lona✨

she/her 19

[mcybank]

Tender — Jack Abbot

pairing — jack abbot x college!reader

summary — the worst-cared-for girl in the county keeps washing up in jack’s er, and he can’t help but start paying attention.

warnings — 19.2k. large age gap (jack’s fifty/reader’s in twenties), doctor/patient dynamic initially, power imbalance (attending/nursing student, age, life experience), yearning!jack, protective!jack, jealous!jack, and literally every single word in the book, mutual pining, slow burn, he falls first, hurt/comfort, reader shows signs of adhd but it isn’t explicit, alcohol use (recurrent drunkenness, mention of alcohol poisoning, ER, and repeated intoxication played somewhat lightly), loneliness/self isolation, low self-worth, it’s very difficult for her to accept care, lack of family support/implied estrangement, financial stress and overworking, she’s also spending an unrealistic amt of time hanging out in the ed but it’s fanfic so it’s ok, jokes about financial stress, injuries (sprains, split lip, bruising, gravel burns), medical setting, blood, referenced patient death (patient dies, off-page, Jack grieves), making out/heavy kissing, suggestiveeee content (thumb-in-mouth beat, grinding) but nothing explicit. 

notes — oops sorry this fic is so so self-indulgent 🫶 i literally loved writing them tho i was thinking about them for days on end. tried to take a swing at this based on this idea i had + thank you @ker0senebunny for inspriring the shoe scene!!!! inspired by this post + my er visits where i was literally the worst patient ever

Friday and Saturday after midnight, the board filled up with the same predictable words; alcohol poisonings, bar-fight lacerations, the kids who’d taken things they couldn’t name and showed up convinced they were dying when they were mostly just twenty and having a large thought. Jack triaged it on autopilot, and he’d stopped finding any of it interesting somewhere around year seven. 

Sure, sometimes there were some cases that got a mild laugh out of him or turned his head. There was a kid who’d superglued his halloween mask on his own face for a dare. The guy who’d lost a bet and swallowed something he wouldn’t name in front of his mother, who was present and furious. The occasional genuinely strange thing the human body did that still, after all these years, made Jack think huh, that’s interesting, the small grim curiosity that was about the only part of the job the years hadn’t fully sanded down. He kept those and told them to new nurses over shitty coffee at four a.m. because he supposed that was a better story than what he could say about the Middle East. 

The first time you came in, he’d handed you over to Shen. You were a sprained wrist and a BAC that explained the wrist, sixteen other things were louder, and Shen was free then. 

He’d clocked you for half a second on his way to a GI bleed in bay nine: girl on the gurney, one heel too high on, and one somewhere in the greater metropolitan area, some little pink lace-trimmed thing sliding off one shoulder, telling Shen with enormous seriousness that she was so sorry, she didn’t usually do this, she’d had a singular margarita. Only.

Singular. He’d categorized it under the thousand other single margaritas he’d sworn to in this department and forgotten you before he’d reached the bleed. 

The second time, he didn’t take you either, but he noticed the wrist. 

Same wrist. Different night — a Saturday, three weeks in, the sort of shift where the waiting room sounded like a kennel — and he caught it sideways while he reviewed another chart. It was the same left wrist, taped this time, the nails on that one hand done in some soft pinky color gone chipped at the tips as though the week itself outlasted the manicure, somebody walking you through the discharge paperwork you clearly were ignoring. Something thought for him instead of him thinking much for it, some pattern-recognition thing buried under twenty-some years of reading bodies fast, the same instinct that made him glance twice at something almost normal. A wrist that kept coming back, he supposed. A thread snagging on a nail, there and gone. 

The third time, it was Shen, breezing past the station with his Dunkin, saying over his shoulder, “Frequent flyer’s back.” 

He shrugged, not yet placing that you were the frequent flyer, and went to bed four.

And that — somewhere between the third time and a number he stopped keeping an honest count of — was where it stopped being a chart and became some sort of thing. A bit, he’d say. The nights the bars let out and the board lit up, he’d find himself reading the incoming names a half-second longer than triage required, and feeling something wrong in his chest when yours wasn’t in them. 

Pittsburgh was notoriously interesting, Jack learned through you, in that it apparently contained an infinite supply of ways a girl could get herself in trouble. He was convinced he could’ve drawn a map of the city by your injuries. There was the ankle, of course, a recurring grievance, always the shoes, never your fault. There was one time you’d burned your hand on a curling iron getting ready tipsy and come in more upset about the makeup you’d had to redo (because of crying it off) than the blister. The night you’d gone over in a parking lot because you refused to look at the ground while walking — looking at the ground, while drunk, you informed him, was how you trip — and the time you sliced your finger open trying to shotgun a White Claw with a key because someone had bet you couldn’t. You were really proud of the last one, you’d won the bet. 

You were never the same disaster twice, he had to give you that. A little too keen on busting yourself up here and there, sure, but at least it was the wrist once, then a knee that met a curb, then a memorable evening involving a fence you’d been certain you could clear. You came in apologizing — always apologizing, to him, to the nurses, once, memorably, to the wall — and you came in sweet, which was the part that got under him, because drunk people in this ER were a lot of things and sweet was rarely one of them. 

“Mmm,” you hummed the fourth or fifth time, the second your eyes found him through the gap in the curtain, going boneless with relief like Jack was the cavalry and not the man who was meant to flash light into your eyes for thirty seconds. “The pretty one.” 

Jack let out a huff. “Thanks, doll.” 

“Doll,” you repeated, the word going gummy in your mouth. “He calls me doll.”

“Eyes open. Follow the light.” 

“You call everyone that, Dr. Abbot?” you said, his name coming out in a cluster like you were losing thread of it, the Abbot dissolving into something closer to a hum. 

“Sure do,” he lied. “Track the light.”

You looked at his mouth, then his hands, then back up, a slow uncoordinated sweep because your eyes had stopped reporting to anything in particular, much less what they had to. Pupils blown wide and lazy. He thumbed your eyelid up a fraction to get the light where he needed it; your lashes were clumped and starry with whatever mascara had survived the night. 

He held the penlight steady and waited you out. He had nowhere to be. That was the thing about the dead hours after bars closed; the bleed had been signed up to the floor, the chest pain turned out to be a panic attack and a large energy drink, and there was just you, and the saline ticking into your arm one slow drop at a time. 

“What’d you get up to tonight?” he murmured, thumb finding the pulse at your wrist, counting without meaning to.

“S’fast ‘cause you’re here,” you said, sounding very pleased with yourself.

“Sure it is. Where’d you hurt yourself tonight?”

“... stairs,” you said after a moment, like your brain had to run a few laps to get to the word. 

“Oh, yeah?” He hummed. You lifted your free hand a little off the mattress, lost track of it, and dropped it back down. “How many?” 

“Mm. Four?” You squinted at the ceiling. “Maybe three. I dunno. Not the Great Wall or somethin’. Promise.” 

“I believe you.” He nodded, then turned your forearm to the light, finding the scrape you’d come in with. It was gravel-burn, raw, the heel of your hand and a stripe up your wrist. Nothing that needed more than cleaning. You watched him do it with your head tipped against the pillow, gone quiet so the talking had run out for a second, which never lasted.

“Should I get a better first aid kit?” you asked, then clenched your jaw for a second like you felt something was wrong with it. “S’I don’t have to bother you all the time?” 

“Might be a good idea to invest,” he said. He pulled the swab through the gravel-burn slowly, and you hissed and tried to pull back the hand on reflex. “Easy.” He kept it, his grip light yet unmoving around your fingers. “Almost done. Don’t fight me.”

You hummed, like you wanted a different answer.

Jack wet his lips, shaking his head slightly. He worked the grit out of the scrape, a fleck of it catching raw skin, and he tilted your arm to the light, getting it on the second pass, and wiped it on the gauze. Your hands twitched in his, and he pressed your fingers flat to the mattress with his thumb, and they stayed.

“You’d have to do it yourself, though,” he said. “Bathroom sink at three in the morning with one hand.” He reached for fresh gauze. “You’d make a mess of it.”

You frowned at the ceiling, nodding. “Sounds a little bad.”

“It’s a lot bad.” He laid the gauze over the scrape, thumbed the tape down at the edge of your wrist slowly, smoothing it flat where it wanted to lift. His knuckle dragged once over the thin skin there, and he felt your pulse jump under it. “You’d scar, probably.” His thumb passed the chipped polish, the chunky gold ring you’d kept on, even for this. “You’ve got nice hands. Shame to wreck ‘em over the sink.”

It took you a second. “You think so?”

“Don’t wreck ‘em.” 

“You like when I come in,” you said, delighted. 

“What I’d like,” he said, flat, lifting his eyes to yours, “is you off the stairs and down to the one drink.” His thumb settled over the back of your hand again. “But if you’re set on flinging yourself down, then you come here. Deal?”

Your fingers had curled around two of his somewhere in there loosely, without you noticing. He felt them settle, and he held very still so as to not spook you. He chose to not acknowledge it or look at it.

“Deal,” you mumbled, somewhere far off, probably forgetting the front half of the terms. 

He let it go at that, taping down the last edge and turning over your wrist once more to be sure of it. Then he set your hand back on the mattress, yours still loosely hooked through his, going nowhere.

“Anyone out there to get you home?” he asked. 

“Dunno.” Your nose scrunched. “Was gonna Uber.”

He sighed through his nose. “Where’s that girl — the one you came in with last time? Why don’t you call her?” 

“That’s annoying, Dr. Abbot,” you said, almost in a whine. 

“Yeah?” He kept looking at the wall behind you. “What’s annoying about a ride home?” 

“Calling people. Making it a thing.” Your free hand flopped vaguely. “Then they gotta come get you, and they’re all — have to be nice about it, but you can tell.” Your nose scrunched. “It’s a whole production.”

He pressed his thumb flat back over your hand where your fingers were still caught in his. 

“Oh? Nothing annoying about it, sweetheart. You call, she comes. Simple as that.” He turned to face you. “But if you insist on it, I’m not signing you off until you’re good enough to go home alone. So you call your girl, or you sit right here and keep my department company till you’ve cleared enough that I’ll sign off on it.” 

Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him as though he’d spoken a different language. “Second one?”

“Obviously you pick that one,” he said. 

He pulled the stool over and sat. For a few minutes, he had nowhere to be, and now, apparently, neither did you.

It wasn’t that you simply didn’t let people help you, either. Jack had never seen anyone so committed to being simply fine. Jack had met the stoic kind before; construction guys who walked in with rebar through a forearm acting like it was a small inconvenience; old ladies who’d been having a heart attack since last Tuesday and didn’t want to be a bother. But Jack had always believed those people to be suppressing, and you were just convinced, somewhere down in the foundation, that needing anything was an imposition. 

That was also why the shoes confused him so much. 

“This is the same damn ankle,” Jack said, turning your foot in his hands, watching the swelling outside of it. 

“You don’t have to remind me. Most men buy me a drink before they get this familiar with my ankles,” you said, then groaned as you looked at his eyes going over the swelling. 

“No drink.” He pressed along the bone. “Not my fault you keep handing your ankle to me.” 

You tipped your head back against the pillow, groaning again. “Dr. Abbot, they look so bad. I feel like I’m pregnant.” 

“I can do a quick blood draw and we can rule it out.” His palm flattened on the mattress beside your feet, leaning over to meet your eyes again. “But I think it’s those heels of yours, doll.” 

Your eyes snapped to him. “Don’t be a dick, Dr. Abbot.”

He tilted his head, then pointed at the laminated paper stuck to the wall. “Aggressive behavior of any kind toward healthcare workers is a felony.” 

“Then arrest me, doctor. I’ll die on this hill — and they’re not heels.” Your lips pursed, and the corner of your mouth kicked up. “Cuffs may be a little forward for a date, but I won’t stop you.” 

“Aren’t you just so sweet,” he muttered. “What are they, then?”

“Bottega Lido Mules.”

The words meant absolutely nothing to him — could’ve been a pasta dish, a town in Italy, a wine — but they clearly did to you, so he remembered them. 

“That’s nice, doll. They’ll be the reason I see you again.” 

“Maybe, ‘cause I’ll never stop wearing them.” 

You said the words your whole face, hands coming off the mattress to make the point with a drunk theatrical conviction as you argued something that genuinely mattered to you. Jack thought, not for the first time since he’d met you, that you’d have been magnetic stone-sober at a dinner party, the kind of girl that made a table lean in. It was just that he only ever got the 3am version.

At least you had a hill you’d die on and didn’t apologize for, Jack supposed. 

“You married, Doctor?” you asked as he started icing your ankle. 

“No,” he said, holding your eyes for a second. “Why — you got a boyfriend I should know about, then?” 

He almost wished you did have one. He wished that there were somebody whose name you’d have said just now who’d be in the waiting room with his jaw tight because you’d gone and hurt yourself again. Somebody who’d take care of the ankle when you walked out of here in crutches, who took the keys when you had too many. He wished there was a person in the world whose job you were. 

And you weren’t his first patient who he’d understood to not have someone taking care of them. He knew that if he carried them all, he’d drown inside a month if he tried to be the person nobody else had been. He’d never once had it turn into a wish, standing here with an ice pack in his hand going slack in his hand because he was too busy resenting someone who didn’t exist for not being in the waiting room. 

He wondered when down the line you’d stopped letting the people in your life around you be the ones you could call, became a girl who said sorry for bleeding and had nobody, nobody, and looked at him like he was the warmest place she’d been in all week.

You laughed. “If I had a boyfriend, would I be laying it on so thick?” 

He let out a breath through his nose, despite himself. “Stop wearing the heels, doll. Not nice to not have a foot.”

The next time you came in, it was a Thursday. With some pileup of bad luck, you came in somewhere past one with a split lip and a story about a dance floor he only half got the shape of. Jack hadn’t even been assigned to you yet, he’d just seen your name on the board, and reassigned himself quietly enough that dared anyone on shift to comment. Nobody did. 

“Lip’s not bad,” he said, tilting your chin up under the light, thumb at your jaw. The split was already going fat and shining at the center of your lower lip, and he found his eyes stayed on your mouth a second past the part that was his job, on the soft unhurt swell of it under the hurt. He moved his thumb. “Doesn’t need anything. You bit it when you fell down. That’s all.”

“S’throbbing, Doctor,” you mumbled, the word coming around muffled around the split. 

“It’ll throb. You’ve got a swollen lip.” He let go of your jaw and reached for the penlight. “Eyes on me.” 

“I was so cute before this,” you said through a groan. 

The huff that came out of him was almost a laugh, dragged out against his own will, and he shared a fleeting look with Bennet — a fairly new nurse — who had tilted his head briefly and was too afraid to meet your eyes.

“Alright. Still the prettiest girl I’ve treated tonight,” Jack said when your brows had furrowed together.

“You treat other girls?” 

“It’s a hospital,” he said. “Few hundred a week.”

Your face looked wounded. “Few hundred.”

He leaned in slightly, faking a whisper. “You’re my top three.”

You were further gone than usual tonight. He’d noticed it the second he came around the curtain, the way your head was having a hard time holding itself up, the loose unmoored swim of your eyes that took longer than it should to find his finger. A piece of hair had come loose and stuck to the gloss at the corner of your mouth and you hadn’t the coordination to deal with it, and he had the unprofessional impulse to, and didn’t. 

Bennet kept working the blood pressure cuff up your arm, half an eye on you, half on his own work. 

“Track the light,” Jack murmured. “Slowly.”

“Too bright.”

“Tough.” The corner of his mouth moved up slightly. “You can bat your lashes at me when we’re done. Right now, I need ‘em open.” 

You batted them anyway, slowly and theatrically, just to be a problem about it. They were long, and the theater of it was so ridiculous, and Jack had to bite down the inside of his cheek to keep his face flat to wait you out, until you gave up and tracked the finger. Your pupils were reactive, equal, and lagging half-a-beat behind. He clicked the light off. 

“Too bright,” you said again. 

“It’s off,” he drawled, chuckling. 

Bennett thread a line into the back of your free hand, and you watched him sink it with a drowsy focus. 

“Why’s it go in the back of the hand?” you mumbled. “More nerves there. Hurts more. Why not the — inside. By the elbow.” You tilted your head slightly to let your eyes wander to the crook of your arm. “Bigger vein. The antec—antecubital,” you said carefully, sounding out each syllable, afraid of messing it up. You wet your lips and turned to face him, then Bennet. “Why’s nobody use the good one?” 

Jack pursed his lips and looked at you for a moment. 

“Saves the good one,” he said, catching up, eyes going back to your chart. “AC vein blows easily when somebody’s moving around, and you —” He tipped his head at you, raising a brow, the squirming drunk of you. “ — Are gonna move around. Back of the hand’ll hold. I’d rather you be sore than re-stuck twice ‘cause you couldn’t sit pretty for thirty seconds.” He paused as he saw your eyes glaze over. He sighed. “Ask me how I know that about you.” 

You’d gone busy, lips moving slightly like you were repeating it back to yourself so it’d stick, and Jack felt something in his chest shift a degree as he watched you do it. 

He sighed, dragging a palm over the lower half of his face. “Where’d you learn that, then?” 

“School,” you said to the ceiling, a small hint of pride taking over your voice. “M’gonna become a nurse. Gonna be good at it.”

Bennet snorted, finishing the tape. “Gonna be patching up drunk girls just like you then, huh,” he said. “Full circle.”

Jack watched the pride go out of your face slowly, like a house losing its power. Your chin dropped and your eyes slid from Bennet to the curtain as your hand fisted in your lap. 

“Yeah,” you said, almost curiously. “Guess so.” 

Jack’s jaw clenched involuntarily. It wasn’t the guy’s fault, not really. It was a nothing joke, the sort the whole department tossed off a hundred times a shift, the gallows shorthand that kept you sane at two in the morning. Jack had made worse about patients who’d never know, about drunks who wouldn’t remember, about exactly this, exactly girls like you. He’d just never had one of them go quiet before, watched the bright thing fold itself up and get tucked away. 

“Bennet, you done?” 

“Yeah, line’s good — ”

“Then go take vitals on six. I’ve got her.”

Bennet went, and it was just the two of you again. 

Jack pulled the stool over with his foot and sat — lower than he had to, level with you, taking himself out of the column of people standing over you tonight and telling you what you were — and waited until your eyes came up off the curtain and found him.

“There she is,” he said when your eyes found him. He turned your taped hand over under the light like there was still something to do with it. There wasn’t, he just wanted his hands on something of yours while he undid what the room had done. “Look at me. Nothing good on the curtain.” 

“How’s school treating you then, doll?” he asked, aiming for offhand and not steering you off whatever Bennet had knocked loose.

“Hard,” you said, but a small smile had crawled up your lips. “But I like it.” Your shoulders came up loosely.

“Yeah?” He kept his thumb moving over the back of your hand slowly, like he could press the bright thing back up to the surface where it belonged. “I think you’ll be good at it.” 

It was such a strange feeling, Jack distantly noticed, to feel this utter conviction. He was rarely sure of anything good anymore. Sure of plenty else; sure within ten seconds of a bad rhythm which way the night was going to break, sure of which of the kids wheeled in at 2 am he’d see again and which he wouldn’t, a grim accumulated certainty that had nothing in it he’d ever wanted to be right about.

The job had made him an expert on the downslope of things. He could read the exact moment a body wanted to quit better than he could read most of what people said to his face. And here you were, and he was so sure of the other direction, and he felt the same weight of it behind his sternum, except it had swung and pointed at something good for once. You were going to be excellent at this. 

It bothered him a little, how much he wanted to be there to see it, whoever you were going to be once you stopped washing up on his floor on the worst nights of your week. He’d known you, what, a handful of shifts as a frequent flyer, a bit, a name his eyes unconsciously caught on. He had no business feeling certain of anything about you, and he was, and he’d let himself feel it. 

Your eyes found him properly again. “Liar.”

He huffed out a short laugh. “Tell you what. You finish that program, you get through all that mess where they try to drown you.” His thumb smoothed over the tape. “Then you come find me here and we’ll see if we can get you here with me on nights. Clearly you’re at your finest then.” 

It was maybe something silly to say, and Gloria may have his head for it. He had no actual standing to say anything like it, even though you’d never remember it. He knew better; hope was a controlled substance in his field and he was stingy with it on purpose, because he’d seen the withdrawal.

But God, he’d love to see the part of you he could only catch glimpses of through the wreck like a light under the door. He’d love to be the one who taught you which arrogance to keep and which to let the job take away. He’d love, plainly and without anywhere to put it, to watch you become who you’d just told him you were going to be. 

It was a lot of loving for a girl who’d been in his department and wouldn’t recall his face or a word of this by tomorrow morning. He was getting sentimental, or old, or both; the years stacked up behind his eyes until he started mistaking everything for a second chance at something. 

Your lips moved. “So I can patch girls up like myself?” 

“Nah.” He kept looking at your hand. “You can patch up old bastards like me, too.” Then, he pointed his index finger of his free hand at you, mock-stern. “Gotta make sure you’re not at point three BAC, though. Will have to do that work to get you working with me.”

“Mm.” Your eyes flickered up to the ceiling, weighing it with the enormous gravity of the very drunk as though he’d posed a very real proposition to you. “Okay. For you, I’d stop.”

“For me?” he repeated, mostly to buy himself a second.

“Mm-hm.” You turned your face to him and said it with such ease, no glance away to leave yourself an exit. “You’re worth not drinkin’ over.”

Your words went in clean, the way the best and worst things do, under the ribs where he kept nothing armored because nobody ever aimed there. Jack felt the back of his neck go warm and was abruptly, intensely grateful for the light that wouldn’t display it. 

Jack huffed, having to look away at the floor then. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all year, and you’re not gonna remember it. Hell of a thing.” 

When he made himself look back up, you’d tipped your face into the pillow, watching him from the side with your eyes gone soft and heavy, the smile arriving unguarded across your mouth. The split tugged one corner of it, that small wince folded right into the sweetness, and you seemed to not feel it. 

He had the sudden, idiotic wish to have met you on a night you’d remember. To have perhaps caught you when you fell at the bar, to have been the stranger whose arm happened to be there, not the doctor it eventually routed you to. Perhaps he could’ve been a man in your night instead of a stop in it.

He shook his head. “You’re trouble, you know that, right? Saying all these nice things. What’s a man supposed to do with that?” 

He’d have liked to have been remembered, was the bottom of it. By you specifically. He’d spent decades being the man people were grateful to and glad to forget.

“What’s your name, Doctor Abbot?” you asked, drowsy.

He looked down at his badge, then back up at you. “Take a wild guess?” Then, he added, “You never looked at my badge?” 

“Sorry. Didn’t read.” 

“Don’t apologize to me. It’s Jack.”

Jack was doing his usual rounds this Friday, on a rush from a chest pain in two that turned out to be a panic attack and a kid in five who’d put a kitchen knife through the meat of his own palm trying to halve a frozen bagel when Ellis caught him by the elbow at the board.

“Heads up, Abbot,” she said, grinning. She nodded toward triage, toward the doors. “Bed three. Your, uh—” The grin tipped over, delighted with itself. “Girlfriend’s got a boyfriend.” 

It was a running thing now. Somewhere around the fourth or fifth time you’d washed up on his shift the staff had started on it — your frequent flyer, your stray, your girl’s back — and Jack had stopped bothering to deny it because that’d only feed it, and he’d learned not denying it had a way of starving the joke faster. 

He looked, and was immediately able to notice what you weren’t doing more than what you were; you weren’t grinning at the ceiling, weren’t doing that boneless sweet-relief thing. You were sitting up too straight on the bed, hands folded in your lap, and there was a guy fitted to the chair beside you with one arm slung along the back of yours and a hand resting on your knee like he’d put it there to mark the spot. He was saying something low to the side of your face, and you were nodding at it, and not looking at anybody.

Jack felt a muscle tick in his jaw, immediately not feeling anything nice about the situation. “I got it — you mind taking six for me? I’ll come in a couple minutes.” 

By the time he’d made it to you, he’d settled his face into something unbothered. You could read it, he’d realized at some point during your frequent visits, and that only meant he had to be on his better behavior around you. 

“Evening.” He pulled the curtain half-round behind him, glanced at the chart clipped to the foot of the bed, then at you. “What’d we do tonight?”

“She caught an elbow,” the guy answered. “Some asshole on the dance floor. It’s nothing — she’s fine. She’s just a lightweight, aren’t you — ” A little squeeze on your knee. “ — didn’t even really need to come in, but y’know. Better safe.” 

You weren’t a lightweight, he immediately wanted to correct. He’d seen you put away enough over the months to know your tolerance better than this guy apparently did; he knew the difference between the nights you were genuinely wrecked and the nights you came in clearer than you let on, and looking at you, tonight, you weren’t anywhere near the state implied. 

“You,” he said, tipping his chin in your direction. “Not him. Where’d it get you?” 

You lifted your hand up from your lap and touched your cheekbone, movement slow, and Jack stepped in and tipped your head up toward the light with two fingers under your chin, thumb resting just shy of the scrape. The skin had gone dark along the bone, tender, an elbow’s worth of it. Nothing that needed more than an ice and a night, but you were still holding still under his hand and not meeting his eyes, and that he didn’t like at all. 

“It’s okay,” you said. “Really. S’not even — ”

“Let me be the judge of that, sweetheart. Gettin’ paid for this.” His eyes flicked down to yours and caught, holding it there a second with a small question in the rise of a brow, before he went back to the bone, thumb tracing the edge of the bruise so light you barely felt it. A small frown pulled at the corners of his mouth at the sight. “Follow my finger. Eyes only.” 

You followed, pupils fine and equal. No concussion in it. 

“She’s fine, I told you,” the guy said from the chair, a little laugh under it like he was inviting Jack in on something. “Hardly. She bounces back.”

Jack clicked the penlight off and turned to the side. “Gonna need the room.”

“I’ll stay.” The hand went back to your knee. “I’m all good here.”

“Can’t clear a head strike with people in the room. You get it.” Jack tilted his head to the side, raising a shoulder. “Liability. Coffee machine’s down the hall. Give me two minutes with my patient.”

The easy smile on the guy’s lips went thin around the edges, looking for a thing to push against and not finding it. He stood up slow, making a show of it, squeezing your knee and letting you know he’ll be back in a minute, babe, a hand trailing your shoulder on the way past, all of it aimed less at you and more at Jack holding the curtain. Jack pressed his lips in a thin line as he met the guy’s eyes. 

The second the curtain closed behind him, a breath left you, tiny and involuntary, and your shoulders came down in the empty room. 

“Sorry, Dr. Abbot,” you murmured. “I keep being a mess at this place.” You took in a short, almost shaky breath. “Sorry.” 

“None of that,” he almost grumbled, penning your chart. “Your folks down here, sweetheart?” 

“No,” you said to your lap, picking the edge of the blanket. “Back home. A few states over.” You let out a laugh. “Just me out here. S’nice.” 

Jack forced a small smile, having to look at the ceiling while you looked down at your lap, shaking his head, more of an action for himself than for you. He pulled the stool over with his foot and sat, getting level with you. 

“What’s goin’ on with you, huh?” he asked quietly, making sure there was nothing sharp in his tone at all. “Honest. I like seeing you but not like this bruised up with a guy who talks for you.” His thumb found your wrist. “So talk to me. What’s going on?” 

“He’s fine,” you said. “Just likes being around.”

Jack tilted his head, dipping his head to meet your eyes that were still facing down. “Not the important part of the question, and you know it.” 

You sighed. “Sorry, Jack.”

“Quit it. The only thing I want from you tonight is some honesty, alright?” 

A corner of your lip kicked up, even though the dimness in your eyes held. “Your eyes look really pretty tonight.” 

“Heard that one before,” he drawled. “Had ‘em fifty years. Try a new one.” 

“Your neck’s going red,” you mumbled, fingers reaching up to press flat to the warm of his skin, right there below the jaw, like you just had to feel whether it was true.

Jack stilled. Your fingers were cold on his neck. He distantly registered his pulse was probably going under your fingertips, and you’d feel it if you held there a second longer. And then you caught yourself, hand snapping back to the blanket.

“Sorry. Sorry — I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that — ” you said, the words coming out in a taut string. 

“Easy,” he said, voice coming out rough. He swallowed. “Got me all flustered and now you’re gettin’ all shy?” 

You huffed a small laugh, your hand still fisted in the blanket where you’d snatched it back. “I’m not allowed to do that. I don’t think.” 

“Had no idea you knew how to behave,” he leaned a little back from the stool, crossing his arms. “Should I be worried about that guy out there?”

“Jealous, Doctor?” 

He rolled his eyes slightly, not responding. 

You sighed when you realized he wasn’t taking the bait. “He’s fine. He just likes being around.” 

He stood off the stool and reached for the discharge clipboard at the foot of the bed.

“Whatcha doing there?”

“My job.” He clicked the pen. “Clearing you. You’ve got no concussion. You’re not dying tonight.” He scrawled on the paper. “And I’m writing you a script for the bruise and a code for an Uber — ”

“No, no,” you said immediately. “Please don’t do that.” 

He raised his hand with the pen, palm open. “You never let me Uber you back when you’re alone. At least have this.” Your face scrunched up, and he could practically feel the guilt building in you. “Don’t need to use it now. Or ever. You can keep it for whenever.” He set the slip on your lap before you could push it back at him, the matter completely closed on his end. “Goes in your phone case. You can forget it exists until you need it.”

“You can’t keep handing me stuff — ”

“Department’s got a whole stack. You’re not special.” He capped the pen, though the corner of his mouth made it slightly visible that his words were false. “Don’t flatter yourself, doll.”

You looked down at the slip, your thumb worrying the edges of it. “I don’t like taking things.” 

“I noticed. A few hundred times now.” He tucked the pen back in his scrub pocket, and his voice came down a notch. “If it really makes you feel so bad, though, then maybe we can start taking care of ourselves so you don’t have to keep ending up here?”

Jack was in the middle of hand-off, Robby doing his thing before Robby left and did whatever the hell he did. They were at the board, Robby running down the floor. It was six-fifteen in the ugly hour, the in-between where the day shift was dragging itself toward the door and the night hadn’t started biting yet, the light through the ambulance doors gone gold and slanted and almost decent for once.

And then the doors slid, and you came through them. Jack’s attention peeled to you the second your shape entered the room, except this was wrong, he distantly registered. It was daylight and six in the evening and you were on your own two feet, upright and, assumedly, sober and walking in through the front like a person as opposed to a patient. You were wearing a jacket that swallowed you, and he assumed underneath it was shorts of some sort. He could see a stripe of navy cotton peeking from under the collar of your jacket as you adjusted a tote bag on your shoulder. 

You looked, frankly, like a completely different species from the one he scraped off bed four on weekends. The jacket was too big — his first thought was that it was a man’s, and his second thought, which he didn’t care for, was about whose — sleeves shoved up to your forearms, a stripe of soft navy cotton on the collar, and below it bare legs and shorts and sneakers that had likely never seen the inside of a club. Your hair was up and a little damp at the temple and your face was scrubbed clean.

You looked like somebody’s whole good day, he thought. You looked around around the waiting room with slightly widened eyes, a lost expression coating your features like you’d built up a lot of nerve to walk in here and had no idea what to do with it. 

“ — and the tox screen is still pending, so don’t let them,” Robby was saying. 

“Mhm,” Jack said, attention already halved. 

And Bennet, breezing past the triage desk with cheerful obliviousness, caught your figure and said, out loud, “Don’t tell me you’ve started day drinking. It’s barely past six, you gotta pace yourself — ” He let out a small laugh at his own joke, and kept walking, and didn’t see the way it landed. 

Your body stiffened, and you looked like a deer in headlights. Your mouth opened, some sort of flustered apology forming, he was sure. 

Jack let out a short groan, shaking his head. He set the tablet on the counter, already moving to cross the floor toward you. “Finish the hand-off with Shen. I gotta go deal with something.” 

Robby said something at his back — deal with what? — but Jack was already gone, crossing the floor slowly but somehow still eating the distance fast, and he watched you spot him coming and watched the relief crash over your face. Except you were sober now, in the daylight, and your whole face was going soft and grateful and just slightly wrecked at the sight of him.

He stopped a couple feet short of you, closer than a doctor, further than he stood to you at night. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands — there was no chart to hold (he should’ve brought the tablet) or wrist to take or a penlight to shine — so he clasped them behind his back, and tilted his head to get a better look at you. 

“Hi,” you breathed.

“Hey,” he said, eyes doing a quick once-over to make sure you really didn’t have any new injuries.

You shifted the tote under his gaze and clutched whatever was in the bag a little tighter.

“Jack —” you started, stopped, like the name had come out wrong. “ — Dr. Abbot.” You winced, pinching your eyes shut for a second. “Jack?” you tried to say again, smaller, your eyes flicking up to check his face to check if you’d overstepped. “Sorry, I don’t know which — ”

“Jack’s great.” His mouth tugged up, despite himself. “You’ve called me a lot worse. Jack’s a step-up.” 

You let out a startled little laugh, your mouth coming over your mouth like you could catch it, as your body eased a degree. 

“I’m sorry — I don’t — God, this is so embarrassing. I’m sorry.” 

“You know how many times you’ve apologized to me? Quit it.” He rubbed a finger over his lips. “What’s got you here today, then?”

“Um, I came to see you.” He raised a brow, and you let out a short breath, then continued, “I might not remember a lot of it, but I remember you took really good care of me. And my friends who came in with me sometimes said you took really good care of me.” The words came out softer now, flowing, more earnest. “Even though I was a mess. Especially when. So I just wanted to —” You shrugged, smiling slightly. “ — come say thanks.”

Jack felt the complete warmth of you land somewhere he kept no armor. “It’s the job,” he said quickly, before he could stop himself. “You didn’t have to come down here for that. That’s — it’s what we do. Anybody on shift would’ve done the same.” 

Your expression faltered for a moment, and your eyes dropped to the tote at your side as your shoulders came in. You shook your head, a small motion, then smiled again. 

“Right. No — yeah, of course.” You chuckled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it a — I know it’s your job.” You shifted the bag, then shifted your weight from one foot to another. “Still, though. You did, so I wanted to.” 

Jack already wanted to take his words back, but he couldn’t, so he just shook his head. “Hey, you’re my problem, though. So thank you. For the thanks. We’re even.” 

Your shoulders eased and you nodded. “Well, I also have something for you.” You hauled a container out of your tote and held it out to him with both hands before you could chicken out. “It definitely doesn’t make up for all of the times you helped me.” You looked down at the container. “And I don’t know if you’re lactose intolerant, or have a peanut allergy or anything. I’m sorry if you do — I can — ”

“I’ve got a cast-iron everything. The cookies won’t kill me.” When you pushed the container further to him, he took it off your hands, eyes quickly scanning the round chocolate chip cookies, forcing a smile down. He swallowed whatever had lodged in his throat. 

“These are homemade?” He weighed the container in both hands, absurdly. You nodded. He swallowed whatever on earth had lodged in his throat at that.“Didn’t have to do all that for me.” 

“I wanted to,” you said quickly. “I wasn’t sure how the food here is, so thought it might be a nice change.” 

“Worse than you’re imagining,” he said, then tipped his head to the side as the memory crawled into his brain, uncalled for. “You’ve actually thrown a sandwich across the room.” 

Your palm came up to your mouth, and you let out a muffled, “I’m so sorry.” 

Jack snorted, shaking his head. Then, after a moment, he cleared his throat before it could get away from him. He looked back toward the board, then at you, knowing time was slipping and he’d have to go back to work and you’d have to go somewhere else, most likely. 

“You got finals or anything coming up soon?” he asked. 

Your lips curved down, and you nodded. “Yeah, in a couple weeks.” 

“Am I gonna be seeing you getting wheeled in wasted?” 

“I want to say no,” you said, smiling a little crooked. “I’m working on it. But I’ve said that before and ended up here. So.” You shrugged, lips jutting out like you were also unimpressed with yourself. “Ask me again in a couple weeks, I guess. I’d like it if you didn’t, though.” 

“Then quit doing the hard nights alone,” he said, leaning in just slightly. “You keep yourself off the stairs, and you can come bother us instead here with a textbook.” He raised a brow as he held your eyes. “We’ve got a family room that’s almost always empty at night.” 

“I couldn’t — ”

“Won’t be a bother. Trust me. You’d be silly not to use people’s help when they’ve clawed through the same exams to get the badge. You get stuck, somebody’ll know it cold.” He shrugged. “Half of ‘em are bored out of their minds some nights. You’d be doing us a favor.” 

You let out a breath, brows pinching together. “That’s — yeah.” You let out a short laugh, looking away for a second. “I’d like that. A lot. Thank you, really. As long as you don’t mind.”

“This is a teaching hospital, doll. I don’t mind, so long as you don’t mind the company. Might be nice for me, too.”

You smiled and for a moment, neither of you moved to end it. Then you shifted the tote back up your shoulder, and Jack felt the pull to keep you here one more second before he could stop himself. 

“Go home,” he said gruffly. “And I’ll be looking for you. So actually turn up, don’t make me look for nothing.” 

The whole sun of you came up at that, stunned, like you hadn’t expected to be looked for by anyone. Jack felt the ground go quietly out from under him, the vertigo of having reached for a person’s happiness on purpose and connected, of being, for once, the cause of a face doing that. He’d gotten so used to delivering news that took the light out that he’d forgotten it ran the other way, too.

“I’ll turn up. I promise.” 

He nodded, clearing his throat and turning for the board, bidding you a throaty goodbye. 

“She’s the girl that everyone on night talks about?” Robby asked immediately, falling into step beside him. 

Jack looked at him sideways, shaking his head. “You got something to say, too?”

“No,” Robby said, rubbing his palm at his chin like he was holding something in. “You like her or something?”

Jack halted for a second, pointing his index at Robby as he lowered his chin. “You shut up. She’s gonna be a nurse.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Robby laughed. “Looks like she’s gonna be your nurse, old man. You’ll need it soon enough.”

Thank god you did turn up. Jack had the sense that maybe he’d scared you off altogether by his offer, and the line he’d toed had two very alternate spectrums: you’d find a new hospital altogether to go to in the metropolitan area after your falls or poisonings, or you’d be here a lot more often, which he still wasn’t sure would’ve been often enough. 

The first time you came in, it was well past midnight and Jack had unfortunately not been able to catch you off the bat because he was in an emergency surgery. He’d walked out of it with his blood-stained surgical gown still on to be met with the sight of you by the nurse’s station, writing something down on the back of a discharge form for Lena, with another Tupperware laying on the table. He made the guess that you’d brought the whole floor something and were three minutes from having Lena eating out of your hand. 

You’d found a corner of his department and made yourself a small soft home in it inside of ten minutes, and you were leaning in, and Jack stood there for a moment with the bad night still ringing in his ears and felt something unclench in his chest by a fraction.

“ — no, but you gotta,” you were saying to Lena in earnest as Jack approached closer. “If you put the brown sugar in while the butter’s still hot, it’s just — it’s a different cookie.”

“You taking the recipe, Lena?” Jack asked then, fully submerging into the knot you’d made with his charge nurse. 

You turned to face him, a smile forming on your lips almost immediately, and then your eyes dropped over him, to the gown, the rust-brown stain dried dark across the front of it, the set of his shoulders. 

“I am,” Lena replied. “Gonna make these for the kids.” She punctuated her sentence by holding up one of the cookies. 

“Gonna make some for us, too, then?” Jack asked, raising a brow, and settled his elbows over the table. He turned his neck to face you properly, putting on his best smile.

Lena laughed shortly. “I don’t like you enough.” She pushed off the counter with some forms in hand. “Her, maybe. You can have whatever she leaves behind.” She shot you a look that was almost warm before she went and disappeared down the hall. 

“Could be you someday,” Jack said, tilting his head in the direction of Lena’s chair. 

You shook your head, then pushed the container in his hands. “I’ve got to graduate first. And pass pharm, which is currently — ” You patted your tote bag, textbooks heavy. “ — trying to kill me.”

Jack nodded toward the family room, placing the container on the table for a second beside him. “C’mon, then, doll. Let’s see what the pharm’s doing to you.”

“You don’t have to — ” Your eyes flicked down the gown again. “You just came out of surgery. You don’t have to help me study.”

“Actin’ like I’m the one who got the surgery,” Jack muttered, chuckling slightly. He was already peeling off the gown one-handed, balling it up to toss. He started walking, and you followed behind him. “C’mon. It’s pretty empty right now.” 

It’d been pleasant that night and the few after to have five to ten minute increments of sitting with you helping you study in between doing his actual job. He’d duck in between things — a lull after discharge, the dread stretch while he waited for a CT scan, the ten minutes a trauma took to roll in once the call came — and you’d be there in the family room with your stack of cards on the couch. He’d drop on the chair across you or the couch beside you and pick up wherever you’d left off like he hadn’t left at all. Then his pager would buzz and he’d be gone, and you’d still be there an hour later when he came back, and he’d sit back down, and both of you’d pretend this was a completely normal way to study.

It’d annoyed him the first night how badly the flashcards were failing you; he’d seen you stare at the words and your eyes would glaze and slide right off it like they were greased. You’d memorized or retained nothing. And then he’d said, half to himself, a story for the why to click, and he’d watched it lock in you. 

So he’d stopped quizzing you primarily off the cards and started telling you stories instead and you’d talk it back to him, reasoning out loud, getting there in the saying of it the way you never got there on the page. 

The nights stacked up. The first week, you’d sat at a table across from him. By the second, you’d migrated to the chair beside him. Your coffee, the one by the far end of the table, was right by his elbow. Lena started leaving a second cup at the station when she saw you come in, his and yours, and never commented.

You’d stopped apologizing for taking up his time somewhere in there. He noticed when you’d started saving him the worst looking cookie on purpose because he’d once told you he liked the ugly ones. He’d noticed when you learned the rhythm of his pages; you’d go quiet and just hand him the next card when his eyes drifted to the board through the window of the door, would have it ready when he came back, like you’d kept his place for him while he was off keeping someone alive. 

He noticed that he more than looked forward to it. Somewhere in the dead middle of a bad shift, his feet would take him toward the family room before his brain could catch up on the why of it all. An empty table on a night you didn’t come in sat wrong with him, a tiny disappointment he didn’t have anything in him to figure out why.

Sometimes, like now, you’d get distracted. Jack had learned. He’d walked into the family room to see you and Ellis folded into opposite ends of the couch, the flashcards abandoned in a fanned mess on the cushion between you, both of you mid-argument and enjoying yourselves too much.

“Poaching my study hall, Ellis?” he said, finally moving in. 

Ellis pointed one stern finger in your direction as she pulled herself off the couch. “Do the crossword, not the sudoku.” 

“She’s gonna make you a worse student,” Jack said to Ellis’s back.

“She’s making me a worse doctor,” Ellis said cheerfully, already at the door. “I’ve been here twenty minutes. I have patients.” She turned to you one final time. “Crossword. You’ll thank me later.” 

She gave Jack a knowing look on her way out, one he didn’t want to read too much into, and she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her in one slow plunge. 

You watched the door settle, and the entire wattage of your attention turned to him. He hadn’t gotten used to that, and he didn’t think he ever would. “Looks like I’ll never be a nurse.” 

“Don’t say things like that.” He came around and lowered himself onto the couch beside you. “What’re you stuck on? Hit me.”

Your palm met his upper arm, a small smack. 

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Hit me all you want. You’re not getting out of this.” 

“But Jaaaack,” you drawled, tipping your head back on the couch. “Not here to study today.”

His eyes flickered over to your form briefly as he gathered the cards and squared them. “Oh, no? What’re you here for then?”

“Dunno.” You pulled your knees up to the couch. “Didn’t wanna be at mine. And work was a lot and boring.” You turned to face him then, a small smile growing on your lips. “Thought I’d bother yours instead.” 

He set the squared deck on his knee. “Lucky me.”

He’d caught it, though, how you’d folded the sad thing in the middle of the sentence where it’d draw the least attention and moved on before it could sit. He let it move on, but he kept it. The image of you on a Tuesday, work behind you, and the choice you’d made was to drive to a hospital rather than go home to your own quiet. He was getting a picture of what that quiet looked like and learned that he didn’t like it very much.

“Work was boring, huh,” he said, though he couldn’t imagine what a fun day looked like as a waitress. “You working more?”

“Mm. Saturday girl quit, so now I’m on Saturdays, too.” You picked at your sock. “S’okay. Tips are good. I learned that old guys tip better when you call them ‘sir.’” 

He huffed. “Do they?”

“Huge. It’s a cheat code.” You tilted your head at him, smiling shyly. “You’d tip well, I think. You’d overcompensate.” 

“I’m not gonna sit here and get profiled by you in the only few minutes where I can catch my breath.” He held the card up, front to himself. “And I tip twenty-five percent like every functioning adult, thank you.”

You groaned. “Where can I get tipped more than that?” 

“You don’t want me to answer that.”

“I do. I do. I’m a broke student. Point me to the money — where should I apply?” You shifted on the couch, fully facing him now, the cards apparently abandoned for the moment. “C’mon. You’ve lived a hundred years. You’ve gotta know where I can make some quick cash.” 

“You’re sweet to me, doll,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. He set the cards down and looked at you, genuinely considering it now. He tried to ignore the fact that you likely had money troubles and tried to think about how he could actually help. “Define quick.” 

“Like — by next Thursday.” 

“Legally?”

“No.” 

“Legally, you can sell plasma. Twice a week, they pay you, you sit there with a juice box.” 

Your nose scrunched. “I don’t love needles in me sober.”

“You’re gonna be a nurse.”

“In other people. That’s totally different.” You waved it off. “Next. What else?”

“Sleep studies pay you to sleep. Egg donation pays a whole lot but it’s a whole process, not a Thursday deal.” He was ticking them off on his fingers, now fully committed. “Medical research’ll pay you to test things. Phase-one trials. You take an experimental drug and they watch you for side effects.”

“That’s the one.” You sat up. “How much?”

“No,” he said immediately, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. I bring you in here to keep you from blacking out. I’m not gonna have you volunteering to get poisoned for a quick four hundred bucks.” He pointed at you. “Maybe start laying on the ‘sir’ a little too thick from now on.” 

“Sir.” You tested on him directly, dropping your voice, leaning in an inch, lashes going slow. “Could you help me out, sir? Tips have been so slow, sir.” 

He turned his face away from you, now making himself look out the window. “I’m not entertaining this.” 

“Oh, but sir.” You’d fully abandoned the cards now, scooting closer, a hand under your chin, the picture of innocence. “I’m just a girl. A poor, hardworking girl trying to be a nurse. Don’t you want to help me out, sir?”

“I am trying.” He pulled up the flashcards. “If it’ll help, I’ll bring my SWAT buddies into your place and they can run up a tab.” He waved a card in front of your face, trying to get your attention back to it. “You do this, I’ll have eight cops eating mozzarella sticks in your section by Friday, overtipping ‘cause I saved their lives. Won’t even have to call ‘em sir.” 

“Right. No, that’s — ” You let out a little laugh too quickly, eyes widening at his words, and you took the card out of his hand mostly to have something to do with yours. “You don’t have to do that. Obviously. I was kidding — ” You batted the whole thing away with a shake of your head. “God. No. I’m okay, I promise. I was kidding.”

“I’m half-kidding,” he said, raising a brow. “I do know those guys. It’s no skin off me. But it’s okay.” 

He let the offer sit like that, and he saw you pinch your eyes shut. He watched the whole thing happen on your face, the small involuntary recoil you always had when anyone offered you real kindness. You were bad at it. For a girl who lied so charmingly about how much she drank and how her night went, you had absolutely no poker face for being cared about. You had not the first idea how to hide it.

He found it unbearably endearing.

You opened your eyes and looked a little caught, a little sheepish as your thumb worried the corner of the card.

“You’re a strange girl,” he mumbled, fond, before he could stop it. “You know that?”

“Shit — Jack,” you said through a small laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t — I’m — ” You pressed your lips together and your shoulders came up almost to your ears in a stiff shrug. “Is there anything I can do for you? I can’t just accept — all your help.” 

He snorted. “What help? I give you a study room and review flash cards.”

“Let me do something. I’m a good cleaner — ”

His head went back slightly, shaking his head. “You’re really not.”

“Okay,” you continued, rallying. “A dog? Guys like you always have dogs they don’t walk ‘cause of their hours. I can walk dogs.” 

“No dog.” He raised his hand when he saw your mouth move again, stopping you. “You pay me back by passing your boards. You can pay me back plenty if you end up working here, doing good at the job.”

You went quiet for a second. “That’s just me doing my own thing. That’s not real.”

“That’s real to me.” He shrugged, like he hadn’t just made your whole future the price of his kindness. “I get a good nurse out of it someday.” He pulled himself off the couch. “And now I gotta go. Floor’s not gonna run itself.”

“Boo,” you said, pulling the entire deck on your lap now. “You’re the worst study partner. You leave constantly.”

Tonight, Jack had come into the family room after leaving you for a longer stretch of time than usual — a multi-vehicle situation that had eaten two hours and most of his patience — and found the studying had long since lost.

You’d migrated to the couch at some point. The textbook was open face-down on the cushion beside you like a small tented roof, your flashcards fanned across the middle seat, and you were folded in the corner with your knees pulled up and cheek mashed into the worn armrest, fighting your eyes and losing completely. You’d dimmed the overhead lights, lighting the lamp in the corner, the one nobody used, throwing everything low and gold.

He paused in the doorway. “You awake?” 

“Mhm. Need a cat nap, though,” you murmured.

Jack snorted, shutting the door behind him as he walked closer to you. “How far’d you get?”

“Far enough.” Then, you added, “Cat nap.”

“Sayin’ it like I’m gonna not let you have one.” 

Your eye cracked open a sliver, tracked him, then fell shut again. “Feel like you’re gonna make me do more cards.”

He toed the leg of the coffee table aside, reached down, and started clearing your mess off the cushions. He lifted the textbook and shut it around the receipt you’d jammed as a bookmark; gathered the flashcards and squared them in his palm; capped the highlighter and pocketed it. You watched the cleanup through one half-open eye, not lifting a single finger, your cheek staying flat to the armrest. 

“There. No more cards. You’re done for tonight, doll.” 

“Hooray,” you mumbled. 

He nudged your socked foot where it had crept up across the cushion. “C’mon. Budge up a second. Don’t want you wrecking your neck sleeping like that.”

You made a small sound of protest but you went, peeling your cheek off the armrest with reluctance. There was a crease pressed into your skin where the fabric seam had been and your hair was flat on one side and mushed on the other. You blinked up at him, swaying where you sat, eyes glassy and unfocused in the gold lamplight.

He sank into the space he’d cleared, the cushion dipping, tipping the two of you a fraction into each other. That was all the invitation your body apparently needed, because you folded into him without a beat of thought — too tired to second-guess it, he supposed — your temple finding the warm of his shoulder, your whole side melting against his. You drew your knees up and tucked them against his thigh. Your hand came to rest on his chest, palm flat, fingers spreading once before they went still. You exhaled after a moment, long and slowly, and burrowed your nose into his neck. 

Jack stilled. 

“Ten minutes,” you murmured, the words barely coming out as words.

He took his arm off the back of the couch and settled it around your back, broad hand spanning between your shoulder blades and drawing you that last fraction deeper into him. You went boneless with it, a small contended hum slipping out of you. 

Because he couldn’t help himself, he tipped his head down a fraction to say into your hair, “Been doin’ really well, y’know that, sweetheart?” 

You hummed, the sound of it vibrating against his throat, your fingers curling the faintest bit in his scrubs. “Thanks, Jack.”

“Gonna be a good nurse,” he murmured, thumb moving once along your shoulder. 

“Gonna work with you,” you mumbled, three-quarters gone. “You said.”

“Mhm.”

“Holdin’ you to it.” 

“Yeah, I know you are.” The corner of his mouth flicked up where you couldn’t see it. “Go to sleep. You can hold me to it in ten minutes.” 

When you didn’t answer for a second, Jack realized you were already gone. You were warm and trusting at his side, your hand slack over his heart, your breath sinking deep and even into his neck. 

Jack let his head tip back against the couch, pinching his eyes shut at the feeling of you, at the feeling you caused. His hand spread slowly across your back, feeling the breath go through you — the proof of you — and he let his thumb find the curve of your shoulder and rest there, keeping his eyes shut. He sat with the enormous fact of you, the girl he’d not seen anyone circle back for, gone soft and so pliant in his arms like she’d always belonged there, and he stopped pretending he wasn’t already lost. 

The ten minutes came and went. He let them. He’d have given you the whole night, the whole shift, the whole of whatever this was turning into. There wasn’t one place on the earth worth standing up for, and he’d known it for weeks, and only now, with your breath slow against his throat, did he let himself sit all the way inside of the knowing.

Jack came out of the OR and signed — albeit distantly, mind running a meter a minute about nothing good — what needed signing and said the things he was meant to, feeling the familiar piece of his own damn soul rotting away in the place those things went to rot. He knew the spot by now. It’d been decades of depositing them into the same place, and the place didn’t fill, exactly, but it never emptied, either. It just sat there, getting heavier, like things usually do when you keep adding to it and never take anything out.

This one would sit a while. Jack had started to sense it around the first year in this job; the ones that stayed had a weight, and you knew on the table whether you were getting one of those or whether it’d wash off by morning. This one wouldn’t.

He stripped his gloves, and somebody said something he answered without hearing, and then his feet simply walked past the board, carrying him down the hall toward the one door on the whole floor that wouldn’t have somebody else’s catastrophe behind it. 

His hand was flat on the door. He was still wearing the gown, and he looked down and registered it too late. He should’ve changed it, left the thing in the dirty bin with the rest of what the shift had taken, the way he always did before he came to you, kept the two halves of the floor separate on purpose. 

He opened the door. You were on the couch, one leg tucked under you and the other foot on the floor and a half-empty cup of coffee on the table going cold. You’d been doing something on your phone, or nothing, when the door opened, and you looked up with the easy expectant expression on your face you always had before it dropped. He watched it melt.

“Hey,” you said, making your voice soft.

“Hey.” His voice came out rough, and he almost winced as he heard it himself. 

You set your phone face-down on the cushion and unfolded yourself from the couch and stood, crossing the room to close the gap between you. You stopped in front of him and looked up, your brow doing a small worried thing, and he let himself be looked at.

“Sit down,” you said. “You look like you’re gonna fall through the floor.”

He distantly registered you walking him to the chair — your hand finding his forearm, a light touch — and he let you. He folded into the chair like the strings of his own body had been cut, his elbows finding his knees and head dropping.

He heard you move, small domestic sounds of you filling a cup, the tap somewhere down the hall turning on then shutting off. Then your socks were back in his eyeline, toes pointed to him.

“Here.” You crouched, came into his lowered field of vision, and pressed a cup into his hands — water, cold — and folded his fingers around it when they were slow to close. “Drink it all.”

He drank because that was the path of least resistance. The water caught something he hadn’t registered was bone-dry. You took the empty cup out of his hands when he was done, setting it on the table behind you, and then he felt your hands find his shoulders.

He flinched just slightly, the smallest involuntary thing, for nobody touched him like that. Nobody put their hands on him that weren’t shaking one of his or needing something from him. You settled your thumbs into the iron base of his neck and pressed slowly, working the knots the night, the days, the weeks, and probably the year had wound there.

Your thumbs were unsure of themselves — you weren’t good at it, you weren’t trying to be, you were simply trying — and that was somehow worse because it got further to him than skill would have; there was the unpracticed earnestness to it, like you’d simply decided his shoulders had been holding too much and you wanted to put your hands there to take some of it down. 

He felt his head drop lower, coming forward on its own, the tension bleeding out of his neck by degrees under your hands. Your thumbs found a place at the top of his spine that had been clenched so long that it had stopped registering as pain, and you pressed there, and a fraction let go. He felt his shoulders drop the inch they’d been holding up all night, and an uneven breath went out of him.

You kept your hands moving, your thumbs working the meat of his shoulders through the cotton, occasionally finding a knot and leaning your weight into it until it gave. 

His head tipped a little forward after a stretch of time — chasing, or simply falling — and it found the soft of your stomach. His forehead rested against the front of you, where you stood close in the gap between his knees. He hadn’t intended for it, or maybe he had, somewhere under where the intention happened, his body had chosen to stop holding its own weight and give it to the nearest thing that felt like it’d take it. His eyes were already shut, and he stayed there, hands coming up on their own to rest at the sides of your waist. His fingers anchored into the fabric of your shirt.

“Shitty job sometimes,” he mumbled after a moment.

“Yeah,” you said softly above him. “I bet it is.” 

Your fingers had found his hair, threading through the curls. Then, you added quietly, “But you’re really good at it.” 

His fingers tightened a fraction at the fabric on your waist as he let out a short huff. 

“Didn’t help him,” he said finally, the words coming out muffled behind his own mouth. “Whatever I’m good at didn’t help him.” 

“Maybe not.” Your fingers scraped carefully at his scalp. “I think you were the best shot he had.”

He breathed you in, choosing to let the words rest in his skull for a while instead of fighting them. 

“I’m — ” He heard you take in a breath and felt it go through your whole body. “I’m really grateful I met you, Jack.”

For some reason, he waited for you to take it back. There was a primally fast thing in him that told him that you’d take the words back, and he’d have understood.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you added. “I just wanted you to know. While you’re here being all — ” Your thumb moved at the back of his neck, tender and so gentle. “ — Figured it was a decent time to tell you I’m glad you exist.” 

He took in a shaky breath against you, fingers tightening again. 

“Thank you, sweet girl,” he said, and it sounded like it’d been punched out of him. “Likewise. More than you know,” he finished, his arms wrapping around the rest of your waist now, pulling you in like he could just fold himself smaller if he held hard enough.

Your fingers kept moving slowly in his hair, your other hand coming around the back of his head to hold him there. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d let anybody do this; as far as he could remember, he’d decided in some wordless permanent way that he’d carry his own weight from then on, that it was cheaper, that needing somebody was a bill that came due eventually and he’d rather not run the tab. 

“You should sit,” he said after god knows how long without letting go. “Selfish, keepin’ you standing here.”

“It’s okay.”

He hummed, thumb moving once at your waist. “Two more minutes then.”

“Whatever you need, Jack,” you said, voice quiet. “I’m not going.”

Jack’s phone lit up on the arm of the couch at 10:52, face-down, buzzing itself a quarter-inch off the leather before he caught it. 

He’d been working his way, with grim completionist patience, through an iceberg video you’d sent him three days ago with the message ‘THIS rabbit hole i need you to fall down.’ You’d followed it up by telling him, ‘do Not skip tiers!!’ He hadn’t skipped tiers. He was, in fact, ninety minutes deep and only about two-thirds down the pyramid, somewhere in the tier where a young man with a serious voice was explaining internet folklore he couldn’t believe was real. 

He was fairly sure it’d been invented by some teenager, but Jack only shrugged, distantly wondering why on earth anyone would spend the labor — the diagrams, alone — hoaxing a thing this elaborate for an audience of complete strangers. He also wondered why on earth you were so interested in this. As quickly as the thought arrived, he realized that he was working down the iceberg himself.

Working down a thing you’d handed him felt adjacent to sitting next to you, and his apartment had become the sort of quiet that made adjacent worth ninety minutes of contemporary folklore. He’d sooner have chewed glass than admitted it out loud.

It was a good apartment and an unwitnessed one. He’d realized somewhere in the past year it was untouched by any hand but his. Every object was exactly where he’d last set it down, for there was no second person to nudge the remote three inches or leave a hair tie on the counter or ask why there was a mug in the sink and no bowl. His leg was off for the night, propped against the arm of the couch, the whole standing weight from his night shift to SWAT calls finally set down somewhere it was allowed to stay.

So, the phone going off, went off loud in the silence that had become almost-permanent. Your name lit across the screen, and the picture with it (one you’d set yourself, commandeering his phone to do it). It was already strange that it was a call. You never called; you texted in floods, six messages deep before he’d gotten to the first, but the ringing meant the thing had gotten past the point where typing it out would hold. 

He looked at your laughing face buzzing on his phone for a second too long, the cold little instinct, and thumbed it green.

“Hey,” he said. “You know it’s almost eleven on my night-off. This better be good.”

You stayed silent for a second, and he could hear your breath and the hollow of a call connected in a car, the cooling engine’s tick and automotive acoustics. 

“Hey,” you said finally, and Jack felt it wrongly. The back half of the word had gone soft and unsteady at the end.

Jack was already sitting up. “Hey, yourself,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He heard you swallow quickly. “Sorry. God, this is so dumb. You — were you asleep?” 

“I was almost through with your iceberg, if you want the truth.” 

You made a sound that tried to be a laugh but didn’t clear the runway, breaking apart halfway. “You watched it?”

“Almost.” His fingers were drumming against his prosthetic leaning by the couch now. “Are you out?”

“I’m —” You paused, then hummed like you were debating. “I’m kind of near your place, actually?” Your voice rose toward the end, like you were embarrassed or questioning it all yourself. “I know. It’s creepy. But I think I need to — talk to you.” 

“Yeah?” He tried to keep his voice light, though he could already feel something in his body start racing, panicking. “You break something?”

“No. No. Promise. It’s nothing like that.”

For some reason, that put a deeper hook in him. If it wasn’t a wrist, an ankle, or your body doing something it shouldn’t, then it was the other kind, and he had no idea how to hold something like that. He wasn’t sure what he could do with a sprain he couldn’t ice.

“Okay — ”

“Wait,” you interrupted, voice pitching higher, and he could see you were psyching yourself out. “I could just say it now, honestly. It’d probably be easier over the phone.”

Jack’s eyes widened a fraction at that. His stomach suddenly felt cold. 

“No,” he said, voice rougher than he’d intended. “I won’t make it hard. Whatever you want to say, I promise. Just — not like this, okay? Come here.” 

He listened to you breathe as you weighed it and knew, with bone-deep certainty, that he wouldn’t like what you were going to say. “Okay,” you breathed. “I’ll be there in fifteen.” 

Jack opened the door after the first knock, unembarrassed of waiting. You’d come as you were, a coat thrown open over sleep clothes, good wool hanging loose over a thin cami with lace at the collar and soft shorts and bare legs down to the sneakers you hadn’t laced properly. The second fact that registered to Jack was that you’d been crying; there was a soft ruin around your eyes, the mascara long gone, wiped with a sleeve somewhere back in the evening. Your hair was up and losing, a claw clip hanging looser than he believed it was meant to.

“Hi,” you said, eyes raising to meet his. “Thanks for letting me come by.”

Jack felt his shoulders rise to his ears just slightly at the formality. He felt like a bucket of ice had been dropped upon him because somewhere in the past few weeks, you’d stopped apologizing to him as much, which had felt like a small victory he never told you he was counting. And here it was again, your stiff little courtesy, the door swung back shut on a thing that had been open. Jack didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. 

“You don’t thank me for coming by,” he said gruffly, opening the door wider.

You came in, but only just. Before he could steer you to the warmth of his apartment, you were already reaching into the bag on your shoulder — hands shaking, he realized, with a fine tremor — and pulling out a folded piece of paper, creased hard down the middle and then again like you’d tried to bundle it up into a fist.

He unfolded it and smoothed out the edges, eyes looking for yours briefly, but you’d already looked away. Your bottom lip was between your teeth and you were looking at the ground. He forced himself to look down.

It was your pharmacology exam. Your cramped looping handwriting scattered the margins, a star drawn to one question because you starred everything. There was red pen all down the side and a number circled on the top. The number, Jack saw immediately, was not catastrophic, not a failure even. It was a low pass, the sort of grade that would’ve stung for Jack in his school days and evaporated by the next exam. He’d expected worse from the way you’d been shaking holding it. 

He looked back at you, confused more than anything. “Congratulations, you passed.” 

Your jaw tightened, and he could see your eyes go bright and wounded. “It’s a seventy-one.”

“That’s a pass.”

“Barely. Barely.” You took the paper out of his hands, folding it away like you couldn’t stand looking at it anymore. “And you helped me with this so much and I still couldn’t. I’m so tired of — ” You stopped, looking up at the ceiling as you pressed your lips flat. “It’s not about the test.”

“Okay.” He leaned back against the counter, giving you the whole floor of the room. “Talk, then.” 

You looked at him, and he watched you gather it all up, deciding, as it settled into your face, your mouth, whatever you’d come here to say.

“I don’t wanna waste your time anymore,” you said, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as your eyes landed on the wall behind him. “I can’t — it’s not fair.” 

Jack felt the whole floor shift under him and felt his brows go up an inch as he tried to keep his face seem collected. 

“You’re you,” you continued. “You’ve got a whole life, a hard one, and I’ve been just — dumping mine on you. Making you sit there and hold my hand through studying and I’m — ” You shook your head, face going grim as you said the words. “It’s not fair to you. You’ve been carrying me for so long, and it’s not fair. None of this is yours to carry. I’m not yours to carry.” 

His nose scrunched just slightly, something like burning blooming at the center of his face. Something in his chest had cracked along the seam he had no idea was there, because he’d never had to look at it once straight on. It was easy to carry your own weight when there was no one asking to take some. It was easy to call solitude a principle when nobody had ever made the alternative real. And you had. You’d made it real for months, and here you were proposing — no, telling — to take it back, to hand him his loneliness again because of some measurement of fairness. 

The horror of how much Jack didn’t want it — how badly, how completely he didn’t want to go back to how it was before you — was the first honest look he’d taken at himself in longer than he could stand to count. 

“That so?” was all he could say, voice roughening as his brows narrowed at you. 

“Yes.” You mistook the roughness for agreement, or maybe you just needed to do so, because you kept going. “You don’t have to help me. The only thing I can think is you’re — you are a good person and I was there. And you help people, it’s what you do.” Your hand waved in the general direction of him as your voice cracked. “So help someone who’d actually make it worth it. Who won’t barely pass and keep getting too drunk and — ” You laughed slightly, and it was all wet and terrible, the sound. “I’m a bad use of you. You’re this — you are so much, Jack, and I’m a bad place to put it. So put it somewhere better.” 

Jack had to force a swallow when you ended your words with a sharp intake of breath, the pool behind your eyes slipping free slowly down your cheeks. You’d run out of anything that’d make you wipe it away now, and that undid him worse than the crying itself, that you were standing there and letting it fall, done hiding, wrung all the way out. 

“I’m sorry — ” he started.

“It’s okay,” you said immediately, shaking your head.

“For making you think that’s what it was,” he said, lowering his voice. “That’s on me, that you talked yourself into thinking this has been some sort of charity.” He cocked his head to the side then, wishing you’d look up at him. “But you’re gonna quit shaking your head for one minute, and hear the rest, ‘cause you got it wrong. All of it, backwards and upside down.”

He came off the counter and closed the space himself, until you had to lift your chin to keep his eyes. 

“I’m not a man who spends his nights on a stray out of the goodness of his heart. Ask anyone I work with what I’m like. I don’t have that lying around spare.” His jaw tightened. “So take the halo off. That’s not what this was.”

“Then why — ”

“You,” he said plainly, for he learned it cost him nothing to do so, and a lot if he didn’t. “I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. There’s nowhere else I want to put it.”

He watched everything in your face tighten at his words, the disbelief and reflex to argue all curdling underneath. 

“If you don’t want this.” Me. Me, he wanted to say. “Say it. I’ll leave you alone. You don’t owe me anything.”

“That’s not — ”

“But don’t act like it’s some favor for me.” He was closer now than he’d been. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving for my sake. That’s a lie.”

“It’s not — ”

“It’s a lie,” he said, voice going flat and so final, as he slowly nodded his head. He looked at you a second, lips coming between his teeth, then looked away as he felt something physical seize over his entire body.

Jack himself had to process the words as he said them, because he was only just realizing how much truth they held.

“You make it good.”

He forced himself to look back at you, and you had tilted your head now to look up at him, caught and still as stone, the arguing gone completely off your face now and replaced with something more frightened.

“Don’t — ” One of Jack’s shoulders came up in a half-hearted shrug. “You’re the one part of my day that doesn’t take anything out of me. Just — get that straight, sweetheart.” 

You were just looking up at him with your whole face undone, the tears gone still on it, as though his words had knocked your own clean out of you.

“I don’t know what to do with that,” you said quietly. “People don’t — that’s not a thing that happens to me, Jack. Being — ” Your sentence broke apart and your hand had come up and fisted loosely in front of his shirt without either of you deciding it should, holding on, holding him there. “I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Nothing.” His hand came up slowly and covered yours where it fisted in his shirt, holding it flat there against his chest. “It’s just true.”

You made a small, pained sound and dropped your forehead against his sternum, right where his hand held yours, and he felt the whole strung-tight weight of you gave at once and settled into him. He felt you breathe against his shirt at the same time he felt his own pulse going too fast on your knuckles; he wasn’t bothered enough to try and slow it, because there was no point now. You’d already found out. 

“Very grateful for you,” he murmured, his other hand pulled up to rest over the back of your skull. “Told you so earlier. Meant it more than you let yourself hear.”

You huffed against his shirt — half a sob, half a laugh, maybe the ruined cousin of both — and he felt it go through the cotton and land warm against his skin, felt your fingers uncurl a fraction from the fist they’d made then re-fist, like even now some part of you was checking he was still there to hold onto. 

Jack held still for it, same as you had in the family room for him. He was good at holding still, it was half the job, but this was a different kind — he supposed — where there was a plain animal willingness to be a wall for as long as you needed one and not move a muscle that might spook you out of it. 

He rested his chin at the top of your head, murmuring, “I don’t have to tutor you anymore, if that’ll help.” He swallowed, closing his eyes as he breathed in your faint perfume. “We can scrap the whole thing, if that’s what’s making you feel so bad.”

You stilled for a second, then made a small sound against him. 

Despite himself, despite it all, he let out a short chuckle. “S’okay. I’m the reason you got a seventy-one. You’re allowed to switch.” 

“You’re the reason it’s a seventy-one and not a thirty,” you said, and it came out muffled and immediate. You almost sounded cross, like you didn’t want the slander against him to stand even now.

After a moment against him, you added, “I don’t want to be just someone you help, I think. I don’t want to be somebody — I guess — that you’re just good to.”

When Jack hummed, you continued, “I don’t know what I wanna be instead. Just — a friend — or, I don’t know. Something that goes both ways.”

Jack’s chest swelled at the words. He felt that he’d have been anything you asked of him, simply because it had just become how it was. It was almost outrageous how, if you’d asked, he’d have handed it over, the whole rest of it, whatever you wanted the name to be, whatever box you needed him in.

A man his age was supposed to be past this. He was supposed to have calcified somewhere in the second decade of the job into something that didn’t reorganize himself around what someone he’d known properly only for the better part of the year had asked him.

“Consider it done,” he murmured, letting the word settle. Friend.

You breathed against him, and Jack felt himself want to remain exactly here and knew that he shouldn’t. He knew that the kind thing now was to give you somewhere to put your face that wasn’t his chest, some ordinary ground for you to set your feet back down on. 

“C’mon.” He got a hand on your shoulder and eased you off him gently, a slow, slow reclaiming of the eight inches of air between your body and his. He dipped his head to catch your eyes, which were pink-rimmed and swollen and doing their utter best to avoid his now that the worst was out of you. “Do you want me to order food?”

Your neck rolled back slightly as you met his eyes, caught slightly off-guard at the shift of tone. You blinked. “That was a lot, and now you’re asking about food?”

“It was a lot,” he agreed. He reached up and thumbed a smudge of leftover mascara from under your eye briskly, and you let him. “And now it’s done. So, food, and we can watch the stupid video you sent me before you head home.”

It had been six days since you showed up at his apartment, and Jack had embarrassingly counted every single one of them. You’d left his apartment somewhere past two with your eyes finally dry and a paper bag of his leftover Thai you’d protested and taken anyway, and he’d walked you down to your car and stood in the lot like some idiot in a movie until your taillights turned off his street, and then he’d gone back up to a quiet that felt, for the first time in years, like something had been in it.

Since then it had gone like it always had and nothing like it; you still turned up with flashcards and left a graveyard of half-drunk coffees on every surface. But he’d noticed how you started letting him sit closer now, let a compliment land without flinching off, and once, mid-story, had reached over and fixed his scrub top where it had folded under, casual as breathing. 

Friend was the word you’d settled on. Jack was thinking about that when Shen dropped into step beside Jack with a cup of fresh Dunkin sweating in his hand. 

“You know it’s not standard to let your girlfriend occupy the family room for three hours of your shift, right?” 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jack immediately clarified. It seemed more important to do now than it was earlier, when people only knew you when you came in as an emergency. Still, it felt wrong, like a key going in the wrong hole. “And you got a problem with it?” 

Shen lifted the coffee in surrender, unbothered. “You know we’ve grown to her. She and I do the Wordle every midnight.” Then, he spread one hand. “Administratively, she’s not staff. She’s not a patient. She’s not family of a patient. Which leaves the category I’d have to call —” He tilted his head, faux thoughtfulness. “ — Abbot’s girlfriend, and I don’t think that’s in the handbook.” 

“Try again,” Jack drawled, thumbing a form he wasn’t reading that didn’t need to be read. “She’s a nursing student getting hours of free tutoring off a board-certified attending. Put that in the handbook. Teaching hospital. I’m teaching.”

Shen shook his head, letting out a small laugh. “Alright. Alright. She’s not your girlfriend. Mind if I ask her out, then?” 

Jack snorted. “If you could only be so lucky.” 

“Clearly she has a type for attendings,” he pressed, grinning. “Or is it just the ones with gray hair?”

Jack looked at him sideways. “This is getting a bit weird, even for you.” 

“I’m happy for you, man. Even if you’re gonna make us all watch you not do anything about it for the next six months.”

“Mind your own damn business.”

“Sure,” he turned, lifting a hand over his shoulder as he went. “Close the blinds anyway. There’s a window on that door. Everyone can see her making you dumb.” 

Jack looked down the hall and set the form down before going there to close the blinds — telling himself it was for the window, for Shen’s real talk — and knowing, somewhere under that, that he was really just going to you. 

He could see you through the window in the door before he reached it, which was, he supposed, exactly Shen’s point. You had a textbook open in your lap and you were chewing the end of your highlighter, brow pulled in, mouthing something to yourself, working a card over your head. You’d pulled the sleeves of one of his old sweatshirts down to your hands, the one you’d swiped from his locker two weeks ago and never given back and that he’d never once asked for, because he’d found he didn’t want it back, found he liked seeing it swallow you.

You gave him a smile when he walked in. He reached up and tipped the blinds shut on the window with two fingers, the floor outside tipping away. 

“Why’d you close them?” you asked, slightly bored.

“Apparently the whole department’s been getting a show.”

You furrowed your brows then. “A show of what? Me failing?”

“Somethin’ like that.” He let it go at that, coming around and lowering himself onto the couch beside you, the cushion dipping and tipping you toward him a degree, what it always did that neither of you ever corrected. “How’s it going? Honest.”

“Honestly?” You blew out a breath, closing the highlighter. “I’d kill for a drink.”

“Oh?” Jack settled back against the couch, his arm coming up along the top of it behind you. “Telling that to the one man who’s seen what you look like at the bottom of the bottle.”

“Jaaaack,” you said, almost in a whine. “Let’s go to a bar.”

He snorted, dragging a hand down his face. “Now I’m wondering what’s pushing you toward the edge.”

He picked the flashcard you had set on the textbook, the one you’d been studying. He read the front of it without much intention — your handwriting was cramped and looping, a star drawn next to it — and turned over and checked the back. He did the same thing he always did, the story, the image; he’d done it a hundred times by now. He could do it half-asleep, and most nights he half was. 

You thought about it for a second, your bottom lip tugged between your teeth, then walked yourself to the answer. 

“Mhm. See. Good,” he murmured. He flipped the card to the back to check you, and you’d had it. Of course you’d had it, you’d had more of this than you ever gave yourself credit for. “Tell you what. Get the next three right, and I’ll get us a drink once your exams are done.” 

Your brows narrowed. “Bribe?”

“It’s an incentive.” He held up the next card, eyes on you. “Don’t think. Just answer me.” 

You did. One, then the next, then the one after. You were quicker now that there was something on the end of it, your lip caught between your teeth as you walked yourself there each time. He noticed you worked when there was something to earn. After all three, he hummed. “See. Good girl, there you go.” 

He felt you go still beside him, and his eyes flickered up to you to see your eyes dropping to your textbook. He stayed silent a second, eyes raking over you, your thumb running the worn edge of a card back and forth. 

Jack knew better than to point out how you being flustered was almost silly when he’d said the same words many times while taping you up or shining a penlight in your eyes. He let his arm stay where it was along the couch, hand not quite touching your shoulder, and watched the side of your face.

“You wanna do some more?” he said finally, voice coming out rougher. “Or are we done for the night?”

You held up a finger, as if telling him to wait.

“Okay, then,” he mumbled, leaning back further against the couch. “Take your time.”

After a second, he turned to say something dry to break the silence. You’d turned your head, too, and were closer than he initially realized, your eyes coming up off the card and finding his, near enough that whatever he had bubbling in his throat died there immediately. 

Jack hummed involuntarily. You closed the sound by pressing your mouth to his, the feeling of the plushness so very featherlight, there and barely there, the softest press. 

He went still as stone, every system in him locking at once. His hand was still along the back of the couch and his mouth hadn’t answered yours, not because he didn’t want to — God, he did — but because the entirety of him had gone still with the disbelief of it, with the you, here, choosing this — him — and the half-second of nothing stretched into a second, too damn long. 

He’d seized on you, the fact you’d nearly walked, had stood in his kitchen finding the kindest way to disappear, and here you were, closing the last of the distance yourself.

You pulled back like you’d touched a stove, a gasp leaving your mouth, replacing where his own had been. 

“Oh god.” Your hand flew up to your mouth, your eyes going wide before pinching shut completely. “I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, Jack. I read that so, so wrong. You’ve been so nice and I — fuck, I’m sorry.”

Jack made a pained sound that was lost somewhere in your ramble, at the sight of you snatching it back. Nothing had gone wrong. Jack knew you’d read nothing wrong, and that the only thing that had happened was that he’d been too slow, too stunned, too thirty-years-rusty to catch what had been handed to him in good reflex.

His hand came off the back of the couch and he caught your jaw, thumb on your chin as he pushed slightly against your skin. He was distantly aware that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so afraid about leaning in to kiss a woman, and went in to try and give you back the second he lost, mouth finding yours the exact way every bone in his body knew he should’ve the first time. 

You made a startled sound against him before the entirety of you melted. His mouth worked against yours, thoroughly, making sure not to fumble it twice. His thumb stayed on your chin, tilting your face the half-degree he wanted it, and when your lips parted on half a breath, his entire upper body leaned in to follow it, deepening it. 

It was you who moved first. Of course, it was you, always you. You followed it, the kiss pulling you up and forward, your knee coming over his thigh, and then you were settling over him. Jack let out the throatiest of a chuckle, still intent on keeping your mouth, as your hands slid from the front of his scrubs to his jaw. 

Jack’s hands caught yours on instinct — one at your waist, one at your hip — steadying you down to him, your hips still slightly in the air like you weren’t sure you could close the last of the distance, your weight held in the suspended air in the ache of almost, thighs braced on either side of his. 

Jack pulled back just enough to look at you, letting his head fall back against the back of the couch, dragging his eyes up the length of you poised over him. He blew out a short breath, the corners of his lips kicking up as his palm glided up and down on the side of your waist, catching onto your tank top on accident to show a sliver of skin at your lip — warm, soft, the band of your shorts sitting low — and he watched his own hand do it before he dragged his eyes back to your face.

“Nothing halfway with you, huh?” he said, the words practically coming out from his chest. His thumb rested against that bared sliver of you. “Climbing me at my work.”

You lowered your head, and your nose grazed against his. “You started it.”

“I did?”

“You closed the blinds.”

He let out a surprised laugh. “I can promise you I didn’t expect this when I did that.” 

Your lips ghosted over his for a second, and his chest swelled at the sight of you trying to tamp down the sweetest smile. “Problem?” 

“No.” The words came out immediately, because apparently somewhere in him, there was still something insatiable and teenage that had lurched up at the sight of you. “No. No problem.”

His hand spread flat and warm against the small of your back, fingers slipping under the hem of the top to your warm skin there, and he drew you down, finally, that last suspended inch collapsing as he settled your weight flush over him. 

He had to pinch his eyes shut a second, then open them again to take in the whole sight of you. His hand came up to your jaw. The light caught the loose hair at your temple, the bare line of your shoulder where the strap had slipped. Your mouth was full and flushed from his, parted slightly, your breath coming. The skin under his hand at your back was hot to the touch, and he spread his fingers wider against it just to feel more of it. 

You were trying not to smile. Your lip caught between your teeth, the corners pulling anyway. 

His finger perched against your jaw moved to your lips, dragging slowly across the lower one, parting it under the pad of his thumb. He watched it give, your breath warm against his skin. 

Your eyes flicked up to his as your lip closed around the first knuckle, your tongue hesitantly pressing flat against the pad, the wet heat of it catching him so completely off guard that the air went out of him in a rough exhale. His other hand fisted at the small of your back, turning over to gather the hem of your tank in his grip. 

“Oh.” His eyes had dropped to your mouth and fixed there, his jaw slack as his head cocked to the side. “Pretty.” 

His gaze was locked on the sight of his thumb disappearing past your lips, no hesitation in it, that same no-halfway boldness turned filthy and sweet all at once. The tired man in him went down all at once. 

His thumb dragged free, catching on your bottom lip and tugging it down before it slipped loose. His chest heaved harder now under the warm weight of you. 

“Where’d that come from?” he muttered gruffly, almost to himself, thumb pressing the slick of your own lip back against you. His palm moved to cradle your face, tapping your cheek softly once. “Can’t be doing things like that here, doll. I’m on call.” 

“Then don’t make it so easy.” Your lips brushed his thumb, then you moved down to press your mouth to the line of his jaw, the stubble catching your lips, then lower to the warm of his throat.

“You callin’ me easy?” he said through a chuckle, letting his head tip back. You scraped your teeth over the cord of his neck and felt the whole of him go tight underneath you, his fingers flexing hard into the bare skin of your back. 

“Alright.” His voice had dropped to stone. “You’ve had your fun.. No more of that,” he said, though made no move to stop you.

You peppered a line of pecks down his throat down to where his collar had started, your lips dragging over the jut of his collarbone through the thin cotton. He swallowed. One of your hands slid up to the back of your neck, fingers pushing into the soft gray at his nape, scratching light, and the other flattened over his chest, over the steady-then-not rhythm, fisting slow in the fabric just to feel him breathe wrong because of you.

You sat back an inch to look at him. His head was still tipped back against the couch, his throat bared where you’d left it momentarily pink and glossy, his eyes half-lidded. His hands had gone heavy and possessive at your hips, giving up pretending he wanted them anywhere else, you anywhere else.

You dragged your thumb over his bottom lip, watched it give, the same way he did to you. 

“Can I ask you something?” you asked, quietly, your hips settling more firmly into his lap. 

“Mm.” His hands spread wide, settling you down harder against him. “My social security number is — ”

You laughed. 

“Two-two-six — ”

“Jack — ” You swatted at his chest, the seriousness dissolving into something giddier. “I’m being serious. Stop.” 

“Okay, okay.” The corners of his mouth lifted up, and his hands squeezed slightly at your hips. He pulled his head up off the couch to meet your eyes properly. “Shoot. Doubt I could stop you.” 

“Are you seeing anyone?”

He let the question sit, humming. His thumbs moved idly at your hips, head tilting against the couch like the question required any real thought. “There’s a few women,” he said, lowering his voice as he looked at you, like he was letting you in on a secret. “There’s a nice lady who brings me fruit baskets.”

Your hand, on the flat of his chest, slid up slow to his throat and he kept talking like he didn’t notice.

“ — there’s this nurse on days who keeps leaving me her number at the station — ”

You leaned in and closed your teeth slightly on his earlobe. He let out a short laugh, one that was dragged out of him, his head tipped to give more of it to you without permission. 

“Alright. Okay,” he said as your nose dragged the line of his jaw. “Stop doin’ that. I don’t wanna explain teeth marks to the whole floor.” 

Your hips set firmer into his lap. “Jack,” you warned. “I can’t do this if you’re seeing fifty other women.” 

He sobered a degree, his thumb going still at your waist, his eyes coming up to actually hold yours. The joke drained out of his face as he realised the edge of seriousness you tried to tamp down, and he momentarily short-circuited at how it was even possible for you to wonder. 

“Hey.” His hand came up off your hip, pushed the hair back from your face and stayed there, cradling. “Until five minutes ago, there were zero women. Forget fifty.” 

Your only response to that was a smile and your cheek leaning further against his palm. He let his thumb move once across his cheekbone, watching the way your cheek turned into his hand. Your eyes drifted half-shut. There was a speck of dried highlighter ink on the side of your finger where it curled against his throat. The strap of your top had slid off your shoulder again; he looked at all of you and stopped bothering to pretend, even to himself, that he was looking at anything other than the only thing in the room he wanted.

“What about you? You seein’ anyone?” His thumb stayed where it was, but his voice had gone quieter. “‘Cause I’ve seen people bring you in. And I never liked one of ‘em.”

You huffed a small laugh, your nose grazing his. “Jealous, Doctor?” 

“Yeah.” He watched the laugh stall on your face at how easy he gave it up. “If there is, he should be worried. I’d like to take you on a nice date to change that.” 

“Ohhhh,” you drawled through a laugh. “There’s no one, but I won’t say no to the date.”

“Then you’ve got yourself one, doll.” He kissed you on it — short, sure, his hand still cradling your face — sealing the thing as the corner of his mouth caught yours before he pulled back. He let his forehead rest against yours for a second and breathed you in. 

Then, with a short groan, he tipped his head back off of yours. 

“I gotta get back out there.” His thumb was still moving at your jaw, clearly working against the very thing he was saying. “My work ethic’s going wrong and my residents might actually report me.” 

Then, his hands found your waist and he lifted you off, setting you off his lap and onto the cushion beside him where the entire thing had started. You landed with a small affronted sound, your hand fisting in his collar a beat longer before he had to let it go. 

You flopped back into the cushion where he’d deposited you, one hand pressed flat to your chest, the picture of wounded. “I guess it’s true what they say about old men. They use you. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.” 

He stood up and scrubbed his palm down his face like he could wipe the last ten minutes off it before he had to walk out and be a doctor again. He could still feel the heat sitting at the back of his neck and even though he’d tried to scrub your gloss off, he was sure there was a remnant somewhere the worst possible person would notice. 

“Yup, got exactly what I wanted. Thank you, ma’am.” His hand came down to rest at the top of your head and gave it a slow, condescending pat, ruffling the wreck of your hair worse than it already was. “I’m a terrible man. You’re welcome to stay here while I go be one somewhere else.” 

He made himself step back and snagged his pen off the table, the badge, the small armor of the job clipping back into place piece-by-piece. The whole time his eyes kept catching on you, sprawled and rumpled where he’d set you down, looking up at him like the night had gone exactly where it was supposed to. He’d seen this room a thousand nights. He’d never once not wanted to leave it. 

“Mm. Gotta go home. S’almost three,” you mumbled. “And you get off at seven.” 

“I do.”

“So.” You pushed yourself off the cushion, slow, gathering your hair back off your face and pushing up your strap, putting yourself back together piece by piece the same way he was, the night closing in on both ends. “I’ll go and let you be a doctor. You’ve been very neglectful.” 

“Don’t I know it,” he muttered. He watched you reach for your textbook, your highlighter, the flashcards, and sweep it all back into your bag, feeling the small stupid pull of not wanting the room to empty out. 

He stepped in before you finished, catching your jaw, tilting your face up to kiss you once more. You went still under it, the bag forgotten halfway zipped, your hand coming up to rest light on his chest. He pulled back an inch to look at you.

“Text me when you get home,” he said, thumb dragging along your jaw. 

You chuckled, brows pulling in. “It’s a ten minute drive.”

“Text me. Humor an old man, since I’m so terrible to you already.”

[suga-kookiemonster]

ctrl alt del | jjk

summary⇢ you graduated bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but, to your extreme disappointment, your big girl job isn't turning out to be nearly as exciting as you thought it would be. still, you're holding out hope that your talents will soon be recognized and your coworkers will stop trying to include you in their gossip sessions. enter jungkook, the quiet IT guy who's gradually making your days more bearable. (and if you find him easy on the eyes, that's nobody's business but yours.) pairing⇢ jungkook/reader word count⇢ 19.8k 🤭 genre⇢ smut | humor | office!au warnings⇢ sexual content, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, corporate nonsense, jk is a nerd but he's also really hot 😩 a/n⇢ omg, she's finally here 😭 this fic has been sitting in my drafts partially finished for literal YEARS lmfaoo. as in, jungkook didn't even have tattoos yet years ☠️ in fact, the whole plot for this was spawned from that time namjoon was on a live in his studio and jk visited in this yellow buttonup looking like a hot nerd and namjoon said he looked like he had an interview. it had to be 2018ish...i know my OGs know exactly what i'm talking about, but i'll put it below the cut for reference. ANYWAYS this was fun to imagine, but it's also entirely fiction so please don't attempt anything that happens in this fic lmao. mood for this fic is this. hope you enjoy~ 💜

When you graduated top of your class with a marketing degree and a job already lined up, you weren’t big-headed to assume you would be given a lot in the beginning. No, you knew that you were the new kid on the block and needed to prove yourself first, needed to work your way up from the bottom. But what you definitely didn’t anticipate was working up from thefigurative trenches, almost exclusively doing busywork—constantly making coffee runs, catering business lunches, printing out endless spreadsheets.

Eighty-thousand dollars in debt, and you are a glorified intern.

While you’re positively itching to hit the ground running and get your hands dirty, your job isn’t too bad. The people there are all nice and welcoming, the complimentary coffee in the break room is decent enough for your dwindling bank account, and every quarter the company sponsors an employee barbecue where everyone can fraternize and enjoy free food.

“Apparently it fosters unity and teamwork,” your coworker Joy informs you as you both stand in the food line. “Seokjin—that’s our CEO—is really big on unity and teamwork.”

Joy is also a member of your marketing team. Though friendly, she has zero filter and thus always has a lot to say about everything—which has helped you when it comes to learning the ropes about the company, but has also had you clutching your imaginary pearls in certain situations where you found her topic of choice inappropriate. 

Despite only being a year older than you, her title of Marketing Associate instead of your measly Assistant means that she technically outranks you, though she doesn’t usually enforce that fact (unless there was something that needed to be copied or filed, of course). Still, she immediately took you under her wing when you first started and is the closest person to a friend you have at work (even though her daily coffee order is always so ridiculous, you are convinced that she has to be fucking with you—or at least engaging in some form of mild hazing).

“I think it’s nice,” you reply truthfully. “I’ll never say no to free food, and they let us out early and everything.”

“I mean, pretty sure you can get the hotdogs twelve in a pack at the dollar store,” Joy quips, raising her eyebrows at you pointedly. “But sometimes the boys from Sales take their shirts off and play soccer, so there’s that.”

Your eyes dart to said Sales Boys against your will, gaze drawn to Jung Hoseok as he chats animatedly with his teammates by the tables. You’ve only spoken to him once or twice, but his fiery red hair and even brighter smile caught your attention immediately, your heart rate accelerating at the sight of him in hallways mere days into starting your new position. Who better to have a mild work crush on than a sweet-talking salesman who winks at you sometimes in passing?

An appreciative noise has you turning back around, embarrassed at being caught ogling how shapely Hoseok’s butt looks in his dress pants today, but it’s just Wendy from Accounting, Joy’s best friend and thus a harmless, familiar face. Wendy has cut in front of a few editors to join you and Joy, and the way that she smiles at you lets you know she’s up to no good. “He’s cute, huh?” she asks, leaning towards you conspiratorially. “I would definitely give him the good ol’ suck behind the dumpsters over there, if you catch my drift.”

“Err…yeah, I do,” you reply awkwardly. She had been explicitly clear—keyword explicit—so there definitely isn’t any room for misunderstandings. Is this truly appropriate work function conversation? From the way the editors behind you are politely clearing their throats, you think not.

“Behind the dumpster?” Joy asks curiously. “That sounds unnecessarily smelly. He’s standing right next to some sturdy tables that I, for one, would take great advantage of—”

“I’m gonna go get us some drinks,” you announce loudly, your neck heating up. “Can you grab me a hot dog, Joy?”

“Sure,” she says dismissively, already distracted by her sudden debate with Wendy about the most convenient place to suck off salesman Jung.

The whole conversation is making you uncomfortable. You are not a prude—far from it—but there is a time and place for everything, and your coworkers’ blasé attitude towards inappropriate topics at company functions on company time rattles you a bit. So instead of engaging in the risqué discussion further, you make your way to the cluster of brightly-colored coolers that presumably hold beverages, sidling up to the only other person lingering the area.

“Anything good?” you ask cordially, making your coworker, who had apparently been deep in thought while considering his beverage options, startle a bit.

He’s tall, his large frame covered in the appropriate business casual attire of nice jeans and a powder-blue button-up. When he turns his head to look at you, you’re met with large, dark eyes blinking in surprise from behind wire-rimmed glasses. Said eyes dart around for a moment before determining that you were, in fact, speaking to him.

The man clears his throat. “Just the usual,” he says, voice soft. Timid.

“The usual?” you repeat. There are little hoops dangling from his earlobes, and you brush off your surprise at seeing them, returning your gaze to the coolers. Water, a clear soda, a cola. “The basics, you mean. Well, can’t really complain, right? Seeing as it’s all free. I think it’s really nice of them.”

Your companion seems surprised at your words. “It is,” he agrees softly, eyes meeting yours for a second before dropping back down to the cooler. “Um, are you...are you new?”

“Damn, I guess my cover’s blown.” You shoot him a wry smile. “Yeah, I just started a couple of weeks ago. What gave it away?”

“It’s just—no one else here really cares about these barbecues anymore,” he admits, looking at you, but not quite. More like, in your direction. “Everyone has forgotten to appreciate the little things.”

“Nothing is a given,” you shrug. “So you need to appreciate things when you can. And besides, those lots of little things can really add up without you realizing it.”

He finally seems to look at you properly, and the weight of his large, gentle brown eyes throws you off for a second. “They can,” he agrees, lips slowly drifting up. 

“What do we have over here?” a loud voice interrupts, a hand falling to your shoulder. You look up, and are met with the brightness of salesman Jung.

“Ah,” Hoseok says with a wink, reaching into the cooler. “I love Sprite.”

“Me too,” you reply automatically, and then immediately want to smack yourself. Because you don’t—carbonated beverages make you break out. But your mouth had formed the lie without your permission.

Embarrassed, you reach into the cooler, grabbing three water bottles. “See you later,” you squeak, avoiding eye contact as you make your escape.

Joy and Wendy are already watching you when you return to where they have procured a table, and when you hand them their waters, Joy raises an eyebrow. “I was wondering how long you were going to talk to that IT guy.”

“Yeah, and why did you leave when Hoseok showed up?” Wendy pouted. “_____, the universe is only going to give you so many opportunities. If you don’t want the ball, then pass it to me! Goddamn.”

“IT guy?” you prompt, hoping to slide past that last remark.

“Yeah. His name is Jungkook, I think? Mostly works with the printers, started a couple months ago.” Joy shrugs, obviously disinterested by the topic. She reaches for the ketchup bottle in the center of the table and squirts some on her hot dog. “This is the first time I’ve seen him at a barbecue, though. Honestly, I’m surprised he even came out, because the IT dudes generally keep to themselves. They rarely leave their little tower,” she adds with a dismissive wave.

Wendy scoffs in disinterest. “Who cares about Jeremy! Hurry up and eat, I’m sure Sales is gonna start their soccer game soon.”

“Soccer game?” you ask distractedly. A glance back to the coolers shows Jungkook is gone, and you don’t see him in the immediate vicinity.

“The sales department likes to play soccer during these things,” Joy reminds you. Her expression brightens. “Hey, maybe Hoseok will take his shirt off again! Let us pray.”

To your coworkers’ disappointment, Hoseok did not take his shirt off. But they certainly had a good time watching his athletic display across the grass anyway.

Monday morning—the start of the workweek, but also, rather depressingly, the end of the weekend. Everyone tends to be more tired and grumpy on Mondays (yourself included), and this is why your team considers it essential that you always stop by their preferred coffeeshop and bring in their drinks for a morning pick-me-up. You’re the lowest on the ladder, so you weren’t exactly sure how to refuse when you were asked one day if you would mind picking up some drinks for everyone, and then, after that, people kept sending you their orders like it was expected of you. The café is technically on your way to work and everyone always pays you back, but it’s still pretty irritating to have to forgo those extra precious minutes of sleep just so you can beat the long lines and get to work on time.

Today, you’re lucky enough to get ahead of the morning rush, but that means that you end up trudging into the building much earlier than you anticipated. You hope the coffee’s insulated cups do their job properly, because you really don’t have the energy to listen to Joy huff and puff about having to reheat hers.

Your trek to your cubicle slows when you realize that someone is already there, sitting in your chair and typing away on your keyboard. Their back is to you, swathed in an olive button-up, and it’s not until you get close enough to curiously crane your head to see their face that you recognize him. The guy from the barbecue last week—the one by the coolers.

He startles a bit when he sees you approach in his peripheral vision, eyes darting up at you in surprise.

“Hi.” You raise the tray you’re holding in an awkward greeting. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to creep up on you.”

“That’s okay, _____,” he replies softly, wide eyes blinking a little from behind his round glasses. “I can get kind of spacey when I’m focused on something. I was just doing some updates on your machine and didn’t see you.”

“You…” Your head tilts curiously. “You know my name?” 

A small smile touches his lips as he points to your computer. “I’m updating your machine,” he reminds you.

Not to mention the fact that he’s literally sitting in your cubicle, you name tag clearly posted on the frosted glass that separates your space from Joy’s. An embarrassed chuckle leaves you when you realize your dumbass mistake. “Oh. Duh. Wow, that was a stupid question. Let me just get out of your way.”

“No, no, I’m clearly the one in the way!” His head shakes apologetically. “I couldn’t do this update remotely and I thought you didn’t clock in for another half hour—sorry about that.”

“I don’t,” you confirm. “But I tend to get here a little early so I can sort out everyone’s coffee order.”

A brow raises in surprise. “Do they really have you making coffee runs?” he asks incredulously.

You hmm in confirmation, moving to set the coffee on everyone’s desks. “Rite of passage, I guess,” you call over the divider as you work. Joy’s order today isn’t as over the top as you know she can be, but you were still rather embarrassed to order it (vanilla latte with oatmilk—one and a half pumps cinnamon, one pump hazelnut, an extra espresso shot and extra foam with honey drizzle). The barista had looked at you tiredly but hadn’t voiced her obvious judgement when she rung you up. 

“I guess,” you hear him say, but he doesn’t sound too convinced. 

Coffee distributed and hands finally free, you return to lean against your cubicle, hovering as he continues to quickly type and click. You look at him pointedly, a small smile creeping across your face. “Speaking of grunt work, I hear you’re the printer guy.”

His lips quirk. “I’m also the expert at updating Microsoft Word, just so you know.”

You laugh, and his eyes crinkle in amused response. “Oh, well excuse me, sir.”

“I’ll let it slide this once. Since you’re new.”

“And so are you. That’s why you’re the printer guy.”

He just lets out a puff of air that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. This close, you can now see the tiny holes that are trailing up his earlobe—he clearly has multiple ear piercings, not just the ones you saw at the barbecue. There is no jewelry in them now, though. 

“Jungkook, right?”

It’s his turn to look surprised, and you find yourself satisfied by the flush creeping up the back of his neck when he ducks his head in confirmation. 

“Us newbies gotta stick together,” you stage whisper behind a conspiratorial hand before leaning decidedly away. “Anyway, let me stop bothering you and go make some coffee.”

His eyebrows scrunch in clear confusion. “Didn’t you just bring some?”

“…Yeah, I am only just now recognizing just how bizarre this must seem,” you say sheepishly. “But none of those were for me—fancy specialty drinks aren’t really in my budget, so I tend to just brew a cup here.” 

“Did you say drinks?” a voice croaks, and when you turn your head, there’s Joy, walking towards the two of you. If her body’s sluggish movements weren’t enough to clue you in to the fact that she’s exhausted and possibly hungover, the designer sunglasses she’s wearing to tactfully hide half her face certainly do.

“On your desk,” you chirp as she walks past you without another glance. “Good morning!”

There is no response from the other side of the cubicle wall, and Jungkook frowns a bit, but you just give him a small shrug that translates to what can you do? before pushing off the wall to continue your trek to the kitchen. “You want one?” you offer. “I make a mean cafeteria coffee. Trial and error has taught me the exact temperature of tap water to use to make it taste less like sludge.”

His mouth smoothes back out at your joke, and though you wait for him to call you out on your ridiculous declaration, his gaze is already back on your computer. “No thank you,” comes his soft reply.

With a nod to yourself, you move to complete your task and leave Jungkook to work on his. When you return minutes later, newly-filled mug in hand, he’s already gone.

Today starts out pretty typically. After bringing everyone’s coffee, you settle into monitoring the company’s social media accounts. (When Joy first delegated this task to you, you were a bit confused, as social media is so vital to brands nowadays that handling it is technically a whole other full-time job. But it turns out you don’t have to do much above the intern level anyway—just answer customer questions and escalate issues if need be.)

Your manager has been out traveling for a week, but today she finally comes back to the office, and it makes for a nice change of pace when she hands you all of her scattered, hurriedly-scribbled notes and asks you to please transcribe them into something more cohesive and legible. Well, not nice, exactly (because at the end of the day, this is still busywork), but if you have to reply to one more Facebook comment with instructions that are clearly already on the product packaging, there is a pretty likely possibility you will scream. 

This is at least slightly less mind-numbing. Instead of copy-pasting things from a prewritten script, you get to try to make sense of what your boss had been trying to say when she wrote turkey club in the corner of a page filled with random numbers and dates. Was this important? Was it simply her plans for lunch that day? You and your fancy college degree have the pleasure of trying to figure that out while Joy and Alan, the web manager, get to actually do important things that are in their job descriptions.

Still, like every day, you try to dampen your frustration, try to keep a positive attitude. Because ultimately, this is an opportunity to grow your boss’s confidence in you, and that’s exactly what you want. Though you’re a little disheartened by all the busywork, you remind yourself it will all be worth it in the end. Your hope is that if you put in the time, you’ll eventually be trusted with more of the nitty gritty stuff. 

(You know…the stuff you actually got your degree for.)

But no matter how positive you are, things of course don’t go as smoothly as they should. After you’ve done a pretty fantastic job (if you say so yourself) of organizing and typing everything up, you send your manager the digital version. And, because you know the email may accidentally get buried in her inbox, you decide to print a physical copy for good measure.

You give the printer pretty simple, straightforward directions. One copy, double-sided (to do your part to save Mother Earth), the whole document typed in plain old black and white. But when you walk over, there’s nothing waiting for you in the printing tray. No humming to clue you in to the fact that the printer was working on your job. Nope. Instead, the admittedly ancient machine is quiet and still, and it stays that way for long enough for you to walk back to your computer to press the print button again, just in case you forgot to do so the first time. Still no dice. You frown, opening the paper tray to make sure it was full, then opening every other compartment that can possibly be opened to make sure there isn’t a paper jam somewhere.

Nothing.

Irritated, you stalk back to your desk, your first inclination to check with Joy and see if she has been having any of the same issues, but you find her chair empty. Probably got pulled into a meeting that they don’t find it necessary to loop you in on, even though it will ultimately be you who does all the grunt work for any action items the meeting produces.

Positive, you remind yourself, falling back into your chair and drumming your fingertips against your desk in thought. Maybe it’s not the printer at all. Maybe it’s your computer. You search your desk drawer for the introductory employee contact sheet HR had given you when you first started, and there he is—Jeon, Jungkook.

For a second, you consider sending him an email, but the green dot that displays he’s online has you shooting him a message instead. Much less formal, but likely quicker for the both of you.

You Hey Jungkook! Sorry to bother you, but I can’t print for some reason You The printer over here is ignoring me, and I don’t think I’m set up to print by the art directors

Despite what you originally assumed, he doesn’t answer immediately, obviously focused on something else. Still, you only have to wait a few minutes before you hear the soft ding you were waiting for. 

Jungkook Jeon Hi, _____. You mean the large printer by the marketing department, correct?   You Yes! I tried a couple times, but I don’t think the job even went through You Thought it best to just ask the printer guy 🙂

There’s a pause, one long enough that you worry that he’s forgotten about your lighthearted exchange from this morning. Shit. That was stupid of you. You’ve probably offended him. Fuck.

But if Jungkook is upset with you, he’s professional enough that it doesn’t come across at all in his next message. If anything, he just seems a little preoccupied. 

Jungkook Jeon Hmmm, let me check it out for you. Mabel can be a little uncooperative. You Mabel? 

Silence again, this time for a good five minutes. You answer some emails so you’re not just sitting there twiddling your thumbs. 

Jungkook Jeon Sorry, was running some diagnostics in the background to see if I could find the problem  IT kinda calls that printer Mabel because we’re pretty sure she’s worked for the company for longer than all of us combined. Seems fitting

You can’t help but snort at that. Cute, and likely not inaccurate. Mabel, it is.   

Jungkook Jeon One of these days Mabel’ll finally retire, but it won’t be today—looks like she’s running fine. Do you mind checking for me and seeing if you can access the marketing server? 

A few clicks, and when double clicking on the server icon doesn’t bring up the same list of folders it usually does, it confirms the conclusion the both of you have already come to—your computer is the problem, not Mabel.

You No dice 😕 Jungkook Jeon Got it. I think something went weird with your network connection after I updated your machine this morning. I can fix that for you! You Awesome! I appreciate it! Jungkook Jeon Of course! Can’t have my sparkling reputation as the Printer Guy tarnished so easily 😉 You LOL

You allow him remote access to your computer when a pop-up prompts you to, and he gets you up and running before your manager’s meeting is even over.

Lunch has always been an interesting—albeit potentially exhausting—part of your day. You learned early on that attempting to take the break you were legally entitled to at your desk did not stop anyone from continuing to ask you for things. Unfortunately, there weren’t many solutions to this problem—you didn’t get paid enough to be able to consistently eat your lunches out, and you lived too far away from the office to go home for lunch instead. So, you started taking your lunch break a little earlier than most of your other coworkers did, ensuring that the cafeteria was pretty empty and allowing you the space to decompress and eat your bagged lunch in peace. 

And as things usually went with this company, it didn’t take long for that peace to be interrupted. Once she noticed you disappearing from your desk, curiosity had Joy tagging along one day, and after that, it only took a couple weeks before both she and Wendy joined you. 

(Later, you would have the great idea to simply enjoy your bagged lunch in the park a few blocks away, but the weather wasn’t always great and at that point, the other two started to expect you to eat with them.)

So that’s exactly how you’re spending your lunch now—scarfing down the soup you made a few days ago that you’ll eat until it’s completely gone, while Joy and Wendy giggle and gossip to each other. As much as they apparently want to eat lunch with you, they tend to be pretty nonplussed by how you never contribute much to their inane conversations. 

And you’re fine with that. In the time it’s taken them to get comfortable invading your zen time, you’ve learned how to properly tune their tittering out. You’re good at nodding at the right times, at throwing in perfectly placed hums that indicate you’re listening, even when you’re not.

Today, it’s a sudden, uncharacteristic pause in their chatter that prickles against your diverted attention.   “That’s weird,” you hear Wendy mutter, and that officially throws you out of you mentally making your grocery list. The intrigued way she’s looking behind you makes you reflexively turn, and that’s when your eyes set on Jungkook.

He hadn’t been there when you first sat down for lunch, but he is now, sitting alone a couple tables away. He’s the only other person in the cafeteria, but from the AirPods in his ears and the way his eyes are focused on his phone screen, you doubt he’s even noticed this fact.  

Joy’s lips downturn slightly into a puzzled frown. “Hmm. IT guys never come down voluntarily from their tower.” 

Your head tilts as you mull over that. That isn’t exactly true. You have only seen Jungkook in passing a few times over the last couple weeks, but those few times prove IT aren’t exactly the antisocial specters the two women in front of you keep painting them as. You have even exchanged the short pleasantries with him that are socially expected when crossing paths at the coffeepot.  

“Wonder what he’s doing here?” Wendy says, not nearly quietly enough in your opinion. Embarrassment  flashes hot through you, inwardly chastising yourself for continuing to associate with such casually judgmental people. You’re already mentally preparing to apologize for your lunch mates when a covert glance out of the corner of your eye shows that Jungkook’s still paying your group no attention, taking distracted bites from his sandwich as his head bobs slightly to whatever is playing through his headphones.

“Whatever,” Joy says with a dismissive shrug, and then just that easily, the two are back gossiping about Cindy in HR.

From then on, you notice that Jungkook continues to eat lunch in the cafeteria at the same time as you. Sometimes, he beats you there, already at his designated table and munching on whatever he brought that day. If your eyes meet, he’ll send you a small smile in greeting before immediately dropping his focus back to his phone. If you’re there first and throw him a wave of acknowledgment, he always returns it, as is polite and expected of two coworkers who don’t know each other beyond their forced proximity.

And you think nothing of it, too busy being your department’s errand girl, the person who gets assigned all the tasks no one else wants to do. The amount of interaction you and Jungkook have is only marginally higher than what you have with Namjoon in Finance, who periodically reaches out to you for any missing receipts for charges on the Marketing department’s credit card.

This slowly starts changing as you begin to have more and more technical problems. You being assigned to put together multiple PowerPoints and research whatever market trends tickles your boss’s fancy means you constantly have an ungodly amount of tabs and applications open. This means you’re not really surprised when your computer—an older model that is definitely on its last leg—starts freezing and giving you pop up errors. A force restart seems to fix the problem, but a new one emerges—now, no matter how many times you hit the print button and walk over to your designated printer, nothing awaits for you to pick up. Even scrolling through the printer’s print history shows no record of your jobs being in the queue. It’s bizarre—you even make sure to confirm you’re connected to the servers, and that doesn’t seem to be the issue this time.

Frowning, you make your way back to your desk and scroll down your chat messages until a familiar face appears.

You  Hey Jungkook! I can’t seem to print—think something weird is going on with my computer today

A soft sigh of frustration escapes your lips, fingers drumming irritably against your desk. It isn’t even noon, but the day is already looking to be a long one.

Resigned, you settle in to wait for him to answer you in the chat, but the little bubbles that indicate he’s typing never pop up. Instead, you’re surprised when movement in your peripheral produces Jungkook himself, slowing in approach of your desk, though his focus is still on his phone screen. He must have gotten your message in the midst of doing something else. 

“Oh! Hi,” you greet him eagerly. “Just the person I was looking to see.”

He looks up at you from beneath the curtain of his bangs, a small smile touching his lips as he stuffs his phone back into the pocket of his slacks. “Just the person I was looking for,” he returns. “What seems to be the problem?” 

“Mabel is being a bitch again,” you say with an irritated sigh. “Every time I try to print, nothing is happening.” 

Jungkook snorts, amused, and it’s only then that your brain registers exactly what you just said. Swearing at work is unprofessional so you make it a point not do it, but that one slipped out so casually. “Oh—sorry.”

But if Jungkook is offended, it certainly doesn’t show in the responding chuckle he lets out. “That’s definitely on brand. I can fix that—let me take a look.”

You move to relinquish your seat, but he’s already leaning over you before you can do more than shift your weight. So you just let go of your mouse so he can control it instead, scooting to the side a bit and trying your best not to think too hard about how he’s close enough for your clothes to brush. Christ does he smell good.

Jungkook clicks around a bit, no doubt checking to make sure your computer is up to date and connected to everything it’s supposed to. “Is this what you’ve been trying to print?” he finally asks, brows furrowed in concentration.

You blink at the question, realizing with dawning horror that you were accidentally distracted by his proximity. You clear your throat, shaking your head a little at yourself in an attempt to clear it of all thoughts that aren’t solidly on the task at hand. “Yeah.” 

He clicks the print button, just as you have done for the past ten minutes, then straightens with a shrug. “Let’s give our old girl a visit and see what her deal is.”

You stand, following him around the corner to the copy room, where Mabel has proudly taken residence for who knows how many years. The fact that you can already see she’s humming with activity as the two of you approach has your eyebrows knitting in confusion.

Jungkook seems equally confused, reaching in the tray for the stack of paper that was just spit out and turning it over to confirm both of your suspicions. The report you’ve been trying to print for the last twenty minutes sits in his hand, likely still warm from how quickly and easily Mabel completed Jungkook’s request. He holds it up for you to see, his big doe eyes peering at you quizzically through his glasses. “This printer was the one that wouldn’t work for you?” he asks.

“Yeah, I definitely sent it to this one. Repeatedly,” you insist. Embarrassment prickles across your skin. “I swear it wasn’t working two seconds ago!”

Jungkook smiles when he hands you the papers, and it somehow softens his naturally cherubic face even more. “You just wanted to say hi to me, huh?” 

“Clearly Mabel likes you more than me,” you sniff at his teasing. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

“You didn’t,” he says simply. He hovers for a few more moments as you check to make sure all the pages are there. “Let me know if you have any more issues, okay?”

“Will do,” you agree, mind already back on your work as you both turn to part ways. “Thank you so much for your help!”

“Anytime.”

“Didn’t you have a date last night?” Joy asks. 

It’s lunchtime again, early enough that the three of you are still the only ones in the cafeteria. While both Joy and Wendy are munching on some overpriced salads they had delivered from a restaurant a couple blocks away, you’re eating a boring ham and cheese sandwich that you haphazardly slapped together in your rush to get out the door this morning. Vaguely, you do remember Wendy mentioning something about an upcoming hot date, but she was always rambling about a hot date, and frankly, you don’t care enough to keep up with any details. Everything you know about her love life—and her, in all honesty—has been dumped onto you without you having any say in the matter. 

“I did,” Wendy squeals, excited as always to have the opportunity to talk about herself. “His name was Miles. We’ve been talking on Tinder for the past week—he was really sweet and seemed to want to get to know me. Last night he took me to a nice restaurant, really wined and dined me.”

“Wow,” Joy says, eyebrows raised. “That sounds promising. When are you gonna see him again?”

“I’m not,” Wendy scoffed. “He was nice and all, but he’s only 5’7. It’ll never work out.”

“True.”

You’ve been trying your hardest to zone them out, but the longer Wendy prattles on, each sentence more baffling than the last, you can’t help but interject, “Doesn’t the app let you filter out height preferences?”

Wendy pauses, a raise of an eyebrow betraying her surprise at you finally participating in her lunchtime shenanigans. “Not on the free version.”

“So why did you even entertain him if you knew you would never consider him seriously?” 

“..because I wanted to go to dinner?” Wendy replies flatly, the look on her face doing nothing to hide how stupid she thinks your question is. “Besides, he got what he wanted out of the deal. After dinner I took him home and let him fuck.” 

The flippantly casual way she throws out the vulgar word feels like a record scratch, especially since the three of you are, in fact, still very much on company premises. Wendy doesn’t seem to notice just how much she’s scandalized you, continuing to prattle on at full volume about how the sex was pretty good for a Tinder date, even though he refused to eat her out. 

At this point, you’ve long slowed in your chewing, now entirely too incredulous by the absurdity of the situation you’ve found yourself in to eat. 

“You didn’t suck him, did you?” Joy asks.

Wendy scoffs. “Of course not! I’m not giving head to some random anyway, especially if he’s not gonna give me mine first.”

“Can we not talk about this?” you mumble.

They both turn to stare at you, judgement plain on their faces. Wendy snorts. “Wow, _____. I never took you to be a prude.”

“I did,” Joy slides in under her breath.

You let out an agitated huff. This is ridiculous. “I’m not a prude.”

The two of them share a look. After a pause, Wendy finally asks in a way that indicates that it doesn’t really matter what you say because her mind is already made up, “Then what’s the problem?”  

Aside from this conversation being a massive HR violation?

Wendy continues smugly, as if she’s figured you out, “Talking about oral hit a nerve…interesting.”

Yes, Wendy! you think sarcastically, fighting the intense urge to roll your eyes. The whole rest of the convo was good and dandy—oral was definitely the line, though! 

Joy just looks at you, her eyes narrowing the longer she does. Her scrutiny makes your skin prickle in irritation. “You have gotten head before, right?”

“Okay!” you say sharply, stuffing the uneaten half of your sandwich back into the bag. “One, that’s neither of your business, and two, this conversation is completely inappropriate. Let’s change the subject, please.” 

It’s quiet for a moment, both of them visibly surprised by your response. Joy actually looks a tiny bit proud that you stood up for yourself, but Wendy just sniffs and mutters, “That obviously means no.” Ultimately, they both back off, choosing instead to chatter about the newest design of Joy’s nails.

You exhale a tiny sigh of relief. Wendy was hitting the nail too close to the head and you truly didn’t feel like explaining your life story to a nosy coworker who was nothing more than your acquaintance, at best. Now that they’ve finally let you out of the hot seat, you’re fully planning to spend the rest of your lunch hour zoning out in relative peace. 

But before you can properly dissociate, you hear someone cough behind you. 

Your blood runs cold. You already know who it is—no one else tends to eat lunch this early.

“How long has he been sitting there?” you whisper, already dreading the answer.

Joy waves an unbothered hand. “I don’t know, like five minutes?”

Five minutes. Long enough to have heard… 

You’re immediately mortified, and it must show on your face, because Wendy just snorts and says way too loudly for your comfort, “Oh, relax, this is probably the most action he’s gotten in months. I’m doing him a favor.”

What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK. “Are you serious right now?”

“Calm down,” Joy says, rolling her eyes. “Look, he’s not even listening to us.”

And a slow, discrete turn of your head confirms what she says—Jungkook, in an ugly salmon button-up today, has his earbuds in, eyes downcast to his phone screen, lips soundlessly forming the words to whatever song he’s listening to. You feel a tiny bit of relief, but embarrassment still roils deep in your belly, suddenly making your half-eaten sandwich completely unappetizing.

You stand, grabbing the brown paper bag that contains the remnants of your lunch and hoping against hope that you’ll be able to bolt without him noticing.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” Wendy sighs, annoyance bleeding into her tone. “I told you I didn’t realize you were a prude. We can talk about something else.”

You bristle, but tamp down the urge to defend yourself and point out again that you aren’t a prude, you just don’t want to be the office harlot either. “It’s not that,” you lie. The judgmental look in Joy’s eye only softens when you say, “I just remembered I forgot to print the printouts for the meeting this afternoon. I’ll see you guys later?”

“Sure,” Joy says dismissively, and Wendy says nothing at all. They’ve already moved on, no longer interested in your swift escape, attention eagerly back on the details of Wendy’s weekend. That’s works perfectly fine for you—you’ve had enough of being the center of attention for the day.

Blessedly, Jungkook doesn’t even look up when slink past him and out the door.

 It’s hot.

Third quarter is well underway, which means that it’s time again for the quarterly company barbecue. That also means it’s hot as balls. 

You suffer quietly, trying not to add to the stank atmosphere Joy and Wendy are already creating due to the heat. It’s an ambitious goal, especially since you’re already sweltering beneath your blouse—which was reasonable to wear within the chilled walls of the office, but feels rather ridiculous now, under the relentless beat of the sun. Despite being grateful for the free food and break from your maddeningly boring work, you can’t help but mentally yearn for the indoors, where there’s proper shade and air conditioning and decidedly less bitching. 

“I don’t know why they don’t just cater something for us to eat inside,” Joy mopes, dabbing at her brow with what you already know from experience to be a cheap, scratchy napkin. “How is anyone supposed to enjoy themselves if we’re melting?”

“It’s probably a ploy,” Wendy quips. “The more uncomfortable we are, the more likely we are to get back to work.”

“The date’s been on the calendar for months,” you point out wearily. “They had no way of knowing there’d be a heat wave today. Besides, the company’s already paid for the food. I doubt they intended to purposely waste that money.”

Joy scoffs in retort. “The company also knows throwing an outdoor event in July is the same as throwing one in Satan’s asshole.”

Wendy sniggers, but you don’t answer, biting back your response that outdoor barbecues are common during summer, and at least they don’t have you out here in the snow. Because honestly? This is only your second quarter with the company, and who knows what the fourth quarter barbecue looks like. 

All you can do is free some of the buttons on your blouse, undoing as many as you can while still being office-appropriate. As it is, you now have a little cleavage peeking out, but with how hot it is, you figure no one will say anything.

“Look,” Wendy says with an unsubtle tip of her head. “Looks like the soccer game is still on, at least.”

Fluttering the hem of your blouse in an attempt to get some circulation, you reflexively respond to her prompting, eyes following her line of sight. A few tables down, the Sales team has finished their meal and appears to be actively gauging coworker interest in joining their game. From the decently-sized group that’s starting to form by the open field, you think they’re pretty successful, despite the heat. 

Joy groans, lifting her long hair with a hand in an effort to cool off the back of her neck. “I don’t know how they’re doing all that when it feels too hot to breathe.”

Inwardly, you agree with her, but Wendy just gives a lazy shrug and says, “Hey, if we’re gonna roast to death, at least we’ll be properly entertained.”

“True,” Joy muses. “And they’re gonna be sweatier than usual.”

Wendy’s eyes glaze over a bit at the thought. You grimace, amazed that these two always seem to have their heads in the gutter. That’s my cue. “I’ll be right back,” you say, brushing off the back of your slacks as you stand, but they pay you no mind when you walk away.

You’ve already finished your meal, but it can’t hurt to take another look at the coolers. It’s so hot that you’ve already downed your first beverage, so a new one is in order. When you arrive to the area, two people from Customer Service pass, nodding at you in acknowledgment as they make their way back to their table. You’ve only just started to reach for a cooler lid when you hear someone address you again. 

“Hey,” a familiar voice says timidly behind you. “How’s it going?”

You reflexively turn your head, simultaneously surprised and not at all to find Jungkook standing there. He’s got on a long-sleeved button-up despite the heat—grey, checkered with a red and navy plaid—and you can’t help but wonder how he’s not sweltering. Though, the noticeable sheen on his face and the way his damp bangs are starting clump together tells you he just might be. 

“I’ve had better days,” you answer honestly, swiping the back of your hand across your forehead. Before you can catch yourself, that same hand is vaguely gesturing at him, head to toe. “How are you not melting?”

His lips twitch, amused. “I definitely am,” he admits. “I actually hoped no one was over here so I could stuff some of the ice from these coolers down my shirt without being judged.”

You snort. “Hey, who’s judging? Certainly not me. Knock yourself out; just make sure you leave me some.” 

He taps his chin, jokingly in thought, but to be honest, he does mildly look as if he’s actually considering it. “Well, we wouldn’t want the beverages to get cold…”

“Eh, there’s probably not that many in here anyway. They could probably consolidate coolers.” To prove your point, you bend over, cracking open one of the red ones next to you and peering inside. The expected assortment of generic sodas greets you, looking admittedly very refreshing floating in their ice bath. “See, this one isn’t even full.”

You angle your torso a bit so you can meet his eye properly over your shoulder, but as soon as you look up at him, his gaze hurriedly skirts away, color crawling up the back of his neck. You stand with a frown, confused by this, but ultimately brush off his weird behavior when you notice Namjoon from Accounting sidling up to the two of you. 

"Hey guys,"  he greets you, a friendly smile dimpling his cheeks. "We're getting some people together for a soccer game. I know it's really hot, but would either of you want to join?"

You’ve often seen Namjoon chatting with Hoseok in passing, and twice have even seen them leave the building for lunch together, so it doesn’t surprise you that the accountant is helping recruit for the Sales team's traditional barbecue pastime. What does surprise you, however, is that when he casually claps a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, the younger man first responds by blinking owlishly at him behind his glasses, and then, a few seconds later, giving him a nod of assent. 

Obviously you don't know Jungkook very well—not at all, really, outside of your ongoing feud with Mabel. But you didn't take him to be the type to be into playing outdoor sports, particularly in this weather, and you certainly didn't expect him to agree so easily. A smile from Namjoon and suddenly all thoughts of stealing cooler ice are gone. 

Namjoon turns back to you, but you're already shaking your head. "Nope, no thank you! Y'all have fun. I'll just supervise from over there in the shade."

"Fair enough," he chuckles, and then he's leading Jungkook across the open field to meet up with the others.

Mildly more interested in the game now, you take this as your cue to grab the beverage you came for—a can of a Lipton knockoff and a bottle of water for good measure—and return to your table.

Joy and Wendy are still yapping when you approach, though in your absence, Joy has apparently decided to move to Wendy’s side of the table. It only takes you following their line of sight to quickly recognize why—that side of the table has an unobstructed view of the upcoming soccer game. Well, unobstructed, so long as you change your seat too. Awkward about intentionally getting in the way, you pause for only a moment before ultimately reaching for the end seat perpendicular to them instead. 

When you lean over a little to pull your chair out from under the table, Joy finally deigns to acknowledge you, ticking an eyebrow. “I can see down your shirt,” she tells you offhandedly. 

Your head snaps down, and you realize she’s right—undoing those few extra buttons has made the billowy fabric more susceptible to gravity, particularly when you leaned over. You yourself could see your whole chest and the basic bra that supported it, and at this angle, you doubt your blouse covered much of that from Joy’s gaze. A hand immediately snaps up to press the material back in place, but before you can even get properly embarrassed, her attention is ripped from you, eyes wide at something behind you.

“Holy—”

Wendy's jaw drops. Your head reflexively turns in the direction they're gawking at.

And before you can stop it, your jaw drops too.

Your tablemates have been known to be dramatic, and are certainly the type to stretch a fact or two. But it’s only now that you fully understand their fixation on these Sales soccer games, because yes, sometimes they do indeed take their shirts off. Like now.

Other than one girl from Compliance, all of the game’s recruits appear to be men, and as such, the group has chosen to distinguish teams by shirts vs. skins. And while the sudden appearance of skin naturally draws most people’s attention, your attention only gravitates towards one person. Cause what the fuck.

You almost don't recognize him, your brain rapidly shuffling through the information it's collected about him over the past few months and struggling to reconcile with what your eyes are actually seeing. Because the Jungkook you know wears glasses and long sleeves and has an unassuming hairstyle that looks suspiciously like a bowl may have been involved at some point. 

But the person you're looking at now? Glasses have been discarded, apparently no longer needing optical assistance, and he’s ditched the button-up, sweat making the white sleeveless tank he has on underneath spottily transparent and divulging the dusk of his nipples. Now that you can properly see the taper of his slim waist, his shoulders are proportionally more broad than you realized. And, since he clearly has no regard for your rapidly rising blood pressure, Jungkook decides now is the perfect time to reach over said shoulders, grab fistfuls of damp fabric, and pull. The sight of him slipping the shirt over his head—the ink of his hair sinfully mussed, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement—has you reflexively swallowing, mouth dry.

He's absolutely ripped. 

There's no other way to say it. A superior specimen, built and honed in a way that's only possible through years of hard work and discipline. He's still lean enough that you can rationalize how you’ve never picked up on that amount of muscle hiding beneath his unassuming dress shirts, but you're still gobsmacked. 

Your mind spins, struggling to come to terms with the near impossible fact Jungkook actually pulled a Clark Kent on you. Well, pulled a Clark Kent if Clark Kent was also covered in gorgeous ink, pigment swirling up his right arm from wrist to shoulder. From this distance you can’t see the exact designs that make up his intricate sleeve, but you can tell it was composed with a purposeful eye. 

Jungkook is absolutely ripped and tattooed. Jungkook. Printer guy Jungkook.

Flustered and trying not to be, you quickly look away, clanking your jaw shut and trying to focus on the plastic tabletop instead. Dear god, this is embarrassing. You really just gawked at your coworker! He was minding his own business and your jaw just reflexively unhinged like a degenerate. God, you hoped he didn't see that.

But any mortification you have is apparently not shared by the other two at your table.

“Is that Justin?!” Wendy demands rather shrilly, eyes wide, and the volume of her question would embarrass you even more if your brain could process any other reaction right now other than straight static. “Justin from IT?!”

You swallow thickly, your responding correction weak and delayed. “Jungkook.” 

“Finally,” Joy groans, pushing her plate away dramatically. “Some good fucking food!”           

You can’t help it then—your eyes drift back up, lured to the soccer players once more and zeroing in on him immediately. Seemingly unable to stray from his form, the heat already producing a sheen over his golden skin even though the game hasn’t started yet.

Surrounded by a few surprised male coworkers, Jungkook’s slightly hunched into himself, shy at the sudden attention. Even with the distance, you can see how Hoseok claps Jungkook on the back, just as animated over his newly revealed physique as the members of your table. But while everyone else is excited by this revelation…

Across the field, Jungkook innocuously turns his head in your direction. Like magnets, his eyes hone in on yours, your gaze locked for a few seconds until another loud What the fuck?! from Wendy frees you from the spell and you hurriedly look away again, a completely different kind of heat washing over you.

Jesus, you need to get ahold of yourself. There’s no way he was actually looking at you—it’s too sunny, and he’s not even wearing his glasses! He probably can’t even see that far.

But when you brave another peek in that direction and realize you can literally count his abs from here—

What the fuck, indeed.

Mutely, you watch the game unfold, not as self-conscious when it becomes clear that the whole office is doing the same. Though Joy and Wendy have been very salacious in their excitement for it, the soccer game is evidently a company barbecue highlight for others as well. And you’re sure Jungkook joining the fray has only added to the interest, as he’s a completely new addition to the equation.

And to your continued astonishment, Jungkook is good. He’s fast and lithe and brazen. He proves to you, again and again, that he can kick the ball with such ferocious accuracy that the other team’s goalie eventually stops trying to get in his way and simply resorts to trying to protect their vulnerable body parts instead. His intensity only entices reciprocal energy from everyone else, and what has traditionally been a lighthearted game between coworkers has now transformed into a group of competitive men who feel they now have something to prove. 

Joy and Wendy are delighted by this development, squealing and cheering and tittering amongst themselves. You sit quietly, still trying to mentally process this new development, but when you start to feel embarrassed by just how much you’re staring, you decide to call it a day. No one really notices when you stand and gather your trash, and luckily the distraction of the game means you’re able to slip out without any fanfare.

This quarter’s barbecue being on a Friday means you’re blessed with a weekend to decompress and regroup. Unfortunately for you, the office doesn’t just…move on from the event like it has in the past. Instead, this particular barbecue was apparently such a success that you continue to hear chatter about it for the next week, mostly in passing. But while everyone else makes small talk about how much fun they had, Joy and Wendy choose to hone in on the only thing they truly consider worthy of discussion—Jungkook. 

Today, just as they have every day for the past few months, they join your table when you take your early lunch. However, to their increasing irritation, the object of their current fixation isn’t here. In fact, Jungkook hasn’t showed up to the cafeteria during your lunch time since before the barbecue, and you inwardly have to admit it’s a little strange without him. You sat at different tables and the two of you never really said much to each other beyond the expected niceties, but you’ve gotten used to his presence all the same. 

You actually have barely seen him at all, with Mabel on her best behavior this week and Jungkook seemingly busy with something that has kept him mostly out of common areas. Still, with your embarrassingly strong reaction to him at the barbecue, it’s probably for the best. You’re a little wary of what your first proper interaction is going to be like, and you’ve been mentally preparing yourself to be as normal as possible. 

Your female lunchmates don’t seem to have that same mindset.

“Does he just not eat anymore?” Joy huffs. “I literally haven’t seen him all week!”

Wendy picks at her salad, lips twisted in a displeased grimace. “I actually saw him yesterday.”

Joy’s head snaps to her. “What?! You didn’t tell me that. What happened?”

“Since casually running into him doesn’t seem to be working, I figured I’d try getting him to come to me. So I unplugged my keyboard and messaged him, but he didn’t show up for like 40 minutes,” Wendy sighs irritably. “And when he did, he looked at me like I was a moron.”

Your lips twitch in amusement before you can stop them. Joy immediately says exactly what you’re thinking. “Well, you are a moron. You sat there for 40 minutes with your keyboard unplugged!”

Wendy soldiers on like she didn't hear her, undeterred from her gossiping. “So he came over in his ugly button-up and judged me! Plugged the keyboard back in and walked away without even saying anything.”

Despite not properly running into him all week, you actually did see Jungkook’s shirt in passing yesterday as he was turning down a hallway at the far end of the office. Wendy’s right—it had been an ugly puce. You found it endearing.

“He didn’t even roll up his sleeves,” Wendy mourned. “The least Jamal could have done was give me that.”

You pause in the chewing of the tuna sandwich you brought from home, exasperated. “Jamal,” you repeat flatly. “Really?”

Wendy waves her hand at you dismissively. “You know who I mean!”

“I mean, he’ll probably be more willing to talk to you if you treat him like an actual person.” Your quip is reflexive and indignant, and it kind of throws all three of you off guard. Joy raises an eyebrow at you and your sudden vexation, but you still add, though more subdued, “You know. Making an effort to remember his name is a good start.”

“Damn, who pissed in your Cheerios?” Wendy sniffs, though she doesn’t seem very offended by your callout. Over the months you’ve superficially gotten to know her, you’ve come to notice that she doesn’t really take much seriously—a simultaneously admirable and frustrating trait. “If you wanted dibs, you could have just said that.”

You feel heat flush up your neck, denial attempting to sputter from your lips, but true to form, Wendy has already moved on, tittering about how it’s about time the office had some proper excitement that wasn’t just meetings and spreadsheets.

“And speaking of meetings,” Joy pipes up, passing you a nonchalant look, “don’t forget to order those sandwiches for the client meeting tomorrow.”

“Sandwiches?” Your mind blanks. You knew your boss was hosting some clients in the office—had even been working on a lot of grunt work to prepare for it—but no one had mentioned anything to you about any sandwiches. “I thought she was wining and dining them?”

Joy let out a mildly irritated huff. “No, they have to catch an early flight home, so the plan has changed to a working lunch. Weren’t you listening in Monday’s meeting?”

No, you hadn’t been listening, because you weren’t invited to the Monday’s meeting. So it looks like a plan had been made and tasks assigned to you…without anyone bothering to communicate that. Typical.

You close your eyes for a second, jaw working as you attempt to tamp down your ever-brewing frustration. If they intend on you ordering from the usual place, it may be too late to cater for delivery, which means you’ll probably be stuck figuring out how to transport multiple giant platters from a restaurant five blocks away. 

“Do you mind forwarding me the request you sent? I must have missed it,” you respond neutrally, knowing full well the original email had never been sent to you. You stand to leave, the rest of your lunch break instantly soured by the revelation that you apparently have time-sensitive action items that are encroaching dangerous territory. “Just want to make sure I get the order correct.”

Joy nods, attention already back on Wendy and only half-listening. In the meantime, you’ll have to research alternatives, just in case.

While you’re lucky enough to find an acceptable last-minute catering option that will also, blessedly, deliver, that doesn’t mean you’re free to take a breather. 

It’s now the end of the day, and one by one, you see everyone around you log out and head for the elevator. Even Joy, who leaves right on time, despite knowing just how many tasks your small team still needs to complete for the big meeting tomorrow. What’s left is mostly grunt work, and while you are undoubtedly a grunt, it’s been clear for a while now that Joy no longer sees herself to be included in that category. So even though having more hands on deck would speed things along considerably, she still gathers her purse and gives you a cheeky finger wave on her way out.

At some point, the cleaning lady makes her rounds, scooting past you with a murmured apology to empty your trash can, but eventually even she disappears. Hell, even the sun abandons you, the soft glow fading from all the windows and stranding you with the cold fluorescent lighting that only remains on in your part of the office, because the lights have motion detectors. 

And so it’s just you, kneeling on the carpet and surrounded by a gazillion binders. Ensuring relevant reports and Powerpoint presentations are accurate and sending digital copies to your boss for her to have on-hand. Attempting to print physical copies and assemble them into binder portfolios your clients will be able to follow along with during the meeting. 

Attempting, because Mabel is, of course, choosing now to live up to her bitchy reputation. She won’t print on the right-sized paper. She won’t collate. She won’t be cooperative at all, and you’re too exhausted for this shit. Physically and mentally exhausted, trying your hardest to rein in the frustration that’s slowly expanding in your chest, crawling up your throat and triggering a familiar burning behind your eyes. It’s not fair. 

An exasperated noise escapes you without thinking, a loud, guttural thing. None of this is fair.

“_____?”

Your head snaps over your shoulder in surprise, not at all expecting anyone else to still be in the building. It’s Jungkook, because of course it is. Brows knitted in confusion, a black leather jacket thrown over his marigold button-up for some reason. He’s standing near the doors that exit into the lobby, evidently about to begin his trek home before you unwittingly paused his endeavor.

“What are you still doing here?” he asks, but before you can even deign to answer, he’s already taken a few steps towards you and followed up with a clearly concerned, “Are you okay?”

You take a breath, struggling to calm the storm within you. None of this is his fault, nor his problem, and you should just force a smile on your face so he can be on his way and leave you to your self-pity. But you’re tired, so tired, and simply don’t have the capacity to pretend anymore. You swallow around the lump in your throat, and when you do speak, the thickness of your voice betrays the tears that you’re fighting to keep at bay. “No.”

This only seems to alarm him more. He’s standing next to you now, as close as he can get with the array of binders and papers you have scattered on the floor around you like a fortress not meant to keep anyone out, but rather, to keep you inside.

“What’s the matter?” he asks gently.

“Oh, nothing,” you snort derisively, blinking rapidly at the ceiling in an effort to try to stop the inevitable. “Nothing. It’s just well past 7pm and I’m still here in this godforsaken building attempting to print out and hole punch and assemble twenty copies of this presentation. I can’t even get the printer to do what I’m asking it to! And there’s no fucking reason I should still be here because the could have been done last week if my boss didn’t keep making nonsensical changes based solely on vibes. And tell me why there are six people on my team but no one thought to help me or take any sort of ownership of this at all—as per usual—or even buy me a fucking coffee for once! I haven’t eaten a proper meal all day but everybody just assumes they can go home because things will magically get done like they always do because they will! I will always make sure that they will! Every day it becomes increasingly clear that nobody in this fucking company gives a flying FUCK about me or my free time or my sanity—”

If he’s put off by your potty mouth, Jungkook certainly doesn’t show it. He just manages to catch your gaze from behind his glasses and simply replies, “I do.” 

Your never-ending rant rapidly dissipates on your tongue, brain struggling to comprehend what he just said. “…What?”

“I care,” he repeats softly. “How can I help?”

The sincerity in his tone renders you mute, too stunned to do anything more than watch as Jungkook drops the backpack he’s had slung over a shoulder onto the floor, tossing his newly removed jacket on top of it without much thought. He’s unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, the reemergence of an ink-covered forearm making your brain stutter even more. Now that there’s much less distance between you, you can more accurately make out the shape of a delicate tiger lily, the languid form of a snake.

Jungkook clears his throat, the noise snapping you out of your stupor and making you realize you were just staring at him in silence, for who knows how long. Dammit. “What do you need?” he tries again. 

“Um, first we can start with Mabel,” you croak, mouth now embarrassingly dry. “No matter what I do, she refuses to collate.”

Jungkook shoots you a smile that softens his whole face. “Lucky for you, I’m the printer expert, remember? Don’t worry. We’ll get this fixed and be out of here in no time.”

He holds out a hand and you reflexively grab it, allowing him to guide you to your feet. Together, you make your way to the copy room, where Mabel has stubbornly been giving you hell all night. Jungkook gets right to work pushing buttons while you stand to the side, awkwardly shifting your weight a little from foot to foot.

“So why are you still here?” you ask, curiosity finally forcing you to voice the question that’s been looping in your mind since he first appeared. “It’s late.”

“It is,” he agrees, focus still on the printer. He kneels down, opening the paper tray. “There’s this huge system update that’s set to roll out next week. My whole team has been hunkering down and pulling late nights.”

Oh. That explains why you haven’t seen him around much since the barbecue. “That’s tough.”

“We’re finally almost done,” he shrugs. “And I’m clearly not the only one working overtime.”

You don’t say anything when he looks up at you pointedly, so he turns back to the printer, pulling a stack of paper out of one of the trays.

“I think this may be part of the problem. Someone put the wrong-sized paper in here. Or, at least, Mabel thinks it’s wrong. She’s confused.”

“Well, she can join the club,” you mutter, and he puffs out a laugh, shutting the drawer and pressing some more buttons.

“Come on, let’s try again.”

Something touches your elbow, and though it shocks through you like he electrocuted you, you have the good sense suppress any embarrassing reaction to what you quickly realize is just his hand. Instead, you let him guide you back to your desk, trying not to focus too intently on the heat of his skin on yours. 

Jungkook waits for you to login to your computer, clicking around and changing some settings once you step back and allow him free rein. Then, you can hear a distant hum coming from the copier room, and you know immediately that he’s succeeded. Dutifully, he goes to check anyway, returning to you with a stack of perfectly collated paper.

“Thank god,” you groan. “Now let me just print fifty more of those so I can start organizing these binders.”

With the crisis averted and his job done, you fully expect him to gather his pile of stuff and hustle to the elevator before you can trap him into doing anything else. Instead, Jungkook goes to pick up the additional copies from the printer for you, and he actually gets down on the floor next to you to start putting everything together. He watches you assemble one binder for reference, but then he’s easily doing the same and doubling your completion speed. 

And slowly, gradually, your nervous system calms. The two of you work like a well-oiled machine in what would be comfortable silence, if your brain wasn’t so loud. Now that you’re not actively panicking, a completely different feeling starts to seep into you—embarrassment.  You can’t believe that Jungkook actually caught you on the cusp of a breakdown, during which you looked so pitiful, he felt morally obligated to stop what he was doing and help you.

“I’m sure you have somewhere to be,” you say after a while with a grimace. He’s way too nice and you’re way too pathetic. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night—I promise you don’t have to stay with me. Now that everything’s printed and organized, most of the work’s done. I should be out of here in no time.”

“Well, I promise you didn’t ruin anything. And with two of us, you can be out of here in less time than that.” He looks up with a soft smile from where he’s hole punching a stack of paper, the muffled ka-chunk of the device punctuating his point. “I don’t mind, _____. Really.”

“But I do,” you murmur, looking away. Unable to meet his eyes. “I really appreciate your help, but I feel bad taking up so much of your time.”

“Well, don’t. I didn’t really have plans tonight anyway, and I’ve been working so much that it’s probably better that I get in some socializing time.”

“Not that I’m very good company,” you snort derisively.

There’s a pause, one long enough that you wonder if he heard you. But then he’s moving a little closer to you, tipping slightly sideways to tap his shoulder against yours. Reflexively, you turn back to him, finding his eyes kind.  

“We all have our off days, and that’s okay. But they’ll dull your shine if you let them. Don’t.” He bumps your shoulder again. “Besides, you and I have to stick together, remember? Or did you not really mean it when you told me that?”

You did tell him that, didn’t you? Months and months ago. You're surprised that he even remembers that.

There's an amused quirk to his lip, one that you can't help but feel yourself soften to, even as his focus turns back to the task at hand. And all at once, you feel yourself flooded with gratitude. You've been thankful for his help this whole time, of course, but now you almost sag with it, the relief at knowing someone is finally in your corner, the sudden sense of security and support visceral and a little overwhelming.

Before you fully realize what you're doing, it's you who leans closer, aiming to give a him a grateful kiss on the cheek. But your lips don't quite land on their intended target, because just before you succeed, Jungkook unconsciously senses your increasing proximity and reflexively turns his head back to you.

It's his lips yours coincidentally brush against, the accidental kiss timid due to his surprise and your chaste intentions. But the kiss is also soft, his lips plush and rather easily yielding to yours. 

Quickly realizing your mistake, you pull back, eyes as big as saucers. You stare at him in stunned silence and he stares back, eyes all pupil.

A horrified apology is immediately crowding the back of your throat, but right before you set it free, Jungkook's Adam's apple bobs, an errant tongue absently swiping across his lips. 

Huh. This isn’t exactly the reaction of someone repulsed by an unwanted kiss. He still hasn't said anything, but he hasn't moved away from you either. He's just watching you. Waiting. 

...Waiting?

With caution but with clear intent, you lean back in, and to your surprise, he meets you halfway, noses bumping a little before he tilts his head and your lips slot perfectly together. 

This kiss is immediately different from the last. Jungkook mindlessly drops he binder he's holding, body angling more solidly towards you so he can properly meet the rapidly rising intensity. Well, meet may be the wrong word, because he's the one whose hand quickly reaches up to cradle your chin, gentle pressure a silent request to  for you to tilt your head a bit more. And when you comply with the change in angle, it's him who deepens the kiss, the slow lave of his tongue coaxing your lips to part, open and wet.

You pant hot into his mouth and he breathes you in, offering no resistance when you push even closer, hands wandering across his shoulders, fingers ghosting up the back of his neck before drifting to idly toy with the hair at his nape. He hums contentedly, not unlike a purring cat, and does it again when your tongue joins his in a slow glide. 

You lose yourself in the sensation of it all, unable to notice anything beyond the heat that is rapidly building between you like fireworks ready to explode. Your head spins, swimming with endorphins and high off the smell of him. The taste.

A playful nibble of your lip unexpectedly has a rather desperate keen escaping your throat. You pause, making to pull back in your embarrassment, but the sound only seems to activate Jungkook, who follows you in your attempted retreat, mouth chasing yours in its reluctance to part. It's only when your back finally touches the floor that you realize he's slowly guided you there. You've been in a haze, too swept into the plot of the movie you've somehow found yourself in to do anything but be pulled along.  

As naturally as breathing, your find your knees have parted, and Jungkook easily slips into the space you've created for him, almost trancelike. As if he doesn't even realize he's doing it, too focused on exploring the fever of your mouth. He's leaning most of his weight on the hands he has posted on either side of your head; even still, every single millimeter of you that does touch him is sparking like live wires, euphoric goosebumps rippling across your skin. You let out a shaky breath that fogs his glasses, but even that doesn't stop him, just makes him pull back from you just enough to be able to whip them off and toss them somewhere, wholly unconcerned.

Emboldened by this, you sling a leg over his hip, and he eagerly accepts your invitation, settling on you properly. You're covered in him now, pelvises properly flush, and now that he's caged you in, Jungkook takes the opportunity to glide his lips away from yours and trail across your jawline instead. You shiver, every atom of you buzzing at his touch, and his mouth continues its trek, sucking hot down the column of your throat with just enough pressure that you know color will bloom there later. 

Your hips reflexively jump at his ministrations, your skirt riding further up your thighs, and the hard press of him against your panties has you swallowing down a moan. He freezes for a fraction of a second, but then his hips respond to the lure of yours with a more intentional roll. A contented sound rumbles in the back of his throat, tongue dipping to meander across your collarbone.

This is crazy. This is crazy. But you can't quite find it in yourself to care much as the two of you rut against each other on the office floor, your hand gliding up his back to root in the hair at his nape. 

Your hips undulate restlessly, eager to meet the crest of his wave, and Jungkook matches your intensity, catching your earlobe between his teeth. Your shared grind is measured but deliberate, and even through his pants you can feel the hard shape of him pressing right against your aching core. A particularly pointed roll has Jungkook shuddering hot into the shell of your ear, and that is what finally tamps down the last of your restraint and triggers something much more primal.

Dizzy with want, your hands scrabble between you and aim for the button of his slacks, eager to be properly introduced to what’s underneath. But to your slow horror, Jungkook freezes at the touch, motionless for a few breathless seconds before he actually starts lifting off of you and pulling back. It’s only when he’s completely sat up and is staring at you that the full weight of what you’ve just done hits you like a freight train.

Holy shit. Holy shit. 

You really were just dry humping. A coworker. And you were doing it on the premises of the place that pays your fucking bills! Making out, dry humping, and you were actively aiming to do much more if he hadn't stopped you. 

What the fuck has gotten into you? 

You scrabble upright, dizzy with the mortification rapidly seeping deep into your bones. Stupidly, you blink at him, paralyzed with embarrassment but unable to look away. A deer in headlights.

Jungkook stares right back, eyes dark and all pupil. Dazedly, you wonder if you look as fucked out as he does—there’s a smattering of red across his cheeks, and his hair has been thoroughly mussed by your own hands. A tongue dips out to swipe over kiss-swollen lips, stealing your attention away from the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

And suddenly, you’re able to kickstart into gear.

“I am so sorry,” you burst out, panic nearly choking you. “That was highly inappropriate and I seriously don’t know what came over me—”

It takes you a few moments to register that he’s moved back in, and that it’s the returned press of his lips that interrupts your babbling apology before it can properly catch its stride. You’re almost too afraid to respond in kind, as if you’ll somehow scare him away again, but the insistence in his kiss practically knocks the breath from your lungs. Patiently, he coaxes your rigid lips back pliant. And only when it’s clear you won’t try to run away does he lean back a second time, but only enough to see your eyes properly.

“No,” he murmurs, breath fanning hot over you. “That was very much appropriate.” 

You’re not quite sure how to respond to that, too shell-shocked by this turn of events and actively battling your triggered fight or flight response. “Um. Then…then why did you…”

Jungkook’s eyes flutter closed, as if he’s gathering himself. “I want to,” he mumbles, seemingly to himself, but then he’s looking right at you again, gaze heavy with resolve. “It’s just…do you mind if I try something first?”

That throws you for a loop. Your jaw opens then shuts again while you contemplate his question, as well as your answer. “I mean, I guess? It depends on what it is.”

That you don't instantly reject him visibly unwinds a tension in his body that you only now realize was there. A rather feral look crosses his face, immediately inciting goosebumps to ripple across your skin in anticipation. But then the intensity of his expression dims, edged with something more contemplative. Jungkook gives you a pensive nod then stands, looking around curiously. “Hey, where does that viper sit?”

You blink, bewildered. “…The who?”

“The one who’s always with you at lunch.” He locks eyes with you, tongue poking through his cheek. “You know. The one who’s on your team but still had no second thoughts about leaving you here tonight by yourself.”

Joy. He’s talking about Joy. 

The question makes you pause in suspicion, but you still hook a thumb towards the cubicle next to yours, on the other side of your shared wall. “There. Why?”

“No reason,” he says with a sly grin, holding out a hand to you. You take it without question and he easily helps you to your feet. But then before you can process it, he’s slid both hands around your waist and easily lifted you off the ground, already in route to the exact cubicle you called out. You yelp in surprise, your arms reflexively circling his neck—your legs, his middle—in your body’s scramble for balance. But Jungkook’s hold on you is secure, grip moving down to the back of your thighs instead, and now that your chests are once again flush, you can actually feel his chuckle. His amusement provokes yours, and you can’t help but giggle as he carries you over to Joy’s cube as easily as if you weigh nothing.

Clearly, his exercise routine is working out for him.

After using a hand to sweep some objects out of the way, Jungkook carefully sets you down on Joy’s desk, right next to her monitor. Your mirth only grows at the feeling of whatever printouts she left for later review crinkling under your weight, at the sight of displaced pens rolling off the edge and disappearing to the ether that is the floor.

Jungkook has set you down, but he doesn’t pull away, just leans down and recaptures your eager lips. He’s tall enough that he’s kind of hunching over to kiss you, neck really craned, but he doesn’t seem to care much about that, kissing you with the same ferocity as moments before, when the two of you were entangled on the carpet. And you can’t help but match his fervor, hands reaching to guide his slim hips even closer, into the widening gap you naturally create for him between your legs. 

Time constricts and expands, an endless and meaningless concept. Because all that matters now is the tongue he slips past your lips to slide against yours, slowly, like he’s savoring the taste of you. All that matters is how fucking great he smells—like clean laundry and smoke and warm skin speckled with sweat—something you’ve always caught whiffs of, but now completely surrounds you, invading all your senses and sending your lust into overdrive. 

“Is this what you wanted to try?” you pant hotly when your lips finally separate for a moment in your quest for air. “Defiling Joy’s desk?”

He’s leaning his forehead against yours while he also attempts to catch his breath, and he’s so close that it would be hard for you to miss his amused flash of teeth. “Sort of. I’d like to defile it more thoroughly, though. Starting with this.” 

Jungkook leans in for one last kiss, one that starts at your mouth, moves to your neck, and to your surprise, continues down the line of your body. Over your collarbone, careful hands popping open a few buttons of your blouse so he can nestle more surely into the curve of your breasts, warm lips skating across eager skin. For a few moments, he actually nuzzles his face into your middle, a gesture you find rather sweet before he incites a shiver through your body by licking against your clothed navel. And before you can fully realize what’s happening, he’s slipped to his knees.

You look down at him in surprise, body still slotted between your legs, but this time more eye-level with the secret, needy part of you that has been thrumming excitedly with every beat of your heart. “What are you…”

“You’re always doing everything for everyone else,” comes his murmured reply. “Will you allow me to do something for you?”

Your brain is still so hazy from the spell of his mouth that it takes you a moment to recognize what’s happening. What he’s asking for. But when his large palms are hot against the naked skin of your thighs, gentle pressure urging them to part even more, it all hits you like a truck. Your eyes dart around, paranoid. “Jungkook,” you hiss. “…Here?”

“They’re too cheap to put cameras anywhere other than the lobby.” He turns his head, lips pressing reassurance into the side of your knee. “And no one’s here.” His reminder as gentle as the kisses he continues to adorn you with. “Just you.” Kiss. “And me.”

He’s right, you know. No one else is here to witness the series of bad decisions you’ve just made—to witness the ones you’re still seriously considering. 

Still, you hesitate.

Jungkook’s staring intently at you, doe-eyed and cherry-lipped and deceptively innocent despite what he’s requesting of you. “Please?” he asks again, oh-so-sweetly. Reverently prostrating before your altar, praying for the blessing of an ambivalent goddess. You. “I just…I really want to. Ever since that day, I can’t stop thinking about it and I—please?”

Your brows furrow as you try to make sense of what he’s saying, still scrambling to keep up with this current turn of events. What day? Your mind whirrs, jumping around before finally settling on an embarrassing memory you’ve willed yourself to forget. 

Lunch, where Wendy somehow got you to admit you’ve never gotten head, and Jungkook, purportedly oblivious, too busy on his phone to ever pay your table any attention. 

…Except from what he’s saying right now, he had heard every word. Heard, and filed it away for safekeeping, only revealing to you now, when he can possibly do something about it.

Absently, your tongue dips out to swipe across your lips, and Jungkook’s attention visibly strays towards the action, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your thighs and sending electricity straight to your core. God, do you want to say yes. Even though you’ve never done this before, your inexperience is not at all the reason for your reluctance. It’s the optics. You’re at work.

Your head tilts as you try to accurately take stock of the situation. You’re at work. But technically, you should have clocked out hours ago. Technically, this job has been stealing a lot of time that should have been yours to choose what to do with. Case in point—you’re the only person on your team still within a five-mile radius of this godforsaken building. Because everyone else deserted you without a second thought, designating you to be the one who struggles to print presentations for a meeting that has been on the calendar for literal months.

But. 

While it’s easy to assume they forced this fate upon you, Fate is not one easily compelled to do another’s bidding. And, trapped in the gaze of the sweet man still patiently awaiting permission to ruin you, you can’t help but wonder if this has been Her plan all along. 

For months you’ve been doing everything for everyone else, so unhappy and stressed that each day in this place only wound you tighter and tighter. So…what if you finally just let yourself snap? Did what you wanted for once? Stopped following the rules that nobody else ever seemed to and just let go? 

You exhale. Fuck it.

“Okay.”

Jungkook grins, boyishly innocuous at first, but rapidly morphing into something much more devilish as you watch. He turns to kiss your knee again, and you startle a little at the action, newly on edge. “Don’t be nervous,” he says, still holding your gaze. Making sure you can see his resolve. “I got you.” 

“Okay,” you say again, but that’s easier said than done, especially when he takes the opportunity to gently push your knees even further apart. Naturally, your skirt rides further up, and you can’t help the apprehension that washes over you at your increasing lack of modesty. Still, you hold true to your word, aggressively tamping down the urge to scramble off the desk and pretend this all never happened. But though you brace yourself for what comes next…

Jungkook doesn’t move.

Long moments pass before you can’t help but say something. “Are you just gonna look?” Because that’s all he seems to be doing, laser-focused on the juncture of your thighs.

He visibly stirs at the sound of your voice, but still doesn’t do much more than tsk at you. “Don’t rush me,” comes his light reprimand, eyes still locked on what you’re sure at this point is a growing dark spot on your panties. “I don’t half-ass things and I definitely won’t rush this. No one’s here, so just relax and enjoy the ride.”

Your jittery nerves have you reflexively mouthy, but your retort swiftly dies on your tongue when his hand finally moves further up your skirt—further inward—and two fingers pointedly press right against that dark spot and glide over your clothed lips. You gasp, fighting against the urge to snap your legs shut when he slowly circles your clit and sends sparks dancing down your legs. 

“Better?” he murmurs.

“Much,” you squeak.

“Good,” he says, eyebrows knitted in thought as he circles and circles. Your thighs twitch, and he leans forward like he can’t help himself, nose pressing solidly against you with a long, audible inhale.

A fascinated oh falls from your lips, heartbeat accelerating excitedly in your ears, but Jungkook only responds by nestling further against your pussy, tracing the length of your lips with a slow, wet swipe of his tongue through the fabric. He breathes hot against your clit and you inadvertently buck at the stimulation, only inciting the wicked curl of his lips. He looks up at you darkly through the curtain of his bangs, and something unexpected and primal simmers beneath your skin.

“Can I have these?” he asks huskily, lightly snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin. 

You clear your throat, suddenly wishing you had the foresight to put on something more interesting today than your unassuming cotton undies. “Have as in you won’t give them back?”

He lets out an amused puff of air, tilts his head. “I haven’t decided yet.”

You nod your assent. You’re now impossibly invested in where he plans to take this, and it’s not like you don’t have more pairs at home. “Knock yourself out.”

Immediately, his hands are up your skirt. They’re big, but they’re also gentle, caressing your thighs and even taking a slight detour to the meat of your ass before continuing their mission to the band of your underwear. When he starts to pull, you help him, shifting your weight so he can slip the fabric over your hips and down your legs.

Jungkook’s Adam’s apple dips when his eyes are finally able to feast on you without a barrier. “So fucking hot,” he mutters, almost to himself, and then without further warning, his mouth seals around your sex.

You whimper in surprise, not at all used to the sensation of someone kissing you there. And kiss you he does, carefully at first, judging your reaction. But when you do nothing but grip the edge of the desk, biting your lip in an attempt to stifle the rather desperate sounds crawling up your throat, he swiftly devolves into kissing you with the same passion as he had the lips on your face. His tongue laps at you with sure, even strokes, dragging across the seam of you and then through it, making sure to slide along your clit on every upstroke. 

Your breath quickens, jaw falling slack. You weren’t sure what you imagined oral sex to be like before this, but you never expected how easily your body submits to his ministrations. Almost without you realizing it, your thighs part even more, hips automatically canting down to meet his eager mouth. A hand reaches for him, fingers winding through his hair and rooting there, and Jungkook hums in approval, his own hands wrapping securely around your thighs, your ass. His fingers sinking into the yielding softness of you, gently holding you steady against his face while you start to gyrate and moan.

God, does he look good down there. He’s always looked good, even before you knew what he was hiding behind those shy smiles and nerdy glasses, but something about the sight of him, jaw working as he sucks on you, lashes fluttering in pleasure in his quest to please you—

Without warning, he detaches with an audible pop, and a disgruntled sound reflexively leaves you. Breathless, you start to ask him why he stopped, but the words die on your tongue when you realize he’s staring at you again. That he pulled back for a moment just so he can get a good look at the mess he’s making of you. So he can properly see how your pussy aches and drools for him.

“Good?” he asks, voice deep and thick.

“So fucking good,” you sigh. What you know he wants to hear, but also 1000% the truth. You’re starting to understand what Wendy has been blathering about, but is it always like this? Or is it Jungkook in particular who is making you so unbelievably aroused? Is your rapidly snowballing crush on him that strong, or does pussy eating simply rank high on his skillset?

As if he can hear your thoughts, Jungkook moves to slip a finger into you, and you can’t help but moan when he breaches you, the digit sliding in so easily that he quickly adds another, thumb pressing surely into your clit as he starts a slow drag in and out. 

“Shit,” you shudder, eyes rolling back into your head. Hips sliding further off the desk, reflexively seeking the delicious stimulation. One of your hands scrabbles across the desk, unconsciously trying to root you, and you’re much too preoccupied with how good he’s making you feel to notice when you accidentally knock over a mug full of pens. A stapler clanks to the ground. “Fuck.” 

“Look, baby,” he breathes, moaning along with you when the pet name immediately makes your pussy flutter. “Look.”

At his encouragement, you do. You watch the flex of his tattooed arm as his fingers continue to disappear within you, a lewd squelch coinciding with his movements. You watch as he adds another finger, the additional stretch immediately noticeable but even more delicious. You watch him watch you, eyes all pupil, lips swollen and slick with your desire.

“More,” you whine, frenzied and greedy. And Jungkook immediately heeds your call, leaning back in. He sucks on your clit with three fingers sunk in you, expertly crooked towards your pelvic bone, and you jolt, accidentally knocking something else off the desk. Neither of you pays the resulting clattering any attention, too wrapped up in the way you writhe at his ministrations. He hums in approval, the vibrations only intensifying your ecstasy. He flattens his tongue as your hips desperately circle, letting you control the stimulation. And when it’s clear you still need more, he changes tactics and rapidly laps at you instead, as if you’re a melting ice cream cone, while he beckons, beckons. 

Your blood is volcanic, hot pressure bubbling beneath the prison of your skin, building and building within your core. The higher he takes you, the more the grip you have on his hair unintentionally tightens, but that only seems to urge him on, locking eyes with you as the thrust of his fingers turns harder and more calculated. Giving you no other choice but to finally erupt.    

You cum with a loud groan, gasping through it while your cunt rhythmically clamps down on his digits, hard. Jungkook talks you through it, murmuring encouraging words your buzzing brain has trouble deciphering because his hand still doesn’t stop, pounding right into your g-spot and making your eyes cross and toes curl with the force of it. And when you finally can’t take anymore, jerking with oversensitivity, you grab him by the wrist in a wordless plea for mercy.

And Jungkook grants it. You can tell that he wants to play with you more—wants to guide you over and over to the precipice just see the look on your face when he shoves you off—but ever the gentleman, he reins in his enthusiasm and obediently slips his fingers out of you. He takes a few seconds to admire his handiwork, eyes shining with in reverence as he marvels in the dripping, throbbing, panting aftermath that is you.

“Wow,” you say, still dizzy with endorphins. Never in a million years did you think it would feel like that.

“Yeah,” he agrees, voice thick. “Wow.” He lifts his hand, remnants of you visibly slicking his fingers and webbing between the digits, and without a second thought, sticks them in his mouth and sucks. The resulting slurping of his errant tongue is nothing short of obscene, but your cunt flutters again anyway, interest clear despite being thoroughly satisfied only moments before. And when line of your essence starts to drip down your thigh, Jungkook makes sure to lean in and catch it with his tongue.

You shiver with the feeling of him on you again, mouth hot and wet, thighs still trembling. He’s taking his time, tongue dragging a slow path back up to the source, determined to feast upon the rewards of his efforts. But you can’t take it anymore. God, he’s so hot. He’s so fucking hot and you want him so fucking bad.

You need him. Biblically. 

Near delirious, you reach for him, hands scrabbling across his shoulders, fingers trailing the back of his neck and guiding him to stand. Arms circling his waist and pulling him closer to you—close, close—Jungkook easily slotting into spread of your thighs.

He follows your unspoken commands easily and without question, looking down at you with a rather pleased smile that crinkles his eyes in the corners. Determined to steal the breath from his lungs, just as he just did to you, you lean in to lick that smile pliant and open. There’s a curious taste on his tongue that it doesn’t take long to deduce is you, and that’s only even more of an aphrodisiac, revving you up further. 

Your hands continue to roam, sliding down a little to grope his backside, startling a laugh out of him. But when your fingers tease the waistband of his slacks, his delight visibly shutters away into something else entirely.

“You don’t have to do that,” he breathes, even as he reflexively bucks into the hand you’re using to palm him over his pants. “This was about you.”

“Then let it be about me,” you counter, a mischievous smile curling your lips. Even through his pants you can tell he's hard. That he wants this just as badly as you do.  Still, when he gasps out a wait, you obediently stop your ministrations and move to take your hand back. 

He doesn't let you get far, lacing his fingers through yours and visibly considering his next words for a few moments before settling on, “What do you need?” 

It’s a simple enough question, but you can't help but be immediately reminded of him saying these exact words to you, a little over an hour ago. Now, however, they sit heavy on his tongue, heady and syrupy in hushed invitations. 

The revelation hits you all at once, heart pounding excitedly in your ears.

You need only ask. You’ve only ever needed to ask.

And since all caution was thrown to the wind the moment you agreed to let him suck your soul out through your pussy...

“You said you’ve been thinking about me? Well, I’ve been thinking about you too. For a while, even though I’ve been trying not to.” 

You’ve had his attention this whole time, but the way Jungkook's regarding you now, now that you’ve said that? He's hanging onto every word, so hyper-focused that it would unnerve you if this wasn’t exactly what you were looking for. 

“So…” Adrenaline has your fingers restless against his, but you still dive headfirst. “What I need is for you to fuck me and finish what you started.”

A beat. One where he holds your gaze, the space between you so electrified that you’re surprised you don’t see sparks. But then he’s on you again, mouth meeting yours in a frenzied clash of lips and teeth, and this time he doesn’t stop you when your hands scrabble for his fly.

Jungkook wastes no time, smoothing his hands up your legs and pushing your skirt out of the way. He lets out a shuddered breath when you stroke him through his underwear, when you reach down the waistband and grip him properly.

He’s warm and thick in your hand, and the thought of him finally in your guts damn near has you vibrating. Just like you thought before, he’s already nice and hard, but you still pump him a few times just to revel in the proof of what you’ve done to him. Velvet over stone.

And despite having all the time in the world when the foreplay is for you, Jungkook doesn’t seem to have any patience for himself. You’re only able to enjoy the weight of him in your grip for a few passes before he’s surging into action. Strategically, he grabs you by the knees and lifts, maneuvering your legs into the crooks of his elbows. The move opens you up to him further and forces you more horizontal, leaning back on your forearms, nearly pressed against the cubicle wall.  

The way he ate you out moments before ensured you’d be primed for him, your pussy soft and slick and just begging to be filled. When he finally lines himself up and begins the slow press in, your jaw immediately falls open, tongue going lax at the intense pleasure. “Oh my god,” you manage to whine, eyes threatening to roll shut.

The unhurried way he’s sinking into you is likely in effort not to unintentionally hurt you. Because after everything else, why not add another thing to the ever growing list of surprises you’re learning about your unassuming coworker—not only has he been tatted and muscular this whole time, but his dick is also fucking huge. Without even realizing it, you’ve stopped breathing, the pressure of him nudging your walls apart too much stimulation for your body to continue even subconscious functioning. 

As if he can tell your brain is actively short-circuiting, Jungkook’s hands circle your thighs, thumbs kneading the flesh in mild distraction for when he finally bottoms out. It’s only now that you can properly notice the effect you’re having on him—hair starting to stick to his forehead from perspiration, teeth grit as he struggles to stay still for you.  But you don’t want him to be still.

“Fuck me,” you whimper, wiggling in your impatience and making him suck in a breath. “Please. Give it to me.”

The resulting roll of his hips has him swearing and you seeing stars. “Fuck. You can have whatever you want,” he says, already making good on his promise with a slow grid. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

It’s good, so good, especially because Jungkook uses his grip on your thighs as leverage to ramp up his thrusts, easily maneuvering you over his cock in a way that has your toes curling. By the time he’s really fucking you—jaw set, brows furrowed in concentration—you’re crosseyed and mewling incoherently. You should be embarrassed by the sounds he’s pounding out of you, but you’re so focused on the overwhelming pleasure that you can’t find it in yourself to care very much. 

Chasing the high you already feel him leading you towards, you lift one of your legs to change the angle, and he catches on immediately, helping guide your ankle to hook over his shoulder with a distracted kiss against the bone. And it’s deeper this way, the angle ensuring he brushes against your spongy nerves with every stroke, only making you spiral faster. 

He notices, of course. Notices how quickly he’s taking you to your end and revels in it, sliding a hand inward and he thumbing your clit, fast and hard.

You jolt at the extra stimulation, gasping and overwhelmed. “Oh my goddd…”  

“Come on,” he croons, his dulcet tone at odds with the wickedness of his hand. His dick. “Don’t you want to cum for me?”

“I…” you choke out, struggling to form any sort of coherent thought as you feel everything get tighter. “I…”

You see his lips moving as he presumably says something else. But you can’t understand anything other than your own moaning when your pussy finally locks down. This orgasm is somehow more intense than the last one, your thighs rippling with the force of it, your hands desperately scrabbling over the desk in an effort to find something to ground you. 

And Jungkook fucks you through it, still talking, and it’s only when the whooshing in your ears starts to subside that you can finally decipher what he’s saying in between his own moaning. “There you go. Being so good for me. So good.”

Your only reply is your gasping breath as your orgasm slowly fades, replaced with oversensitivity. But you don’t want him to stop. You don’t want this to stop, reveling in the feel of him on you, in you. And Jungkook doesn’t, instead sliding your leg off his shoulder so he can grab you by the waist with both hands and properly yank you forward, moving you over his cock to his liking. 

The desk creaks with your effort, a rhythmic cacophony with the harsh smacking of his balls against your ass. You mewl, needing him closer still, and curl your legs around his hips, locking your ankles. He’s now trapped against you, but he groans like that’s exactly what he wanted, both hands gliding up the length of your body to grasp the back of your neck instead, giving him even better leverage to plunge into you, deep, deep. He leans down and rests his forehead against yours, licks into your panting mouth. 

At this point, his thrusts are turning manic, but you’re meeting every one of them, deliriously following him in his descent into madness. But when he catches your lower lip with his teeth, your breath hollows, and then, quicker than you can register it’s happening, you cum again, spasming around him with a long, high-pitched whine.

Jungkook lets you ride it out, but this time, his thrusts slow while you thrash. And it’s not until your soul finally floats back into your body that you realize he’s already pulled out of you and is bucking into his own fist instead.  

You almost took him over the edge with you, you realize. Though he clearly has incredible stamina, you have finally brought him to his limit, and everything inside you glows at the knowledge that he’s here, roughly pumping himself, moans falling freely from his lips because of you. 

Entranced, you reach for him, delighting in the whimper he lets out when your fingers wrap around his base. His own hand immediately falls to grip the edge of the desk instead, and you glide your fist up, finding his cock sticky with your juices. Jungkook just rests his head in the crook of your neck and lets you jack him off, whining through it when you match his previously punishing pace. And it doesn’t take long before he finally, finally splashes hot over your hand. Against your thigh. 

Your hand slows, twisting your wrist and milking him for every drop. Intent on extending his pleasure, just like he made sure to do for you. And you only stop when he flinches away from your touch, twitchy and shivering as he leans against you. 

Reluctantly, you let go. The two of you share the same balmy breath, struggling to calm your racing hearts. And when Jungkook finally backs away from you, unhurried in the way he gathers himself back into his slacks, there is a wildly satisfied grin on his face.

You’re satisfied too, though you try to have some sense of propriety and use a tissue from the box next to Joy’s monitor to wipe off the sticky evidence of his pleasure. Throwing away the evidence, you hop off the desk, locating your long-discarded panties and slipping them back on, smoothing down your skirt.

“So,” you tease lightly. Your head swims a little with the knowledge of what you just did, but you’re surprised to realize you feel zero guilt about it. “Is your plan to stick it to everyone who’s wronged me? If so, we should do it on Mabel next. That’ll show her.”

Jungkook laughs, a giddy, giggly thing. He’s now doing his best to pick up and replace everything that fell from Joy’s desk during your romp. “Nah, I could never disrespect her like that. That ol’ girl’s been such a great wingman these past few months.”

That’s a rather curious statement to make. You frown a little, shoot him an inquisitive sound.

“You always call me when Mabel’s not working,” he shrugs. “So when I wanted to see you, she was nice enough help.” 

You can’t help it—a smile creeps across your face, equally bashful and flattered. He wanted to see you! For months, by his open admission. “And the printer knew exactly when you wanted to see me?" you joke. “Sounds like dark magic to me.”

Jungkook’s valiantly trying to straighten and smooth out some of the papers the two of you disturbed. “Deleted some print jobs,” he replies offhandedly, clearly distracted by the task at hand. 

Record scratch. 

There’s an extended silence as your brain shuffles through different iterations of his sentence, trying to decipher exactly he meant by that. Because there's no way he just admitted to what you think he just did. “Did…did you just say you've been deleting my print jobs?” you ask incredulously. Because there’s no way.

There’s no way, yet at your words, Jungkook immediately stiffens. His lips part, but he doesn't defend himself. Doesn't say anything at all—just drops the pen he’s holding and stares at you with wide eyes.

Holy shit. Holy shit. He really has been doing it! He obviously hadn't meant to tell you that, but the relaxation of afterglow has clearly removed the filter between his brain and his mouth. 

The weight of his revelation hits you, seemingly happenstance events connecting in your mind and starting to fall into place. All the hassle and irritation that stupid printer has been giving you, and it turns out Mabel has been working just fine?! 

“Please don't be mad,” he pleads, finally finding his voice.  

“Are you seriously saying that all this time—”   

“No! No, I only did it a few times,” he sheepishly rushes to correct you. “And I promise, I haven’t done it in weeks.”

“Seriously?” 

“I just...wanted an excuse to talk to you!”

“Jungkook, you literally talk to me all the time!”

“About work! Not—” he averts his eyes, lets out an irritated breath. “It’s just. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out.”

You blink, gaping slightly as your whirring mind tries to process what he’s just told you. “Ask me…out?” 

“I didn’t mean to do…all this.” He waves a hand over the mess the two of you are still cleaning up, clearly embarrassed. “I mean, at least not before buying you dinner first.”

Moments pass as you stare at him in stunned, disbelieving silence. Then, like a volcano erupting, laughter bursts from you, loud and sudden. Because what the fuck? You can’t believe all of this is actually happening to you. In real life. “You jackass,” you cackle. “Do you have any idea how much grief that printer has been giving me? I’m over here stressed and you’ve been gaslighting me and doing it on purpose?”

“Just a few times,” he repeats, visibly confused by the juxtaposition of the mirth in your voice and the actual words you’re saying. 

“And that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still a jackass,” you laugh. “But…” You clear your throat, suddenly somehow shy, despite everything that has occurred and been said. “…I suppose you can still take me out to dinner.”  

“Yeah?” His lips stretch into a slow, hopeful smile.

“Yeah. Now, if you want. I think we’re pretty much done here.” You smile back, quickly taking stock of the binders still scattered across the floor. Most of them are completed, but whatever else you need to do can be done tomorrow morning. “Besides, I seem to have worked up an appetite.” 

Jungkook looks nothing short of smug, but you suppose you can’t fault him that. “Well then,” he practically purrs, “Let’s hurry up and feed you.” 

Moving in comfortable silence, the two of you finish putting everything you’ve disturbed back in their original spots, gathering the last of the binders and stacking them neatly on your desk. You reach for your purse while Jungkook goes to collect his hastily discarded belongings.

“So,” you start. “Where are you taking me? It’s kind of late.” This late on a weeknight, kitchens would be shutting down soon.

He pauses in sliding his leather jacket back on, frowning a little as he realizes you’re right. “Shit,” he mutters. “I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”

“You can,” you say with an unbothered wave of your hand. “That can be next time. Let’s just find something quick now.”

“So you’re saying I get a second date?” he grins.

Oh. That is what you just implied, isn’t it? You would be embarrassed by how forward you were being if Jungkook wasn’t visibly delighted by it. Wow, he really does like you. And since the feeling is mutual, you just look away coyly and say, “If you play your cards right.”

Jungkook hoists his backpack over a shoulder, and it’s only then that you see what else he happened to be carrying in his hands when he dropped everything for you. A helmet.

You gesture towards the object with a curious incline of your head. “What’s that for?”

“My bike,” comes his easy answer, but that’s not the kind of helmet that one wears for bicycle rides. No, this one is made for something much faster. 

Now that you think about it, you’ve seen the motorcycle in the parking lot before—you’ve just never really given it a second thought. And now you can’t stop thinking about it, because the unassuming vehicle you’ve often passed on your way into the building has been Jungkook’s the whole time. Your mind is blown. How many more times is he going to surprise you tonight?  

“…Do you always drive a motorcycle?” you ask incredulously.

“Depends on the day,” he shrugs with grin. “Sometimes I take the bus, but I like to ride my bike when the weather’s nice.” His eyes are bright with pride, visibly happy to have impressed you. 

Your mouth opens and closes, thoughts racing so fast your tongue struggles to hold onto any of them. Before you realize you’re doing it, you blurt, “Alright. Are you even real?”

Jungkook blinks owlishly at you, clearly not expecting that question. “What?” 

“I thought I’ve known you for months. But was any of that real?” you repeat. “Hell, do you even need glasses?”

“Of course,” he rushes to say. “It’s all me. I can just be a little shy, is all.” Wow, he actually said shy with a straight face, as if he didn’t just finish ravaging you over multiple surfaces. “And I like to be professional, so this place doesn’t get to have all facets of me. I know you can relate.”

You can. Your constant struggle to not complain? To be professional and work hard and hope you’ll be rewarded for your efforts? Obviously that’s a reason why the two of you ended up in this situation in the first place.

He ducks his head a little, tapping the glasses he picked up off the floor in petition for their validity. “And these really are prescription. I mean, I can mostly see without them, but since I stare at computer screens all day, it’s less strain on my eyes.”

“Oh,” you say quietly, feeling silly to have even asked. But who knew the quiet IT guy who kept mostly to himself was also this? Buff and tatted with a wicked tongue that you’re now intimately acquainted with. 

Shyly, he holds his helmet out to you. He hesitates before speaking again, almost like he’s afraid of spooking you. “Wanna go for a ride?” And from the way color lightly blooms across his cheeks, you get the sense that he’s offering you more than just protective gear.

You take it without second thought.

The next day you and Jungkook get off the elevator together, a respectable distance between you, but arms still brushing too often to be casual. When you come to the hallway that will force you in separate directions, you pause.

“Have a good day,” you say. Jungkook grins, the delighted brightness of it baring too much teeth and crinkling his eyes in the corners.

“You too,” he winks. “Let me know if Mabel gives you any more issues.”

You snort at his brazenness, biting down a smile as you head to your cubicle. Your whole body buzzes, glowing from inside out.

You’re technically right on time, but you’ve definitely arrived later than usual, and that’s obvious when you head over to your department and find Joy already there waiting for you. She frowns as you approach, no doubt clocking your empty hands and wondering how she’s going to make it through the morning without her expected syrupy caffeine fix. 

To her credit, she doesn’t call you out on it, but you don’t really care if she does. You’re done playing errand boy. From now on, everyone else will have to stop before work and get their own shit, if they want it so bad.

Because it’s all so clear to you now. You’re here, and you’re going to do your best, but you’re not going to let this place wear you down to jaded slivers. You’re going to work hard and learn all that you can, but you refuse to be anyone’s lapdog. 

They will respect you. And your value will be recognized and rewarded—or you’ll simply find somewhere else where it will. 

Joy must sense your new resolve, because she simply hovers by your desk and chirps, “Good morning.”

“Morning.” 

“Did you have a good night?”

Your lips quirk. “You could say that. What about you?”

“Eh, it was okay,” she sighs. “Met a guy for dinner, but I don’t think that’s going anywhere.” 

So while you were stuck here last night, having a grade-A meltdown, she was on a date. That tracks.

Joy chatters on while you put your things away, not seeming to notice or care that you’re not particularly interested in what she’s saying. And while this would normally irritate the living shit out of you, today, it doesn’t. 

Today, your eyes can’t help but glaze over as your mind drifts back to how your night went. Today, you just hum agreeably until she gets bored with you and decides to go back to her own cubicle.

And when you hear her ask over the wall if you’ve seen her stapler, you just smile and smile.   

⇢ my masterlist

[spiritbubbles-ao3]

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MASTERLIST:

Never Be The Cure: A Harry Potter Fanfic

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Thank you everyone that has taken an interest in my first fanfiction, "Never Be the Cure: A Harry Potter Fanfiction"! Here's a masterlist with all chapters and more information on the story for those interested :)

Summary:

The rest of Hogwarts sees Liesel Ollivander as a prodigy. A girl with perfect posture and steady hands. But beneath the neat wool of her uniform, she is quietly dissolving, her mind slipping through the damp cracks in the floorboards, her blood strangling her from the inside.

Cedric’s death mutates from unresolved grief into irrepressible rage. Her parents escape Azkaban to serve Voldemort once again, the Ollivander name back into a target for the Ministry. To survive the whispers, Liesel stands beside Harry Potter in the light, but when the corridors go quiet, she is digging into the rotting roots of the castle, searching for an answer to the strange ancient magic in her blood. A magic she must repress before it ruins her, becoming a home for an Obscurus.

Draco Malfoy is collapsing from the inside out, his ruin dragging her down. As she splits her own seams trying to keep him human, Harry drifts further out of reach, and the edges of her reality begin to crumble. Suffocating under her family’s legacy and a grief she refuses to look at, Liesel is forced toward a seemingly irreversible spell to save herself from the parasite inside her.

The only way to endure the dark is to forget the sun ever existed. ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The tentative structure of Never Be the Cure: A Harry Potter Fanfiction:

Part 1: Chapters 1-32: 5th Year (Teen and Up) Part 2: Chapters 33-62?: 6th Year (Mature Content) Part 3: Chapters 63?-92?: 7th Year/War (Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.)

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Never Be The Cure: PART 1 - 5th Year

link to work on Ao3 Ao3 Tags: heavy angst, angst, grief/mourning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, unhealthy coping mechanisms, bonding over ttrauma, childhood trauma, memory loss, memory alteration, slow burn, right person wrong time, protective slytherins, wandlore, ancient magic (hogwarts legacy) betrayal, cedric diggory haunts the narrative, flashbacks, good severus snape, mommy issues, parent death, eventual smut, harry potter has a saving people thing, sassy harry potter, pureblood politics, mentioned marauders, absent parents, mentor severus snape, spoilers for hogwarts legacy, suicidal thoughts, abused harry potter, abusive relationships, death eater draco malfoy, morally grey harry potter, friends with benefits, nightmares, hurt/comfort, codependency, touch-starved, ollivander original character, angst with a happy ending, obscurials, obscurial original character, evil theodore nott, horror CHAPTERS (on tumblr):

Chapter 1: Prologue, "The Tragedy of Liesel Ollivander"

Chapter 2: "Grimmauld Place"

Chapter 3: "The Prefect Letters"

Chapter 4: "The Hogwarts Express" Chapter 5: "Nargles" Chapter 6: "Crossed Wands" Chapter 7: "The Rusted Ribbon" - Warning: Graphic Violence Chapter 8: "Detention" - Warning: Graphic Violence Chapter 9: "The Hog's Head" Chapter 10: "The Room of Requirement" Chapter 11: "Will-O'-The-Wisp" Chapter 12: "Dear Cedric" WORK-IN-PROGRESS

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Never Be The Cure: PART 2 - 6th Year

WORK-IN-PROGRESS

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Never Be The Cure: PART 3 - 7th Year (War)

WORK-IN-PROGRESS

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Please stay tuned as I update this over time! I've been crafting this story for ages. Your support means everything to me and I am always open to discussion about the fic :)

[bangtanfanfiction]

even now → kth (M)

♢ Pairing: Taehyung x single mother!Reader → idol au

♢ Word count: 22.3k

♢ Genre: second-chance romance, exes-to-lovers, unresolved feelings, mutual pining, soft angst, humor, smut (also buff-Tae cause i'm never letting that man go) Warnings: cursing, filthy language during sex, smut isn't until the very end. So feel free to enjoy the plot by itself if that's not your cup of tea <3

⌲ Description: Five years after their breakup, Y/N is exhausted, overworked, and doing everything she can to keep her son happy. Unfortunately for her, River has decided the solution to all of their problems is tracking down her famous ex-boyfriend and ambushing him in the middle of BTS practice.

m a s t e r l i s t

Knock knock. 

"Come in." 

"Uhm, Taehyung-sshi?" 

"Yeah?" Taehyung had replied as he normally would to someone calling his name, but the employee who had knocked against the door of their lounge in the practice studio continued to hesitate and fidgeted nervously as he looked up curiously.  Even Hoseok and Jimin who were there with him stopped their doomscrolling on phones to focus on the interruption. 

"There's...uh...someone asking for you." 

Taehyung frowns, not remembering any plans for today besides practice. "Who is it?" 

The poor man visibly swallowed. 

"...He says he's your son." 

A pin dropped in the room as Hoseok choked on air and Jimin’s head snapped toward Taehyung so fast it was almost concerning. Taehyung himself only stared flatly at the employee while his brain worked through approximately twelve different possibilities in under three seconds. There was, unfortunately, only one remotely plausible answer.

"And did this supposed son say anything?" 

"Only that it's very important." 

"...right, bring him up."

The employee looked relieved to be dismissed from the conversation entirely, bowing quickly before slipping back out the door. The second it shut behind him, silence detonated.

Jimin blinked once. Twice. Then; “You have a son?!”

Hoseok pointed aggressively from the couch. “THAT’S what I’m saying!”

Taehyung groaned quietly, already regretting every decision that had led him to this exact moment. “No,” he said flatly. “I do not have a son.”

Jimin stared at him. “Then why did you sound like you knew who it was?”

“Because,” Taehyung muttered, dragging both hands down his face, “I’m pretty sure I know who it is.”

That only made the room more confused. Hoseok sat forward. “Kim Taehyung, if a child walks in here looking exactly like you, I’m calling Namjoon immediately, and what happens after is none of my business.”

Taehyung shot him a look at the threat just as another knock sounded against the door. Before anyone could respond, the door eased open slowly and a boy stepped inside. He looked about twelve. Maybe thirteen if you didn’t look closely. Dark hair tucked beneath a black baseball cap, oversized hoodie swallowing his thin frame, backpack hanging from one shoulder. The boy looked briefly at Hoseok and Jimin first, clearly recognizing them, before his gaze landed fully on Taehyung. 

That strange punch to the chest came suddenly. Because he looked nothing like Taehyung. But he looked so much like you. The same eyes. Same habit of pressing his lips together before speaking. Same expression when nervous. For a moment, Taehyung forgot how to breathe.

The kid straightened awkwardly under the silence. “…Hi.”

Hoseok looked between them wildly while Jimin had gone completely still.

Taehyung stared at him. “River?”

The boy visibly relaxed at being recognized, and Taehyung couldn’t fathom why he thought it was possible to forget him. “Yeah.”

God.

Last time Taehyung had seen him, River had still been missing his front teeth and carrying dinosaur bandages on his knees. Now the kid was almost at his shoulder. 

“My son, are you?”

The boy shrugged one shoulder easily, entirely too unbothered for someone who had just dropped a nuclear statement on one of the most famous men in the country. “It was the only way they would even let you know I was here.”

Taehyung stood slowly, hands settling on his hips as he tried for sternness, but the traitorous pull at the corner of his mouth ruined the effect immediately. “That’s manipulative.”

River tilted his head. “But it worked.”

There was no way Y/N survived this kid daily without developing a migraine.

River stepped fully into the room then, closing the door carefully behind him like he belonged there. Like he hadn’t just walked into a BTS practice lounge and given everyone inside half a heart attack. 

Taehyung stared at him properly for the first time in years. Longer limbs, bigger shoes, though they’d clearly seen better days, but the same intelligent eyes. Still carrying that same quietly observant energy he’d had as a child, except sharpened now—more sarcastic around the edges. And still unmistakably yours.

“You got taller,” Taehyung said before he could stop himself.

River huffed softly. “That’s usually what happens after four years.”

Taehyung pressed his lips together hard, fighting laughter now. “Wow. Okay.”

“You started it.”

Taehyung ignored that completely, unable to take his eyes off the boy in front of him. “What are you doing here?” he asked carefully.

At that, River’s earlier confidence seemed to flicker. His fingers tightened around the strap of his bright blue backpack. “It’s about my mom.”

Every muscle in Taehyung’s body stilled instinctively and something cold slid down his spine. “What happened?”

River noticed it immediately—the sharpness in his voice—and shook his head quickly. “No, no, she’s okay.” He paused. “I think.”

Taehyung frowned, releasing a breath. “You think?”

River sighed like someone far older than twelve should. “She’s sad.”

Hoseok looked painfully awkward where he sat, whilst on the opposite end Jimin outright turned away, shoulders shaking silently with laughter as if he was witnessing a real-life sitcom. 

Taehyung stared, speechless for once during the most bizarre ten minutes of his life so far. River stared back with complete seriousness. “So,” the boy concluded calmly, “I think you should get back together with her.”

Dead silence. Somewhere in the building, faint music vibrated through the practice room walls. But inside the lounge, nobody moved.

Taehyung blinked once. “…Excuse me?”

River stepped further into the room now, entirely committed to whatever insane plan had brought him here. “You’re her favorite ex.”

He was sure both of his members were struggling to breathe in the background at this point. Taehyung, meanwhile, could only stare at River in complete disbelief. “Favorite ex,” he repeated slowly.

“Yes.”

“You ranked us?”

“There’s only two.” River shrugged. “The bar wasn’t high.”

Jimin lost the fight entirely, doubling over into loud laughter. Taehyung finally let out a disbelieving breath through his nose. Oh, he was definitely your son.

“Kid, your mom and I broke up almost five years ago,” Taehyung began slowly, trying not to patronize River, knowing he could pick up on it right away. He had always been far too intelligent since young.

“Yeah but…you loved her.” The words came out with terrifying simplicity, stripped bare beneath all the sarcasm River usually hid behind.

“I–” Taehyung couldn’t even refuse the statement. Instead he deflected. “Does your mother know you’re here?” Luckily it worked. 

“…define know.”

This time Taehyung managed to hold the stern expression as he bent down to get eye contact with the boy. “Is your mom going to kill me, once she finds out where you are?”

+

Your apartment was a sanctuary. Or as small as a sanctuary could get with a narrow mirror beside the kitchenette that practically merged into the living room.

You would usually stand before that very narrow mirror drawing on sharp eyeliner over two layers of concealer and firm base of foundation to hide your exhaustion, and trading oversized sweaters for the mandatory fitted black dresses and heels that left bruises across the backs of your ankles by the end of every shift. Your work usually called you away until sunrise while River slept. The place itself was small enough that every room bled into the next without permission.

The living room which became your bedroom sometime after River turned ten and started needing privacy more than you needed comfort. You never announced the change formally, or made a big deal out of it. One day you simply started falling asleep on the couch more often than not, half-heartedly waving away his protests with easy excuses about late-night television and not wanting to wake him up coming home from work. 

Eventually the bedroom became his entirely—his desk beneath the window, his school uniforms hanging neatly along the wall, his textbooks spreading slowly across every available surface as middle school demands more and more of him each year. You didn't mind one bit. Besides the moments when the quiet ache running permanently through your neck and shoulders due to the awkward positions, but never enough to regret it. 

River deserved a door he could close. A room to study in peace, and space to become himself without constantly tripping over the realities of how carefully you stitch your lives together month by month.

Because River loves you. Fiercely, for his worried twelve-year-old mind. 

You smile faintly to yourself as you push upright from the couch, blanket slipping down your lap, and your body protests immediately. You must have fallen asleep barely two hours earlier after finishing laundry and helping River review English vocabulary before he left. The digital clock glowing beside the television read 7:36 PM, the apartment already dim beneath heavy curtains that block out most of the evening light. 

Outside, traffic hums endlessly through the neighborhood in distant layers of sound—motorbikes passing too fast, people arguing somewhere downstairs, the occasional burst of laughter drifting upward from the pojang at the corner.

The apartment was cheap for a reason, or as cheap as Seoul came these days. The location was not a selling point for most people; too noisy, too exposed to the elements that was cigarette smoke and the ventilation of the kitchen coming from the bar below you. But it was your home. 

And your shift started in two hours. The thought settled automatically into place alongside the rest of your routine with a groan as you reached out to grab your phone. No messages from River yet, though that isn’t unusual. Tuesdays mean science prep classes followed by supervised study hall at the academy until nine. He complains constantly about the workload but still takes every assignment seriously in the end, stubbornly determined to do well despite pretending otherwise. 

Lately you’ve noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes getting worse, the tension settling into his shoulders too young, and guilt crept quietly through your chest every time you saw it. Not because he blames you. River never blames you for anything. That almost makes it worse sometimes.

You stand slowly, wincing at the sharp pins and needles crawling through one leg, and wander toward the kitchenette. Your work bag still sits near the table where you dropped it this morning, faint traces of cigarette smoke and expensive cologne clinging stubbornly to the fabric no matter how often you wash it.

Beside it rests a small pile of unopened bills held together beneath a hair tie, their existence postponed for one more day because tonight you simply don’t have the energy to calculate numbers you already know will hurt. The kettle has just begun filling when your phone vibrates against the counter.

Daehan Academy Administration.

Huh. They didn’t call often, mostly sending official emails for big announcements. You wondered if you had missed a payment somewhere, but you were always notoriously on time when it came to bills. You answer while reaching absentmindedly for the instant coffee packets near the microwave. “Hello?”

“Ah, Ms. Y/L/N?” The woman on the other end sounds politely strained, the tone of someone trying to remain professional through mild irritation. “I’m calling from Daehan Academy regarding your son. We require parental signatures when a student leaves during class hours due to illness.”

You frown slightly, still distracted. “I’m sorry?”

“There appears to have been some confusion about River leaving early today.”

The kettle continues running beneath your hand. “What do you mean leaving early?”

A small pause crackles through the line.

“River informed his tutor he wasn’t feeling well and needed to go home. Since he left nearly an hour ago without prior authorization, we’ll need a signed absence form tomorrow.”

The faucet stops. For a moment the words fail to settle into anything coherent. You stare blankly at the stream of water overflowing against the sink drain while your mind struggles to catch up.

“…No,” you say slowly. “River’s still there.”

Another pause, longer this time. “Ms. Y/L/N, River left the academy at approximately six forty.”

Something cold slides sharply beneath your ribs. “That can’t be.”

The denial comes instinctively, immediate and certain because River knows better than that. 

Because he texts if plans change. Because he comes home directly after class every day. Because after years spent working yourself sick to keep stability wrapped tightly around his life, after every exhausted morning making lunches before collapsing into bed, after every missed meal and double shift and aching bus ride home at dawn, your son knows better than scaring you like this.

Doesn’t he? 

Your fingers tighten painfully around the edge of the counter. “Are you sure?”

“We reviewed the security footage after attendance discrepancies. He left through the front entrance alone.”

Your eyes move instinctively toward the bedroom across the apartment, the door left slightly open exactly the way River always leaves it. Your heartbeat turns uneven all at once. “Did he say where he was going?”

“I’m sorry, no.” The woman continues speaking after that, something about academy policy and future notification procedures, but the words dissolve into meaningless noise beneath the sudden roar building inside your head.

Your thoughts lurch violently through possibilities you can’t stop once they start. Wrong subway line. Lost phone. An accident crossing the street. Someone following him. Those older boys from last semester. 

God, has something happened at school again? Has he been hiding something from you because you look too tired lately? Did you miss it because you’re always either working or sleeping or pretending you aren’t exhausted enough to collapse?

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

You realize distantly the woman had repeated your name twice. “Yes,” you answer automatically despite hearing nothing.

By the time the call ends your hands are shaking badly enough you nearly drop the phone. Panic spreads slowly but completely through your body, invasive and suffocating, cutting straight through the exhaustion you’ve grown so used to carrying that it barely registers anymore.

You call River immediately, hands shaking. Once. Twice. Three times.

Voicemail. A horrible pressure tightens in your throat. The apartment suddenly feels too quiet around you. And standing there barefoot in the middle of the tiny home you’ve spent years building carefully around your son, you realize with terrifying clarity that for the first time since becoming his mother, you have absolutely no idea where River is.

+

The atmosphere in the practice room had shifted so gradually nobody seemed to notice the exact moment it stopped being funny. Well, not entirely, at least.

Hoseok was still staring at River like he’d personally materialized out of thin air while Jimin remained half-curled into the couch cushions trying and failing not to look entertained every time the kid opened his mouth. River sat sideways in one of the lounge chairs with his backpack at his feet and Taehyung’s bottled water balanced between both hands while Taehyung himself stood nearby with his arms folded tightly across his chest.

Like someone trying to figure out how a kid he hadn’t seen in years had suddenly become old enough to disappear across Seoul by himself. “You left the academy without telling your mom,” Taehyung said finally, voice calm in that way that somehow felt far worse than yelling.

River shrugged against the oversized hoodie swallowing his frame. “I left a note.”

“A note. ”

“It was a good note.”

Taehyung stared at him flatly. “That’s not helping your case.”

Jimin made a visible effort to stop smiling at the exchange. River looked down at the water bottle in his hands instead, fingers picking quietly at the label now that the adrenaline of his dramatic entrance had finally started wearing off around the edges.

“You know your mom is probably panicking right now, right?” he asked more gently this time. River’s mouth pressed into a thin line. The silence itself answered enough.

Taehyung exhaled slowly through his nose, rubbing one hand across his jaw before crouching slightly in front of him so they were closer to eye level.

The movement alone made Hoseok glance over, something shifting across his expression at the sight. Because this version of Taehyung was unfamiliar even to them in some ways. Steady and patient, while instinctively careful without thinking about it first. Not playful younger-brother affection that he was so known for with all of them. 

“When adults tell you not to disappear without saying anything, it’s not because we enjoy ruining your life,” Taehyung continued. “Your mom loves you. She’s going to think something happened to you.”

River looked away first at that. “I know.”

“Then why would you do this?” The question wasn’t sharp. If anything, it sounded genuinely confused.

River’s shoulders rose slightly beneath the hoodie before dropping again. “Because nobody listens when I say things normally.” 

Even Taehyung went still for half a second.

River sighed quietly after a moment, still staring somewhere toward the floor. “She’s tired all the time now,” he admitted finally, voice lower. “Like…really tired.”

He said nothing, because what could he even say? It wasn’t his place to interfere. River huffed softly, leaning back further into the chair. “I just thought maybe if she had someone helping again, she’d sleep more.”

There was nothing the three men in the room could do that would make him feel any better. But what they could see was a little boy too worried for his mother, he decided to go recruit outside help. It was both sweet and worrisome at the same time. 

“You’re still grounded.”

River blinked, startled enough that even Hoseok looked caught off guard. “What?”

“You disappeared across Seoul by yourself,” Taehyung replied immediately. “You’re lucky your mom doesn’t bury you alive when she finds you.”

“That seems dramatic.”

“It seems deserved.”

River stared at him for a second before something reluctant and horribly fond crept into his expression despite himself. “You sound exactly like her.”

Taehyung pointed once toward him without hesitation. “And now I know where you get the attitude from.”

“Genetics?”

Hoseok finally choked on laughter again while Taehyung closed his eyes briefly like he was asking the universe for patience. Then River’s phone vibrated loudly in his hoodie pocket and he slowly pulled it out.

Mom (17 missed calls)

The color drained from his face almost instantly. And just like that, the adventure ended. Taehyung held his hand out silently. River looked at the phone. Then at him. “…She’s gonna cry.” The quiet guilt in his voice finally made him sound twelve again. 

Taehyung’s expression softened for exactly one second before settling back into something firm. “Yeah,” he said gently. “Probably.”

River swallowed hard, then handed over the phone. Nobody commented when Taehyung accepted it, the device already unlocked in his hand. His thumb moved automatically across the screen, navigating through contacts.

Taehyung lifted the phone toward his ear while fixing River with one last look that felt so undeniably parental it nearly startled the room all over again, disappointment wrapped carefully in concern.

River shrank slightly beneath it, as the line began ringing.

Jimin moved first. “Come on, kid” he said lightly, nudging River’s shoulder once. “You haven’t even seen the main practice room yet.”

River was immediately distracted despite himself. “The huge one?”

“The huge one,” Hoseok confirmed, already reaching over to grab the abandoned baseball cap from the couch before tossing it back toward him. 

River hesitated before looking back toward Taehyung, uncertain now that the situation had become real enough to hurt people. Taehyung only tilted his head once toward the others. “Go.”

The answer came with the same calm firmness he’d been using since the phone call started, instinctively authoritative without crossing into something that wasn’t his place. River seemed to recognize it anyway. He adjusted the straps of his backpack quietly before shuffling after Jimin and Hoseok toward the door, though not before throwing one last worried glance back over his shoulder.

The second the door shut behind them, the lounge room fell startlingly quiet.

+

You barely stared at the caller as you picked up your ringing phone with your jacket halfway over your shoulder and one shoe on your feet. “River?!”

There was a pause on the other line as you frowned, balancing yourself against the counter of the kitchen bench and pulling your phone away from between your shoulder and cheek to look.  It was still River’s name displayed on the screen. 

“...River?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

Your body froze in shock at the familiar voice, washing over you like some ghost having come back to haunt you. “Taehyung?”

You slumped against the still closed door, head knocking back against the surface as you swallowed your panic down in gulps, your heart still racing frantically beneath your chest. “He’s with you, isn’t he?”

“Came walking in like he owned the building,” the dry amusement did not stop the worried tears from finally flowing over, and no part of you even cared that Taehyung heard as you started sobbing; once, twice and then a deep breath. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you muttered out quickly. “Just — is he okay?”

Taehyung’s voice had softened from the sound of your cries. “He’s safe, don’t worry. Jimin and Hoseok hyung are giving him the grand tour of the practice room as we speak.”

That managed to make you smile a little bit as you let your knees finally weaken and slid down to the floor. 

“I’m so sorry, I never expected him to go find you or even come up with something like this,” you were stumbling over your words, half-speaking to him and half-muttering to yourself. “I-I don't know what he was thinking.”

“Hey,” Taehyung said gently, straightening from where he leaned against the lounging room table. “Breathe for me first, okay?”

The words slipped out naturally, like he’d talked you down before. You tried anyway. Taehyung could hear it through the phone—the shaky inhale, the failed attempt at steadying yourself, another breath dragged together afterward.

Taehyung exhaled slowly, one hand settling against his hip while he leaned back against the edge of the table behind him. On the other end of the line, he could still hear your uneven breathing between stretches of silence.

“He really scared you, huh?” he asked softly.

A weak sound halfway between a sob and laugh escaped you. “I swear to god, I’m going to kill him.”

“Honestly? Fair.” That managed to pull another small laugh from you, exhausted and watery but real enough that some of the tension eased from Taehyung’s shoulders for the first time since River walked through the door. The five years that went by between you suddenly felt strange now. It didn’t feel like five years, or even years to begin with. Taehyung could still picture you vividly, sitting on the floor in your small apartment somewhere, arms curled around your knees and shoe probably half on in your haste to run out the door to look for River. Taehyung swallowed hard.

“He shouldn’t have done this,” you murmured after a moment, more to yourself than him now. “God, I don’t even understand how he found you.”

“He’s smart,” Taehyung replied quietly.

A tired sound left you. “Unfortunately.”

The corner of his mouth pulled upward briefly before fading again. “He was worried about you.” Taehyung stared absently at the hardwood floor beneath his shoes while waiting for your response, but when it came your voice sounded smaller somehow.

“He shouldn’t be.”

Taehyung frowned slightly. “What does that mean?”

“It means he’s twelve,” you said quietly. “He should be worrying about school and video games and whether he’s going to fail math, not whether his mom looks tired all the time.”

Taehyung closed his eyes briefly.  “You know,” Taehyung said slowly, “most kids who feel unloved don’t cross Seoul trying to fix their mom’s life.”

“Well, most kids don’t run off to find their mom’s ex-boyfriend as support.” This time your laugh came easier, even through lingering tears.

He missed that sound. The realization arrived sudden and sharp enough to almost irritate him. As if five years apart apparently hadn’t been enough for his heart to develop basic self-preservation skills.

On the other end of the line, your breathing had finally started evening out slightly. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” you said quietly after a moment.

Taehyung’s jaw twitched. “Why do you keep apologizing to me?”

“Because my son disappeared from school and showed up at your workplace! How did he even get in?!”

“I’m not sure you want to know.”

“...what did he do?”

He swallowed a sigh. “He declared himself as my son.”

“Oh my god.”

“In fairness,” Taehyung said dryly, “he committed to the bit impressively.”

And for one dangerous second, it almost sounded like before. Late nights. Private phone calls. Falling asleep halfway through conversations because one of you had schedules too early the next morning.Taehyung felt the memory hit both of you at once because the silence afterward changed immediately.

“...if you don’t mind looking after him a little longer, I’ll come pick him up.”

“Y/N, I can drive him—”

“No. No way. He’s already bothered you enough, I’ll grab the next subway there, it’ll take around thirty minutes to get there.”

He wanted to protest, telling you that him driving to you would take less time but you were as stubborn as he remembered. And it wasn’t his place to order you around when it came to your son. “Okay. I’ll let reception know you’re coming. Just say your name and someone will bring you up.”

“Thank you, Taehyung.”

“Of course….see you later?”

"Yeah...see you."

There was a swiftness in the way you hung up the phone, as if it couldn’t have been done any quicker. The lounge stayed quiet for a while after the call. He could still hear the muffled voices of his two members and River through the closed door in the large practice room. Yet Taehyung remained where he was, leaning most of his weight back against the edge of the counter, phone still loose in hand. 

He stared absently at nothing with the adrenalin in him still pumping from hearing your voice and slowly draining from his system in uneven waves. The door opened the next minute as Jimin eased his way back inside, thankfully alone. For a moment neither of them spoke and he casually leaned against the wall opposite him, and Taehyung rubbed one hand tiredly across the back of neck – already suspecting why his friend had come back inside. 

“So,” Jimin started. “Y/N’s kid, right?”

Taehyung glanced sideways at him briefly before nodding once. “Yeah.”

“You dated someone with a kid for almost three years and somehow none of us knew?”

Taehyung could only shrug. “You knew I was dating someone.”

“We knew you were in love,” Jimin corrected immediately. 

Their relationship had stayed private mostly out of necessity back then, that much was true. Schedules were impossible, potential attention from the media unbearable and you yourself had never wanted River dragged anywhere near idol publicity. That meant no first introductions to the members.

Taehyung found it surprisingly easy to keep things private from his members. They were in the midst of their explosive promotions of ‘Butter’ and all the craziness that surrounded the release of that song. So whenever they weren’t together, Taehyung had been with you. It was like a little safety bubble from his hectic life. 

Did the guys know he was dating? Oh there was no hiding it. He was on cloud nine most days after having been with you, but they respected the fact that you were a normal civilian with your own life. You’d always remained strangely separate from that world for a reason, and River had been even more protected than that.

“You never talked about him, only her,” Jimin continued prodding. 

“Wasn’t really my thing to tell.”

“But you knew him well.”

Jimin had eyes, anyone could see it now after spending twenty minutes watching Taehyung instinctively slip into the caretaking mode around the kid without even thinking about it first. 

Taehyung stayed quiet for a second. “He was little when we met,” he said finally, voice softer now around the edges. “Like…really fucking little.”

And suddenly he could picture it too clearly; River half-asleep on the couch waiting for you to come home from work. Tiny socks abandoned all over your apartment. Small hands tugging insistently at Taehyung’s sleeve asking him impossible questions about dinosaurs or superheroes or why adults drank coffee if it tasted bad.

Jimin watched something shift across Taehyung’s expression then. “You loved him too,” Jimin realized. 

Taehyung blinked once before letting out a small disbelieving breath through his nose. “He’s just a kid.”

“He’s Y/N’s kid.”

Taehyung didn’t answer this time. Because what was he supposed to say? That somewhere along the line River had stopped feeling like your child and started feeling dangerously close to his too at certain moments? That he used to keep fruit snacks in his bag because River liked stealing them? That there had once been a terrifyingly brief period where domesticity with you both had started feeling so natural Taehyung forgot to be afraid of it?

Jimin watched him quietly for another second before chuckling.. “I don’t think any of us realized how serious she was to you.”

Taehyung let out a quiet breath through his nose at that, gaze dropping toward the floor. “Yeah, me neither.”

Because back then, seriousness had never really been something you discussed aloud. There hadn’t been a defining conversation or dramatic confession marking the shift from dating casually to something deeper. The first few months dating you had terrified him in ways stadium performances never could because River existed at the center of your life so completely. 

There had been rules. Boundaries. Carefulness. You’d watch Taehyung around your son with quiet protectiveness at first, evaluating him constantly even while falling in love with him yourself. But River had climbed into his space so naturally anyway. As if children could sense sincerity faster than adults ever managed to.

“So what now?”

Taehyung looked back toward the lounge door again automatically, toward the kid waiting outside and the woman currently crossing Seoul to come get him. “I have no fucking clue, man.”

+

During the forty minutes it took from you hanging up the phone, to him trying not to get an anxiety attack knowing you were on your way, and he was going to see your face again for the first time in five years —Taehyung had managed to get himself into a false sense calmness when River and Hoseok joined them back inside.

Taehyung knew it was a false alarm –this relaxation – because the moment the door opened and you stood in the doorway, his heart had started thumping like a damn rabbit on crack, if rabbits even knew how to take crack. 

Wait, could that even be a thing? Fuck him, his brain was apparently on crack too. 

And how the vision of you managed to take what little breath he had left in his lungs. Your hand was curled tightly around the strap of your bag, while the other still held your phone loosely enough that it looked forgotten here. In what looked like an apparent rush to leave your home, your jacket was barely hanging onto your shoulder, collar twisted slightly beneath your frizzy hair. Any attempt at getting ready for work beforehand had long since been ruined by tears and panic.

Exhaustion sat visibly beneath your eyes despite the concealer hurriedly blended over it, and Taehyung felt something inside him tighten painfully at the sight. You had always been hardworking in his mind. But he had never seen you so…tired. With him you had always smiled and laughed despite your working hours. He’s never actually thought to reach out in the time between to ask how everything was going. 

And now he regrets not doing it. Maybe he should have?

“River.”

The relief in your voice arrived breathless and uneven as River moved immediately, blue backpack bouncing awkwardly against one shoulder while he crossed the short distance where he sat toward you faster than he probably intended. You caught him against you before he fully stopped moving, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders with enough force to nearly knock the breath from his lungs, and for a moment neither of you said anything at all. 

You simply held him there like reassuring yourself he existed physically beneath your hands, fingers gripping the back of his hoodie tightly enough to wrinkle the fabric.

“I’m sorry,” River mumbled first into your shoulder, his voice suddenly sounding painfully young again after spending the entire evening pretending otherwise. “I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes squeezed shut briefly. “Don’t ever do that to me again.” The words came out unsteady rather than angry, buried beneath lingering fear that hadn’t fully left your body yet despite finally having him in front of you again. River nodded immediately against you, guilt written all over his face now that he was close enough to see the aftermath properly; your swollen eyes, shaking hands, the exhaustion beneath the panic.

“I’m sorry..”

“You scared me so badly.”

“I know.” And there it was again. That same quiet understanding he carried too often for a twelve-year-old, the instinctive awareness of your emotions that had probably led to this entire disaster in the first place.

Only after checking him over properly did your attention finally lift fully from your son. And land on Taehyung.

The last half a decade suddenly became very difficult to measure accurately. Because logically, yes, it had been years. But standing there now with the fluorescent lights reflecting faintly against the carpeted floor between you, Taehyung still recognized you with terrifying immediacy, down to the nervous habit of curling your sleeve over part of your hand when emotionally overwhelmed.

“Hi,” he said softly after a moment, because apparently seeing you again reduced him to a single syllable kind-of-man. Pathetic, truly. 

A weak laugh escaped you before you could stop it, exhausted and disbelieving all at once. “Hi.”

The silence afterward settled strangely around the group, not awkward exactly but heavy with too much history to navigate gracefully in front of an audience. Jimin noticed first. Of course he did.

“Well,” he announced suddenly, clapping one hand lightly against Hoseok’s shoulder. “We should probably go.”

Hoseok blinked once before immediately catching on. “Right, yes. Privacy. Human decency.”

River looked between them suspiciously while the two older men began retreating toward the door where you still stood, as you awkwardly maneuvered to the side with River’s shoulder still in your grip. “You’re leaving?” The kid actually asked, sounding betrayed.

“You committed psychological warfare today,” Hoseok informed him solemnly. “This is part of your character development.”

Then they disappeared before either you or Taehyung could protest, leaving the three of you standing in the suddenly much quieter lounge room. 

Taehyung could still see traces of panic lingering beneath your exhaustion now that the initial relief of finding River had passed, your hand remaining unconsciously fixed against the back of his shoulder as though some part of you still needed the reassurance that he was physically there. 

River noticed it too. “I really am sorry,” he muttered again quietly.

You exhaled shakily through your nose before reaching up automatically to smooth his hair back from his forehead, the movement tired but instinctive. “We’ll talk about this properly at home.”

River visibly accepted that as impending doom. Taehyung almost smiled. Instead he swallowed and realized how parched his throat was. Then his attention fell to the clock hanging on the wall.

It was late, perhaps too late. It would be dark outside by now. “Are you heading to work after this?” 

Your attention snapped back toward him like you’d forgotten he was still standing there. Something complicated crossed your expression briefly before smoothing itself away again. “Yeah, but I already texted saying I’d probably be late.”

Taehyung frowned immediately. “You’re still going?”

You were visibly confused by the question. “I can’t exactly skip shifts whenever my child decides to run away.”

The dry exhaustion in your voice almost hid how worn thin you actually sounded. Taehyung stared at you for a second longer before making a decision so quickly it was obvious he’d already been halfway there mentally anyway. “I’ll drive you.”

You opened your mouth instantly. “No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“And I’m not letting you. That’s definitely not your problem.”

“And yet here we are.”

Your expression tightened immediately with the same stubbornness he remembered all too well, the one that used to surface anytime someone tried helping before you’d internally decided you deserved it.

“You’ve already done enough.”

“Y/N.” The way he said your name stopped the argument for half a second. Just firm enough to cut through the automatic resistance before it could fully build momentum. Taehyung glanced briefly toward River beside you, then back again. “You both just had a horrible night. I’m not letting you drag him back across Seoul on the subway and then rush to work pretending you’re fine.”

Your jaw flexed faintly. Beside you, River had gone suspiciously quiet in the way children did when realizing adults were having conversations layered with meaning they weren’t fully meant to understand.

“You don’t have to take responsibility for us,” you said more softly this time.

Something unreadable flickered across Taehyung’s face at that. Because once upon a time, responsibility had never felt separate from loving you. He shoved the thought away immediately. “It’s a ride home,” he replied evenly. “Not a marriage proposal.”

That finally pulled a tired laugh out of you despite yourself, your hand lifting briefly toward your face as though trying unsuccessfully to hide it. “You’re still annoyingly persistent,” you muttered.

“And you’re still terrible at accepting help.”

“Because I usually survive fine without it.”

Taehyung’s eyes dropped briefly toward the dark circles beneath yours before lifting again. “That’s not really the same thing.”

River, meanwhile, stared openly between the two of you with the expression of someone watching a tennis match he definitely intended to think about later in private. Then Taehyung pointed toward him without looking away from you. “Also, your son is one missed meal away from collapsing.”

“I ate today,” River defended immediately.

Taehyung looked over. “Two protein bars in the last hour doesn’t count as nutrition.”

The familiar ease of the exchange caught you off guard enough that Taehyung saw it happen in real time, the brief flicker in your expression as old memories collided uncomfortably against the present. 

You swallowed once before exhaling quietly through your nose.“…Fine,” you relented finally, exhausted enough now that the fight had mostly drained out of you. “But only because if I get on the subway right now, I might actually kill someone.”

“That’s the healthiest thing you’ve said all evening.” You rolled your eyes automatically, and the small familiar movement hit Taehyung with ridiculous force. 

Get a fucking grip, Kim Taehyung.

+

The moment River had faceplanted into his bed after a quite eventful day, the snores followed quickly. He had barely managed to finish washing his face and brushing his teeth before you forced him to change into actual sleeping clothes as you gathered his laundry for a wash in the morning. 

After double-checking that your son was actually quite dead to the world, did you allow yourself to relax. That meant cracking open an entire new bottle of cheap red wine and drinking straight from the source. Screw a wine glass. 

You were supposed to be at work, but after the scare River had given you, you’d stomped on your pride and sent your boss a message, slightly more dramatic than it needed to be.

Hi boss, sorry I can’t come in today. River is bedridden with a fever, and I can’t let him be alone.

Though a hardass and slightly coarse, your boss had a soft-spot for children, so it worked out in your favor. Your couch-bed creaked under your weight as you let your entire body fall down on it, tucking your feet under yourself as you put on a random show on low volume for some background noise to your wine, but your head was somewhere else. 

That place being the mental part of your brain that spelled out KIM TAEHYUNG WAS HERE. And apparently never fucking left, cause all you could think about was him. 

Him, and his perfect face, his perfect smile, perfect body and perfect fucking everything. Because seeing him again after all these years had sent your axis tilting like the damn titanic. 

He was beautiful. He had always been beautiful, don’t take it the wrong way. But how was it possible for someone to get even more beautiful with time? You felt like you shriveled down for every year that passed, while he was glowing like a greek god.

You had dated Kim Taehyung in his mid twenties — and oh, what a man he had been. You’ve never been the type of woman to throw yourself at man’s feet, girl power and all that. Yet he had taken the breath out of you every time you saw him, with his sculpted features, seductive brows and shorter black hair he had sported back then. 

You didn’t think it was possible for a man such as himself to get better.  But he did, to your insanity. If you thought his twenty-five year old self was a man, you were poorly mistaken. Because his thirty-year-old self had nearly done the job of making you want to get down to your knees again out of thin air. 

He had always been a fit man due to his job, but he was always on the leaner side of things, very different from his gym-loving members with biceps the size of your face. 

Now he had become one of them. The white henley shirt he had worn stretched deliciously over his wide and broad shoulders, falling slightly loose because his waist had apparently been so tapered that a tight shirt like that wasn’t small enough to cling to him. It was annoying how good he looked in a simple shirt and loose pair of light washed jeans. 

His hair remained the same darker black, still on the shorter side but giving you a fascinating view of his masculine features. It was like a different man had gotten out of the military, and you had no qualms about it visually. 

You took another sip from the bottle. No, actually. A gulp. You needed it. 

Because apparently after five years of somewhat emotional stability, hard work and very responsible decision-making, the universe decided to reward you with discovering your ex-boyfriend had become even more attractive. 

Fuck you. You didn’t know who you were cursing. Your weak-minded self or whichever great deity that was deciding to listen to your pathetic rambles. You glared at the television despite not actually watching it.

Your couch creaked softly as you shifted positions, tucking the blanket tighter around your legs while you groaned into the neck of the wine bottle. “You idiot, Y/N.”

The empty apartment remained unsympathetically silent. Because truly, what was the need? You'd spent an embarrassing amount of time trying not to notice them during the drive home from HYBE. Trying and failing spectacularly. 

The white shirt had certainly not helped matters. Neither had the way he'd rolled the sleeves up absentmindedly while driving. Or the way his hands looked gripping the steering wheel. Or—

You pointed accusingly at the bottle. "This is your fault." 

Your head fell back against the couch cushions that were basically just normal pillows at this point. Because beneath all the annoyance and attraction sat the real problem. 

He was the same man you had known and fallen in love with. The man who knew how to comfort you, calm you down in the midst of a panic attack, who immediately noticed when you were tired, and probably the same man who remembered River hated egg sandwiches. 

And apparently he had become a man who drove halfway across Seoul without making a big deal about it too. That was what made this dangerous. You had spent so long teaching yourself how to live without him, and now he had reappeared carrying all the same terrible habits that made you fall in love with him in the first place.

“Fuck you.” Again, to whoever wanted to listen. 

+

Taehyung had experienced several genuinely bizarre moments in his life.

He’d stood on international stages in front of crowds so massive the screaming physically shook the ground beneath his feet. He’d met actors he grew up admiring, watched Jungkook accidentally set kitchen towels on fire twice in the same week, survived enlistment, award shows, global scandals with countless of women he had never even spoken to, and one deeply unfortunate incident involving Namjoon and a rented bicycle in Amsterdam that nobody was legally allowed to discuss anymore.

Yet somehow, none of those experiences prepared him for standing alone in the middle of his apartment at nearly one in the morning staring blankly at the untouched takeout sitting on his kitchen counter while his brain replayed the evening over and over again like it personally intended to ruin him.

Because what the fuck had actually just happened?

The silence inside the apartment felt unusually loud after the chaos of the last several hours. His schedules were loud enough, so coming home to dim lighting and stillness had become something precious over the years, especially after learning how exhausting constant attention could feel once the adrenaline wore off. Tonight, though, the quiet only gave his thoughts more room to spiral.

Taehyung dropped his keys onto the counter before immediately regretting the sharp metallic sound echoing through the spacious apartment. His jacket followed somewhere near the couch moments later while he wandered aimlessly toward the kitchen, opening the refrigerator despite not actually wanting anything inside it.

Fuck it. Despite it not being his first choice of a drink — last actually — he grabbed a can of beer one of his friends had left behind from their last hangout. 

River had fallen asleep almost immediately after they reached your apartment building. That memory arrived first for some reason. The kid had barely managed a sleepy apology to you before nearly walking face-first into the elevator doors from exhaustion, forcing Taehyung to step in automatically with one hand against the back of his shoulder to steer him properly. 

You’d laughed quietly under your breath at that—embarrassed, exhausted, fond all at once—and the sound had followed Taehyung home like a curse.

Dammit. Even now he could still picture the exact way you looked standing beneath the dim lobby lights outside your apartment building. Tired enough to barely stay upright but still checking River’s forehead for a fever because apparently motherhood had permanently rewired your brain into believing every inconvenience might secretly become pneumonia if left unsupervised.

Taehyung shut the refrigerator door harder than necessary. This was ridiculous, genuinely embarrassing behavior. If Jeongguk could see inside his head right now, he'd never know peace again.

Too long had passed since your relationship ended, and somehow all it took was one emotionally manipulative twelve-year-old appearing in his practice room for his life to completely derail itself psychologically within the span of a single evening. His phone buzzed suddenly against the counter. Taehyung looked down automatically.

Y/N: thank you for tonight. and sorry again for the emotional terrorism.

So you still had his number. He stared at the message for several seconds before a disbelieving laugh escaped him softly into the empty apartment. Of course you’d text like that. Of course after all the panic and crying and emotional devastation, you’d still somehow circle back toward humor like instinctively trying to soften the edges of everything for everyone around you. His thumb hovered over the screen briefly.

Taehyung: you say “sorry” too much. Y/N: occupational hazard

Taehyung smiled before he could stop himself.

Y/N: river passed out before i could properly yell at him so unfortunately he survives another day

Taehyung leaned back against the kitchen counter slowly, exhaustion finally beginning to settle properly into his own body now that the night had stopped moving fast enough to distract him from it. The beer, which would have made a younger version of himself gag, tasted like a refreshing water source he’s been craving. 

Wow. He’s gotten to the point of average-man-needs-beer-to-survive. That’s aging for you. 

Taehyung: he looked terrified of you earlier Y/N: good he’s still grounded until university though

Taehyung laughed quietly again, rubbing one hand tiredly across his face afterward while something warm and strangely painful settled low beneath his ribs.Because this felt familiar too. Not the situation itself obviously. Nothing about today qualified as normal. 

But this—late-night conversations drifting between sarcasm and sincerity, talking about River like shared concern came naturally between you both—it felt dangerously close to old habits neither of you had fully forgotten how to slip back into. The realization should have unsettled him more than it did. Instead he found himself typing again before thinking too hard about it.

Taehyung: did you make it to work okay? Y/N: I ended up not going messaged my boss river was sick. Even I have my rebellious moments despite a rebel pre-teen under my roof. 

His mouth remained in a smile as he pushed himself upright again, finally grabbing the abandoned takeout container from the counter mostly for something to do with his hands.

He should sleep. He had schedules tomorrow. Meetings. Dance rehearsals. A completely normal life waiting for him in the morning that absolutely did not involve quietly unraveling over his ex-girlfriend and her son reappearing in his orbit. 

A memory surfaced without permission. As if his brain has just been going haywire today searching through his mind and pushing all the happiest memories of his life to the forefront. River at seven years old sitting cross-legged on your apartment floor stealing dumplings directly off Taehyung’s plate while insisting food tasted better when it belonged to someone else.

Taehyung closed his eyes briefly. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered softly to himself. Because somewhere between the panic and the phone calls and the drive across Seoul, he’d forgotten one extremely important detail.

He never really got over you.

+

Sundays and Mondays were your off days. But that also meant resetting days for the new week of school for River, grocery runs for you while he was gone and cleaning on both parts. 

Your son has always been a helping hand in the small apartment, because you had raised him as such. From as early as primary school you had been firm in a one singular rule; Clean up after yourself. River had taken to that quickly, always making sure to clean up whenever he was done. Either it was dishes, food, homework or clothes. As long as he did that, you took care of everything else for his wellbeing. 

So while you were in the middle of your usual four-day meal prep plan, you noticed something strange. That arrived in the form of an empty space on the hanger besides the front door, where River’s usual bright blue backpack would be hanging. 

The object usually lived there during schoolweeks, sometimes abandoned in whatever position gravity had decided was acceptable after a late night class at the academy. You had spent years stepping around it, and tripping over it. At some point you had even threatened to throw it into the Han River if he didn’t start putting it away properly. 

Yet this morning, the spot was empty. So for a second you simply stared then turned to look at River where he sat eating cereal at the small dining table, just big enough for three chairs. "Where's your backpack?"

He looked up from his bowl, spoon paused halfway to his mouth. "Oh."

Your eyes narrowed immediately. "Oh?"

"I think I left it in Taehyung's car." The answer arrived with the same casual tone someone might use to mention they had forgotten an umbrella somewhere. Not an entire backpack containing textbooks, worksheets, homework assignments and approximately ninety percent of his academic responsibilities.

Your head was already pounding. "You think."

"I'm pretty sure." River returned his attention to breakfast.

You continued staring. The silence stretched long enough that he finally glanced back up. "What?"

"You don't seem remotely worried."

"Being worried won't make it appear."

That was technically true, which made it significantly more annoying. You studied him for another moment before deciding that whatever game he was playing, you currently lacked the energy to participate. Unfortunately, that still left the problem of actually retrieving the backpack. The text took longer to write than it should have.

Y/N: morning. Taehyung: morning

Five years later and your stomach still reacted to something as ridiculous as a single word.

Y/N: River left his backpack in your car. Taehyung: did he now?

You rolled your eyes.

Y/N: I'm sorry. Taehyung: again with the sorry’s

The corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself.

Y/N: Lol…but still, sorry Taehyung: I'll bring it by Y/N: Absolutely not.

Three dots appeared, disappeared and returned.

Taehyung: he needs it for tomorrow, doesn’t he? Y/N: I can come get it Taehyung: I'll bring it by.

He punctuated it. As if that one little dot was enough to stop you from arguing, and you supposed it did. 

Y/N: Did you just punctuate me? Taehyung: Yeah I did. So deal with it. 

Oh wow. Double punctuation. You could only scoff in disbelief as you stared at the screen. 

“So is he coming by?”

“What?” River’s voice made you shake out of the little stupor you had fallen in as you put the phone face down on the counter and gave a perhaps too false, relaxed smile. 

“My backpack.”

“Uhm, yeah. He-he’s coming by with it,” You nodded your head as you returned to the meal prep, still feeling his too knowing gaze poking at your back. “Finish your breakfast, honey. We have to go grocery shopping, remember?”

By the time the ring of the doorbell came that afternoon, you and River had just returned not long ago by luck. Groceries were still halfway unpacked, a couple of dishes were still drying on the small rack with two bowls still soaking in the sink from the morning rush before leaving. 

Other than that, the small apartment looked as it always did; your couch-bed slightly rumpled from your sleeping form, duvet folded with two worn down pillows stacked on top to one side. There was laundry hanging on the rack by the cracked open window. River’s schoolbooks that weren’t in his backpack occupied most of the small dining table despite your repeated attempts to organize them. 

This sight was all normal to you, yet as you crossed the room toward the door, you became conscious of everything. Things that normally blended into the background suddenly stood out with uncomfortable clarity.

Taehyung stood on the other side, looking like his usual ridiculous fashionable self. Pressed dark grey trousers with another one of those knit henley shirts popped open at the collars and cleanly tucked in at the waist. He stood there holding the backpack loosely by one strap, offering a smile in greeting, and for one weak moment all you noticed was how large he looked. Military service and time had done absolutely nothing to improve your ability to look at him objectively.

“Delivery service,” he said. 

You stepped aside before your brain could embarrass you any further. “You’re ridiculous.”

He continued smiling. “I’ve heard that before.”

River appeared not long after, grin on his face as he accepted the bag and hugged the man around the waist as Taehyung ruffled his hair, before immediately retreating towards his room under the excuse of homework. Neither you nor Taehyung believed him.

It’s strange how comfortable it still felt between you two. And for some reason you couldn’t help but feel that was worse. It felt easy — far too easy even. All the time apart should have created some sort of distance. Awkwardness even, at least lingering somewhere about where either of you stood. 

“You can sit down if you’re not in a rush. Tea?”

Instead of sitting down, he joined you by the small kitchenette counter, leaning against it. “What, no coffee?” 

You looked at him strangely. “You don’t drink coffee.”

For some reason he froze, but then he huffed out a chuckle. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll have some tea. Sweet, please.”

I know. But you didn’t say it out loud. “It’s still a bit of a mess. We just got back from a food shop.”

His gaze took in the three reusable bags on the floor filled to the brim — because no way were you paying extra money for plastic bags. These had lasted you years. “Let me help.” 

Before you could protest while prepping the tear, Taehyung was already lifting a bag and sorting through its contents, opening your fridge and then shelves before coming to the conclusion that most things still remained in the same place. 

It only took him five minutes to pack away everything and neatly fold away the bags when you handed him the steaming cup; two tablespoons of honey and a little bit of lemon. He accepted it gratefully, blowing at it before taking a sip. 

The apartment settled into a comfortable quiet while you finished washing the dishes left in the sink, neither of you speaking for several minutes. There had once been a time when silence with Taehyung felt easier than conversation with most people.

You became aware of his gaze only gradually, but he wasn’t staring at you. Just moving through the apartment quietly, lingering nowhere long enough to guess what he was thinking. You dried your hands carefully before speaking. "It's not usually this messy." The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

Taehyung glanced toward you, and something softened in his expression. "Y/N."

You hated when he said your name like that. "There's nothing wrong with your apartment." 

The response should have eased the embarrassment. Instead it somehow made it worse. Your chest tightened unexpectedly as it seemed to do quite often around him. 

The conversation drifted elsewhere after that. School. River. Work. Small topics that somehow filled nearly forty minutes before either of you noticed the time. And when Taehyung eventually stood, you walked him to the door. 

"Thank you again," you said quietly. "For bringing it."

"You're welcome." 

You found yourself looking at him, truly looking without pretending you weren’t. At the familiar curve of his mouth. The dark hair falling slightly across his forehead. The face you had spent years teaching yourself not to miss. The effort suddenly felt insultingly wasted. 

"I'll see you around?" The words were casual. Because for the first time since he'd reappeared in your life, you realized how much you wanted that to be true.

"Yeah." The door closed after him., leaving you standing motionless for a moment before shaking yourself free of it.

+

The funny thing about routines is that people generally don’t notice them forming. One day something happened once. Then twice. Then enough times that eventually nobody questioned it anymore. That was how Taehyung found himself standing outside River's academy three weeks later beneath a black umbrella while rain hammered against the pavement around him. The rain had arrived about three days ago, terrorizing Seoul in its drowning depths. Not the light drizzle forecast by the weather app but proper Seoul rain, thick enough to blur buildings behind sheets of water and send pedestrians sprinting beneath awnings.

Practice had actually held him late, or later than he planned to be when he checked his watch for the fifth time in the last hour. Across the room, Namjoon noticed. "Do you have somewhere to be?"

"Yeah." Taehyung grabbed a towel and wiped sweat from his neck. "I need to leave in twenty."

That immediately attracted attention, and not because they couldn't, but because after enough years together, schedules had developed a strange sort of collective ownership, everyone was curious by nature. "What for?" Jeongguk asked.

"I'm picking up River."

The sentence left his mouth with enough casual certainty that it took him several seconds to understand why nobody was saying anything afterward. Around him the music had stopped, though he couldn't remember who had paused it, and six different expressions ranging from confusion to outright concern were currently directed at him from various corners of the practice room.

"What?" he finally asked.

Jeongguk blinked first. "You're doing what?"

"Picking up River."

"From where?"

"His academy."

Taehyung looked between them. The answer felt self-explanatory. Y/N had texted earlier that morning asking if there was any chance he could help because she'd been called into work unexpectedly, and River's classes ended before she could leave. It was raining hard enough that half of Seoul seemed determined to drown. He had a car. River needed a ride. The chain of logic felt straightforward enough that he was beginning to suspect everyone else had collectively forgotten how transportation worked.

"You know his academy schedule?" Seokjin asked carefully.

At some point over the previous few weeks he'd simply learned it; Tuesday and Thursday. Finished later on Fridays, because exam season meant extra sessions. The information existed in his head now. The room erupted before he could formulate a response. Jungkook nearly folded in half laughing on the floor, whilst Hoseok looked strangely delighted. But Jimin looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh directly in Taehyung's face. "You're unbelievable."

"He needed a ride."

"That's not the point."

Taehyung rolled his eyes and checked his phone. A new message had arrived.

Y/N: sorry

He stared at it for a moment. The woman apologized more than anybody he'd ever met.

Taehyung: stop apologizing Y/N: that's probably not going to happen

His mouth twitched. Honestly, everyone was being a bit too dramatic. It was just a favor. Back to the present, the weather forecast had obviously lied. Taehyung didn’t even know if that was allowed, but it certainly felt like a law was being broken in some way. 

Water bounced off the road in sheets. Students poured from the building in clusters, ducking beneath umbrellas and jackets while parents waited along the curb. The mask he wore was a shield against anyone who was interested in looking twice, but also hid the tiredness on his features as he yawned and checked his watch. Three minutes late, because teenagers seemed biologically incapable of leaving any building efficiently.

River emerged carrying a backpack and immediately spotted him, and his expression transformed into something suspiciously pleased. "Hey."

"Hey."

“Your mom won’t be back until after your bedtime today, so I’m driving you home.”

“Cool.”

They both settled into the car as the rain continued hammering around them. “Are you hungry?”

“A little bit,” River shrugged, slouching into a comfortable position in the front seat. “But mom’s packed a lunch box in the fridge.”

“Hm,” Taehyung patiently waited for the other cars to move before blinking himself out and beginning the drive home. Well, your home. “How about chicken?”

River’s head popped up straight, anticipation shining in his eyes. “Now?”

Taehyung smirked. Bingo. “Yeah, why not? It’s a Friday night, there’s no school tomorrow and no mom to tell us what to do. I say fried chicken and pizza.”

“Can I get soda?”

“Of course, it’s a set deal after all.”

“...if mom finds out, I'm blaming you.”

“Don’t worry, kid. She won’t.”

—

Oh you absolutely did. 

At 3 AM too, trying to stumble quietly through the front door on your dangerous high heels after your shift. But the moment the door closed behind you, you noticed the smell. Definitely something fried, that made you frown in confusion. 

You smelled like the usual smell of cigarettes and a mix of perfume from everyone surrounding you for hours and badly craved a shower. But when you turned fully around shoes finally off your aching feet, you skidded in surprise more than genuine shock. 

Taehyung was sleeping. Draped gracelessly on your old couch-bed that was just a bit too small for his large body, but soft snores came out of him anyway.

Something unexplained in you simply melted at the sight. Softened like a marshmallow being squished, and you couldn’t help just standing there, taking in the sight like a lovestruck fool. 

That was when you finally found the source of the fried smell. A couple of leftover wings and two pieces of pepperoni pizza neatly placed on a plate and covered with plastic – very obviously for you. There was no sign of any packaging the food would have arrived in, which was a little strange. But you didn’t have the energy, nor cared enough to find out why. 

I should wake him. That was the reasonable choice. Instead you went to the bathroom to take a shower and get yourself ready for bed. 

And after a long shift life today only took you twenty minutes, and you drifted back out to a snoring Taehyung with toweldried, damp hair — too afraid to use a blowdryer this late. Hesitating only for a moment, you gently put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Tae.”

“Hm.” He mumbled, not truly responding.

“Taehyung.” This time you gave him a squeeze as slowly his eyes started to flutter open. 

He blinked blearily up at you before slowly starting to look around. “Oh shit,” he grumbled, slowly sitting up with a groan. “Sorry, I was supposed to leave after River fell asleep.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” you smiled, sitting yourself down next to him. “You must be exhausted, you picked him up straight after practice.”

“Probably not as much as yourself,” he was more awake now, looking at you closely. “Didn’t even notice the shower turn on.”

“That’s because you were snoring.”

“Rude.”

You both laughed quietly, the sound soft in the sleeping apartment. Neither of you seemed particularly interested in raising your voices and risking waking River. 

Your eyes drifted to the plate on the counter “You saved me food?”

“Hm.”

“You didn't have to.”

“Yeah, well.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “You were working all night.”

The apartment felt strangely warm despite the rain still tapping against the windows. The dim light above the kitchen sink painted everything in soft gold, and exhaustion made the edges of the world feel gentler than usual.

“How was he?” you asked.

“He survived.”

“High praise.”

Taehyung snorted. “He did well. Finished his academy work. Tried to convince me that soda counts as hydration.”

You don’t know what you expected after sending him that one desperate message asking him to pick up River, because the city was drowning outside. In rare moments like this you would splurge on a taxi to go pick him up and back home, but today work had been inevitable. 

Neither should you be surprised, because it was Taehyung. He'd fed him dinner, apparently entertained him for hours, tucked him into bed, cleaned up the evidence, and somehow ended up asleep on your couch waiting for you to get home, whether he admitted to it or not. 

Suddenly you became very aware of how close you were sitting. Your bare knee was touching his, dressed in your oversized t-shirt and sleeping shorts. Close enough that you could see the faint crease beneath his eyes from exhaustion. Enough to smell his shampoo beneath the lingering scent of fried food. And even more enough that if either of you moved even slightly—

You stood up like the coward you were. 

Taehyung took the hint like a champ, following you and grabbing his brown leather jacket draped over the back of the couch. “I should go. Early studio session tomorrow.”

You bit down on your lip, suddenly feeling bad you had somehow managed to chase him away. He’s your ex for a reason, Y/N. Remember that. “Of course. Thank you again for the favor.”

He looked at you then, both still standing a little closer than usual by the front door. His dark eyes gazed at you with so many emotions you didn’t dare to figure out. 

There was no secret in the way your breath hitched when he reached out to tuck a piece of damp hair behind your ear, fingers trailing against your jaw as he pulled back. "I'll always help if you need me."

And for some reason you couldn’t help your next course of action; you stepped forward, leaning up to press a soft kiss against his cheek. 

“Good night, Tae.”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

+

He knew where the mugs were. The realization arrived while he was reaching automatically toward the cabinet beside the sink, his hand already moving before he consciously registered what he was doing. A month ago he would have asked. Now he didn't. 

Somehow he'd also learned where Y/N kept the spare batteries, which drawer held takeout menus, and which floorboard near River's bedroom door creaked loudly enough to wake half the apartment after midnight. None of that information seemed particularly useful, yet his brain had collected it anyway, quietly filing it away beside choreography, lyrics, and schedules he actually needed for work.

Which probably said something about him.He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what. The kettle clicked behind him and before he could reach for it, he heard the familiar shuffle of socked feet approaching down the hallway.

"You're here early."Taehyung glanced over his shoulder, Y/N was shuffling into the kitchen, still half asleep.

Your voice still carried the roughness of someone who hadn't been awake for more than five minutes. You emerged from the bathroom rubbing one eye, hair escaping in several directions and dressed in a sweatshirt that looked large enough to house a family of four.

Taehyung poured hot water into two mugs. "You said you wanted to leave by eight."

"I did." You yawned. "Unfortunately, I also wanted to stay asleep."

A faint smile tugged at his mouth as he handed her one of the mugs, his with sweet tea and yours with the blackest coffee he could manage to make. 

The entire situation had started two days ago with what was supposed to be a routine dentist appointment. Apparently River's usual clinic had no availability for nearly a month, which had resulted in them being referred to a specialist office on the opposite side of Seoul. Unfortunately that appointment happened to fall on the same day Y/N had somehow managed to secure three separate interviews for administrative positions in the same district.

Taehyung had overheard the conversation while you were complaining about it over the phone — because yes, they were talking on the phone like normal now, shocker  — You’d been trying to figure out train schedules, appointment times and travel distances all at once when he'd interrupted.

"What time should I pick you up?"

"No, Tae, it's okay."

"It wasn't a yes or no question."

Now, standing in your kitchen while morning sunlight struggled through grey clouds outside, he still wasn't entirely sure why you’d argued so much. River wandered into the room moments later looking equally half-awake. "Morning."

Taehyung ruffled his hair. “Where’s the ‘good’ in that?”

"It's seven forty-five."

"That's morning." 

The drive across the city took longer than expected. Weekend traffic was not supposed to exist according to every law of common sense, yet somehow Seoul continued finding new ways to prove that theory wrong. By the time they merged onto the expressway, River had headphones on and his forehead pressed against the window while Y/N sat in the passenger seat reviewing notes from a folder balanced on your lap.

For the first twenty minutes you barely looked up. Every so often you would underline something, flip a page, pause, then return to the beginning. "You know you're prepared, right?"

Your gaze lifted. "For what?"

"The interview."

You looked back down at your notes. "I know."

"You don't sound convinced."

The corner of your mouth twitched. "That's because being prepared and being nervous aren't mutually exclusive."

He let the subject drop after that, though he noticed you closed the folder a few minutes later and spent the rest of the drive looking out the window instead. 

The clinic occupied the third floor of a modern office building squeezed between a pharmacy and a café. After checking River in and filling out enough paperwork to satisfy several government agencies, they settled into the waiting room. The specialist had warned them there would be a delay, thirty minutes, maybe forty.

Taehyung wore a cap, carefully lowered with a mask and made sure to keep his chin down as River disappeared through a set of double doors with a nurse while Y/N remained behind, visibly trying not to pace. 

Taehyung watched your attempt this for approximately ninety seconds before rising back to his feet. "Come on."

"Where?"

"You need coffee."

You rolled your eyes. "I already had coffee."

"You need better coffee." Certainly not that weak powdered shit you got for a steal at the market, even he as a non-coffee drinker would know tasted like water. 

The café downstairs was small and crowded, tucked into the corner of the building beneath warm yellow lights and shelves overflowing with pastries. They ended up by the window watching pedestrians hurry through the street outside.

You stared into your cup; an iced americano with two splashes of syrup. "I think I'm more nervous than I should be."

"You haven't interviewed in a while, right?"

"Four years," then you laughed from the apparent funny memory. "I was hopeful back then to get away from the club for a more daylight saving job, but then got rejected three days later."

Taehyung looked at you. “Don’t feel bad, the job market has been shit for as long as we can remember.”

You smirked "When you say it out loud it sounds even worse."

“You spent those years raising a kid, Y/N. You’re allowed to take your time.”

You lowered your gaze for a moment before taking another sip of coffee.

By the time you returned upstairs, River was still with the specialist and the waiting room had grown busier. Parents occupied most of the chairs now, children scattered throughout the space with varying levels of patience. Somewhere a cartoon played quietly from a mounted television while a receptionist fielded phone calls behind the desk. Y/N checked the time. Your first interview was in a little over an hour.

Taehyung could see you mentally calculating distances again. You had always done that. Whenever life became complicated, you tried solving it like an equation. If you organized every variable correctly, perhaps nothing would go wrong. Unfortunately life had never been particularly interested in following instructions.

When River finally emerged, he looked mildly annoyed but otherwise unharmed. "Good news," he announced, dropping into a chair. "I don't have any cavities."

"See?" Y/N reached over to smooth down a piece of his hair. "I told you."

"The bad news is they talked about flossing for twenty minutes."

Taehyung snorted.  "Tragic."

"It was."

The first interview occupied a professional office building overlooking a busy intersection. Taehyung parked nearby while you disappeared inside clutching the folder. River remained in the passenger seat scrolling through his phone. When you finally emerged forty minutes later, you looked somewhat thoughtful. "How was it?"

You buckled her seatbelt before answering. "I think it went okay."

The uncertainty in your voice suggested you were already replaying every answer you'd given, so Taehyung reached into the cup holder and handed you a bottle of water. Years ago, after every interview, every presentation, every stressful appointment, you had always complained about being thirsty afterward. The memory surfaced so naturally it startled him. Apparently his brain had decided certain details were worth keeping forever.

The second interview went better. The third ran late. By the time they finally escaped the building, the afternoon had slipped toward early evening and all three of them were exhausted.

"Food," River declared immediately.

"I second that," Taehyung agreed.

Y/N laughed, the sound carried across the sidewalk as they walked.

River demolished an impressive amount of food, and halfway through the meal, he looked up from his plate  "Are you guys dating again?"

The resulting silence could have qualified as a natural disaster. Taehyung nearly choked on his drink, while across the table Y/N looked equally horrified.

“River!”

He blinked. “What? You’ve been together the entire month.”

"No." The answer arrived from both adults simultaneously.

River looked between you. "Okay." Then, incredibly, he returned to eating as though he hadn't just detonated a bomb in the middle of lunch.

Taehyung stared after him. "You raised him."

"Don't blame this on me."

"I'm absolutely blaming this on you."

For the next few minutes neither looked directly at the other, which only made River's question more annoying.. Because if the answer was so obvious, why had it suddenly become difficult to meet your eyes?

Unfortunately it remained lodged somewhere in the back of Taehyung's mind for the rest of the afternoon. He thought about all the nights Y/N spent working. The constant balancing act of bills, schedules, school forms, groceries and responsibilities that never seemed to end. Most people only saw how capable she was, but very few noticed how much effort it took.

When they arrived back in front of their old apartment building, you lingered by the car. For a few moments neither seemed particularly eager to say goodbye. "You really didn't have to spend your entire day doing this."

Taehyung leaned against the driver's door, and annoyingly noticed how a breeze caught several loose strands of hair near your face. "I know." The answer escaped before he could overthink it.

Y/N's expression softened. The distance between them suddenly felt very noticeable. 

Then River opened a window somewhere above them. "Mom!"

Both looked up as River leaned halfway out. "Did you remember to buy milk?"

You closed your eyes and Taehyung laughed. And just like that, the moment dissolved. "Goodnight, Tae.”

"Goodnight."

You disappeared inside the building a moment later. Taehyung remained where he was for several seconds afterward, staring at the illuminated windows above before he shook his head, climbed into the car and drove away. The strange thing was that he was already wondering when he'd see them again.

+

The email arrived on a Wednesday afternoon while you were folding laundry. 

At first you nearly missed it. Because your inbox was horribly unorganized with advertisements, appointment reminders, upcoming bills and some more. The notification appeared between them so seamlessly you nearly deleted it, until the company name caught your attention. 

You had to read it once, then twice and also a third time; because apparently your brain was unable to process any good news without suspicion. 

Dear miss Y/N.  We are pleased to offer you the position—

You screamed. Actually swear-to-god squealed like a pig as you dropped everything and jumped in place like some young school girl having just received a letter from her crush. And then a strange sound escaped you; somewhere between a laugh in disbelief and a sob. 

Ten years of late nights. Ten years of watching sunrise from the wrong side of the day. Ten years of cigarette smoke clinging to your clothes no matter how many times you washed them.

And now you finally got it; an actual job. The kind with office hours and paid leave and weekends that belonged to you. You sat motionless on the couch for several seconds before reaching for your phone.

Still smiling, you opened your messages, and that was where the problem started. Because your first instinct was calling Taehyung. In just the past month itself he had somehow managed to trickle himself back into the everyday moments of your life, and you simply forgot who he was as a whole. 

He wasn’t BTS’s V, the global superstar. Just Tae. Your Tae, and River’s Taehyung. 

Your movement had stopped midway as you slowly stared at the screen instead. The conversation sat near the top of your messages; a ridiculous number of texts accumulated over the past month; Photos of River, questions about schedules, random observations and arguments about whether instant coffee should legally qualify as coffee.

It was a problem, you decided. Because you were exes for a reason. Because you had broken his heart and yours along with it five years ago for a reason. That day has haunted you far longer than it should have — his betrayed eyes staring at you as if he couldn’t understand why? 

Why now, after three years together did you suddenly decide his lifestyle was too much for River — and it was enough to make you stay away from any more potential interests who had graced your path in the years to follow. 

He could have fought you all he wanted back then, but as a single mother who only knew hardship in the form of scrutiny from strangers, past co-workers and even distant family for your choices, that had been an easy one. 

This wasn't good. You could not risk River’s future again by finding yourself in Taehyun’s orbit. Your son was on the cusps of a teenager now. High school was coming up, the CSAT which you heard was brutal, and then any university he wanted. 

How could that work if the world suddenly knew Kim Taehyung had a child under his wing, biological or not. Falling in love with a single mother with a background in dodgy clubs and bars, despite your new job offer. 

The past didn’t change. You had to stop this. 

So you set your phone face down on the couch and returned to your tasks. Taehyung would understand. 

+

Taehyung did not fucking understand. 

Because across the city, he was staring at the unread message he had sent three days ago. The one before that had been read. Then ignored. 

His apartment was quiet, and practice had ended hours ago. Normally he would have looked at his phone and seen a text message from you or River, or even both. A complaint, or a photo of some completely unnecessary observation that somehow became a twenty-minute conversation. But there has been nothing for days from your side. 

River still texted constantly. Weird memes he demanded Taehyung to know, sneak texting in class asking if he knew the answer to a math question, to which Tae’s answer would be ‘I became an idol for a reason, kid.’

River: Hah, touché.

The fact that the kid even knew what touché meant in a context just showed how far beyond his peers he was with his vocabulary. 

The issue wasn’t whether Taehyung was smart enough for middle school math, but the fact that you were deliberately ignoring him. That had to be it. 

At first he assumed you were busy. Perhaps tired and distracted. Now, nearly a week later, he was beginning to suspect something else. So he did what any respectable male would do — hopefully — when faced with an issue of ghosting in their big age; he replayed the last month repeatedly and arrived at the same conclusion every time.

Nothing had happened. At least to his understanding. One day everything had been fine, and the next you had suddenly begun stepping backwards. He found himself wondering whether he should text again. And for the first time, he hesitated.

Because this pattern looked familiar. To the same weeks, years before you had decided to end it between you the first time. A time which he would rather not revisit with how much the split had fucked him up mentally in the midsts of concert cancellations and a worldwide pandemic knocking at everyone’s door. 

Fuck. You were doing it again. Distancing yourself and then you would drop the bomb on him. His thumb hovered over the screen, but before he could do anything a new text popped up.

River: Mom got the job

He sat up so quickly he nearly knocked over the glass of water on the coffee table.

Taehyung: What? River: The office one!!

Taehyung stared at the message, a strange warmth spreading through his chest. You got it. Of course you did, he had never doubted your capabilities.

Without thinking he opened your conversation; congratulations. But then he paused…and deleted it. Because suddenly he wasn't sure whether the message would even be welcome. Two weeks ago he would've probably already been halfway through an argument about why you deserved the position. Eventually he typed anyway.

Taehyung: River told me. Congratulations, Y/N. You earned it.

As expected. No reply. 

+

By the end of the second week, River had started to notice. 

You were washing dishes one evening, a task that seemed endless because there were always some dishes to be done. 

You had cut down your hours at the club, but promised your long-time boss to finish up the shifts assigned to you out of the month, so they were mostly on the weekends. Your new office job — front desk secretary — was going surprisingly well. They were taking their time learning you the ropes, because the previous employee was an old woman in her mid-sixties who was ready to retire, and had dedicated half her life to this place. 

She also assured the money was worth it. The job had already changed your schedules too. All dinner happened before nine PM, around five before River had to go to the academy at six.  

Oftentimes than not, River wouldn’t have time for a proper dinner before having to rush off for after school studies, so you always had a prepped lunch/box ready for him to go as you ate dinner alone before work. But these days you were both home, and you had more time to fix proper food before he left to eat together. 

You were so caught up in your thoughts you barely noticed River sneaking up to you and leaning against the counter, nervously tugging at the sleeves of his shirt. 

“Did you and Tae fight?”

The plate nearly slipped from your grip. “Why do you ask, honey?”

“He just hasn’t been around much.”

“Hm, he’s busy, you know that.”

He didn’t look convinced. And unfortunately for you, your son had inherited entirely too much perception. “Then why haven’t you talked to him?”

“We talk.”

“No, he talks. You ignore him.”

The statement landed with uncomfortable accuracy as you forced on a stiff smile, reaching for the kitchen towel to dry your hands. “Did he tell you that?”

River shrugged. “No, I can tell, mom.” 

Of course he could. Children noticed more than adults liked to admit. So you pretended to have something to do. Re-folding the already pristine blanket on the couch, fluffing up pillows that didn’t need it and straightening up a couple of stray books and files from your work. 

“Mom.” His voice was somehow gentler now. 

And you hated how much he saw that he needed to fix his own usual attitude to approach you. “Yes, honey?”

River clearly hesitated before asking. "Did he do something wrong?"

That made you pause, your back still turned to your son as you stared at your hands without clearly seeing. Did he? 

No, there was no doubt of it. Taehyung hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d been kind, patient and reliable. Every quality that should have reassured you somehow achieved the opposite.

"No," you admitted quietly. "He didn't do anything wrong."

River nodded, as if he already suspected the truth and was just waiting to hear it from you. You stood there for a moment longer before making a decision, sitting down on the couch-bed and patting the spot next to you. "Come sit with me for a minute."

To your amusement, that immediately made him suspicious. Which was fair enough. No adult had ever spoken those words before introducing a serious conversation.

Still, he pushed away from the counter and dropped onto the couch beside you as your fingers found their comfortable place in his hair, brushing through it until he grumbled. “Mom stop it, I just brushed it.”

You chuckled, but stopped. Your boy was obviously starting to grow up. You were trying to figure out where to start. The problem was that most of this conversation involved realities no twelve-year-old should have to think about. 

Unfortunately River stopped being a typical twelve-year-old ages ago. “Honey…” You paused, still unsure. "How much do you actually know about Tae's life?"

River blinked. “A lot?”

You smiled despite yourself. "I mean besides songs and concerts."

"Oh." He thought about it. "Not much, I guess."

That was about what you'd expected. Because from River's perspective, Taehyung wasn't a global celebrity; he was Tae.

The man who picked him up from the academy when it rained. Who bought them fried chicken and pizza in secret, and who answered his ridiculous texts in class without complaint. 

You folded your hands together. "When we were together before, there were months where I barely saw him. Do you remember any of that?” 

Five years ago, River was only seven and had only been four when the two of you first met. “Not much,” River shrugged. “I remember glimpses and his face, but most of the memories were from before you broke up.”

“Right. And the times I barely saw him weren't because he didn't want to. Because he couldn't."

The memories surfaced easier than expected; Cancelled plans, phone calls squeezed between schedules and birthdays celebrated a week late. Entire conversations were postponed because somebody needed him somewhere else.

"You know how sometimes he disappears for a few days because of work?"

River nodded.

"Imagine that, except longer."

His expression grew more serious. "How long?"

You laughed softly. There wasn't much humor in it. "Sometimes weeks."

Through the rain stained window, Seoul looked deceptively peaceful at night. The building beside yours having glowing LED signs that gave flashes of gentle colour into the apartment. 

"There's also everything else."

"What else?"

You hesitated, and not because you didn’t want to tell him the truth. But rather how you were going to form it without scaring him away. "People become interested."

River frowned. "What does that mean? Like fans?"

"It means strangers think they're entitled to know things you’re not willing to give up." The answers came easier now, flowing out of you with no stop. "They want photos. Information. Stories."

People invent entire relationships from a single photograph, deciding who deserved happiness and who didn't. You remembered how exhausting it had been even though it hadn’t been about you. But just the thought of it being you one day had felt terrifying. 

"If people found out we were spending time with him, there would be attention." For once, River remained quiet and you appreciated it. Where most adults rushed to fill silences or to stop children from talking, your son had the rare ability to listen. 

"Maybe nothing serious," you shrugged. "Or maybe a lot. Nobody knows until it happens." The uncertainty had always been the worst part for you. Of never knowing where the line was and when your last day of privacy would simply stop. 

“So you’re scared.”

You smiled faintly. "Yeah." For the first time that evening, there was no point pretending otherwise. "I'm scared." 

Saying it out loud felt strangely relieving. 

River stared at the ceiling for several moments, thinking. "Do you still love him?"

You huffed, not that it had been a funny question at all. Because there was something absurd about trying to explain feelings that had survived this long. “I don’t think I ever stopped.”

The admission hung in the air, until your son nodded. Then he suddenly hugged you, shocking you with the sudden affection as you giggled and pulled him into you. 

His grip was strong around your neck when he spoke, never letting go. "Mom."

“Hm?”

"If you're going to say no to him..." His grip somehow tightened a bit. "Just make sure you're saying no because you don't want it, and not because of me.”

Your chest tightened and you pulled away, frowning. “Honey…”

“I’m big now, mom,” River declared. “Or getting big at least. You don’t have to worry about me as much. If Tae makes you happy, then I want you to have it.”

I’ll be damned. You still struggled to comprehend the maturity your son possessed, and you never understood where it came from. 

And somehow that answer was worse; because he understood. Perhaps not all of it. Perhaps  not the years of experience and disappointment and uncertainty that came with loving somebody the rest of the world believed belonged to them, but enough. 

Enough to realize you weren't protecting him from Taehyung. You were protecting both of you from everything that came attached to him.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

+

It had been raining then too, he recalled. It’s fucking ironic, actually. 

Taehyung remembered that part with irritating clarity. Rain against the windows, River asleep in the next room after refusing to go to bed until he had finished reading a comic aloud with all the voices, and the smell of instant ramen lingering because neither of them had felt like cooking

It has felt like a completely ordinary evening. The two of you relaxing together after food, him telling you about his crazy day and how schedules were changed to fit the current covid regulations. And that made the memory so unbearable, he had made sure to block it away. 

You had stood by the kitchen, being uncharacteristically quiet, answering questions a beat too late or laughing at the wrong moments that he chalked up to tiredness at first. Taehyung had noticed it eventually.  “What’s wrong?”

“Hm, nothing.”

The lie was automatic. He could hear it before you finished speaking. 

He stood up from his seat, crossing the floor to stand beside you as you avoided his gaze. “Y/N.”

You closed your eyes briefly, clutching the swamp in your hand before whispering.  “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that.”

His stomach tightened. "Then tell me the truth."

For a long moment you had said nothing. That same stupid rain pittering and pattering against the window. 

When you finally spoke, your voice had been too steady for his liking. "I think we should stop this."

His heart had dropped, but he kept his composure. “Stop what?”

"Us." 

Fuck. The word seemed to hang in the kitchen. Was this a joke?

So he did what seemed reasonable. He laughed. Once, short and nothing faint of disbelieving. "Where is this coming from?"

“Tae—”

“No. We were fine yesterday, Y/N. We were fine this morning when River spent twenty minutes trying to convince me that cereal counts as dinner and you were laughing about it. So don't tell me this came out of nowhere."

Your grip tightened on the swamp until your knuckles whitened. “It didn’t come out of nowhere. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

It felt like his heart had been chipping off in real time at those words. “You have?”

You looked towards River’s room before answering. “Because he’s getting older.”

He had frowned, jaw clenching. “What does that have to do with us.”

“Everything.”

You had finally met his eyes, and he saw the fear before truly understanding it. “He still thinks you’re just someone who comes over sometimes. A fun uncle he really likes. He’s getting attached, and every time you leave he asks when you’re coming back.”

“I do come back.”

“You can’t promise that.” 

It was like you were punching him for every word. "What?"

“You can’t promise that your schedule won’t change, or that your company won’t send you away somewhere for months. Not to mention the scandals, tours or other things that pull you away.”

"So this is about my job." His jaw had tightened, shoulders stiff as his entire weight leaned on the hand gripping the counter. “Y/N, you knew this when we started dating.”

"No Tae, it's about my son." You had taken a shaky breath. “I know what your life is, and I’m not asking you to change it for me. But River deserves stability, and I can’t keep letting him build a picture of something I don’t know how to guarantee.”

Taehyung had closed in on you, physically turning your around to face him as he desperately clutched your face between his large hands. Yours hung at your side. 

"Then let me guarantee it, baby. Please.”

You looked devastated by the answer. "How?”

The question stopped him."How, Tae?" Tears slipped down your face. "Can you promise me nobody will ever take a picture?"

Could he?

"Can you promise me River will never have to read comments about himself online?"

That one felt like a hit. Because it was clear. 

"Can you promise me you'll never miss birthdays? School events? Parent meetings?"

No. He couldn’t promise you that.  “Y/N, please. Let me try.”

Your eyes had filled, and that was when he knew you had already made up your mind. “I’m sorry, Tae.”

For some reason he had continued trying. “I love him.” The confession came out rougher than he intended.

"I know," you whispered. "That's what makes this so hard."

For a second he thought you might change your mind. He could feel your tremors, the way you kept biting the inside of your cheek trying not to cry. 

Instead you stepped back, and his arms fell limply to his sides. “I have to prioritize River.”

“I never asked you to choose between us.”

Your voice was so deceptively soft. “But I am.”

The apartment suddenly felt too small. Taehyung looked toward the hallway, toward the room where River was sleeping peacefully, completely unaware that his mother was dismantling both of their lives because you believed it was the safest thing to do.

When he looked back at Y/N, you were crying silently. "I'm sorry."

He hated those words. And perhaps his next words even more. "Don't apologize if this is what you want."

Your expression broke. "That's the problem, Tae."

You didn't want this, but you were choosing it anyway.

The realization hollowed him out from the inside. Anger would have been easier. Betrayal would have been easier. Instead he was watching someone he loved break her own heart while convincing herself it was the responsible thing to do.

He picked up his jacket because he couldn't think of anything else to do. At the door he paused. Behind him, you were still standing in the kitchen, one hand pressed over your mouth to keep yourself quiet.

"If I walk out that door," he said without turning around, "I don't know how to come back from this."

Your answer came after a long, shaking silence. "I’m sorry."

That was the last thing you said before he left.

+

The club was surprisingly busy for a Thursday night, and you couldn’t fathom why. You were stationed behind the bar today, and that role allowed you to wear slightly more relaxed clothes compared to your hostess outfits. 

You had been working here nearly as long as River was old, minus two years. So you had the privilege of having been through every role; from hostess, to waitress, dancer and now bartender. The boss rouletted you based on what you were feeling due to your seniority in the establishment, and having River as a priority.. 

Colour you surprised when one of your co-workers stationed on the floor suddenly came up to you. “Y/N! Boss wants you in Room 4 for a client.”

You looked up from the lime wedges you were cutting behind the bar with immediate suspicion while she leaned halfway across the counter toward you looking deeply entertained. You frowned. “I’m not on the floor today. Find someone else.”

“I mean,” she repeated slowly, “some rich guy just dropped enough money to make management temporarily forget labor laws.”

“Are you fucking serious?” You groaned. “How much are we talking.”

“No idea, girl. But you gotta hurry.”

Your frown deepened.. “Then he can request someone actually working the floor.”

“He did.”

“And?”

“And he wanted you.”

That made you stop moving entirely. “Why?”

Your coworker shrugged helplessly. “Boss said take the room.”

“Ugh fine,” You pulled out the tie in your ponytail, letting your hair flow loose, despite the mess it was in. “Asshole better not complain that I’m covered in lime juice and beer spills.”

“You’re wearing booty shorts and a crop top in a nightclub, Y/N. I think society will survive.”

The hallway leading toward the private rooms stayed quieter than the main club floor, music dulling into a low vibration beneath your feet while warm amber lighting stretched across dark walls and closed doors. On your way there, you double checked yourself in the camera of your phone to make sure you looked presentable enough, while shoving a hand down your top to adjust your breasts so they looked slightly more perky in their positioning. 

Anything for the tips, while you were already forced down the road. You opened the door without much ceremony, and froze to a stop. 

Fuck me sideways. Taehyung stood near the edge of the room looking just slightly awkward enough to ruin any intimidating effect the expensive setting might’ve created. Dressed down in dark clothes and a cap pulled low despite the private booking, he still looked absurdly out of place against velvet seating and dim club lighting, like someone who had wandered accidentally into the wrong scene halfway through filming.

“…Are you serious?”

Taehyung visibly relaxed at seeing you rather than someone else. “Hi.”

You wanted to be angry. But a part of you couldn’t seem to muster something other than mild irritation. “What are you doing here?”

“...you weren’t answering my messages.”

“S0 you show up to my workplace?” You shot back.  “I’m working. That’s why.”

“You’ve been working for fourteen days straight.”

You crossed your arms automatically, wanting to fight back at how absolutely correct he was being. Okay, so you had been avoiding him for two weeks straight. But you hadn’t expected him to actually confront you about it. 

Instead you repeated yourself. “You cannot just show up at my workplace like this.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Probably not as much as I should have before coming.”

Despite yourself, irritation tugged briefly against the corner of your mouth before disappearing again.

Up close, Taehyung looked more tired than usual. Not physically exactly—emotionally. The kind of exhaustion that settled into someone after thinking too hard about something for too long without finding an answer. And you hated yourself for noticing. Physically, he still looked painfully attractive. You had gathered that he favored these cursed henley shirts now. This time wearing a black one, covered by a brown leather jacket, dark jeans and sneakers alongside his cap and mask. 

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was quieter this time around, arms loosening their hold around yourself. 

Taehyung exhaled slowly through his nose before speaking. “Can I talk without you running away?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I think you’ve spent so long trying to protect River that you forgot you’re allowed to want things too.”

Your expression hardened almost instantly. “Taehyung—”

“No, listen to me first.” His voice remained calm enough not to corner you, steady in the way it always became when he cared too much about saying something correctly. “I get why you’re scared. I understood it five years ago too.” He rubbed one hand briefly against the back of his neck before continuing. “But every time I try helping, you act like I’m doing something dangerous just by caring about you.”

You didn’t allow yourself to look at him while he spoke. Because hearing it said aloud made the truth sound uglier somehow.

“You don’t understand,” you murmured quietly.

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.” Your grip tightened. “You leave this place tonight and go back to a life where people adore you for existing. I stay here. River stays here. We live in the real world where scandals follow women forever and kids get ripped apart online because adults make selfish choices.”

Taehyung stayed silent, but the way he gnawed on his lower lip with that frown on his face betrayed everything he wanted to say. 

“You think I haven’t imagined what would happen if people found out about us?” you continued more softly now, exhaustion bleeding through the frustration underneath. “A single mother working at a club dating Kim Taehyung? River getting photographed walking to school? People digging through our lives?” 

A humorless laugh escaped you quietly. “That’s not romance written in story books, Tae.”

Taehyung looked down briefly toward the floor before nodding once to himself like something difficult had finally fully clicked into place. Then he stepped a little closer, careful enough not to crowd you while the music from outside pulsed faintly through the walls around both of you.

“I’m not here because I think love magically fixes reality,” he said quietly. “We’re both old enough to know that it doesn’t. I’m here because I spent five years respecting your decision and trying to move on like a mature adult, and apparently all that accomplished was me still being in love with you anyway.”

Your breath caught faintly, but not in the way he wanted. He had just confirmed one of your biggest fears, and the fact that you had to break his heart again. It was ridiculous. Seeing that hope — faint as it was — sparkle in his eyes. 

As if he was sure you were going to give in. Give in and accept this delusional dream he had of a happy ending with you and River. The devastation in your voice was hardly hidden. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

The hope dimmed until his dark eyes stared back at you flatly. The wide shoulders that were squared up and ready to face you had shrunk down significantly at your words. 

You half-wrapped one of your arms around yourself, looking at the floor again with a whisper. “Please leave, Tae.”

He must have heard you loud and clear despite the thumping music. You saw the brief motion of his fist clenching in frustration before it loosened. 

“I’m sorry I bothered you at work,” was all he said. Then his shoes disappeared from view and the sound of the door opening and closing until you were left alone in the room. 

+

The mood lasted exactly twenty-three hours before somebody said something. Which, if Taehyung was being completely honest, was actually impressive.

The members had known him for too long to miss changes in behavior. A bad mood might escape the attention of strangers. It did not escape people who had spent over a decade sharing schedules, hotel rooms, rehearsals, flights and enough life experience together to qualify as psychological warfare.

Still, they had given him almost an entire day. Taehyung considered that generous. By the end of rehearsal, nobody had said anything. And that should have worried him. The members were rarely at their most dangerous when they were talking. It was when they stopped talking that problems started.

The lounge they ended up in afterward felt almost suspiciously normal. Food had appeared from somewhere. Jeongguk was stretched across an entire couch despite there being enough seating for everyone. Hoseok was scrolling through his phone while half-heartedly participating in whatever conversation Seokjin and Jimin were having. Namjoon sat near the window reading through something on his tablet, while Yoongi looked as though he would rather be literally anywhere else.

For a while, nobody mentioned Y/N and the fact that Taehyung had looked like someone attending his own funeral since yesterday. The conversation drifted from schedules to food to some story Seokjin was telling about a disastrous encounter at a grocery store, and Taehyung almost thought he might get away with it.

Then Jimin ruined everything. "So how'd it go?" The question arrived so casually it took a second to register. 

Taehyung looked up. Jimin looked back. Nobody else bothered pretending they weren't listening.

Taehyung let out a slow breath. Terrific. "It didn't."

Hoseok finally set his phone down. "You talked to her?"

Taehyung nodded. "At her work."

Several eyebrows immediately rose. "Jesus Christ," Yoongi muttered.

"I know."

"No, I don't think you do." Despite everything, a brief laugh escaped Taehyung. Mostly because Yoongi looked personally offended on Y/N's behalf.

"She wasn't answering my messages."

"Which was probably a hint," Yoongi replied.

Taehyung rubbed both hands across his face. "Thanks, hyung."

"You're welcome."

Eventually Namjoon lowered his tablet. "What exactly happened?"

The answer should have been easy, but nothing had ever been easy when it came to you. Mostly because he still wasn't entirely sure how to explain the expression on your face when you'd asked him to leave."I told her how I felt."

Nobody reacted much, which somehow made it easier to continue.

Across the room, Seokjin sighed quietly. "Yeah."

Taehyung blinked. "Yeah?"

Seokjin shrugged. "We know."

The response caught him completely off guard. Jungkook nodded. "So does everyone else."

His chuckle was flat. "Apparently not Y/N."

The joke landed unimpressed just because nobody seemed particularly interested in laughing. The distinction sat heavily in the room for a moment before Hoseok finally broke the silence gently. "What did she say?"

Taehyung smirked ruefully. "She told me to leave."

Again nobody looked surprised. Not even a little, which in hindsight, hurt more than it should have. Then Seokjin sighed. "Honestly?"

Taehyung already disliked that tone."What?"

"I get it. If I had a kid, I'd probably make the same decision." The silence that followed was worse than disagreement. Because it meant everyone understood exactly what he meant.

River wasn't a theory, some abstract complication attached to a relationship, but a child. An actual twelve-year-old boy whose life would be affected by every decision made around him.

Jeongguk looked down at his hands. "That's the part I keep thinking about." Taehyung glanced over. Jeongguk shrugged. "If things go badly, he's the one who gets hurt."

The observation wasn't accusatory. Across the room, Namjoon nodded slowly in agreement. "She's carrying consequences you don't have to think about every day."

Y/N didn't have the luxury of viewing the situation purely through the lens of love. She had school schedules to think about; Bills, public attention, the internet and your son. The conversation continued from there, but not in the direction Taehyung secretly wanted.

Nobody told him she was wrong. If anything, the more they talked, the clearer it became that everyone understood why Y/N had made the choice she had. Because sometimes the responsible decision and the painful decision happened to be the same thing. By the time the conversation finally drifted elsewhere, Taehyung felt strangely hollow, just tired somehow. 

Later, alone in his apartment, Taehyung sat on the edge of his couch staring out across the city. The lights of Seoul stretched endlessly beyond the windows. Somewhere below, entire lives continued unfolding without any awareness of his existence. For hours he'd listened to people explain exactly why you had made the choice you did, and the worst part was that he agreed with every single one of them.

Nobody had convinced him she was wrong. Not even himself. And yet, despite all of that, sleep refused to come. Because understanding something and accepting it were two entirely different things. And unfortunately, loving someone didn't seem particularly interested in either.

+

The problem with making the responsible choice was that nobody ever talked about what happened afterward. People always praised the decision itself. The maturity. The sacrifice. The strength required to walk away from something you wanted because circumstances demanded it. 

Nobody seemed particularly interested in discussing the aftermath, the ordinary days that followed once the dramatic part was over and life expected you to carry on as though nothing had happened. But you did manage. 

Life continued for the next week without much fanfare; you went to work, River went to school and the academy. Laundry accumulated. Bills arrived. Groceries needed buying. The world continued turning with its usual indifference toward personal disasters. Which apparently was the problem. 

You had expected instant relief when he left you alone. Instead all you got was silence, and the silence proved significantly harder to live with than you had anticipated. The distance you had fought so hard to create finally existed and it accomplished absolutely nothing. You still thought about him while stocking shelves at work. While standing in line at convenience stores. While helping River with homework and folding laundry and trying unsuccessfully to convince yourself that sleeping four hours a night qualified as self-care.

Three days after the club, you found yourself opening your messages before catching yourself and locking the screen again. By Friday, exhaustion had settled somewhere beneath your skin, but not physical exhaustion.

You knew physical exhaustion. Physical exhaustion could be fixed with sleep. This was something else. The particular exhaustion that came from spending too much time arguing with yourself. Because the truth was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

You weren't protecting yourself anymore. You weren't protecting River either. You were hiding. There was the difference you refused to acknowledge. 

The realization arrived quietly while you sat at the kitchen table sorting through bills. It remained the following afternoon when River wandered into the kitchen and asked if he could spend the night at Minjun's house. At first the question barely registered. Then he mentioned that permission had already been arranged with Minjun's mother.

Then he mentioned it would be tonight. And suddenly your pulse had become impossible to ignore. "Yes." The answer escaped before you could think about it.

River blinked. "Really?"

"Yes."

You stood too quickly. "If his mom already said yes, then of course."

The suspicion that appeared on his face was immediate. You recognized it instantly. The expression he wore whenever adults started behaving strangely. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." The lie earned exactly the amount of belief it deserved.

Thankfully, River allowed it. At least outwardly. He spent the next hour packing while you spent the next hour pretending your life was not actively unraveling in the background. When Minjun's mother finally arrived to pick him up, River paused in the doorway and looked back. For a second, he seemed on the verge of saying something. Instead he smiled. "Love you, Mom."

You smiled back. "Love you too, baby."

Then he left, the apartment door closed behind him. The absurdity of your jumbled emotions and thoughts followed you into the kitchen where you made coffee despite it being far too late for coffee. Then you sat at the table and stared at nothing while the mug cooled slowly between your hands.

Your thoughts drifted inevitably toward Taehyung. At some point you found yourself wondering what exactly your plan had been. Avoid him forever? Wait another five years?

Convince yourself the feelings would eventually disappear through sheer neglect? The thought was ridiculous, you knew it. For the first time, you allowed yourself to admit that maybe you had always known it.

By the time your phone buzzed with a picture from Minjun's mother showing two boys buried beneath enough snacks to survive a small apocalypse, the argument was already over.

River was safe. The apartment was empty. Tomorrow offered nothing tonight did not.. And suddenly all the reasons you'd been clinging to felt suspiciously thin.

You grabbed your bag before common sense could regain enough momentum to become useful and left the apartment.

The taxi ride across Seoul passed in a blur of city lights and increasingly desperate attempts to convince yourself this wasn't happening. Every few minutes you would decide you were making a mistake. Every few minutes you would remember the last week and immediately stop believing yourself.

The lobby gleamed with expensive surfaces, and you expected to be stopped. Instead the security guard looked at his screen and informed you that you were already approved.As though the possibility of you showing up had existed long before you'd ever considered it yourself.

By the time you reached his floor, your pulse had become genuinely irritating. This floor only had three apartment numbers on it, the reminder at how luxurious these units must be to only have space for three of them on one floor. 

Then suddenly you were standing outside his door, pressing the bell. When the door opened, Taehyung looked tired. Confusion appeared first. Then recognition. Then concern.

“Y/N?”

You had imagined this moment a hundred different ways. Every version vanished immediately.

"What happened?"

The question almost made you laugh. After everything, his first instinct was still to check whether you were okay.

You looked at him for a long moment. The man you'd spent five years trying to forget and one week proving you couldn't. "I don't know."

Taehyung frowned. "You don't know?"

You didn't know how to explain any of it. "Oh, fuck it."

The words escaped before you could stop them. Taehyung blinked, clearly caught off guard by both the language and the sudden shift in your expression. "What—"

Y/N didn't let him finish. One second he was standing there waiting patiently for whatever explanation you had dragged across Seoul to deliver, and the next you had crossed the space and grabbed the front of his shirt.

The kiss had landed awkwardly. Because for the briefest second he froze. His entire body seemed to lock up around it as his brain struggled to catch up with what was happening.

You almost pulled away. 

Then his hand closed around your waist. The hesitation vanished. The reaction was so immediate it nearly stole your breath.

One second he was stunned. The next it was as though something inside him finally snapped. His free hand found the side of your face, fingers sliding into your hair as he kissed you back with enough force to make her stumble.

A startled breath escaped you against his mouth as he swallowed it along with your sanity. Neither of you seemed particularly interested in talking anymore.

His hands still settled against you as though they belonged there. You still knew exactly how his breath caught when he was trying—and failing—to remain composed. Taehyung made a rough sound somewhere low in his throat before finally breaking away just enough to look at you closely, but gaze certainly glazed over with something far more primal. 

“Are you sure about this?”

Instead of answering, you trailed your hands up his broad shoulders, the nape of his neck as he visibly shivered and then curled your fingers into the strands of his hair as you forced him closer. “Stop talking.”

Something flashed across his face. And you recognized it far too easily. The next kiss landed with considerably less hesitation than the first when he crouched to lift you up and your legs wrapped around his hips as easily as breathing. 

He’d barely managed to kick the door shut with a click until he had you up against it, groaning as he trailed his kiss down from your mouth to your jaw and then your neck as your breath stuttered. 

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” He breathed out, lips never stopping to map out your skin. “I’ve missed you.”

You let yourself drop down, feet finding the floor as Taehyung made a rough, desperate sound under his breath when you pushed him backwards. His hands found your waist again automatically, steadying you both as he stumbled a step and another. Until your legs were tangled and he collided with the ridiculously large black couch. 

He was all spread out deliciously for you, dressed in his sleeping pajamas and a white wife-beater, as you climbed on his lap and straddled him. Some of your favorite things had always been running your fingers through his hair, and today you made use of that by tilting his head back as his half-lidded eyes took you in on top of him. “This isn’t just a one time thing, right?”

Your responding kiss against his lips was the answer, until you leaned down further to whisper in his ear. "I don’t want one night, Tae. I want you.”

His grip on your hips tightened while his breath hitched and you grinned. “You’ll be the death of me, baby.”

“Hmm, will it happen while I ride you?” Gosh, this side of you hasn’t come out to play in years. 

“Fuck.” He was painfully hard underneath you as you slowly grinded against his lap, the thin trousers hardly doing anything to keep it hidden. “Clothes. Off. Now.”

You obliged; pulling your sweater over your head from the back, revealing a simple black bra that did nothing to make you more appealing, but Taehyung hardly needed lace and fancy ridiculous adornments to worship you. He was rougher than you remembered — without complaint — pulling down your bra underneath your breasts as he leaned forward to suck at one of the nipples, and you moaned. 

While he occupied himself with your unimpressive rack, you hastily unhooked your bra and jeans, as he absently helped you push down the fabric alongside your panties. You were both too desperate to care that it still hung by your ankle by the end of it. 

“Off,” You commanded breathlessly, tugging at his shirt as he separated long enough from your tits to quickly pull it over his head. “You’re so hot, baby.”

He truly was. All chiseled muscles from the years and broad, sculpted shoulders you could see your legs resting on by the end of the night as he fucked you raw. 

You didn’t have the patience to stand up for him to take his pants off, not that you even had time to consider it. Because before you knew it, Taehyung had his thumb straight on your clit as he circled it slowly. The moan you let out was far too loud for such a small touch, but your body was wired up to the damn heavens. 

The last man who had touched you was so insignificant you hardly remembered him. Taehyung’s familiar and skilled touch was reprieve to you as he sped up and slowed back down, alternating between tight and loose circles as you gripped the back of neck frighteningly tight. 

“Oh my god.” You whimpered. “Faster, Tae. Please.”

“Yeah? You want to come?”

“Yes, yes, yes — please, baby. Make me come.”

Your hips were moving desperately against his grip when you felt him insert two fingers into you, all while still caressing your clit. You loved his big hands, oh my. You rode his hand, actual to fucking truth, trying to chase your high as he continued peppering bites and kisses against your chest. 

He could feel it now, recognize it even. The way you continued begging him not to stop, your thighs nearly caging him in with your blunt nails digging into his shoulders. The moment his thumb pressed down on the swollen nub, you came with a shuddering moan that nearly made him come alongside with you. His circling slowed down, helping you through your high until you stilled above him

He pulled his fingers out of you as you watched him put them in his mouth, sucking on them with a hum as your lips twitched and you rested your forehead against his. “Tease.”

“Declicious,” he grinned in return, until he flinched at you rubbing yourself against his length and he hissed. “You’re gonna make me come like that, babe. I want to be inside you.”

“Oh you want, do you?” You flicked up a brow, as he huffed. 

“You know what I mean.”

“Just teasing, my love.” You reached down to grab his cock, giving it a couple of pumps before he grabbed your wrist with a warning glance and you giggled. You positioned yourself above him before slowly sinking down, both of you moaning in sync as Taehyung’s eyes nearly rolled back, head plopping back against the couch. 

You were basically draping your entire weight on him right now. Your breasts pressed tightly against his chest, arms cradling his head against the nape of your neck while his hands gripped your ass like a lifeline as you moved up and down on him slowly. 

“Fuuuuck, you feel so good, baby,” Taehyung half-sighed, which turned into a low moan as you slammed down. 

Finding your grip against his shoulder, you raised yourself back up, mustering some strength in your very out-of-the game thighs to continue working, but fuck, you were feeling the strain already. But there was no way you were stopping just yet. You clenched around him, giving you both so much pleasure Taehyung’s grip on you was nearly bruising. 

He noticed you were tiring out quickly. “Tired?” Taehyung murmured in your ear, as you whimpered with a nod, because it still felt so damn good to have him inside you after so long, your hips slowing down to a grind as he leaned back to enjoy it with harsh pant. “Want me to take over?”

“Gosh, thought you’d never ask.” For a moment, both of you shared genuine laughter as he pecked your cheek and shifted, giving you ass a small tap as you got off him. 

The loss of him made you sad, but he barely gave you time to think before he scooped you up bridal style, and you squealed in surprise. His next destination was the bedroom, and he was clearly in a joking mood as he unceremoniously dropped down on the bed and you huffed up at him. “Wow, thank you prince charming.”

Taehyung smirked, pulling you closer by the chin to give you a filthy kiss, licking into your mouth as you toes curled and you wanted to chase after him for more. “Turn around, and get on your hands and knees for me, baby.”

You nearly came right there for the second time while listening to him. The moment you turned, his large hand traced from the top of your spine until he reached your lower back and gently pushed; you automatically curved forward, resting yourself on your elbows as he pushed a fluffy pillow under your hips. 

Oh. You were fucked. That was for certain. You anticipation was poorly hidden until you felt like kneeling behind you, hands caressing everything he could reach as you nearly melted into his touch, until you felt him lining up and pushed inside slowly, inch by fucking torturous inch.

Taehyung bottomed out with a grunt, and then he fucked you as hard as he apparently missed you. There was no warning of his speed and you hardly had time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed back in without abandoned as you moans rose higher and higher, until your voice was nearly gone when he reached around to put his thumb back on your clit while fucking you for all he had after all these years. 

“So. Fucking. Beautiful.” He punctuated each word with a rougher thrust as you buried your face in one of the pillows.

“Fuck me, baby,” You whined out. “Harder.” 

“Yeah?” Taehyung was panting now, curving over your body. “Want me to make you scream?”

“Yes–God, yes, please.” You didn’t think it was possible for him to make it even rougher, but you underestimated him. He flipped you on your back, widening your eyes as your fantasy came alive as he rested your ankles on his shoulders and he bent forward. 

You were nearly folded in half, your knees close to your eyelevel as Taehyung plunged back into you with a vigor that sent you dizzying rounds of pleasures. Your next orgasm came before you could even make sense of it, waves electrifying pleasure starting from your core and spreading out to the tip of your toes as you sobbed out. 

You pulled his face to yours, kiss messy and more teeth than anything as Taehyung moaned from your clenching around him until he finally came in several pumps in your still fluttering cunt. 

“Fuuuuck.” He dragged it out slowly, until you both were spent and flopped down right on top of you with a groan of exhaustion this time around. 

You both breathed like two people running out of air, sweat coated skin slowly drying but the thick tension had hardly smoothed out. It was still there simmering underneath, and you were certain it was going to be a long night. 

“God, my back hurts.” His statement met silence until you snorted, which turned into giggling and then burst out laughing. He joined you, his low laugh trembling as he rolled off, spooning you from behind instead. 

“You actually are ridiculous, Kim Taehyung.”

“So I’ve been told by you many times.” For a while neither of you spoke. Taehyung's arm remained wrapped securely around your waist, his chin resting against your shoulder. You had missed his touch, the warmth of him that brought you comfort even through the moments where sex wasn’t a priority. 

You simply loved him. 

Eventually you turned slightly in his arms. "You know River is going to be unbearable."

Taehyung immediately groaned, but his laughed continued vibrating against you. "Oh, absolutely."

The future was still uncertain. Schedules and work and public scrutiny hadn't magically disappeared while the two of you were busy finding your way back to each other. But somehow that felt less frightening now.

Behind you, Taehyung pressed a kiss against your shoulder.

+

The funny thing about happiness was how quietly it crept up on you. Nobody ever told you how to differ between visiting and belonging somewhere, like River and his bedroom and your beloved couch-bed. One day you were bringing an overnight bag as River asked for another sleepover at a friend’s, until the next time he wanted to come and two spare toothbrushes appeared in Taehyung’s luxurious apartment. Then River started leaving hoodies behind and complaining when Taehyung forgot to wash them. 

Eventually you found yourself standing in Taehyung’s kitchen on a Friday evening, cooking dinner while the sun slowly set sending Seoul into streaks of golden orange, yellow and reds through the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

The city glittered beneath the clouds, whilst River was losing his mind inside. "This is literally impossible."

"It isn't impossible," Taehyung called from the dining table he was setting up, brushing past you and pressing a kiss against the nape of your neck in secret as you offered him a smile. 

"It is."

"It says eighth-grade math, kid. You’ve been through the problems before.” River glared. Taehyung glared back. Neither looked remotely intimidated.

You watched the exchange while stirring the pot and tried not to laugh.

"You do it then."

"I already graduated."

"That's not how that works."

"It is if you're famous."

River looked horrified. "You cannot use celebrity status to avoid math."

"I can certainly try." The offended noise that escaped your son nearly made you choke on laughter. Across the kitchen island, Taehyung looked entirely too pleased with himself.

Some things never changed. The ridiculous confidence and the terrible jokes combined. Not to mention the tendency to encourage River whenever he should probably be acting like a responsible adult. Then again, the two of them had become alarmingly similar to the point you weren't entirely sure who corrupted who.

Life with Taeyung still came with its complications, but you were both willing to work through it. Privacy remained strict, but to his wishes you were putting in the work more to get to know his members without being afraid of exposure. Besides, River was loving Jin and Jeongguk. The three of them together was mayhem you didn’t want to experience, according to Tae. 

The timer on the stove beeped, signaling dinner was ready as both boys immediately abandoned the complicated structures of eight-grade mathematics. 

"Wow." You folded your arms. "Interesting."

"What?" They both echoed. 

"You recovered from that impossible equation very quickly."

River was already moving toward the kitchen."Priorities."

"That's my boy," Taehyung said proudly, 

"Absolutely not." Their matching grins made the statement entirely ineffective.

For a moment you simply stood there watching them, face nearly hurting how wide you were grinning. The life you had once convinced yourself was impossible had become your everyday life. As Taehyung pulled out the chair for you, he reached for your hand as naturally as breathing while scolding River for eating too much all at once. 

You squeezed back almost without thinking as his gaze flickered to yours curiously. You simply leaned in to peck his cheek as your son gagged dramatically across the dinner table.

The End.

gosh ngl, all the interest on the teaser made me so nervous posting this, hope you all enjoyed :´)

taglist: @jjkluver7 @jarofer @jungkoookieee @thedelulusafespace @rachel121009 @gimeow @b-tangkitten @anabeatrizal-blog1 @sheshya @hotelcortezghost @wintrbears @polnaraffsrack @jungshaking @vcutgk @motheraiya55 @staytinyarmy @pradaheeseung @dim18 @inhuno @anabeatrizal-blog1

[mytmjk]

looking for ACTUAL angst recs.

not “they had a misunderstanding and then had sex 2 chapters later” angst.

i want the kind of fic that leaves you staring at the ceiling at 3am questioning your existence.

major character death, grief, sacrifice, psychological devastation, bittersweet endings, hurt/no comfort, emotional destruction.

i want to finish reading and feel like i’ve lost a loved one.

fandom doesn’t matter at this point. please ruin my life.

[wintrbears]

The Wife Trap: Part II | JJK

Summary: Jungkook's been living as his twin for three months without too many hiccups or blunders, but he can't keep you waiting to be intimate again for much longer. Not to mention all the other obstacles which keep constantly appearing in his path.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, Jungkook’s Twin x Reader, (Slight) Jungkook x Jennie

Genre: Twins AU, Unrequited Love, Brother-in-Law/Friends to Lovers?, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Slow-Burn, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 31.8k

Warnings: intense grief, depression, manipulation, lying, betrayal, violation, gaslighting, crying, panic attack(?), unwanted advances, unrequited love, self-hatred, yearning, depression inner-monologue, bars, drinking, jealousy, accusations, mild arguments, business jargon, technology, the corporate world 😩, public speaking, twins, trading places, tricking people, mentions of death. SMUT: dub-con (she consents to the acts but is unaware of his real identity), kissing, shower sex, drying humping, fingering, oral sex (both receiving), missionary, vaginal sex, crying during sex 🥲, titty play, spitting, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, car sex, sex on a counter, dirty talk, subspace, creampie, alrighty that’s all!

Author’s Note: wow, you guys, I don’t know how to put into words how grateful I am for all the love I’ve received for this story so far. not just the amazing reviews and comments, but the thoughtful theories and ideas in my inbox. when I wrote this story I genuinely believed no one would wanna read something so sad and it would just be for me 🫣 I truly can’t thank everyone enough!! this part is WAY less dark than the first part, so hopefully it’s an easier read. also, I know what you’re all gonna say after this chapter: “how can she not tell it’s JK?” and to that I’ll just say I promise everything will be answered in due time! I can’t wait to hear everyone’s thoughts and predictions once you finish so please let me know either by commenting or sending in an ask! love you all sooo much. I hope you enjoy this one ☺️

-> The Wife Trap Masterpost

Jungkook’s grown accustomed to waking up to the smell of baked goods wafting up the stairs from the kitchen. He’s even gained the ability to distinguish the different scents depending on which recipe you’re following. 

This morning smells like chocolate chip cookies, one of your signature recipes and his personal favorite. Although, he isn’t able to tell you that since Jaehyun’s favorite was your blueberry scones. 

It’s been just over three months since Jungkook buried his brother, and therefore living as him, too. He has a fairly steady routine now, especially after returning to work as CEO of Jeon Industries last month. 

That’s been the hardest assimilation of all because he never witnessed that side of his twin’s life. Thankfully, a common symptom of major grief and depression is memory loss. So, no one questions why he can’t recall certain projects or statistics. Jaehyun was also an avid note taker, giving Jungkook a starting point to pick up where he left off without too many issues. 

In addition, he and his family have finished handling all his belongings and significant possessions. 

Jennie is still running Kookie’s using money from the business account. But the funds are finite and Jungkook’s been brainstorming about where to go from here. He would be more than happy to finance it using Jaehyun’s salary, but Jennie didn’t sign up to be an owner and he refuses to force more responsibility on her than she might want. 

After sorting through and cleaning out his apartment, including putting any sentimental or valuable items in storage, they placed it on the market and it sold within a couple weeks. 

His motorcycle’s currently parked in your garage. You and him have discussed what to do a few times and it takes all of Jungkook’s willpower to pretend it wouldn’t kill him to see it sold.

Living as your husband is the easiest task of all and also the only reason he’s even managing to cope with Jaehyun’s death. You’re thoughtful, considerate, understanding, and loving twenty four freaking hours a day and he’ll never be able to properly thank you for being his saving grace these last three months. 

When he descends the stairs, he sees you lying horizontally on the couch with a new baking tips book. You clearly notice him enter the room because although your eyes don’t leave the page, a small smile appears. 

Just that hint of happiness on your face is enough to make Jungkook’s whole day, maybe even his week. His feelings for you have grown exponentially and honestly, if they got any bigger, love would start bursting right out of him. 

As he rounds the couch, he places one knee between your legs before plucking the book from your hands and laying it flat on the coffee table so you don’t lose your place. 

“Hey!”

“Hey, yourself,” he drawls while one hand loops around your waist and the other finds the armrest behind you.

You squeal as Jungkook effortlessly tugs you closer until he can dip his head to kiss up the side of your throat. The air around you both floods with giggles while he paints you in saliva by trailing his lips anywhere they can reach. When he’s decidedly done, he fake growls and bites the soft spot just below your ear.

“Jae!” You laugh and kick your legs that are sandwiched between his own. 

He lifts his head up with a bright, joyous grin and then steals a quick peck from your lips. 

“Good morning, beautiful.” 

“Nuh uh, get back here,” you demand. 

Your fingers clutch his shirt to pull him completely on top of you, causing Jungkook to chuckle. But he still seamlessly follows the wordless command by kissing you again. While his grip tightens until your bodies are flush, your arms circle his neck so you can sink your digits into his hair. 

The two of you lazily make out, with little care for the pace or precision of your mouths. Your teeth clink together every so often, you both accidentally tug on the other’s bottom lip too hard, and your tongues clash in awkward ways, but neither of you care in the slightest. 

Jungkook’s other hand eventually traces down your curves until he reaches your hip, where he tilts your leg to hook it around him. The new angle makes you moan into his mouth and yank on his hair, a sure sign of how badly you crave him.

The problem is Jungkook can’t give you what you want, or at least, he isn’t ready to. For the last three months, this is as far as you two have gone sexually. It’s the one line he hasn’t been able to cross and he’s thankful you’ve been so understanding. Of course, you believe it's because of grief, rather than him being unable wrap his mind around betraying his brother to that extent.

Sure, maybe it’s hypocritical when his tongue’s already down your throat and his cock’s brushing against your clit through your clothes, but it feels like an entirely different category. 

“Shit, baby,” he rasps once his mental fortitude starts to wane. The heat of the moment is burning him alive and he simply can’t continue no matter how much he wants to. “I’m sorry, I —”

“It’s okay,” you instantly reassure him.

“It isn’t, and I know that, and I promise I’m trying, I just...” He inhales through his nose to slow his racing heartbeat. “I can’t… yet.”

One of your hands slides down to cup his cheek. 

“It is okay, baby.” You smile at him before sitting up just enough to kiss the tip of his nose. “I don’t mind waiting.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“I genuinely don’t care, Jae. We’ve been having sex for a decade and a half. I think I can handle a little dry spell.”

He knows he can’t keep you waiting forever and he’ll eventually have to bite the bullet, but he has no clue when his guilt will allow him to do so.

“Okay,” he concedes.

“Can I ask you something, though?” After nodding his head, Jungkook moves away while guiding your upper body into a sitting position so you’re facing one another on the couch. “What’s holding you back? I mean, it’s not like Kookie would be upset with you for having sex so soon after his death.”

“No, he wouldn’t. It isn’t that.” Jungkook runs his fingers through his hair as he conjures up an adequate reason. “I just don’t think I would be able to focus enough to give you what you deserve. My mind constantly wonders between the grief, sorrow, anger, and whatever other emotions might be plaguing me that day. And if I’m going to make love to my wife, I want it to be all I’m thinking about.”

It isn’t a complete lie. Jungkook truly can’t set his mind on a single track for more than a few minutes no matter how hard he tries. 

In response, you thoughtfully hum while nibbling on your lower lip.

“Well, what if we started small? You know, just a little handiwork here and there or some oral every once in a while. Short bursts of intimacy where you wouldn’t have to focus for too long.”

Dammit, your intelligence will be the fucking death of him. 

Although, perhaps your approach would help solve the actual issue as well. He wouldn’t have to dive headfirst into the deep end and could slowly get acquainted with the notion until he’s ready. 

“I think that’s a great idea, sweetheart.”

“Really?” 

The sight of your eyes lighting up is the only push Jungkook needs. He would do anything to keep a smile on your face. 

That’s the very source of his problems in the first place. 

“Absolutely. Maybe we can, uh, give it a shot over the next couple weeks or so.” 

“I’ll follow your lead.”

“Thank you.” Jungkook leans in for one last kiss. “I love you.”

You giggle as if he doesn’t tell you at least a hundred times a day.

“I love you, too, baby.” There’s a brief pause before you gasp in realization and shoot up from the couch. “You have to try the cookies!”

Jungkook’s hand is immediately commandeered when you yank him off the couch and guide him into the kitchen where two dozen chocolate chip cookies are resting on cooling racks. Beside them is a ceramic cake platter you made with a small sign labeling it “Kookie’s Treats.” It’s where you leave the six extra desserts you bake with every recipe in honor of him. The treats always go uneaten and straight into the trash once you bake something else, but the comfort it brings you is worth the waste. 

“Haven’t I already tried this recipe?” 

“You tried the old one,” you explain. “This one uses brown butter.”

“What makes the butter brown?” 

“Heating it up.”

“Ah.”

With an eager grin, you delicately remove one of the cookies from the rack and pass it to him. Jungkook smiles prior to taking a liberal bite and per usual, it’s one of the best goddamn things he’s ever tasted. 

He moans in delight and his whole face scrunches as he nods to convey its deliciousness to you. After he swallows the last crumb, he shakes his head in awe and disbelief.

“Those taste unbelievable, sweetheart.” When his eyes meet yours again, he finds you looking like a heartbroken deer in headlights and there are even unshed tears along your waterline. “What’s wrong?”

You sniffle and shake your head to stop the droplets from actually falling.

“Nothing, it’s just… sometimes I swear it’s like Jungkook possesses you for a second.” 

Jungkook’s heart drops and almost drowns in his stomach acid. 

“What do you mean?”

“You just made his good food face,” you state.

Shit.

He always tries his best to refrain from doing anything that’s too him, but clearly your cookies were so good it caused him to momentarily forget his responsibilities. 

Thankfully, the idea that he isn’t Jaehyun is so ludicrous you land on spiritual possession first. Naturally. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook mumbles with his eyes tilted down. “I feel that way too sometimes.”

“It’s a good thing.” His eyebrows rise with intrigue. “Makes me miss him a little less when pieces of him come out through you.” 

He sighs in relief along with a sweet smile.

“Me, too.”

You end up offering Jungkook one more treat before separating the spare half dozen and storing the remainder in one of your many cookie jars. 

It’s Saturday so he doesn't have to run off to the office like he does during the week. Although he still has errands, including stopping by the bar to have a conversation with Jennie. 

He’s dreading it, if he’s being totally honest, but he also can’t put it off any longer. There’s less than a month of money left to sustain the bar at full capacity, so it’s now or never.

The problem is she’s his kryptonite. Not only because she’s his best friend who knows him better than anyone with Jaehyun gone, but because she’s his biggest sacrifice in becoming his brother. 

Jennie’s the only person in his life who wasn’t also connected to Jaehyun. So, unlike his parents, family, and other loved ones who he can still maintain a relationship with as Jaehyun, he had to let her go entirely. It kills him not being able to see her or have one of their long conversations about everything and nothing. He misses her more than he can even put into words. Which is why he’s hoping his solution for Kookie’s will lead to them building a new friendship. 

After giving you a lengthy goodbye kiss, Jungkook tells you he’ll see you later and heads to the car. Kookie’s is a bit farther from the house than his apartment was, but at least it gives him more time to rethink his plan over and over. 

He hasn’t told anyone his idea yet since without Jennie’s approval, there’s no point. It’s been rolling around in his head for a couple months and although he believes it’s a great idea, he might be a little biased. 

Upon arriving at the bar, he can see Jennie inside by herself since opening isn’t for another few hours. He takes a deep breath before crossing the street, but by the time he reaches the door she’s already in the back. Rather than waiting and no doubt scaring the shit out of her when she spots him through the glass, he uses the spare key to let himself inside. 

The bell rings overhead as he enters, so he knows it’ll only be a few seconds before Jennie appears from the kitchen. He uses the time to admire the familiar decor and furniture. Nothing’s changed since he was last here, which was also the last night he ever lived as himself. Well, there is one difference: a framed picture of him hanging behind the bar. It was taken by none other than Jennie the day he bought the building. He’s absolutely cheesing next to the sold sign with the keys dangling from his pointer finger. 

The sound of footsteps pulls his attention away and it’s just in time to lock eyes with his former best friend. 

Jennie stops in her tracks with possibly the widest eyes he’s ever seen on her face. He waves and chuckles in an attempt to dispel the awkward energy, but it still takes her a moment to recover.

“I, uh, I’m sorry. I know you’re identical but I guess I just… forgot how much you look like him,” she explains. 

“It’s alright. I hear it all the time.” Her eyes are watery and it shatters Jungkook’s heart. He wants to comfort her like he used to or tell a stupid joke to make her laugh, but all he can do is stand there. “How are you?”

She humorlessly chuckles like that’s the most ridiculous question he could’ve asked.

“Oh, you know.”

Jungkook grimaces.

“Yeah. I know.”

“I’m sorry. This is obviously way harder for you than it is for me and —” 

“No. No it isn’t,” he interrupts her. “There’s no comparison in grief.” 

His assurance seems to help, even if just a little, because a faint smile forms on her lips as she nods.

“You’re right. Sometimes it just feels like I’m, I don’t know, overreacting?”

“Overreacting?” On muscle memory alone, Jungkook steps forward before remembering he shouldn’t and digging his heels into the ground. “Jennie, he was your best friend.”

She clicks her tongue while her gaze drops to the floor.

“He was more than that,” she mutters under her breath.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing, um, it isn’t important.” Whatever melancholia was hanging over her seems to be gone once she lifts her head again and crosses her arms over her chest. “So, what’s up? I mean, I know you technically own the place now, but I wasn’t expecting a visit.”

“Oh, right.” Jungkook has to give himself a quick head shake to refocus on the task at hand. “I came to talk to you, actually.”

“About what?”

He gestures to the space around them.

“The future of Kookie’s.”

They decide to sit down in a booth to chat and Jennie even pours them both a beer. Once they’re comfortably across from each other with a couple drinks in front of them, Jungkook clears his throat.

“So, Kook had about four months worth of savings in the business account. Obviously, it’s been three already. That means you and I have to decide where we want to go from here,” he announces.

Jennie’s brow scrunches.

“You and I? Isn’t it just up to you?”

“Maybe legally, but that’s certainly not what he would want. And I would never ice you out like that.” Jungkook sighs as he watches the foam float at the top of his beer. “Jennie, he…” He inhales. “Jungkook loved you.” After a moment, he realizes his statement needs clarification. “I don’t mean like that, I just…” His eyes flicker up to meet hers. “You meant the world to him.”

To me.

Sharing those sentiments might’ve been a mistake because Jennie immediately tears up again and her bottom lip starts to tremble.

“I know,” she whimpers. “I just wish I’d gotten the chance to tell him how much he meant to me.”

It’s his turn for a confused expression.

“He knew, Jen. I know he did.” 

“No. At least, not the full extent.” Jungkook’s head tilts and he’s about to ask for more information until she continues all on her own. “I loved him so fucking much. I was in love with him. I had been for almost our entire friendship.”

The world suddenly halts like a record scratching on a turnstile. Never once in the ten years he’s known Jennie did he ever suspect her to have romantic feelings for him. He thinks through all their memories together and it makes him wanna be sick. The late nights, weekend adventures, movie marathons, and study sessions. Not to mention the handful of times Jungkook used her body as a stress release without knowing it meant something entirely different to her. 

He wants to lay his head on the table and sob or maybe take Jennie’s hands so he can apologize for being such an ignorant asshole. Her confession kills him because he knows what unrequited love is like and to think he was putting his best friend through it is gut wrenching. If only he could just tell her he’s sorry and that if things were different, if he wasn’t a degenerate in love with his brother’s girl, he would’ve reciprocated without a second thought. 

The problem is he can’t do any of that because he isn’t Jungkook anymore. He can’t even let her see the guilt flood his eyes or his face fall in despair. So, he holds everything in and clears his throat again to mask the pain.

“Why didn’t you ever tell him?” Jungkook asks.

Jennie shrugs while drying her eyes with her sleeve.

“It wouldn’t have mattered. He was already in love with someone else when we met.”

His blood runs cold.

“Did you… do you know who?” When she shakes her head, Jungkook hides his massive sigh of relief. “He never mentioned anyone to me.”

“No, he probably wouldn’t have. He always kept that particular secret close to his chest,” she states before a brief awkward pause. “But, um, back to Kookie’s?”

“Right! Right. Sorry.” Jungkook forces his emotions back into the container where they reside so he can continue the conversation. He’ll sort through them afterwards when he’s alone. “Basically, I’m more than willing to finance the bar, but I can’t commit to the time and resources needed to run it. Now, if you want to, I would be happy to do that. But I also know you never signed up to be an owner and I don’t want to pressure you into staying.” He claps his hands while inhaling through his nose to prepare for the actual proposal. “So, in case you aren’t willing to run this place, I was wondering what you think about me offering it to Y/N to turn into a bakery.”

Jennie’s eyes go wide as soon as he’s done talking and Jungkook’s nerves stand at attention, but then her shocked expression gradually morphs into delight.

“Jaehyun, that’s a wonderful idea!”

“Re — really?”

She enthusiastically nods.

“It’s exactly what Kook would want.”

“You think so?” What a stupid fucking question. Like he isn’t the literal person they’re referring to. “I wasn’t sure if you would think I’m overstepping or something.”

“No, absolutely not. He adored Y/N. Seeing her dream finally come true would’ve made him so fucking happy. I mean, this place was literally named after her nickname for him.”

Jungkook allows his sigh to escape this time as a smile overtakes his lips. 

“I’m so glad you agree,” he admits. “But are you sure you’re alright with not running the bar yourself?” 

“Are you kidding? All this responsibility’s making me go prematurely grey,” she exclaims. “But if I could ask for one favor?” He nods and gestures for her to continue. “Could you ask Y/N if she’ll need help? Just because I don’t want to be in charge doesn’t mean I wanna leave this place behind, you know? And I obviously know the register and how to handle customers.”

As if this conversation could get any better. 

“Absolutely!” In fact, he was already planning on asking if she would want that. He figures if she sticks around to manage the bakery, perhaps they can grow close again as Jaehyun and Jennie. “She’s going to need all the help she can get since it’ll be impossible to bake everything and manage the storefront.”

“Have you spoken to her about this yet?” 

“No,” Jungkook answers. “I wanted to hear your opinion first.” 

Jennie smiles and for the first time today, it reaches her eyes the way it usually does. 

“I really appreciate that.”

The two of them discuss logistics for a while before Jungkook eventually excuses himself so she can finish preparing for the evening. She gives him a quick goodbye hug at the door and he has to refrain from holding her too tight, like how he used to. 

After they part, Jennie steps back and he salutes her with his two first fingers before exiting. He makes it about halfway to the crosswalk until the sound of quick footsteps coming from behind stops him and causes his eyebrows to rise.

“Wait!” 

When he turns around, Jennie’s a couple feet away and although she didn’t have to jog far to reach him, she appears winded.

“What’s up?” He casually questions.

Jennie takes in a massive influx of air while her hands shake at her sides.

“You’re not Jaehyun. Are you?”

Jungkook swears all the action around him ceases like a still life photograph. How come he made it through hours of conversation without her suspecting anything only to fail at the last second? And what the hell did he do to give her that impression?

“Wh… what?”

“You just saluted me.” She does the action herself. “The same way Kook did every time he left this place for the last three years.” 

Fuckkk. 

Goddamn muscle memory and stupid, permanently ingrained instincts. Who knew a single instant in time could possibly unravel everything. 

Honestly, there’s a piece of him that wishes he could just say yes so he can have his best friend back. But even one person knowing his secret could lead to disaster. 

So, lying through his teeth it is.

He chuckles and scoffs like her accusation’s borderline unbelievable.

“We both do it.” Jungkook repeats the salute, but this time slightly different from how he normally moves his hand. “Learned it from our grandfather.” When Jennie still looks skeptical, he throws his arms up in surrender. “I swear, Jennie. Scout’s honor.”

His oxygen remains trapped in his throat until her face finally relaxes and she shakes her head.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. You probably think I’m crazy now,” she laments.

“I don’t.” She sends him a disbelieving glance. “I promise, I don’t. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I can’t even tell who’s staring back at me.”

Her eyes sympathetically wilt, but Jungkook waves the emotion away with his hand. Albeit a little more awkwardly, they wish each other farewell again prior to him leaving for good. 

Once home, he remains in the garage so he can let his mind come to terms with the events of the evening. From Jennie’s confession to her almost figuring him out; the weight of it all is too much to bear. Before he can stop himself, his head drops to the steering wheel as he begins sobbing into the leather. 

He just wishes everything were different. In a perfect world he never would’ve fallen for you, then he and Jennie could be together and Jaehyun might still be alive. Instead, he lives in the universe where the only way he can be with the woman he loves is by pretending to be his dead twin and leaving his best friend all alone with a broken heart. 

As if he didn’t already hate himself enough for having feelings for you. Jennie deserves so much fucking better and he wonders if she’d be better off having never met him. At least then she would be spared from the pain she’s going through now and endured over the last decade. 

Jungkook has no idea how long he stays in the car bawling his eyes out, but it must be a suspicious amount of time because all of the sudden the driver’s side door flies open. 

“Jae?” When Jungkook lifts his head to face you, your eyes expand in concern and you instantly reach out to hug him. “Oh, honey.” 

He has other plans, and as soon as you’re close enough, his arms encapsulate your waist so he can tug you right into the car with him. Your back presses on the steering wheel and causes the horn to honk while your knees land on either side of his hips. But neither of you care; too preoccupied with holding one another so close you can feel the other’s heartbeat. 

As your arms wind around his neck and your fingers comb through his hair, he explores the length of your back like he’s trying to remind himself you’re real. 

“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper with your lips on the shell of his ear. “I’ve got you.” His cries only grow louder at the sound of your voice, because your endless compassion makes his own sins look so much darker in comparison. “I’m right here.”

The two of you stay like that for quite some time, but you don’t rush him in letting out all his emotions. When his cries do subside, you gently guide his head up until you can see his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. 

“What for?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. Manhandling you, I guess.” 

You smile at him with such adoration it almost halts his heart.

“You can manhandle me anytime, any place,” you assure him. 

A hint of a smile forms before Jungkook buries his face in your neck to inhale your familiar scent. It reminds him of everything good in the world, of everything he loves, and grounds him to reality. 

“I love you, Y/N.” His voice is muffled by your skin, but you still hum in acknowledgment. “I love you so much I don’t think my heart can carry it all.”

“Mmm. Maybe I can crochet you a backpack or something to put the excess in.” 

Jungkook laughs and kisses your throat before gazing at you again.

“No, I don’t think that’ll work.” 

“No?”

He shakes his head.

“I think I have to return it to you somehow,” he claims.

“Yeah? And how do you plan to do that?” 

It’s obvious you’re both on the same page, because by the time Jungkook laces his fingers through your hair to pull your face down, you’re already leaning in. Your lips meet for a messy, passionate kiss that’s all tongue and soft moans. It’s different from the other kisses you’ve shared so far and even the air around you feels charged with a new tension.

Almost immediately, you begin rolling your hips across his lap and grinding down against the tent in his pants. It causes Jungkook’s head to spin and after the day he’s had, he doesn’t have the wherewithal to stop you. 

His arm loops around your waist to assist your movements while you rest your hands on his shoulders to give yourself more leverage. The two of you continue kissing like you need it to breathe, although you’re really just panting and whimpering into each other’s mouths. 

As you pick up the pace, Jungkook’s grasp on your hair turns bruising and he starts bucking his hips up to match your rhythm. 

“Jae,” you whine between smooches. 

“Baby, I…” He groans when all the sensations become both too much and yet not enough. “I don’t wanna fuck you again for the first time in a car.”

“Then just let me make you feel good.” Jungkook tries to shake his head, but you stop him by caressing his jaw. “It’ll help, right? With whatever’s weighing you down?”

You’re staring at him too intensely to hide how much he wants this and despite his better judgement, he nods.

Without another word, you bend over to kiss his neck at the same time your hips regain their momentum. 

Jungkook’s fully aware he’s going to cream his pants embarrassingly fast. You’ve been his dream girl since he was sixteen and now you’re dry humping him in a fucking Mercedes. The thing is he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he needs some sort of release or his brain might genuinely explode. 

The feeling of your lips on his throat and your cunt rubbing against his bulge is driving him insane and it takes all his willpower not to carry you inside the house so he can fuck you like you deserve. By the time he’s done with you, you won’t remember your own name let alone which twin you’re married to. 

Alas, for now all he can do is synchronize his hips with your own so his cock catches your clit every time you press yourself into him. 

While Jungkook’s fingertips dig into your spine and scalp because he’s trying to salvage whatever’s left of his sanity, your mouth trails up his neck until you can nibble and lick along his jawline. The wet sensation elicits a moan from deep within his chest before he uses his grip on your hair to force your lips back to his. 

The kiss is sloppy enough to leave drool all over the bottom halves of your faces. But if anything, it just makes the moment that much hotter. It’s so scorching even the air feels suffocating despite the door still being wide open. 

“Fuck, I’m — I’m close, baby,” Jungkook grunts. “But I need you to come with me.”

You break the lip lock with a mischievous giggle.

“Then you better make me, Jeon.” 

Jungkook almost comes right then and there. He’s never heard you refer to Jaehyun by their surname, but shit, if it isn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever uttered. 

He manages to resist the pressure in his gut before attacking your neck with an onslaught of fiery kisses. He begins thrusting up into you as well, turning you into a whiny, wanton mess while you tug on the hair at his nape and grind down harder.  

It’s clear you’re nearing an orgasm when Jungkook feels your abdomen clench where your bodies are pressed together. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine having the opportunity to make you come, but if he thinks about it too much he’ll finish before you do. 

In all honesty, every muscle and vein in his body is working together to prevent him from letting go too soon. Even outside the physical friction you’re providing, just the idea of finally having you like this is enough to make him bust. 

Not to mention you’re moaning in his ear and Jungkook swears it’s like taking a hard drug. It makes his mind feel hazy from all the lust and pure, unadulterated need. His body’s practically acting on its own at this point because his brain is going haywire.

“Baby, please,” you whimper with a firm yank on his hair. 

He certainly doesn’t need to be told twice, and immediately licks along the side of your throat before biting down on your earlobe.

“Come for me,” he growls. 

You gasp and bury your face in his neck when your orgasm hits you. Then he topples right over the edge a second later, the movement of your body spasming in his lap sending straight into the depths of euphoria with a loud, enthusiastic moan. 

The two of you carelessly grind against one another throughout your highs as the friction from your bodies prolongs the sensation.

It might very well be the nastiest thing Jungkook’s ever done, considering the humiliating amount of cum in his boxers that gets pushed around each time you hump his lap. Yet he can’t get enough of you shaking above him as your own essence soaks through your underwear onto your pants.

By the time you both calm down, it’s as if your energy’s been sucked out by some mystical force.

“Fuck,” you chuckle, prompting him to join you. “Been a while, huh?”

Jungkook laughs again while lifting his head up to look at you.

“You could definitely say that.”

Seeing your responding smile almost recoups all his lost energy in a single instant.

“You remember the first time we did that? Back when I was still in high school?” 

Obviously not, but by god, does he wish he did. 

“Vividly,” he answers.

Your hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest as you lean in to give him another kiss. 

“We should go inside and get cleaned up. I’ll make us dinner after.” Jungkook nods. “Maybe then you can tell me why you were so upset?”

He will once he thinks of a reasonable explanation. It’s not as though he can tell you the truth about his emotions. 

“How about tomorrow? I just want to enjoy my time with you tonight.”

It’s not even remotely a lie. He craves nothing more than to take a nice, hot shower and cuddle with you on the couch. 

“Of course,” you assure him. 

You peel yourselves apart as deftly as possible in the cramped space of the front seat before you head upstairs to change while Jungkook hops in the shower. 

He avoids sparing himself a glance in the mirror afterwards, for fear he’ll see his brother glaring back at him in disgust. Sure, he didn’t actually touch you, but that doesn’t mean a line not previously crossed wasn’t just obliterated beyond repair.

When the sun rises the following day, you roll straight into his arms wearing a blissful smile. It’s easily one of the most beautiful sights Jungkook’s ever seen and it encourages him to kiss the expression right off your pretty, pink lips.

“Morning,” you whisper.

Jungkook’s too busy kissing you to reply. He’s already got a hand in your hair and the other cradles your knee so he can hook your leg around his waist. You two often wake up like this and spend the early morning hours smooching and touching each other to your heart’s content. 

It feels different today, on behalf of your behavior from the night before, but even after taking that leap yesterday, your Sunday morning make out doesn’t lead anywhere. 

“Morning, sweetheart,” he mumbles while traveling one peck at a time across your cheek. “Sleep well?”

“Mmhm.”

You giggle once Jungkook reaches your neck and begins aggressively nuzzling his face into your skin. 

After cuddling and sharing more absentminded kisses for a while, you both leave the comfort of your bed to start the day. You naturally seize the kitchen to cook breakfast while Jungkook takes care of some chores like laundry and vacuuming. 

Ironically, Jungkook’s a great cook because he lived alone for so long, but Jaehyun would burn water if he even attempted a single recipe. Meaning Jungkook has to let you tackle every meal alone to avoid raising suspicion. He’s debated on asking you to “teach” him or pretend to take cooking classes to remedy the situation. 

Following the delicious meal, you plop on the couch together with your legs resting on Jungkook’s. His hand lazily caresses your bare thigh while your fingers fiddle with his own. It’s soft and domestic, and he absolutely adores the small, mundane moments like this.

“Are you feeling better this morning?” You ask him.

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Jungkook inhales and nods as his eyes focus on the repetitive movement of his hand brushing against your skin.

“It actually went great. Jennie was really excited about my idea and we worked through most of the logistics before I left,” he explains.

“So, then…”

He grins and pinches your leg, to which you squeak and slap his bicep.

“I’m getting there, nosey!” You merely throw your hands up in surrender. “Jennie told me something while I was there and it just… broke me, I guess.” 

“What was it?”

“She said she was in love with Kook, and had been for almost their entire friendship. And I don’t know, it just shattered my fucking heart. Because Kook never got to have what we have, but Jennie wanted him all this time. And now they’ll never get a chance.” 

When Jungkook glances up to see your reaction, you look like a confused puppy with your head tilted.

“Wait, you didn’t know Jennie was in love with Jungkook?”

His eyes go wide. 

“You knew?”

“Well, duh. It was obvious!” 

“To whom?” 

You giggle and roll your eyes. 

“Only the women, apparently,” you comment. “You never noticed how she looked at him? Like he was the center of her freaking universe?” 

“N — no.” 

Jennie looked at him differently? He never once registered that. Maybe because he was always too busy envying how you looked at Jaehyun. 

The fact you realized her feelings and he didn’t, despite not knowing her nearly as well, makes him want to be sick. She’s his best friend. He should’ve been paying more attention. 

“I honestly thought they were either together and for some reason Kookie didn’t want to tell us or he was just extremely obtuse. Now it’s clear it was the latter.”

All of a sudden your exemplary perception skills cause his stomach to sink. Because if you noticed Jennie’s feelings for Jungkook, is it possible you also picked up on his feelings for you? 

“She claimed she never confessed because he was in love with someone else,” Jungkook adds. “Do you know who that might’ve been?”

“Huh?” The confusion on your face eases his mind. “Kookie? In love with someone?” You shake your head. “No. Who would that even be? He never dated anyone the entire time I knew him.”

“That’s what I thought, too.”

“Wait, doesn’t that imply whoever this mystery person is didn’t love him back?”

Jungkook shrugs.

“I suppose so.”

“That makes even less sense. Jungkook was amazing and unbelievably handsome. I would know, seeing as I married someone with the same face. If he was in love with someone, I can’t see how they didn’t reciprocate,” you explain. “Besides, we know everyone in his life.”

The sheer irony of your logic almost makes Jungkook burst into hysterical laughter, or maybe bawl his eyes out. 

“Maybe Jennie was wrong?”

“That, or the person he was in love with was her and they both just danced around one another all these years.”

“That would be… tragic.”

You nod in agreement. 

“It all is, regardless of anyone’s feelings,” you lament with your eyes towards the ground. 

Jungkook spots the change in your demeanor and places two fingers under your chin to gently lift your head up.

“You know what made me feel better after I thought about it some more?” He waits for you to hum before finishing his statement. “Whether or not Kook knew, or felt the same, he was loved. By us, by Jennie, and by everyone who knew him.”

His proclamation turns your eyes into somber, sparkling oases, but there’s also a contradictory smile on your lips.

“You’re right.” Your hand rises to swipe at the corner of your eye so no tears actually fall. “He was so, so fucking loved.”

After you sniffle a couple times, Jungkook moves his hand to cradle your face and run his thumb across your cheekbone.

“Speaking of people Jungkook loved, I should probably tell you what Jennie and I talked about yesterday,” he states.

“What do you mean?” 

He clears his throat before dropping his hand and encasing one of your own. He rolls your fingers around while mentally hyping himself up, his anxiety about your reaction deterring him from speaking just yet.

“My brother adored you more than he could ever put into words. You were never just my girlfriend or wife to him, but a best friend and confidant. And he believed in you more than anyone else in the world. It was actually one of the last things we spoke about.” He takes a deep breath in preparation for his proposal. “So, because Jennie isn’t comfortable running Kookie’s alone with my financial backing, she and I agreed what Jungkook would want is for you to turn it into your very own bakery.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull, and Jungkook initially takes it as a positive sign, but then you begin vehemently shaking your head.

“No, no, no. I couldn’t. Kookie’s was his baby, I could never just… No. Absolutely not.”

“Y/N —”

“No, Jae.” 

The next thing he knows, you’re standing up and rushing towards the kitchen. 

“Baby, where are you going?”

“What if I fuck it up, huh? What if I do that and it’s a total disaster and I sully the name of Kookie’s forever?” You run your fingers through your hair with a humorless laugh. “Jungkook put his everything into that place. He worked harder than anyone I know to make it what it is. Who the hell am I to step in and turn it into something else?”

He can’t tell you the truth; that you’re who he loves most in the world, second only to his twin. 

“You’re the one person he would want to do exactly that,” Jungkook counters.

“Why don’t I just help Jennie with the bar? Then she won’t be all by herself,” you suggest.

“Sweetheart, you’re a baker, not a manager.” 

“And Kookie’s is a bar, not a bakery.” 

Your steadfast refusals make Jungkook groan and rake his hands down his face. 

“Why don’t you believe me when I say this is what Kook would want? Me and Jennie both think so!”

“Because it’s one of the last things left of him in the world, Jae!” The tears from before quickly return as your voice breaks. “We sold his apartment. His motorcycle’s under a sheet in our garage. He’s buried six feet in the ground. But that building was his and it meant everything to him. I can’t… I can’t lose any more pieces of him.” 

Jungkook’s heart breaks at the sight of you crying over him yet again. You’ve been doing so well lately, but now you’re shaking and helplessly wiping away your tears.

“Baby,” he coos while closing the gap between you. “Can’t you see this is how we prevent that from happening?” When you glance up, Jungkook cups your face in his hands. “Jennie’s running herself ragged trying to handle everything. I can’t possibly manage a massive corporation and a dive bar. But if you breathe new life into it, Kookie’s will flourish into something even more extraordinary than it already is.” 

“But what if I let him down?” 

He reassuringly smiles and shakes his head.

“That’s not possible. Even if it crashes and burns, Jungkook will be so fucking proud of you.”

“Yeah?” 

The slight hint of belief in your voice brings him more joy than he can even express, but it manifests as him pressing his forehead against your own. 

“Without a doubt,” he whispers. 

You reply with a watery giggle before rising to your tiptoes for a hug. Jungkook automatically reciprocates, enveloping your waist and tugging you as close as possible while your cheek falls onto his shoulder.

“Thank you.” After pulling away, you trail your hands down his arms until you can slot your fingers together. “But I want to ask your parents first. It wouldn’t feel right moving forward without their permission.” 

“‘Course, I think they’ll appreciate that.”

Not only is Jungkook right, but his mom begins hysterically crying because she’s so thrilled about the idea. Of course, there are still plenty of administrative details to be sorted out before moving forward. But at least everyone’s on board now, and since Kookie’s is already registered as a food establishment, switching the business license and other legal documents should be easy. 

Him and Jennie agree to permanently close Kookie’s bar in thirty days and from there the three of you will work on transforming it into Kookie’s bakery instead.  

With such a big hurdle off Jungkook’s plate, he can finally focus entirely on his new role as CEO of Jeon Industries. It’s hard to believe he’s going into his second month already. Although he’s gotten a hang of it for the most part, there’s still plenty to learn. 

It certainly doesn’t help when everyone walks on eggshells around him because they know about the recent tragedy he experienced. He appreciates people’s sympathy, but it’s hard to adjust to his new career when most employees run in the opposite direction or dance around certain questions. 

Except for one person.

For whatever reason, a young administrative assistant has gotten the bright idea that a grieving man is more prone to cheat than one who isn’t. 

She isn’t his assistant, although she works on a team of direct reports, so Jungkook can’t necessarily avoid her. He’s spoken to his actual assistant about the issue, but is still hesitant to make a big fuss when he doesn’t know the company culture yet. Since discussing it with Mr. Park, she’s been kept at an arms length by only assigning her to group projects so he can avoid one-on-one interactions. 

It’s not like she outright flirts with him or gropes him in the employee lounge, but Jungkook knows when someone’s eyeing him. Between bringing him coffee and purposely leaning across his desk to incessantly peering inside his office to ask if he needs anything, her crush on him is more than obvious. 

He knows the behavior only began after he took over because he asked Mr. Park if it was normal, under the guise of not having noticed it before, and his assistant vehemently assured him it isn’t. Not to mention, Jaehyun wrote detailed notes about his on and off the clock life and none of them mention her. 

Jungkook’s yet to broach the topic with you because he doesn’t want you to worry or overreact. There’s nothing on earth that could ever make him look at anyone but you, and he’s also hoping the situation will diffuse on its own. 

If that were his only problem, he’d honestly have a lot less headaches. Alas, he has to pretend to know what he’s doing when he’s quite literally flying by the seat of his pants. 

Thankfully, Mr. Park is brilliant and totally understands his situation. Albeit, he believes it’s because of grief and not Jungkook’s complete lack of knowledge about the corporate world. 

The only silver lining is Jungkook’s a business owner himself; he knows all about profit margins, budget cuts, and enterprise risk management. The difference is Jeon Industries is a tech company, so he’s probably the least qualified person on the planet to be running the show. Hell, the computer at his apartment was still from 2009. 

Today’s a tough one in particular. Jungkook’s already been to three meetings and the clock hasn’t even struck noon. Plus, his first quarterly board meeting is this afternoon and one of the members is his very own father. If anyone’s going to see through him, it’ll be him. 

His dad personally trained Jaehyun to follow in his footsteps. So if Jungkook isn’t the absolute pinnacle of professionalism during this meeting, it could ruin everything. 

“Mr. Park,” Jungkook calls for him with a wave about an hour before showtime. 

His assistant saunters in with practiced elegance and it immediately lifts some weight off Jungkook’s shoulders. At least if he’s off his game today, Mr. Park can step up to the plate.  

“Mr. Jeon,” he greets him.

“As I’m sure you can tell, I’m not as prepared as I normally am for this. So, if you could ensure I don’t make a complete fool of myself, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

Mr. Park smiles and bows his head. 

“Of course. That’s what I’m here for, Mr. Jeon.” There’s a moment of silence before he clears his throat. “Actually, there’s something I’d like to add. If I may?” Jungkook nods. “Well, you’ve been back for just over a month, and I know it’s been quite hectic following your absence. Hence why I didn’t mention this before. But… you know you don’t have to call me Mr. Park, right? At least, not when we’re in private.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly recovers with a head shake and soft chuckle. 

“Right. I’m so sorry, Jimin. I think I’ve been overcompensating so much these last few weeks that I completely forgot about our usual decorum.” 

Jaehyun always referred to his assistant by his surname, so Jungkook had no idea they dropped the formality when alone together.

“It’s not a problem, Jaehyun. Just figured I would let you know.” 

Honestly, the sound of his first name, well, not his original one, puts his mind at ease even more. Jungkook isn’t used to strict corporate lingo, so this is much more comfortable and familiar in comparison. 

He and Jimin go over the meeting agenda together so Jungkook feels as prepared as possible before the receptionist calls to inform him the board members have arrived. 

After entering the conference room with Jimin hot on his tail, he pauses to take a few deep breaths. His eyes scan the room until he finds the only familiar face, who smiles back at him like the proudest man in the world. 

“Long time, no see, son,” his dad greets him with a warm hug. 

“Always a pleasure, Mr. Jeon,” Jungkook responds through a lighthearted laugh. 

He proceeds to shake hands with the remaining board members prior to everyone sitting around the large table. 

The first half goes even better than expected and Jungkook believes, for maybe the first time, that he might actually pull this off. But that changes when one of the board members pipes up during a transition between topics. 

“Jaehyun, I think we should take some time to discuss your brief hiatus from the position,” they state. 

Jungkook has to control his face, since his initial thought is how that has anything to do with the meeting.

“Discuss what, exactly?” 

His eyes flash towards his father, who appears equally confused.

“Well, given the circumstances, of which deeply affected not just one, but two members of this board, I believe it’s about time we talk about business continuity.”

“Business continuity?” 

It takes a lot of freaking willpower to keep his annoyance from sneaking into the question.

“Yes. It isn’t exactly conducive to progress if we lose our CEO and head of the board for an extended period of time,” the man explains. 

Jungkook slides his hands below the table before anyone sees him ball them into fists. The sheer audacity of this man to talk about his brother’s death like it’s something impeding their business is outrageous.

“Well, chairman, I don’t believe we have to worry about that considering I don’t have any more twin brothers to lose,” Jungkook sneers, as professionally as he can. 

“Jaehyun —”

“That’s Mr. Jeon… To you.” That sure shuts him up and after an unbearably awkward silence, Jungkook clears his throat. “Shall we proceed, gentleman?”

Everyone nods and although the room is filled with tension for the remainder of the meeting, it continues without any more hiccups. 

Afterwards, while Jungkook mingles with other board members, he notices his dad pulling the problem child aside. He excuses himself to join them, but before he’s able to reach the two men, he sees his dad dig his pointer finger into the man’s lapel.

“If you ever attempt to use my son’s death as a means of furthering your own agenda again, I will see that you never work another day in this industry. Are we clear?” His father threatens. 

“That’s not —”

“No? That wasn’t a soft launch for your family taking over this company if mine were suddenly incapable?” Jungkook’s dad scoffs. “I built this place from the ground up and it will remain in my name, and my name only, until the day it goes under. I’d sooner entrust it to my brilliant daughter-in-law than the likes of you.” He takes a single, daunting step closer to the board member. “Do I make myself clear, chairman?”

“Crystal,” the man flatly replies.

He rushes past Jungkook once the conversation ends as his dad steps closer to him.

“Thank you,” Jungkook says.

“No need, son.” His dad affectionately clasps his shoulder. “You handled it perfectly. I’m very proud of you.”

Following a deep sigh, Jungkook smiles before they decide to divide and conquer the rest of the board members. 

When he arrives home later that evening, you’re still at Kookie’s drawing up floor plans for the new layout with Jennie. It’s been about two weeks since the decision, but you’ve been cruising full speed ahead to transform it into your dream business. 

Jungkook heads straight to the home office beside the master bedroom so he can finish some leftover tasks before you come home. He hates working when you’re around, since he would much rather be spending time with you. Unfortunately, he isn’t even close to being done by the time he hears the door click shut. 

“Honey?” You holler from the first floor.

You appear in the doorway of the office soon after, but Jungkook only greets you with a quick glance and a wave. 

“Sorry, baby, I was hoping to be finished already,” he explains. 

The next thing he knows, your arms are around his neck and your head’s resting atop his. It’s almost comical how much comfort it brings him, as though a physical weight ascends off his shoulders just because you’re near. 

“That’s okay.” Your hands slide down until you can grab his own and hold them to his chest. “I just hope you aren’t stressing out about everything again.”

He chuckles. 

“When do I not?”

Jungkook hears you softly hum in his ear before you drop his hands to turn his head towards you. Your lips immediately land on his and it sets his entire body alight. He pulls you into his lap as his fingers sink into your hair, giving him complete control over the kiss. 

It isn’t heated or rushed, and yet there's more passion behind this lip lock than some of your steamier make outs. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You whisper. 

He shakes his head.

“Just this.”

His mouth conquers yours again, causing you to whimper as his tongue traces the seam of your lips before pushing inside. 

You two continue to kiss for some time, neither of you paying attention to the ticking clock on the wall. Not even Jungkook, who really should be considering he has so much still left to do. 

Eventually, his looming tasks weigh down on his brain enough to pull back and rest his forehead against your own. 

“Fuck, I could do that all night long,” he tells you through a smile. “But I gotta get this done first.” 

“What is it?” 

Jungkook faces his desk again and moves the various papers around so you can see. In turn, you lay your head on his shoulder while surveying all the different files. 

“Budget approvals, board notes, project management,” he lists. “You know, the usual.”

“That’s a lot, baby,” you counter. 

“Yeah, but it could be worse.”

“Are you sure you don’t need something to help you destress? I mean, you could be at this all night.” 

“What do you have in mind?” He thinks it’s a completely innocuous question, but rather than responding, you slide off his lap and onto your knees in front of him. “Woah, woah, wait.”

His eyes almost bulge out of his head as he grabs your forearms to stop you.

“What’s wrong?” 

You’re glancing up at him with the prettiest, shiniest eyes he’s ever seen and he swears his dick’s already rock hard just by looking at you. 

“Baby, you… you don’t have to do that.”

Your face of confusion tells him everything he needs to know before you even reply.

“But I want to,” you argue. “I haven’t tasted you in months. It’s killing me, to be honest.” 

Jungkook damn near whines out loud. He even has to let go of your arms so you don’t feel his hands shaking. He’s dreamed of having you in this exact position for well over a decade and he knows he isn’t strong enough to resist when you’re practically begging him.

This is also the moment of truth, because although he’s seen you naked plenty of times now, he’s been careful to only let you see him shirtless. Therefore, if for whatever reason he isn’t an exact match to Jaehyun, shit will genuinely hit the fan. 

“I know, but I don’t know if I’m ready to reciprocate just yet,” he claims. 

“That’s fine. It’s not a tit for tat thing.” Your hands slide up his legs and Jungkook automatically shutters. “Besides, that mouth of yours is always worth the wait.”

Shit, it’s good to know his brother was a munch. Then you won’t be suspicious when Jungkook eats you out for hours on end like he plans to the first time he gets a chance. 

The feeling of your fingers running up and down his inners thighs is like medieval torture. You look so damn pretty with those plush lips and rosy cheeks, and he doesn’t know how to say no to that face. He doesn’t want to say no.

There’s no reason to, right? For all intents and purposes, he is Jaehyun, and if this is going to last a lifetime, he has to stop being such a coward about intimacy.

He takes a deep breath while observing your seductive expression in order to memorize the sight. It’d be a crime if he weren’t able to recall exactly how you looked before he felt your lips around him for the first time. 

“Okay.”

His approval makes your eyes flicker alive and Jungkook naturally holds his breath as your hands roam to undo his belt. He lifts his hips so you can roll his slacks down, but the sound of his belt buckle meeting the floor sets off his entire nervous system. 

The problem is you’ve been giving Jaehyun head since you were a teenager, but this is a novel experience for Jungkook and he’s terrified his reaction will give him away. Especially considering he probably won’t last more than a couple minutes, if that. Not when it’s you who’ll be sucking him off. 

Clearly, he isn’t doing very well at shielding his anxiety because you pause and glance up just before your fingers graze his bulge.

“Honey, you're shaking.”

“Ye… yeah.”

“I don’t have to do this,” you note. “It’s supposed to help you relax, not the opposite.”

Jungkook mindlessly nods while racking his brain for a reasonable response. In truth, his head feels completely empty at the moment.

“I know, baby. And I really, really want you to. I just, I don’t know…” 

“Look, just take a nice, deep breath.” You inhale so he’ll follow suit. “And don’t focus on anything but me, okay?”

Unfortunately, that’s the problem. 

He takes your advice in part, though, and decides to focus on the sensations instead; how your hands feel on his legs and the way your breath tickles his skin. 

“As if I could ever think about anything else,” he teases to lighten the mood. 

His comment elicits a show stopping smile, but Jungkook doesn’t get to witness it for long because you quickly bend over to place a kiss on his twitching cock. Even through the fabric it feels like a lightning bolt down his spine and he nearly jumps from his seat as his hands ball into fists. 

You snicker while continuing to kiss him over his boxers. It turns Jungkook into a whiny mess, but his temperament seems to be encouraging because you lay your tongue out and glide it along the outline of his shaft. 

“Oh, fu — fuck, baby.” 

Jungkook’s head tips back in ecstasy, which is pretty embarrassing when you haven’t even touched him yet. He could honestly come from this alone, and he’s sure you can tell. So, he implements every ounce of strength he has to keep himself in check. 

Your mouth’s already driving him crazy, but nothing could prepare him for you hooking your fingers into his waistband and tugging his boxers to the floor. 

He sucks in a sharp breath of anticipation as he awaits your possible negative reaction, but you simply hum and slide your hands back up his legs, allowing him to exhale in relief. 

“God, I missed you,” you mumble under your breath before wrapping your fingers around his cock. 

Jungkook almost loses his goddamn marbles from that single touch alone. The sensation of your soft, delicate digits on his skin is incomprehensible and he can only imagine how amazing your mouth will feel. 

He doesn’t have to wait much longer to find out because following a couple languid strokes, you begin kissing and licking his tip. 

You moan over the taste of his precum while circling your tongue across his head. He’s been leaking since you two first kissed and you’re making quick work of swallowing it all. 

Jungkook doesn’t dare lift his head to watch in fear of busting right then and there. Just knowing you’re tasting him for the first time is enough to send his mind spiraling, not to mention actually feeling your tongue on his skin. 

After some time of you slowly jacking him off and teasing his tip, you start suckling on his head with feather light pressure. It’s worse than a death by a thousand cuts, and Jungkook whimpers as one of his hands encapsulates your own on his thigh.

“Sweetheart, pl — please.”

When you giggle, the vibrations shoot down his dick and make him groan like you’ve mortally wounded him.

“If you want me to suck your dick, you gotta watch me do it,” you taunt. 

Lord have mercy.

Jungkook obeys regardless of the danger, and of course, seeing you mere centimeters away from his cock with your hand wrapped around his base almost stops his heart. 

“Oh, my baby,” he sighs. 

On instinct, his opposite hand rises to pet your hair and tuck some behind your ear, letting him fully admire your pretty face and swollen lips. 

You innocently blink up at him like you aren’t holding his sanity in your palm. He wishes he had a camera to capture the moment forever, but he settles on maintaining eye contact until you sever it by licking his shaft from base to tip. 

The wet friction causes him to brutally cry out and he’s forced to squeeze his eyes shut to stay calm. You don’t stop, either, despite your warning about him watching you work. Instead, you repeat the same motion over and over until his whole cock is shiny with saliva. 

“You taste so good, Jae.”

“Fuck.” His chest is rising and falling like he just took a shot of pure adrenaline. “Keep… keep going. Please.”

Jungkook can’t stop his thighs or hands from trembling, but he manages to open his eyes in time to witness you taking his head inside your mouth again. Unlike before, you don’t spend time teasing him and immediately guide him deeper down your throat. 

With every inch you swallow, Jungkook feels his rational slipping further away and his nonsensical noises of pleasure grow even louder. His grip on your scalp also tightens to the point your hair naturally knots around his fingers.

You hum at the sensation as your head continues to descend until your nose is buried in his pubic hair. Once there, you hold still and swallow a couple times so your throat constricts around him. Jungkook gasps and yanks on your hair in response, all while his neck cranes back yet again. 

“Shit, that feels so fucking good.”

His praises must be good motivation because before Jungkook can even wrap his mind around you actually doing this, you begin bobbing at an ambitious pace. 

Gone is any playfulness as you hollow your cheeks and repeatedly envelope his length with expert precision. Each time you complete a lap, you make sure his entire shaft sinks down your throat. You’re also still humming with your tongue pressed against the underside of his dick so it’s perfectly wet and sloppy. 

Speaking of, the sound of his cock moving in and out of your mouth is obscene, especially in combination with his endless panting and moaning. But it doesn’t seem to phase you in the slightest while you breathe through your nose and continue without reprieve. 

Jungkook’s been given his fair share of blowjobs, and even without considering this is something he’s yearned for since he was a teenager, it’s easily the best one he’s ever received. 

Not only is your mouth unbelievably warm and soft, but you know exactly how to keep your lips in a taught circle. Couple that with the tightness of your throat and friction from your tongue, and he’s already a goner. 

This must just be the skillset one acquires after sucking the same dick for fifteen years. 

“Y/N… sweetheart… holy fucking shit.” 

His words may be aimless and partially slurred from how drunk he is off the euphoria you’re providing, but it spurs you on. As soon as he finishes rambling, your head speeds up and you start swirling your tongue around the ridge of his cock every time you reach his tip. 

The new wave of effort sends Jungkook into a tailspin. Both his hands ferociously clench and his teeth grind together with a strained grunt. It feels so amazing he can’t comprehend reality anymore and he knows if he glances down at you, he’ll bust. 

“God — ah, fuck.” 

He’s not even sure how long you’ve been sucking him off; time seems to be simultaneously moving at light speed and standing totally still.

An intense vibration rolls down his shaft when you moan over his senseless praises. Afterwards, you slow down by using the tip of your tongue to trace his thick, pulsing veins and lap up the precum on his slit. 

“Come for me, baby,” you beg between licks. “Make me choke.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus.”

Alright. Time to hold a seance with his brother so he can explain how his sweet, lovely wife ended up with such a filthy fucking mouth. 

Not that Jungkook minds, but his poor balls that are unbearably heavy from how badly he needs to come are demanding an answer. 

You bring him between your lips again with a snicker, sheathing his entire cock deep inside your esophagus. When the action makes you gag and choke, Jungkook whines as his fingernails scratch your scalp. Besides the sound itself turning him on, the sensation of your throat tightening is ethereal. 

It certainly doesn’t take him long to heed your demand. Not when you’re harmoniously bobbing and sucking like your only job all these years was giving head. 

“Y/N, I’m gonna…” The mere hint that he’s close makes you work even harder to break him off, nearly shattering his subconscious in the process. “Holy shit, baby!” 

He squeezes his eyes shut again while using your hair to ground himself. As if anything could possibly save him now. 

When he comes, it’s with an exuberant, broken scream as his thighs shake and his balls pump semen into your mouth. His dick twitches erratically where it’s buried down your throat, but you stay still so you can swallow every last drop. 

Jungkook practically wails in ecstasy while you suck and lick along his shaft until he’s completely spent. In fact, he’s so delirious by the time his orgasm ends he doesn’t even register you pulling back with a wet pop. 

“Jae?” You call when he doesn’t budge for a full thirty seconds.

“I’m… okay…”

His current state causes you to giggle.

“Wow, you really know how to make a girl feel like she did a good job.”

He chuckles, although it’s weak.

“I’m not even trying, sweetheart. I just can’t fucking think right now.”

You rise from your knees before gently tugging his chin down so your eyes meet. 

“That good, huh?” Jungkook slowly nods with a glassy, faraway gleam. “I’m pleasantly surprised. Most of the time I can’t make you come from oral alone.” 

Damn, Jae, didn’t realize you had the stamina of a fucking ox. 

Then again, maybe Jungkook would have the same ability if he’d been getting his dick sucked like that since he was sixteen. Lucky bastard.

“It’s been a while,” he defends.

“Worth the wait?”

Jungkook enthusiastically nods.

“You have no fucking idea.”

His response produces another laugh from you as you bend down to kiss him. 

With him obviously less stressed post-orgasm, you leave him alone with his work so you can start dinner. It takes Jungkook a few minutes to get his head back in the right place for completing all his tasks, but after another hour or so, he files the paperwork away in his briefcase.

Once his work’s done, he spends some time digesting what actually happened. He still can't quite grasp the reality of your lips wrapping around his cock or you swallowing his cum like your favorite drink. Logically, he knows you believe you’ve done so countless times as his wife, but that doesn’t make it any easier for him to compute. 

He also feels a little sick to his stomach, because every time his eyes close he pictures his twin looking at him in disgust. 

Jungkook understands how wrong this all is, but he can’t bring himself to regret his decision. Not when he can see how happy you are. If he hadn’t taken Jaehyun’s place, there’s no possibility of that being true today. 

He just has to remind himself he didn’t do this to get you on your knees. He did it to protect you; to keep you from experiencing the utter torture of losing the man you love. That’s not to say Jungkook isn’t also reaping the benefits of his choices, but whatever positive consequences there are, they aren’t purposeful.

Said benefits only escalate following that evening. Not only because Jungkook’s gradually becoming more comfortable being intimate with you, but due to the increased difficulty of resisting you.

Like this morning, when he wakes up to find you in the skimpiest tank top and short-shorts known to man. At the exact moment he reaches the kitchen, you happen to bend over to pull your treats out of the oven, giving him a perfect view of the light pink, silky fabric riding up and showing off your ass. 

Jungkook genuinely has to bite his fist to keep himself from moaning aloud, but it doesn’t prevent his eyes from rolling back. If he had less moral fortitude, he would slam the oven shut and take you right here and now. Alas, he isn’t an animal, no matter how much you make him feel like one sometimes. 

“Morning, baby,” you chirp after setting the tray down and turning in his direction. “Sleep well?” 

“Mmhm,” he responds through tight lips. When your eyebrows rise in evident suspicion, he fakes a cough. “Sorry, uh, you’re just…” After a second, he decides to simply concede with a laugh and disbelieving head shake. “You’re just so goddamn sexy, baby.” 

“Oh? You don’t say?”

You’re sporting a sly smirk which tells Jungkook you were expecting that reaction and he suddenly gawks at your trickery

“Wait a second. Is this little ensemble on purpose?” 

You shrug and giggle to yourself before turning around to place the freshly baked desserts on a cooling rack so you can move the second batch into the oven. 

The realization you’re actually trying to seduce him almost knocks him onto his ass. For starters, it’s not even remotely necessary, but secondly, you should never feel a need to do so. He’s supposed to be your husband, and if you’re unaware of exactly how much he craves you, then it’s his job to show you.

Hence him stepping forward so when you face him again, he can snatch your waist and effortlessly lift you onto the counter. 

“Woah!” His actions leave you giggling with a faint pink blush on your cheeks. “What do you think you’re doing, Mr. Jeon?”

Jungkook snickers while kissing along your neck and exposed shoulder.

“Well, Mrs. Jeon, I’m putting this pretty outfit of yours to good use.”

As his lips travel across your skin, his hands trail up your inner thighs so he can pry your legs apart and stand in the open space. From there, he inches his fingers upwards until he can feel the heat radiating from your core. 

“And how do you plan to — mmph.”

He silences you with a searing, messy kiss; his tongue slipping inside your mouth and swirling around until you whimper.

“Like this,” he whispers against your lips.

Not even a second later, he thrusts his two middle fingers into your cunt before silencing your zealous moan with his mouth. 

One would assume you’re who will receive the most pleasure from his behavior, but Jungkook’s moan is almost louder than yours. He can’t help it when he’s finally feeling the inside of your pussy for the first time. You’re just as warm, soft, and tight as he always imagined and the sensation of your walls clamping down on his digits is already driving him insane. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Jungkook begins curling his fingers so he can explore all of you, and especially find the spots that make you tick. “I almost forgot how amazing you feel.”

You hum between smooches.

“Then maybe don’t wait so long next time,” you tease.

When he smirks at your remark, it momentarily severs your kiss. 

“Oh, it won’t ever happen again. I promise you.”

With that, he forces his fingers deeper inside you and starts pumping them at a rapid pace. The change in tempo makes you gasp and whine as your head drops to his shoulder. Your hands also rise from the countertop so you can hold onto his biceps for dear life. 

You’re not the only one slowly losing it, because Jungkook can barely think straight. Of course, he can’t. Your walls are relentlessly pulsing and every inch of you feels like heaven to touch. Not to mention how reactive you are. Every time he pushes his digits in and makes a come hither motion, you moan directly into his ear. 

If it’s this amazing with his fingers inside you, he doesn’t even wanna think about how wonderful it’ll feel to have your velvety cunt wrapped around his cock. 

Jungkook isn’t the type to focus on his own pleasure, so as much as he wants to stay buried in you forever, he pulls his hand back to massage your clit instead. You immediately cry out and dig your nails into his skin, the taught circles he’s drawing leaving you desperate for an anchor. 

You’re so wet it’s almost too easy, but he still glides his fingers through your folds every so often to gather your arousal. 

“Ja… Jae,” you whimper when he applies more pressure.

“That feel good, baby?” Rather than answering, you keen. “You like it when I stretch you apart with my fingers, huh?” 

“Please.”

“Please, what?” 

His opposite hand tips your chin up so he can see your eyes, which are watery from the intense pleasure he’s providing. 

“Don’t stop.” 

A sinister smile appears as he mocks you with a head tilt.

“What was that, sweetheart?” He instantly retracts his hand and you whine even louder. “Tell me what you want.”

“Jae —”

“Nuh uh. I didn’t ask what my name was.” Jungkook squishes your cheeks to purse your lips. “Tell. Me. What. You. Want.”

When he releases your face, your mouth ends up forming a natural pout. He has no idea if Jaehyun ever teased you during sex, but he loves how cute you look when you beg. 

“Please, baby, I want you to fuck me.”

Jungkook doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to hearing such dirty words fall from your mouth. 

“Yeah? You mean like this?” 

Only his fingertips return to your core as he teases you by lightly tracing your slit, causing you to arch into him and whimper.

“No.” You melodramatically shake your head. “I need more.”

“More?” When his thumb just barely grazes your clit, your whole body lurches forward. “You’re so sensitive, baby.”

“That’s because I need you so fucking bad.”

It genuinely seems like you’ll start crying if he continues, so as much as Jungkook’s enjoying this, he wants you to feel good more than anything else. 

“You need my fingers?” 

He thrusts his middle digits back inside while keeping his thumb on your clit to give you multiple points of friction. 

“Mmhm.”

“And what do you want me to do with them?” Before you can answer, he spreads them apart to stretch your hole even more. “Something like this?” You aggressively nod and it makes Jungkook snicker in satisfaction. “Alright. I’ll take care of my pretty little wife.”

After alternating a couple times between slowly curling and scissoring again, he adds a third finger and marries the pace with his thumb. 

Each time he pushes into you, both a wet squelch and breathy moan floods the air between your faces. Jungkook eventually kisses you so he can drink up every noise you make, but he could listen to you whimper and pant forever if you let him.

It’s hard to focus on the dual movements of his hand and mouth, not necessarily because of the multitasking aspect, but because his brain always goes blank when he touches you. 

He still can’t get over how soft your pussy feels or how warm your mouth is against his own. You’re a real life dream wrapped up in pretty, pink silk that he wants to shred with his bare hands. But this is enough for now; watching you writhe on the counter because of what he's doing to you. 

Just then, the oven timer goes off and you immediately attempt to pull back. 

“Baby,” you mumble into the kiss. “The cookies.” 

“Not until you come for me,” he orders while gripping your face tighter to keep you still. 

His fingers move with even more fervor, causing your moans to grow in volume and pitch. You’re practically yelping into his mouth and it makes Jungkook’s head spin with desire. 

“Fuck, right there.”

“Go on, baby. Make a mess for me.”

You enthusiastically whine when your body tenses and your pussy releases all over his fingers. It’s immaculate, to say the very least, experiencing your walls constrict before totally relaxing again. They become even more swollen and slick after, sending Jungkook’s eyes into his cranium. He honestly believes he could come just from feeling you do so.

“Jae,” you cry as your entire frame shakes against him.

“I know, I know.” 

He continues to fuck you through the orgasm while gently nipping at your lips. His soft kisses are the complete opposite from how he’s spooning essence out of you and using it to rub your clit. It’s the perfect dichotomy between love and lust that he’s certain is only prolonging your euphoria.

Just before pulling his hand away from your core, he lets go of your face so he can fumble around the counter for the pot holder. Once found, he uses one hand to open the oven and yank the treats out so they don’t burn. He then kicks the door shut and flips the heat off in one smooth motion.

As soon as he leaves your cunt empty, you grumble in disappointment while another pout appears on your lips. 

Jungkook giggles at the adorable sight before giving you a quick peck and lifting his hand so he can lick his digits clean. The very instant he experiences his initial taste of you, he groans so loud it vibrates his chest and his eyes close out of pure bliss. 

“Fuck,” he grunts around his fingers. “S’fucking delicious.”

He isn’t even close to being done enjoying your sweetness when you tug his hand towards your own mouth and wrap your lips around his first three fingers. Jungkook’s eyes fly open because of your sudden boldness, but they quickly turn heavy as he watches you suck your cum off him. 

“Like what you see?” You ask after releasing his digits so you can lick his palm instead. 

“Christ, Y/N. You’re gonna make me bust without even touching me.”

You giggle and drop his hand with a final swirl of your tongue around his thumb. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Ah, so he and his twin were both entirely helpless before you. 

Jungkook kisses you again in lieu of a response, mostly because he doesn’t know another way to express how utterly obsessed with you he is. You two proceed to make out for a gluttonous amount of time; far too enamored with one another to stop despite the smell of fresh baked goods wafting in the air. 

Eventually, you manage to separate long enough for Jungkook to help you off the counter so you can check on your creations. 

“Not too burnt, I hope?”

“Nope! All thanks to your little trick.” You wink at him before flipping over the macarons to inspect them. “Little crispy, but nothing I can’t fix. I’m just recipe testing, anyway.”

“How’s the menu coming along?” 

You rest your back against the opposite counter so you’re facing each other.

“Pretty good. I’ll have all my staples down once I nail this recipe.” Without looking, you twist one arm behind you to grab a treat. “I also decided to name each one after our friends and family.”

“Oh?” 

“They’re based on everyone’s favorite recipe of mine. So I’ve got Jungkook’s chocolate chip cookies, Jaehyun’s blueberry scones, Jennie’s banana cream tarts, Y/N’s vanilla cupcakes, my mom’s dark chocolate fudge brownies, my dad’s coffee cake, your dad’s strawberry strudel, and these are your mom’s red velvet macarons.” 

“Wow, sweetheart,” Jungkook cheers. “You’re moving right along.” 

“Oh, yeah. This bakery’s going to be legendary!” You toss a cookie at Jungkook this time. “And I’ll be taste testing so many desserts I’ll probably double in size before the new year.” 

He snorts.

“Yeah. Sure you will, Cupcake.” Jungkook turns around to grab a drink from the fridge following his comment, so he doesn’t witness all your features expanding in shock. It isn’t until he faces you again that he sees your expression. “What’s with the face?”

“You just called me Cupcake, Jae.”

Although Jungkook’s heart sinks into his stomach, he plays pretend by scrunching up his face.

“No, I didn’t.” 

“Yes, you did.”

“You probably just heard me wrong. Sweetheart sounds pretty similar.”

No, it doesn’t, you flippin’ idiot.

As expected, you disagreeably shake your head. 

“No way. I know what I heard. I’ll never forget what that sounds like.”

Alright, onto plan B. Play dumb. 

“Well… maybe I did? I don’t know. I can’t remember. But it must have been a Freudian slip or something.” 

That makes sense, right? You just mentioned the word a moment prior so it would still be fresh in his head. 

Thankfully, you nod.

“For sure. It just surprised me, that's all,” you explain. “I miss hearing it so much. I found this video from our vacation to the States a few years ago and you hear Kookie call me that a couple times. I watch it on bad days.”

“You still have bad days?” You nod again, albeit much more solemnly. It’s a silly question considering he still has them, too. Both of you probably always will, but that’s why having one another to lean on is so important. “Will you show me?” 

With utmost enthusiasm, you whip out your phone and join him on the opposite side of the kitchen. You turn the device horizontally after finding the video in question, which has a little star to show it’s one of your favorites. 

When the video initially begins, you and Jaehyun are staring into the camera while setting it up. Then his face turns towards you with a soft, adoring smile because you’re still obsessively tweaking the angle until it’s just right. 

“Why are we doing this again?” He asks without ever breaking his ardent gaze.

You twist your head to answer him.

“So we can take photos together. We’ll pose in front of this and then screenshot the ones we like,” you explain. 

Jaehyun’s mouth forms an O of realization before he steals a smooch just as Jungkook walks into frame.

“And what are the lovebirds up to?” He calls from the kitchen behind you and Jaehyun.

It feels weird seeing him and his brother on screen together. Sometimes he forgets there were originally two of them. He wasn’t always alone. There was a time not too long ago when he was truly happy and whole. 

“Setting up the camera,” Jaehyun answers him in the video. “Also Y/N made pancakes, but someone slept through breakfast.”

On screen, Jungkook’s mouth drops open before he scurries over to you both.

“You’re kidding,” he huffs. “Cupcake! How could you betray me like this?”

Your eyes crinkle in the corners when you giggle at his antics and even through the phone, Jungkook can feel your joy.

“Well, I know how you love your sleep,” you defend yourself.

He scoffs and theatrically crosses his arms. 

“Yeah, well, I love you and you’re baking much more.” You send him an affectionate eye roll as Jaehyun strolls out of frame, but you can still see your interconnected hands refusing to part until the very last moment. “Will you make some for me?”

“What? It’s almost lunchtime.”

“Please, Cupcake?” Jungkook’s sporting both the biggest puppy eyes imaginable and a deep pout. “For your favorite brother-in-law in the whole wide world?”

“You’re my only —”

“Oop! Still your favorite.”

A good ten seconds passes with Jungkook’s past self waiting in eager anticipation for you to fold. Which you do following an adorable giggle.

“Fine, fine,” you concede. “Because you’re my favorite, I suppose I must.”

Jungkook’s bellowing, proud laugh echoes through the phone as he follows you into the kitchen right before the video ends. 

Once the screen goes dark, a tandem sniffle breaks the silence. You and Jungkook each turn your heads and unsurprisingly, find matching bittersweet expressions that you chuckle over together. 

“He was such a little shit,” Jungkook states while swiping at a stray tear. 

“Yeah, but he was my little shit.” You dry your eyes as well before pocketing your phone and facing him. “Not a single day goes by that I don’t think of him.”

He warmly smiles and tucks some hair behind your ear.

“Me, too.” His fingers trail down until he can cup your jaw. “You wanna talk to him? He’s getting antsy in here.”

Hearing you giggle at his question makes everything feel worth it. Jungkook could listen to your laugh on repeat and still never get sick of it. 

“No, just tell him to keep his voice down. I don’t need any more surprise ‘Cupcakes’ breaking my heart without warning.” 

Jungkook nods and bends down to give you a brief peck. 

“I’ll let him know,” he tells you. 

You proceed to finish up your recipe testing while Jungkook works on the administrative paperwork involved in changing the bar into a bakery. Next month renovations begin, so you two will be a lot busier overseeing everything.

He’s still busy at work, too. Following the board meeting, even more projects and approvals land on his desk until he's practically drowning in files. Being at home smelling whatever dessert you’re currently perfecting would be so much nicer. Alas, he’ll be stuck in this stuffy office for the next thirty or so years. 

At least there’s good coffee in the employee lounge and he can escape his duties to pour himself a cup. He’s only just set his Jeon Industries mug on the counter to grab a snack from the staff pile when he hears someone filling their own cup behind him. 

His head whips around in an instant because he knows there wasn’t enough left for more than one cup. Sure, he was going to start another pot after, but now he’ll have to wait. 

Except once he faces the fellow employee, he realizes it’s the last person he ever wants to encounter. The young admin assistant who’s borderline obsessed with him is standing barely a foot away and she steps even closer to offer him the full mug.

“Here you go, Mr. Jeon,” she chirps. “I figured you could use a hand since you’re so busy all the time.” 

“That’s not necessary, Mrs. Kim,” he flatly responds.

“Ms.” 

Jungkook knows this, but he purposely uses the wrong honorific in hopes it’ll pose as a reminder that he has a missus himself.

“Right.” As smoothly as possible, he side steps around her to create some distance. “I appreciate the gesture, but I’m more than capable of pouring my own coffee.”

“Oh, I know.” Unfortunately, she follows him over to the counter where he’s readying another pot. “But you have so much on your plate already. It’s the least any of us can do to help out.” His blood runs cold when he feels her fingers on his bicep. “Especially considering what you’ve been through.”

He shakes her hand off like it burns before sliding away towards the fridge, and luckily, she doesn’t encroach this time.

“I’m doing just fine, Ms. Kim,” he declares. 

She’s sporting an over exaggerated frown now and although she probably believes she looks adorable, Jungkook wants to yack.

“Well, the whole team is always available if you need anything, even just someone to listen.”

The whole team. Right. 

“I’m very blessed to have a wife who listens to me whenever I need it.” The young woman’s face contorts with deep green envy and it actually makes him feel a little better. She could use a good knock down a couple pegs. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Wait, what about the coffee?” 

The drink still lies in her hands which are outstretched between them and Jungkook’s almost tempted to accept it so he doesn’t have to wait another fifteen minutes. But he also refuses to give off the impression he enjoys her advances.

“No need. I’ll just have Mr. Park bring me one.” 

With that, he bolts from the room as professionally as possible.

He breathes a sigh of relief upon removing himself from the situation. It’s been a while since he’s had to deal with her one-on-one because of Jimin’s clever workarounds, so he isn’t used to fending her off. 

She seems to be growing bolder, and he wonders if it’s about time to tell you about the situation. It would be disastrous if something happens and then it seems as though he was hiding it from you.  

When Jungkook arrives home for the evening, you’re in the kitchen with a romcom on in the background like usual. It’s clear you hear him enter because you throw out a, “Hi, honey!” without looking away from the dough you’re rolling.

Unfortunately for you, Jungkook refuses to be without your attention for even a single second. So, he strolls up behind you so he can engulf your waist and tug you into his chest. 

He immediately begins peppering your neck and profile with kisses while you giggle and squeal in delight.

“Baby!” 

“Oh, I love you so much,” he growls into your skin. “My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

“My hands are covered in dough, Jae,” you warn him.

Jungkook merely snickers and trails his lips back down your throat. 

“Then cover me in it, too, while you’re at it.” He doesn’t know what he’s expecting following that comment, but it isn’t you spinning around in his arms to push your hands into his face. “Ack!”

You cackle relentlessly as you spread the sticky ingredient all over, including getting plenty inside his mouth. 

“You mean like this?”

“Jesus… baby… I concede! Have mercy!” 

Once your hands fall away, Jungkook seizes the opportunity to snatch your waist again and rub his face against your own to transfer some dough onto you. You quickly screech and shove him away, but he’s already mirroring your mischievous laughter from a moment ago.

“Meanie,” you pout while wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“You started it!”

Like the mature adult you are, you stick your tongue out at him. Yet you also hand over a rag so he can clean up his own face. 

“Did it at least taste good?”

Jungkook snickers at your priorities.

“Delicious as ever, sweetheart,” he assures you.

A comfortable silence moves through the room after Jungkook tosses the towel beside the sink and you return to your creation. 

It’s honestly fantastic witnessing your magic. You always look so calm and content when you’re baking. Sometimes he’ll just sit across from you on one of the bar stools with a lovesick grin on his face. 

In fact, Jungkook gets so lost in admiring you he misses the start of your next sentence.

“… so we should go this weekend.” 

Upon realizing he zoned out, he shakes his head. 

“Sorry?” 

You chuckle.

“I said, with renovations starting soon we won’t have much free time, and we haven’t gone ice skating yet this year. So, we should go this weekend,” you explain. 

Ice skating, also known as your and Jaehyun’s favorite winter pastime. You’re both excellent at the sport, since you learned as a child and proceeded to teach Jaehyun. Jungkook was offered lessons multiple times, but never accepted for fear of falling for you even more during your one-on-one time. 

Now the decision’s biting him in the ass because his lack of skill will instantly give him away. He could decline with the excuse of not feeling it this year, given the circumstances, but he knows you’d benefit from some normalcy. Plus, ice skating in particular always makes you happy. 

He’ll just have to find a solution this time and then get private lessons so he’s ready for next year. 

“Sure, baby. Sounds like a plan.”

Now all that’s left is to actually think of a plan.

By Saturday morning, he decides to fake an injury once you arrive at the ice skating rink. That way you can still partake in your favorite activity while he watches safe and sound from the sidelines. 

His acting debut begins the moment you two kiss goodbye so you can each change into your skates in the gendered locker rooms. Jungkook waits with one skate on until he receives a text stating you’re ready. From there, he limps into the arena, aided by the disproportionate weight of the single skate. 

When you spot him exiting the locker room, your eyes widen and you scurry over as fast as you can in skates.

“Honey! What happened?” 

You look so distraught over him being in pain he almost forgets the whole thing in lieu of some lame excuse for the loss of his previously honed skills. 

“I took a tumble trying to walk and chew gum at the same time,” he jokes. 

A half scoff, half chuckle leaves you while guiding him into a seat.

“Are you alright?”

“It hurts, but it’s nothing some rest won’t fix. I twisted it, that’s all.” 

“Well, we should go home and —” 

“What? No. You should still go out there. We came all this way, you’re already wearing your skates, and it’s your favorite sport.” He cradles your cheek with a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, baby. I’ll have just as much fun admiring you from right here.”

“Jae,” you whine.

“Nuh uh. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

He kisses away your pout before you reluctantly agree and help him elevate his “bad” leg. You attempt to stay a little longer, but he gives your ass a nice, firm spank and demands you go have fun already. 

You do as he says, but not without teasing him about staying put on your way into the rink. 

Jungkook’s never actually witnessed you skate, but boy, is it a sight to behold. As you are with everything, the second your blades hit the ice, you look so graceful you could be a professional. And besides your evident talent, you’re sporting the most gorgeous, joyful grin he’s seen on your face in a long time. 

You steal his attention with an endearing wave during your first lap and he eagerly returns the gesture. 

There’s nothing he cherishes more than seeing you like this, and it’s a reminder of why he chose to live out the rest of his life as his brother. To keep that beautiful smile right where it belongs. 

After about an hour of skating in your own little world, along with multiple visits to the railing near Jungkook, you exit the ice with a winded, but content expression.

“Woo, I might be out of practice,” you claim.

“Look who’s talking,” Jungkook counters while pointing at his ankle.

You laugh and bend down to remove your skates before offering your hands to help him stand. He’s already taken off his singular skate, but continues the ruse by limping alongside you en route to the car. 

“I hope you still had fun, even from the sidelines,” you tell him during your walk through the parking lot.

“Of course, I did, sweetheart. I love watching you enjoy yourself.” He disappointedly clicks his tongue. “I am sorry I wasn’t out there with you, though. I know it’s our thing, but I hope you still managed to have a good time.”

Before you’re able to answer, an interruption in the form of someone calling for him ceases the conversation. 

“Mr. Jeon!” 

Even without turning around, Jungkook knows who’s hollering, and his stomach sinks. 

Your hands are currently intertwined, so when you pivot to locate the source, it forces him to follow suit even though that’s the last thing he wants. If he were alone, he would just pretend he didn’t hear anything.

“Hi, Mr. Jeon,” Ms. Kim repeats once she’s closer. “Fancing meeting you here.” 

Jungkook chuckles awkwardly, which causes you to glance in his direction with an arched eyebrow. 

“That it is,” he cordially responds. “Sweetheart, this is one of our admins, Mrs. Kim, and —” 

“Oh, it’s Ms.”

The unnecessary interruption leaves Jungkook gritting his teeth as your second brow rises to meet the other. 

“Right. Ms. Kim, this is my wife, Y/N.”

You outstretch your hand and open your mouth to greet her, but she beats you to the punch with an aggressive hand shake. 

“It’s so lovely to meet you, Mrs. Jeon. I’ve only heard wonderful things.”

“Well, I sure hope so,” you chuckle, although it’s hollower than normal. 

“What brings you two here?” 

He would do literally anything to end this conversation, but not if it’ll make you any more suspicious. 

“Uh, it’s kind of our thing,” he answers. 

“Really? It’s my sister and I’s as well. We come every year.”

“That’s so sweet,” you interject. 

In an act so obvious Jungkook’s eyes almost bulge from his head, she completely ignores your statement by pivoting her body so she’s directly facing him and him alone.

“You know, maybe we could do a work event here. You and I could teach everyone else how to skate,” she proposes. 

If he could hop in Jaehyun’s casket six feet under at this very moment, he would. In what world does this woman believe that's an appropriate thing to suggest at all, let alone in front of his wife?

“The company usually prioritizes events where everyone can participate without needing to be taught.” 

“Oh, right. Well, maybe just you and I could come then. Like, while we’re on our lunch break or something.”

His brain short circuits. Because did she really just ask him out in front of his wife?

It’s clear you also realize how blatantly audacious she is when you scoff and shake your head in disbelief. 

“No, I don’t think so,” he firmly rejects her. “I’ve only got one skating partner, Ms. Kim, and she’s right here.”

Jungkook throws his arm around you, but he feels you shy away from the touch. It sets his nerves on fire and he looks down to check your reaction, but all he finds is a blank, annoyed expression.

“Of course, so silly of me to even ask,” she rambles in embarrassment. “Well, uh, it was nice seeing you, Mr. Jeon, and nice meeting you, Mrs. Jeon.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you reply through a clenched jaw. 

Following an irritatingly cheerful wave, she leaves you two alone to enter the arena. 

The very second she’s out of sight, you turn on your heel and stomp towards the car. At which point Jungkook scrambles after you so he can remedy the situation. 

“Baby —” 

“What the fuck was that, Jaehyun?”

Jungkook blinks a couple times in shock.

“Okay, woah. No need to use the government name.”

“This isn’t funny,” you sneer.

“Sweetheart, she’s just some young, dumb admin assistant with a crush on me. It’s not a big deal. Especially when I think I make it very clear I’m not interested,” he explains.

“Wait.” You throw your hands up while your brain decodes his words. “That sounds like you’ve dealt with her before.” When Jungkook doesn’t deny the claim, your jaw drops. “I’m sorry, are you telling me this wasn’t the first time?”

He has to be extremely careful moving forward. He’s never been in a relationship, so this is technically his first real fight. 

“Yes, but nothing to this extent.” You immediately open your mouth to respond, but he stops you with his hand. “Listen, all she ever does is bring me coffee and spark up surface level conversations, but I already spoke to Jimin. He keeps her far, far away from me most of the time so we only interact in group settings.” 

 You scoff and cross your arms.

“Oh, so you’ve got some pretty young thing hand-delivering you coffee now?” 

Jungkook gawks at the accusation.

“I never accept it!” 

“But it happens enough that you had to talk to Jimin about it? I mean, why does she even still work for you?” 

“Because she may be annoying and naive, but I don’t want her to lose her job. I mean, who knows what her situation is like,” he tells you his reasoning. “She’s harmless, Y/N.”

A head shake is your initial reply.

“No. That was not harmless, it was infuriating.” 

“That was out of the norm, alright?” 

“I don’t care, Jae!” He’s hopeful you’ll present an actual resolution, but you just question him again. “How long has this been going on, anyway?” 

He gnaws on his lower lip, but not because the answer is bad, it’s just painful.

“Since Jungkook died.” Just like his own, your face falls a little. “I think she has this strange idea that a grieving man is more likely to cheat than one who isn’t.”

“Is he?” 

His train of thought comes to a steaming halt as his eyes widen and a deep frown overtakes his face.

“How can you ask me that?” Not only does your question sting, but he feels offended on behalf of his twin. Because the idea of Jaehyun, who loved you more than life itself, ever cheating, is downright preposterous. “I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen, and you think there’s even a chance I would stray for some little corporate girl who uses wedding rings like dating apps?”

When you simply shrug, it breaks his heart.

“It would explain why we haven’t had sex in months. They always say if your man isn’t sleeping with you, it’s because he’s getting it from somewhere else,” you accuse him.

He can’t even begin to comprehend you reaching that conclusion. Isn’t his utter devotion to you as transparent as the sky? Then again, it’s his own fault for not being able to meet your needs and therefore making you think he doesn’t want you.

“Is that really what you believe?” You shrug again. “Y/N, you know why we’ve been slow to start again after everything. I explained why I’m not ready and I thought you understood. I’m trying, baby. I swear, I am, but I just can’t yet.”

The sincerity in his tone in combination with his somber, guilty expression causes your anger to completely melt away. 

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.” Hope soars in his chest when you step closer until you’re only inches apart. “You’re right, that wasn’t fair.” Your hand rises to comb the front pieces of his hair back. “I trust you, okay? I think that little altercation just got the better of me.”

Jungkook sighs in relief while cupping your face in both hands. 

“I’m sorry, too. I should’ve told you what was happening, but I didn’t want to stress you out when you’re working so hard on the bakery,” he claims. “You must know by now I’ve only had eyes for one woman my entire life. And no one could ever pull my attention away from her.”

Despite not being your actual husband, the statement still stands. 

“I know,” you whisper. The two of you exchange matching grins before Jungkook leans in for a kiss. “I love you, Jae. And I’m sorry again.”

He shakes his head.

“No need.” Your lips meet once more like it’s just second nature. “But I love you, too, Y/N.”

An hour or so later, you two stumble into the house with both your lips and limbs intertwined. 

Since Jungkook’s never had a real relationship, he’s also never experienced make up sex, but he always pictured it being like this.

As soon as the front door slams shut, he pushes you against the nearest wall and traces your curves. Upon reaching your hips, he hooks his arms beneath your thighs so he can force you to koala him. Then he pins you in place with his pelvis before grinding into you.

You moan into his mouth and tug on his hair when his semi-hard cock teases your cunt. But neither action is necessary to understand what you need; even through the layers of clothing separating you, he can feel the heat between your legs calling to him.  

Jungkook leaves your lips alone to kiss your neck instead, causing you to whimper and pant something reminiscent of his name. Or at least, the name you believe is his.

“We don’t… we don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for,” you reassure him.

“I know,” he grunts between the hot, sloppy kisses he’s painting on your throat. “Just wanna make you come. You need to know how fucking badly I want you.”

His lips soon descend towards your collarbones while he clutches the collar of your sweater and yanks it wide open to expose your bra. It has a zipper, so he doesn’t actually ruin it, but he absolutely would’ve without any hesitation. 

One hand travels up from your waist to cup your breast as the other shoves your bra down so his mouth can latch onto your exposed nipple. It elicits a desperate whine from the back of your throat and you even begin bucking your hips to gain more friction.

In return, Jungkook’s ravenous with your tits; squishing and squeezing one while sucking on the other until your nipple’s almost painfully hard. He then scrapes the pebbled skin with his teeth before using his tongue to soothe the ache. 

Your enjoyment is obvious and Jungkook’s soul lights up with pride every time he hears a breathy moan above him. Hell, if it weren’t for bills needing to be paid, he would dedicate all his time, even his entire life, to pleasuring you. 

In a perfect world, he’d have the time to fuck you so good and so often your body would react to him solely on instinct. He’d be able to make you come on his hands, mouth, or cock with only a single touch because you would be habituated to the sensation. 

But it’s fun having to work for it, too. He’d love to spends hours, days, and weeks exploring every inch of your body in order to discover what makes your back arch and toes curl. 

Hence why he’s kissing and licking across the swell of your breasts so he can switch sides. His mouth repeats the previous process while he twists your opposite nipple between his thumb and forefinger to keep it erect. Once both nubs are swollen and covered in his saliva, he pulls back to admire his handiwork. 

“God fucking damn,” he curses under his breath. 

Your chest’s heaving from all the adrenaline and it makes you look even more delectable. 

“Honey, please.”

Jungkook’s eyes flicker up to meet your own which are silently begging for more. So, he grants your wish by smashing your lips together as he engulfs one of your tits in his big hand. 

“You think you can come just from this, baby?” 

You enthusiastically nod mid-kiss.

“Yes. Fuck, yes. Please make me come.” 

He doesn’t need any further instructions. 

His free hand glides down your thigh so he can tighten your leg around him, bringing your bodies close enough for you to feel his dick pressing against your core. Once he finds the perfect spot, he starts feverishly rolling his hips as though he were actually fucking you.

It turns your moans into high pitched shrieks of ecstasy as he animalistically devours your mouth and massages each of your breasts.  

In the meantime, you scratch down his back and rake your fingers through his hair like it’ll keep you from drowning in the heat of the moment. To your benefit, even though your mind’s clearly frazzled, you’re still grinding into him at a harmonious pace. 

Jungkook’s going to come soon, that’s for sure, and he can’t believe this will be the second pair of boxers he creams in. Perhaps a younger version of himself would be embarrassed, but today he’d willingly ruin every article of clothing he owns to be with you like this.

“Shit. Just don’t stop and I swear, I’ll fucking bust any second,” he tells you.

You don’t reply besides a noise of acknowledgment he silences with more passionate kisses. 

True to his word, Jungkook’s abs clench, his heavy balls contract, and his hips falter before all his muscles relent and he groans against your mouth. You follow just a second behind with a loud whine while your legs shake around his waist. 

The tandem highs last for quite some time before you slowly stop humping one another. After another minute or so passes, your bodies finally stall and you’re both left panting into the small space between your faces.

Jungkook laughs after catching his breath, a sanguine smile on his lips.

“We didn’t even make it three feet into the house.”

You giggle.

“Eh, that’s par for the course, right?”

Damn, his brother really was the luckiest man in the world. He can’t even imagine all the mind blowing sex you two had over the last decade and a half if this is considered normal. 

“I promise, it won’t be like this forever. I’m sorry it’s taking me so long,” Jungkook states.

“Take as much time as you need, baby.” With a doting grin, you reach up to brush back the hair that fell out of place during your endeavors. “I know it’ll be nothing but pure magic when it finally happens.”

You can certainly say that again. Six months may be a long time, but Jungkook’s waited his whole life to be with you. He’s actually terrified he’ll give himself away if he can’t control his reaction to being inside you for the first time. 

The following Monday, Jungkook tells Jimin to let Ms. Kim go, or at the very least, move her to another team. As much as he doesn’t want to ruin her career with Jeon Industries, he refuses to allow anyone to disrespect you. Plus, if she’s that bold when you’re there, he doesn’t want to consider what she might do if she gets him alone again. 

There isn’t much drama at either work or home after that. Which is great because renovations have begun on the bar and you’re both putting all your effort into finishing the project.

The menu’s complete at this point, although you’re still testing seasonal recipes. Most of the time you work on designing the new interior layout and decor. You’ve already tackled the marketing materials, setting up the business spending account, and filing taxes.

You don’t want to change too much because the whole point is for it to still feel like Kookie’s bar, but there are some necessary adjustments for the business to flow properly. The first obstacle was the massive neon sign on the front of the building. You’re keeping the Kookie’s logo the same, but adding the words “Family Bakery” just below it in a complimentary font. 

It feels fitting because you always saw Jungkook as family, and he legally was. Plus, it highlights the passing of the establishment from one family member to the next. You tell Jungkook you think he’d like the choice since it means both Kookie’s and Jeon Industries will officially be Jeon family businesses. 

Jungkook assures you that you’re right while hiding how misty his eyes are because of your explanation.

You two are heading there today to paint the back office. Everything else is brick due to the building’s age, but Jungkook previously tore down a wall to create a place for all the paperwork and financials. As with most of his personal design choices, he painted the room black. It’s obviously not your vibe, so you’re going with a light, neutral color instead. Since it’s a relatively small space, you didn’t see a need to hire real painters. 

After arriving around noon, you hold the door open while Jungkook lugs the supplies in from the car. Once everything’s set up in the back room, including taping all the moldings and laying a tarp on the floor, he pops open the paint can. 

The light shade of pinkish beige practically screams your name, and it’ll look beautiful with the aesthetic of the rest of the bakery. Even if the room’s only for your use, Jungkook wants it to be nice and most importantly, for you to be happy. 

He stirs the paint with the stick before pouring a liberal amount in the paint tray. After he stands up, you pass him a matching edging brush to the one in your hand. 

“You ready, partner?” Jungkook asks with a gentle slap on the bill of the hat you’re wearing. 

“Let’s do this,” you cheer. 

You focus on the lower part of the room while Jungkook tackles the upper half. It’s an easy decision to make considering you’re rather terrified of ladders and heights in general. 

It takes just over an hour to cover all the edges, at which point you break for a quick snack before starting on the main surface area. Since the walls are currently black, it gives the neutral color some depth you weren’t expecting. You debated on painting it all white first as a base, but the man at the paint store assured you it would be alright. 

“Do you like it so far, baby?” 

Jungkook kneels again to add more paint to the tray so you can coat the large paint rollers you’ll be using for the remainder of the project.

“I do! It looks really pretty.” He stands at the same time you hand him one of the tools. “Thank you for helping, honey.”

With a wave, he rejects your gratitude. 

“Oh, please. We’re in this together.”

“Damn right!” 

You both lean in for a smooch before facing away from each other to begin painting your respective walls. It’s much easier when you’re covering a large area, and you end up meeting in the center of the final wall only twenty minutes later.

Following the final stroke of Jungkook’s roller, you harmoniously sigh while stepping back to admire the job well done. 

“Fuck yeah,” he shouts. 

Your head turns in his direction as you giggle. 

“Easier than expected, huh?” 

“Yeah. In fact, I’m kinda sad it ended so fast.”

“Why? Do you find this kind of activity enjoyable?” 

Jungkook clicks his tongue before gazing at you with a lovesick smile.

“Anything’s enjoyable with you around, my sweetheart.” Cue an adoring eye roll. “But I don’t know. I guess I just thought there would be more opportunities to tease you or mess around.”

“While painting?”

“Mmhm.”

His reasoning makes you chuckle, but Jungkook’s deep in thought. He observes you for a moment while his brain churns for an idea. When it settles on something fun that also won’t be too destructive, his eyes come alive. 

Without you noticing because you’re still staring at the walls, Jungkook bends down and dips his palm in the leftover paint. He then slowly rises to his full height again so you don’t suspect anything. 

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

As soon as you turn, he clutches your face with his paint-soaked hand and slides it over so your nose, brow, and opposite cheek also get smothered in the color.

Your jaw drops with a sharp gasp, contrary to your eyes squeezing shut in clear annoyance. 

“What. The. Fuck.”

Jungkook’s too preoccupied laughing and cradling his stomach with his clean arm to respond. You honestly look adorable despite the massive, pink hand print and smear marks. Especially when he focuses on all your scrunched up, angry features. 

“You look so damn cute, baby,” he giggles.

“Cute? This is cute to you?” 

“Fucking precious.”

You thoughtfully hum while bending down to coat your own palm in paint. 

“Well, I wanna see you looking cute, too.” 

Unlike his approach, which was relatively gentle, you smack your hand right on the apple of his cheek and totally squish his face when you spread the paint around. Jungkook yelps and attempts to shove you away, but you’re merciless. Eventually, he gives up on trying to stop you in lieu of simply returning the favor. 

He grasps your chin again and starts moving his hand everywhere in reach while you do the same to him. The reciprocal antics cause you both to break out into hysterical laughter, but you still manage to continue painting one another. 

Somewhere between the giggles and shrieks, Jungkook gets the bright idea to expand his expedition. While still pushing on your face, he uses his free hand to scoop up more paint. This time, he splatters the side of your neck before dragging the color down your collarbones and chest. 

“Jae!” 

He squeezes your tit for good measure, leaving a perfect handprint on your shirt. 

His opposite arm follows suit to create streaks of pink along your torso and he even travels to your back so he can grab your ass with both hands. By now, you’ve gotten the memo, and choose to dip your other hand in the paint as well. You smear the liquid all across his abs until deciding to coat his throat and shoulders.  

You two are cackling like hyenas as you ceaselessly mark each other. Thankfully, you both wore old clothes for the job, so nothing of importance is getting ruined. 

After who knows how long, there’s a silent, unanimous truce and you slowly back away from one another while your chests rise and fall with adrenaline. 

Jungkook surveys your current state before glancing down at his own body and chuckling at how truly insane you each look. 

“See, wasn’t that so much more fun than just finishing the room?”

Your eyes flicker up with a theatrical glare.

“Oh, yeah. It was a total blast,” you flatly remark.

He knows you genuinely did enjoy yourself, so he taunts you with a playful head tilt and cheshire grin while approaching you one step at a time. 

“C’mon, sweetheart, just admit you had fun.”

“No.”

You cross your arms over your chest, but there’s a hint of a smile on your face that reveals your true emotions.

Once Jungkook’s close enough, he captures your waist and nuzzles his head against your neck. It automatically elicits a bellowing laugh as you return his embrace by rising to your tiptoes.

“I had fun,” you whisper. 

Jungkook smiles and presses a couple soft kisses to your skin before standing up straight. 

“I knew it.”

“But now we have to figure out how we’re getting home like this.”

“Oh… I didn’t think about that.”

“You don’t say?”

Your classic sarcasm makes him roll his eyes, but he also gazes around the room for a solution. He locates one in the form of the extra tarps you brought just in case, which he steals from the floor to present to you. 

“Tada!”

It’s your turn for an eye roll as you snatch the bright, blue plastic from Jungkook’s hands and head towards the exit. 

“You can make up for your shenanigans by cleaning all this up,” you holler from the bar. 

Jungkook doesn’t argue, especially when he was planning on telling you to relax while he takes care of everything, anyway. Once the paint can and tools are all stored away, he leaves the office with the second tarp tucked under his arm.

You two decide the best option is to cover the car seats with the tarp, as opposed to wrapping the plastic around yourselves. It works well enough, and by the time you arrive at home, you and your clothes are still the only things doused in paint. 

The front door clicks shut behind Jungkook as you each carefully remove your shoes and travel towards the bedroom to clean up. 

“We should probably hop straight into the shower,” Jungkook suggests. 

“Agreed. You wanna go first?” 

It takes him a second to answer because he has to work up the courage first. 

“Why don’t we just shower together?”

Your eyes broaden in surprise, but they very quickly become crescents when you smile at the proposal.

“Really?”

Jungkook nods.

“Really. C’mon.” 

He takes your hand to lead you into the en-suite where he instructs you to strip and drop the tainted clothes in the bathtub since it’ll be easier to clean. Meanwhile, he twists the faucet to start the water before stepping out of his clothes himself. 

This is actually the first time you’ll be seeing him fully naked. But even though you’re unaware of that, he feels nervous about turning to face you after placing his shirt and jeans in the tub. 

Of course, there’s no reason to be. Your eyes light up once you see him as a knowing smirk forms on your lips.

“Well, hello, handsome,” you drawl. 

Jungkook attempts to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks by looking away, but it’s absolutely useless. 

“Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

It’s the truth by a technicality, since he and Jaehyun are identical. 

“And yet I never get tired of it.”

All he wants is the attention off of him, so he uses your wrist to tug you closer until you’re chest to chest.

“Ditto.”

“You wanna prove it?” 

You send him a challenging eyebrow raise and Jungkook can’t resist smirking in response. 

Rather than answering, he wraps his arm around your waist and begins walking you both backwards into the steam. He uses his free hand to slide the glass door open before guiding the two of you under the water. Once his back hits the marble tile, he cradles your cheek so he can pull you in for a kiss. 

His tongue immediately presses against the seam of your lips and you part them without hesitation. As he licks inside your mouth, you whine and drive your nails into his shoulder muscles. It’s difficult to hear much over the rapid stream from the faucet, but Jungkook soon joins you in zealously moaning the longer you lock lips.

Between the paint, hot water, and undeniable sexual tension, it’s easily the sloppiest kiss you’ve shared as of yet. Streaks of light pink are running down your naked bodies before swirling around the drain and the shower water’s mixing with your spit while your tongues chase one another.

Jungkook’s hands choose to explore your back and neck, but yours seem to be everywhere all at once. He feels your fingertips on his pecs, down his abs, and dancing up his spine. Every single touch gives him goosebumps, although his brain isn’t powerful enough to focus on the different sensations. 

Ironically, it’s easier making out when there’s water involved. It not only allows your lips to effortlessly mold together, but your bodies as well. Your every curve is aligned with Jungkook’s without any room in between and he can practically feel your heart thumping beside his own. 

“I love you,” Jungkook professes when you break for air. His hands return to your face so he can tilt your head up and admire you. There’s still some paint around your nose and eyebrows, but it doesn’t stop you from being the most beautiful view in existence. “So fucking much, Y/N.”

You flash him an infectious smile despite the mundane nature of the phrase. 

“I love you, Jaehyun.”

“You wanna prove it?”

The callback to your earlier comment makes you giggle as you stretch up on your tiptoes for another kiss. 

“And how would you propose I do that?” You playfully inquire. 

Jungkook holds off on verbally replying to grab your waist again and spin you around until you’re the one against the tile. Then he sinks to his knees without ever breaking eye contact. 

“Just don’t ask me to stop,” he instructs. 

Your eyes fly wide open when he hooks his arms around each of your legs and hoists you unto his shoulders. The sudden movement causes you to gasp and clutch his hair for support, but he certainly doesn’t mind the ache. 

He waits a couple seconds but when you don’t protest, he finally glances down at your pretty cunt. 

It’s his first glimpse of you up close, and the sight elicits multiple nonsensical curses as he admires your swollen, wet folds. He’s encountered plenty of pussies in his day, and none of them even come close to you. 

“God, I am gonna fucking eat you alive.” 

That’s the last thing he says before shoving his face between your thighs and dragging his tongue up your slit. His initial taste of you is magical, idyllic, and goddamn mind numbing. He groans so loud you feel the vibrations in your core, evident by how you shiver in his arms. 

After that, he repeats the same motion relentlessly; over and over again so he can swallow every last drop of arousal you’re producing just for him. You’re so sweet it’s like eating candy, or more appropriately, the desserts you create. 

Jungkook can tell the difference between the liquid pouring down around your bodies and your cum. Unlike the shower water, your essence is slick and sticks to his tongue until he’s able to curl it into his mouth. That’s how he knows you’re already soaking wet and it isn’t just from you standing beneath the faucet. 

The amount of essence leaking from your hole fills him with pride and encourages him to keep going so he can swallow more. Honestly, he could just eat you out for the rest of his life and be satisfied. 

Your thighs are shaking on either side of his head and he knows it isn’t from physical weakness, but what he’s doing to you. Especially because he’s got his arms firmly wrapped around your thighs and is even supporting your hips with both hands. 

He loves that he has such a debilitating effect on you. All he ever wants is to make you feel good, writhe in pleasure, and scream so loud your voice becomes hoarse. Although, he plans on going until he’s too spent to continue, regardless of when you surpass those goals. 

“Fuck, baby,” you whine while latching on tighter to his hair. 

Feeling your fingers scratch his scalp makes him moan into your cunt, especially in combination with the sound of your breathless voice. 

Jungkook decides to switch tactics by circling your clit with the tip of his tongue. The change prompts you to yank on his hair and aggressively moan, which is precisely what he was hoping for. He alternates between figure eights, ovals, and short flicks so he can stimulate your nerve endings in multiple different ways. Each one produces a new response, although it’s clear when he flattens his tongue and starts sucking he’s found a winner. 

Your hole clenches around nothing as more cum drips down your folds and coats his chin. The satisfaction it brings him is undeniable, and he continues without restraint while you cry out and mindlessly string curses together. 

“Honey, I’m… Holy shit, I’m gonna come.”

He shakes his head when he moves back down so he can thrust his tongue directly into your cunt.

“You don’t have to tell me every time. I assure you, it won’t be your last,” he tells you. 

Your pussy flutters around his tongue as he pushes it deep inside you to lick along your inner walls. You’re gushing at this point, so much that he has to pause every once in a while or else he might literally drown in you. 

Even without your warning, Jungkook knows the exact moment you come. Not only does he feel your muscles clench, but all of a sudden the whole bottom half of his face gets covered in arousal. 

He happily drinks up every last drop while holding you tight so you don’t fall over from the intense orgasm. Your whole body convulses in his arms as you grasp his hair like you wanna rip it right out of his scalp. You’re also endlessly whimpering and it’s music to Jungkook’s ears, both literally and figuratively. 

It’s apparent when your high begins to ebb, and even more obvious how sensitive you are afterwards. So Jungkook stays away from your clit to give your body some time to settle. In the meantime, he lazily makes out with your pussy. Both his lips and your folds are puffy from all the friction, but it only makes the act more enjoyable. He adores how soft and warm you feel against his mouth. 

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he praises while glancing up from between your legs. You look completely fucked out; flushed red from all the adrenaline with watery eyes and parted, dry lips. “Does it feel good?”

You aimlessly nod.

“So, so good.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook twists his head to kiss your inner thigh. “You want more?”

“I want you,” you declare. “Just keep fucking me ‘til the water runs cold.”

His chuckle meets your wet skin as he continues trailing his lips back to your core. 

“The water doesn't have anything to do with it, baby. I’m going until I’m finished with you. Not a second sooner.”

The conversation ends there when he wraps his lips around your clit again. You gasp and instinctively force his face closer to your center, encouraging him to suck harder and flick his tongue over the swollen nerve endings. 

“Fuck,” you sob before muffling yourself with your hand which was previously gripping the wall. 

For the most part, Jungkook just repeats all his tricks but at different speeds and out of order from the first go around. He does try a couple other strategies, like spitting into your hole and then fucking his saliva into you. 

Once his greed surpasses what his mouth can accomplish, he reaches up with one hand to grope your breast. The new sensation causes you to exuberantly moan and arch your back, so he takes it as a green light to continue squeezing and massaging you as well as tweaking your nipple. 

A second orgasm approaches even quicker than your first and before the water temperature even begins to change, you’ve already come a third, fourth, and fifth time. Jungkook isn’t even tired yet, either. He could keep you here all night, but he knows your body won’t allow that.

Following your last climax, you’re nothing more than a ragdoll in his arms. He can’t see your tear stains due to the water, but he can tell you’ve been crying because your eyes are swollen and red. Your hold on his hair is barely existent anymore and your legs haven’t stopped trembling since orgasm number three. 

Jungkook’s currently giving you another break by kissing and nipping at your inner thighs. He definitely doesn’t want to be done with you yet, but if you can’t continue he’ll have to save his insatiable hunger for another day. 

“Can you give me one more, sweetheart?”

“Jae,” you groan like you’re in a trance. “Please.”

“Is that a yes?”

Your hazy, unfocused eyes flit down to connect with his own.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

The last thing he ever wants is to push you past your limit, but he also trusts you to listen to your own body. 

When you nod assuredly, he doesn’t question you and gives your skin one last kiss before diving in again. 

It’s no surprise you come barely a minute later. Your cunt is so overstimulated and sensitive by now almost anything would set you off. 

Knowing this is the end, Jungkook makes sure to swallow everything your body has to offer with lackadaisical kisses and licks through your folds. You taste better than he could ever imagine, and he’s already looking forward to his next feast. 

After he’s satisfied and you’re no longer twitching from all the consecutive releases, he gently returns your feet to the floor and rises to his full height. 

As soon as you two are standing nose to nose again, you collapse into him to lean your head on his shoulder. But he adjusts so your entire body weight can rest against him as he rubs your back and plants chaste kisses in your hair. 

With his free hand, he shuts off the water before enveloping you so you’re safe and sound in the cocoon of his arms. 

“You alright?” He whispers while resting his head on your crown.

“Mmhm,” you hum. “Thank you.”

Jungkook chuckles.

“No, thank you.” His lips find your temple for another smooch. “For the meal, that is.” Despite how weak you are, you giggle at the remark. “C’mon, baby. Let’s get you to bed.”

“It’s not even dinnertime yet.”

“I know, but you need to rest after all that.”

You don’t protest and let Jungkook guide you out of the shower into the main bathroom. He dries your body with a nice, fluffy towel, including wringing out your hair so it isn’t dripping wet anymore. Then he helps you step into a soft pair of pajamas. 

Once you look adorably cozy, he scoops you up bridal style to carry you to bed. You lay your head on his shoulder during the short trek and even though it’s a tiny gesture, Jungkook’s heart flutters all the same. 

He tucks you under the blankets and fixes your hair so it’s on the pillow rather than getting your back wet before stepping away to admire you. 

“Comfy?” You nod and snuggle deeper into the warmth of the bed. “I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready if you aren’t up before then.”

“Hmm? How are you gonna make dinner?”

“I’ll order in.”

All you do is hum in response while your eyes close and your lips part as you drift off into dreamland. 

Unlike the previous sexual encounters you two have had, Jungkook doesn’t find himself disappearing into his own head about everything. You, him, Jaehyun, all of it. For the first time, he just enjoys the experience for what it is and goes about his day. 

He hopes that means he’s one step closer to being able to give you all of him, but he isn’t planning on rushing into it, either. The most important thing is for him to be totally present in the moment with you when you make love for the first time.

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[wintrbears]

The Wife Trap: Part II continued...

Weeks go by in a flash as the renovations, stacks of paperwork, and lengthy to-do lists gradually get completed one by one. Now you’re only a few days away from the grand reopening. 

Besides Jennie, you also hired a fellow baker from college to help out and after a few months, you’ll reassess if you need more employees. 

You’re glowing these days because of the upcoming event on the forefront of your mind, and Jungkook loves being able to watch from the sidelines. You’ve always worked in the shadows; perfecting your craft over the years without ever showing it off. Now you’re about to shine for all of Seoul to see. 

Plus, witnessing you in a leadership role is amazing in and of itself. You always treat the people helping you with utmost kindness, but while still maintaining firm control of your vision. It’s obviously a natural position for you to be in, considering you’re thriving despite the pressure of opening your first business. 

Jungkook decides to take the latter half of the week off so he can assist with any finishing touches. Hence why it’s ten in the morning and he’s only just now getting in the shower. In contrast, you woke up a couple hours ago for the final walkthrough of the building. 

His phone dinged while he was showering, no doubt with a text from you stating you’re on your way back. Soon proven when he hears you rummaging around the bedroom after turning the water off. Which leads him to quickly dry off and wrap a towel around his waist so he can greet you. 

You’re facing away from him digging through your jewelry box on the dresser, but you must notice the door open because you make a noise of acknowledgment without looking up.

“Morning, beautiful,” he whispers with a kiss on the top of your head.

“Sorry, just one second. I need to find these earrings.”

Jungkook chuckles and heads across the room to find some clothes.

“Take your time.”

Upon locating the desired items, you turn in his direction while putting each of the earrings in. 

“Hey, since when can you sing?”

The question totally catches him off guard and he pauses like you’re controlling him in a video game as the shirt he just grabbed dangles from his fingertips.

“What?”

“You’ve never been able to hum a single correct note, but you were putting on a whole concert in the shower,” you explain. 

Jungkook’s instincts take over and he disagreeably shakes his head. 

“I think you were just hearing the music.” 

You chuckle.

“No, baby. It was a female singer and I heard a male voice.” 

“Right, I just meant it probably only sounded good because there was music playing.” It doesn’t seem like you buy the justification. Especially not when you tilt your head and flash a lopsided smirk that tells him you absolutely know he’s bullshitting you. “Alright. I… I took music lessons. Earlier this year.” 

The best lies are made up of half truths.

“Huh?”

“It’s our parents' 35th anniversary next year so Kook and I wanted to sing the song they danced to at their wedding during the party. Kook can hold his own just fine, but as you so kindly mentioned, I can’t sing for shit. So, I paid for some lessons.” 

The truth is the two of them really were planning on performing the iconic duet at their parents’ party and Jaehyun was actually going to get lessons, but they wouldn’t have taken place until a couple months before the event.

His explanation leaves you awestruck and you even shake your head like it’ll help you comprehend the new information.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Because it was supposed to be a surprise!”

“Are you still planning on going through with it?”

Jungkook shakes his head.

“It was meant to be a duet, but there’s only one of us now.”

You frown and cross the room so you can take his hands.

“I’m so sorry, honey. I’m sure it was going to be amazing and your parents would’ve loved it,” you assure him. “But at least you’ve got a new talent under your belt. Maybe you can show it off for me sometime.”

He smirks.

“You want me to serenade you, baby?” There’s a shy smile on your lips when you enthusiastically nod. “Alright. Just name the song and place and I’ll be there.”

A giggle of delight serves as your response before you pivot to finish getting ready for the day. 

Jungkook’s thankful that not only is he quick witted, but you trust him, or trust Jaehyun, enough not to poke holes in his sometimes shaky excuses. 

His twin being a terrible singer is a fact of the universe, so there’s no reason he should’ve ever been caught singing on key in the shower. He’s gotten a little too comfortable these last couple months, but he has to remember even the smallest detail could blow the whole house of cards away. 

On the actual morning of the grand reopening, in a stark contrast to your demeanor over the last few months, you’re more nervous than Jungkook’s ever seen you. 

You two are about to leave for the ribbon cutting ceremony prior to the opening and you’ve yet to stop pacing around the living room once in the past thirty minutes. Jungkook’s been trying to soothe you with encouraging words and calming mantras, but nothing’s working. 

“Sweetheart, we’re prepared for this. We’ve been ready for weeks now,” he reassures you. 

“But what if something goes horribly wrong or all these people show up and the desserts taste terrible? What if the lines are too long so everyone leaves or they think my speech is awful?”

“None of those things are gonna happen.”

“You don’t know that, Jae,” you argue.

After one final lap around the couch, Jungkook stomps over to halt you in your tracks by the shoulders. It forces you to meet his gaze, which is simultaneously stern and supportive.

“Even if all that happens, it doesn’t take away from how hard you’ve worked.”

You grimace as your lower lip anxiously trembles.

“But what if I let him down?” 

Those simple words alert Jungkook as to where your true nervousness lies. Now that he knows, he can better help you safely return to earth.

“You won’t. You can’t. There wasn’t a day of Kook’s life when he wasn’t immensely proud of you and today’s no exception. You could accidentally set the building on fire and he would still think the world of you,” he sincerely proclaims.

“Are you positive?” 

Your expression is a mixture between pitiful and downright terrified, and he’ll do anything to fix it. 

“You want me to ask him?” The idea grants him a small grin when you nod. “Alright. Give me a minute.” Jungkook closes his eyes and straightens his posture before nodding and humming as though he’s listening to someone on the opposite end of a metaphorical phone. “Uh huh. Yeah. Heard.” He hears you laugh and it automatically brings a huge smile to his face. After a few more seconds, he clears his throat and meets your anticipatory gaze. “He says if you don’t stop doubting yourself, he’ll have you smited.” 

Another giggle escapes you along with a loving eye roll.

“That’s such a Kookie thing to say.”

“Wait!” He throws his hand up and closes his eyes again like he’s intercepting another message. “He also says he couldn’t be prouder of you if he tried. And he loves you.” His eyes open as he sends you the softest, warmest smile. “So, so much, Cupcake.”

Your own eyes turn into massive pools of emotion, and although you don’t cry, you have to blink back the tears on your waterline.

“Thank you. I think I really needed to hear that,” you confess.

“Anytime. Now, c’mon. We’ve got a bakery to open.”

Jungkook steals your hand to physically tug you across the room and out the door. Everything’s already set up at the building so all that’s left is to show up, give a speech, and let the crowds roll in. 

When you arrive, Jennie, your friend Maddie, both sets of your parents, and some other loved ones are already gathered around the podium in front of the door, which is currently roped off by a big pink ribbon. The new neon sign is also covered by a sheet so it can have its own big reveal. 

You and Jungkook walk hand in hand across the street from the parking lot to join everyone, who all give you loving hugs and words of encouragement.

“Are you ready?” Jennie asks while clapping in excitement.

“Well, clearly you are more than me,” you tease.

She smiles before comfortingly leaning her head on your shoulder.

“It’s gonna be great. I just know it.”

As you reciprocate the affection by resting your own head atop hers, Jungkook can’t resist cheesing like a clown. Seeing his two favorite women in one place, sharing such a special achievement together, is beyond precious to him. 

The crowd is growing larger by the minute, with a handful of journalists from the press, a group of Kookie’s regulars, and bakery enthusiasts coming to survey the new establishment. Unfortunately, the more people who arrive, the more nervous you become. By the time there’s less than five minutes ‘til showtime, Jungkook has to squeeze both of your hands between his own to stop them from shaking. 

Once the clock strives twelve, a hush falls over the crowd and Jungkook turns to you for a final pep talk. 

“You got this, baby. The desserts are gonna speak for themselves and you’ve rehearsed your speech millions of times. It’ll be perfect.”

You slowly inhale while nodding your head.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got this,” you confidently declare.

Jungkook drops your hands to cup your face instead.

“I love you. I’m so damn proud of you. Now, go.” 

He bends down for a brief, ardent kiss before smacking your ass to send you on your way. You jump from the unexpected sting, but it also leaves you giggling as your nose scrunches.

“Alright, alright. I love you, too.”

You exit the alleyway you two were hiding in and step up onto the podium. He follows closely behind, planting himself just off to the side along with Jennie and his folks. 

“You nervous?” Jennie whispers to him.

“Me? Why?” 

“Like, on her behalf.”

Jungkook’s mouth forms a small O of realization, but he inevitably shakes his head.

“Nah. There’s nothing she can’t do,” he wholeheartedly replies. “Or you, for that matter.” Her eyes expand, clearly not having expected a compliment. “Kook would be so fucking proud of you, Jennie. And seeing you this happy…” He sighs. “It’s all he ever wanted.”

His words leave Jennie’s irises sparkling with emotion, but there’s also a smile gracing her lips.

“Thank you.”

He returns her grin before the sound of you tapping the microphone to check that it’s working ends their conversation as they both turn their attention back to you. 

Despite how anxious you are, you look positively radiant and completely relaxed. Your infectious smile, pink cheeks, and captivating eyes are all Jungkook can focus on while you place your notecards down on the podium. 

For a split second, it causes him to recall the last night you, he, and Jaehyun were ever together. It was Jaehyun’s job to give a speech that evening and Jungkook knows without a shadow of a doubt he’s watching over you right now feeling nothing but pride. He wishes the roles were reversed today; for your actual husband to be the one supporting you while he observes from another plane of existence. Alas, the world isn’t kind enough to grant that request. 

“Hello, everyone,” you cheerily greet the crowd. “I’m Jeon Y/N, the new owner of Kookie’s. I feel like it’ll be helpful if I begin by explaining how that came to be.” You pause to straighten out your cards and take a deep breath. “The original and previous owner, Jungkook, was my brother-in-law, and funny enough, the name ‘Kookie’s’ comes from my nickname for him. I claimed sole use of the moniker on the day we met before he proceeded to coin the nickname ‘Cupcake’ for me. And if it’s unclear why that’s so fitting, you might be in the wrong place,” you joke. “For those who don’t know, our family lost Jungkook almost six months ago in a car accident. Thus leaving not only a massive hole in all our hearts, but a vacancy in the ownership of this beloved establishment behind me.” Jungkook hears a quiet sniffle and when he turns his head to check on his parents, he sees his dad wiping a tear from his mom’s cheek. “It’s been really hard because whenever I tell someone, they give me this look like, ‘Oh, that's not so bad. It’s just your brother-in-law.’ I mean, some people don’t even like their brother-in-law, so I suppose it’s a safe assumption. But I was lucky enough to have the best brother-in-law in the world, and in fact, referring to him as such doesn’t even feel right because he always meant so much more to me than that. We met when I was only fifteen and he…” Your sentence fades when your emotions get the better of you, but you simply take a moment for yourself before starting again. “He was my best friend,” you admit through shaky vocal chords. “Which is kinda embarrassing because I don’t know if most people’s best friend is their brother-in-law, but it’s the truth. Kookie was the kindest, warmest, and most loving soul I’ve ever known, and the world is so, so much darker without him in it.” 

You’re crying at this point, but thankfully the silent tears aren’t impeding your speech too much. 

Meanwhile, Jungkook doesn’t really know what to think. You never practiced around him because you wanted it to be a surprise. Of course, he’s heard you share similar sentiments about him in the past, but it feels different when you’re proclaiming it to an audience of strangers. 

He knows the biggest emotions swelling inside of him are unadulterated pride and adoration, but he can’t deny the hint of guilt present as well. 

Hearing you speak so highly of him, as you always do, when he spends everyday telling you one lie after another just feels wrong. Even though he’s doing all this for your sake, it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. 

But this is meant to be a celebration. You deserve this, regardless of him or Jaehyun. Today’s about your dreams and achievements, so he’ll stomach his own inner turmoil in order to cheer you on.

“That’s precisely why I’m standing here before you today. Because my family and I believe we can return some of that light, his light, by rejuvenating the place he poured his entire heart into. And since none of us could ever hold a candle to his liquor expertise, we decided the next best option is desserts!” You seem to be doing better as you pivot away from the more sentimental notions. “Kookie loved sweet treats, and not to brag, but he especially loved mine. He also loved stealing them, which is how I came to start my tradition of always baking half a dozen extra desserts just for him. I still do so to this day, and inside you’ll see a small cake plate that reads ‘Kookie’s Treats.’ I have a matching one at home and we thought it would be a fitting place to showcase our weekly specials. We’ll explain the rest of the landscape once we’re inside so everyone has a smooth buying process. And for the time being, samples of all our menu items will be on the first counter along with a numbered tab you can take for each item you wish to buy. Then you’ll simply hand your tabs to our lovely cashier, Jennie, and she’ll check you out. We’ll eventually transition away from that once both we and our customers become better acquainted with the flow of things. Samples will still be available, of course, but only upon request. When you enter today, we ask that you remain in a single file line and please limit yourself to one sample per item. If you return anytime after today, which we really hope you do, you’re more than welcome to roam as you please and steal all my samples.” The crowd clearly adores you, given they chuckle every time you say something even remotely funny. “Now, without further ado, I would like to officially announce the grand reopening of Kookie’s, whose new formal name is Kookie’s Family Bakery. Because that’s what Jungkook was to me and that’s how I want to continue his legacy.”

Following your proclamation, staff from the signage company remove the sheet covering the new design. Just as you envisioned, the original name is right where it’s always been, but beneath it are the words “Family Bakery.” There’s also a large chocolate chip cookie with a single bite taken out off to the right; your very own doodle which you decided to use as the official logo. 

The whole crowd cheers upon seeing the sign, and like the pair of best friends they are, or were, Jennie and Jungkook begin hooting and hollering in perfect sync.

You take a couple small bows after stepping out from behind the podium before waving goodbye so the city workers helping with the event can move the podium aside for the ribbon cutting ceremony. 

Jungkook waits with bated breath and once you’re within reach, he ensnares your waist and tugs you straight into his chest. His lips immediately find your cheek so he can pepper your skin with endless kisses. It makes you laugh unabashedly while your body curls against his own as though you’re melting into the embrace. 

“I am so fucking proud of you!” 

You snicker and turn your head for a real smooch. 

“I totally killed it, right?” 

“You deserve life in prison, baby!”

A blinding smile appears as you untangle yourself from his arms so you can hug Jennie as well as both his and your parents. 

Once everything’s set for the next occasion, the workers hand you a cartoonishly large pair of scissors. You pull Jennie along to do the honors and you each hold one of the handles before loudly counting down from three and cutting the ribbon in half together. 

The audience cheers again while you and Jennie adorably hug and jump around in a circle. Jungkook pretends like it doesn’t make his heart wanna burst right out of his ribcage. 

You wave your loved ones over to enter the bakery with you for the first time and after Jungkook reaches your side, you snatch his hand so you can press multiple quick kisses to his knuckles.

“You excited, sweetheart?” He asks as everyone filters in.

“Yes, but also somehow even more nervous than before because now I have to actually serve all these people,” you confess. 

Jungkook reassuringly smiles while brushing back some stray hair from your eyes. 

“You’re gonna do great. Just keep breathing and everything will work out.”

He remembers when Kookie’s first opened, and although there wasn’t a ceremony like this, the initial wave of customers who came through the door scared the shit of him. All he could think about was what if he accidentally serves a minor or gives out a drink containing something a person’s allergic to.

It’s rare for someone’s worst fears to actually come true, plus he has complete faith in you. You’ve truly got nothing to worry about, but he still understands where your nerves are coming from. 

Just as he thought, everything goes according to plan. You and Maddie stand behind the first counter with all the samples and chit chat with everyone tasting the different baked goods as Jennie mans the register. It’s organized, efficient, and the whole place feels full of life and good vibes. 

Additionally, the regular patrons of Kookie’s all leave impressed with how much the original business still shines throughout the bakery. 

The small group of your friends and family relax and mingle in the booths while also asking customers their opinions. As predicted, there isn’t a single complaint about any of your desserts. Quite the opposite; every person they speak to raves about how delicious the baked goods are. 

You only serve people for three hours, but the bakery will open again for regular business operations on Monday morning. It gives you a day off before you have to get into the swing of things full time. 

Once the final patron leaves, you practically collapse onto the stool behind the counter. Similarly, Jennie and Maddie both slump forward until their heads meet the wood.

“Holy shit,” you sigh. “We did it.” Jennie lifts her head just enough to gaze at you. “We actually fucking did it, Jen.”

She smiles and starts aggressively nodding. 

“Yes, we fucking did.”

A harmonious, high pitched squeal echoes through the building as you both stand and meet in the middle for another celebratory hug. 

Jungkook’s standing beside his mom watching you two with an endeared grin. But he can feel a familiar set of eyes on him and when he glances over his shoulder, his mom’s admiring him with a knowing smile of her own. 

“What’s with the face?”

His mom chuckles and shrugs.

“Oh, nothing,” she answers. “This was a wonderful idea, sweetie. Not only did you make Y/N’s dreams come true, but your brother would be so happy to see this.”

He mirrors her smile even though the comment almost brings tears to his eyes.

“I hope so.”

She leans over for a hug and Jungkook responds in kind by throwing his arm around her and kissing the top of her head. 

“Wait, wait, we need to take a picture,” someone suggests, grabbing their attention.

“I can take it, if you guys want one with the whole family,” Maddie volunteers.

You thank her before calling everyone over to the counter.

“Where do you think we should take it, sweetheart?” Jungkook poses to you.

“Well, there needs to be enough room for all of us,” his dad muses.

“If this is a family photo, then the entire family should be included,” Jennie claims. 

She then points at the picture hanging directly behind the register. It’s the same photo Jungkook found you clutching to your chest the night of the accident. You had a copy blown up so it could reside somewhere everyone who walks through the door will see. 

All of you agree and do your best to align yourselves in the snug space behind the counter. Maddie snaps a few photos, but while everyone else is genuinely delighted to be together, Jungkook has to fake a smile because he’s the only one aware someone’s still missing.

Goodbyes and congratulations are shared afterwards until it’s finally just you and Jungkook left inside. Now you’re lounging in a booth with your head back while he locks up the place. 

“Thank you, honey. I’m so tired I’d probably unlock everything by accident,” you joke.

Jungkook chuckles while slipping the keys in his pocket and resting one knee on the seat. 

“Well, we wouldn’t want that. Now would we? Can’t have this place getting robbed before its first full day.”

That earns him a weak giggle.

“What would they steal? The croissants?” 

His eyes turn into little crescents as he affectionately shakes his head and kisses your temple. 

“C’mon, boss lady, time to go home,” he orders

You melodramatically groan while Jungkook pulls you up to your full height. 

“Can we grab coffee? I should not be this tired before eight pm.”

“Sure, but there’s still one last item on today’s to-do list.”

“Huh? Like what?” 

Your half annoyed, half exhausted expression elicits a warm smile from Jungkook before he turns to grab something from his coat lying on the counter. 

When he faces you again, your eyes go straight to his clasped hands where something is obviously being hidden. Not only is it to shield the small box from you, but also so you don’t see his hands shaking.

This is his first gift as your husband, and despite you not knowing that, he’s so nervous he can hardly think straight. He only needs you to like it, even just a little bit. Although, deep down he’s hoping you absolutely love it. 

“I mean, I couldn’t not get you a gift to celebrate your big day,” he explains. 

Your face blanks.

“Jeon Jaehyun, that better not be something worth half your monthly salary.”

“Would a full month be alright?”

“You —”

“I’m kidding, sweetheart, I’m kidding.” He takes a deep breath before passing the box to you, but with one hand still covering it. “I wanted to get you something meaningful related to the bakery and I originally thought a cupcake would be perfect, but that still didn’t feel personal enough. I proceeded to spend days and weeks pondering what would make it complete. Then it hit me.” After lifting his hand, he waits a moment for your eyes to survey the gift nestled inside. “There’s only one physical attribute Kook and I didn’t share, and that’s these.” He wiggles his fingers. “Our mom took our fingerprints when we were young for keepsakes and stuff, so I was able to have this custom made for you.”

Resting against a cream fabric is an elegant, sparkling necklace with a gold chain that disappears into the bottom of the box. The pendant itself is a small, upside down trapezoid featuring four pink diamonds in a semi circle at the top to resemble a strawberry cupcake. But the most important aspect is the fingerprint engraved in the gold. 

“Is this…” You gulp. “Is this Jungkook’s fingerprint?”

It might seem disturbingly narcissistic to give you something with his own fingerprint on it. But no matter who he really is, the person you’re grieving is still Jungkook. Something belonging to Jaehyun won’t bring you comfort because from your perspective, he’s standing right in front of you. 

“Now he really will always be with you,” he answers.

A harsh, gut wrenching sob shatters the air in the room as you slap a hand over your mouth and plummet straight into the booth. You immediately curl forward while cradling the present to your chest and weeping into your palm. 

Jungkook’s eyes nearly pop out of his head from shock before he drops to his knees so he can be eye level with you. 

“Y/N?”

He’s hopeful your tears are ones of happiness, but his stomach’s in knots as awaits your response.

“Thank… you…” you rasp.

When you finally raise your head, there are tear stains all over your face and your eyes are swollen. 

“Oh, my baby.”

He reaches out with both hands to clear away the droplets, but more and more just replace them. 

“It’s so beautiful, Jae, but I… I don’t even know where to start putting my thoughts into words. I’m just… fucking speechless.”

“That’s alright.” 

“This is the most wonderful gift I’ve ever received. Thank you so much.”

Seeing you cry is Jungkook’s least favorite sight in the world, but he also can’t help beaming with pride as he listens to you. 

“There’s no need, sweetheart. I’m just happy if you’re happy.”

Jungkook’s smile grows before he nods towards the gift still resting above your heart, prompting you to hand it back to him.

He’s careful not to tug too hard and upon freeing the entire chain, he sets the box aside as you lift your hair off your neck. Jungkook bends over to give himself a decent view, then delicately opens the clasp and connects it behind your head. 

You two return to your previous positions and your hand naturally falls to your clavicle so you can explore the foreign piece of jewelry. 

“How’s it look?”

Truthfully, you wearing something so special that he gave to you, produces such an immaculate feeling he can’t even describe it. So, he settles on complimenting you instead.

“It’s gorgeous, but not nearly as radiant as you,” he remarks.

You surprise him again by surging ahead until your lips crash into his own. He grunts from the unexpected force, but very quickly begins matching your pace while cupping your cheeks. 

Just like always, the kiss is slow and reverent as your open mouths push and pull each other. His hands drag upwards into your hair so he has more control, which he uses to hold your head in place. It allows him to shamelessly relish in your taste while your tongues twirl together inside your mouth. 

When you inevitably have to break for air, you part with a tandem gasp before pressing your foreheads together. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook mumbles to himself.

“Jae,” you call at the same moment your eyes open and lock onto his.

“Yeah?”

He’s still panting, but it’s more from you making the blood in his veins pump faster than a lack of oxygen. 

“If you don’t make love to me the second we get home, I’m going to be very, very angry with you.” 

A small smile creeps in.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that. Now would we?”

The subtle callback in combination with his approval causes you to smirk and steal another kiss. 

You’re clearly someone who means what they say because the front door isn’t even shut yet when you practically maul Jungkook. 

You two stumble through the living room and kitchen as your lips compulsively meet over and over for rushed, haphazard kisses. The stairs are a challenge, but Jungkook holds your waist so neither of you fall while he treks backwards up the steps and guides you along with him.

It’s a flurry of movement once you reach the top floor. The master bedroom is only a few feet away, but you two are so desperate you might just enter the first room you come across instead. 

Jungkook’s spine forces the door open and after another couple steps, the backs of his knees hit the mattress. Rather than letting himself fall, he spins around before laying you down and crawling over you, all without ever breaking the crazed lip lock. 

“I need you inside me,” you pant while your fingers work on the buttons of his shirt. “Right now.”

“I know, I know.” 

He can’t think of a single cohesive thought to save his life. All he knows is he needs to get you naked before he physically combusts. 

His hands skim beneath the bottom of your shirt before he yanks it off over your head. You proceed to unclip your bra from behind your back while he undoes his belt and tosses it somewhere on the floor. Your fingertips create goosebumps across his shoulders as you trace his muscles prior to shoving his shirt off so it lands alongside the rest of your clothes. 

With you both topless, Jungkook leads you towards the center of the bed while sandwiching his knee between your thighs. You pull him down for more kisses, but his hands busy themselves with slowly tracing your curves and massaging your warm skin.

“Baby, I genuinely don’t know if I’ll last longer than five minutes,” he confesses. 

The statement causes you to laugh, thus severing your kiss. 

“That’s what happens when you wait six damn months.”

He smiles at your retort while beginning to kiss across your cheek and jawline.

You make a great point, except it isn’t even remotely close to the real reason. Because it hasn’t been merely six months for Jungkook. He’s been waiting for this exact moment for fifteen goddamn years. 

From being a hormonal teenager in his room jacking off to the thought of you, to a young adult who threw himself at anyone he could in order to forget about you, to his adult years when he would fuck strangers but picture you instead. His entire life’s been leading to this and as much as he wishes he could savor and prolong it, he knows he won’t be able to hold back. 

“Well, no matter how quickly I fill up your pretty cunt the first time, I’m planning on making up for lost time all night long.” His hands locate the buttons on your jeans while his tongue drags down the side of your throat. “You’re not leaving this fucking bed until we have to get ready for work on Monday.”

“Oh, baby. You know better than to talk big if you’re not gonna back it up.”

Jungkook lifts his head and what he finds in your gaze is a silent challenge flickering alive like a flame. 

“That I do.” 

Those three little words are all he needs to convey how serious he is about following through. And you clearly understand because you smirk and join him in continuing to strip each other. 

You lift your hips after he finishes unbuttoning your jeans so he can roll them down your legs and throw them out of sight. His own pants soon follow and within a few minutes, both your panties and his boxers are tossed aside. 

It’s with shaking hands that Jungkook explores your naked body beneath him for the first time. Sure, he felt you against him when you showered together and he’s caressed your bare skin plenty by now. But hovering above you with your legs tangled, chest to chest and nose to nose, on the bed you share, means infinity more than all those other moments combined. 

Despite the rush to get here, he takes his time gliding his fingers up, down, and around every stunning dip and curve of your frame. Your skin feels scorching hot and yet hundreds of tiny goosebumps appear in his wake. If he wasn’t so damn insatiable, he would simply do this all night so he can witness your body reacting to his touch. 

Alas, you’re both more than ready to become one and there’s nothing left between you now but the tension-charged air. 

You grab his attention by cupping his cheek, so he pries his eyes away from your body that’s practically calling for him. 

“This is okay, right?” You quietly ask. 

The gentle question is a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the room and electricity urging your bodies closer. 

“It’s much more than that.” Jungkook kisses you so softly in comparison to earlier it pulls a lighthearted, content hum out of you. “Besides, I don’t think I could lose focus even if I wanted to.” 

A dazzling smile forms as you comb through the front of his hair.

“Oh yeah? All these years and I still hold your attention?” 

The question makes him scoff.

“Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since the moment we met. Nothing could ever occupy my mind the way you do,” he declares. “My every word, thought, and deed is you.” His own feelings are so intense it sends a shiver down his spine. “You’re my everything.”

Your eyes expand as multiple different emotions flash across your face; love, devotion, reverence, and so many more. Then the hand in his hair slowly moves down until you’re able to cradle his jaw and run your thumb along his cheekbone. 

Jungkook wishes he could capture your awestruck expression forever, even if only in his mind. Not simply so he can remember it, but to remind himself why it’s so important to always tell you how much you mean to him. 

“I…” You sigh and chuckle. “Now I can’t say it back or it’ll just seem like I’m copying you.”

The two of you burst into laughter and you’re so close you can feel the other person’s chest rattling. Although it’s a tender, serene moment, it gives way for the uncontrollable lust from earlier to return all at once. Perhaps it’s because your bodies are ready to communicate what you aren’t able to with words or maybe the sensation of your warm skin brushing together is reigniting your desire. 

No matter the reason, Jungkook finds himself silencing your joy with a fervent kiss as he plants one hand beside your head and grasps your waist with the other. Similarly, your fingers dive into his hair while your opposite hand wraps around his dick to guide him towards your center.

“I love you,” Jungkook whispers right into your mouth. 

“And I love you.” It’s then his cockhead kisses your entrance for the first time and his body automatically goes rigid above you. He tries to take some deep breaths to fight off the reaction, but it doesn’t help. “Hey, it’s alright.” When your eyes meet, your familiar, adoring gaze seems to cast a calming spell over him. “It’s just me.” 

Who would’ve thought a phrase so simple could both melt all the ice and douse every flame inside his veins. 

It is just you. His best friend, partner in crime, lifeline, and solace. He wouldn’t be here without you, and not just physically in this bed with you. You’re the only reason he survived losing his other half and only you make him feel whole again.

He smiles and laughs to himself.

“Yeah. It’s you.” His hand on your waist sneaks around to the small of your back to pull you closer. “My you.”

Jungkook decides it’s now or never and time to take matters into his own hands. So in a single breath, he stops thinking about everything else and thrusts into you. 

You gasp and bite his shoulder to relieve the immense pressure in your core while Jungkook groans so loud it echoes throughout the otherwise silent room. 

“Fuck,” you whimper into his skin. 

He can feel your pussy clenching and swelling around him in an effort to adjust to the sudden intrusion. As if you aren’t already unbelievably tight. The sensation is impossible to explain, especially when it isn’t solely the physical aspect causing him to lose his mind. 

Besides the feeling of finally being nestled deep inside you, his brain is playing a constant loop of “I love you” over and over like a broken record. 

It’s all too much, and he fears if he opens his mouth his guts will come spilling out. 

The only option he can think of is to hide until the wave of overwhelming emotions passes. So, he nuzzles his face against your neck and tries to focus on your scent. 

You notice it first; the sound of sniffles and his upper body shaking above you. Jungkook doesn’t even realize it himself despite the taste of salt slipping onto his tongue. 

“Jae?” Your fingers repeatedly card through his hair to grab his attention. “Honey?”

His cries only intensify in response to hearing your voice and before he knows it, he’s desperately weeping into your skin. 

“I’m okay,” he assures you.

“You should get off me.”

“No, it isn’t that.” He lifts his head so you’ll see he’s alright before drying his face with his bicep. “I promise they’re happy tears.” You look skeptical, leading him to squeeze your waist a couple times as a silent guarantee. “I just missed you, that’s all.”

“You were just sobbing while buried balls deep… because you missed me?” 

“Yah, have you ever been inside you? It’s absolutely an experience worth crying over.”

A bright laugh escapes from your lungs and you rest your forehead on his shoulder as the giddiness rolls through you.

“You’re so ridiculous,” you snicker. 

He turns his head to kiss your temple.

“I really am okay, sweetheart.” You let your head fall onto the pillows so you can glance up at him. “And I’d really, really like to make love to you now.”

“You gonna start blubbering again from how tight I am?”

“I might.” To tease you, he rears back just an inch before sinking himself inside your cunt again. The act causes you to keen and tug on the hair caught in your grasp. “But it’ll be nothing in comparison to how you’ll be crying for my cock.” 

Your eyes roll into your skull followed by another wanton moan. 

“Fuck, baby, please put your money where your mouth is before I totally lose it.” 

It’s not as though Jungkook has the willpower to deny you. So his hips tilt back until he’s just barely resting inside your entrance. He waits in that position for some type of reaction, whether it be you begging or merely squirming for more.

As soon as he hears a breathless whimper, he spears you with his entire length again. 

You don’t gasp for air like before, but the fullness still leaves you clawing at his scalp and shoulder blades. It’s an unbelievably snug fit; as though you were made just for him or your bodies are puzzle pieces perfectly cut for one another. 

The feeling of your pussy pulsing around his cock is everything he’s been waiting for and more. He always knew no one else would be able to compare, but even then it’s far better than he ever imagined. 

“Ah, god,” Jungkook rasps before pulling out again. 

He starts off leisurely, much slower than he prefers, but he wants to appreciate the feeling of your walls expanding to accommodate his presence inside you. 

His head dips so he can kiss your neck as his hips continue to guide him in and out of your cunt. He plans to focus on your pleasure by venerating your body from head to toe. Not only because you deserve to be worshipped for hours on end, but it’ll ensure he doesn’t blow his load too soon. If he’s busy making you feel good, he won’t be paying as much attention to his own body. 

“Holy shit, I… I think I forgot how big you are,” you whine. 

Jungkook smiles and graciously pecks the soft spot below your ear. 

“How about I remind you, huh?” 

Despite wishing he could fuck you slow and deep all night, the horny gremlin in his brain is screaming to put you through the goddamn mattress. 

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before the hand around your waist joins the one beside your head. With his elbows bordering your ears and his forearms in an upside down V, it gives him ample leverage to pound into you until you can’t recall your own name. 

When he switches to an allegro pace without any warning, your nails violently drag down his spine and mark his skin with bright red streaks. It causes him to loudly grunt in your ear, but the sting is addictive and encourages him to pump into you even harder. 

You mewl and arch your back as his thick cock stretches you open and repeatedly kisses your cervix. Jungkook can hardly believe how well your body reacts to him. The intense warmth surrounding all his most sensitive nerve endings is unreal. Not to mention you’re tightness or that you’re absolutely soaked. 

Every time his dick leaves your pussy it comes out covered in creamy, white slick. The sight’s so intoxicating he genuinely believes he could get drunk off it and the sound is the same. Besides your tandem moans, the clapping of skin and loud squelch from him entering you again and again is echoing throughout the entire room. 

“Feels… feels so… so good,” you stutter, because his tempo is preventing you from completing a full sentence.

Jungkook laughs before leaving your neck alone with a final smooch. Upon witnessing you beneath him, quite possibly looking as gorgeous as he’s ever seen you, one of his hands shifts to pet your hair.

“Worth the wait?” 

“Mmhm.” There are tears pricking the corners of your eyes and he can’t help but feel prideful. “Just please don’t ever keep me waiting that long again. I need your cock, baby. Need it so fucking bad.” 

“Jesus, you’re gonna make me bust if you keep saying shit like that.” 

His statement lights a fire in your eyes and a sinister smirk forms before you lean up to whisper in his ear.

“Maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I want you to fill me up with so much cum it’ll drip down my thighs for days.”

Your teeth nip at his cartilage and Jungkook literally has to clench his abdominal muscles to prevent his seed from spilling into you. His hips falter, breath catches, and his fingers twist around the sheets all in an attempt to stay in control.

You merely giggle at his predicament while continuing to lick and nibble on his earlobe. 

“C’mon, honey, make a mess of your pretty pussy. It’s been so long,” you theatrically drawl.

“Y/N,” he warns you through gritted teeth.

“Stuff your cum into me. Please, Jae.”

“You little…” 

Jungkook growls along with a harsh tug on your hair as he pulls out and sits back on his heels. He proceeds to push your knees into your chest before pinning both of your hands to the mattress high above your head. Once you’re helpless underneath him, he mercilessly penetrates you again while pressing his full body weight down on you. 

The new position causes you to scream as the tears from earlier break free and cascade down your cheeks. Not only are you basically folded in half, but his strokes are even faster and harder than before.

“If you’re gonna act like a brat, then you’re gonna get fucked like one, too.”

“Holy shit,” you shriek.

“Nuh uh. You wanted this, sweetheart, so take this fat fucking cock like the good little wife you are.”

Besides your taunts spurring Jungkook on to fuck you with all his might, he had no choice but to leave the warmth of your cunt or else he would’ve involuntarily granted your wish. 

This angle somehow makes you feel even tighter and Jungkook alternates between grunts and pants while your cunt pulsates around him. It doesn’t help that every time he propels himself deeper, your velvety walls clamp down, bringing him the most remarkable pleasure he’s ever experienced. 

You’re not faring much better, evident by your body shaking beneath him as you moan and sob incoherent phrases.

The hands trapped under his own are holding onto his wrists for dear life, but even that small, mundane connection is driving him wild. It also makes him realize he wants more; needs to feel your skin and your touch everywhere possible. 

His epiphany leads him to rise just enough to hook your legs around his shoulders instead, allowing you to be chest to chest. He’s able to kiss you in this position, too, which he does with utmost enthusiasm. 

You whimper into his mouth when his tongue slips past your lips, but even in your shrouded mental state, you still manage to partake in the familiar, sensual dance. 

The two of you making out with your fingers intertwined above your heads and your bodies moving as one feels beyond euphoric. Sure, burying his dick inside you as deep as it can go is amazing, but nothing compares to being entirely surrounded by your presence. Everything from your scent, your warmth, your soft skin, and your airy voice are turning his brain to mush. 

“Baby, you’re so big,” you whine between smooches. “I won’t last much longer.”

“Me… me either.”

Jungkook decides to finish by turning the heat down. His hands roam your arms while he rises so your legs can return to his hips. The adjustment brings you two even closer, leaving him completely on top of you as you lock your ankles behind his back. He rests his weight on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you, but there’s still less than a millimeter of space between your bodies.

Feeling your sweaty chest rubbing against his own once he changes to an andante rhythm sends metaphorical sparks flying. Despite slowing down, his strokes are deeper and more intentional, causing the air around you both to seemingly crackle with electricity. 

You’re also still making out, tongues battling in each other’s mouths and muffling your harmonious moans. 

When Jungkook feels your cunt forcefully clench as more sticky cum coats his length, he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip and tugs until you cry out. After it snaps back into place, he shoves his tongue inside your mouth again and swirls it around to make you repeat the noise. 

“Come on this cock, baby. I gotta feel you let go before I fill you up,” he instructs. 

“Ha — harder.”

Your demand surprises him, but he’s certainly not going to complain. He doesn’t speed up at all, just begins rolling his hips with excessive force to sheath himself within your walls. His tip meets your g-spot like a damn magnet while the repetitive movement supplies your clit with the perfect amount of friction. 

“Like that, yeah?”

Rather than responding, you nod as best you can when your lips are still chasing after one another.

Soon enough, he feels your pussy constrict more than it has before, warning him of your impending orgasm. In fact, it’s only a matter of seconds before your muscles tighten to the point he can barely move as your arousal soaks his dick. 

Your climax triggers his own, and his fluid motions halt in an instant when the release leaves him convulsing above you. 

Jungkook buries his face in your neck with such an avid groan even your skin doesn’t quiet it. His balls contract and his dick swells before he floods your cunt with hot seed. He truly doesn’t know if he’s ever come this much or this hard. The sheer intensity almost causes him to black out as white dots appear in his vision. 

“Holy fuck,” he gasps while falling limp on top of you. 

You chuckle.

“Yeah.”

After a long time of simply catching your breath together, Jungkook sighs and rolls off of you. He despises the sudden lack of warmth, already wishing he could be inside you again. 

Based on muscle memory alone, he travels to the en-suite to grab you a soft towel. He’s attentive and gentle as he cleans your folds and inner thighs while you’re starfished on the mattress with your eyes closed. 

You look utterly blissful despite how exhausted you are, making Jungkook’s heart soar with love and pride. 

“Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart.”

He guides you underneath the covers and pulls them up to your chin before tucking the sheets in around your body so you’re comfortable and snug. 

“I… love… you…” you whisper so softly he almost doesn’t catch it.

Jungkook sits on the edge of the bed and combs through the front of your hair while watching your face slowly fall into a deep slumber. 

“I love you, Y/N.” He bends down to kiss your forehead, where he confesses his next phrase. “More than you possibly know.”

He heads back to the bathroom to clean himself up and upon stepping onto the marble floor, he glances in the mirror like usual. Except tonight, for the first time since Jaehyun’s death, he doesn’t find his own reflection. No, there’s no doubt his brother is the one staring him down through the glass. 

Logically, he knows it isn’t Jaehyun, but nothing he’s done in the last six months has been logical. 

It’s clear to him why he’s seeing his twin in the mirror at this very moment. Even without the visual, the overwhelming guilt sitting like a barbell on his chest is enough to understand the reason. Not only for what you two just did together, but earlier at the bakery and possibly everything else he’s done since Jaehyun died. 

Jungkook fucked you. Laid you down beneath him and filled your pussy with his semen. His brother’s wife. It’s so goddamn twisted he finds himself white knuckling the counter while he tries to avoid his reflection. 

Then this afternoon, he listened to you speak about him like he hung the stars in the sky. He stood there and let your words fill him with warmth as though he hasn’t been lying to your face for months. 

For Christ’s sake, you’re currently wearing a necklace with his fingerprint on it. If he were any more selfish and venomous, he’d be a Greek myth. 

Before Jungkook realizes, tears are falling down straight into the sink below. He quickly covers his mouth with his palm so you don’t hear him wailing as his ribcage begins to rattle from the astronomical force of his emotions. 

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I’m so fucking sorry, Jae.” 

His eyes finally meet the twin pair in the mirror again, but it absolutely shatters him. He can’t stomach looking at the person who trusted him more than anyone, and who he’s betrayed in ways which can never be undone. 

He collapses against the marble when his cries become too much to withstand. From there, he turns around and slides down the cabinets until he reaches the floor. His knees come to his chest as he buries his face in them and continues to desperately weep. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

The chant repeats and repeats until his voice is too hoarse to keep going. 

Jungkook ends up crying himself to sleep on the plush carpet, but he thankfully wakes up before you notice. He has to utilize all his energy just to stand so he can join you in the bedroom, although a massive part of him doesn’t even want to. 

How can he after what he’s done? Not just to his brother, but to you. He used your body for his own pleasure while you remain clueless to who he really is.  

He’s a monster, that’s for certain after this. The problem is there’s no going back even if he wanted to. All he can do is live with the decision, with his raging guilt, and move forward as Jaehyun like he’s been doing for half a year. 

So, he climbs into bed behind you and pulls you towards his chest. You hum in your sleep and instinctively nuzzle yourself closer while he places delicate kisses along your shoulder. 

Yes, he’s a monster, but he’ll gladly accept damnation if it means keeping you happy. 

-> Part III

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[inthelow]

STARSTRUCK — jeon jungkook (1/3)

summary: you have a pretty normal life as a college student. Everything changes one spring break when you visit Korea to see some family and your sister decides to drag you along to stalk the famous pop-star Jeon Jungkook, part of the most famous group in the world — the one you despise— and the one you unexpectedly keep running into.

pairing: uni student! reader x idol! jeon jungkook

genre: rom-com. annoyances-to-lovers. fluff. trynna-be-comedy. a lil angst but not really. | reader is really annoying sometimes. jungkook can be an asshole but he’s still a cutie pie. reader has a sister lowkey sasaeng but thanks to her the story has a plot!! 97line mentioned. jimin and tae appearance.

warning!— this story contains mature content. smut (fingering, dry humping, penetration, unprotected sex, dirty talk, creampie, etc). — first part SFW

author’s note: so excited for this one!! literally inspired by a post @kaystrategy did about ‘starstruck’ and i was like yepp, need to write that but mature version iykyk so i hope u like this one!! inspired by the movie but doesn’t follow much the same storyline!! part two and three coming next week!! lmk what you think so far >_<

word count: +12k words.

part one; part two; part three.

Spring break, in theory, was supposed to be relaxing.

No classes. No deadlines. No professors reminding you that your “creative vision” wasn’t translating well on screen. Just a full week of nothing, which sounded amazing until you actually had it and realized you didn’t really know what to do with that much free time.

You had spent the first two days sleeping like your life depended on it, which was fair because it was actually weekend and not the start of the break. The third day was a mix of scrolling, half-watching movies, and telling yourself you should probably be doing something productive— like editing that short film you’d been avoiding or even preparing that fundraiser event you were throwing in less than two months— but not actually doing it.

And now, the fourth day, you were exactly where you started. On the sofa with your phone in hand. Absolutely doing nothing.

The TV was on, mostly for background noise. You weren’t paying attention to it, not really. Your eyes were glued to your screen, thumb moving lazily as you scrolled through videos you weren’t even interested in. It was slightly embarrassing how little you actually felt like engaging with anything remotely artistic during your break since you were in film studies.

Still, every now and then, your brain would kick in automatically. You’d notice the lighting in a clip. The framing. A weird cut that didn’t quite work. It was annoying, honestly. You couldn’t just watch things anymore, you had to think about them, analyze them. Sometimes it was annoying… but you still loved it.

You shifted slightly on the sofa, pulling one leg under you, adjusting your position without looking up. That’s when the volume on the TV went up, not a lot but enough for you to notice.

“Hana, the volume.” You frowned a little, still not looking up. “Hana,” you said again, already knowing. No response. You sighed, finally lifting your eyes. There she was, your older sister, sitting on the floor, way too close to the TV, completely focused like she was watching something life-changing. You followed her gaze. And immediately wished you hadn’t. “Hana— ugh, not again,” you muttered under your breath.

Of course. It had to be them.

The video showed a bright set. Clean camera angles, very readable subtitles and that overly polished interview vibe that always felt the same no matter who was in it. It was a big group. And right in the middle of it— Jeon Jungkook.

You didn’t even mean to pay attention. Really, you didn’t. But Hana leaned forward slightly, like she didn’t want to miss a single word, and that alone was enough to drag your attention along with hers.

“…And Jungkook, what does that mean to you?” the interviewer asked.

You rolled your eyes before he even answered. Still, you heard it.

“It means everything. They’re everything to us,” Jungkook said, smiling. “They’ve supported us from the beginning, so… I think we owe them a lot. That’s why we will do our best and work hard to show them gratitude.”

You stared at the screen for half a second and then scoffed when your sister murmured: “He’s such an amazing person.”

“Please.” Hana didn’t turn around right away, but you could feel she was already getting annoyed

“What?” she said.

“That’s so fake,” you added, already looking back down at your phone.

“You didn’t even watch the whole thing.”

“I didn’t need to.”

Hana finally turned, twisting around so she could look at you properly. “He is amazing. And if you knew him like I know him you wouldn’t say that—”

You let out a small laugh. “We live in different continents. You don’t know him

“I do know him.”

You sat up a little, resting your arm against the back of the sofa. “How exactly do you know him, Hana?”

She rolled her eyes like the answer was obvious.

“I know everything about him.”

You snorted. “Everything?”

“Yes,” she insisted, counting on her fingers now like she was presenting actual evidence. “I know where he works. I know where he likes to shop. The clubs he goes to, the people he works with, the restaurants he likes—”

“That’s not knowing someone,” you cut in. “That’s having google.”

“It’s not just that,” she said, annoyed. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“No, I get it,” you said. “You’re a delusional obsessed stalker.”

“I’m not obsessed.”

“Hana, you literally know what he eats.”

“That’s public information!”

You raised your eyebrows. “Exactly my point.”

She huffed, turning back to the TV for a second before looking at you again, clearly not done. “At least I appreciate him.”

“Appreciate what? His scripted answers?”

“They’re not scripted!”

“Right. Because ‘you mean everything to us’ has never been said before.”

Hana groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. “You don’t get it.”

“No, I do. You’re mentally ill.”

“You just wait and see—” she paused, sitting up straighter, then grinned suddenly, like she’d remembered something. “Once we’re in Korea you’ll met him.”

Right. South Korea.

The trip had been planned for weeks. Your parents were excited in that calm, nostalgic way adults got when they were going back somewhere that meant something to them. Your great-grandparents were still alive— which, apparently, was a miracle according to everyone who talked about it— and your mom had decided that this was the perfect time to visit. Which meant you were all going. Together. For a full week.

You didn’t mind it, not really. You liked traveling. You liked seeing new places— even if, technically, this wasn’t entirely new for you. You’d been to Korea before, just not recently enough to remember it clearly.

Hana, on the other hand, was treating it like the most important trip of her life. She had lists, actual lists. Places she wanted to go, things she wanted to eat, neighborhoods she needed to see. And, of course— Locations. Specific ones. Ones that, somehow, always seemed to be connected to them. Him, specially.

You frowned. “…met him?”

“Yeah.”

“Hana.”

“What?”

“We’re not going to just run into him.”

“You don’t know that.”

You stared at her. “Yes,” you said slowly, “I do.”

She ignored that completely. “We’re literally going to Korea,” she continued, like that proved everything. “Do you know how many places he goes to? We could go to one of them. Not, not just one, to all!”

“We’re going to visit great-grandma and great-grandpa,” you reminded her. “Not go on a BTS Jungkook tour.”

“Look if you want you can stay and play dolls with great-grandma. I’ll go meet the guys,” she rolled her eyes. “And his name is not BTS Jungkook, just Jungkook. I’ve told you this a thousand times.”

“You said we were going to hangout more there,” you pointed at her.

“Well, of course. Dad is not gonna let me go alone to places. I need you for that.”

“You’re using me to meet these losers?.”

“They’re not losers!”

“I don’t want to met them. So fuck them and you.”

She pointed at you. “We’re literally going when they’re having their free concert. We’re meant to run into them.”

You stared at her for a second, then leaned back into the sofa again, picking your phone back up. “I’ll schedule a therapist appointment for you once we’re back.”

Hana rolled her eyes again, some way still too pleased with herself. “You’ll see. I’ll do everything on my list. First stop: Soju & Soul.”

You were going to commit murder before arriving to Korea.

‘Soju & Soul’

Somewhere across the world, in that crowded restaurant filled with low conversation and warm light, Jungkook sat at a table surrounded by people he actually knew. Which, lately, felt important.

The place wasn’t empty, it never really was those days. But it wasn’t chaotic either. Just busy enough to blend in, just quiet enough to pretend things were normal. He liked places like that. He liked places where he could sit down, eat, talk— without everything turning into something else. He used to liked it more when it wasn’t filled with people waiting for him. But he had learned to accept he couldn’t control those things. He still kept coming back time to time, he loved the food there.

Still, he noticed it. He always did.

The occasional glance from another table. Aphone lifted just a little too casually. Someone whispering and then looking away too fast.

He didn’t react, he’d learned not to.

“Are you even listening?” someone across from him asked.

Jungkook blinked, refocusing. “Yeah,” he said automatically.

“You’re not.”

He smiled a little. “I am. You were saying something about tomorrow.”

His friend narrowed his eyes, unconvinced, but continued anyway. The conversation moved on. His friends were familiar with his zone-out moments. They knew him that much already. He appreciated that. That bond, that part was real. And he held onto that. Because everything outside of it wasn’t always.

He loved what he did. He really did. The music, the stage, the connection, it meant something to him. It always had… But the rest of it? The guessing, the assumptions, the rumours, the lies… The way people thought they knew him because they knew of him. That part was harder. Not impossible. Just… tiring. And sometimes it even felt like people loved the idea of him more than anything else.

And there wasn’t much he could do about that.

After a while, he pushed his chair back slightly, glancing toward the door. “I’m heading out.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. Have to wake up early tomorrow.”

A few teasing comments followed, nothing serious. His friends were use to his busy schedule, specially those days.

He grabbed his jacket, slipping it on as he made his way toward the exit. He felt it, that shift in the room, subtle but there. He stepped outside, the night air cooler than he expected, and exhaled slowly.

Almost free…

“Excuse me—!”

He stopped before slowly turning. A girl stood a few steps away, phone already in her hand, eyes wide with that mix of excitement and disbelief he recognized instantly.

“Can I— Can I take a picture with you?”

There it was.

He smiled, soft and easy. “Of course.”

She lit up. It took less than ten seconds. A quick photo. A thank you, a gratitude for his music. Another cute smile. And then he was already walking away.

“Thank you,” she said, breathless.

“No problem.”

The next morning, it was everywhere.

A blurry picture. A headline that didn’t make sense. Speculation that spread faster than it should. Him and her standing close and smiling before the picture. It didn’t matter that it was a fan. It didn’t matter that it lasted ten seconds. It didn’t matter that it meant nothing. Because to everyone else it meant everything.

And just like that, somewhere out there, a girl who had only asked for a picture became a target. Comments flooded in. Speculation, hate, jealously dressed up as concern. Jungkook stared at his phone longer than he should have.

BTS JEON JUNGKOOK SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY GIRL

The comments were worse, they always were. It didn’t matter what actually happened, what mattered was what people thought happened. And that— That was something he couldn’t control. And something he hated.

——————————

The first thing you noticed about Seoul wasn’t the noise. It was how alive everything felt. Like the city never really paused, just shifted pace depending on the time of day. Even from the car window, as you leaned your head against the glass and watched everything pass by, there was always something happening. People walking fast like they had somewhere important to be. Small shops squeezed between bigger buildings. Neon signs still faintly visible even in daylight.

It felt… full. You didn’t hate it. You actually kind of liked it.

Still, by the time you pulled up in front of your great-grandparents’ house, you were more than ready to just stop for a second. Specially after the long hours flight. The house itself made you blink.

“Damn,” you said, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t remember being this big.”

Hana, who had been glued to her phone the entire ride, barely glanced up. “Yeah.”

You looked at it again. It wasn’t just a house. It was big, not in a flashy, modern way but in that quiet, old, this has been here for a long time kind of way. The gate, the small garden, the structure itself— it all felt solid. Lived in.

“Why does it look like we’re visiting royalty?” you muttered.

Hana snorted. “Relax. It’s just old money vibes.”

“That’s not better.”

Your parents were already getting out of the car, greeting your great-grandparents like no time had passed at all. There was a lot of hugging. A lot of talking at once. That warm, slightly chaotic energy that came with family reunions.

You followed a little slower, taking everything in. The air smelled different there. Cleaner, somehow. Or maybe you were just imagining it. Inside, it was even more noticeable— the mix of old and new. Traditional details blended with modern touches, like time had just adjusted instead of moving on.

You slipped your shoes off near the entrance, stepping inside carefully.

“Wow,” you said under your breath.

“Right?” Hana replied, already walking ahead like she owned the place.

You glanced around, fingers brushing lightly against the wall as you moved further in. There was something comforting about it, even if it wasn’t entirely familiar.

Your great-grandmother smiled at you, giving you another big hug it almost made you out of breath before she took your hand to the kitchen. She already had the table full of food ready to feed you and your sister.

Amazing. What a great start of the week.

The rest of the afternoon passed in that slow, slightly overwhelming way family visits always did. More food appeared out of nowhere. Conversations overlapped. You sat, listened, nodded, smiled when your great grandparents gave you compliment after compliment. It was nice reuniting with family. But still exhausting.

Hana, surprisingly, behaved… for about an hour. After that, she was back on her phone.

By the time you finally escaped to your room, which you were glad you had one for you, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. You dropped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Okay,” you said. “I need a break.”

“From what?” Hana asked, entering your room and falling into your bed like it was hers.

“From existing.”

She hummed, clearly not paying attention. You turned your head to look at her. She was now sitting cross-legged on the bed, phone in one hand, laptop open in front of her, tabs everywhere.

“Can we do something tomorrow?” you asked. No response. “Hana.”

“What?”

“Can we do something tomorrow?” you repeated. “Like— together.”

She glanced at you for half a second. “Yeah, sure.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “That sounded fake.”

“It wasn’t.”

“It sounded fake.”

“I said yes,” she replied, already looking back at her screen. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Walk around, explore, get food… normal things.”

“Okay.”

Another pause. You waited but nothing. “Hana.”

“What?”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes.”

“What did I just say?”

She sighed dramatically, finally closing her laptop halfway. “You want to ‘hangout’ or whatever.”

You stared at her. “Wow. You make it sound so fun spending time with me.”

“It’s not that,” she said quickly. “It’s just— Tonight it’s the free concert. I’m trying to see how I can get in.”

You sat up, already annoyed. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Hana. You just got here.”

“And?”

“And you want to run off to a shitty concert to see some boys?”

“It’s not a shitty concert!”

You rubbed your face with your hands. “I can’t believe this.”

“They don’t do this all the time,” she continued, already grabbing her phone again. “This is like— once in a lifetime.”

“You say that about everything they do.”

“Because everything is once in a lifetime!”

“That’s not how that works.”

She ignored you. “I think I can get there—”

You rolled your eyes, thinking how irritating she was. “Hana, shut up. You’re stupid.”

She sighed, clearly over the conversation. “Look, we can hang out tomorrow, okay? I promise.”

“You said that five minutes ago.”

“And I meant it.”

You watched her for a second. Then shook your head, getting up from the bed. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Where are you going?”

“To talk to people who actually hear me when I speak.”

“That’s dramatic.”

You didn’t answer but just walked out. Your sister was a bitch sometimes. Only interested in those damn boys.

On the other side of the city, things were moving a little faster.

The room wasn’t huge, but it was filled. Managers, staff, screens displaying schedules, notes, last-minute adjustments. The kind of chaos that came before any performance, even one that was supposed to feel casual but it was in reality a big one. It was the finally damn comeback.

Jungkook leaned back slightly in his chair, listening as someone went over the setlist again.

“…and we’ll keep the transitions quick. No long breaks,” one of the staff members said. “We want to keep the energy up.”

“Got it,” someone else replied.

Jungkook nodded along, eyes scanning the paper in front of him even though he already knew most of it.

Free concerts were always different, less pressure in some ways but more in others. There were no tickets, no barriers in the same way— just people showing up because they wanted to be there. He liked that, it felt closer and more real.

“Anything else?” the tour manager asked, looking around the room. A few heads shook. “Alright. Let’s keep it clean tonight. No issues.”

Jungkook almost smiled at that. No issues, that was easier said than done.

The meeting wrapped up quickly after that, people standing, gathering their things, moving on to whatever came next. Jungkook stayed seated for a second longer, stretching his arms slightly before standing up.

“Hey,” his manager said, nodding toward the hallway. “A second?”

Jungkook followed without questioning it. They stepped into a quieter space, the noise from the main room fading just enough to make the shift noticeable.

“What’s up?” Jungkook asked.

His manager glanced at him, then leaned slightly against the wall. “That brand you mentioned a while ago,” he said. “Se-seil.”

Jungkook’s expression shifted, just slightly. “Yeah?”

“They’re interested.”

He blinked, his heart beating a little faster. “Wait— seriously?”

“Yeah. Not signed yet,” his manager clarified. “But they want to start talks. Ambassador deal.”

Jungkook let out a small breath, something between relief and excitement. “That’s—” he shook his head a little. “That’s amazing.”

“It is,” his manager agreed. “It’s big.”

Se-seil wasn’t just any Korean brand. It was selective. Clean image, high expectations, specially in the country. Not the kind of deal you got easily. Didn’t even matter if you were a big star, they were dedicated with their marketing and their reputation. Jungkook had wanted that deal for a long time, it felt like a big thing for him and his image. Specially now that he was in his lates twenties.

“Okay,” he said. “So what’s the catch?” His manager didn’t answer immediately which was answer enough. Jungkook’s smile faded slightly. “What?”

“They want you to keep a low profile for a while.”

Jungkook frowned confused. “I already do.”

“You know what I mean,” his manager said. “No rumors. No headlines. Nothing that can turn into something.”

Jungkook exhaled quietly. “…Right.”

His manager watched him for a second before continuing. “There’s been talk.”

“About?”

“You.”

Jungkook let out a small, humorless laugh. “There’s always talk.”

“Yeah,” his manager said. “But this one’s sticking, specially to the marketing team of the brand.”

Jungkook looked at him. “What are they saying?”

There was a brief pause. “That you’re getting… comfortable.”

He frowned. “What does that even mean?”

“That you’re going out more. That you’re being seen with different girls,” his manager said, keeping his tone even. “That you’re starting to act like you don’t have to follow the same rules anymore.”

Jungkook stared at him. “That’s not—”

“I know,” his manager cut in. “But that’s not the point.” Silence stretched between them. “They see a big ego,” he continued. “A wanna be playboy. Someone who thinks he’s too big now to fit the idol picture.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything. He froze for a second. “…That’s ridiculous,” he said finally, quieter.

“Maybe,” his manager said. “But it’s what’s being said.” There was another pause. “So,” he added, “we keep it simple for now. Stay low, at least for the next two weeks. Stick with the group. No good headlines, no bad headlines. Just music and how much you love each other.”

Jungkook nodded slowly, understanding immediately. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Just for a while,” his manager said. “Until they convinced the owner of the brand. He’s an old man, needs time.” He shrugged. “You want the deal, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I can play low. Got it.”

His manager gave him a small nod before heading back toward the main room. Jungkook stayed where he was. Just for a second. The words lingered longer than he expected. Wanna be playboy. Big ego. Too big for the idol image. He let out a quiet breath, running a hand through his hair. That was funny. How people could decide who you were without ever actually knowing you. It bothered him. But he already knew the game by now so he didn’t let it get under his skin.

He pushed himself off the wall, expression settling back into something neutral.

“No headlines for the next weeks,” he muttered to himself

He could easily do that… yeah. Of course.

——————————

You were lying face down on the bed, fully dressed in what could only be described as giving up for the day. An oversized hoodie, worn-out sweatpants, and socks that didn’t match.

You were trying to get some needed rest when Hana walked in like she was about to attend the most important event of her life. You didn’t even look up at first. You just felt it. That shift in energy. That unnecessary confidence. That very specific kind of presence that meant she had spent way too long getting ready for something that absolutely did not require that level of effort.

“…No,” you said into your pillow.

There was a silence and then... “You didn’t even look.”

“I don’t need to,” you replied, voice muffled. “I can hear the outfit.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

You rolled onto your back with a sigh, finally looking at her and immediately rolled your eyes. “Hana.”

“What?”

“Why do you look like you’re about to get proposed to?”

She scoffed, adjusting something invisible on her dress. “It’s called dressing nicely.”

“It’s called overdressing,” you corrected. “You’re going to a free concert, not the Met Gala. And is not even summer, you’re gonna freeze.”

She ignored that completely, turning slightly to check herself in the mirror again. “You could at least try,” she added, glancing at you. “You look like you just survived something.”

“I am right now,” you said. “You.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re dressed like an arab wedding guest.”

That made her pause, narrowing her eyes at you. “You need to come with me.”

You blinked. “…No, I don’t.”

“You need to.”

“No.”

She turned fully now, hands on her hips. “Dad won’t let me go alone.”

You sat up a little, unimpressed. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“It’s an us problem now.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Hear me out,” she said quickly, walking closer. “Please. Just this once.”

You stared at her. “I thought you said this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“It is.”

“So go live your life. Sneak by the window or something.”

“Dad will notice and you know how it is when he gets paranoid!”

You let out a small laugh. “So your plan is to drag me into it?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. Great plan.”

She dropped onto the edge of your bed, grabbing your arm lightly. “Come on. I won’t ask you for anything else this trip.”

“You are already asking me too much,” you muttered.

“I’m serious,” she insisted. “Just come with me, stay for a bit, and then I do whatever you want afterwards. I swear.”

Now that was a better deal.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “…Whatever I want?”

“Yes.”

You tilted your head. “You’ll shut up about BTS and Jungkook?”

She hesitated. “…Yes. For the rest of the trip.”

“What about for the rest of your life?.”

She groaned, flopping back dramatically. She covered her face for a second, annoyed with you. “Fine.”

You smiled. “…That was fast.”

“I said fine,” she repeated, pointing at you. “But you actually have to help me get in.”

“I’m coming with you and lying to our parents. I think that’s enough.”

She sat up again, suddenly determined. “Okay, change fast. We need to go now.”

You stared at each other for a second. Then you sighed.

“I’m not changing. I’ll stay in the car while you do your thing,” you muttered, standing up. She look at you unbelievably. “Let’s just go before I change my mind.”

She groaned again. “Fine, let’s go.”

The lie came surprisingly easy when you confronted your parents downstairs. It wasn’t exactly that you needed permission to go out since you were grow ups but it was mostly your dad being worried that something could happen to any of you since you didn’t know the city that well and clearly weren’t locals.

“We’re just going for a walk downtown,” Hana said casually, leaning against the door like she hadn’t just spent three hours getting ready.

“And maybe get something to drink,” you added, trying to sound normal.

Your parents barely questioned it. Which, honestly, felt suspicious.

“Don’t stay out too late,” your mom said.

“Let the girls have fun,” your grand grandmother smiled at you both before throwing her key cars to your sister.

It was like she knew you were planning something else. You nodded with a fake excited smile, already stepping outside before anything else could be added. The second the door closed behind you both run to the car your granny had give you the keys to use.

The car was… something. You stared at it for a second before getting in.

“Why is it so purple?”

“It’s vintage.”

“It’s purple.”

“Still vintage.”

“Ugly vintage.”

Hana ignored you, already starting the engine and started driving with way too much confidence for someone who definitely shouldn’t be driving that fast. You gripped the door slightly.

“I’ll drive fast. Can’t lose more time.” She warned you.

“God, I should’ve gotten my license years ago.”

You were regretting a lot of your life choices already.

By the time you reached Gwanghwamun, it was chaos. Not violent chaos just a shit ton of people. Everywhere. Lights, noise, movement, energy. The kind of crowd that made you immediately reconsider every life choice that led you there. You were a little anxious. Hana, on the other hand, looked like she had just found heaven.

“This is insane,” she breathed.

“Yeah,” you said. “That’s one word for it.”

And somehow, somehow, she found a parking spot. A good one. Close enough to see the crowd, far enough to not get stuck in it. You stared at her as she parked.

“…That was suspiciously easy.”

“It’s fate,” she said.

“I don’t think it’s legal to park here.”

She turned the engine off, already unbuckling her seatbelt and taking the keys with her. “I’ll be fast.”

“That’s not true!,” you clocked her. “And why are you taking the keys?.”

“Just in case. So you don’t leave me.”

You rolled your eyes. “If an officer comes and I can’t move the car I’m giving your ID.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just text me anything.” She rolled her eyes, opening the door. “Just don’t fall asleep or something.”

“No promises.”

You watched her step out, adjusting her outfit like she was about to step onto a stage herself. Then she walked toward the big ass crowd of people trying to get inside too. And within seconds— You saw her arguing with a security guard, probably giving her fake argument that she was a big fansite who needed to get inside to do her job.

Of course. She was so annoyingly persistent.

You immediately leaned your head back against the seat. “Great,” you muttered. “I’ll be here forever.”

You lost sight of her not long after that.

Poof! She was just… gone. Swallowed by people. Amazing.

Thirty minutes later, you were still in the car. Doing absolutely nothing.

You checked your phone. scrolled for over three hundred different videos, a lot of them being korean adds you were already done watching by the second one. You locked it. Checked it again a minute later. And repeated that a thousand times. Nothing, absolutely nothing. Your friends back home were sleeping, you didn’t have enough data anymore to put some youtube or a netflix show and you couldn’t even put music because the car was turn off.

Fuck it.

You sighed, pushing the door open and stepping out.

The air was louder out here. The music reached you immediately— distant, but clear enough to recognize the rhythm, the beat carrying through the crowd like something alive.

You stood there for a second, listening. And then, the voices felt closer. It felt familiar… even if you didn’t want them to be.

“We can go all night

Don't you close your eyes

Don't you fear the light

All night…”

You tilted your head slightly, arms crossing over your chest as you listened. You knew they weren’t bad. They were even more than okay, they were great. You could admit that. But that wasn’t the point, it wasn’t. You didn’t hate their music. You didn’t even hate him. You just hated what it did. How every time you tried to talk to Hana, your sister, she was somewhere else. How every plan somehow turned into something about them. How you always felt like you were competing with something you couldn’t even see.

It was like you were fighting for a place in her life that didn’t even have time for you.

You kicked lightly at the ground. Your phone buzzed. You glanced at it.

Hana: IM INSIDE

You: how

Hana: don’t ask

Hana: IM TRYING TO GET CLOSER

You: of course you are

Hana: watch me get front stage bitch

You stared at the screen. Then laughed quietly to yourself.

Yeah. Of course she will do that.

You looked around. Most of the nearby places were empty, everyone either at the concert or trying to get in. That meant every store was either empty or had a little to few people. Which was amazing because you were hungry as hell. And you deserved some good food after doing all that for your sister.

You decided to ignore google maps and just walk around, the view was beautiful. All the city was painted in purple— which you knew exactly why— but it was decorated so beautiful it made your irritation disappear. There was a lot of people walking around and singing or dancing or recording. The place was packed on the streets but the stores and restaurants were mostly empty. You walked a lot until you find a good spot in an alley that didn’t seemed too full.

The restaurant you found wasn’t anything special. Small, quiet, a little hidden from the main street like it didn’t really care about being noticed. It was perfect.

You stepped inside, the sudden calm almost shocking after the noise outside. An older woman stood behind the counter, looking up as you entered. You smiled, a little awkward.

“Hi.” you said, walking to her while looking at the little menu in the counter. “Do you recommend me something?.”

She smiled at you before nodding. “Sit, sit,” she said, gesturing to a table. “I’ll choose for you.”

“Well, okay. Thank you.” You sat down, glancing around. It felt… nice, simple and warm. You were hungry.

After some minutes she brought you a bowl of ramen not long after, placing it in front of you with a small smile. You looked at it. “…Wow.”

“It’s my secret recipe,” she clearly proud.

You nodded quickly. “It looks amazing.” You took the hot steam soup to your mouth, tasting the food, immediately groaning of satisfaction. “Okay— that’s really good.”

She smiled wider this time before started talking about her recipe. And you knew you were going to be there for long, long time.

You two talked about some recipes and the different things and spices you had back home and how the food felt completely different even with the same condiments. It was a long conversation. By the time you finished eating and paid, you felt lighter. Like maybe the night wasn’t a complete waste… Until you checked your phone.

Three hours. You stared at the screen. “…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

No new messages. Of course. Your sister was probably still trapped in that place doing Lord knows what. Specially with how many people were there it was going to take a lot of time for her to get back.

You stepped outside, saying goodbye to the old woman whose name you learned was Gaon. The distant sound of the concert still echoing through the city. The walk to the car wasn’t close but it wasn’t exactly far either. You took a shortcut, because of course you did. An alley, narrow but lit enough to feel safe.

At least at first.

You adjusted your hoodie slightly, hands tucked into the pocket as you walked, your mind already somewhere else. And then—

Boom!

The door flew open. You didn’t even have time to react. It hit you hard— right on the side of your head. “—shit—!”

And suddenly the ground was rushing up to meet you. Everything tilted. Your vision blurred for a second as you stumbled, then fell, the impact knocking the air out of your lungs as you hit the pavement. Pain spread almost immediately, sharp and disorienting.

Ouch.

——————————

By the time Jungkook finally sat down to eat, the adrenaline from the performance hadn’t fully left his system yet.

It never did, not right away. There was always that leftover energy buzzing under his skin, like his body hadn’t gotten the message that it was over. His ears still rang faintly, not painfully, just enough to remind him of the crowd, the music, the way thousands of voices could somehow feel both overwhelming and grounding at the same time.

The restaurant had been rented out for the night, one of those places that felt exclusive without trying too hard, low lighting, warm tones, tucked away just enough to avoid unnecessary attention. A good choice, considering who he was with.

The 97 line didn’t do subtle… or quiet. Or anything remotely calm when they were all in the same room.

“You missed a line of that song,” Mingyu pointed out, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “What happened? Got distracted?”

Jungkook snorted, grabbing his glass. “Yeah, because I’ve never done a concert before.”

“Just saying,” he added, nudging him slightly. “You looked like you were in your own world out there.”

“That’s literally my job.”

“Your job is to sing, not dissociate.”

“I wasn’t—” Jungkook started, then paused, shaking his head with a small smile. He knew they were just trying to bother him. “You guys are annoying.”

“We are making you a better idol.”

“You all should learn from me, fuckers.”

They laughed, the conversation flowing easily after that, random topics, teasing, inside jokes that didn’t need explaining. It was comfortable, familiar. The kind of environment where he didn’t have to think too much about anything outside of the moment.

Which was exactly why it ended too fast.

Jungkook checked the time on his phone, his expression shifting slightly. “…Okay, I have to go.”

Groans immediately followed. “You just got here.”

“I’ve been here for an hour.”

“That’s not enough.”

“It has to be,” he said, already standing up and reaching for his jacket. “I’m late.”

“Hybe party?” Eunwoo asked.

“Yeah.”

“Tell them we said hi.”

“You’re not going later?.”

“Not really feeling in the mood. But you know we’re proud of you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jungkook replied, pulling his jacket on. “See you guys.”

A few more comments followed him as he made his way toward the exit, shaking his head lightly but smiling anyway. He pushed the door open without really thinking about it— his mind already halfway out, already shifting to what came next.. and then something hit. Or really… someone.

There was a thud. A sharp, immediate sound that didn’t match anything around him.

Jungkook froze. And then looked down.

“Oh— oh my God!” he stepped forward quickly, eyes widening as he saw you on the ground. “Did I just hit you?!”

You blinked up at him, clearly disoriented, one hand already moving instinctively toward your head. “No,” you said flatly, wincing. “The door hit me by itself.”

He stared at you for half a second. “…Right. Yeah. No, no. I’m sorry.” He frowned, looking at the alley where a song he knew perfectly started getting louder. “Oh, no. That— this is not good.”

You groaned slightly, pushing yourself up just enough to sit, your expression tightening as the pain settled in properly.

“Yeah, no shit.”

Jungkook crouched down immediately, hovering like he wasn’t entirely sure where to help or what to touch. “Are you okay? That looked really bad.”

“I’m amazing,” you muttered. “I love getting hit by doors.”

He let out a breath, somewhere between concern and disbelief. “Okay, sarcasm. That’s a good sign, right?”

You opened your eyes properly now, finally focusing on him—

“…Oh.”

Holy shit.

Jungkook blinked. “What?”

You stared at him for a second longer, your brain clearly trying to catch up with your eyes. “Oh, wait. Holy shit. You’re—”

He reacted immediately, one hand coming up to gently— but quickly— cover your mouth.

“I’ll give you free tickets to the first concert of the tour if you don’t scream my name right now.”

You froze for a second at his touch before frowning, annoyed. Who the hell did he think he was? You shoved his hand away, a little harsh.

“I don’t want tickets for your stupid concert,” you snapped, your voice coming out sharper than you intended as your head throbbed again.

Jungkook blinked. “…Wow.” He leaned back slightly, studying you. “You really hit your head.”

Before you could respond, the door behind him opened again; this time slower, and a couple of his friends stepped out, immediately taking in the scene.

“What happened?”

“She got hit by the door,” Jungkook said quickly.

“You hit her with the door,” Mingyu corrected, stepping closer.

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Who does?.”

You let out a small, pained sound, pressing your hand more firmly against your forehead. “…Why is everything spinning?”

All three of them looked at you, then at each other.

“…Is she bleeding?” Eunwoo asked.

Jungkook leaned in slightly, eyes focusing on your forehead and immediately tensing. “…Yeah.”

You blinked. “What do you mean ‘yeah’?”

“Like— just a little,” he added quickly. “It’s not— like, a lot.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“Okay, it’s a little more than a little.”

“Great.”

“You should probably sit still.”

“I am sitting still!”

There was a brief pause.

“Oh, shit,” Mingyu muttered, glancing toward the street.

Jungkook followed his gaze. And immediately understood. The music was still echoing through the area, but closer now. People moving around, voices getting louder, fans walking, wandering, noticing. And noticing them.

“Okay,” Eunwoo said quickly. “We need to move.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook agreed, already helping you up carefully. “Can you stand?”

“Define stand,” you muttered, but you let him pull you up anyway, swaying slightly once you were on your feet.

“…Okay, maybe not.”

“Take my car. They probably know yours already,” Eunwoo said, already backing away. “We’ll distract them.”

“But—”

“I’ll bring it for you,” he insisted. “We got it.”

Jungkook hesitated for half a second. Then nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” He turned back to you, steadying you as the noise around you grew just slightly louder. “Come on.”

You squinted at him. “I don’t like this.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“No, I mean— I really don’t like this.”

“You’ll like the hospital more,” he said.

“I doubt it.”

You took one step. Then another. And then suddenly— you stopped, your stomach making a weird noise before you turned slightly and promptly threw up… right onto someone’s shoes.

There was a very loud, very offended: “—ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes watering slightly. “…Sorry.”

Mingyu looked down at his shoes like his entire life had just ended. “These were new!”

Jungkook winced. “…Dude, I’m so sorry.”

“She threw up on me!”

“I know, I saw.”

“Do you know how expensive these were!?”

“Not the time!”

You groaned, holding your head again. “My sister’s still at the concert,” you mumbled, words slightly slurred together. “She’s gonna kill me.”

Jungkook glanced at you. “…We’ll deal with your sister later.”

“My sister’s gonna kill me.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair,” he admitted.

The car pulled up quickly after that, Eunwoo opened the door for him. “Go, go,”

Mingyu still looking personally betrayed by his friend opened the door for you, helping you get in. “Get in before this gets worse.”

“You have a nice hair,” you muttered to him, trying to be nice.

“Shut the fuck up,” he pushed you inside. What a weird guy, you thought. He looked at his friend. “Text me.”

“I will!”

“You owe me new shoes!”

“I know!”

He shut the door.

Finally. Silence. Well, not silence. The city was still there. The distant noise, the leftover energy from the concert, but inside the car, it felt… contained.

Jungkook exhaled, starting the engine. “Okay, here. Drink this.” He gave you a bottle of water. Or at least what is seemed it was. When you didn’t complained he assumed he was right. He glanced at you. “We’re going to—” His phone rang. He froze for half a second before answering. “Yeah?”

His manager’s voice came through immediately. “Where are you?”

“In the car. Why?”

“You need to get to the after party now.”

Jungkook frowned. “I’m on my way, I just—”

“The Se-seli director is here. With his daughters. They’re asking for you.”

He went still. “…Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

Jungkook glanced at you again. You were leaning back against the seat, eyes half-closed, clearly bothered by what had happened.

“…Okay, yes,” he said, lowering his voice slightly. “I’ll be there in as fast as I can go.”

“Hurry.”

The line went dead. Jungkook stared at his phone for a second then sighed.

“…Okay.” He looked at you again then made a decision. “I really need to go to Hybe’s building,” he said, starting the car properly this time. “It’s really close. They’ve got doctors there.”

You opened one eye. “…Real doctors?”

“…Very real,” he said, a little too quickly. An obvious lie.

You stared at him for a second, then closed your eyes again. “Okay. Just hurry up.”

He nodded, even though you weren’t really looking anymore. “Yeah, yeah.” he muttered. “I will.”

You fumbled for your phone, squinting at the screen as you typed.

You: getting food, will meet u later

You hit send. And let your head fall back again. Neither of you said anything after that. The car moved through the city, fast but controlled, both of you sitting in the same space for the first time.

——————————

The building was… a lot.

You didn’t even fully process it at first because your head still hurt in that deep, annoying way that made everything feel slightly delayed, like your brain was buffering in real time. But even through that, even through the dizziness and the lingering nausea, you could tell this wasn’t just any place.

It was big. Not just physically— though, yes, it was that too— but in presence. Glass, lights, people moving with purpose like they actually knew what they were doing, security that looked like they didn’t joke around, and just enough activity to make it obvious something important was happening somewhere inside.

You squinted slightly as Jungkook parked.

“…Where are we?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Work.”

“…You brought me to work.” You turned your head slowly to look at him.

“I told you I had doctors.”

“In your dance studio?”

“They’re good,” he insisted, already getting out of the car and rushing around to your side.

“That’s not how that works,” you muttered, but you let him help you out anyway, your balance still slightly off as your feet hit the ground. The second you were fully upright, he didn’t give you time to question anything else, just grabbed your hand and guided you inside the elevator. You took it out of his grip harshly. “I know how to walk.”

“I was just helping,” he frowned a little offended. “Let’s go.”

The lobby was even worse, people everywhere. Not chaotic, but in that busy, efficient way that somehow made you feel more out of place than actual chaos would’ve.

You instinctively pulled your hood up a little more. “Why are there so many people?” you whispered.

“There’s an event,” he replied quickly, steering you toward a hallway before anyone could look too closely. “Just— don’t look at anyone.”

“That’s easy,” you muttered. “I already don’t want to be here.”

“Great. Perfect attitude.”

He moved fast. Too fast for you, honestly. At one point you almost tripped over your own feet and had to grab onto the back of his shirt just to steady yourself. You didn’t let go. Jungkook cleared his throat before continue walking, a little flustered by the act without you noticing.

“Slow down,” you complained.

“We can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because if we stop, people will notice you with me and will start asking questions.”

“About what?”

“About you.”

You frowned. “…Why?”

He stopped walking for half a second. Then turned to you like that was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because you’re with me, because you have a little blood on your head. And becuase you’re… a girl.”

You blinked. “A girl?.”

“Yeah. A girl.”

Before you could say anything else, he opened a door with a code and gently, but quickly, pushed you inside. The room was quiet. Dimmer than the hallway, filled with equipment you didn’t have the energy to properly register yet. Speakers, instruments, cables, things that screamed music even if your brain was too slow to process details.

“Stay here,” he said.

You turned to him, immediately suspicious. “…Why?”

“Because—” he ran a hand through his hair quickly, glancing back at the hallway like someone might walk in any second, “—because I don’t need people asking questions right now.” He stared at you. “‘Who’s she?’ ‘How do you know her?’ ‘Why is she bleeding?’ ‘Are you two dating?’”

“Dating?” You made a face. “Ugh.”

He paused. “…Ugh?”

“I mean… Yikes.”

“You’re offended?”

“I’m concerned,” you corrected. “That anyone would think that.”

He blinked at you. Then let out a short fake laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Wow. Okay. That’s— good for my ego.”

“Bet you need your ego to get bigger, huh.” you said sarcastically. “And you’re the one hiding me,” you pointed out. “What does that say? Embarrassed of people seeing you with a non-famous person?”

“I’m not embarrassed of that,” he said quickly. “I just don’t want a scandal. I don’t want this—” he gestured vaguely at your forehead, “—turning into something else.”

You squinted at him. “…You mean like a dating scandal?”

He froze. “Well… yes.”

“Just because you’re a man and I’m a woman doesn’t mean we’re dating.”

“I know that but the media—” He groaned quietly, rubbing his face with irritation. “You wouldn’t understand. Just please stay here.”

You leaned slightly against the wall, still unimpressed. “Relax. I don’t want to be associated with you either.”

He titled his head, feeling offended. “Okay…That makes two of us.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

A pause. Then he pointed at the couch. “Sit.” You looked at it then back at him. There was a silence . His eye started twitching. “… Please.”

You rolled your eyes but sat down anyway. “Fine.”

“I’ll be back,” he said, already stepping toward the door again.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to show my face,” he replied. “Just for a bit.”

“And then?”

“And then I’ll come back and I promise I’ll take you to the doctor.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You better. I’m not planning on spending thousand of dollars in the ER if this is like America.”

“The health system—” He stopped himself. he was losing time. “I’ll obviously cover that. Just don’t move. I’ll be back quickly.”

“Yeah, you better make it quick because if you don’t I will bleed dramatically on your expensive floor.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

He shook his head, already opening the door. “Don’t touch anything.”

“Now I’m definitely touching everything.”

“I— God, why is this happening to me?”. He groaned, giving you a last serious look. “Stay.” he ordered like you were a dog.

And then he was gone.

“Woof?”

For a while, you actually stayed where you were. Mostly because your head still hurt and moving felt like a bad idea. But also because the room itself was… interesting.

Once the dizziness settled just a little, your eyes started adjusting, taking in the details properly this time. The instruments, the equipment, the setup, it wasn’t just random. It was really organized. Organized in that messy way that meant people actually used it.

You stood up slowly, curiosity kicking in despite everything, walking a little further into the room. Yeah, the place was definitely cool as hell. You ran your fingers lightly over the edge of a table, glancing at a guitar resting nearby, then at a keyboard, then at a set of headphones that probably cost more than your entire house.

“Don’t touch anything,” you repeated under your breath. “Yeah, okay.”

You touched everything… Just a little, carefully.

You were about to grab a guitar when the door suddenly opened. You froze, completely. Two guys walked in mid-conversation, not even looking at you at first.

“…I’m telling you, that’s not how it works—”

“Then explain it to me again—”

They stopped, both of them. At the exact same time, like they were doing a choreography. And then slowly turned to look at you. There was a pause. A really long one where the three of you just stayed in silence, watching each other. It was easy to recognize them, specially when your sister couldn’t stopped talking about the blond haired guy and the one that had the face of a model.

You opened your mouth first.

“…Hi,” you said.

They blinked. Then one of them, Jimin, stepped forward slightly, squinting at you.

“…Who are you?… Why are you here?”

You opened your mouth and closed it. Then pointed vaguely behind you.

“I think I’m… not supposed to be here.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Taehyung said.

“And why are you bleeding?” Jimin added, eyes widening slightly as he got a better look at your forehead.

“Oh,” you said, touching it instinctively. “Yeah. That.”

“Yeah, that,” he repeated.

You hesitated for half a second. “Well— this guy named Jungkook hit me.”

There was a dead silence.

They both stared at you, then at each other again and then back at you.

“…JUNGKOOK HIT YOU?!” Jimin screamed aggravated.

Okay maybe your word choice wasn’t the best.

“With a door!,” you explained. “Accidentally... I think.”

“Oh my God,” Taehyung whispered, like he discovered why you were there. “We’re getting sued.”

“I’m not going to sue you,” you said.

“That’s exactly what someone who’s about to sue the shit out of us would say,” he replied immediately.

“I literally don’t even want to be here.”

“That’s worse,” Jimin said. “Did he kidnap you?.”

You stared at them. “…Are you serious right now?”

“No,” they both said at the same time. Then immediately— “Yes,” they added.

You blinked, they were so in sync it looked like they were acting. “…Wow.”

“Okay, okay— sit down,” Taehyung said quickly, grabbing a chair and pulling it toward you. “We need to check if you have a concussion.”

“You’re not doctors.”

“We have phones.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It’s basically the same thing,” he insisted, already pulling out his phone. “Wait— how do you check for concussion—”

He opened YouTube. You stared at him unbelievably. “You’re using YouTube.”

“It’s reliable.”

“It’s not reliable.”

“Would you want us to check tiktok?” Jimin asked, he was seriously intrigued. “Do you think it’s a more trustful source?”

“Shh,” his friend called. “This guy looks like he knows what he’s doing.”

The other one leaned over his shoulder. “…He’s a fitness coach.”

“He’s close enough.”

You pressed your fingers to your temple. “I can’t believe my sister is obsessed with you people.”

They both looked at you again.

“…Your sister?” Taehyung repeated.

“Yeah.”

“She’s got good taste,” Jimin added, laughing.

“She has questionable judgment,” you corrected.

“Okay, follow my finger,” Taehyung said suddenly, holding his hand up in front of your face.

You stared at it. “…Why?”

“To see if your eyes track movement.” You sighed but followed it anyway. “There. See? She’s fine.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s fine, man”

“She’s talking.”

“So?”

“So people with concussions can talk!”

“That’s not helping!”

You stood up slowly. “…You know what? I’m good.”

They both looked at you. “You don’t look good,” Taehyung said.

“I feel… okay enough.”

“That’s not a medical term,” Jimin pointed out.

“Neither is whatever you’re doing.”

They hesitated. “…Fair.”

Jimin pulled out his phone. “Look, I actually have a great medical video that we can check—”

He started looking for his Youtube history. Taehyung leaned to look at it and started making fun of the videos he watched. You pressed your lips together and looked at the door.

Okay, whatever was outside couldn’t be worse than those two idiots.

You started moving slowly to the door while they kept fighting louder. You couldn’t tell if it was a bit or they were really bickering that harsh but you honestly didn’t care enough. You just wanted to leave that place as soon as possible. It was actually angering you the fact that you probably were having a concussion and superstar Jeon Jungkook decided his work was more important than taking you to an actual hospital.

What an asshole!

“Wait— where is she?!”

You started walking faster down the hallway when you heard the scream.

You didn’t really have a plan. You just… walked around, trying to find the elevator that could take you to the reception and you could get the fuck out of that place. You walked a lot for a building space. Through hallways, past doors, following whatever felt like an exit, your head still a little off but manageable now.

Okay… maybe you didn’t have a great sense of direction.

Mmmhmmm

You frowned a little intrigued. There was music, not loud like before in the city. Not overwhelming either. Just… there, clear and close. You slowed down slightly, curiosity creeping in again despite everything.

“…What now,” you muttered.

You followed the sound down another hallway. Up a short set of stairs. Until you reached an open space— The rooftop.

You stopped just before stepping fully into view, instinctively staying hidden near the entrance. And then you saw him. Jungkook. Standing under soft lights, a mic in his hand, the city stretching out behind him like it was part of the stage. There were a lot of people around, some sitting, some standing, watching quietly while drinking. It wasn’t too loud. It wasn’t a loud song either. It was… calm. And then he continued singing, not like before. Not like the concert.

This was different. Softer, clearer. His voice carried easily through the space, smooth and controlled in a way that didn’t feel forced, didn’t feel like it was trying to impress anyone. It just… was.

You stayed where you were, not moving, not interrupting. Just watching and listening. Jungkook was an asshole. And a enormous idiot. But God, he had the voice of an angel. You understood why people listened.

Something about you

Do you feel the way I do?

There's magic in the room

Tell me, do you feel it too?…

Okay that was enough. You needed to get the fuck out of there.

People started clapping, you consciously and weirdly put a hand in your forehead and started walking again. Walking down the stairs and following some people that were clearly leaving. You moved with them to the elevator, moving your hoodie slightly uncomfortable when you noticed you were clearly not dressed for the event. It was painfully obvious you were not part of these people.

Your phone buzzed in your pants. Your sister was texting you. Already two missing calls.

Hana: HELLO???

Hana: where the fuck are you???

Hana: i swear if u got lost i will leave you here

Hana: it can’t take you so long to eat something

Shit, she was going to kill you. What the hell were you supposed to tell?

‘Hey, sis. So remember the guy you’re obsessed with? Well he hit me in the forehead with a door, lie to me about taking me to the hospital and now i’m in the HYBE building where I met Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung— they’re really stupid, by the way— And I heard Jungkook performed but I feel like I’m about to pass out so now I’m trying to get the fuck out of here. What about you?’

You: i hit my head with a pole so i just went home

You: good luck with the traffic lol

Okay, just a little white lie. She was definitely gonna kill you anyway.

By the time you made it down to the parking garage where the elevator took you, your patience was officially gone.

Not low, not running out but gone. Completely. The kind of gone where everything started to feel ten times more irritating than it actually was. The lights too bright, the echo of your own footsteps too loud, your head still throbbing in that dull, persistent way that refused to let you forget what had happened.

You pressed your fingers lightly against your forehead as you walked, wincing. “…This is actually insane,” you muttered to yourself Because it was. You had come out for a walk. That was the lie. A simple, harmless lie…

And somehow, in the span of a few hours, you had:

• gone to a concert you didn’t care about 

• eaten ramen with a stranger who was objectively the highlight of your night 

• gotten hit in the head by a door

• been kidnapped— yes, kidnapped— to a big ass famous building 

• and accidentally met people your sister would probably sell her soul to even breathe near

You stopped for a second, staring ahead. “…I’m never leaving the house again.”

“Good plan.”

You froze. And then slowly turned around. And there he was. Leaning casually against one of the walls like he hadn’t just completely derailed your entire night, hands in his pockets, looking far too relaxed for someone who had, once again, found you bleeding.

You stared at him. “What the hell?.”

He pushed himself off the wall slightly, shaking his head. “I told you to stay in the studio.”

“Yeah,” you said flatly. “Well, fuck that.”

There was a brief pause. He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “I saw you upstairs.”

You frowned. “…Upstairs where?”

“The rooftop.” Oh. You blinked once. “You were standing by the door watching me sing.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

He let out a small breath, clearly choosing not to argue that point further. “Where are you going?”

You stared at him like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Home.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes, just like that.”

“You’re still bleeding.”

“I’ll survive.”

“That’s not very convincing.”

You rolled your eyes, turning slightly toward the exit again. “I’m not staying one more minute here.”

“I didn’t say you had to.”

“You literally left me in a room to go perform,” you snapped, turning back to him. “That’s exactly what you did.”

His expression shifted slightly. “I didn’t perform—”

“You were singing in front of people.”

“It wasn’t— Hah! You saw me!.”

“You told me we were going to see a doctor,” you continued, voice rising just a little despite yourself, ignoring his comment, “Theres are not any fucking doctors in here. I ended up in a studio with two guys watching a YouTube tutorial about concussions.”

He blinked. “…You what?”

“Your stupid friends found me in the studio and almost diagnosed me through a fitness coach. So yes, of course I want to leave!” He pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“It’s not funny,” you insisted, your head throbbing again as if to prove your point. “I just want to go home.”

There was a pause.

“I’m sorry.” You stopped for a second, because that… you weren’t expecting. You looked at him properly for the first time since you got down there. He didn’t look defensive or annoyed, just… genuine. “You’re right. I should’ve taken you straight to the hospital,” he added, running a hand through his hair. “That’s on me.”

You hesitated for half a second before looking away again. “…Yeah. It is.”

He nodded slightly. “Okay. So let me fix it. I’ll take you now.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” you repeated. “I’m going home.”

“You need to get checked.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

“I’m walking, talking, and not unconscious. That’s fine.”

“That’s the bare minimum.”

“That’s all I’m aiming for.”

He stared at you for a second before stepping closer, clearly trying to stand his ground. “Look,” he said, voice calmer now but firmer too, “you hit your head hard enough to bleed and throw up. That’s not something you just ignore.”

You crossed your arms tighter. “Now you care? You should’ve taken me to the hospital an hour ago. Now I just wanna go home. I’ll deal with it later.”

“I know! But now I’ll do it. And that’s not dealing with it.”

“It is for me.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you again in that annoyingly observant way. “You’re stubborn.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Okay, maybe I am. But you’re still injured.”

“You’re the reason I’m injured.”

“Fair,” he admitted. “But that still doesn’t change the fact that you should get checked.”

You huffed, turning away again. “I should’ve been checked an hour ago. If I have a concussion now it doesn’t even matter. I’ll probably die soon anyway.”

“That’s not comforting!” he exclaimed, panicking a little.

“It’s reality.” You let out a long breath, pressing your fingers to your temple again. “I just want this night to be over and go home.”

His expression softened slightly at that. “Then let me help you end it properly.”

You glanced at him. “…By taking me to a hospital you should’ve taken me to hours ago?”

“Yes. And then I’ll take you home. And then,” he said, holding your gaze this time, “you never have to see me again.”

You nodded fast. That actually convinced more than anything he said before. Because that was exactly what you wanted. No more chaos, no more weird situations, no more… him… and his weird dumb friends.

You looked at him for a second longer. “…Promise?”

He nodded. “Promise.”

You sighed, shoulders dropping slightly as your resistance finally started to wear down. “…Fine. Let’s go.” You pointed at him. “I swear to God If I end up back in another studio—”

“You won’t.”

“If someone tries to diagnose me with a YouTube video again—”

“They won’t.”

“If I die—”

“You’re not going to die!”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m pretty sure.”

You exhaled sharply. “Okay. Can we just go now?” He smiled then. That stupid, soft, slightly crooked smile that didn’t match the situation at all and somehow made it worse. You knew that smiled. That bunny smile your sister couldn’t stop talking about. “…What?” you said immediately.

“Nothing.”

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Like what?.”

“Like an idiot.”

“I’m not!”

“You are.”

“It’s just my face.”

You squinted at him. “…That’s unfortunate.”

He rolled his eyes, opening the car door for you. “Get in.”

You rolled your eyes too but got in anyway. “Drive fast.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

——————————

The hospital was huge.

In a dramatic, clean and expensive way. Bright lights, quiet hallways, people moving with purpose like they’d done the same routine a hundred times before and would do it a hundred more without thinking twice about it. The place was beautiful in a way a castle would be. You wondered how many the doctors would be getting yearly because it was insane.

You sat on the edge of the bed in one of the examination rooms, arms loosely crossed, trying not to look as tired as you felt while a doctor gently cleaned the dried blood from your forehead. It stung a little, enough to make you flinch once or twice, but nothing unbearable. Compared to the rest of the night, this was almost peaceful.

Across the room, Jungkook stood near the wall, hands in his pockets, watching in that way people did when they didn’t know where to stand or what to do with themselves. He hadn’t said much since you got there, just answered the receptionist, handled paperwork, paid without hesitation, and stayed out of the way while still very much there.

From his side, the whole situation felt like something he absolutely did not need right now.

He didn’t need his manager finding out he’d disappeared mid-event to take a girl— a random girl— to the hospital. He didn’t need questions. He definitely didn’t need this somehow turning into a headline. And, if he was being honest, he didn’t need to get sued either, because the way you kept reminding him that he had, in fact, hit you with a door made that possibility feel a little too real.

Still, he stayed. Because leaving you there alone would’ve been worse.

The doctor stepped back slightly after finishing, giving you a quick once-over. “No signs of concussion,” he said, slow and clear. “You may feel dizzy or have a headache, but that’s normal. Rest tonight. If anything gets worse, come back.”

You nodded.

“Okay.”

“No heavy activity,” he added, then paused, glancing between you and Jungkook like he was trying to figure something out but ultimately deciding not to ask. “You’re good.”

“Thank you,” Jungkook said quickly.

The doctor nodded once and left to fill some papers.

You exhaled, shoulders relaxing slightly now that it was officially over.

“…See?” you said, glancing at Jungkook. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t look convinced. “You threw up.”

“I was overwhelmed.”

“You got hit in the head.”

“By you,” you uttered .

“By a door,” he corrected.

You shrugged lightly. “Same thing.”

He let out a breath through his nose, somewhere between a sigh and a quiet laugh. “Let’s just go.”

The drive to your house was quieter at first.

You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes half-closed, finally starting to feel the weight of the night settle in now that the adrenaline had worn off. Your forehead throbbed less, but enough to remind you it was still there.

The silence started becoming a little uncomfortable after some minutes. Jungkook glanced over once at you before turning on the music. It was soft at first. Low enough to not be intrusive. You didn’t pay attention to it immediately, your focus somewhere between resting and staying awake just enough to not accidentally fall asleep in a stranger’s car.

But then you recognized it. And then Jungkook started singing.

If you wanna, if you wanna, I'll do a thing for you

If you wanna, if you wanna, I'll do the thing for you

If you wanna, if you wanna…

You opened one eye slowly. “…Really?”

He glanced at you briefly. “What?”

“You’re playing your own song.”

“And it’s good, huh?”

“Huh?” you repeated, sitting up slightly.

He shrugged one shoulder, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “I thought you’d liked it.”

You stared at him. “Lemme guess…You thought this was everyone’s dream, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“Being stuck in a car with the biggest pop star in the world while he sings his own hit songs. You thought I will be dying for this. Oh, my god. A fan’s dream come true.” He actually smiled at that, clearly not noticing you were being sarcastic and mean. You let out a small, tired laugh, shaking your head. “Well, there’s just one problem.”

“And that is?”

“I’m not your fan.”

The words landed a little heavier than he expected them to. Jungkook blinked, the smile fading just slightly, not offended, just… processing.

“What do you mean— you don’t… You don’t like BTS?” He frowned, a little hurt. “I mean, I thought you didn’t like me because I hit you with a door.”

“I don’t like you because you hit me with a door,” you confirmed. You glanced out the window, watching the city pass by. “I’m not a hater. I’m just not a fan.”

“You don’t like my music?”

“I didn’t say that,” you replied. “I like your music.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Then what—”

“I’m just not crazy over you. I don’t like you.”

He stared at the road for a second, then back at you. “But you don’t even know me.”

You nodded. “Precisely.”

That confused him, you could see it. “Wouldn’t that mean you should give me a chance?”

“To what?”

“To… like me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bold assumption.”

“I think it’s accurate,” he said, a little more confident now. “If you knew me, you’d like me.”

You snorted. “Wow.”

“What?”

“That’s… very convincing,” you said sarcastically.

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s really not.”

He glanced at you again. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re full of yourself.”

“I’m not full of myself.”

“You just said I’d like you if I knew you,” you repeated.

“Because you would. If you knew me you would like me.”

“For the little time that I know you— not only have you lie to me but, you hit me with a door and treat me like a dog that has to obey you. So clearly I don’t like you.” You said, annoyed.

“That makes sense, but that was because I was in a hard situation!” He tried to explain. “You have to know me more. That way you would like—”

You shook your head, looking back out the window. “Turn right.”

He frowned slightly, the fact that you cut him off— ignoring him— and just gave him instructions like he was your driver threw him off a little. You were clearly not trying to be his friend or even nice to him.

Whatever.

He looked down at his GPS. “I could go straight.”

“Turn right.”

“It’s faster if I go straight.”

“It’s faster if you listen to me.”

He hesitated for a second. “…Fine.”

He turned. You leaned back again, satisfied. “See? Not so hard.”

“I still think my way was faster.”

“Your way is wrong.”

“My way is not wrong.”

“It is when I live here.”

“You don’t live here.”

“I’m staying here.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It’s enough.”

He exhaled quietly, shaking his head. “You argue about everything.”

“You started it.”

“I did not start it.”

“You did.”

God, you were annoying.

By the time you pulled up in front of your great-grandparents’ house, the tension had settled into something… quieter. The music was still playing and luckily for Jungkook, it was all his new album songs— which now he knew irritated you— and that made him satisfied.

You unbuckled your seatbelt, already reaching for the door.

Jungkook spoke first. “…Hey.”

You paused, glancing at him. “What?”

He moved his head a little uncomfortable. “I just want to say I’m sorry and—”

“Noted. Are we done now?” You held his gaze for a moment, looking at him like he was an idiot.

He blinked, a little offended. “Yeah… I guess. Yeah—”

“Good.”

You opened the door, stepping out without looking back, already walking toward the house like you couldn’t get away from the him fast enough.

Jungkook watched you go for a second too long.

“Nice to meet you too,” he whispered sarcastically into the silence of the car. Then leaned back in his seat, letting out a long breath. “…What the hell was that,” he muttered to himself.

He reached for the ignition and immediately froze, something caught his eye. A van passing behind him slowly. The logo was subtle in the dark… but not subtle enough for him. It was some gossip new channel there in Korea.

His expression changed immediately, he leaned down, trying to hide.

Fucking shit.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.” He looked again, they were turning around the zone probably looking for him. Probably had watched him leave the HYBE building or even the hospital. Fuck, maybe was the fucking doctor. “Shit, shit…”

He still had his friend’s car so they couldn’t really recognize him yet.

He sat there for half a second, thinking.

Then quickly got out of the car, moving toward your house before he could second-guess himself, knocking lightly on the window when he saw you over the curtains like a creep. You were drinking something. He knocked a little harder just as you were about to disappear inside.

You turned slowly to the window, confused before you opened it. “…What now? Go away.”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice and looking a little too anxious for your liking. “Look— I’ll give you a thousand dollars if you do me a favor.”

You stared at him. “…It’s not a favor if you pay for it.”

“…So is that a yes?”

You were so done with Jeon Jungkook.

A few minutes later, you were outside again, dragging the old car cover from your great-grandparents’ garage while Jungkook stood awkwardly nearby to your door entrance, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds like he expected someone to jump out at any moment.

“Hurry up,” he screamed in a whisper.

“I’m hurrying,” you shot back. “This thing weighs more than me.”

“Why is it so heavy?”

“It’s old.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“It’s fabric from the past,” you said, throwing it over the car. “It’s built different.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe not for idiots.”

He bit his tongue, holding back an insult becuase you were saving his ass. You adjusted it quickly, making sure it covered enough to be convincing. From a distance… well, it worked. You both looked at it.

“…Okay,” he said. “That’s actually good.”

“I know.” You turned back to him. “Now what?”

He hesitated. Then glanced at the house and then back at you. “…I need somewhere to wait.”

You stared at him. “…No.”

“Just for a bit.”

“No.”

“Until they stop doing circles around the neighborhood.”

“No.”

“I can’t stay out here.”

“Not my problem. Call an uber.”

“They’ll probably know who I am with!”

“I already did too much for you.”

He sighed, rubbing his face with frustration. “If I ask for an uber, even a cab— They’ll see this house. They’ll make stories about how I’m dating you or someone they see me with. You know how crazy this can get? I—” He stopped himself again, knowing you weren’t going to understand. “Just tonight. Please.”

You threw your head back, groaning frustrated and already regretting even coming to Korea.

“…I can’t believe I’m doing this.” You turned toward the house, not even looking at him. “Come on. Hurry up.”

He blinked a little surprised. “…Oh my god. Thank you, thank you so—”

“Just shut the hell up.”

He obeyed, following you immediately before you could regret it.

And just like that, you let him into your house, into your room. Which, honestly, might’ve been the worst decision you made all night. You were letting Jeon Jungkook, the global superstar, spend the night in your house— Oh, you were fucked.

permanent taglist (1): @lovingkoalaface @dna-black-and-blue @hoemeprazole @deedeeps @taegiekookk @gukihoney @sftlrmin @libbieminie @savorghost @moonprincesskoo @yooforeaa @kelsyx33 @jjkszn @st4rbbg @senaqsstuff @connnn @rpwprpwprpwprw @llallaaa @lovelye79 @jjkkkk15 @nellbyy @jkmommymilkies @chaerinmin @albascardigan @wvndkoo @pradaheeseung @annyeongbitch7 @tastykookoonut @whoa-jo @zsazshiiing @taylorluvation

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Man of Stone

Where you travel to England alone and find a statue of a man cursed to be unlovable, waiting for a true love’s kiss to break the curse. word count: 8.3k

It hadn’t been a dramatic decision, or even a particularly well thought out one. The idea had been hovering for a while, showing up at inconvenient times, like when you were supposed to be paying attention to something else or falling asleep. England kept appearing in those moments, not in a cinematic way, just a steady presence in the back of your mind. Old buildings. Narrow streets. Places that seemed to exist with or without you.

You mentioned it a few times, mostly to see if it sounded as reasonable out loud as it did in your head.

At dinner one night, you said it like you were commenting on the weather. “I kind of want to go somewhere. Maybe England.”

Your mom had looked up, her expression doing that careful thing where concern tries to disguise itself as curiosity. “By yourself?”

You shrugged, keeping your tone light. “I asked people.”

It wasn’t a lie. You had asked your best friends, Lucy and Ella.

Lucy had immediately leaned forward, eyes lighting up. “I would go. I mean, not right now, because my job hates me, but in theory? Absolutely.”

“In theory,” Ella echoed, laughing. “Which is famously where all great travel plans stay.”

“I’m serious,” Lucy insisted, pointing at you. “Next time, I’m in.”

Ella shook her head, already back to being practical. “I can’t take off again this soon. But you should still go. You’d love it.”

It didn’t feel like rejection. It felt like real life, which is somehow less dramatic and more final.

The idea stayed anyway.

You started looking into it quietly. Flights, dates, places to stay. At first it was something to scroll through at night, a harmless distraction that didn’t require you to commit to anything. Then one night you found an option that felt just reasonable enough to actually work.

You booked it before you could have a full conversation with yourself about it.

The reactions afterward were immediate and, unfortunately, predictable.

“You’re going to come back with a British boyfriend,” Lucy said, like she’d already accepted it as fact.

Ella leaned back in her chair, smiling. “Not just any boyfriend. One of those quiet, slightly tortured ones. He’s going to quote poetry at her and refuse to explain himself.”

You rolled your eyes, but your mouth betrayed you by smiling anyway. “That’s not even realistic.”

“It is for you,” Lucy said, like she was presenting evidence in a trial. “You love that kind of thing.”

You opened your mouth to argue and then paused, because there was something annoyingly accurate about it.

You’d always been drawn to stories that carried a certain kind of romance without announcing it. Shakespeare had been part of that for as long as you could remember. Lines you never meant to memorize stayed with you anyway, slipping into your thoughts at strange times, familiar even when the world they came from felt out of reach. It had always been a little strange, how something could feel close and distant at the same time.

England felt like standing a step closer to it.

Now that you’re here, it doesn’t look the way you imagined, which turns out to be a good thing. The streets don’t unfold like a movie set. They twist, narrow, open again without warning. Buildings lean into each other like they’ve agreed to share the weight. People move around you with an ease you’re still figuring out, their conversations blending into a steady background hum you don’t quite belong to yet.

You walk without much of a plan, which feels both freeing and mildly irresponsible. You take longer routes for no real reason, stop when something catches your attention, keep going when it doesn’t. There’s no one to check in with, no one asking what you want to do next, which feels strange at first and then slowly settles into something you can’t decide if you like or not.

At some point, you pull out your phone and glance at the short list you made before the trip. It isn’t impressive. Just a few places you thought might be worth seeing if you had the time.

One of them sits near the top.

A museum you found late one night, buried under recommendations for places that sounded much more important. The description had been simple. Smaller. Older. A collection that didn’t seem curated for effect, just kept.

You hadn’t thought much about it when you added it.

Still, it stayed on the list.

You follow the directions with the kind of confidence that comes from hoping your phone knows what it’s doing. The street you turn onto is quieter than the ones you’ve been walking through, the noise dropping off just enough for you to notice. Your steps sound a little louder here, your pace evening out as you take in the details you might’ve missed somewhere busier.

The museum appears slowly, tucked back from the street like it isn’t particularly interested in being found. It blends in with everything around it, its entrance framed by worn stone that looks like it’s been there longer than most of the buildings nearby. There’s no line, no cluster of people outside, nothing announcing itself as something you should care about.

A couple slips inside ahead of you, their voices low, their footsteps echoing faintly as the door closes behind them.

You slow as you approach, adjusting the strap of your bag against your shoulder, your gaze lifting to take it in properly.

It’s quieter here.

You pause for a moment, not because you need to, just taking in the shift between the street and whatever waits inside. A small pause that feels oddly intentional, like the moment before stepping into something you don’t know yet.

Then you head up the steps, reach for the door, and let yourself in.

You don’t move far past the doorway at first.

The door settles shut behind you with a quiet click, and for a second you stay there, letting the change in light catch up with you. Outside had been soft and gray, everything evenly lit. Inside, the light gathers differently, resting in corners, slipping across the floor in long, pale stretches that don’t quite reach the walls.

There’s a desk off to the side, placed where it fits rather than where it commands attention. A man stands behind it, older, glasses tipped low as he reads something in his hands. He looks up when he hears you, not startled, just aware.

“Afternoon,” he says.

“Hi,” you answer, stepping closer.

He reaches for a pamphlet and hands it to you, already half turning back to whatever he’d been doing. “Take your time.”

You nod, even though he’s no longer looking, and tuck the pamphlet into your bag. It stays there, unread, as you turn toward the first room.

The space opens gently.

Nothing jumps out at you right away. Paintings line the walls, each given enough space to stand on its own. The frames carry small signs of age, worn edges, slight discoloration, details that suggest they’ve been here for a long time without needing to say it outright.

You drift toward the nearest one.

A landscape. Soft greens, a sky caught between rain and clearing. You read the placard, take in the name, the date, and let both slip away as you step back. The next piece holds your attention a little longer, something about the way light stretches across water, but even that fades as you move on.

There’s an easy rhythm to it.

Pause. Look. Read if you feel like it. Keep going.

Your footsteps echo softly, the sound following you just long enough to remind you how quiet it is here. Somewhere deeper in the building, voices rise and fall, distant enough that you can’t make out the words. It’s enough to remind you that you’re not alone, even if it feels that way.

You move into the next room, and then another.

The layout shifts as you go, not in a straight line, but in a series of turns and openings that feel added on rather than planned all at once. Portraits hold your gaze for a second longer than expected, faces that almost feel familiar until you look away. A smaller sculpture sits in one corner, its features worn smooth by time, its expression harder to place.

You pass it.

Keep moving.

The rooms unfold slowly, your attention following whatever catches it instead of forcing yourself to linger where you think you should. There’s no one watching closely enough for it to matter, no sense that you’re doing it wrong.

At some point, you notice how long it’s been since you’ve seen anyone.

It doesn’t make you uneasy. Just something that settles in the back of your mind when the faint voices from earlier fade out completely. The quiet feels more complete now, shaped only by the sound of your own movement.

You step through another doorway, expecting more of the same.

Instead, the room opens wider.

There’s more space here, fewer pieces, the distance between them noticeable in a way that makes you slow down without meaning to. The light shifts again, softer, angled from somewhere above, falling toward the center of the room.

Your attention follows it.

Not all at once. It moves in pieces, taking in the edges first, the walls, the empty space, and then, finally, what sits at the center.

He stands there.

Not elevated the way you expect, not set apart with anything that insists on distance. Just placed on a low platform, enough to give him presence, not enough to make him unreachable.

You take a few steps forward before you realize you’ve changed direction.

It isn’t a conscious decision.

You’re just… walking toward him.

Closer, your pace slows, your focus narrowing in a way that feels quieter than everything else you’ve experienced so far.

And then you’re standing in front of him.

Close enough to really see.

Close enough that the rest of the room slips somewhere behind you.

For a second, you don’t look at the plaque.

You look at him.

The first thing that settles in is how unremarkable his stance should be. There’s no dramatic tension in it, nothing held mid-motion, no suggestion that you’ve arrived at a moment frozen in time. His weight rests evenly, shoulders relaxed, one arm hanging just slightly lower than the other, like it fell there naturally and stayed.

You take a step closer, drawn in by details that don’t announce themselves all at once. The stone has softened in places, worn just enough that the edges aren’t sharp anymore. Light catches along the surface in uneven ways, slipping across his shoulders, settling briefly at the curve of his collarbone before moving on.

Your gaze lifts to his face.

It takes a second to understand what you’re looking at.

Not because it’s difficult, but because it doesn’t settle into anything obvious. His features aren’t carved into perfect symmetry. His jaw is defined, though time has taken the edge off it, leaving something quieter behind. His nose runs straight, though not exact, just enough variation to keep your attention there a beat longer than expected.

And his mouth—

You pause.

It isn’t a smile. It isn’t neutral either. There’s something in it that feels unfinished, like a thought that didn’t quite make it out. The corners don’t lift, but they don’t fall. It gives him an expression you can’t quite name.

You find yourself trying to.

His hair is different from the others you’ve seen, not arranged into tight, repeated curls. It falls back from his face in softer waves, textured in a way that suggests movement rather than design. Even worn down by time, it still holds that shape, like it remembers how it once sat.

You don’t realize how still you’ve gone until you shift your weight and the sound of it echoes faintly around you.

It pulls your attention away just enough for you to glance to the side.

The plaque sits there, small, almost easy to miss unless you’re standing exactly where you are now.

Man of Stone.

You read it once, then again, like the name might offer more the second time.

It doesn’t.

A quiet breath leaves you before you lean in slightly, your eyes moving over the rest of the text.

There’s no date.

No clear origin.

Instead, it offers a story.

A man known for cruelty. Not in a vague, whispered way, but in something more certain, something that had been agreed upon long before it was written down. He ruled through fear, it says, or perhaps he simply existed within it. The wording shifts, unclear in places, like it’s been retold too many times to stay exactly the same.

It never lists what he did.

The queen comes next.

Not described in detail, just present in the way stories often place someone at the center of a turning point. She saw him for what he was, it says. Saw something in him that couldn’t be reasoned with, couldn’t be softened, couldn’t be changed.

So she didn’t try.

She cursed him.

Turned him to stone so that he would remain exactly as he was in that moment. Unable to move, unable to speak, unable to become anything other than what he had already proven himself to be.

Left there.

Unlovable.

You read it again, slower this time.

And then, just beneath it—

The curse may only be broken by the kiss of a true love.

You blink, your eyes catching on the line like it doesn’t quite belong with everything that came before it.

It feels out of place.

Too soft for the rest of the story.

“Of course,” you murmur quietly, the words barely carrying past you.

It sounds like something pulled from a fairy tale, something meant to be believed without question. The kind of thing that feels easy to dismiss once you step back from it.

You do step back.

Just slightly, your gaze lifting from the plaque to his face again.

Unlovable.

The word lingers, pressing itself against everything you’re seeing.

Your eyes move over him again, slower this time. The line of his jaw, the shape of his mouth, the way his expression sits just beyond anything you can fully place.

It doesn’t fit.

Not entirely.

You let out a small breath, shifting your weight again, grounding yourself in the room, in the quiet, in the very obvious fact that you’re standing in front of a statue in a museum.

“That’s… dramatic,” you say under your breath, like saying it out loud might settle something.

It almost does.

Almost.

But your gaze drifts back to him anyway, like it hasn’t quite finished whatever it started.

And for a second, just a second longer than necessary, you stay there.

“You’re not the first to get stuck on him.”

The voice comes from behind you, close enough that it pulls you out of your thoughts without startling you. You turn, glancing over your shoulder.

The man from the front desk stands a few feet away, hands loosely folded in front of him, like he’s been there long enough to know exactly how much space to give. Up close, he looks older than you first thought, lines at the corners of his eyes that suggest he’s spent a lot of time watching people move through rooms like this.

You straighten a little, brushing a piece of hair back behind your ear. “Is it that obvious?”

He gives a small, knowing nod. “People either pass straight through, or they stop and stay longer than they originally meant to.”

Your gaze flicks back to the statue, then returns to him. “I guess I’m in the second group.”

“Most are,” he says.

There’s something easy about the way he says it, not teasing, not overly familiar, just… certain.

You glance at the plaque again, then back at him. “Is any of that real?”

He tilts his head slightly, considering the question. “Depends what you mean by real.”

“The story,” you clarify. “The queen, the curse, all of that.”

A faint smile touches his mouth, not quite amused, more like he’s heard this exact question more times than he could count. “It’s what’s written,” he says simply. “Whether it’s history or something that grew around it… that’s harder to say.”

“So you don’t know?”

“I know what we have records of,” he replies. “And I know what people like to believe.”

You let out a small breath, glancing back at the statue again. “And what do people like to believe?”

He follows your gaze, looking at the statue in a way that feels different from yours. Less searching. More familiar.

“That he was exactly what it says,” he answers. “Cruel. Impossible to love. That the queen did what she thought was right.”

“And the kiss?” you ask, nodding toward the last line on the plaque.

He lets out a quiet huff that might almost be a laugh. “That’s the part people hold onto.”

“Do they actually try it?”

He looks back at you, something lighter in his expression now. “More often than you’d think.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“Not all of them,” he says. “But enough.”

You glance back at the statue, then at the open space around him, half expecting to see some kind of sign you missed.

“They’re allowed to just… kiss it?”

He shrugs slightly. “We don’t encourage it. We also don’t chase people down the second they get too close. It’s not exactly a high-traffic piece.”

“It usually stops at the thought,” he adds. “People read the plaque, consider it for a moment, then decide they’d rather not explain themselves if someone walks in.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, looking back at the statue again. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

There’s a brief pause, the kind that doesn’t feel awkward, just… settled.

“So what do you think?” he asks after a second.

“About what?”

“The story.”

You glance at the plaque again, your eyes catching on that last line before drifting back up.

“I think it’s a little dramatic,” you admit. “And probably not real.”

“Probably not,” he agrees easily.

“But…” you trail off, your gaze shifting back to the statue again, lingering a second longer than you mean it to.

He waits, not pushing, just letting the thought finish if it wants to.

You shake your head lightly, a quiet breath leaving you. “I don’t know. There’s something about it.”

“There usually is,” he says.

You look back at him, narrowing your eyes slightly. “That sounded like you believe it.”

He smiles then, a small, almost private thing. “I believe people are drawn to stories for a reason.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the one I’ve got.”

You huff softly, glancing between him and the statue again.

“And no one’s ever…” you start, then hesitate, gesturing vaguely toward the statue.

“Brought him back to life?” he finishes for you.

“Yeah.”

He considers that for a second, then shakes his head. “Not that I’ve seen.”

You nod, like that settles something.

It should.

But your gaze drifts back to the statue anyway, catching on the shape of him, the quiet stillness of it.

Behind you, the man shifts slightly. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says, already stepping back. “Take your time.”

You glance at him, then back at the statue, nodding absently.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “I will.”

And even after he’s gone, the space doesn’t quite feel empty again.

You stay there a moment longer after he leaves, not quite ready to follow.

The room settles again around you, the quiet returning in a way that feels familiar now, like it’s been waiting for you to notice it properly. Your gaze drifts back to him without much thought, landing on the same places it did before, the line of his jaw, the shape of his mouth, the way his expression never quite settles into anything easy.

Unlovable.

“Yeah,” you murmur under your breath, almost to yourself. “I don’t know about that.”

It feels strange, saying it out loud.

Stranger still that you mean it.

You shift slightly, reaching for your phone more out of habit than intention. The movement breaks something in the moment, just enough to remind you where you are, what this is. A museum. A statue. A story someone wrote down because it sounded good, or because it stayed.

Still, you lift your phone anyway.

The camera opens, the screen framing him in a way that feels flatter than he does in person. The light doesn’t fall the same. The small details you noticed before don’t carry over as clearly. For a second, you consider not taking the photo at all.

Then you do.

The soft click sounds louder than it should in the quiet room.

You glance at the screen, the image already there, and it looks… fine. Just a statue. Just something you saw and decided to keep.

You know you’ll look it up later.

The name. The story. See if there’s anything more than what’s written on the wall. Something that explains it better, or maybe proves it wrong in a way that makes more sense.

You lower your phone, slipping it back into your bag.

For a second, you think that’s it.

That you’ll turn, walk out, let it stay here the way everything else has.

But your eyes find him again.

One last time.

It isn’t intentional. Or at least, it doesn’t feel like it.

Your gaze moves over him slowly, like it’s trying to hold onto something before it leaves. The softened edges, the quiet stillness, the expression that never quite gives you what you’re looking for.

It would be easy to laugh it off.

To walk away and let it be a strange, slightly interesting part of your day.

You almost do.

Your body shifts, your foot turning just enough to signal the start of it, the natural next step that follows every time you leave something behind.

And then you hesitate.

You don’t turn back again after that.

You let yourself walk away, your footsteps soft against the floor as the room opens up behind you, the space between you and him stretching with every step.

And yet, something hang around .

Not heavy. Not overwhelming.

Just quiet. Just enough to follow you out.

Morning comes gently, the kind that slips in through thin curtains and settles across the room before you’re fully awake.

For a second, you lie there, not moving, letting yourself adjust to where you are. The unfamiliar ceiling, the quiet hum of the building around you, the faint sound of something outside you can’t quite place. It takes a moment for it all to settle into something recognizable.

England.

You exhale softly, rolling onto your back, staring up at the ceiling like it might confirm it for you.

Your mind doesn’t go to the streets you walked yesterday, or the café you stopped at, or even the list you still haven’t worked your way through.

It goes to him.

The thought slips in easily, uninvited but not unwelcome, settling somewhere it probably shouldn’t.

You press your face briefly into your pillow, letting out a quiet, muffled groan. “We’re not doing this,” you murmur to yourself, voice rough with sleep.

It doesn’t stick.

By the time you’re up and getting ready, it’s still there, quieter now, but present in a way that feels patient. Like it’s willing to wait for you to come back to it.

You don’t.

Not right away.

The day pulls you forward in smaller, easier ways.

You step out into the morning with no real plan beyond moving, letting the city guide you instead of the other way around. The air is cool, the kind that wakes you up without being harsh, and the streets carry that steady rhythm you’re starting to recognize.

At some point, almost accidentally, you find yourself standing in front of Big Ben.

It’s bigger than you expected.

That’s the first thought that lands, simple and immediate. You tilt your head back slightly, taking it in, the details sharper in person, the structure more solid than anything you’ve seen in photos. People gather around it in loose clusters, phones out, conversations overlapping in different accents that blend into something indistinct.

You take your own picture, because of course you do.

It feels like something you’re supposed to do, like a quiet acknowledgment that you made it here, that this is real and happening and not something you imagined from your bed a week ago.

You stay for a minute, watching the way people move through the space, the way everyone seems to have their own version of this moment.

Then you move on.

You cross a bridge not long after, pausing halfway across it to look out over the river, the water moving steadily beneath you. The city stretches out in both directions, old and new layered together in a way that feels effortless.

It’s nice.

More than nice, really.

It’s the kind of thing you thought you wanted when you booked the trip.

And yet.

Even here, even with all of this in front of you, something else keeps slipping in at the edges of your thoughts.

You leave the bridge behind eventually, letting yourself wander again until the need for something warm pulls you toward a café.

It’s small, tucked between two buildings like it’s always been there. The windows are slightly fogged from the warmth inside, and when you push the door open, a soft chime sounds above you.

The air shifts immediately, warmer, carrying the scent of coffee and something sweet you can’t quite place.

You step up to the counter, scanning the menu for a second longer than necessary.

“Hi,” the barista says, offering a small smile.

“Hi,” you return, glancing between the options. “Can I get a latte? And… that one?” You gesture toward a pastry you don’t recognize but decide to trust anyway.

“Of course.”

You pay, step to the side, and wait, watching the familiar rhythm of it play out. When your name is called, you take your drink and pastry, finding a small table by the window.

You sit, the chair scraping softly against the floor, and for a minute you let yourself settle.

Coffee warm in your hands. The quiet movement of people outside. The comfort of something simple in the middle of everything unfamiliar.

It should be enough to hold your attention.

It almost is.

You take a sip, then another, before reaching for your phone.

You don’t hesitate this time.

Man of Stone, England museum.

The results load quickly, like they’ve been waiting.

Still vague. Still scattered. A few mentions, a couple of discussions that circle around the same uncertainty you felt yesterday. Nothing concrete. Nothing that settles it.

You scroll anyway.

Your thumb pauses when the results shift.

Images.

Not of the statue alone.

Of people.

Girls, mostly, standing in front of him, angled just right for the camera, their faces turned slightly, lips pressed against stone.

You blink, leaning back slightly in your chair.

“Oh my god,” you murmur under your breath.

You tap one.

The photo opens, the caption playful, almost daring.

testing the curse 👀

You swipe.

Another. A different girl, same statue, the moment caught just before or after, laughter visible in the blur.

Another.

And another.

Tags fill the screen. The museum. The location. Captions that all circle the same idea in slightly different ways.

maybe he just hasn’t met me yet

if this works i’m moving to england

true love challenge???

You let out a quiet breath, somewhere between disbelief and something you can’t quite name.

So people actually do it.

You sit back, your coffee forgotten for a second as your thumb hovers over the screen.

It should make it easier to dismiss.

It should turn it into exactly what it looks like.

A joke. A moment. Something people do because it’s there and it’s funny and it makes for a good picture afterward.

And maybe it does.

A little.

But as you stare at the image in front of you, the angle of his face so familiar now it feels strange seeing it through someone else’s lens…

Something doesn’t quite settle.

You lock your phone, setting it down on the table.

Your fingers curl loosely around your cup again, but you don’t take another sip.

Instead, your gaze drifts to the window, unfocused.

Back to a quiet room.

A low platform.

A statue that didn’t feel like just a statue.

You press your lips together, exhaling slowly.

“This is stupid,” you murmur, softer this time.

It sounds less convincing.

And somewhere beneath that, quieter still, a thought forms before you can stop it.

You could go back.

Not because of the posts.

Not because of the story.

Just… to see.

You close your eyes for a second, shaking your head slightly, like you can reset something if you try hard enough.

When you open them again, nothing has changed.

Your coffee has gone slightly cooler.

Your phone sits where you left it.

And the idea hasn’t gone anywhere.

The decision arrives the next morning before you’ve even fully woken up.

It’s there in that in-between space, when your eyes are still closed and your mind hasn’t quite caught up with where you are. No buildup, no careful reasoning. Just a quiet certainty sitting at the edge of your thoughts, waiting for you to notice it.

You do.

You lie there for a minute, staring at the ceiling once your eyes open, giving yourself the chance to question it.

You don’t.

“Just to look,” you murmur, your voice still soft with sleep. “That’s it.”

It sounds thin. You let it stand anyway.

It’s been two days.

Two days since you walked through that museum, since you stood in that room longer than you meant to, since you read a story that should’ve stayed exactly where you left it.

It didn’t.

You carry it with you as you get ready, as you pull on something warmer than yesterday, as you step out into a morning that’s already settled into rain.

It falls steadily, not heavy enough to rush anyone, just constant enough to change the way everything moves. The pavement darkens, reflecting blurred shapes of buildings and passing people. Your shoes make soft, damp sounds as you step around shallow puddles, your jacket pulled a little tighter around you.

The city feels quieter like this.

Not empty, just softened. Conversations lower, footsteps more deliberate, everyone moving with the same unspoken understanding that they’d rather be somewhere dry.

You follow the route without needing directions this time.

That’s new.

You notice it as you turn onto the quieter street, the one that seems to pull everything in slightly, narrowing the space and the noise at the same time. The buildings lean the same way they did before, worn and steady, the details easier to catch when you’re not being carried along by a crowd.

The museum appears exactly where you remember it.

Unassuming. Easy to overlook if you weren’t already looking for it.

You slow at the bottom of the steps, rain tapping lightly against the stone around you, your gaze lifting to take it in like it might look different now.

It doesn’t.

“This is normal,” you murmur, more to fill the space than anything else.

You head up the steps, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The shift happens all at once.

Warmth replaces the chill, the sound of rain fading into something distant. You brush a bit of damp from your sleeves, your hands lingering there for a second before falling back to your sides.

The man at the desk looks up.

For a moment, it’s familiar. The same glance, the same motion as he reaches for a pamphlet out of habit.

Then he pauses.

Recognition settles in, quiet but clear, and something in his expression shifts just enough to make it noticeable.

“Well,” he says, a hint of something warmer in his voice. “Back again.”

You feel it before you can hide it, that small flicker of being seen more clearly than you intended.

“Yeah,” you admit, offering a small smile as you step closer. “I guess I am.”

He lifts the pamphlet slightly, like he’s about to hand it to you anyway, then lowers it again with a faint shake of his head.

“Don’t think you’ll need this today.”

“Probably not,” you say, a little too quickly.

There’s a pause, not uncomfortable, just aware.

“Rain’s a good excuse,” he adds, like he’s giving you one you didn’t ask for.

You huff out a quiet laugh. “That’s exactly what I was going with.”

He nods, satisfied enough with that. “Take your time.”

It lands the same way it did before.

You nod, then turn toward the first room.

You don’t go straight to him.

Instead, you fall into a slower version of the rhythm you found before, letting yourself pause in front of the first painting. A landscape again, soft colors, a sky that looks undecided. You read the placard this time, actually holding onto the name for a second before letting it go.

You move on.

Another painting. A portrait. You linger just enough to make it believable, your attention catching on details you could point to if anyone asked.

No one does.

Still, you keep going.

Room to room, step to step, following the same uneven path. The layout hasn’t changed, but the way you move through it has. There’s something quieter about it now, something more deliberate, even as you pretend there isn’t.

You pass the smaller sculpture you didn’t stop at before.

You slow this time.

Just briefly.

Then keep going.

The doorway appears ahead, the one that opens into the wider room. You don’t rush it. You let yourself pause just before, your gaze drifting to the side like something else has caught your attention.

It hasn’t.

You know what’s in there.

You step through anyway.

The space opens around you, just as it did before. The same quiet, the same shift in light, the same sense that everything has been arranged to leave room at the center.

Your eyes don’t go there immediately.

You let them move along the edges first, taking in the walls, the empty space, the distance between pieces.

You give yourself the illusion of choice.

And then, slowly, like it was always going to happen this way—

Your gaze finds him again.

You don’t move right away once you see him again.

It’s almost embarrassing, how quickly everything else fades out. The careful pacing, the pretending you were just wandering, the quiet little performance you put on for no one. It all drops off somewhere behind you the longer you stand there, your attention settling fully on him like it’s been waiting for permission to do exactly this.

You tell yourself you’re just looking.

That’s the whole point, isn’t it.

Still, the longer you stay, the more it feels like you’ve slipped into something you didn’t mean to. Not dramatic, not overwhelming, just… steady. Your eyes trace the same details as before, but slower this time, like you’re not just noticing them, you’re trying to understand them.

You step closer, then a little to the side, your perspective shifting as you move around him.

From this angle, the light catches differently. It settles along the curve of his cheek, slides faintly across his mouth, lingers just enough to make the smallest details stand out. You notice things you didn’t before, not because they weren’t there, but because you weren’t looking for them.

There are places where the stone has worn down more than the rest.

You pause when you see it.

At first, it doesn’t fully register. Just a difference in texture, a softness that doesn’t match the surrounding surface. Then it clicks, slow and quiet, your gaze narrowing slightly as you lean in just a fraction.

His cheek.

The edge of his mouth.

Faint, almost imperceptible at a glance, but once you see it, you can’t unsee it. The stone is smoother there, touched more often, worn in a way that doesn’t come from time alone.

You let out a small breath, something between disbelief and a quiet laugh.

“People really do it,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

The thought shifts something.

Because now you’re not just looking at a statue.

You’re looking at something that people have interacted with. Something they’ve tested, joked about, maybe even taken seriously for a second longer than they meant to. You picture the photos again, the captions, the way it all felt light and unserious through a screen.

It doesn’t feel like that here.

Your eyes drift back to his face, to the way his expression hasn’t changed despite everything, despite time, despite hands and lips and whatever else people have brought into this space with them.

Unlovable.

The word feels different now.

You move again, slower, circling him without fully realizing you’re doing it. Each step shifts the angle, the light, the way his features settle into something you almost recognize and then don’t. It’s like trying to catch a thought that won’t stay still long enough to name.

You should look away.

You don’t.

Your gaze lingers, caught somewhere between curiosity and something softer you’re not entirely ready to examine. The room fades again, the quiet wrapping around you until it feels like you’re the only one standing here, the only one who’s ever stood here, the only one who’s ever noticed.

It’s ridiculous.

You know that.

And still—

You don’t move.

Time stretches without you keeping track of it, your attention narrowing until it feels like there’s nothing else to focus on, nothing else to pull you out of it.

You don’t hear the shift in the room as someone else steps inside or the quiet sound of footsteps approaching, slow and unhurried.

You’re too focused on him.

Too caught in the way the light settles across his face, the way the worn edges soften features that were never meant to feel soft in the first place.

Too far gone in it to realize you’re not alone anymore.

A voice cuts through it, close enough to feel like it belongs in the space you’ve been standing in.

“Go on. Have a go.”

It isn’t loud. There’s a hint of amusement in it, something easy, like he’s not trying to catch you out so much as join whatever thought you were already having.

You blink, the moment snapping just enough for you to turn.

He’s standing a few steps behind you, hands tucked loosely into the pockets of a black jacket that falls just right, structured but worn in the way good things get over time. His hair is longer than you expect, soft and pushed back from his face, not styled so much as settled. His eyes are a crystal green. There’s a quiet kind of confidence in the way he stands, like he’s comfortable wherever he ends up, even here, even in a room that doesn’t quite ask for it.

His eyes flick briefly from you to the statue, then back again, like he’s already put the pieces together.

Heat rises a little too quickly to your face.

“I wasn’t—” you start, then stop, because whatever you were about to say doesn’t sound convincing even in your own head. You let out a small, awkward laugh instead, brushing your hands lightly against your jacket like that might reset something. “I mean, I was just looking.”

“Right,” he says, nodding once, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. Not mocking. Just aware.

Which somehow makes it worse.

“I wasn’t actually going to—” you try again, gesturing vaguely toward the statue, immediately regretting it. “It’s just… people do it, apparently. So I was just—observing.”

“Observing,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word.

“Yeah,” you say, a little too quickly. “Very normal observing.”

He hums softly, not disagreeing, just letting it sit there between you before stepping past you.

Your eyes follow him without meaning to.

He moves closer to the statue, stopping at the plaque, his attention shifting as he reads. It’s quiet for a moment, the kind that feels different now that it’s shared. You watch him as he takes it in, his gaze moving slowly over the text, his expression settling into something more thoughtful, less amused.

When he finishes, he glances back at you.

“If you were going to,” he says, nodding lightly toward the statue, “I can look away.”

You let out a breath that turns into a laugh, somewhere between disbelief and absolute horror.

“Oh my god, no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “Please don’t do that.”

“I’m just offering,” he replies, lifting one shoulder slightly. “Seemed like the polite thing to do.”

“Yeah, well, thank you for your consideration,” you say, trying to recover some level of composure. “But I think I’ll… pass.”

“For now?” he asks, just enough curiosity in it to make your stomach flip in a way you’re not entirely thrilled about.

You narrow your eyes at him slightly, fighting the urge to smile. “Definitely.”

He nods, accepting that answer like it’s enough.

There’s a small pause after that, not uncomfortable, just lingering.

“I’m Harry,” he says, like it occurs to him a second later that he should probably introduce himself.

You blink, caught slightly off guard by how normal that feels compared to everything else about this moment.

“Y/N,” you reply, stepping a little closer as you offer your hand.

He takes it easily, his grip warm, steady, the contact brief but grounding in a way that pulls you a little further out of your own head.

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

“You too,” you answer, and it comes out softer than you meant it to.

You pull your hand back, your gaze drifting for a second, not quite sure where to land it now.

Anywhere but the statue, you decide.

Anywhere but the very obvious realization that if he hadn’t walked in when he did, you probably would’ve stayed there just a little longer.

Long enough to do something you’d have to explain later.

You glance back at him instead, a small, slightly embarrassed smile slipping in despite yourself.

“So,” you say, gesturing lightly toward the statue again, “do you come here often, or do you just wander into rooms and call people out at the worst possible moment?”

His smile widens just enough to make it feel like you’ve recovered something.

“Bit of both. Was in the city with nothing to do,” he says, and it settles into something quieter after that, the kind of pause that doesn’t rush itself.

His attention drifts back to the plaque, then to the statue, like he’s letting the story sit for a second instead of brushing past it. You follow the movement without meaning to, your gaze landing in the same places again, the same worn edges, the same expression that refuses to give you anything clear.

“It’s a bit cruel, isn’t it,” he says after a moment, almost to himself. “Not just the turning him to stone part. The rest of it.”

You glance at him. “The unlovable thing?”

He nods slightly, his eyes still on the statue. “Yeah.”

You shift your weight, something in you loosening just enough to respond without overthinking it. “It feels… final,” you say, your voice quieter now. “Like she didn’t just punish him for what he did. She decided what he was forever.”

He looks at you then, properly this time, like you’ve said something worth holding onto.

You huff out a small breath, your gaze dropping back to the plaque before you can second guess yourself. “I don’t know. It just feels like a weird line to draw. People do awful things, sure. But saying someone is completely unlovable? That feels more like a judgment than a fact.”

You pause, then keep going before you can stop yourself.

“And the whole ‘true love’s kiss’ thing…” you gesture lightly toward the statue, your mouth curving faintly. “It sounds romantic until you actually think about it. Like, okay, he was terrible, and now the only way he gets out of it is if someone loves him enough to undo it? That’s… a lot to put on one person.”

You glance at him, half expecting him to laugh it off.

He doesn’t.

Instead, something in his expression shifts, softer now, more thoughtful.

“Or,” he says slowly, “it’s the only way to prove he’s not what everyone decided he was.”

You blink, caught slightly off guard.

He shrugs one shoulder, like he’s not entirely committed to the thought. “If someone could love him, even after all of it… maybe that means he wasn’t completely beyond it to begin with.”

You study him for a second, the way he says it, the way it doesn’t sound like he’s just talking about a statue anymore.

“Do you think that’s true?” you ask.

He lets out a quiet breath, his gaze drifting back to the statue again. “I think people like the idea that someone can’t be changed,” he says. “Makes things easier. Cleaner breaks.”

“And you don’t?”

He hesitates just long enough to make the answer feel real.

“I think…” he starts, then stops, his mouth pressing into something almost thoughtful. “There are times where it’s easy to believe it, though. That someone’s already decided what you are, and that’s it.”

You don’t interrupt.

You don’t rush to fill the space.

You just listen.

He glances at you again, something quieter in his expression now. “I get the unlovable part,” he adds, almost like it’s an afterthought. “At times.”

The words land gently, but they don’t feel light.

For a second, you just look at him.

Really look at him.

And there’s a strange moment where everything lines up in your head. The familiarity, the voice, the way he carries himself like he’s used to being watched even when he’s not asking for it.

You know who he is.

Of course you do.

You just… don’t say it.

Because something about this moment feels better without it.

Without turning it into something else.

“That’s a heavy thing to just casually relate to,” you say instead, your voice softer now, more careful.

A small smile pulls at his mouth, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Probably not great conversational material for a museum.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head slightly. “No, I think it works. Fits the theme.”

His gaze flicks back to the statue, then to you again. “Do you believe it?”

“The curse?”

“Any of it.”

You consider that, your eyes drifting back to the worn places on the stone, the faint marks left behind by people who stood where you are now.

“I think people want it to be real,” you say slowly. “Not the turning into stone part. Just… the idea that someone could be seen differently. That something like that could undo everything that came before it.”

You pause, then add, quieter, “I think that’s the part that sticks.”

He nods slightly, like that makes sense to him.

Neither of you speak for a moment after that.

The room settles around you again, the quiet shifting, not empty this time, just… shared.

Your gaze drifts back to the statue one more time, but it feels different now.

Less like you’re trying to understand him.

More like you’re trying to understand what you saw in the first place.

And when you look back at Harry, something about the moment lingers a little longer than it should.

It sits there, quiet, not heavy, just… noticeable.

He glances between you and the statue, then lets out a small breath that almost turns into a laugh. “Well,” he says, “that escalated quickly for a museum visit.”

You smile, a little sheepish now that you’re aware of yourself again. “Yeah. I feel like I skipped a few normal steps.”

“Straight past the gift shop, into existential crisis.”

“Exactly.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, something easy about it. “For what it’s worth, I think you handled it well.”

You huff out a small laugh. “That feels generous.”

“I’m a generous person.”

“Clearly.”

There’s a small pause, the kind that doesn’t press, just opens up.

He nods toward the doorway. “Do you want to get coffee? I’ve got nothing else to do today.”

It lands simply, like it’s not a big ask.

You don’t overthink it this time. “Yeah,” you say, a little softer. “I’d like that.”

“Alright,” he replies, like that’s enough.

You turn with him, starting toward the door, your attention finally beginning to loosen its hold on the statue, the story, the whole strange pull of it.

It almost sticks.

“Hang on.”

You stop, glancing back.

He tilts his head toward the statue again, that same quiet amusement threading through. “You’re really going to leave it there?”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “Leave what there?”

“The mystery,” he says, like it’s obvious.

You let out a breath that turns into a laugh. “I think I’m okay not solving that today.”

“Feels like you were close,” he says.

“I was not close,” you reply, too quickly.

He doesn’t argue. Just watches you for a second, like he knows better and doesn’t feel the need to prove it.

“You’re not even curious?” he asks.

“I am,” you admit. “I just also have a sense of self-preservation.”

“From what? Mild embarrassment?”

“Severe embarrassment,” you correct.

“That’s fair.”

You glance back at the statue anyway.

It’s automatic now, your eyes catching on the same details, the worn edges, the softened places that say you wouldn’t be the first.

You look back at him, exhaling. “You’re definitely enjoying this.”

“A little,” he says, not even pretending otherwise.

You shake your head, but there’s a smile there now, easy and unguarded. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m not trying to help.”

There’s a beat.

You could walk away.

You almost do.

Instead, you turn back toward the statue, a quiet breath leaving you. “Okay. Fine.”

His brows lift just slightly. “Really?”

“Don’t react like that,” you say quickly. “If you make it weird, I’m not doing it.”

“I’ll be extremely normal,” he promises, taking a small step back like he’s giving you space.

“That feels unlikely.”

“I’m committed to the bit.”

You laugh under your breath, turning fully before you can change your mind.

Up close, it feels just as ridiculous as it sounds.

“Wow,” you murmur softly. “This is… a decision.”

“No commentary,” he says from behind you. “I’m being respectful.”

“You’re failing.”

You hesitate for a second, your gaze settling on the familiar places, the ones that gave you away the first time.

Then, before you can think about it any longer—

You lean in.

It’s quick. A light brush of your lips against cool stone, barely there and immediately gone.

You pull back just as fast, a breath catching into a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

“Oh my god,” you say, covering your face for a second. “Okay. That’s done. We’re never discussing that again.”

You turn back to him, your expression somewhere between embarrassed and amused. “Well?”

He looks at you, then at the statue, then back at you again, like he’s actually considering it.

“Still stone,” he says.

“Great,” you reply quickly. “Not his true love. Good to know.”

But something about the moment has shifted anyway.

And when your eyes flick back to the statue, just once more, it doesn’t hold you in the same way.

[reignpage]

Synopsis: in which popular girl!reader is done with shitty players and wants to try the newest delicacy: virgin nerds. It’s game on to seduce the physics student, who seems more than ready to abandon his life of celibacy.

But their arrangement only works if they’re both on the same page. What happens when one expects a little more than sex?

Is it game over?

Warnings: eventual smut, plot with porn, fake dating trope, college au, no curses au, mean girl!reader, fem dom!reader, nerd!jo, subby!gojo, virgin!gojo, masochist!gojo, some angst but with a happy ending, very early 2000s romcoms, reader grows a lot (hate towards her will not be tolerated), reader gets humbled quite often here lol, chapter specific warnings will be listed on the chapter, some allusions to toxic/unhealthy relationships and coping, not proofread Word Count: 41k Gojo art by @/Leimiruu on X

Chapter ONE - Game start Chapter TWO - Different levels Chapter THREE - Boss fight Chapter FOUR - Perfect victory

Disclaimers:

♤ COMPLETED

♤ Available on AO3.

♤ This is a mix of fluff, smut and angst, so minors/ageless blogs do not interact.

♤ Any comments hating on the reader in this story will be deleted and the user will be blocked. The story plays on the mean girl trope so you will see mean girl behaviour. Just know this is all intentional. If you are sensitive to a flawed female character, do not read. I know what some of you are like. I have played these games before.

♤ This is a college au separate from my EdenU au. Different Gojo and university setting altogether. Any semblance is coincidental.

♤ Every part of this is of my own work. No AI or external inspiration was used. Please do not repost this on Tumblr or on any other platform without credits. I do not give permission for this to be translated. And please do not feed my work into AI.

Do not copy, remake, repost, or translate any of my works © 2026 ReignPage on Tumblr, all rights reserved

[colouredbyd]

The Crown of Valenora

chapter two: a caged bird

knight!james potter x princess!reader

series summary: James Potter, a soldier of the royal guard, is assigned to protect the princess at all costs. His new duty proves far harder than he imagined, for the princess has a habit of doing exactly what she’s not supposed to, and hiding a secret no one must uncover.

chapter summary: it’s been four days since james was assigned as your guard. in that time, he learns more than he expected—and comes to understand you in ways he hadn’t before. as for you, your frustration begins to soften; perhaps he isn’t quite as unbearable as you first thought. (8.1k)

tags: nudity (non-sexual), hints of childhood abuse, mentions of being isolated and of punishments as a child. nothing angsty; a very fluffy but important chapter that addresses key points relevant later on.

series masterlist playlist

You had slipped away from James not twenty minutes ago, disappearing down a servants’ corridor the moment he was distracted by a pair of guards changing shifts.

Whether he had noticed yet was unclear, but you imagined the moment he did realize you were gone would not be pleasant for him.

Technically, his entire job was to keep you in sight. And really, it was only his fourth day and he was barely holding on. Unfortunately for him, you had never been particularly cooperative when someone told you where you could and could not go.

Meanwhile, in the bathing chambers, you leaned against the smooth marble edge of the enormous bath as Lily moved quietly around the room, the soft rustle of fabric and the clink of glass bottles filling the warm air.

Lily worked with practiced ease, loosening the laces of your morning gown and slipping the fabric from your shoulders.

You let out a long, dramatic sigh as you stepped into the bath. “I cannot believe my parents,” you mutter, sinking into the warm water with a splash.

“I had one thing I was looking forward to. One day. My birthday parade, my one chance to actually see the kingdom outside these walls, and what do they do?”

You leaned back against the tub with a huff. “They assign me a guard.”

You had spent the last four days complaining relentlessly about being assigned a personal guard, and more specifically, about James Potter. Most of the servants, cooks, and even your tutors had learned the hard way not to linger when you began, all of them offering polite nods before making their escape.

Lily though remained your preferred audience, as she listened without interruption and let you rant and circle the same argument as many times as you needed. Lily was, without question, the best possible person to complain to.

This was, at the very least, the hundredth time you had gone over it with her in the past four days, especially since you had chosen to give James the silent treatment altogether, firmly deciding that if he insisted on accepting the position rather than doing the sensible thing and refusing the King outright, then he could suffer through your absence instead. (This was, in your opinion, a perfectly reasonable response, and if it also meant he spent most of his time hovering awkwardly nearby with nothing to say, then that was simply an added bonus.)

Lily hid a smile as she folded the discarded gown over a nearby chair.

“And not just any guard,” you continue , gesturing vaguely at the ceiling. “James Potter. Of all the soldiers in the entire kingdom, they had to pick him.”

Lily glanced over her shoulder, clearly amused. “Well… he is good at his job.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” you answer immediately.

She laughed softly and reached for a stack of clean towels. “I’ve seen him with the royal guard plenty of times. He’s one of the better fighters, actually. And he’s always around the castle with Remus.”

You straightened slightly in the bath, water sloshing around your shoulders. “Remus?” you repeat. “My teacher Remus?”

“Yes,” Lily says casually, as though this were obvious information. “They’ve been friends for years.”

You stared at her. “You’re telling me my teacher is friends with my guard.”

Lily only shrugged as she crossed back toward the bath. “This castle is like a small town,” she says. “Everyone knows everyone. Servants, soldiers, tutors, stable hands… people grow up together here.”

You groaned and sank lower into the water until only your head rested above the edge. “Well maybe I would know that too if I had been allowed outside my tower occasionally.” you muttered

Lily crouched beside the bath, dipping a cloth into the warm water before gently brushing it across your shoulder. “There honestly isn’t that much to know about James,” she answers thoughtfully. “He grew up here. His parents serve the crown, so he’s been around the castle his entire life. You already know the story.”

You roll your eyes at her. “Don’t you realise, Lils? That’s precisely why I don’t want him! The one person assigned to follow me everywhere happens to know every secret hallway and staircase I might try to escape through.”

“That would be the general idea of assigning him,” Lily replies dryly. “Though really, you don’t need to worry, he mostly spends most of his time with the same group,” she continues. “Peter, the head chef in the kitchens, your tutor Remus, and Sirius Black.”

You lifted your head slightly. “Sirius Black from Astrevel?” you ask.

Lily nodded. “Yes. From what I’ve heard, he and James joined the Valenoran army together when they were sixteen. And Sirius…” she hesitated slightly, choosing her words carefully, “well, I believe he lives with the Potters now.”

“Why would he live with them?” you repeated.

“Apparently the royal family of Astrevel banished him years ago.” Lily shrugged lightly. “That’s the story Remus told me anyway. I suspect he knows more than he lets on, but he never says much. From what I gather, he and Black have been circling each other for years.”

You leaned back against the smooth marble of the tub, letting your head rest there as steam curled slowly toward the ceiling. Lily and Remus have been friends for a while now, and they seem pretty close from what you’ve gathered.

“Interesting,” you murmured after a moment. “So my guard is friends with my tutor, the castle chef, and a banished prince.”

Lily’s mouth curved in amusement. “When you put it like that,” she said, “it does sound rather odd.”

For a moment the room fell into an easy silence, broken only by the soft ripple of bathwater and the faint clink of glass bottles on the counter. The tension that had been coiled tightly between your shoulders since the afternoon slowly began to unwind beneath the warmth of the bath and Lily’s presence.

After a while she rose from her crouch beside the tub and reached for a towel. “Well,” she said lightly, “you’ve soaked long enough.”

You cracked one eye open, pouting. “Have I?”

“Yes,” she replied firmly, holding out the towel. “Out you go.”

You groaned in protest but shifted anyway, stepping carefully from the bath while Lily wrapped the thick towel around your shoulders and began drying the water from your arms and hair with practiced ease.

There was something strangely comforting about the routine of it. Lily had been helping you dress and undress for years now, ever since you were old enough to require a lady in waiting, and somewhere along the way the formality of it had faded into something much simpler.

She had seen you naked like this a thousand times before; barefoot on cold marble floors, wrapped in towels, hair damp and tangled down your back.

She had seen you exhausted after long lessons with Remus, furious after arguments with your mother, miserable during winters when being stuck in the tower felt more like a punishment than usual.

Lily had seen you cry, laugh until you could barely breathe, and and carried with you your deepest struggles. There was very little of you that Lily had not already witnessed. And the truth was, there were few people in the castle you trusted.

Officially, she was your lady in waiting. In public she followed every piece of royal protocol, addressing you properly, keeping the careful distance expected of someone serving the crown. But in private there had never been much space between the two of you. Lily was not simply a servant; she was your closest friend. Your Constant. Something very much like a sister.

In a life where so many things were controlled by duty and expectation from your parents, Lily was one of the few constants that had never changed. No matter how strange or frustrating the rest of your life became, Lily had always been there. Lily will always be there.

She guided your arms through the sleeves of a soft gown, fastening the buttons along the back before brushing your hair out with slow, patient strokes.

When you were finally dressed, she stepped back to study her work. “Perfect,” she said with quiet satisfaction.

You stretched your arms lazily and wandered toward the window, the afternoon light spilling across the floor.

Behind you, Lily lingered near the door, shifting her weight in a way that made you glance back over your shoulder. She looked… nervous.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly.

“Nothing,” she said quickly.

You folded your arms. “Lily.”

She hesitated, clearly debating something, before letting out a small breath. “Well…” she said slowly. “I may have something for you.”

Your brow lifted. “Something?”

Lily pulled out a small wrapped bundle, holding it carefully in both hands as though it were something fragile. “I know your birthday is still a week away,” she said quickly, almost apologetically. “But I wanted to give it to you now. And… if I’m being honest, I also wanted to make sure I was the first before Prince Elias inevitably tries to outdo everyone.”

The sentence alone seemed to catch your interest, your expression brightening immediately, the way a cat’s does the moment it spots something promising just out of reach.

Lily laughed at your reaction and stepped forward, placing the small parcel into your hands. The paper was pale cream, folded neatly around whatever lay inside, tied with a purple ribbon.

For a moment you simply stared at it, oddly touched by the care that had clearly gone into something so small. Then you untied the ribbon carefully, pulling the knot loose before peeling back the paper.

The moment the wrapping fell away, your breath caught.

Nestled inside was a necklace. Not an extravagant piece the sort of jewel the royal treasury would produce for formal occasions, but something far more beautiful in its simplicity.

Delicate golden crystals were wound together in an intricate design, their soft glow catching the candlelight so that the entire piece shimmered faintly. The crystals curved gently into the shape of a small sun, each facet reflecting warm streaks of gold against your palms.

For a long moment you simply stared at it. “Lily…”

“It’s a calcite crystal,” she explained gently, “They say it brings warmth, clarity… light to the heart.”

She glanced at you then, her voice growing quieter. “And the sun… well, that part was intentional.” she laughed. “I know how much you miss seeing it,” she said simply. “The real one, I mean. The festivals, the villages, the kingdom and the whole lights that come out from Solistia on your birthday … you always used to talk about them when we were younger.”

Your chest tightened faintly. Oh, how much you loved her.

“And lately,” she continued gently, “things have been clearly difficult; being assigned a guard, the council dinners, the constant rules. I thought maybe… if you had something that reminded you of the light you love so much, it might make the days here feel a little less—”

You did not let her finish.

You surged forward, closing the space between you in an instant, arms wrapping tightly around her before she could even react.

The force of it nearly knocked the breath out of her. “Hey—careful!” she laughed, startled, though her arms came up just as quickly to hold you back.

You buried your face against her shoulder, still clutching the necklace in one hand. “It’s beautiful,” you said, your voice softer now, almost overwhelmed. “It’s so beautiful. Lily, you—”

You pulled back just enough to look at her again, your eyes still bright with surprise. “How did you even find something like this?”

Lily smiled, a little shy now under the intensity of your reaction. “I’ve got my ways.”

That made you laugh, but when the laughter faded, your expression softened again. “You really didn’t have to,” you said more quietly.

Lily shook her head. “It’s not about having to,” she replied. “It’s about wanting to.”

She reached forward then, gently lifting the necklace. “Turn around.”

You did as her fingers brushed lightly against the back of your neck as she fastened the clasp, the cool crystal settling just below your collarbone.

When you looked down, the tiny sun glowed warmly against the fabric of your dress. You touched it again instinctively. “It’s perfect,” you whispered.

She smiled, brushing a damp stray strand of hair from your forehead. “You don’t have to thank me. Just… wear it, and remember that no matter what happens tomorrow, or the day after, or the next… someone believes in you. I do.”

The words settled deep, heavier than you expected, and for a moment all you could do was look at her.

Your grip tightened slightly around her hand. “Can I kiss you?” you ask suddenly, the question slipping out before you could think better of it.

Lily blinked, clearly caught off guard, before a laugh escaped her. “Oh, I’d love to kiss the princess,” she said lightly, one brow lifting, “except I’d very much like to avoid being beheaded.”

You pouted at her, unimpressed. “Oh, come on.”

She sighed, already giving in, the way she always did with you. “Fine. Quickly, before anyone walks in and I lose my head.”

You didn’t wait for her to change her mind. You leaned in and pressed a quick, warm kiss to her cheek, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

Lily shook her head, though she was smiling, and pulled you into another brief hug. “Alright, that’s enough of that. Off you go,” she murmured. “You have a lesson with Remus, and I actually have work to do.”

You squeezed her once more before finally pulling away, a small smile still lingering as you stepped back. “I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll be here,” she replied softly.

You gathered the edge of your skirt and headed for the door, glancing back once more before stepping out into the corridor. And promptly stopping short, because the moment the door swung open, you nearly collided with a very solid, very familiar figure leaning casually against the stone wall beside it.

You groaned. “Are you serious?”

His mouth curved slowly into a crooked grin with far too much confidence for someone who had just been caught loitering outside a princess’s private baths.

“Hey,” he straightened from the wall with lazy ease, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Morning, Princess,” he wiggled his brows, the word smooth and paired with a look that was very clearly meant to be impressive (which did not work as he looked like a jester).

You squinted at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “Well, Princess,” he said thoughtfully, “that right there is what I call the smolder.”

You stared at him. “The what?”

“The smolder,” he repeated with absolute confidence. “It’s a look. A very effective one, actually. I’ve been told it tends to make girls swoon across the kingdom.”

You burst out laughing, “That gets girls swooning?” you said incredulously, already walking past him down the corridor. “Potter, that might be the most embarrassing thing I’ve heard all week.”

He turned quickly to follow you. “Well, it works,” he insisted, a little too defensive. “Considering this is the longest conversation we’ve had in four days, I’d say it’s doing something right.”

You didn’t even glance at him, brushing past as if he hadn’t said a word. “I’m sure it does,” you replied flatly. “Somewhere out there, there’s a girl with truly terrible judgment who falls for that.”

“I’ll have you know,” James continued, clearly unwilling to let the matter drop, “that look has a proven record of success.”

You let out a quiet huff of amusement as the two of you continued down the hall toward the eastern wing where Remus held his lessons.

You finally glanced at him. “Oh really?”

“Yes.”

“With who?”

He hesitated. “Well—”

You nodded smugly. “That’s what I thought.” quickening your pace toward the classroom doors, you ignored him.

Behind you, James followed without complaint, his footsteps steady and familiar against the stone floor. “It’s not even morning, and you’re going to follow me around all day?” you complained.

James’s lips curved into a faint smile. “That’s kind of in my job description, Princess.”

“Yeah, well,” you grumbled, rolling your eyes, “I have class right now. So either you leave me alone, or you can come and sit there quietly while I learn about boring kingdoms and shitty wars that happened fifty million years ago.”

He let out a snort (one that was definitely not appropriate in the presence of royalty), before dissolving into laughter, any trace of courtly manners abandoned entirely.

You paused mid-step and turned to glare at him. “What’s so funny?”

He shook his head, still smiling, a faint glint of amusement in his golden-brown eyes. “Excuse me, I just did not expect the princess to use the word ‘shit.’ No offense, of course.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping forward with an exaggerated sigh. “Just because Mother insists on me having a proper tongue does not mean it’s going to work all the time, James. Not every word can be prim and polished.”

James tilted his head slightly, his smile softening. “Princess, you may speak however you like in front of me. My duty is to protect you, not to enforce etiquette.”

You slowed down walking, your heart skipping a beat at the honesty in his words. You quickly averted your gaze, cheeks warming as you hurried on.

By the time you arrived at the classroom, Remus was already there, sitting at a large wooden table with stacks of books and parchment neatly arranged around him. His calm demeanor was always comforting, and a light smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he looked up.

“Ah, James,” Remus greeted warmly, standing as he reached for his friend’s shoulder. The two hugged each other , exchanging a few words that you could not quite catch.

You sank into your chair, secretly thankful that at least in class, the day could be temporarily replaced by history lessons, no matter how mind-numbingly dull they were.

The lesson had barely begun before your attention slipped entirely. Remus’s voice carried on in that steady, patient rhythm of his, weaving through dates and names and alliances that refused to stick, while your thoughts wandered somewhere far more interesting, namely back to a few days ago, to James, and to the deal he hadn’t outright refused.

That alone should have been concerning. Not that he had much of a choice, you reminded yourself, but still. He hadn’t shut it down. Hadn’t run straight to your parents either. Which meant there was a possibility, however slim, that your plan might actually work. The details, unfortunately, were still… lacking.

You hadn’t quite figured out how he was supposed to help you disappear for at least an hour in the middle of a royal parade without losing his head in the process.

You were halfway through mentally rearranging that problem when Remus’s voice cut cleanly through your thoughts.

“—ness.”

“Your Highness,” he repeated, sharper this time.

You blinked, straightening slightly in your seat. “Hm?”

Remus was already looking at you with that familiar, deeply unimpressed expression. “I asked,” he said, slow and deliberate, “who Julius Caesar was addressing when he said ‘Et tu, Brute?’”

Across the room, James—stationed in the corner with his arms folded, doing a remarkably poor job of pretending he wasn’t listening to every word—shifted slightly, clearly interested now.

You paused, buying yourself time. “Right. Yes. Of course you did.”

You cleared your throat. “Brute… as in…” You squinted at the page in front of you as if the answer might magically appear. “A metaphor?”

Remus closed his eyes. “No,” he said, exhaling slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not a metaphor. A person. His name was Brutus, one of Caesar’s most trusted allies. We went over this last lesson.”

James coughed into his fist, shoulders shaking just enough to give him away.

You shot him a glare before leaning back in your chair with a long, dramatic sigh. “Remus, this is unbearably boring.”

“It’s history,” he replied, in the tone of someone who had explained this far too many times. “And whether you enjoy it or not, you will one day sit in councils where these histories matter. You will speak to nobles who build their identities on events like this. You are expected to understand them.”

“Exactly! It’s history. Dead people doing dead things for dead reasons. Why must I know which kingdom fought who if I—” you gesture around the room wildly, “—am not even allowed to leave the castle walls? It’s pointless.”

Remus crosses his arms. “It’s not pointless.”

He ignored you and continued, his tone sharpening just enough to demand your attention. “Julius Caesar was not killed by enemies at the gates, or by soldiers in open battle. He was surrounded by men he trusted. Senators. Allies. Friends.” His gaze flicked to you briefly. “Brutus among them.”

You frowned slightly despite yourself, your earlier irritation dimming just a fraction. You frowned faintly, resting your chin in your hand. “I don’t understand something,” you said, the question slipping out before you could dismiss it. “How does a man like that not see it coming? Someone like Caesar would have had enemies everywhere. Surely he was watching for them.”

“He was watching for them,” he explained. “That was precisely the problem.”

You tilted your head.

“Caesar guarded himself against open opposition,” Remus continued. “Men who spoke against him in council. Rivals who challenged his authority. Those are the threats people expect.” His gaze lifted to you. “But betrayal does not come from the man who argues with you. It comes from the one who agrees too easily.”

“Caesar likely saw pieces of it,” Remus continued. “No man of his position is entirely blind. But trust has a way of dismissing what should alarm you. It convinces you that doubt is disloyalty. That questioning someone close to you is a greater risk than believing them.”

You swallowed, quieter now. “And Caesar just… ignored all that?”

Remus’s expression did not soften. “He justified it. That is the more dangerous mistake.” His voice lowered slightly. “He told himself those men were loyal. That their actions were in his interest. That doubt would make him a poor leader.” A faint pause. “Trust, when misplaced, has a way of disguising warning signs as virtues.”

You stared at the desk, your earlier irritation gone entirely now.

His voice lowered slightly, more reflective now. “But the difficulty is not in the signs themselves. It is in whether you are willing to see them.”

You swallowed, quieter now. “So what, then? You just… never trust anyone?”

A faint smile touched his lips at that. “No. That’s isolation, not wisdom.” He shook his head slightly. “You trust, but you learn to observe. To listen not only to what is said, but to what is avoided. To notice what changes, even subtly. People reveal themselves, eventually. Always.”

You leaned back again, exhaling, though your voice did not carry quite the same bite as before. “That is all very profound,” you said, waving a hand lightly, “but it does not make it any less boring to memorize.”

James did laugh at that, quickly covering it with a cough when Remus shot him a look.

Remus sighed, long-suffering once more, though there was the faintest hint of amusement beneath it now. “Princess,” he said, setting his quill down with care, “for the sake of both our sanity—archery follows this lesson. If you are quite done arguing with me, you may finish early and go prepare.”

That was all the permission you needed.

You were on your feet in an instant, the legs of your chair scraping loudly against the floor as it nearly tipped over behind you. “Okay, thank you, Remus, see you next class,” you rushed out in one breath, already halfway to the door before the sentence had even finished.

And then you were gone. You certainly did not give James any opportunity to catch up as you slipped out into the corridor and made straight for the back doors, pushing them open with far more force than necessary.

The moment you stepped outside, the air shifted. Sunlight spilled across your face, warm and golden, the scent of pine and fresh-cut grass filling your lungs it almost felt like freedom. For a brief, fleeting second, it was enough to make everything else fall away.

Archery had always been your favorite. The one place on castle grounds where movement was expected, where precision mattered more than posture, where no one hovered quite so closely because they trusted you not to miss your mark. It was the closest thing you had to space that felt like your own.

You were practically running—until a voice followed you. “Princess!”

You ignored him.

“My god—would you slow down?” James called after you, his voice closer now, slightly breathless. “They are not going to start without you, you know. You are the entire reason the schedule exists.”

You cast James a side-eye over your shoulder. “Fine,” you grumbled, slowing down.

For a few moments, silence fell between you—just the wind through the trees, birds fluttering overhead, your hair whipping behind you as you walked.

Then James broke it. “So…” he began carefully. “What’s it like? Having magical powers that can heal people and animals, I mean?”

You whipped your head toward him and hissed, “Would you lower your voice? Someone could hear.”

“Oh—sorry.” He lowered his tone instantly, leaning slightly closer. “Is it… okay to ask?”

You sighed. “It’s okay. I mean… I can help people. Heal them. But then again I’m trapped in a castle for my entire life, so it’s not like my powers are in any good use.”

James absorbed your words with a frown. He hesitated before asking, “Can you heal yourself?”

“Yes and no?” you said, scrunching your nose. “I can never really feel pain.”

He slowed down his walking. “You… can’t?”

“Well… before I even get hurt, my body heals it, instantly. It’s annoying honestly. I once tripped on stone and Remus nearly fainted, but my leg healed before he even reached me.” You kicked a pebble down the path. “I don’t control that part. It just… happens.”

“Yeah,” you added with a small shrug, brushing your hands together as if it were nothing, “it just… happens.”

“Well,” he said after a moment, voice lighter now, though not entirely, “that sounds… rather convenient.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

Before the conversation could continue, the path curved—and the trees gave way. The archery field opened up in a wash of gold and green, sunlight spilling across the clearing, catching on polished bows and taut strings. Targets stood lined against the far edge, some already marked with arrows from earlier practice. And, of course, your brothers were already there.

Elias spotted you first. “There you are!” he called out, lifting a bow in your direction like a challenge. “Took you long enough. I was starting to think you’d given up before we even started.”

Cassian, leaning lazily against one of the posts, followed your line of sight and smirked. “Careful, Eli,” he added, pushing himself upright. “She’s going to blame her inevitable loss on ‘academic distress’ again.”

You scoffed immediately, already moving toward them. “Please,” you shot back, not breaking stride, “the only thing distressing is having to watch you miss the target for an entire hour.”

“Oh, we will see about that, baby sister,” Cassian cut in smoothly, reaching out to hand you a bow as you approached, his grin widening.

You took it from him with a roll of your eyes, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you. “Keep talking,” you muttered. “It’ll make it all the more satisfying when I win.”

Behind you, James slowed to a stop. Alaric had already lifted a hand, motioning him over, and James hesitated only briefly before stepping away, leaving you to your brothers as he crossed the field to join him. It truly did not surprise you that James was chatting now with your eldest brother.

Of course they got along.

Alaric had always been like that. Steady, warm, the kind of person people trusted without question. More older brother than prince to half the castle. And James was no different. He had a way of belonging wherever he stood. Of speaking to anyone, of turning even the briefest interaction into something familiar. Guards, servants, tutors, your brothers… you were fairly certain he got along with everyone.

You felt the flicker of it then, a familiar jealousy sharp and unwelcome. Because while Alaric was loved and James seemed to be friends with half the kingdom, you had spent most of your life locked away from both.

It was effortless for him. Effortless in a way it had never been for you.

You turned away before the thought could linger too long, focusing your attention on to the target boards instead, where Elias and Cassian were already waiting.

****

James tried to focus on what Alaric was saying, he really did, but his attention kept drifting. His gaze flickered back to you again and again, as if drawn there without permission.

You were currently arguing with Elias, your expression shifting between exasperation and amusement so quickly it was hard to tell which one you actually meant. There was something about you that didn’t quite fit with anything James had been taught about royalty. There was no stiffness, no careful distance, none of that practiced composure the court seemed to value so highly.

You moved too easily for that, spoke too freely, laughed too quickly. And yet, somehow, nothing about you felt careless.

If anything, it felt… grounding.

Even Snape, your archery teacher, stood nearby adjusting the strap of his quiver with his usual sharp impatience, seemed less irritable than usual. James had never seen the man gentle for anyone, yet there it was, subtle but unmistakable, the faintest shift in his expression when you hit the target right in the center of the board.

And for a brief second, it almost looked like he was holding back a smile.

James found himself watching more closely, though he tried not to make it obvious.

What unsettled him more was the realization that he wasn’t irritated by it. Not even slightly. Not when you had nearly sprinted halfway across the castle grounds earlier, skirts gathered carelessly in your hands, or when you interrupted Remus repeatedly during the lesson, derailing his explanations with arguments you had no intention of dropping.

It should have been exhausting to watch, the kind of behavior that grated on patience, yet somehow it had the opposite effect. There was something alive about it, as though your presence alone disrupted the rigid stillness the castle seemed to cling to.

Beside him, Alaric had sighed. “It wasn’t always like this, you know.” he said.

James turned slightly toward him, brows drawing together. “I’m not sure I follow,”

Alaric shifted his grip on the bow, resting his weight against it. His voice lowered. “People didn’t always act like this around her,” he said. “You didn’t see those years, Potter. After our parents kept her hidden, rumors started spreading. Not harmless ones either. People were terrified of her. They’d say she was cursed, ill, and dangerous.”

James frowned, glancing back toward you before looking at Alaric again. “I remember hearing something like that,” he admitted slowly. “I thought it was just nonsense.”

Alaric shook his head. “It wasn’t nonsense to the servants. They believed it. Some of them wouldn’t even go near her door. Meals were left outside like she was contagious to touch. Hell, even nurses made excuses not to be the ones assigned to her.”

James’s jaw shifted, his gaze flickering back toward you again.

“And she was a child,” Alaric went on, more quietly. “She didn’t understand why everyone suddenly looked at her like that. So she pushed back. Got louder, more stubborn and defiant. Started breaking rules just to prove she could. And the more she resisted, the tighter our parents tried to control it.”

James stayed quiet, letting the words absorb without interrupting.

Alaric exhaled softly, his gaze never leaving you. “It took her years to undo all of it. Years to convince people she wasn’t someone to be feared. And when she was finally allowed to walk freely again…” A faint smile touched his expression then, unmistakably full of pride. “She didn’t waste it. She spoke to everyone, learned servants’ names, helped wherever she could, even when she didn’t have to. She wanted people to see her, properly. Not whatever story they had built in their heads.”

James followed his gaze without thinking.

You were now laughing at something Elias had said while Cassian tried to hit an apple into the target board, your head tipped back slightly, sunlight catching in your hair, your entire expression open in a way that felt effortless. There was nothing in the way you stood, nothing in your expression, that hinted at fear or isolation or any of the things Alaric had just described.

“And somehow,” Alaric added quietly, “she managed it. People don’t see the rumors anymore. They just see her.”

James didn’t respond immediately.

He stood there for a moment longer than necessary, watching you, trying to reconcile the girl in front of him with the one Alaric had described, and finding that the two refused to fit neatly together.

If anything, that only made him look closer.

“I didn’t know that,” James said quietly.

Alaric nodded slightly, as if that response had been expected. “She wasn’t allowed out at all until last year,” he continued, still watching you. “Twelve months, Potter. That’s all she’s had. Everything you’re seeing now… the way people treat her, the way she carries herself… she built that herself. Piece by piece.”

James’s jaw tightened faintly at that. His mind flickered, unbidden, to your voice from a few years back, sharp and defensive in a way that made more sense now.

I’m not sick, you know. You don’t have to treat me like I’m contagious.

He let out a quiet breath, almost a huff, shaking his head slightly. “That’s… more than impressive,” he said.

Alaric glanced at him then. “You know,” he said, tone shifting slightly, “you and your mother were the only ones who treated her kindly. Even back then.”

James turned to him, caught off guard. “Me? I don’t think I was particularly… kind.”

Alaric’s mouth curved faintly. “You did more than you think. You were the one helping her climb down from windows when she decided she was done with her lessons. You picked her up every time she fell, even when she insisted she was fine. And those ridiculous games we used to play… you always found a way to include her, even when the rest of us didn’t quite know how.”

A soft breath of laughter left him. “She adored you,” he added, more gently now. “You might not have noticed it, but she did. She looked at you like you hung the stars.”

That made James go still. “I… didn’t know,” he admitted.

He looked down, staring absently at the grass beneath his boots as something uncomfortably warm crept up the back of his neck. Fragments of memory surfaced without warning, small moments he had never thought twice about.

You, younger, tugging impatiently at his sleeve, insisting he come look at something you had found. A beetle, maybe, or a flower, or something equally ordinary that had somehow become extraordinary because you had decided it was. Him sighing like it was an inconvenience, rolling his eyes, but going anyway. Lifting you up so you could see better.

Before Alaric could answer, Cassian’s voice cut sharply across the range.

“No! No, that does not count!”

Both of them turned instinctively.

You stood several yards away, practically bouncing in place, your bow still raised as though you hadn’t quite processed what you’d just done. The arrow sat clean through the center of the apple, splitting it with a precision that left no room for argument.

You spun around, eyes bright. “Did you see that, Al?” you called out to your eldest brother, voice carrying easily across the field, excitement spilling through every word. “Right through the center. Don’t even try to argue it, Cassian, that was perfect. I have a better aim than you, and we both know it.”

Cassian straightened slowly. “Alright,” he said, pointing at the target, “first of all, that was luck.”

“Stay bitter,” you replied sweetly. “It suits you.”

Alaric, who had been watching the entire exchange, let out a quiet breath of laughter, his expression softening around you. “I saw,” he called, lifting his hand slightly in acknowledgment. “That was a good shot, little one.”

You lit up, not just smiling but brightening in a way that seemed to catch the light itself, pride and delight slipping through your expression without restraint as you turned toward him. “See?” you said, shooting Cassian a look over your shoulder. “At least someone here knows what they’re talking about.”

Cassian scoffed, already reaching for another arrow as if determined to redeem himself. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” he muttered. “Beginner’s luck doesn’t strike twice.”

“Watch me,” you shot back, not even bothering to hide your grin as you nocked another arrow.

The moment folded seamlessly back into the rhythm of the lesson. Snape’s voice cut cleanly across the field not long after as he corrected Elias’s stance and adjusted Cassian’s grip with little patience for either of their protests. Under his instruction, the next two hours passed in a steady cadence of arrows loosed, targets struck, and quiet corrections murmured or snapped depending on his mood.

And despite Elias’s constant complaints and Cassian’s refusal to admit defeat, it became increasingly obvious; you were better than both of them.

Even Snape, who was not known for praise, paused once or twice longer than necessary at your side, offering quieter, more precise adjustments that felt like acknowledgment.

By the time the lesson drew to a close, there was very little left for your brothers to argue about.

You lowered your bow with a satisfied breath, brushing stray strands of hair from your face as the field began to settle, the structured tension of the lesson dissolving into looser movement and scattered conversation.

“Be careful,” Alaric called after you as you stepped away, his voice carrying easily across the range. His gaze flicked briefly to James, a silent instruction.

James inclined his head once in understanding and moved without hesitation. By the time he caught up, you were already halfway down the path, your steps quick and restless.

When he fell into step beside you, you glanced up at him, curiosity already written plainly across your face. “So,” you say, clasping your hands behind your back, tone deceptively casual, “what exactly have you done with your life, James Potter?”

He arches a brow, glancing down at you. “Is the princess taking an interest in me?”

You stop just long enough to roll your eyes at him, though the corner of your mouth lifts despite yourself. “No. But you are unfortunately stuck with me every hour of every day, so I would rather know who I am walking beside. Think of it as… tolerable conversation.”

He hums, as though considering that. “Conversation. And here I thought you found me insufferable.”

“A small nuisance,” you correct lightly. “But manageable.”

That draws a warm laugh from him. “Friends, then?” he asks after a moment, the word coming out a little more carefully than the rest of his tone suggests. There is a hesitation there, as though he is not entirely certain how you will respond.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes,” you say simply. “Friends.”

The word sits strangely in his chest. Not unwelcome, but still very familiar in a way he cannot quite place. He clears his throat, shifting his attention forward as he begins to answer your question properly.

“Well,” he starts, a little slower now, choosing what to say rather than just filling the silence, “you already know my mother was the royal nurse. She took care of you when you were younger. She used to complain that you would not sleep unless she hummed that lullaby you liked.”

You blink, caught off guard by that. “She told you that?” A softer note slips into your voice before you can stop it. “I… miss her. I haven’t seen her in so long.”

A small smile tugs at his mouth. “She told everyone,” he admits. “Went on about it like it was some great accomplishment. Said you only ever listened to her.” His tone warms slightly. “She misses you too. More than she’ll admit out loud, honestly. She’s been counting the days until the parade, keeps saying she might finally get a proper conversation with you again.”

That makes your heart ache. Euphemia Potter truly had been nothing less of a mother to you. She was the warmest and gentlest person you’ve met, the embodiment of the sun. You don’t trust yourself to respond properly, so you just nod, eyes dropping briefly to the path.

He lets the quiet sit for a second before continuing. “And my father… he was a general. One of the highest-ranking in the Valenoran army.”

You look back at him, brows knitting. “Wait. Why did I not know that? I thought you were—” you hesitate, then say it anyway, “—fatherless.”

James lets out a loud laugh at that. “No, not quite. Very much the opposite.” He shakes his head lightly. “He retired about four years ago. Got injured in battle. His knee never healed properly after that, not enough for him to stay in the field, at least. So he stepped down.”

There’s a nostalgic look in his expression as he goes on. “He didn’t take it well at first. Spent months pacing around the house, picking fights with everyone, acting like sitting still was some kind of punishment.”

He huffs a small breath, almost amused now. “Then one day he decided he was done being miserable about it and opened a restaurant in the village.”

That catches your full attention immediately. “A restaurant?” you repeat, turning toward him a little more. “What kind? Does he make sweets? What’s it called? Do people actually go?”

James glances at you, amusement visible in his eyes now. “It’s Mexican. Calls it La Potter’s Olla.” He shakes his head. “And yes, people go. All the time. They love it.”

“That sounds…” You exhale softly. “Nice. Really nice.”

He notices it, the way your voice softens and the way your gaze drifts for just a second too long, and it hits him again, sharper this time, how much of that world you’ve never touched. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you weren’t allowed to.

You seem to catch yourself a moment later, straightening slightly as if brushing the feeling off. “So,” you say, shifting the conversation with practiced ease, “how did you become a royal guard, then?”

James’s mouth curves faintly. “Elias bribed me.”

You stop mid-step, turning to stare at him properly. “Elias what?”

“He bribed me,” he repeats, entirely serious. “I was twelve. He told me if I joined the guard, I’d get to train near him and Cassian and we could all stay together. I did not need much convincing.”

A small laugh slips from you. “That actually sounds exactly like him.” Your voice softens slightly. “He always hated being alone.”

“He still does,” James says quietly.

For a moment, the two of you fall into step again, the conversation settling into something easier.

“My parents already worked for the royal family,” he continues after a beat. “That helped. They let me start training earlier than most. By the time I turned twenty, I’d already done enough to be promoted.”

He glances at you briefly. “And now I’m here. Assigned to you.”

You tilt your head, giving him a sideways look, a small smile tugging at your lips. “My compliments to whoever made that decision,” you say fondly now. “You’re doing a decent job, so far.”

Ahead of you, the path opens toward the wider courtyard, servants moving between doorways with baskets in their arms, guards shifting positions along the walls, the castle alive in its usual busy rhythm. A breeze drifts through, catching the edge of your hair and pulling it back from your face.

“What is it like?” you ask after a moment,, the teasing stripped clean from your tone. “Living out there in Valenora. Walking where you want, eating wherever you feel like, just… being part of it.”

Your gaze drops before he can speak, the toe of your shoe nudging a loose pebble along the path. “I’ve only ever seen the kingdom from the parade,” you continue, almost absently. “Once a year. Four hours in a carriage while everyone else celebrates around me.” A faint breath leaves you. “I’ve never walked into a shop. Never bought anything for myself. Never tried food from a street stall, or spoken to anyone without half the guard listening in.” You hesitate, then add, more quietly, “My own kingdom feels… unfamiliar.”

He slows without thinking, matching your pace, letting the moment stretch instead of rushing to fill it.

And he looks at you, properly this time. Not the version of you that snaps back at him or bargains for impossible things, but this one, a little more open than you probably intended to be. It does something strange to him, something unsteady and familiar all at once.

Because James remembers.

He remembers a smaller version of you trailing after him through the gardens, insisting he pay attention to things no one else cared about. He remembers the way you used to light up when someone indulged you, as if the smallest kindness had been something worth holding onto.

He remembers, with a faint heat creeping up the back of his neck, the endless love letters he used to write at ten years old. Ridiculous, earnest things, full of promises he barely understood. He never gave them to you. Never thought it mattered.

And then there are the years after that.

The glimpses that never quite counted. A figure behind glass. A movement at a window. The sense of someone just out of reach. He has spent the last several years in this castle, walking its halls like they belong to him, and still only ever caught fragments of you. Moments where you looked at him through the window like you were waiting for him to save you yet again, as if you both were still kids.

Standing beside you now, listening to you speak about your own kingdom like this, stirs something in him that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

That same stubborn instinct from years ago, the one that never quite listened when it was told to leave you be. The one that found ways, small and stupid and persistent, to pull you into things anyway. It settles back into place before he can question it.

It unsettles him, how easily it returns. As if it never left.

He thinks of the parade then, the crowds, the kingdom, the way the streets open wide in a way the castle never does. He thinks of your plan, reckless and half-formed, and knows immediately that he’s doomed and won’t be able to say no.

He finds himself deciding, without saying it out loud, that he’s going to give you more than that.

Because if there is one thing James Potter has always been good at, it’s finding ways around rules when they stand in your way. And if there is one thing he was worse at, it’s denying you anything you’ve ever wanted.

This time is no different. This time, he intends to make sure you don’t just see your kingdom. He intends to give it back to you, even if only for a few hours.

“Maybe one day you will,” he says at last, after a long pause. “Maybe sooner than you think.”

You turn to him then, and in your eyes James sees something that looks, for a fleeting second, like hope.

“Maybe,” you reply back.

a/n: can we just take a moment to appreciate how amazing lily is? she truly is the princess’ constant, and she’s going to have such a massive role in this series. i cannot wait for a certain chapter (hint: chapter 4 ;)), i’m literally screaming and doing backflips just thinking about it.

also, james is so down bad. he’s had a crush on the reader forever, and he even wrote her love letters when he was ten 🙁🙁 my baby. and alaric… he’s such an amazing older brother, i love him so much, he’s genuinely my favorite.

this chapter is really important for the plot. it covers a lot and includes some subtle foreshadowing, so let me know if you spot anything! i won’t lie, writing this took a lot out of me, and i edited it during a really rough period of my life, which i’m still in. (this isn’t the most proofread chapter so bear with me guys)

anyways, genuinely, any comments, reblogs, or thoughts mean so much to me. they keep me motivated and make me so happy, so please let me know what you think <3

-

taglist: @slitherysneke @whore-for-pickles24 @only-gilei @wawerszz @buffkittenmuscles37  @revesephemeres @eli0eli0 @jeong-uwu @vintagexwillow @unenthusedprofiler @cherrycolasparkless @sophal22 @arialikestea @elioraflora @galaxystern08 @sucker-4-angst @starrylupine @kitkat198908 @liliofthespring @rubyinthebooks @bmyva1entine @lunalov3smoony @hdcomputer @veesse @squashednutella @deadpoolssweetchimi @agnescuzwhynot

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when you're trying to find a good fanfic to read but your tumblr fyp is genuinly shit

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The Crown of Valenora

chapter one: beginning of the end

knight!james potter x princess!reader

chapter summary: after years trapped inside the walls of your castle, a royal command places James Potter as your personal guard. unfortunately for him, you have no intention of making his job easy. (5.8k)

tags: princess!reader, childhood friends to strangers, royal family dynamics, palace confinement, mentions of arranged marriage pressures, mentions of animal injury and blood.

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For as long as James could remember, he had known the castle of Valenora like the back of his hand: every corridor, every servants’ passage, the narrow alcove behind the west gallery where no one ever thought to look, and even the small cracks in the marble floors worn smooth by years of footsteps.

He knew the palace not because he belonged to it, though at nine years old he had once desperately wished he did, but because he had grown up inside its walls for as long as he could remember.

His father, Fleamont Potter, had been one of Valenora’s most respected generals. A man whose name carried weight in every barracks and council chamber in the kingdom. Years ago he had fought beside King Edmund at the Battle of Silvercrest, and the story was told often enough that even the servants knew it by heart; Fleamont had saved the King from a striking blade from an enemy.

To James, it had never felt like some distant legend. It was simply the reason the royal family had always treated him a little differently from the other children in the castle. Not quite a prince, of course, but close enough that he had grown up running through the same halls, sitting at the same tables, getting into trouble beside the same princes.

His mother worked there too. Euphemia Potter served as the caretaker and nurse for the royal children, a role that demanded endless patience and gentleness. She had helped bring each of them into the world and had watched over them ever since, tending scraped knees, late night fevers, and every childhood disaster in between. The princes and their youngest sister had become as dear to her as her own son.

James remembered the first time she brought him along. He had been five and a half, small and curious and far too excited to stand still. He could still picture it clearly, the towering columns of the palace courtyard, the golden banners shifting softly in the wind, the sheer size of everything making him feel impossibly small.

After that, the castle simply became part of his life.

He grew up alongside the royal children as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Alaric with his serious expressions even as a boy, Cassian already clever enough to talk his way out of trouble, Elias who went along with every bad idea James suggested, and you, the youngest one among them.

He remembered the games that once filled the corridors: endless hide-and-seek, whispered conspiracies with Alaric and Cassian, pranks that left you incandescent with fury. Chaotic, relentless, but undeniably joyous.

That until your ninth birthday, after that everything changed.

James could trace it back to one specific afternoon in the palace gardens, though for years he tried not to think about it too closely. At the time it had seemed like any other day. The princes had turned the lawns into some ridiculous racecourse, shouting over each other about rules they were making up as they went.

You had been there too, trailing behind them with Maximus, your beloved horse, trotting loyally beside you.

Maximus had been a gift from your parents not long before that. A ridiculous, stubborn little horse that you loved more than anything in the world. You brushed his stupid mane until it shone, fed him apples you stole from the kitchens, and spoke to him constantly like he was capable of offering meaningful life advice.

It might have been cute if Maximus hadn’t absolutely hated James.

For reasons no one understood, that stupid horse had decided early on that James Potter was his sworn enemy. Every time James got within ten feet of him, Maximus would pin his ears back like a demon and try to kick him.

If that didn’t work, he’d chase him around the gardens—Once he even managed to shit directly on James’s boot.

So yeah. Easy to say James and Maximus were not exactly best friends.

Back to the point, somewhere in the mayhem, you and Maximus wandered off.

None of your brothers noticed; they were too busy yelling at each other across the hedges about who had started running before the count finished.

James noticed when he heard a sound beneath the noise of the boys’ voices; an animal’s cry. He slowed, listening again, and when it came a second time he pushed through the hedges toward it, branches snagging his sleeves as he forced his way into the thick brush.

James found you in a small clearing. You were kneeling in the grass, crying quietly, your hands hovering uselessly over Maximus as he lay beside you trembling.

One of his front legs was twisted awkwardly beneath him. A jagged wooden branch had pierced straight through the muscle just below the knee, snapped off from somewhere in the bushes and now stuck there at an awful angle. Blood darkened the grass around him.

James felt his stomach drop. He rushed forward without thinking, already opening his mouth to reassure you and call for help.

Except before James could get a word out, you lifted your hands above the wound, shaking slightly.

And they began to glow.

At first it was faint, just a soft golden shimmer gathering around your palms like sunlight caught in water. James blinked hard, certain his eyes were playing tricks on him. But the light only grew stronger, spilling from your hands in a warm, brilliant glow that wrapped around Maximus’s injured leg.

It was… beautiful.

Magnificent in a way James had never seen before. The golden light pulsed brighter than the afternoon sun, and then the impossible happened; the branch slid cleanly from the wound and fell into the grass. The torn flesh sealed itself together as if it had never been broken. No blood. No scar. No sign that anything had ever been wrong.

Maximus shifted beneath your hands, let out a soft snort, and pushed himself back onto his feet as though nothing had happened at all.

James let out a sharp gasp before he could stop himself. Your head snapped up. For a moment the two of you just stared at each other across the clearing.

The look on your face when you realized he had seen was pure horror.

James wasn’t even sure what he had witnessed. Part of him thought he must have imagined it, that the sun had gotten in his eyes or he’d hit his head running through the bushes. But the broken branch was still lying in the grass, slick with blood that no longer had a wound to belong to.

That day, James ran straight to his mother. He burst into the servants’ wing half out of breath and talking too fast, trying to explain what he had seen you do in the gardens. And for the first and only time in his life, Euphemia Potter lost her temper completely.

She had dragged him back home and screamed at him.

The sound was so sharp it made ten year old James flinch. Her hands gripped his shoulders hard enough to hurt, her face pale in a way he had never seen before. “You must never say that again,” she told him, her voice shaking. “Do you understand me, James? Not to anyone.”

James, being ten and stubborn as hell, immediately argued back. “But it’s amazing!” he insisted, nearly shouting himself. “She could help people. She could save them. Why would you hide something like that?”

That… did not go well for him.

The next day you didn’t come down to the gardens to play with him and your brothers.

Or the day after that.

At first James thought you were just being kept inside for getting caught sneaking out again. It wouldn’t have been the first time. But as the days turned into weeks it became obvious that something else had happened.

You weren’t being kept inside for a few days. You were being kept inside, period.

The king and queen had given the order. The princess was not to be seen. Guards appeared near your chambers, servants stopped mentioning your name entirely, and the tower windows stayed closed more often than not.

That night both Euphemia and Fleamont sat James down and made something very clear. What he had seen in the gardens was not something he was ever allowed to talk about again.

Not to the princes.

Not to the servants.

Not to anyone.

James kept quiet after that. But the castle never quite forgot you. And neither did he.

From then on, whenever James played in the gardens with the princes he would glimpse you watching from the high windows of your room. Your small face pressed to the glass, eyes bright with a longing that felt almost too sad for a child. Every laugh, every chase across the lawns, every clumsy tumble was observed with hunger and determination.

And every time, without fail, you found a way down.

Sometimes you would turn your bedsheets into ropes, tied with improbable skill. Other times you would find a way to unlock doors your attendants swore were locked.

And on the most desperate days—when the boys’ laughter rang too loud and their games looked too fun—you would jump from your window straight into the flowerbeds, reckless and fearless, emerging unscathed except for a stray leaf tangled in your hair. A mystery that never failed to stir James’s curiosity.

At first, he had found it frustrating. Eleven years old, little patience for interruptions. Yet the longer he thought on it, the harder it became to remain irritated. Being the only girl among three roughhousing brothers was difficult enough.

Being locked away on top of that bordered on cruel. And still, you insisted on joining every game. Despite the fact that boys their age liked to play rough. They ran, they climbed, they rolled through dirt and grass—nothing even remotely princess-friendly.

Alaric would usually urge you toward safer pursuits, wary of injury. Cassian would scowl and threaten to report you for escaping your room, yet again. Elias would try to send you back as kindly as possible.

And James, softhearted despite himself, found ways to include you. Even if it was merely retrieving the ball they hurled into the distance like a dog chasing a toy, you seized the task with such joy that it was impossible not to indulge you.

To an outsider, it might have seemed pitiable; locked away, lonely, desperate for attention. But James had known from the beginning that you were anything but helpless.

You were not the delicate, perfect little princess everyone thought you were. Far from it. Where another ten year old girl might whine or beg to be included, you had your own methods of persuasion. Worms in their beds, spiders in their shoes, mysterious insects appearing in their food, and once even a bucket of pond water “accidentally” tipping over a bedroom door.

You had absolutely no shame about it either, standing there with the most innocent look imaginable while your brothers tried to figure out how a slug had ended up inside Elias’ boot. And really, everyone knew you didn’t bluff. If you said you would fill Cassian’s bed with frogs, you meant it.

James had always found you peculiar, a spark that refused definition. You may look like a princess—hand-sewn gowns, ribbons, golden trims, and an expensive crown perched on your head—but your spirit is sharp, untamed, and wholly your own.

In short, your sudden disappearance and the strange secret James had witnessed that day only made his curiosity worse.

Because even with the occasional escape from your tower, even with the brief moments you appeared in the gardens like nothing had changed, one truth remained.

James Potter might have known every hallway, hidden passage, and ridiculous rule inside the castle of Valenora. But the one thing he didn’t know at all was the princess who lived inside it.

Now, years later, twenty years old and working as a royal guard, James makes his way toward the throne room, summoned by King Edmund for reasons that remain completely unclear. When James steps into the throne room and hears someone shouting at the king, he expects many things.

What he does not expect is to find the princess in a violet gown, shouting at the Queen with such fiery force that even the guards flinch back.

Shouting at the fucking Queen.

You whirl, gown swirling like liquid flame, fury carved across your face so sharply that James instinctively steps back. Your eyes sweep over his uniform, recognition flashing in your eyes as you narrow at him. It’s as if the sight of him makes you, if possible, even more furious.

“I do not want a personal knight!” you scream. “Mother, I refuse this absurdity. I refuse him. I refuse all of it!”

Queen Helena straightens on her throne, jaw tightening. “You do not have the privilege to refuse royal decree. Your safety has been compromised twice this month alone.”

“That’s because you refuse to let me breathe,” you fire back instantly. “Why can’t you just add more guards to the castle? You already have half the kingdom standing in the halls. I’m not even allowed to leave my own chambers most days, and now you want to assign someone to follow me around like a damn puppy?”

Queen Helena rises. “Language.”

James watches you roll your eyes so hard he’s sure for a second you saw your own brain back there.

The Queen’s presence alone quiets the room. She rarely raises her voice, which somehow makes her more terrifying when she speaks. “You will accept this,” she says calmly. “The court watches everything you do. Wandering the castle alone is reckless.”

You laugh, harsh and humorless. “Oh, please. You don’t care about reckless. You care about appearances.” Your hands lift in frustration. “It’s always the same. Stay in your rooms. Don’t go there. Don’t speak to them. Don’t do anything that might remind people I actually exist!”

“That is not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?” you snap, your voice cracking with pure frustration. “Because from where I’m standing it looks exactly like every other day of my life.”

You step forward, the hem of your purple gown brushing the marble floor. “For years,” you continue, your voice shaking now, “I’ve been locked in rooms I didn’t choose, surrounded by guards I didn’t ask for, and no one—no one—ever gives me a proper explanation. Not once. And now suddenly I’m supposed to accept some knight glued to my side like it’s normal?”

Alaric shifts beside the throne, clearly uncomfortable. “Y/N,” he says carefully, “perhaps we should all take a moment—”

You turn on him so quickly it nearly startles the guards. “Do not,” you snap, “try to calm me down like I’m a child.”

Alaric raises both hands in surrender. Cassian, meanwhile, has slouched against one of the pillars with the relaxed posture of someone attending theatre rather than a royal argument.

He lets out a low whistle. “Well,” he says, grinning, “this escalated quickly.”

“Cassian,” Queen Helena warns.

But he’s already laughing. “I’m just saying,” he shrugs, wiping a tear from his eye, “I already told you she won’t handle the news gracefully like a princess, mother.”

“Shut it, Cassian!”

You ignore him and turn back toward the throne. “Father,” you try reasoning with him, your voice raw now, “I already can’t leave the castle. I barely leave my chambers. And now this? I certainly do not need him.” You gesture sharply to James. “He is a stranger!”

James suddenly feels very aware that the entire room is looking at him.

Wonderful.

“He grew up beside you,” Edmund replies coolly. “He grew up here. He knows the castle. He knows you.”

He knows about your secret.

“He knew me before you locked me away,” you fire back. “Do you see how absurd this is? You want a man I barely remember to monitor every step I—”

A muscle jumps in the king’s jaw. “That is enough.” Edmund replies, the patience finally cracking in his voice. “Someone tried to kill you! Therefore, you do not have the authority to allow or deny,” Edmund says. Each word is heavy, final. “This is not a request. It is a command.”

His gaze shifts to James. “I trust the Potters. And James is a perfect fit for this task. He will protect you and respect you, so rest assured that whatever invasion of privacy you’re worried about won’t happen.”

Your breath trembles, though your fury refuses to waver. “Then understand this. If you assign him to me, I will make his life intolerable.” you huff out, clearly not used to not getting your way with things.

Queen Helena finally stands up from her throne. Her gaze lands on you with a tired sharpness, the kind and patient gleam in her eyes gone.

“You will accept James as your knight,” she says slowly, each word shaped with warning, “or I will cancel the birthday parade.”

The floor seems to tilt beneath you.

You stop arguing as Cassian's laughter dies down, Elias quits shifting nervously behind your father, and even James lifts his head in surprise.

"No!" your voice breaks before it fully forms. “No, no, no. Mother, not the parade. Please.” Tears burn at the corners of your eyes before you can swallow them back.

The parade is the one thing they can never take from you.

The one day the gates open.

The one day you walk among people who are not servants or guards.

The one day you are not hidden away like a secret mistake.

Queen Helena exhales, her expression softening instantly at the sight of your trembling lip. She descends the steps toward you with measured calm, her skirts sliding across the marble. When she reaches you, she cups your face with both hands.

Her thumbs brush your tears away before they can fall. “My sweetheart,” she murmurs gently. “If I could give you the whole world, I would. If it were safe, I would let you run wherever your spirit wished to go. But danger is already inside these walls. Someone threatened you. Someone entered your chambers. Someone intends to harm you.”

You look down, jaw clenched, breath shaking. “The parade is the only day I am allowed outside. The only day I exist beyond these walls. You know what it means to me.”

“I do,” Helena whispers. “And that’s why you need protection. We cannot risk losing you.”

Her eyes lift toward James for a brief, meaningful moment. “And Potter is here to keep you safe.”

You step back, her hands slipping from your cheeks. Silence swells in the room. Then you turn sharply and walk away, your steps echoing through the chamber. James instinctively moves aside. The moment you pass him, you say coldly, “You’re really going to regret taking that promotion.”

James lets out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he mutters under his breath, “I’ve gathered that.”

The moment the throne room doors slam behind you, the echo still thrumming in your ears like a furious pulse. Your footsteps are sharp and quick, a storm contained only by thin self-restraint. You’re halfway down the marble stretch when you hear the soft thud of someone jogging after you.

You don’ t bother slowing or hiding the way your hands tremble with residual fury.

“Wait!” Elias’ voice carries behind you. He catches up within seconds, falling into step beside you with far too much ease for someone who has just sprinted half the length of the corridor.

You keep walking, gaze fixed forward. He releases a long, weary sigh. “You should not speak to Father like that.”

“Spare me,” you mutter, “I am allowed to object to being turned into some helpless prisoner that requires guarding.”

“You were attacked,” Elias replies quietly, although the weight of the words settles between you like a dropped stone. “You quite literally woke to someone standing over you with a blade and a letter promising more harm to come. There is clearly a spy in the castle. You know this.”

You halt so abruptly that your dress glides against his boots. You face him, fury burning across your features. “And how do you know,” you ask, your voice sharp as shattered crystal, “that James is not the spy?”

Elias stares at you as if you have suggested the sun might rise in the west, looking at you as though you are a fucking idiot.

Before he can speak, Cassian appears from around the corner, practically breathless from trying to catch up, laughter spilling from him because he has evidently heard your accusation.

“Y/N,” he says patiently, like he’s explaining something to a particularly dense child, “James Potter is the most painfully loyal man in this entire kingdom. The man bleeds duty.”

“That proves nothing.” you spit out.

“It proves he’s incapable of treason,” Cassian says.

You open your mouth to argue. Cassian cuts you off with a dramatic wave of his hand. “There’s a higher chance of Alaric secretly running a smuggling ring than there is of James betraying the crown, please.” he scoffs.

You glare at him with enough intensity to silence lesser men. Cassian only lifts his hands in surrender, still smiling. “Alright, bad example,” he admits, still smiling. “But you get my point.”

You sigh heavily, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s not even the point. The point is that my life somehow keeps getting worse the older I get.” you sigh.

“I actually thought this year might be different,” you mutter. “I really did.”

Elias falls into step beside you, his expression softening slightly. “Well,” he says after a moment, nudging your shoulder with gentle familiarity, “don’t look so defeated already. Your birthday is in two weeks and the parade is in ten days. Surely that counts for something.”

He glances at you. “Aren’t you excited?”

You roll your eyes so dramatically it almost hurts. “You heard Mother,” you say. “She’s going to cancel it.”

Behind you, Cassian scoffs. “Oh please.”

You glance over your shoulder just in time to see him reaching casually into the inside pocket of his coat and producing a small silver case.

“Cass, what the hell are you doing?”

He plucks a cigarette from the case with complete indifference. “What? I’m smoking obviously.”

The small flame flares briefly before he takes a slow drag, leaning lazily against the stone wall beside the corridor window as though the entire palace were not filled with guards who would happily report him within seconds.

“As I was saying, she would never cancel your parade,” Cassian continues, waving the cigarette vaguely in the air. “She acts strict, yes, but she’s not insane. Half the kingdom waits all year for it.”

He exhales another cloud of smoke as Elias agrees, “He’s right. People travel weeks just to see you.”

“Cass, you know if literally any guard in this castle sees you holding that, they will report you to Mother and Father within the hour.” you interrupt flatly.

“How do you think I got them?” he smirks.

Elias snorts as you stare at Cassian, horrified. You groan and start walking again, rubbing your temples. “This is exactly what I mean,” you say. “Everything is a disaster. My life is a disaster.” you throw your hands into the air.

“And now, on top of everything else, I’m apparently stuck with James Potter following me around like some sort of oversized watchdog.”

“You don’t even know if he’s useless yet,” Elias points out mildly.

You spin toward him. “Oh, I know,” you say immediately. “I can feel it. He’s probably the most useless guard this castle has ever hired.”

Cassian chokes on his smoke.

“And now,” you continue, growing more heated with every word, “he’s supposed to trail behind me everywhere I go, watching everything I do, listening to every conversation I have like some fucking—”

“Language,” Elias says automatically.

“Yes,” Cassian adds immediately, straightening with mock severity. “Language, princess.”

You glare at him. “Oh quit it, Cassian. Don’t act like you have standards. I’m pretty sure you were sleeping with that maid from the east wing last month.”

Cassian nearly drops his cigarette. “Hey!”

Elias leans against the wall, laughing even harder. “You told her?” he manages through the laughter.

“I didn’t tell her! She sneaked up on us!”

You give him a flat look. “Cass. The entire castle knows.”

Elias is still grinning when he pushes himself off the wall, though the laughter slowly dies down as he looks at you. After a moment he clears his throat, the mood shifting slightly. “Besides,” he says, “your birthday parade is in ten days. The whole castle’s already preparing. I heard it’s going to be big this year. Like… absurdly big.”

Despite everything, a tiny smile pushes at your lips. “You think so, Eli?”

He brightens immediately, puffing up with pride. “Of course. I helped plan part of it. What birthday gift do you even want this year?” Elias asks, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Name anything. I will get it.”

You roll your eyes but laugh again, shaking your head. “My birthday wish is the same as every year, Eli. I just want to be outside this castle. Properly outside. Not escorted or watched by guards. Just… outside.”

Elias’ smile falls a little. He sighs. “You know that’s not possible, at least not yet. But the parade will be beautiful, I promise. And afterward, Mother and Father are hosting a ball in your honor. Many heirs from neighboring kingdoms will attend.”

Cassian arches a brow teasingly. “Some are traveling days just to meet you.”

Your face drops instantly. “Oh no. Not another round of princes. I am not getting married.” you groan

Elias bursts out laughing. “You say that every year.”

“And I will continue saying it,” you reply sharply. “They parade them around like livestock. ‘Here, princess, pick a husband. Any husband.’ No thank you.”

Cassian shrugs, “You know, marriage isn’t all doom and gloom. I mean, look at our parents—they clearly love each other.”

You snort, crossing your arms. “Yeah, that’s great for them, but don’t you think it’s kind of… unfair? That I could be expected to marry some prince I’ve never met and become queen of a kingdom I barely know? Isn’t Valenora mine? Shouldn’t I be the one to rule here? Why should some random princess Alaric marries get my home?”

Elias frowns, walking beside you. “I get it. It’s… strange, yeah. But protocol is protocol. And honestly, I’m glad I’m not first in line for the crown. I really do feel bad that Alaric has to deal with all that expectation.”

Cassian nudges you lightly, teasing. “Well, you know what? You’re definitely more deserving of the crown than anyone they could parade in front of you.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to smile at him, though the corner of your mouth betrays you. “Thank you, Cass. That’s very reassuring.”

The three of you walk in companionable silence for a few steps, the castle halls stretching around you. Soon, you reach your section of the palace—the tower where your chambers are, with the small garden attached. At least you have this little patch of freedom, a slice of the outside world that’s yours, even if you’re mostly stuck inside.

Elias gives a small bow, looping his arm with Cassian’s as they tease, “See you tomorrow. Try not to burn down the wing while we’re gone.”

You shake your head with a laugh, muttering, “As if I could.”

And with that, they head back toward the main wing, leaving you to slip toward your garden, the cool night air brushing your cheeks as you let the quiet of the courtyard wrap around you.

The garden is the only place that has ever felt like yours. It rests behind the west wing, tucked far from the throne room, far from the watchful eyes that have followed you your whole life. The air smells like jasmine tonight, the blooms heavy and sweet, and for a moment you close your eyes and breathe it in.

You sit on the cool stone bench beneath the arbor, pulling your legs up, wrapping your arms around them, trying to gather your scattered thoughts.

Every princess is expected to be engaged or married around your age, and somehow you slipped past one expectation only to slam into the next.

You wonder how your parents expect to arrange anything when you have barely left the castle walls in years. You wonder who they expect you to marry. You wonder who would ever want a life like this.

You want to laugh, but it comes out as something closer to a sigh. It feels unfair, unbearably so, that you are meant to become queen of a kingdom you might never truly know.

That some other princess, someone you have never met, will one day stand beside Alaric and rule Valenora while you are sent away to rule a place that is not your home.

The thought makes your chest pull tight. You love your brothers, but sometimes the future feels like an invisible door being slammed shut right in front of you. You wish you could just escape and leave this— a sudden crunch of leaves behind you pulls you sharply from your reverie.

You turn, and there he is, the same stupid bastard who insists on ruining your life, standing there like he somehow materialized from the shadows themselves, hands casually resting at his sides.

You roll your eyes before you can stop yourself. “You really don’t have to follow me everywhere,” you say exasperated.

He quirks a small grin, his shoulders lifting. “That’s kind of my job, Princess.”

You stare at him, taking in the golden sunlight falling behind his shoulders, casting a halo over his face. For the first time, you really look at him. You’ve seen him before over the years, countless times shuffling through the castle halls—but never like this.

He’s clearly grown, his frame solid, broadening in a way that makes you blink. His eyes, the same mischievous spark from childhood, are now tempered with patience, and somehow, he seems both closer and infinitely further away than you remember.

And yet, even as you take him in, a flicker of irritation warms your chest. He’s always been kind to you, yes, but you can’t shake the simmering resentment.

It was because of him, after all, that your secret had been seen. That day in the gardens with Maximus, and insistence on telling his mother had changed everything. It had made this tower your home for years.

And though you can’t fully blame him—he was just a child too—some part of you can’t forgive him.

James, reading your expression with a careful glance, lets out a quiet sigh. “Look… I’m not here to make you feel trapped,” he begins. “This job—being assigned to you—it’s a command from the King. I can’t refuse it. Not even if I wanted to.”

You tilt your head, voice low and even. “We both know why this job was given to you, James. Don’t act like you don’t.”

He flinches just slightly, then straightens, letting a slow smile form. “Okay. How about this,” His tone shifts “We make a deal.”

You arch a brow, tilting your head like a cat. “A deal?” you drawl, voice dangerously sweet. “And how exactly can you, a royal guard, benefit me, the princess?”

He exhales, a little too quickly, and steps closer, leaning forward like he’s confessing a secret. “You don’t make my job impossible. You don’t—y’know—get me in trouble or get me fired. In return… I’ll be the best guard you’ve ever had. I’ll let you know my company is great and I’ll keep you safe, maybe even—” He stops himself, cheeks pink, and laughs nervously, “—make your life slightly less miserable.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “That’s… a terrible deal. First of all, it’s already your job to be the best guard. And second—‘slightly less miserable’? Really?” you pause, watching his earnest face and can’t suppress a laugh, rich and genuine, that spills across the garden like sunlight.

“I mean,” he continues, flustered but undeterred, “I can—”

“Okay,” you cut him off, raising a hand. “You got yourself a deal.”

He freezes, eyebrows shooting up, surprised at how quickly you agreed. “Wait. Really?”

“Yes, really,” you say, stepping closer, the gold of the setting sun catching in your hair. “But on one condition.”

“You have my full attention,” he says.

“You know how my birthday parade is in ten days, right?” you ask, lifting your gown to brush off some dirt.

“Everyone knows,” he says immediately. “The castle’s been preparing for it, the kingdom too—”

“Well, Potter,” you interrupt, smoothing your skirts and looking him dead in the eyes, “if you don’t want me to make this job a living hell and have you fired in a week, you’re going to help me.”

You were giving him the same look you used when you threatened to leave worms in his food as kids, and that was all James needed to know—you weren’t bluffing about what you were about to ask.

“Help you… how?” He blinks.

“You know how my birthday parade lasts four hours, winding all across the kingdom?”

“Yes?” he says slowly, trying to keep up.

“Well,” you say, tilting your head, that wicked, mischievous smile spreading across your face, “you, James Potter, are going to help me escape my birthday parade.”

Well, fuck.

James was already beginning to reconsider whether the pay was worth the job at all, because he had the distinct feeling that the deal he had just made with the princess was only the beginning of a very long road.

a/n: and here's the first chapter of tcov! i'm so, so excited to finally start sharing it with you all <3 chapter two will be posted very soon, that i promise! until then, i'd absolutely love to hear all your thoughts and theories as you read. they really keep me motivated, and it's always so fun seeing what you all notice and come up with :)

taglist: @slitherysneke @whore-for-pickles24 @only-gilei @wawerszz @buffkittenmuscles37  @revesephemeres @eli0eli0 @jeong-uwu @vintagexwillow @unenthusedprofiler @cherrycolasparkless @sophal22 @arialikestea @elioraflora @galaxystern08 @sucker-4-angst

[aransmind]

clark kent but make it gojo

[stalgivc]

[sunnypeachyy]

Harry Styles Joins Brittany Broski's Royal Court

[sucker-4-angst]

WHAT THE FUCK???!!?!!

[bluetimeombre]

THEY HIT THE PENTAGON MY GOD!!!!!!