beat when the beautiful image of you flashed through his vision.
"Let's go get a drink," you said softly, your eyes flickering down to the glass he gripped so hard in his hands his knuckles were pale. "Although it already looks like you have one..."
"Sorry," he apologized but then mentally swore at himself at the back of his mind. Seriously? He's apologizing? What's wrong with him? "I just needed... whatever, c'mon."
You slipped your hand around his bicep, curling your fingers against the leather barrier with a deliberate slowness, his mind did a full 360. "So I don't get lost," you joked but you both knew it was an excuse.
You needed to feel your hands on him.
Jungkook didn't pull away from your hands. He simply just... couldn't.
It felt as if you had bypassed every nerve and trapped your touch directly to his adrenaline supply.
He looked down at your hand, his brow furrowing. Your nails were long and black tonight. Just yesterday afternoon they were a cute, short baby pink.
He looked at you for a quick second, gaze sharp and dark. Before he could say anything, you tugged at his muscle and dragged the two of you to the bar.
He followed, movements stiff, like he was fighting the urge to shake you off. Each step was testing him. To see how much further his body would allow you to push him until he reacted, or the simple logic he needed to have– to watch the beautiful color drain out of your face.
When you reached the bar, you didn't let go. You stood so close that your side brushed his thigh, and he could smell the faint sweet trace of vanilla on your skin.
"One whiskey, neat," you ordered, holding the bartender's gaze until he scurried to comply.
You turned back to Jungkook, tilting your head, your hair flooding over the curve of your shoulder.
Your other hand gently curled around the leather of his belt, deliberately pulling his dark, heavy jeans higher over his hips. "You're tense, baby. Is something wrong?”
He gripped the edge of the bar, his knuckles turning white again.
A slow smile tugged at your lips. It was simple, your magic was working.
"Im not a fan of crowds," he muttered, his eyes dark that reflected the flickering neon lights. You watched as his eyes drifted down to your gloss, closed for a long second, then back to your eyes. "And being called Baby by strangers."
"I'm not a stranger, though," you replied, taking your hands away from his belt to grab your crystal glass. "I'm more than that. Wish to be way, way more, baby. I can be that destruction to whatever barrier you're covering yourself in."
He felt a jolt of something terrifyingly real pierce his chest.
"A booth is open," he muttered, completely ignoring your words as he motioned his head towards an empty vinyl seat. "You're wearing heels, it must hurt. C'mon."
You followed him to the space of the bar just sitting under the second story, a leak of the strobing lights just barely staining the wood. He waited until you sat down to slide in after you, keeping a respectful space to protect himself.
You moved closer to him, close enough your side was brushing against his.
You took a small sip from the glass, lips suggestively curling around the crystal as you felt his gaze spike into you. The corner of your vision, you saw him shake his head before also taking a small sip from his own.
You kept sipping until your mind went dizzy. The bartender supplied you with more and more without even adding to your bill.
Jungkook's drink stayed untouched, just one tiny sip, evidence that it was once swallowed. He was still like a perfect statue carved from gemstone. He sat with his shoulders squared, his gaze fixed on a point just above the crowd.
You shifted, the silk of your dress whispering against the seat as you leaned fully into his side. Your shoulder pressed fully against his bicep and you felt him slightly flinch.
You felt thrilled, heavy, dizzy, perfect from the way you noticed you were the only thing he couldn't seem to look away from.
He kept on reaching into his pocket, only to sigh, and grab his glass again. You the action counted six consecutive times.
"Months, baby," you whined, your chest tight as you stroked your hand on the soft skin of his cheek. "Months of me begging to be under your attention, to feel your hands. You're still so closed off. Why? I saw you smile at your phone once. I saw you laughing with some boy. It has to be exhausting, Jungkook. Being so controlled.."
Jungkook let out a low, sharp exhale. His hand twitched, as if another thought of reaching into his pocket sparked his mind again. But his hands kept in place, both gripping the glass. "You have no idea what I'm controlling."
"But you're just so so cute!" You giggled softly, reaching out to squish his cheeks. His breath hitched, his hands reaching out quickly to hold your wrists, almost painfully, to keep your reach away from him. "How come the only man I want is backing away from me, huh?"
"Don't," he snapped, his tone sounding more like a warning than a plea.
"Don't what?" You teased, your voice turning needy. You felt the room tilting, your vision narrowing until the only focus was his face.
You leaned closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.
"Don't touch you? Don't look at you? Don't make you feel things youre not supposed to?"
The internal battle happening in him was visible in the way his jaw worked, the way his knuckles were bloodless around the glass. He was simply drowning in the restraint and you were holding him under, fascinated by the way he was struggling to breathe.
"You're drunk," he deadpanned before turning to the bartender, who had his eyes on you as he began to fill up your glass again. "That's enough, bastard. She's clearly had enough."
You nuzzled into his neck, the scent of your skin making the ruined man to let out a harsh and broken noise. A mix of a groan and a curse.
"Y/n-"
"I just want you to fuck me," you pleaded, your voice cracking as one hand slid across the fabric clinging onto his chest. You felt his muscles tense under your touch and how his groan vibrated onto your skin. "So hard. To tie me up just like how i've dreamt about."
Jungkook knew he was screwed the moment a hard, heating throb pained his groin.
"Enough, Y/n," he snapped, his hand returning to his pocket. "Please. Fuck. I should've known this would be a bad idea."
"All I think about is you," you whimpered, digging your fingers into his shirt. "You're a stranger that has completely flooded my mind. Why can't it just be one night? Just one time and I promise I'll stop following you around. I will stop thinking of you."
"We both know you won't stop."
"Okay, so? You caught me," you made a sweet noise, a giggle mix with a cheer, something that sounded like music to his ears. "Why can't you just give in? Why can't one, singular night break that barrier in you?"
"Because Y/n!" He snapped, pulling you away from his body until you felt coldness wash through your skin again. You frowned. "It's not as easy as you think it is, okay? I have someone I need to keep and the more I see your eyes, the more I know it won't just feel like one night. I wouldn't be able to let you go, and I have to. I really fucking need to.”
"What?" Your face drained of color. "D-do you have a girlfriend?" Everything inside Jungkook turned to flames when he heard your voice crack.
It seemed to stiffen every single bone in his body. The raw vulnerability in your voice hit him harder than any bullet ever had.
He had been sent here to end you, and instead, he was standing in the middle of a crowded, strobed room, trying to keep his own heart from breaking.
"No," he rasped, his voice sounding completely broken. "No, Y/n. It's not... it's not like that."
But the explanation died on his tongue.
How could he tell you? How could he tell you that you were a target, a liability in a life you simply were trying to exist causally in?
How could he tell you that the man who had ordered your death was the same man who held the life of the only person he truly cared about in the palm of his hand?
You looked at him, your eyes shimmering with a mixture of betrayal and confusion, and he couldn't stand the sight of it.
He couldn't be the man who made you feel like you were nothing more than a background character in a life he couldn't even stand being in.
"You're making a mistake," he muttered, turning his back on you and heading straight for the exit.
"Jungkook!"
You raced after him without thinking.
You shoved past a group of laughing teens, the heavy music fading as you burst through the club's emergency exit into the cool air of the alleyway.
The silence of the night was painful.
Rain was beginning to fall, a misty drop that turned the city lights into blurred smears of color.
Jungkook was standing ten paces ahead, staring deathly at the road ahead.
"Stop!" you cried, your voice catching in the damp air.
You ran toward him, your heels clicking sharply with every stumble and struggle.
"Stop walking away from me! If I'm such a complication then finish it! Tell me to leave! Tell me you hate me!"
He spun around and closed the distance between you in two long strides, his hand shooting out to grab your upper arms. It was painful, but his grip was desperate.
"I don't hate you," he growled. His face was inches from yours, his dark eyes searching your features. "God help me, Y/n, I don't hate you. And that's why I need you to get in a car, go home, and lock your door. I need you to stay as far away from me as you possibly can."
"Why?" you demanded, tears finally spilling over, hot and stinging. "Why does it matter?"
"Because I'm not a good man.I'm a dead man walking, Y/n. If you keep looking at me like that, if you keep digging into the dark, you're going to die."
You stared at him, your breath hitching.
"Go home, Y/n," he snapped.
He stepped back, looking like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the wind to decide his fate.
"If you see me again," he said, his voice sounding painfully flat again, "don't come close. For your own sake... stay in your life."
He turned and disappeared into the shadows of the alleyway, leaving you standing there in the rain, all trembling and breathless.
-
"Hoseok,"
Jungkook's voice broke as he stared down at the soft, resting face of his friend.
His hands were wrapped around Hoseok's warm hand, chasing for that faint life in them that he struggled to find these days.
"What do I do?" He cried, holding his hand against his tears, watching helplessly as they dripped down Hoseok's wrist, sliding down the veins in his arm. "You'd have a solution. I knew you would. C'mon, you haven't opened your eyes in two days. I need you to, please."
A nurse walked into the room, a faint smile on her lips. "Hey, are you Mr Jung's family?"
She took a small breath in, taking a painful note of the way Jungkook's grip tightened around Hoseok's wrist. He didn't turn back to look at her, just kept his attention towards the weakening boy lying ahead of him.
"Brother," he whispered.
A cold lie and they both knew it.
"Does he have any other family members? A real, blood related one?"
Jungkook's breath slightly hitched. "No."
She sighed, hooking her clipboard under her arm as her eyes flickered in a small glisten. It was pity. It was all Jungkook received here. No help. No grounding.
"Well... Mr Jung is staying stable, he's breathing properly, but he still needs some work. Don't let his long periods of rest worry you too much. His body was just so exhausted and stuck on healing so hard that it craves a long rest. There won't be anything to worry about, sir."
"Oh," he exhaled, sharply, so sharp in pained his heart behind his ribs. "T-That's good. I... why did your words sound heavy?"
Jungkook turned to face her, dropping Hoseok's hand into his. He watched, his heart beating excessively as her face dropped into worry. Her eyebrows drooped and a small sigh coming from her punched him exactly in the face.
"The medical bills... they're mounting and the insurance approval is still pending. If we don't see a payment by the end of the week, we'll have to discuss moving him to a state facility."
His jaw tightened. He remembered the envelope Mr Choi gave him just a couple days ago, sitting untouched in his night stand.
"I'll take of it," he said sharply then sighed. "Sorry."
She didn't respond and he sat up, not looking at the bed as he walked out. He knew if he looked at Hoseok one more time tonight, he might as well just snap. He stepped out into the hallway, silence ringing in his ears as he let out a rough sigh.
He reached the stairwell, pulling his hood over his head as the slam of the heavy doors echoed shut behind him.
He pulled out the photo Choi gave him from his pocket and stared at you.
He had to do it.
It's your fault. You shouldn't have smelt and looked so good. You shouldn't have been attached to a man who belonged in a grave.
No.
It's his fault.
He slipped.
He fell in love with you ever since laying eyes on you.
He's not well.
He needs Hoseok breathing properly.
He needs to feel his lips on your skin.
He needs to laugh with Hoseok until the sun rose up.
He needs you.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into the empty stairwell, though he wasnt sure if he was apologizing to the girl in the photo or the man dying in the room behind him.
-
Jungkook was shaking.
His hands could barely wrap around his knife properly. They trembled so hard his skin almost made contact to the sharp blade. He knew he needed to get it done. This isn't his first time killing someone. Just watch the color drain from your face and everything will be (not) okay.
He pulled his gloves over his hands, his heart beating so hard he choked into the dense, stale night air.
He slipped past the cameras and guards with ease although his breathing was loud and unstable. He moved with a fluidity that was purely muscle memory- a dark ghost- but his mind was fracturing. He simply was not well and he knew it would be a matter of time before he goes completely, utterly insane.
It physically pained him as he pulled himself up onto your roof.
He reached the skylight window that felt cold beneath his gloved palms. He didn't need to force the lock. His tools were already out, his hands working with a terrifying precision his heart refused to match.
He dropped into your room, his shoes making no sound as they hit the plush carpet.
The space smelt exactly like you.
His lungs came in shallow hitches, his knife glistening under the moonlight as he softly turned the lock on your door.
Your humming came-much to his agony- from your bathroom. The door was slightly ajar, peaking out a line of warm lighting to the darkness of your bedroom.
The sound of bristles brushing gently through your silky, soft hair harmonized with your humming. You were singing a song he's never heard before but he knew if he were to hear it ever again, it would send him into a state of pure, numb suffering.
His cheeks felt on fire.
He felt angry, sick, a terror that was supposed to feel like his other missions- immediate, numb, a coldness swallowing his brain until the hunt was over.
With a deep, silent breath, he gently pushed the door open.
You were near the mirror, eyes luckily lowered. Your hair brush now sat on the counter while you were busy applying a vanilla lotion to the length of your legs. You were wrapped in a pink towel, water still dripping around your almost exposed body. Jungkook would've choked if he weren't to stay deathly silent.
His footsteps were light, years of experience piling down on him.
His vision splotched a burning, white flash of dread as his hands quickly slapped over your mouth. His other hand held the knife up to your throat, his hand trembling as the blade sat just mere centimeters away from your skin.
Your wide eyes, glistening in terror, met his in the mirror.
He watched as they quickly flashed into hurt.
HIs hand pressed down harder onto your mouth. You weren't screaming for help or begging him to release you, what came instead was soft pleas of his name absorbing into the black of his glove.
"Close your eyes, make this easier for me," he rasped, his grip on you staying deathly firm although his insides felt weak. Vulnerable.
Your hands shot out to grip at his wrists. Just one movement of the blade and your throat would slice. You'd bleed to death. You'd go still.
You'd die whimpering his name.
"Jungkook," you sobbed into his glove, trembling harder than he was. If you were to thrash, to move, his blade would easily pierce you open. "W-Why? What a-are you doing?"
Staring back into your eyes made every logic inside him disintegrate.
He couldn't do it.
The blade that was carved so sharply to tear apart stone, now buckled in his hand, completely mocking him.
Jungkook let out a choked sound that hadn't exactly matched a sob. With a sudden motion, he pushed you free onto the counter and threw his knife so hard against the walls it clattered.
The clatter sounded way too close to the final nail hammering shut his coffin of trapped pain.
You were breathing heavily, sobbing hard on the counter as you pushed yourself upright with weak, desperate arms. You felt hurt. Not because he shoved you or how hard his grip was, but because of what type of man you had fallen for.
"Why did you have to fucking do this!?" He shouted, the veins popping out from his sweating temples. He looked completely ruined. He looked like he was falling apart in your own bedroom. "Why couldn't you make this easier for me? Why do you have to be so fucking..."
Your knees were so weak you had fallen to the cold tiles. You were staring up at him, tears flowing openly as you watched him grip his hair as if that could keep his mental together for one last, final time.
He looked back at you, through the mess of his hair, the darkness of his gaze shifting into murderous to terrifyingly shallow.
His chest was heaving so hard you thought he might pass out.
"I'm so..fuck! Im so fucked!" He shouted before sharply turning around, his movements making you flinch. He began to bolt out of your bathroom and something in you- something so twisted- had forced you up onto your knees until you were chasing after him.
"Wait," you pleaded, breathing heavily as you reached out to grab his arm before he could leave your bedroom.
Hell, you might as-well be fucked inside too.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" He spun back around, his eyes blazing unstably. "Why can't you be normal? Why can't you push me away like everyone else?"
"Jungkook," you tightened the curl of your fingers around his bicep, your legs trembling so hard you could barely hold yourself up. "Please don't leave me again."
"You're unwell, don't you fucking now that! Let go of me! Now!"
"Baby," you pleaded, every ounce of basic logic flooding out of you. "Aren't you unwell too? We're perfect for eachother. Please, I've seen the real you, on your phone. That cute smile. Everything will be okay."
"No!" He said harshly, his face turning red with agitation. "I can't save Hoseok if I don't kill you. And I can't kill you. So I have nothing left. Do you hear me!? Nothing!"
"Baby-"
"Don't you fucking call me that." He snapped.
"I need you, Jungko-"
Your words choked into strained gasps when his hand came harshly around your throat. Anger swallowed his features as he pushed you back onto the bed, crawling his body on top of yours. Oxygen was still available much to your luck, but the pressure he applied was enough to have you choke and cry.
"You're ruining me," he sneered, his thigh pulling up to part between your legs. He applied a harsh, pleasurable pressure there until you gasped. "What's in you? Why are you so hard to resist? Why are you doing this to me?"
"Jungkook-“
He interrupted you by slamming his lips down to yours.
Your world did a full spin by the taste of him against you. A lingering of smoke and cinnamon, a taste that you didn't know you could reach outside the depths of your dreams.
He groaned into your mouth, the noise mixing completely with your whimper as your arms wrapped around the back of his neck with a trembly precision. His mouth moved hard, a painful glide of his tongue to get the full taste of you to press down on his tastebuds.
He removed his hand from your throat to part your mouth open, his grip hard as he stroked his tongue into your mouth. He licked around your flesh, giving a swirl so perfect electricity had shot down harshly into your core. Your heads moved in sync as he explored every part of your mouth, absorbing the taste of your mint toothpaste and just you.
He pulled back enough to have the both of you gasping for air, breaths tangling together in a mixture of heat. A line of saliva snapped between your lips, dripping onto your chin as he removed himself from your body and pulling you up until you were sitting still ahead of him standing, his knees touching the edge of the bed.
"You wanted to fuck me so bad? Shove your fingers into your sweet cunt thinking its me?" He rasped, his hand returning back to your throat. When no words left you, only a breathless moan, he chuckled. "What? You can't talk now, princess? You've been on your knees like a dirty whore and when I finally get my hands on you— you're quiet?"
"I-I'm sorry," you reached out, fingers curling around his wrists. Your nails dug into his skin, a hope burning in your mind that he'd let you free. But deep down, somewhere so thick at the depths of your tightening core— your body screamed at you to push his hands harder against you.
"I-Im s-sorry," he mocked, pulling one hand away to give one, rough squeeze to your breast, so hard he dug his fingers into the soft flesh. You cried at the pain, a lingering sting heightening your senses. "What did you think was going to happen when you played with me, hm? Are you so fucking pathetic that you thought i'd always push you away?"
You shook your head, a whimper falling from your lips while he just laughed in your face, his breath hitting your nose that it made your skin tingle. He took a note of how flushed your skin looked and how you seemed to discreetly move your body closer to his hands.
He removed his final hand from your throat, a sharp gasp of air coming from your end while he tangled the fabric of your towel around his fingers. He didn't give a warning nor did he ask, he just pulled so roughly a ripping noise had echoed off the walls until you felt the cold air bite into your skin.
You breathed, instinctively reaching out to cover your chest, but what came instead was his strong grip roughly pinning your arms to the bed.
"You're asking to get tied up, aren't you?" He growled, giving your arms a rough squeeze before moving his hands over to cup your breasts. "You dare move and i'll keep you strangled. I'll fuck you just like you asked me to, so rough that you're going to be crying after every single thrust. I'll have you wishing you never dared to speak that pretty mouth with such dirty words around me."
The swell of your breast bounced upon the force, the peaks of your nipples hard and tall, already responsive to the way his calloused hands felt against your skin.
He cupped both of your breasts, his thumb out to apply a pressure to the bud. Your head fell back with a slight gasp, your back arching into his hands that were quick to start threading and pulling. Your skin burned, already turning pink under the large of his palm. His hands were so large on your chest, a major size difference that had a low curse slipping out from under his clenched jaw.
With every single movement of his hand —the drag of his skin against yours— a shockwave of pure, hot arousal shook through your thighs. You just started and you already felt the slick drench an absolute ruin of your thighs. That no matter how rough he was on you, it had your lips parting in a need that it had your fingers trembling around the sheets where they stayed clenched.
His thumbs reached out, twirling around your bud, pulling roughly, before smoothing back out with his finger pads. You moaned out his name, unable to stop it from parting— the sound only just driving him to pinch you now, hard and perfect.
"I bet you've dreamt about this, hm?" He pulled one hand back just to hold the weight of your breast under his palm. The feel seemed to make his eyes widen in pure delight. "Me toying with you just as you wished. A slut for me even with such a pretty face, just how easy could I have you get on your knees for me?"
'Easy' , you wanted to respond, but you simply were completely wordless. You were breathing heavily, yes, but it was as if every single tug at your nipple was connected to your vocal cords. As if he ruined your vocal cords just as much as he ruined your breast.
"I don't even have my mouth on you yet, baby," he rasped, slightly adjusting his stance with a low groan.
Only then did you realize the hard print straining behind his jeans. His cock was covered and yet it was so thick and hard, you could see it twitch after every moan you cried. It was so perfect it had your hands lifting off the sheets.
Only just one of his hands trapped your wrists.
The immediate disappearance had your breast swollen and ruined, stinging so hard a wince came out of you. It grabbed ahold of your pulse and you could feel the throb thunder roughly all throughout you.
Meanwhile, his hand over your wrists were deathly. It had you tugging at him, your circulation begging to be healed— but all you got in return was a low chuckle.
"I told you—no moving your arms, right?”
"I wasn't thinking-"
"I know you weren't," he simply cut you off, voice suffocatingly straight. "Anyone with a brain knows to obey me."
Your body replied with a shudder, one that only just soaked the place between your thighs embarrassingly more. Your core was begging to feel something with the same fierce your heart felt in your chest.
He let go of your wrists, only to order: "Grab my cigarette and lighter."
"W-Where?"
"My pockets."
You nodded slightly, your fingers trembling from the intensity of everything alone. You reached into his jeans, the heat radiating off of him as yours fingers wrapped around a box and cold lighter.
Once you pulled the objects out, he ordered, "Light me one, place it in my mouth."
"Okay," you whimpered, fingers already working to fumble on the top of his obsidian lighter. The flame ignited the edge of his cigarette, giving it a deep red that lit the space between the two of you.
He leaned down,his lips parting as the hotness of his breath hitting your swollen mouth. You placed the stick between his lips and he leaned back, pulling it out to huff a cloud of smoke out, the thickness curling around his neck.
"Hold it up to my lips," he ordered. "Keep your other pretty hand on the bed."
You placed the stick between your fingers, hand held up near his mouth while the other curled painfully into the sheets, your knuckles white. He leaned in again, exhaling onto the flushed skin on your face.
His hand moved from your breast and to your thigh. You moaned, hand holding the stick giving an unbeatable jolt. His fingers bruised down your inner thigh, rough pads of his fingertips dragging across the sensitive skin until they hovered just shy of your soaked cunt.
The pressure was possessive, marking you in red streaks that would bloom into bruises by morning. The idea only just sent fresh pulses of heat straight to your core.
You could could feel the sick evidence of your arousal coat the tops of your thighs, a humiliating thing for you but a sight he groaned over.
His cigarette glowed inches from your face as he took another slow drag, smoke fuming while his free hand inched higher, knuckles brushing the outer lips of your pussy without parting them.
"Keep that hand steady," he murmured, exhaling another cloud that stung your watering eyes. Your fingers trembled around the cigarette , ember flaring as you held it obediently to his mouth again.
He leaned in, lips brushing your knuckles this time, heat of his breath mixing with the tobacco. Meanwhile his other hand spread you open, two thick fingers sliding through your wetness. He didn't push inside yet, much to your dismay, but stroked the swollen part of you. His fingers gathered your arousal and smeared them deliberately over your clit. His smears were in lazy circles that made your hips twitch despite the earlier order to stay still.
His fingers pressed firmer now, tips circling your entrance, testing the hard clench. You could hear how wet you were against his fingers, the sounds fueling your pussy to throb harder. Clenching on nothing as if begging to be filled.
Your nipples still throbbed from his earlier abuse but they tightened in the air, ruined peaks aching for more contact even as your focus narrowed to the slow exploration between your legs.
His thumb replaced his fingers on your clit, rubbing just hard enough to have your hips jolting against his hand.
A broken whimper tore from your throat.
"Look at your greedy little cunt," he said, words vibrating through the smoke. "Dripping all over my hand and I haven't even fucked you yet."
Two fingers finally pushed in, sinking knuckle deep with a single thrust. His fingers stretched you alone painfully, almost burning.
Your thighs quivered on either side of his wrist as you felt every ridge of his fingers buried inside.
"Keep your hand on the sheets, cigarette near my mouth," he ordered before pulling his fingers out of you completely. Without warning, he slammed them back in just as he gave a soft curl, the action completely lifting your highs higher into his hand with pure pleasure.
Your cheeks were on fire, cold sweat dripping down your back as he left a relentless rhythm ruining inside of you. The sounds of your wetness plus your whimpers filled the room and he groaned, head falling back just enough to bob the bone deep in his throat.
"God, my life is so fucked," he let out a broken sob but he continued to pump himself inside of you. His thumb reached out to continue a slow roll over the swell of your cunt, a hard pressure that had heat building up between your legs and burning your cheeks.
Your fingers tightened around the bedsheets. the material stretching while the cigarette you held was inches away from crushing completely.
"Jungkook," you cried out, your body now gliding absentmindedly into his fingers. Your cheeks felt like they were getting pulled on. Your cunt was fluttering relentlessly. "I think I will-"
He pulled out before you could finish your sentence, arousal completely dripping down his veins.
"Selfish bitch," he scolded, wet hands reaching out to fumble with his belt sat wonky on his hips. "Ruining my fucking life while looking like a pretty temptation. And now you're trying to come before me? Burn that cigarette out."
You watched him tear at his zipper, mouth feeling like an ocean as you burned the cigarette out on a nearby porcelain ring holder on your nightstand. He shoved his jeans and boxers down, cock springing free in a thick, throbbing, yet beautiful mess.
He wrapped his fist around his length, thumb smearing precum down his veins as his cock twitched in his own hold.His other hand held firmly at your hip, pulling you harder down to him until your core was met directly to his abdomen, legs wrapping around his torso.
He gave himself two, long strokes before lining his head to your entrance. Throbbing thickness met your cunt and you cried out, nails digging into the sheets with a wave of pure ecstasy although nothing started yet.
"You can move your hands now, scratch at my back if you really need to."
A moan of relief sung between the two of you as you reached out to wrap around his hot torso, fingers desperately clawing at his rough skin resting just under the fabric. Nails clawing down his spine, feeling the hard planes of muscle shift after every scrape.
He rolled his head through your folds once, gathering your slickness before pushing himself in. The burning stretch had you screaming, pulling at his body until you had your face buried in his chest, your wet gasps muffled by him.
Your heels pushed into his back, helping him bury himself into you, every vein and thick inch dragging inside your clenching walls until he was buried roughly to the hilt. You could feel his head bruise the deepest parts in you, places you've always dreamt to feel him at, the reality slapping you right on the face.
You sobbed from the pain into him but the more he sat still and the more you fluttered around him, the faster that pain morphed into a quick satisfaction. He sat still until you were breathing normally again, letting you feel every throb and pulse of his dick inside your stretched cunt.
"Fuck, thats it," he snapped, voice strained. He rolled his hips in the smallest circle, grinding that thick head against your deepest spot without pulling out. You clawed at him for more friction and his hand came down to hold your hip in place, as he began to withdraw inch after inch.
He almost exited your entirely before slamming back in, your body jolting harshly in his hold as you let out a scream into him. Slap of skin against skin echoed wet. He set a fast, punishing rhythm, each thrust deep.
Sweat beaded at his spine where your nails scratched him unapologetically, air between your bodies growing thick with tobacco.
He leaned down to bite at your shoulder, teeth sinking in just enough to mark. The jolt of it made your cunt clamp down hard around his ruthless cock.
"Is this what you wanted?" He growled against your skin, keeping his slams in you painful yet perfect for desires. "What you were begging for like a dirty slut while making my life miserable?"
"M'sorry," you said breathlessly into his heat, your head feeling like it was completely spinning so hard your vision was blurred with white. "It.. feels good. Please don't stop, Jungkook.”
"It's daddy, know your place," he sneered, pulling you down rougher around him until you were met at his hips. "I had a whole life before you were breathing. Don't call me that bullshit while I feel you completely hugging and milking my cock."
"Daddy," You cried out, quickly fixing your mistake. Your thighs trembled around his waist, every slap sending a wave of slick down his buried length. "You're better than I thought," a gasp for air. "I've needed this, needed you."
"Mhm? Well I didn't need anything until I saw your face," his voice dark as he kept fucking into you with those relentless, grinding strokes. "Yeah, that's my good girl. Take it all. Let me feel this greedy cunt flutter."
You moaned, an entire hot wave crashing through your veins. You could feel the build up in your core, a tight knot that begged to tug at until its release.
"I can't hold it," you said in a desperate plea, your lips bunching into his skin. "I need to finish. Please."
He responded with a growl, his pace quickening impossibly harder until you could barely take it any longer. Tears stained your cheeks, soaking his shirt and intoxicating your entire mind.
"Take it," he ordered. "Clench around this, baby. Let me feel you come around me."
Your hips snapped up after hearing his words, body trembling around him as you felt everything in you release. You were shaking, eyes rolling back in pure pleasure as he fucked you through it, rough groans escaping him with every centimeter of fluids dripping around his cock.
Almost immediately after he pulled out with a plop, cock slamming up to his stomach greedily. It twitched like crazy, begging for a release, and when he gave just one stroke- his insides completely coated his hand.
Before he could run away again, you pulled him down until he was slump against your frame. Your breaths mangled together heavily, gazing into each other's glistening eyes as you both held eachother in the dark.
You giggled, a sound of pure happiness as you muffled your face into the crook of his neck, arms wrapping around his body. And although you felt the stickiness paint inside your thighs, you let yourself fall into slumber against him.
-
When you woke up again, your bed was empty.
Flaring into full panic, you quickly jumped out of your covers- only to stop dead in your tracks when you spotted Jungkook in your bathroom.
His cheeks were soaked with tears.
He stood hunched over your sink, his phone pressed lightly to his ear, free hand gripping the countertop until he knuckles were pale. He didn't notice you standing naked in the doorway, paralyzed by the unfiltered grief crashing through him.
"I know," he choked out. "I know the deadline, Choi. Im just... I need more time. Please. Don't touch him. If you touch him, you loose the leverage and your family. You know I'll walk away from the order the second he's gone."
You held your breath, your heart hammering. His words hung heavy in the air and you realized he wasn't just struggling with a friend- he was holding a life he was forced to sacrifice because of you.
Because of his failure to glide the knife.
Jungkook wiped his face with his hand. a shuddering gasps escaping him. "Fine. Just keep him breathing for a bit longer. I'll... I'll give you the money. I'll have it by tonight."
He hung up, silence following into the room all thick and suffocating. He stared into the mirror, not seeing a him, but a man cornered by a beast.
"I'll pay for him," you said without even thinking.”
Jungkook turned, his eyes a widened beauty of tears. "Go back to bed. Everything is fine."
"No," you replied and before he could blink, you were already racing to throw a bundle of clothes over your exposed body. You didn't think as you reached for your phone, fingers flying across your screen.
You bypassed to your fathers secretary, going directly to the head of the private medical wing your father owned.
"I need a transer, Hoseok..." you looked at Jungkook, waiting for his help. 'Jung' he said softly and you hummed. "Hoseok Jung, he's at the Woodmarry Hospital. Please move him to the estates private medical wing- the secure one. Make sure no one outside of Jungkook Jeon and the specialized doctors go anywhere near him or it will be treated as a hostile invasion. Add his funds to my account, all of it."
"What are you doing?' Jungkook asked once you hung up, his gaze darting all around your face. You figured he was searching to see if all of this was a joke. "I don't.."
"I bought his life back," you whispered. "Hoseok is already being moved to my family's privte estate. By now, the best care in the country is surrounding him. He's unreachable, Jungkook. He's safe."
"Y/n..."
"You said it yourself, Jungkook." You replied, tilting your chin to look up at him as you reached out to wrap your arms around his neck. "I'm unwell for you. I need you. I will do anything to have you as mine."
"You're in danger," he replied, fingers tightening around your waist. "Someone's trying to kill you-"
"I guess I need a bodyguard then," you smirked, moving your hands away from his neck to slide down his biceps. "Looks like I need a strong, experienced man to protect me.."
He let out a ragged groan his hands pulling you right up against him with violence that was pure relief. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, breath hot and damp, and for the first time- you saw his shoulders finally drop.
He was simply a broken sniper and slowly in your arms, he was finally starting to heal.
Summary: every night, Prince Jeon Jungkook finds himself swept up in a village girl's bakery where they share sugar and laughter, but one day, he stumbles across her injuries taken from defending helpless children and he spends the day tending to her, before unleashing his rage on the aggressors.
Genre/Tags: royalty au, romance, fluff, angst, comfort, feral Jungkook, down bad Jungkook
Word Count: 11.7k (I got carried away)
Warnings: blood, injury, lashings, violence, physical fight, (lmk if i missed anything)
Notes: I've had this in my head since we saw Jungkook in Mexico and I finally wrote smth with it. Genuinely had me kicking my feet, giggling when I wrote this btw. I was kind of between keeping this and making it a series but rn I have no idea what else to write with this so I thought screw it and just post this. Who knows... I might post more in this kind of setting but for now it's just this... hope you like it!
The scent of yeast, burnt sugar, and baked flour always hangs heavy in the midnight air of the kitchen. It's comforting, warm, familiar, and completely separate from the cold, stoned streets of the village beyond these walls, which encompass your life. You wipe a stray smudge of flour from your forehead with the back of your hand, leaning over the heavy wooden workstation to knead the first batch of dough for tomorrow's, well, today's morning rush.
Deep in concentration, you almost don't hear the bell above the back door, which lets out a tiny, muffled chime. But you don't even have to look up to know who it is.
"You're late," you say, keeping your voice flat, still pounding the dough, though a familiar beat of warmth thumps against your ribs. "Shouldn't you be tucked into your silk sheets at the palace by now, Your Royal Highness?"
"A gentleman is never late, sweetheart. He arrives precisely when he means to," Jungkook says, his voice a smooth, playful purr as he slips into the kitchen nestled behind the main bakery area. "And I told you to stop calling me that." He is dressed in his usual disguise, a faded, oversized linen tunic and dark trousers. The entire kingdom knows the face of Prince Jungkook, though few would expect him to be sneaking out of the citadel walls just to loiter in a dusty village bakery. He pushes his hood back, revealing strands of unruly dark hair and those ridiculously large, glittering doe eyes which you can't stare into for too long without feeling heat crawl up your neck.
You sigh, ignoring him as you turn around to face the pantry. You reach for a jar of imported cinnamon, but, of course, it is sitting on the absolute highest shelf, tucked away near the ceiling. You huff, stepping up onto your tiptoes, stretching your arms as high as they can go. Your fingers brush the base of the jar, but you cannot for the life of you get a proper grip. Suddenly, a broad, solid chest flushes directly against your back. All you feel is lean muscle as the heat of him radiates through your apron. Then an arm clad in faded linen reaches up over your head, his large hand wrapping around the jar. You will yourself not to let your eyes linger too long on the prominent veins running across his forearms to his hands.
"Need a hand, love?" Jungkook murmurs right beside your ear, his raspy late-night voice sending a shiver straight down your spine.
You drop back onto your heels, turning around within the small space he has trapped you in. His free hand comes down to rest casually on the edge of the shelf beside your head, effectively boxing you in. He looks down at you, a smug, devastating smirk playing on his lips as he hands you the cinnamon. Your fingers lightly twitch as they brush his.
"I had it under control, Crown Prince," you shoot back, tapping the jar against his chest to force him to take a step back.
"Right, maybe from over there you did, but from here, all I saw was you hopping up and down like a grasshopper," he teases before turning back.
And before you can swat at him, his hand shoots out toward the cooling racks. You attempt to block him with an elbow, but he uses his height advantage, leaning over to snatch a freshly dusted, warm beignet from the tray. Ones you had just made as a test batch, so the recipe was perfect for the morning rush. He pops the entire thing into his mouth in one go.
"Hey!" You glare, swatting at his arm with your flour-covered hand, leaving a stark white handprint on his dark sleeve. "Do you have any idea how early I had to wake up to prep those? The yeast has to rise for hours, Jungkook! Hours!"
Jungkook chews happily, closing his eyes in mock ecstasy. "Mmm. So worth it. You outdid yourself, truly." He leans his hip against your table, entirely too close, invading your space with the scent of the crisp night air and something rich, clean, and faintly expensive. He points a finger at a bowl of glossy chocolate batter. "What do we have here?" His eyes are lit with nothing short of mischief.
"Don't you dare-"
Too late.
He dips his index finger straight into the bowl, swirling it around before sucking the batter off with shameless, slow deliberateness. He locks eyes with you, a wicked, teasing tilt to his lips. "Sweet. " He pauses. "Just like the baker."
You feel the heat rush straight to your cheeks. "You are an absolute menace. I don't know why I keep letting you break into my shop. I really need to invest in a heavier deadbolt. Or tell the royal guards that their beloved prince is a little sugar thief."
"Because you love me," he says instantly, shifting his weight around the table to follow your movements like a shadow, or more like a separation-anxiety ridden puppy. "And because I am excellent company. Who else is going to help you with labour at one in the morning for the low price of sugar? Besides, the guards would never believe you."
"A public nuisance is what you are," you correct, though your lips twitch. You turn to a tray of unadorned cupcakes and sigh, handing him a backup piping bag filled with sweet vanilla buttercream. "If you're going to loiter, at least make yourself useful. Pipe the tops of those. Like this." You demonstrate a perfect, elegant swirl on one, pulling the tip up to create a flawless peak.
Jungkook takes the bag, his chest puffing out with entirely unwarranted confidence. "Easy. Watch a master at work. I've got great hand-eye coordination."
He grips the bag with way too much force, causing an explosion of frosting that lands on the cupcake, tilting precariously to one side like a melting snowman before sliding off the edge completely.
You burst out laughing, a bright, clear sound that echoes in the quiet kitchen. "A master? Jungkook, it looks like a squashed toad!"
"It's abstract! It has personality!" he protests, bumping his shoulder heavily against yours to disrupt your balance. He looks down at your laughing face, his own expression softening into something incredibly tender. His eyes track the way your eyes crinkle at the corners, capturing the exact shade of warmth in your smile. "See? I made you laugh. That’s worth at least three more free pastries tonight."
"In your dreams, thief," you scoff.
After a few minutes and many fails later, he gets the hang of it, leaving you to grab a heavy wooden spoon and begin vigorously beating a massive bowl of thick, stubborn cookie dough. You hate this part the most. After a long day, hours of selling and continuously running through the main shop and the kitchen, creating new batches and noting down special orders, the physical effort of the mixture, especially after the non-stop whipping of the meringues and the kneading of the dough, makes your wrists ache. Your movements slow slightly as you wipe a bead of sweat from your brow.
As Jungkook continues piping, he glances at your figure a few times, as if it's second nature, and tracks the sudden lag in your rhythm. His eyes soften, the playful posture shifting into something much more attentive, which goes unnoticed by you. He steps up right beside you, his hand sliding over yours on the handle of the wooden spoon. His palm is warm, broad, and calloused from sword training.
"Hey," he says softly, his shoulder bumping into yours. "Go check on the hearth. I think I smell burning."
"What? No, it's not, I just put it-"
"Just go check, stubborn," he cuts you off, smoothly applying just enough pressure to slide the bowl away from you.
Before you can protest further, he completely takes over, his muscular forearm flexing beneath his rolled-up sleeves as he beats the heavy dough with absolute, effortless ease. It's only when you reach the hearth, and you find your cake, in fact, not burning, that you realise he invented such a thing so you could rest your tired wrist.
You cross your arms with a small smile, and you lean against the counter, watching him work. "Look at you. Future monarch doing manual labour in a village kitchen. Oh, if the King could see you now, he'd strip you of your title."
"Let him," Jungkook grunts with a grin, not missing a beat as he whips the dough into a perfect, uniform consistency. "I'd make a fantastic baker's assistant. I'm strong, I learn fast, and I look great in an apron."
"You don't even have an apron on," you point out, laughing.
"An oversight you can easily fix," he shoots back, flashing a brilliant bunny-toothed smile that makes your heart do a ridiculous little flip. He stops mixing, sliding the perfect dough toward you. "There. Perfect. What's next, pretty lady?"
You roll your eyes at the name. "We need to pour this batter into the tins," you say, dragging a heavy ceramic bowl of vanilla batter and two circular metal tins toward the centre of the table.
"I've got it," Jungkook volunteers eagerly. He lifts the heavy ceramic bowl, and you try not to pay attention to the way his biceps strain slightly against the linen shirt. He tips it over the first tin, carefully pouring the thick, pale-yellow ribbon of batter into the centre until it fills it perfectly. He moves to the second tin, pouring the remainder.
Once the bowl is mostly empty, he sets it down and picks up a long spatula. He meticulously scrapes the remaining thick batter from the inside walls of the bowl, gathering a massive, delicious glob of it onto the edge of the spatula. He brings it up toward his face, his eyes lighting up as he prepares to lick it clean.
"Ah-ah-ah," you say quickly, swatting his wrist away. "No way. I did all the measuring for that batter. That's mine."
You grab the end of the spatula handle. Jungkook blinks, then a surprised, but competitive spark instantly ignites his doe eyes. He tightens his grip, tugging it back towards himself. "I did the pouring! And the scraping! Royal decree dictates that the scraper gets the reward."
"There is no such royal decree," you laugh, pulling the spatula towards your side. "You're abusing your power, Your Highness!"
"I am a prince, I can make up whatever laws I want to," he gasps dramatically, pulling back.
You step closer, using your leverage to yank on the handle. For a second, you are pulled completely into his space, your hands tangled together on the thin piece of wood, faces inches apart. You can see the faint amber flecks in his eyes and the absolute amusement radiating from him.
Jungkook looks down at your determined face, his gaze dropping to your lips before a wicked, triumphant grin splits across his face.
Suddenly, he completely lets go of the spatula.
Because you were pulling so hard, you stumbled backwards a step, clutching the spatula victoriously to your chest. "Ha! I win!"
"Do you?" Jungkook asks, his voice dripping with amusement.
Before you can answer, he reaches down and grabs the massive, heavy ceramic mixing bowl that still has a generous coating of thick batter stuck to the bottom and sides. He lifts it, completely sticking his face inside the wide rim, using his finger to swipe a massive glob of batter and popping it into his mouth.
"Fine, keep the tiny spatula," he mutters happily from inside the bowl, his voice echoing. "I have the motherlode."
"Jungkook!" You burst out laughing, completely scandalised. "You are a literal child! Get your face out of my bowl!"
He pulls his head out, a tiny dollop of yellow batter sitting right on the tip of his nose. He looks incredibly ridiculous and remarkably cute all at once. He steps closer to you, his eyes locking onto yours with an unbearable amount of playful intensity.
"You have something right..." you start, pointing at your own nose.
"Where? Here?" he asks, deliberately wiping his cheek instead, smearing it further.
"No, you idiot, let me-"
You step in, reaching up with your thumb to gently wipe the batter off the tip of his nose. The moment your skin touches his, Jungkook freezes. The childish playfulness drops away in an instant, replaced by a sudden, heavy stillness. His gaze drops, heavy and unblinking, tracking the movement of your fingers, then the curve of your jaw, and finally resting on your eyes.
The kitchen goes entirely silent. The only sound is the low, rhythmic crackle of the hearth fire. His breath is warm against your skin. You feel your own breath hitch, your thumb lingering against his nose for a second too long.
A slow, devastatingly tender smile stretches across his lips. He reaches up, his large hand gently wrapping around your wrist, his thumb rubbing a slow, comforting circle into your pulse point.
"You know, you're very bossy for a regular citizen," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a raspy, late-night register that makes your heart beat erratically against your ribs.
"And you're very compliant for a future king," you whisper back, trying to maintain your defences, though the proximity is making it impossible to think straight.
"Only for you," he says softly, his thumb continuing to trace your wrist. "I don't let anyone else order me around like this. I think I like it."
You clear your throat, gently pulling your wrist from his grip to hide the bright blush creeping up your neck. You turn away to hide your burning cheeks, reaching for a small plate hidden under a glass dome on the back shelf. "Shut up and try this. I've been working on it all afternoon. Consider it payment for your... impeccable assistant work."
On the plate sits a pastry you’ve been experimenting with: dozens of microscopically thin, crispy layers of golden dough, stacked high with rich, velvety custard and fresh cream sandwiched between them, dusted lightly with powdered sugar.
"What is it?" he asks, leaning over your shoulder, his chest practically pressed against your back again, completely erasing the distance you just tried to create.
"Just shut up and try it," you say, handing him a small fork.
He takes a bite. The audible, delicate crunch of the layers echoes in the quiet room, followed by the smoothness of the cream. Jungkook freezes completely. His eyes widen to twice their size. Without saying a word, he devours the rest of the pastry in two massive bites, nearly groaning out loud.
"Marry me," he says flatly. "I'm serious. Name the day. We can live right here in this kitchen. I will waive the royal dowry, I will fight the council, I don't care. I will do nothing but eat this and look at you for the rest of my days."
You laugh loudly, shoving his shoulder hard to create some space. "So dramatic." You reply back.
"So in love."
"So in need of therapy." You mutter back, turning to grab a handful of loose flour to dust the wooden surface, the fine white powder settling like mist.
The frantic energy of the kitchen slows down, settling into a comfortable, quiet rhythm that has secretly become your favourite part of the day. Jungkook works right beside you, his initial royal clumsiness giving way to a quiet focus as he tries to correct his piping technique, finishing the cupcakes, his tongue poking out slightly between his teeth in pure concentration.
Then, the kitchen goes entirely silent. The only sound left is the low, rhythmic crackle of the hearth fire and the heavy, rhythmic thud of your palms against the dough.
You feel a sudden weight on you, a gaze so intense it feels tangible against your skin. You glance up, a stray lock of hair falling into your eyes, and catch him.
Jungkook isn't looking at the cupcakes anymore. He is leaning his chin in his hand, his elbow propped on the wooden counter, his eyes fixed entirely on you. His gaze is heavy, unblinking, tracking the curve of your jaw, the sweat dampening the nape of your neck, the fierce determination on your brow. There is no trace of the boyish prankster in his expression right now; his eyes are dark, deep, and filled with an intense, quiet gravity that makes your breath hitch completely.
"What?" you ask, your voice dropping to a breathless whisper. You try to sound annoyed, but the slight tremor in your voice betrays you. "Is there flour on my face again?"
Jungkook doesn't blink. A smile stretches across his lips, his voice drops again, sending a shiver straight down your spine. "Nope. Just looking at something beautiful."
You feel the heat rush from your chest all the way to your hairline. You look down at your rough, flour-dusted hands, and a sudden, heavy wave of insecurity twists in your stomach. It’s a reminder that always haunts the back of your mind. He is the Crown Prince. You know his face, you know his title, and you know the vast, impossible chasm that lies between your worlds.
"You are a terrifyingly smooth talker, Your Highness," you say, your voice turning a little hollow as you force yourself to look back up at him. "I suppose this is the exact same poetry you feed to the high-born noble ladies at the palace court."
Jungkook’s smile falters slightly, his doe eyes tracking the subtle drop in your shoulders, his sharp instincts picking up on the sudden shift in your mood. "Noble ladies? Trust me, they don't care about poetry. Just titles and crown jewels."
"I'm serious, Jungkook," you say, huffing a breath but still kneading the dough on the counter. "Why do you even come here? You have an entire court of perfect, beautiful women at your feet. You should be spending your time there with them, not in a drab bakery."
You pause. The next words come out in a whisper you hope he doesn't hear. "You could be with women who actually know how to dance, with titles, who wear silk and velvet instead of aprons caked in dried dough. They don't smell like yeast and sweat."
But he does, and the playful demeanour completely evaporates from Jungkook's face. The silence returns, heavier this time, but thick with an undeniable warmth.
He stands up straight, stepping around the workstation table to face you. He moves with a quiet, deliberate grace. You keep your eyes down, focusing on the dough. Press. Then push. Then fold. Then turn. And repeat. Don't look up.
But he doesn't let you hide. He reaches out, his large, warm hands gently taking your wrists, halting your movements. His palms are warm and incredibly grounding.
"Look at me," he commands softly. You don't.
"Hey…" He trails off, voice unbelievably gentle, "Please?"
How can you say no to him?
When you finally look up into his eyes, you find them swimming with a fierce, profound sincerity.
"None of them." He pauses, "Are you." His voice is a low, intense whisper that rings clearly in the quiet kitchen. He squeezes your hands, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles. "The court ladies are hollow, Y/N. They smile because they were trained to; they speak from rehearsed scripts; and they look at me like I'm a crown to be won, a stepping stone for their families. But you? This?"
He leans closer, head tilting down so your eyes are entirely locked. He wants you to feel how much he means every word.
"I'd rather be no place else. You're real. You're fierce, you're brilliant, and you look at me like I'm just a man. I don't want silk, and I don't care about their perfect poise. I want this. I want the smell of yeast and sugar, and I want to spend my evenings with the pretty little baker who threatens to throw rolling pins at my royal head."
Your heart hammers violently against your ribs, your lungs locking up under the sheer weight of his words. His eyes drop to your lips for a long, agonising second, and you think you might actually combust from the heat spreading through your veins.
Sensing the overwhelming tension and desperate to save your blushing face from melting, a familiar, wicked spark suddenly reignites in Jungkook’s eyes. He lets go of one of your hands and steps to the side.
Before you can even process the emotional whiplash, he blows a sharp puff of air across the workstation. A massive cloud of white flour erupts directly onto your face. You gasp, coughing, your eyelashes completely coated in white powder. Through the white haze, you see him throwing his head back, laughing loudly, looking immensely proud of his childish distraction.
"Oh, it is so on," you hiss.
You scoop up a massive, double handful of flour and throw it straight at his chest. It hits him with a satisfying, heavy thwack, turning his dark tunic completely white from collar to waist. Jungkook’s jaw drops in utter shock, his laughter cutting off. He retaliates by pinching more flour before sprinkling it over your head, coating your hair in white. You squirm, laughing as you grab another handful and go to move around the bench, but your shoes slip on the pile of flour that has accumulated on the floor, and you are sent plummeting to the ground. Jungkook is faster, though, of course, and he manages to hold onto you, one hand on your arm and the other firm against your waist as he manages to pull you back up.
"Falling for me already?" His lips upturn in a playful smirk.
You scoff, already pushing away from him, "You wish, rich boy."
You both laugh. And the next few hours continue like that. You love the back-and-forth; it calms you after a long day and prepares you for the next. You truly relish these moments, that is, until you gaze up and notice the sky outside, the dark midnight lighting slightly.
"You should get going, Jungkook, dawn's coming, and I should rest before prepping for the morning." You explain.
He whines, pouting his bottom lip in a way that makes him look like an oversized puppy, but he relents. He walks to the back door, pausing to look back at you, the playful smirk returning to his face as he pulls his hood back up over his dark hair. "See you tomorrow, my beautiful baker. Try not to miss your prince too much."
"Oh, that won't be difficult at all, Jungkook," you say, and he holds his chest, mocking a dagger struck through his heart, but you’re smiling wide as the door clicks shut, the quiet warmth of his presence lingering long after he’s gone.
The next morning brings a particularly bitter cold. The sun has barely crested the horizon when you set up the outdoor display rack, lining it with fresh, golden loaves of bread and warm rolls.
You return inside to tend to the ovens, glancing out the large front glass window. The village market is starting to wake up. The other store owners are sweeping outside their doors and beating the rugs. The stall owners are setting up their carts with small chatter amongst them, no doubt some high-class gossip they read in the papers this morning.
Through the glass, you also notice three small, shivering figures creeping toward your outdoor display. It’s the children who sleep under the alleyway awnings near the secondary square. They look emaciated, their ribs practically visible through their tattered rags, and your heart cracks slightly at the sight.
One of them, a little boy no older than six, reaches up and snatches a small loaf of bread. But before you can even open the door to tell them they can have it, even come inside for more, a harsh, booming voice echoes through the square.
"Thieves! Drop it!"
Two royal guards, clad in gleaming, heavy iron armour, march out from the shadows. They look bored, angry, and eager for a distraction. The children shriek, dropping the bread into the dirt as they try to scatter, but one guard lunges, grabbing the little boy by his scruff, lifting him completely off the ground. The child wails in terror.
The second guard unclips a heavy, thick leather lash from his belt, a sadistic grin spreading across his face. "A lesson needs to be taught. Stealing from the village market carries a heavy price, brat."
Your blood runs cold. You don't think. You throw the bakery door open, sprinting out into the freezing air.
"Stop! Stop, please!" you shout, throwing yourself into the scene.
The guard with the whip pauses, lowering his weapon slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Move aside, girl. These street rats are breaking the law. They require consequence."
"It's my bread!" you say breathlessly, your heart hammering against your ribs. "It’s my shop! I don't mind. I was giving it to them. They didn't steal anything, I swear."
The guard holding the boy sneers, dropping the child to the dirt, where he scurries behind your skirts, clinging on to them for dear life. "Do not lie to the Crown's authority, baker. We saw them take it. If you harbour thieves, you share their guilt. Now step away before we make an example out of you, too."
These guards are notorious. They are brutes, drunk on the microscopic amount of power the crown grants them over the poor villagers. You look down at the crying child holding onto you, burying his face in your skirts, and a stubborn wave of protectiveness washes over you.
"They are starving children," you say, your voice trembling but resolute. "If you must strike someone to satisfy your pathetic need for power... strike me. Leave them alone."
The guard with the whip cuts a dark, ugly glare toward you. "You want to take the punishment for a bunch of gutter rats? Fine by me. The law demands blood for theft. Now kneel."
You look around the square. A few villagers have stopped to watch, but they immediately look away, hurrying along, terrified of getting involved.
No one is going to help you. You don't expect them to.
You swallow hard, your knees hitting the cold, unforgiving cobblestones. You pull your hair to the side, exposing the back of your thin cotton chemise. You brace yourself, gripping your knees tightly.
Crack.
The first strike tears through the air and slices directly across your upper back.
A choked, agonising shriek tears from your throat. It feels like a line of liquid fire has been seared into your flesh. The sheer force of the blow knocks you forward, your palms slamming into the dirt. Tears sting your eyes instantly, blurring your vision.
"That's for the first brat," the guard grunts.
Crack.
The second strike hits, the leather biting into the exact same raw skin. You gasp, your lungs seizing.
"That's for the second."
Crack.
The third blow tears your chemise open at the side, the fabric ripping away as the leather draws blood. You press your forehead against the freezing ground, sobbing silently as you pray for it to end.
"And that's for the third," the guard sneers. He pauses, looking down at your trembling, broken form, but his eyes only gleam with a deeper cruelty. "But you opened your mouth to the Crown's authority, didn't you, girl? You think you can talk back to us?"
Crack.
The fourth strike is harder, delivered with the full weight of his arm. A ragged scream escapes your lips, your vision flashing white. The pain is blinding, radiating across your entire torso.
"And this one..." The guard chuckles, raising the whip one last time just to satisfy his own twisted amusement. "...just because I feel like it." He says low, only for your ears to hear.
Crack.
The fifth strike shatters whatever strength you have left. You collapse entirely onto the cold cobblestones, your chest heaving as deep, agonising tremors wrack your body.
They leave you there, laughing as they walk away. Slowly, agonisingly, you push yourself up. Your vision swims. You stagger back into the bakery, your hands shaking so violently you can barely turn the lock. You flip the sign on the door to CLOSED, then wince as you draw the thick curtains shut.
You stumble up the narrow wooden stairs to your small apartment on the second floor. In the tiny bathroom, you try to peer into the cracked mirror, but you can’t see the damage properly. Reaching behind yourself with a wet cloth, you touch the wounds, and a fresh wave of sobbing breaks out. It hurts too much. You can't reach it properly to clean it. Blindly, you wrap a clean strip of linen around your torso, pinning it clumsily, though you know it's too loose.
Exhausted, broken, and throbbing with a relentless, burning agony, you crawl onto your bed, burying your face in the pillow, letting the tears ruin the sheets.
Hours pass. Eventually, the sheer restlessness of the pain forces you out of bed. You can’t lie down comfortably, and you can’t sit up straight. You're exhausted. But you drag yourself back downstairs into the darkened kitchen. You decide not to open the shop today, you can't bear the thought of standing at the counter, but you need a distraction. You begin mindlessly wiping down the clean surfaces, moving like a ghost in your own home.
Jungkook is practically skipping through the crowded, muddy alleyways of the lower village, keeping the heavy fabric of his dark wool cloak pulled tightly around his face. Thankfully, his royal duties ended earlier today, allowing him more time with you. He did have to dodge three separate royal attendants, lie straight to his personal guard, and scale a crumbling section of the northern citadel wall just to sneak out today, but he didn't care. He would gladly scale the highest mountain in the land if it meant reaching your doorstep a second earlier than usual.
The only thing occupying his mind for the last twelve long, agonising hours has been you.
He is down bad. Mortifyingly, hopelessly, helplessly down bad.
Every time he closes his eyes during council meetings or listens to his father drone on about trade routes, he doesn't see crowns or maps. He sees the way your eyes crinkle into perfect, breathtaking crescents when you laugh at his ridiculous antics. He sees the faint, light dust of white flour that always seems to settle on the bridge of your nose. He wants to taste that layered cream pastry again, sure, but more than that, he just wants to hear the melodic cadence of your voice.
He wants to tease you until your stubborn pride flares up, just so he can witness that fierce, fiery spark in your eyes that makes him feel more alive than any royal decree ever could. He is a prince of the realm, surrounded by high-born court ladies who fawn over his status and offer plastic, practised smiles, but none of them holds a candle to the sharp-tongued, beautiful baker who looks right past his title and treats him like a normal man.
As he navigates the bustling market crowds, his inner monologue takes a heavier, more ache-filled turn. He is growing so tired of the midnight boundaries. He is tired of being the mysterious visitor who has to vanish before the sun crests the horizon. He wants more. He wants to be the one who wakes up next to you, watching the morning light catch your face. He wants to hold your hand in broad daylight, right in the middle of the crowded square, and dare anyone to say a word about it. He wants you to be his, entirely and completely, but he knows how fiercely independent you are, how hard you work for your little shop, and how you probably don't feel the same. So for now, he hoards these secret hours like a dragon guarding gold. And even if he has to keep this boundary with you for the rest of his life, be nothing more, he'll take that sacrifice if it means he gets to be in your presence, in your life, in whatever way you'll have him.
He turns the final corner into the main square, a boyish grin already splitting across his face, his heart does an eager little flip against his ribs. But the moment his eyes land on the bakery, his steps instantly slow to a halt.
The outdoor display racks are completely empty. The heavy linen curtains are drawn tightly across the front windows, blocking out the daylight. The wooden sign dangling from the brass chain reads CLOSED.
Jungkook frowns, a sharp, cold knot of unease tightening in the pit of his stomach. It’s mid-afternoon. The sun is at its peak. You never close the shop at this hour. Even when you were burning up with a fever last winter, you stubbornly dragged yourself down to the counter to sell bread, refusing to lose a single coin.
He hurries up to the heavy front door, his hand trembling slightly as he knocks loudly against the wood. "Y/N? Love? Are you in there? It's me."
Silence. The square carries on around him, completely indifferent to the sudden spike of adrenaline flooding his veins.
Panicking now, his breath catching in his throat, he rushes down the narrow, shadowed side alley toward the back entrance. He grabs the brass handle and turns it, fully expecting it to be locked, but to his surprise, it clicks open. He's going to have a few words with you about that. He slips inside instantly, shutting the heavy door quietly behind him to keep his presence hidden.
The kitchen is cast in deep shadows, completely devoid of the usual roaring hearth fire and bustling energy. The only light comes from a single, lonely candle burning on the centre island.
Then, he spots you.
You are standing by the deep stone sink, your back completely turned to him. Your shoulders are hunched forward, your movements incredibly slow as you mindlessly wipe a copper pot with a rag.
"Hey," he says softly, exhaling a long, ragged breath of relief as he drops his hood. "You scared the absolute hell out of me. Why are the front doors locked? Did you actually sleep in for once?"
You flinch violently at the sound of his voice, your entire body spasming as you drop the rag into the water with a dull splash. You don't turn around to face him. You remain entirely still, staring down into the basin. "Jungkook. What are you doing here? You shouldn't have come. The shop is closed today."
Your voice sounds completely wrong. It is hollow, strained, and entirely stripped of the vibrant, feisty warmth that usually greets him.
Jungkook's playful smile vanishes in an instant, his large doe eyes narrowing with deep, immediate concern. He takes a slow step closer, his boots clicking quietly against the floorboards. "Yeah, I noticed. Are you okay? You sound tired." He tries to inject a tiny bit of his usual playfulness into his tone, trying to coax a smile out of you as he steps up directly behind your frame. "Did you miss me so much this morning that you couldn't even focus on baking today?"
"Not now, Jungkook," you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. Your shoulders hunch even further forward, your head bowing.
You slowly reach up with both hands, attempting to place a copper pot on the drying shelf slightly above your head. The exact moment your arms extend upward, your breath catches violently in your throat. A sharp, ragged, agonising wince escapes your lips, and your entire body shudders as you quickly drop your arms back down, your hands flying to clutch tightly at your own side to brace yourself.
Jungkook's protective instincts flare to a blinding degree. The sight of you in discomfort hits him like a physical blow to the chest. He reaches his hand out, his palm hovering just a millimetre above your trembling shoulder, desperate to touch you but terrified of hurting you. "What's wrong? Y/N, what happened?"
"Nothing," you say quickly, your tone sharp, laced with a desperate, stubborn defensiveness.
You finally force yourself to turn around and face him, but you immediately take two deliberate steps backwards, keeping a wide distance between your bodies. You force a terrible, completely strained smile onto your pale lips, though your lower lip is trembling. "I just... I was moving the heavy wooden grain table earlier, and I bumped into the corner. Hit my side pretty hard. It's just a nasty bruise, Jungkook. I'm fine. Really."
Jungkook doesn't buy it for a single second.
He steps right back into your space, his gaze sweeping over you like a hawk, analysing every single detail of your appearance. His heart aches at the sight of you. You look terribly pale, the healthy flush entirely gone from your skin. Your eyes are heavily red-rimmed and puffy, surrounded by dark circles, making it glaringly obvious that you’ve been crying for hours. And your posture is completely wrong: you are leaning slightly forward, your spine stiff as a board, breathing in tiny, shallow, calculated gasps as if expanding your lungs fully is a luxury you can't afford right now.
Seeing you in this state genuinely, physically hurts him. It feels like a cold blade is turning in his own chest; his stomach drops, and a suffocating wave of anxiety threatens to choke him. He hates seeing you vulnerable, hates the fact that something has stolen your bright energy.
He tries to keep his composure, forcing his voice to remain calm so he doesn't spook you, until you turn slightly to the side, attempting to step away from his intense scrutiny to grab a towel.
That's when he sees it.
Through the torn fabric of your shirt, along the side of your figure, he sees the clumsy linen bandage you had tried to wrap around your own torso, which has slipped completely out of place. A small, dark red stain of fresh, wet blood is seeping heavily through the white cloth, stark and horrifying against your skin.
Jungkook’s breath hitches violently in his throat. His blood runs cold.
"Y/N," he says, his voice dropping into a dangerously low, gravelly register, entirely stripped of all playfulness. "Why is there blood on your back?"
You freeze in your tracks, your hands tightening against the fabric of your apron until your knuckles turn white. You try to let out a casual laugh, but it comes out as a pathetic, broken sob that tears right through his chest. "Blood? Oh, don't be ridiculous. It's probably just cherry jam from the tarts. I am a baker, after all, I'm always covered in-"
"Don't lie to me," he commands. The tone is quiet, but it carries the heavy, unyielding authority of a prince who will not be denied.
Before you can utter another word of deflection, he steps directly into your personal space, erasing the distance between you. His large, warm hand moves around to your back, his fingers hovering just a fraction of a millimetre above the blood-soaked bandage. He barely, infinitesimally brushes the very edge of the cloth to see what lies beneath.
The slight, feather-light pressure is a catalyst for pure agony.
A choked, absolutely agonising groan tears from your throat. Your eyes roll back for a fraction of a second as a white-hot wave of pain flares anew across your nerve endings. Your knees completely buckle beneath you, your strength vanishing instantly as your legs give out entirely.
"Whoa- hey, look at me, I've got you, I've got you!" Jungkook panics, his heart leaping straight into his throat.
His arms shoot out in a blind reflex, catching you securely before your body can slam into the hard floorboards. He pulls you tightly against his chest, cradling you against his solid frame, his large doe eyes widening to twice their size with pure, unadulterated terror. He is hyper-aware of how fragile, how small you feel in his arms right now, your entire body trembling violently against him.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I've got you," he frantically whispers, his voice shaking as he holds you up. "Talk to me, please. You have to tell me what happened. You're bleeding."
You clutch desperately at the fabric of his faded tunic, your fingernails burying into the cloth as if it's the only anchor keeping you tethered to reality. The blinding pain, the hours of lonely exhaustion, and the sudden, overwhelming comfort of his warm, safe presence break the stubborn dam holding your emotions back.
You snap completely. You bury your face into the solid crook of his neck and break down, sobbing hysterically. Deep, painful, racking wails tear from your chest, echoing loudly in the empty kitchen.
"It hurts," you cry out, your voice breaking entirely into a raw shriek. "Kook, it hurts so bad, please... I can't bear it..."
Hearing you cry like this, hearing the absolute agony in your voice, completely breaks something fundamental inside Jungkook. A wave of sheer fury crashes over his soul. He sees bright, blinding red. He is the Prince of this kingdom, and someone in his village, under his family's rule, had dared to lay their hands on you. Someone had inflicted this kind of barbaric, sickening pain on the sweetest, most selfless person he knew.
He locks that rage away into a dark corner of his mind, storing it for later, because right now, your tears are the only thing that matters.
"Let me see it," he murmurs, his voice shifting into a soothing, incredibly soft contrast to the storm raging in his chest. "Let me help you, sweetheart."
"No, it's fine, just leave it, please go away," you sob, your stubbornness flaring up one last time through the tears. You weakly try to push his chest away, hiding your face from him. "You shouldn't be here. You're a prince, Jungkook. You shouldn't be seeing me like this... it's messy, it's fine..."
"Y/N," he says, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument, though it is dripping with an unbearable amount of love and panic. He gently but firmly cups your face with both hands, forcing you to look up at him. His own eyes are shiny with unshed tears, wide and desperate as he uses his thumb to wipe a stray tear from your wet cheek. "Look at me. Look into my eyes. I am not going to hurt you. I don't care about being a prince right now. I care about you. Let me see it. Please, don't do this to me. Don't push me away when I know you're hurt."
You look into his frantic, pleading eyes, seeing the genuine agony in his own expression caused purely by your pain, and your stubborn defences finally melt away. You nod weakly, letting your head fall against his chest.
"Let's go upstairs," he whispers against your hair.
He slides one arm securely under your knees and the other firmly behind your shoulders, lifting your body effortlessly into his arms. He carries you up the narrow, creaking wooden stairs as if you weigh absolutely nothing, his movements smooth and careful, ensuring your back never brushes against a single wall or doorframe.
He carries you into your small bedroom, gently setting you down on the very edge of your bed.
The bedroom upstairs is quiet, shadowed by the late afternoon light filtering through the linen curtains. You sit on the very edge of the mattress, your knees pulled slightly toward your chest, your fingers twisting and burying into the worn bedsheets. Every shallow breath you take feels like glass slicing through your skin. Behind you, the quiet rustle of fabric and the soft clink of a ceramic basin tell you that Jungkook is preparing to face whatever horror is hidden beneath your clothes.
"I'm going to pull the fabric down. Is that okay?" Jungkook’s voice is a low, trembling whisper. The playful, cocky boy from last night is completely gone, replaced by a man carrying a heavy gravity.
You nod miserably, dropping your head down.
You feel his large hands settle on the collar of your dress. His touch is so light it’s almost non-existent, his fingers shake slightly as he carefully guides the torn, ruined cotton down your arms. He doesn't pull; he coaxes the fabric away, millimetre by millimetre, ensuring the rough material doesn't catch on the open wounds. As the cloth falls away, exposing your bare back to the cool air of the room, you hear him let out a sharp, ragged intake of breath.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Five jagged, angry lines of destroyed flesh cross your skin. They are swollen, with a deep, bruising purple at the edges, and fresh blood has oozed out where your movement has reopened them. The clumsy linen wrap you had tried to apply is tangled and soaked through with red.
"Who did this to you?" he asks.
The question is delivered in a voice so quiet, so entirely devoid of warmth, that it makes you freeze. If you were to turn around, you would see the menacing glare of a monarch in his eyes. His jaw is clenched so hard the muscles flare against his skin, his knuckles white as he grips a clean cloth.
"The patrol guards," you whisper into the empty room, a fresh tear tracking through the flour dust on your cheek. "In the square this morning. Some of the alley kids... they took a loaf of bread from the display. The guards… they caught them. They pulled out the lash for them. They're just babies, Jungkook. They were hungry. They wouldn't have survived it. I couldn't just watch."
You take a trembling breath, crying out slightly as the movement pulls at your skin. "I told the guards I'd take it instead. Three for each child... one for talking back... and a fifth... because he felt like it."
A suffocating silence fills the room. For a long, agonising moment, he doesn't say a single word. You brace yourself, expecting him to call you foolish, to tell you that a simple villager should never interfere with the Crown's enforcers. Instead, you feel the soft, slow dip of the mattress as he sits down directly behind you, closing the distance between your bodies.
"You are far too good for this world," he murmurs, his voice thick and strained with an emotion so intense it sounds like it’s tearing his throat apart.
Then, you feel the cool, wet cloth touch the very edge of the highest welt.
You flinch violently, a sharp, broken gasp escaping your lips as your hands lock onto the bedsheets. But before you can pull away, Jungkook’s free hand comes around to rest gently on your uninjured hip, holding you steady with an iron-firm but incredibly soft pressure. He rubs gently at the bare skin on your hip.
"Shh, I know, love, I'm sorry. I've got you. I'm being as gentle as I can. Just breathe through it. Focus on my hand," he murmurs, his lips so close to your bare shoulder that his warm breath fans across your skin, offering a fleeting contrast to the stinging cold of the water.
His movements are agonisingly slow but deliberate, focused. He cleans away the dried blood, his fingertips occasionally brushing against your uninjured skin. The sheer intimacy of the act makes your heart hammer in a completely different way. He treats your body like it is made of the rarest, most fragile porcelain, his touch lingering over the curves of your shoulders as if he wishes he could absorb the pain into his own skin.
He reaches into the wooden cabinet on your wall and pulls out a jar of thick, green herbal salve. He rubs a generous amount between his palms, warming it up before he speaks. "This is going to sting at first, Y/N. But it will help the fire go out. Let me know if it's too much."
When his fingers make contact with the raw wounds, a whimper tears from your throat, and without thinking, you lean to the side, your head resting against his solid shoulder. Jungkook doesn't move. He accepts your weight fully, his chest pressing lightly against your side as he leans to the side to get a better angle. His fingertips are unbelievably soft as they smooth the thick ointment over the angry welts, working with a reverent, quiet rhythm.
Every time your body shudders with a sob, he pauses completely. He leans forward, pressing his lips in a soft, comforting breath against the uninjured skin of your neck, whispering broken apologies into your skin until the tremors slow down. It feels intensely, overwhelmingly private, a sanctuary built out of raw pain and an undercurrent of heavy, undeniable devotion.
Finally, he takes a fresh roll of clean white linen bandage. To wrap it around your torso, he has to slide both of his arms completely around your waist. He leans in close, his chest flushing against your uninjured skin, effectively enveloping you in a tight embrace. You can feel the heavy beat of his heart against your shoulder blade as he pulls the cloth snug, securing it with small pins.
"There," he whispers against your ear, his hands lingering on your waist, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your sides before he reluctantly pulls away. "All clean. The fire should start to fade now."
You slowly turn your head, looking at him over your shoulder. His doe eyes are dark, swimming with a profound, aching yearning that terrifies you in their intensity. He looks at you not like a friend, and not like a vagabond, but like a man who has just watched his entire world bleed.
"Lie down," he commands softly, his voice thick, pulling the heavy wool blankets back. "Don't sleep on your back, lie on your stomach. I'm going to go brew some tea for you, okay? Don't move an inch."
You are too exhausted, too thoroughly drained of strength to argue. You crawl into the centre of the bed, resting your cheek against the pillow, and he pulls the blanket over you before leaving.
Within minutes, Jungkook returns, holding a steaming ceramic mug. He sits on the edge of the mattress, his large hand gently lifting your chin to help you take a few sips of the warm, sweet liquid.
The warmth of the tea and the cooling effect of the salve make your eyelids incredibly heavy. Jungkook sets the mug on the nightstand and reaches out, his thumb gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, his touch agonisingly tender.
"Thank you, Jungkook," you slurry, your eyes fluttering shut as darkness tugs at the edges of your mind. "For staying."
He leans down, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your forehead. He lingers there before pulling away and resting a hand over yours on the pillow beside you. "I will always stay," he whispers against your skin, his voice sounding far away. "Sleep now, my beautiful baker."
He stays with you, one hand stroking the back of your head, fingers toying with the strands of your hair, and occasionally massaging your scalp, his other hand firm on top of your own until you drift off. The moment your breathing evens out into a deep, heavy slumber, the lingering softness completely evaporates from Jungkook’s face.
He stands up from the edge of the mattress, his frame expanding to its full, imposing height as his expression hardens into pure, unadulterated ice. The boyish warmth that usually fills his dark eyes is gone, replaced by a vacant stillness. He looks down at you one last time, your pale face resting against the pillow, and leans over to press another gentle, feather-light kiss to your temple.
He quietly moves around the room, his boots making absolutely no sound against the wooden floorboards. He sets a fresh glass of water on your nightstand, along with a small plate of dried fruits and crackers he salvaged from your pantry. Beside it, he leaves a small piece of parchment, scrawling a quick note in his elegant, fluent script.
He writes in his usual playful tone, desperate to lighten your mood when you wake up, even if his own chest feels like it is caving in from pure malice:
Eat all of this. If I come back tonight and find out you haven't eaten, I'm going to steal every single pastry in the kitchen as punishment. Rest up, my pretty girl. I'll be back to cause more trouble soon~
He slips out of the bedroom, guides himself down the narrow stairs, and exits the bakery, locking the back door securely behind him.
The walk back to the palace is a blur of blinding, volcanic rage. He doesn't care about staying hidden anymore; he doesn't slip through the shadows or wait for patrols to pass. He cuts through the upper village like a wraith, his eyes fixed on the towering stone citadel ahead. People stare as he passes them, a path being made before him as people flock to the side, no doubt whispering about the stern look on his face.
He storms through the heavy iron servant entrances, slamming doors on their hinges, tearing off the faded linen tunic and throwing it to the stone floor like trash. Attendants and low-ranking guards rush to him, bowing in absolute terror at the sheer aura of lethal fury radiating from the young prince. They have never seen him like this.
"Get me my royal uniform," Jungkook barks, his voice ringing through the high stone corridors like a crack of thunder. "Now."
Minutes later, he is clad in the official armour of the high crest: a dark, structured jacket lined with heavy gold trim, epaulettes resting on his broad shoulders, heavy leather combat boots, and the royal insignia pinned sharply over his chest. He looks every bit the future ruler he was born to be.
He strides down the western corridor toward the main guard barracks. The heavy oak doors, reinforced with iron bands, don't just open; they slam against the stone walls with a violent, echoing crash as he kicks them through.
Dozens of off-duty guards and captains instantly freeze, dropping their dice and flagons of ale, snapping to absolute attention. The room goes dead silent.
"Who patrolled the main market square in the lower village this morning?" Jungkook demands. His voice isn't loud, but it is dangerously low, vibrating with a lethal, quiet edge that makes the hair on the back of everyone's necks stand up.
Near the back of the room, two guards exchange a nervous, sweating glance. Slowly, their armour clanking in the heavy silence, they step forward and bow deeply.
So these are the brutes who had stood over you on the cobblestones.
"We did, Your Highness," the lead guard stammers, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. "Is there an issue with the sector?"
Jungkook doesn't answer immediately. He walks up to them with a slow, agonisingly measured pace. The air in the barracks becomes completely suffocating, the temperature practically dropping as the prince circles them. He stops directly in front of the guard, who has a heavy leather whip strapped to his belt.
"An issue?" Jungkook echoes, a terrifying, dark smile tilting the left corner of his lips, though his eyes remain dead and vacant. He peers down at the guard, who is half a head shorter than him. He folds his hands behind his back, leaning in slightly. "Tell me about your morning patrol. I want to hear about how efficiently you enforce the King's law."
The lead guard swallows hard, his throat bobbing nervously. "It was... a routine patrol, sir. We apprehended a group of street rats attempting to steal from the market stalls. We administered the standard physical deterrent to ensure compliance with crown regulations."
"A physical deterrent," Jungkook repeats, his tone almost conversational, entirely too calm. "And tell me... did these so-called street rats take the lashes?"
The guard shifts his weight, his iron greaves clanking with the movement. "No, Your Highness. A local villager stepped in. A peasant girl from the bakery. She obstructed our duty and offered to take the penalty in their stead. We accommodated her request to maintain the crown's authority in the square."
"You accommodated her," Jungkook whispers. His jaw clenches so hard the muscles flare violently against his skin. His fingers curl into tight, white-knuckled fists behind his back. "Five lashes. Is that correct?"
The second guard, thinking the prince is merely verifying protocol, chimes in, "Yes, sir. Three for the stolen goods, one for her insolence and talking back to the guard, and... one extra, just to ensure she remembers her place beneath the law."
The mention of the fifth lash, the one delivered purely out of sadistic amusement, shatters the final thread of Jungkook's restraint, leaving behind a monster driven by pure, protective devastation.
Without a single syllable of warning, Jungkook’s right fist shoots forward.
Crack.
His knuckles connect squarely with the lead guard's jaw with an inhuman amount of force. The sheer momentum of the blow rips the heavily armoured man off his feet, sending him flying backwards. His body crashes into a heavy oak table, splintering the thick wood into raw kindling before his armour skids across the stone floor, a spray of dark blood erupting from his shattered mouth.
The second guard gasps in pure shock, his eyes widening in horror as his hand flies to the hilt of his sword in a blind, conditioned reflex.
"Touch that steel," Jungkook roars, stepping into his space instantly, "and I will take your hand off your wrist."
Before the guard can even process the threat, Jungkook's royal combat training takes over. He intercepts the man's arm, his grip clamping down on the wrist like an iron vice. With a brutal, fluid twist of his upper body, he snaps the guard's wrist backwards. The bone pops with a sickening, wet crunch, forcing a loud, piercing shriek of agony from the man's throat.
Jungkook doesn't stop. He drives his knee directly into the guard's stomach, crushing the wind out of his lungs, followed by a heavy kick straight to his chest plate. The metal dents inward with a loud clang, and the guard goes sailing through the air, crashing hard onto the stone floor, coughing up strings of bright blood as he rolls onto his side, clutching his broken arm.
The rest of the barracks stands paralysed. No one moves. No one breathes. To strike a royal guard is treason, but when the attacker is the future King, and a man who can kill with his bare hands, the law belongs entirely to him.
Jungkook turns his gaze back to the first guard, who is desperately scrambling backwards on his hands and knees like a terrified, wounded animal, leaving a trail of blood on the floor.
Jungkook walks over to him, his heavy leather boots thudding rhythmically. He stands over the grovelling man, then reaches down, grabbing the guard by the throat and the collar of his iron breastplate. With a guttural growl of pure, unadulterated rage, Jungkook rips the man completely off the ground, slamming his back against a massive stone pillar.
"Who do you think you are?" Jungkook hoarsely whispers, his face inches from the guard's bleeding, trembling features. He tightens his grip on the man's throat, cutting off his air until the guard's face begins to turn purple. "You wear my family's crest. You carry weapons funded by my treasury. You eat food provided by my citizens. And you use that power to strike an innocent, defenceless woman in the streets?"
"Your Highness- p-please-mercy…" the guard chokes out, tears of genuine, paralysing fright mixing with the dark blood pouring down his chin. "We didn't... we didn't know she was... we didn't know..."
"You didn't know what?" Jungkook roars, slamming him against the stone pillar a second time, cracking the mortar behind his head. "That she has a name? That she feels pain? That her life is worth infinitely more than your pathetic, miserable existences?"
He weakens his grip just enough to let the man gasp for air, only to drive a brutal left hook directly into the guard's ribs. The sound of fracturing bone echoes clearly in the silent room. The guard lets out a strangled sob, his head slumping forward.
Jungkook grabs him by his hair, forcing his head back up so he has to look into his eyes, eyes that are currently completely devoid of mercy, cold and dark as a winter grave.
"Listen to me very carefully," Jungkook whispers, his voice dropping into that lethal, quiet promise that chills everyone in the room to the bone. "If I ever see either of you set foot in the lower village market again... if I ever hear that you so much as look in the direction of that bakery... I will ensure you are stripped of your titles, thrown into the deepest dungeon beneath this palace, and I will personally pick up the leather lash and show you what five strikes feel like when delivered by someone who actually knows how to use it. Do you understand me?"
"Yes... Yes, Your Highness... Forgive us... Forgive us..." the guard weeps, his spirit completely broken, pressed flat against the cold stone.
Jungkook shoves the guard away in utter disgust, letting his limp, groaning body slide down the base of the pillar into a pathetic heap.
The prince stands up straight, slowly adjusting the cuffs of his dark royal jacket, his chest heaving with heavy, deliberate breaths as he reins in his wild adrenaline. The fury still burns hot in his veins, but his composure returns like a heavy curtain falling over a stage. He looks around the barracks at the rest of the silent soldiers who are still locked at attention, none of them daring to even blink.
"Clean this pathetic mess up," Jungkook barks coldly, casting one final, disgusted look at the two broken men on the floor. "And remember exactly whose crest you wear. If any of you forget your duty to protect our people, I will personally remind you."
He turns on his polished leather heel, his golden cape snapping behind him, and storms out of the barracks, his mind already racing out of the palace gates and straight back to your quiet, shadowed bedroom.
The bright, warm rays of the morning sun pierce through your thin linen curtains, casting long, golden bars across your bedroom.
You slowly blink your eyes open, your body instantly tensing as you brace yourself for the white-hot, agonising fire that had consumed your back yesterday. You hold your breath, carefully shifting your weight to test the movement, but to your absolute surprise, the blinding agony has receded into a dull, thoroughly manageable ache. The throbbing is heavy, a reminder of the guards' cruelty, but it no longer cuts your breath short. The cooling herbal salve Jungkook applied worked absolute wonders overnight.
You slowly press your palms into the mattress, pushing yourself up into a sitting position, your eyes immediately darting around the quiet room.
Jungkook.
He is gone. The space beside your bed feels entirely empty, the cool morning air still carrying the faintest, lingering hint of his crisp, rich scent.
A heavy wave of emotion hits you as you sit there in the morning silence, the blankets pooled around your waist. Your mind drifts back to the blurry memories of yesterday. You remember the sheer terror in Jungkook's eyes when your knees had buckled in the kitchen, the way his strong arms had snapped around you before you could even hit the floor. He had held you so tightly against his chest, as if you were something incredibly precious he couldn't bear to see broken.
The memory of his touch makes your skin tingle beneath your bandages. He is the Crown Prince of the realm, a man born to be served, and yet he spent his hours kneeling on your floor, on your bed, cleaning your wounds with trembling hands, and whispering soft, broken apologies against your skin every time you whimpered in pain. The sheer, intoxicating intimacy of him wrapping the linen around your waist, pulling you flush against his solid chest, plays on a loop in your head. It sends a strange, dizzying heat curling deep into your stomach, a mixture of profound gratitude and a budding, terrifyingly deep affection.
You turn your head towards the nightstand. There sits a fresh glass of clear water, a small plate neatly stacked with dried fruits and crackers, and a folded piece of parchment. You reach out, your fingers tracing the crisp edges of the paper before unfolding it. Reading his messy, hurried handwriting, a genuine, breathless laugh bubbles up in your chest.
The ridiculous boyishness of his threat instantly cuts through the lingering shadows of yesterday's trauma. Even when he is trying to be authoritative, he can’t help but be the same teasing menace who steals your cake batter. You smile, dutifully eating every single cracker and dried fruit on the plate, feeling the energy slowly returning to your limbs, before drinking the water down to the very last drop.
Exhaling a long, steady breath, you carefully slide off the bed. You find a loose, lightweight, clean dress in your wardrobe and slip it over your head with meticulous care so the fabric doesn't rub harshly against the fresh dressings. You feel remarkably better; the deep, uninterrupted rest has done wonders for your body and mind.
Marching down the staircase, you are determined to open the bakery today. You refuse to let those guards steal your livelihood or intimidate you out of your own shop, and you certainly can't let your regular village customers down two days in a row.
The kitchen downstairs is dead quiet, smelling faintly of the chamomile tea Jungkook had brewed for you. You walk straight to the front door, unlocking the heavy brass deadbolt, and pull the thick curtains back to let the brilliant morning light flood the room. Bracing yourself, you push the front door open and step onto the threshold to set up the outdoor display.
The moment your boots clear the frame, you freeze completely in your tracks.
Sitting proudly on the wooden bench right beside your shop entrance is an overflowing bouquet. It is massive, easily the size of your entire torso, completely taking over the small wooden bench. But as you take a slow, hesitant step closer, your brow furrows in sheer confusion.
The flowers aren't real.
You lean down, your breath catching completely in your throat as your eyes scan the arrangement. They are meticulously, beautifully handcrafted entirely out of soft, colourful yarn. Dozens upon dozens of intricately crocheted roses, delicate lilies, and bright daisies, amongst others, which are woven together with an unbelievable amount of patience, care, and precision. The bouquet bursts with vibrant, warm shades of pastel pink, sunny yellow, and rich cream, completely immune to the biting morning frost.
Tears instantly spring to your eyes, a sudden, heavy wave of emotion tightening in your chest until it's actually hard to breathe.
You are, unfortunately, severely allergic to real flowers; the pollen makes your eyes swell shut, and your lungs feel heavier within minutes. It is a small, trivial detail you had mentioned to Jungkook months ago, a passing, light-hearted remark made at two in the morning while you both sat on the kitchen floor giggling over a tray of accidentally burnt sugar cookies. You hadn't thought twice about it. You had assumed he forgot it the second the words left your mouth.
Yet here they are. Flowers that will never wither, flowers that can never trigger your allergies, flowers made with a level of dedication that a person can only give when they are entirely, irrevocably devoted to someone. Only a handful of people in the world know that secret about you, and your royal visitor remembered every single syllable.
Tucked precisely into the centre of the soft yarn roses is a small, heavy piece of parchment. You reach out, your fingers trembling violently as you pull the note free from the stitches and unfold it.
I heard real flowers make you sneeze.
These will never wither, and they will never hurt you.
I'll be there tonight. Don't lock the back door.
- J.
p.s. leave out some extra cookies, please <3
You press the heavy paper firmly against your chest, right over your thundering heart, staring out into the bustling village square. A silent tear slips down your cheek, cutting through the light dust of flour on your skin, but a bright, genuine smile graces your lips.
Yesterday, you felt completely alone, broken and humiliated on the cold cobblestones while the world looked away in fear. But today, clutching this note, you feel safer, more cherished, and more protected than you have ever felt in your entire life.
You find yourself glancing up at the morning sun, already tracking its slow path across the sky, a deep, restless yearning settling into your very bones. For the first time in your life, you find yourself utterly despising the daylight, wishing the hours would fly by in a breathless blur. You can't bring yourself to care about the flour, the dough, or the baking today. All your heart can focus on is the ticking of the clock, desperately waiting for midnight to fall so you can hear that muffled chime, the click of the door, and fall back into the familiar step with your prince.
Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.
Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)
Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+
Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series
Parts: Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Special
Word Count: 7k+
Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff
Tags & Warnings: drug dealing, marriage through trickery, explicit smut, drug use, dubious consent, prostitution
Authors Note: finally i was able to conclude that bmme can be reposted!! please welcome back this precious gem of mine
The first time she saw was before one of her fashion shows. Small event compared to the likes of Gucci or Louis Vuitton but for her the biggest night of her life was about to happen. Unfortunately minutes before the show started, Belle got a call from her uncle to pick Taehyung up from their place and his tone sounded utterly bleak.
Walking away from a highly angered manager she rushed off to pick him up only to find him sitting outside on the porch in the cold wind, laughing a little to himself before swearing at no one. It was the first day Belle found out the things he had been taking.
Weed, ecstasy…she even found a small bag of cocaine hidden in his hoodie after getting him cleaned up.
“Where the hell did you get money for cocaine?” Belle tried to search his expression but Taehyung was too busy stumbling as he finally fell onto her bed.
“I know a guy. I promised to pay him back soon.” Taehyung mumbled turning to rest on his back, his limbs refused to stay still to a point where Belle started to get annoyed.
“Tae, how much do you owe this guy?” She asked, heart thumping a little knowing cocaine especially was not inexpensive and that mixed with other drugs…
His body being ruined was one heart-wrenching thing but she dreaded the amount of money this all cost.
Her brother stayed silent closing his eyes to let out a few breaths which caused her blood to boil even more.
Belle understood why Taehyung turned to something so putrid to relieve him of their recent troubles. There was a moment in time where she even thought to do so, maybe to ease some of the pain of they both went through. But it was getting out of hand.
-
The next morning Belle fixed him up a proper breakfast to distract him from taking another dose of the things he bought. Or was loaned anyway since he didn’t have a job or savings to pay for any of the products she found.
Taehyung didn’t even come to the table.
Instead as she walked towards the bedroom, she found him shirtless snorting something up his nose as he quickly threw his head back. Just hearing his sigh of relief made Belles’ stomach churn to near sickness.
Fuming, Belle grabbed whatever pieces of his stash she could find on the table and threw it in the bin pushing it away when he tried to savor anything that could be fished out. She saw his eyes widen so much that it almost seemed his eyeballs were going to fall on his hand.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Taehyung yelled, voice growly while his nose still had remnants of white powder dripping and his eyes bloodshot more than ever. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get shit like that?!”
“I don’t care, you’re done with this!” Belle stood her ground but kept her voice calm, her own glossy eyes fixated on his.
“You don’t fucking get it!” Taehyung winced, face contorting it looked like he was about to cry. “I need it, okay? And I got that shit from a guy that works in the Jeon Cartel!” He gestured over to the entrance of the apartment. “I can’t ask for anymore, I haven’t paid for anything.” He yanked at his hair whining under his breath like a spoiled child not getting the toy he wanted.
Belle shook her head slightly, tears forming at the brim of her eyes. “Tae…” Her voice grew shakier now. “How much do you owe them?” Her bottom lip quivered watching his chest rise and fall heavily.
He stayed silent averting his gaze.
“Taehyung.” Her tone quickly turned firm though her heart pounded painfully. “How much do you owe them?” Belle truly hated acting like the oldest between the two.
Taehyung used to take care of her every single day almost more than her own parents since they mostly focused on their oldest son because he had ‘a lot more potential’. Her stomach ached looking at all the potential slowly going down the drain right in front of her eyes.
“A few hundred…six…maybe seven…” Taehyung muttered trying not to look directly at her when he spoke. He probably knew exactly the kind of shock gripped her face and he was damn right.
Belles’ entire body turned cold, her fingers almost wanting to fish out the substances herself just knowing how much money it cost to get it. But she curled them up into fists wanting to look strong. “I don’t…know how it feels…I do know it hurts and I know why you’re doing this but…I can’t lose you too.” She whispered, vision getting blurry as a lump grew in her throat. “You’re my big brother, you’ve always looked after me.”
Taehyung bit down his bottom lip lowering his head in slight shame.
“Please let me look after you.” She pleaded in a whisper trying to search his expression, to see any sense of softness or thought.
Her brother sobbed a little, running his shaky fingers through his matted hair before nodding but still trying not to meet her gaze. “Okay.”
Belle let out a trembling sigh of relief, a tear escaping slowly down her cheek when she finally relaxed. “I have savings you can use to pay for the drugs you asked for.” She stated in a gentle tone this time as Taehyung stared at her, shaking his head.
“That’s your boutique money, you can’t—”
“Yes I can.” She forced a smile across her face to reassure him. “My boutique can wait. I want you to get better.”
Taehyung gulped down carefully padding over his sister before leaning his head on her shoulder at an attempt of a lazy hug. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered against the fabric of her sweater, a light whimper under his breath. “Thank you.”
The chill that spread through her body now warmed up as she wrapped her arms around her brother, feeling like the younger sister if only for a second. “Who do we have to pay?” Belle asked sniffling a little.
“My debts’ too high…” Taehyungs’ grip tightened around the girl. “…the guy who gave me the drugs tells me I need to go straight to the boss for questioning if I come back again.”
Oh god, Taehyung…what did you get yourself into?
-
Much to Taehyungs’ discontent, Belle insisted on coming with him with the envelope of the payment in her hand. She figured cash would be more believable instead of bank transferring especially since there was so much money piled up for just debt. Her older brother looked at her a little surprised at how well she knew how to maneuver these things. “Being in the fashion industry doesn’t just mean I draw and sew clothes, you know.” She replied simply as she drove the both of them to the address Taehyungs’ guy told him to go.
During the trip she wanted to mention how sneaky it was to just give them the address and not come along. But then again…this wasn’t exactly an ethical business to begin with.
Of course it wasn’t difficult in the slightest to find the Jeon household considering it was on the outskirts of the city. A large sandstone colored mansion with vines growing off of the sides and golden detail on the windows and pillars. They drove in front of the closed entrance where Taehyung told them his name and that he was being expected which thankfully caused the large gate to slide open with a painful screech sound.
Heart pounded so hard it could have ripped out of her ribcages, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and her palms a little sweaty. The guards lined up in front of the door with their suits and shades making her homemade white floral dress look like peasants work. Even from here she could recognize that those uniforms were not made from some random ordinary designer. Even though the design itself was quite ordinary.
Taehyung walked out of the car first before Belle followed suit.
As soon as she walked out, one of the guards held his hand out.
“Ma’am, the boss requests that you give away your car in the duration of the meeting.” He spoke in a robotic tone.
Belle wasn’t even sure if he was looking at her directly since the shades were so dark but she gave him her car keys anyway. The feeling of emptiness eerily seeping through her already nerve-wracked body. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how Taehyung must be feeling around all of this.
They were led into the mansion by three guards. The entrance was really just a big hall that stretched across the whole expanse of the building. When they passed a large open archway then Belle could see the furnished details; a few couches circled around in the middle of the large space with the fireplace behind the sitting, a bar on the far right with some maids tending to the dust while there were stairs on the left leading to the upper level.
Why would they want meet them personally for a few hundred dollars? It looked like a small loss looking at the quality of this whole building down to the outfits their guards were wearing.
Maybe it was more greed than the amount of the money.
“Please be seated. Master Jeon will speak to you shortly.” The same guard declared before moving back to his post and standing there like a statue.
Taehyung and Belle sat at the couch that faced the fireplace. Thankfully the maids were kind enough to turn it on since she hadn’t realized how cool it was going to be in the house. They offered them tea which they both turned down. An empty stomach meant less likely for her to throw up from the anxiousness. Taehyung, on the other hand, lost interest for food altogether barely eating anything but crumbs.
She noticed the hollowness of his cheeks and the darkness under his eyes. How long had it been since she saw a smile stretching across his lips? Taehyung used to be filled with light and passion beyond anything Belle had ever seen. He was the reason she pushed herself to pursue her own dreams despite the side-eyes from their parents. He defended her passion. He protected from unfair treatment always giving her shine he thought she deserved.
Now Belle had to repay the favor. She needed to encourage her brother to restart his path back to one that made him happy instead of one that slowly destroyed him to the core.
Footsteps brought her back out from her thoughts, eyes trailing over to the stairs. A tall built figure dressed in an all-white suit with a button-up shirt to match, loosely done up so his gold necklace could glimmer in the light. Belle noticed the gold cufflinks shimmering from his wrists. Hair styled somewhat neatly with a side part and strands hovering his eye when he moved, lips a rosy hue and his face looked for younger than she expected.
When people said ‘drug lord’ she imagined a stumpy old creep with similar attire except traditionally unkempt with facial hair and untrimmed chest hair that hung over their shirts.
Despite his pleasant appearance, Belle was not going to be blinded to the fact that this man thrived off of her brothers’ suffering.
The man finally met her gaze after only glancing a little at Taehyung before sitting down on the couch in front of them. Legs spread apart ever so slightly, he leaned back with one of his arms extended out. “Mr. Kim.” He spoke in a soft tone, eyes going back to her older brother now. “Do you recognize who I am?” He searched his expression.
Taehyung kept his head lowered but nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Who am I?” He pressed on like a father calmly scolding his child.
“M-Master Jeon Jungkook…” He muttered helplessly almost glancing up to meet his gaze but quickly looking down once again.
“So you do know…” Jungkook nodded, pressing his lips together. “Here I was thinking you consider me a joke. Taking bags and bags of my products while assuming I won’t try to track you down. Is that you what you thought of me?” His tone grew firmer.
Unlike Taehyung, Belle kept her head up, maintaining her gaze on the stranger. It seemed like Jungkook had a good eye for noticing when he flickered over to look at her instead.
“No, sir.” Taehyung shook his head frantically. “I-I just n-needed to get my money together.” He explained in a shaky voice not noticing that his precious ‘sir’ was staring at Belle a lot longer than she was comfortable.
Maybe he was waiting for her to duck her head down like her older brother.
The urge to do so was stronger than ever but Belle persisted. Until Jungkook glanced over at Taehyung again.
Her brothers’ fingers trembled violently at this point. Belle itched to comfort him somehow but she wanted him to try and face on his own to some extent. Coming here and sitting next to him was already being far too lenient but she couldn’t let him do this completely alone. Not when the healing process was so fresh and people like Jungkook would do anything to make sure he stayed addicted.
“Where’s the money?” Jungkook gestured towards him.
Belle took a small breath, placing the envelope on her lap onto the glass coffee table. “One of your men said he owed seven hundred.” She spoke up now trying to keep her voice as steady as possible even though her heart was beating out of control. “The envelope has eight just in case he wasn’t accurate.” A chilly feeling brushed over her body when her savings just sat there on the coffee table. Nothing but petty money for Jungkook but to her, it was the only way she could afford the vacant building in the city for her boutique.
“And you are?”
“His sister.” She muttered, glancing over at Taehyung who let out a deep sigh.
Jungkook stared down at the thick envelope for a few minutes with a raised brow. “Jongho…” He curled his fingers in towards a guard who quickly rushed over to stand beside him. “Please escort Mr. Kim to the second living room for a moment. I’d like to have a word with Ms…”
“Belle.”
“Belle…” The corner of his lip curled up before he gestured again towards the man called Jongho and he immediately led Taehyung away from them.
Belles’ heart raced seeing his helpless face looking back at her not sure if he was trying to apologize or if he was terrified of why they were being separated. “Why’re you taking him away?” She asked, being as polite as possible but her tightening fists told a different story.
“I’m not going to hurt him.” Jungkook murmured. He leaned in to rest his elbows on his knees, eyes searching her expression closely. “I thought it’d be better if I had a private conversation with a more steady minded person rather than your brother.” He nodded behind her.
Her brows furrowed glancing down at the closed envelope before staring up at him. “We got you the money, why do we need to have a conversation?” Belle’s voice was low just enough for only Jungkook to hear and no one else. Not that she could raise her voice even if she tried from how closed up her throat was.
“Because I’m honorable to an extent but I also hate people taking advantage of my kindness.” Jungkook shrugged lightly. “Your brother had been freely given all the products he consumed and he waited three months to give me my payment.” He let his sentence linger in the air to add more effect. “Three months of losing product and receiving no profit in return is not a risk I like making, Belle. Nor do I want to make it again.”
“So…what’re you saying?” Belle thought of the worst possible scenarios. Would they take Taehyung away and punish him? Or kill him? Was he being punished right now and Jungkook was just lying to prevent a scene? She watched his soft eyes trail up and down her form trying to be subtle but Belle caught it immediately feeling the urge to hide away into the couch.
“I’m saying the deal’s changed.” Jungkook declared in the most casual way like you would cancel a simple outing to the mall. “Look I can get money anytime I want to…you know that, don’t you?” He tilted his head a little searching her features. “I asked for this personal meeting on the basis of principle. Taehyung and many people like him need to understand that we stand by codes just as much as anyone. I’m not a money pig that just drools and accepts cash when it’s given to me.” He raised a brow.
Belle winced lightly, shaking her head. “Then why are we here? What do you want?”
Jungkook did nothing for a minute and gave her a soft smile. “Something he can take a little more seriously than cash…well—someone.”
Blood drained from her body from her aching head to her toes. Belle pierced into his smug gaze hoping…praying that he didn’t meant what she thought. The last thing she ever looked to be afraid of but now became the ultimate bane of her visit.
A visit thought to be quick and sweet with cash exchanged. How could she be surprised? These people wanted so much but still asked for more. What more could she expect from the man that took just to have the power to take some more? “Taehyung’s a good man.” She whispered. “He won’t do this again.”
“That’s what a lot of people tell me for years about their relatives or friends, Belle.” Jungkook murmured under his breath keeping the conversation to themselves despite the maids and guards standing around. “My grandfather heard it…my father heard it…every single time those people come back begging for more and then we get blamed for the dead bodies.” He sighed in slight defeat but she didn’t buy it in the slightest.
There was nothing noble about this request. If he were any other man gaining the audacity to say something like this, he would expect a hard punch on his nose. Except now it wasn’t just her own safety in question. Nor was Jungkook any ordinary man who could be taken by police or a punch looking at his build. “What am I supposed to do?” Belle murmured, heat flushing in her body making her more exasperated than grateful at the running fireplace.
Once again, a smile stretched across Jungkooks’ rosy lips. If it were taken out of context you’d think he was some sweet boy admiring something. But the reality was far from that lie. “You’re not going to be my prisoner, if that’s what you’re asking.” He smiled a little wider, eyes glimmering. “I’m not that evil.”
Debatable.
“You’re a lot more intelligent than you let on.”
“You just met me.”
“But I meet a lot of people…a little too many. So I tend to rely on first impressions and hope I’m right.” Jungkook shrugged.
“And if you’re wrong?”
He chuckled under his breath gesturing over to his guards. “They’re not there for decoration…and I don’t always negotiate like this. I’m just having a good day.” She saw his expression grow dark but the smile still remained making him look utterly sinister.
Visions of Taehyung tied to a chair, sobbing flashed across her mind making her mentally slap herself back to reality. She couldn’t look weak in front of him of all people. That’s what he wanted…for people to cower in front of him as he spewed his threats around to get everything he asked for. But denying him completely and storming out wouldn’t exactly be the smartest decision either considering she didn’t actually know where her brother was. The mansion was still mystery to her and Jungkook could easily hurt any of them as he so subtly stated with that stupid, fucking smile.
“So…what do you say, Belle? Do we have an accord?”
-
Taehyung was led back into the main living room, slightly yanking off of Jongho’ grasp and giving him a glare when he walked away. He looked over at Belle, her back facing him standing in front of Jungkook. “Belle?”
Belle looked over her shoulder and gave him a smile as she walked closer. She let out a sigh of relief seeing no sign of injury on the older male.
“Did he do something to you?” After the longest time, Taehyung sounded like an older brother again looking after Belle whenever she looked the slightest bit distressed. “What did he say?” He whispered.
She stayed silent, gaze lowered to look at his T-shirt before flickering up to force a smile at him. “It’s going to be okay.” Belle murmured. “He even offered to pay for your rehabilitation and get you back on your feet.”
Brows furrowed now gaining the urge to glance over at Jungkook but he couldn’t seem to stop searching his sisters’ expression. “Why would he want to pay for—”
“I told him to.” Belle gulped, smile fading away into a small frown.
“Belle, we can’t pay him back for all of that.” Taehyung held onto her bare arms feeling the cold skin underneath his.
She nodded. “Yes we can. He’s only asking for one thing.”
“…What?” He whispered.
Belle bit down her bottom lip, chin quivering a little before she smiled again even though her eyes grew glossy. “He wants me.”
Taehyungs’ heart plummeted making his whole body feel heavy. “No…” He shook his head, grip tightening around her arms as if she was going to disappear if he let go. “He can’t do that.”
“I agreed.”
“Belle!” It was more a loud whisper than anything but it managed to turn a few heads. “He’s going t—”
“I know what he’s going to do.” Belle rubbed his chest soothingly. “But this is the only way I can help you.”
“You have the money, why won’t he take it?” He gestured towards the envelope on the coffee table which now looked long forgotten.
Belle lowered her gaze. “Because he thinks you’ll just do it all again. He doesn’t trust you.”
“And you trust him?” Taehyung retorted causing heat to bubble up inside Belle.
“I trust you to do your part in this promise.” She tightened her jaw, wincing as the lump in her throat grew painful. “Unless you have a better idea to escape a pissed off drug lord then you will do this.” Tears flooded at her eyes threatening to escape but her gaze persisted on him. “Please promise me you’ll try to get better from now on.” Her lips quivered. “I didn’t know how else to help you. But now you need to help me. You need to heal and get back on your feet.”
Taehyung brushed against his fingers through the hair rested on her shoulder. “What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me.” Belle shook her head as an attempt to reassure him but he didn’t look at all convinced. “I’ll be fine.” She smiled faintly, a few tears escaping down her cheeks which he wiped off gently.
“I’m so sorry…” He whimpered, fingers curling around her hair. “This is all my fault, I should’ve just come here on my own.”
“He would’ve killed you.”
“But you’d be happy.”
Belle chuckled sadly. “You really think I’d be happy if I lost you?”
“But you wouldn’t be here.” Taehyung side glanced over at the guards who looked completely unfazed by the whole ordeal while Jungkook had his back turned to them, gazing out into the garden outside.
“Everything’s going to be fine.” Belle wasn’t sure if that was directed at her brother or herself. Was this meant to be her big fork in the road? The path she was supposed to determine her whole life. Maybe her parents were right. Maybe she was amount to only one thing… but she’d be caught dead before she cowered begging before people like Jungkook. If he wanted her then he could have her. But he’d be an idiot to think she wasn’t going to use that to her own advantage one day. “We’re allowed to see each other so you’re not losing me, okay? I’ll be there whenever you need me.”
Taehyung sighed in frustration averting his gaze, boring holes in the back of Jungkooks’ head with his glare. “I want to kill him.”
“Then we’ll never get out of here.” Belle replied simply.
Finally Taehyung succumbed to his sisters’ wishes, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead before letting go, physically deflating as he was led out of the mansion by one of the guards.
One of them, same Jongho walked over to her. “I’ll drive him back safely, Ms. Kim.” He gave her a reassuring smile before following Taehyung out of the mansion.
The double doors closed blocking out whatever light that came from it leaving her empty.
“Taehyung will call you when he gets home. So you know he’s safe.” Jungkook spoke up now in a gentle tone but Belle kept her back to him. “And your personal belongings will be moved here in a few days.”
She licked her lips before lowering her gaze, letting a few silent sobs before wiping the tears away. “Where can I freshen up?” Belle looked down at her fingers seeing the light mascara smudges, trying to wipe at the corners of his eyes to wipe any traces away.
Jungkook seemed like he gestured towards one of the maids because a kind looking woman padded over and touched her on the shoulder.
Her grey hair wrapped up in a bun and the smile lines around her face showed when she gave her a sweet grin, making her look like the only person that seemed somewhat trustworthy in this building. “Let’s go upstairs, dear.” She held onto her arms and led her towards the stairs. “I’ll get some new clothes sent up as well.”
Belle didn’t glance at Jungkook but she could feel his gaze on her when she was led up the stairs to the now shared master bedroom.
-
Similar to what a hotel suite would look like, the master bedroom adorned a modern design with an opaque black curtains drawn to keep the room cool and ambient with the warm lights. A king-sized bed with classic white sheets with some gold detail matching the aesthetic of the whole mansion itself. There was a marble partition that had a small gap on the bottom with a modern looking fireplace on to keep the room warm, situated on the immediate left when they walked in.
On the other side of the partition was a desk with a closed laptop and some files. Another open archway on the right that led to a walk-in-wardrobe with lit up shelves that accentuated all the different shoes and shirts.
Upon walking through the archway into the wardrobe, on the right, there was the private bathroom just as big as every other small area in the monster of a bedroom.
Belle was led into the bathroom by the kind maid where she saw a shower that could have been the size of her laundry room, a sink just in front of it with a bathtub on the far end. The white bathtub contrasted against the grey marble floor with a large window that showed a forest-like view.
“It’s an illusion.” The maid explained as if to reassure her that her baths were not going to be displayed out into the world. “The Master asked for a glass case that held shrubs but the foggy forest is an intricate painting by one of the familys’ personal artists. He likes the feeling of being disconnected from the modern world when he’s relaxing.”
Normally the design would impress her greatly. The idea of having the illusion of a calm forest without the hassle of actually moving to one was genius and the greyish light gave the bathroom a relaxing morning feel. Right now however it made her feel more trapped than ever. Even the view outside was just an illusion in her new cage. Nothing felt solid and real at this point like Belle was a ghost floating around in a dream that never seemed to end.
“Your towels are over on the stand there, dear. I’ll have robes and a change of clothes brought to you outside soon.” The maid smiled patting her lightly on her arm. “Don’t fret too much, darling. I don’t think the master has any intention of hurting you.”
“It’s not him hurting me that’s making me nervous.” Belle smiled sadly, grateful that the woman even cared to reassure her somehow.
“Ah…” The maid smiled and nodded knowingly. “I’ll get you some of my special tea…it calmed me down on my wedding night.”
Belle’s heart sank seeing the woman smile at her a little sadly too. “Is the secret ingredient whiskey?” She tried to lighten the mood which successfully made the woman chuckle. Somehow seeing the way the woman helped her in her own way reminded her of why she was in this glass case in the first place. She remembered Taehyung smiling again, throwing away all the things that tarnished all the peace in his heart and being free. She needed to be strong.
“Not really but…I’ll see what I can do.” She whispered the last bit with a cheeky smile before turning on her heel to leave Belle in a few moments of solitary freedom at the very least.
-
It may have been dark by now.
At least when Belle peeked the slightest outside the curtained window, the sun had been dipping into the hills to give the sky a pinkish hue. Her heart pounded at the lack of notifications from her brother. Her body felt fresher now that she had a comfortable long white nightie with a thin robe to keep her arms somewhat cozy. But skin still heated up significantly with her anxiety.
Then minutes passed before her phone buzzed and her heart released a thousand sighs of relief seeing Taehyung’s name.
“Belle?”
“Yes it’s me.” Belle whispered with a biggest grin on her face from the sheer relief. “You went home okay? They didn’t hurt you?”
“No, no they were just… fine.” Confusion trailed in Taehyung’s voice. “That guy has way too much fucking power, they just dropped me off and left saying they’ll come back to drop me off at the rehab center. Normally his men tried to rough me up whenever they saw me.”
“That’s because they knew you’re the guy that doesn’t pay.” Belle cringed mentally hearing herself defend their actions but…she was a little too good at considering perspectives, she guessed.
“I guess…also I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking you if you’re okay.” Taehyung corrected but Belle let his words linger in the air for a moment.
Sitting in the luxury bedroom wearing a clearly quality robe with people working at her beck and call, in a first glance people would call her lucky. Digging deeper into the surface and seeing that Belle was manipulated into being in his position then people would call Jungkook a monster.
Was it only one of them? Was it both? Was it neither? Was this just a game that Belle had no choice but to play for a time until her brother got better? How far did Jungkook even think this through? Why was he so interested in manipulating Taehyung the most? Did he do this to every sister, brother or parent that came around? Did they even come this far?
“Belle, you still there?”
“Yeah…yeah, I’m okay. I’m just sitting.” She quickly explained.
The thoughts crowded in her head making it ache but thankfully the maid—her name she found out was Nana—gave her a piping hot cup of tea apparently laced with some herbs that helped calm anxiety and nerves. It was an ancient herb given to young girls so they could go through their wedding night without having an anxiety attack or breaking down. Blowing away some of the steam, Belle took a few sips ignoring the bitter taste on her tongue.
“I don’t know what he wants yet but I think I have an idea.” Belle spoke solemnly.
“You really don’t have to do this, Belle.” Taehyung whispered desperately.
“We don’t have any other choice.”
“You could just come back home and I’ll just handle it.”
“You had three months to handle it.” Her voice grew firm quicker than she even expected but she kept her head cool. Silence ran on the other end of the line making Belle sigh to calm herself down. “We just need to keep our heads. We’ll be fine.” She didn’t mean to make her tone sound so dreary but this wasn’t exactly the cheeriest of moments in her life. Her fingers absentmindedly played with the fabric of her soft nightie trying to empty her mind for a little while. “I need to go, okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay…Belle…”
“Yeah?”
“…I love you. Be safe.”
The lump in her throat grew again suffocating her when she forcefully swallowed it down. “I love you too.” Belle whispered before hanging up. Taking longer sips from her tea now, it took a few seconds for her feel her limbs loosen like ice melting near a fireplace. Her body cooled down from her heated anxiety to a comfortable warmth she could melt into without the worries of the troubles around her.
For a moment, she could close her eyes and relish in the new found relief wanting to silently thank Nana for providing her this cup of momentary tranquility.
The door opened with the familiar white-suited man walking in giving her a glance as he shrugged his blazer off. “Nana got you some clothes…good.” Jungkook muttered, walking into the walk-in wardrobe and placing his blazer back before taking off his cufflinks when he walked back in the bedroom. “Is it comfortable?”
“Yes.” Belle replied, brushing her palms across the smooth sleeves of the robe. She never worked with satin a lot but whenever she felt it under her skin it gave her the tingle of pure luxury. “I just spoke to Taehyung…he came home safe.”
“I told you he would.” Jungkook murmured, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off his shoulder before placing into a hamper for the maids to take care of.
Belle noticed the stencil like silhouette of a phoenix etched into the right side of his chest as he walked over to his side of the bed. “You kept to your word. Thank you.” Not that you deserve it but…common courtesy.
She caught a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips while he unbuckled his belt and threw it on the floor.
“Do I sense a little bitterness, Ms. Kim?” Jungkook mused.
“Why? You don’t like a little bitter taste on your tongue?” Snakes must get used to it by now, she thought.
“I know you’re not a fan of me.” He stated the fucking obvious. “But you could say no anytime. I’ll just deal with your brother without bothering you again.”
Belle tightened her jaw, gripping onto the fabric of her nightie averting her gaze forcing a long silence to plunge into the room.
Jungkook finally sighed. “I didn’t mean that.” He muttered but Belle was mostly trying to focus back on the relaxation the tea gave her again. “Our accord is as solid any other contract so I’m not allowed to touch your brother…while you’re still with me anyway.”
“Is this how you get all your girls?”
He chuckled walking over and standing in front of Belle, forcing her to look up at him. “Would you be pleased if I said no?” Jungkook placed an index finger under her chin while his thumb hovered for a moment over her lips.
“Only if it’s the truth.” Belle replied simply, her knees melting into the surface of the bed.
Jungkook smirked moving his hands into her hair. “I don’t invite just anyone in my bed, no. But you’re not just anyone.”
“Why do you think that?” She asked as he slowly leaned in closer, fingers sliding down the crook of her neck letting the sleeves of her robe and nightie slip down with a mere touch.
“Because you were the only one brave enough to come this far.” He whispered pushing down the other side of her sleeves to leave her shoulders exposed. “Girls love the bad boys but never seem to understand what they’re asking for.” Cold fingers brushed against her collarbones, across her chest up her neck until he finally caressed her bottom lip with his index finger.
They want a fairytale. Beauty and the Beast. But eventually they find out that the Beast was never a prince in the first place. They realize that a mere kiss won’t break the curse.
“You know exactly what you’re asking for… don’t you?” Jungkook asked in a tone of a warm coo.
I’m not asking for this, Belle bit her tongue. But I do know what I’m getting myself into. What you gave me no choice but to get into. She stared at him determined to keep his gaze no matter how much she wanted to close her eyes. He wasn’t going to overpower her, not in that way. I received a beast instead of a prince…but you’re not getting any vulnerable fucking princess either. Keeping her eyes on his, she parted her lips and took his finger into her mouth barely waiting for Jungkook to make any move before she began suckling on it.
“Of course you do.” The mere action was enough of an answer for the male as his smirk grew darker. Jungkook took his finger away pushing down her nightie and robe further down until her breasts were displayed to him.
Belle was grateful for the warmth from the fireplace spreading through the room at his point. But in mere seconds Jungkook used his glistening finger to brush across her nipple causing it to stand erect almost instantly. A light gasp caught in her throat as she pressed her palms on the surface of the bed making her chest push out a little. When she threw her head back a little, he quickly took the opportunity to devour her lips, tongue pushing against her teeth which she kept clamp shut.
Long enough for him to get impatient and bite down her bottom lip a little. Then she allowed him to push through and explore her mouth. Jungkook knelt down but kept their lips locked as he sneaked his hands under her nightie, pushing the soft fabric, nails grazing against her skin causing a tingle down her spine.
Belle lifted a little to let him push the dress further up until he completely pulled both pieces of clothing off over her head. Before she could even comprehend her exposure, he picked her up a little and shifted so she could rest her head on the silk pillows. Her heart raced against her ribcages but she stopped being sure of why at this point, instead she thought about the herbs Nana gave her. Maybe thinking about how it can help would psychologically increase its effects? Stupid but maybe.
When she looked down at the male out of curiosity, she saw him discard his pants and boxers before climbing back onto the bed.
Belle kept her legs closed loosely before he pushed them apart, hands gliding down her inner thighs to her panties. His thumb pressed against the clothing right against her hiding nub making her jerk her hips a little at the suddenly awakened nerves.
He didn’t waste any time to hook the hem of her panties and strip it off her before dipping down in between her legs. His mouth feasted on her clit, tongue licking around her slit before sliding in teasingly slow and moving back to suckling on her bundle of nerves.
Her chest rose and fell as her eyes focused more on the ceiling, biting onto her bottom lip, light whimpers emitting from under her breath.
Jungkook released her clit with a pop sound before settling his hips between her legs. His already hardened shaft teased her slit a little more, wet sounds tickling her ears before she felt him stretch her out.
A moan finally erupted from her throat, clenching around him making him groan.
“It’s okay…” He whispered in her ear when she turned her head to the side. “Does it hurt a lot?”
Belle’s head felt like it was trying to find a straight line in a completely scribbled piece of paper. Her core ached for a moment. She felt Jungkooks’ thumb rub at her clit making her walls relax a little as she focused on the light wash of pleasure rushing across her lower body. Slowly she shook her head moving back to face him again. “No…it’s okay.” She whispered, meeting his gaze when he still wasn’t moving. Leaning up she pressed a shy kiss on his lips.
It took mere seconds before Jungkook began moving in and out of her, still slowly rubbing circles on her erect clit.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, their foreheads pressed against each other as he grinded into her slightly nudging the spot that sent sparks through her body.
His pace quickened, both hands pressed down on the surface of the bed as he thrusted into her in a steady pattern letting the sounds of skin slapping linger in the air.
Belles’ skull felt numb, her mind locked up all her thoughts and allowed her body to succumb to his consistent pounding. Head threw back against the pillow as he chased his own orgasm, her own juices spluttering onto his lower belly. She hummed lightly under her breath which seemed to encourage Jungkook to go faster until the bed started to shift.
Jungkook lowered down a bit more, pressing wet kisses on her neck, trying to muffle his moans against her skin as his thrusts grew sloppy.
Belle felt a gentle wave of pleasure before Jungkook quickly pulled out with his release splattering all over her belly. She let out a small sigh, rubbing circles on her clit again to prolong her small climax before her bundle felt too sensitive to touch making her legs close up again. She watched the other male catch his breath still kneeling in front of her before crashing on the space beside her.
Whatever piece of physical satisfaction swirled around her body melted quickly into her chest clenching painfully. It didn’t take too long for her to notice all too clearly what spilt on her skin but Jungkook had already pulled out a wash cloth and wiped her clean. The traces still burrowed in her mind now.
Jungkook threw the wash cloth away before resting back on the bed again, shutting his eyes for a moment. Both of them catching their breaths and finally dwindling back to their fucked up reality.
“I can’t break this deal.” He murmured looking up at ceiling similar to her. “If I do, I’ll have to kill your brother.”
Belle swallowed the lump in her throat, a small tear spilling from the corner of her eye. “Am I supposed to be your sex toy until you’re done with me?”
“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not allowed to have…sex toys.” Jungkook sighed. “There’s another reason why I changed the deal.”
She finally turned her head to face him, brows furrowing. “What did you not tell me?”
The male took a deep breath before meeting her gaze. “My uncle and aunt have been forcing me to get married to someone of their choice. It’s gotten so pressing to a point where they’ve paid them to seduce me so it doesn’t look arranged.” Jungkook explained, running his fingers through his hair before resting on his head on his arm. “My rejections have stopped working. So I thought I should get a courtship with someone I choose before I’ll have to succumb to my uncle and aunts’ wishes.”
Belle could practically hear her own heart slamming out of her ears, more tears burning in her eyes. “So… you just…saw me and decided that you were going to make me your wife?”
“Did you want me to ask for your parents’ blessing or something?”
She averted her gaze back to the ceiling. “My parents are dead.”
“…I didn’t—”
“Of course you didn’t fucking know, we don’t know each other.” Belle inhaled a shaky breath before closing her eyes to calm herself down.
You are a fucking beast.
“Darling I gave you a chance to turn back.”
“So you wouldn’t hurt my brother.”
“Your brother was already dead if he kept going the way he did.” Jungkook winced a little before sighing in frustration. “I told you I’m not trying to be evil. A lot of people look at me when they want to see power. The world I live in chews up people who are too merciful.”
“My brother is innocent.” Belle sobbed lightly, forcefully biting down her bottom lip.
“He’s vulnerable to what I offer. Did you really think he was going to stop taking drugs just because he paid the money?” Jungkooks’ question lingered in the air for a while. “Correction: just because you paid the money.”
“So you want me to be your wife…” She swallowed thickly. “…or you’ll kill my brother.”
“When you say it that way, I do sound evil.” Jungkook pondered. “But yes. Everything else in the deal still stays the same. You’re free to do whatever you want.”
“Except leave you.” Belle corrected.
“Except leave me.” Jungkook confirmed in the most casual fucking tone ever.
Belle did nothing but stay silent and turn to her side, back facing him making the male sigh in slight defeat. She felt his hand on her shoulder squeezing slightly as if it was going to give her any kind of comfort.
“A lot of marriages can be worse than this, you know.” He squeezed it again. “You’re going to have to work with me for this to run a lot smoother, yeah? You did so well today.” Jungkook pressed a gentle kiss on her shoulder. “I promise it won’t feel so bad after a while.”
She knew now. Kissing the beast didn’t break the curse.
Summary: every night, Prince Jeon Jungkook finds himself swept up in a village girl's bakery where they share sugar and laughter, but one day, he stumbles across her injuries taken from defending helpless children and he spends the day tending to her, before unleashing his rage on the aggressors.
Genre/Tags: royalty au, romance, fluff, angst, comfort, feral Jungkook, down bad Jungkook
Word Count: 11.7k (I got carried away)
Warnings: blood, injury, lashings, violence, physical fight, (lmk if i missed anything)
Notes: I've had this in my head since we saw Jungkook in Mexico and I finally wrote smth with it. Genuinely had me kicking my feet, giggling when I wrote this btw. I was kind of between keeping this and making it a series but rn I have no idea what else to write with this so I thought screw it and just post this. Who knows... I might post more in this kind of setting but for now it's just this... hope you like it!
The scent of yeast, burnt sugar, and baked flour always hangs heavy in the midnight air of the kitchen. It's comforting, warm, familiar, and completely separate from the cold, stoned streets of the village beyond these walls, which encompass your life. You wipe a stray smudge of flour from your forehead with the back of your hand, leaning over the heavy wooden workstation to knead the first batch of dough for tomorrow's, well, today's morning rush.
Deep in concentration, you almost don't hear the bell above the back door, which lets out a tiny, muffled chime. But you don't even have to look up to know who it is.
"You're late," you say, keeping your voice flat, still pounding the dough, though a familiar beat of warmth thumps against your ribs. "Shouldn't you be tucked into your silk sheets at the palace by now, Your Royal Highness?"
"A gentleman is never late, sweetheart. He arrives precisely when he means to," Jungkook says, his voice a smooth, playful purr as he slips into the kitchen nestled behind the main bakery area. "And I told you to stop calling me that." He is dressed in his usual disguise, a faded, oversized linen tunic and dark trousers. The entire kingdom knows the face of Prince Jungkook, though few would expect him to be sneaking out of the citadel walls just to loiter in a dusty village bakery. He pushes his hood back, revealing strands of unruly dark hair and those ridiculously large, glittering doe eyes which you can't stare into for too long without feeling heat crawl up your neck.
You sigh, ignoring him as you turn around to face the pantry. You reach for a jar of imported cinnamon, but, of course, it is sitting on the absolute highest shelf, tucked away near the ceiling. You huff, stepping up onto your tiptoes, stretching your arms as high as they can go. Your fingers brush the base of the jar, but you cannot for the life of you get a proper grip. Suddenly, a broad, solid chest flushes directly against your back. All you feel is lean muscle as the heat of him radiates through your apron. Then an arm clad in faded linen reaches up over your head, his large hand wrapping around the jar. You will yourself not to let your eyes linger too long on the prominent veins running across his forearms to his hands.
"Need a hand, love?" Jungkook murmurs right beside your ear, his raspy late-night voice sending a shiver straight down your spine.
You drop back onto your heels, turning around within the small space he has trapped you in. His free hand comes down to rest casually on the edge of the shelf beside your head, effectively boxing you in. He looks down at you, a smug, devastating smirk playing on his lips as he hands you the cinnamon. Your fingers lightly twitch as they brush his.
"I had it under control, Crown Prince," you shoot back, tapping the jar against his chest to force him to take a step back.
"Right, maybe from over there you did, but from here, all I saw was you hopping up and down like a grasshopper," he teases before turning back.
And before you can swat at him, his hand shoots out toward the cooling racks. You attempt to block him with an elbow, but he uses his height advantage, leaning over to snatch a freshly dusted, warm beignet from the tray. Ones you had just made as a test batch, so the recipe was perfect for the morning rush. He pops the entire thing into his mouth in one go.
"Hey!" You glare, swatting at his arm with your flour-covered hand, leaving a stark white handprint on his dark sleeve. "Do you have any idea how early I had to wake up to prep those? The yeast has to rise for hours, Jungkook! Hours!"
Jungkook chews happily, closing his eyes in mock ecstasy. "Mmm. So worth it. You outdid yourself, truly." He leans his hip against your table, entirely too close, invading your space with the scent of the crisp night air and something rich, clean, and faintly expensive. He points a finger at a bowl of glossy chocolate batter. "What do we have here?" His eyes are lit with nothing short of mischief.
"Don't you dare-"
Too late.
He dips his index finger straight into the bowl, swirling it around before sucking the batter off with shameless, slow deliberateness. He locks eyes with you, a wicked, teasing tilt to his lips. "Sweet. " He pauses. "Just like the baker."
You feel the heat rush straight to your cheeks. "You are an absolute menace. I don't know why I keep letting you break into my shop. I really need to invest in a heavier deadbolt. Or tell the royal guards that their beloved prince is a little sugar thief."
"Because you love me," he says instantly, shifting his weight around the table to follow your movements like a shadow, or more like a separation-anxiety ridden puppy. "And because I am excellent company. Who else is going to help you with labour at one in the morning for the low price of sugar? Besides, the guards would never believe you."
"A public nuisance is what you are," you correct, though your lips twitch. You turn to a tray of unadorned cupcakes and sigh, handing him a backup piping bag filled with sweet vanilla buttercream. "If you're going to loiter, at least make yourself useful. Pipe the tops of those. Like this." You demonstrate a perfect, elegant swirl on one, pulling the tip up to create a flawless peak.
Jungkook takes the bag, his chest puffing out with entirely unwarranted confidence. "Easy. Watch a master at work. I've got great hand-eye coordination."
He grips the bag with way too much force, causing an explosion of frosting that lands on the cupcake, tilting precariously to one side like a melting snowman before sliding off the edge completely.
You burst out laughing, a bright, clear sound that echoes in the quiet kitchen. "A master? Jungkook, it looks like a squashed toad!"
"It's abstract! It has personality!" he protests, bumping his shoulder heavily against yours to disrupt your balance. He looks down at your laughing face, his own expression softening into something incredibly tender. His eyes track the way your eyes crinkle at the corners, capturing the exact shade of warmth in your smile. "See? I made you laugh. That’s worth at least three more free pastries tonight."
"In your dreams, thief," you scoff.
After a few minutes and many fails later, he gets the hang of it, leaving you to grab a heavy wooden spoon and begin vigorously beating a massive bowl of thick, stubborn cookie dough. You hate this part the most. After a long day, hours of selling and continuously running through the main shop and the kitchen, creating new batches and noting down special orders, the physical effort of the mixture, especially after the non-stop whipping of the meringues and the kneading of the dough, makes your wrists ache. Your movements slow slightly as you wipe a bead of sweat from your brow.
As Jungkook continues piping, he glances at your figure a few times, as if it's second nature, and tracks the sudden lag in your rhythm. His eyes soften, the playful posture shifting into something much more attentive, which goes unnoticed by you. He steps up right beside you, his hand sliding over yours on the handle of the wooden spoon. His palm is warm, broad, and calloused from sword training.
"Hey," he says softly, his shoulder bumping into yours. "Go check on the hearth. I think I smell burning."
"What? No, it's not, I just put it-"
"Just go check, stubborn," he cuts you off, smoothly applying just enough pressure to slide the bowl away from you.
Before you can protest further, he completely takes over, his muscular forearm flexing beneath his rolled-up sleeves as he beats the heavy dough with absolute, effortless ease. It's only when you reach the hearth, and you find your cake, in fact, not burning, that you realise he invented such a thing so you could rest your tired wrist.
You cross your arms with a small smile, and you lean against the counter, watching him work. "Look at you. Future monarch doing manual labour in a village kitchen. Oh, if the King could see you now, he'd strip you of your title."
"Let him," Jungkook grunts with a grin, not missing a beat as he whips the dough into a perfect, uniform consistency. "I'd make a fantastic baker's assistant. I'm strong, I learn fast, and I look great in an apron."
"You don't even have an apron on," you point out, laughing.
"An oversight you can easily fix," he shoots back, flashing a brilliant bunny-toothed smile that makes your heart do a ridiculous little flip. He stops mixing, sliding the perfect dough toward you. "There. Perfect. What's next, pretty lady?"
You roll your eyes at the name. "We need to pour this batter into the tins," you say, dragging a heavy ceramic bowl of vanilla batter and two circular metal tins toward the centre of the table.
"I've got it," Jungkook volunteers eagerly. He lifts the heavy ceramic bowl, and you try not to pay attention to the way his biceps strain slightly against the linen shirt. He tips it over the first tin, carefully pouring the thick, pale-yellow ribbon of batter into the centre until it fills it perfectly. He moves to the second tin, pouring the remainder.
Once the bowl is mostly empty, he sets it down and picks up a long spatula. He meticulously scrapes the remaining thick batter from the inside walls of the bowl, gathering a massive, delicious glob of it onto the edge of the spatula. He brings it up toward his face, his eyes lighting up as he prepares to lick it clean.
"Ah-ah-ah," you say quickly, swatting his wrist away. "No way. I did all the measuring for that batter. That's mine."
You grab the end of the spatula handle. Jungkook blinks, then a surprised, but competitive spark instantly ignites his doe eyes. He tightens his grip, tugging it back towards himself. "I did the pouring! And the scraping! Royal decree dictates that the scraper gets the reward."
"There is no such royal decree," you laugh, pulling the spatula towards your side. "You're abusing your power, Your Highness!"
"I am a prince, I can make up whatever laws I want to," he gasps dramatically, pulling back.
You step closer, using your leverage to yank on the handle. For a second, you are pulled completely into his space, your hands tangled together on the thin piece of wood, faces inches apart. You can see the faint amber flecks in his eyes and the absolute amusement radiating from him.
Jungkook looks down at your determined face, his gaze dropping to your lips before a wicked, triumphant grin splits across his face.
Suddenly, he completely lets go of the spatula.
Because you were pulling so hard, you stumbled backwards a step, clutching the spatula victoriously to your chest. "Ha! I win!"
"Do you?" Jungkook asks, his voice dripping with amusement.
Before you can answer, he reaches down and grabs the massive, heavy ceramic mixing bowl that still has a generous coating of thick batter stuck to the bottom and sides. He lifts it, completely sticking his face inside the wide rim, using his finger to swipe a massive glob of batter and popping it into his mouth.
"Fine, keep the tiny spatula," he mutters happily from inside the bowl, his voice echoing. "I have the motherlode."
"Jungkook!" You burst out laughing, completely scandalised. "You are a literal child! Get your face out of my bowl!"
He pulls his head out, a tiny dollop of yellow batter sitting right on the tip of his nose. He looks incredibly ridiculous and remarkably cute all at once. He steps closer to you, his eyes locking onto yours with an unbearable amount of playful intensity.
"You have something right..." you start, pointing at your own nose.
"Where? Here?" he asks, deliberately wiping his cheek instead, smearing it further.
"No, you idiot, let me-"
You step in, reaching up with your thumb to gently wipe the batter off the tip of his nose. The moment your skin touches his, Jungkook freezes. The childish playfulness drops away in an instant, replaced by a sudden, heavy stillness. His gaze drops, heavy and unblinking, tracking the movement of your fingers, then the curve of your jaw, and finally resting on your eyes.
The kitchen goes entirely silent. The only sound is the low, rhythmic crackle of the hearth fire. His breath is warm against your skin. You feel your own breath hitch, your thumb lingering against his nose for a second too long.
A slow, devastatingly tender smile stretches across his lips. He reaches up, his large hand gently wrapping around your wrist, his thumb rubbing a slow, comforting circle into your pulse point.
"You know, you're very bossy for a regular citizen," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a raspy, late-night register that makes your heart beat erratically against your ribs.
"And you're very compliant for a future king," you whisper back, trying to maintain your defences, though the proximity is making it impossible to think straight.
"Only for you," he says softly, his thumb continuing to trace your wrist. "I don't let anyone else order me around like this. I think I like it."
You clear your throat, gently pulling your wrist from his grip to hide the bright blush creeping up your neck. You turn away to hide your burning cheeks, reaching for a small plate hidden under a glass dome on the back shelf. "Shut up and try this. I've been working on it all afternoon. Consider it payment for your... impeccable assistant work."
On the plate sits a pastry you’ve been experimenting with: dozens of microscopically thin, crispy layers of golden dough, stacked high with rich, velvety custard and fresh cream sandwiched between them, dusted lightly with powdered sugar.
"What is it?" he asks, leaning over your shoulder, his chest practically pressed against your back again, completely erasing the distance you just tried to create.
"Just shut up and try it," you say, handing him a small fork.
He takes a bite. The audible, delicate crunch of the layers echoes in the quiet room, followed by the smoothness of the cream. Jungkook freezes completely. His eyes widen to twice their size. Without saying a word, he devours the rest of the pastry in two massive bites, nearly groaning out loud.
"Marry me," he says flatly. "I'm serious. Name the day. We can live right here in this kitchen. I will waive the royal dowry, I will fight the council, I don't care. I will do nothing but eat this and look at you for the rest of my days."
You laugh loudly, shoving his shoulder hard to create some space. "So dramatic." You reply back.
"So in love."
"So in need of therapy." You mutter back, turning to grab a handful of loose flour to dust the wooden surface, the fine white powder settling like mist.
The frantic energy of the kitchen slows down, settling into a comfortable, quiet rhythm that has secretly become your favourite part of the day. Jungkook works right beside you, his initial royal clumsiness giving way to a quiet focus as he tries to correct his piping technique, finishing the cupcakes, his tongue poking out slightly between his teeth in pure concentration.
Then, the kitchen goes entirely silent. The only sound left is the low, rhythmic crackle of the hearth fire and the heavy, rhythmic thud of your palms against the dough.
You feel a sudden weight on you, a gaze so intense it feels tangible against your skin. You glance up, a stray lock of hair falling into your eyes, and catch him.
Jungkook isn't looking at the cupcakes anymore. He is leaning his chin in his hand, his elbow propped on the wooden counter, his eyes fixed entirely on you. His gaze is heavy, unblinking, tracking the curve of your jaw, the sweat dampening the nape of your neck, the fierce determination on your brow. There is no trace of the boyish prankster in his expression right now; his eyes are dark, deep, and filled with an intense, quiet gravity that makes your breath hitch completely.
"What?" you ask, your voice dropping to a breathless whisper. You try to sound annoyed, but the slight tremor in your voice betrays you. "Is there flour on my face again?"
Jungkook doesn't blink. A smile stretches across his lips, his voice drops again, sending a shiver straight down your spine. "Nope. Just looking at something beautiful."
You feel the heat rush from your chest all the way to your hairline. You look down at your rough, flour-dusted hands, and a sudden, heavy wave of insecurity twists in your stomach. It’s a reminder that always haunts the back of your mind. He is the Crown Prince. You know his face, you know his title, and you know the vast, impossible chasm that lies between your worlds.
"You are a terrifyingly smooth talker, Your Highness," you say, your voice turning a little hollow as you force yourself to look back up at him. "I suppose this is the exact same poetry you feed to the high-born noble ladies at the palace court."
Jungkook’s smile falters slightly, his doe eyes tracking the subtle drop in your shoulders, his sharp instincts picking up on the sudden shift in your mood. "Noble ladies? Trust me, they don't care about poetry. Just titles and crown jewels."
"I'm serious, Jungkook," you say, huffing a breath but still kneading the dough on the counter. "Why do you even come here? You have an entire court of perfect, beautiful women at your feet. You should be spending your time there with them, not in a drab bakery."
You pause. The next words come out in a whisper you hope he doesn't hear. "You could be with women who actually know how to dance, with titles, who wear silk and velvet instead of aprons caked in dried dough. They don't smell like yeast and sweat."
But he does, and the playful demeanour completely evaporates from Jungkook's face. The silence returns, heavier this time, but thick with an undeniable warmth.
He stands up straight, stepping around the workstation table to face you. He moves with a quiet, deliberate grace. You keep your eyes down, focusing on the dough. Press. Then push. Then fold. Then turn. And repeat. Don't look up.
But he doesn't let you hide. He reaches out, his large, warm hands gently taking your wrists, halting your movements. His palms are warm and incredibly grounding.
"Look at me," he commands softly. You don't.
"Hey…" He trails off, voice unbelievably gentle, "Please?"
How can you say no to him?
When you finally look up into his eyes, you find them swimming with a fierce, profound sincerity.
"None of them." He pauses, "Are you." His voice is a low, intense whisper that rings clearly in the quiet kitchen. He squeezes your hands, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles. "The court ladies are hollow, Y/N. They smile because they were trained to; they speak from rehearsed scripts; and they look at me like I'm a crown to be won, a stepping stone for their families. But you? This?"
He leans closer, head tilting down so your eyes are entirely locked. He wants you to feel how much he means every word.
"I'd rather be no place else. You're real. You're fierce, you're brilliant, and you look at me like I'm just a man. I don't want silk, and I don't care about their perfect poise. I want this. I want the smell of yeast and sugar, and I want to spend my evenings with the pretty little baker who threatens to throw rolling pins at my royal head."
Your heart hammers violently against your ribs, your lungs locking up under the sheer weight of his words. His eyes drop to your lips for a long, agonising second, and you think you might actually combust from the heat spreading through your veins.
Sensing the overwhelming tension and desperate to save your blushing face from melting, a familiar, wicked spark suddenly reignites in Jungkook’s eyes. He lets go of one of your hands and steps to the side.
Before you can even process the emotional whiplash, he blows a sharp puff of air across the workstation. A massive cloud of white flour erupts directly onto your face. You gasp, coughing, your eyelashes completely coated in white powder. Through the white haze, you see him throwing his head back, laughing loudly, looking immensely proud of his childish distraction.
"Oh, it is so on," you hiss.
You scoop up a massive, double handful of flour and throw it straight at his chest. It hits him with a satisfying, heavy thwack, turning his dark tunic completely white from collar to waist. Jungkook’s jaw drops in utter shock, his laughter cutting off. He retaliates by pinching more flour before sprinkling it over your head, coating your hair in white. You squirm, laughing as you grab another handful and go to move around the bench, but your shoes slip on the pile of flour that has accumulated on the floor, and you are sent plummeting to the ground. Jungkook is faster, though, of course, and he manages to hold onto you, one hand on your arm and the other firm against your waist as he manages to pull you back up.
"Falling for me already?" His lips upturn in a playful smirk.
You scoff, already pushing away from him, "You wish, rich boy."
You both laugh. And the next few hours continue like that. You love the back-and-forth; it calms you after a long day and prepares you for the next. You truly relish these moments, that is, until you gaze up and notice the sky outside, the dark midnight lighting slightly.
"You should get going, Jungkook, dawn's coming, and I should rest before prepping for the morning." You explain.
He whines, pouting his bottom lip in a way that makes him look like an oversized puppy, but he relents. He walks to the back door, pausing to look back at you, the playful smirk returning to his face as he pulls his hood back up over his dark hair. "See you tomorrow, my beautiful baker. Try not to miss your prince too much."
"Oh, that won't be difficult at all, Jungkook," you say, and he holds his chest, mocking a dagger struck through his heart, but you’re smiling wide as the door clicks shut, the quiet warmth of his presence lingering long after he’s gone.
The next morning brings a particularly bitter cold. The sun has barely crested the horizon when you set up the outdoor display rack, lining it with fresh, golden loaves of bread and warm rolls.
You return inside to tend to the ovens, glancing out the large front glass window. The village market is starting to wake up. The other store owners are sweeping outside their doors and beating the rugs. The stall owners are setting up their carts with small chatter amongst them, no doubt some high-class gossip they read in the papers this morning.
Through the glass, you also notice three small, shivering figures creeping toward your outdoor display. It’s the children who sleep under the alleyway awnings near the secondary square. They look emaciated, their ribs practically visible through their tattered rags, and your heart cracks slightly at the sight.
One of them, a little boy no older than six, reaches up and snatches a small loaf of bread. But before you can even open the door to tell them they can have it, even come inside for more, a harsh, booming voice echoes through the square.
"Thieves! Drop it!"
Two royal guards, clad in gleaming, heavy iron armour, march out from the shadows. They look bored, angry, and eager for a distraction. The children shriek, dropping the bread into the dirt as they try to scatter, but one guard lunges, grabbing the little boy by his scruff, lifting him completely off the ground. The child wails in terror.
The second guard unclips a heavy, thick leather lash from his belt, a sadistic grin spreading across his face. "A lesson needs to be taught. Stealing from the village market carries a heavy price, brat."
Your blood runs cold. You don't think. You throw the bakery door open, sprinting out into the freezing air.
"Stop! Stop, please!" you shout, throwing yourself into the scene.
The guard with the whip pauses, lowering his weapon slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Move aside, girl. These street rats are breaking the law. They require consequence."
"It's my bread!" you say breathlessly, your heart hammering against your ribs. "It’s my shop! I don't mind. I was giving it to them. They didn't steal anything, I swear."
The guard holding the boy sneers, dropping the child to the dirt, where he scurries behind your skirts, clinging on to them for dear life. "Do not lie to the Crown's authority, baker. We saw them take it. If you harbour thieves, you share their guilt. Now step away before we make an example out of you, too."
These guards are notorious. They are brutes, drunk on the microscopic amount of power the crown grants them over the poor villagers. You look down at the crying child holding onto you, burying his face in your skirts, and a stubborn wave of protectiveness washes over you.
"They are starving children," you say, your voice trembling but resolute. "If you must strike someone to satisfy your pathetic need for power... strike me. Leave them alone."
The guard with the whip cuts a dark, ugly glare toward you. "You want to take the punishment for a bunch of gutter rats? Fine by me. The law demands blood for theft. Now kneel."
You look around the square. A few villagers have stopped to watch, but they immediately look away, hurrying along, terrified of getting involved.
No one is going to help you. You don't expect them to.
You swallow hard, your knees hitting the cold, unforgiving cobblestones. You pull your hair to the side, exposing the back of your thin cotton chemise. You brace yourself, gripping your knees tightly.
Crack.
The first strike tears through the air and slices directly across your upper back.
A choked, agonising shriek tears from your throat. It feels like a line of liquid fire has been seared into your flesh. The sheer force of the blow knocks you forward, your palms slamming into the dirt. Tears sting your eyes instantly, blurring your vision.
"That's for the first brat," the guard grunts.
Crack.
The second strike hits, the leather biting into the exact same raw skin. You gasp, your lungs seizing.
"That's for the second."
Crack.
The third blow tears your chemise open at the side, the fabric ripping away as the leather draws blood. You press your forehead against the freezing ground, sobbing silently as you pray for it to end.
"And that's for the third," the guard sneers. He pauses, looking down at your trembling, broken form, but his eyes only gleam with a deeper cruelty. "But you opened your mouth to the Crown's authority, didn't you, girl? You think you can talk back to us?"
Crack.
The fourth strike is harder, delivered with the full weight of his arm. A ragged scream escapes your lips, your vision flashing white. The pain is blinding, radiating across your entire torso.
"And this one..." The guard chuckles, raising the whip one last time just to satisfy his own twisted amusement. "...just because I feel like it." He says low, only for your ears to hear.
Crack.
The fifth strike shatters whatever strength you have left. You collapse entirely onto the cold cobblestones, your chest heaving as deep, agonising tremors wrack your body.
They leave you there, laughing as they walk away. Slowly, agonisingly, you push yourself up. Your vision swims. You stagger back into the bakery, your hands shaking so violently you can barely turn the lock. You flip the sign on the door to CLOSED, then wince as you draw the thick curtains shut.
You stumble up the narrow wooden stairs to your small apartment on the second floor. In the tiny bathroom, you try to peer into the cracked mirror, but you can’t see the damage properly. Reaching behind yourself with a wet cloth, you touch the wounds, and a fresh wave of sobbing breaks out. It hurts too much. You can't reach it properly to clean it. Blindly, you wrap a clean strip of linen around your torso, pinning it clumsily, though you know it's too loose.
Exhausted, broken, and throbbing with a relentless, burning agony, you crawl onto your bed, burying your face in the pillow, letting the tears ruin the sheets.
Hours pass. Eventually, the sheer restlessness of the pain forces you out of bed. You can’t lie down comfortably, and you can’t sit up straight. You're exhausted. But you drag yourself back downstairs into the darkened kitchen. You decide not to open the shop today, you can't bear the thought of standing at the counter, but you need a distraction. You begin mindlessly wiping down the clean surfaces, moving like a ghost in your own home.
Jungkook is practically skipping through the crowded, muddy alleyways of the lower village, keeping the heavy fabric of his dark wool cloak pulled tightly around his face. Thankfully, his royal duties ended earlier today, allowing him more time with you. He did have to dodge three separate royal attendants, lie straight to his personal guard, and scale a crumbling section of the northern citadel wall just to sneak out today, but he didn't care. He would gladly scale the highest mountain in the land if it meant reaching your doorstep a second earlier than usual.
The only thing occupying his mind for the last twelve long, agonising hours has been you.
He is down bad. Mortifyingly, hopelessly, helplessly down bad.
Every time he closes his eyes during council meetings or listens to his father drone on about trade routes, he doesn't see crowns or maps. He sees the way your eyes crinkle into perfect, breathtaking crescents when you laugh at his ridiculous antics. He sees the faint, light dust of white flour that always seems to settle on the bridge of your nose. He wants to taste that layered cream pastry again, sure, but more than that, he just wants to hear the melodic cadence of your voice.
He wants to tease you until your stubborn pride flares up, just so he can witness that fierce, fiery spark in your eyes that makes him feel more alive than any royal decree ever could. He is a prince of the realm, surrounded by high-born court ladies who fawn over his status and offer plastic, practised smiles, but none of them holds a candle to the sharp-tongued, beautiful baker who looks right past his title and treats him like a normal man.
As he navigates the bustling market crowds, his inner monologue takes a heavier, more ache-filled turn. He is growing so tired of the midnight boundaries. He is tired of being the mysterious visitor who has to vanish before the sun crests the horizon. He wants more. He wants to be the one who wakes up next to you, watching the morning light catch your face. He wants to hold your hand in broad daylight, right in the middle of the crowded square, and dare anyone to say a word about it. He wants you to be his, entirely and completely, but he knows how fiercely independent you are, how hard you work for your little shop, and how you probably don't feel the same. So for now, he hoards these secret hours like a dragon guarding gold. And even if he has to keep this boundary with you for the rest of his life, be nothing more, he'll take that sacrifice if it means he gets to be in your presence, in your life, in whatever way you'll have him.
He turns the final corner into the main square, a boyish grin already splitting across his face, his heart does an eager little flip against his ribs. But the moment his eyes land on the bakery, his steps instantly slow to a halt.
The outdoor display racks are completely empty. The heavy linen curtains are drawn tightly across the front windows, blocking out the daylight. The wooden sign dangling from the brass chain reads CLOSED.
Jungkook frowns, a sharp, cold knot of unease tightening in the pit of his stomach. It’s mid-afternoon. The sun is at its peak. You never close the shop at this hour. Even when you were burning up with a fever last winter, you stubbornly dragged yourself down to the counter to sell bread, refusing to lose a single coin.
He hurries up to the heavy front door, his hand trembling slightly as he knocks loudly against the wood. "Y/N? Love? Are you in there? It's me."
Silence. The square carries on around him, completely indifferent to the sudden spike of adrenaline flooding his veins.
Panicking now, his breath catching in his throat, he rushes down the narrow, shadowed side alley toward the back entrance. He grabs the brass handle and turns it, fully expecting it to be locked, but to his surprise, it clicks open. He's going to have a few words with you about that. He slips inside instantly, shutting the heavy door quietly behind him to keep his presence hidden.
The kitchen is cast in deep shadows, completely devoid of the usual roaring hearth fire and bustling energy. The only light comes from a single, lonely candle burning on the centre island.
Then, he spots you.
You are standing by the deep stone sink, your back completely turned to him. Your shoulders are hunched forward, your movements incredibly slow as you mindlessly wipe a copper pot with a rag.
"Hey," he says softly, exhaling a long, ragged breath of relief as he drops his hood. "You scared the absolute hell out of me. Why are the front doors locked? Did you actually sleep in for once?"
You flinch violently at the sound of his voice, your entire body spasming as you drop the rag into the water with a dull splash. You don't turn around to face him. You remain entirely still, staring down into the basin. "Jungkook. What are you doing here? You shouldn't have come. The shop is closed today."
Your voice sounds completely wrong. It is hollow, strained, and entirely stripped of the vibrant, feisty warmth that usually greets him.
Jungkook's playful smile vanishes in an instant, his large doe eyes narrowing with deep, immediate concern. He takes a slow step closer, his boots clicking quietly against the floorboards. "Yeah, I noticed. Are you okay? You sound tired." He tries to inject a tiny bit of his usual playfulness into his tone, trying to coax a smile out of you as he steps up directly behind your frame. "Did you miss me so much this morning that you couldn't even focus on baking today?"
"Not now, Jungkook," you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. Your shoulders hunch even further forward, your head bowing.
You slowly reach up with both hands, attempting to place a copper pot on the drying shelf slightly above your head. The exact moment your arms extend upward, your breath catches violently in your throat. A sharp, ragged, agonising wince escapes your lips, and your entire body shudders as you quickly drop your arms back down, your hands flying to clutch tightly at your own side to brace yourself.
Jungkook's protective instincts flare to a blinding degree. The sight of you in discomfort hits him like a physical blow to the chest. He reaches his hand out, his palm hovering just a millimetre above your trembling shoulder, desperate to touch you but terrified of hurting you. "What's wrong? Y/N, what happened?"
"Nothing," you say quickly, your tone sharp, laced with a desperate, stubborn defensiveness.
You finally force yourself to turn around and face him, but you immediately take two deliberate steps backwards, keeping a wide distance between your bodies. You force a terrible, completely strained smile onto your pale lips, though your lower lip is trembling. "I just... I was moving the heavy wooden grain table earlier, and I bumped into the corner. Hit my side pretty hard. It's just a nasty bruise, Jungkook. I'm fine. Really."
Jungkook doesn't buy it for a single second.
He steps right back into your space, his gaze sweeping over you like a hawk, analysing every single detail of your appearance. His heart aches at the sight of you. You look terribly pale, the healthy flush entirely gone from your skin. Your eyes are heavily red-rimmed and puffy, surrounded by dark circles, making it glaringly obvious that you’ve been crying for hours. And your posture is completely wrong: you are leaning slightly forward, your spine stiff as a board, breathing in tiny, shallow, calculated gasps as if expanding your lungs fully is a luxury you can't afford right now.
Seeing you in this state genuinely, physically hurts him. It feels like a cold blade is turning in his own chest; his stomach drops, and a suffocating wave of anxiety threatens to choke him. He hates seeing you vulnerable, hates the fact that something has stolen your bright energy.
He tries to keep his composure, forcing his voice to remain calm so he doesn't spook you, until you turn slightly to the side, attempting to step away from his intense scrutiny to grab a towel.
That's when he sees it.
Through the torn fabric of your shirt, along the side of your figure, he sees the clumsy linen bandage you had tried to wrap around your own torso, which has slipped completely out of place. A small, dark red stain of fresh, wet blood is seeping heavily through the white cloth, stark and horrifying against your skin.
Jungkook’s breath hitches violently in his throat. His blood runs cold.
"Y/N," he says, his voice dropping into a dangerously low, gravelly register, entirely stripped of all playfulness. "Why is there blood on your back?"
You freeze in your tracks, your hands tightening against the fabric of your apron until your knuckles turn white. You try to let out a casual laugh, but it comes out as a pathetic, broken sob that tears right through his chest. "Blood? Oh, don't be ridiculous. It's probably just cherry jam from the tarts. I am a baker, after all, I'm always covered in-"
"Don't lie to me," he commands. The tone is quiet, but it carries the heavy, unyielding authority of a prince who will not be denied.
Before you can utter another word of deflection, he steps directly into your personal space, erasing the distance between you. His large, warm hand moves around to your back, his fingers hovering just a fraction of a millimetre above the blood-soaked bandage. He barely, infinitesimally brushes the very edge of the cloth to see what lies beneath.
The slight, feather-light pressure is a catalyst for pure agony.
A choked, absolutely agonising groan tears from your throat. Your eyes roll back for a fraction of a second as a white-hot wave of pain flares anew across your nerve endings. Your knees completely buckle beneath you, your strength vanishing instantly as your legs give out entirely.
"Whoa- hey, look at me, I've got you, I've got you!" Jungkook panics, his heart leaping straight into his throat.
His arms shoot out in a blind reflex, catching you securely before your body can slam into the hard floorboards. He pulls you tightly against his chest, cradling you against his solid frame, his large doe eyes widening to twice their size with pure, unadulterated terror. He is hyper-aware of how fragile, how small you feel in his arms right now, your entire body trembling violently against him.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I've got you," he frantically whispers, his voice shaking as he holds you up. "Talk to me, please. You have to tell me what happened. You're bleeding."
You clutch desperately at the fabric of his faded tunic, your fingernails burying into the cloth as if it's the only anchor keeping you tethered to reality. The blinding pain, the hours of lonely exhaustion, and the sudden, overwhelming comfort of his warm, safe presence break the stubborn dam holding your emotions back.
You snap completely. You bury your face into the solid crook of his neck and break down, sobbing hysterically. Deep, painful, racking wails tear from your chest, echoing loudly in the empty kitchen.
"It hurts," you cry out, your voice breaking entirely into a raw shriek. "Kook, it hurts so bad, please... I can't bear it..."
Hearing you cry like this, hearing the absolute agony in your voice, completely breaks something fundamental inside Jungkook. A wave of sheer fury crashes over his soul. He sees bright, blinding red. He is the Prince of this kingdom, and someone in his village, under his family's rule, had dared to lay their hands on you. Someone had inflicted this kind of barbaric, sickening pain on the sweetest, most selfless person he knew.
He locks that rage away into a dark corner of his mind, storing it for later, because right now, your tears are the only thing that matters.
"Let me see it," he murmurs, his voice shifting into a soothing, incredibly soft contrast to the storm raging in his chest. "Let me help you, sweetheart."
"No, it's fine, just leave it, please go away," you sob, your stubbornness flaring up one last time through the tears. You weakly try to push his chest away, hiding your face from him. "You shouldn't be here. You're a prince, Jungkook. You shouldn't be seeing me like this... it's messy, it's fine..."
"Y/N," he says, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument, though it is dripping with an unbearable amount of love and panic. He gently but firmly cups your face with both hands, forcing you to look up at him. His own eyes are shiny with unshed tears, wide and desperate as he uses his thumb to wipe a stray tear from your wet cheek. "Look at me. Look into my eyes. I am not going to hurt you. I don't care about being a prince right now. I care about you. Let me see it. Please, don't do this to me. Don't push me away when I know you're hurt."
You look into his frantic, pleading eyes, seeing the genuine agony in his own expression caused purely by your pain, and your stubborn defences finally melt away. You nod weakly, letting your head fall against his chest.
"Let's go upstairs," he whispers against your hair.
He slides one arm securely under your knees and the other firmly behind your shoulders, lifting your body effortlessly into his arms. He carries you up the narrow, creaking wooden stairs as if you weigh absolutely nothing, his movements smooth and careful, ensuring your back never brushes against a single wall or doorframe.
He carries you into your small bedroom, gently setting you down on the very edge of your bed.
The bedroom upstairs is quiet, shadowed by the late afternoon light filtering through the linen curtains. You sit on the very edge of the mattress, your knees pulled slightly toward your chest, your fingers twisting and burying into the worn bedsheets. Every shallow breath you take feels like glass slicing through your skin. Behind you, the quiet rustle of fabric and the soft clink of a ceramic basin tell you that Jungkook is preparing to face whatever horror is hidden beneath your clothes.
"I'm going to pull the fabric down. Is that okay?" Jungkook’s voice is a low, trembling whisper. The playful, cocky boy from last night is completely gone, replaced by a man carrying a heavy gravity.
You nod miserably, dropping your head down.
You feel his large hands settle on the collar of your dress. His touch is so light it’s almost non-existent, his fingers shake slightly as he carefully guides the torn, ruined cotton down your arms. He doesn't pull; he coaxes the fabric away, millimetre by millimetre, ensuring the rough material doesn't catch on the open wounds. As the cloth falls away, exposing your bare back to the cool air of the room, you hear him let out a sharp, ragged intake of breath.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Five jagged, angry lines of destroyed flesh cross your skin. They are swollen, with a deep, bruising purple at the edges, and fresh blood has oozed out where your movement has reopened them. The clumsy linen wrap you had tried to apply is tangled and soaked through with red.
"Who did this to you?" he asks.
The question is delivered in a voice so quiet, so entirely devoid of warmth, that it makes you freeze. If you were to turn around, you would see the menacing glare of a monarch in his eyes. His jaw is clenched so hard the muscles flare against his skin, his knuckles white as he grips a clean cloth.
"The patrol guards," you whisper into the empty room, a fresh tear tracking through the flour dust on your cheek. "In the square this morning. Some of the alley kids... they took a loaf of bread from the display. The guards… they caught them. They pulled out the lash for them. They're just babies, Jungkook. They were hungry. They wouldn't have survived it. I couldn't just watch."
You take a trembling breath, crying out slightly as the movement pulls at your skin. "I told the guards I'd take it instead. Three for each child... one for talking back... and a fifth... because he felt like it."
A suffocating silence fills the room. For a long, agonising moment, he doesn't say a single word. You brace yourself, expecting him to call you foolish, to tell you that a simple villager should never interfere with the Crown's enforcers. Instead, you feel the soft, slow dip of the mattress as he sits down directly behind you, closing the distance between your bodies.
"You are far too good for this world," he murmurs, his voice thick and strained with an emotion so intense it sounds like it’s tearing his throat apart.
Then, you feel the cool, wet cloth touch the very edge of the highest welt.
You flinch violently, a sharp, broken gasp escaping your lips as your hands lock onto the bedsheets. But before you can pull away, Jungkook’s free hand comes around to rest gently on your uninjured hip, holding you steady with an iron-firm but incredibly soft pressure. He rubs gently at the bare skin on your hip.
"Shh, I know, love, I'm sorry. I've got you. I'm being as gentle as I can. Just breathe through it. Focus on my hand," he murmurs, his lips so close to your bare shoulder that his warm breath fans across your skin, offering a fleeting contrast to the stinging cold of the water.
His movements are agonisingly slow but deliberate, focused. He cleans away the dried blood, his fingertips occasionally brushing against your uninjured skin. The sheer intimacy of the act makes your heart hammer in a completely different way. He treats your body like it is made of the rarest, most fragile porcelain, his touch lingering over the curves of your shoulders as if he wishes he could absorb the pain into his own skin.
He reaches into the wooden cabinet on your wall and pulls out a jar of thick, green herbal salve. He rubs a generous amount between his palms, warming it up before he speaks. "This is going to sting at first, Y/N. But it will help the fire go out. Let me know if it's too much."
When his fingers make contact with the raw wounds, a whimper tears from your throat, and without thinking, you lean to the side, your head resting against his solid shoulder. Jungkook doesn't move. He accepts your weight fully, his chest pressing lightly against your side as he leans to the side to get a better angle. His fingertips are unbelievably soft as they smooth the thick ointment over the angry welts, working with a reverent, quiet rhythm.
Every time your body shudders with a sob, he pauses completely. He leans forward, pressing his lips in a soft, comforting breath against the uninjured skin of your neck, whispering broken apologies into your skin until the tremors slow down. It feels intensely, overwhelmingly private, a sanctuary built out of raw pain and an undercurrent of heavy, undeniable devotion.
Finally, he takes a fresh roll of clean white linen bandage. To wrap it around your torso, he has to slide both of his arms completely around your waist. He leans in close, his chest flushing against your uninjured skin, effectively enveloping you in a tight embrace. You can feel the heavy beat of his heart against your shoulder blade as he pulls the cloth snug, securing it with small pins.
"There," he whispers against your ear, his hands lingering on your waist, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your sides before he reluctantly pulls away. "All clean. The fire should start to fade now."
You slowly turn your head, looking at him over your shoulder. His doe eyes are dark, swimming with a profound, aching yearning that terrifies you in their intensity. He looks at you not like a friend, and not like a vagabond, but like a man who has just watched his entire world bleed.
"Lie down," he commands softly, his voice thick, pulling the heavy wool blankets back. "Don't sleep on your back, lie on your stomach. I'm going to go brew some tea for you, okay? Don't move an inch."
You are too exhausted, too thoroughly drained of strength to argue. You crawl into the centre of the bed, resting your cheek against the pillow, and he pulls the blanket over you before leaving.
Within minutes, Jungkook returns, holding a steaming ceramic mug. He sits on the edge of the mattress, his large hand gently lifting your chin to help you take a few sips of the warm, sweet liquid.
The warmth of the tea and the cooling effect of the salve make your eyelids incredibly heavy. Jungkook sets the mug on the nightstand and reaches out, his thumb gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, his touch agonisingly tender.
"Thank you, Jungkook," you slurry, your eyes fluttering shut as darkness tugs at the edges of your mind. "For staying."
He leans down, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your forehead. He lingers there before pulling away and resting a hand over yours on the pillow beside you. "I will always stay," he whispers against your skin, his voice sounding far away. "Sleep now, my beautiful baker."
He stays with you, one hand stroking the back of your head, fingers toying with the strands of your hair, and occasionally massaging your scalp, his other hand firm on top of your own until you drift off. The moment your breathing evens out into a deep, heavy slumber, the lingering softness completely evaporates from Jungkook’s face.
He stands up from the edge of the mattress, his frame expanding to its full, imposing height as his expression hardens into pure, unadulterated ice. The boyish warmth that usually fills his dark eyes is gone, replaced by a vacant stillness. He looks down at you one last time, your pale face resting against the pillow, and leans over to press another gentle, feather-light kiss to your temple.
He quietly moves around the room, his boots making absolutely no sound against the wooden floorboards. He sets a fresh glass of water on your nightstand, along with a small plate of dried fruits and crackers he salvaged from your pantry. Beside it, he leaves a small piece of parchment, scrawling a quick note in his elegant, fluent script.
He writes in his usual playful tone, desperate to lighten your mood when you wake up, even if his own chest feels like it is caving in from pure malice:
Eat all of this. If I come back tonight and find out you haven't eaten, I'm going to steal every single pastry in the kitchen as punishment. Rest up, my pretty girl. I'll be back to cause more trouble soon~
He slips out of the bedroom, guides himself down the narrow stairs, and exits the bakery, locking the back door securely behind him.
The walk back to the palace is a blur of blinding, volcanic rage. He doesn't care about staying hidden anymore; he doesn't slip through the shadows or wait for patrols to pass. He cuts through the upper village like a wraith, his eyes fixed on the towering stone citadel ahead. People stare as he passes them, a path being made before him as people flock to the side, no doubt whispering about the stern look on his face.
He storms through the heavy iron servant entrances, slamming doors on their hinges, tearing off the faded linen tunic and throwing it to the stone floor like trash. Attendants and low-ranking guards rush to him, bowing in absolute terror at the sheer aura of lethal fury radiating from the young prince. They have never seen him like this.
"Get me my royal uniform," Jungkook barks, his voice ringing through the high stone corridors like a crack of thunder. "Now."
Minutes later, he is clad in the official armour of the high crest: a dark, structured jacket lined with heavy gold trim, epaulettes resting on his broad shoulders, heavy leather combat boots, and the royal insignia pinned sharply over his chest. He looks every bit the future ruler he was born to be.
He strides down the western corridor toward the main guard barracks. The heavy oak doors, reinforced with iron bands, don't just open; they slam against the stone walls with a violent, echoing crash as he kicks them through.
Dozens of off-duty guards and captains instantly freeze, dropping their dice and flagons of ale, snapping to absolute attention. The room goes dead silent.
"Who patrolled the main market square in the lower village this morning?" Jungkook demands. His voice isn't loud, but it is dangerously low, vibrating with a lethal, quiet edge that makes the hair on the back of everyone's necks stand up.
Near the back of the room, two guards exchange a nervous, sweating glance. Slowly, their armour clanking in the heavy silence, they step forward and bow deeply.
So these are the brutes who had stood over you on the cobblestones.
"We did, Your Highness," the lead guard stammers, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. "Is there an issue with the sector?"
Jungkook doesn't answer immediately. He walks up to them with a slow, agonisingly measured pace. The air in the barracks becomes completely suffocating, the temperature practically dropping as the prince circles them. He stops directly in front of the guard, who has a heavy leather whip strapped to his belt.
"An issue?" Jungkook echoes, a terrifying, dark smile tilting the left corner of his lips, though his eyes remain dead and vacant. He peers down at the guard, who is half a head shorter than him. He folds his hands behind his back, leaning in slightly. "Tell me about your morning patrol. I want to hear about how efficiently you enforce the King's law."
The lead guard swallows hard, his throat bobbing nervously. "It was... a routine patrol, sir. We apprehended a group of street rats attempting to steal from the market stalls. We administered the standard physical deterrent to ensure compliance with crown regulations."
"A physical deterrent," Jungkook repeats, his tone almost conversational, entirely too calm. "And tell me... did these so-called street rats take the lashes?"
The guard shifts his weight, his iron greaves clanking with the movement. "No, Your Highness. A local villager stepped in. A peasant girl from the bakery. She obstructed our duty and offered to take the penalty in their stead. We accommodated her request to maintain the crown's authority in the square."
"You accommodated her," Jungkook whispers. His jaw clenches so hard the muscles flare violently against his skin. His fingers curl into tight, white-knuckled fists behind his back. "Five lashes. Is that correct?"
The second guard, thinking the prince is merely verifying protocol, chimes in, "Yes, sir. Three for the stolen goods, one for her insolence and talking back to the guard, and... one extra, just to ensure she remembers her place beneath the law."
The mention of the fifth lash, the one delivered purely out of sadistic amusement, shatters the final thread of Jungkook's restraint, leaving behind a monster driven by pure, protective devastation.
Without a single syllable of warning, Jungkook’s right fist shoots forward.
Crack.
His knuckles connect squarely with the lead guard's jaw with an inhuman amount of force. The sheer momentum of the blow rips the heavily armoured man off his feet, sending him flying backwards. His body crashes into a heavy oak table, splintering the thick wood into raw kindling before his armour skids across the stone floor, a spray of dark blood erupting from his shattered mouth.
The second guard gasps in pure shock, his eyes widening in horror as his hand flies to the hilt of his sword in a blind, conditioned reflex.
"Touch that steel," Jungkook roars, stepping into his space instantly, "and I will take your hand off your wrist."
Before the guard can even process the threat, Jungkook's royal combat training takes over. He intercepts the man's arm, his grip clamping down on the wrist like an iron vice. With a brutal, fluid twist of his upper body, he snaps the guard's wrist backwards. The bone pops with a sickening, wet crunch, forcing a loud, piercing shriek of agony from the man's throat.
Jungkook doesn't stop. He drives his knee directly into the guard's stomach, crushing the wind out of his lungs, followed by a heavy kick straight to his chest plate. The metal dents inward with a loud clang, and the guard goes sailing through the air, crashing hard onto the stone floor, coughing up strings of bright blood as he rolls onto his side, clutching his broken arm.
The rest of the barracks stands paralysed. No one moves. No one breathes. To strike a royal guard is treason, but when the attacker is the future King, and a man who can kill with his bare hands, the law belongs entirely to him.
Jungkook turns his gaze back to the first guard, who is desperately scrambling backwards on his hands and knees like a terrified, wounded animal, leaving a trail of blood on the floor.
Jungkook walks over to him, his heavy leather boots thudding rhythmically. He stands over the grovelling man, then reaches down, grabbing the guard by the throat and the collar of his iron breastplate. With a guttural growl of pure, unadulterated rage, Jungkook rips the man completely off the ground, slamming his back against a massive stone pillar.
"Who do you think you are?" Jungkook hoarsely whispers, his face inches from the guard's bleeding, trembling features. He tightens his grip on the man's throat, cutting off his air until the guard's face begins to turn purple. "You wear my family's crest. You carry weapons funded by my treasury. You eat food provided by my citizens. And you use that power to strike an innocent, defenceless woman in the streets?"
"Your Highness- p-please-mercy…" the guard chokes out, tears of genuine, paralysing fright mixing with the dark blood pouring down his chin. "We didn't... we didn't know she was... we didn't know..."
"You didn't know what?" Jungkook roars, slamming him against the stone pillar a second time, cracking the mortar behind his head. "That she has a name? That she feels pain? That her life is worth infinitely more than your pathetic, miserable existences?"
He weakens his grip just enough to let the man gasp for air, only to drive a brutal left hook directly into the guard's ribs. The sound of fracturing bone echoes clearly in the silent room. The guard lets out a strangled sob, his head slumping forward.
Jungkook grabs him by his hair, forcing his head back up so he has to look into his eyes, eyes that are currently completely devoid of mercy, cold and dark as a winter grave.
"Listen to me very carefully," Jungkook whispers, his voice dropping into that lethal, quiet promise that chills everyone in the room to the bone. "If I ever see either of you set foot in the lower village market again... if I ever hear that you so much as look in the direction of that bakery... I will ensure you are stripped of your titles, thrown into the deepest dungeon beneath this palace, and I will personally pick up the leather lash and show you what five strikes feel like when delivered by someone who actually knows how to use it. Do you understand me?"
"Yes... Yes, Your Highness... Forgive us... Forgive us..." the guard weeps, his spirit completely broken, pressed flat against the cold stone.
Jungkook shoves the guard away in utter disgust, letting his limp, groaning body slide down the base of the pillar into a pathetic heap.
The prince stands up straight, slowly adjusting the cuffs of his dark royal jacket, his chest heaving with heavy, deliberate breaths as he reins in his wild adrenaline. The fury still burns hot in his veins, but his composure returns like a heavy curtain falling over a stage. He looks around the barracks at the rest of the silent soldiers who are still locked at attention, none of them daring to even blink.
"Clean this pathetic mess up," Jungkook barks coldly, casting one final, disgusted look at the two broken men on the floor. "And remember exactly whose crest you wear. If any of you forget your duty to protect our people, I will personally remind you."
He turns on his polished leather heel, his golden cape snapping behind him, and storms out of the barracks, his mind already racing out of the palace gates and straight back to your quiet, shadowed bedroom.
The bright, warm rays of the morning sun pierce through your thin linen curtains, casting long, golden bars across your bedroom.
You slowly blink your eyes open, your body instantly tensing as you brace yourself for the white-hot, agonising fire that had consumed your back yesterday. You hold your breath, carefully shifting your weight to test the movement, but to your absolute surprise, the blinding agony has receded into a dull, thoroughly manageable ache. The throbbing is heavy, a reminder of the guards' cruelty, but it no longer cuts your breath short. The cooling herbal salve Jungkook applied worked absolute wonders overnight.
You slowly press your palms into the mattress, pushing yourself up into a sitting position, your eyes immediately darting around the quiet room.
Jungkook.
He is gone. The space beside your bed feels entirely empty, the cool morning air still carrying the faintest, lingering hint of his crisp, rich scent.
A heavy wave of emotion hits you as you sit there in the morning silence, the blankets pooled around your waist. Your mind drifts back to the blurry memories of yesterday. You remember the sheer terror in Jungkook's eyes when your knees had buckled in the kitchen, the way his strong arms had snapped around you before you could even hit the floor. He had held you so tightly against his chest, as if you were something incredibly precious he couldn't bear to see broken.
The memory of his touch makes your skin tingle beneath your bandages. He is the Crown Prince of the realm, a man born to be served, and yet he spent his hours kneeling on your floor, on your bed, cleaning your wounds with trembling hands, and whispering soft, broken apologies against your skin every time you whimpered in pain. The sheer, intoxicating intimacy of him wrapping the linen around your waist, pulling you flush against his solid chest, plays on a loop in your head. It sends a strange, dizzying heat curling deep into your stomach, a mixture of profound gratitude and a budding, terrifyingly deep affection.
You turn your head towards the nightstand. There sits a fresh glass of clear water, a small plate neatly stacked with dried fruits and crackers, and a folded piece of parchment. You reach out, your fingers tracing the crisp edges of the paper before unfolding it. Reading his messy, hurried handwriting, a genuine, breathless laugh bubbles up in your chest.
The ridiculous boyishness of his threat instantly cuts through the lingering shadows of yesterday's trauma. Even when he is trying to be authoritative, he can’t help but be the same teasing menace who steals your cake batter. You smile, dutifully eating every single cracker and dried fruit on the plate, feeling the energy slowly returning to your limbs, before drinking the water down to the very last drop.
Exhaling a long, steady breath, you carefully slide off the bed. You find a loose, lightweight, clean dress in your wardrobe and slip it over your head with meticulous care so the fabric doesn't rub harshly against the fresh dressings. You feel remarkably better; the deep, uninterrupted rest has done wonders for your body and mind.
Marching down the staircase, you are determined to open the bakery today. You refuse to let those guards steal your livelihood or intimidate you out of your own shop, and you certainly can't let your regular village customers down two days in a row.
The kitchen downstairs is dead quiet, smelling faintly of the chamomile tea Jungkook had brewed for you. You walk straight to the front door, unlocking the heavy brass deadbolt, and pull the thick curtains back to let the brilliant morning light flood the room. Bracing yourself, you push the front door open and step onto the threshold to set up the outdoor display.
The moment your boots clear the frame, you freeze completely in your tracks.
Sitting proudly on the wooden bench right beside your shop entrance is an overflowing bouquet. It is massive, easily the size of your entire torso, completely taking over the small wooden bench. But as you take a slow, hesitant step closer, your brow furrows in sheer confusion.
The flowers aren't real.
You lean down, your breath catching completely in your throat as your eyes scan the arrangement. They are meticulously, beautifully handcrafted entirely out of soft, colourful yarn. Dozens upon dozens of intricately crocheted roses, delicate lilies, and bright daisies, amongst others, which are woven together with an unbelievable amount of patience, care, and precision. The bouquet bursts with vibrant, warm shades of pastel pink, sunny yellow, and rich cream, completely immune to the biting morning frost.
Tears instantly spring to your eyes, a sudden, heavy wave of emotion tightening in your chest until it's actually hard to breathe.
You are, unfortunately, severely allergic to real flowers; the pollen makes your eyes swell shut, and your lungs feel heavier within minutes. It is a small, trivial detail you had mentioned to Jungkook months ago, a passing, light-hearted remark made at two in the morning while you both sat on the kitchen floor giggling over a tray of accidentally burnt sugar cookies. You hadn't thought twice about it. You had assumed he forgot it the second the words left your mouth.
Yet here they are. Flowers that will never wither, flowers that can never trigger your allergies, flowers made with a level of dedication that a person can only give when they are entirely, irrevocably devoted to someone. Only a handful of people in the world know that secret about you, and your royal visitor remembered every single syllable.
Tucked precisely into the centre of the soft yarn roses is a small, heavy piece of parchment. You reach out, your fingers trembling violently as you pull the note free from the stitches and unfold it.
I heard real flowers make you sneeze.
These will never wither, and they will never hurt you.
I'll be there tonight. Don't lock the back door.
- J.
p.s. leave out some extra cookies, please <3
You press the heavy paper firmly against your chest, right over your thundering heart, staring out into the bustling village square. A silent tear slips down your cheek, cutting through the light dust of flour on your skin, but a bright, genuine smile graces your lips.
Yesterday, you felt completely alone, broken and humiliated on the cold cobblestones while the world looked away in fear. But today, clutching this note, you feel safer, more cherished, and more protected than you have ever felt in your entire life.
You find yourself glancing up at the morning sun, already tracking its slow path across the sky, a deep, restless yearning settling into your very bones. For the first time in your life, you find yourself utterly despising the daylight, wishing the hours would fly by in a breathless blur. You can't bring yourself to care about the flour, the dough, or the baking today. All your heart can focus on is the ticking of the clock, desperately waiting for midnight to fall so you can hear that muffled chime, the click of the door, and fall back into the familiar step with your prince.
Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.
"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."
"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.
this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.
Someone's silent footsteps are what awakens you. Not coming toward you, but underneath you, your body already swaying softly above them. You turn your head, nose brushing against Jeongguk's throat. God, why does he always smell so good? Can someone smell 'safe' or have you just come to associate safety with him, and therefore also his smell?
"Can I sleep with you?" you mumble tiredly when you realize that he's in the middle of carrying you to your room.
"On the first date?" his low voice teases, and it's so close it makes goosebumps rise on your arms.
"Are you slut shaming me?"
"Yes. That's kinda dirty."
In contrast to his words, he changes course, walking past your bedroom and instead toward his.
Sleep hangs over you like a weighted blanket, and by the time Jeongguk lowers you onto his bed in the dark room, you're almost drifting off again. With only one eye open, and by a sliver at most, you lift your head to see Jeongguk head over to his closet, pulling out a big t-shirt and some shorts which he then turns around to lay on the bed.
Your heart skips a beat and your skin warms because… you have your own sleepwear. They're a few steps away, in a room with so many of your things and clothes, and there's literally no need for you to sleep in his clothes. You know that, and he knows it too.
Without a word, probably figuring you're halfway to the Night Garden already, Jeongguk approaches the door.
"Where are you going?" you mumble.
He pauses, peering back at you softly. "To blow out all the candles."
You nod, your eyes already closing again. But before you can comfortably fall asleep, you realize somewhere that you'd actually prefer to change. Even in your nearly comatose state, you manage to reach for the oversized black shirt and clumsily change into it—intentionally leaving the shorts untouched—and burrow further into the bed before Jeongguk returns. There were a lot of candles after all.
You don't think he realizes that you're still awake when he returns, but since he most likely doesn't care if you watch him undress, you don't feel bad for the way you observe him as he pulls the shirt over his head. Facing the closet, he gives you the perfect view of his broad, naked back. A certain kind of awe and even pride fills your chest. You're always impressed by him, but sometimes, it definitely hits differently.
"How do you even get those muscles?"
"Hm?" Jeongguk turns, his eyebrows raised slightly.
"Those," you nod lazily. "On your back. Like, low, almost on your side. No. Come here."
Still holding his shirt in his hands, he walks over to your side of the bed. You reach an arm out, touching his lower side, a little further back. It's so attractive how wide his back is and how it slowly tapers into his tiny little waist. "These."
"Those are called 'Latissimus Dorsi,'" he informs, clearly amused.
"Oh. The 'lats,'" you nod, recalling the name. You know a few; bicep, tricep, gluteus maximus, hamstring, lats…
"Right," Jeongguk smiles. "And these," he lowers his hand to just underneath. "Are called 'external obliques.'"
Well, you've definitely heard of those too. While you still visit the gym occasionally—or at least you did until a few months ago—you've never taken the rabbit hole down into the deeper knowledge. Or… scratched more than the very surface, really.
"You can train lats by doing any kind of pull-downs," he states, showing how he'd pull a bar or something down in front of him. And while there's no weight, you can see the muscles flex ever so slightly.
"And obliques, you train effectively by twisting. Weights or body weight or whatever. Easy."
You watch him demonstrate by holding some kind of invisible dumbbell in front of him while twisting his upper body. Again, you can't help but glance a little extra at the muscle and how it moves.
You grin lazily. "Oh, so you're a nerd nerd. Got it."
Rolling his eyes endearingly, Jeongguk steps back, grabbing the folded shorts and changing into them, himself. He doesn't mention that he knows you're pantless in his bed.
A second later, he's lifting the duvet to get under it, but if you thought he was just lying down, you were mistaken. Instead, he remains upright as he scoots closer and places one hand on either side of you, carefully leaning over you.
“So I did okay?”
Your heart beats heavily because he's clearly really wondering. Like it's important to him. So, you bring your hands to his sides, running your nails over his skin, and wrapping your arms around him loosely.
He's so warm and so firm, and he smells so, so nice. It's the hint of masculinity and safety again, something so contradicting to you but feeling so right when it comes to him.
There's hope and curiosity and maybe a trace of uncertainty in his dark eyes as he smiles down at you. Even his dimple makes a show-stealing appearance. Your gaze travels over all of him briefly, from the tattoos to the scar on his chest. Everything you can see.
“You did okay," you confirm even though it's the understatement of the century. "Thank you. I don't remember the last time I… I don't remember ever feeling like this."
You've never felt wanted like this. Desired. Like you could be special in any remotely positive way to someone. If ever singled out from a crowd, it's only ever been bad. Or neutral at best. Jeongguk's expression fills of understanding, softening further.
"But don’t… unless you happened to find the roses on the side of the road for close to free, that’s too many flowers.”
He shakes his head, opening his mouth to argue, but you're quicker.
“Yes," you say, nodding determinedly. "Once was okay, but you can’t waste that much money again.”
“It’s not a waste if it makes you feel good.”
“Yeah, it is a waste if you do it more than once. I’ll feel bad instead.”
He pouts, and it makes your already warm chest even warmer. Instinctively, you pull him closer, smiling dumbly to yourself. As if trying to convey your gratitude by more than words, your fingers knead his back, eliciting a surprised yet deep groan from him.
“Can I… is this okay?” you ask, just to make absolutely sure. If you've expected something from him, you want to give him the same kind of consideration in return.
He breathes in deeply, clearly enjoying your hands on his back. “You don’t have to ask. As long as you touch me cause you want to and not because you feel like you should or because I expect you to.”
"Okay," you say quietly, admiring him, high on the content sounds he makes as he closes his eyes. In another setting, they'd turn you on, but at this time, they only make your heart soar. "…You don't have to be scared to touch me either."
"I will not take that responsibility lightly."
And while you can tell by his light tone and closed eyes that he's keeping it… easy, you don't doubt that he's very much serious.
You move your hand to the back of his neck, feeling his black hair between your fingers. "Kiss me?"
The next morning is a lazy one. It starts with you waking up, head resting on Jeongguk's tattooed bicep, his chest moving calmly against your back, and his slow, deep breaths in your hair. His other arm hangs limp from your waist.
You're happy. Content. Not even the fact that your—his—shirt has ridden up, exposing your blue cotton panties, worries you. Sure, Jeongguk is very much asleep but you don't think he'd make a big deal out of it.
Maybe that's what you need the most? Not necessarily positive affirmations because while it's nice to hear him say that you're pretty—and you definitely needed to hear that first—letting him see you however vulnerable sometimes feels easiest when you're not expecting any kind of reaction.
You wonder if he realizes that or if he's just winging it; choosing his actions and reactions as they come. After all, he said he consciously didn't comment on your looks when you first came to live with him so that you wouldn't second-guess his motives.
You stay where you are, your left hand softly tracing the inked designs in front of your face. Jeongguk sleeps for a few more minutes, until you hear him yawn behind you. He happens to move at the same time you adjust, and your lower halves bump into each other.
"Sorry," he mumbles, moving back a little.
"No need to apologize."
You shut your eyes for a moment. Waking up hard is definitely not his fault, and although you appreciate his consideration, knowing exactly how he feels in your hand—big and hard—nearly has you turning around, offering to help.
You do roll over though, but only to look at his sleepy face. Although tired, you've at least had a few more minutes to wake up.
Jeongguk's dark hair is messy, endearingly sticking out in multiple directions, and you raise your hand to gently brush it out of his face.
Sighing deeply, he shuts his eyes again. "I dreamed about you."
"Hm?" you voice, amused.
"Not… It's not why I have a boner," he clarifies after realizing your logical conclusion. "I dreamed that Jihyo had a new mission for us, and I got to have you as my wife again. Well, at first, she insisted that Jimin go with you? As your husband? But I fought tooth and nail and told her how good we look as a couple, and she finally gave in."
"Sounds toxic."
"Mhm. Only for you."
"And she really let you go with me because we looked good as a couple?" You chuckle. "No other qualifications?"
"Yes. Dream logic."
"Right. I mean Jimin's a good looking guy as well."
Jeongguk opens one tired eye, staring at you in silent warning.
"What? He's not my type, but you can't say that he's even remotely ugly."
"No, you're right. He's handsome. But what's your type then?" Jeongguk asks, smirking… curiously?
As if thinking about it, you let your fingers trace his features. His eyebrows, his nose, his cheekbones and jaw. But you know that he sees the admiration you can't keep from your gaze as it moves over his face, and he closes his eyes for another moment, satisfied and happy.
He's so clearly your type, there's no need to say it. But you do anyway, heart beating. "You've always been my type. At least physically."
"But not enough to remember when we first met," he questions lazily.
You think back to those months. They were all very dark for you. "When was it? October? I knew who you were even before you came, but I probably just didn't recognize you. I was under a lot of stress back then."
"No, I know," he says, his voice losing its teasing tone. The hand he's kept hanging off your waist strokes your back.
"The first time I remember seeing you at the station, you were talking to the Chief outside his office. I was sitting at Sana's desk, and she had just gone to the bathroom."
It feels like three lifetimes ago, how you straightened your back to peer over the monitor in front of you to catch a careful glimpse of the new intimidatingly handsome officer.
"You were wearing your uniform, and I think you'd just come back from your first shift after transferring. I'd seen pictures of you, including after you won the Officer Olympics, but I remember thinking that even the pictures didn't do you justice. Then you looked around, and I ducked behind the monitor."
"I didn't see you," he concludes. "Do you… remember the second time we met? Like actually interacted?"
You lick your lips, revisiting another memory. "I think so. Like a week or so later? You were entering the station with Hoseong and Ryung a few steps behind me, and I slammed the door in Ryung's face? And you asked me what my problem was and told me to grow up?"
You smile a small smile. Knowing now that they'd just started slowly and carefully putting their claws into Jeongguk, you don't blame him.
"Yeah. Sorry about that. They'd just told me that you couldn't accept that Hoseong didn't want to date you. It sounded so unrealistic that you would've actually shot him—and they had to convince me for like a week straight not to bring it up to the chief—but when you seemed so angry, doing stuff like that, seemingly unprovoked? And then looking at me as if you were surprised I was daring to speak up, but then giving me the finger? I guess I started buying it."
You remember his face; frustration overflowing when neither Hoseong nor Ryung told you off for your 'unprovoked' attack. A show of innocence for the gallery, of course. And then more frustration when you flipped him off.
You trace his jaw with feather light fingers. "Honestly, it was a bit out of character for me because you and I hadn't really talked yet. But they'd been calling me from unknown prepaid sim cards, just breathing and not saying anything, for like five consecutive nights, and I was just so tired. And you were a man in law enforcement and clearly already friends with them, so why would I even bother giving you the benefit of the doubt?"
Despite knowing everything you'd been subjected to, maybe it feels different to hear your side actually intertwined with his because he pulls you closer, hugging you tightly. He's so warm against you, so strong.
"So while I wish you would've talked to me about it, I don't blame you for that," you continue.
You imagine him pulling you aside, alone. The thing is that you could tell that he wasn't… mocking or taunting you in any way when he called you out for slamming the door, but he was frustrated and agitated, and it didn't make enough of a difference. But if he had asked one or two questions that would've clued you in on the fact that he wasn't aware of the full story, the actual reason you shot Hoseong…
If he either would've asked in a calmer voice why you felt the need to slam that door, or even if he'd just outright questioned why you shot his new-found friend or if it even ask whether it was true that you had…
"I'm sorry," he mumbles into your hair.
"I know. But it turned out alright in the end anyway, right?"
"Did it?"
"I'd say so? I mean… I'm in your bed?" you chuckle.
"Imagine we got to go undercover now though? Or if we'd been… civil while we were? Maybe that was the reason for the boner. The dream."
You burst out laughing, leaning back to look at his face. "Because you got to play house again?"
Jeongguk grins happily. "Yes. I can't believe how out of my mind I was, not realizing the opportunity I had."
"Opportunity to do what, exactly?" you quirk an eyebrow.
"To make things right? Say we were shipped out now instead of then and told to pretend to be married? Would you not have an at least alright time?"
You choose not to misunderstand his words. "I would. Being undercover is always a bit nerve-racking, though."
"Yeah, but pretending to be married to me?"
"Not having to be scared you'd kill me?"
"Yes," he says, pulling you just a little closer again as if he can't help it.
"I would have a better time, yes. A good time, even. Do you think they'd believe us, though?"
"They already did?"
"Hoseok outright asked me if you were abusing me."
"Yes, but he was reading you, not me. You were scared, understandably, but I was never even thinking about hurting you in any way."
"Oh, so it was my fault that they didn't believe us?" you tease.
"No? Because I still think everyone but Hoseok and Yoongi bought it. I mean, even they bought that we were married. I'm also sorry for making you have that conversation with Eunha and Hyeji. At least they seemed to believe you, and I also thought it was very sweet the way you spoke about me."
You let out a loud, painful groan. "Do not remind me. You know what, I think I'm still angry at you for that. Wait—exactly what did you hear?"
Jeongguk snickers, and you both know you're very intentionally skipping the heavier side of the topic, how he essentially but unknowingly joked about your assault when you confronted him about the handcuffs.
"I heard you say that you got a uniform and cuffs for role playing since you enjoy, what was it… 'a man in uniform,'"
"Jeongguk, domestic abuse or not, I will pinch you."
He continues to laugh, pulling you even closer. "I beg your mercy. But I also heard you say that I wasn't only hot and intimidating but also sweet and kind and your best friend in the whole world. And I think that was sweet, and it was super smart of you because I wholeheartedly think they believed you were just a bit embarrassed."
"You know I wasn't talking about you, though? I didn't consider you sweet, kind, or a good friend in the slightest."
"I know," he says, putting his nose in your hair and breathing you in without any sort of shame.
It feels like you're moving together, like you've wordlessly agreed that you've addressed the deepest issues and can now instead talk about other aspects without always apologizing. It's progress you never expected until very recently, but it feels good.
"Should we get up? Have some cheesecake for breakfast?"
At that, he moves back, stretching his arms over his head. "Yeah."
But then he makes no effort to get up, just looks at you. It's like you so often find yourself looking at him. Dreamily.
"What?"
"You are insanely gorgeous."
"Stop," you say, cheeks heating embarrassingly as you wrestle your way out of the covers. Being complimented into embarrassment isn't something you thought you'd ever experience, but… you've never been this happy.
"Alright. Why don't you go and prepare some cheesecake? I'll be with you in a moment; I just have to decide what to do with… this," he explains, casually putting a pillow over his crotch.
You grin, understanding his dilemma and definitely not jealous regarding it. Waking up hard, just as a bodily reaction, and then talking about matters which won't exactly rile you up further. Do you rub one out if it persists or just let it die down?
It's definitely some kind of torture, cutting up slices of cheesecake while wondering what Jeongguk decided to do. The knife you're using is dull, good enough for cheesecake and the safest choice for your fingers when you can't stop thinking about his hands wrapped around his thick cock, muscles tense, and his eyes shut in pleasure. Did he stay in bed or is he in the shower?
As you wait so that you can eat together, you take the opportunity to send your mom a text, and you look through your unread emails, answering some. By the time you hear his footsteps, you're just finishing pouring two cups of coffee.
"Am I correct in thinking we're not really doing anything today? I'm waiting on a call, but other than that…"
You turn, spotting Jeongguk behind you, his hair a little tamer than before but partially in his eyes. Like a real couple, you're sharing an outfit; he's wearing the black sweatpants to your black shirt, his muscular chest bare. If he in any way stopped to admire your legs, naked from where the shirt ends at right underneath your butt, you didn't see.
"You're working tomorrow right?" you ask. "Patrol?"
"Yeah. Night shift, though. For the entire week if I'm not mistaken."
You meet his eyes, and you can tell that he shares your quiet disappointment. You'll be preparing for the preliminary hearing, so you'll barely see each other.
"Then I think doing nothing today would be really nice."
You don't do nothing.
The cheesecake is just as delicious as yesterday. First, you watch a short Youtube documentary about the possible reasons humans dream, which ends just as the cheesecake does. Not ready to leave the couch just yet, you do some traditional zapping, ending up on a channel showing 'Back to the Future.'
You pay attention for a whole ten minutes, Jeongguk's arm around you and you resting against him, a blanket over your laps. He's wearing a black t-shirt, having gone searching for it after the cheesecake because it was a little too chilly to remain shirtless. You, however, still only wear his shirt that you slept in, satisfied with the blanket's warmth.
While Jeongguk watches the movie, you think about him. His body, his voice, his face, his touch… How he talks to you and how he treats you… The roses are where you left them last night, bouquet after bouquet lining the walls and decorating the surfaces.
The more you look at them, and the more you think about Jeongguk, breathing his scent with every inhale, you fill with something. It's a blend of confidence and… need? Or a want, at least. A desire to be even closer and to show him how good and confident he makes you feel. How grateful you are for him.
Putting your hand on his chest, you glance up when you feel his soft gaze on you and his hand gently tuck your hair behind your ear.
That's it. Nervous, yet more determined than you've felt in quite a while, you crawl onto his lap, straddling him. His hands fall to your naked thighs on either side of his as he watches you curiously, eyebrows raised slightly as to ask what you're up to.
"I want to kiss you," you whisper, admiring him with your heart beating rapidly and butterflies fluttering their wings.
"I'd love it if you did," is what he says, smiling in that way that makes his dimple appear.
So you do. With one hand gripping his shirt and the other at the back of his neck, you lean down, pressing your lips against his.
It's so different this time around. You've been seated on his lap a few times, kissing him, and while you've always wanted to feel his lips against yours, you've been different degrees of terrified.
Undercover, when you kissed on the hammock, thinking that he was planning to kill you, and then after everything, when you merely feared that he was lying about his intentions and feelings, bound to hurt you in one way or another.
This time, you're nervous, yes, but in a different way. It's more biological, a natural reaction to wanting to fit in and not disappoint, rather than thinking he's just with you because he pities you. You can never prove that he feels the same kind of irresistible attraction you feel toward him, but he likes you. Jeongguk likes you.
His hands stay respectful, one on your lower thigh and the other moving to hold your waist. They're both warm because of course they are. He hums appreciatively into the kiss, and you lift your hand that was gripping his shirt to carefully hold his jaw instead, kissing him slowly. God, he's addictive in the best way, letting you explore this kind of affection without the overhanging threat of a border with no return.
Feeling cheeky, you pull the tiniest bit on the hair at the back of his neck, immensely satisfied when he lets out an unmistakably appreciative groan. Grinning against his lips, you do it again.
Despite his still hands, he's not passive. Although letting you lead, he follows enthusiastically, even nipping your bottom lip at one point. You're high on something, maybe the roses or just him and his sounds and his touch, and you're full of something else, that deep and warm want.
Adrenaline fills your veins and your pulse kicks into another gear as you lower your left hand from Jeongguk's jaw to his hand that's resting on your thigh. You take it, placing it between your breasts, right in the middle. Since you're only wearing his thin, black t-shirt, you wouldn't be surprised if he feels every single beat of your heart against his palm.
Slowly, while still kissing him, you lower his hand, just like he lowered yours that time in the shower. But he catches on, stopping just before your hands venture between your spread legs.
"Are you sure?" he mumbles against your lips.
"Yes," you whisper. "I want you to. If you want to."
"Of course, I want to. You know that. But it's up to you."
You nod, closing your eyes and kissing him again as you lower your hands further, in under the shirt but on top of your panties. Your heart beats heavy with anticipation and nerves when you feel his hand right there. At first, he caresses carefully, rubbing with gentle pressure over your slit and to your clit, and it makes you break the kiss, unable to focus.
He watches you, you know that even if your own eyes are closed. Drawing a shaky breath, you grip his shirt at his chest again.
"Okay?"
"Mhm," you bite your lip, almost flinching when he adds pressure to your clit, circling it over the fabric of your panties. They seem to annoy him a little, and next thing you know, he's pulling them to the side, running his fingers through your almost embarrassingly soaked folds.
"You're a literal dream," he states, his words breathy.
"Jeongguk," you whisper quietly into his ear.
"Does it feel good?"
Leaning forward, you nod against the side of his face, whimpering when he rubs your clit again, this time harder. He spreads his legs and in turn, yours, giving him unrestricted access. It's vulnerable, and you feel so exposed, but in a mostly exhilarating way.
"What did I do to deserve you, huh? So beautiful and gorgeous and sexy; you take my breath away."
If you weren't so preoccupied, you would've gladly clued him in, telling him that you're not this fond of him purely by chance. But you don't have nearly enough brain power, and honestly, you hope he already knows.
Slowly, gauging your reaction, he trails his middle finger lower, circling. When you nod in approval, he pushes it in. You're so wet already that it slips right in, and he immediately finds that spot, rubbing against it as he pumps his finger in and out.
"Jeongguk…" you repeat. It's like he already knows everything about you and your body.
He stops, his finger still deep inside you.
"Is this okay?" he asks, voice deep and calm.
"Mhm, keep going," you hum. "Please…"
Something about your breathy pleading makes him groan lightly, but he resumes, even adds another finger to pump in and out.
"You are so pretty like this," he says. "The prettiest. My pretty girl."
Your grip on his t-shirt tightens, and your eyes are one second away from tearing up, feeling him hit your sensitive nerves every time. His other hand warms your waist through the t-shirt, his hold on you gentle but firm.
Every ragged breath you take, his scent is there, clouding your brain. Him, him, him; he's all you feel and all you think about. His big body, his muscular arms and shoulders, the tattoos, veins, his warm, golden skin. And that's not even mentioning his dark, dark eyes, capable of conveying so much strength but also gentleness. Or his long fingers, currently fucking in and out of you at a quickening pace.
His phone rings.
You don't know who's calling, but you don't spare it too much thought, seeing as he doesn't stop. Two seconds is all he needs to decide his next action.
"Can you be quiet?" he asks lowly, pulling his wet fingers out of you to eliminate the worst sounds but keeping them on your clit instead.
You take a deep, shaky breath, nodding, still with your eyes closed and your forehead pressed against the side of his face.
"Hey," he answers the phone, sounding entirely normal.
It sounds like a man on the other end of the line, although you can't discern more than a single word here and there.
"Yeah, okay, good. That's great. Listen, can I call you back in a few minutes?"
You bite your lip, feeling him casually roll your clit between his fingers as he waits for an answer. To stop any sound from escaping your lips without permission, you press them against his warm neck.
"Mhm, okay, I'll call you back. Bye."
You hear the faint thud of his phone hitting the couch further away.
"Sorry, about that," he apologizes, and his genuine words and deep voice has you weaker in the knees than his hand between your legs.
"It's okay," you mumble, because you absolutely don't mind. He wouldn't have answered if it wasn't important.
However, your knees definitely feel even weaker when he puts in another gear, clearly enjoying it when the your thighs shake and your hips move seemingly on their own, trying to deal with the intensity of his touches. It's definitely not ruthless, but he's braver than he was at the start, rubbing both quicker and with more force, alternating the pattern and motion.
"So mesmerized by you," he says, and you grip at what you can reach of his back.
As you hold onto him, your breaths become shorter and shorter as the sharp pleasure builds inside you, threatening to spill over.
"Jeongguk."
"I know, baby," he encourages, turning to kiss your jaw.
It builds and builds and builds, until those shallow breaths become one that you hold, biting your lip while the electricity pulses through your entire body, and you drop your head to Jeongguk's shoulder.
His fingers continue a few seconds longer, softly and smoothly letting you ride out the orgasm before he removes them, your panties snapping back in place. Still keeping your head on his shoulder, you open your eyes just in time to see him casually wipe his fingers on his pants.
A quiet moment passes, a chance for you to catch your breath, Jeongguk stroking your back in the meantime.
"I'm gonna live a long time on that," he admits, making you chuckle. "How are you feeling?"
"Good," you say, sliding off him and to the side. Your skin is warm, both because of the nature of what you just did but also since he made you come in like, what, less than five minutes? "I guess two minutes is all I need," you joke, referencing his words from that day at the station when he desperately wanted you to listen to him.
"If you think that makes you less irresistible…" he comments, his round eyes surprised yet slightly… wild.
You just chuckle again. Sure, men usually only come once and 'premature ejaculation' is a different 'problem,' but it still feels embarrassing. To show your gratitude, mostly for his comforting words and how well he treats you in general, you grab a soft hold of his jaw, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.
When you straighten up, he takes it as his sign, reaching for the phone.
"Well, I need to make a call," he states, slapping his thighs and standing up. "And then… definitely take care of something this time."
You snort, finding him so incredibly endearing and lovable. You didn't look for the boner, and you don't see it as he leaves the room, phone held up to his ear. What you do see, however, is how he brings the fingers he used to get you off to his mouth, casually licking them clean as he waits for whoever called to pick up.
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author's note: i hope you liked it!! was it what you expected post-date or not? <3
