the one where you bring your bike in for a noise that keeps returning, and discover the only thing getting properly tuned is you.
pairing: mechanic!jungkook x fem!reader
genre: no strings sex au, 2000s socal erotica, porn with plot, angst, smut (mdni!)
word count: 10,011
warnings/tags: 18+, explicit smut, protected sex, orgasms denied, dirty talk, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, bratty sub reader acts tough, mechanic/client power imbalance, pining, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, clit stimulation, fingering, grinding, hair pulling, hickies/marking, missionary, doggy style, cum on body, spitting, early 2000s aesthetic, socal setting, reader rides a motorcycle!, jungkook is left handed bc why not, surfer!jungkook, phone book meet-cute, mirror play, grease kink
a/n: hi pretties! I've had this story drafted for a while and finally finally finally finished it up! currently obsessed with biker jungkook so I thought why not write something with this baddie vibe. also I have dark&wild on repeat and it's sooo west coast coded, hence the 2000s socal aesthetic for the story. my next post will be part 2 for what happens in vegas, for those of you that are interested in reading it! well I hope you enjoy reading this and don't forget to heart and reblog â. đ Ë<3
The phone book page is soft with humidity, yellow edges curling where you've gripped it too hard. You started with the full-page ads, the ones with motorcycles silhouetted against sunsets and 24-hour towing promises, but they're all the way out in Riverside or asking questions you don't want to answer about make and model. So you went to the small print, the entries that are just names and numbers, and found him third from the bottom in a column of locksmiths and septic tank services.
JK MOTOR REPAIR. No address listed, but the exchange is local.
You memorized the directions he gave you over the phone, repeating them back while standing in your kitchen with the cordless pressed to your ear, certain you're going to end up in someone's backyard being murdered. But the street is real, the building is real, a narrow storefront wedged between a check-cashing place and a store that sells quinceañera dresses in neon pink and electric blue. The garage door is open when you pull up, late afternoon sun cutting hard shadows across the concrete.
You kill the engine. The bike ticks cooling, and you sit there a second longer than you need to, watching the interior.
The shop is deeper than it looks from the street, a tunnel of tool chests and hanging parts and a hydraulic lift that hasn't been raised in a while. There's a radio playing somewhere, something you don't recognize, guitar and a man's voice that sounds like it's coming through a wall. You can smell oil, the particular sweet rot of gasoline that means someone spilled it and cleaned it up but not really.
"Help you?"
You didn't see him. He's in the shadow near the back, bent over something on a workbench that catches the light in pieces. He doesn't straighten up all the way, just enough to look at you, and you see grease on his forearms where he's pushed his sleeves up, and a streak across his jaw you suspect he doesn't know about.
"Phone book," you say, which is not an answer. "I called. About the steering."
He comes toward you then, wiping his hands on a rag that doesn't look like it's helping. He's younger than you expected from his voice, maybe twenty-five, twenty-six, with hair pushed back from his face, an arm full of tattoos, and the kind of tan that comes from being outside at the wrong hours. He looks at your bike, not at you, and you feel the strange relief of being assessed as a mechanical problem first.
"Bring it in."
You wheel it up the slight incline, the concrete uneven where years of tires have worn channels. He meets you at the bench and takes the handlebars without asking, straddling the seat to test the weight, and you watch his thighs spread against the leather, the shift of his shoulders as he turns the front fork back and forth.
"Gritty," he says.
"That's the word."
"Only when you steer?"
"Yeah. I mean, I think so. It's hard to tell when you're actually riding it."
He makes a small sound, not quite agreement, and keeps working the handlebars. The motion is rhythmic, hypnotic, his body rocking with the resistance. You can hear it now, the catch in the steering column, a grinding that isn't quite mechanical failure but isn't right either.
"How long's it been doing this?"
"A week. Maybe two."
He looks up at you then, direct, and you see that his eyes are very dark, and that he has a small scar through his left eyebrow that breaks the hair into two distinct sections.
"You ride it every day?"
"Most days."
"And you waited two weeks."
"I was busy."
"Busy."
"Yes."
He goes back to the bike, but you think you see something shift in his mouth, not quite a smile. He releases the handlebars and steps back, and you miss the motion of him immediately, the way he made your machine into something he was touching with intention.
"I can look at it. Leave it overnight."
You hadn't planned on that. You look around the shop, the single window in the back that's probably an office, the door that probably leads to an alley or nowhere. You think about being without your bike, about coming back tomorrow, about the fact that you don't know his name and he hasn't asked for yours.
"Is that necessary?"
"Not if you want to keep hearing that noise."
You watch him watch you, his expression patient in a way that feels practiced, like he's used to people deciding whether to trust him. The radio has moved on to something else, slower, a woman singing about wanting someone who's bad for her.
"I can wait," you say. "If it's something you can do now."
He looks at the bike, then at the street outside where the light is starting to turn gold, the long shadows of palm trees you can't see but know are there, everywhere in this city, marking the hours.
"Hour till I close," he says. "I can look. But I'm not stopping if you change your mind."
"I won't."
He nods, once, and reaches for a tool on the bench, some kind of wrench you don't recognize. "There's a chair. Or you can stand there. Your choice."
You stay standing. You tell yourself it's because the chair looks like it was salvaged from a dentist's office in the seventies, cracked vinyl and exposed springs, but really it's because you want to see his hands on your bike, the way he moves around it, the way he knows exactly where to touch.
He works in silence for a while, the radio filling the space. You learn things about him without meaning to: he's left-handed, he has a habit of holding screws in his mouth when he needs both hands, he doesn't wear a watch but checks the time on a clock you can't see, somewhere in the back. When he finally speaks again, you startle.
"You found me in the phone book."
"Yeah."
"Nobody uses the phone book."
"I do."
He looks up at you, the screw still between his teeth, and you see that thing in his mouth again, not quite a smile, something more knowing.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why me? Big ad, three pages back. Mike's Cycle. They do free estimates."
You feel your face heat, the specific embarrassment of being caught in a choice you can't fully explain. "You were closer."
"To where?"
"Home."
He takes the screw from his mouth and turns back to the bike, but you know he's filed the information away, that he's thinking about where you live now, mapping it, probably knowing the neighborhoods better than you do.
"You're lucky," he says.
"Yeah?"
"Could've been worse than gritty steering. Could've been your brakes."
"I check my brakes."
"Course you do."
He says it like he doesn't believe you, like he's teasing you, and you feel the strange urge to prove yourself, to list the maintenance you do, the way you know your own machine. But he's moving again, rolling the bike onto a stand, and you watch the shift of his shoulders under his thin t-shirt, the way his jeans hang low on his hips, the dark line of a waistband you can see when he reaches up for something.
The sun is lower now, cutting across the floor in a band of orange light that catches dust and makes it look like something intentional, like stage lighting. You're aware of your own breathing, of the fact that you haven't moved in several minutes, of the way he hasn't asked you to leave or offered you anything to drink or done any of the things that would have made this feel like a normal transaction between strangers.
"What's your name?" you ask.
He doesn't answer right away. He's bent over the front fork, his face close to the metal, and you can see him listening to something, feeling for something with his fingers that you can't see.
"Jungkook," he says finally, like he's deciding to give it to you. "Shop's mine."
"Just you?"
"Just me."
You wait for him to ask your name in return, but he doesn't. He keeps working, and you keep watching, and the hour he promised stretches longer in the golden light, the radio playing songs you don't know, the city outside moving toward evening without you.
âčâ âđâËâčâĄ
It's been nine days. You counted, though you won't admit that to anyone, not even to yourself in the quiet of your apartment where the number sits like something shameful. You told yourself you were giving it a week to make sure the repair held, that you weren't being the kind of customer who hovers, who doubts. But you knew the truth on day three, when you took a long route home just to pass the street, when you slowed at the intersection and saw the garage door closed, the neon OPEN sign unlit, and felt something like disappointment settle in your chest.
You told yourself the noise was back on day five. It wasn't, not really, but you convinced yourself you heard something, a faint catch in the steering that hadn't been there before, or had always been there, or you were imagining. You rode anyway, to work, to the store, to your friend's apartment in Echo Park where you drank cheap wine on her fire escape and didn't mention the mechanic once, not his name, not his shop, not the way he'd looked at you like he was waiting for you to reveal your real reason for being there.
Day six you almost went. You got dressed to go, stood in front of your bathroom mirror with your keys in your hand, and realized you had no pretext. The bike ran fine. Better than fine, smoother than it had in months, the steering clean and responsive in a way that made you think he hadn't just fixed the problem but improved something, tuned something you hadn't asked for. You put the keys down. You told yourself you were being ridiculous.
But now it's day nine, and you're pulling up to the same narrow storefront, and the gritty sound is real this time, unmistakable, a grinding that matches the rhythm of your heartbeat as you kill the engine. You're not sure if you're relieved or terrified that you have a legitimate reason to be here.
The garage door is open. The radio is playing, louder than before, something with drums that you can feel in your sternum before you even step inside. He's in the same spot, bent over the same workbench, but he looks up before you can announce yourself, like he heard you over the music, or like he's been listening for the sound of your bike.
"Back," he says. Not a question.
"The noise," you say, and your voice sounds wrong, too high, defensive. "It's back."
He straightens up, wipes his hands on the same rag, though you can't tell if it's the same rag from nine days ago or if he has a stack of them, all equally useless. He doesn't move toward you right away. He looks at your bike, then at you, and you feel the weight of his attention like a hand on your throat.
"Riding it hard?"
"No. Normal."
"Normal for you."
"Yes."
He crosses the space between you, and you smell him before he touches the bike, oil and soap and something underneath that might be sweat, the particular salt of a body that's been working in heat. He's wearing a different shirt, you notice, black this time - the sleeves pushed up to the same place on his forearms, revealing his tattoos. The scar through his eyebrow catches the light when he angles his head to look at your front fork.
"Same sound?"
"Yeah. I think. It sounds the same."
"You think."
"It sounds the same," you repeat, firmer, and he makes that small sound again, not quite agreement, something that might be amusement or might be skepticism. He straddles the bike the way he did before, thighs spreading, and you watch the fabric of his jeans pull tight across his hips. He works the handlebars back and forth, listening, and you listen too, but all you can hear is the radio and your own breathing and the faint scrape of his boots on the concrete.
"I don't hear it," he says.
"It's there. It was there this morning."
He looks up at you, his hands still on the grips, his body still angled over your machine. "This morning."
"On my way to work."
"Where's work?"
You tell him, the name of the street, the building, and you see him place it mentally, the map of the city he carries in his head. He nods, once, like the information confirms something for him.
"Road's rough there. Potholes."
"Not that rough."
"Could've knocked something loose."
"It was fine when you fixed it."
He stands up, steps back from the bike, and you feel the loss of him like a physical thing, the space where his body was suddenly empty and cold. "I can look," he says. "But I'm not finding what I can't hear."
You nod, though you want to argue, want to insist, want to make him understand that you heard it, that you're not making this up, that you're not here for reasons you can't name. He moves to his tool chest, opens a drawer with a sound of metal on metal, and you watch him select something, a wrench or a driver, you're still learning the names.
"Nine days," he says, not looking at you.
"What?"
"Nine days. Most people, something comes back, they're here the next day. Suspicious, angry. You waited nine days."
"I was busy."
"Busy," he repeats, and now you know he's mocking you, the same word you used before, the same excuse. He comes back to the bike and crouches down, his face level with the front wheel, and you see the shift of muscle in his back, the way his shirt pulls up slightly from his jeans, a strip of skin you shouldn't be looking at.
"Or maybe," he says, his voice coming from somewhere near the axle, "you wanted to make sure it was real. The noise. Before you brought it back."
Your mouth goes dry. You open it to deny it, to laugh, to say something about customer service and warranty work, but nothing comes out. He stays crouched, his hands moving over the bike with a familiarity that makes you jealous, and you realize you're holding your breath.
He stands up suddenly, too close, and you step back, your shoulder blades hitting the edge of his workbench. He doesn't move away. He looks at you with those dark eyes, the scar bisecting his eyebrow, and you see something there you didn't see before, a heat that matches the heat in your own chest.
"Or maybe," he says, softer now, almost gentle, "you just wanted to see if I'd remember you."
You should say something. You should step away, should reassert the distance between customer and mechanic, between stranger and stranger. But his hand is on the bench beside your hip, his body angled to trap you without touching you, and you can smell him again, closer now, the oil and the salt and something else, something clean underneath, soap or shampoo or the faint chemical bite of the shop itself.
"I remembered," you say, and your voice is barely above a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Your name. Jungkook."
Something shifts in his face, the almost-smile becoming real, small and sharp and directed at you alone. "You looked it up?"
"No. I just... remembered."
He leans in, not much, just enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the heat radiating from his skin after hours of work. "Most people don't," he says. "Remember. They come in, they pay, they forget my face before they're out the door."
"I'm not most people."
"No," he agrees. "You're not."
The radio moves to a different song, slower, something with a bass line that vibrates in your chest. You realize your hands are gripping the edge of the bench behind you, white-knuckled, and you force them to relax. He notices, his eyes flicking down, and when he looks back up there's a question in his face, or permission, or both.
"You want me to find the noise?" he asks.
"I want you to find it."
"Even if it's not there?"
"Especially if it's not there."
He holds your gaze for a long moment, and you see him decide something, see the shift in his shoulders as he steps back, puts space between you that feels like a wound. He turns back to the bike, but the energy has changed, charged, and you know he felt it too, the thing that passed between you, the acknowledgment that this is no longer about the machine.
"Hour," he says, the same promise as before. "Maybe less, if I'm not being careful."
"Be careful," you say, and you don't mean the bike.
He looks back at you, and this time the smile is wider, knowing, and you feel it in your stomach, low and hot. "Careful," he repeats. "That's not what I thought you wanted."
You don't answer. You don't have to. He goes back to work, but differently now, his movements slower, more deliberate, and you watch him the way you did before, but without the pretense of casual interest. You watch the flex of his hands, the shift of his weight, the way he looks up at you every few minutes like he's checking to make sure you're still there, still watching, still wanting.
The sun moves across the floor, the same orange light, the same dust made beautiful. You don't sit in the chair. You don't look at your phone. You stand where you are, pressed against his workbench, and you wait for him to find what you're both pretending is broken, or to admit that some things can't be fixed with tools, that some noises only stop when you stop listening for them, when you let yourself hear something else instead.
He works for twenty minutes, maybe thirty, and the shop grows darker as the sun sets, the radio playing songs you don't know, songs that feel like they belong to this moment, to the two of you alone in this space with the door open to the cooling evening. He stands up finally, wipes his hands on the rag, and comes toward you, and you see in his face that he hasn't found anything, that he knew he wouldn't, that this was always going to end with the two of you standing too close, breathing the same air, waiting to see who moves first.
"Couldn't find it," he says.
"It was there."
"Maybe." He stops in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. "Or maybe you just wanted to come back."
"Maybe."
"You could've said."
"So could you."
He laughs, a short sound, surprised. "What was I supposed to say? Hey, customer with the mysterious bike problem, you free for dinner?"
"Something like that."
"I'm not good at that. Asking."
"I noticed."
"But I'm good at other things."
You feel your pulse in your throat, your wrists, everywhere. "Yeah?"
"Finding problems," he says, but his voice is low, intimate, and you know he doesn't mean the bike. "Fixing things. Being patient. Waiting for people to figure out what they want."
"And if they already know?"
He leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath on your face, warm and faintly metallic. "Then they should say."
"I want-" you start, but he interrupts you, not with words, with his hand on your jaw, his thumb pressing against your cheekbone, and you stop breathing entirely.
"Not here," he says. "Not like this. You come back tomorrow. Come back when the shop is closed, when there's no pretending, when you can say what you want without an audience."
"Tomorrow," you repeat, and it sounds like a promise, like a threat, like the only word you know how to say.
He steps back, releases you, and you feel the air rush in where his hand was, cold and empty. He goes to the bench, writes something on a scrap of paper, and holds it out to you. An address, you realize, not the shop, a street you don't recognize in a neighborhood you don't know.
"Seven," he says. "Or don't come. Your choice."
You take the paper. You fold it into your pocket without looking at it again. You know you won't lose it, won't forget, won't convince yourself this didn't happen. You meet his eyes, and you see the uncertainty there, the vulnerability he didn't mean to show you, and it makes you brave.
"I'll be there," you say.
He nods, once, and turns back to your bike, rolling it off the stand, checking the tire pressure with a gauge you didn't see him pick up. "Ride careful," he says, not looking at you. "That noise you heard. Might be nothing. Might be something important. Hard to tell from the outside."
You understand what he's telling you. You understand that he's talking about himself, about the two of you, about the risk of wanting something you're not sure you can name. You swing your leg over the seat, start the engine, feel the familiar vibration between your thighs that will never feel the same now that you've imagined his hands there, his weight, his mouth.
You pull away from the shop without looking back, but you feel him watching you go, feel his eyes on your back until you turn the corner and lose him in the gathering dark. The address is burning in your pocket. The noise, you realize, is gone, has been gone since you arrived, was probably never there at all. You don't care. You'll be back tomorrow. You'll be back every day, if that's what it takes, until there's no pretense left, until he touches you for real, until the only gritty sound is the two of you breathing together in the dark.
âčâ âđâËâčâĄ
You don't go to the address.
Not because you're scared. Because you don't chase. Because he gave you his time and his location and the expectation that you'd show, grateful, eager, and something in you resists that shape, that story. You want him, but you want him on different terms.
So you go to the beach. It's Saturday, late afternoon, the light turning gold and pink, and you tell yourself it's for the air, the space, the cold shock of the Pacific. You don't admit that you chose this beach because it's close to the neighborhood he mentioned.
You park. You walk down in your boots because you didn't plan this, and you stand at the waterline watching the last surfers. You're not thinking about him. You're not.
Then you see him.
Walking up from the water with a board under his arm, no wetsuit, just board shorts and a rash guard, and you know the way he moves before you see his face. The economy of it. The way he carries his weight like he owns whatever ground he's standing on.
He stops when he sees you. Twenty feet away, water dripping from his hair, and you watch him process it, the coincidence that isn't one. Something shifts in his face. Not tenderness. Something sharper.
"You didn't come," he says.
"Did you want me to?"
"Seven o'clock. I waited."
"Sounds like you wanted me to."
He sets down his board and walks toward you with that same unhurried pace. Stops close. Too close. Close enough that you can smell the salt on him, the ocean, the faint residue of wax on his skin.
"You're here now," he says.
"Coincidence."
"Bullshit."
You smile. "You don't believe in coincidence?"
"I believe in you looking up my neighborhood and picking the closest beach." He tilts his head, studying you. "I believe in you wanting to run into me without admitting you were looking."
"And if I was?"
"Then you should've just come to the shop." He steps closer, close enough that you have to tilt your head back. "Saved yourself the trouble."
"Where's the fun in that?"
He laughs, short and surprised. "Fun. That's what this is?"
"Isn't it?"
He steps closer still, close enough that his chest almost brushes yours. "I thought you were scared," he says, soft, mocking. "Too much wanting. Too dangerous."
"I changed my mind."
"Or you just like the chase better when you think you're the one doing it."
You feel the heat of him, the sun-warmed skin, the cold water still evaporating off his shoulders. "You're wet," you say.
"Ocean does that."
"Cold?"
"Warm enough."
"You should dry off."
He raises an eyebrow, the scar catching the last light. "You offering to help?"
"I'm offering to watch."
He stares at you for a long moment. Then he reaches down, grabs the bottom of his rash guard, and pulls it over his head in one motion.
You watch. You don't pretend not to. His chest is tan, defined, the muscle of someone who works with his body. There's a smattering of hair, darker than on his head, trailing down to his shorts, and you follow it with your eyes.
"Better?" he asks.
"Getting there."
He drops the shirt on his board. Stands there in nothing but the shorts, the wind picking up, cold against his wet skin, and you see the goosebumps rise on his arms and you want to warm them, want to put your mouth on his shoulder and feel him shiver.
"You always this forward?" he asks.
"Only when I know what I want."
"And what do you want?"
You look at him, at the mouth that has said your name zero times, at the hands that fixed your bike with a familiarity you envied. "I want you to stop pretending you don't know why I'm here."
"And why are you here?"
"Same reason you waited at seven." You step closer, close enough that your mouth is near his ear. "Same reason you're standing there freezing and hard and waiting for me to notice."
Something flickers in his eyes. "Hard," he repeats.
"Aren't you?"
He doesn't answer. He steps toward you, close again, and his hand comes up to your jaw, his thumb pressing against your cheekbone, rough with calluses. "You're playing a game," he says.
"So are you."
"What's the prize?"
You lean in, your mouth near his ear. "Whoever breaks first."
His hand tightens, not painful, just present. "And if I don't break?"
"Then you win." You pull back, meet his eyes. "But you don't get to fuck me."
He stares at you. Then he laughs, sharp and surprised. "You're cold," he says.
"I'm fine."
"You're shivering."
"It's the wind."
"Or it's me."
"Could be."
His other hand comes up, rests on your waist, heavy through your jacket. "I could warm you up," he says.
"Could you?"
"Find somewhere private. Somewhere with heat." He leans in, his breath warm against your cold skin. "See how long you last before you're begging."
You pull back, meet his eyes, and you see the challenge there. You smile, slow and deliberate, and you put your hand on his chest, feel the muscle jump under your palm. "You think I'd beg?"
"I think you'd love it."
"And if I don't?"
He shrugs, the motion shifting the muscle under your hand. "Then I lose. But at least I'd have you naked."
You stare at him. He stares back, patient, waiting for you to decide, to break, to give him the satisfaction. The wind picks up, colder now, and you feel your nipples harden against your jacket, and you know he notices, know his eyes flick down and back up, know he's cataloging every reaction.
"Not tonight," you say.
He raises an eyebrow. "No?"
"I don't fuck on first dates."
"This a date?"
"Isn't it?"
He laughs again, softer this time. "Next time, then."
"Next time?"
"You come to the shop. Real problem this time, no pretending." He steps back, releases you, and you feel the cold rush in where his hands were. "I'll fix it. Then I'll fix you."
"Big talk."
"I'll back it up."
He grabs his shirt, his board, and walks toward the parking lot without looking back. You watch him go, the shape of him in the dying light, and you feel the wanting like a physical thing, the game unresolved, the prize still in play.
âčâ âđâËâčâĄ
It's been six days. You know because you counted, not because you care, not because you keep replaying the beach in your head, the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he walked away like he knew you'd follow.
You don't follow. You don't go to the shop. You ride your bike and you feel the wanting every time you grip the handlebars, every time you pass a street that might lead to his neighborhood, and you resist, you resist, you resist.
But now there's a noise.
Not the old noise, the one you invented. Something new. A whine in the engine that climbs with the RPMs, a vibration you can feel in your thighs that wasn't there before, that shouldn't be there, that makes you think of metal grinding against metal, of something about to give.
You ignore it for a day. You tell yourself it's nothing, paranoia, your mind playing tricks because you want an excuse. But it gets worse, louder, and by the second morning you know you're not making this up, know it in the way the bike feels wrong beneath you, the way it resists when you lean into turns.
You pull up to the shop at four in the afternoon, the garage door open, the radio playing something with bass you can feel in your chest. He's in the back, bent over a workbench, and he looks up when you kill the engine, and you see him register you, the bike, the expression on your face.
"Back," he says. Not a question.
"There's a noise."
"Different noise?"
"Different noise."
He wipes his hands on a rag and walks toward you, and you watch him move, the same economy, the same certainty, and you feel it in your stomach, the wanting you thought you'd finished with.
He stops by your bike, doesn't touch it yet, looks at you instead. "Six days," he says.
"Yeah."
"No beach."
"You didn't invite me."
He smiles, small and sharp. "Didn't want to seem eager."
"And now?"
He looks at your bike, then back at you. "Now you came to me."
"With a real problem this time."
"That so?"
"Listen," you say, and you start the engine, let it idle, and you see him hear it, the whine, the vibration, his head tilting.
He kills the engine. He straddles the bike, thighs spreading, and you watch him work the throttle, listening, feeling, and you feel the absurdity of it, the way your body responds to him on your machine.
"Engine mount," he says finally. "Loose. Could've gone another week, maybe two. Then real damage."
"So I came in time."
"You came." He looks up at you, and you see something in his eyes, heat and amusement. "Lucky for you I'm not busy."
"Lucky for me."
He stands up, steps close, too close, the bike between you. "Hour to fix," he says. "Maybe less if I rush."
"Don't rush."
He raises an eyebrow.
"I want to watch," you say. "Like before."
"That so?"
"That so."
He holds your gaze. Then he smiles, the real one, hungry. "Chair's still there," he says. "Or you can stand. Your choice."
You stay standing. He goes back to your bike, selects tools, and you watch his forearms flex, remember those hands on your jaw, the roughness of his calluses.
"Six days," he says, not looking up.
"Yeah."
"You think about me?"
"Do you want me to say yes?"
"I want you to say whatever's true."
"Yes," you say. "I thought about you."
"Doing what?"
"Riding my bike. Working. Sleeping."
"Sleeping?"
"Not much."
He looks up, and you see the satisfaction in his face, male and uncomplicated. "Me neither," he says.
"That so?"
"That so." He goes back to the bike, tightening something. "Kept thinking about your mouth," he says, casual. "The way you looked at me when I took my shirt off. Like you wanted to bite."
"I wanted to do more than bite."
He pauses, the wrench still in his hand. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He stands up, steps around the bike, close enough that you can smell him, oil and soap and the faint salt still in his hair. "I could stop working," he says. "Lock the door. Take you in the back."
"And my bike?"
"Fuck your bike."
You laugh, surprised. "You said an hour."
"I said maybe less." He steps closer, his hand coming to your waist. "I could make you wait. Make you watch me work. See how desperate you get."
"And if I'm not desperate?"
He smiles, sharp. "Then I'll have to try harder."
He goes back to the bike, and you watch him work, and the minutes stretch, and you feel the wanting build like a physical thing. At five thirty, he stands up. Rolls the bike off the stand, tests the throttle. The engine sounds clean, smooth, the noise gone.
"Done," he says.
"That fast?"
"That fast." He looks at you, the heat banked but present. "You pay at the counter. Cash or card."
"That's it?"
"That's the job."
You stare at him. He stares back, patient, waiting for you to make the move. You feel the urge to step forward, to put your hands on him, to make him stop pretending.
But you don't. You reach for your wallet, pull out cash. You hand it to him, and his fingers brush yours, deliberate, and you feel the spark of it.
"Receipt?" he asks.
"Keep it."
He folds the bills, puts them in his pocket, and he walks toward the big garage door, and you think he's going to open it, let you leave. But he stops. He pulls the door down, the metal screeching, and the shop goes dim.
He turns back to you. "Door's locked," he says. "Owner's strict, but he makes exceptions."
"Exceptions?"
"For customers who can't wait."
You feel your pulse everywhere. "And if I can wait?"
He smiles, the game cracking open. "Then you wait," he says. "But I'm closing in fifteen minutes either way. Your choice."
You look at him, the grease on his hands, the sweat on his neck. "I can wait," you say.
He nods, once, and he walks back to his workbench, picks up a tool, keeps working on something that doesn't need working on. You watch him, and the minutes stretch, and you feel the wanting build like the noise in your engine, like something about to break.
At six, he puts down the tool. Turns off the radio. The silence is heavy, expectant, and he looks at you across the dim shop.
He pulls the door down, metal screeching, and the shop goes dim except for the single bulb over his workbench and the red glow of the exit sign. He turns back to you, and you see the shift in him, the game dissolving into something hungrier, more direct.
"Still here," he says.
"Still here."
He crosses the space between you in three strides, and his hands are on your jaw, his mouth on yours, rough and claiming. You taste salt on his lips, the ocean still on his skin, and you arch into him, wanting more, wanting everything he's been holding back.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "Take this off," he says, tugging at your jacket.
You shrug out of it, let it fall to the concrete floor. He watches you, his eyes dark, and you feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. He reaches out, runs his hands down your sides, over your shirt, and you shiver under the roughness of his palms, the calluses catching on the fabric.
"And this," he says, fingers finding the hem of your shirt.
You lift your arms, let him pull it over your head. The air is cool against your skin, and you feel your nipples harden, feel him notice, his eyes dropping to your chest and staying there.
"Fuck," he breathes, and there's reverence in it, hunger, the sound of a man seeing something he's been imagining. He reaches out, cups you through your bra, and you gasp at the pressure, the heat of his palms through the thin fabric.
"These," he says, squeezing, testing the weight of you in his hands. "I've been thinking about these."
"Yeah?"
"Every night since you walked into my shop." He thumbs over your nipples, and you feel the jolt of it straight to your core, your knees weakening. "Wondering what color they are. How they'd feel in my mouth."
He doesn't wait for an answer. He reaches behind you, unclasps your bra with practiced efficiency, and pulls it off, drops it on top of your jacket. He looks at you, really looks, and you see him swallow, see the muscle in his jaw jump.
"Perfect," he says, and then his hands are on you, skin to skin, and you moan at the contact, the roughness of his palms, the grease that's still on his fingers from working. He doesn't care, or he likes it, you can't tell, because he's squeezing, kneading, spreading his fingers to capture as much of you as he can.
"Look at you," he murmurs, and he pushes your breasts together, creates cleavage with his palms, and you look down, see the smear of grease he's leaving on your skin, the dark marks of his work against your pale skin. "Marked you already."
"More," you breathe, and he smiles, sharp and knowing.
He lowers his head, takes one nipple into his mouth, and you cry out at the wet heat of it, the way he sucks, the way his tongue circles and flicks. He switches to the other, gives it the same attention, and you're holding his head, your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting him to devour you.
He pulls back, looks up at you with dark eyes, his mouth wet. "You like that?"
"You know I do."
"Good." He stands up, and before you can protest, he's lifting you, his hands under your thighs, and you wrap your legs around his waist, feel the hard line of him through his jeans, through your own. "We're not done."
He carries you to your bike, still sitting on the stand where he left it, and he sets you down on the seat, your back against the tank. He positions you, spreads your legs wide around the machine, and you feel the leather of the seat against your bare skin, the vibration of the engine still warm beneath you.
"Stay there," he commands, and you do, watching as he walks around to the front of the bike, to the handlebars, to the mirrors.
He adjusts them, angles them until he can see you, and you realize what he's doing, understand the view he has from where he stands. He looks at you in the mirror, meets your eyes, and you see the satisfaction in his face.
"Look," he says. "Don't look at me. Look at yourself."
You turn your head, look into the mirror, and you see yourself, naked from the waist up, your breasts heavy and marked with his grease, your nipples hard and wet from his mouth. You look wrecked already, and he's barely started.
He steps behind you, out of sight, and you feel his hands on your shoulders, sliding down your arms, and then they're on your breasts again, lifting, squeezing, and you watch in the mirror, watch him play with you, watch your own face as he pinches your nipples, rolls them between his fingers.
"Fuck," you whisper, and you see yourself say it, see your mouth open, your eyes half-closed.
"Watch," he commands, his voice low in your ear, and you do, you watch his hands work you, watch him push your breasts together, create cleavage that he then fucks with his fingers, sliding them between, the motion you want from him elsewhere. "You see how good you look? How fucking pretty you are like this?"
"Please," you breathe, not sure what you're asking for, just knowing you need more.
"Please what?"
"Touch me. Actually touch me."
"I am touching you." He pinches your nipples hard, and you cry out, arch your back, push yourself into his hands. "I'm touching you exactly how I want to. And you're going to watch. You're going to see what I see when I look at you."
He keeps working you, his hands rough and sure, and you watch in the mirror, mesmerized by the sight of yourself, by the way you respond to him, the way your body moves without your permission. He's hard against your back, you can feel him, and you grind against him, wanting friction, wanting more.
"Greedy," he murmurs, but he doesn't stop you, just keeps playing with your breasts, his fingers slick now with more than grease, with your own arousal, with the wetness he's drawing from you just from this.
"Need you," you gasp, and you feel him smile against your neck, feel his teeth graze your shoulder.
"You'll get me," he says. "When I'm ready. When I've had my fill of looking at you like this."
He keeps you there, straddling your own bike, watching in the mirror as he plays with your tits, marks you with his grease, makes you watch yourself come apart just from his hands on your breasts.Â
He holds you through the aftershocks, his hands still cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples until you whimper and push at his wrists. He laughs, low and satisfied, and finally releases you, but only to slide his hands down your sides, grip your hips, hold you steady on the bike.
"Look at you," he murmurs against your neck, and you feel his breath, hot and damp. "Already coming apart and I haven't even started."
"You started," you manage, your voice wrecked.
He doesn't answer. He presses his mouth to your throat, open and wet, and you feel his teeth, the scrape of his stubble, and then he's sucking, hard, marking you where your pulse beats frantic beneath the skin. You gasp, arching into it, offering yourself to his mouth, and he takes it, moves lower, finds the hollow above your collarbone and leaves another bruise there, dark and claiming.
"Everyone's going to know," he says between presses of his lips, between bites that make you shiver and clutch at his forearms. "Everyone's going to see what I did to you."
"Good," you breathe, and he laughs again, pleased, and keeps working down your shoulder, your chest, back up to your throat where he sucks another mark, higher this time, visible above any shirt you own.
He spends time on your breasts again, not gentle now, sucking your nipples until they're swollen and aching, leaving hickies in the soft skin above, below, branding you with his mouth everywhere he can reach. You watch in the mirror, can't stop watching, your body marked and mottled with him, his dark hair against your pale skin, his hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise.
When he finally lifts his head, your chest is a map of him, grease and spit and bite marks, and he looks at his work with dark, satisfied eyes.
"Up," he commands, and his hands are under your arms, lifting you off the bike like you weigh nothing.
Your legs are shaky, unsteady, and he holds you until you find your balance, then steps back. He looks at you, at the mess he's made of you, and his jaw tightens, his hand going to the front of his jeans to adjust himself, the outline of him straining against the denim.
"Strip," he says.
You stare at him. "You first."
He shakes his head, slow, deliberate. "You. I want to look at you. I want to see what I've been imagining."
You hold his gaze for a long moment, the challenge in it, the power he's taking and you're giving. Then you reach for the button of your own jeans, pop it open, slide the zipper down. You push them over your hips, let them fall, step out of them and your boots together, standing there in nothing but your underwear, your skin flushed and marked and his.
"All of it," he says, his voice rough.
You hook your thumbs in your waistband, pull your panties down, let them fall. You're naked in his shop, surrounded by tools and grease and the smell of gasoline, and you feel more exposed than you ever have, more seen.
He looks at you, his eyes traveling down your body like a touch, lingering on your breasts, your stomach, lower. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing, and you see his hands twitch at his sides, the restraint costing him.
"Beautiful," he says, and the word sounds like worship, like prayer. "Fucking beautiful."
He steps toward you, and you think he's going to touch you, finally, but he doesn't. He drops to his knees in front of you, still fully dressed, his jeans dark with oil in places, his shirt hanging loose, and he looks up at you from below, and the angle of it, the submission in his posture while his eyes stay dominant and hungry, makes your breath catch.
He puts his hands on your hips, gentle now, reverent, and he presses his face to your stomach, inhales, groans like you're something sacred. He kisses you there, soft, open-mouthed, and you feel his stubble against your skin, the heat of his breath, and you sway, your hands finding his hair, holding on.
"Stay standing," he murmurs against your hip, and then he's moving lower, kissing down your pelvis, your thigh, skipping where you want him most, teasing, building. He nudges your legs apart, and you widen your stance, exposed and vulnerable and trusting him to hold you up.
He looks up at you again, his eyes dark and endless, and he kisses the inside of your thigh, high, close enough that you feel his breath, feel the promise of it. "Going to worship you," he says, his voice vibrating against your skin. "Going to take my time. Going to make you forget your name."
He lowers his mouth finally, licks a slow stripe through you, and your head falls back, your hands tightening in his hair, and he groans against you, the sound of a man who has found his religion, who plans to pray at your altar until you're both ruined for anything else.
He groans against you, the vibration traveling through your core, and you feel his hands grip your thighs, spread you wider. He lifts one of your legs, guides your foot onto the bike's foot peg, opening you completely to him, and you balance there, one leg braced high, the other trembling on the concrete floor, exposed and vulnerable and his.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his breath hot against your most sensitive skin, and you look down, see him kneeling between your thighs, his dark hair messy from your hands, his eyes fixed on you with single-minded hunger. "Perfect. Fucking perfect."
He dives back in, and this time there's no teasing, no building. His tongue finds your clit, circles it, sucks it between his lips, and you cry out, your hips bucking, but he holds you steady, his hands iron on your thighs, controlling your movement, your pleasure, everything.
He eats you like he's starving, like he's been waiting for this, for you, his mouth relentless, his tongue working you in patterns that make your vision blur. You feel the wetness of him, the roughness of his stubble, the sheer filthy intimacy of his face buried between your legs, and you grip his hair harder, pulling, guiding, desperate for more.
Then his hand moves, his fingers finding your entrance, and he slides one inside you, slow and thick, while his tongue keeps working your clit, and you moan, long and broken, your leg on the bike shaking with the effort of holding yourself up.
"Good?" he asks against you, the word muffled, and you can only nod, gasping, your head thrown back.
He adds another finger, stretching you, and starts to fuck you with them, hard and deep, curling to find the spot that makes you see stars, while his mouth never stops, never relents. The combination of it, the wet heat of his tongue, the thick pressure of his fingers, the way he's holding you open, using you, worshipping you with his mouth and his hands, builds you fast, too fast, your orgasm gathering like a storm at your center.
You feel it coming, the edge approaching, your body tensing, your breath hitching, and you tug at his hair, warn him, "I'm going to-"
He pulls back instantly, his fingers stilling inside you, his mouth leaving you, and you cry out at the loss, at the sudden emptiness, your hips chasing his face, desperate for the friction, the pressure, anything.
"Not yet," he says, his voice rough, his chin wet with you, his eyes dark and wild. "Not until I say."
"Please," you beg, shameless, your body throbbing, your leg shaking on the bike. "Please, I need-"
"I know what you need." He leans in, presses a soft, cruel kiss to your inner thigh, his fingers still buried inside you, motionless, keeping you full but unsatisfied. "And you're going to wait for it."
He waits until your breathing slows, until the edge recedes, just barely, and then he starts again. His mouth returns to your clit, softer now, teasing, and his fingers begin to move, slow and deliberate, dragging against your walls, finding every sensitive spot, building you back up with agonizing patience.
You moan, your hands finding your own breasts, pinching your nipples, trying to give yourself what he's denying you, and he looks up, sees you touching yourself, and his eyes darken, his rhythm faltering for just a moment.
"That's it," he murmurs against you, the vibration making you shiver. "Touch yourself. Show me what you like."
You roll your nipples between your fingers, arch your back, and he watches you, his tongue working you in slow, devastating circles, his fingers fucking you harder now, deeper, and you feel the edge approaching again, faster this time, your body desperate for the release he's withholding.
"Please," you gasp, "please, let me, I can't-"
He pulls back again, his fingers stilling, his mouth leaving you, and you sob, actual tears pricking your eyes, your body on fire, your core aching with unfulfilled need.
"Not yet," he repeats, and his voice is gentler now, almost tender, but the command is absolute. "One more time. Let me feel you get there again. Let me taste how desperate you are."
He waits, kissing your thighs, your hips, your stomach, his fingers still inside you, stretching you, reminding you of what he can give you, what he's choosing to withhold. When your breathing slows, when the edge retreats just enough, he starts again.
This time he's merciless, his tongue flicking your clit in rapid, relentless strokes, his fingers fucking you hard and fast, curling to press against your g-spot with every thrust, and you scream, your voice echoing off the concrete walls, your body trembling, your vision going white at the edges.
You feel it building, unstoppable this time, your orgasm inevitable, your body beyond his control, beyond your own, and you warn him, "I'm going to come, I can't stop, please-"
He pulls back a third time, his fingers withdrawing completely, his mouth leaving you, and you collapse against the bike, sobbing, your body shaking, your core throbbing with denied pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
"Please," you whimper, broken, "please, I need you, please-"
He stands up, finally, his face wet with you, his eyes wild, and he looks at you, spread and wrecked and his, and he smiles, slow and predatory and full of promise.
"Now," he says, "you're ready for me."
You push yourself off the bike, your legs still shaking, and you reach for him, your hands finding the hem of his shirt, yanking it up. He lets you, raises his arms, and you pull it over his head, revealing his chest, his stomach, the defined muscle of his shoulders. You toss it aside and your hands are on him immediately, greedy, mapping the heat of his skin, the faint scars, the dark hair trailing down to his jeans.
He watches you, patient now, letting you take, and you unbutton his jeans, pull the zipper down, and push them over his hips, his briefs with them, and he steps out, kicks them aside, and he's naked in front of you, hard and heavy and perfect.
You reach for him, wrap your hand around his length, and he hisses, his head falling back, his hips bucking into your touch. He's hot, thick, and you stroke him once, twice, watching his face, the way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes close.
Then his hand is in your hair, gripping tight, pulling your head back, and you gasp, your mouth opening, and he spits into it, hot and filthy and claiming, and you moan, swallowing, tasting him, and he groans, watching you, his grip in your hair unforgiving.
"Fuck," he breathes, and he pulls you toward him, his mouth crashing into yours, his tongue sweeping in, tasting himself, tasting you, and you melt against him, your bodies pressed together, skin to skin, his hardness trapped between your stomachs.
He pulls back, his hand still fisted in your hair, and he walks you backward, guiding you, and you stumble, follow, your legs weak, your body throbbing with need. He backs you up to the workbench, the same one where you watched him work, where you imagined his hands on you, and he lifts you onto it, the metal cold against your bare skin, and spreads your legs, steps between them.
He looks at you, spread out on his workbench, naked and marked and his, and he groans, his hand finding himself, stroking once, twice, his eyes dark and endless.
"Condom," he manages, and he reaches past you, fumbles in a drawer, pulls one out, tears it open with his teeth. You watch him roll it on, your breath shallow, your body aching, and then he's there, pressing against your entrance, and he meets your eyes.
"Look at me," he commands, and you do, and he pushes into you, slow and thick and perfect, and you cry out, your head falling back, but his hand is in your hair again, pulling you back, forcing your eyes to his.
"Look at me," he repeats, and you do, you watch him as he fills you, as he bottoms out, as he holds there, throbbing inside you, and you feel complete, stretched, owned.
He starts to move, slow at first, deep strokes that drag against every sensitive spot, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pull him closer, and he groans, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath hot and fast.
"So tight," he murmurs, "so fucking perfect," and he speeds up, his hips snapping, the workbench creaking beneath you, and you moan, your nails digging into his back, your body climbing again, the denied orgasms making you sensitive, desperate.
He fucks you like that, missionary on his workbench, his eyes locked on yours, his hand still in your hair, controlling you, using you, and you feel it building again, inevitable, and you beg him, "Please, please, let me come, I can't-"
"Not yet," he grits out, his jaw tight, his rhythm faltering, and he pulls out, leaves you empty and aching, and you sob, but he's already turning you, flipping you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back, and you scramble onto your knees, your cheek pressed to the cold metal, your hands gripping the far edge.
He enters you from behind, deep and hard, and you scream, your back arching, and he groans, his hands on your hips, gripping tight, and he starts to fuck you, brutal and relentless, the sound of skin on skin filling the shop, your moans and his grunts and the creak of the bench.
He reaches around, finds your clit, rubs it in rough, desperate circles, and you cry out, your body shaking, your orgasm looming, and he feels it, feels you tightening around him, and he pulls his hand away, slows his strokes, denies you again.
"Please," you whimper, your voice broken, "please, please, I need to come, please-"
He pulls out, and you sob, but he's already moving, pulling you off the bench, turning you around, and he lifts you, his hands under your thighs, and you wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, and he presses you against the wall, the concrete cold against your back, and he enters you again, holding you up, your weight on him, and you feel him deep, so deep, hitting places he hadn't before.
He fucks you against the wall, his hands gripping your ass, his mouth on your neck, your breasts, leaving more marks, and you hold on, your nails in his shoulders, your head thrown back, and you feel it building, unstoppable, your body beyond his control, beyond your own.
"Now," he growls against your ear, "come for me now," and he reaches between you, finds your clit, rubs it hard and fast, and you explode, your orgasm crashing through you, your scream echoing off the walls, your body convulsing around him, and he keeps fucking you, keeps rubbing you, drawing it out, making you come and come until you're sobbing, limp against him.
He slows, still hard inside you, his breath ragged, his forehead pressed to yours. You feel him throbbing, feel how close he is, how he's holding back, and you tighten around him, wanting to draw it out, wanting to feel him lose control.
But he pulls out, sets you down, your legs barely holding you, and you stumble, catch yourself on the workbench, and he looks at you, dark and wild and commanding.
"On your knees," he says, his voice rough.
You drop, the concrete hard against your knees, and you look up at him, his length inches from your face, heavy and wet and perfect. You reach for him, want to taste him, want to take him into your mouth and finish him there, but he catches your wrist, stops you, his grip firm.
You look up, confused, desperate, and he smiles, slow and cruel and full of promise.
"Maybe next time, princess," he says, and he takes himself in hand, strokes once, twice, his eyes locked on yours, on your face, on your body marked and naked and his.
He comes with a groan, his head falling back, his spend hot across your breasts, your nipples, your throat, marking you one final time, and you watch him, watch the pleasure wash over him, the way his jaw tightens, his muscles clench.
He looks down at you, at his mess on your skin, and he smiles, satisfied, sated, already planning.
"Next time," he repeats, and you know there will be one.
Summary: Your car breaks down in a rural town during a solo road trip and you barely manage to make it to the nearest repair shop. Jungkook, trusty mechanic and sweetheart, takes a look at your car and brings you to a - very icky - motel, where he can't bring himself to let you stay the night on your own...
Warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content, mechanic JK, manly JK while still being a cutie and a gentleman, this is pretty much a damsel in distress situation, there's a cuck chair again lmao but no cuck in sight this time, lots of sweat bc it's hot there!! they're both soaked in multiple ways, alcohol and weed, making out a little high, fingering, oral (both receiving), PiV, multiple positions, JK gets a bit unhinged and pussy drunk during the deed and pulls a few surprising moves, bit of dirty talk (good girl mentioned)
A/n: There's a lot of yapping and story building for a oneshot. We love a good build up in this house.
Wordcount: 10.4k
Masterlist
âNo, no, noâŠ,â you plead with your car, stroking the plastic covering behind the steering wheel with one hand. âPlease donât do this to me, weâre almost there!â
The engine light had already lit up some miles back, but you decided to ignore it and just pray youâd make it to your destination. But now, after driving along empty country roads, seemingly endless, with only a few small towns in between breaking the monotony of the scenery, the lights on your dashboard start to flicker and the radio keeps cutting out.
âShit,â you curse out loud before asking your phone for the directions to the nearest auto repair shop.
Your already shitty air con has totally given up. Beads of sweat are starting to collect on your upper lip as you follow google maps through the scorching heat. Thank god itâs only a few more miles until you pull into a small town off the desert road. This little hick town seems to just be made up of one main road, with a few homes off to the side.
âIn 0,2 miles your destination will be on the left,â your navigation lets you know. A minute later you pull up in front of the repair shop with your Buick Century and turn off the ignition. You exhale in relief, at least you made it to the garage. You donât want to imagine being stranded at the side of the road in the desert, not in this weather.
You let your head fall on the steering wheel that you are gripping with both hands, already worried about how much money youâre going to have to throw at your rust bucket. You step out of your vehicle finally, looking around. Thereâs what seems to be a small convenience store across the street, a man in denim dungarees and cowboy boots sitting in front of it, smoking. You snort - all thatâs missing is a damn banjo.
You walk into the repair shop through a glass door next to a bigger gate for cars to enter and look around for an employee, unsuccessfully.
âHello?â you ask into the empty space. Thereâs a front desk, but itâs unoccupied. Please, donât let this place be actually closed down already for the day.
âBack here,â you suddenly hear a voice sounding from further back. Relieved, you scan the perimeters to find the source, peeking around a corner.
You find the actual workshop of the garage, multiple cars with open hoods standing around, but you donât see anyone. Reluctantly, you walk between vehicles, not sure if you are even allowed in here, until you almost stumble over legs sticking out from under some Toyota sedan.
âUm, hi?â you address the jeans-clad legs.
âOne sec,â a voice replies and a moment later you hear tools clanking to the floor before a man emerges from under the car.
And, well, heâs really not someone you expected to find in a rural backwater town. Itâs not the outfit either, heâs just wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, both smeared with motor oil and grease. What surprises you is the fact that one of his arms is covered in tattoos, down to his fingers, and his ears are decked out in multiple silver hoops. He smiles at you, a piercing through the side of his lower lip, while he wipes his hands on the bandana tied to his pants.
Usually, when you have to bring in your rust bucket, the mechanics crack some sort of unfunny misogynistic joke at your expense before trying to rip you off with unnecessary repairs you didnât ask for. So that is what you steel yourself for when you tell the dude that your Buick started breaking down as he walks you to the front of the shop.
He clicks open the automatic garage door and tells you to drive your car inside for him to inspect it.
But, shit. When you try to switch on the ignition, itâs dead.
The mechanic comes up to your rolled-down window. âDoesnât start huh?â, he correctly assesses. âPut it in neutral, I can just push it inside.â
âSorry,â you mumble, trying to move the shift stick to neutral, without success. It doesnât budge without the engine being on.
You shrug your shoulders at him in a helpless manner, making him laugh. âAh, automatic,â he hums before opening the driver door and pulling a screwdriver from the back pocket of his jeans.
Without warning, heâs suddenly in your lap, leaning over you to access the middle console. You wouldâve moved out of the way had he warned you. But now this, admittedly very attractive, guy is brushing his tattooed arm against your thighs all non-chalant as he wriggles his screwdriver around the plastic by the gear stick. With one last satisfied hum, he finally moves the stick to the neutral position.
You just dumbly stare at him with hot cheeks when he retreats from your space again and he tells you about some manual switch he pushed. âOh, sorry,â he apologizes when he sees your startled expression. âI didnât get dirt on you, did I?â He wipes at the fabric of your pants with his hands, grimacing at himself as in the process, as he actually does brush some grease on it, making him panic slightly. âShit,â he mutters but you stop him before he can apologize again or spread even more black gunk on you.
âDonât worry about it,â you laugh, his display of sudden clumsiness making you relax again. He stands up straight, scratching at his neck before collecting himself and moving to the back of your Buick.
âItâs good to go now. Just let go of the brake and steer, alright?â he yells from the back and then the car is slowly rolling. You canât help stealing a glance at him through your rearview mirror.
His brows are furrowed and the muscles in his shoulders are tensed as heâs pushing the car by its bumper. You can even make out the vein on his forehead popping out a little. The fact that youâve always had a thing for feats of strength is almost making you forget to steer until his voice forces your eyes to snap back to the garage in front of you.
âLittle to the left,â he yells and you comply, maneuvering your car into the workspace.
You pull the handbrake and get out of the driver's seat once youâre in a good spot.
âIâll pay to get your jeans cleaned,â he tells you with a lopsided smile as he eyes your soiled pants before he walks to the front of your Buick.
âLetâs take a look at your baby,â he says as he yanks open the hood. âI already have a suspicion.â
While heâs checking out the engine compartment, you take a stroll around the shop, trying to pass the time and ignore the dread blooming in your chest about how much this repair is going to cost you.
On the wall behind the counter you spot the usual sexy calendars of women in pin up clothing posing on the hoods of old-timers. Maybe heâs just like all the other mechanics you encountered after all. You quietly chuckle just as you spot another poster among the sexy ladies though. This one has a half-naked man propped against some motorcycle, probably a Harley Davidson. Oh, a man of varied tastes apparently. Feels a little out of place for this small town, once again.
When you hear the hood of your vehicle being slammed shut, you hurry back to the mechanic.
âYup, I was right,â he tells you, trying to wipe some of his dark hair out of his face with the back of his hand, smearing grease on his forehead in the process. âAlternatorâs shot.â
âThat sounds ⊠bad?â you reluctantly more so ask than state.
âIt just needs to be replaced. Good news first, itâs not a lot of work so Iâll be done in like an hour,â he lets you know. âBad news - I need to order it in.â
You groan, but you are relieved to learn that at least itâs not as expensive as you feared. The fact that this part will only come in tomorrow though - Shit.
He types your information into his computer and places the order for the new alternator.
âAre there any hotels or something close by?â you ask him once heâs done and comes back around the counter to lean on it.
He shakes his head with an apologetic look on his face. âThe closest motel is like two towns over. And itâs a bit of a shit hole.â
That doesnât sound too inviting, but given your choices, what else are you supposed to do?
âCan you give me the address? Iâll get an Uber to drive me there I guess.â
âGood luck on finding any Ubers out here. Weâre basically out of their operating zone.â
Your shoulders slump in defeat as you let your hand holding your phone drop to your side again.
âIâll take you,â he offers, already on his way to your Buick. âGet your bag.â
You would usually not consider getting into a car with a stranger, but your options are kind of limited here. He can probably sense your hesitation, because he cocks his head to the side and smiles. âWouldnât advise accepting rides from strangers, but I canât have you stay on the street,â he speaks up. âIâm Jungkook, by the way. Iâll give you my ID and everything, you can send it to a friend with your location.â
This wonât help you if he decides to murder you, but you are tired and in need of a shower, so you just sigh and open your car, quickly packing some things you need for an overnight stay into your backpack before shouldering it.
Apparently itâs time to close shop, or maybe he can just decide since heâs the only one in here, but he leads you out the back and locks the door behind him. You wonât question it, you are just glad that you will be able to rest soon. The long drive was becoming torturous anyway.
âWhereâs your car?â you ask, looking around the street behind the garage.
Jungkook grins and points towards - oh please - a motorcycle. No way. Well, maybe that explains the leather jacket that he put on just before. You were wondering why he needed it in this scorching heat.
âPretty, huh?â he muses when you look at him with wide eyes. âItâs a Fat Bob 114.â
Oh sure, whatever that string of random words means. He canât seriously expect you to get on the back of this. For a moment, you reconsider just walking the streets tonight.
âI donât even have a helmet,â you try to weasel your way out.
To no avail, since he produces one from behind his back and hands it to you. âGood thing I keep a spare around.â
Heâs already stuffing his own backpack into the satchel on the side of the bike, while you fiddle with the helmet. Youâve never even put one on before and when you plop it down over your head, your hair gets caught in front of your eyes.
You hear Jungkookâs muffled laugh and then he steps in front of you, pulling the helmet back off.
âLemme help,â he mutters while pushing your hair behind your ears while he clamps the headgear between his thighs to free his hands.
The intimate gesture brings heat up your neck and all you muster is a quiet âThank you.â Then he gently pulls the helmet down and closes the plastic visor with a grin.
âAll set,â he pats the top of the protective headwear before putting on his own. He swings his leg over the bike and motions for you to get on behind him.
âJust hold on to me,â he tells you.
You somewhat clumsily climb on and consider just gripping the side of the machine, but as soon as he turns his keys and the bike roars to life, your survival instinct kicks in and you sling your arms around his waist.Â
He pulls off into the street and soon youâre leaving behind the small town and with it your broken-down car.
Jungkook, thankfully, seems to be considerate of his passenger, because you are pretty sure heâs not even going the speed limit. You still cling on to him for dear life, probably choking him out, but he does not complain. Youâre not particularly fond of not being encased in metal while on the road is what youâre learning right now.
After a few miles and your body starting to cramp from clutching on to Jungkook and the bike, you pull up in front of a motel. The parking lot is full of trucks, rarely any regular cars. Jungkook helps you off the motorcycle and takes off his helmet. He seems to be wondering about the amount of trucks, as he raises his eyebrow. Carefully, he removes your helmet for you as well before you can even try to do it yourself. Your hair feels damp and matted, making you cringe slightly as you run your fingers through it.
Jungkook retrieves his backpack from the satchel and pockets the keys.
âThis must be a regular stop for truckers to rest, huh?â you wonder out loud to which Jungkook shakes his head.
âNot usually.â
Picking through the small compartment of your backpack, you finally find some tissues.Â
âCan I just..?â you ask Jungkook, gesturing towards his face with the towelette.Â
He seems to be confused but doesnât stop you from wiping at his forehead. You clean the smear of grease off his skin and pocket the tissue.Â
âThatâs better,â you smile at him and when he locks his big soft eyes with you, the corners of his mouth upturned, it makes you gulp. His gaze flickers down to your lips for just a fleeting moment.Â
With both helmets in hand, he walks you to the check-in counter, where you find the most unenthusiastic-looking clerk youâve seen in your life.
âHello,â you address him. âI need a room, please.â
âReally?â he responds in a mocking tone. âWho wouldâve guessed that?â
Jungkook slams one of the helmets on the counter, startling the guy.
âMind checking if you have any available?â he intervenes, a fake smile plastered on his face. One could mistake it for a snarl if it wasnât for his politeness. With his hand planted firmly on the counter and the muscles in his arm tensed, the clerk seems to have taken the hint.Â
Woah. Apparently heâs not one to mess around with. Itâs kind of hot.
âAlright, alright,â the clerk gives in, suddenly very meek and sheepish, and checks his computer.
âSeems like youâre out of luck, everythingâs booked,â he shrugs his shoulders. âThereâs some trucker meet-up happening close by, they basically overran the motel.â
Jungkook and you sigh simultaneously. What the hell are you supposed to do now? You really donât want to go on another road trip if you can avoid it. He pulls out his phone, scrolling furiously, probably trying to figure out an alternative as well.
âAh, wait,â the clerk suddenly perks up. âThereâs someone checking out in a bit. Once weâve cleaned up the room, itâs yours.â
Oh, thank god. You couldnât care less that the place is run-down and the employee is a shithead. Youâll just shower and head to bed anyway, maybe scroll a bit on your phone. The aesthetic or lack thereof doesnât really matter, unless youâll find suspicious stains on the pillows. Which, to be fair, is not that unlikely, now that you think about it.
âWe have a bar,â the employee tells you with an exasperated sigh, as if this was the hardest heâs ever had to work. âYou can wait there. Itâs gonna be like 2 hours max.â
You nod and turn to Jungkook, who looks a little disgruntled.
âUhm, will you come pick me up again tomorrow? I kinda donât have a ride.â The fact that he has to drive you again is gnawing at your pride, but he said it himself, no Ubers around.
He looks at you, quizzically.
âIâm not gonna let you wait around here by yourself,â he shakes his head. âIâll stay with you until the roomâs ready.â
Before you can even start arguing that you donât need an escort, heâs already placed his hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the bar. For whatever reason you just let it happen. Youâre a grown woman, you donât need a white knight to look out for you. But also, some company would be nice instead of sitting around all alone, just waiting for time to pass. Since heâs also nice to look at, why shouldnât you indulge a bit longer.
The bar is just as dingy as the rest of the place. All the seats are worn, tears across the old leather. The room reeks of stale smoke and cigars so bad that you scrunch your nose as you step in.
Thereâs two guys sitting at the bar drinking beer. By the looks of it itâs not the first one of the day either. Probably some of the truckers the clerk mentioned.
Jungkook pushes you into the booth of a table, sliding in next to you without taking his eyes off the dudes at the bar, and shrugs off his leather jacket. Sitting next to each other when youâre only two people has always been weird to you, makes it kind of awkward to chat.
âWhat do you want to drink?â he asks from beside you.
You take out your phone, checking the time. Itâs 7 pm. You could do with a beer as well, so you tell him and he moves out of the seat to get your drinks.
You watch him from your table, only to realize that the two men are staring you down, one even cocks his eyebrows at you. Disgusting. You pull a face at him, but that doesnât seem to deter him at all, grabbing at his junk while his mate laughs along.
Jungkook is watching this play out, you can tell when his back stiffens. Heâs coming back with two beers in hand, immediately sitting down next to you on the bench again, so close this time that your thighs are touching.
âWhat are you doing?â you ask him, surprised when he puts his arm on the backrest behind you.
âSorry, but Iâm not gonna let those two sleazebags get the impression that youâre here by yourself, no chance,â he grumbles before picking up his glass and taking a big gulp.
The fact that heâs doing this only for show makes you feel a tinge of disappointment, which is just dumb. Heâs just being nice, you tell yourself, also reaching for your beer, trying to relax with him being so close to you. Itâs not because heâs making you uncomfortable, rather the opposite. You just seriously need to chill.
âHow much was it?â you ask him, pointing to your drink, to which he just waves you off.
âTake it as compensation for me putting grease all over your jeans,â he smiles at you.
For a while you two just sit there, his arm around you, sipping away on your beer quietly. Jungkook shoots the gross dudes death glares every now and then. To which you are thankful because the thought of being in here alone with them makes you shiver. Maybe you were in need of a white knight actually. Just this once.
âSo,â Jungkook breaks the surprisingly comfortable silence. âJudging by your plates, youâve been on the road for a while, huh?â
You hum in agreement. âJust a road trip to visit an old friend of mine. Never been to this part of the country.â
âI can tell,â he laughs.
âAnd you?â you proceed to ask. âHave you ever been out of these parts?â
Jungkookâs fingers tapping away softly on your shoulder while he talks makes blood rush to your cheeks.Â
âNot really, I grew up around here. Only gone as far as the surrounding cities.â
âSo you like living here then?â
He shrugs his shoulders as if he doesnât really have an opinion on it.
âItâs just, you donât seem like a small town kinda guy,â you continue when he stays silent.
âNow, whyâs that?â he looks at you with a smirk, visibly amused now.
You just motion at his tattooed arm and the piercings, trying not to say anything he might take offense to. Itâs his home after all.
Luckily, he doesnât seem to be offended at all, because he chuckles at your assessment.
âYou know, the next city is just like an hourâs drive away,â he lets you know between laughs. âWeâre not cut off from civilization. Not totally.â
You chat away for a while, mostly just small talk. He never takes his arm off your shoulder while you learn that he owns and runs the repair shop by himself and you tell him that youâre in between jobs right now.
Youâre laughing at a funny remark Jungkook dropped when the clerk pops his head in.
âRoomâs ready,â he lets you know before he trudges away again.
âBefore you try to argue - Iâm walking you to the room.â
You figured.
So after picking up the key from the front desk, you make your way outside and up some stairs to find your assigned room with Jungkook close behind. On your way there, you can hear some loud bellowing laughter from behind doors as well as a smashing sound, as if a vase or something broke. This really doesnât feel that welcoming after all, you think as you yank open the dilapidated door. Itâs not even hanging straight in its hinges, so you have to lift it up slightly so it doesnât catch on the floor. Yikes.
Both of you walk inside and Jungkook looks around the room after putting the helmets on a wobbly sideboard.
âWhat a nice view,â you joke, having walked up behind him to the window, looking down at the parking lot. The laughter gets caught in your throat when you can hear someone loudly fighting outside. When you peek out the window again, you see that itâs two big guys shoving each other and yelling, beer bottles in hand. Please let this night go by fast, you plead silently. You brought your earphones so hopefully you can drown out anything that might go on outside, be it murder or an orgy. You thank whoever invented noise cancelling in advance.
Jungkook turns to you. âLook,â he starts with a serious expression. You have a feeling you know where this is going, so you walk up to the sideboard and push his helmet towards him.
âThank you for everything, Iâll see you tomorrow?â
Jungkook shakes his head and doesnât move even an inch.
âI canât let you stay here,â he says, decidedly. âNot by yourself. Youâve seen the kind of guys that hang around here!â
You liked his savior antics earlier, but you still have some pride left.
âIâm not some damsel in distress in need of saving,â you scoff and walk to the door. âIâll just lock up and sleep by myself like a big girl.â You jokingly wiggle the lock around before realizing itâs almost falling apart at your touch. Oh. This actually doesnât bode well with you.
Jungkook looks at your wide eyes with a quirked brow, waiting for you to reconsider what you just told him. And you do. Damn.
Then thereâs suddenly more clamor seemingly right outside your door. As if someone was crashing into the wall. The look in your eyes turns to pleading. Now youâre actually hoping Jungkookâs offer, whatever exactly it entails, still stands.
âIâll stay. Donât worry,â he reassures you as if he just read your mind. Probably not that hard, considering the situation.
âThanks,â you mumble while looking around the room. Thereâs exactly one bed, a dresser with a tiny TV on it and what you assume to be the door to the bathroom. And a worn-out leather arm chair.
Jungkook follows your gaze and takes the words out of your mouth when he speaks up.
âIâll just stay in the cuck chair, you can go ahead and go to sleep.â
The good old cuck chair, a must-have of any rented room thatâs worth anything. What would people do without it? Although this one actually seems like itâs been in heavy use. Ew. At least youâre not the one having to sit in it.
To your horror, this stuffy room has no air conditioning, only a ceiling fan above the bed that barely does its job. Opening the window is no use at this time of night either, as itâs still hot out.
âI could never get used to this heat,â you huff and sit down at the edge of the mattress, causing the bedframe to squeak. âDonât think I can even sleep while itâs this hot,â you add, groaning.
Jungkook brings his stuff over to his designated spot for the night to keep watch of the door or whatever his plan actually is. Your knight in shining armor, you scoff to yourself. The fact that youâre sharing a motel room with some stranger is outrageous and very much out of scope of what you had planned for this trip. Even if said stranger is nice to look at. You watch him from the corner of your eyes as you kick off your sneakers and pull your legs up on the bed into a criss-cross position. His white shirt has gone see-through in the back from sweat and itâs sticking to him. No wonder - heâs been wearing a leather jacket and also you clung to his back earlier like a koala while driving here.
It's only around 9 pm when you check your phone and start scrolling through various social media apps, quickly getting bored. Beads of sweat are forming on your forehead, you feel like youâre being boiled alive sitting here in jeans, but youâre not about to strip in front of Jungkook, whoâs also taken his spot in the chair with his phone in hand.
âHey, you want to get some more beer?â you ask him, sure that youâll be up for quite a while and beer always makes you sleepy, so that might help.
âSure,â he nods, walking over to you and holding his hand out. âWe can get some from the bar.â
You let him help you off the bed and slip back into your shoes. Itâs a quick trip, Jungkook never taking his arm off your waist as he walks you through the premises.
Equipped with 4 cold bottles of beer you return to your room where Jungkook immediately opens one for you with a lighter from his back pocket.
The cool liquid goes down smoothly, making you sigh in content as you sit down on the end of the bed so you can actually face him in his spot where he is currently holding the bottle against his neck in an effort to cool off.
Striking up a conversation while you down the first drink, you inquire further about his repair shop.
âItâs been in the family for a few generations,â he lets you know. âIâve been around cars since I was little, back when it was my grandfatherâs still.â
âDid you ever consider doing anything else? College or something?â you wonder.
Jungkook laughs at the idea. âIâm way too dumb for a degree. And I like getting my hands dirty. Manual labor takes my mind off of things. I enjoy it.â
You get it, the road trip was supposed to serve the same purpose - taking your mind off whatâs been troubling you. Couldâve figured that driving by yourself for hours makes your thoughts race instead. Maybe youâre dumb too.
Jungkook asks about you being in between jobs then, since you mentioned it to him earlier.
âI quit so I could leave my place for a while. Wasnât that great of a job anyway, so no loss there.â
You put the now empty bottle on the ground and flop back on the mattress with your eyes closed, letting the ceiling fan blow hot air around you for a bit.
âYou alright?â Jungkookâs voice chimes up.
âYeah,â you hum out from your horizontal position. Mostly thanks to him, you ponder and find yourself glad your car started going to shit in his vicinity and not some place else. You just chill for a moment, trying to drown out the ruckus outside of your room. Youâre in here, safe, protected. Jungkook is pretty beefy, so youâre not too worried about any truckers trying to bust their way into here. The ones that crossed your way so far looked out of shape. Not that youâre judging, you probably wouldnât opt for a gym session after driving for hours on end either.
âThank you again,â you sit back up, feeling like you're admitting defeat. âFor staying with me. Iâm sorry for all the troubles.â
Jungkook only replies with a smile and hands you the second bottle of beer. âI didnât have any plans for tonight anyway. Your company beats watching TV alone by miles.â
Heâd probably have air conditioning though and wouldnât have to swelter in this dump. His face is shiny from the sheen of sweat, making his dark hair stick to his forehead, which he brushes away with his fingers continuously. Actually, maybe you got lucky having him stuck here with you, cause the fabric sticking to his chest is ⊠really something. You reluctantly peel your eyes away from his muscles, not trying to be a creep after all heâs done for you. Canât be ogling him like one of those sleazy truckers did to you earlier. Maybe itâs the beer finding its way to your brain or youâre just really not better than a man.
Your body doesnât feel much drier than him, though you are sure the sweat doesnât look even half as attractive on you.
While sipping on your third beer, you talk about more benign things, discovering that Jungkook and you share a lot of favorite bands and musicians. During your conversation, he keeps putting the glass bottle up to his face like he did earlier, obviously uncomfortable from being hot.
The ceiling fan only swirls the hot air around, but on the bed and directly under it, it provides at least some relief from the unrelenting heat while heâs suffering in the cuck chair.
âYou know you could just come sit on the bed, right?â you interrupt him waving his hand in front of his face like a makeshift fan.
He pauses, considering your offer, and then sighs. âNah, Iâm stinky from working, donât want to make it all gross.â
âPlease, I donât want to find you melted into a puddle in that fucking chair tomorrow morning,â you joke. âSounds like one hell of a clean-up. Also, whoâs gonna fix my car if you perish from overheating?â
âI might not be the first dead body in that chair, now that I look at it,â he wrinkles his nose as he gets up and eyes the worn-out leather.
âBut Iâll take a shower first, if thatâs alright with you,â he finally gives in.
âSure,â you nod. âGo ahead. Havenât checked out the bathroom - hope you wonât come out dirtier than before.â
Jungkook chuckles as he makes his way into the little side-room.
While you hear the shower run, you empty your beer and shoot your friend a message that your arrival will be delayed because of your shitty car.
Shortly after the water turns off, Jungkook sheepishly peeks around the corner.
âMy shirt is soaked,â he tells you with an apologetic smile. âIâll air it out and put it back on, yeah?â
His coyness makes you burst into laughter. How cute.
âJungkook, your shirt has been see-through for the last 2 hours, Iâve seen it all. Now donât be stupid and come sit with me.â
He huffs out a quiet laugh and throws his moist t-shirt on the sideboard, hoping it will dry down, before putting his shoes and socks next to yours by the door.
âWhich side are you gonna sleep on?â he asks you, making you raise an eyebrow.
âIâm not going to put my greasy ass down where you have to sleep,â he explains and gestures at the smears on his pants. âThis bed is probably already gross enough.â
You take a tentative whiff of the pillowcase on your side. âItâs actually not so bad,â you shrug your shoulders before patting the mattress on the unoccupied half of the bed, urging him to finally come and sit.
So, in this incredible turn of events, youâre now sitting shoulder to shoulder with a shirtless small-town mechanic, watching TV in a decrepit motel.
Switching through countless porn channels, you finally happen upon re-runs of The X-Files, which makes both of you perk up in excitement.
âI love Gillian Anderson,â you gush as her glorious red hair appears on screen.
âI love David Duchovny,â Jungkook replies with a sigh. âGillianâs not bad either.â
His remark doesnât surprise you as you recall the very bisexual collection of raunchy calendars displayed in his shop.
You both settle against the headboard, getting comfortable, and dive into the episode, following along as Scully and Mulder track down a mutant man thatâs hiding in vents to eat peopleâs livers. Mulder has just foiled the abominationâs attempt to murder some family when Jungkookâs head suddenly drops onto your shoulder.
You can tell heâs asleep by the way his body is slumped against yours. So much for watching the door, huh?
His soft, slow breathing is fanning over your neck and you decide to just let him nap, watching the intro to the next episode roll. That is, until your back starts to hurt from your current position, so you shift slightly, which startles Jungkook awake.
âOh, fuck, Iâm sorry,â he looks at you horrified when the initial post-nap confusion has worn off. âDid I drool on you?â
You assure him itâs fine and that he did not. Jungkook stands up and stretches his arms over his head, your eyes following the movement of his bared muscles as he does. He yawns and shuffles over to the window, cracking it open and sticking his head outside.
The clamor has calmed down it seems, no more yelling and fighting audible, you realize in relief.
âI think we can keep this open now,â Jungkook decides. âIt has cooled down like⊠at least 1 degree.â
You agree, even if it wonât help with the warmth, some fresh air wonât hurt.
âYou should try and get some sleep,â he proposes. âIâm guessing you still have some miles to drive tomorrow.â
Heâs probably right and you can feel the beer you had swimming around in your head, relaxing your body.
Jungkook goes to switch off the big light and settles back into the cuck chair. Apparently heâs not planning on resuming his little nap but is back on duty.
You pull off your socks, leaving you in jeans and a shirt still, which is not your preferred way of going to bed. Since youâre still hot, you just lie down on top of the duvet, turning to your side and pulling up your legs.
âGood girl,â Jungkook coos at you from across the room and you can feel his smirk without even looking at him.
The minutes pass by and you just toss and turn, not able to wind down at all.
âCanât sleep, huh?â Jungkook asks when you reach for the phone on your nightstand after the futile 30-minute attempt to drift off has gone nowhere. Youâre uncomfortable in your clothes, sweating, and your mind keeps straying to exactly the places youâve tried to outrun with your road trip.
Before you swing your legs off the bed you reach to turn on the lamp on the bedside table as you donât dig sitting around in complete darkness. Youâre in the process of stretching your neck and shoulders while Jungkook rummages through his backpack. It seems like he found what he was looking for because he perks up.
âWanna smoke?â he asks you, holding up a pre-rolled joint with a bright smile on his face.
You laugh and go through your own bag, producing a ready-to-go spliff as well.
âIâm taking this as a Yes,â Jungkook chuckles and moves to the opened window where you join him. You squeeze past him so you can hop up on the windowsill, sitting with your legs dangling in the air and your side leaning against the window frame.
Jungkook rests his upper body against the other side before he fishes the lighter out of his pocket and ignites the joint between his lips.
Passing the doobie between each other, you pick up the topic of his shop again, still curious.
âYou plan on staying in your town forever?â you ask him. âLike, just keep the garage going until youâre too old to work anymore?â
He takes a drag and huffs out some smoke while he thinks about it.
âI like the mechanic work,â he starts. âBut Iâm not really keen on living the rural town life for the rest of eternity.â
âI knew you werenât the type.â
âYeah. But I just canât let go of the shop. I thought about selling it before, but I canât bring myself to do it. It would probably kill my dad if I did.â
âHeâd want you to be happy, no?â
He hums pensively, takes another hit and hands you the joint. Jungkook lets his fingers linger on yours for a moment when he does. His side is pressing into your thigh since thereâs not much space in the window. The way his eyes are locked on yours is making your breath hitch and you almost choke on the smoke you inhaled. You cough, which makes him reach behind you to stroke your back. Your free hand grabs his naked shoulder while you recover from the coughing fit.
Once you catch your breath and sit back up straight, Jungkook doesnât return to his spot next to you, but instead remains in front of you, basically between your legs.
His hand slides away from your back though, holding on to the windowsill next to your leg instead.
âI didnât really quit my job for the trip,â you sigh, looking down at your dangling feet. The weed really seems to loosen up your tongue tonight. âJust couldnât do it anymore, it kept burning me out to a pathetic pile of ash.â
âIâm sorry,â Jungkook earnestly tells you, squeezing your arm lightly in a comforting manner.
Apparently your weed-riddled brain decides to just lay out all your business to him, because before you can stop yourself, you are already dropping the rest of your recent lore.
ââM driving through the whole country to my friendâs place because I found out I got cheated on. The breakup hit me quite hard after such a long time together. Needed to get far, far away.â
âMust be a fucking idiot,â Jungkook shakes his head and tries to catch your gaze, which makes you lift your head when he starts to crouch to look up at you.
He moves closer to you then, making your knees spread further to accommodate his frame. After flicking the butt of the joint out of the window, he places his palm on your thigh while his other hand comes up and brushes some of your hair behind your ear. His head is cocked to the side and youâre locking eyes, with his fingers still resting softly against your cheek.
Itâs like time freezes and then youâre suddenly leaning forward and your lips collide, slotting together effortlessly, like they were never meant to be apart to begin with. You sigh against him as if youâre letting go of a breath you didnât know you were holding and he uses the moment to slip his tongue between your parted lips. His hand has wandered to your neck while yours found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer, as your tongues dance against each other. All the stress of today just falls off you, like a lizard shedding his skin. The kiss is all-encompassing, leaving no room for any thoughts in your head other than taking away every inch of space between your bodies. As you make out, the palm on your thigh slowly caresses from your leg to your side and then back down to your ass, where it rests and squeezes ever so lightly. Even this soft touch makes your hips hitch towards Jungkook and you feel him smile against your mouth and exhale a laugh through his nose. You would be embarrassed if he wasnât pressing himself into your crotch, holding you in place, obviously just as excited to feel you against his body. He nibbles on your lower lip before licking across it and then his face is suddenly gone from yours. You just stare at him all dumb and breathless, still entangled with him. His thumb brushes over your lip, wiping away the moisture left behind from the kiss and continues to put it in his mouth. You stifle a whine at the sight, trying to collect yourself at least a little bit, so you slide off the windowsill. Not taking into account Jungkookâs close proximity to you, the movement makes you rub yourself against his groin by accident. Heâs not shy about the groan that leaves him at the contact, but he steps back a bit to give you space anyway.
âWant to give sleep another shot?â he asks you, brushing over your cheek one last time before removing his hand.
âMhm,â you nod. âIâm gonna take a shower first though.â
âGood idea,â Jungkook sends you off with a pat to your ass, making your face heat up even more.
Oh, you really need a cold shower for more than one reason.
You finally step out of your sweaty clothes, dropping them in a pile on the bathroom floor. When the spray of water hits you, you sigh. It feels so good to finally wash away the grime. What you canât rinse off is the tight feeling between your legs as you think about Jungkook, shirtless and sweaty, pressed to your body. You take a few minutes to just stand under the water raining down on you, fighting the urge to touch yourself, thatâs how riled up the kiss has gotten you.
When you turn off the water and get out of the shower, you realize that there is only a small towel, nothing that could actually cover your body in any decent way. You only brought panties to the bathroom with you. The only thing you find attached to the door is a questionable bathrobe. Better than nothing, you think after inspecting and smelling it, deciding itâs clean. You quickly towel-dry your wet hair with the small cloth so you donât look like a dog that got caught in the rain before slipping on your panties and the robe, closing it around you with its belt.
Jungkook has returned to the cuck chair when you come back out. Heâs reclined back into it, leisurely stretching his spread legs out as he eyes you with heavy lids. Heâs so fucking sexy lounging there in just his jeans, his upper body glazed by sweat, making his tattoo glisten in the dim light of the bedside lamp. You nibble on your lower lip absentmindedly, slowly stepping closer.
And heâs looking right back at you like he wants to ravish you. The slight tent in the front of his pants is reassuring proof that the kissing didnât leave him unaffected either.
âAre you not hot in this?â he gestures at your robe while looking you up and down before sitting up straight.
âAre you not hot in your jeans?â you tease in response, making him chuckle.
âCâmere,â he curls his fingers at you to beckon you closer and your feet move before your brain even catches up.
Once youâre in reach, he grabs the belt of the bathrobe and pulls you into him, hands snaking to your backside when thereâs no more room between you. He massages your ass cheeks through the soft fabric at an agonizingly slow pace and youâre already becoming impatient, so you take initiative and climb into his lap, your knees around his thighs. Thereâs just enough room in the chair for you to fit. With your arms locked around his neck, you immediately go in for another kiss, licking into him. Spurred on by your eagerness, his hands slip under your robe, making the belt slowly unravel with each movement of his palms against your naked skin underneath. You didnât think it was possible in this heat, but you erupt in goosebumps when his fingers slide over your waist, up to the side of your breasts where he lets them linger before splaying them out to cup your tits.
âYour skin is so soft,â he mutters against your lips just as one of his digits brushes over a pert nipple, which makes you inhale a sharp breath. His mouth moves to the side of your neck, where he sucks on your skin, surely leaving behind bruises. The sensation makes you grind your hips down against his growing cock, craving friction. He groans into the crook of your neck, so you keep swiveling your lower body in his lap, both of your breathing increasing in speed as your arousal is escalating to new levels.
Finally, heâs had enough of the bathrobe covering his view of your body and when you let go of him, he slides it off your shoulders, dropping it to pool on the floor by his feet.
With your bare tits in front of his face, he hums in approval, his hands roaming the skin of your nude torso.
âWow,â he sighs in appreciation, licking over his lips once before latching on to a nipple. The flicking of his tongue elicits a whimper from you and makes your back arch, pressing your chest closer to him.
You can feel the rough denim covering his dick though the thin fabric of your underwear, which is already going damp as you rub yourself over him again and again.
You lift yourself off his crotch, your hand finding his belt, undoing the buckle. When you struggle to open the fly of his pants one-handed, he removes his hand from your tit and looks up at you.
âYou sure?â he asks you softly and when you nod, he helps you out by popping the button himself, so you just have to pull down the zipper. He lifts himself off the seat just enough to wriggle the jeans down to his thighs. His hard dick twitches excitedly when you palm him through his Calvin Klein boxers.
Jungkook reaches between you, his fingers finding your still clothed pussy, just ghosting over your core, tentatively. You instinctively press down into his touch, sighing, which impels him to run his digits over the moistened fabric harder. Feeling your arousal through the panties already, he pulls them to the side, giving him access to run his finger between your labia. âLike silk,â he muses quietly, before dipping in further, gathering your wetness.
âDripping for me already,â he groans, his breath fanning over your neck now. âSo fucking hot.â
His middle finger finds your entrance then and pushes in slowly before curling it once inside. You writhe in his hold, impatient to be filled by him. After pumping a few times, he slides in a second finger, the pads dragging across your walls which each movement of his wrist, making you whine.
When the thirst for his cock takes over you, you reach down to the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down just far enough to free his hard dick. He moans lowly when you wrap your fingers around him, squeezing before giving him a determined tug, your thumb spreading precum across his tip.
His fingers slip out of you then, leaving you clenching around air. His hand comes up on top of yours on him, engulfing your smaller one completely, guiding your pumps. Your juices on his fingers add to the glide, every stroke along his length now producing a nasty squelching sound.
With his free hand, he fishes out his wallet from his jeans, producing a single condom. You basically rip it out of his fingers, tearing the package open with your teeth. After slapping his own hand away from his dick with the back of yours, you roll on the rubber.
He takes hold of your wrist and gently twists you palm up under his face, then lets a drop of spit fall into it. You spread the drool around his shaft before lining yourself up to the tip of his cock.
Jungkook grips on to your waist as you lower yourself down on him until youâre flush to his crotch. The stretch makes you whimper as he slides into you, his own head falling back on to the chair with his eyes closed.
âShit,â he mutters, voice strained. âYou feel amazing.â
Thatâs enough encouragement for you to start moving, your hips going in circles as you bounce up and down. His cock curves just the right way to rub over your g-spot each time you slam your ass down into him.
His fingers have wandered to your ass cheeks, kneading at the supple flesh. Heâs not guiding your movement, he lets you take the reigns as you ride him like your life depends on it.
The damn cuck chair is restricting you though, your knees confined by the armrests, you canât get into it the way you know would blow his fucking mind. When you lift yourself off his cock, his head shoots back up, looking at you quizzically as you move off his lap and lower yourself on the floor between his legs. He spreads them immediately, accommodating you kneeling before him.
You peel off the condom, throwing it aside, before bracing yourself on his thigh with one hand. His palm comes down to land on top of your fingers running over the muscle of his upper leg. He caresses your hand as you close in on his cock, poking out your tongue to give it tiny kitten licks all over. His gaze never leaves you when your lips finally close around his leaking tip and he immediately twitches in your mouth with a whimper. Your lips are wet from precum and you let them run over his tip and down his shaft before taking him in properly. While you work your way down his length, your tongue flat against it, small whine-like sounds keep escaping him, contrasting the low groans he huffed out before and itâs making your head swim with need.
You hollow out your cheeks, sucking him down as far as you can go, your tongue swirling over his frenulum and through his slit on every upwards move. Heâs too big to get all of him into your mouth, so you wrap your fingers around the remaining length, aiding with flicks of your wrist.
The groans from earlier begin to mix in between the higher-pitched whimpering, his fingers gripping on to yours harder as you keep going.
Jungkook is staring at you through the whole blowjob, mouth slightly agape, his chest heaving.
âSo damn pretty with my cock in your mouth,â he muses between huffs, his free hand tangling into the back of your hair.
The praise goes straight to your pussy, throbbing and feeling neglected. Youâre sure though itâs not going to be for long while you keep bobbing your head. And you were right, because soon after he peels you off himself gently by your hair, his other hand helping you up. He pulls you closer to him, slotting his lips against yours for a lazy kiss with his fingers grazing your jaw.
After breaking the kiss, he gets up, his sweaty back sticking to the leather producing a moist squelch, taking you with him and walking you over to the bed while stepping out of his jeans and boxers on the way. He lays you down on your back with an arm around you.
This time itâs him getting on his knees at the end of the bed. Jungkook grabs you by your waist and pulls you towards him, your legs spread around his head. He removes the panties still bunched up next to your pussy, taking a deep whiff of them before tossing them aside. He dips his head between your thighs immediately, mumbling against your core.
âYou smell like heaven,â you can barely make out, his voice muffled by your skin, but itâs enough to make you moan at the dirty compliment. Maybe you have a praise kink that you werenât aware of before, because heâs driving you insane.
The last thing you see before your head falls on the mattress is his twinkling eyes looking at you with hunger-blown pupils. Then his mouth is on you, his tongue running along your slit, lapping up the gathered arousal. Each pass of his tongue is pulling you further into oblivion and when he finally sucks your clit between his lips, all you can do is gasp and grip the bedsheets. His nose is pressed to your pubic mound as he lavishes at your pussy, relentlessly flicking over your most sensitive spot. Heâs really not wasting any time, already having you right on the edge.
He alternates between his tongue and his lips in a mind-numbing rhythm and then two of his fingers push into you as well. Feeling him press his fingertips into your walls and working your clit at the same time has you arching off the bed.
âDonât stop,â you plead, your orgasm approaching in a rapid pace.
With one last curl of his fingers inside you, you clench around them and come on his face. Your thighs close around his head, caging him in as your hips lift off the mattress accompanied by a strangled whimper. Your body twitches helplessly as he keeps lapping at your clit, bordering on overstimulation as your orgasm slowly ebbs down and you finally have to push his face away from between your thighs.
âFuck, I could eat you out forever,â he groans, his lips and chin dripping in spit and your wetness as he reluctantly detaches from you. âI canât get enough of your pussy. So sweet.â
You laugh breathlessly, slumping back on to your elbows. âYeah, I could tell.â
He comes up from the floor, his palm wrapped around his rock-hard cock, stroking himself. When he looks down on you with hooded eyes, you grab his arm and pull him down. Jungkook chuckles as he lands on top of you, holding himself up with one arm so he doesnât crush you.
His leg slots between yours and his cock drags along your hip, smearing precum on your skin when he crashes your lips together. After feverishly letting your tongues tangle and bodies rub against each other, giving you time to recover, he pulls away and rolls onto his back. Using the moment, you grab a condom from your backpack next to the bed before you follow along, swinging your leg over his thighs to straddle him. You put the protection on him with gentle hands, only tugging lightly a single time when youâre done. Hovering just above his twitching cock then, you start exploring his torso, fingers running across his abs up to his chest, feeling the taut muscle contract under your hands. You trace the tattoo that goes from his arm, over his shoulder down to his pecks. His nipples are hardened and you canât resist brushing over them, small, dark and stiff, contrasting his pale skin. His hips hitch up at the teasing touch, making his cock glide between your labia. He whimpers and curses under his breath as he keeps sliding along your pussy, still puffy from the orgasm. The tip of his dick catches on your clit with every hump, your body now moving in sync to his motions, increasing the delicious friction.
On your last slide downwards, you angle your hips and with you still being soaked and spit-slick, his cock enters you without resistance. His hands on your ass tighten their grip as he sucks in a harsh breath. You canât hold back your own drawn-out moan as your pussy is finally being filled out again. With your fingers splayed on his abdomen for support, you lift up slightly just to slam back down. Thereâs no slow start, youâre not playing around, immediately gyrating your hips with every bounce, your pussy gripping his cock tightly like itâs trying to rip it off.
The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping on skin, wet squelching every time you move back down on his cock and a symphony of both your moans echoing off the walls.
Jungkook lets you lead again, but after a while, he canât help but thrust up into you, matching your rhythm and speed. You straighten out your back so you can reach behind you, cradling his balls, massaging them while you rock in his lap, before dipping down further to press into his taint firmly, pulling another whimper from him.
âDamn,â he presses out, his dick pumping into you. âYouâre the best fucking ride of my life.â
With his cock dragging along your walls, you let yourself fall forward and his arms close around your lower back, holding you close. You rest your head against his shoulder, your ass still drawing circles on him, your cheeks ricocheting every time your hips meet. At this angle, your clit is now rubbing against him, making you gasp at the much-needed friction while he shoves into you from beneath. It doesnât take long for you to get close again, so you grind down harder, chasing your high.
When your moans increase in volume, Jungkook digs his hands back into your ass.
âThatâs it,â he breathes against your ear. âCome on my cock like a good girl.â
His words unravel you immediately, the coil in your stomach snapping and you come for a second time with a cry, the intensity almost overwhelming. Your pussy clenches around him tightly, making him groan through gritted teeth under you. You sob into his shoulder while you try to keep riding out your orgasm with trembling thighs and your whole body convulsing.
Jungkook doesnât give you a chance to calm down this time. With strong arms, he lifts you off him and on your back. He stares down at you with dark eyes as he positions himself between your legs before he grabs the back of your knees and basically folds you in half. Jungkook rams his cock back into you without warning, the bed creaking loudly under the pistoning of his hips. You can do nothing but take his delicious slams into your sensitive pussy, too fucked out to contribute, your breathing coming out in shallow huffs between moans.
With a particularly harsh thrust, you hear a bed slat crash into the floor. Jungkook doesnât seem to care that heâs not only taking you apart, but also the bedframe, rapidly approaching his orgasm judging by the stuttered grunts that reverberate around you. You feel like youâre getting vertigo from Jungkook all over and inside you, the effects of you coming so hard still lingering, having you blissed out and your brain comfortably empty.
It doesnât take long for his movements to go choppy.
âFuck, how are you still so tight⊠so⊠perfect,â he struggles to grit out between heavy breaths before his hips still and he releases his load inside you accompanied by stuttered moans. The fingers on the back of your thighs dig into your skin, probably leaving marks, as he continues pumping into you sloppily until your pussy has milked every last drop of cum out of him and he canât hold himself up any longer. His body gives out, trembling, and he lets go of your legs before collapsing on top of you.
With his face in the crook of your neck, he exhales a shaky, incredulous laugh. Your fingers tangle into the back of his hair, caressing his scalp while he comes down. You are close to drifting off with Jungkookâs weight pressing into you, a calming feeling washing over you, when his voice startles you awake again.
âAre you okay?â he asks you with a hoarse voice, lifting himself off you, taking off the condom and settling against your side instead. His arm finds your middle and he pulls you closer.
âBetter than the bed,â you giggle sleepily.
Reluctantly, you move out of his embrace, not willing to risk having to continue your road trip with a bladder infection.
âIâll be right back,â you let him know.
You traipse to the bathroom to pee and when you come back, Jungkook is on his back, snoring lightly. You quickly pull on a baggy t-shirt and some panties and climb back into bed, careful not to wake him. When you snuggle into his side, his mouth curls into a smile and he hums.
âIâm taking you to breakfast before we go back tomorrow,â he mumbles with a sleep-tinged voice before drifting back off.
Masterlist
A/N: Thank you so much for reading :] Please consider reblogging or commenting if you enjoyed, or if you're shy, feel free to send us an anonymous ask! <3
when the stoic and devastatingly handsome sir jeon jungkook is appointed as your personal knight, sworn to guard your royal highness with a will forged from steel, you quickly discover that his greatest strength may also be his most infuriating trait, he is utterly immune to you. no matter how tightly you lace your corset, he remains the perfect knight, eyes respectfully averted, jaw set like stone. but while sir jungkook may be a man of steel, you are a princess accustomed to getting what you want, and with every sinful intention of discovering whether even the realmâs most loyal knight could be brought to his knees for you.
âŻâŻ pairing: knight jungkook x princess y/n
warnings: erotica, forbidden medieval fantasy au, porn with plot, age gap, yearning, size difference, oral fixation (f.), unprotected sex, the princess is very horny, cold,dom!knight, bigdick!knight, breeding, pregnancy trope, war brutality, motherhood, subtle angst
word count: 20.5k
The great hall of the royal palace echoed with the murmurs of the assembled court. The King sat upon his throne, his stern gaze sweeping over the line of elite knights who had come to compete for the highest honor in the realm, becoming the personal protector of his only daughter, the princess, you.
The position was coveted for many reasons, but none more obvious than the princess herself.
Beauty had always been your burden as much as your blessing. Tales of it traveled farther than merchants and faster than ravens, crossing borders until even distant courts spoke your name with a mixture of admiration and longing. Princes penned verses in your honor without ever meeting you. Even seasoned knights, men hardened by war and duty, often found themselves disarmed by nothing more than a smile.
With your coronation fast approaching, the kingdom stood on the brink of celebration. It would be the grandest event seen in decades, drawing princes, dignitaries from every corner of the continent. Some would arrive seeking alliances. Most would arrive seeking you.
The prospect amused you more than it excited you.
âProtecting my daughter is not merely a matter of strength,â your fatherâs voice boomed through the hall. âIt demands unyielding discipline and absolute loyalty. You will each face three trials. The princess herself will accompany you, so that you may prove your worth in her presence.â
Your eyes swept slowly across the line of knights standing before the throne, a faint mask of boredom kissing your beautiful face, certain that none of them would truly be able to handle you.
For years, entertaining yourself at the expense of knights had become something of a pastime. A lingering touch against a gauntleted hand, a mere whispered compliment that left disciplined warriors suddenly forgetting their own names. Watching them struggle to maintain their composure was endlessly amusing.
You had notoriously toyed with men like this, living wildly beneath the weight of your royal title, and your father knew this better than anyone. That was precisely why he had designed these trials.
He wasnât simply looking for the strongest sword arm. He wanted a knight with sharp intellect and the rare ability to withstand your constant attempts to live life on your terms rather than as a perfectly mannered princess.
A small, intrigued smile played on your lips when the first few knights stepped forward. They were impressive in brute force, but you could already tell they would crumble the moment you decided to play.
Then he stepped forward.
Sir Jeon Jungkook.
Even fully armored, with only his dark, piercing eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet, once his unflinching gaze met yours for a brief second, a strange spark ignited low in your belly. You tilted your head, studying those dark eyes with growing interest.
The first trial took place that very evening in the smaller banquet hall. Only a select few courtiers were present. You sat at the high table beside your father, sipping from a jeweled goblet.
Unknown to the competing knights, the King had arranged for one of the wine pitchers to be laced with a powerful sleeping draught. Harmless, but potent enough to leave the princess disoriented and vulnerable. Only the King, a few trusted advisors, and the princess herself knew of the plan.
The knights had been given only one instruction: protect the princess. No further details.
As the evening progressed, the effects of the draught began to take hold. Your thoughts grew pleasantly hazy, movements slower. The jeweled goblet nearly slipped from your grasp once before you caught it. A second time, you laughed at something that had not been particularly funny.
Several knights noticed. Some were too busy trying to appear vigilant, eyes constantly scanning the room for imaginary assassins.
A few noticed your condition and drew dangerously close. One insisted on helping you stand despite the fact that you had not asked for assistance. Another rested a hand against your lower back almost inappropriately while guiding you through the room. One knight even smiled when he realized how heavily you leaned upon him after stumbling.
The courtiers watched everything. So did the King.
You were beginning to feel genuinely annoyed when a tall figure stepped silently between you and yet another overeager knight.
Sir Jeon Jungkook.
Unlike the others, he had not hovered around you all evening. He had remained where a royal protector belonged, close enough to intervene, distant enough to respect your space.
Dark eyes studied your face through the narrow opening of his helmet. âThe princess has had enough wine,â he declared.
The knight beside you scoffed. âShe seems perfectly finââ
âShe does not.â
You watched surprise flicker across the other knightâs face.
Sir Jungkookâs hand briefly closed around your forearm as you swayed, steadying you before immediately letting go the moment your balance returned.
Within moments he had summoned two ladies-in-waiting to accompany you back to your chambers. When another knight offered to carry you himself, Sir Jungkook declined on your behalf before you could even answer.
âHer reputation is as important as her safety.â
For the first time all evening, genuine curiosity stirred within you.
Most men saw opportunity when they looked at you. Some saw beauty, a few saw a future crown. Yet somehow, Sir Jeon Jungkook seemed to see only his duty.
As the ladies guided you toward the doorway, you glanced back over your shoulder.
âHow noble of you, Sir Jungkook,â you teased, voice softened by the draught. âAre you always so resistant to temptation?â
His gaze never wavered. âMy duty is to protect Your Highness.â
For reasons you could not quite explain, that response lingered in your thoughts far longer than any flirtatious remark ever had.
The final trial was, by all appearances, the simplest.
After weeks of staged attacks, hidden tests, the remaining candidates expected one final demonstration of skill. Some anticipated a duel. Others believed they would be sent to defend the princess from another fabricated threat. Instead, the King announced that the last trial would consist of a single week of personal duty beside the princess. No further explanation was offered.
The knights were disappointed.
You, however, knew exactly what your father was doing.
The trial was not designed to test strength or intelligence. It was designed to test restraint.
Most of the candidates failed within days. Some became overly eager whenever you requested their company.
Others ignored palace protocol the moment you suggested bending the rules. One knight allowed you to wander through the city market without informing the royal guard because he was too eager to please you. Another accepted an invitation to share wine in one of the palace balconies despite knowing perfectly well how improper it appeared. Every failure was carefully observed and quietly recorded.
Only one knight remained infuriatingly impossible.
Sir Jeon Jungkook.
The more you watched him, the more determined you became to discover his weakness. Surely he had one. Everyone did.
At first, your attempts were harmless. During walks through the palace gardens, you lingered beside him instead of remaining ahead as protocol dictated. During meals, you directed most of your conversation toward him. More than once, you deliberately brushed your fingers against the steel of his gauntlet while speaking. Other knights would have turned crimson. Some would have stumbled over their own words.
Sir Jungkook merely stepped aside and continued his duties as though nothing had happened.
Perhaps it was the way every other knight had spent the past weeks attempting to impress you, the King, or the court.
Where others sought favor, he sought only to fulfill his duty. And thus, when the day of the final judgment arrived, the outcome surprised absolutely no one.
Your father rose slowly from his seat.
âSir Jeon Jungkook,â he declared, voice echoing through the hall. âYou have successfully completed all trials. You have shown not only strength and intellect, but the rare ability to anticipate danger and resist⊠temptation.â His gaze flicked briefly to you. âFrom this day forward, you are hereby appointed as the princessâs personal royal knight and protector. Guard her with your life. And may the gods help you.â
A murmur rippled through the court.
You turned toward Sir Jeon Jungkook, stepping just close enough that your crimson gown brushed his armor.
âWelcome to my service, Sir Jungkook,â you whispered so only he could hear. âI do hope youâre prepared. Resisting me may prove to be your greatest trial yet.â
His dark eyes held yours with unshakable strength. âI was under the impression I had already passed that one, Your Highness.â
â
Having Sir Jeon Jungkook follow you around all day wasnât ideal.
It had not even been three months since his appointment as your royal knight, yet his constant, silent presence had already begun to grate on your nerves. He was always a towering shadow in dark armor, never more than a few steps behind. What annoyed you most was his utter lack of reaction.
No matter how boldly you flirted, no matter how you tightened your corset in front of him until your breasts nearly spilled over, no matter how many times you âaccidentallyâ brushed against him, he remained perfectly composed.
What bothered you most of all was that you still had no idea what he looked like. Only those dark, intense eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet. The rest of him remained hidden behind steel, a constant, frustrating mystery.
The journey to the neighboring kingdom for the grand alliance celebration had been long and stifling. You rode in the royal ornate covered carriage borne by four strong horses and guarded on all sides. The extravagant gown you wore was beautiful but suffocating, the tight corset pressing against your ribs and making every breath feel like a struggle. Boredom weighed on you like lead.
Your dearest friend, Lady Isolde rode beside you in her own litter. She was to be wed in a month, and the two of you had spent the journey giggling like girls again, whispering behind silk curtains.
âHeâs so tall,â Isolde teased, peeking through the gap toward where Sir Jeon Jungkook rode steadily beside your litter. âAnd those eyes⊠I wonder what the rest of him looks like under all that steel. Do you think heâs handsome, or just another brute?â
You laughed softly, though your gaze lingered on the narrow slit of Jungkookâs helmet, where those dark, intense eyes remained fixed forward.
âAs if,â you replied mockingly, bored. âHeâs far too proper. I could tighten my corset until my breasts nearly spill, and he wouldnât even glance.â
Isolde giggled. âYou should try. For science.â
Sir Jungkookâs eyes flicked toward the litter for the briefest second before returning forward. You smirked. Annoyed as you were by his constant, unflinching presence⊠you were also undeniably intrigued.
That night, after the feasting and music had died down and the royal party made camp near the forestâs edge, you slipped away, desperate for even a moment of peace, and determined to test just how far his restraint could stretch.
The air had grown chilly, carrying the faint bite of early autumn as you made your way to the forbidden stretch of the deep bend where the river water ran swift and dangerously deep. No one was permitted here after dark, especially not the princess.
You knew he would follow.
The heavy footsteps of armor soon echoed behind you on the rocky bank.
âYour Highness,â Sir Jungkookâs deep voice rang out, firm. âThis area is strictly prohibited at night. The currents are treacherous and the water is far too cold. We must return to the palace at once.â
You barely looked at him. Your eyes were fastened upon the vast expanse of the river, moonlight dancing across its dark surface like scattered diamonds. You wanted nothing more than to feel the cool waves kissing your bare skin, to swim freely under the moon with no eyes judging you in, except his.
A small, unusually kind smile touched your lips as you turned toward him.
âWhy donât you join me, Sir Jungkook?â you asked softly, your voice carrying on the gentle night breeze. âJust for a little while. The water looks so peaceful tonight.â
Sir Jungkook stood like a statue in his dark armor. âYour Highness⊠that would be highly improper,â he replied low. âI am here to protect you, not to⊠bathe with you.â
You let out a soft, melodic laugh and began walking toward the riverâs edge, the hem of your gown brushing the grass.
âWell, I suppose thenâŠâ you bit your lip, your fingers moving to the laces of your gown with aching slowness. âI shall swim, and you will stand guard like the loyal knight you are.â
You could feel his intense eyes watching through the narrow slit of his helmet as you loosened the ties. The rich fabric slid from your shoulders like liquid silk, pooling at your feet.
Completely bare under the moonlight, you wore nothing beneath. Your skin glowed luminous and your full breasts rose and fell with each breath, nipples already stiff from the cold night air. The curve of your waist flared into soft hips, and the smooth, delicate skin between your thighs was on full display.
Sir Jungkook immediately turned his head sharply away, staring fixedly into the dark trees.
âYour Highness!â His voice was strained. âThis is highly inappropriate. I cannot allowââ
âYou donât have to allow anything,â you cut him off, dripping with defiance. âYouâre not permitted to touch me while Iâm bare. So youâll just have to stand there.â
You waded into the river with a soft gasp. The icy water bit into your skin, but the thrill of rebellion pushed you forward. You swam out deeper, the cold making your body hypersensitive.
You glanced back at the bank. Sir Jungkook stood like a statue, head turned away, refusing to look at your naked form even once. His armored fists were clenched tightly at his sides.
A thrill of satisfaction ran through you.
You felt exhilarated. Free. And wickedly aware that the most disciplined man in the kingdom was standing on the bank, fighting not to look at you.
âAre you really going to stand there all night, Sir Jungkook? The water feels wonderful⊠and Iâm all alone out here.â You swam further out, the cold water caressing every inch of your bare skin. A soft, content sigh escaped your lips.
It would be a plain lie if you said you werenât at least a little relieved that he had followed you. The deep bend was no joke. its treacherous currents and deadly depth were feared even by The King. Yet here you were, aching to tear down the walls of the knight who refused to bend to your charms.
You floated lazily on your back, letting the moonlight kiss your bare skin. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you took your chance.
Once a subtle current tugged at your legs, you gasped dramatically, flailing your arms and letting out a soft, helpless cry. âOhâ!â
You fought back a giggle, pretending to be a damsel in distress, knowing the current wasnât strong enough to truly endanger you. You wanted to see if you could finally crack his composure.
But the gods had other plans.
Without warning, a far more treacherous undercurrent slammed into you like a living beast. It dragged you under violently, twisting your body, filling your mouth and nose with icy water. Real panic surged through you as you lost your breath and sight in the black depths.
âJungkook!â you screamed, the sound barely coherent as water rushed into your lungs. This time, it was no act.
Sir Jeon Jungkook did not hesitate for even a fraction of a second. He plunged into the river fully armored, cutting through the violent current with powerful strokes. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, yanking your naked body against his steel chest as he fought the river with raw, expert strength. You clung to him desperately, coughing and gasping as he dragged you back to the rocky bank.
The moment he pulled you ashore, his helmet caught on a low hanging branch and was ripped clean off.
You lay on the grass, gasping for air, when your eyes finally focused on the man hovering above you.
And you forgot how to breathe.
Sir Jeon Jungkook was devastatingly, unfairly handsome.
Wet raven black hair clung to his forehead and sharp, sculpted cheekbones. Water droplets traced the strong line of his jaw and dripped from sensual lips. His dark eyes, now fully exposed, were intense and beautiful, framed by long lashes and thick brows. A faint scar graced his left eyebrow, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise perfect masculine beauty.
Before you could speak, he swiftly grabbed his crimson cloak and draped it over your naked body, covering you completely with careful reverence. His gaze remained locked strictly on your face, never once drifting to your exposed skin.
âAre you okay, Your Highness?â he asked, voice rough with concern. A faint blush colored his cheeks as he noticed the way you were staring at his now-bare face.
You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The combination of the dangerous current, the shock of nearly drowning, and the overwhelming sight of your knightâs true face left you dizzy and speechless.
Your vision blurred. You passed out in his arms.
Sir Jungkook pulled you closer against his armored chest, one large hand gently brushed your wet hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly tender. He lifted you effortlessly, cradling you like a warrior carrying his lady, your head resting against his broad shoulder, body wrapped securely in his cloak, legs draped over his arm as he carried you back to his mare.
He mounted carefully, keeping you nestled safely against him as the horse began the journey back to the palace through secret paths.
You woke briefly as he laid you down on the thick rug before the hearth in your royal chambers. The fire was already roaring. You were still wrapped in his cloak, beneath it only a thin silk bandeau now clung to your body, the delicate material barely containing your breasts, pressing them together in a deep, soft cleavage that rose and fell with each shaky breath.
You trembled from the cold and the lingering shock of the river.
Sir Jeon Jungkook remained kneeling by the fire, his movements precise as he stoked the flames. Water dripped from his raven hair onto his armoured shoulders. Then he rose to his full, imposing height, towering, broad shouldered.
Without a word, he reached for his helmet, which rested upon a nearby oak chest, clearly intending to conceal his face once more.
âNo,â you whispered, your voice soft yet commanding as you pushed yourself up on one elbow. âDo not put it back on.â
The knight paused, gloved hand hovering above the helm. His dark eyes met yours, intense and conflicted.
âYour Highness⊠it is not fitting for me to stand before you unveiled,â he said, his voice carrying the formal cadence of a sworn knight. âI must maintain the dignity of my position.â
You sat up fully, the cloak slipping slightly from one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin and the edge of the silk bandeau. Despite the cold still clinging to your bones, warmth bloomed low in your belly as you gazed upon his face, truly beheld it for the first time.
âCome closer,â You rose to your knees on the rug, the cloak parting further as you reached for him. âLet me see you properly.â
He hesitated, every line of his powerful frame taut with restraint. Yet he obeyed, lowering himself once more to kneel before you. Even on his knees, he remained nearly at your eye level, so tall and broad was he.
You lifted a delicate hand and brushed your fingers through his damp raven locks, pushing them back from his forehead. A contented sigh escaped your lips.
âYou are far too pleasing to look upon, Sir Jungkook,â you whispered, almost in awe. âI had wondered what lay beneath that steel. Never did I imagine such a face.â
Sir Jungkook remained perfectly still on his knees before you. His hands rested tensely on his armoured thighs as he fought to keep his gaze fixed on your face and not the way your breasts strained against the thin silk bandeau.
âYou flatter me, Your Highness,â he replied, voice low. âBut I am your knight. Nothing more. Please allow me to restore my helmet.â
You shook your head slowly, refusing to let him hide again. Instead, you leaned closer, your fingers still buried in his damp raven hair.
A new, overwhelming wave of admiration and obsession washed over you. This man... this mature, hardened, breathtakingly handsome knight was kneeling before you like a devotee. The realization sent a fresh rush of heat between your thighs.
âYouâre older than me, arenât you?â you murmured softly, continuing to caress his hair with gentle strokes. âHardened by battles and years I havenât yet seen.â
You wondered how many more scars he carried beneath that heavy armor hidden across his broad chest, his strong back.
âI am twenty eight, Your Highness,â he answered quietly, his deep voice carrying that disciplined tone you were growing addicted to.
âTell me something personal,â you said, your voice turning playful yet curious. Your fingers trailed from his hair down to trace his cheekbone once more. âHave you ever been with a woman, Sir Jeon? Truly been with one?â
His jaw tightened visibly. The question crossed every boundary a knight was sworn to respect.
âYour Highness⊠such questions are not appropriate for me to answer,â he replied. You leaned in even closer, still stroking his hair tenderly, your breath brushing against his skin.
âBut I want to know,â you whispered. âHave you ever touched a woman the way a man touches a lover? Ever kissed one?â
Jungkookâs breathing grew slightly heavier. His dark eyes stayed locked on yours with iron discipline, though you could clearly see the storm brewing behind them.
âI have not, Your Highness,â he finally answered, voice low and honest. âMy duty has always come first.â
A thrill ran through you at his confession. You let your fingers drift lower, brushing along his sharp jawline. âAnd if a woman wanted you⊠desperately?â your voice dropped to a near whisper. âIf she wanted your mouth between her thighs⊠your tongue tasting her, would you deny her?â
The impure question hung heavy in the air between you. You shocked even yourself with how boldly it slipped out, but the vivid image, his devastatingly handsome face trapped between your legs, mouth glistening with your arousal made the heat bloom even more slick between your thighs.
Sir Jungkookâs hands clenched tighter on his armored thighs. A faint flush colored the tips of his ears and neck, but he remained on his knees.
âYour Highness,â he said, reverently, âI am sworn to protect you. Not to⊠indulge in such thoughts.â
You smiled softly. Then you leaned back on the bed, letting the crimson cloak fall open completely. The thin silk bandeau was the only thing left covering you, and even that felt too much now.
âThen I command you,â You looked down at him, this powerful knight on his knees before you, and felt a rush of pure need. âI want your mouth on me, Jungkook. Right now.â
âYour Highness, Iââ
âTouch me,â you breathed, cutting him off. âPlease, JungkookâŠâ
You reached down and grabbed his gloved hand, bringing it to your chest. Slowly, you pressed his large palm over the thin silk bandeau, letting him feel the soft, heavy weight of your breast. Your nipple was already painfully hard beneath the fabric.
Sir Jungkookâs breath hitched sharply. His entire body tensed, the muscles in his arm flexing under the armor as he fought against every instinct.
You didnât stop there, dragging his hand lower, sliding it down your stomach until his fingers rested between your thighs. You were soaked. your petals slick and hot against his gloved fingers.
âFeel how damp you make me,â you whispered, voice shaking with need.
Sir Jungkook let out a low, strained groan. His dark eyes were fixed on your face, but you could see the violent war happening behind them.
The most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on â the princess, the future queen, was laid out before him in nothing but a flimsy silk bandeau, legs spread, pressing his hand against her dripping cunt.
âYour HighnessâŠâ he rasped, albeit desperate. âThis is beyond forbidden. You are royalty. I am swornââ
âI donât care,â you whimpered, grinding slowly against his gloved fingers. âI need you. Iâve never felt this way before. Touch me now, my knight. Please.â
His hand trembled. For a long moment, he simply rested there, feeling your wetness soak through the leather of his glove. Then, with a broken exhale that sounded like surrender, his fingers moved.
He stroked along your soaked folds, parting the delicate petals of your most secret flower. And what a flower it was... a lush, glistening rosebud blooming only for him. Your outer lips were soft and swollen with need, flushed deep, delicate like the first blush of dawn.
As he gently spread you open, the inner petals revealed themselves: silky, and impossibly tender, layered like the finest rose in full bloom after a summer rain. At the center lay your sweetest nectar, dripping and honeyed, flowing abundantly from your aching entrance.
The knight didnât know what came over him, but your pulsing heat and slick, puckering folds had him utterly entranced. His breathing grew ragged. You could see the way his throat worked, the way his tongue unconsciously darted out to wet his lips. He was drooling.
âMay I lick you, Your Highness?â he asked hoarsely, voice thick with barely contained hunger. âPlease⊠allow me to taste you.â
The desperate plea from such a disciplined man sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you.
âYes,â you breathed, spreading your thighs wider for him, your voice trembling with raw need. âUse your mouth on me, Jungkook. Lick your princess until she cannot think.â
The moment the words left your lips, something in him broke. Sir Jungkook leaned in and dragged his hot, wet tongue slowly up your soaked slit. The first full taste of you pulled a deep, guttural groan from his chest. You were intoxicatingly sweet and dripping with arousal. He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every slick fold as if he were drinking the finest wine in the kingdom.
You cried out sharply, back arching off the bed as overwhelming pleasure flooded your body. The sensation was brand new, so intense it made your legs twitch violently.
âOh... Jungkook!â you moaned, fingers digging into his raven hair.
The knightâs tongue circled your swollen clit before sucking it gently into his mouth, then plunged inside your tight heat, ravishing you with slow, deep strokes. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth eagerly eating you echoed through the chamber, obscene, and shameless.
The most beautiful woman he had ever known, the future queen, was thrashing beneath him, legs shaking uncontrollably around his head, soft whimpers and loud moans spilling from her pretty lips.
Your hips rolled desperately against his face, coating his tongue, lips, and chin with your sweet release. Sir Jungkook drank every drop you gave him, groaning against your cunt as his own cock strained painfully against his armor.
He had never tasted anything so addictive.
You were already twitching, gasping, legs trembling so hard they threatened to close around his head. The pleasure was too much, too new, too overwhelming for your body.
Suddenly, Sir Jungkook pulled back slightly, his lips glistening with your juices. His dark eyes looked up at you, breathing ragged.
âShould I continue, Your Highness?â he asked hoarsely, voice thick with lust and devotion. âTell me⊠do you want more?â
You could barely form words. Your body was shaking, pussy throbbing, dripping onto the mattress beneath you.
âPlease donât stop,â you whimpered desperately. âKeep licking me... please...â
The knight obeyed instantly. He buried his face back between your thighs and attacked your clit with relentless strokes of his tongue. Two thick fingers pushed inside you, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot while he sucked hard on your swollen pearl.
The pleasure hit you like a storm.
Your entire body seized up. A loud, broken scream tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you violently. Your thighs clamped around his head, hips bucking wildly against his mouth as you gushed on his tongue. Wave after wave of intense pleasure ripped through you, leaving you shaking uncontrollably, vision blurring at the edges.
You nearly passed out from the sheer intensity of it. body twitching, chest heaving, soft cries still falling from your lips as the pleasure refused to let go.
Sir Jungkook stayed between your thighs through every tremor, drinking down every last drop of your release like a man who had finally found salvation.
When your body finally went limp, trembling and oversensitive, he gently kissed your inner thigh before pulling back, his handsome face flushed and glistening with your arousal.
You could barely speak, still catching your breath as you stared at the sight of your proud, disciplined knight with your release shining on his lips.
â
âThe Princess requires her knightâs escort to the eastern tower for stargazing.â
The message was innocent enough on paper. But the court had begun to notice how often you summoned Sir Jeon Jungkook for these private âduties.â Some whispered that the Princess trusted no one else. Others envied the knight who had earned such unwavering favor from the realmâs greatest beauty.
They had no idea what really happened once the tower door was bolted.
In the eastern tower under the stars, you would push Sir Jungkook against the cold stone wall and demand his mouth on you again. He always hesitated at first, âYour Highness, we mustnâtâŠâ but the moment you looked at him with those wide, needy eyes and whispered âPlease, Jungkook⊠I ache for you,â his resolve crumbled.
He would drop to his knees in full armor, push your skirts up to your waist, and bury his face between your thighs. The sounds he made while devouring you were filthy and desperately loud. wet slurps and deep groans as he drank every drop of your arousal. You quickly learned to muffle your loud moans against your own arm or his shoulder, thighs shaking violently around his head as he brought you to shattering orgasm after orgasm.
He never asked for anything in return at first. But one night, after he had made you come so hard you saw stars, you dropped to your knees in front of him, hands trembling as you freed his thick, aching cock from his breeches.
You had never seen the knight fully bare, but you had tasted him.
You took him into your mouth with clumsy but eager hunger, sucking and licking until he was groaning your name like a prayer, his gloved hand gently cradling the back of your head. When he spilled down your throat, you swallowed every drop, looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes.
The tension between you only grew hotter, more forbidden.
You began creating excuses just to be close to him.
You âaccidentallyâ wandered into dangerous parts of the forest during hunts. You âlostâ your way in the palace corridors at night. You deliberately teased foreign dignitaries until they grew too bold, all so Sir Jungkook would have to step in, pull you protectively against his armored chest, and hold you there while scolding you with his low voice.
Each time, you nestled your head against his chest plate, breathing in his scent, feeling safe in a way you had never felt with anyone else.
One quiet afternoon in the royal rose gardens, while the other knights kept their distance. The summer blooms were at their peak, rows upon rows of crimson roses spilling over marble trellises in a riot of color and fragrance. Courtiers often compared them to you. You had heard the comparison so many times throughout your life that it had long since lost all meaning.
Your attention was elsewhere when Sir Jungkook paused beside a rose bush heavy with crimson blooms. Reaching out, he selected a single flower and turned it thoughtfully between his fingers before approaching.
âA gift?â you asked.
âIf Your Highness would accept it.â
The answer surprised a smile from you.
He stepped forward and tucked the rose behind your ear. His gloved fingers lingered only for a second before withdrawing, but even that brief touch seemed to affect him more than he wished to admit.
When you looked up, his gaze was fixed upon the flower. âBeautiful things are dangerous,â he said quietly.
You laughed. âI believe roses are dangerous for everyone except gardeners.â
His expression didnât change.
âI wasnât speaking about the rose.â
Your heart fluttered so violently you had to look away. it was becoming impossible to deny how deeply you were falling for him.
The kisses grew sloppier, more desperate with every stolen moment.
In the abandoned library, your knight would press you against the bookshelves, helmet removed, and kiss you like he was drowning, tongue sliding against yours, hands gripping your waist as if afraid you might vanish. You kissed him back just as hungrily, tugging at his hair, moaning softly into his mouth while your hand palmed the hard bulge in his breeches.
Your hunger for him was insatiable. You ached for his presence constantly. The court noticed how you lit up when he entered a room, how you instinctively moved closer to him during gatherings. They saw devotion, they saw trust.
They never saw the way you both held each otherâs eyes like lovers who knew their time was stolen.
The relationship was utterly forbidden. Your father would banish him, or worse, if he ever discovered the truth. But neither of you could stop. Something real was blossoming between you.
The knight admired your wild, rebellious spirit. You admired his quiet strength and unwavering honor. In the darkness, you were no longer just princess and knight. You were becoming each otherâs secret salvation. And it was only a matter of time before the tension finally snapped.
â
The Coronation.
The kingdom was in full celebration. Banners of the finest gold flew from every tower. The greatest event in decades had arrived, your coronation as Queen.
Princes from across the realms had come in droves, each more eager than the last to win your hand and the throne beside you. They brought lavish gifts, performed in grand tournaments, and showered you with compliments. The entire court watched with bated breath, waiting for you to choose.
You sat upon the raised dais in a breathtaking gown of white, looking every bit the ethereal queen-to-be. But your eyes kept drifting to the tall, armored figure standing silently behind your throne, Sir Jeon Jungkook.
He had become even more composed in public, yet you could feel the storm raging beneath his helmet. Especially when you decided to play your cruel little game.
Prince Min of Veina leaned close during the feast, whispering sweet nothings about your beauty. You laughed brightly, placing a hand on his arm, letting your fingers linger, leaning in just enough for your neckline to offer him a generous view of your breasts.
From the corner of your eye, you saw Sir Jungkookâs gloved hand tighten around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.
Another prince, a golden haired lord from the eastern isles, offered you a rose during the garden promenade. You accepted it with a coy smile, twirling it between your fingers while glancing toward your knight.
Sir Jungkookâs dark eyes burned behind the helmet. You could feel his jealousy like a living thing, hot and barely contained.
That night, after the feasting and dancing, you summoned him to the eastern tower under the usual pretense.
The moment the door closed, he was on you.
The knight pinned you against the cold stone wall. The single rose youâd been idly twirling between your fingers, a gift from one of the many princes, fell forgotten to the floor.
Sir Jungkookâs dark eyes burned with something almost feral.
âYou will be wed off soon?â he growled dangerously, breath hot against your ear.
You looked up at him, heart racing. Your long, wavy hair had finally been let down after the long day, cascading over your shoulders and hips like dark silk. The tight corset of your white coronation gown was already loosened, the fabric slipping slightly off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin.
âWhat do you think about Prince Min?â you asked sweetly, tilting your head. âI think heâs quite lovely. So charming. He even said he would worship me every night once weâre wed.â
Sir Jungkookâs jaw clenched so hard you heard it crack. The jealousy that had been simmering all day threatening to explode.
âDoesnât it drive you mad, Sir Jeon?â You leaned in closer, letting your breasts brush against his armored chest. âKnowing your princess, the one youâve been secretly devouring every night, is wanted by so many powerful men? That they all dream of putting a ring on my finger and taking me to their beds?â
âIt is exquisite torture, Your Highness,â he growled, eyes burning. âWatching them look at you like they have any right to you. Knowing Iâm the only one whoâs ever tasted you, the only one whoâs ever made you scream.â
His raw honesty sent a sharp thrill through you. You bit your lip, loving the way jealousy sharpened his features, making his dark eyes appear even more intense. He was possessive and barely holding himself back. And you wanted to push him further.
You stepped away from the wall with a teasing smile, walking over to the tall, gilded mirror that stood near the fireplace. The white gown still clung to your body, hair cascading in long, wild waves down your back. You picked up a silver brush and began slowly running it through it, watching him in the reflection.
Sir Jungkook followed you like a shadow, stopping just behind you. His tall, powerful frame loomed in the mirror, twice your size, radiating heat and restrained fury.
âDoes that bother you, my knight?â A teasing smile played on your lips. âKnowing that soon I might have to let another manââ
You didnât get to finish. Sir Jungkookâs large hand closed around your wrist, stopping the brush mid stroke. He plucked it from your fingers and set it down with a deliberate clack. His other hand gripped your hip, pulling your back flush against his armored chest.
Your breath hitched. The playful boldness youâd been wielding all night vanished in an instant.
âEnough,â he growled low against your ear, âYouâve teased me enough tonight, Your Highness.â
His dark eyes burned into yours through the mirror. The intensity there made your knees weak. This wasnât the restrained, obedient knight anymore. This was a man who had finally reached his limit.
He reached around you and slowly began unlacing the rest of your corset. The white gown loosened further, slipping down your shoulders. You watched in the mirror as he tugged it lower, exposing your full breasts to the cool air and the warm firelight. Your nipples were hard, flushed, and sensitive.
Sir Jungkookâs hand cupped one breast possessively, squeezing it as his thumb brushed over the stiff peak. You gasped, arching into his touch.
âLook at yourself,â he ordered quietly, voice rough. âLook how beautiful you are. How perfect. And yet you let them think they could ever have this.â
He pinched your nipple, rolling it between his fingers until you whimpered. His other hand slid down, gathering the fabric of your gown and pulling it up to your waist, fully exposing your bare cunt in the mirror.
Your face bloomed bright red as you instinctively tried to close your legs, suddenly overwhelmed with shyness at the sight of yourself so lewdly displayed, flushed and completely bare in the golden firelight.
But Sir Jungkook wouldnât allow it. His large hand gripped your thigh firmly, spreading you open again as he pressed his body harder against your back.
âDonât hide,â His dark eyes met yours in the mirror, intense and commanding. âLook how filthy and wet you are for me.â
You shivered, unable to tear your eyes away from the reflection. The contrast was obscene, your ethereal white gown bunched around your waist, breasts exposed and heaving, legs spread wide while his armored body loomed behind you like a dark, possessive shadow.
Sir Jungkookâs hand returned between your thighs. Two thick fingers slid through your slick folds, parting them slowly so you could see everything in the mirror. You whimpered at the sight, embarrassed yet unbearably aroused.
âSo beautiful,â he breathed as he circled your swollen clit with his fingertip. âThis is what belongs to me. Not to any prince. Not to anyone else.â
He pushed two fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as he began ravishing you with slow, deliberate strokes that made wet, obscene sounds echo in the quiet tower.
You tried to close your legs again, overwhelmed, but he held them open with ease, his grip firm and unyielding.
âWatch,â he ordered softly, voice dark with lust. âWatch how easily I can make my princess fall apart.â
Your eyes stayed glued to the mirror as his fingers plunged in and out of your soaked cunt, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your cheeks were flushed deep crimson, lips parted in shameless moans, breasts bouncing slightly with every thrust of his hand.
The pleasure built fast and merciless. Your legs started shaking, thighs trembling violently as you fought to stay upright.
Sir Jungkookâs fingers curled deeper, stroking that perfect spot inside you while his thumb pressed firm circles on your swollen clit.
You came hard with a broken cry, arousal gushing down his wrist and dripping onto the stone floor beneath you. Your head fell back against his armored shoulder, body convulsing as wave after wave of intense pleasure tore through right after.
The knight dragged his arousal coated fingers from your pulsing heat and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean while his dark eyes stayed locked on yours in the mirror. The obscene sight made you whimper, legs pressing together instinctively. This time, he allowed it.
You pulled away from him shyly, legs unsteady as you walked toward the wide couch near the fireplace. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover your bare breasts, suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment.
Sir Jungkook approached you ever so slowly. His heart was pounding. you could see it in the rise and fall of his broad chest. The way your flushed cheeks and shy posture made you look so adorable only made his desire burn hotter.
He stopped in front of you, towering over your smaller frame. Without a word, he gently uncrossed your arms, exposing your breasts again. You tried to cover them once more, but he caught your wrists softly.
âYouâre too beautiful to hide, my love.â he murmured, voice low.
He leaned down and took one sensitive nipple into his hot mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder. You gasped sharply, hands flying to his shoulders as overwhelming sensitivity shot through you.
âJungkook... itâs too much...â you whimpered, lightly pushing at his shoulders, cheeks burning with shyness.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark with lust and affection. âYouâre so sensitive here,â he whispered, almost in awe. He flicked his tongue over your nipple again, watching your reaction closely. âSo angelic when you tremble like this.â
He sucked harder, alternating between your breasts, licking and biting softly until you were a whimpering mess, pushing at him weakly while your body arched into his mouth.
You grew frustrated at the unfairness, nearly naked while he was still fully armored. With a small, determined huff, you pushed him back slightly and began tugging at the straps of his armor.
âIt is not fair,â you muttered, cheeks still flushed. âYou get to see all of me, but I still havenât seen you.â
The knight let you undress him, helping you remove piece after piece until he stood completely bare before you for the first time.
Your breath caught.
He was magnificent. Broad shoulders, powerfully sculpted chest marked with old scars, some long and faded, others newer. A few dark tattoos adorned his left pectoral and ribs. His abdomen was ridged with muscle, leading down to narrow hips. His cock hung heavy between his legs, thick and already hard.
You stepped closer, running your hands over his bare chest, tracing every scar with reverent fingers, exploring the strong lines of his back, more scars mapping his battles. He stood perfectly still, letting you admire him, though his breathing had grown heavier.
âYou are⊠so manly, my knight,â you breathed, barely coherent, as your hands returned to his chest, sliding down the hard ridges of his abdomen. âSo big⊠so perfect.â
The room had grown hotter, heavier. The air between you felt charged with months of suppressed longing. Your breaths mingled as you stared into each otherâs eyes... yours wide with awe and desire, his dark with barely restrained hunger.
Sir Jungkookâs control finally snapped. He lifted you and laid you down on the wide couch near the fireplace, pinning your exploring hands above your head with one large hand, holding them there firmly before his body hovered over yours, powerful and imposing, thick cock resting heavy against your inner thigh.
âLook at me,â he commanded, voice low and rough.
You did, heart hammering.
âTell me what you want,â he demanded, eyes burning into yours.
You squirmed beneath him, aching and desperate. âTake me,â you pleaded, trembling. âPlease, Jungkook⊠give it to me. I need you inside me.â
Sir Jungkook let out a low groan at your words. He positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against your soaked folds. He was big, almost intimidatingly so. You felt the stretch even before he pushed in.
âI donât want to hurt you, Your Highness,â he whispered, voice strained with worry and barely contained lust. His dark eyes searched yours, torn between desire and restraint. âYouâre so tight...â
You trembled beneath him, legs parted wide around his hips. âPlease,â you begged softly, cupping his face. âDonât hold back. I need you. All of you.â
The knight exhaled shakily and began to push inside.
The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply as the thick head of his cock breached you, slowly forcing your walls open. Inch by thick inch, he sank deeper, filling you in a way you had never experienced before. It burned sweetly, bordering on too much, making your nails dig into his shoulders.
âAh... JungkookâŠâ you whimpered, tears pricking your eyes at the overwhelming fullness.
He paused halfway, breathing hard, jaw clenched tight. âTell me if itâs too much,â he rasped, rough. âIâll stop. I swear it.â
But you shook your head, wrapping your legs around his waist.
âDonât stop,â you pleaded, voice breaking. âI need you deeper⊠please.â
With a low groan, he pushed the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt. The fullness was devastating. You felt so stretched, so completely claimed, that for a moment you could barely breathe.
Sir Jungkook stayed still, letting you adjust, pressing soft kisses to your tear stained cheeks.
âYouâre taking me so well,â he murmured, voice filled with awe and lust. âSuch a good girl for me.â
When the burn finally melted into aching pleasure, you rolled your hips experimentally.
âMove,â you whispered. âPlease⊠ruin me.â
That was all it took.
Sir Jungkookâs control snapped completely. He pulled back and thrust into you hard, setting a deep, punishing rhythm. Jealousy and months of pent up desire fueled every powerful stroke. The wet, filthy sound of his thick cock slamming into your soaked cunt filled the tower, mixing with your loud, broken moans.
He was a knight sworn to protect the crown, now utterly ruining the very sovereign he had pledged his life to shield.
âMine,â Sir Jungkook growled, biting down on your neck hard enough to leave a dark mark. âNot theirs. Never theirs.â
He ravished you relentlessly, claiming you, marking you. His mouth was everywhere: sucking bruises into your breasts, biting your collarbone, licking the tears from your cheeks. He pinned your wrists above your head again, hips snapping against yours with raw need.
You came hard the first time, screaming his name as your walls clenched violently around his thick length. But he didnât stop. He took you through it, then flipped you onto your hands and knees, on the wide couch.
First, he worshipped.
The knight dropped to his knees behind you, his large hands spreading your cheeks reverently. He leaned in and pressed slow, open mouthed kisses along the curve of your royal backside, lingering presses of his lips that made your breath hitch. He kissed lower, then lower still, until his tongue dragged hot and wet over your soaked folds from behind.
âSo beautiful,â he murmured against your skin, breath hot and heavy. âSo divine. And yet I am going to ruin every sacred inch of you.â
Then the worship turned into ruin.
He rose, gripping your hips with white knuckled force, and thrust into you from behind in one deep, devastating stroke. You cried out sharply at the stretch, the thick length of his cock forcing your walls open, filling you so completely it stole your breath.
You sobbed in pleasure, fingers clawing at the cushions as he drove into you relentlessly. The power he exerted over you was intoxicating. this hardened warrior, dominating you utterly while still worshipping every tremble of your body.
âYou belong to me,â he rasped, ruining you with slow, devastating strokes now. âSay it.â
âIâm yours,â you whimpered, voice breaking. âOnly yours, Jungkook... ahh!â
By the third round, you were a sobbing, whimpering mess, tears streaming down your face from overwhelming pleasure, body covered in his marks, cunt swollen and dripping with your combined release.
He took you in every way he could: against the wall, bent over the couch, riding him as he sat on the edge of the seat, then finally on your back again with your legs over his shoulders as he drove impossibly deep.
All night long, the tower echoed with your moans, his deep groans, the obscene wet sounds of your bodies joining. He claimed you utterly and completely devoted.
When he finally came for the last time, buried deep inside you, he held you tight, spilling pulse after pulse of hot seed into your womb, filling you until you felt impossibly full, claimed from the inside out.
Sir Jeon Jungkook pressed his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against yours with every word.
âYou command the entire kingdom, my lady,â he whispered reverently, âbut here in this hidden place⊠you are mine to ruin.â
You could only tremble in his arms, utterly spent, legs wrapped around his waist, heart pounding wildly as the fire crackled beside you.
The weight of what you had just done, and what it meant for both of you settled uncomfortably in the air. But in that moment, wrapped in his powerful arms, marked and filled by your knight, nothing else in the kingdom mattered.
The days that followed were a delicate illusion of peace.
It was late morning when you found yourself in the secluded royal bathing pool fed by a gentle river, surrounded by floating lily pads and white blossoms that drifted lazily on the current. The water was warm, scented with rose and lavender oils poured in by your maids. Sunlight filtered through the overhanging willow branches, casting soft, dappled light across the surface.
You leaned back against the smooth stone edge, your long dark hair floating around you like ink in water. Your body still carried the secret marks of the previous night, faint bruises on your hips, love bites hidden beneath the waterline, and a persistent, delicious ache between your thighs that reminded you with every shift who had claimed you so thoroughly.
Your maids, Elara, Verra, and old, wise Selyse moved around you carefully. They had raised you since you were a babe, more mothers than servants. They knew you better than anyone.
Elara poured another stream of warm water over your shoulders, her sharp eyes catching the faint flush that still lingered on your cheeks.
âYou are glowing again this morning, my lady,â she said lightly, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. âOne might think the moon itself had kissed your skin.â
Verra, younger and bolder, laughed softly as she massaged oil into your scalp. âOr perhaps a certain tall, dark eyed knight has been keeping you⊠well attended.â
You felt your face heat, but you couldnât stop the small, secret smile that curved your lips.
Selyse, the eldest, clicked her tongue but her eyes were soft with affection. âHush, you two. Our princess has always been radiant. ThoughâŠâ she tilted her head, studying you, âthere is a new light in her eyes these days. And a certain weariness in her step that speaks of long nights.â
You bit your lip, sinking a little lower into the water as lily pads brushed against your skin.
âIt is nothing,â you murmured, though the flush in your cheeks betrayed you.
âNothing?â Vera teased, wading closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially.
âWe have seen you grow from a wild little girl into this breathtaking woman. We know your heart. And we know it does not belong to any of those puffed up princes parading through the halls.â
You reached out, squeezing Elaraâs hand, then Verraâs, your voice dropping to a shy, trembling whisper.
âIt is true,â you confessed, cheeks burning hotter than the midday sun. âI have given myself to Sir Jeon. Body and heart. He is the only man I have ever wanted. The only one who has ever touched me.â
For a heartbeat, silence fell over the bathing pool. Then came the gasps.
Elaraâs eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth. Verra let out a delighted little squeak, nearly dropping the oil vial. Even old Selyse, usually so composed, looked momentarily stunned before her face broke into a warm, knowing smile.
âOh, my sweet girl,â Elara breathed, scandalized, thrilled. âYou wicked little thing! With your own knight? Right under the Kingâs nose?â
Verra giggled uncontrollably, splashing water playfully in your direction. âAnd here we thought you were simply fond of him! All those late night âstargazingâ trips⊠you minx! Was he gentle? Was he⊠big?â
âVerra!â Selyse scolded, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. She turned to you with motherly affection. âThough I must admit, we have suspected for some time. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching⊠that man is utterly gone for you, my lady.â
You buried your face in your hands, mortified but unable to stop the shy, giddy smile spreading across your lips. Your gaze drifted across the river to where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard a respectful distance away, half hidden among the willow trees.
Even from here, you could feel the weight of his stare. He stood tall and imposing in his armor, but his dark eyes were fixed on you with a quiet, burning intensity that always made your stomach flutter.
You bit your lip, still flushed from both the warm water and the memory of his mouth, his hands, his body claiming you so thoroughly the night before.
âHe is⊠everything,â you whispered dreamily, more to yourself than the maids. âStrong. Honorable. And when we are alone⊠he worships me like I am his entire world.â
Verra let out another delighted laugh. âAs he should! Our princess deserves nothing less. Though if the King ever finds outâŠâ
Selyse gently squeezed your shoulder, her voice softening with both love and concern.
âThen we will protect your secret as fiercely as we have protected you all these years,â she said. âYou deserve to love who you love, my dear. Crown or no crown.â
You looked back at Sir Jungkook again. He hadnât moved from his post among the willow trees, tall and steadfast in his armor, but your heart ached with a sharp mix of fear and wonder.
If The King ever discovered the truth, he would not spare your knight. Sir Jungkook would be banished, or worse. And you⊠you would be married off immediately to seal the wound.
The thought disturbed you deeply.
You turned back to the water, forcing a smile for your maids, but the warmth of the bath could no longer chase away the chill settling in your chest.
â
The rumors had begun to spread like fire through the palace corridors.
A lesser knight claimed he had seen âsuspicious movementâ near the eastern tower. One of the visiting princes mentioned, with a sly smile, that the Princess seemed unusually attached to her personal guard. Nothing concrete, nor proven. But the whispers were growing louder.
Your maids noticed your distraction immediately. During your morning dressing, Verra fastened the laces of your gown with unusually tight pulls, her voice urgent.
âMy lady⊠you must be more careful,â she whispered. âSome of the kingâs men have been asking questions about Sir Jeon. They say he spends too many nights away from the barracks. And one of Prince Minâs retainers swears he saw a tall figure slipping into your wing after midnight.â
Elaraâs hands paused on your hair. âThe knight is being cautious now. He avoids being seen with you as much. But you⊠you still look at him like he hung the moon. It is only a matter of time before the King hears something he cannot ignore.â
Selyse placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her eyes full of love and worry. âYou are playing with fire, sweet girl. And fire does not care how much you love it.â
Your heart clenched with fear. You hadnât seen your knight alone in a week. He had been deliberately distant, protecting you both by keeping his distance. The absence gnawed at you like hunger.
That night, you sent for him under the pretense of needing extra security for a private walk in the inner courtyard.
The moment the hidden door to your chambers closed behind him, you were on him.
You pushed Sir Jungkook against the wall, frustration and fear pouring out of you in a desperate kiss. Your hands fisted in his tunic, tugging him closer.
âWhere have you been?â you demanded between kisses, voice shaking. âI was scared. I thought something had happened to you. I thought my father had alreadyââ
âIâm here,â he whispered against your lips, rough with emotion. He pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you. âIâm right here, my love.â
But then he pulled back slightly, forehead pressed to yours. His dark eyes were filled with pain.
âI cannot stay,â he said quietly. The words hit you like a blow. âYour father has ordered me to lead a company to the western borders. There have been reports of raiders. He says it is to prove my devotion to protecting the realm⊠and you. He also made it clear I can no longer linger so closely around you. The rumors are growing too loud.â
You stared at him, heart shattering.
âNo,â you whispered, then louder, âNo. You cannot leave me. Not now. Not after everything.â
Tears stung your eyes as the hurt poured out.
âAfter our first night, you pulled away. You kept your distance like I was poison. And now youâre leaving entirely? What if something happens to you out there? What if I lose you forever? I canât take it, Jungkook. I wonât survive it.â
Your hands moved frantically, tugging at the straps of his armor with desperate, angry fingers.
âI donât care about the king. I donât care about the borders. I only care about you.â
Piece by piece, you stripped him. The armor fell to the floor with heavy clangs until he stood completely bare before you, broad chest, scarred skin, powerful frame looking every bit of the warrior he was. You shoved him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.
Sir Jungkookâs hands moved instinctively to the laces of your corset, trying to free you fully, but you slapped his hand away, tears already glistening in your eyes.
But the knight was patient. He sat up slowly, your legs still wrapped tightly around his waist, and gently cupped your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed away the tears on your cheeks with heartbreaking tenderness.
âMy love,â he whispered, voice soothing, âLet me worship you. Let me take care of you tonight. Please.â
He leaned in and captured one of your sensitive breasts in his mouth, sucking slowly. His tongue swirled around your stiff nipple, drawing a shaky moan from you. He moved to the other, giving it the same devoted attention, sucking and licking until your back arched and fresh tears slipped down your cheeks, this time from overwhelming sensation and emotion.
Holding you close, then gently but firmly, Sir Jungkook leaned back, gripping your hips and guiding you upward. In one rapid motion, he pulled you over his face, settling you directly onto his waiting mouth. Your soaked folds pressed flush against his lips and tongue, your thighs framing his head as he looked up at you with pure hunger.
âUse me,â he growled against your dripping folds, the vibration sending sparks through your core. âPleasure yourself on my tongue love. I want to drown in you.â
You hesitated for half a second, still shy and nervous, cheeks burning hot even as your body screamed for more. But the frantic ache between your legs won out. You lowered yourself more fully, your slick cunt sliding over his mouth, his nose buried against your clit. He groaned loudly, the sound muffled and obscene as he immediately speared his tongue deep inside you, licking and sucking at your juices like a man starved.
You started moving almost desperately, grinding down with frantic little rocks of your hips. Shyness still flickered in your chest, making you whimper and bite your lip, but the pleasure overrode everything. Your hands braced on the headboard as wet, filthy sounds filled the room, the slick slide of your cunt over his tongue, his eager slurping and moaning, the way he sucked your swollen clit between his lips and flicked it mercilessly.
âOh gods...â you gasped. Your thighs trembled around his head as you grew bolder, grinding harder, smearing your arousal all over his face. He gripped your cheeks, spreading them, holding you down so you could use him exactly how you needed. His tongue ravished in and out of your dripping hole, then flattened to lap broad strokes from your entrance to your clit, devouring every drop.
But it wasnât enough.
You lifted off his face with a wet pop, strings of your arousal connecting you to his glistening mouth. His eyes were dark, lips swollen and shiny with your juices. Before he could speak, you slid down his body impatiently.
You straddled his hips, wrapped your hand around his thick, throbbing cock, and sank down onto him in one frantic motion.
The stretch made you cry out, but you didnât stop. You rode him hard, bouncing on his length with frantic, emotional need, your breasts bouncing heavily with every harsh drop of your hips.
âDonât leave me,â you sobbed, riding him faster, tears falling onto his chest. âPlease, Jungkook⊠I canât lose you. Not after this. Not after youâve ruined me for anyone else.â
He thrust up to meet you, matching your desperate rhythm, his strong hands gripping your hips to guide you deeper.
âI donât want to go,â he rasped, voice breaking with the same pain. âBut I must. Your father commands it. I have to prove my loyalty⊠so I can stay by your side.â
You leaned down, kissing him messily through your tears, riding him like you could keep him here forever if you just moved fast enough.
âThen stay inside me,â you begged, voice cracking. âFill me up. So deep that a part of you stays with me even when youâre gone. I want to carry you with me when they try to take you away.â
Sir Jungkook groaned deeply. His hands tightened on your hips as he suddenly flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath his powerful body.
He made love to you then, with deep, devastating strokes that reached the very core of you. His mouth never left your skin, sucking marks into your neck, whispering promises between every thrust.
âYou are mine,â he breathed against your lips, hips rolling deeply. âI will come back to you. I will fill you again and again until you swell with our future.â
You wrapped your arms and legs around him, clinging desperately as another orgasm built inside you. When it finally crashed over you, you sobbed his name, walls pulsing tightly around his thick cock.
Sir Jungkook followed right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a low, guttural groan. He came hard, flooding your womb with thick, pulsing ropes of his seed, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge your souls together.
Even after, he stayed buried inside you, pressing soft kisses to your damp forehead, your cheeks, your trembling lips.
âI donât want you to go,â you whispered, small and broken. âI love you too much.â
Sir Jungkook pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his arms never loosening. âI know, my love,â he murmured. âAnd that is why I must return to you. No matter what.â
The weeks following Sir Jungkookâs departure had stretched into an endless gray fog.
You moved through your royal duties like a ghost wearing a crown. You sat through council meetings with a straight spine and a hollow smile, listening to nobles bicker about alliances, trade routes while your mind wandered back to your knightâs strong arms. Every night since, your bed felt too large, too cold. You would press your face into the pillow he had once used and fight the ache in your chest.
You missed him with a desperation that bordered on madness.
This morning was no different. You had barely kept your breakfast down before the maids helped you into a heavy velvet gown the color of deep wine for yet another assembly with potential suitors. The princes and lords from neighboring kingdoms were growing impatient. Your coronation was only a month away, and the pressure to choose a consort was mounting like a noose around your throat.
By midday, the nausea returned with a vengeance. You barely made it through the formal greetings before excusing yourself to the private solar, hand pressed to your mouth.
Elara followed quickly with a basin. You retched violently into it, eyes watering.
âYour HighnessâŠâ she whispered, rubbing gentle circles on your back.
âIâm fine,â you rasped, waving her away. âJust⊠something I ate.â
But it wasnât.
Later that evening, after the dayâs obligations were finally over, Vera and Selyse insisted on the usual massage to ease the tension in your shoulders. They helped you out of your gown until you lay on the wide cushioned table in nothing but a thin silk shift.
The moment Selyseâs skilled hands moved over your breasts, the older maid froze.
Verra, who was working on your legs, also stilled.
ââŠYour Highness,â Selyse said carefully, âYour breasts⊠they are fuller. Tender, yes?â
Your breath hitched. You had noticed it days ago but had tried to ignore the swelling, the sensitivity. The way even the softest fabric sometimes made you wince.
Verraâs hands gently pressed against your lower belly, not quite a touch, more an assessment. âAnd the sickness every morning⊠the fatigue⊠the way youâve been crying in your chambersâŠâ
Your eyes filled with tears. You turned your face into your folded arms, shoulders shaking.
Selyse knelt beside the table, taking your hand gently. âMy lady⊠are you with a child?â
You didnât answer at first. Then a broken sob escaped you.
âI think so,â you whispered. âI⊠I donât know for certain, but the timingâŠâ Your voice cracked. âIt would be his. Sir Jungkookâs.â
Both maids exchanged a heavy glance. This changed everything.
Verra spoke softly, âMy lady... with your coronation approaching. The lords are already circling like vultures, pushing their sons at you. If this comes out before you choose a princeâŠâ
âI know,â you said, voice muffled. Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks. âI know what it means. But I canât⊠I canât just marry one of them. Not when Iâm carrying the child of the only man Iâve ever loved.â
You sat up slowly, clutching the silk shift to your chest, arms wrapped protectively around your still flat stomach.
âMy dear knight...â you sniffled. âHe is out there fighting gods-know-what, and Iâm here pretending to be the perfect princess while my body betrays our secret.â
Selyse brushed a strand of hair from your face with motherly tenderness. âWe can hide it a little longer, Highness. Looser gowns. Ginger tea for the sickness. But you must decide soon what path you will take. The child⊠it will not stay hidden forever.â
You nodded, but your heart was breaking all over again. The thought of choosing one of those cold, ambitious princes while carrying Sir Jungkookâs child made you feel ill all over again.
Selyse pressed a kiss to the top of your head, her voice firm with loyalty. âWe pray he returns soon, my lady. And until then, we will guard you and this little one with our lives.â
â
The weeks blurred into months as winter settled over the kingdom like a heavy white shroud. Snow blanketed the towers and gardens, turning the world soft and silent, yet inside your chest, the storm only grew louder.
Sir Jeon Jungkook had not returned.
Your belly had swelled noticeably now, a gentle but undeniable curve that marked the life growing within you. With the help of Elara, Verra, and Selyse, you hid it beneath layers of loose, flowing gowns and heavy cloaks lined with fur.
The rich fabrics concealed the truth for now, but you could no longer ignore the way your body changed, the tender fullness of your breasts, the occasional flutter of movement beneath your skin, and the constant, bone deep exhaustion.
You had begun excusing yourself from the suitorsâ assemblies more frequently, claiming headaches or matters of state. But the King, grew increasingly impatient.
In the grand throne room one frost laced afternoon, he fixed you with a stern gaze as snow fell outside the tall windows. âYou cannot delay any longer, daughter,â he spoke, heavy with royal command. âPrince Min of Viena is a strong candidate. The coronation is weeks away. You must choose a consort soon. The realm needs stability.â
You bowed your head, hands clasped tightly over your hidden belly beneath the voluminous velvet. âYes, Father,â you murmured, the lie tasting like ash. Inside, your heart screamed for the only man you wanted.
Every few days, with your maidsâ help, you sent letters. Verra would sneak them to a trusted rider, sealed with your private wax. You poured your soul onto the parchment; how much you missed him, the way your body was changing, the secret you carried, your love that only deepened with every passing day. Yet no responses ever came. The silence gnawed at you, feeding nightmares of him lying wounded on some distant battlefield or worse.
The worry became unbearable.
One bitter winter morning, wrapped in a thick hooded cloak that concealed your swollen middle, you slipped away from the castle with only Elara and Selyse accompanying you. The three of you rode through the snow dusted forest to a modest stone cottage on the outskirts of the kingdom, the home where Sir Jungkook had grown up.
When the door opened, an older woman with kind eyes and streaks of silver in her dark hair stood before you. Sir Jungkookâs mother. She froze at the sight of the princess on her doorstep, her hand flying to her chest.
âYour HighnessâŠ?â she whispered, stunned. âSurely I do not deserve to be blessed with your presence at my humble door. Please, come inside before the cold takes you.â
She ushered you, Elara, and Selyse quickly into the warm cottage, the scent of pinewood and baking bread wrapping around you like an embrace. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth as she helped you remove your snow dusted cloak. Only when you were seated by the fire did her gaze drop to the unmistakable swell of your belly beneath the loose gown.
You took a steadying breath, your hands resting protectively over your rounded stomach.
âI carry his child,â you said softly, trembling with emotion. âYour sonâs. Sir Jungkookâs. He does not know yet⊠he has not returned, and I⊠I needed to feel close to him somehow.â
Jungkookâs mother, Maera, stood completely still for a long moment, her eyes wide with shock. Then her hand flew to her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes.
âOh⊠gods above,â she breathed, her voice cracking. âA grandchildâŠ? From my Jungkook?â Fresh tears flowed freely as she dropped to her knees in front of you, taking your hands in hers with deep reverence. âMy lady⊠my princess. You honor me beyond words. You honor my son. To think that you, a royal daughter, would carry his child⊠I am stunned. Truly stunned. And so deeply moved.â
She pressed her forehead to your knuckles, weeping quietly with pure joy and emotion. When she lifted her head again, her eyes shone with fierce affection.
âYou are already family to me,â she whispered. âCome here, sweet child.â She rose and pulled you into a warm embrace, cradling you gently as if you were made of glass. âYou must be so frightened, carrying this secret alone while he is away. But you are not alone anymore. Not while I draw breath.â
You felt safe in her arms, the weight on your heart easing just a little as winter wind howled softly outside the cottage walls.
After composing herself, Maera wiped her tears and fetched a small wooden chest from a shelf. She sat beside you, opening it with trembling hands.
âLook,â she said tenderly, pulling out several treasured items. She showed you a faded sketch of a chubby baby with dark, serious eyes âSir Jungkook as an infant. Another portrait showed him as a sturdy little boy of four, holding a wooden sword with determination. There was even a lock of his soft baby hair tied with a ribbon.
âHe was always so intense, even as a babe,â she said with a watery laugh. âStrong and quiet⊠but when he smiled, the whole world lit up. Just like I imagine your little one will.â
You traced the portraits with gentle fingers, tears slipping down your own cheeks. Seeing these glimpses of him as a child made your love for the knight swell even deeper. You could so clearly picture your baby with his eyes, his strength, his rare smile. The thought made your heart ache with both joy and longing.
Maera kept one hand over yours, cherishing you openly. âThank you for coming to me,â she murmured. âFor trusting me with this precious news. We will wait for him together, my daughter. And when he returns, he will be the happiest man alive.â
The two of you sat by the fire for a long while â his mother and the mother of his child, talking softly as snow continued to fall outside, bound by love for the same man.
The days after your visit to Maeraâs cottage only deepened the ache in your soul. Winter grew harsher, and so did your impatience. Every morning you woke with your hands on your swelling belly, feeling the strong kicks of his child, and the longing became unbearable.
One evening in the royal chambers, you fell to your knees before the King, tears streaming down your face. âFather, please⊠I beg you. Bring Sir Jungkook back. I need him. I cannot do this without him.â
The King frowned, confused by your desperation. âDaughter, he is leading my forces on the border. The realm needs him there. Why this sudden insistence on one knight?â
You could not tell him the truth. âI just⊠need him,â you whispered brokenly. âPlease.â
He did not relent. The pressure to choose a suitor only intensified.
And then the sickness took hold.
Your body ached constantly. deep soreness in your back, hips, and breasts that made every movement painful. The babyâs kicks, once a comfort, now left you breathless. You grew feverish and weak.
Elara, Verra, and Selyse rarely left your side, forcing herbal teas and bitter medicines down your throat while piling warm blankets over you. For nearly a week you were bedridden, barely able to leave your chambers, hidden away from the court under the excuse of a winter chill.
One cold, silent night, as snow tapped gently against the window panes, you drifted in and out of a fevered haze. The herbs made the world soft and blurry around the edges.
You thought it was a dream when the heavy door to your chambers opened with a quiet creak and a tall, familiar figure stepped inside, shedding his snow dusted cloak. The firelight caught on his sharp jawline and those intense dark eyes.
Strong arms slipped beneath you, lifting you carefully as he climbed into your grand bed. A warm, calloused hand gently cradled your swollen belly. You felt the press of soft, reverent lips against the curve of your stomach.
âMy loveâŠâ The knightâs deep voice whispered against your skin, rough with emotion. âIâm here. I finally came back to you.â
âJungkookâŠ?â you murmured drowsily, eyelids heavy, unsure if this was real or another cruel dream born of longing and medicine.
âItâs me,â he breathed, pulling your body flush against his solid chest. He was real. warm, solid, smelling of snow, leather, and the faint scent of campfires. âIâve been aching for you every single day. Your touch, your voice⊠it kept me alive out there.â
His large hand stroked slow, soothing circles over your rounded belly, feeling the baby shift and kick beneath his palm. He lowered his head, pressing his lips directly to the taut skin.
You let out a tired, broken sound. âYou left me⊠You promised youâd come back sooner. Look at me⊠Iâm so sore, so heavy with your child, and you werenât hereâŠâ
Sir Jungkook chuckled softly, the sound warm against your skin, even as his eyes glistened with unshed tears. âI know, my princess. I deserve your scolding. Iâm deeply sorry.â He kissed your belly again and again, soft open mouthed presses wherever he could reach. Then he trailed his lips higher, attaching his mouth gently to the swollen, aching curve of your breasts, sucking lightly and kissing away the soreness with such care that you whimpered in relief.
His hands never stopped moving, massaging the deep ache in your lower back, cupping and gently holding your heavy breasts to ease their weight, stroking your hips and thighs. He intertwined his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly as if afraid you might vanish.
âYou are unreal, my love.â he murmured, voice hoarse with awe as he looked at you. âYour glow⊠itâs deeper now. The way pregnancy has changed you⊠youâre beyond anything I could have imagined. You shine like starlight. Carrying our child has only made you more radiant, more mine.â
You clung to him weakly, drowsy but desperate for his touch. âThe baby⊠it kicks so much. I donât know if itâs a boy or a girl⊠but it feels like you. Strong and stubborn.â
Jungkook smiled against your temple, one hand still resting warmly over your belly. âThis child is the product of our love. A piece of both of us. I already love them more than life.â He kissed you deeply, slowly, pouring months of aching into it. âEvery battle, every cold night, I thought only of coming home to you like this⊠holding you, feeling our baby move, worshipping the body thatâs creating our future.â
He continued kissing every place that ached... the sides of your breasts, the curve of your belly, the inside of your wrist, his mouth soft and devoted. You melted into him, the pain easing under his gentle care as he held you close.
âStayâŠâ you whispered tiredly, already slipping back into sleep.
âIâm here right now,â he promised, lips brushing your ear. âSleep, my love. Iâve got you both.â
When morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, you woke slowly, body still aching but strangely comforted.
The bed beside you was cold. No warmth lingered. No cloak on the chair. No scent of him on the pillows. Only the faint memory of strong hands, whispered words to your belly, and soft kisses remained.
You touched your swollen stomach, feeling another firm kick, and tears filled your eyes.
Was it a dream? A fevered hallucination woven from medicine, longing, and love? Or had Sir Jungkook truly returned to you in the dead of night⊠only to disappear again before dawn?
The herbs and medicines your maids prepared worked their magic. The fever finally broke, the deep soreness in your body eased into a manageable ache, and the constant nausea faded. Though you were still tired, your strength slowly returned. Your belly continued to grow rounder and heavier, the babyâs kicks becoming more insistent and lively.
One quiet winter evening, when the moon hung full over the snow covered palace, your maids turned your chambers into a secret sanctuary.
Accompanied by Sir Jungkookâs mother, they had worked together in absolute secrecy. No one outside your trusted circle knew. They had decorated the large private solar adjacent to your bedroom with soft candlelight, evergreen boughs, and winter white roses. Warm furs and silk pillows were arranged in a luxurious nest near the hearth. Incense of myrrh filled the air, and a small table held gifts wrapped in fine cloth.
They helped you into a loose, flowing gown of the softest ivory silk that draped beautifully over your swollen belly, leaving your shoulders bare. When you stepped into the room, all four women bowed their heads in reverence.
Selyse took your hand and guided you to the center of the soft pillows. âTonight we celebrate you, my lady. And the precious life you carry. No one else will know of this blessing. It is ours alone.â
They treated you with deep adoration, as though you were sacred.
Elara gently massaged your feet with warm scented oil while Maera brushed your hair until it shone. Verra offered you sweet honeyed fruits and warm spiced milk, foods meant to nourish both you and the baby. Selyse laid her hands lightly on your rounded belly and spoke soft blessings for a safe birth and a strong child.
Selyse, ever wise, placed a small crown of dried herbs and winter berries on your head. âYou are the vessel of love and life,â she murmured. âEven in these uncertain times, you bloom. We honor you as our princess⊠and as the mother of Sir Jungkookâs heir.â
You felt tears prick your eyes as they presented their secret gifts: tiny embroidered blankets, a soft knitted cap in deep green, a small silver pendant shaped like a blooming rose, a symbol of motherhood.
Vera leaned her cheek against your belly for a moment, grinning when the baby kicked in response. âHe or she is strong already. Just like their father.â
You placed both hands over your swollen stomach, feeling another firm flutter. The warmth of their love and the secret celebration soothed the constant ache of missing your knight.
âThank you,â you whispered, âAll of you. I donât know what I would do without you.â
Elara kissed your temple. âWe will keep you and this little one safe until Sir Jungkook returns. And he will return.â
The warmth of the secret celebration lingered on your skin as you returned to your chambers that night. The maids had just helped you out of the ivory silk gown when a royal messenger knocked urgently.
âThe King demands your presence immediately, Your Highness. In his private study.â
You had no time to prepare. Still glowing from the love and blessings of your maids, you wrapped yourself in a heavy velvet robe that concealed your very swollen belly and followed the messenger.
The moment you entered the study, the atmosphere turned icy. Your father stood behind his desk, several of your letters spread before him.
âDaughter,â he spoke, controlled. âI have given you time to come to me yourself. I know you have been sending letters to the front lines. To Sir Jungkook, specifically.â He turned to face you, his expression stern but not yet furious. âI know of your⊠admiration for him. Speak truthfully now. What is this attachment?â
Your throat tightened. This was the moment. With your belly heavy with his child and your heart aching, you could no longer hide everything.
âFatherâŠâ you began, voice trembling as you stepped closer. âIt is more than admiration. I love him. Sir Jungkook is the only man I want.â Your hands instinctively moved to cradle your stomach. âAnd I⊠I am carrying his child.â
Silence crashed over the room.
The Kingâs eyes widened, then narrowed sharply as his gaze dropped to the unmistakable swell beneath your gown. His face darkened with shock, then rage.
âYou what?â he hissed. âA knightâs bastard? While I have been parading princes before you? While the entire realm waits for you to secure the throne with a proper alliance?â
âFather, please,â you begged, tears filling your eyes. âIt is his. Our love is real. If you would only let him return, we couldââ
The Kingâs face twisted with fury. âYou dare speak such filth to me? A royal princess swollen with a common knightâs bastard?â
You rebelled, voice shaking but defiant. âIt is not filth. It is love. I will not marry Prince Min. I will not let you use me as a pawn for alliances while I carry the man I loveâs child.â
âEnough!â The King slammed his fist on the table, making you flinch. âI have been patient with your childish infatuation, but this is treason against your bloodline. You will do as you are told! Your fate is sealed. You will marry Prince Min before the month ends.â
Later that same night, before your maids could even calm you, you found your most trusted rider in the stables. With tears streaming down your face and snow falling around you, you whispered your final message: âTell him⊠tell Sir Jungkook that I will wait for him. No matter how long it takes. My heart is his alone. I will wait.â
The rider bowed and galloped into the night. No response ever came.
The next weeks were a nightmare.
Prince Min visited often, his eyes raking over your body with open lust and infatuation. He complimented your âethereal glowâ, clearly aroused by your pregnant form, but his arrogance disgusted you. He spoke openly of claiming the throne through you, of bedding you the moment you were his. You hated him with every fiber of your being.
You fought your father harder than ever, refusing to attend meetings with Prince Min, screaming that you would rather die than marry him. But the King had reached his limit.
One brutal afternoon, he summoned you again and placed a bloodied cloak and a forged letter before you.
âSir Jeon Jungkook is dead,â he said flatly. âHe fell in battle two weeks ago. This is proof.â
The world shattered.
You collapsed to the floor, a guttural sob tearing from your throat. The baby inside you kicked as if sensing your pain. From that moment, you broke completely.
You refused to eat. You barely slept. You stopped speaking, even to Elara, Verra, and Selyse who begged you through tears to think of the child. You lay in bed for days, staring at nothing, your once radiant glow fading into pale exhaustion. Your maids feared for both your life and the babyâs.
Despite how numb you had become, when your maids gently suggested taking you to Maeraâs quiet home on the edge of the forest, you agreed without protest. You were taken there in secret under the cover of night.
Maera, a strong but grieving woman with the same dark eyes as her son, took you in without question. She cared for you with quiet hands and even quieter words. You didnât speak much to her either, but you accepted her care wholeheartedly. After all, she was mourning the loss of her son, and you were mourning the loss of your lover and the father of your child.
The King, despite his fury, still sent guards to watch over you from a distance. You were still royalty, still carrying what he believed might be his grandchild. But you could only think of the protection you once had... the strongest, safest pair of arms that had ever wrapped around you.
You mourned deeply. But you couldnât be completely selfish with a baby on the way, restless and eager to come into the world.
The labor came on a stormy night.
The pains started suddenly and violently. Maera and your maids worked frantically around you as you screamed and cried, gripping the sheets until your knuckles turned white. The King himself had ridden out in secret when he heard you had gone into labor, standing outside the cottage with a face pale with rare fear.
He didnât know how to comfort you. He only knew one thing, his daughter was calling for her knight in her delirium.
Even though he viewed the child as the product of a sinful affair, something in him softened at the sound of your broken sobs. He could not lose you.
Inside the cottage, you gave birth to a baby girl.
She was small, chubby, with a shock of raven hair and big, dark eyes that looked exactly like her fatherâs. The moment the midwife placed her on your chest, fresh tears streamed down your face.
âShe looks like himâŠâ you whispered, hoarse and broken. âMy little love⊠she has his eyes.â
You held her close, sobbing softly as the pain and grief mixed with a fragile, overwhelming love. Even in your exhaustion, you couldnât stop crying. You believed Sir Jungkook was dead. The thought that your daughter would never know her father tore you apart.
Maera wept beside you, gently stroking your hair. âSheâs beautiful,â she whispered. âJust like her mother.â
Outside, the King stood in the rain, waiting.
When the door finally opened and the midwife stepped out, he demanded to know if you and the child were alive. Upon hearing they both were, something in his hardened heart shifted.
He turned to his captain without a word and gave the order.
âSend riders to the western borders at once. Bring Sir Jeon Jungkook back. Tell him⊠his princess has need of him.â
It would take time. The borders were far, and the roads were muddy from the storms. A week, perhaps a month.
In the quiet warmth of the cottage, you held your newborn daughter against your chest, wrapped in soft linen.
You rocked her gently as she fussed against your breast, nursing hungrily. Your maids and Maera moved around you, bringing broth, fresh cloths, and ever soft words. But you barely spoke. The grief had hollowed you out.
âI wish you could meet your father,â you whispered to the baby one quiet night, voice cracking. Tears slipped down your cheeks as she latched on again. âHe would have held you so carefully. He would have loved you more than anything in this world. He would have protected us bothâŠâ
Maera sat beside you, her own eyes red from mourning. She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. âHe would have been so proud,â she said softly. âOf both of you.â
You could only nod, throat too tight to speak. The emptiness inside you felt endless. Every time the baby cried, every time she looked up at you with those familiar dark eyes, the pain returned like a fresh wound.
The King demanded your return to the palace, as you were still royalty, still bound to your fatherâs will despite carrying a child out of wedlock. He wrote letter after letter insisting you resume your duties and prepare for the inevitable marriage to Prince Min. You refused to answer most of them.
Your maids tried their best to comfort you, but even they could not reach the depths of your sorrow. The only light in your world was your daughter. Tiny, perfect, with Jungkookâs dark eyes and a tuft of raven hair. You held her constantly, whispering stories about her father, singing lullabies with a voice that often broke halfway through.
You mourned him deeply. The King had not even granted him a proper funeral. No rites. No chance to say goodbye. Just a bloodied cloak and a cold declaration.
One quiet evening, Maera left the cottage to fetch groceries from the nearby village. Your maids had been called back to the palace on the Kingâs orders, duties they could not refuse. For the first time in weeks, it was just you and your baby in the small, warm cottage.
You sat by the window, cradling her in your arms. She cooed softly, tiny fingers wrapping around yours as you gently rocked her. For a few precious minutes, you allowed yourself to smile a real, soft smile as you played with her little hands and kissed her forehead.
âMy baby,â you whispered, âThe loveliest babe. Donât tell the queens and princesses, I think theyâd be terribly jealous.â
The baby blinked up at you. âOh, yes,â you continued solemnly. âEspecially of those cheeks.â
You leaned back in the chair as exhaustion eventually won over you, your eyes growing heavy. With your daughter nestled safely against your chest, sleep claimed you quickly.
When you woke, the cottage was awfully quiet.
Your arms were empty.
Panic slammed into you like a physical blow. You shot upright, heart hammering wildly as you looked around the room.
The baby was gone.
âNo⊠no, no, no...â you gasped, stumbling to your feet, voice rising into a broken sob. âWhere is my baby?!â
You searched frantically, under the blankets, behind the chairs, near the hearth, terror clawing at your throat. Your mind spun with nightmarish possibilities. Had someone taken her? Had the King sent men to steal her away?
Then you saw him.
A tall figure standing near the doorway, cradling your daughter gently in his strong arms. She was sleeping peacefully against his chest, tiny fist curled into his tunic.
Your knees buckled.
It was Sir Jungkook.
He looked exhausted, travel worn, mud on his boots, shadows under his eyes, but he was alive. Real. His dark eyes met yours, filled with unbearable love and pain.
You stared at him, trembling violently, refusing to believe what you were seeing.
âNoâŠâ you whispered, shaking your head. âNo, no, this isnât real. Youâre dead. They told me you were dead. This is another dream. You always come in my dreams and then you leave me againââ
Your voice cracked into a sob as you backed away, hands clutching your chest.
âYou left me,â you cried, tears streaming down your face. âYou left me and our child. I mourned you. I almost died mourning you. Please⊠donât do this to me again. I canât take another dream. I canât wake up to find you gone again.â
Sir Jungkookâs face crumpled with anguish. He took one careful step forward, still cradling your daughter like the most precious thing in the world.
âMy love,â he said hoarsely, voice breaking. âItâs not a dream. Iâm here. Iâm real. Your father⊠he lied. He sent me away to the borders to keep me from you. But I came back the moment he allowed it. I rode without stopping.â
You shook your head harder, tears falling faster, refusing to believe it even as your heart screamed at you to run to him.
âYouâre dead,â you repeated, voice small and shattered. âYou have to be dead⊠because if youâre not, then you let me believe it. You never answered my letters. Not one. I wrote to you every single day, pouring my heart out, begging you to come back to me, to our child⊠and you never...â
Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as the pain twisted deeper.
âYou were in on it, werenât you?â you whispered, voice breaking. âYou let my father tell me you were gone. You left me here to rot in grief while I carried your child alone. How could you?â
The knightâs face crumpled with agony. He took a step forward, but you flinched, and he stopped immediately, hands trembling at his sides.
Before he could speak, your daughter stirred in his arms. As if sensing the suffocating tension in the room, she let out a sharp, hungry cry, her little lips puckering, tiny fists waving.
You moved without thinking, reaching for her. Sir Jungkook gently handed her over, his hands lingering for a moment as if afraid to let go. You turned away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed and loosening your dress to feed her. The baby latched on eagerly, her cries softening into small, contented sounds.
The knight stood there, watching you in silence. He looked lost, this battle-hardened soldier, returned from war, now completely unsure how to comfort the woman he loved. He slowly lowered himself to his knees in the middle of the room, head bowed.
âI wrote to you,â he admitted hoarsely. âEvery chance I had. Your father⊠he made sure none of my letters reached you. He wanted you to believe I was gone. I fought every day to come back to you. I almost died trying to get word to you.â
You didnât look at him. You kept your eyes on your daughter, tears falling silently onto her soft hair.
âI mourned you like a widow,â you whispered, voice thick with pain. âI almost died. And now youâre here⊠acting like you didnât abandon me when I needed you most.â
The words cut awfully deep. Sir Jungkookâs shoulders slumped, but he stayed on his knees, silent and respectful, giving you the space your wounded heart demanded.
Your daughter stirred in your arms, letting out a small, distressed whimper as if she could sense the storm raging between her parents. You rocked her gently, pressing a kiss to her soft raven hair.
âShh, my sweet one,â you cooed softly, âMamaâs here. Youâre safe.â
Sir Jungkookâs hands twitched at his sides, aching to reach out, to touch you, to hold both of you, but he remained still, jaw clenched tight. He was no longer in full armor, only a worn tunic and breeches, his appearance shambled from the long ride, fresh bruises blooming across his knuckles and jaw.
You turned away from him, focusing on the small tasks that had become your life in the cottage. The rain outside grew heavier, pounding against the roof like a relentless drum.
You moved about the space, stirring the pot of stew over the fire, folding fresh linens, anything to keep your hands busy and your mind from breaking completely.
Hours passed in heavy silence. When your daughter finally grew fussy again, you nursed her by the hearth until her little eyes fluttered shut. You laid her gently in the wooden cradle Maera had prepared, stroking her cheek one last time before covering her with a soft blanket.
Only then did you notice movement near the door.
Sir Jungkook was standing there, cloak in hand, quietly preparing to leave.
Something inside you fractured. You stepped toward him, voice cracking. âYouâre leaving again?â
He turned slowly, eyes filled with torment. âI was only going to check the perimeter. The rain is heavy, and I⊠I didnât want to burden you further.â
You stared at him, this warrior who had survived hell just to return to you, and the dam finally broke.
âCome here,â you whispered.
He obeyed without hesitation.
You led him to your bed and with trembling hands, you began removing his tunic, revealing the damage the war had left behind.
New bruises painted his ribs and shoulders in shades of purple and blue. Fresh scars, still healing, cut across his chest and abdomen. He looked harder, a man who had walked through fire and barely returned.
Your lips trembled, but you forced yourself to stay steady. You turned away briefly, gathering clean linen strips, salve, and a bowl of warm water. When you returned, the knight stood perfectly still, letting you see all of him, the bruises, the brutal evidence of everything he had endured just to return to you.
You began tending to him in silence, your hands gentle as you cleaned a particularly nasty cut along his side. But the more you looked, the more the dam inside you cracked.
âWhat have they done to you, Jungkook?â you whispered, voice breaking. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you carefully wrapped a bandage around his ribs. âYouâre⊠youâre covered in pain. All of this⊠just to come back to me?â
He stood motionless, letting you care for him, but his dark eyes never left your face.
âI would go through it a thousand times more,â he said softly, âif it meant coming back to you and our daughter.â
You shook your head, fresh tears falling as you pressed a bandage over another wound. âDonât say that. Donât you dare say that. I canât bear thinking of you suffering like this. I thought you were dead. I thought I would never see you again, and now youâre here⊠broken because of me.â
Sir Jungkook slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of you, even though you were still trying to tend to him. The powerful knight, the man who had survived war, knelt before you like the loyal protector he had always been.
âYour Highness,â he murmured, head slightly bowed, voice thick with emotion. âI failed you. I wasnât here when you needed me most. I wasnât here when you carried our child. I wasnât here when you gave birth. I wasnât here when they told you I was gone. Forgive me.â
You dropped the bandages and pulled him into your arms, holding his head to your chest. His arms wrapped around your waist instantly, clinging to you like a man who had almost lost everything.
A broken sob tore from his throat.
Your knight, your warrior, the strongest person you had ever known, cried against your chest like a child. Deep, shuddering sobs that shook his powerful frame as his arms tightened around you.
âI thought I lost you,â he choked out, voice muffled against your skin. âEvery night on the border, I prayed I would make it back to you. To both of you.â
You held him tighter, fingers threading through his raven hair, your own tears falling onto his head.
âYouâre here now,â you whispered, rocking him gently. âYouâre here. You came back to us. Thatâs all that matters.â
For a long time, the only sounds in the cottage were the rain outside, the crackling fire, and the quiet, heartbroken sobs of a knight who had finally returned to his princess.
â
The rain had not eased by the middle of the night. It hammered against the thatched roof like an impatient army. You had fallen asleep in Jungkookâs arms on the narrow bed, your daughter nestled safely in her cradle beside you. For the first time in months, your sleep was deep and dreamless.
A sharp knock on the cottage door shattered the peace.
Sir Jungkook was awake in an instant. He slipped from the bed silently, pulling on his tunic and reaching for the sword he had left by the door. His body was still tense from war, every muscle ready for threat.
âStay here,â he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. âI will see who it is.â
But you already knew.
A cold certainty settled in your chest. You rose, wrapping a shawl around your shoulders, and followed him despite his warning. Your daughter stirred but remained asleep.
Sir Jungkook opened the door, sword half drawn, rain pouring behind the figure standing outside.
It was the King.
Your father stood in the downpour, cloak heavy with water, face pale and drawn. Guards waited at a respectful distance, torches flickering weakly in the storm. His eyes moved past your knight and landed on you.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then the King stepped inside without invitation, water dripping onto the wooden floor. His gaze softened when it fell on you â his only daughter, still pale from childbirth, carrying the weight of grief and motherhood.
âMy child,â he said, voice rough. âYou must return to the palace. You are still royalty. Still my blood. You do not belong in a cottage like this.â
You stood straighter, even as exhaustion and lingering pain made your body ache.
âI belong where I choose,â you replied quietly, but firmly. âAnd I will not return without Sir Jeon. He is my knight. He is the father of my daughter. He stays with me.â
The Kingâs jaw tightened. He glanced at Jungkook, who stood tall and silent beside you, sword now lowered but ready.
âI know what you are to each other,â the King said heavily. âI have known for some time. Prince Min is a fool and a coward, but his bloodline is strong. The allianceââ
âI will not marry him,â you cut in, voice steady despite the tears gathering in your eyes. âI will return to the palace. I will perform my duties as princess, as future queen. I will be the ruler this kingdom needs. But only if Sir Jungkook remains at my side. As my knight. As the man I have chosen. As the only man with any right to me.â
The King looked at you for a long time. He saw the woman you had become, not just his rebellious daughter, but a figure of quiet strength. The people in the surrounding villages spoke of you with reverence. They told stories of the princess who helped common women, shared food during hard winters, who listened to their troubles as if they mattered as much as any nobleâs.
The King exhaled slowly, defeated but not broken.
âVery well,â he said at last. âSir Jeon will return with you. He will remain your personal knight. But this⊠affair⊠must remain hidden from the court. For now.â
You nodded once, relief flooding through you.
The Kingâs gaze drifted to the cradle where your daughter slept. He had not yet seen her. You had kept her away from him, protecting her with every fiber of your being.
He took one hesitant step toward the cradle, then stopped, as if afraid.
The Kingâs shoulders sagged. For the first time in years, he looked truly old.
âBring her home,â he said quietly. âBoth of you. We will find a way.â
When the heavy door of the cottage finally closed behind your father, you let out a huge, shaky sigh. The weight of the conversation pressed on your chest like a stone. You turned and walked to the cradle, gently lifting your daughter into your arms. She stirred but settled quickly against your chest.
Sir Jungkook followed silently behind you, his presence warm.
âI would not trust him,â you whispered, voice laced with bitterness. âMy father lied. He did all of this, told me you were dead, kept us apart, made me believe I had lost you forever. How can I believe a single word he says now?â
Jungkook stepped closer. He gently wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on the top of your head as you held your daughter.
âPetal,â he murmured softly, the old endearment slipping out like a balm. âYour father is a hard man, but he is not as cold as he pretends to be. He sent for me the moment he learned you had gone into labor. He could have kept me away forever. But he didnât.â
You turned slightly in his arms, eyes wide with disbelief.
The knight continued, low and calm.
âThere was one night⊠when you were still heavy with our child and very sick. I rode through a storm to reach you. Your father allowed it. He let me see you. I held you while you slept, fevered and restless. I whispered to you. I kissed your forehead and promised I would return. But I had to leave before dawn. He made me swear not to wake you. He said it would only make the pain worse when I had to go back to the borders.â
You stared at him, stunned. Tears welled up again.
âThat night⊠it was real?â you whispered. âI thought it was a dream. I thought I imagined your arms around me.â
âIt was real,â he said gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. âI was there. And I have regretted leaving you every single day since.â
You turned fully toward him, still cradling your daughter. The baby had woken and was fussing softly. You loosened your dress and began to feed her.
Sir Jungkook watched the two of you with such open love and longing that it made your chest ache.
âShe has your eyes,â you said softly, brushing a finger over your daughterâs cheek. âSo dark and beautiful. Just like yours.â
Sir Jungkookâs expression softened further. He reached out, gently stroking the babyâs tiny hand.
âAnd she is as beautiful as her mother,â he murmured. âI hope she grows to be as strong as her. As kind. As full of fire and love.â
For a while, the only sounds were the soft suckling of your daughter and the rain pattering against the roof. Sir Jungkook stayed close, one arm around your waist, the other lightly resting near the baby.
Eventually, after your daughter had fallen asleep again, you made the decision.
âWe will return to the palace,â you said quietly. âTogether. As a family. I will not hide anymore.â
The next morning, after tender farewells to Maera, who hugged you both tightly and kissed her granddaughterâs forehead with tears in her eyes, you left the cottage.
â
Three Months Later,
The palace had transformed around you.
After your return, the finest healers in the realm were summoned, learned men and women versed in herbs and ancient remedies. They tended to you with the utmost care, restoring the strength you had lost in grief and childbirth. Slowly, the hollow exhaustion faded. Color returned to your cheeks. Your body healed, and with it, your spirit bloomed once more.
You were treated not merely as royalty, but as something sacred. The people whispered that the Princess had returned more radiant than before, as if the earth itself had blessed her.
Your maids, Elara, Verra, and Selyse, were beyond ecstatic to have you back. They fussed over you constantly, brushing your long hair until it shone, dressing you in the finest silks, and whispering prayers of gratitude for your safe return.
The kingdom now knew the truth: the child was Sir Jeon Jungkookâs. The scandal had spread like wildfire, but instead of outrage, most of the people embraced it. They saw their princess glowing, and fiercely protected.
Prince Min had tried to slander you upon his return, calling you impure, unfit, a disgrace for bearing a knightâs child out of wedlock. Sir Jungkook had nearly killed him in the great hall before the Kingâs guards pulled him back. Prince Min was expelled from the kingdom that very day, the alliance shattered. No one mourned his departure.
It was a warm evening when you returned to the royal bathing pool, surrounded by floating lily pads and fragrant white blossoms. The water shimmered under the sunlight as your maids helped you undress. Your daughter, now three months old and full of life, babbled happily in Elaraâs arms, reaching for you with chubby little hands.
âCome here, my sweet,â you cooed, taking her into the warm water with you. She immediately nestled against your bare chest, tiny fingers grasping at your long, wavy hair as you gently rocked her. She was a needy little thing, always wanting her motherâs warmth, her scent, her voice.
Verra smiled as she poured scented oil over your shoulders. âShe adores you, my lady. Look at those big, bejeweled eyes.â
You glanced toward the far bank where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard, as always. He was no longer forced to hide. He remained your personal knight, ever watchful and devoted. His gaze met yours across the water, soft with love and quiet pride. He had become even more protective since your return, rarely leaving your side unless duty demanded it.
The King had grown strangely silent on the matter of your relationship. Seeing you flourish and beloved by the people, had turned him into something of a coward when it came to opposing you.
He doted on his granddaughter in private, though he still struggled to fully accept the circumstances. Yet he no longer pushed for any other marriage. He had seen what happened when he tried to separate you from your knight.
Bit by bit, your beauty had deepened into something almost otherworldly, skin luminous, eyes bright with life, a gentle fullness to your figure from motherhood that only made you more captivating. You moved through the palace performing your duties with grace while still finding time to help the common women who came to the gates seeking aid. You had become more than a princess.
At night, when the palace slept, Sir Jungkook was yours completely.
He would slip into your chambers, shed his armor, and worship you with slow hands and mouth. He made love to you like a man who had walked through hell and returned only for this. You clung to him every night, whispering how much you loved him, how you had chosen him long before the crown ever mattered.
Your daughter babbled softly, pulling at your long hair again with her tiny fist, drawing a soft, delighted laugh from you.
âOh, my little one,â you cooed, gently untangling her fingers from your waves before pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. âYou are going to pull Mamaâs hair right off if you keep that up, arenât you? Such a strong little flower.â
She giggled in your arms, reaching up to pat your face with her small, uncoordinated hand, her big dark eyes, exact replicas of her fatherâs, sparkling with pure joy. The resemblance was almost startling even at such a young age. She was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
Elara sighed dreamily as she poured warm water over your shoulders. âLook at her, my lady. She is perfection. She already has the whole palace wrapped around her tiny finger.â
Verra nodded, gently massaging oil into your hair. âAnd you, my princess. You glow like the sun itself these days. Motherhood suits you more than any crown ever could.â
Selyse, ever the wise one, glanced toward the bank where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard, fully armored but with his helmet removed today. A small, teasing smile tugged at her lips.
âAnd that one over there⊠he canât take his eyes off the two of you. Look at him, standing there like a lovesick fool in steel. Our fierce knight, brought to his knees by a baby and her mother.â
The knightâs ears turned faintly red, but he didnât deny it. His gaze remained soft, locked on you and your daughter with quiet awe and devotion.
Later that evening, in the royal rose gardens where he had once walked beside you as your new knight, Sir Jungkook carried your daughter in his arms.
He was still in full armor, crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders, but he held her with such careful gentleness it made your heart melt. The baby was dressed in the softest cream colored gown embroidered with tiny golden flowers, a little bonnet tied under her chin. She looked like a living doll against his armored chest.
She reached up with both hands, grabbing at the edge of his armor, babbling excitedly as she tried to pull herself closer to his face. When he leaned down, she patted his cheek with a wet, sloppy kiss.
Sir Jungkookâs entire expression softened into something almost boyish. He smiled, genuine and devastatingly handsome.
âMy little love,â he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
You walked beside them, heart full as you watched your daughter play with the buckles on his armor. Every time he lowered his head to let her see his face, she lit up. But when he playfully put his helmet back on for a moment to tease her, she immediately fussed, letting out a small, indignant cry and reaching for him with both arms.
âNo helmet,â you laughed softly. âShe hates it. She wants to see her fatherâs face.â
Sir Jungkook removed it immediately, tucking it under one arm while cradling her with the other. He leaned down so she could press her tiny palms against his cheeks and give him another sloppy kiss on the jaw.
The maids watching from a distance cooed and teased him lightly.
âLook at that,â Verra whispered loudly enough for him to hear. âWho would have thought the man who survived the western borders would be brought down by tiny hands and gummy smiles?â
Later that night, the heavy oak door to your royal chambers was barred, only the soft glow of candles and the low fire in the hearth illuminated the room.
You stood before the tall mirror, slowly changing into your nightgown. The fabric whispered against your skin as it slid down your body. Your gaze caught on the beautiful ring on your finger, the one Sir Jungkook had slipped onto your hand in secret weeks ago, a quiet promise between the two of you. You turned it gently, a small, private smile touching your lips.
Your daughter lay nestled against your bare chest, warm and content, her tiny fingers curled around the edge of your loosened gown. She babbled softly, her big dark eyes full of adoration for her mother.
Sir Jungkook stood a few steps behind you, fully armored except for his helmet, watching the two of you with quiet awe. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting every healed scar and the lingering shadows of war that still clung to him.
You gently laid your daughter in her ornate cradle, pressing one last kiss to her forehead as she drifted into sleep. Then you returned to the mirror, picking up the silver brush to run it through your long, wavy hair.
Sir Jungkook followed without a word. He stopped behind you, his large hands resting lightly on your waist. Slowly, he leaned down and began pressing soft kisses along your bare arms, from shoulder to wrist, as you continued brushing your hair.
You giggled softly, cheeks flushing with that familiar shyness even after all this time.
âJungkookâŠâ you murmured, breathy. âYou ought to distract me.â
âGood,â he whispered against your skin, kissing the curve of your shoulder. âI have missed you all day. I need my darling.â
He dropped to his knees behind you with a quiet clink of armor, bowing his head in his familiar, devoted way. You turned to face him, running your fingers through his raven hair, then tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the faint scars that remained on his face.
You saddened for a moment, remembering the brutality he had endured.
But he looked up at you with such pure worship that it took your breath away. To him, you were more than a princess. you were his salvation, the very source of life that had healed him.
You pulled him closer, and he rose, lifting you effortlessly into his arms and carrying you to the grand bed.
The knight laid you down gently, then began to worship you with slow, reverent hands. He unlaced your nightgown with painstaking care, peeling the silk away until you were bare before him. His mouth found your breasts immediately, sucking softly on one sensitive nipple, then the other, drinking the sweet milk that flowed for him with deep, grateful groans.
You moaned softly, fingers threading through his hair as he fed from you, his tongue swirling, lips sealed tight around your peak. He drank like a man who had been starving for you, savoring every drop as if it were the very essence of life itself.
Sir Jungkook groaned deeply against your breast, the sound vibrating through your chest as he drank almost desperately. His large hand cradled the soft weight of your breast, squeezing gently to draw more from you while his other hand stroked your side with reverent tenderness.
âSo sweet,â he whispered against your skin, voice hoarse and worshipful. âYou give me life, my petal. You heal what war tried to break.â
You whimpered, arching into his mouth, overwhelmed by the intimate, sacred act, fresh heat blooming between your thighs.
When he finally released your nipple with a wet pop, his lips glistening, he looked up at you with dark, adoring eyes.
âYou are my salvation,â he murmured, kissing the valley between your breasts before moving lower. âThe mother of my child. The light that brought me home.â
When he finally moved lower, he spread your thighs with firm hands and settled between them. He looked up at you once, eyes dark with devotion, before lowering his mouth to your core.
He worshipped your flower, seeking nectar with slow, deep licks that made your back arch, followed by gentle suction on your swollen clit. His tongue delved inside you, tasting every inch, groaning at your sweetness as if it were the most sacred thing he had ever known.
You whimpered and moaned, hips rolling against his handsome face as pleasure built in waves. He was relentless yet tender, bringing you to the edge again and again before letting you tip over.
When you finally begged for him, voice trembling with need, Sir Jungkook rose above you like a knight before his altar.
He did not rush. Instead, he sat back on his heels, dark eyes drinking in every inch of your bare, flushed body with such raw hunger that it made your skin burn. You felt vulnerable and impossibly desired under that gaze. A shy, breathless giggle escaped your lips as heat flooded your cheeks.
Sir Jungkook reached out with one large, calloused hand and traced a single finger slowly down your body, from the delicate line of your throat, between your heaving breasts, over the soft curve of your belly, and down to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The touch ever so feather light, yet it left fire in its wake.
âYou are a goddess made flesh,â he whispered, voice hoarse with awe. âAnd I am but a mortal who has been granted the honor of kneeling at your feet.â
He leaned down and pressed his forehead to your thigh in a gesture of pure worship, eyes closed, breath warm against your skin as if he were praying to the only deity he had ever believed in.
Then he moved over you, settling between your spread thighs. His thick cock pressed against your entrance, hot and heavy. He looked into your eyes as he slowly pushed inside, inch by thick, stretching inch, filling you so completely that your mouth fell open in a silent cry.
You dug your nails into his back as he began to move, first slow and loving, then harder, deeper, claiming you with every thrust.
âI love you,â he groaned against your neck, hips snapping forward. âI love you more than life itself.â
When you came, it was with his name on your lips and tears of overwhelming pleasure in your eyes. Jungkook followed moments later, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a low, broken groan, filling you with pulse after pulse of his release.
In the quiet that followed, with the knightâs arms still wrapped around you and the weight of the world momentarily forgotten, it was strangely easy to remember the day he had first knelt before the throne.
The impenetrable knight clad in steel, sworn to protect a princess draped in silk. and protect you he would, as though it had been carved into the marrow of every breath he would draw, for eternity.
editing thid in a few hours. thankyou so much for reading!! comments and reblogs are very much appreciated mwah love you all đ«¶đ
Summary: Your car breaks down in a rural town during a solo road trip and you barely manage to make it to the nearest repair shop. Jungkook, trusty mechanic and sweetheart, takes a look at your car and brings you to a - very icky - motel, where he can't bring himself to let you stay the night on your own...
Warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content, mechanic JK, manly JK while still being a cutie and a gentleman, this is pretty much a damsel in distress situation, there's a cuck chair again lmao but no cuck in sight this time, lots of sweat bc it's hot there!! they're both soaked in multiple ways, alcohol and weed, making out a little high, fingering, oral (both receiving), PiV, multiple positions, JK gets a bit unhinged and pussy drunk during the deed and pulls a few surprising moves, bit of dirty talk (good girl mentioned)
A/n: There's a lot of yapping and story building for a oneshot. We love a good build up in this house.
Wordcount: 10.4k
Masterlist
âNo, no, noâŠ,â you plead with your car, stroking the plastic covering behind the steering wheel with one hand. âPlease donât do this to me, weâre almost there!â
The engine light had already lit up some miles back, but you decided to ignore it and just pray youâd make it to your destination. But now, after driving along empty country roads, seemingly endless, with only a few small towns in between breaking the monotony of the scenery, the lights on your dashboard start to flicker and the radio keeps cutting out.
âShit,â you curse out loud before asking your phone for the directions to the nearest auto repair shop.
Your already shitty air con has totally given up. Beads of sweat are starting to collect on your upper lip as you follow google maps through the scorching heat. Thank god itâs only a few more miles until you pull into a small town off the desert road. This little hick town seems to just be made up of one main road, with a few homes off to the side.
âIn 0,2 miles your destination will be on the left,â your navigation lets you know. A minute later you pull up in front of the repair shop with your Buick Century and turn off the ignition. You exhale in relief, at least you made it to the garage. You donât want to imagine being stranded at the side of the road in the desert, not in this weather.
You let your head fall on the steering wheel that you are gripping with both hands, already worried about how much money youâre going to have to throw at your rust bucket. You step out of your vehicle finally, looking around. Thereâs what seems to be a small convenience store across the street, a man in denim dungarees and cowboy boots sitting in front of it, smoking. You snort - all thatâs missing is a damn banjo.
You walk into the repair shop through a glass door next to a bigger gate for cars to enter and look around for an employee, unsuccessfully.
âHello?â you ask into the empty space. Thereâs a front desk, but itâs unoccupied. Please, donât let this place be actually closed down already for the day.
âBack here,â you suddenly hear a voice sounding from further back. Relieved, you scan the perimeters to find the source, peeking around a corner.
You find the actual workshop of the garage, multiple cars with open hoods standing around, but you donât see anyone. Reluctantly, you walk between vehicles, not sure if you are even allowed in here, until you almost stumble over legs sticking out from under some Toyota sedan.
âUm, hi?â you address the jeans-clad legs.
âOne sec,â a voice replies and a moment later you hear tools clanking to the floor before a man emerges from under the car.
And, well, heâs really not someone you expected to find in a rural backwater town. Itâs not the outfit either, heâs just wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, both smeared with motor oil and grease. What surprises you is the fact that one of his arms is covered in tattoos, down to his fingers, and his ears are decked out in multiple silver hoops. He smiles at you, a piercing through the side of his lower lip, while he wipes his hands on the bandana tied to his pants.
Usually, when you have to bring in your rust bucket, the mechanics crack some sort of unfunny misogynistic joke at your expense before trying to rip you off with unnecessary repairs you didnât ask for. So that is what you steel yourself for when you tell the dude that your Buick started breaking down as he walks you to the front of the shop.
He clicks open the automatic garage door and tells you to drive your car inside for him to inspect it.
But, shit. When you try to switch on the ignition, itâs dead.
The mechanic comes up to your rolled-down window. âDoesnât start huh?â, he correctly assesses. âPut it in neutral, I can just push it inside.â
âSorry,â you mumble, trying to move the shift stick to neutral, without success. It doesnât budge without the engine being on.
You shrug your shoulders at him in a helpless manner, making him laugh. âAh, automatic,â he hums before opening the driver door and pulling a screwdriver from the back pocket of his jeans.
Without warning, heâs suddenly in your lap, leaning over you to access the middle console. You wouldâve moved out of the way had he warned you. But now this, admittedly very attractive, guy is brushing his tattooed arm against your thighs all non-chalant as he wriggles his screwdriver around the plastic by the gear stick. With one last satisfied hum, he finally moves the stick to the neutral position.
You just dumbly stare at him with hot cheeks when he retreats from your space again and he tells you about some manual switch he pushed. âOh, sorry,â he apologizes when he sees your startled expression. âI didnât get dirt on you, did I?â He wipes at the fabric of your pants with his hands, grimacing at himself as in the process, as he actually does brush some grease on it, making him panic slightly. âShit,â he mutters but you stop him before he can apologize again or spread even more black gunk on you.
âDonât worry about it,â you laugh, his display of sudden clumsiness making you relax again. He stands up straight, scratching at his neck before collecting himself and moving to the back of your Buick.
âItâs good to go now. Just let go of the brake and steer, alright?â he yells from the back and then the car is slowly rolling. You canât help stealing a glance at him through your rearview mirror.
His brows are furrowed and the muscles in his shoulders are tensed as heâs pushing the car by its bumper. You can even make out the vein on his forehead popping out a little. The fact that youâve always had a thing for feats of strength is almost making you forget to steer until his voice forces your eyes to snap back to the garage in front of you.
âLittle to the left,â he yells and you comply, maneuvering your car into the workspace.
You pull the handbrake and get out of the driver's seat once youâre in a good spot.
âIâll pay to get your jeans cleaned,â he tells you with a lopsided smile as he eyes your soiled pants before he walks to the front of your Buick.
âLetâs take a look at your baby,â he says as he yanks open the hood. âI already have a suspicion.â
While heâs checking out the engine compartment, you take a stroll around the shop, trying to pass the time and ignore the dread blooming in your chest about how much this repair is going to cost you.
On the wall behind the counter you spot the usual sexy calendars of women in pin up clothing posing on the hoods of old-timers. Maybe heâs just like all the other mechanics you encountered after all. You quietly chuckle just as you spot another poster among the sexy ladies though. This one has a half-naked man propped against some motorcycle, probably a Harley Davidson. Oh, a man of varied tastes apparently. Feels a little out of place for this small town, once again.
When you hear the hood of your vehicle being slammed shut, you hurry back to the mechanic.
âYup, I was right,â he tells you, trying to wipe some of his dark hair out of his face with the back of his hand, smearing grease on his forehead in the process. âAlternatorâs shot.â
âThat sounds ⊠bad?â you reluctantly more so ask than state.
âIt just needs to be replaced. Good news first, itâs not a lot of work so Iâll be done in like an hour,â he lets you know. âBad news - I need to order it in.â
You groan, but you are relieved to learn that at least itâs not as expensive as you feared. The fact that this part will only come in tomorrow though - Shit.
He types your information into his computer and places the order for the new alternator.
âAre there any hotels or something close by?â you ask him once heâs done and comes back around the counter to lean on it.
He shakes his head with an apologetic look on his face. âThe closest motel is like two towns over. And itâs a bit of a shit hole.â
That doesnât sound too inviting, but given your choices, what else are you supposed to do?
âCan you give me the address? Iâll get an Uber to drive me there I guess.â
âGood luck on finding any Ubers out here. Weâre basically out of their operating zone.â
Your shoulders slump in defeat as you let your hand holding your phone drop to your side again.
âIâll take you,â he offers, already on his way to your Buick. âGet your bag.â
You would usually not consider getting into a car with a stranger, but your options are kind of limited here. He can probably sense your hesitation, because he cocks his head to the side and smiles. âWouldnât advise accepting rides from strangers, but I canât have you stay on the street,â he speaks up. âIâm Jungkook, by the way. Iâll give you my ID and everything, you can send it to a friend with your location.â
This wonât help you if he decides to murder you, but you are tired and in need of a shower, so you just sigh and open your car, quickly packing some things you need for an overnight stay into your backpack before shouldering it.
Apparently itâs time to close shop, or maybe he can just decide since heâs the only one in here, but he leads you out the back and locks the door behind him. You wonât question it, you are just glad that you will be able to rest soon. The long drive was becoming torturous anyway.
âWhereâs your car?â you ask, looking around the street behind the garage.
Jungkook grins and points towards - oh please - a motorcycle. No way. Well, maybe that explains the leather jacket that he put on just before. You were wondering why he needed it in this scorching heat.
âPretty, huh?â he muses when you look at him with wide eyes. âItâs a Fat Bob 114.â
Oh sure, whatever that string of random words means. He canât seriously expect you to get on the back of this. For a moment, you reconsider just walking the streets tonight.
âI donât even have a helmet,â you try to weasel your way out.
To no avail, since he produces one from behind his back and hands it to you. âGood thing I keep a spare around.â
Heâs already stuffing his own backpack into the satchel on the side of the bike, while you fiddle with the helmet. Youâve never even put one on before and when you plop it down over your head, your hair gets caught in front of your eyes.
You hear Jungkookâs muffled laugh and then he steps in front of you, pulling the helmet back off.
âLemme help,â he mutters while pushing your hair behind your ears while he clamps the headgear between his thighs to free his hands.
The intimate gesture brings heat up your neck and all you muster is a quiet âThank you.â Then he gently pulls the helmet down and closes the plastic visor with a grin.
âAll set,â he pats the top of the protective headwear before putting on his own. He swings his leg over the bike and motions for you to get on behind him.
âJust hold on to me,â he tells you.
You somewhat clumsily climb on and consider just gripping the side of the machine, but as soon as he turns his keys and the bike roars to life, your survival instinct kicks in and you sling your arms around his waist.Â
He pulls off into the street and soon youâre leaving behind the small town and with it your broken-down car.
Jungkook, thankfully, seems to be considerate of his passenger, because you are pretty sure heâs not even going the speed limit. You still cling on to him for dear life, probably choking him out, but he does not complain. Youâre not particularly fond of not being encased in metal while on the road is what youâre learning right now.
After a few miles and your body starting to cramp from clutching on to Jungkook and the bike, you pull up in front of a motel. The parking lot is full of trucks, rarely any regular cars. Jungkook helps you off the motorcycle and takes off his helmet. He seems to be wondering about the amount of trucks, as he raises his eyebrow. Carefully, he removes your helmet for you as well before you can even try to do it yourself. Your hair feels damp and matted, making you cringe slightly as you run your fingers through it.
Jungkook retrieves his backpack from the satchel and pockets the keys.
âThis must be a regular stop for truckers to rest, huh?â you wonder out loud to which Jungkook shakes his head.
âNot usually.â
Picking through the small compartment of your backpack, you finally find some tissues.Â
âCan I just..?â you ask Jungkook, gesturing towards his face with the towelette.Â
He seems to be confused but doesnât stop you from wiping at his forehead. You clean the smear of grease off his skin and pocket the tissue.Â
âThatâs better,â you smile at him and when he locks his big soft eyes with you, the corners of his mouth upturned, it makes you gulp. His gaze flickers down to your lips for just a fleeting moment.Â
With both helmets in hand, he walks you to the check-in counter, where you find the most unenthusiastic-looking clerk youâve seen in your life.
âHello,â you address him. âI need a room, please.â
âReally?â he responds in a mocking tone. âWho wouldâve guessed that?â
Jungkook slams one of the helmets on the counter, startling the guy.
âMind checking if you have any available?â he intervenes, a fake smile plastered on his face. One could mistake it for a snarl if it wasnât for his politeness. With his hand planted firmly on the counter and the muscles in his arm tensed, the clerk seems to have taken the hint.Â
Woah. Apparently heâs not one to mess around with. Itâs kind of hot.
âAlright, alright,â the clerk gives in, suddenly very meek and sheepish, and checks his computer.
âSeems like youâre out of luck, everythingâs booked,â he shrugs his shoulders. âThereâs some trucker meet-up happening close by, they basically overran the motel.â
Jungkook and you sigh simultaneously. What the hell are you supposed to do now? You really donât want to go on another road trip if you can avoid it. He pulls out his phone, scrolling furiously, probably trying to figure out an alternative as well.
âAh, wait,â the clerk suddenly perks up. âThereâs someone checking out in a bit. Once weâve cleaned up the room, itâs yours.â
Oh, thank god. You couldnât care less that the place is run-down and the employee is a shithead. Youâll just shower and head to bed anyway, maybe scroll a bit on your phone. The aesthetic or lack thereof doesnât really matter, unless youâll find suspicious stains on the pillows. Which, to be fair, is not that unlikely, now that you think about it.
âWe have a bar,â the employee tells you with an exasperated sigh, as if this was the hardest heâs ever had to work. âYou can wait there. Itâs gonna be like 2 hours max.â
You nod and turn to Jungkook, who looks a little disgruntled.
âUhm, will you come pick me up again tomorrow? I kinda donât have a ride.â The fact that he has to drive you again is gnawing at your pride, but he said it himself, no Ubers around.
He looks at you, quizzically.
âIâm not gonna let you wait around here by yourself,â he shakes his head. âIâll stay with you until the roomâs ready.â
Before you can even start arguing that you donât need an escort, heâs already placed his hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the bar. For whatever reason you just let it happen. Youâre a grown woman, you donât need a white knight to look out for you. But also, some company would be nice instead of sitting around all alone, just waiting for time to pass. Since heâs also nice to look at, why shouldnât you indulge a bit longer.
The bar is just as dingy as the rest of the place. All the seats are worn, tears across the old leather. The room reeks of stale smoke and cigars so bad that you scrunch your nose as you step in.
Thereâs two guys sitting at the bar drinking beer. By the looks of it itâs not the first one of the day either. Probably some of the truckers the clerk mentioned.
Jungkook pushes you into the booth of a table, sliding in next to you without taking his eyes off the dudes at the bar, and shrugs off his leather jacket. Sitting next to each other when youâre only two people has always been weird to you, makes it kind of awkward to chat.
âWhat do you want to drink?â he asks from beside you.
You take out your phone, checking the time. Itâs 7 pm. You could do with a beer as well, so you tell him and he moves out of the seat to get your drinks.
You watch him from your table, only to realize that the two men are staring you down, one even cocks his eyebrows at you. Disgusting. You pull a face at him, but that doesnât seem to deter him at all, grabbing at his junk while his mate laughs along.
Jungkook is watching this play out, you can tell when his back stiffens. Heâs coming back with two beers in hand, immediately sitting down next to you on the bench again, so close this time that your thighs are touching.
âWhat are you doing?â you ask him, surprised when he puts his arm on the backrest behind you.
âSorry, but Iâm not gonna let those two sleazebags get the impression that youâre here by yourself, no chance,â he grumbles before picking up his glass and taking a big gulp.
The fact that heâs doing this only for show makes you feel a tinge of disappointment, which is just dumb. Heâs just being nice, you tell yourself, also reaching for your beer, trying to relax with him being so close to you. Itâs not because heâs making you uncomfortable, rather the opposite. You just seriously need to chill.
âHow much was it?â you ask him, pointing to your drink, to which he just waves you off.
âTake it as compensation for me putting grease all over your jeans,â he smiles at you.
For a while you two just sit there, his arm around you, sipping away on your beer quietly. Jungkook shoots the gross dudes death glares every now and then. To which you are thankful because the thought of being in here alone with them makes you shiver. Maybe you were in need of a white knight actually. Just this once.
âSo,â Jungkook breaks the surprisingly comfortable silence. âJudging by your plates, youâve been on the road for a while, huh?â
You hum in agreement. âJust a road trip to visit an old friend of mine. Never been to this part of the country.â
âI can tell,â he laughs.
âAnd you?â you proceed to ask. âHave you ever been out of these parts?â
Jungkookâs fingers tapping away softly on your shoulder while he talks makes blood rush to your cheeks.Â
âNot really, I grew up around here. Only gone as far as the surrounding cities.â
âSo you like living here then?â
He shrugs his shoulders as if he doesnât really have an opinion on it.
âItâs just, you donât seem like a small town kinda guy,â you continue when he stays silent.
âNow, whyâs that?â he looks at you with a smirk, visibly amused now.
You just motion at his tattooed arm and the piercings, trying not to say anything he might take offense to. Itâs his home after all.
Luckily, he doesnât seem to be offended at all, because he chuckles at your assessment.
âYou know, the next city is just like an hourâs drive away,â he lets you know between laughs. âWeâre not cut off from civilization. Not totally.â
You chat away for a while, mostly just small talk. He never takes his arm off your shoulder while you learn that he owns and runs the repair shop by himself and you tell him that youâre in between jobs right now.
Youâre laughing at a funny remark Jungkook dropped when the clerk pops his head in.
âRoomâs ready,â he lets you know before he trudges away again.
âBefore you try to argue - Iâm walking you to the room.â
You figured.
So after picking up the key from the front desk, you make your way outside and up some stairs to find your assigned room with Jungkook close behind. On your way there, you can hear some loud bellowing laughter from behind doors as well as a smashing sound, as if a vase or something broke. This really doesnât feel that welcoming after all, you think as you yank open the dilapidated door. Itâs not even hanging straight in its hinges, so you have to lift it up slightly so it doesnât catch on the floor. Yikes.
Both of you walk inside and Jungkook looks around the room after putting the helmets on a wobbly sideboard.
âWhat a nice view,â you joke, having walked up behind him to the window, looking down at the parking lot. The laughter gets caught in your throat when you can hear someone loudly fighting outside. When you peek out the window again, you see that itâs two big guys shoving each other and yelling, beer bottles in hand. Please let this night go by fast, you plead silently. You brought your earphones so hopefully you can drown out anything that might go on outside, be it murder or an orgy. You thank whoever invented noise cancelling in advance.
Jungkook turns to you. âLook,â he starts with a serious expression. You have a feeling you know where this is going, so you walk up to the sideboard and push his helmet towards him.
âThank you for everything, Iâll see you tomorrow?â
Jungkook shakes his head and doesnât move even an inch.
âI canât let you stay here,â he says, decidedly. âNot by yourself. Youâve seen the kind of guys that hang around here!â
You liked his savior antics earlier, but you still have some pride left.
âIâm not some damsel in distress in need of saving,â you scoff and walk to the door. âIâll just lock up and sleep by myself like a big girl.â You jokingly wiggle the lock around before realizing itâs almost falling apart at your touch. Oh. This actually doesnât bode well with you.
Jungkook looks at your wide eyes with a quirked brow, waiting for you to reconsider what you just told him. And you do. Damn.
Then thereâs suddenly more clamor seemingly right outside your door. As if someone was crashing into the wall. The look in your eyes turns to pleading. Now youâre actually hoping Jungkookâs offer, whatever exactly it entails, still stands.
âIâll stay. Donât worry,â he reassures you as if he just read your mind. Probably not that hard, considering the situation.
âThanks,â you mumble while looking around the room. Thereâs exactly one bed, a dresser with a tiny TV on it and what you assume to be the door to the bathroom. And a worn-out leather arm chair.
Jungkook follows your gaze and takes the words out of your mouth when he speaks up.
âIâll just stay in the cuck chair, you can go ahead and go to sleep.â
The good old cuck chair, a must-have of any rented room thatâs worth anything. What would people do without it? Although this one actually seems like itâs been in heavy use. Ew. At least youâre not the one having to sit in it.
To your horror, this stuffy room has no air conditioning, only a ceiling fan above the bed that barely does its job. Opening the window is no use at this time of night either, as itâs still hot out.
âI could never get used to this heat,â you huff and sit down at the edge of the mattress, causing the bedframe to squeak. âDonât think I can even sleep while itâs this hot,â you add, groaning.
Jungkook brings his stuff over to his designated spot for the night to keep watch of the door or whatever his plan actually is. Your knight in shining armor, you scoff to yourself. The fact that youâre sharing a motel room with some stranger is outrageous and very much out of scope of what you had planned for this trip. Even if said stranger is nice to look at. You watch him from the corner of your eyes as you kick off your sneakers and pull your legs up on the bed into a criss-cross position. His white shirt has gone see-through in the back from sweat and itâs sticking to him. No wonder - heâs been wearing a leather jacket and also you clung to his back earlier like a koala while driving here.
It's only around 9 pm when you check your phone and start scrolling through various social media apps, quickly getting bored. Beads of sweat are forming on your forehead, you feel like youâre being boiled alive sitting here in jeans, but youâre not about to strip in front of Jungkook, whoâs also taken his spot in the chair with his phone in hand.
âHey, you want to get some more beer?â you ask him, sure that youâll be up for quite a while and beer always makes you sleepy, so that might help.
âSure,â he nods, walking over to you and holding his hand out. âWe can get some from the bar.â
You let him help you off the bed and slip back into your shoes. Itâs a quick trip, Jungkook never taking his arm off your waist as he walks you through the premises.
Equipped with 4 cold bottles of beer you return to your room where Jungkook immediately opens one for you with a lighter from his back pocket.
The cool liquid goes down smoothly, making you sigh in content as you sit down on the end of the bed so you can actually face him in his spot where he is currently holding the bottle against his neck in an effort to cool off.
Striking up a conversation while you down the first drink, you inquire further about his repair shop.
âItâs been in the family for a few generations,â he lets you know. âIâve been around cars since I was little, back when it was my grandfatherâs still.â
âDid you ever consider doing anything else? College or something?â you wonder.
Jungkook laughs at the idea. âIâm way too dumb for a degree. And I like getting my hands dirty. Manual labor takes my mind off of things. I enjoy it.â
You get it, the road trip was supposed to serve the same purpose - taking your mind off whatâs been troubling you. Couldâve figured that driving by yourself for hours makes your thoughts race instead. Maybe youâre dumb too.
Jungkook asks about you being in between jobs then, since you mentioned it to him earlier.
âI quit so I could leave my place for a while. Wasnât that great of a job anyway, so no loss there.â
You put the now empty bottle on the ground and flop back on the mattress with your eyes closed, letting the ceiling fan blow hot air around you for a bit.
âYou alright?â Jungkookâs voice chimes up.
âYeah,â you hum out from your horizontal position. Mostly thanks to him, you ponder and find yourself glad your car started going to shit in his vicinity and not some place else. You just chill for a moment, trying to drown out the ruckus outside of your room. Youâre in here, safe, protected. Jungkook is pretty beefy, so youâre not too worried about any truckers trying to bust their way into here. The ones that crossed your way so far looked out of shape. Not that youâre judging, you probably wouldnât opt for a gym session after driving for hours on end either.
âThank you again,â you sit back up, feeling like you're admitting defeat. âFor staying with me. Iâm sorry for all the troubles.â
Jungkook only replies with a smile and hands you the second bottle of beer. âI didnât have any plans for tonight anyway. Your company beats watching TV alone by miles.â
Heâd probably have air conditioning though and wouldnât have to swelter in this dump. His face is shiny from the sheen of sweat, making his dark hair stick to his forehead, which he brushes away with his fingers continuously. Actually, maybe you got lucky having him stuck here with you, cause the fabric sticking to his chest is ⊠really something. You reluctantly peel your eyes away from his muscles, not trying to be a creep after all heâs done for you. Canât be ogling him like one of those sleazy truckers did to you earlier. Maybe itâs the beer finding its way to your brain or youâre just really not better than a man.
Your body doesnât feel much drier than him, though you are sure the sweat doesnât look even half as attractive on you.
While sipping on your third beer, you talk about more benign things, discovering that Jungkook and you share a lot of favorite bands and musicians. During your conversation, he keeps putting the glass bottle up to his face like he did earlier, obviously uncomfortable from being hot.
The ceiling fan only swirls the hot air around, but on the bed and directly under it, it provides at least some relief from the unrelenting heat while heâs suffering in the cuck chair.
âYou know you could just come sit on the bed, right?â you interrupt him waving his hand in front of his face like a makeshift fan.
He pauses, considering your offer, and then sighs. âNah, Iâm stinky from working, donât want to make it all gross.â
âPlease, I donât want to find you melted into a puddle in that fucking chair tomorrow morning,â you joke. âSounds like one hell of a clean-up. Also, whoâs gonna fix my car if you perish from overheating?â
âI might not be the first dead body in that chair, now that I look at it,â he wrinkles his nose as he gets up and eyes the worn-out leather.
âBut Iâll take a shower first, if thatâs alright with you,â he finally gives in.
âSure,â you nod. âGo ahead. Havenât checked out the bathroom - hope you wonât come out dirtier than before.â
Jungkook chuckles as he makes his way into the little side-room.
While you hear the shower run, you empty your beer and shoot your friend a message that your arrival will be delayed because of your shitty car.
Shortly after the water turns off, Jungkook sheepishly peeks around the corner.
âMy shirt is soaked,â he tells you with an apologetic smile. âIâll air it out and put it back on, yeah?â
His coyness makes you burst into laughter. How cute.
âJungkook, your shirt has been see-through for the last 2 hours, Iâve seen it all. Now donât be stupid and come sit with me.â
He huffs out a quiet laugh and throws his moist t-shirt on the sideboard, hoping it will dry down, before putting his shoes and socks next to yours by the door.
âWhich side are you gonna sleep on?â he asks you, making you raise an eyebrow.
âIâm not going to put my greasy ass down where you have to sleep,â he explains and gestures at the smears on his pants. âThis bed is probably already gross enough.â
You take a tentative whiff of the pillowcase on your side. âItâs actually not so bad,â you shrug your shoulders before patting the mattress on the unoccupied half of the bed, urging him to finally come and sit.
So, in this incredible turn of events, youâre now sitting shoulder to shoulder with a shirtless small-town mechanic, watching TV in a decrepit motel.
Switching through countless porn channels, you finally happen upon re-runs of The X-Files, which makes both of you perk up in excitement.
âI love Gillian Anderson,â you gush as her glorious red hair appears on screen.
âI love David Duchovny,â Jungkook replies with a sigh. âGillianâs not bad either.â
His remark doesnât surprise you as you recall the very bisexual collection of raunchy calendars displayed in his shop.
You both settle against the headboard, getting comfortable, and dive into the episode, following along as Scully and Mulder track down a mutant man thatâs hiding in vents to eat peopleâs livers. Mulder has just foiled the abominationâs attempt to murder some family when Jungkookâs head suddenly drops onto your shoulder.
You can tell heâs asleep by the way his body is slumped against yours. So much for watching the door, huh?
His soft, slow breathing is fanning over your neck and you decide to just let him nap, watching the intro to the next episode roll. That is, until your back starts to hurt from your current position, so you shift slightly, which startles Jungkook awake.
âOh, fuck, Iâm sorry,â he looks at you horrified when the initial post-nap confusion has worn off. âDid I drool on you?â
You assure him itâs fine and that he did not. Jungkook stands up and stretches his arms over his head, your eyes following the movement of his bared muscles as he does. He yawns and shuffles over to the window, cracking it open and sticking his head outside.
The clamor has calmed down it seems, no more yelling and fighting audible, you realize in relief.
âI think we can keep this open now,â Jungkook decides. âIt has cooled down like⊠at least 1 degree.â
You agree, even if it wonât help with the warmth, some fresh air wonât hurt.
âYou should try and get some sleep,â he proposes. âIâm guessing you still have some miles to drive tomorrow.â
Heâs probably right and you can feel the beer you had swimming around in your head, relaxing your body.
Jungkook goes to switch off the big light and settles back into the cuck chair. Apparently heâs not planning on resuming his little nap but is back on duty.
You pull off your socks, leaving you in jeans and a shirt still, which is not your preferred way of going to bed. Since youâre still hot, you just lie down on top of the duvet, turning to your side and pulling up your legs.
âGood girl,â Jungkook coos at you from across the room and you can feel his smirk without even looking at him.
The minutes pass by and you just toss and turn, not able to wind down at all.
âCanât sleep, huh?â Jungkook asks when you reach for the phone on your nightstand after the futile 30-minute attempt to drift off has gone nowhere. Youâre uncomfortable in your clothes, sweating, and your mind keeps straying to exactly the places youâve tried to outrun with your road trip.
Before you swing your legs off the bed you reach to turn on the lamp on the bedside table as you donât dig sitting around in complete darkness. Youâre in the process of stretching your neck and shoulders while Jungkook rummages through his backpack. It seems like he found what he was looking for because he perks up.
âWanna smoke?â he asks you, holding up a pre-rolled joint with a bright smile on his face.
You laugh and go through your own bag, producing a ready-to-go spliff as well.
âIâm taking this as a Yes,â Jungkook chuckles and moves to the opened window where you join him. You squeeze past him so you can hop up on the windowsill, sitting with your legs dangling in the air and your side leaning against the window frame.
Jungkook rests his upper body against the other side before he fishes the lighter out of his pocket and ignites the joint between his lips.
Passing the doobie between each other, you pick up the topic of his shop again, still curious.
âYou plan on staying in your town forever?â you ask him. âLike, just keep the garage going until youâre too old to work anymore?â
He takes a drag and huffs out some smoke while he thinks about it.
âI like the mechanic work,â he starts. âBut Iâm not really keen on living the rural town life for the rest of eternity.â
âI knew you werenât the type.â
âYeah. But I just canât let go of the shop. I thought about selling it before, but I canât bring myself to do it. It would probably kill my dad if I did.â
âHeâd want you to be happy, no?â
He hums pensively, takes another hit and hands you the joint. Jungkook lets his fingers linger on yours for a moment when he does. His side is pressing into your thigh since thereâs not much space in the window. The way his eyes are locked on yours is making your breath hitch and you almost choke on the smoke you inhaled. You cough, which makes him reach behind you to stroke your back. Your free hand grabs his naked shoulder while you recover from the coughing fit.
Once you catch your breath and sit back up straight, Jungkook doesnât return to his spot next to you, but instead remains in front of you, basically between your legs.
His hand slides away from your back though, holding on to the windowsill next to your leg instead.
âI didnât really quit my job for the trip,â you sigh, looking down at your dangling feet. The weed really seems to loosen up your tongue tonight. âJust couldnât do it anymore, it kept burning me out to a pathetic pile of ash.â
âIâm sorry,â Jungkook earnestly tells you, squeezing your arm lightly in a comforting manner.
Apparently your weed-riddled brain decides to just lay out all your business to him, because before you can stop yourself, you are already dropping the rest of your recent lore.
ââM driving through the whole country to my friendâs place because I found out I got cheated on. The breakup hit me quite hard after such a long time together. Needed to get far, far away.â
âMust be a fucking idiot,â Jungkook shakes his head and tries to catch your gaze, which makes you lift your head when he starts to crouch to look up at you.
He moves closer to you then, making your knees spread further to accommodate his frame. After flicking the butt of the joint out of the window, he places his palm on your thigh while his other hand comes up and brushes some of your hair behind your ear. His head is cocked to the side and youâre locking eyes, with his fingers still resting softly against your cheek.
Itâs like time freezes and then youâre suddenly leaning forward and your lips collide, slotting together effortlessly, like they were never meant to be apart to begin with. You sigh against him as if youâre letting go of a breath you didnât know you were holding and he uses the moment to slip his tongue between your parted lips. His hand has wandered to your neck while yours found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer, as your tongues dance against each other. All the stress of today just falls off you, like a lizard shedding his skin. The kiss is all-encompassing, leaving no room for any thoughts in your head other than taking away every inch of space between your bodies. As you make out, the palm on your thigh slowly caresses from your leg to your side and then back down to your ass, where it rests and squeezes ever so lightly. Even this soft touch makes your hips hitch towards Jungkook and you feel him smile against your mouth and exhale a laugh through his nose. You would be embarrassed if he wasnât pressing himself into your crotch, holding you in place, obviously just as excited to feel you against his body. He nibbles on your lower lip before licking across it and then his face is suddenly gone from yours. You just stare at him all dumb and breathless, still entangled with him. His thumb brushes over your lip, wiping away the moisture left behind from the kiss and continues to put it in his mouth. You stifle a whine at the sight, trying to collect yourself at least a little bit, so you slide off the windowsill. Not taking into account Jungkookâs close proximity to you, the movement makes you rub yourself against his groin by accident. Heâs not shy about the groan that leaves him at the contact, but he steps back a bit to give you space anyway.
âWant to give sleep another shot?â he asks you, brushing over your cheek one last time before removing his hand.
âMhm,â you nod. âIâm gonna take a shower first though.â
âGood idea,â Jungkook sends you off with a pat to your ass, making your face heat up even more.
Oh, you really need a cold shower for more than one reason.
You finally step out of your sweaty clothes, dropping them in a pile on the bathroom floor. When the spray of water hits you, you sigh. It feels so good to finally wash away the grime. What you canât rinse off is the tight feeling between your legs as you think about Jungkook, shirtless and sweaty, pressed to your body. You take a few minutes to just stand under the water raining down on you, fighting the urge to touch yourself, thatâs how riled up the kiss has gotten you.
When you turn off the water and get out of the shower, you realize that there is only a small towel, nothing that could actually cover your body in any decent way. You only brought panties to the bathroom with you. The only thing you find attached to the door is a questionable bathrobe. Better than nothing, you think after inspecting and smelling it, deciding itâs clean. You quickly towel-dry your wet hair with the small cloth so you donât look like a dog that got caught in the rain before slipping on your panties and the robe, closing it around you with its belt.
Jungkook has returned to the cuck chair when you come back out. Heâs reclined back into it, leisurely stretching his spread legs out as he eyes you with heavy lids. Heâs so fucking sexy lounging there in just his jeans, his upper body glazed by sweat, making his tattoo glisten in the dim light of the bedside lamp. You nibble on your lower lip absentmindedly, slowly stepping closer.
And heâs looking right back at you like he wants to ravish you. The slight tent in the front of his pants is reassuring proof that the kissing didnât leave him unaffected either.
âAre you not hot in this?â he gestures at your robe while looking you up and down before sitting up straight.
âAre you not hot in your jeans?â you tease in response, making him chuckle.
âCâmere,â he curls his fingers at you to beckon you closer and your feet move before your brain even catches up.
Once youâre in reach, he grabs the belt of the bathrobe and pulls you into him, hands snaking to your backside when thereâs no more room between you. He massages your ass cheeks through the soft fabric at an agonizingly slow pace and youâre already becoming impatient, so you take initiative and climb into his lap, your knees around his thighs. Thereâs just enough room in the chair for you to fit. With your arms locked around his neck, you immediately go in for another kiss, licking into him. Spurred on by your eagerness, his hands slip under your robe, making the belt slowly unravel with each movement of his palms against your naked skin underneath. You didnât think it was possible in this heat, but you erupt in goosebumps when his fingers slide over your waist, up to the side of your breasts where he lets them linger before splaying them out to cup your tits.
âYour skin is so soft,â he mutters against your lips just as one of his digits brushes over a pert nipple, which makes you inhale a sharp breath. His mouth moves to the side of your neck, where he sucks on your skin, surely leaving behind bruises. The sensation makes you grind your hips down against his growing cock, craving friction. He groans into the crook of your neck, so you keep swiveling your lower body in his lap, both of your breathing increasing in speed as your arousal is escalating to new levels.
Finally, heâs had enough of the bathrobe covering his view of your body and when you let go of him, he slides it off your shoulders, dropping it to pool on the floor by his feet.
With your bare tits in front of his face, he hums in approval, his hands roaming the skin of your nude torso.
âWow,â he sighs in appreciation, licking over his lips once before latching on to a nipple. The flicking of his tongue elicits a whimper from you and makes your back arch, pressing your chest closer to him.
You can feel the rough denim covering his dick though the thin fabric of your underwear, which is already going damp as you rub yourself over him again and again.
You lift yourself off his crotch, your hand finding his belt, undoing the buckle. When you struggle to open the fly of his pants one-handed, he removes his hand from your tit and looks up at you.
âYou sure?â he asks you softly and when you nod, he helps you out by popping the button himself, so you just have to pull down the zipper. He lifts himself off the seat just enough to wriggle the jeans down to his thighs. His hard dick twitches excitedly when you palm him through his Calvin Klein boxers.
Jungkook reaches between you, his fingers finding your still clothed pussy, just ghosting over your core, tentatively. You instinctively press down into his touch, sighing, which impels him to run his digits over the moistened fabric harder. Feeling your arousal through the panties already, he pulls them to the side, giving him access to run his finger between your labia. âLike silk,â he muses quietly, before dipping in further, gathering your wetness.
âDripping for me already,â he groans, his breath fanning over your neck now. âSo fucking hot.â
His middle finger finds your entrance then and pushes in slowly before curling it once inside. You writhe in his hold, impatient to be filled by him. After pumping a few times, he slides in a second finger, the pads dragging across your walls which each movement of his wrist, making you whine.
When the thirst for his cock takes over you, you reach down to the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down just far enough to free his hard dick. He moans lowly when you wrap your fingers around him, squeezing before giving him a determined tug, your thumb spreading precum across his tip.
His fingers slip out of you then, leaving you clenching around air. His hand comes up on top of yours on him, engulfing your smaller one completely, guiding your pumps. Your juices on his fingers add to the glide, every stroke along his length now producing a nasty squelching sound.
With his free hand, he fishes out his wallet from his jeans, producing a single condom. You basically rip it out of his fingers, tearing the package open with your teeth. After slapping his own hand away from his dick with the back of yours, you roll on the rubber.
He takes hold of your wrist and gently twists you palm up under his face, then lets a drop of spit fall into it. You spread the drool around his shaft before lining yourself up to the tip of his cock.
Jungkook grips on to your waist as you lower yourself down on him until youâre flush to his crotch. The stretch makes you whimper as he slides into you, his own head falling back on to the chair with his eyes closed.
âShit,â he mutters, voice strained. âYou feel amazing.â
Thatâs enough encouragement for you to start moving, your hips going in circles as you bounce up and down. His cock curves just the right way to rub over your g-spot each time you slam your ass down into him.
His fingers have wandered to your ass cheeks, kneading at the supple flesh. Heâs not guiding your movement, he lets you take the reigns as you ride him like your life depends on it.
The damn cuck chair is restricting you though, your knees confined by the armrests, you canât get into it the way you know would blow his fucking mind. When you lift yourself off his cock, his head shoots back up, looking at you quizzically as you move off his lap and lower yourself on the floor between his legs. He spreads them immediately, accommodating you kneeling before him.
You peel off the condom, throwing it aside, before bracing yourself on his thigh with one hand. His palm comes down to land on top of your fingers running over the muscle of his upper leg. He caresses your hand as you close in on his cock, poking out your tongue to give it tiny kitten licks all over. His gaze never leaves you when your lips finally close around his leaking tip and he immediately twitches in your mouth with a whimper. Your lips are wet from precum and you let them run over his tip and down his shaft before taking him in properly. While you work your way down his length, your tongue flat against it, small whine-like sounds keep escaping him, contrasting the low groans he huffed out before and itâs making your head swim with need.
You hollow out your cheeks, sucking him down as far as you can go, your tongue swirling over his frenulum and through his slit on every upwards move. Heâs too big to get all of him into your mouth, so you wrap your fingers around the remaining length, aiding with flicks of your wrist.
The groans from earlier begin to mix in between the higher-pitched whimpering, his fingers gripping on to yours harder as you keep going.
Jungkook is staring at you through the whole blowjob, mouth slightly agape, his chest heaving.
âSo damn pretty with my cock in your mouth,â he muses between huffs, his free hand tangling into the back of your hair.
The praise goes straight to your pussy, throbbing and feeling neglected. Youâre sure though itâs not going to be for long while you keep bobbing your head. And you were right, because soon after he peels you off himself gently by your hair, his other hand helping you up. He pulls you closer to him, slotting his lips against yours for a lazy kiss with his fingers grazing your jaw.
After breaking the kiss, he gets up, his sweaty back sticking to the leather producing a moist squelch, taking you with him and walking you over to the bed while stepping out of his jeans and boxers on the way. He lays you down on your back with an arm around you.
This time itâs him getting on his knees at the end of the bed. Jungkook grabs you by your waist and pulls you towards him, your legs spread around his head. He removes the panties still bunched up next to your pussy, taking a deep whiff of them before tossing them aside. He dips his head between your thighs immediately, mumbling against your core.
âYou smell like heaven,â you can barely make out, his voice muffled by your skin, but itâs enough to make you moan at the dirty compliment. Maybe you have a praise kink that you werenât aware of before, because heâs driving you insane.
The last thing you see before your head falls on the mattress is his twinkling eyes looking at you with hunger-blown pupils. Then his mouth is on you, his tongue running along your slit, lapping up the gathered arousal. Each pass of his tongue is pulling you further into oblivion and when he finally sucks your clit between his lips, all you can do is gasp and grip the bedsheets. His nose is pressed to your pubic mound as he lavishes at your pussy, relentlessly flicking over your most sensitive spot. Heâs really not wasting any time, already having you right on the edge.
He alternates between his tongue and his lips in a mind-numbing rhythm and then two of his fingers push into you as well. Feeling him press his fingertips into your walls and working your clit at the same time has you arching off the bed.
âDonât stop,â you plead, your orgasm approaching in a rapid pace.
With one last curl of his fingers inside you, you clench around them and come on his face. Your thighs close around his head, caging him in as your hips lift off the mattress accompanied by a strangled whimper. Your body twitches helplessly as he keeps lapping at your clit, bordering on overstimulation as your orgasm slowly ebbs down and you finally have to push his face away from between your thighs.
âFuck, I could eat you out forever,â he groans, his lips and chin dripping in spit and your wetness as he reluctantly detaches from you. âI canât get enough of your pussy. So sweet.â
You laugh breathlessly, slumping back on to your elbows. âYeah, I could tell.â
He comes up from the floor, his palm wrapped around his rock-hard cock, stroking himself. When he looks down on you with hooded eyes, you grab his arm and pull him down. Jungkook chuckles as he lands on top of you, holding himself up with one arm so he doesnât crush you.
His leg slots between yours and his cock drags along your hip, smearing precum on your skin when he crashes your lips together. After feverishly letting your tongues tangle and bodies rub against each other, giving you time to recover, he pulls away and rolls onto his back. Using the moment, you grab a condom from your backpack next to the bed before you follow along, swinging your leg over his thighs to straddle him. You put the protection on him with gentle hands, only tugging lightly a single time when youâre done. Hovering just above his twitching cock then, you start exploring his torso, fingers running across his abs up to his chest, feeling the taut muscle contract under your hands. You trace the tattoo that goes from his arm, over his shoulder down to his pecks. His nipples are hardened and you canât resist brushing over them, small, dark and stiff, contrasting his pale skin. His hips hitch up at the teasing touch, making his cock glide between your labia. He whimpers and curses under his breath as he keeps sliding along your pussy, still puffy from the orgasm. The tip of his dick catches on your clit with every hump, your body now moving in sync to his motions, increasing the delicious friction.
On your last slide downwards, you angle your hips and with you still being soaked and spit-slick, his cock enters you without resistance. His hands on your ass tighten their grip as he sucks in a harsh breath. You canât hold back your own drawn-out moan as your pussy is finally being filled out again. With your fingers splayed on his abdomen for support, you lift up slightly just to slam back down. Thereâs no slow start, youâre not playing around, immediately gyrating your hips with every bounce, your pussy gripping his cock tightly like itâs trying to rip it off.
The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping on skin, wet squelching every time you move back down on his cock and a symphony of both your moans echoing off the walls.
Jungkook lets you lead again, but after a while, he canât help but thrust up into you, matching your rhythm and speed. You straighten out your back so you can reach behind you, cradling his balls, massaging them while you rock in his lap, before dipping down further to press into his taint firmly, pulling another whimper from him.
âDamn,â he presses out, his dick pumping into you. âYouâre the best fucking ride of my life.â
With his cock dragging along your walls, you let yourself fall forward and his arms close around your lower back, holding you close. You rest your head against his shoulder, your ass still drawing circles on him, your cheeks ricocheting every time your hips meet. At this angle, your clit is now rubbing against him, making you gasp at the much-needed friction while he shoves into you from beneath. It doesnât take long for you to get close again, so you grind down harder, chasing your high.
When your moans increase in volume, Jungkook digs his hands back into your ass.
âThatâs it,â he breathes against your ear. âCome on my cock like a good girl.â
His words unravel you immediately, the coil in your stomach snapping and you come for a second time with a cry, the intensity almost overwhelming. Your pussy clenches around him tightly, making him groan through gritted teeth under you. You sob into his shoulder while you try to keep riding out your orgasm with trembling thighs and your whole body convulsing.
Jungkook doesnât give you a chance to calm down this time. With strong arms, he lifts you off him and on your back. He stares down at you with dark eyes as he positions himself between your legs before he grabs the back of your knees and basically folds you in half. Jungkook rams his cock back into you without warning, the bed creaking loudly under the pistoning of his hips. You can do nothing but take his delicious slams into your sensitive pussy, too fucked out to contribute, your breathing coming out in shallow huffs between moans.
With a particularly harsh thrust, you hear a bed slat crash into the floor. Jungkook doesnât seem to care that heâs not only taking you apart, but also the bedframe, rapidly approaching his orgasm judging by the stuttered grunts that reverberate around you. You feel like youâre getting vertigo from Jungkook all over and inside you, the effects of you coming so hard still lingering, having you blissed out and your brain comfortably empty.
It doesnât take long for his movements to go choppy.
âFuck, how are you still so tight⊠so⊠perfect,â he struggles to grit out between heavy breaths before his hips still and he releases his load inside you accompanied by stuttered moans. The fingers on the back of your thighs dig into your skin, probably leaving marks, as he continues pumping into you sloppily until your pussy has milked every last drop of cum out of him and he canât hold himself up any longer. His body gives out, trembling, and he lets go of your legs before collapsing on top of you.
With his face in the crook of your neck, he exhales a shaky, incredulous laugh. Your fingers tangle into the back of his hair, caressing his scalp while he comes down. You are close to drifting off with Jungkookâs weight pressing into you, a calming feeling washing over you, when his voice startles you awake again.
âAre you okay?â he asks you with a hoarse voice, lifting himself off you, taking off the condom and settling against your side instead. His arm finds your middle and he pulls you closer.
âBetter than the bed,â you giggle sleepily.
Reluctantly, you move out of his embrace, not willing to risk having to continue your road trip with a bladder infection.
âIâll be right back,â you let him know.
You traipse to the bathroom to pee and when you come back, Jungkook is on his back, snoring lightly. You quickly pull on a baggy t-shirt and some panties and climb back into bed, careful not to wake him. When you snuggle into his side, his mouth curls into a smile and he hums.
âIâm taking you to breakfast before we go back tomorrow,â he mumbles with a sleep-tinged voice before drifting back off.
Masterlist
A/N: Thank you so much for reading :] Please consider reblogging or commenting if you enjoyed, or if you're shy, feel free to send us an anonymous ask! <3
Summary: You and Jeongguk have had the same arrangement for years, that whenever he's back home in Busan, he gets to recover from stardom in your arms. It allows you to act out your deepest fantasies without any strings attached, but maybe it doesn't have to remain a fantasy forever.
Pairing:Â Idol!Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Slice of Life AU, Childhood Friends with Benefits to Lovers, Fluff, Smut
Word Count: 5.1k
Warnings:Â unedited writing (!), blurred lines of friendship, complicated feelings, hidden feelings, friendly banter, pet names (baby, sunshine), fatigue. SMUT: kissing, neck kissing, titty play/fondling, oral sex (male receiving), nudity, cum swallowing, dirty talk, okay I think that's it!
Authorâs Note: happy FESTA, my loves!! now, I know what you're all thinking; alyssa, aren't you sick? and what is this random story not on your masterlist? well, this is what I decided to write in my acetaminophen-induced stupor. it's completely unedited, so if you see a typo, no you didn't, but I literally couldn't do anything the last three days but sleep and think about bts' concert and that's why this exists. and you might also be wondering why I didn't just work on cradle robbers since I still need to finish it, but that story requires time and effort and this is just my horny, lovesick (and literally sick) brain. so, enjoy!
You recognize the rhythmic knock on your door as easily as your favorite song, despite not hearing it in a while. Itâs always the same; three long raps and then two short beats.Â
Everything Jeongguk does has some sort of musicality to it. Even the way he kisses feels melodic. Heâs the only person who can play you like a fiddle, or the only one you allow to.Â
âItâs open,â you holler from the kitchen.Â
It isnât the norm for you to keep your door unlocked, but you already knew he was coming. Not because you two talked about it beforehand or because he texted you on his way over. This is just what you two do, and have done, for two years shy of a decade now.Â
Light shines in from the street lamps outside when Jeongguk enters your house, drops his bag, and kicks off his shoes. The sounds are understandably familiar given how many times this exact scenarioâs played out. And just like clockwork, a couple seconds after the door clicks shut, you feel two warm, strong arms wrapping around your middle.Â
âThis all for little ole me, huh?â Jeongguk whispers where his lips are grazing your neck.Â
You hear him inhale your scent and contentedly hum between his soft kisses along your throat, leaving you to fight off the urge to totally melt into him.Â
âWhy would it be? Is today a special occasion or something?âÂ
He chuckles into your skin. Itâs low and deep, making it obvious how tired he is, but still as bright as ever.Â
âOh, not really. Just Bangtanâs golden anniversary.âÂ
âAh, I see.â While he continues to paint your neck in affection, you add the finishing touches to the seaweed soup you made. âWell, Iâll have you know you guys donât own the date June thirteenth.âÂ
âNo?âÂ
His cheerful giggles tickle your ear and cause your head to tilt, unintentionally giving his mouth more space to work.Â
âNuh uh. It also happens to be my, um, my grandmaâs catâs birthday,â you retort.
Itâs such a stupid joke, but hearing Jeonggukâs loud laugh is enough to tell it again and again.Â
âMy apologies,â he drawls with a final peck. âTo the cat.âÂ
By the time he turns you around in his arms, youâre giggling, too. Itâs par for the course whenever youâre together, just like his hands caressing the bare skin of your waist below your top.Â
He looks so unbelievably handsome, even with evidence of fatigue written all over his face. His black hairâs gotten longer since you last saw him, but itâs parted on one side to show off his forehead and pretty, doe eyes.Â
On instinct, you reach up to comb through the front pieces and Jeongguk instantly wilts. His eyes close, shoulders drop, and muscles relax, bringing his body an inch closer to you.
âYou didnât have to come, you know.â As if to directly counter your statement, one of his arms loops around your back. âItâs been a long two days, no?âÂ
âMissed you.âÂ
His response is so quick itâs almost like muscle memory and you have to fend off the butterflies in your stomach as a result.Â
âIâm not going anywhere. You couldâve stopped by tomorrow or something.â When Jeongguk shakes his head with a slight pout, it triggers your memories of him doing the exact same thing as a kid. He hasnât changed at all since you two grew up together here in Busan, even though it feels like a lifetime ago. âGgukie.â
âIâŠâ His eyes open again and a smile slowly breaks out across his face as he surveys you. âI didnât wanna wait. I needed to be with you tonight.â You canât resist mirroring his expression. âIs that alright?âÂ
After a long inhale, you nod.Â
âItâs always alright.âÂ
Thatâs apparently all he needs to hear because he kisses you without missing a beat. Itâs mundane and regular to feel his lips against your own. Of course, it is. He was your first kiss as a teenager and youâve lost count of how many youâve shared since then.Â
Jeonggukâs lips are consistently soft, pleasant, and gentle. He kisses you like itâs the first time even in the middle of your raunchiest affairs. Sometimes heâs so delicate you forget the type of relationship this really is.Â
To be fair, Jeongguk doesn't treat you like just some friend with benefits or a random situationship. The years of familiarity between you garner a much deeper respect than that. But that also allows your heart to occasionally get the wrong idea.Â
He isnât yours, and youâre not sure if he ever will be. Which is okay. All you ever want is to have him in your life and whether thatâs platonically or romantically, you donât care. The only thing you could never withstand is losing him altogether.Â
Although, itâs a lie to say you wonât miss the feeling of his hands on your spine and your chests pressed together if your relationship suddenly becomes friendly. His long fingers occupy the majority of your back whenever he holds you like this, encompassing you in his presence until itâs all you can think about. Not to mention how his mouth guides your own open so he can slip his tongue inside.Â
This is how he gets you every time without fail. You can be completely focused on something, but as soon as his lips are on you, itâs game over.Â
For instance, the meticulously planned meal on the counter behind you.
âJeo â Jeongguk,â you murmur between kisses. âThe foodâs getting cold.âÂ
He just laughs at your feeble attempt to stop him.Â
âYou have a microwave for a reason, no?â
His head tilts to the opposite side so he can kiss you with more fervor, but you push on his chest to force him back. He looks cartoonishly offended by your actions and you have to lace your fingers together just wipe the frown off his face.Â
âYouâre really choosing pussy over food? Thatâs a little out of character.âÂ
âNah, not when itâs you,â he argues. âYou gotta know by now youâre my favorite meal.âÂ
An embarrassingly bright blush creeps in which you try to hide by glancing to your left, but Jeongguk knows you too well. He uses your chin to turn your head before smiling like a devil because of how pink your cheeks are. Leading you to swat his hand away and pivot in the opposite direction.Â
âHey! Where do you think youâre going?âÂ
You barely make it two feet before he catches you with a single arm, tugging you into his chest while you squeal and pretend to fight back. Jeongguk triumphantly cackles in return as he carries you to the couch and flops onto his back, bringing you down with him.Â
The position leaves all your most sensitive areas wide open and he takes full advantage by tickling you wherever he can reach. Itâs no different from when you were kids on the playground, although back then the behavior wasnât inundated with sexual tension. Because despite him making you screech and flail, a tender heat follows his fingers where they dance across your skin. His lips are also right beside your ear and the puffs of air from his laughter spreads goosebumps all down your arms.
âGgukie,â you whine, but he ignores the protest.
Well, partially. He stops tickling you, but only so his hands can slide beneath your shirt to feel your bare skin. One arm fully wraps around your stomach to keep you close while the other sneaks upwards until he finds your bra. His fingers push the material up so he can grope you unimpeached, eliciting a quiet moan when he begins massaging your breast.
In the meantime, he starts kissing your neck again. And like a true musician, he marries the tempo of his hand and mouth so every peck coincides with a firm squeeze. It turns your brain to putty and all you can do is let him keep touching you like his own personal piano.Â
âGod, youâre so warm.â His lips are dangerously close to your weak spot, the skin right before your shoulder that always makes you squirm. âThis is always what I miss the most.â
âOh, so you donât miss my company? Just my body?âÂ
Jeongguk giggles and itâs so damn cute you almost forget your titâs engulfed in his palm.Â
âOf course, I do,â he assures you. âI miss everything about you. All the time.â
You hate when he says shit that makes your heart race. It isnât fair because you canât respond in kind or else you risk scaring him away.Â
Heâs the one who asked for this arrangement; to be able to stroll through your door whenever heâs in town and have you all to himself until he has to leave again. Itâs not like you mind. Youâll give yourself to him any day of the week if he asks, but it means there are boundaries heâs allowed to push and you arenât.
Still, you find ways to skirt around your limitations.
âI missed you, too. Itâs been so long.â
âMm. When was the last time I was here? March?â
âYeah.â Before you can finish your sentence, he switches to your neglected breast and repeats his ministrations. âRight before the album dropped.âÂ
âIâm sorry, sunshine. I didnât mean to neglect you.âÂ
His lips move to your earlobe and it sends a familiar chill down your spine.Â
âSâokay. Iâll forgive you as long as you actually touch me,â you tease.Â
When he laughs again, you swear itâs like everything in the world just feels right.Â
Rather than responding, Jeongguk trails his other hand down your torso until he reaches the waistband of your jeans. He doesnât dip his fingers beneath the fabric, though, instead choosing to fiddle with the buttons while you grow increasingly more impatient.
âGguk.âÂ
âHmm?â
Along with a dry chuckle, you twist your upper body so you can see him.
âYou think youâre so cute, donât you?âÂ
You could drown in his responding smile.Â
âNo.â His hands move to your hips as he sits you both upright. âBut I do know you.âÂ
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?âÂ
Even though youâre in a less compromising position, youâre still between his legs with your back half against his chest.
âFor starters, you made me seaweed soup to celebrate the special occasion,â he answers. âAnd you know I just got done with back-to-back concerts. So Iâll be two seconds into fingering you when you hit me with, âno, Ggukie, you deserve to come before I do.ââ
Unfortunately, his impression of you is spot on, but you canât let him have a complete win.
âEh, five seconds.âÂ
Perhaps you deserve the reprise of his tickle attack, but you still try evading it by standing to create more distance between you. The only problem is Jeonggukâs arms are long enough to catch you, allowing him to force you onto his lap so his hands can torture you for however long he pleases.Â
Which is thankfully not long at all, because once youâre straddling his thighs, his fingers creep underneath your shirt to yank it over your head. Your braâs his next victim, joining your top on the floor before he leans in to suck your nipple into his mouth.Â
âOh,â you gasp as one hand sinks into his hair. âFuck.â
He hums around your nub while pinching the other between his thumb and forefinger.Â
You would let him play with your tits all night if only you had the time. Heâs an expert at bringing you pleasure with his fingers, teeth, and tongue. Alas, heâs right about you wanting him to come first. Itâs only fair after how hard heâs been working lately.Â
As much as youâd love to let him keep going, you use your grip on his scalp to pull his head away from your chest so you can kiss him. His mouthâs warm and swollen from his efforts, making it all too easy to nibble on his bottom lip until you hear a low groan.Â
Jeonggukâs hands are already on a different quest now, too, moving up and down your bare back and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Eventually, one of them glides up into your hair where he turns your soft strands into a mess of knots.Â
Itâs not like you mind, by the time you two are done your hairâs usually unrecognizable.Â
âYou should be proud, Ggukie.â You leave his mouth alone to pepper his sharp jaw with kisses. âThirteen years is a long time.âÂ
He breathes out a laugh.
âAre you proud of me?âÂ
The question halts you. Not because of the words themselves, but their sincerity. You lift your head so you can see his eyes and just like you expected, thereâs a glimmer of expectation in them.
âIâm always proud of you.â Your fingers in his hair begin to brush some locks away from his face before trailing down his cheek. âAnd I always have been. Since the day you left for Seoul.âÂ
A nostalgic smile graces his lips.
âYou mean when I kissed you goodbye at the train station?âÂ
It was your first kiss, his as well, and although it was nothing more than a millisecond-long peck, it stopped your heart.Â
âOh, Iâve never been prouder of you than in that moment.â
His grin grows before he cranes his neck for another kiss, albeit much more chaste than its predecessors.Â
âI canât thank you enough for always being here,â he remarks. âAnd Iâm not just talking about the sex. I know you know that, but I wanna make sure you understand how much you mean to me.âÂ
Itâs so hard getting sentimental without your shirt on because then he can see your whole chest and neck flushing with affection.Â
âI know,â you tell him.
Jeongguk sighs and lets his head fall forward into your sternum where he places a couple gentle kisses.Â
âYou smell nice.âÂ
The unexpected compliment causes you to snicker.Â
âYeah?â He nods. âWell, surprisingly, you do, too.â
âBecause I showered, you brat!â
Heâs forced to glance up again when your laughter makes his resting place shake too much, but he doesnât seem to mind. Thereâs a wistful smile on his lips as his eyes flit around your face.Â
âItâs because youâre expecting to get your dick sucked, isnât it?â As much as he tries to hide it, the lopsided smirk that forms immediately gives him away. âYou greedy bastard.âÂ
âOh, please, like Iâve ever stepped through your doors and not gotten my dick sucked.âÂ
Alright, you suppose thatâs fair.Â
âWhatever. It still shouldnât be expected.âÂ
His tongue hits the roof of his mouth.Â
âSo itâs not happening?âÂ
âI never said tha ââÂ
âThen why arenât you on your knees yet?â You gawk at him before smacking his chest, leaving him melodramatically clutching his left pec. âI was kidding!âÂ
âNo, you werenât,â you challenge.Â
After another moment, he drops the act and lets his hands roam your hips.Â
âI mean, donât you think I deserve it? Thirteen years of working day in and day out. The least my best friend can do is let me fuck her pretty little mouth.â
Itâs genuinely diabolical how wet you become from his words alone.Â
âYou have a sick interpretation of what best friends are for.âÂ
Jeongguk doesnât respond, just tilts his head to one side while waiting for you to give in, because he knows you will. You always do because you want him just as badly as he wants you. Thatâs why this arrangement works so well and has lasted this long.Â
Like clockwork, you roll your eyes and drop to your knees in front of him. It produces an overconfident grin as Jeongguk sinks into the couch and spreads his legs apart to make room for you.Â
âAnd yet, here we are,â he comments.Â
You gaze up at him with a fiery glare, but itâs contrary to how your hands are already undoing his belt buckle. He pitches his hips up to help you pull his jeans and boxers down, revealing just how hard he is after everything you two have gotten up to so far.Â
His dickâs so pretty; long and thick with big veins running down his shaft. You havenât even touched him yet, but heâs twitching and leaking precum all over his cockhead.Â
âNo wonder youâre so demanding tonight, you look like youâre about to bust.âÂ
He groans when you place your hands on his thighs instead of touching him where he clearly needs you.Â
âPlease, sunshine, Iâve been thinking about you all fucking day.âÂ
âOh?â Your fingers inch higher, but not nearly close enough. âHow so?â
âY/N.â
âIf you tell me, Iâll give you what you want,â you sing-song.
Jeonggukâs head falls back onto the cushions as another sound of protest passes through his lips. He must realize you wonât give in, though, because he eventually looks down to hold your eye contact.Â
âSince the moment I woke up this morning Iâve been picturing all the different positions I wanna put you in. Could barely focus during soundcheck because of how badly I need you.âÂ
Well, that was a bad idea because now youâre freaking drenched. But you still gotta maintain a little dignity.
âIs this one of them?â
Before replying, he slowly nods.
âOf many.âÂ
You sure like the sound of that. It also seems particularly mean to continue torturing him. Not to mention how terribly you want him after months apart. It isnât the longest youâve gone without seeing each other, but any amount of time is tough when heâs the only person who knows how to make you feel good.Â
So, you move your hands up to give yourself enough leverage before leaning in to kiss his tip. His whole body lurches from your touch, but once your tongue darts out to collect his precum, he relaxes against the couch cushions.
At the same time you moan over his familiar taste, he groans and tosses his head back again. His fingers find your scalp and latch onto your hair, simultaneously pulling it away from your face and giving him an anchor.Â
You donât waste time, not like how you normally do by dragging your tongue up and down his shaft. Tonight you immediately take his head into your mouth while letting spit drip out to lubricate him.Â
Jeonggukâs clearly happy with the decision because you feel a harsh tug on your hair as well as his thighs clenching beneath your hands.Â
âFuck, baby, just like that,â he mindlessly encourages you.Â
Except it actually almost stops you in your tracks. Heâs never called you baby before, or any pet name, at least not during a sexual encounter. Maybe while trying to tease you or in a general manner, but never like this.Â
He doesnât seem to notice, though, so you chalk it up to him being deep in the throes of pleasure.Â
After pushing the comment from your mind, you inhale through your nose and sink lower, swallowing another inch of length as Jeongguk loudly moans above you.
âGod.â While you focus on not gagging, his free hand combs more of your hair back so he can see your lips stretched around his thick cock. âYou have no idea how good this feels, sunshine. No one does it like you.âÂ
You hum in acknowledgment, eliciting another deep moan.Â
Before his praises can distract you any longer, you take in one last gulp of air and force your head all the way down to his pelvis. Both you and Jeongguk choke, but surprisingly, his own lasts longer than yours. Youâre used to having his dick deep inside your throat, so although itâs been a while, you only need a moment to adjust.Â
On the contrary, Jeonggukâs practically losing his mind. Both of his hands land on your head as he endlessly groans and pants your name.Â
âOh, fuck. Jesus⊠fuck.â Itâs hard not to laugh at how seemingly mesmerized he is. âY/N, baby, please move. Need you so bad.âÂ
Another one? How does he expect you to give him the blowjob of his dreams when he keeps calling you that?Â
Luckily for him, youâve been doing this long enough to overcome his abnormal behavior.Â
You already know exactly how he likes it; slow, sloppy, and wet. Jeonggukâs an attention whore and loves knowing all of your focus is solely on pleasuring him. Hence why you begin leisurely bobbing up and down while using the tip of your tongue to trace the underside of his cock.Â
He sighs in relief and you can feel all his muscles unwinding, giving you quite the confidence boost. Jeonggukâs always responsive in these situations, but he seems particularly drunk on you tonight.Â
Besides the actions of your tongue and lips, you alternate between moaning and humming whenever his tip sinks deeper into your mouth. You also repeatedly let more spit roll down his shaft, which creates a sinful cacophony of sound when mixed with Jeonggukâs whines and groans.Â
âShit. Oh⊠my god.âÂ
When you glance up, all you see is a sharp jawline and pretty neck. But it isnât long before a pair of shiny, doe eyes meet your gaze.Â
Jeonggukâs pupils blow wide when he realizes you're watching him and you even feel his dick twitch inside your esophagus. Soon enough a proud smirk appears and one of his hands traces your profile until heâs caressing your cheek.
âYou look so beautiful, sunshine.â He pulls on your hair to bring your mouth back up around his head and you instantly understand the silent memo. Rather than swallowing his length again, you circle and tease the sensitive ridge of his tip with your tongue. âThatâs it. Always sâgood for me, arenât you?â
After humming and batting your eyelashes at him, you feel another sharp jolt from his cock. You take it as your cue to keep going and even start massaging his balls that are covered in your drool. In response, Jeongguk shouts a string of curses and his fingers scratch your scalp as he struggles to stay sane.Â
Youâve done this enough to know heâs close, but you need a break before you can finish him off. Following one last lap of your mouth, you let your hand take over so you can replenish your oxygen.
âGoddamn,â he huffs as his eyes follow your fingerâs movements along his shaft.
âWhere do you wanna come?â
His focus shifts to your face again, so you send him a mischievous grin.
âCâmon, sunshine, you already know where.â
âYou never know,â you counter. âMy tits look pretty good tonight.â
Jeongguk snickers.Â
âThey always look good.â The next thing you know, heâs leaning down and using his grip on your face to guide you closer. âBut I wanna fill you up right here.âÂ
Thereâs no need for clarification because he kisses you to explain himself. Itâs messy and amorous, not only because of how swollen your lips are, but because Jeongguk shoves his tongue inside your mouth.Â
You both moan and more precum leaks from his tip as your wet muscles tangle together. If you arenât careful, he might come before you even wrap your lips around him again.Â
When you finally pull back, a string of saliva stretches between your mouths that Jeongguk swipes away. He leaves his thumb there for a moment, pressing down on your bottom lip before slipping his finger between your teeth.Â
Even though you know what he wants, you playfully bite down on his knuckle instead. Following his shocked yelp, you both burst into laughter.
âYouâre such a fucking brat,â he scolds you.Â
âWell, this bratâs still got her hand around your cock.âÂ
You squeeze his head to make a point, causing Jeongguk to hiss and yank on your hair in retaliation.Â
âCan we change that?â As if you two werenât just teasing each other a second ago, he gently cradles your face again. âWill you let me paint your pretty throat white?âÂ
If only you could muster a witty response, but all you can manage is an aimless nod that leaves him smirking as he sits back against the couch once more.Â
There isnât any reason to wait, so you let your hand drop back down to his balls before encasing his head between your lips. You immediately bring his entire length inside your mouth again, picking up where you left off without any hesitation.Â
Similarly, it doesnât take long for Jeongguk to teeter on the brink of ecstasy. After only a few strokes, you feel his balls tighten and then his hot cum floods your mouth. His release makes him groan so loud you actually worry your neighbors will hear, but you also donât care when youâre busy swallowing his seed.Â
Jeongguk always tastes good and you canât resist moaning while moving up and down his shaft to collect all his cum.Â
âHoly shit, baby,â he gasps as you continue lick and suck throughout his climax. âFuck, donât stop.âÂ
Not like you need to be told twice. You love breaking him off just as much as he does.Â
Once heâs practically devoid of semen and youâre out of oxygen, you release his cock and sit back on your heels. Jeongguk melts into the couch afterwards, including his eyes rolling back as his whole body relaxes.Â
âGood?âÂ
He humorlessly laughs.
âThe best fucking head of my life.âÂ
In the middle of you pridefully giggling, Jeongguk hooks his arms under your shoulders to hoist you back up. But you have other plans, and before he can manhandle you into his lap, you grab the bottom hem of his shirt to pull it off.Â
Heâs so fucking sexy it makes your head spin, especially after how much heâs been working out on tour. You could spend hours just running your tongue along his abs if heâd only let you.Â
âOh, is this what you want?âÂ
Instead of waiting for a response, Jeongguk tugs your jeans and panties to the floor in one smooth motion before guiding you to straddle him again.Â
As if he wasnât wet enough from your blowjob, your cunt lands right on his dick and all the essence youâve been leaking since the moment he stepped inside your house lubricates him even more.Â
âOh, my god,â you whine, causing him to smile over his effect on you.
âYou get this wet just from sucking me off, sunshine?â Despite how embarrassing it is, you nod. âGood. Want you to be nice and soaked when I fuck you.âÂ
âGgukie, please.â
âYeah, is that what you want? For me to fuck you just right? Like I always do?â
âMmhm.â
Based on past patterns, you expect him to drive his cock into you without another word, but his hands just trace your curves while his eyes map your features.Â
Youâre about to question his hesitation when he delicately cups your jaw, causing your eyebrows to pinch together.
âWhat if I want more?â He asks sincerely, in complete contrast to a moment ago.
âWhat?â
Jeongguk inhales and licks his lips.
âWhat if I donât want to just see you whenever Iâm in Busan? What if I want to see you in my bedroom and my kitchen and lying on my couch?â
âIn⊠in Seoul?âÂ
He smiles.
âItaewon.â
If your heart wasnât about to beat out of your body, your eyes would roll back so far theyâd get stuck.Â
âJeongguk, my whole lifeâs here. My job, my family ââ
âI know, sunshine. I do.â His fingertips brush against your cheek and it takes all your willpower not to rest your head in his palm. âIâm not saying itâll be easy or can happen right away, but eventuallyâŠâ He looks uncharacteristically nervous and it makes you hold your breath in anticipation. âEventually, I want your face to be the first thing I see when I come home at the end of the day.âÂ
The air you were keeping captive disappears in an instant as you digest his words. You desperately want them to mean exactly what they sound like, but youâre terrified of misinterpreting the situation.Â
Except when you focus on how Jeonggukâs looking at you, with starry eyes full of wonder and hope, you donât believe you are. Which elicits quite possibly the biggest smile youâve ever worn before you lean in to kiss him.Â
Jeongguk catches on quickly, his fingers on your face sliding into your hair so he can keep you close. Your own hands move from his shoulders to his neck while his opposite arm circles your waist. It doesnât even matter that youâre naked, all your attentionâs on the fluid movement of your mouths and how undeniably happy you are.Â
âIâm crazy about you, Y/N,â he whispers to your lips.Â
Although you delightfully giggle at first, you soon pull away to smack his chest.Â
âWhat took you so damn long, huh?âÂ
He momentarily gawks before parroting your laughter.
âIâm sorry, baby. I just didnât think Iâd be able to handle it all.âÂ
âI wouldnât have cared,â you protest.Â
âBut I wouldâve. I needed to make sure I could be an idol and the boyfriend you deserve before asking you to be anything more than this.âÂ
As much as you want to fight him on it, thereâs no going back now, and all you truly care about is having a future with him.Â
âAnd you feel like you can do that?âÂ
You trust him to be everything you deserve and more, but you want to ensure he wonât be spreading himself too thin for your sake.Â
âI do. More importantly, I want to,â he clarifies. âI want you so fucking bad, and I donât mean sexually. I wanna cook you dinner, take you out for ice cream, and go on walks near the Han river.âÂ
âOh, Iâve never been there.â
âI know! Iâve been dying to take you for years.âÂ
Itâs been a long time since youâve seen Jeongguk this excited about something, and your possible life together being the reason is more than you could ever wish for.Â
When he smiles in response to your confession, it feels like the entire world around you falls away. In fact, you barely register him closing in for another kiss. And you certainly donât realize heâs flipping you over until you feel the cushions on your back.Â
Nothing else really matters after that, anyway. You two have had sex so many times over the years itâs the last thing on your mind in comparison to the future.Â
Not to say you donât thoroughly enjoy yourself when he puts you in all those positions he mentioned earlier, but all you can think about is what sex will be like in a shared bed. One youâll wake up and fall asleep in together, for many years to come.Â
The 80s were a time of choices. Which perm was right for you? What color neon would you wear next? None of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with Jeon Jungkook.
A/N: Bitchinâ is a multichapter fic, surprise!! This fic was inspired by To All The Boys Iâve Loved Before. Thank you to @junqkook for letting me use her likeness and helping me with Yaraâs character overall.
The time on the clock was glaring at you, a silent caution that todayâs lab was going to totally suck.
You could feel irritation start to eat away at you. You and your best friend, Yara, had a deal. She would show up to the dissection today and, in exchange, you would gladly do all the work. But given that class would start in four minutes, you had a sneaking suspicion that Yara was going to in fact skip class after all.
You let your chin sink down into the comfort of your open palm, eyes flickering once again towards the black and white clock that was perched up above the classroomâs blackboard. Usually, you could hear each small tick of time, but seeing as this lab was more exciting, every student in the room was currently chatting amongst their peers, covering the clockâs sound.
You considered for a moment making conversation with your professor. That idea was quickly squashed once you realized that he too was preoccupied â his attention set on the clock as well, allowing the minute hand to make its final journey before beginning the class.
Suddenly, you realized that not only had Yara left you alone, but she had also left you without a partner to do the dissection. You glanced around the room, frowning as you saw that every other table was evenly numbered, meaning you would be forced to join a random pair to make a group of three.
Wicked.
âGood afternoon, everyone.â Mr. Kim began, pausing to take a swig from his coffee mug. âI hope everyone read the email I sent out yesterday in regards to proper attire. If anyone isnât wearing actual shoes, then I suggest you beat it unless youâre particularly amped at the idea of losing a toe when someone accidentally drops their scalpel.â
A few isolated giggles rang out, but no one made any move to leave.
âNo one? Radical. Feet are gross anywayââ
The sound of the classroom door suddenly being pushed open stole away everyoneâs attention. The late boy that walked in froze momentarily, clearly not expecting all eyes to fall onto him, but quickly regained his composure as he flashed a smile.
The loud bass pulses through the sidewalk before you even reach the entranceâa black metal door. The club sits in a neighborhood that looks like itâs been forgotten on maps, or one people are too afraid to step foot in.
The pavement, covered with cigarette butts, old oil stains, and torn flyers, makes it feel like a ghost town. A few people stand outside the building, chatting and smoking. Old vehiclesâonly a handful, easy to countâare parked in the distance, looking almost abandoned under the dim streetlights.
With each step closer, the musicâs beat grows heavier and lower, like your own heartbeat. Thereâs no reason to be scaredâjust cautiousâas you sneak a glance at a bald, muscular man who looks intoxicated and ready to chew someoneâs head off.
This is no fancy club. There are no velvet ropes, no long lines, no excitement lingering in the air. At least, not for you.
If it werenât for a twist of events, you would never come here voluntarily. Your outfit says otherwise, though.
You stand close to your friends, practically glued to their sides, as the man who looks like a straight-up junkie moves toward the clubâs door. Oh, heâs the bouncer.
As he eyes all of you with empty orbs, part of you wishes he would turn you away and not let you enter this place. Your wish isnât fulfilled. The bouncer gives Mario a curt nod, and thatâs all it takes for your friend to lead the way.
As soon as the door opens, the music becomes sharper and clearer. Thereâs only a small space before it leads downstairs to the basement. This place is everything a mother would tell you to avoid.
Good thing you donât have one.
Neon lights grow more visible with each step, covering the floor in flickering electric pink, acid green, and colors you donât even get to notice as they shift too quickly. As you make it down to the main room, your mouth dropsâand so does your heart.
The place is packed, so much so that it makes you question if itâs really that good. The exterior aloneâthe entire neighborhoodâis just not it. How does Mario even know a place like this? How does he even know this part of town?
You make a mental note to question him later, because he sure as hell didnât mention any of it. All he said was that the booze is cheap and the place is fine. If leaving means paying more for the few shots youâre about to have, so be it.
From the looks of it, everyone else is on board and follows him.
The air is thick with a mixture of scents you canât even name. Thereâs a distinct smell of cigarettes, weed, and perfumeâthe rest, youâd rather not identify. By the time youâre out of here, youâll reek of this place and probably have to burn the nice dress youâre wearing.
Mario promised he was only dropping something off, so this should be quickâ in and out. It should be quick enough for you to grab a drink and hopefully head somewhere else.
El leans closer, her shoulder bumping into yours as she tries to be heard over the pounding music. Her voice still barely cuts through it.
âWhat is this place?â
You follow her gazeâand thatâs when you see it.
Ahead of you, past the blur of bodies and neon light, thereâs a ring. Not the kind youâd expect. Not clean, not professional. A fence cages it in completely, metal bars rising high enough to make it feel less like a sport and more like containment. Like whatever goes in there isnât supposed to get out.
It looks barbaric. Primal. Like it was built for animals.
And the people gathered around itâtoo many, too eagerâarenât just passing by. Theyâre waiting.
You swallow, leaning in so El can hear you.
âIt looks like a nightmare.â
El lets out a short breath that might be a laugh, might be something else. She tilts her head, eyes scanning the ring with something closer to curiosity than concern.
âIâve been to worse.â
For once, you donât question her.
Elâs always been the one to drift into places like this without hesitation, coming back with stories she tells like theyâre nothingâlike they didnât happen. You used to think she exaggerated.
Now, standing here, youâre not so sure.
The crowd shifts, tightening around the fence as if pulled by the same invisible string. Someone shoves past you, the smell of sweat and smoke clinging to them. Another voice shouts something you canât make out, swallowed whole by the bass.
You glance around for Mario, but heâs already a few steps ahead, carving a path like he belongs here.
That doesnât sit right.
Your fingers curl slightly at your sides, the fabric of your dress suddenly feeling too thin, too out of place in a room like this. The air presses in, thick and suffocating, buzzing with anticipation.
Whatever is about to happen in that ringâ
Youâre not sure you want to see it.
But the crowd isnât leaving.
And neither are you.
Mario weaves through the crowd like heâs done it a hundred times, barely checking if you and El are still behind him. You push through shoulders and elbows, the press of bodies tightening the closer you get to the fenced ring.
He finally stops, gesturing toward a narrow stretch of space wedged between a rusted railing and a couple already arguing over something you canât hear.
âHere.â
Seats is a generous word. Itâs more like a claimed patch of groundâthird row, if you had to guess. Not close enough to touch the fence, but close enough that whatever happens in there wonât be easy to ignore.
You glance toward the ring again.
Up close, itâs worse.
The ground inside looks⊠wrong. Like itâs been scraped clean over and over again. The surface is uneven, rough in placesâbut there are faint traces that didnât quite disappear. Darker patches. Stains that the dim, flickering lights canât fully hide.
Your stomach tightens.
Mario claps his hands once, like heâs wrapping something up. âStay here. Iâll be right back.â
Your head snaps toward him. âWhat do you mean stay here? What the hell is this place?â
He sighs, but itâs not sharp or annoyedâmore like he just doesnât have the energy for this right now. His eyes flick briefly toward the ring, then back to you.
âIâll get you your drinks,â he says, already half-turning away. âWhat dâyou want?â
You hesitate, glancing around againâthe crowd, the fence, the floor inside the ring.
âIâm not sure I want to drink anything from this place.â
El snorts beside you, loud enough to earn a glance from someone nearby.
Mario rolls his eyes. âGod, youâre such a snob.â
You scoff immediately. âIâm notââ
âWeâll have vodka,â El cuts in, waving a hand like sheâs sealing the deal.
Mario nods once, like that settles everything, and disappears back into the crowd before you can argue further.
For a second, itâs just you and El, the noise, the heatâ
And then the music cuts.
Just like that.
A sharp hum of feedback cuts through the silence, and a manâs voice follows, loud and grating through the speakers.
âAlright, alrightâeyes up!â
You look toward the ring.
The man holding the microphone steps into the light, and for a moment, youâre not sure if you should take him seriously. He looks like heâs somewhere in his forties, head completely shaved, his clothes hanging off him like they donât belong to himâtoo big, too worn, sleeves slipping past his wrists. The kind of outfit that looks like it was pulled from one of those street donation bins, the ones meant for charity but always picked through before anything gets there.
He has that same look, too.
Like the kind of guy youâd cross the street to avoid.
But hereâhere, he owns the room.
âWelcome, you animals!â he shouts, grinning wide enough to show crooked teeth. âYou came hungry tonight, yeah?â
A laugh almost slips out of you.
Itâs not even that funnyâbut something about the way he says it, like he means it, like heâs not talking to the crowd but about them, hits in a strange way. Humor, sharp and dry, cuts through the unease curling in your stomach.
Because you already have a feeling what that ring is for.
And somehow, that makes it worse.
The reaction is instant.
The crowd eruptsâloud, aggressive, overwhelming. It slams into you from all sides, so intense it makes you flinch. Itâs not just cheering. Itâs something rougher. Hungrier.
You hadnât realized how many men were packed into this place until now. Your stomach twists.
The man laughs into the mic, feeding off it. âThatâs what I like to hear!â
He paces along the edge of the fenced ring, dragging the moment out before throwing one arm toward the entrance on the opposite side.
âLetâs not waste time. Get ready for your first fighter of the nightâgive it up forâŠâ he pauses, milking it, ââŠBlue Viper!â
The name hits, and the crowd roars again.
A man steps into the ring.
Heâs lean, all sharp lines and defined muscle, abs catching the harsh lights as he moves. Royal blue shorts hang low on his hips, matching gloves already strapped tight around his hands. He lifts his arms the second he steps inside, like heâs already won, soaking in the noise like it belongs to him.
It probably does.
âWhat the fuck,â you mumble under your breath.
Beside you, El swallows, eyes fixed on the ring.
âHow does Mario even know about this place?â you add, quieter now, like saying it too loud might make it worse.
But thereâs no time to think. The man with the mic raises his hand again, the crowd slowly settlingânot quiet, never quiet, just waiting.
âAnd his opponentâŠâ he continues, voice dropping just enough to build it back up, ââah, this one doesnât need much of an introduction.â
A ripple moves through the crowd. You feel it before you understand it.
âHeâs your favorite,â the man grins. âYour undefeatedâyour JK!â
For a split second, your brain doesnât catch up.
And thenâ
The crowd explodes. Louder than before. Wilder. People shouting, pushing forward, fists hitting the fence.
The fence door screeches as itâs pulled open.
And then he steps in.
JK.
The noise swells instantly, people pressing closer, shouting his name like it means somethingâlike he means something. But he doesnât even acknowledge it. Not a glance, not a flicker. His focus is locked straight ahead.
On his opponent.
He moves like he already knows how this ends.
Every step is controlled, deliberate. His body shifts under the harsh lights, all muscle and definitionâabs tight, arms flexing with even the smallest movement. Thereâs no wasted motion in him. No nerves. Just quiet, coiled readiness.
His opponent tries to hold his ground, but you catch itâthe slight tension in his stance, the way his shoulders tighten under JKâs stare.
Like he already feels it.
Up close, you catch more of him. A sharp jawline, clean and defined, his expression unreadable. When he turns slightly, the line of his back comes into viewâlean, strong, every muscle moving under his skin like itâs carved there.
You hate to admit it.
Butâyeah. Heâs hot.
And apparently, youâre not the only one who noticed.
You glance at El, andâ
Right. Of course.
Sheâs staring at him like she just found religion, eyes practically sparkling.
âHoly fuck,â she breathes. âSuddenly I like being here.â
You snort, shaking your head, even though your own attention has definitely sharpened.
StillâŠ
Your gaze drifts back to the ring, to the fence, to the crowd pressing in like this is the only thing that matters. Youâre not sure you like this.
Because itâs obvious now. This isnât just some weird club attraction. This is underground fightingâillegal, brutal, the kind of thing people donât talk about in daylight.
And somehow, Mario brought you here.
Of all places.
Your brows pull together slightly as you scan the crowd again, unease settling back in.
Mario has always had⊠questionable connections. The kind you and El never really asked about, choosing instead to ignore whatever didnât fit into your version of him.
Mario slips back beside you like he never left, pressing a cold glass into your hand. âWhatâd I miss?â he asks, far too casually.
You turn to him immediately, irritation rising. âWhat the hell is this, Mario? What are we doing hereâand how did you think this was a good idea?â
He exhales, already looking like he doesnât want to deal with this conversation, but you donât let up.
âSeriously. This placeâthis isnât normal.â
El doesnât even glance at him. Her attention is locked on the ring, eyes sharp with interest, like sheâs already decided this is worth watching. You, on the other hand, canât stop thinking about the cage, the crowd, the way everyone seemed to be waiting for something violent to happen.
âWhat is this place?â you ask again, quieter now, but no less firm.
Before he can answer, a sharp bell rings out, cutting through the noise and pulling every ounce of attention back to the ring.
The fight starts instantly. The other guy lunges first, throwing a punch that should landâbut JK shifts just enough for it to miss, his movement so subtle it almost looks lazy. Another swing follows, then another, each one missing by inches as JK slips past them with controlled precision, like heâs already mapped out every move before it happens.
You donât even realize your grip on the glass has tightened until your fingers start to ache. Thereâs something hypnotic about the way he movesâsmooth, efficient, completely unbothered. He doesnât rush or panic, doesnât even try to overpower. He just watches, waits, and lets the other guy wear himself down.
For a moment, it almost feels intentional, like heâs letting him try.
Taunting him.
The thought settles just as the other man commits to another strike, stepping in harder this time, putting everything behind itâand thatâs when JK finally moves forward. His fist connects cleanly, the impact sharp enough to echo even through the roar of the crowd, sending the man stumbling back until his body slams into the fence with a harsh metallic rattle.
The reaction around you is immediate and overwhelming, the crowd exploding with noise that makes your brows pull together as it crashes into you from all sides. But your focus stays on the ring, on the thin line of blood already slipping from the manâs nose, stark against his skin.
Your stomach twists, but not enough to make you look away.
Without thinking, you lift the drink Mario handed you and down it in one go, ignoring the burn, the taste, the suffocating thickness of the air. Your eyes stay locked on the fight, tracking every movement, every shift.
And somewhere in the middle of it, you realize your attention isnât just caughtâ
itâs hooked.
The fight doesnât slow downâit shifts entirely in JKâs favor.
Once the other man hits the ground, something in JK changes. Whatever restraint he had disappears as he follows him down without hesitation, delivering punch after punch with the same controlled force. Each hit lands with a dull, sickening impact, the sound carrying even through the roar of the crowd.
The man barely manages to get his arms up, but it doesnât do much. Blood spreads quicklyâacross his face, down his chest, soaking into the already worn surface beneath him. Those faint stains you noticed earlier are no longer subtle. Theyâre fresh now, darker, undeniable.
JKâs gloves are black, thick. The color hides most of the blood, swallowing it instead of putting it on display, but not entirely. A darker sheen clings to them, catching under the harsh lights every time his fists rise and fall.
Your stomach tightens as the noise around you grows louder, more aggressive, feeding into every hit instead of pulling back from it. It starts to feel like too muchâtoo close, too real, too far past the point where someone should have stepped in already.
âMario,â you say, leaning toward him, your voice strained as you try to be heard over the chaos. âIs thereâdo they have a restroom or something?â
He doesnât answer right away, his attention still fixed on the ring, jaw set like heâs invested in how this ends. For a second, you think he didnât even hear you, but then he glances over, quick and distracted. âYeah. Down the hall, to the left.â
You nod, already shifting your weight as you turn to El. âCome with me.â
She doesnât move. She doesnât even look at you. Her eyes stay locked on the ring, her expression sharper than before, completely absorbed in whatâs happening. It catches you off guard, enough that you pause for a second, staring at her like you donât quite recognize this version of her.
âSeriously?â you mutter under your breath, but she doesnât react, and it leaves you standing there alone with the noise pressing back in.
Because the fight wasnât bad at firstâit was controlled, almost impressive in a way you didnât expectâbut this is different. This is something else entirely.
Your gaze drifts back to the ring despite yourself, catching the way the man on the ground jerks under another hit, a broken grunt slipping from him as he tries to move, to shield himself, to do anything at all. No one steps in. No one even looks like theyâre thinking about it.
A cold thought settles in as you watch.
You hope this isnât one of those fightsâthe kind that doesnât end until someone doesnât get back upâbecause the way that man looks right now, barely moving, barely holding on, makes it hard not to think heâs already getting close.
Before you can see anything else, youâve had enough.
You donât care how dodgy this place looks anymoreâonly that you need a second to breathe. The thought crosses your mind, sharp and unwelcome, that walking out alone probably isnât the smartest idea. A single woman slipping away from a crowd like this doesnât exactly scream safe. Still, you push it aside, stand up, and follow the direction Mario gave you.
The further you move from the ring, the more the place reveals itselfâand none of it is reassuring. The air is thick with alcohol and weed, clinging to the walls, to your skin, to the back of your throat. The dim lighting doesnât help, casting everything in a dull, grimy glow that makes even the hallway feel like somewhere you shouldnât be.
You tug your dress down instinctively, suddenly too aware of how short it is, how out of place you feel. The red lipstick you put on earlier now seems like a mistake. If only you had known where you were coming.
The restroom is worse.
One look inside is enough. The smell hits first, then the stained tiles, the flickering light, the general state of neglect that makes your stomach turn. You donât even consider using it. Instead, you step up to the sink, eyes lifting to the mirror.
You look⊠composed.
More than you expected, at least. Even with the frown thatâs probably been stuck on your face since you walked in, you donât look shaken. Not on the outside.
You turn on the tap, rinsing your hands out of habit more than anything, the faint taste of vodka still lingering on your tongue. Somewhere in the distance, even from down the hall, you can still hear itâthe cheers, muffled but persistent, like a reminder that whatever is happening in that ring hasnât slowed down.
You donât want to be here.
But you also donât want to be left out.
The thought pushes you into motion again. You dry your hands quickly and head back out, picking up your pace as you move down the hallway, unease settling deeper with every step. The walls are lined with old posters, most of them ripped or peeling, leaving behind only fragmentsâfaces without names, events long gone, nothing fully readable.
It only adds to the feeling that you shouldnât be here.
Youâre halfway down when it happens.
You nearly stop in your tracks.
Heâs there.
The man from the ringâthe one who was just getting beatenâwalking toward you like nothing happened. Up close, itâs worse. Blood still clings to him, smeared across his face and chest, his steps uneven, his body barely holding itself together.
And behind himâ
The man with the microphone follows, saying something you canât quite catch.
Your attention snaps forward again.
Because coming straight toward youâ
JK.
Heâs already out of the ring, moving fast, like the fight meant nothing. The gloves are gone, replaced by white wraps around his hands, slightly darkened in places. His hair sticks to his forehead, damp with sweat, his skin glistening under the dim lights as he closes the distance without slowing down.
For a second, you freeze.
Then instinct kicks in and you step aside quickly, pressing yourself against the wall just as he passes. He doesnât even look at you. Doesnât hesitate. Doesnât acknowledge you at all.
Itâs like youâre not even there.
Like if you hadnât movedâ
He wouldâve walked straight through you.
Your thoughts barely have time to settle before theyâre cut off.
âElâ?â
She rushes into view, nearly colliding with you, her expression completely different from the one she had just minutes ago. Whatever excitement she had is gone, replaced with something far more overwhelmed, almost frantic.
âI need the bathroom,â she blurts out, slightly breathless. âLike, right now. I hadâshitâI had like three shots in five minutes.â
You blink at her, still catching up. âWhereâs Mario?â
El glances back over her shoulder, like she expects him to magically appear behind her. âHe said he needed to go too. Just disappeared into the crowd.â
You frown immediately.
Of course he did.
You bite back the first thing that comes to mind, irritation flaring as you glance past her, half-expecting to spot him somewhere down the hall. Nothing. Just the muffled noise from the main room and people moving around like nothing just happened.
Great.
Youâll definitely have to curse him out laterâfor leaving you alone earlier, even if the whole crowd had still been focused on the fight. At least then, everyoneâs attention had been locked on the ring. Now? The fight is over, the tension is shifting, and you donât even know how to guess who won.
Worse, El couldâve gotten lost in that mess.
Or someone couldâveâ
You cut the thought off as your attention sharpens.
Because you can feel it now.
The looks.
They werenât as obvious before, not when everyone had been too distracted, but now that the focus has broken, itâs different. There arenât many women hereâyouâve noticed that muchâand the way some of the men look at you now makes your stomach twist. Lingering stares. Slow, knowing grins that feel far too comfortable.
You scoff under your breath, disgust curling in your chest as you turn back to El.
âThe bathroomâs a nightmare,â you warn her. âLike, seriously not usable.â
El groans, clutching her stomach slightly. âI donât care. My bladder is about to explode.â
Yeah. No arguing with that.
You nod, stepping aside to let her move past you. âFine. Go. Iâll stay right outside.â
She doesnât hesitate, already pushing the door open.
You stay put in the hallway, crossing your arms loosely as you position yourself near the wall, trying to look like you belong there more than you feel like you do. The noise from the main room is still there, dulled now, but enough to remind you youâre not completely alone.
Stillâ
You really hope no one tries to talk to you.
You donât have to wait long before something shifts again.
Footsteps echo down the hall, heavier this time, more purposeful. A guy comes into viewâblonde, maybe mid-twenties, wearing an oversized shirt that hangs loose over a pair of worn jeans. Thereâs nothing particularly threatening about him at first glance, but the way he carries himself makes people move.
âGet lost,â he says, voice flat, like heâs said it a hundred times before.
The men lingering too closeâtoo interestedâpause. You hadnât even fully clocked how near they were getting until now. One of them mutters something under his breath, low and irritated, but before anything can escalate, a woman slips up beside them. She leans in, whispers something quick into one of their ears.
The reaction is immediate.
Their expressions shift, something greedy lighting up in their eyes, and just like that, they back off, leaving without another glance.
You feel your stomach turn.
Disgust settles in deep as you press your lips together, forcing yourself not to react more visibly. Whatever she saidâit worked too easily.
You take a few steps further down the hall, needing the distance, the space. Behind you, the noise from the main room is starting to die down, the chaos thinning out into something more controlled. It sounds like theyâre clearing people out, or at least resetting the space for whatever comes next.
That thought alone makes your skin crawl.
Ahead of you, the blonde guy reaches a doorâone you hadnât paid much attention to beforeâand pushes it open without hesitation.
And for a split second, you see inside.
Itâs a medium-sized room, dim but cleaner than the rest of this place, like it serves a different purpose. Your brain barely has time to process the layout before somethingâsomeoneâsnags your attention completely.
Mario.
Standing there like he belongs.
Your breath catches, surprise hitting first, sharp and immediate. So much for the bathroom. He didnât even come this wayâthe toilets are further down, you know that now.
But the shock doesnât stop there.
Because sitting in one of the chairsâ
JK.
Up close, under better light, he looks just as composed as he did in the ring, even now. Someoneâa young guy, too young if youâre being honestâis crouched in front of him, carefully unwrapping the white tape from his hands. The fabric is stained in places, and as it comes loose, you catch glimpses of reddened skin underneath.
The kid works quickly, like he knows what heâs doing, like this is routine.
Of course it is.
Nothing about this place is legal. Nothing about it is normal.
Your eyes flick back to Mario, disbelief settling in heavier now. He lied. Not even wellâjust enough to get away from you and El without questions.
Before you can take in anything else, the door swings shut.
Youâre left staring at it, mouth slightly open, like your brain hasnât caught up to what you just saw.
Mario. In there. With him.
âEl?â
She comes back a second later, pushing the bathroom door open with a relieved sigh. âReady?â
You turn to her, still half-stunned. âIâthereâs a room down here. Marioâs in it. And⊠the guy who was in the ring is in there too.â
El freezes. âWhat?â
âAnd some kidâlike, actually a kidâis cleaning him up. I donât evenââ You shake your head, trying to piece it together. âThis is weird.â
El blinks a few times, processing, then shrugs slightly. âMaybe Mario just knows people here?â
You stare at her. âThat doesnât make it less weird.â
She hesitates, glancing between you and the closed door. âSo⊠what are we doing? Waiting?â
You frown, something in you snapping into place. Youâre done waiting. Done being brushed off, lied to, dragged somewhere without knowing why.
Without another word, you step forward and push the door open.
The reaction is immediate.
Conversation cuts off mid-sentence. Every head in the room turns toward you, like you just walked into something you werenât supposed to see.
Mario looks the worst out of all of themâcaught, completely unprepared. His mouth opens like heâs about to say something, but nothing comes out.
Your gaze shifts past him.
JK is still sitting, his hands half-unwrapped, the young guy working on them pausing mid-motion. For a second, he doesnât even acknowledge you. His eyes stay lowered, focused on his handsâ
Then he looks up.
Your eyes meet, just briefly. Long enough for something to registerâsharp, assessing. His gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, before his expression tightens slightly, like heâs already decided you donât belong here.
âAnd what are you doing here?â the blonde man asks, voice flat, almost tired, like this is an inconvenience.
El hovers just behind your shoulder, peeking in, her eyes going wide the second they land on JK. âFuck,â she whispers, not nearly as quiet as she probably thinks.
You donât react to her.
Your attention is locked on Mario now. âI should be asking you that.â
He winces slightly, like he expected that, but still doesnât have a good answer.
The men in the room donât miss the tension, the way your eyes narrow, the way Mario shifts under it. Something clicks between them, unspoken.
The blonde man exhales sharply, already over it. âListen, you have no place being here.â His gaze flicks to Mario. âTake your bitches out of here.â
âExcuse me?â you scoff immediately, offense flaring hot and fast. The word hits wrongâtoo casual, too familiar, like itâs something he says often.
He doesnât even react. If anything, he looks bored, like heâs seen this exact reaction a hundred times before.
Maybe he has.
âLook, justâgive us a minute,â Mario cuts in quickly, stepping forward like heâs trying to manage damage control. âIâll come out and explain, okay?â
âAnd wait out there? With all the junkies?â you shoot back, anger creeping in sharper now. âDo you even hear yourself right now?â
Your patience is gone.
Before Mario can respond, movement pulls your attention again.
JK stands.
The shift in the room is subtle, but itâs there. He rolls his shoulders once, flexing his hands slightly as the young guy quickly gathers the bloodied wraps and cotton, tossing them aside.
âTake this outside,â JK says, voice low and steady, carrying easily through the room.
Itâs not loud, but it doesnât need to be. It lands heavy anyway.
He doesnât look at anyone again.
Just walks past, disappearing through another door without a second thought.
Silence lingers for a second after heâs gone.
Then the blonde man steps forward slightly, already done with this entire situation. âIâll be in touch,â he says curtly, though itâs clearly meant for Mario. His gaze flicks back to you and El, sharp, unimpressed. âOut.â
He gestures toward the door, not even pretending to be polite about it.
Itâs not an offer.
Itâs an order.
You let out a sharp scoff, already drawing breath to snap back at the blonde manâbecause who the hell does he think he isâbut El is faster. Her hand wraps around your wrist, fingers tightening in warning, and at the same time Mario steps in, grabbing your shoulders and steering you back.
âHeyââ you start, but heâs already pushing you out.
The door shuts behind you with a dull thud.
You turn on him immediately.
âWhat the actual fuck, Mario?â
He exhales, dragging a hand over his face. âNot here.â
âOh, notââ you scoff, ready to go off, but heâs already moving, heading down the hall like he expects you to follow.
You do. Of course you do.
El stays close, unusually quiet now, her earlier excitement completely gone. The hallway feels different on the way backâemptier, colder somehow. By the time you reach the main area, itâs almost unrecognizable. The crowd is gone, replaced by only a few people cleaning up like nothing ever happened. Trash is being swept, bottles collected, and in one corner, you catch a glimpse of a stack of cash being counted and shoved into a duffle bag.
Thatâs enough.
You donât say anything as you follow Mario out, but the second the cold air hits your skin, itâs like everything snaps back into focus. You step forward quickly, grabbing his forearm and forcing him to stop.
âSpeak,â you demand.
He looks at youânot angry, not defensive. Just⊠tired. Defeated, almost.
âNot here, please,â he says quietly. âLetâs just go back to my place.â
Your eyes narrow immediately. The way he glances around, quick and subtle, doesnât help.
Alarms go off in your head.
You donât agree, not reallyâbut you donât argue either. Not yet.
The car ride is silent. Tense. The kind of silence that presses in on you, heavy with everything that hasnât been said. El sits beside you, staring out the window, unusually still, like sheâs replaying everything in her head. You donât interrupt. Youâre doing the same.
By the time you reach Marioâs building, the quiet hasnât lifted.
It follows you all the way into his apartment.
The door closes behind you, and just like that, the outside world is goneâbut the tension stays, thick in the air, waiting.
Mario moves first, like he needs something to do with his hands. âTea? Orâsomething?â he offers, already heading toward the kitchen.
Anything to stall.
You donât answer right away. You just watch him, arms crossed, expression unmoving. Eventually, you nod once, more out of impatience than acceptance, and take a seat on the couch beside El. She sinks into it quietly, still not saying much, her usual energy replaced with something more withdrawn.
Mario brings the cups over a few minutes later, setting them down carefully in front of you both. You donât thank him. You donât even look at the tea.
You just look at him.
He takes the chair opposite you, exhaling slowly before running a hand through his hair. âI didnât think it would escalate like that.â
You cut him off immediately. âWhat did you think, Mario? That weâd just be okay watching that?â Your voice sharpens. âDid you genuinely think weâd enjoy an illegal fight?â
He blinks, caught off guard for a second. âHow do you even know itâs illegal?â
You stare at him, almost incredulous. âAre you serious? Nothing about that place screams legal.â
He doesnât argue.
So you keep going.
âI thought we were going to a club,â you say, your frustration spilling over now. âAnd then you change plans last minute, and suddenly weâre standing next to a cage, watching a guy get nearly beaten to death?â
The words hang heavy between you.
Mario exhales again, slower this time, and thereâs something in his expression that finally cracksâguilt, maybe. Regret.
âIâm sorry,â he says, quieter now. âI really am. I just⊠I had to deal with something, and one of my friends was there. I thought itâd just be a fight. I thought you two mightââ he hesitates, then shrugs weakly, ââI donât know. Enjoy it. You like boxing, right?â
That lands badly.
Because whatever that wasâwasnât just boxing.
You lean back slightly, exhaling through your nose, but the tension doesnât leave your body. If anything, it settles deeper.
âWhy do you even hang around people like that?â you ask, your tone quieter now but no less pointed.
Mario winces a little at that, like he expected it. âIâm sorry,â he says again, rubbing the back of his neck. âI really am. I wonât bring you there again. Hell, I probably wonât even go back myself. It was a stupid idea.â
You study him for a second, trying to decide if you believe that.
Then you sigh, some of the edge in you softening, just a little. âI didnât feel safe there,â you admit. âAnd itâs a good thing nothing happened to us.â
Your fingers curl slightly around the warm cup, grounding yourself before you add, âWhat even is that place?â
Mario hesitates, like heâs choosing how honest to be. âItâs⊠yeah, itâs illegal,â he finally says. âBut itâs one of the fastest ways to make money. People go there to bet. Not just thatâthey go because they like the fights. They want to see something real.â
You let out a quiet scoff. âWe clearly have very different ideas of what a good fight is.â
He nods, accepting that. âListenâitâs usually not like that. It gets stopped before it goes too far. Yeah, some guys donât look great after, but tonight⊠tonight was intense. I didnât know JK was gonna be the one fighting. Usually itâs more⊠controlled.â
You blink at him, stunned. âOh my god. How many times have you been there?â
âNot that many,â he says quickly, holding up a hand. âSeriously. But I know itâs not usually like this. There had to be a change of plans when JK showed up. Thatâs why it was so packed. I shouldâve known. I shouldâve just left with you the second I realized.â
You shake your head slightly, still trying to process. âWho even is he?â
Mario shrugs. âJust a guy that got popular there. He fights wellâreally wellâand people like watching him. Thatâs why it gets so crowded when heâs around.â
Your stomach turns at that. âPeople enjoy watching him beat someone nearly to death?â
âThereâs a lot of money involved,â Mario replies, his tone quieter now. âAnd for some of those guys⊠itâs easier to earn money that way. One good fight can get you more than a regular job.â
You frown, not convinced. âI donât get it. I mean, boxing isnât a bad thingâbut when itâs legal. What we saw? Thereâs a reason thatâs not allowed.â
Mario exhales, leaning back in his chair. âThe worldâs a lot rougher than you think. That placeâitâs just one of those corners where people make money however they can.â
You donât respond to that. Not really.
Instead, you shift your focus, needing something else. âDid you at least deal with your friend? The one you said you had to meet?â
âYeah,â he nods quickly. âYeah, thatâs done.â He pauses, then adds again, âAnd Iâm sorry. Really. I wonât drag you into something like that again.â
You study him for a moment, then let out a small breath, deciding not to push it further. âLetâs just⊠hope weâll laugh about this in twenty years.â
El makes a small sound beside youâhalf a scoff, half a sip of her teaâand you glance at her.
âWhy are you so quiet?â you ask.
She shrugs, staring into her cup for a second before looking up. âI mean⊠yeah, it was weird. And I definitely wouldnât go there alone.â She pauses, then adds, almost reluctantly, âBut it was kind of interesting to see.â
You drop your head back slightly. âOh my god.â
El rolls her eyes, but thereâs a faint smile there now. âIâm not saying I want to go back. I donât. Iâd rather we stay far away from that place.â She nudges your arm lightly. âNext time, though? Weâre going to an actual club. A good one. We finally convince you to go out, and this is where we end up?â
You huff out a laugh despite yourself, some of the tension finally easing. âFine. You pick the next place, and Iâll consider going.â
âThatâs a yes,â she says immediately.
âItâs a maybe,â you correct, but youâre smiling now.
The night winds down after that, the heaviness of it lingering but not as sharp. You stay over at Marioâs place like usualânothing new there. You and El take the bed, while he crashes on the couch without complaint.
It should feel normal.
Familiar.
But as you lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, sleep doesnât come easily.
Because every time you close your eyes, you see it again.
The ring. The blood. The crowd.
And him.
Those dark, steady eyes that barely looked at youâyet somehow linger anyway, slipping into your dreams as the night stretches on, replaying everything like a broken movie you canât quite turn off.
Life moves on.
Or at least, it pretends to.
In the days after that night, everything slowly slips back into place. You fall into your usual routineâmeeting El for junk food runs, sitting in dimly lit bars, catching up on the kind of small, meaningless things that make life feel normal again. Work, gossip, random complaints. The kind of conversations that donât carry weight.
And for a while, neither does that night.
It starts to feel distant. Unreal, even. Like something you watched in a movie rather than something you actually stood in the middle of. You avoid that part of town completely, not even entertaining the idea of going near it. The building, the people, the noiseâit all becomes something you push to the back of your mind.
Still, sometimes it creeps in.
A thought here and there. A question you donât really want answered. How many people got hurt that night? How often does that happen?
You learn not to follow those thoughts too far.
The first week is the worst. Your dreams are restless, filled with flashes of the ring, the sound of fists hitting skin, the roar of the crowd. Itâs like your brain is trying to process something it only ever expected to see on a screen, not up close, not real.
But after a couple of weeks, even that fades.
It becomes just a faint memory.
Something that happened.
Something you donât talk about.
Life moves on. Or at least, it tries to.
In the days after that night, everything slowly slips back into place. You fall into your usual routineâmeeting El for junk food runs, sitting in dimly lit bars, catching up on the kind of small, meaningless things that make life feel normal again. Work, gossip, random complaints. The kind of conversations that donât carry weight.
And for a while, neither does that night.
It starts to feel distant. Unreal, even. Like something you watched in a movie rather than something you actually stood in the middle of. You avoid that part of town completely, not even entertaining the idea of going near it. The building, the people, the noiseâit all becomes something you push to the back of your mind.
Still, sometimes it creeps in. A thought here and there. A question you donât really want answered. How many people got hurt that night? How often does that happen?
You learn not to follow those thoughts too far.
The first week is the worst. Your dreams are restless, filled with flashes of the ring, the sound of fists hitting skin, the roar of the crowd. Itâs like your brain is trying to process something it only ever expected to see on a screen, not up close, not real.
But after a couple of weeks, even that fades.
It becomes just a faint memory. Something that happened. Something you donât talk about.
Lately, youâve been seeing El more often. Marioâs been busy, which isnât unusual. Heâs always had something going on, mostly revolving around cars. Buying them, fixing them, flipping them. Old ones, newer onesâit doesnât really matter. He calls it an investment, says the money always comes back if you know what youâre doing.
And apparently, he does.
Between the cars and whatever connections heâs built over time, heâs become the guy people call when something breaks. Youâve done it yourself. The last time your car had an issue, he fixed it in a day and saved you from dealing with overpriced repair shops and all their nonsense. Heâs reliable like that.
Just not always honest.
Tonight, itâs just you and El at one of your usual bars, tucked into a booth thatâs a little too worn but familiar enough to feel comfortable. You didnât feel like drinking, so youâve been sticking to soda while sheâs had a couple of shots.
It reminds you of a phase youâve already gone throughâback when you were younger, figuring out your limits. These days, you donât really care for it.
El, though, seems off.
At first, you assume itâs her ex. She spent way too long getting over him, and for a moment you wonder if she slipped back into that. But then she checks her phone again. And again. And again.
You watch her for a while before finally speaking up. âOkay, somethingâs up.â
She barely looks at you. âNothingâs up.â
âYouâve checked your phone like ten times in five minutes.â
âIâm just waiting for a message.â
âFrom who?â
She shrugs too quickly. âNo one important.â
You donât buy it, but you donât push right away. The feeling lingers, though, settling in your chest.
Somethingâs not right.
By the time the waitress tells you theyâre closing, itâs already close to ten. You both gather your things and step outside, the cooler air a relief after the stuffy bar. You start telling her something about workâsome pointless dramaâbut she barely reacts, her attention drifting back to her phone.
Then she checks it again.
You stop mid-sentence and look at her. âOkay, you have one minute. Tell me whatâs going on, or Iâm dropping you off and going home.â
She laughs nervously, scratching her cheek. âDonât be mad.â
You roll your eyes. âJust say it.â
âI know where Mario is.â
You blink. âOkay? Heâs probably working.â
She exhales, muttering, âHeâs gonna kill me for this.â
âEl.â
âOkayâhe went back there.â
You frown. âBack where?â
Her voice lowers. âThe ring.â
You stare at her, still trying to process it, the memory of that place snapping back into focus like it never really left.
âWhat do you mean, the ring?â
âHeâs there. Right now.â
You let out a slow breath, disbelief settling in. Of course he is. After everything he said. After promising he wouldnât go back.
âUnbelievable.â
El shifts slightly, her grip tightening around her phone. âThe thing is⊠he was supposed to text me. And he hasnât. Itâs been, like, four hours.â She glances at the screen again, like it might suddenly light up. âHe promised he would.â
You frown. âWaitâdid you know he was going there?â
She hesitates, then nods, a little ashamed. âYeah. He told me.â She quickly adds, âAnd he made me promise not to tell you.â
You scoff. âOf course he did. He didnât want to hear my âsmart remarksâ again. He probably thinks Iâm his mom at this point, pestering him.â
âThatâs not it,â El says, shaking her head. âHe knows you worry about him. We both do. And honestly? You have a reason to.â She exhales, then continues, âI only agreed because he said heâd text me the whole time. Just so Iâd know heâs okay.â
You cross your arms. âAnd?â
âThe last message I got was around seven,â she says, her voice tightening. âHe said he was going in.â
You glance at the time. Itâs way past that now.
âWhat was he even doing there?â you ask.
El shrugs helplessly. âI donât know. He just said he had some business to take care of. That itâd be quick.â She lets out a quiet, uneasy breath. âClearly itâs not.â
Silence settles between you for a moment, heavier this time.
âI donât want to panic,â she adds, her voice quieter now, âbut after what we saw there⊠the kind of people that were aroundâŠâ She swallows. âIâm scared something happened to him.â
That lands.
Because yeahâMarioâs not small. Heâs got height, some lean muscle, enough to handle himself in most situations.
But that place?
Thatâs not most situations.
Heâs still your friend.
And something about all of this doesnât sit right.
El looks at you, worry written all over her face. âWhat are we gonna do?â
You sigh, already knowing the answer.
âWhat else?â you mutter. âWe have to go back and find him.â
Her expression tightens. âWhat if heâs not there?â
âThen we hope he made it there and someone saw him,â you reply, already turning and heading toward your car. âAnd we figure it out from there.â
You donât give yourself time to second-guess it.
El hurries after you, sliding into the passenger seat as you start the engine. For a brief second, you just sit there, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than usual.
You had hoped youâd never go back.
But just like thatâthat hope is gone.
You park a little further down the street, not wanting to pull up right in front like last time. The engine dies, and for a moment neither of you moves. The place hasnât changed at all. The street still feels wrongâtoo quiet, too empty, like itâs been deliberately erased from everything around it. You glance at El, and she looks just as uneasy as you feel.
âLetâs go,â you mutter, pushing the door open.
You both walk toward the entrance, slower this time, more cautious. When you reach the door, El tries to push it open, but it doesnât budge. Locked. She turns to you, brows knitting together. âWhat now?â
Before you can answer, the door creaks open from the inside. The same bouncer steps into view, and for a second you donât recognize him. Then it clicksâthe same sharp, heavy-lidded eyes, the same detached, almost stoned expression. It feels like no time has passed. His gaze drags over both of you, slow and deliberate, lingering a little too long on your bare legs, and you instantly regret dressing up for the bar tonight.
âYouâre late,â he says, voice rough. âLet people in an hour ago.â
You donât bother arguing. You reach into your purse, pull out a bill, and press it against his chest. He catches it easily, glancing down before tucking it away. A smirk pulls at his mouth. âWouldâve preferred you in my arms,â he mutters. You grimace, not even hiding your disgust this time, while Elâs grip tightens around your hand as the door opens wider and you both slip inside.
The moment you step down the stairs, the noise hitsâloud, heavy, suffocating. The smell follows right after. Sweat, weed, alcohol. Itâs exactly how you remember it, maybe worse. The main area is completely packed, even more than last time, bodies pressed together so tightly it feels impossible to move. You barely even glance toward the ring. Thatâs not why youâre here.
âRoom,â you remind El, leaning closer so she can hear you.
She nods quickly, already following your lead as you both start pushing through the crowd, weaving between people with purpose. You keep your focus forward, mentally retracing the path from last time. The stairs. The hallway. That door. Thatâs where you last saw Mario, and right now, thatâs the only place that matters.
âElâthis way,â you say, tugging her slightly as you manage to break away from the tightest part of the crowd and angle toward the stairs. There are still people gathered there, but itâs easier to move, easier to breathe. âWe check the room first. If heâs not there, weâll figure something else out.â
The microphone cuts in, sharp and loud, but you donât stop. The announcerâs voice blends into the background as you keep moving, slipping past another group, already stepping toward the hallway. Youâre close now, close enough that you can almost see the door in your mind.
ââŠand tonight,â the voice drawls.
You ignore it.
âFirst time in the ringââ
Still moving.
ââand bold enough to throw down a challengeââ
Youâre already turning, already heading for the hallway.
ââchallenging JK himselfââ
The crowd reacts loudly, but it barely registers. Youâre focused on getting there, on finding him before anything else can go wrong.
âAnd letâs hear it forââ
You donât slow down.
âMaaaario.â
El stops so abruptly it almost throws you into her back, your steps catching at the last second as the name echoes through the space. For a moment it doesnât registerânot fully. It stretches out in the air, swallowed and amplified by the crowdâs reaction, like your brain refuses to connect it to anything real.
Then it hits.
Your body goes still as your mind catches up, the realization crashing in all at once. Around you, the crowd erupts, louder than before, excitement surging like this is exactly what they came for. El doesnât move in front of you, her posture rigid, and your hand tightens slightly where youâre still holding onto her.
Neither of you says anything.
Because you both heard it.
And suddenly, finding Mario doesnât feel like a question anymore.
It feels like a problem.
The countdown starts somewhere above the noise, the announcer stretching each number out like heâs feeding the crowd. It barely registers at first, your mind still stuck on the name you just heard, but then the final number hits and everything erupts at once. Before you can even think, the fight begins.
You and El move at the same time without saying a word. Thereâs no hesitation now, just urgency as you push into the crowd, forcing your way through bodies that donât want to move. Shoulders slam into you, someone curses, another shoves you aside, but no one really stops you. Theyâre too focused on the ring, too caught up in the fight to care about anything else. The noise is overwhelmingâyells, cheers, fists hitting metalâand it makes your chest tighten because you canât see anything. Not knowing whatâs happening somehow feels worse than seeing it.
El takes the lead, using her strength to pry a path open, her grip tight around your wrist as she drags you forward. You stumble after her, trying to keep up as she forces space where there isnât any. It feels endless, like youâre stuck in a wall of bodies that wonât break, but eventually it does. You reach the ring, not close enough to touch it comfortably, but close enough to see.
And what you see makes your breath catch.
Mario is on the ground, one hand pressed to his face as blood spills from his nose. He looks disoriented, struggling to steady himself, and for a second it doesnât even register as a fight. It looks like damage, like something thatâs already gone too far. Your fingers slip through the fence without you thinking, gripping the cold metal as your eyes dart to his opponent.
JK is circling him.
Not rushing, not pressingâjust waiting. Thereâs something unsettling about the way he moves, controlled and calm, like he already knows exactly how this ends. He lets Mario struggle, lets him try to get up, almost like heâs giving him space on purpose. Like heâs drawing it out.
Your stomach twists as you try to make sense of it. Canât he just stop it? Can Mario tap out? Are there even rules here?
You donât know.
âOh my god,â El whispers beside you, her voice tight with fear.
âCome on,â you say under your breath, gripping the fence harder. âGet up. Get up.â
Thereâs no way he can hear you through the chaos, and yet somehow he moves. Mario pushes himself up, unsteady, barely holding his balance as he spits blood onto the ground. The sight makes your stomach churn, but he lifts his hands again, trying to reset, trying to fight.
He throws the first punch, driven more by instinct than skill. Itâs messy, desperate, lacking control, but itâs something. JK avoids it easily, shifting just enough for it to miss. Another swing follows, then another, each one missing by inches as JK moves around him like itâs nothing. Thereâs no panic in him, no rush. Just patience.
Then he strikes.
Itâs quick. Sharp. Clean.
The first hit snaps Marioâs head to the side, the second lands before he can recover, and the third sends him stumbling backward. JK doesnât overextend, doesnât waste movementâevery punch is calculated, deliberate, landing exactly where it needs to. Mario tries to hold his ground, but itâs obvious now. Heâs outmatched.
One more hit lands, harder than the rest, and it drops him.
You gasp, the sound tearing out of you before you can stop it as Mario hits the ground again. His face is already swelling, one eye starting to close, blood spreading across his skin in a way that makes your chest tighten painfully.
âMario!â you shout, panic rising fast. âGet up!â
El is yelling too now, her voice breaking as she calls his name, the two of you pressed against the fence, desperate, urging him to move, to stay conscious, to do anything. The fear settles deep in your chest because what if he doesnât get up this time? What if this doesnât stop?
Mario shifts slightly, barely lifting his head, and then his gaze turns. Not toward JK, not toward the crowdâbut toward you.
People cheer.
The sight of his face makes something in you twist. Swollen, bloodied, barely recognizable, and still he finds you in the chaos. Your breath hitches as you realize he sees you here.
JK notices.
Itâs subtle at first, just a shift in his focus, the way his eyes narrow as he follows Marioâs line of sight. And then he looks at you. Really looks, his gaze locking onto yours in a way that feels too direct, too aware.
For a second, everything feels still.
Then he moves.
He crouches beside Mario, and your stomach drops as his hand shoots out, fingers tangling into Marioâs hair. The grip is tight, controlling, forcing his head up despite the lack of resistance. Mario barely reacts, his body too weak to fight back, and panic spikes in your chest.
JK doesnât look away from you. His dark hair sticks to his forehead, damp with sweat, his skin barely marked compared to Marioâs. Like this fight hasnât cost him anything.
And then he smirks.
Your chest tightens as his grip tightens with it, lifting Marioâs head just enoughâ
Before slamming it back down against the ground.
The sound is sickening.
It cuts through everything.
Mario goes limp.
And for a second, you donât breathe, donât move, donât think. You just stare, because something in you knows that whatever line there was before, itâs gone now.
The sound crashes back all at once, loud and overwhelming, like nothing just happened. Like what you just saw is entertainment, nothing more. JK steps back, the win clearly his, and the fence is already being opened for him as if it was expected. Of course it was. He walks out without a glance back, already moving on while the crowd feeds off the aftermath.
You donât.
You canât.
Two men enter the ring almost immediately, grabbing Mario under his arms and hauling him up. His body hangs between them, limp, unresponsive, his head lolling slightly with the movement. The sight knocks the air out of your lungs.
You force yourself to move.
Your throat tightens as you swallow hard, shaking yourself out of the daze as you grab Elâs arm. âCome on,â you manage, your voice barely steady, your eyes locked on Mario as they carry him away.
You follow them.
They move fast, cutting through a path that clears easier for them than it ever did for you. When you and El catch up, one of the men glances back, clearly annoyed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes you in. Elâs panicked whispers donât help.
âOh my god⊠Mario, weâre here. Youâre gonna be okayââ
âHey,â one of the men snaps. âYou canâtââ
âHeâs our friend,â you cut in quickly, your voice sharper than you expect. âWeâre staying. Where are you taking him?â
They donât look like they want to deal with you. Not now. Not with this. The two of them exchange a look, something silent passing between them before one sighs, clearly deciding itâs not worth the argument.
âHeâs getting treated,â he says shortly, already turning away.
You donât ask by whom. You just follow.
The hallway feels tighter this time, the noise from the main area fading behind you as they lead you into one of the rooms. Itâs smaller than you expected, cramped and worn, with dented lockers lining one wall and a narrow bed in the center that looks like it once belonged in a hospital.
They set Mario down without much care. His body barely reacts, his head rolling slightly to the side, and something in your chest twists painfully at how still he is.
You and El move immediately, stopping just short of touching him, both of you hovering, afraid of making it worse.
The door opens again.
A young man steps in, probably in his early twenties, maybe a bit older, his build lean but steady. Heâs dressed simplyâdark shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbowsâand thereâs a certain efficiency in the way he moves, like heâs done this too many times to think about it. His hair is slightly messy, falling into his eyes as he pulls on a pair of gloves, his expression focused rather than concerned.
âWhat do we have this time?â he asks, glancing over Mario with quick, practiced eyes.
âProbably a broken nose. Maybe more,â one of the men replies.
The young man exhales quietly, stepping closer to the bed as he tilts Marioâs head slightly, inspecting the damage without hesitation. âYeah,â he mutters, almost to himself. âAnother one who thought he could last longer than he actually could.â
Mario gets treated like you and El arenât even there.
The young man moves around him with quiet efficiency, cleaning the blood, checking his nose, pressing gauze where itâs needed. The two men who carried him in linger for a moment before stepping aside, talking in low voices, completely unfazed. Itâs like this is routine. Like people getting carried in half-conscious isnât anything out of the ordinary.
You canât stand still.
You start pacing the small room, your steps short and sharp, your arms crossed tight over your chest as your thoughts spiral. No matter how hard you try to focus on Mario, your mind keeps dragging you back to the ringâto that moment. The way JK looked at you. The way he made sure you saw it. That last hit.
The way Mario just⊠stopped.
Your jaw tightens.
Even when Mario lets out a low groan, shifting slightly on the bed, it doesnât pull you out of it. El is at his side immediately, her voice soft but urgent as she leans closer. âMario? Heyâcan you hear me?â He mumbles something incoherent, his words slurred, barely forming, and El glances up, worry etched all over her face. âDoesnât he need a hospital?â
The young man doesnât even look up from what heâs doing. âIf he goes to a hospital, questions get asked,â he says flatly. âPolice get involved.â
âMaybe they should,â you cut in sharply, stopping your pacing to look at him. âMaybe that would finally shut this place down.â
That gets his attention.
He shoots you a look, sharp and unimpressed. âHate to break it to you,â he says, tone edged with something colder now, âbut your friend would be the one in trouble. This is illegal. He signed up for it.â
You donât care.
You donât care what he says, what excuses they have, what twisted logic they follow in this place.
Your anger is already too far gone.
âWhere is he?â you ask suddenly.
The room stills for a second.
âWho?â one of the men asks.
You look at him like it should be obvious. âJK.â
They exchange a glance, something unreadable passing between them. âWhy?â the other one mutters.
You donât answer that.
You just look at El. âStay here. Keep an eye on him.â
She blinks at you, clearly trying to figure out what youâre about to do. âWaitââ
But youâre already moving.
You leave before she can stop you, before anyone can question you further, your steps quick and determined as you head back down the hall. You donât even know if heâs still there, if he went back to that room or somewhere else entirely, but you donât stop to think about it.
Youâre too angry to think.
You reach the door and push it open hard.
Empty.
The room looks exactly the same as beforeâthe couch, the chair, the faint trace of something cleaner in the air compared to the rest of the placeâbut heâs not there. You step further in, scanning it anyway, like he might suddenly appear.
âWhere the hellââ
The door opens behind you.
You turn immediately.
JK stands there.
He doesnât look surprised to see someone in the room. If anything, he looks mildly annoyed, like youâre an inconvenience he didnât feel like dealing with tonight. His hair is wet, strands sticking to his forehead, steam still curling faintly from the doorway behind himâbathroom, you realize. Heâs changed, now wearing a pair of dark cotton shorts, a towel in his hands that he uses once before tossing it aside onto the couch like it doesnât matter.
Like nothing matters.
He doesnât even acknowledge you.
Thatâs what sets you off.
Before you can think, youâre already moving toward him, anger taking over completely as you shove both hands against his chest. The contact is solidâhis skin still warm from the shower, heat lingering under your palms, his muscles hard and unyielding beneath your push. Itâs like trying to move a wall.
âWhat the hell is wrong with you?â you snap, your voice sharp with fury. âYou couldâve killed him!â
He barely moves.
Not even a step back.
Just stands there, looking down at you as if youâre something mildly irritating, one brow lifting slightly as your hair falls out of place from the force of your movement.
âYou done?â he asks.
The words hit harder than they should.
You freeze for half a second, caught off guardânot just by how close he is, not just by hearing his voice directed at you for the first time, but by how little he seems to care.
âNot entirely,â you snap back, your anger flaring again as you move to shove him once more.
This time, he catches your wrist.
Effortlessly.
His grip is firm, stopping you mid-motion like itâs nothing, like you werenât even a challenge to begin with.
âYouâre a piece of shit,â you tell him, your voice tight.
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, slow and unimpressed. âAnd yet,â he replies coolly, tilting his head slightly as his grip doesnât loosen, âyour friend stepped into the ring with me anyway.â
âLet me go,â you snap, yanking against him.
For a second, he just watches you, completely unimpressed, like this is nothing new to him.
Then he lets go.
Abruptly.
You stumble back a step as he pushes you away, not rough enough to hurt, but enough to put distance between you, like heâs brushing something off.
âCareful,â he says, voice low, almost amused, âyouâre gonna hurt yourself before you even get close to hurting me.â
The arrogance in his tone only makes your blood boil more.
âYouâre an arrogant prick,â you snap without hesitation, your voice sharp enough to cut through whatever calm heâs pretending to have. âDo you feel good about it? Almost killing people for a bunch of money?â
Something shifts.
Itâs subtle, but itâs there. The smirk fades just enough, his eyes darkening as he looks at you, really looks this time.
âOut,â he says.
You donât move.
You donât even consider it.
âYouâre in no position to tell me what to do,â you fire back immediately. âIâm not going anywhere.â
His jaw tightens slightly, but he doesnât argue. Doesnât explain. Doesnât justify himself.
That only makes it worse.
You step closer again, closing the distance, your finger lifting as you point it toward his chest. âYou donât get to act like this is normal. Like youâre not the problem here.â
His hand moves before you can react.
Fast.
Your wrist is caught again, but this time thereâs no patience behind it. No casual ease. Just control.
âYouâre pushing it,â he says, voice low, edged with warning.
âGood,â you snap, trying to yank your hand free. âMaybe someone shouldââ
He doesnât let you finish.
In one swift movement, he turns you, your back hitting the wall with a dull thud before you can process what just happened. Your breath catches as he pins your arms behind you, one hand locking both of your wrists in place, the other braced near your shoulder, keeping you exactly where he wants you.
The shift is instant.
Youâre not in control anymore.
Your heart jumps, adrenaline spiking as you struggle against his hold, but itâs useless. Heâs stronger, faster, and far too used to this kind of contact.
He leans in slightly, just enough for you to feel the heat still radiating off his skin.
âYou talk a lot,â he mutters, his grip tightening just enough to keep you from trying anything else, âfor someone who has no idea what she just walked into.â
His hand still holds your wrists behind your back, and now his other arm shifts slightly, boxing you in. The heat from his body hasnât faded yet, his skin still warm under the dim light, his breath just brushing near your ear without quite touching.
Your pulse spikes despite yourself.
âYeah?â you manage, your voice tighter than youâd like. âWhat did I walk into?â
Thereâs a beat.
Short.
Deliberate.
Thenâ
âA place you donât belong,â he says quietly, voice low and steady, right by your ear.
No hesitation. No explanation.
Just fact.
His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurtâjust enough to remind you heâs still in control.
âAnd a fight you canât win.â
He lets go of you.
The shift is sudden enough that you almost stumble forward before catching yourself. You turn on him immediately, your chest rising and falling too fast, your pulse still racing from the proximity, from the grip, from everything. For a second, you just stare at him, trying to steady yourself, trying to hold onto the anger that brought you here in the first place.
âLeave,â he says.
Just like that. Flat. Dismissive.
You blink at him, still catching your breath. You donât even know what you expected coming hereâan apology, a reaction, somethingâbut all you got was this. Him. Unbothered. Untouched. Like what happened in that ring meant nothing.
You open your mouth, but before you can say anythingâ
The door swings open.
A blonde woman steps in, her energy shifting the moment she notices you. The grin she walked in with disappears almost instantly, her eyes flicking between you and him, lingering a second too long on the fact that heâs still shirtless.
The air changes.
âWhoâs this?â she asks, her tone edged, curious but already leaning toward annoyed.
Jungkook doesnât rush to answer. He doesnât even look at her right away. Instead, he grabs an oversized shirt, pulling it over his head like this conversation doesnât concern him in the slightest.
âSheâs leaving,â he says, like thatâs enough.
You let out a sharp scoff. âThe hell I am.â
That gets a reaction.
Not from her.
From him.
Itâs subtleâjust the corner of his mouth pulling into something that almost resembles a grin, like he finds you more entertaining than anything else. Itâs not warm. Not kind.
Provocative.
The blonde woman shifts her weight, clearly irritated now, her gaze narrowing slightly as she looks at you again. âI think you heard him.â
You donât move.
Not an inch.
âI heard him,â you reply coolly. âI just donât care.â
Her annoyance sharpens, visible now, but Jungkook doesnât step in. Doesnât correct you. Doesnât repeat himself. If anything, he looks more interested now, watching the tension build like itâs something worth his time.
The woman steps further into the room, and now that you actually look at her, itâs obvious. The red dress clings to her body, cut far too short to be anything but intentional, the fabric hugging her curves like she walked in here knowing exactly what she came for.
Not the fight.
Him.
You almost snort at the realization.
She barely spares you another glance before her attention shifts fully to Jungkook, like youâve already been dismissed. âYou were incredible tonight,â she says, her tone smoothing out into something softer, almost impressed. âI was here. Watched the whole thing.â
Jungkook doesnât react the way she expects.
He doesnât even look at her.
âGood,â he says simply, already reaching for a bag that looks like his, slinging it over his shoulder like the conversation means nothing.
The woman doesnât seem discouraged.
If anything, she leans into it.
She steps closer, her movements slow, deliberate, like sheâs used to getting attention this way. And maybe she is. But this time, thereâs something else in it tooâsomething sharper. When she shifts closer to him, her gaze flicks to you for just a second.
Oh.
There it is.
She sees you as a problem.
A threat.
The realization makes something in you clickâand instead of being bothered, you grin.
Actually grin.
You shake your head lightly, almost amused now as you look between them.Â
Her hand brushes lightly against his arm, her voice dropping as she says something under her breath, something meant just for him.
JK finally looks at her.
Not interested. Not even tempted.
âNot tonight,â he says flatly, pulling his arm away without hesitation. Thereâs no softness in it, no apology. Just a quiet finality that lands harder than anything else.
Itâs enough.
Her expression tightens, the confidence slipping just slightly as she straightens, clearly not satisfied with the answer. For a second, it looks like she might push it, but she doesnât. Instead, she exhales sharply, shooting you one last look before turning on her heel and walking out.
The door closes behind her.
Silence settles for a beat.
Then his attention shifts.
Back to you.
And this time, thereâs no amusement left in it.
Just irritation.
âYouâre still here,â he says, like itâs a problem that hasnât fixed itself yet.
You let out a sharp breath, disbelief mixing with the anger that never really left.
âI canât believe you,â you say, your voice tight, almost shaking. âYou just walk out of there like itâs nothing. Like it didnât even happen.â
He doesnât respond.
That only makes it worse.
âMario is in there,â you continue, stepping closer again, your frustration building all over again. âBarely conscious, coming in and out of itâand youâre just⊠here. Moving on. Like this is normal.â
Your eyes flick briefly to the door, then back to him.
âAnd what, now itâs back to this?â you add, your tone sharper. âGirls lining up because you won? Like thatâs all this is to you?â
His expression barely shifts.
If anything, it hardens.
He doesnât react the way you expect.
No apology. No defense.
Instead, he reaches into his bag, pulls out a thick fold of cash, and before you can even register it, he grabs your hand and forces it open, pressing the money into your palm.
âEnough?â he asks, tone flat. âOr you gonna keep talking?â
You stare down at it for half a second, disbelief hitting first, then anger flooding right after.
Youâre about to throw it straight back at himâ
But he speaks again.
âGive it to him,â he adds, nodding slightly toward the door. âCall it⊠a consolation prize.â
Thereâs a pause, just enough for it to land.
Then, quieter, with that same careless edge, âFor getting dropped that fast.â
Your fingers tighten around the money without you meaning to, your jaw clenching as the insult settles heavy in the air.
Before you can reactâ
He moves.
Itâs quick. Too quick.
His hand comes up, and his thumb brushes over the corner of your lips, slow enough to feel deliberate, wiping at something you didnât even realize was there. The touch is brief, but it lands heavier than it should, heat lingering where his skin just was.
You freeze.
Not because you want to.
Because you didnât expect it.
He pulls his hand back, glancing at his thumb like heâs checking the faint smear of red before letting out a quiet, almost amused breath.
âFix yourself,â he says, voice low, edged with something mocking. âWouldnât want you going back to your guy looking like that.â
His eyes flick back up to yours, that same faint smirk tugging at his mouth.
âLipstickâs smudged, Red.â
And just like that, heâs done. He grabs his bag, throws it over his shoulder, and walks past you without another glance, like the conversation never mattered to him in the first place, like you never mattered enough to leave an impression. The bag shifts as he moves, heavy, the faint rustle unmistakableâyou donât even need to look twice to know itâs stuffed with cash. Easy money. Hard-earned in all the wrong ways. He carries it like itâs nothing.
The door shuts behind him with a quiet click, and the shift is immediateâthe room falling into a stillness that feels almost unnatural after everything that just happened.
The silence presses in, heavy and unfamiliar. The faint trace of his cologne lingers in the airâsomething sharp, clean, expensiveâcutting through the stale mix of sweat and smoke that clings to everything else in this place. It doesnât belong here. It doesnât fit the cracked walls, the worn furniture, the quiet evidence of violence that lingers in every corner. And somehow, neither does he, even though he clearly owns it.
You donât move right away. Your hand is still loosely curled around the cash he forced into your palm, your other lifting without you realizing it, fingers hovering near your lips where his thumb had brushed just moments ago. The sensation is gone, but not really. It lingers in your head, in the way your body reacts before your mind can catch up, and that alone is enough to make your jaw tighten.
Your heartbeat hasnât slowed. If anything, itâs worse nowâfaster than it was before you even walked in here, louder in your ears, harder to ignore. You swallow, forcing your hand to drop, grounding yourself, dragging your focus back to something real. Back to why you came here in the first place.
Because whatever that was, whatever just passed between you and him, it doesnât matter.
Mario is still down the hall, hurt, barely conscious, and this place hasnât changed just because you stepped into one room and out of another. Itâs still exactly what you thought it wasâa place where violence is entertainment, where people walk in and donât always walk out the same, and where no one stops to care what happens once the fight is over.
a/n: okay so this happened in the last 24 hours, don't ask me how I still can't believe this story happened lmaooo but I have had so many story ideas in my head and I genuinely missed writing, just something for fun, something fresh. I also wanted to do boxer jk for the longest time!! hope you guys enjoyed the surprise and I can't see what you think of this âĄ
An international artist reposted Jungkookâs work. A magazine requested an interview. A documentary team asked to film his process.
He hesitated at first.
âI donât want them to think I forgot where I came from,â he told you, hands stained with ink as he sat at the kitchen table.
You took his hands, washing them gently in the sink. âThen donât forget,â you said softly. âShow them who you are and what you always do when it comes to your work, your passion in your arts, tattooing.â
And he did.
He spoke about tattooing as survival. As working-class art. As stories carved into skin when words failed. He spoke about being a young father, about making mistakes, about rebuilding after the pain.
People listened. Soon, his name carried weight.
The studio expanded. Apprentices watched him with so much delight. Clients traveled across continents.
But at home, Jungkook remained the same.
Barefoot in the kitchen. Kneeling to Jieunâs eye level. Letting Jaehyun sketch designs beside him. Rocking babies to sleep while you rested your head against his shoulder.
For one exhibition, a photographer asked if youâd model.
You hesitated at first but Jungkook shook his head gently. âNo needles,â he said firmly. âOnly henna.â
He painted your skin himself with delicate patterns along your arms and back, temporary and intimate.
âThis is only for me to touch and feel,â he murmured. âAnd also for you.â
This wasnât the life she believed he could never give her.
She looked away.
Some realizations come too late to matter.
âž»
That night, Jungkook returned home to chaos.
Toys scattered across the floor. Twins crying. Jieun demanding a bedtime story. Jaehyun asking about dragons.
You stood in the doorway, tired- but smiling.
Jungkook dropped his bag and crossed the room in three strides, pulling you into his arms.
âI still canât believe this is my life now,â he whispered against your hair.
You smiled softly. âYou built it.â
Later, when the house finally fell quiet, Jungkook stood on the balcony, city lights glowing below. You joined him, slipping your hand into his.
âI used to think love was just surviving together,â he said quietly. âBut itâs choosing. Every day.â
He turned to you, eyes shining.
âI choose you,â he said. âEvery version of you. Every past. Every future. Only you, Y/N. You know I never regretted knowing you and having you in my life from that bar. It's a special place now for me because of you,â
You leaned into him, heart full. Jungkook kissing the top of your head and the wind touches both your skin.
While inside, four children slept peacefully.
Now, that ink already washed from his hands. Nothing left to prove to the world.
Only love that had learned how to prove itself from all the promises he made and soon- that he will promise for you and for your whole family to come.
The first time you saw him walk out of the studio with Sohee, his hand tangled in hers, you told yourself not to cry. You told yourself you were used to it by now. That the ache in your chest was just a reminder that you were foolish enough to fall for someone whose heart belonged to someone else.
Jungkook loved her. Everyone knew it. Even if it left him bleeding. Even if you were the one who always picked up the pieces.
Still, you waited. With coffee in hand when his practice ran late. With a towel when his shirt stuck to his back with sweat. With quiet smiles when his eyes looked too tired to shine.
âWhy do you do this?â he asked one night, his voice rough, frustration bleeding into the words. âWhy do you keep⊠waiting here for me?â
You swallowed hard, staring at the floor. âBecause someone has to.â
His jaw tightened. He stepped back, shaking his head as if your kindness was too much for him to carry.
âStop it,â he said sharply. âStop looking at me like that. I canâtââ His voice broke, and he turned away. âI canât give you what you want.â
The words cut deeper than you expected. You pressed your lips together, forcing a smile that trembled anyway. âI know,â you whispered. âI never asked you to.â
But when he walked away that night â his shadow fading into the streetlight â it felt like he had taken something from you anyway.
âž»
Days passed. You didnât wait at the studio. You didnât bring him coffee. You didnât smile at him when his shoulders slumped.
And for the first time, Jungkook noticed the silence.
He noticed how empty the hallway felt without you leaning against the wall. How cold the practice room seemed without your laughter in the background. How his chest tightened when Sohee screamed again, when the cycle repeated, when he looked around after and realized â you werenât there to hold him anymore.
The guilt came slow, suffocating.
Late at night, he lay awake replaying the look on your face when he pushed you away. The way your smile broke, the way your voice trembled. He pressed a hand over his chest, hating the weight that settled there.
Because in hurting you, he had hurt himself too.
âž»
And still, you waited. Not outside his studio. Not with coffee in hand. But quietly in your heart, loving him in silence. Hoping heâd one day find his way to you.
-
Readerâs POV
You learned to walk past the studio without stopping.
No more waiting outside with coffee cups warming your hands.
No more small notes tucked under his bag.
No more soft smiles when his eyes found yours.
It hurt too much.
Because every time he left, he was running back to her.
Every time his phone buzzed with Soheeâs name, he pulled away.
And every time you caught your reflection in the studio mirrors, you hated how obvious your feelings must have looked.
So you pulled back. Not because you stopped loving him, but because you loved him too much to keep breaking your own heart.
âž»
But loving Jungkook was like breathing. Even when you tried to hold it in, it slipped out in small, unnoticeable ways.
When he showed up to practice looking pale, you quietly left vitamins on the table.
When he skipped meals, you dropped off packed food at the front desk without signing your name.
When he caught a cold, you called his manager anonymously to make sure someone checked on him.
You told yourself it was nothing. Just kindness. Just habit.
But deep down you knew â youâd always care for him, even from the shadows.
Your first instinct was to turn away. To hide. To keep walking like you promised yourself you would.
But then his voice broke the silence.
âWhy are you avoiding me?â
You froze. Slowly, you turned. He was looking right at you now â tired, broken, but desperate.
âIâm not,â you whispered, even though the lie burned your tongue.
âYou are.â He pushed off the wall, his steps unsteady as he came closer. âYou donât wait for me anymore. You donât⊠you donât look at me like you used to.â His voice cracked, raw. âDo you hate me now?â
Your chest tightened, tears stinging your eyes. âNo, Jungkook. I could never hate you.â
âThen whyââ His words trembled, breaking apart. âWhy are you leaving me too?â
For a moment, you almost told him everything â how you loved him, how waiting for him shattered you, how you couldnât keep bleeding quietly while he gave his heart to someone else.
But instead, you forced a small smile. The kind you always gave him when he was hurting.
âIâm not leaving you,â you said softly. âIâm just giving you space⊠so you can find what youâre looking for.â
His eyes widened, something sharp flashing in them, like guilt, like regret. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.
And before he could see the tears spilling from your lashes, you stepped back.
âTake care of yourself, Jungkook,â you whispered. Then you turned and walked away, even though every step felt like tearing yourself apart.
âž»
Later that night, Jungkook sat in the empty studio, his head in his hands. He replayed your words, your smile, the way your voice shook when you told him youâd never hate him.
And for the first time, he realizedâŠ
You werenât just kind.
You werenât just patient.
You were the only one who had loved him without condition.
And losing that was a weight heavier than anything Sohee had ever put him through.
-
The storm had finally broken.
You were sitting on your couch, wrapped in a blanket, trying to convince yourself that sleep would come. That you wouldnât keep replaying the look in Jungkookâs eyes when he asked if you hated him. That you wouldnât keep feeling the ache of walking away from him.
Then came the knock.
Soft at first. Then louder. Urgent. Desperate.
When you opened the door, Jungkook stood there, soaked from the rain, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving like heâd run the whole way. His eyes locked onto yours, wild with something raw and unguarded.
âYouâŠâ His voice broke. He swallowed hard. âYou canât keep avoiding me.â
Your throat tightened. âJungkookââ
âNo,â he said firmly, stepping inside before you could stop him. âI let you go once. I pushed you away. I told myself it was easier⊠because I was too weak to admit the truth.â His hands trembled as he reached for you, cupping your face like you were something fragile heâd been too reckless with. âBut I canât lose you. Not you.â
Tears blurred your vision. âI told you I never asked you to love meââ
âBut I do,â he cut in, voice cracking open. âGod, I do. Iâve been so stupid, wasting myself in a place where love only hurt me. And the whole time, you⊠you were right here. Waiting. Caring. Loving me without asking for anything back.â
His forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling with yours, shaky and warm. âLet me love you now. Please. Let me make up for every moment I didnât.â
âž»
The kiss came fierce, trembling, almost frantic. Years of swallowed feelings, of stolen glances and unspoken words, all crashing into one desperate moment.
You melted into him, hands clutching at his soaked shirt as if to anchor yourself. His mouth moved over yours like he was starving, like he had finally found the only thing that could save him.
When he lifted you into his arms, carrying you to the bedroom, it wasnât lust that filled his eyes â it was devotion. Redemption.
âLet me show you,â he whispered against your skin. âLet me love you the way I should have from the start.â
âž»
What followed wasnât hurried, wasnât careless. It was slow, reverent, aching. Every kiss was an apology. Every touch was a promise. His hands mapped your body like it was sacred, like he needed to memorize every curve, every breath, every sound you made.
Where once he had pulled away, tonight he clung to you. Where once he had broken you with silence, tonight he spoke with his body, his lips, his trembling voice whispering I love you, I love you, I love you.
You felt the guilt melt into something else â something healing, consuming, whole. Because he wasnât just taking from you this time. He was giving himself back, fully, completely, without fear.
âž»
When dawn came, he was still there, wrapped around you, his head on your chest as if he never wanted to let go. His voice was husky when he whispered into your skin:
âI shouldâve chosen you sooner. But I swear⊠from now on, itâs only you.â
And for the first time, you believed him.
Because this time, his love wasnât just words.
It was every touch, every kiss, every broken piece of him finally fitting into yours.
-
The steam curled around you, warm and gentle, as the two of you sank deeper into the water. Jungkookâs head rested against your shoulder, his wet hair clinging to his forehead, eyes closed as if he finally allowed himself to feel safe.
You dipped your hands into the water, scooping shampoo into your palms. He cracked one eye open, curious.
âWhat are you doing?â
You smiled softly, lathering the soap between your hands. âTaking care of you. Close your eyes.â
He chuckled low in his throat, but obeyed, shutting them with exaggerated obedience. You began working the shampoo into his hair, your fingers massaging gently at his scalp. His lips parted, a small sound escaping â half sigh, half laugh.
âFeels⊠too good,â he murmured. âIf you keep doing this, I might fall asleep.â
âGood,â you teased, leaning forward to rub the foam behind his ears. âYou never rest enough.â
Suddenly, his hand shot up, tickling at your waist under the water. You squealed, nearly dropping the shampoo.
âJungkook!â you gasped, laughing despite yourself.
He grinned, eyes still closed but lips curved mischievously. âWhat? I couldnât help it. You sound cute when you laugh.â
You shook your head, pretending to be annoyed, but the fondness in your chest ached. Foam clung to his hair, dripping down the side of his face. You reached forward to wipe it away, and in that moment, he opened his eyes.
The world slowed.
His dark, damp lashes framed those wide, vulnerable eyes â looking at you as though you werenât just someone who loved him, but someone who had saved him.
âIâve never felt this before,â he whispered, voice quiet but heavy with truth. âNot with her⊠not with anyone. Only you.â
Your breath caught. You leaned in, heart pounding, and his lips found yours â slow, gentle, almost hesitant at first. Then deeper, like he was sealing a promise. Shampoo lather still clung to his hair, bubbles floating on the surface, but neither of you cared.
It wasnât glamorous. It wasnât perfect. It was messy, wet, slippery.
But it was real.
And for the first time, Jungkook wasnât lost.
He was home â right here, in your hands, in your love.
â pairing : hybridBunny!Jungkook x hybridFox!Reader
â summary: when your best friend appears at your door begging for help, who are you to deny it?
â tags: hybrid au (my take on it, at least), childhood best friends, friends to lovers, unrequited love?
â warnings: bunny!Jungkook hybrid heat, virgin!Jungkook, DIRTY TALK, soft!dom?yn, subby!kook, heavy praise kink because jungkook loves being told heâs doing good and being called a good boy, tit play, nipple play, tit-fucking, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, handjob, multiple positions, multiple!! orgasms, vaginal penetration, knotting, breeding, creampie, unprotected sex, body worship, somnophilia (heâs needy and wakes her up in the middle of the night), cum eating, cockwarming
â wc: 12.7k
â yoru's notes: requested by the awesome @dreamersparacosm
Your friendship with Jeon Jungkook is something everyone always finds weird.
Biologically speaking, it doesnât make sense. You are a fox. A predator. He is a bunny. Prey, soft and historically at the bottom of the food chain. In the natural order, you should be chasing him, not sharing your snacks. But life rarely follows the rules, especially not in the rough neighborhood where you two grew up.
It was a place crawling with apex predators. Wolves, bears, large cats. And then there was Jungkook.
He moved into the house next door when you were seven and he was only six. You knew from the moment you met him, hiding between his mom's legs, that he would be an easy target.
The neighborhood bullies caught on quickly, too. But they learned even faster that if they messed with the bunny, they had to answer to you. You spent half your childhood with scraped knuckles and a bloody nose, standing in front of a trembling Jungkook and daring anyone to take another step toward him.
Youâre reminiscing now, scrolling through your phone on the couch, when a violent sound shatters the peace of your apartment.
Itâs 9 PM, and someone is slamming into your front door. The pounding is heavy and you're on your feet in an instant with annoyance radiating off you as you march toward the entryway.
"Who the fuck is it at this hour?" you mutter. You're ready to chew out whoever is trying to break the door down. You grab the handle and yank it open, the words already flying out of your mouth. "Someone better be dying orâ"
The rest of your threat dies in your throat. You were prepared to fight, but the sight in front of you brings you to a dead stop.
âNoonaâŠâ
Your best friend, leaning heavily against the doorframe, breathing as if he just ran a marathon. His skin is slick with sweat, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead.
âJungkook?â You step forward, feeling your annoyance instantly replaced by worry. âWhat are you doing here? What happened?â
Itâs hard to reconcile the man standing in front of you with the little boy who used to hide behind you. Back then, you were the shield. Now he towers over you. He hit a growth spurt in high school that never seemed to stop, and then he discovered the gym.
He is massive now. His shoulders are broad, tapering down to a waist thick with muscle. Heâs easily a head taller than you now, a wall of solid muscle.
Over the years, tired of being seen as "cute," he did everything he could to tough up his image. You were there for all of it. He started hitting the gym religiously. You held his hand when he got his eyebrow pierced, watching the piercer wipe away the blood while you stayed glued to his side for reassurance. You were there when he got the hoop in his bottom lip, telling him he looked cool so he wouldn't panic about the swelling.
And the tattoos. God, the tattoos.
His right arm, currently gripping your doorframe so hard youâre actually worried he might leave a permanent dent in the wood, is covered in a full sleeve of colorful ink.
He even has a matching tattoo with you on his left one. Itâs a small, simple star. Youâd both gotten them the summer of your second year of college as a permanent reminder of the way youâve always been each otherâs lucky star.
Your best friend doesnât look like a victim anymore. He looks like someone who could snap a predator in half, at least until someone focuses on his big doe eyes and round face, but youâd never be the one to tell him that.
Jungkook doesn't need you to fight his battles anymore. He has a good life. A solid job. A good group of friends who donât care about his species. You like them, especially Jimin, a sweet calico cat hybrid he met in college who Jungkook became instant friends with.
But despite the muscles, the ink, the piercings, and the height, he is still looking at you with those big, brown doe eyes. The only difference now is that theyâre filled with desperate panic.
âNoona,â he wheezes. âHelp⊠please.â
Before you can get another word out, Jungkook collapses, stumbling forward and practically falling into your arms.
âWhoa!â
You brace yourself, your feet sliding on the entryway floor as you try to catch him. Or rather, as he engulfs you. He wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck, and just... lets go.
He goes completely limp against you, forcing you to stumble back against the wall so you both don't end up on the floor.
âJungkook!â you hiss, trying to wedge your hands between his chest and yours to get some breathing room. âWhat the fuck is wrong with you? Stand up!â
Ignoring you, he tightens his grip, pulling you even closer against his body. He inhales sharply, dragging his nose right behind your ear.
âMmmm,â he whimpers. âYou smell so good.âAnd presses his lips to the side of your neck.
You freeze. Your entire body goes rigid. Heat rushes to your face so fast it makes you dizzy. Youâve had a massive, secret crush on this idiot for years and having him nuzzle your neck is doing things to your heart rate that you do not appreciate.
âJungkook!â You shove his shoulders, using all of your strength to finally peel him off you, just an inch. âStop that! What the hell is happening?â
Youâre a fox. You know scents. And now that heâs this close, the smell coming off him is unmistakable. Itâs thick, musky, and sweet.
âOh, for fuckâs sake,â you breathe as the realization drains you. âYouâre in heat.â You stare at him, stunned. âDid you take your suppressants?â
Jungkook mumbles something, his forehead dropping to rest on top of your head, seeking your contact again.
âI forgot,â he confesses miserably, rubbing his cheek against your hair. âI forgot to refill the prescription. Thought I could... I thought I could wait a few days.â
âA few days? Kook, youâre a bunny. You don't just 'wait out' a hormonal nuke like this,â you mutter, smacking his arm lightly as you look at him. . âYou absolute dumbass,â you groan, letting your head thump back against the wall.
He whimpers at your harsh tone, burying his face deeper into your hair as if trying to crawl inside your skin. "I'm sorry, noona! I'm really sorry!"
âOkay, okay, calm down,â you mutter, more to yourself than him. You need help. You need backup. âCome on, you big idiot,â you grunt, wedging your shoulder under his armpit.
It takes every bit of your strength to drag him from the hallway to the living room. Jungkook is dead weight, his feet drag on the floor as he slumps against you, mumbling incoherently about how good you smell.Â
Once you get him to the couch, you practically dump him onto it. He immediately curls in on himself, clutching one of your throw pillows.
âStay,â you order, pointing a finger at him.
He looks up at you through his messy bangs. He looks like a kicked puppy, or rather, a very sad, very horny bunny.
You need a solution, and you need it five minutes ago. Patting your pockets, only to realize you left your phone on the entryway table in all the chaos. You definitely wonât leave him alone to go get it because you donât trust him not to follow you like a lost duckling.
You lean down to where Jungkook is curled up and start patting his pockets, your hands moving over his thighs in a way that is definitely not helping the situation.
"Noona," he whines, his body twitching under your touch. Instead of pulling away, he leans into your hands. "Please... help me, noona... please."
"Oh, stop being so dramatic," you mutter, finally find his phone. You snatch it, the screen lighting up at your touch. Locked. You quickly type in the six digits of your own birthday, and the home screen slides open.
The image staring back at you distracts you. Itâs a photo taken during a hike up Bukhansan last autumn. Youâre leaning into his side, his arm draped comfortably over your shoulders, heads tilted together, smiling at the camera. To any stranger passing by, you looked like a happy, loving couple.
You wish.
Shaking off the thought, you scroll to his favorites. Jimin is right at the top, sandwiched between "Mom" and your own contact name. You hit call and press the phone to your ear, pacing in front of the coffee table. âPick up, pick up, you furry little shit,â you hiss.
Suddenly, strong arms wrap around your waist from behind. Jungkook has dragged himself up from the couch and is currently pinning you against him.
âJungkook!â you yelp, trying to maintain your balance as he pulls you against his chest.
âHello?â Jiminâs voice crackles through the speaker, sounding amused. âJungkookie? Are you atââÂ
âItâs Y/N,â you interrupt him, trying to pry Jungkookâs arms off your stomach, but itâs to no avail. You grunt, wondering how he can be so fucking strong when his brain is clearly melting.
âOh, hi!â Jimin chirps, sounding far too cheerful.
âI need help,â you say, your voice tight as you wedge an elbow between you and the broad chest pinning you.
âWith what?â Jimin asks. âDo we need to bury a body?â
âWhat? No!â you huff, trying to stay upright. âIt's Jungkook. Heâs in heat, Jimin,â you say bluntly.
âOh!â
âHe forgot to refill the prescription,â you explain, struggling against the bunny hybrid attached to your back. âNow heâs sweating like crazy and heâs... Jungkook, stop it!â You swat the top of Jungkookâs head. Heâs started licking the sensitive spot behind your jaw.
âHeâs licking me!â you shout into the phone. âDid you hear that? Heâs licking me! Tell me what to do! His pills? Can I go get them for him? Will they work?â
âUh, no,â Jimin says, his voice turning apologetic. âThatâs not how biology works, Y/N. The pills are suppressants. They stop the hormones from spiking. But once the spike happens⊠you canât stop it.â
Jungkook groans, rubbing the front of his body against your backside.
âSit!â you bark, spinning around to push him back towards the couch. âJungkook, sit down right now! Bad bunny!â
He whimpers but he sits back down on the edge of the cushions. He looks up at you with those wide, glossy doe eyes.
"Don't look at me like that!" you snap, pointing a finger at him to keep him from lunging again. You turn your back on him, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck as you focus on the phone. âSo what do I do?â you demand, turning back to the call. âI canât just... leave him like this.â
âWell,â Jimin sighs. âYou have two options. Option A: You lock him in a room and you let him ride it out alone. Itâll be miserable for him, bunny heats are painful if they aren't, uh, addressed.â
Unlike predators, who usually get aggressive or territorial, prey hybrids get needy. Desperately needy. It is a biological imperative for them to breed, and when a heat hits, it hits hard.
âAnd Option B?â you ask. You already know the answer, but you need to hear it.
âOption B,â Jimin says, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. âYou help him out.â
You choke on air. âJimin!â
You know exactly how to fix a bunny heat. Everyone does. It is biology 101. They need sex, lots of it. But this is Jungkook. Heâs been your best friend since forever. And yes, you might have been in love with him since high school, but you push that thought violently out of your brain. Absolutely not.
âHey, you asked! He needs release, Y/N. And not just once,â Jimin chuckles, voice low and amused. âHe needs to be⊠attended to.â He pauses, grinning like he knows exactly what heâs saying. âAnd there is literally no one else on this planet he would want right now but you.âÂ
Then, as if he suddenly regretted saying that, he adds, âAnyways⊠I gotta go now. Donât keep him waiting too long, alright?â
You frown, confusion knitting your brows. âWait, Jimin, what do you mean he'd want to be with me? Donât you dareââ
âGood luck, Noona! Bye!â The line goes dead.
You lower the phone slowly, staring at the black screen in disbelief. Your gaze shifts from the phone to Jungkook. Heâs still pressed close, his body trembling against yours on the couch.Â
"What am I going to do with you?" you ask out loud, letting out a sigh.
He's getting clingier by the second, his hands fisting the fabric of your shirt. Itâs getting harder to resist. Youâve spent the last decade pushing your feelings towards him into a tiny, invisible corner of your brain, locking it away behind a heavy door with a sign that says Heâs just your best friend.
But right now, that door is splintering and falling apart under the weight of his gaze. "Noona," he whimpers, nuzzling into your neck. "Please..."
You pull back just enough to cup his face. "Jungkook, what do you need? Tell me."
"I need... I don't know, it justâ it hurts!â
"Where?" you ask softly, though you already know.
His eyes drop to his own lap, and you follow the movement just to see the obvious tent straining against the denim of his jeans. Heat floods your face, but you force yourself to stay calm.
Okay. Fine. Letâs do this.
You tell yourself youâre just helping a friend, a desperate attempt to keep your head on straight.
Kneeling between his spread legs, the metal buckle of his belt clinks softly as you work it loose. You grab the zipper tab and glance up. âLift your hips,â you instruct, sounding firmer than you feel. âCome on, big boy, I canât do this alone! Help me out here.â
He obeys, arching up with a soft groan as you tug the jeans down his thighs. You kick them aside. His legs are bare now, strong and full of muscle. Your fingers hook into his underwear and you look up at him, heart pounding. "Jungkook... are you sure? Like one hundred percent?"
"Yes, yes, please, noona," he whines, cutting you off before you can ask again. "I need it. Need you."
Pulling the underwear down, his cock springs free. Itâs big. Itâs thicker than anything youâve ever dealt with. The predator in you is screaming to take charge, to climb onto those massive thighs and ride him until neither of you can breathe.Â
The sweetness of his scent fills your nostrils, making you wonder if his heat is affecting you too. No. Control yourself. With a firm grip, you wrap your fingers around the base. Heâs so thick your hand barely closes but you start pumping slowly, sliding your palm up to the head and back down, twisting a little at the top.
"Is this okay, Kook?"
Jungkook lets out a whine, his head falls back in pleasure. "Yes... yes!" he gasps, his hips bucking up into your hand.
You keep going, your thumb spreading the leaking pre over the head. "You're doing so good, Kook," you murmur, watching his face. "I'm going to take the pain away, okay? Just let me take care of you."
âTighter, noona, please. Like that... oh God, yeah.â
Heâs panting, breathing hard as he watches your hand move on him. "Fuck, don't stop," he moans, his hands gripping the couch arms. The curse slipping from his lips as you twist your wrist startles you. Jungkook never swears.Â
The heat must be frying his brain, stripping away that polite filter and leaving nothing but unfiltered need. Itâs a side of him youâve never seen, and it makes your own blood run hot. You speed up, your movements becoming more aggressive as you squeeze him tight.
"Noona!" he cries out. His body jerks as he cums in your hand.Â
He slumps back with his eyes closed, looking calmer, but when you glance down, your stomach flips. Heâs still completely hard. His cock is twitching against your palm like that release didn't even happen.Â
âAre you kidding me?â you demand, letting go of him as you stare at the mess on your hands. âHow long is this going to last?â
Jungkook blinks at you. âI don't know... it's my first time without the pills. With them, it's only one or two hours of discomfort. But like this... I have no idea when itâll stop.â
He doesn't give you time to process what he just says, because he leans forward, his hands cupping your face and tangling in your hair. He pulls you in, his lips finding your neck, pressing kisses into your skin.
"More, noona," he begs, his voice muffled against your skin. "Please... it's not enough. I still need you. Don't stop now."
He keeps trailing kisses up your neck. You feel a warmth pooling between your thighs, your pussy aching, but you bite back any sound.Â
But as the weight of his hands and the heat of his mouth press against you, your mind begins to shift. Youâre supposed to be just helping him out, but the physical touch and his scent are doing a number on you.
You decide right then that if youâre doing this, you might as well enjoy it too. You stop fighting the pull in your gut and let yourself get just as swept up in it as he is.Â
Still on your knees, firmly planted between his spread legs with your hands resting on his thick inner thighs, you pull back and meet his eyes. Youâve known him long enough to recognize that look, the one where heâs dying for something but is too shy to say it out loud.
"What do you want?" you ask. "I want to help you, Kook."
Jungkook's eyes drop to your body, then flick back up, his cheeks dark red. "More," he whispers.
"More of what?" You tilt your head as a small smile plays on your lips. âI canât read your mind, Kook. I need you to tell me what you want.â
"More of you," he breathes, his hands fidgeting on your arms. âI want to see you, noona.â
You stare at him. Jungkookâs eyes are wide and a little desperate, like heâs asking for something he shouldnât. It makes warmth curl low in your stomach.Â
You stand up slowly, your pajama shorts riding up your thighs. His eyes follow every movement. "Okay," you say. You grip the hem of your tank top and peel it off over your head, tossing it aside.
You hook your fingers under your bra straps, loosening them before reaching back to unclip it. "Like this?" you ask. You let the straps slide down your shoulders but hold the cups in place, teasing him. "Is this enough for you?"
Jungkook's face falls into a pout, his lower lip jutting out. "No... I want to see everything, noona. Please."
With a soft laugh, you let the bra drop and Jungkook goes still. His mouth parts in silence, his eyes locked on your chest before lifting back to your face, all googly-eyed and dazed.
"Do you like the view, Kook?" you ask, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.
"You have the prettiest tits," he breathes. "They're so perfect, noona."
Your face heats up at his compliment. You kneel back between his legs, wrapping your hand around his still-hard cock and start slowly dragging it from base to tip, over and over. "What do you want now?" you murmur. Your tits bounce gently with each stroke, and he can't tear his eyes away, mesmerized by the movement.
Jungkookâs gaze finally drifts up, leaving your chest to fix on your mouth instead, his lips parting slightly as he watches you. âDo you want my mouth, Kook? You want me to suck your cock?â
"Yes... yes, oh yes, please. Please, noona," he begs, his voice cracking as he looks up at you with wide, desperate eyes.
Leaning in, you part your lips and take the head of his cock into your mouth. Jungkook gasps sharply, his body jerking as if he's about to snap right then. "Ah!" His hips buck up, thrusting into your mouth. One hand flies to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands. "Noona, your mouth..." he whines.
You take him deeper. You slurp noisily, your free hand massaging his balls. His thrusts get messy, fucking your mouth with desperate snaps. His whole body tenses. "I'm, fuck! Noona, gonna cum," he warns. You pull off just as he's about to reach his climax. Jungkook whines, his hips chasing your mouth. "No, please! I was just about toâ"
âAh, ah,â you say firmly, shifting back just enough to look at him while adding, âI donât trust you not to choke me because you're being way too aggressive.â
Shifting up, you press your tits together around his length and slide them up and down. You lean forward to lick at the tip. âYou like that, donât you? Such a horny bunny, fucking noonaâs tits.â
âYes... oh, yes.â
You smile, moving faster. Jungkookâs head throws back, a moan ripping from him as he climaxes. Hot ropes of cum shoot out, splashing all over your tits, coating your skin and dripping down into the valley in between.
You grip the base of his cock and drag the still-leaking tip over your nipples, smearing the mess across them. He's still hard, still twitching in your hand, refusing to soften even after all that.
Completely undone, Jungkook stays sprawled out, blinking up at you with nothing but adoration. "Thank you, noona... You're so good to me," he murmurs. "It felt so good..."
You, however, are far from fine, as your shorts are soaked through and youâre aching to be filled. You look down at yourself, then back at him.
âYou really couldn't hold back, could you?â you tease, while you watch him try to catch his breath. âLook at the mess you made, Kook,â you murmur, gesturing to your chest where his seed is smeared over your skin.
His eyes follow your hand, staring at the marks of his release all over you. "Sorry, noona," he whispers, though he doesn't look sorry at all.
"Sorry won't buy you out of this one, little bunny," you say. You reach down and drag a finger through the mess on your skin, then bring it to your mouth to lick it clean while you hold his gaze. âWhat are you going to do about it?â you challenge, tilting your head.
Jungkookâs tongue swipes over his bottom lip. He catches his piercing between his teeth, giving it a tug as his eyes stay fixed on your chest. âLet me clean it,â he says.
âOh? And how exactly are you going to do that?â You ask, smacking the tip of his cock against your tits. You let go of his length and plant your hands firmly on his thighs. âTell me, big boy.â
âWith my mouth,â he breathes while sitting up, his hands sliding to your waist to pull you closer. You weren't expecting him to be that direct as he adds, âI want to clean your tits with my mouth.â
With a soft chuckle, you move, climbing onto his lap and straddling those thick thighs. The moment you settle, his hard length presses firmly against your pussy, and the way he rubs against you through your shorts makes your blood boil.
Leaning forward, you press your breasts right over his face, offering them up. "What are you waiting for then? Be a good boy and clean noona's tits."
Mouth opening wide, he latches onto your nipple, tongue sweeping over the slick warmth coating your skin. Then back and forth between them, his face buried in your chest as he tastes you.
âMmm, yeah,â you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair. âThatâs it, Kook. Sucking my tits so well.â
Praise is like fuel to him. He whines into your flesh, his mouth working harder. His tongue moves in circles around the peaks to make sure he doesn't miss a spot. When he pulls back, you can see his lips glistening. âDo you like it, noona? Do you like how I'm cleaning you?â he asks with a trembling voice.
âMmm. You're doing so good.â
He smiles, looking pleased with himself, and goes right back to your tits. As he feasts on you, his hips start to move, driving up and rubbing his hard cock against your clothed pussy.
You pull his hair tighter, forcing his face deeper into your skin while his hands slide from your waist to your ass, digging into your cheeks through the fabric as his hips keep grinding up into you. The angle shifts slightly, his cock dragging right against a spot that makes you moan loudly.
âAm I doing it right, noona?â he rasps as he looks up at you, thrusting up again. âRight there?â
âYes, right there!â you sob, your body starting to shake as he keeps rubbing against that sensitive spot. âJust like that, Kook. Donât stop.â
You start moving your hips in sync with him, grinding down hard to meet his moves while his fingers dig so deep into your asscheeks that youâre sure heâll leave marks.Â
âYou're so sensitive, noona,â he says before latching back onto your breast and sucking even harder. You scream as you climax, and a moan tears from his throat as he slams his hips up one last time before reaching his peak too.
Jungkook stays seated with you straddled over him, hugging you tight with his face buried in the crook of your neck while he tries to find his breath. You can feel the damp heat where his release soaked into your clothes.
"Are you feeling any better, Kook?" you murmur, asking even though you can still feel him stone-hard against your pussy.
"A bit," he rasps. "But... not much. It still feels like Iâm lost in a fog."
You pull back to look him in the eye and see his pupils are still huge, looking at you with a stare so heavy with lust and something more that makes your heart hammer against your ribs.
âAww, my poor bunny,â you coo softly.
His hands are locked onto your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as if he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go. His eyes drop to your lips. "Noona," he whispers, looking incredibly needy. "Can I kiss you?"
Your brain short-circuits. "W-what?"
You can feel yourself blushing. Itâs ridiculous. Youâve had his mouth on your tits for the last ten minutes but a kiss feels like a line you can't â you shouldn't â cross.Â
Once you find out how he tastes, thereâs no going back. You won't be able to forget how his mouth feels, or how that lip ring feels against your lips. You're basically handing him the keys to ruin you if you agree to it.
"Weâ we can't, Jungkook," you stammer, your voice faltering as you scramble for a reason to say no. Even as your words stumble, every part of you is screaming yes. Youâre aching to feel him closer, to kiss him, to let him have you. Your hands itch to reach for him, to pull him in. "I..."
"Please... please, noona. I want to kiss you. Why don't you want to kiss me?â He whines, his lower lip jutting out in a pout.Â
"I don't know!" you snap, your mind racing for an excuse.
Jungkook lets out a long, pathetic whine. He tugs you forward until your forehead is resting against his.
âIf I don't kiss you right now, I think I'm going to explode. Just one. Please,â he pleads, looking up at you from under his lashes.Â
Your resolve crumbles. "Fine," you breathe. "Okay. Just one."
You lean in slowly and his hands slide up to cup your jaw, tilting your head. When you can feel his breath against your lips, you stop, but Jungkook doesn't. The distance shrinks until his lips finally crash against yours.
His lips are warm, soft, plump. The cool metal of his lip ring presses against your bottom lip, and heâs teasing it with his tongue, sucking gently, dragging it over your lips.Â
You canât get enough. You want to melt into him, to drown in this moment.
Your shorts and his shirt feel like a barrier you donât want there anymore. Every fiber of you aches to feel his skin against yours, to grind into him freely. You want to feel your skin against his.Â
If this is your last and only chance to have him, youâre going to make the most of it. Youâll deal with the consequences of a broken heart later; right now, you just need him.
Youâll deal with the consequences of a broken heart later, right now, you just need him.
Breaking the kiss, you grab the hem of his shirt, peeling it over his head and tossing it. Now, he's sitting there in nothing but that silver chain you got him for his birthday, and since you gave it to him youâve never seen him without it.
The fabric falling away reveals his chiseled abs, slick with a fine layer of sweat. Messy from your fingers, he looks devastatingly handsome. You wish you could take a picture, frame it, and put it in your living room just so you could stare at this version of him every single day.
Shifting on his lap, you rub your pussy directly against his hardness, feeling the way he tenses beneath you. âKook,â you breathe, nipping at his neck, âI want you inside me.â
Jungkook stiffens. He pulls back, his hands freezing on your waist.
âWhat? Whatâs wrong?â you ask, your brows furrowing. âDid I say something?â
âNo! No, you didn't do anything wrong! Itâs just thatâŠâ He pauses, his voice turning into a hesitant whisper. âNoona, I've neverâŠâ
You blink, stunned. Your brain stutters. No way⊠he canât mean what you think he means, right?Â
âW-what? But I thought that with Sohee... I thought you two...â
Sohee. His ex-girlfriend. They dated for a while after meeting in his second year of college, and during that time, your "best friend" face was working overtime.
So, instead of sitting around moping, you went on a mission to distract yourself. It was a period of distraction, rebound after rebound with anyone who could take your mind off the fact that Jungkook was holding someone else's hand and kissing someone else's lips.
You spent every weekend out, waking up in different beds and trying to convince yourself that the variety was better than the one person you actually wanted.Â
You were trying to drown your feelings in a sea of nameless faces, and for a while, it almost worked. It definitely wasn't your proudest moment, and youâre still not a fan of how you handled it, but at the time, it felt like the only way to survive watching him be with someone else.
They broke up after half a year. Jungkook never wanted to talk about it and you respected his wishes.
âNo,â he says nervously. âI... I mean, we never went that far.â He looks up at you.
âKook, itâs okay,â you say softly, cupping his face. âWe donât have to go any further. I can still help you out with my hands or my mouth.â
You start to shift, moving to climb off his lap, but his hands snap back to your hips, pulling you down hard.
âNo!â he gasps. âI want to! I really want to. With you.â
âAre you sure? I donât want to rush you.â
He nods vigorously. âIâm sure. Please.â
You take a breath, trying to calm the pounding in your own chest. âWell, let me take these off first,â you murmur.
You stand up just long enough to slide your shorts and panties down your legs. Once you're bare, you climb back onto him, straddling his thick thighs. Your wet pussy presses directly against his length, and you both let out a moan at the contact.
"Noona," he gasps, his hands shaking as they find your waist. "You're so soft. You feel so good."
"You too, Kook," you whisper, leaning down to kiss him again. "Are you ready?"
He just nods.
You reach down and wrap your fingers around him, lining the blunt head of his cock up with your entrance. Jungkookâs hands are trembling where they grip your thighs.
âNoona, wait,â he gasps. He looks down at where heâs pressing against you, his face full of worry. âI donât want to hurt you. Are you... are you sure youâre ready to take me?â
You don't even bother answering with words. Instead, you take his hand and press his fingers directly against your soaking wet folds so he can feel exactly how ready you are.Â
"You're so wet..."
"For you, Kook," you whisper, and as the words leave your mouth, his eyes widen. He looks at you like youâre the only anchor he has in the middle of this storm, his hands trembling where they grip your thighs. âIâm going to be fine. I promise.â
Slowly, carefully, you begin to lower yourself down.
Jungkook lets out a moan and you hiss as the stretch starts â he is so fucking big. It feels like he's going to split you in half, but it's a good ache, so you keep going until you've forced your body to take all of him.
You let out an involuntary whine once you're fully seated. Jungkook, who had been staring at the point where youâre joined, looks up at you, his entire body freezing.
âWhat? Whatâs happening? Did I hurt you?â He starts to lift his hips, trying to pull out, but you slam your hands onto his shoulders to keep him pinned.
âNo!â you pant, your eyes watering slightly from his size. âYouâre just... youâre so big, Kook.â
A bit of cocky pride crosses his face at that. You see the shift in his eyes and decide to bring him back to earth before his ego gets as big as his muscles. You lean down, nipping at his earlobe until he lets out a startled huff.
His hands are gripping the couch as if heâs about to rip the fabric. âI donât know if Iâll last long, noona,â he confesses. âYou feel too good.Everything feels too good.â
âI donât care,â you encourage as you start to move. âJust enjoy it, Kook. Thatâs all that matters to me.â
You find a pace, bouncing slowly at first to let your body get used to his length. Jungkook canât do anything but moan, his eyes fixed on the way your tits bounce with each movement of your hips.
Reaching down to grab his hands and press them onto your tits, making him groan as he immediately starts pinching your nipples. "That's it," you moan, arching into his touch, "play with noona's tits, Kook... you're doing so good."
"Like this?" he asks as he tugs at one nipple.
âYes, yes!â
You keep up the pace while he works your nipples between his fingers. When you clench your inner walls around him, Jungkook's entire body suddenly stiffens. âNoona⊠ah⊠I⊠Iâm⊠oh fuckâŠâÂ
The heat inside you intensifies as you feel his release flooding you, and the base of his cock begins to swell, the knot expanding quickly until you are locked together.
âOh,â he breathes, his eyes snapping open. His hands leave your tits, falling back to his sides. He looks down at where youâre joined, his face turning bright red. "Noona... Iâm sorry. Iâm so sorry.â He keeps apologizing, looking absolutely devastated that it was over so fast.
You grab his face, making him look at you. âKook, hey, look at me,â you say, stroking his hair away from his forehead. âItâs okay. Really.â
"Noona, this is so embarrassing," Jungkook blinks, his watery eyes searching for yours while he stays locked inside you. âI wanted to last. I wanted to be better for our first time together.â
"Shh," you whisper, thumbing away a stray tear because seeing him this upset is more than you can handle. "You don't have to apologize."
âBut I wanted you to enjoy it,â he insists, his voice cracking with a mix of frustration and shyness while his chest heaves against yours.Â
âAnd I did Jungkook! I promise I did,â you reassure him, giving him a smile.
âBut you didn't cum,â he mutters, his gaze dropping to where your bodies are joined, and you stay silent because there's no point in lying. âWhat can I do? Tell me what to do so you can feel like that too.â
âThereâs no need, Kook,â you murmur, caressing his cheek and leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to his forehead while you try to pull him back into your space.
âYes there is! I want to please you, noona.â He insists.
You smile at his stubbornness, taking his hand and guiding his fingers down between your bodies, pressing them right against your swollen clit. âRight here,â you whisper.
âLike this?â he asks, his touch tentative, careful. âIs this okay?â
âMmm, yes,â you moan, letting your head fall onto his shoulder as he starts to rub. âJust like that, Kook. A little more pressure.â
He looks more confident as he watches your expression. âI want to make you feel as good as you made me.â
âYou are,â you gasp when his thumb hits the spot. âYouâre doing so good, Kook...â
He follows your lead. He works his thumb over you, watching your face while you melt. You move your hips again, feeling the pressure of the knot inside you.
It takes you by surprise when Jungkook leans in and latches onto your tit, drawing your nipple in. He sucks, his tongue swirling around while his thumb keeps rubbing your clit.
Your walls clamp down on his cock while you sob his name into his neck, your fingers digging into his shoulders and your voice breaking as the orgasm hits. You cry out for him not to stop, and Jungkook keeps his mouth on your breast, his thumb never stopping until you finally go limp against him.
"Was it good, noona?" he whispers against your skin, his voice sounding small and hopeful as he waits for your approval.
"It was perfect, Kook," you pant, trying to catch your breath while you melt into his touch. "You did so well."
The pressure of the knot finally starts going down, and as you look at Jungkook, he offers you a small, shy smile and reaches up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.
As he gets a little smaller, you shift your weight to give him a break. But the moment you move, his length surges back to full strength inside you. You bite your lip. You might not actually survive the night if he keeps this up.
âNoona?â he rasps, his hands sliding to your waist to hold you in place. âCan we...â He pauses then, looking at you with a doubtful expression as if heâs afraid of asking for too much, before he finally whispers, âCan we do it again? It felt so good.â He leans in, pressing a series of kisses to your neck while murmuring, âI want to feel you more.â
You stare at him. You know bunnies have a reputation for high energy but this is borderline ridiculous. "Again?" you tease with a small smirk on your lips. "You're a persistent little thing, aren't you? Such a horny bunny."
Jungkook just nods and hums in response.
"Mmm," you whisper, "but we are moving to the bed. I am not letting you ruin my couch with any more of this mess."
You look at his hands on your waist, enjoying the sight of the big, buffed-up Jungkook begging you for more even though you know you shouldn't.
"And..." He pauses, biting his lip while looking surprised by his own request, but he keeps his eyes locked on yours as he asks, "Could I... can I be on top this time? Please?"
"Well, since you asked so nicely..." you murmur.
You slowly lift yourself off him. As you stand, you feel his release running down your skin. Itâs a mess of thick, white streaks of his seed running down the insides of your thighs.
Jungkook watches the trail against your skin. His look shifts. Seeing his seed leaking out of you triggers something in him. He wants to put it back in, to fill you until you can't hold any more and plug you up with his cum.
He decides to keep the thought to himself, but his cock twitches.
You reach down, taking his large hand in yours, and tug gently. "Come on, Kook. Let's go," you murmur, guiding him toward the bedroom.
The walk to the bedroom is short. Your bed is a mess of pink cushions and soft blankets. The moment you reach the mattress, you let go of his hand and fall back onto the pile of pillows, making yourself comfortable.
âCome here,â you say, patting the mattress and offering a small, knowing smile.
Jungkook moves, crawling over you, pinning you down with his weight. He plants both hands at the sides of your head, his arms caging you in like he's making sure you can't go anywhere.
"Noona," he whispers. "Can I... can I kiss you again?"
âMmm,â you breathe, tilting your head up and bringing your hands to his face, pulling him down to you.
âI need you,â he mutters against your lips.He begins to grind his hips. The hard, hot length of his cock rubs directly against your soaking pussy, and you can feel him twitching. âPlease, noona... I need to be inside you so bad,â he whimpers, his hips snapping upward in a desperate attempt to get closer.
âYouâre so impatient,â you tease, a laugh catching in your throat as you arch your back into him. âIs the big, bad bunny really that desperate? Are you going to be this whiny every time you want something?â
"Maybe," he gasps, his nose brushing against yours. âIf it's you, then yes. Always.â
âYou're lucky you're cute, Kook,â you murmur, watching him scramble for your approval. Sliding slightly on his lap, you let his hard length rub against your folds, teasing him just enough to make him squirm.
âI'll do whatever you want. I'll be so good, I'll do whatever you say.â
âWhatever I want... now that sounds like a good deal,â you murmur, trailing your fingers over the sharp line of his jaw. âMaybe I should make you wait just a little longer. Make you beg a bit more for it. You seem to be so good at it.â
Jungkook whines, grinding his hips even harder, the tip of him teasing your folds. He nips at your neck, hands roaming your body.Â
Every motion, every teasing brush of his cock against you, makes your pulse race faster. You want him inside you so badly, but seeing him beg like this makes it even hotter.
âI'll die, noona,â he groans. âI'll actually die if I'm not inside you right now.â He continues to whine, the tip of his cock poking at your folds. âI need to be inside your pussy.â
You look at him, your own heart slamming against your ribs. You canât take the begging anymore, not when youâre aching just as bad as he is. âPut it in, Kook.â
âThank you, noona... thank you,â he breathes.
He maneuvers his large hands to your hips, lining himself up and pushing in, sliding back into your heat in one thrust.
âAh, fuck! Noona! Oh GodâŠâ The moan that tears from his throat is so loud you're sure your next-door neighbor heard it. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his entire body shaking as he feels you surround him again. âI⊠I canât⊠So goodâ
âMove, Kook,â you whisper, your legs hooking around his waist to pull him deeper. âMove for me.â
He starts to pump his hips. As he moves, the silver chain around his neck drapes down, the metal dancing just above your eyes. You frame his face with your hands, your thumbs tracing his cheekbones as he leans down to press sweet kisses all over your cheeks and forehead.
âIs this okay? Does it feel good?â he asks, pushing deep.Â
âIt feels amazing,â you reassure him,even though the slow pace is driving you crazy. âBut I need it harder, Jungkook. Don't you want to please your noona?â
âI want to do everything for you,â he growls. His grip on your hips tightens until his knuckles are white. âI'll give you whatever you want.â
âThen fuck me harder.â
Jungkook shifts his weight, gripping your wrists and pinning them to the mattress, holding you completely still. His chest presses against yours, sweat slicking his skin, hair falling into his eyes as he leans in close. The silver chain around his neck swings with every slam of his hips, and your body arches instinctively, craving more of him.
He adjusts his angle, snapping his hips upward so perfectly it hits that spot inside you you didnât even know could feel this good. "Yes! Right there! Fuck, Jungkook, yes!" you cry, fingers digging into the sheets.
Every thrust makes you shiver. His hands slide from your wrists to your sides, pressing down, making it impossible to move. Youâre gasping, moaning, lost in the way heâs taking you.
âYou like that, noona?â he pants. âDo you like how I'm fucking you?â
He grins against your skin, watching your body react, listening to your moans like theyâre music meant only for him.
âYes⊠fuck! I love it!â you cry out, your head thrashing against the pillow while you arch your back to meet him. âHarder, Jungkook! Harder!â
âI donât want to hurt you, noona,â he rasps.
"I like a bit of pain, Jungkook. Donât hold back." you whisper.
He bites his lip and he pulls almost all of himself out before slamming back in. Your walls clench around him. âOh fuck⊠yes!â
He keeps going, pulling almost all the way out again, then smashing back in, harder this time. His cock hits so deep your stomach clenches. âDo you like it like this, noona?â he asks. âDoes it feel good when I hit you this hard?â
"Yes, yes! God, Kook, itâs so good!" you sob, your fingers digging into the sheets. Since youâve realized by now that he has a major praise kink, you lean your head back and cry out, âYour cock feels amazing, Jungkook! Youâre so big...â
The words seem to electrify him, his pace becoming even more frantic as he tries to chase the high of your approval. âReally? Iâm... Iâm doing it right for you?â
You smile up at him, your hands sliding up his sweat-slicked chest to his shoulders as you murmur, âMmm, Kook. The best Iâve ever had.â
âBetter than Taehyung?â
The question catches you completely off guard, wondering how he could possibly know about your history with the tiger hybrid. You don't let the surprise slow you down, instead tightening your hold on his shoulders and looking him straight in the eyes. âYes, yes... so much better than him, oh God!â
His answer is driving into you even harder. âIâm close,â he groans, letting go of your wrists to cup the sides of your face, pulling you into him. âNoona⊠Iâm so close.â
âMe too, Kook,â you gasp, fingers tangling in his damp hair, your chest pressing into his as your own climax starts to overtake you.
He drives into you harder, each thrust sharper, faster, as if trying to memorize every inch of your body, until your muscles clamp down around him.
âNoona!â Your walls clench around him, and you both spiral over the edge together.
Jungkook collapses onto you, his weight pinning you to the bed, but he quickly recovers enough to roll the both of you over. He keeps you tucked against him, shifting until youâre draped over his chest.
The knot keeps him buried deep inside you, his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you exactly where he wants you: filled and claimed.
Jungkook seems mostly like himself again. While you know the cycle isn't over yet, the release from the last few hours has granted him a window of clarity. Heâs lying there, looking at you with literal googly eyes.Â
You reach out to run your fingers through his damp hair. The strands are soft, falling in loose waves thanks to that perm heâd been hesitant to try. Heâd doubted it at first, worried it wouldnât suit him, but youâd pushed him, told him it would make him look even more handsome. And damn, you were right.Â
âWhat?â you murmur with a tired smile tugging at your lips.
He leans into your touch, letting you tangle your fingers through the soft waves. âNothing,â he answers. âJust... you're really pretty, noona.â
You huff a laugh, your cheeks warming. As the knot finally recedes, he slides out of you, almost soft now, but not quite. You know the heat is still humming under his skin, waiting for the next spike, but for now, the quiet is a relief.
A yawn stretches his jaw, and his eyelids begin to droop. The physical toll of the night is finally winning.
âSleepy, Kook?â
âMmh,â he grunts, already shifting.
He moves behind you, pulling you back against his chest. His thick, muscled arm drapes over your waist, his hand coming to rest firmly over your breast. âCan we sleep like this? I like having you close. I don't want to let go.â
âWe can sleep like this, Kook,â you answer, settling back into him. "I'm not going anywhere.â
You can feel his half-hard length tucked between your asscheeks. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his nose brushing against the skin behind your ear.
Before sleep can claim you, you stare out at the shadows on the wall. Youâve crossed a line thatâs been there for far too long. Youâve tasted your best friend, and youâve let him see exactly how much you wanted him.
You feel him twitch against your back, the small jerks of his muscles telling you heâs already asleep. As Jungkook lets out a long sigh and tightens his grip on you, you push the thought away.Â
Thatâs a problem for future you to solve. Right now, youâre warm and youâre safe, so you let your eyes drift shut.
When you wake up in the dark, you feel Jungkook hands on your body, fingers rolling and pinching your puffy, swollen nipples.
His cock is rock-hard, dragging teasingly against your ass, twitching with every tiny movement. His breathing is shallow, his lips parting as he nuzzles into your hair.
âKook?â you mumble, tilting your head toward him, a moan slipping out as he tugs at your nipple. âBack for more already⊠huh?â you tease, a lazy, sleepy smirk tugging at your lips.
âI⊠I canât help it, noona,â he whimpers.
âYouâre being so naughty, Kook,â you tease with a smirk tugging at your lips. âWaking up your noona in the middle of the night just because you're needy?â
He nudges his face into your hair, his grip on your waist tightening. âI tried to be good, noona. I really did. I tried to go back to sleep and leave you alone, but Iâm dying. I can't stop thinking about how you felt. Itâs all I can see when I close my eyes.â
âOh, really?â you murmur. âMy poor, tortured bunny. You spent all that time lying here wanting me while I was dreaming?â
Reaching back, your hand finds his hard cock, fingers wrapping slowly around his length as your thumb traces over the swollen head before tightening into a firm squeeze. âIs all of this for me, Kook?â you ask.
He looks so sweet like this, a massive man reduced to a pleading mess. âEverything is for you,â he answers, his voice trembling as he reaches out to pull you closer.
âThen tell me what you want,â you whisper, idly playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
Shifting your weight, you guide him just enough for the tip to brush against your entrance, but stop there, denying him sliding inside. Instead, your hand keeps working on him with a firm grip, moving it slowly up and down his shaft.
âGo on,â you murmur softly. âSay it properly.â
âI want to fuck my noona,â he groans, his hands coming up to squeeze your tits as his hips twitch. âI want to feel you around me again. I want to stretch you open and bury myself in your pussy. I want to taste you too, noona. I want to eat your pussy until youâre screaming my name and then I want to fill you with my cum over and over.â
âMmm? You want to do all of that to me? So greedy,â you murmur.
âIâm greedy for you, noona,â he pants. âI want to feel you all over me⊠I want to kiss every inch of you, taste you, hear you scream my name⊠I want to be lost inside you, noona, only inside you.â
You bite your lip, heart racing at how desperate he sounds.
âJust please, noona. Put it in. I need to be inside you.â
You move your hips, arching and opening up to give him what he wants, helping him put more of his cock inside you until you're completely filled.
A moan slips from your lips at the stretch. âGod⊠Kook,â you whisper, your nails digging lightly into his shoulders, âthat feels so good.â
Sinking his full length into your wet heat, he keeps his face pressed into the crook of your neck, his mouth pressing kisses against your skin as he pounds into you. His hips hit yours over and over, until you're both gasping.
âGod, noona,â he groans, his hips moving in slow circles. âYou feel so good. I can't get over how tight you are, you're so warm.â
At his words, you clench your inner muscles around him, pulling him even deeper.
Heâs talking even more now. "I want to stay inside you forever," he mutters, his hand sliding down to find your clit. "I want to wake up with you still wrapped around me. I want to feel you gripping my cock all night long." He begins to grind his hips in slow circles.
"You talk so much when you're horny, Kook," you gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder as his thumb begins to work over your nub. "You're going to talk me into another orgasm if you keep going."
"I want to," he whispers and you feel his breath against your ear. "I want to hear you come just from my voice. I want to tell you everything Iâm feeling so you know exactly what you do to me."
You turn your head slightly, catching his eye in the shadows. He looks at you with an intensity you canât quite name, but heâs smiling at you with a softness that makes your chest ache.
"You're perfect," he whispers. You try to avoid thinking about those words and focus on him instead. "You're so good... you feel so good, noona. I never want to leave. I'm going to stay right here until the sun comes up."
He keeps thrusting, his movements getting faster and more aggressive as he leans over to kiss you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours.
"I'm close, Kook! Don't stop!" you cry out, your fingers digging into his forearms.
Jungkook only grits his teeth in response, driving into you even harder, his hips snapping against your ass with a loud, wet smack each time he thrusts forward.
A moan spills from your lips as your walls suddenly clamp down around him, your orgasm crashing through you. Jungkook follows almost instantly, burying himself as deep as he can as he fills you with his release. "Such a good boy, Kook. You did so well for me."
At the base, his knot begins to swell, slowly expanding until it locks the two of you together in the quiet dark.
Instead of pulling away, Jungkook simply wraps his arms around you, drawing your back tightly against his chest so he can keep himself buried deep inside you. He holds you there, anchored to him, his breathing gradually slowing as sleep begins to take over again, unwilling to let you go even for a second.
When you wake later, the sun is just starting to peek through the curtains. You can still feel the stretch of him inside you, but the moment you stir, Jungkook shifts behind you and finally pulls back.Â
You expected to feel relief after having him buried in you all night, but instead⊠itâs emptiness. You miss him. The way he fit inside you perfectly. God, what if you are addicted to this? To him? To the way he makes you feel?
"Morning, noona," he murmurs. His voice is raspy.
"What time is it?" you ask. But you donât get an answer.
Jungkook grabs your hips and pulls you until you're flat on your back in the center of the bed. He crawls up your body, hovering over you with his arms braced on either side of your head as his eyes search for yours.
"You look so beautiful," he whispers, his thumb tracing your bottom lip with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. He smiles, "I don't think I ever want to let you out of this bed."
"I think I'm spoiling you too much, giving you everything you want." you say back, running your hands over his shoulders and down his back.
He chuckles softly, as he leans down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. His hand slides from your face down to your waist, pulling you close against him. "Can I..." He pauses, biting down on his lip ring as his gaze drops to the space between your thighs. "Can I eat you, noona? Iâve been thinking about it all night while you were asleep."
You bite your bottom lip, âHmm⊠yeahâ you murmur.
You watch him as he starts to move. He takes his time, keeping his eyes on yours as he leans down to kiss your tits. He swirls his tongue around your nipples, sucking the peaks into his mouth until youâre a moaning mess.
"Mmm, yes... so good, Kook," you moan. He smiles against your skin at the praise, his teeth catching and giving your nipple a playful bite. You let out a scream of pure pleasure at the sudden sting. "You told me you liked it rough, noona," Jungkook murmurs as he looks up at you.
âI did,âyou breathe, arching your back toward him.
He moves lower, pausing at your hip. A smile tugs at his lips before he presses a kiss against the delicate star tattoo on your skin. He traces the points of the star with the tip of his tongue, then finally moves to kneel between your legs.
Youâre swollen and soaked, his seed still coating your folds. Reaching out, Jungkook uses one finger to catch a stray drip of his cum and slowly pushes it back inside you.
"You took so much cum," he praises, his eyes locked on yours. His fingers curl around your hips to pull you just a little closer, "You're so good, noona. So perfect. I've been dreaming about doing this to you for so long."Â
You blink, wondering if you heard that right, but the exhaustion is making your brain too foggy to think.
"I want to please you. I want to make you feel as good as you made me," he whispers, and leans, pausing as he hovers just inches away.Â
You can feel his breath against your skin, but he seems a bit hesitant, his eyes darting to yours as you realize this might be his first time doing anything like this.Â
âIt's okay, Kook,â you murmur, reaching down to card your fingers through his hair and gently tilting his head forward.
His tongue is hot as he licks from the bottom of your opening all the way up to your clit and captures it between his lips, sucking until your hips buck. "God, yes, just like that," you moan, your head hitting the mattress while you guide his movements with your hands on his head. "A little faster, Kook... you're doing perfectly."
He plunges two fingers inside you while using his other hand to spread you wide, keeping his mouth busy and licking and sucking at you until youâre writhing against the sheets.
"Yes! Fuck, Jungkook, right there!" you sob, your fingers digging into his hair. "Are you sure this is your first time?"
Jungkook pauses, his voice muffled. âI just want to make you happy, noona,â before diving back in with even more focus.
"You're such a talented little bunny, aren't you? Using that mouth so well." You pull his hair slightly, forcing him to look up at you while heâs still buried between your thighs. His fingers pumping quickly while his tongue never leaves your clit. "Yes! Oh my God, yes!"
Jungkook keeps lapping at your clit, his tongue relentless even as you start to climax. He ignores your weak attempts to push him away, his fingers driving into you deeper and faster until your thighs finally go still and youâre left shaking.
When he finally pulls back, he looks up at you, his face smeared and wet. He wears a look of immense pride, a smug, satisfied grin on his lips as he watches you try to find your breath.
After your orgasm, you finally find your voice. "Come here, Kook," you command.Â
He crawls up the bed to kneel by your head.
You look at his cock and reach out, wrapping your hand around the base before taking him into your mouth. You suck him slowly, keeping your eyes locked on his.Â
Not being able to take all of him from this angle, you just focus on the head, your tongue swirling around the tip while you pump him with your hand.
One of his hands goes to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. "Noona, your mouth feels so good," he groans. His other hand finds your breasts, taking turns at them, tugging at your nipples. His touch is confident now. His fingers slide lower, grazing over your swollen clit as he starts to rub.
You keep sucking but Jungkook suddenly grips your stops. "Noona... wait," he gasps. "I- I wantâŠ"
You pull back, your lips glistening. You lean in to lick the side of his length, looking up at him. "What do you want, Kook? Tell me."
He looks away. "I... I don't know..."
"Yes, you do. Don't lie to me," you tease. You drag your tongue slowly up the side of his shaft, making him jerk. "If you don't tell me what you want, I can't give it to you. Should we just stop?"
"No!" he gasps. "I want to be inside you. I want to feel you around me when I cum."
"Good boy," you whisper, giving his cock one last, slow lick before you let him go. You give him a quick kiss, before you shift onto your hands and knees.
The bed creaks as you crawl toward the foot of the mattress. Youâre facing the window now, the first light of the sunrise catching your skin as you present your ass to him. You look over your shoulder, arching your back with a provocative little wiggle. "What are you waiting for, Kook? Come here and fuck your noona the way you like it. Or do I have to do everything myself?"
He doesn't need to be told twice. He lunges, settling behind you and claiming your hips with his hands. His fingers dig in and knead the flesh of your asscheeks, making you squirm against him. He grabs his cock and rubs the head against your slit, smearing your mess everywhere until youâre whining for it.
"You're getting awfully bold, aren't you?" you chide, glancing back at him with a lazy, teasing smirk. "Thinking you can just toy with me?"
"Sorry, noonaâŠ" he murmurs, almost sheepishly as he shoves his entire length inside you. You scream as he bottoms out. He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in again.
"Do you want it harder?" he growls. "I'll give you everything you want."
You moan, surprised at how quickly heâs reading your body and how fast heâs catching every little thing that pleasures you. You can't help but wonder how he's managed to figure you out so effortlessly, as if heâs been studying you for years instead of just hours.Â
âYes⊠yes!â Your fingers dig into the sheets, nails leaving little trails as your hips lift to meet him. "Harder, Jungkook! Fucking hit me harder!"
He obliges, pulling nearly all the way out and slamming into you with an explosive strength that steals your breath."Oh my fucking god, Kook! Yes!"
He hits that spot again until you swear you see stars. "Does it feel good, noona?" he pants. "Tell me it feels good."
"Yes!," you moan. "You're doing so good. Such aâ fuck!" Youâre cut off as he delivers a thrust so deep it hits your cervix. "Such a good bunny... fucking me so hard..."
He leans down, pressing his chest flat against your back. Your hands finally give up, and you have to lay your head against the mattress. "Am I being good? Am I doing it right for you?"
"You're being perfect," you sob, your head moving against the pillows. "So good... so big... fuck."
He gets bolder with every stroke. One hand leaves your hip to grab your tit, squeezing it hard while his breath burns against your neck.
"I'm going to breed you, noona," he whispers into your ear.
You know bunnies are pre-wired to breed, and even though you're on the pill, you want to give that fantasy to him. âYeah?â
âI'm going to put so much seed in you," he says, his voice strained. "I'm going to fill you up, noona. I'm going to make you so full of me that you can't think of anyone else. Youâre going to be mine. I'm going to knot you so deep you'll never forget how this feels."
Heâs relentless, burying himself to the hilt over and over until youâre nothing but a shaking mess beneath him.
"I want to see you," he mutters. "I want to see your face when I fill you up."
After pulling out, he shifts and maneuvers you gently until heâs lying on his back, then pulls you onto his lap so youâre facing him. As you settle there, you slowly lower yourself onto him, taking your time until you finally bottom out and remain still.
You look at him, and for a second, the world feels very small. He looks at you like youâre the only thing that exists right now.
"You're so pretty," he whispers. âSo pretty.â
His words come out in a way that makes you think itâs not just the heat talking. You aren't able to look him in the eye right now. Itâs too raw, too real.Â
Suddenly hit with a wave of shyness, you duck your head and hide your face in the crook of his neck as you lean down to kiss him. You can feel him trembling beneath you, his heart hammering against your chest.
"Move, noona," he begs against your mouth. "Please move."
You begin to lift your hips, pulling up until heâs almost fully out, before slamming back down again. As you do, you watch his expression crumble, his eyes shutting while you control the way you slide against him.
He reaches for your tits, his mouth catching your nipple and sucking hard. You grab his hair, tugging his head closer to your chest while you ride him.
"I'm going to breed you," he growls again against your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak before he adds, "I'm going to put my pups inside you, noona. I want to watch you swell with my seed until you're completely full of me."
"Yes, Kook," you pant, leaning down to his ear. "Breed me. Fill me up. Be a good bunny and put all that cum inside me."
"I will," he promises, his hands sliding down to squeeze your ass. "I'll fill you so full it'll be the only thing you feel. You're mine... only mine." He starts bucking his hips up to meet you, gasping, "Tell me you're mine! Say it, please!"
"Yes... yes, I'm yours! Oh, Kook, I love you so much! I love you! I'm yours!"
He loses what's left of his control. His hips slam upward, driving into you with everything he has. You climax first, but you keep bouncing. Youâre exhausted, your legs are shaking, but you keep moving your hips.
A loud cry rips from him as he cums deep inside you, his knot swelling and locking you together. You can feel him shivering, and you canât help yourself and lean up and press your lips to his.
Your fingers dig into his damp hair, tugging him closer, and you kiss him like you might lose him if you stop. You want him. You want all of him. Even now, even like this, you canât get enough.
His arms are locked around your waist, holding you against his chest when his eyes suddenly clear as he snaps back to reality. He pulls back, his brow furrowing as he searches your face. "What did you say?" he whispers. "Right before... when we were..."
Your heart stops as you realize what you let slip in the heat of the moment. I love you.
"Iâ I didn't say anything!" you stammer. You immediately try to scramble off his lap, your hands pushing against his shoulders, but his grip on your waist is like iron. Youâre locked in place, still physically connected to him. "Kook, let me up. We need to... we should probablyâ"
"I heard you," Jungkook interrupts. He doesn't let you budge an inch. "You said you loved me. You said it more than once."
âForget it!â you snap. You cover your face with your hands, a groan of pure mortification escaping you. "Just forget it, Jungkook! I was... I was out of my mind. It was the moment! People say things they don't mean when they'reâ"
âYou're going to blame the moment?" he asks, his eyebrows shooting up. "You forget Iâm the one in heat, noona? My head is the one that's supposed to be messy, not yours.â
âWell, maybe it's contagious!â you fire back, desperate to find some ground to stand on. âJust... please, Kook. Let's just act like it didn't happen. We can go back to normal. We'll get breakfast and forget I ever opened my mouth.â
I fucked it up, you think, your mind spiraling. Twenty years of friendship down the drain.
"Why should I forget it?" he asks. Thereâs no mockery in his tone.
"Because it's complicated!" you cry, finally dropping your hands to glare at him through watery eyes. "Because we're best friends, you're in heat and I wasn't supposed to say that! It's a mess, Kook. I messed everything up and Iâ"
"You didn't mess anything up," he says softly while reaching up, his large hand cupping your jaw and forcing you to look into his eyes as he whispers, "Because I love you, too."
The air leaves your lungs in a rush. You stare at him, your mouth falling open. "You... you what?"
"Why do you think Sohee and I never went further?" he asks, a lopsided smile touching his lips.
"I don't know," you breathe. "You said you weren't ready, or that it didn't feel right..."
âIt didn't feel right because it wasn't you,â he confesses as his thumb traces your cheekbone. âI tried, noona. I tried with her, and I tried with others after her, but I couldn't do it. I'd be with them, and my brain would just shut down. My body literally wouldn't let me. I couldn't even stay hard for them because every time I closed my eyes, I was looking for you. I couldn't stand the thought of giving this part of myself to anyone who wasnât you."
As he says those words, Jungkook searches your face for any sign of rejection while his heart beats like itâs going to come out of his chest. Itâs a lot to process, realize how much time you both wasted being afraid.
"When I noticed I'd forgotten the suppressants, I panicked and called Jimin," he admits, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. He was the one who told me to stop being a coward and just go to your house. I was terrified, noona, but I knew it was the only place I wanted to be."
"That little traitor," you murmur with a small, breathless laugh, and even though you're calling him out, you make a mental note to send him a ball of yarn or whatever cat hybrids like as a thank you, before shaking your head and adding, "I can't believe he set us up like that."
"I'm glad he did," Jungkook whispers, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "I love you. I really do."
Youâre trembling now, reaching up to tangle your fingers in the silver chain around his neck and pulling him closer until your noses brush. "You're serious? You're not just saying that because your hormones are doing things on you?"
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," he vows, leaning in to kiss you deeply. You kiss him back, your heart racing as you finally let yourself melt into him, and he murmurs against your lips, "I love you, noona."
"I love you too, Kook," you answer, and start moving your hips again. His hands slide down to grip your ass, pulling you firmly against him while you wrap your arms around his neck to keep him close, the silver chain cold against your skin as it swings between your bodies.
He leans in to kiss you again. "AndâŠI'm sorry about... everything I said before," he mutters, looking at you. âAbout breeding you. My head just went completely crazy for a second. I didn't mean to go that far.â
You let out a laugh, leaning forward to nip at his earlobe while your hips keep their slow, torturous grind. âDonât be sorry,â you whisper against him, teasing, âMmm⊠maybe not right now, Kook, but someday⊠who knows? You might just get your wish.âÂ
warnings: smut (minors do not interact!), oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex (f/m), intense mutual yearning and vulnerability, depressive undertones, angst
an: this one is for those who have ever felt like the world is generous to you with nothing but solitude.
Shards of diamond bright stars pierce Seoul's obsidian sky, their cold light drowning in the city's neon glow. Jungkook leaves his window open, it is not a choice, but rather a necessity. He stares at his ceiling, counting seconds until the hunt begins. Another night, another feast of fears.
Darkness claims him with a lover's embrace. Seoul's infamous nightmare eater surrenders to sleep, his consciousness already splitting at the seams. A traitorous thought whispers: what if tonight will be different.
But it wonât. Reality fractures and he watches his mortal shell from above: a sight that still unnerves him after so many years. Two versions of one being: the peaceful sleeper below, the predator above. His ethereal form sneers at its human disguise. He observes his sleeping form with dark amusement. Such innocent appearance, such deadly truth. With serpentine grace, he slides through the window into the night's waiting arms. The night was young.
His humanity dissolves, leaving only hollow echoes where warmth once dwelled. He exists between heartbeats now, a creature born of twilight and shadow. They call his kind Dream Eaters - night's elite hunters. He doesn't waste time with sweet dreams; terror is his sustenance. Each nightmare consumed fills the endless void within, a momentary relief for an immortal hunger. True sleep eludes him now. Instead, dusk shatters his being like black ice, releasing his hunting self into the dark.
Seoul spreads beneath him, a fever dream in concrete and steel. Skyscrapers rise like obsidian monoliths, their windows gleaming with artificial souls. In their depths, forgotten screens pulse with electric prayers, while he glides past - a phantom in this vast urban wilderness that still hasn't discovered his true name, even after countless nights of feeding.
Like a shadow made of stardust, he dances across Seoul's skyline, his ethereal form weaving between moonlit spires and rain-slicked rooftops. The city breathes beneath him, each exhalation carrying whispers of secrets too delicate for mortal ears. In his wake, silence blooms, the rich stillness of midnight possibility.
Night after night, he slips into dreams uninvited yet inexorably summoned. These sleeping minds call to him like sirens, their fears pulsing like dark beacons through the city's unconscious web. He moves between them with practiced grace, a thief of terrors, collecting their darkness like black pearls.
The nightmares he finds are symphonies of fear, each uniquely haunting. Here, a father's dream crystalizes into gray horror: baby's breath turned to cinders. There, a bride-who-never-was wanders an infinite gallery of white gowns, each mirror reflecting a different life unlived. A child runs through corridors of betrayal, pursued by a mother's face worn like a mask by something ancient and hungry.
Some dreams twist reality until it snaps: vast oceans swallow the sky whole, wolves with mirror-glass eyes hunt through endless forests, smiles split open to reveal universes of teeth. Each nightmare carries its own signature of dread, and each feeds him differently- sending electric shivers through his being, temporarily filling the endless void within.
Yet this beautiful, terrible dance leaves him hollower with each performance. The feast brings no joy, only momentary relief from an hunger old as starlight. In the quietest hours, when the city holds its breath, he questions whether he has become the very nightmare that haunts other nightmares- a shadow feeding on shadows.
Though neither mercy nor comfort fall within his nature, he continues his eternal duty as a void that consumes the dark.
In the waking world, he is barely there- an outline at best, a quiet presence with a heartbeat too soft to echo. His voice, when used, never quite fills a room. His laughter, when forced, folds in on itself before it reaches the walls.
His sanctuary lies behind walls of code and LED glow, where ones and zeros don't ask questions. IT specialist: the perfect camouflage for someone who exists in binary- human by day, nightmare-devourer by night. Here, in this digital cocoon, the absence of human connection isn't loneliness- it's salvation.
Jimin shows up sometimes, arms full of takeout and stories that move faster than time itself. Taehyung lounges on his couch like he owns it, flipping through half-read books Jungkook never finished. Jin nags him to open the windows and let light in. Yoongi doesnât say much, but when he does, it lands heavy- sharp and unafraid. Hoseok once cried laughing on Jungkookâs kitchen floor after too much wine. Namjoon leaves poems folded in the spines of Jungkookâs abandoned notebooks, like quiet offerings to whatever ghost heâs become.
Heâs grateful for them- a bittersweet anchor to reality- but even in their presence, he feels like a thread unraveling just beyond the edge of fabric. They donât ask why heâs always tired, always pale, always late in answering, because they know better than to push. Still, none of them understand the weight he drags through each day, the way his hands tremble when someone mentions a dream too vividly.
The thought of accidentally stumbling into their dreams haunts him like a shadow he can't shake. Because what if- what if one night he sees Namjoon trapped beneath dark waters, lungs filling with infinity? Or finds Jimin screaming silently behind walls of glass that won't break no matter how hard he pounds his fists against them? Or watches, paralyzed, as Taehyung runs through endless corridors of flame, feet leaving burning footprints in his wake? He simply couldn't.
Sometimes, in moments when the night feels particularly heavy, he whispers desperate prayers to deities who've long since stopped listening, begging them to keep his friends' dreams far, far away from his hunger.
Reality slips through his fingers like smoke these days, all gossamer-thin and just as substantial. The walls breathe shadows, rooms fold in on themselves. Time stumbles forward in awkward lurches, dragging its feet across calendar pages that mean nothing anymore. The windows collect fog like secrets, exhaling quiet confessions into the dawn. His journals - half-burned, because some truths are too heavy to keep whole- gather dust in corners where light fears to tread. And that mirror in the hallway? It only remembers his face if he stares long enough to make it nervous, catching glimpses of himself like static between channels.
The only thing that ever feels real is the ache beneath his ribs followed by the loneliness: faithful shadows that never leaves.
And the slow, exquisite agony of wearing humanity like an ill-fitting coat.
It begins like breathing - not the shallow gasps of the living, but that bone-deep exhale when your body finally remembers how to let go. The surrender comes easy now, practiced as a prayer, inevitable as nightfall. His consciousness unspools like silk in water, each thread of reality slipping loose until he's floating free of flesh and bone and all those heavy human things.
The city cradles him in her concrete arms as he rises, weightless as midnight fog. Through layers of rust-worn pipes and grief-stained walls he drifts, each molecule of his being singing that ancient song of untethering. Seoul stretches below like a tired goddess, her neon veins pulsing dim beneath a blanket of shadow, her streets winding like whispered secrets. The streetlights flicker their morse code confessions to no one, while towers pierce the darkness like broken teeth, watching with eyes gone dull from seeing too much.
He drifts aimlessly through the night, a moth drawn to the flickering flames of human fear. It's funny, really, how terror became his true north- the only compass that ever made sense anymore. Because fear? That's the sweet poison that keeps his kind alive, the dark nectar they trade in whispers and shadows.
The night unfolds like delicate origami, each dream a different shade of darkness. First comes a whispered tragedy: woman dreams of her mother's voice echoes through a phone's dead silence, each unanswered scream carving valleys of helplessness into her soul. Then, a nightmare painted in motion - manâs caught in an infinite loop of terror, hands white-knuckled on a steering wheel that won't save anyone, least of all the child who keeps appearing in his headlights like a recurring heartbreak. And finally, there's the boy who could be a metaphor for longing itself, standing before an eternally closed door while flowers wilt and die in his grasp, hope rotting petal by petal in time-lapse agony.
He moves through dreams like a ghost through fog - quick, quiet, taking only what he needs to survive. Never lingering. Never looking too long at the faces of those whose fears he consumes. The moment that hollow ache inside him dulls to something bearable, he's already fading away, a shadow slipping between minds like smoke through fingers, nameless and untraceable as midnight itself.
And then your presence washes over him, unexpected and unmistakable in the dark. You are beautiful, he thinks, and the thought flutters like a trapped bird in his chest before he crushes it between his ribs. Dream eaters aren't meant for love, aren't built for the delicate dance of attraction. They consume fear, devour nightmares - they don't yearn for the very souls they feed upon.
It hits different this time. There's no screaming terror clawing at his consciousness, no desperate siren song of fear pulling him in. Your dream? It's barely a whisper, soft and hesitant like the ghost of a first kiss, tugging at something deep in his chest that he thought he'd buried years ago. And gods, isn't that the most terrifying thing of all?
The dream unfolds like an old photograph bleached by time - a street stretching endlessly into nothing, all washed-out greys and misted edges. Faceless figures move in perfect, terrible synchronization, their bodies flowing like water around invisible obstacles. There's something deeply wrong about the way they move, each step too precise, too rehearsed. Their features are smudged away by sleep's careless hand. They march onward, an army of beautiful emptiness, never breaking stride, never glancing down.
And then he sees you, a lonely figure kneeling in the heart of this indifferent choreography. The world spins madly on around you- a blur of faceless bodies moving in their perfect, terrible dance- but you remain still, an island of grief in an ocean of motion. Your hands- trembling like autumn leaves in a storm- cradle something (someone?) in your lap, the weight of it pressing crescents into your palms. A body, maybe, though the face is blurred into nothing, like your mind couldnât bear to fill in the details.
He lingers at the edges of your dream like a half-formed thought, wrapped in shadows. He shouldn't care- you're just another dreamer, another midnight soul crying out in the dark. But here he is, watching the way grief pools in your hands like liquid silver, listening to the way your voice breaks around words meant for Death's ears alone.
"I'm here... I'm trying..." Your voice catches, breaks, shatters like glass in your throat. "please just- please wake up."
Your hands move with the desperate rhythm of someone trying to hold water, pressing against the faceless form again and again and again. Each motion is a prayer, each touch a plea bargaining with whatever gods might be listening. You're begging for warmth, for breath, for any sign that this horror cradled in your lap isn't as permanent as it feels. But the figure remains still, already dissolving. The crowd around you moves faster now, a tide of indifference with undertow teeth. Their gazes slide past you like oil on water, heads tilting just enough to say: we saw you fail, and we'll remember.
Jungkook can't help but lean closer, magnetized by something raw and familiar in your expression that makes his chest ache in ways he doesn't have words for. There's no panic painted across your features, no desperate thrashing against fate's cruel hand. Just pure, crystalline despair - the kind that settles in your bones like an old friend. He recognizes it instantly: the hollow resignation of someone who's danced this dance before, who knows with certainty that they'll waltz with failure again until the universe finally tires of their stumbling steps.
The colors begin to fade. Thatâs how it always goes, dreams eroding at the edges once the fear peaks, once the ending arrives. He's about to retreat into the safety of shadows, into the familiar dance of watching-but-never-seen, when something impossible happens.
Your head lifts, eyes finding him with unerring precision through the crowd - not searching, not begging the universe for mercy, but piercing straight through every careful barrier he's built, through the ancient veil between watchers and dreamers. Your gaze meets his with the quiet certainty of a key sliding home, soft as a secret yet steady as truth, seeing him with a clarity that defies all the rules that were ever written.
Jungkook stills.
His breath catches in his throat like a half-formed prayer. His body freezes mid-existence, every particle of his being suspended in perfect, terrible stillness. Because this? This is wrong. Impossible. This breaks every rule written in stardust and shadow.
Dreamers don't see Dream Eaters - it's the first law of their twisted existence, carved into the bones of reality itself. He is meant to be nothing more than a whisper between heartbeats, a shadow's shadow, the thief that slips between dreams like silk through trembling fingers. But your eyes don't look away.
âIâm sorry,â you say, the words barely above a whisper. âI really wanted to help. But I couldnât. I guess Iâm not good enough.â
And with that the dream shatters. Like a mirror hit with reality's sledgehammer. Reality folds like wet origami, space and time collapsing into themselves with the grace of a dying star. The sound doesn't just stop, it un-becomes, each frequency turning to static before dissolving into the void. Gravity forgets its own name, light breaks its promises, and the whole world turns itself inside out like a glove made of nightmares.
And Jungkook wakes.
He bolts upright in a body that suddenly feels too small for him. His breath comes in sharp, broken waves. The room around him doesnât make sense for several long moments.
The digital clock's red glow illuminates 03:41 as moonlight streams through the perpetually open window, the silence broken only by his thundering heartbeat. His throat constricts as the impossible reality sinks in - dreamers aren't supposed to see Dream Eaters, yet you had not only seen him but acknowledged his presence with an apology that now echoes through his mind.
And he canât even fall back to sleep now as his body and mind feel fully recharged for the first time inâŠyears?
Daylight always arrived like a mistake in Jungkookâs world.
It slipped in sideways through the window, pale and apologetic, illuminating the floating dust and the edges of his too-quiet apartment. He lay there for a long time, not moving, watching the ceiling blur and sharpen as his vision shifted, over and over again. The sheets clung to him like a second skin, damp with the sweat of something he couldnât name.
Your voice had followed him into waking. âI really wanted to help.âÂ
His chest ached like heâd run miles in a body he hadnât worn right in years. His limbs felt heavier than usual, but it wasnât the familiar hunger. It was something deeper. Something quieter. A seed of longing lodged beneath his sternum, pulsing.
When he finally sat up, it was with the dazed caution of someone whoâd witnessed a miracle and didnât trust himself to speak of it aloud. The morning passed in a blur - coffee untouched, the hum of his computer ignored, a dozen emails blinking like signals from a world he no longer felt part of.
By noon, desperation overruled disbelief. He sat cross-legged on the floor, laptop glowing in the dim cave of his living room, typing with fingers that trembled too much to be steady.
dreamers seeing things in dreams?Â
lucid dreaming hallucination?
can dream figures see you back
person spoke to me in dream is it real
can people share dreams??
dreamwalking
spiritual visitation
ancient dream lore
Each query returned pages filled with contradictions and crystal shops. Forums full of strangers comparing stories of sleep paralysis and shadow men, Reddit threads dissecting shared hallucinations and âastral projection for beginners.â The phrase Dream Eater brought up one anime character, a few urban legends, and a horrifying deep-sea fish.
Each search result felt like chasing smoke - close enough to see but too insubstantial to grasp. None of it rang with resonance of truth, that quiet certainty that whispers "here, finally, are the answers you seek." How could it, really, when his entire existence was a footnote in reality's margins, a story written in invisible ink between the lines of what most people called "normal"? Still, he had to try. Had to know. The soft click of the laptop closing felt like admitting defeat.
But the memory of your eyes finding his through that veil of unreality haunted him like a half-remembered lullaby. You had seen him and that impossible fact echoed through his mind.
For the first time since forever, his thumb hovered over the cursed group chat icon.
[Jungkook]: anyone wanna hang out tonight?
[Jin]: the prophecy.... it's happening
[Taehyung]: screenshots or it didn't happen
[Hoseok]: HELLO??? WHO IS THIS AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH OUR HERMIT
[Yoongi]: squints suspiciously in elder
[Namjoon]: hold up let me check if hell froze over
[Jimin]: do we bring wine or whiskey
[Jimin]: omw with Both because this is clearly an emergency
By seven, they arrived- five different energies orbiting his living room like planets around something newly magnetic.
Jimin swept in with enough takeout to feed an army and Taehyung materialized with his camera (because god forbid a moment go undocumented) and approximately one hundred and one questions burning holes in his tongue. Hoseok didn't just enter - he arrived, carrying sunshine in his pockets like it was spare change. Jin brought his particular flavor of chaos wrapped in sarcasm and perfect timing. Yoongi slipped in like a shadow with eyes that read novels in the spaces between words. And Namjoon brought books he forgot to give back two years ago and didnât mention it.
And they all brought their eyes: wide and curious. Like they were witnessing the birth of something rare and wild and wonderful.
âYou look⊠different,â Jimin said, biting into a tangerine like he was studying Jungkook instead of the fruit.
âYeah,â Taehyung added, leaning in with narrowed eyes. âYou sleeping now or what? The purple zombie rings are gone.â
Jungkook rolled his eyes, though a quiet thrill climbed up his spine at the idea that maybe, just maybe, something in him had shifted enough for them to notice.
âMust be lighting,â he muttered, sinking deeper into the couch.
âOh, he bites now.â Jin gasped. âOur boyâs got fight in him again.â
There was laughter. Real, echoing warmth. For the first time in ages, Jungkook didnât feel like he was watching through glass. He spoke and laughed, carelessly. He accepted the second drink and let himself answer questions without flinching. And for a few minutes, the ache inside his chest dimmed, dulled into something almost human. But beneath the buzz and the hum, the stories and the teasing, something itched.
You werenât there. He needed to try again. Not to see you. Not to hold you. Just⊠for research. Just to know whether it was a fluke. A misfire. A one-time glitch in a cursed existence.
"Hey," he said, halfway through Jin's story about a botched blind date, "hypotheticallyâŠhow would you find someone if you only knew their face?"
The silence stretched for exactly 0.3 seconds - just long enough for his words to sink into their collective consciousness.
And then, like a dam breaking under the weight of six years' worth of pent-up matchmaking energy, chaos erupted: âYou met someone?â, âWait, is this about a girl?â, âWho is she? What does she look like?â, âOh my God, finally!â, âIs she real, or one of your AI clients?â
Jungkook tried to look annoyed, but the heat in his cheeks betrayed him. âSheâs just someone I saw⊠briefly,â he said, and it wasnât a lie.
Jimin leaned in. âWhere?â
Jungkook blinked, the weight of their expectant stares pressing against his skin like static electricity. The truth sat heavy on his tongue, a leaden thing threatening to spill past his lips. "Somewhere near... Jongno," he managed, the lie tasting like copper. It wasn't completely false. "I think."
"You should go back," Namjoon offered with that gentle wisdom of his, like he was suggesting something as simple as retracing steps to find lost keys. "If it was fate or whatever, maybe it'll happen again."
He nodded mechanically, swallowing back a laugh that might have come out too bitter. Fate? No, this was something else entirely - something written in the spaces between sleeping and waking. This was you.
They didn't know. And this should always stay like that. The truth was a luxury he couldn't afford, not when it meant risking the warmth in their eyes turning to horror. Not when it meant watching their smiles crack like porcelain hitting concrete. Better to keep this cursed existence locked behind his sleep deprived eyes where it belonged, where it couldn't hurt anyone but himself.
But after they left- after the dishes were cleaned and the last echoes of laughter faded into memory- he found himself drawn to the window like a moth to streetlight, watching Seoul's fog paint poetry across the skyline in shades of maybe.
His reflection stared back at him, a ghost caught between worlds, and wasn't that just perfectly fitting? Because how do you find someone who exists in the space between sleeping and waking? How do you trace footprints left in dreams?
You looked at his cursed existence and didn't turn away. The fog crawled closer, wrapping the city in its gentle suffocation, and he pressed his forehead against the cold glass. The worst part wasn't the not knowing. It wasn't even the ache of remembering.
No, the worst part was the quiet voice in his head whispering: what if that was it? What if that single moment of being truly seen was all he'd ever get?
The next few nights unfolded like a punishment disguised as routine. Jungkook slipped into the dark as he always had, body hollowed out and spirit stretched thin, the hunger beneath his ribs pulsing like it had a voice of its own. But tonight? Tonight wasn't about feeding on fear. Tonight was about finding you.
Never in his years of navigating dreamscapes had he been picky about whose nightmares he consumed. Before you, he'd been content to drift through the dark like some cosmic vacuum cleaner of terror, taking whatever scraps of fear the universe saw fit to give him.
But now he moved through dreams like a lovesick ghost, all his usual grace replaced by desperate yearning. Each mind he touched was just another disappointment, another "sorry, wrong nightmare" in his endless search for you.
A boy dreamed of being trapped in a theater where the seats whispered his secrets aloud. A woman dreamt she was back in her wedding dress, but the aisle stretched endlessly, her legs frozen mid-step. A faceless man sprinted down a corridor made entirely of mirrors, each one showing his worst mistake on loop.
He fed, but it was a hollow thing. Like trying to fill an ocean with raindrops. His essence ghosted through their nightmares as he searched their unseeing faces for something. Recognition? A glimpse of what you'd given him? But their eyes slid past him, unseeing and unknowing.
And wasn't that just the way of things? The natural order he'd accepted since forever? He was meant to be unseen, unnoticed - a shadow between heartbeats, a whisper between worlds, the thing that makes you question whether that nightmare was real or just another bad dream.
So why had you looked right at him and seen straight through to his core?
The ache followed him into daylight like a particularly clingy ghost, settling somewhere between his ribcage and his common sense. It wasn't just hunger anymore, this was yearning -Â and isn't that just the most inconvenient thing for a nightmare eater to catch?
So he did what any sleep-deprived supernatural being would do when faced with emotions: something absolutely ridiculous.
The notebook emerged from its tomb of tangled cables like some ancient artifact, blank pages accusingly white. The pencil felt wrong in his hands, like trying to hold onto stardust or catch morning fog in a jar.
He tried to draw you. And it was a foolish idea for someone whose artistic peak was stick figures in middle school. But how do you capture the way someone's soul looks when it's breaking? How do you sketch the sound of a voice that doesn't shake even when the world is falling apart?
The first attempt looked like something between a sleep paralysis demon and a badly photographed ghost. Your jaw came out looking like it belonged in a geometry textbook and your eyes were all wrong, missing that galaxy of sadness he'd seen. The mouth was either too soft or too harsh, never quite the perfect paradox he remembered.
But he kept going: page after page, like some possessed art student during finals week. It wasn't about getting it right. It was about holding onto that impossible second when warmth and sorrow danced together in your eyes, when your voice carried steel wrapped in silk, when your apology felt like a key turning in a lock he didn't know existed.
The final result looked less like a portrait and more like someone had given a pencil to a particularly emotional rain cloud. He stared at it, tasting failure like burnt coffee on his tongue, and wondered when exactly he'd lost his mind.
Then, four nights later, the universe shifted on its axis. The feeling hit like a punch to the soul - not the usual gnawing hunger, but something electric. Something that made his phantom form vibrate like a tuning fork struck against destiny. The very air seemed to bend around him, dream-light filtering through reality's cracks in that impossible shade of lilac that screamed you.
He moved like a man possessed through the dreamscape, muscle memory pulling him across a city that existed only in shadow-space. Past landmarks that belonged to no waking map: a metal spire wearing its rust like a crown of thorns, obsidian rooftops with their hearts of green glass, a water tower that sang silence into the void.
And there you were.
You looked different in this light - clearer, sharper, like someone had wiped fog from a mirror. He watched you with the kind of intensity that would've been criminal in daylight, cataloging every detail like a drowning man counting his last breaths.
God, I'm literally stalking someone through their dreams, he thought, and the realization should've tasted like shame but monsters don't get to play by human rules, do they? And that's what he was now - something that lived in the spaces between heartbeats, feeding on fear like others fed on bread. So maybe this wasn't an obsession at all. Maybe this was devotion with teeth.
He stepped forward, and reality bent. The dream opened its arms like a lover welcoming him home, and he fell into your nightmare like he was always meant to be there.
He feels it in his bones before his eyes catch up - that telltale whisper of wrong that makes the dream-edges curl like burning paper. Not because anything looks off. But because nightmares are patient things, content to wait until the perfect moment to shatter your happiness into glass.
The lights hit him like a physical thing, a cascade of stark white that makes his world spin sideways for a heartbeat. The air practically vibrates with sound - thunderous applause that seems to shake the very foundations of this dream-space, making reality tremble at its seams. His fingers part heavy velvet curtains just enough to see.
There you are, bathed in spotlight like some ethereal being stepped straight out of a fairytale. Silver and gold paint you in glory as you stand among your fellow dancers, clutching flowers like they're made of starlight. Your smile is soft and wide as you wave to the faceless crowd. Their features are a blur- a sea of mouths and hands and sound- but their adoration is unmistakable. The stage is yours.
And Jungkook forgets how to exist for a moment. Because you're not just beautiful, you're incandescent. Free. The weight of the world has slipped from your shoulders and left pure joy in its wake.
His heart stutters in his chest as he watches you spin across the stage, accepting another armful of flowers with a laugh that could make flowers grow in winter. Your happiness is a living thing, spilling from every movement, every gesture, until you're practically glowing brighter than the stage lights themselves.
This isn't fear or darkness or anything close to a nightmare. For a heartbeat, a dangerous sort of hope unfurls in his chest - what if the rules have changed? What if whatever cosmic force lets him devour nightmares has finally decided to let him taste sweeter dreams too?
Something shifts in the air like a record scratch in slow motion, like the moment before a glass hits concrete. A shiver crawls down his spine with icy fingers, and there's that familiar weight settling behind his ribs, cold and heavy as a tomb.
The applause warps, twisting into something wrong, something hungry. It's too sharp now, too insistent, like a thousand hands clapping in perfect, terrible synchronization. The lights stutter and snap, a violent morse code of white-hot panic. And the audience? Their faces blur and stretch like melting wax, features running together until they're nothing but a grotesque sea of emptiness. Then, cutting through it all like a knife through silk, a voice:
"Get off that stage." The words slice through the dreamlight like shattered glass, and then she materializes - all sharp angles and barely contained rage, heels striking the floorboards. She's a storm in human form, fury written in every line of her face, and when she reaches for you, her fingers are iron bands around your wrist.
"Mom, stop!" Your scream tears through the air, raw and desperate, but she's unmovable as marble.
The scene fractures - dancers reaching with helpless hands, voices rising in a desperate chorus. "Mrs. Y/L/N, don't take her away!" someone pleads into the chaos. "She has a god-given talent- please!"
But she might as well be carved from stone, deaf to everything but her own determination as she drags you backstage. Your sobs echo off the walls like broken music, and Jungkook follows because gravity itself couldn't hold him back now.
The dream twists and writhes around both of you, corridors sprouting like dark veins lined with ghostly posters and mirrors that reflect nothing but shadows. You're fracturing at the edges, voice splintering like crystal as you stumble in her wake, and something in Jungkook's chest aches with an intensity that threatens to tear him apart.
"Why?" Your voice breaks like shattered dreams. "Why are you destroying everything I've worked for?"
"A doctor,"she spits the word like venom, her grip a steel trap around your wrist. "That's what you'll be. This little... Dance fantasy? It dies. Tonight."
And your heart shatters. The sound of it must echo through the dreamscape because your next words come out raw, bleeding, "Please, I can't! I won't survive there. Don't make me live inside someone else's story, please, I'm begging you!"
"Your grandfather's deathbed wish," she wielded the words like a blade, each syllable precise and cutting. "Or did you forget? Did you think you could trade his legacy forâŠWhat exactly? Spotlights and pirouettes?"
The word âgrandfatherâ hits you like a physical blow. Your soul folds in on itself like a dying star, grief and guilt gravitational forces too strong to escape. Your sobs aren't just sound anymore - they're poetry written in pain, each breath a verse of despair.
That's when Jungkook materializes from shadow and starlight, his presence suddenly solid as truth between worlds.
"Enough." Just one word, but it does the work. He moves like darkness given form, placing himself between you and her like a shield. And suddenly your dream bows to his will and your mother dissolves.
Reality bends. The backstage dissolves into the empty stage, now a hollow cathedral of shadows. You're there, crumpled on the floor like a discarded dream, flowers scattered around you like fallen stars. A single petal trembles by your ankle, then stills.
Moving silently across the stage, he watches your tears glisten like silver rivers on feverish skin until you lift your head and speak with a raw yet steady voice,"It's you again."
Those three words cascade through his reality like an avalanche, shattering every certainty he's ever known - this isn't merely coincidence or imagination or some flaw in the dream-fabric, but rather an impossible truth: among the billions of dreamers who forget him nightly, you alone can pierce his invisibility, can know him.
In that very moment Jungkook understands something terrifying and beautiful:
You're curled into yourself like a wounded bird when you finally meet his gaze again, your eyes tracing the planes of his face with the hesitant reverence of someone trying to piece together a dream from morning-fog memories.
"Where have I seen you before?" The words slip from your lips like a secret.
Jungkook's throat constricts around unspoken truths, but he plays his part like the supernatural being he is. He settles beside you- close enough to count your heartbeats, far enough that the space between you aches like a physical thing. Your sadness wraps around him like smoke, familiar as his own shadow.
"Nowhere," he breathes, the lie tasting like stardust on his tongue. "We're strangers."
But you just laugh, soft and worn around the edges, brushing away a wayward strand of hair with fingers that tremble ever so slightly.
âNo way,â you say, shaking your head. âThereâs no way I could make up a face like that.
His heart does this stupid little stumble in his chest at your words. You catch his expression, that deer-in-headlights look that makes him seem impossibly young for half a second and suddenly you're laughing, the sound pure and bright enough to make the dream-shadows retreat.
"Oh my god," you say, and there's a warmth in your voice he hasn't heard before, like honey in sunlight. "My subconscious really said 'here's an ethereally beautiful boy who blushes when you compliment him.' That's just... devastating, actually."
He turns away, but not before you catch the way his ears flush pink. It's not the embarrassment that makes his chest ache but the cruel irony of being seen so clearly by someone who thinks you're nothing but a dream.
"I'm nobody special," he murmurs to the floorboards, voice rough with something he can't name. "Just... just a guy."
The laugh you share is gentle as twilight. A fragile thread connecting two souls who shouldn't be able to touch at all.
But beneath his smile, something in Jungkook splinters like stained glass catching sunlight. Because you still don't know. How could you? To you, he's nothing but a beautiful fever dream, a figment spun from stardust and desperate wishes. Just another coping mechanism your mind conjured from the static between sleeping and waking. And maybe that's easier and safer. But it still burns.
He wants to say something about what just happened: about stages and spotlights and the way your mother's ghost left bruises on your dreams, but the words catch in his throat like broken wings.
"This was... a lot," he manages with a soft voice.
You laugh, but it's the kind of laugh that bleeds at the edges. Your eyes find the darkness above, searching for answers in the void.
"This?" The word falls from your lips like a tired prayer. "This is nothing compared to my real life."
And something in him shatters completely. "So this is just the tip of the iceberg?" he whispers, afraid of the answer.
"Yeah." You donât elaborate further.
The dream-lights have long since faded, the phantom flowers scattered to dust. You sit there in the hollow dark, a masterpiece painted in shades of exhaustion, looking like the world took everything that made you shine and left behind only shadows.
"I haven't danced in six years," you confess to the darkness, each word heavy as lead. "Haven't even stepped on a stage. Med school swallowed me whole right after graduation. Now I work part-time in the emergency department. Night shifts, mostly." Your voice cracks on those last words like ice in spring.
His breath catches. The kind of work where Death sits in the break room, drinking coffee like just another coworker.
"I see things," you continue, voice hollow as autumn wind through dead leaves. "People bleeding out. Crying. Dying. Alone. I patch them up with steady hands and pretend my soul isn't unraveling stitch by stitch." The silence between you grows teeth. "Six years," you whisper to the shadows. "Six years of my life fed to the machine of parental pride while I slowly forget how to breathe."
Something ancient and wounded bleeds into Jungkook's voice. "You don't deserve to be anyone's sacrifice."
Your laugh sounds like glass breaking in slow motion. "And yet."
Then your eyes find his and the world tilts on its axis because you're looking at him like you can see straight through to where his soul should be. Not as shadow-walker or dream-fragment. As something terrifyingly, wonderfully real.
"I remember your last dream," Jungkook's entire being stutters to a halt. "The nightmare with the faceless thing."
"Please don't," you breathe, folding smaller, as if you could origami yourself out of existence. "I donât want to talk about it."
He watches your breath catch like fabric on thorns and nods. Some wounds are still too fresh to name and he can wait. Or never bring it up again if you wish.
âYou know,â he says gently, âthis is a dream. Youâre not a prisoner here. This world is your world, it can be whatever you want.â
He rises to his feet like morning mist, extending a hand that holds universes in its palm. For a heartbeat, you hesitate, but some offers transcend thought and your fingers find his.
"You can wish," he whispers, voice soft as starlight, and snaps.
In a blink, the lights return. So does the thunderous ovation. The spotlight glows around you like a blessing. Cameras flash, dancers reappear like smoke. The energy floods back into the dream like breath into a drowning chest.
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside you: pure, untamed, tasting of forgotten summers, and you throw up a hand against the brilliant chaos of it all.
Before you can think better of it, your fingers are tangled with his and you're running backstage, dragging this beautiful fever dream behind you. Your giggles echo off the walls like wind chimes, and for a moment you're seventeen again, before the world taught you how to be silent.
âThat was fun,â you breathe, brushing rebel strands from your flushed face. "Wish I could handle my nightmares with that kind of flair."
His answering grin is soft at the edges, but something in your expression shifts before he can speak. "I don't... I don't actually want this anymore."
He blinks, starlit eyes questioning. "Why?"
"Because I grew up," you say, voice barely a whisper now. "I have responsibilities. Real ones. Dreams like this... they're not for people like me anymore. Back then I was seventeen and stupid andâŠ" Your voice catches. "I can't afford to be that person now."
"What do you want, then?" The question hangs between you like suspended stardust.
"Nothing," you finally breathe, the word falling like autumn leaves. "I just want to stop existing in the real world for a while."
And the way you say it - there's no bitterness there. Just bone-deep exhaustion and raw honesty. Something in him fractures, and the words spill out before he can catch them.
"Can IâŠ" he pauses, voice going soft. "I know it's weird but... can I hug you?"
Your eyebrow arches, a spark of mischief dancing in your eyes. "Look at you, consent-king behavior,â you tease, lips curving. "Of course you can, you absolute masterpiece of my subconscious."
He lets out a soft laugh that catches in his throat. His arms find their way around you with gentleness, but when you lean into him something ancient and lonely inside his chest just shatters. The hug deepens and suddenly there's nothing ethereal about it anymore; it's all solid warmth and thundering heartbeats and the impossible reality of two souls finding anchor in each other through the veil of dreams.
For the first time since this curse claimed him, Jungkook feels real. Not a dream-walker, not nightmare-eater, just a boy being held like he matters. You stay tangled in each other's gravity as the dreamscape bleeds away like watercolors in rain, both pretending you can't feel the way your fingers clutch a little tighter with each fading second.
When consciousness claims him back, dragging him gasping into dawn's tender light, something's different. The usual hollow ache is gone, replaced by something electric and alive that makes his whole being sing. And in that moment, with Seoul's sunrise painting his walls in gold, Jungkook knows it with the certainty usually reserved for natural laws:Â
Even if it takes lifetimes, he's going to find his way back to you.
You linger in his mind, seeping into every crack and crevice of his consciousness. Your presence is a ghost that haunts the spaces between keystrokes, between breaths, between the mundane moments when his hands forget their purpose and his thoughts spiral back to you like moths to flame.
He's memorized the cadence of your voice, cataloged every micro-expression that crossed your face, archived the exact weight of you against his chest like it's precious data his heart can't bear to lose. Time stretches like pulled taffy as he sits on his floor, back pressed against an unforgiving wall, absently tracing infinity symbols on a coffee mug that's as cold and forgotten as his attempts at productivity.
There's a quiet irony in how his relationship with sleep has transformed. What was once a velvet-lined prison cell where he performed his gim duty - has become something sacred. Something anticipated. Now he's a lovesick teenager checking his phone every five minutes, except instead of waiting for a text, he's waiting for consciousness to slip away so he can find you again.
But of course - of fucking course - that's when his brain decides to throw an absolute rebellion. Excitement pulses through him like caffeine. His body begs for rest while his mind runs circles. The very thing that once came without effort now eludes him.
When sleep finally deigns to take him, it's with all the grace of a drunk trying to fit a key in a lock. But none of that matters because he finds you. He knows the path now, could walk it blindfolded: past the skylight with its spiderweb cracks, around the chimney that leans like a tired soldier, beneath the neon sign that flickers like a dying firefly. This isn't wandering anymore, itâs muscle memory, this is gravity, the inevitable pull of two stars caught in each other's orbit. And there it is again - your window, soft light spilling through curtains, you're dreaming already.
The dream whispers into existence like a secret. Sterile white walls stretch endlessly, their fluorescent veins humming a synthetic lullaby that only hospitals know how to sing. The air tastes of antiseptic and quiet desperation.
You materialize before him - a warrior in wrinkled scrubs, squaring off against a bureaucrat whose clipboard might as well be a shield. Exhaustion paints shadows beneath your eyes, but defiance burns brighter.
"I need a day off," you say, each word precise as a scalpel.
The administrator's sigh could fill a balloon with disappointment. "We're understaffed. Again. Find someone to switch with you, then we'll talk."
Your jaw sets like concrete, shoulders bearing the weight of too many sleepless nights. "I've been on four night shifts in a row," you breathe, your voice carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken pleas.
He shrugs, armor-plated in indifference. "It's not personal."
Your laugh is sharp as broken glass. "It's exhaustion."
But then - your gaze catches on something beyond him, where Jungkook stands like a shadow. Your expression softens, relief bleeding into your features. "Oh, finally. Maybe you'll help me figure out a perfect excuse to give my boss so I can sleep for more than four hours."
Jungkook glides forward, midnight grace in human form. His head tilts, curiosity dancing in his eyes. "Exploitative boss?" he inquires, voice smooth as silk.
You nod, grave as a judge. "Master manipulator."
He considers this cosmic injustice for a heartbeat. Then, with elegant precision, he lifts a hand. One snap - and reality fractures. The administrator dissolves, leaving only empty air where bureaucracy once stood.
Your eyes spark with indignation. "Hey! I wanted to yell at him. At least here."
Jungkook's smile curves like a crescent moon. "Why waste dream energy on that?"
Before protest can bloom on your lips, the world begins to melt. Hospital walls dissolve like watercolors, sterile white bleeding into impossible color and the air transforms, becoming warm.
And suddenly - sky. Endless, infinite sky. Clouds drift beneath your feet like islands of sugar, while aurora colors paint the heavens in sweeping brushstrokes of pink and violet. You turn slowly, wonder breaking across your face like dawn.
Jungkook watches, memorizing the way joy transforms you. Then, with the gentleness of falling snow, he extends his hand, and you accept it. And together, you run.
You dance through dreams like starlight on water. No destination guides your steps - just pure, unbridled motion and laughter that tastes like champagne bubbles. Each leap between clouds is poetry, your movements fluid as mercury, untethered by earthly constraints. He watches, mesmerized, as this version of you. untouched by life's sharp edges, paints joy across the sky.
When exhaustion finally claims you both, you collapse onto a cloud that feels like silk, your hair a halo against the white. Jungkook settles beside you with careful grace, his hands folded in his lap. Silence stretches between you, sweet and elastic.
A laugh, soft as windchimes, escapes your lips. "I've been dreaming wrong my whole life."
He reclines, moonlight caught in his smile. "Most do."
You pluck a piece of cloud, tossing the ephemeral fluff at his chest. It dissolves like a secret.
"Rude," he grins, starlight dancing in his eyes.
Your gaze lingers on him now, wonder replacing mischief. "You came back."
"I did." His voice carries the weight of secrets that you are not ready to face yet.
"This is different," you murmur. "These dreams... seeing you again and again... it's never happened before."
Something tightens in his chest but he has to ask the terrifying question. "When you wake," he breathes, "do you remember me?"
"Yes." Simple and certain, you donât even hesitate. The word ripples through him like waves through still water. "I remember all of it," you continue. "Every dream with you. And I never remember dreams - they usually fade."
Relief softens his shoulders; he hadn't realized they were carved from tension.
Your eyes find his, curious as cats. "So," you tease, "who are you, really?"
He hesitates, the question stinging more than expected. "I'm a Dream Eater," he says, leaning forward. "And my name is Jungkook. Did you know that already?"
You catch your lower lip between your teeth, considering. "Dream Eaters? Never heard of them. How did my mind even come up with that?"
He rolls his eyes skyward as you laugh, the sound pure as bells.
"Well then," you say, "I'm Y/N. A pleasure, Mr. Dream Eater."
He nods, something warm unfurling in his chest. "Likewise. Tell me about yourself.â
You hum thoughtfully, stretching like a cat in sunlight. âImagine a very lonely girl,â you begin. âA girl who has a big, noisy family and few friends, but still feels like no one ever really gets her. Someone who works in a place where everyone is kind but exhausted. We bond over how much we hate what we do. I read romance novels when Iâm not too tired, I go on runs to get out of my head, and the only time I feel like Iâm me is when Iâm asleep and nobody wants anything from me.â
Jungkook watches you as you speak. Every word feels like a note in a song he doesnât realize heâs memorizing.
âAnd you, Dream Eater Jungkook?â you ask, inching closer. âWho are you?â
You nod. âI know.â Your hand rises, slow and careful, and runs through his hair.
Jungkook's breath catches in his throat, every muscle going taut like a bowstring.
âNo,â you state firmly now. âSomeone with eyes like yours canât be cursed.â
He laughs is that kind that wraps around your bones like honey-warm sunlight. His fingers find your retreating hand, catching you in a grip that's gentle as a prayer but sure as gravity. And there's something in your eyes that makes his heart stutter in his chest.
The world tilts and spins as he pulls you both down into the cloud-soft darkness, your combined laughter painting silver ribbons through the air. You land in a tangle of limbs and breathless giggles, his body half-draped over yours like the world's most perfect blanket.
Time stops. Or maybe it's just that neither of you remembers how to breathe properly anymore. His arm brackets your head, careful and strong, while his other hand hovers near your ribs like he's afraid you might shatter if he touches you. Your chest rises and falls beneath him in quick, butterfly-wing movements.
The silence between you crackles like lightning before a storm.
And then you look at him with eyes that Jungkook swears could drown worlds, lashes frozen mid-flutter, and his heart forgets every rhythm it's ever known. Your gaze drops to his lips just for a heartbeat, long enough to set his blood on fire. And he watches your hair catch the dream-light like captured aurora, wondering if his thundering heart might give him away.
Neither of you dares to move. His eyes trace constellations across your features - mapping the soft curve of your mouth, the way your breath catches when his thigh brushes yours. You don't pull away. Instead, you tilt your head, an invitation written in the language of almost-touches.
When you speak, your words ghost across his skin like butterfly kisses. "So..." Your smile returns, shy and knowing all at once. "Can you take me to other places too?"
His lips part but words fail him spectacularly, too busy fighting the gravitational pull of your mouth. You're watching him like he's something ethereal, something that exists beyond dreams and reality.
Words claw their way past the symphony of want thrumming through his veins. "I could," he whispers, each syllable a caress against your skin. "If you wanted me to."
"I think I do," you breathe, and your fingers that are still tangled with his against cloud-silk, tighten slightly. Something inside him unspools at that tiny pressure.
He shifts closer until the space between you becomes nothing but shared breath and possibility. His body settles against yours, solid and real in a way dreams aren't supposed to be. Your noses almost brush. But neither of you bridges that final gap.
The wanting hangs there between you, delicate as sugar, sweet as sin waiting.
Jungkook wakes like shattered stained glass - all sharp edges and holy remnants, dragged from dreams by reality's merciless hands.
The dream bleeds away too cruel. Your phantom warmth haunts him still. Reality crashes through his consciousness like an uninvited guest: sheets cold as winter frost, his forgotten computer screen humming its electronic lullaby, dawn's sickly green fingers creeping through the blinds like unwanted prophecies. He lies there, a marble statue in rumpled sheets, watching the ceiling as if it holds the secrets to finding you in the waking world.
Time, he thinks, is the cruelest god of all - stretching endless in solitude, slipping through desperate fingers the moment joy takes root.
When the sun claims its throne in the sky, he moves. And itâs not from want but from the mundane tyranny of hours that refuse to pass unmarked. Emails become white noise, lines of code blur into meaningless symbols, breakfast turns to ash on his tongue. There's only one truth that keeps his heart beating: the promise of nightfall.
He counts heartbeats disguised as hours. The light softens like old photographs, his eyes burn like prayer candles. And finally sleep claims him like a lover's kiss.
Jungkook makes sure of it: crafts entire universes with gentle hands and a craftsman's devotion. He builds you realms where gravity is just a suggestion, where shame dissolves like morning mist. The rules here drape around you like ribbons, weightless enough to forget they ever existed.
One night you're both cosmic wanderers, dancing through star-scattered void, your laughter echoing across light years as you spin through technicolor nebulae. "My knees!" you shout, delighted, breathless, "They don't even know what pain is here!" and his joy bubbles up like stardust, infectious and pure.
Another dream finds you towering like a goddess, him shrunk to pocket-size, playing an elaborate game of chase through a garden where teacups bloom like flowers. when you (deliberately) crush him beneath your heel, he gives an Oscar-worthy performance of despair.
He shows you the art of dream-weaving. How to coax reality into new shapes, how to whisper your desires into existence, to believe with your whole heart that anything is possible.
"This universe," he reminds you, voice soft with wonder, "it's yours. Completely yours. What do you want to make of it?"
One night, you materialize in wrinkled scrubs, your essence dimmed like a star fighting through smog. "I want something stupid tonight," you whisper, voice raw with reality's weight. So he gives it to you.
The air crystallizes into luxury - a red carpet unfurls like a dragon's tongue beneath your feet. Light fragments into a thousand camera flashes, each one capturing your metamorphosis as couture and tailoring dance across your form. The Met Gala rises behind you like a palace of dreams, while the Oscars beckon ahead, and somewhere beyond the marble horizon, Nobel laureates await your arrival. Your laughter cascades like champagne bubbles.
"We're absolutely shameless," you wheeze through tears of mirth. "Not a humble bone between us."
He sweeps into a bow that would make monarchs envious. âWelcome to your egoâs highlight reel.â
Pure delight propels you forward, arm threaded through his like a lifeline to sanity. The elite of every era gravitate toward you - Einstein debates quantum mechanics while you school him on cellular biology, Rihanna takes notes on your impromptu TED talk about mitochondrial DNA. Jungkook observes your radiance, wondering if happiness has ever worn a face so beautiful.
Then shadow creeps in, subtle as twilight. "If only reality had such magic," you murmur to no one.
The words strike like arrows. What can he say? His power extends to the horizon of dreams - he can architect castles in clouds, orchestrate symphonies in starlight, birth entire cosmos from your smallest smile. But he cannot heal the wounds reality has carved: the suffocating job, the mother's bitter words, the six years stolen from your timeline.
His domain ends where consciousness begins. In these ephemeral realms where you dismiss him as fantasy, a figment born of neurons firing in the dark.
Perhaps that's mercy's greatest gift because knowing his truth would shatter more than the dream. So he offers only a gentle smile.
That night, he materializes behind you like stardust taking form, his presence a whisper against your skin.
"Close your eyes," he breathes, the words a spell woven in twilight.
His hands eclipse your vision with butterfly-gentle pressure, as if touching a dream too precious to risk breaking. The world shifts beneath his will - air crystallizing with electric possibility, carrying notes of steel and starlight and synthetic sweetness, like neon memories dissolved in rain. He speaks to reality itself, and reality bends.
"Okay, now open," he commands softly. Your eyes flutter open and the gasp tears itself from your throat, pure wonder given voice.
Before you unfolds an empire of light and shadow - a metropolis that touches the stars. Streams of vehicles paint luminous rivers through the sky, weaving between towers that pierce the heavens like silver needles. Landing platforms hover like geometric clouds, while the stars themselves peek through the urban tapestry, diamonds scattered on black velvet.
"Is thisâŠCoruscant?" The question trembles with awe. His silence speaks volumes, curved in a smile you feel more than see.
Laughter bubbles up, bright with revelation. "You remember everything I say?" But reality's chains rattle, even here. Your hand cuts through the air, dismissing magic. "Well, of course. You're just my mind playing tricks, recycling old dreams."
His smile fractures at the edges. "Right," he whispers. "Just mind tricks."
But when your fingers find his, intertwining like fate's own threads, none of that matters.
"Quick," you grin, the universe reflected in your eyes, "we've got worlds to explore before morning steals you away."
Jungkook melts watching you stumble through broken alien phrases, your pronunciation absolutely butchering three different languages at once. There's this six-eyed creature that just stares at your earnest bow, probably wondering what strange cosmic phenomenon dropped you into their path. And then, an absolute menace of a droid, barely reaching your knees, starts chasing you down demanding payment, beep-screaming about galactic credits. You scramble behind Jungkook like he's your last hope in the universe, fingers clutching his jacket, breathless giggles muffled against his shoulder. (He pays your debt with a shirt button because of course he does, you disaster.)
Later, you both claim a spot on the edge of a glowing walkway. Your feet dangle over an ocean of lights, streams of vehicles painting stories beneath you like shooting stars learning to dance. The sky above is alive, breathing with the pulse of ship lights, and sometimes a cruiser glides past like a metal whale, momentarily stealing the stars.
Your laughter settles into something softer now, something that fits in the spaces between heartbeats. Neither of you speak. Neither of you need to.
And if Jungkook knows the dream is slipping away like stardust through his fingers? Well. He keeps that knowledge locked behind his teeth. Instead, he drinks in the sight of you: the way city lights paint constellations across your skin, how perfectly you slot into this impossible moment like you were born to exist in worlds that break physics. Like you were meant to dream in technicolor.
But there's a question that haunts him, cruel as dawn's first light: When the sun rises and reality claims you back...
âŠwill even a whisper of him linger in your waking thoughts?
Jungkook's life has shifted in ways that feel like poetry written in invisible ink- you can only see it if you know where to look.
On paper, everything's the same: same apartment with its midnight creaks and perpetual scent of dust-and-tea memories. Same 7:30 alarm that screams into existence like an unwanted prophecy. Same mundane rituals: toast crumbs, news static, lines of code marching across screens like obedient soldiers. (And yes, that one stubborn fern that refuses to surrender to his chronic plant neglect.)
But there's something different now that whispers instead of shouts. Something that feels like stardust caught in his bones.
You see it in the way he carries himself, like gravity's finally made peace with his soul. In the way he moves through space like he's remembered how to belong in it. He's incandescent now, lit from within by some strange, soft fire.
His friends notice because of course they do, they're annoyingly observant like that.
"You look," Jimin declares one night, sprawled across Jungkook's couch like he owns it, soju bottle dancing between his fingers, "like God himself came down and gave you a spa day."
"Sleep," Namjoon squints at him, "you're actually sleeping?"
Jungkook's lips twitch. A maybe floats between them like a secret.
"Oh my god," Taehyung breathes, dramatic as always, "you're in LOVE."
The way Jungkook's eyes skitter away is all the confession they need. And then they're all talking at once, voices tumbling over each other like eager puppies: "Who is she?" and "Does she live here?" and "When do WE get to meet her?"
Jungkook smiles, sleeve-covered hands hiding trembles, letting them believe the flush on his face comes from the heater's gentle rage.
But there's this soft, aching thing in his chest. Because how do you tell your best friends that the person who rewrote your whole existence lives in a different layer of reality? That the only one who's ever seen past your skin and bones and into the truth of you... only exists in dreams?
Later, when his apartment's empty except for shadows and memory-echoes, he stands at his window. Forehead pressed to glass like a prayer, watching Seoul's heartbeat flutter beneath him.
The loneliness has evolved into something gentler now - no longer the razor-edged beast that once tore through his chest, nor the arctic waste that froze his bones.
But it's there. Because no matter how many times you laugh in his arms, no matter how many universes you explore together, you're not here. And he is. You both exist but in different verses of the same impossible song.
And sometimes he wonders if he's asking too much of the universe. If he's being greedy. Before you, he was nothing but shadow-stuff and nightmare-fuel, cursed to feed on other people's fears. He couldn't even dream of being perceived, let alone loved. And now he has the audacity to want more? To want daylight happiness?
Greedy, absurd boy.
But every moment he spends awake feels like holding his breath underwater. Every sunlit hour is just time he could've spent learning the constellations of your smile. So he closes his eyes. And waits for sleep to bring him to you.
The moment he slips into the dreamscape he feels your presence hitting him like the first breath after drowning, like gravity remembering its own name. And then you're there, crashing into him with the force of a supernova, arms wrapping around him as if he might dissolve into stardust. He catches you and pulls you close like you're made of moonlight and wishes.
"Thought you wouldn't come," you whisper into his collar, voice rough like you've been holding back for too long.
A laugh escapes him, soft and broken-edged. His hands trace constellations up your spine. "Do you everâŠ" he starts, then swallows hard. "Do you ever worry that one night we just... won't find each other here anymore?"
You pull back just enough to meet his eyes and there are already tears catching in your lashes. "Every single time I close my eyes."
His smile cracks at the corners because itâs exactly the same for him. Every night he lies awake wondering if the universe will finally notice its mistake- if whatever cosmic glitch allowed him to find you will correct itself. Maybe you'll stop dreaming of him and he'll be left holding nothing but memories and maybes. It's too perfect. You're too perfect. And he's never learned how to trust perfect things to stay.
"Jungkook." Your voice drops to something serious, something that makes his heart stutter in his chest. He meets your gaze. "I don'tâŠI can't," You take a shaking breath. "I don't think I can face reality anymore if I'm not sure you'll be waiting here."
His heart stops. Instead of answering, he lifts his hand and traces your cheek with feather-light fingers, trying to memorize you in atoms and angles.
"I'll be here," he breathes, like a prayer, like a promise. "I don't understand any of this, but I swear I'll find you. Every night. No matter what."
Your eyes flutter closed at his touch, and in that moment, he knows exactly what tonight's dream should be.
The dreamscape ripples like disturbed water, reality shifting beneath your feet with all the grace of a universe rewriting itself. The salt-sweet breeze finds you first, carrying whispers of infinity, and when your eyes flutter open, the night sky stretches above you like a confession written in starlight.
The ocean sprawls before you, endless and moonlit, each wave a silvered promise rolling towards shore. You're both barefoot in the sand, the wind playing with your hair like an old friend while the sea hums ancient lullabies. Jungkook watches you the way people watch miracles unfold - careful, afraid to blink.
You're statue-still, eyes locked on the horizon like it might vanish if you dare to look away. The air between you tastes like possibility.
"You mentioned wanting to see the sea," he murmurs. "Why?"
You sink to the sand, pulling your knees to your chest like armor. "I've never seen it before."
His heart stumbles. "Never?"
A shake of your head, eyes still drinking in the waves that reach for your toes like shy lovers. He wants to ask more - what landlocked piece of the world kept you from this? But dreams have their own grammar, and some questions dissolve like sugar on the tongue. So he sits beside you in comfortable silence, letting the night wrap around you both like a blanket woven from sea spray.
When you finally turn to him, your eyes hold the weight of unspoken galaxies. And gravity seems to lose its grip on reality - the space between you collapses until you're breathing the same air, until his hands find your face like they've mapped this path in a thousand previous lives.
Your lips meet in a hesitant dance of breath and longing until something breaks inside the moment like a dam of restraint giving way to raw need. His hands tangle in your hair as your mouth parts with a soft, stuttering sound, fingers clutching desperately at his shirt while the kiss transforms into something urgent and wild, teeth grazing and breaths mingling as he tilts your head back to taste you deeper.
The sea's roar crescendos with your passion while you shift into his lap, knees straddling him and hands sliding up the curve of his neck, the weight of your body against his making him finally feel real. Your shared heat and the pressure of your hips leaving him dizzy with want.
Jungkook pulls back only enough to look at you, eyes tracing your face like itâs something sacred. Your skin is flushed, glowing under the silver wash of the moon, hair tangled from his hands. Youâre still straddling him, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with his. Thereâs a silence that lives in that moment, but itâs not empty.
Then he grins, soft and breathless. âGood thing this is a dream,â he murmurs, brushing his lips across your jaw. âSand wonât bother us here.â
You laugh, quiet and giddy, the sound catching in your throat as he leans in again, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then lower. He shifts, laying you back gently onto the soft, impossible sand. Moonlight spills across your skin like liquid silver, turning you into some ancient deity's forgotten masterpiece. He freezes, a worshipper before an altar, lungs forgetting their purpose as his eyes trace the sacred geometry of your existence. Time holds its breath with him.
Then heâs kissing your neck, slow and open-mouthed, leaving heat wherever his lips touch. His hands slide over your body like heâs memorizing you, like heâs terrified youâll disappear. When he begins to undress you, his fingers move with a kind of careful urgency- unwrapping you like something heâs dreamed of holding all his life.
His lips trail down your collarbone, your chest, and lower, leaving warmth. Your breath catches sharply in your throat as pleasure ripples through you, your back arching delicately from the sand as a soft, yearning moan escapes your lips into the star-strewn night.
And when he comes back to you, body pressed to yours, both of you tangled in breath and want, you meet him with the same hunger. You pull him close, undress him with shaking hands, touch every inch of him with awe.
When Jungkook moves inside you, it feels less like an act of desire and more like the inevitable culmination of something the two of you had been building quietly between shared glances, trembling silences, and the quiet ache of always parting too soon. There is nothing rushed in the way your bodies meet: only a slow, deliberate joining, a stretch of time that suspends itself in the hush between heartbeats, as if the dream itself knows to hold its breath for you.
His weight settles gently over you, his mouth still hovering just above yours, the warmth of his breath mixing with your own as his hands frame your face with a tenderness that feels as overwhelming as it is fragile. Your eyes lock for a long moment, and in them there is no fear, only the echo of something deeper - yearning, devotion, maybe even a kind of wonder neither of you dares to name aloud. And then, without speaking, you arch toward him, and he begins to move.
The rhythm he finds is unhurried but purposeful, a slow, steady push and pull. His body presses against yours with the kind of urgency that isnât frantic but is no less desperate - an urgency born from knowing how fleeting dreams are, how quickly time unravels beauty when itâs finally within reach.
His lips donât stay still for long; they trace your collarbone, your throat, the curve of your jaw, trailing warmth that pools and spreads through your chest until your breath begins to shake beneath him. You can feel the way his body trembles slightly as he deepens the rhythm with intensity, as though every inch of his skin aches to be closer to yours, as though touching you more completely could somehow anchor him here.
When you moan his name, it comes out cracked at the edges, too soft and too honest to be anything but real, and he answers not with words but with a kiss that claims nothing, demands nothing, only offers himself and his quiet awe that you are here with him.
The dream sky above flickers faintly as a gentle reminder that even eternity here is borrowed. You feel it in your bones that this moment, as vivid and consuming as it is, will dissolve like sea foam the moment morning claims him back. That awareness sharpens everything. It makes each thrust feel more tender, each stroke of his hands across your sides more necessary, more desperate to memorize. Your fingers slide up into his hair, tugging him closer, your mouths finding each other again with increasing hunger, and when your hips rise to meet his, your bodies move in perfect synchrony.
It builds slowly, swelling until you canât distinguish where you end and he begins, until the world narrows to the slick heat between your thighs, the throb of his heartbeat against your chest, the soft, breathless groans that pass between your lips like confessions. The pleasure comes in waves: deep and consuming, rising with every movement and whispered sound, until the moment it crests and breaks, flooding through you with a force so overwhelming you have no choice but to let go and ride it.
He follows you into it, burying his face in your neck as he comes undone, his body trembling with the effort of holding back everything he feels and failing in the most beautiful way. There are no words left, only breath and warmth and the weight of his arms around you as he collapses gently beside you, pulling you into him like something heâs afraid to lose.
A blanket materializes like a whispered wish, impossibly soft and warm against your skin. Jungkook pulls you closer, your bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces finally finding home. Your hands can't help but wander, mapping his skin in the aftermath, memorizing the geography of this moment. His lips ghost against your temple while you rest your cheek against his heart, letting its steady rhythm become your anchor.
The ocean serenades you both with its ancient song, waves kissing the shore in perfect tempo. Above, the stars hang in velvet darkness, too perfect to be anything but dreamscape magic. Words feel redundant here, in this pocket of forever where touch and breath say everything your voices can't.
But dreams, those cruel architects of almost-reality, never let you linger long enough.
The world starts to unravel: the sky loses its certainty, the breeze thins to whispers, and the ocean's voice becomes a distant echo of itself. Reality is calling, persistent as always. You tilt your face up to his, and his fingers find their way to your hair, tucking it behind your ear with a tenderness that aches.
"I wish this part didn't end so soon," you breathe out, voice trembling not with fear but with the weight of knowing what comes next.
He brings his forehead to rest against yours, eyes closed like he's trying to freeze time through sheer will. "So do I," he whispers back.
As the dream dissolves: the beach, the stars, your shared warmth all fading into morning light, he holds onto everything: the curve of your body against his, the ghost of your kiss, and the exquisite agony of loving someone who only exists in the space between sleeping and waking.
When the dream opens again, it does so like a breath drawn after drowning- sharp and sudden and full of overwhelming relief. Youâre already there, standing beneath a sky that isnât real, though it holds more meaning than any sunrise youâve ever seen. The moment your eyes meet Jungkookâs, you donât wait, and neither does he. There is no hesitation or unsure beginning. You run into each otherâs arms like youâve been holding your breath for days, like everything depends on this collision of bodies.
âI donât want to waste one second of the limited time we have here,â you whisper into the space between his breaths, your arms wound tight around his neck and your chest pressed firmly to his.
He nods, his voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a vow, and with a single brush of his hand against the air, the world changes.
Like mist before sunlight, the dreamscape dissolves - first the endless ocean retreating into nothingness, then the wind falling silent as if holding its breath, and finally the star-strewn horizon melting away.
And in its place appears something smaller and impossibly intimate: a bedroom, quiet and warm, the walls washed in golden light, the sheets still slightly rumpled like theyâve been waiting for you. Itâs not dramatic, not grand, but it feels like a secret dream you never dared to say aloud.
âThis feels so real,â you murmur, your voice already faltering as his hands begin to move slowly, working their way beneath your clothes as if theyâre peeling away layers of exhaustion and everything thatâs ever kept you from peace.
He undresses you without words, his fingers trailing down your sides with a patience that makes your skin tremble. When his lips touch your collarbone, your breath catches. When his hands slide lower, your knees weaken. And when he kneels before you, his eyes dark and full of something deeper than want, you whisper his name like itâs a confession.
His mouth is already on you, and heâs not simply tasting but studying the language of your body with the kind of patience that feels rarer than touch itself. Every movement is deliberate, almost aching in its care, as though he knows this is a dream and still doesnât want to rush through it. His hands grip the backs of your thighs with that same quiet devotion, fingers spreading you open.
He dives in like a man starved of connection, like every slow drag of his tongue is an attempt to carve himself into your memory, so that even when you're awake, some part of your body will still pulse with the imprint of him.
At first, itâs soft, barely there, just the warm press of his mouth against you, lips brushing your folds. But then, when you gasp and your hips lift slightly, when your fingers curl in the sheets beneath you, he groans softly into you, like the sound of your need fuels something deeper in him, something greedy*.*
He licks you slowly at first, flat strokes that leave you trembling, your thighs tensing around his head even as his hands hold you open. But soon he changes rhythm, finding the place where your body begins to stutter and focus, and he stays there, working his tongue in tight, purposeful circles, pausing only to suck gently, and then again, firmer, just enough to make your voice crack when you call his name.
You reach for him without thinking, fingers sliding into his hair, anchoring yourself in him as the heat begins to mount. Your breath comes in shallow bursts, thighs shaking around him, and still he doesnât let up. He wants this - to see you unravel, to taste what the world outside has never let you give.
âWhyâŠâ you whisper, the words breaking apart as your thighs begin to shake. âWhy canât this be real?â
Itâs not a question you expect him to answer, itâs rather a confession or cry of longing too deep for reason. And if he hears it, he doesnât stop, only moans into you, as if your heartbreak feeds his hunger, as if the taste of your pain is folded into your pleasure.
His tongue moves faster now, more focused, and the tension inside you coils to a near-breaking and all-consuming point
Your body begins to shake; canât form words anymore. Your moans become breathless sounds, fingers digging into his scalp as your hips lift in desperate rhythm with the wave heâs building inside you. His grip tightens, keeping you grounded, and when he draws your clit into his mouth again, sucking slowly, deeply, your entire body snaps.
You come with a cry so raw it doesnât even sound like your voice. It shudders through you, thighs clenching, stomach fluttering, your hands fisting the sheets and his hair and nothing at all, your back arching as the dream holds you still in its palm.
But he doesn't leave you. Jungkook stays between your legs, lapping at you gently, slowly, kissing you through the aftershocks like heâs coaxing every last tremble from your bones, like your pleasure is the only thing that matters in this moment.
When he finally pulls away and rises to meet you again, his mouth shines with you, and his eyes are dark with a mix of tenderness and awe that stirs something so deep in your chest it almost hurts.
He kisses you slowly and deeply, and you taste yourself on his tongue. You pull him closer, hands sliding down his bare back, and you know that even if this is only a dream, it is more real than anything else your life has ever given you.
When Jungkook enters you, itâs like the world narrowing to a single point of gravity, your body drawing him in with a heat that pulses low and deep in your belly. He presses into you with a slow, deliberate movement, his length stretching you inch by aching inch, and itâs enough to make your mouth fall open with a breathless gasp that doesnât even sound like your voice. Heâs thick and warm and impossibly hard, and the way he completely fills you sends a tremor through your thighs that you canât control.
Your folds part for him, slick and open, your body welcoming him with the kind of wet, desperate readiness that makes his breath hitch above you. He pauses once heâs buried fully inside, one hand gripping your hip as the other slides beneath your spine, grounding you against the slow burn of pleasure already curling through your abdomen. The stretch stings in the most exquisite way, that sharp-edged fullness melting quickly into something sweeter, something deeper, something that makes your body cry out for more before you even realize what you're asking for.
When he begins to move, itâs a rhythm thatâs devastating in its precision: deep, dragging thrusts that grind against your most sensitive places with such focused care youâre not sure whether you want to weep or scream. Each roll of his hips draws a whimper from your throat, your legs trembling as your body adjusts to him again and again, as though each motion is a new kind of claim. He kisses you through it: your shoulder, your jaw, your lips, his mouth greedy and soft and utterly wrecked with affection, like he wants to press himself into every inch of your skin and never come up for air.
He shifts you gently, guiding your body into his hands, pulling your hips back into his lap as he settles you onto all fours. You sink into the soft sheets, your spine curving as his hand steadies your waist, and when he slides back inside you from behind, the angle is so deep and so precise it knocks the breath from your lungs. You clench helplessly around him, the sound of your bodies joining filling the room with a rhythm that feels ancient, necessary, almost holy. His name leaves your mouth again as a cry drawn out and trembling, the only word that still feels real in the haze of heat and motion and want.
Your hands fist the sheets, your knees spreading wider, every nerve ending in your body tuned to the relentless drive of his thrusts. His grip on your hips tightens, and he leans over your back, the heat of his chest brushing your spine, his voice a broken thing in your ear.
âYou feel⊠so fucking good,â he murmurs, not as a boast, but as a reverent truth, like he still canât believe the way your body accepts him - tight and slick, made perfectly for him.
When his hand slips beneath you again, finding that swollen, throbbing place that already pulses from his mouth and now from his cock, you come apart so quickly and so violently, your entire body stutters around him. You cry out, broken and breathless, your climax crashing through you with a force that turns the world white at the edges. You feel yourself clench around him, wet and pulsing, and it takes everything in him not to follow you right then.
But heâs close and with a few more thrusts, rougher now, less controlled, he spills into you with a sound so low and guttural it feels like it echoes inside your own chest. He collapses against your back, his arms wrapping around your middle as you both breathe through the aftermath, tangled and shivering, still connected, still pulsing with the echo of each otherâs release.
And when the high fades and the pleasure ebbs into something slower, quieter, he doesnât pull away. He stays inside you for as long as he can, holding you in his arms like heâs afraid that if he lets go, youâll dissolve into smoke with the rest of the dream.
You fall together onto your sides, your legs entwined, the thin dream-woven blanket curling around your bodies, soft and warm as moonlight. You press your cheek against his chest. His hand strokes your back slowly, like heâs still trying to memorize you. The sea outside the window murmurs, and stars flicker faintly above, but neither of you speaks because nothing could possibly be enough.
"I don't want the real world." Your voice cracks. "It doesn't have you in it."
He pulls you closer, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, reality won't be able to pry you apart. When he finally speaks, his voice carries the weight of every 3AM thought that's ever kept anyone awake, "I know. Me too."
You look up at him, moonlight catching on unshed tears. Not crying because what's the point when the sun will rise anyway? Your fingers twist in the blanket like you're trying to anchor yourself to this moment, to him, to anything that might let you stay. "Please," you whisper, "I want to stay here. With you."
This isn't just a dream anymore. It's the truest thing you've ever known, wrapped in fiction because reality doesn't know what to do with something this raw. He says nothing, only presses his forehead to yours and breathes you in like he's trying to memorize the way your souls fit together.
And just as the dream begins to thin at the edges: flickering like film exposed to light, you look up at him, eyes full of that same pleading ache, and he lowers his forehead to yours. If you could stay, you would.
Jungkook wakes to emptiness, the kind that sits heavy in your lungs like smoke. The silence wraps around him like a second skin, suffocating in its completeness. There's no gentle transition between dreams and reality today - just a harsh snap from one world to another, leaving him raw and aching.
The bed feels too big, too cold, sheets twisted around him like they're trying to hold something that isn't there anymore. His chest feels hollow, carved out, each breath a little too shallow to fill the spaces where warmth used to live.
He lies there, staring at a ceiling he's known his whole life but suddenly feels like it belongs to someone else's story. His body shakes, not from cold (never from cold), but from something that lives deeper, something that has made a home in his bones and refuses to leave.
When he finally moves, it's pure instinct - frustration and grief tangled into one sharp motion. The pillow hits the floor with a soft thud that gets swallowed by the morning quiet. It doesn't help. Nothing helps. He sits up, fingers threading through his hair like he's trying to hold his thoughts together, eyes fixed on the slice of pre-dawn darkness outside his window.
His voice breaks the silence like glass shattering in slow motion, barely a whisper: "Why is it like this..."
But there's no answer waiting in the shadows. And yet, somewhere beneath the weight of his despair, something small flickered: thin, untrustworthy, but still breathing. He told himself he would see you again. A new day would bring a new night, and with it, the possibility of return. That had been the pattern, and though dreams rarely followed logic, hope was a creature that clung to even the most frayed of patterns.
The hours that followed passed in a haze. He moved through the day as though he had been placed behind a pane of glass: everything visible but inaccessible, everyoneâs voices distant, every color dull. His body obeyed routine, but his mind remained curled around the shape of your absence.
When darkness finally returned, he didnât hesitate. Sleep claimed him without struggle, and with it, the familiar ritual unfolded: the rooftops that stretched like memory, the path laid down by repetition and longing, the same constellation of buildings that had always, without fail, led him to your window.
But it was dark. No light pierced the glass, no shadows moved within. The bed lay pristine, untouched - a monument to absence. He waited. Minutes bled into hours as the dream stretched around him, but your silhouette never materialized. The emptiness felt louder than any scream.
Night after night, he returned. Each visit more desperate than the last. The room remained a void, sterile and cold as a tomb. His hope withered, then died. No trace that you'd ever existed. The question gnawed at him: had you been real? Or worse: had something taken you?
The days blurred together, each one weighted with loss and questions that found no answers. Had you chosen to vanish, or had the choice been stolen from you? The uncertainty was acid in his veins.
Before you, he'd been a ghost among the living, feeding on others' darkness, trapped in endless observation. But that emptiness was nothing compared to this. This was different. This was knowing paradise and being exiled. This was having his soul split open, filled with light, then sewn shut around the void you left behind.
The universe had cursed him twice: first with invisibility, then with the memory of being seen. Being known and loved by you. Only to have it ripped away without warning or farewell.
And now, more than ever, Jungkook felt the weight of solitude like a second skin - in a universe that had always been generous in showing him different angles of emptiness.Â
.
Part 2 here .
Thank you very much for reading my stories. Finding readers who resonate with my writing means the world to me. I can't even put into words how grateful I am. đ€
Mature / Romance / Angst / Smut R18+ / Happy Ending / Redemption Arc / Heavy Drama / Jungkook Tattoo artist au
New fic! Story and requested by mainstarkoo thank you always for sharing your ideas, plot and story requests. It was really an honor hehe for trusting me on your plot and story ideas. Always thank you and love you as someone who supports me in writing! hehe you are the best!
-Finally! I will post the first part and I've been busy with work and so on and yeah BTS tour soonđđ„čđ„ hope we can all see them soon. đđ fighting and rooting for all of us.
Part 1
Jungkookâs tattoo gun hummed steadily as he etched a dragon across his clientâs back.
The studio smelled of ink and antiseptic, a familiar comfort amid the chaos of his life.
At twenty-eight, he was a talented artist scraping by in Seoulâs underbelly, but his world revolved around Yuna and their four-year-old son, Jaehyun.
Yuna had been his anchor since high school, her chaebol familyâs wealth a stark contrast to his street-raised grit.
Theyâd eloped young, and her pregnancy with Jaehyun had been a calculated move to defy her parentsâ plans for an arranged marriage to some older tycoon. The scandal broke and nearly destroyed her familyâs name, but Jungkook promised to build something real between the two of them.
He worked tirelesslyâdouble shifts, inking skin by day and dreaming of stability at night.
But love was never enough.
Love would never be enough as time passed between them.
One day, Yunaâs eyes began to wander. She complained about their cramped apartment, the lack of designer bags, and the isolation from her old social circle.
Jungkook dismissed it as stress, pouring his love into Jaehyunâs bedtime stories and Yunaâs occasional touches.
Then the video leaked.
Blurry footage from a hotel security camera showed Yuna tangled with a slick-haired chaebol heir, her laughter cutting sharply through the audio.
âJungkook? Heâs got a decent cock, fucks me hard enough to forget the bills,â she mocked.
âBut heâs no match for real money.â
Jungkookâs stomach twisted as he watched it on his phone during his lunch break.
He confronted her that evening while Jaehyun napped nearby.
âTell me, Yunaâthis is all fake,â he pleaded, voice raw. âWhat you said in the video⊠is it? Tell me, please.â
Yunaâs eyes hardened, turning cold.
âTo be honest, Jungkook⊠itâs not,â she said flatly. âYou promised, and you know⊠I deserve better than this. Better than this lifeâwith you. I donât want it anymore.â
She grabbed a suitcase, hurriedly kissed Jaehyunâs forehead, and leftâreturning to her parentsâ mansion.
She forgot them.
Forgot her life with Jungkook and Jaehyun as the door clicked shut loudly.
â
Months blurred into survival. Jungkook had no choice but to help himself and his son.
He tried to contact her, calling Yuna countless times, but her parents did everything they could to erase him and Jaehyun from her life. To no avail, he moved on as the years passed.
â
He dropped Jaehyun off at preschool, tattooed until his hands cramped, and collapsed into bed alone each night. The betrayal festered, but his son kept him grounded.
One night, after a particularly grueling day, he went to a club for the first time in years.
The thumping bass drowned his thoughts as he downed whiskey at the bar. Thatâs when you caught his eye.
Shy, nursing a drink with your friends, your simple dress accentuated your soft curves.
You noticed his haunted gaze and slid onto the stool beside him.
âHi, um⊠it seems like a rough night?â you asked gently.
Without thinking, his mind dulled by alcohol, he poured his soul out to youâthe lies, the loss, the fear of failing his son Jaehyun, of being a single father.
Your empathy drew him in. Soon, his hand covered yours. The alcohol flooding his system fueled a spark, and before long, you were both in a cab headed to a motel.
"This is some rom-com level bullshit . What if I fall in love with you? "
âŻThief by shownunus
"He stole your wallet, then your heart."
⯠Stardust by whippednation
''When you get a new heart will I still be in there ?" she says barely a whisper . ''Will I still be in that heart ? ''
"You are not just in my heart '' Jungkook replies truthfully . " You are in the blood flowing through my veins, you are in my mind, under my skin , around my bones , buried in my soul ."
⯠Shelter by ttaek
" I see dead people "
⯠Cold World by pinkbunny-
"The moment I put this ring on your finger, you became my property."
⯠Mannequin by voongi
'' I would love to wrap you in my porcelain arms "
⯠Your Honour by SwagMeow
" You're in my jurisdiction ,prosecutor . You know what that means ? You do as I f*cking say . No. Questions .Asked "
⯠Jungkook : The Friendly Ghost by annieDD
She moves into a new apartment. He is stuck. No one can see him . But she can.
⯠My Viewpoint by kaakoi
"You are really sick you know . I can't imagine someone being as mean and selfish as you Kim Ivy" he says , as he finally let go of her.
⯠168 hours by Amaranthine7722
Things JK needs to do in 168 hours.
Be away from everyone.Visit and stay at the countryside . Soul search. Rent a girlfriend.
Fall in love ?
⯠Follow You by _infernalroses
I was born to led wars but he was a battle that I could never conquer.
warnings:Â college!jk, rich!jk, he's a college nepo baby!!!, waitress!oc, flashbacks to summer, (mild) enemies to lovers, oc lives with tae (they're besties), jk is besties with jimin, mentions of parents infidelity, mentions of oc's virginity (lost prior to the story starting), a little angsty, jk is nawt a fuckboi, but he is stewpid, unprotected sex, bathroom escapades, multiple positions, oral (f), mentions of blowjobs, house parties, jackson wang!!!!!!!, yoongi has no lines but is also one of my fave characters lmao
wordcount:Â 16k
note from holly: this was written as a commission over on ko-fi!! it went through soooo many changes and edits - at one point it was over 24k lmao. i have so much lore and backstory for this couple, but I'll save it for a rainy day!! one of the main prompts was the 2004 classic a cinderella story, and there are little nods to it throughout the story, including the diner name!! a commenter on wattpad said the pairing reminded them of danny and sandy from grease and like... i see it lmao. anywaysss enjoy!! <33
minors dni // cross posted to wattpad
It's a well-trained habit, your fleeting glance towards the door of Montgomery's Diner when the bell rings.
Though the clatter of cheap porcelain being stacked on a tray almost manages to drown out the chiming metal, it's never quite enough. Softening your hardened expression, you continue on with your work, careful to not let your contempt show too much.
You already know who it isâor at least, who it could be. Only saw the girl leading the pack, but know that where Claudia goes, the rest of The Untouchables will surely follow.
Gorgeous in a way that money can't buy, and careless in a way that money makes up for, she's never taken personal issue with you. Barely even registers your existence.
From your quick look, you know that it's not just the girls today. It's the guys, too.
All with parents on the college board, they're regarded as campus royalty. Are aptly known as The Untouchables, 'cause the rules that apply to you don't apply to them. They'll likely continue with their lives in a similar manner for years to come, and will pass these attributes off to their offspring, whom they'll name after countries or distant relatives who were once regarded to be regal.
Gathering up the last of the discarded napkins on the table, you take one final, fleeting look just to see if a familiar face is with them.
It's not that you actively want to see him.
You just haven't seen him in the best part of a fortnight, which is odd.
He's been in your section of the Diner near enough every single night of the past three monthsâbut school is starting up again, and he's got appearances to keep.
God-forbid Jeon Jungkookâson of the Admissions Director and heir-apparent to an unholy amount of real estate tied to the universityâever associates with the lowly scholarship kids like you.
The only reason The Untouchables ever come to this Diner is because it's the last remaining place close to the university that hasn't been snapped up and integrated into the campus. You guess it must feel like freedom to them, in a way.
In fact, you know this is the case. Jungkook has told you himself.
Has told you a lot.
Told you far too much.
Such candid honesty from him, shared during the lonely heat of a sweltering summer, is what makes it so jarring when he looks away as soon as his dark eyes meet yours.
Tall, broad, handsome; he's everything the gossip magazines you read during your downtime swoon over, but also everything they warn against. Too pretty for his own good, the resident agony aunt would call him if she were ever to see him. Would assume his ego is far larger than his shoe size; superiority complex embedded into his skin like the ink of his tattoos.
And while you think that perhaps those assumptions could be true, you also know the reality of him; how gentle his hands can be. Helpful, too. Delicate. Ornate, almost, when they fold bills into five petal flowers. Strong, when they grip the back of your neck. Commanding, when they're wrapped around his leather steering wheel.
You shouldn't know the way his car smells. Shouldn't know how he presses the heel of his palm against the wheel when he's reversing, or just how easy it is to clamber into the backseats over the centre console.
But you do, and it rests on your tongue like a dirty little secret desperate to escape:Â I know you.
You're not sure if you know him better than The Untouchables, but you know him independent of them. Not many people do.
It's rare to find him without Jimin cracking a joke by his side, or Claudia making a slightly mean remark masked as innocent ignorance as she leads him astray.
But summer happened, and so did Jungkook. With his friends away at their holiday homes, and his father's infidelity ripping his family apart at the seams, he'd needed something to stitch himself back together. Let you thread yourself through his very being, and once you'd tied yourself in a pretty little bow around his heart, he'd cut you off.
Is that not what all craftsmen do, though? Discard what no longer serves a purpose?
Memories of him, in all the places you never should have let him in, ravage your thoughts.
The scent of his aftershave lingers on the childhood plushie he used to tease you for having on your bed, but would also automatically hug into his chest every single time he entered your room.
The things he didâand the things he didn't doâcorrupt your dreams and leave you restless when you wake.
The smudged mascara under your eyes hides the bags from your lack of sleep, and your only respite is that the little puffs beneath his eyes are extra prominent today. He's tried, too.
For a minute, you feel vindicated.
It doesn't last.
For the past few months, if he's been sleeping badly, you've known about it. Kept him company in this very Diner, or in the basement of a party house he was dumb enough to take you to, forgetting he'd have to return there after summer finished, too.
The walls might not talk, but Jackson Wang certainly does. Jungkook knows it's only a matter of time until his dirty little secretsâno matter how pure they actually areâbecome the talk of the town.
He always slept well in your bedroom, though.
Funny, that.
He's dressed simply, today: white t-shirt, black jeans, chunky black boots on his feet. It's still warm out, even if the sun does begin to set a little earlier than it had been during the hotter months. He's got no need for a jacket, and you despise how undeniably gorgeous his arms are in the dewy humidity. Tattoos trailing up and down his skin, you'd be forgiven for thinking he was a man of complexities.
Turns out he's just like every other good-for-nothing fuck boy who wasn't worth your time.
The Untouchables sit towards the front of the Diner. Your section is at the back, and there's no way in hell you're deviating from your set section. Not today. Not when he's with them.
"I thought we were free," your colleague, Maria, grumbles as you bring your tray to the counter.
Like you, she's a scholarship kid. Is the one who got you the job at the Diner after you both moved into the shared house you live in off-campus. Three of you live thereâyou, Maria, and Taehyungâand you all share the same disdain for The Untouchables.
"It never ends," you tease in reply. Glance over your shoulder, back at the table.
They're laughing and joking about something you can't quite decipher. All of them, except Jungkook.
There's a sternness to him. One of which you'd forgotten about. With one hand on the table, the other in his lap, his thumb fidgets over his tense knuckles. Sunglasses rest on the crown of his head, pushed up into his hair to hold it back off his face. Staring at nothing much, he's chewing up his bottom lip until he feels the familiar burn of your eyes on him. Looks your way.
It's curious, how looking at you halts his body from its self-soothing actions. He no longer nibbles on his lip. His tightly balled first eases.
"What do you think, Kookie?" Claudia drawls, drawing his attention back to the group. "You coming tonight?"
"Hm?" He questions, eyes pulling away from you. He begins to rub his thumb over his knuckles again. "Sorry, was just looking at the menu board. What are we talking about?"
"Party at the Conservatory," Jimin says from across the table. Though he's the one sitting beside Claudia, everyone knows Jungkook is the one that she's really interested in. Has been since their first day of college. "First of the semester. It's one of their birthdays. Reckon it'll be a big one."
On campus, but close enough to the boundaries that it's never infringed upon by security or university officials, the Conservatory isn't what it seems. A boarding house for the creme-de-la-creme of the Botany and Conservation PhD students, it's surrounded by land. Has rows upon rows of greenhouses for their projects.
Of the few times you've been there, you've always thought it was like a maze. The perfect place to get lost. The perfect place to get found, too.
Unfortunately for the PhD students, the house custodian took on the role for one thing and one thing only: to throw the biggest ragers on campus. Knows fuck all about growing anything that isn't illegal. Only managed to get the role, 'cause like the rest of The Untouchables, his dad works high up in the college. He's a few years older than them. Belongs to a different generation of campus royalty, but is keen on making sure his legacy remains.
After all, there ain't no party like a Jackson Wang party.
Namjoonâone of the Botanists and the birthday boy himselfâhas started padlocking the greenhouses.
Another one of themâYoongiâminored in mechanical engineering. Has a coin-operated lock on his bathroom door. Makes enough money from a single Jackson Wang party to sustain himself for an entire month.
Hoseok and Jin, the remaining two, are just as messy as Jackson. Have only started PhDs because they don't know what else to do and don't want their youth to abruptly end. Live for the parties; survive for the studying.
"Now, who's told you that?" Jungkook smiles, as if the prospect of showing up at the Conservatory doesn't make him feel a little bit sick. "Jackson?"
"Obviously."
"Well, of course he's gonna tell you it'll be big," Jungkook laughs. "Wants to rope as many of you fuckers in as he can."
"And it works every time," Jimin smirks back. "If everyone thinks it'll be a rager, everyone will want to go. He's a marketing genius, if you ask me."
Jungkook rolls his eyes. Is fond in how he interacts with his friends. Has grown up with most of them. Whether or not they're everyones cup of tea is debatable, but they're his people.
And yet he finds himself glancing back over to the counter. You're not there anymore. Are out back, he assumes. Knows the layout, now. Where the walk-in freezer is. The little nook that you sit in during your break. He doubts any of his friends have ever been in a commercial kitchen, let alone one at a place like this.
While yes, his friends have only ever been good to him, he knows that it isn't the case for everyone they interact with. Is well aware that his friends would be confused beyond belief if they ever found out he knows how to click through the Diner's cash register and find the discount section. Would be even more perplexed if they were to see his initials hidden in one of the codes.
But summer was lonely.
Or at least it was.
Lonely, until it wasn't. Isolating, until he sought solace in someone he can't even bring himself to speak to in front of his friends.
Casting his eyes back down to the table, well aware that he's got no reason to feel as cut up as he does, he fakes a laugh. Looks up again at his friends with a grin so sincere that they'd never guess the way it feels like his heart is in his throat. "Alright. You're on. What time?"
The conversation dissolves into plansâwhat to wear, what drink to take.
After a summer apart, Jungkook thought it would be nice to be with his friends again. Thought he'd be excited; that he'd welcome them all back with open arms. Ask them about their summers, and lament his time spent here.
When Jimin asks him why he didn't go to the Italian villa his parents normally insist they spend the summer at, Jungkook shrugs.
"Dad has some stuff to sort out, so it was better to stay here," he says, minimising the reality of what really happened. Even you don't know for certain. All you know is that his father did something incredibly immoral, to the point where Jungkook can't even stand to look at him.
Is why he spent all those nights in the diner.
Was confusing at first. He was always angry. Always frowning. Always ordering black coffees and nothing else, huddled up in the corner booth, away from the world.
But with summer comes monsoons, and with monsoons come terrible conditions for walking home.
He expected you to say no when he offered you a ride. You expected to say no, tooâbut then a please and thank you had escaped your lips.
A routine grew. Habits formed.
Curious little thing, habits are. 21 days. That's all the time they take to develop.
Jungkook spent 63 days of summer with you in varying capacities. Enough time to learn a habit three times over.
The one that haunts him most is how it felt to have your hand beneath his on his gear stick. Finds the absence of you when he drives unbearable. Knows he's got no one to blame but himself; not just for creating distance, but also for minimising it in the first place.
He's the one who offered you a lift. He's the one who messaged you on your days off to see if you fancied going for a drive. He's the one who didn't turn the AC on just to get you shaking your jacket off your shoulders.
And he's the one that drove you out to the coast one evening for no other reason than wanting to hear the waves. He's the one who opened up to you about his family. He's the one that made things more than what they were.
Had walked along the shore with you, too scared to hold your hand beneath the lunar light. Opted for playful banter instead, nudging you into the lapping waves.
But the waves got bigger, and Jungkook's unbridled desire to have you close did just the same. Like always, he took things too far. Drenched in sea water, you'd laughed with him for the entire ride home.
Invited him in. Said, "The salt will ruin your clothes. We should wash them."
"Hand wash only," he'd said, pinging his damp t-shirt against his chest. It stuck to him in such a way you learned all of his edges before you ever saw him nakedânot like there was much time between these two instances. Ended up in your shower with him, clothes beneath your feet, the excuse of hand washing disregarded the second he had you naked.
You learned three things about Jungkook in that shower.
The first is that he giggles. Lips on yours, hands clutching your jaw, whenever the water was a little too intrusive, he'd separate with a laugh. Would kiss you again, a smile still on his face. Would pretend as if he wasn't giggling.
But he was, and it was lovely.
The second was that he's the type to lean his head forward, not tip it back. With his hands pressed to the shower tiles behind you as your fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, he let his head dip to his chest. Gave him ample opportunity to press kisses to the top of your headâor at least it did until you got to your knees and started taking his hard cock in your mouth.
"Shit," he had husked. Whined. Praised. "Fuck. You're so fuckin' good at that."
It was around then that you became aware he was a head pusher, too.
Almost as if he was saving the best until last, the third thing you learned was how he likes to cum; in your sheets, cock buried in your pussy, your hands clasped above your head. Missionary, 'cause he likes to kiss you through it. In your bed, 'cause he likes losing himself in everything you are. Prefers finishing inside you, but you refuse to fuck him without a condom so he never gets exactly what he wants. It's close enough, though.
Spent weeksâmonthsâlaying unfair claim to your body, and now he can't bring himself to look in your direction. It infuriates you.
But more than anything else, it embarrasses you.
Even your reflection laughs at you. Cackles 'told you so' every time you look in the mirror.
You always wondered why you never heard much about Jungkook's hook ups around campus. Everyone knows about Jimin and how his cock has been perpetually wet since the first day of freshers week, but there's always been a secrecy when it comes to Jungkook.
It's something you've teased him about; in your sheets, bodies clammy, his heart beating so fast in his chest you'd been forgiven for thinking he'd just run a marathon.
"When do I have to sign it?" You had giggled.
"Sign what?" He'd husked, voice all wispy and fucked out.
"The NDA," you'd replied as if it was obvious. "It's been, like, what? A month? Surely it's about time you made sure I kept my mouth shut like all your other girls do?"
On your front, your arms were folded over his chest, and he was gently rearranging the pretty little updo he'd made a mess of. Though he was looking at his hands as he replied, you kept your eyes on his. Studied his sincerity.
"Reason you don't hear about other girls is 'cause there aren't any."
A smile twitched at the corner of your lips, but you didn't let it shine for him.
"Sure."
There was a small jerk to his torso as a breathy smirk formed on his face.
"You think I can't be trusted?"
"I think it's foolish to trust any man."
His deep, dark eyes sank down to focus on yours. Offered you all the sincerity you'd be searching for, and more.
"That's all I am, huh?" He'd challenged you. "Just another one of your men?"
"One of the many," you'd teased just to rile him up a little.
"Ah," he'd played along. "So that's why I always have to wear a condom?"
With a saccharine smirk on your lips, you'd gotten back in position, legs straddled over his hips. Had kissed him. Whispered, "No. That's just because I know it annoys you."
"You annoy me all the time," he'd mumbled into your lips, hands gripping your waist to get you grinding against his still sensitive cock. Barely fifteen minutes since he'd last finished, there was no way he was ready to go again.
"Hm?" You'd hummed against his kisses, then began to work your way down his neck in a way that always got him a little moany. "If I'm so annoying, why are you getting hard again, baby?"
"You can be annoying and hot," he told you as he desperately tried to not let his insatiable need for you show.
"Is that how you like your girls?" You'd ribbed once more, just to piss him off a little. It was never serious. Never something you would actually fret over.
Perhaps you should have done, but then he told you with a little too much candour, "No. It's how I like my girl. Singular."
Loose lips sink ships, and Jungkook was one iceberg away from greeting the ocean floor. Closing his lips back down on yours, he was making sure you were just as insatiable for him as he was for you. He didn't cum again that evening, even if you did more times than you cared to count.
A greedy lover, is Jeon Jungkook. Edacious.
And so you understand, now, why the girls he gets entangled with stay silent; how the hoaxes he plays leave them utterly hysterical. They're subject to silence, because who would possibly believe all those sweet little lies he tells? How mad would they be considered if they tried to convince anyone he has a heart?
His brazen lack of humanity is proven when he comes to pay for the table. Any of them could have done it. Yet he elects to stand in front of your till and wait for you to serve him.
Have you not served him enough?
You refuse to utter a single word in his direction. Don't look at him, don't give him any satisfaction. He can read it for himself, he can pay, and he can fuck off.
"Keep the change," he mumbles tossing down the billsâbut like fuck are you gonna keep anything he gives you.
He begins to walk away, a little shrunken in his stature.
"Excuse me, sir."
Stopping dead in his tracks, Jungkook is perplexed to hear you address him so coldly.
"Your change," you say, holding a closed hand out for him to hold his own hand beneath. He doesn't want to cause a scene. Obliges. Is surprised when notes, not coins, fall into his palm.
More specifically, notes folded into the shape of flowers. His handiwork, he's certain. Was something he used to do in the early hours of your late night diner shifts. If he said something a little mean, or bickered with you a little too hard, he'd fold his notes up like posies and give them to you as a remedy.
Never used those notes to buy you real flowers, mind you.
Back when things were still easy, you pulled him up on it. Told him that you'd be far easier to seduce with a little wooing. He'd told you that you were easy to seduce regardless.
You didn't speak to him for the rest of your shift.
Ended it with fourteen folded bills in the shape of a bouquet, and when the backseat windows of his car had a thick veil of condensation coating them that same evening, he'd drawn you flowers on them.
"No point in flowers," he'd told you. "They just wither up and die."
Which is funny, 'cause it kinda looks like Jungkook is doing that very same thing right in this moment. He goes to speak, but nothing comes out.
Disappointing, you think, then realise of course he is. Has done nothing but disappoint you.
You smile. Jungkook looks like he wants to cry. Good.
"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."
21 repetitions. That's how many times it takes to form a habit. You know this.
You also know that 90 days of this repetition will form a habit to last a lifetime.
As you hook up your apron, and free your hair of the ribbon that had been tightly wrapped around your ponytail, you know these are 'lifetime' habits. Apron, then ponytail. Always.
But when you say goodbye to Maria, and ask if she'll be at home this evening, you find yourself leaning into a recently formed habit. It's not anything particularly noteworthy. Not something anyone would notice.
Well, not anyone who matters. You don't think Jungkook counts as someone who matters, anymore.
But he'd noticed; how you'd started glancing across to his parking spot whenever you clocked out. Had teased you for it. Asked you if it was the highlight of your day, seeing him there, as if it wasn't the highlight of his.
You should have known the playful banter when he told you not to get used to it wasn't really banter at all.
Yet here you are, glancing across to his parking spot only to see it empty.
It's not even like it's his spot. Whenever he's with his friends, they walk. Live right on campus, so don't need to drive, and if they do, they'll park right by the doors.
In the height of summer, when the lot was empty and Jungkook wasn't driving for his sake but for yours, he liked to park in the far corner. Said dumb shit about not wanting any weirdos scratching it. Whined and moaned whenever someone performed the very human act of parking next to the only other car in an empty parking lot.
"So many spaces!" He'd blather on. Would speak with his hands. Get deliberately more animated, 'cause it always made you laugh. "And they choose here?!"
The memories make you smile, until the yellow headlights of another car flood into the parking lot. They reveal what's right in front of you; a crowd of cars and not a single one of them you care for.
It's not like you cared for Jungkook, either. Was just something to pass the time when the streets were quiet and his head was loud.Â
In turn, you gave him quiet, and he made your summer feel loud.
But the leaves are turning brown and the water in the roadside puddles is becoming stale. The seasons have changed and so has the nature of your interactions. It's fine. You don't care. Really. Couldn't think of anyone you'd want to hang around less. Would rather die than associate with The Untouchables.
You never needed a lift, not really. Especially not when it always took you an hour to get home 'cause Jungkook just wanted to keep on driving.
Grumbling to yourself just to try and divert your mind from thoughts of him, your heart almost skips a beat when your phone vibrates in your pocket. For a second, you wonder if it could be him.
Where you at? It could read. I'm here.
Or maybe, I miss you.
I can't sleep without you.
This is so stupid. Can I come over?
It won't say of those things and you damn well know it.
Your text thread is dormant. The last message is from you, two weeks prior.
You:Â you not coming in tonight?
You:Â you'll be pleased to know my fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a carriage to make sure i got home safe x
You:Â ... at least let me know if ur alive?
Rolling your eyes at how mortifying your desperation feels, the scowl that settles into your expression is comical. It's like you're fighting with the wind that's threading itself through your hair.
Pulling your phone out, the scowl only intensifies.
Jackass Wang:Â party tonight
You:Â so????
One thing about Jackson is that he's not gonna leave anyone on read, especially when he's trying to drum up attendees for his parties.
Jackass Wang:Â so i haven't seen you around for a while, montgomery
"Fuckin' Montgomery," you mutter at the nickname.
It's the one that all of Jungkook's friends seem to refer to you as, as if you don't have a personality outside of your job.
Still, at least Jackson is a little bit inventive with it. Calls you Monts. Monty, Monstera Plant, Monte Carlo, and god knows what else. If it starts with 'Mon,' he's found a way to end it with a cheeky smirk and smug anticipatory look in your direction, as he awaits your reaction.
You:Â i like it better when i don't see you x
Jackass Wang:Â you know that isn't true. loverboy will be there. come with him. or don't. i don't care. you can bring your little friends with you.
You:Â they'd rather die :) x
Jackass Wang:Â y'know, you're replying an awful lot for a girl who's not interested ÂŻ\_(ă)_/ÂŻ
You:Â you just can't take no for an answer
Jackass Wang:Â yes i can - but you haven't said no yet. c'mon. loverboy has been moping around all week. i can't be arsed with his mardy ass energy all evening.
You:Â so don't invite him???? i don't see why it's my problem?????
The fact that you don't need clarification of who Jackson means is proof enough that perhaps Jackson's onto something.
Jackass Wang:Â conservatory any time after 9. be there or be square montgomery. or don't be. i'm sure loverboy can get his dick wet without you, but it's easier for everyone if he doesn't.
You:Â charming x
Jackass Wang:Â it's why the ladies love me.
You:Â all of them except this one, apparently. have a nice party. stay away from the drugs.
Jackass Wang:Â can't be tamed, monte carlo. nor can loverboy. come keep him company.
The block button towards the top of your message thread looks incredibly tempting. Just a single click and you'll never have to deal with Jackson Wang and his dumb parties ever again.
Part of you can't believe you've ever been associated with them, as it is.
Summer defied the conventions of the life you've built for yourself. You weren't the person you thought you were.
Kicking off your shoes when you arrive home, the door slams shut behind you. A gentle voice calls through to check if it's you.
"Maria's still working," you say as you walk into the kitchen, tossing your bag down on the floor and your phone on the counter.
Taehyung, your best friend since your first week at college, is cooking himself dinner, but offers you a spoon of the tomato sauce he's making. Humming as you taste it, you're amazed by how he manages to make even the simplest thing delicious.
"S'good. What is that? Cumin?"
Nodding, he smiles. "A little paprika, too. You want some?"
His hair is dishevelled, blonde and sunkissed from the sweltering summer skies. He always looks great with a tan; radiant and full of youth.
Shaking your head, you really don't have an appetite. "Think I'm gonna have an early night."
He's about to reply when your phone buzzes. Both of you glance down. Your skin feels red hot, and when Taehyung almost chokes on the spoonful of sauce he's just tried, he's all sorts of confused.
"Why the fuck is Jackson Wang messaging you?"
"Hmm?" You hum as if you have no idea what he's talking about. Realise from the look on his face that he doesn't buy it for a second. "Oh! That Jackson Wang. Think he sent a text to his entire contact list. Something about a party."
"No," Taehyung asserts. "Absolutely not. You cannot bullshit out of this one."
"It's not bullshit," you whine as you pretend to look in the fridge for something to drink. Settle on a beer left by one of Taehyung's friends at a party held last semester. It wasn't quite a Jackson Wang level party, but nothing ever is. "He's just trying to drum up numbers for his stupid party tonight."
Taehyung is many things, but stupid he is not. Though he's blonde (thanks to a bottle of bleach and a few too many jack and cokes), he bends all the stereotypes. His tuition is covered by a scholarship for academic excellence.
"Don't give me that bull."
"It's not bull!"
"So you're telling me, out of everyone at our college, the Jackson Wang is texting you to make up numbers for his party?"
"Yes!" you exclaim, partially a little offended at it being such an unfathomable idea. "And he said you can come too, so maybe you're the one he's really after!"
His expression is flat. You are paper thin.
He's known you long enough to know when you're giving him half-truths.
He also knows you spent the summer alone in this house, and that there's a new toothbrush in the bathroom next to yours.
"You're hooking up with him, aren't you?"
"No!"
Out of everyone to be accused of sleeping with, Jackson Wang is, like, the worst of the worst. He's handsome, sure, but he's also slept with pretty much every girl on campus. Is a teenage boy in a grown adult's body. You'd rather not fornicate with a guy who still finds 'your mum' jokes funny.
Taehyung gasps at your immediate denial. "You are!"
"I'm not!"
"All that talk about saving it for someone special, and you mean to tell me you went and lost it to Jackson fuckin' Wang?!"
Everything about this conversation is making you want to punch yourself in the face. The topic of sex, and just why you've never gotten around to it, has dominated many conversations around this dining table. If you have to discuss it again, you might move out.
"Oh my God," you whine, throwing your head back. "We are not having this conversation."
"Yes, we are."
"No, we're not, because I didn't lose my virginity to Jackson Wang!" You stress. The more you think about it, the more offended you are.
"To Jackson Wang," Taehyung echoes, as he begins to join invisible dots. "But you did lose it to someone."
"No," you insist, but Taehyung refuses to buy it. Knows you too damn well.
He always thought he'd know when you lost it. That it'd be a boy you'd been dating. Committed to. Someone good. Someone worthy. Not someone you keep in the shadows.
"There's something you're not telling me," he frowns. "What the fuck happened this summer?"
With a sigh so deep it's a miracle you're still breathing, you relent. Never signed one of those NDA's you're convinced Jungkook must hand out like candy, as if he's some sort of celebrity and not just some college reprobate.
"Jungkook," you feebly admit. Take a sip on your beer. Don't look at Taheyung, 'cause you're afraid to see his reaction. "Wasn't Jackson. Was Jungkook."
You tell Taehyung everything. How Jungkook never knew you were a virgin. How he still doesn't. How you blame yourself for your hurt, but him for not getting you any band aids to help deal with it; for not kissing you better when he was the one to cause you such hurt in the first place.
As you recite you memories, you play a game against yourself:Â take a sip every time you want to cry.
By the time you've told Taehyung the nitty-gritty truth, the bottle of wine that had been in the fridge is finished, as well as your beer.
"I can't believe this," Taehyung says for what feels like the billionth time.
There's a certain shame that comes with Taehyung's confusion.
Embarrassment, like the way Jungkook would cringe at himself whenever he stumbled on his words, or the way you'd covered your reddening cheeks with your hands when he teased you for looking at him in the way you did.
Remorse of time wasted before him, and time wasted with him.
Regret of the things you did and the things he didn't.
It's all very confusing. Exhausting. If you were to really think about it, you'd spend a week in bed with a box of tissues. Would ask Taehyung why he didn't warn you that a heart could feel this horrid.
But he did, and you damn well know it.
Shrugging, you reach for the bottle and split the final few glugs between your glasses.
"We were just bored," you play it off. "Had nothing better to do. No one better to do."
But Taehyung shakes his head. "You don't have to do that, yanno. Pretend like it didn't matter. It's okay that it did. Even if he is a prick, and even if he's no better than the rest of them. It's okay that it hurts."
You're silent when he says this.
Despite your teasing, you never really thought Jungkook was much of a player.
But his friends are back now, and you've been relegated to the sidelines. Doesn't matter if he spent weeksâmonthsâplaying in no field but yours. Greener pastures have presumably sprouted. Your turf is wrecked from his carelessness, and he's left you to heal yourself while he goes and wrecks another.
Whoever he was pretending to be in the summer isn't who he is now that his friends are backâbut when they're laughing and joking in the basement of the Conservatory that evening, Jungkook knows which version of himself he prefers.
"You need to get laid," Jimin tells Jungkook with a laugh. "Never seen a man look so bloody miserable at a party."
Of all the things Jungkook needs, getting laid is not one of them. In fact, he thinks it would be a very sensible idea if he never got laid again. Sex is messy. People get all emotional over it.
Or more so, he gets all emotional over it.
Had never been the type to, before. Always thought it was something that just happened to other people. Not to him.
He pushes the thoughts aside. Feels a little sick. Shrugs off Jimin's remark.
"If I wanted to get laid, I would get laid."
"So why don't you? Will do us all a favour. Claudia's beenâ"
"I couldn't give a fuck," Jungkook interrupts Jimin. "I'm not interested."
He never has been. Wants nothing to do with this university, and the men that run it, and so would never date one of their daughters.
They're all corrupt. Every last one of them. All cheat on their wives. All throw their families under the bus for their own selfish exploits. His own father's affair has proven this to him.
Jungkook pities his friends. Just because their parents haven't fucked up yet, doesn't mean they won't.
"Oi, Loverboy," Jackson calls from across the room, breaking the tension only to replace it with a headache for Jungkook. "Where's your little girlfriend? I told her to come."
"Who?" Jimin chirps.
Jungkook grates his jaw. Is deadly serious when he says, "Leave it, Jackson."
"Trouble in paradise for our lovebirds, huh?"
"I said leave it."
"Who the fuck is he talking about?" Jimin continues to ask, incredibly curious about this turn of events. Leave town for a couple of months, he thinks, and everything changes.
"No one."
"That one from the diner," Jackson just continues fuckin' talking. Jungkook wants to scream. "The one with a stick up her assâ"
"Jackson, cut it out," Jungkook snaps. "She's no one. Just fuckin' leave it."
"You ashamed, huh, Loverboy?" Jackson berates him a little bit. He isn't trying to be a dick, but he thinks Jungkook is acting like a tool. Jackson is no saint, but at least he doesn't ever pretend to be something he's not. "Poor girl. Wear her like your favourite pair of shoes all summer and then throw her to the trash when your friends come back? I thought better of you. So did she, probably. Shame."
Of all the people Jungkook ever expected to receive lessons in morality from, Jackson Wang was not the one. He parades himself around the Conservatory like Hugh Hefner reincarnated, his class attributed to money and not behaviours.
"The fuck have you been doing this summer, Kook?" Jimin laughs, utterly dumbfounded by his reactions.
They've all had their fair share of less than conventional lovers. If Jungkook has been fucking around with a girl from the Diner, then so what? Who cares?
"Nothing," Jungkook snaps.
It's not that he's ashamed.Â
It's that you're separate.
When he's with you, all of thisâthe bullshit of college life and calamity of his family falling apartâdissolves into nothingness. He doesn't have to think. Finds himself at ease.
If you were to ever become a part of his lifeâhis real one, not the one he got so used to living in with you over the summerâthen it'd all change.
He doesn't want that.
He wants you to be a safe haven.
A refuge point can't be in the midst of a fire, though. He has to keep you away. At arms length.
But god damn, he wishes you would come and put out his fire. He's struggling. Finds existing without you so fucking hard. Doesn't know at which point he became so dependent, but knows his oxygen is running low.
He's suffocating. Isn't sure how much longer he can keep this up.
"Yeah, sure seems like nothing," Jimin smirks with a shake of his head as Jungkook storms off to get some much needed air. "Oi, Jackson, what was that all about?"
With a shrug, and yet another girl on his arm, Jackson grins. Puts on a pathetic little voice to mimic Jungkook's tantrum. "Fink baby boy has a wittle cwush."
"Girl from the diner?" Jimin implores, still smirking at Jackson's dumb humour. "Which one?"
"You really have to ask?"
For all of his mystery, Jungkook has never been a man of subtleties. His eyes give him away.
They always have done.
When he was looking at the menu board earlier that day? It was obvious.
Before college broke up for summer, and how Jungkook would always cast his eyes down to his hands whenever you, specifically, came to take their order? It was obvious.
How Jungkook would always make sure he was on the side of the booth that gave him ample opportunity to steal glances of you? It was so fucking obvious.
Sometimes he'd laugh at the slightly sarcastic remarks you gave Claudia whenever she would ask irritating questions about the menu.
When they were deciding where to eat, Jungkook would suggest the Montgomery's Diner, always.
So, no, Jimin doesn't really have to ask.
"Stupid prick," he sighs, sipping on his beer. Loves Jungkook to absolute death, but will never understand him. Figures that maybe you do. Worries that Jungkook is about to wreck it all. He calls after Jackson, "She here tonight?"
"Invited her," he calls back. "But she's got an attitude problem to rival his. Fuck knows if she's around. You'll feel her ice before you see her."
Which is funny, because the lingering summer heat sticks to your skin as you nervously meander up a driveway you know all too well.
The Conservatory is decidedly not a conservatory.
It's a complex. A maze of buildings, and greenhouses, and fuck knows what else. You've no interest in gardening, but if excelling at it meant living somewhere like this, maybe you'd consider taking it up as a hobby.
The buildings are mostly redbrick, with large windows, and even larger doors. It's the kind of place you'd imagine a Duke of some far away land prancing about in. Playing croquet, or secretly courting a lowly village girl that his parents will never approve of.
The irony isn't lost on you.
"Wait, how do I look?" Taehyung asks for what feels like the hundredth time. "Not too dressy?"
"You're wearing a waistcoat," you reply, face twisted in affectionate condemnation. He looks great, but he also does look far too dressy. It's his 'look', though, and one that'll get him attention, both good and bad.
If Kim Taehyung walked around with the arrogance his handsome face warranted him with, he'd be the heartthrob of the campus. You think even Claudia would want a slice of himâand given his distaste for the elite yet pining desire to be on their level, it'd be quite the complex pairing.
All of the other men here are in t-shirts, but Taehyung has never been like other men. It's part of the reason you like him so much.
One thing, however, you don't like about Taehyung is his domineering need to 'fix' things. It comes from a place of love, and he only ever does it because he cares, but it's not always in your best interest.
When he told you to go and get changed out of your work uniform, you thought he was planning on taking you to a bar. That you'd be drowning your sorrows over wine you can't afford.
You would never agree to go to the Conservatory. Not now.
Which is why he didn't tell you of his plan.
Instead, he ordered a cab and didn't give you the chance to protest. You were already halfway there by the time you realised.
"Why don't we just go home?" You whine, tugging on his arm as you stand by the gate that leads through the gardensâthe same ones you used to traipse around in with Jungkook. "We don't need to be here."
"Uh-uh," he shakes his head, firmly standing his ground. "I've avoided this place for two years, and the second my back is turned it becomes your new home. The least you could do is invite me round for dinner."
"It's not my new homeâ"
"MONTGOMERY!"
The voice of Jackson Wang yelling across the front lawn makes you want to shrivel up and die. Sink down into the ground. You'd make great compost for the botanists.
"Y'know, you and Loverboy really need to stop lying so much," he says with an incredibly intoxicated grin as he lumbers towards you. You'll never admit it, but part of you is pleased to see him. "First you saying you weren't coming, then him telling everyone nothing happened between you. Both as bad as one another."
Nothing happened between you.
It doesn't surprise you, but it does sting. And it also confuses you. Why on earth would you be a topic of conversation? The people here know you as Montgomery. The girl from the diner. You're nothing but a background character to them.
"What did he say?" You ask, disregarding everything else, not even bothering to introduce Taehyung. He's finding all of this incredibly bewildering.
"Oh, Jimin was grilling him," Jackson waves his hands around, disregarding it. "Kept saying you were no one. Refused to admit that he'd practically tied his laces with yours for the whole summer. Don't you worry, though, Monte Carlo. I had your back. Set the record straight."
Jackson Wang having your back isn't something you ever expected to happen.
Jeon Jungkook's absolute denial of your clandestine affaire de cĆur is, disappointingly, something you expected.
It doesn't mean that it comes without hurt. If anything, it's far more visceral, for you only have yourself to blame. These wounds are self-inflicted, even if they're carved with a knife Jungkook crafted out of silly affirmations he never should have made.
"Where is he?" You ask, cold in your tone.
Jackson shrugs. "Try the basement. S'where I last saw him."
As Jackson saunters off to find another poor partygoer to mildly offend, you're left with a bad taste in your mouth. You've been irritated since you saw Jungkook earlier that day.
How he can just show up at the diner and act like he doesn't even know you, let alone knows what it's like to wake up next to you, is beyond insulting.
"C'mon," Taehyung urges you along. "I need a drink, and you could use three."
Conversely, you think you need an entire bottle.
A bottle of what, you don't care. Just something strong. Anything other than the shitty, overpriced whisky Jungkook always insisted on drinking.
"Fine. But we're not going to the basement."
It's perplexing to walk the halls of the Conservatory without Jungkook; to pass by strangers who have no idea who you are, but who know and admire him as if he's some sort of Hollywood celebrity.
They don't know him like you do. Don't know what it feels like to have his hand around their throat, or his fingers gently intertwined with theirs. They've never heard him laugh like you have.
And yet when you're a few drinks deep, and on the verge of calling a cab to go home, you hear that laugh again and wonder how he can bear to be happy right now.
Glancing up, his face is unreadable. The lights are dim, and the shadows obscure the painful furrowing of his brows. He looks just the same as he did back in the diner earlier that day. Perplexed. In pain. Somehow perfectly fine, too.
The group he's in is small. Some of them you know, some of them you don't.
Claudia sits across from him on the lap of some other guy, yet she doesn't take her eyes off Jungkook. She laughs a little harder at his jokes. Directs questions to him. Flirts with other people in front of him to no avail.Â
Not even now, after summer when her skin is sunkissed and her radiance is rejuvenated, can she keep his attention.
In fact, none of them can once he spots you from across the room. The big lights are off, fairy lights strung up, and a sunset lamp pours a clementine hue over you.
Summer becomes you, he thinksâadoresâfrom afar.
The year is a body, and you're eternally condemned to its heart. That's where he'll keep you. Where you belong.
Had it been springâthe brain of the yearâwhen he'd been hauled up in that diner, he never would have let things get as far as they did.
Had it been winterâthe cunt of the year, for lack of a better termâhe would have let it get that far, and he wouldn't have felt bad about it, either.
But Autumn is drawing close. The gut. The time to trust his intuition, and he damn well knows it.
A hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from his car crash eyes. Jungkook slips into the dull shadows of the room, right where he belongs. Was foolish of you to ever think otherwise.
"Do you mind?" you snap, but let yourself be dragged away regardless. Part of you hopes it'll make Jungkook do something. You're not sure what. Just something.
The man who is leading you astray is familiar. Recognisable. Park Jimin.
Though he's not aggressive, he definitely isn't gentle as he leads you out to the gardens. Lets go of your wrist by an overgrown shrub just beyond the benches that are made for drunken DMC's. He isn't after one of them. Wants the facts.
"Cut the bullshit," he says.
"No hello?" You chirp. "Nice to see you? Or better yet, an introduction?"
"You know who I am," Jimin tells you, expression flat. You hate that the arrogant fucker is right. "But I know fuck all about you, and apparently you're the reason Jungkook is walking around like death warmed up. So cut the bull. What happened?"
Frankly it's none of Jimin's business. Even if he's done you wrong, Jungkook trusted you. You're not gonna throw that back in his face and air his dirty laundryâespecially not considering that Jimin is Jungkook's friend. If Jungkook wanted him to know, he'd have told him.
"Nothing," you tell him. "Barely even know him."
Jimin sighs. Jackson was right. There's a reason why you and Jungkook got along so well. Are both insufferable.
Glancing behind you, Jimin raises his brows.
You turn to face his line of vision, and fail to hide your surprise when you see Jungkook by the back door. Like a deer in headlights, he's frozen in place, his darling bambi eyes so startled he almost looks scared.
"So if you barely know him," Jimin continues as you and Jungkook stare one another out. "Why the fuck is he looking at you like he's seen a ghost?"
It takes a second or so, but you manage to pull your gaze away. Turn back to face Jimin. Shrug. Play dumb.
"Mistaken identity."
"Oh, I get it," Jimin smirks, knowing you aren't gonna give him an easy way out. Needs to bamboozle answers out of you. "You both went to the same bullshitting classes over summer? Is that it?"
You're surprised to find yourself smiling. Surprised that you find humour in Jimin's words. Surprised that you aren't rolling your eyes.
He's always been the Untouchable that has annoyed you the most. Is too loud. Laughs at the most obnoxious things.
"Top of the class," you reply because it somehow feels okay to joke with him. Perhaps spending so much time with Jungkook has lowered you Park Jimin-related intolerance. Not cured it, by any means, but definitely made it easier to manage.
"Academic rivals," Jimin supposes, realising that maybe there's a little more to you than he's ever given you credit for. "That's pretty hot."
"He seemed to think so," you lament, knowing that you're revealing a far more truthful rendition of your time spent with Jungkook. Or at least, admitting that time was spent together.
With a sigh, you walk a little further into the garden. Cross your arms. Look back over your shoulder to the door, only to find Jungkook is gone. It shouldn't upset you like it does, but you find your lips pressing together in a small pout.
"Look," Jimin says, exhaling a breath so deep you're sure his lungs must be empty. He comes to stand beside you, looking across the vast expanse of the gardens. "I'm not asking for your life story. If you don't give a shit about Kook, then that's fine, I'll leave you alone. But he's my best friend, and I've never seen him like this."
Glancing at Jimin, there's a taut discomfort on your face. Guilt, almostâbut you've not done anything wrong. It's on him. He's the one who chose for things to be this way.
"I give a shit," you quietly admit as you look back out towards the garden, then sigh out a pitiful laugh. "You know him. You know what he's like. Of course I give a shit."
Quite honestly you think it's impossible to not fall for Jungkook. He's everything you're hardwired to appreciate: hardworking, charming, incredibly funny. You lost count of how many nights dissolved into laughter with him. Had never known your cheeks to hurt so much.
He was gentle, too. Stroked his thumbs against your cheeks just as often as he made them ache.
It's your heart that's aching now, and he's not around to soothe your woes.
Back inside, Jungkook feels so viscerally unwell that he thinks he might be sick. Or maybe he's actually dying. One of the two.
This is everything he didn't want. You were supposed to be separate. Supposed to be a sanctuary away from this all.
You're in the thick of it, now. Jimin is grilling you, and Jungkook doesn't know what to do. It's too much. All of it. The party, the people, the fact that you look at him with ice in your eyes when he knows damn well they used to harbour the warmest of fires.
Beelining for the basement, he kind of hopes the ground will swallow him up. Stop him from making the bad decisions he seems to find so god damn irresistible.
As he yanks open the small fridge at the back of the basement, Jungkook doesn't care what he drinks. Just needs something to help soothe his fragile mine; to make him feel better, 'cause lord knows you won't.
Reaching for a beer, he doesn't ask around to see if it belongs to anyone. Finders keepers. He's an Untouchable. This place is basically his by birthright. No one is gonna argue against him.
But Kim Taehyung isn't just anyone.
"So, when you apologise for being a gargantuan pillock, are you planning on also trying to win her over? Or will you just clean your conscience and wipe yourself clean of her, too?"
Jungkook's jaw tenses as his teeth grit together. "Don't know what you're on about."
"Had a girl in tears at my dinner table earlier tonight," Taehyung exaggerates. Just wants Jungkook to feel as awful as he knows you do. "Your friends might not give a shit about your well-being, but I give a shit about mine."
And for some reason, this irks Jungkook. He gives a shit about you. Cares so much he's been torturing himself by staying away. Thinks it's better for you both.
If it truly was, neither of you would be feeling so gut-wrenchingly awful.
He knows you're angry. You've made that perfectly clear.
But he also knows you do cry when you're frustrated. Was a lesson learned when you were stressed over the diner roof leaking one night during the monsoons when no one else was in to help you fix it.
It was the first night he offered you a lift home. Had taken pity on you. Had also liaised with the college maintenance guy to check it out the next day, even if the diner wasn't technically part of campus.
Because Jungkook does give a shit about your well-being, and he refutes the claim that he doesn't.
"So what? You here to tell me to stay away?" Jungkook scoffs as he prizes off the cap of the bottle. Swigs down a sip. Then another, 'cause he's not wankered enough for this.
"I'm here to tell you that you're an asshole," Taehyung asserts. "She didn't deserve to be used by you for the summer and then tossed to the trash just because semesters starting up again."
The roll of Jungkook's eyes is so weighted that it almost feels as if they'll get lodged in the back of his skull. The last time they'd rolled that deep was in bed with you. Back then it was because his body was so divinely out of sync that his muscles couldn't keep up with his actions. This time, pleasure is the furthest thing away from how he's feeling.
"You want me nowhere near her, but the fact I'm staying away makes me an asshole?" Jungkook petulantly laughs. "Can't ever fuckin' win, can I?"
"This isn't about winning or losing," Taehyung argues back. "She trusted you."
Jungkook doesn't understand what that has to do with anything. He's not betrayed your trust. Has kept all your secrets. Tried his best to keep you secret, too.
"What was she to you, huh? Some project? A virginity to get under your belt? Something to pass the timeâ"
"I don't know who you think I am," Jungkook snaps, fed up being accused of something he's not. "But not once did I ever treat her badly, okay? Iâ" He cuts himself off. Doesn't know how to articulate himself. "Weâ Look, you just don't get it. You don't know me. I was nothing but fuckin' nice. Okay? And she was nice. And it was nice. And we..." He trails off. Realises what Taehyung said. "The fuck do you mean, 'virginity to get under your belt'?"
It's about now that Taehyung realises he's said too much.
But every cloud has a silver lining.
"Talk to her," Taehyung shrugs as he begins to walk away. "Not me."
He leaves a scowling Jungkook by the fridge. Heads to the stairs, and once he reaches the top, is yanked away by a small but mighty force.
"You," Jimin asserts. "With me. Now."
The sound of three knocks on the bathroom door serve as a signal:Â let me in.
A panicked text from Taehyung had practically begged you to go to the basement bathroom and wait for him there. Said there was drama that he needed to talk with you about.
And you believed him, 'cause you're a few too many drinks deep and honestly could do with the respite.
Perched up on the countertop by the sink, you reach over and unhook the latch, giving Taehyung the all clear to come on in. Your legs languidly swing and your shoulders are slumped, this party well and truly over for you.
The only reason you're still here is because you know Taehyung's secretly been revelling in his first Conservatory party. You fear he'll want to come every weekend, now.
"You better not have your cock out," a playful voice you know all too well jokes, as the door pushes open. Eyes closed as he enters, he shuts the door behind him. Asks, "Am I safe to open my eyes?"
You're gonna kill Taehyung.Â
In the most loving but brutal way, you will absolutelymurder him for setting you up like this.
"Safe," you grimace.
Jungkook doesn't open his eyes. In fact, he presses them even tighter together. Frowns. "Jimin isn't in here, is he?"
"We've been bamboozled," you sigh, and as much as he doesn't want to, Jungkook smiles at your choice of words. Tips his head down, and open his eyes. Is a little too scared to look your way, for fear of being greeted with wrath.
"Their days are numbered," Jungkook assures you, quickly glancing across to try and work out how you're feeling.
"My sentiments exactly."
Jungkook goes to speak, but you both notice a grating metallic noise by the door. Immediately, Jungkook presses his hand down on the door handle, but there's absolutely no give. It won't budge
"Jimin," he calls, voice strong and domineering through the wooden panels. Hastily painted white, they're chipped and tarnished; covered in numbers and Instagram handles, rumours and declarations of love. It's not your first time locked in this bathroom with Jungkook, but the last was of your own choice. Had been you turning the lock with a smile and glint in your eyes that had promised him trouble. "Open it up."
"No can do," Jimins smugly sings from beyond the door. "Sort your shit out."
Hopping off the counter, you nudge in front of Jungkook to pound against the door with an open fist. Though he steps back, it's still the closest you've been with him since he left your bedroom a couple weeks ago. Part of you laments the fact he moved away from you. Part of him does, too.
"Tae," you try calling instead, hand banging on the door, but you're met with the exact same response.
"Figure it out," he calls back, but also adds, "And if he's still an insufferable asshole in five minutes time, I'll come let you out."
Despite everything, you laugh at this. Not so much because of Taehyung's words, but because Jungkook's face screws up like an old newspaper.
"What is it with him and calling me an asshole?" Jungkook mutters under his breath with a shake of his head.
The bathroom is smallâjust a toilet and sink built into a cabinet. There's a mirror covering the back wall over it, and another cabinet above it that you assume is filled with empty bottles and misplaced lipglosses. There's barely even enough room to breathe, although there is enough room to make Jeon Jungkook come undone in the least dignified of ways. You should know.
You wish you didn't.
"He calls you one because you are one," you assure him.
"Excuse me?"Â
"What?" You scoff, hopping back up on the counter, your eyes on his 'cause you want to watch the way he gets nasty. Wanna remind yourself of how horrible he can be. Replace the memories of him in this bathroom, 'cause in all reality, they're actually really lovely. Nice, even. Warm. Everything you're trying to convince yourself he's not. "Gone deaf as well as turned into a massive prick?"
"Jesus Christ," he says, rolling his eyes, turning back to face the door. Shakes at the handle. "Give it a rest."
"Why?" You ask as if butter wouldn't melt on your tongue. "Would it make life easier for you if I just wasn't around?"
Jungkook knows what you're doing. Has bickered with you enough times to understand your tricks. This is how you start; put words in his mouth that he can't defend against.
And so he doesn't try.
"Yep," he declares, turning to face you. "Way easier. Can you tell your friend I'm an asshole, still? Get us out of this place?"
You recline in defiance. Perched up on the counter next to the basin, your back is against a mirror. Legs crossed, you're in the same white summer dress you wore to your first party at the Conservatory.
Nearly everyone had been away for the summer.
You had spent the evening tucked up together on an armchair meant for one, him in the seat, you perched on the armrest, feet in his lap.
"People will talk, y'know," you'd assured him, elbows on your knees, chin in your palms.
"So let them talk," he'd smirked. "What's there to say? We're just sitting?"
It was strange for him to be seen with you. Even Jackson has been confused, but let it slide 'cause another partygoer is another partygoer. He cared for numbers, not names.
"Dunno," you had teased. "Might start talking about the way you look at me."
"Yeah?" He'd husked as his long fingers wrapped around your wrist. Gently pulled you closer.
"Yeah," you'd whispered, the sound of the music keeping your conversation obscure. "How long has it been that you've been looking at me for? A minute, already? Only one more until you fall in love, according to science."
"You tryna make me fall in love with you, Montgomery?"
"No," you'd innocently chirped, then pulled back. "Why? Were you?"
He'd shrugged. Sipped on his beer. "Guess we'll never know."
Looking at him now, you find it hard to believe he's the same person as he was back then.
"Why would I do that?" You feign naivety. "You're not an asshole?"
He doesn't reply. Knows you're going somewhere with this. Leans his back against the wall opposite you and folds his arms as if to say, go on.
"Assholes fuck people over," you state. "You'd never do that. And you'd definitely never spend your summer in some poor girls sheets and then pretend like she doesn't exist in front of your friendsâ"
"There is it," he confirms. Knew it was coming. Didn't expect you to actually try and speak about things like adults. So fuckin' childish.
"Oh?" You chirp. "So you're well aware of the fact you're an asshole? Good. Glad we have that one sorted out."
"Yep," he confirms, mouth drawing to a thin line.
The fact he isn't engaging in the fight infuriates you. Just proves he doesn't care. That he fucked you over for sport.
"I'm an asshole," he says, voice full of snark. "You know it, I know it. There's no reason why you should want to be around me. No reason why you should waste your time."
"It's so funny," you gasp in fake surprise. "I was thinking the exact same thing! Isn't it so great that you came to this conclusion after you already wasted months of my life?"
He's silent, now. Cowardly.
"Y'know I always knew you were an obnoxious prick," you say, voice now soberly quiet. "But I didn't think you were this cruel, Kook."
"You know that's notâ"
"What?" You interrupt, voice growing louder with each question. "Not true? You woke up in my bed one morning, and then never spoke to me again. Who does that? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I don't know!" He shouts, and it surprises you both.
Raking his hand through his hair as he turns away from you, Jungkook wishes he had an answer. Wishes he could explain himself in a way that made sense to you both. Instead, he harshly swallows down his anger. Turns to face you again. Looks like he might cry.
Feels like it, too.Â
"Why didn't you tell me, huh?" He quietly asks.
"Tell you whaâ"
"That you were a virgin."
Your previous thoughts about murdering Taehyung return. Of all the things he could have divulged to Jungkook, and that's what he chose?!
Men, you internally scoff. All fuckin' idiots.
"Hardly relevant, is it?"
"Of course it is," he snaps, turning back to face you. "If I'd have knownâ"
"You'd have what? Ghosted me sooner? Made it into a fun little competition?"
"I didn't ghost you."
"Gaslighting, too, now are we?" You scoff. "Hold on, let me go and get my bingo card. Things Jungkook does that are absolutely fucking infuriating. Wanna cross it off the list. It's right next to how fast you drive your car, and how much I hate your stupid fucking alarm tone."
"Well good job you never have to hear it again, isn't it?"
"Why not? 'Cause you are ghosting me?"
"No, because this is fuckin' stupid," he says, yanking on the door handle, on the off chance it will finally budge. It doesn't. "You think I'm the devil reincarnated. You don't want me, so why bother with this? This is done. Us. Whatever the fuck it was. You never trusted me in the first place. Would have told me if you did. So just call your friend, tell him I'm an asshole. We're done."
"Oh, well you're two weeks too late for this conversation, don't you think?" you argue back with a cold laugh. "But has it ever occurred to you that my life doesn't revolve around you? That you aren't the reason I'm here? Jackson invited me."
"Ah, so that's what it is?" Jungkook sarcastically exclaims, your insatiable need to fight finally sinking into his skin. "You were just using me, huh? Getting those V-plates off, so you could be ready for him? Is that why you didn't tell me? Huh?"
The mere thought of hooking up with the college's very own Hugh Hefner makes you wanna gagâbut if it'll piss off Jungkook, maybe you'll consider it.
"Why would you care if I let him fuck me?" You ask with such pointed anger Jungkook can't help but feel like you're driving knives into his chest. "Do that thing you like with my tongue? You think he'd like my pussy, huh? Maybe I'd let him fuck me raw."
You never let Jungkook go unprotected. Insisted on it each and every time, and he complied even if he was a little pouty about it after you'd been fucking for a while. The trust was there. You were on the pill. He knew he was clean and had told you as such, but it made no difference.
To even suggest you'd let Jackson fuck you raw is laughable.
With a smirk on his lips, Jungkook edges towards you.
Put his hands on your crossed knees. Waits for you to jerk him awayâbut you don't. Instead, you watch on with salacious confusion. Say nothing. Not even when he uncrosses them, nor when he spreads them apart.
With a hand either side of your head against the mirror, Jungkook stands between your legs.
Looks down at you.
Is so close you can smell his aftershave.
A month ago, in a position like this, you'd have kissed him.
"Hm?" You cock your head. Repeat your question. "You think he'd like my pussy? How long do you think he'd take to cum? Longer than you, I hope."
Jaw tense, Jungkook swallows down the way he wants to curse you out. Closes his eyes. Lets his head dip further, his forehead now resting against the top of your head.
The contact is minimal, but God, you've missed it. Trapped in position by him, you'd forgotten how lovely it was to lose yourself to Jungkook.
"You're not being fair," he whispers. Whines, even.
"Fair?" You laugh, but it's gentle. Matches his tone. "You can hardly take the high ground on fairness, Jungkook."
He nods. Takes a second, and then pathetically begs: "Don't fuck him. Please."
"Why shouldn't I?"
"You know why," he says. Stands straighter, now. Rakes a hand through his hair. Looks down on you with such pained desperation you almost feel bad. He tries to speak, but struggles with his words again. Takes him a few attempts to get anything out. "I didn't like you because I was fucking you. I fucked you because I liked you. You know that. You know it wasn't...Fuck. You know what it was."
The past tense he speaks in cuts you up inside.
Jungkook shrugs in defeat when he's met with silence. Purses his lips. Eyes on yours, they're glassy. Watery, almost.
Yours are just as bad, because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? He's the one that cut you out. He did this.
"What did I do?" You ask, voice meagre and pathetic. Your vulnerability is mortifying, and yet you just can't help yourself as a tear streaks down your cheek. "What the fuck did I do that was so wrong, Kook?"
The heat of his hand scalds your skin as his thumb wipes away your tears. After his cold shoulder for the past two weeks, your body doesn't know how to respond. Should you be angry? Hurt? Comforted?
All you know is that you're more confused now than you ever were when you first started hooking up with him.
"Nothing," he quietly promises. Holds your cheeks in his hands. Rests his nose beside yours. Is far too close for a man who's been trying to stay away from you. Is beginning to realise that maybe his self-preservation was thinly veiled self-sabotage instead. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but it's been so fuckin' miserable, and then I didn't know how to fix things, and then it was all such a mess andâ"
The words Jungkook is yet to speak are lost in the soft press of your lips against his.
Brows furrowed, Jungkook's grip on your face tightens. Keeps you close, 'cause he feels the pressure of your lips waning but doesn't want you to pull away.
And so you don't. Instead you apply more pressure. Harder. Deeper.
It's not like kissing Jungkook is a new experience. You've done it upwards of a thousand times, now. You know his lips and his tongue, and how it likes to flick against yours; his piercings, and the frequency of his moans that vibrate into your mouth.
Kissing Jungkook is just as easy as it is hard. Easy, in the way he takes not a single considered thought. Hard, in how it becomes your only tangible thought for minutes, hours, days afterwards.
An eternity and a millisecond is lost in the kiss, just like the summer that lasted an age and yet was gone with the wind.
When your lips finally part, there's silence. Forehead resting on yours, Jungkook shakes his head ever so gently. Doesn't know how to articulate his thoughts. How to say sorry, or how to fix his mess.
While his logic was flawed, and his execution careless, his intentions had been good. As much as he had a life to go back to, and friends that wouldn't get it, so did you.
He knows they hate himâisn't ignorant to the roll of Maria's eyes every time they walk into Montgomery's, and has experienced Taehyung's disdain first-hand this evening.
He'd spent his summer getting out of the house to avoid the fall-out of his father's infidelity. Knows how much his family is suffering all because of a man who just couldn't control himself. Was trying to be better. Trying not to wreck both of your lives.
As he stands in the dingy bathroom of a party house, the lingering burn of your lips on his still smouldering, he knows that he wrecked you both regardless.
And so it's up to him to put you back together again.
"I'm sorry," you say as you break the kiss, mortified at how stupid of an impulse it had been. You don't that. Not anymore. A month ago, sure, kissing Jungkook in a dingy bathroom at a party house would have been exciting. Now, it just feels embarrassing. "I shouldn't haveâ"
His lips are on yours again, stealing your words from you. He doesn't want to hear you apologise. Knows that you don't need to. Also knows that he does need to.
"Don't," he quickly says between kisses. "Please, don't say sorry."
"But Iâ"
"Shut up," he smiles against your lips, shaking his head ever so slightly. He kisses you again, and this time it's soft. Pretty. Poetic, almost in how it makes you feel. And then he speaks, and you're reminded of just how easy it is to adore him, even when you know you shouldn't. "You know how much I've missed this? God, I've missed you so much. Please don't say sorry. I'm sorry. It's on me. I made a mistake, alright? I fucked up."Â
He pulls back. Has your cheeks in his hands as he makes sure your eyes are on his. They're dark, now, in the dim light of the bathroom you're in, but they've never been warmer.
"I mean it. I'm so fucking sorry," he whispers. Brows furrowed, lips pouty, he's got the kind of face you're hardwired to trust. To adore. Or maybe, it's just him, in general, that you're inclined to feel this way about. "Okay?"
His large hard hands are still holding your cheeks, as yours wrap around his wrists. With a shake of your head, you shrug. Pout, too.
An apology is appreciated, but it's just words. It's his actions that have been upsetting you. Not his words (or lack thereof).
"We're gonna leave this bathroom and you're gonna pretend like I don't exist again," you tell him.
The frown on his face deepens. "That's not true. And that's not what I was trying to do in the first place, either. I just thoughtâ"
"What? That it was a good idea to kiss me on my doorstep and promise you'd pick me up from work, only to never show? To ignore my texts? Toâ"
"No," he quietly admits, dropping his head between his shoulders. "I made the wrong callsâbut I can make it up to you. I want to make it up to you." He rests his forehead against yours. Quietly begs, "Please."
Slowly, Jungkook nudges his nose up against yours. Waits for permission.
Beyond the door, loud music thuds through the room. It obscures the conversation you've been having, keeping you just as secret as you always have been.
It's not like you told any of your friends, either, and when it came to telling Taehyung, you weren't exactly forthcoming. Perhaps you would have been the one to pretend like he didn't exist, had he not done it first.
"I want you," he husks against your lips.Â
"You wanna fuck me," you correct him, lips tantalisingly brushing his with every word.
"True," he admits. "But I also wanna send you dumb memes again, and go for drives after work, and wake up in your bed. I wanna go for breakfast, and I still need to cook you my world-famous makguksu. I want to have not been a dick for the past two weeks, but I can't change that. I just wanna be what I once was to you again."
"And what was that?" You encourage.
There was never any label. Realistically, there's no right answer.Â
Or at least there isn't, until Jungkook just simply says, "Yours."
And what else can you do when confronted by such a pathetic, yearnful admittance from him, except to give into how you're feeling, too?
Frantic in the way your hands are on his bodyâhis arms, his waist, around his throatâthere's a neediness to you. One he's missed. One he reciprocates, as his large palms stroke up your spread thighs, then get your legs wrapped around his hips.
The movements of your bodies are so well nurtured by now that you know what comes next; how the bulge in his trousers will press against your covered pussy, and how you'll whine at the contact no matter how minimal.
"Fuck," you whine as his hands slip under the skirt of your dress. It's an old routine at this point. He knows exactly where to go, what to do. His fingers press against the wet fabric of your underwear, just gently enough to make you moan a little harder into his mouth.
"Oh?" He smirks when he realises just how needy you are, his fingers stroking against your slick panties. "Missed me, too?"
"You're an asshole," you tell him with a smile. As his fingers get firmer, you can't help but whine. "You know I have."
He pulls back to look down at your body. Pushes the fabric of your dress out of the way. Curses when he realises the underwear you're wearing. Is his favourite pair. Red and lacy, there's a suspender belt to match it. While you're not wearing it right now, he's got pictures of you in it that belong in a fuckin' museum.
"Did you wanna fuck me tonight, huh?" He mumbles into your lips.
"Not everything is about you," you say with a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.
Except it is. They're your favourite pair too, simply for how insanely he reacted to seeing you in them. Sure you're not in the full set up, but it was enough to have you feeling ever so confident as you left the house with Taehyung.
As his lips press against yours, his finger hooks beneath your underwear. Tugs them to the side. Gets you exposed for him.
"No?" He husks, as his fingers begin to sink between your soaked folds. "So this isn't about me, huh?"
You shake your head. Lie. "Never been less turned on."
He plays into your little theatrics. Has always enjoyed them.
"So you don't want me to do this?" He asks as his middle finger sinks into your entrance.
"Can't even feel it," you pretend, as if his thick knuckles aren't stroking against you in just the right way.
"No?" He grits. Sinks a second finger inside you. Gets you whining again, nails gripping onto his arms. His fingers slowly pump into you, easing you into the way it feels for him to be inside you.
There's something electric about Jungkook. Sends shivers through your spine. Always knew exactly how to manipulate your pussy into doing whatever he wanted, and now is no different. As you clench around him, he's overcome with satisfaction.
"This is just my fingers," he reminds you. "I don't think you can handle my cock."
Scoffing, you're desperately trying to pretend you aren't melting for him. "Please, I can handle it just fine."
"Sure you can, baby," he teases with so much arrogance you kinda wanna fight him againâbut it's also why you like him. He challenges you. Gets your brain in overdrive.
And when he crouches in front of the counter, eyes aligned with your exposed cunt, you think you might actually lose it entirely.
His hands are on your thighs, spreading you further, getting a good look at the mess between your legs. When he sighs, the shallow breath that escapes his lips feels like absolute sin against your wetness.
"Oh, you really haven't been fucked since me, have you?" He teases again. "Look at how fucking keen you are. Been missing my cock, huh?"
"My vibrator's been doing the job just fine," you assure him, but it has him pulling back to cock a brow in your direction. He knows many things about you that other people don't, but he was not aware you owned any sex toys. Finds that his cock only throbs even harder in his pants at this revelation.
"Maybe so," he husks, leaning closer just so he drags his flat tongue up your folds. Has to stop himself from moaning, 'cause the taste of you is somehow even better than his memories. "But it's not better than me."
With a point to prove, and a desperation to reclaim you as his own, Jungkook doesn't entertain chitchat any longer. He dives back in, tongue lapping against your lips as his fingers push back inside you. The way he curls them just right as his tongue flicks against your clit is enough to make anyone lose their head.
Hands tangling in his hair, you find your body responding to him in the way it always does; pathetically, needily, hungrily. There's no dignity to be found.
His tongue works against you like a well trained craft, until his lips latch around your swollen bud and begin to lightly suck on it. When he hums in satisfactionâwhich he does oftenâthe suction only grows stronger.
Gets you whimpering, "Like that. Fuck. Like that."
The build is just as undignified as you are. Your grip on his hair gets tighter, and the shake of your legs grows stronger. Dragging his tongue up and down your folds, he settles back on your clit. Flicks his pointed tongue against you until he knows you can't take it any longer and begins to suck again. Curves his fingers just right. Strokes you so gently that orgasm pours out of you like liquid gold. Guilds him into the most gorgeous aureate glow.
He doesn't ease. Keeps his lips wrapped around your clit. Makes sure you're spent.
When he finally releases you, he's breathing just as heavily as you are. Gets to his feet, fingers still plugged in your tight pussy. Is pleased to find you're just as insatiable as he is, pulling him in for the messiest of kisses as soon as you can. There's no care given for the fact he's covered in your arousal. You just want that tongue of his in your mouthâand when it is, you find yourself moaning from the withdrawal of his fingers.
Your hands reach to the waistband of his jeans to unhook his button. Get his zipper down. Your hands down the front of his trousers, when his thick cock is restricted by his tight boxer briefs. By the tip of his cock, a small wet patch resides; his desperation for you obvious. Gently rubbing your thumb across the pre-cum, all you can think about is his slit, and how you wanna kitten lick across it.
But it's been two weeks of near-constant pining, and all Jungkook wants is to bury himself inside you.
"Let me fuck you," he begs. "Please, baby."
If the girl who had first seen Jungkook in a shared lecture hall two years ago would have known she'd end up in a shitty bathroom with him begging for her, she'd have laughed. Wouldn't have believed it for a second.
Fresh-faced and so out of your comfort zone, the first few days at university were full of potential. It was before you had wised up to your place in the pecking order; when Jungkook was just a boy in your orientation class.
Skin kissed by European sun, there had been a radiance to him that seemed to captivate just about everyone. You weren't the only girl who had been sneaking glances his way.
You'd thought about him a lot in those first few weeks. Came to learn of his family ties around the same time you befriended Taehyung. Stopped seeing him around campus so much, and rarely ever thought of him.
But on those rare occasions you crossed paths, your gaze would always linger.
As he frees himself of his boxers, trousers suspended midway down his thighs, he gently rubs the tip of his cock between your folds and husks, "Always thought you were so pretty, y'know?"
Looking up at you for just a second, he smirks. Looks back down. Continues to rub himself against you, prepping himself with your slickness.
"Freshers week," he continues. "You never came to any of the parties."
The tip of his cock kisses your entrance, but doesn't penetrate. You stay in limbo just shy of what you both want.
"Had a stupid fuckin' crush on you," he admits. Has never acknowledged it before, but has always known. Kept it hidden. Safe. Secret.
"No, you didn't," you smile. He didn't even give you a second glance. Was always you seeking him out in lecture halls.
"I did," he says with absolute certainty. "You wore that little black sundress on our first day. Had ruffles on the shoulders."
It hangs in your wardrobe, a little out of style but still sweet in the right setting. You know the exact one he's talking about, because he's right. You did wear it on that very first day.
His cock nudges a little deeper. Enough to make you gasp, but not moan. Not yet. Gripping his arms, brows furrowed, you nod. He sinks himself just a little bit further. The feeling is overwhelming; fire on ice.
"Would have fucked you in that lecture hall, if you'd have let me," he smirks.
"You didn't even know my name," you counter, but he cuts your questioning off as he edges a little deeper, still. His hand dips to gently rub languid circles on your clit. He's not pushing himself any further, not yet. Wants to ease into how this feels.
"I did," he admits. "Listened extra hard during the roll call."
"So this has all been some big elaborate scheme to get into my pants, huh?"
"Is it working?" he jokes, leaning over to yank the cabinet above the sink open. A few random bottles and packets clatter into the sink, but he doesn't care.
He's looking on the top shelf, rifling through old boxes, sending more miscellaneous objects to their untimely demise. Spotting what he's after, he's assertive as he knocks the cabinet shut. Passes you the box.
"S'all there is. They alright?"
"Sure," you say, pulling one of the foil packets from the box. You check the date stamped on the frontâonly to see it's a year out of date. Some protection would be better than none, regardless of the date, but fuck it. You're on the pill. "You haven't fucked anyone else? In the last couple weeks?"
"What?" His brows contort in confusion. "No."
His expression softens, but is still laced with confusion when you toss the box of condoms down into the sink.
"I don't care. I don't want themâ"
You're cut off by the way Jungkook clasps your jaw, keeping your eyes locked on his. There's a seriousness to him now; the same demeanour he holds himself with when he was taking photographs. He's intentional. Assertive.
"Promise me," he says with stern certainty. "You want this?"
When he's got you like thisâlegs spread, body his to claim, your soul to takeâit's impossible to do anything but comply. See, things with Jungkook are reciprocal. Your feelings, your tortured misunderstanding of how a relationship could ever work, and his seriousness, now, too.
"I promise," you swear.
As a chaste kiss is pressed to your lips, his hands stroke down your spread thighs, pushing you a little further open for him.
"Can't unfuck me," he softly reminds you. Is taking his time not for the anticipation, but because he's scared. "If you fuck me rawâ"
"Then I fuck you raw," you simply repeat, knowing that it's up to you to ease his woes. If anyone should be scared, it's youâyet there's a safety that comes with being with Jungkook. Smirk, then say, "Trust me. I know I can't unfuck you. I've been trying to forgetâ"
"Ouch," he laughs, nudging his nose up against yours.
"âbut you're just..." you tailed off, not wanting to compliment him too highly. He's still in the dog house. "Memorable."
With a sardonic smile that he knows only means trouble, you reach down to grip his incredibly pert ass cheeks. Squeezing, just because you can, you encourage him to push even deeper into youâand he's the one who whines, now.
"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he praises with such pained desperation it almost sounds like he'll cry. He won't. It's just that he can't quite believe that he's raw inside you right now, and that you feel just as good as he always imagined. Better, even.
"Yeah?" You question, as you pull his hips closer, gasping as he finally sinks his full length into you once more. His fingers were thick, but they've got nothing on his cock. Like he's taken all the air from your lungs, your voice is all light and airy. Makes Jungkook even more insane.
"Yeah," he mumbles as he nods into a kiss that is just as feverant as his need to pulse his hips. He doesn't dare do it yet. Is waiting for you. "Feels so fuckin' good."
"So just fuck me," you hungrily moan into his lips.
You're challenging him deliberately, and it works a fucking treat when he pulls back with a grin. He doesn't withdraw himself, but he does pulse his hips ever so slightly. Keeps you plugged. Is just nudging even deeper into you as he keeps a hold on your thighs, keeping them spread nice and wide.
"Say please," he grunts as his pulsing becomes a singular deep thrust.
Your argumentative streak wants to fight.
You'll berate yourself later for the way you whimper, "Please."
His thick cock withdraws just a little to push back into you. He groans. Curses. Builds momentum. Speed.
The sound of his skin slapping against yours as he pounds himself into you is impossible to ignore. Your moans build. Double. Treble. He's grunting too, and then his lips are on your neck. It's a mess, quite frankly.
In the sordid shadows of this bathroom, your bodies become acquainted with an intimacy not yet bridged before. You can pretend to ignore each other in the hallways of your shared lecture buildings, but you'll never be able to ignore the desperation you have for one another. Jungkook was right. You can't unfuck him. And now he's fucking you raw, it only make it even more potent.
Harshly pulling himself out of you, Jungkook almost fuckin' cums on the spot when he realises how soaked he is from your arousal. It's not like it's a new thing, but skin on skin, it's so much more intense. Gasping from the sudden loss of pressure, you're a little unsteady. Lurch forward as if your body could stop him from withdrawing.
Holding the base of his thick shaft, Jungkook spanks against your pussy with his cock. Rubs your slick wetness around with his tip. Hooks his elbows under your thighs. Pulls you closer. Instructs, "Arms around my neck."
Wrapping an arm around your back, the other one tucks under your ass as he lifts you.
He turns. Presses your back to the wall, and lines himself up.
"Legs around me," he tells you, and as soon as you do, his cock pushes up into you again. He keeps you pinned against the wall as he begins to fuck himself into you, his lips pressing wet kisses to the curve of your neck.
The sight in the mirror behind him is lethal; his broad back covered by his shirt, but it doesn't matter. You know what he looks like. Know his muscles, and the valley of his spine, like the back of your own damn hand.
You wanna see it though. Give it a tug. Send him the right message. Get him tearing his shirt off and dropping it to the floor for you. Victory is so damn sweet.
"Kook," you whine as he really begins to get deep. "You're gonna make me cum."
"All over my cock, huh?" He grunts. "Gonna cum on cock, are you?"
His taunting only makes you whimper even more. "I'm so close."
And because he just likes to get you all whiney and needy, Jungkook stops. Puts you down. Gets you facing the mirror as you protest his unfair stealing of an orgasm.
But then he's lining himself up again, getting ready to take you from behind. Spanks your ass ever so quickly.
Sinking into you again, Jungkook curses. "Tighter like this."
"Good?" You pathetically check, and Jungkook can't help but think it's sweet.
"Yeah, babe," he promises, and pretends as if it's completely usual for him to speak to you so tenderly. "Feels so fuckin' good. Missed you so much, gorgeous. You and this tight cunt."
"Romance," you joke through your needy whines. He smirks at this, and delivers a curt little spank to your ass.
"I can be romantic," he assures you, as if you aren't being soundtracked by the sound of your skin slapping together, his thick cock fucking itself into your soaked hole.Â
His eyes rise from the steady gaze he'd had on your ass to your eyes.Â
Slowing himself, Jungkook holds his cock inside you without thrusting. Says, "I made that photo you took of us in your room my fuckin' phone wallpaper. I listen to that asmr guy you like before bed, every single fuckin' night. I keep one of your ribbons tied around my gearstick. That romantic enough for you?"
There's an incredibly bashful smile on your pretty face, which contradicts the way in which your pussy is tightening around him in the most lewd of ways. You're giggling when you say, "Shut up and fuck me."
But then he's giggling too, just how you like him to be. Says, "I missed your body, but I missed you more. Stupid."
"You're stupid."
"You're stupider."
"Kook," you laugh, as he's completely forgotten the task at hand. The way that he looks at you, you'd be forgiven for thinking he has. Truthfully, the connection he has with you is so much more than what sex has ever been for him before.Â
His hips lightly pulse, as he says, "Sorry. Where were we?"
"Think you were gonna make me cum."
"Ah, yeah. That. My bad."
His gentle thrusts begin to build pace once more. The grin on his face drops a little as he begins to concentrate on you. Watching him in the mirror, you're perplexed to be reminded of just how ethereal Jungkook looks when he fucks.
The deep ridge between his brows intensifies, as his mouth hands slack. His cheeks hollow a little, and his eyes remain entirely focused. Dark. Deep. Brooding.
As his hand dips around to gently stroke against your clit, Jungkook is just as taken away by the way you look. He isn't sure what it is that gets his heart so heavy in his chest, but he knows that he wants you to cum. Doesn't give a fuck about himself.
The walls of your cunt begin to tighten around his length as your moans deepen. You whine his name and he encourages a response, but neither of you can really talk. A numbness is washing over you, your balance unsteady.
"I'm gonna..." you begin, but find it impossible to finish.
"I know, baby," he nods all out of breath and desperately fucked out. "Give me what I want. Cum for me."
You trust and keep your eyes on him, but the nudging on his cock against your g-spot and the slow rubbing of your clit is just enough to tip you over.
"Kook," you whimper as your walls begin to tighten around him, but it's fruitless. There's a shake to your legs, and he's the only thing keeping you supported.
"Oh, fuck," he curses from the strength of your pussy around him. He's shaking just as much as you are. "Cream on this cock, baby. Oh, fuck. Yeah.Just like that. You're gonna make me cum, too. Gonna make me cum so fuckin' hard. All in your pussy. You want that, huh?"
It's as you're desperately whining, cumming all around his thick shaft that Jungkook feels his body lose control. There's a tightness to his balls, and a shudder to his sternum, that he hasn't felt since the last time he was in your bedroom. Last time he was in you, more specifically.
"Kook," you whimper his name, and that's when Jungkook really can't hold back.
"Yeah, babe," he rasps, as his hard thrusts become pathetic stutters. "I'm cumming."
The announcement isn't needed, for you swear you can almost feel it as his thick cum begins to fill you. The lack of a condom makes it all the more primal, the way his body shudders indicative of just how much cum he's filling you up with.Â
His body collapses on yours a little, his clammy torso pressed to your back. The dress you're wearing is barely on properly, and the feeling of his skin against yours is catastrophic. As intimate as sex is, it's this right now, the beat of his heart thrumming against your spine that is the real disaster. How you can ever look him in the eye again is beyond you.
But then his lips are pressing chaste kisses to the curve of your neck, and his hands are squeezing at your hips. He doesn't pull out. Keeps himself warm inside you. Says, "How the fuck am I ever supposed to give you up, huh?"
That's the thing.
He isn't supposed to, and you damn well know it.
Reaching back for some tissue to help you out, Jungkook slowly withdraws. Holds his hand beneath your pussy, then replaces it with tissue. Turns you around and lets you take over.
"Here's a radical idea," you offer, not looking at him as you quickly make sure you're decent. Stay standing with your legs crossed, just in case. "Don't."
Pulling his shirt back over his head, Jungkook presses his back to the wall. There's a distance between you, yes, but you don't really feel it, 'cause it's purely physical.
And it's not like it lasts for very long either, 'cause Jungkook decides he needs to kiss you all over again.
"Alright," he whispers against your lips. "Say we don't. Say I wanna be yours. What the fuck do we do now?"
You shrug. The answers aren't yours to decide. It's up to you both.
"Well, firstly I'm gonna text Tae," you hum. "Tell him you're still an asshole and that I need to be let out immediately."
It's been half an hour.
He came to check on things about ten minutes ago.
The music might be loud, but not loud enough to drown out the way you guys fuck.Â
Summer had been quiet. In his car, in your empty house, you've never had to keep it down before. Didn't even realise quite how loud you were being.
Which is why Jimin is the one who unlocks the outside bolt with a smirk a few minutes later, Taehyung watching on with a little disgusted grimace a metre or so back.
"Gross," he whisper shouts at you, but then he's smiling, too. Notices how Jungkook touches youâthe hand he has on the small of your back, and the way he clasps your hand as you begin to walk ahead of himâand finds it impossible to be mad.
"C'mon," Jimin calls behind himself, leading you up and out of the basement. "We're going to the diner."
"We?" You question, incredibly confused.
"We." He simply says. Doesn't leave it up for debate. Gathers up the rest of the Untouchables (though Claudia is noticeably absent), and tells them the same thing he told you. Drags Taehyung along as well.
Jungkook was scared of integrating you into his life, but there's no other way to do it. Has to rip the band aid off.
As you walk into Montgomery's, hand in hand with the boy who had spent his summer wasting away with you in here, both of you realise that maybe it isn't such a huge deal.
Or at least, you do until Maria clocks you. Eyes darting from you, to Jungkook, and then to your gently clasped hands, she's in a state of absolute shock. Almost drops her tray.
Genre/Tags:Â spiderman/ campus heartthrob! jungkook x reader, friends (but not exactly) to lovers, i think they're in a situationship, spiderman au, spiderkook au, angst, fluff, (smut in drabble)
Summary: For as long as you can remember, Jungkook has been the biggest flirt when it comes to you. Despite being the campus heartthrob with a trail of admirers and girls dying for his attentionâhis focus has always, inexplicably, been on you. You wouldnât exactly call yourselves friends, not with the way he shamelessly flirts and constantly pushes your buttons, but thereâs no denying the way he gets under your skin, making your heart race in ways you wish it wouldnât. When you finally give in, after enduring his endless date requests and ridiculous antics, you expect something special, maybe even something perfect. What you donât expect is to be left disappointed and hurt in a way that blindsides you. Little do you know, Jungkookâs time is split between charming you and saving the city. And while youâre questioning everything, Jungkook is desperate to prove that his feelings for you have always been real, even if his reality is anything but ordinary.
Word Count: 21.5k+ (don't hate me)
Chapter Warnings: pining, mature themes, mature language, someone's dangling off a roof, lots and lots of fluff
playlist for the vibes <3
cher's notes: should i make a drabble for this? maybe including smut? idk let me knowwwww.
THE PICTURE I USED FOR MY COVER IS NOT MINE !! CREDIT GOES TO THE RIGHTFUL OWNER AND EDITOR !!
<-part 1
part (2/2)
The moment Jungkook tumbles onto the living room floor through the window, Jimin and Taehyung glance up from the dining table where they're eating ramen, their expressions completely unsurprised.
They barely pause eating, already anticipating what's about to come.
"So, I'm guessing you stood her up." Jimin says matter-of-factly, barely glancing up as he takes another mouthful of noodles.
Of course, his roommates had seen the news. With their knowledge of the concert date he'd been planning to take you on, it wasn't exactly rocket science to figure out that he hadn't shown up.
"Please tell me you at least called her." Taehyung adds, his voice tinged with faint exasperation as he sets his bowl down.
Jungkook doesn't respond immediately.
Instead, he yanks off his mask, tossing it onto the couch as he leans against the wall, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. "I..." he starts, still panting.
He swallows hard, his gaze flicking between his two friends before finally admitting, "I messed up." His voice cracks just enough to betray the guilt simmering beneath his carefully constructed facade.
Jimin sets his chopsticks down with a sigh, while Taehyung crosses his arms, both of them watching him intently. Neither looks particularly surprised by his confession, but their silence urges him to continue.
"You guys know how excited I was, right?" Jungkook says, taking a few steps closer to the table. "We know. You've been dying to take her out on a date for months now." Jimin replies as he watches Jungkook plop himself down on the chair nearby.
"Yeah, exactly. And when I finally had the chance..." He exhales sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I blew it."
Jimin raises an eyebrow while Taehyung leans back in his chair, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.
"I was just about to leave..." Jungkook starts, his voice quieter now. "But then these two firetrucks zoomed past me, and I knew there was a fire nearby. I debated whether I should go check it out or just let the firemen handle it, but then I thought, how long would it take, you know?"
Taehyung nods silently, signaling for him to go on.
"But when I got there, the scene was horrific." Jungkook continues, his hands gesturing as if trying to paint the picture.
"It was a whole building engulfed in flames, and there were so many people trapped inside. I couldn't just walk away. By the time I got everyone out and made sure they were all safe, it was already way past the concert time." His voice falters, and he looks down, the weight of the evening pressing heavily on his shoulders.
Taehyung clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disbelief. "Well, was she sad when you told her you couldn't make it?" he asks softly.
At this Jungkook's breath hitches as his eyes nervously dart around the room. "Well..." he trails off.
Taehyung's jaw drops as realization dawns on him. "No way..." he breathes, leaning forward. "Kook, you didn't call her?!" he questions. Jimin's eyes widen as well, his voice incredulous. "Seriously, Jungkook?!"
Jungkook winces, the guilt now a tangible weight pressing down on him. "Well... it gets worse." he murmurs softly, almost as if afraid to speak the words aloud. Taehyung and Jimin exchange bewildered glances before speaking in unison. "What do you mean?"
Jungkook inhales deeply, bracing himself. His shoulders slump slightly as he begins, "So, basically... once I was done with the fire scene, I thought I should stop by the concert venue. A part of me was sure she would've left, but... another part of me wondered... what if she's still there, waiting, you know?" His voice dips with self-reproach.
Taehyung nods slowly, as if coaxing him to continue, while Jimin furrows his brows, visibly concerned.
"And I was still in my suit..." Jungkook explains, glancing down at his hands as if searching for the right words. "So, I figured if she was still there, I'd change and go see her. But if she wasn't, then I'd head to her place to explain everything."
Jungkook's voice tightens as the memory resurfaces. "But while I was on my way to the concert venue..." He pauses, his jaw clenching. "I saw this group of men in an alleyway. They were harassing a girl."
At this, both Taehyung and Jimin's eyes widen in shock. "Wait, what?!" Taehyung blurts out, leaning even closer while Jimin's expression mirrors his, but before either of them can fire off more questions, Jungkook continues in a strained voice.
"It was Y/N." he confesses.
The silence in the room feels deafening for a split second, until both of them erupt in unison. "WHAT?!?!" Taehyung yells, his voice cracking with disbelief. Jimin nearly topples out of his chair, his hands slamming onto the table. "Are you serious right now?!"
Jungkook grimaces, the memory of what happened at the alleyway still vivid in his mind. His hands clench into fists as if trying to grasp the weight of his emotions.
"The moment I realized it was her..." he begins, his voice tight. "I didn't think twice. I jumped in and took down those disgusting men." His gaze drops to the floor as he exhales shakily. "After that, I made sure she got home safe... well, if we're getting specific, I flew her home."
Both Taehyung and Jimin stare at him, their jaws slack with a mix of awe and disbelief. "So..." Jimin ventures, leaning forward with a raised brow. "She doesn't know it was you?"
Jungkook shakes his head slowly, the regret weighing down his words. "Of course not." he replies.
Jimin's brow furrows deeper, his incredulity surfacing. "So let me get this straight... she thinks Jungkookâthe guy she's been waiting forâstood her up, and Spidermanâthe mysterious masked vigilanteâsaved her from a group of creepy men?"
"Exactly." Jungkook sighs. "And though I was the one who saved her..." he adds, his voice quieter now, tinged with guilt. "I just can't stop feeling like it's my fault that she had to go through something like that."
Taehyung's expression softens, the weight of Jungkook's words sinking in. "Why do you think that?" he asks gently.
Jungkook's jaw clenches as he continues. "She waited all evening for me. She only left when the concert was over. And because of that... she ended up alone in that alley." He pauses, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard.
"When I saw her face, hyung... she looked so fucking terrified. Her eyes, the way she was trembling..."
His voice cracks slightly, and he rubs the back of his neck as if trying to ground himself. "I can't stop thinking... if I'd just called her, if I'd explained that I couldn't make it because of some emergency... maybe she wouldn't have been there at all. Maybe none of this would've happened."
The room falls into an uneasy silence, the weight of Jungkook's guilt hanging thick in the air. Taehyung and Jimin exchange a look, both trying to gauge their next words carefully.
"Maybe..." Jimin starts hesitantly, his voice softer now. "You should explain everything to her tomorrow. And, I don't know..." He pauses, his eyes flicking between Jungkook and Taehyung before continuing cautiously. "Probably... tell her you're Spiderman."
Taehyung lets out a dry scoff, shaking his head. "Oh, sure. Like being a superhero is the most casual, everyday thing to confess. Especially when half the city is obsessed with uncovering Spiderman's identity. That's not just risky, it's reckless." His tone carries a mix of exasperation and concern as he crosses his arms.
"Taehyung's right." Jungkook interjects with a sigh. "It's not the right time for that." He pauses, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing his temples as though the action might soothe his racing thoughts.
"Telling her about Spiderman now... it would feel like I'm using it as a crutch, an excuse to justify standing her up. And yeah, in this case, it is the truth, but..."
"But it wouldn't feel fair." Taehyung finishes for him, his tone softer this time. Jungkook nods slowly, his eyes distant, lost in thought.
"If I tell her the whole truth now, it'll just muddy things even more. I need her to trust me first, to believe in me again, before I can drop something as massive as that on her." he says.
Jimin leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his expression contemplative. "Then what's the plan? You can't just leave things as they are. She deserves an explanation, Kook, even if it's not the whole truth yet."
"I know..." Jungkook admits as he looks up at his friends, his gaze earnest but filled with uncertainty. "I just... I don't even know where to begin."
"You begin by owning up to your mistake." Taehyung says firmly, his gaze locking with Jungkook's. "Don't overthink it. Start simple. Apologize for standing her up, and make it clear that it wasn't because you didn't care. Tell her you had an emergency and couldn't contact her because of how chaotic everything was."
Jimin nods in agreement, his expression softening. "And maybe... just maybe, let her see how much she truly means to you." he says gently. "You obviously don't have to explain everything right now, but you can still show her that she's important. That she matters more than anything else in your world."
He leans back slightly, his tone turning a bit more serious. "Girls take getting stood up really seriously... and it's valid. I mean, what could feel more humiliating than that, right? And in your case, you've been pining over her for ages, practically begging for a chance to take her out. When she finally gave in, she ended up being stood up. Of course she's going to be upset... maybe even really hurt."
Jimin pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing. "So, like I said, you need to make things right. Show her, don't just tell her, what she means to you."
Jungkook takes a deep breath, his jaw tightening as he processes Jimin's words.
"You're right..." he says after a moment, his voice steadier now. "I owe her that much. No excuses, no distractions... just the truth, as much as I can give her for now."
Jungkook moves quickly through the hallways, his steps echoing in the quiet space as his eyes dart into every classroom he passes. He's already called you twice, but of course, you haven't answered. Why would you? You have every right to ignore him, and he knows it.
Still, the pit in his stomach grows with every passing second, the urgency to find you pressing heavier on his chest.
He racks his brain, trying to remember where you might be. He remembers that you have a test today, so chances are you're somewhere on campus, probably revising your notes.
He checks the library, the cafeteria... even the quietest corners of the campus, but you're nowhere to be found. Frustration starts to boil under his skin, a gnawing sense of helplessness creeping in as his search turns up empty.
Finally, he spots you in one of the computer labs. You're seated in front of a monitor, your eyes intently focused on the screen, the soft glow reflecting off your features.
Jungkook pauses at the doorway, hesitant. Is this the right time to approach you? Would you even want to hear what he has to say? His stomach churns with unease, but he knows he can't turn back now. He has to talk to you, has to try to fix what he's broken.
As he takes a step closer, his gaze flickers to the outfit you're wearing... a cute little skirt that usually drives him crazy but today, something else catches his attention, something that makes his breath hitch... the bandaid on your knee.
He swallows hard, his jaw tightening as the memory of yesterday's horrific incident floods back into his mind. The scrape on your knee, a cruel reminder of what you endured... of what he was partly responsible for.
Guilt coils around his chest like a vice, the weight of it almost unbearable. His fists clench at his sides as he silently blames himself all over again.
But he shakes his head, forcing himself to focus. There's no point in wallowing in guilt now... it won't change anything. What matters is making things right.
He straightens his posture and takes another step forward. All he has to do is apologize, to look you in the eye and promise that he'll never let you down again.
"Hey, Ace." Jungkook calls softly, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness. Your head snaps up instinctively, eyes wide for a fleeting moment before the recognition dawns, and your expression hardens.
The usual warmth in your gaze is replaced with icy detachment as you turn back to the monitor without so much as a word.
You'd been expecting this. You knew he'd call, that he'd come looking for you eventually. Of course, he'd have some excuse readyâsome rehearsed set of reasons like I got caught up... something came up... I didn't mean to.
But honestly? After everything that happened yesterday... being stood up by him and then the sheer terror of being cornered by those creepy disgusting men, you've already decided that you're not interested in hearing Jungkook's excuses.
"Ace..." he tries again, his voice softer now, almost pleading. He pulls the chair right beside you and lowers himself into it, leaning closer, his presence undeniable even as you stubbornly ignore him.
Your focus remains fixed on the screen, your fingers nonchalantly scrolling through the document.
"Ace, come on..." he says, his tone carrying a quiet urgency. "Would you please look at me?" His hand reaches out, resting gently on the armrest of your chair, his proximity pressing into your peripheral awareness.
Still, you don't look at him. Your eyes remain fixed on the monitor, your expression unreadable, the tension in the lab thick enough to suffocate.
Jungkook's shoulders slump slightly, the silence stretching on, but he doesn't retreat. Instead, he sits there, waiting, hoping for even the faintest crack in your walls.
"I know you're mad, and you have every right to be..." Jungkook says, his voice trembling slightly, thick with remorse. He leans forward and lightly tugs your chair closer, desperation flickering in his dark eyes.
You click your tongue in irritation, your gaze snapping to him with a sharp glare. Without missing a beat, you scoot your chair back, reclaiming the distance he closed.
Jungkook usually finds your annoyed pout and furrowed brows endearing, a quirky little trait he adores. But today, those expressions weigh heavily on his heart, a visual reminder of how much he's hurt you.
"Ace, please." he nearly whispers, his voice cracking at the edges. "Just hear me outâ"
"I don't want to, Jungkook." you cut him off, spinning away from the screen and finally looking at him head-on. Your expression is hardened, your eyes blazing with a mix of hurt and anger. "Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to finally say yes to you?"
Jungkook freezes, the weight of your words rendering him momentarily speechless.
"I know you probably think I was playing hard to get, that I liked having you chase me around..." you continue, your voice steady despite the tremor of emotion beneath it. "But that wasn't the case because I was scared. Do you understand that? Scared."
Your admission lands like a blow, and Jungkook swallows hard, his adam's apple bobbing as he processes your words.
He wants to interrupt, to tell you he never once thought you were playing games, that he knew you needed time to trust him. But the rawness in your voice keeps him silent, guilt rooting him in place.
"I've never had someone show me the kind of attention you did. Never had someone chase after me like that. And it wasn't flattering... it was unsettling. It made me question everything... your intentions, my own feelings. I kept wondering if it was real, if you were real, or if I'd let myself believe in something that would shatter the moment I let my guard down."
Your words are laced with bitterness now, and Jungkook watches helplessly as your gaze flickers to the side, avoiding his. He can see the cracks in your armor, the pain you're trying so hard to mask.
"And then..." you continue, your voice faltering slightly. "When I finally thought you were different, that maybe you were actually being sincere... I decided to trust you. I thought... 'Maybe I can give him a chance.' But you know what, Jungkook?" You pause, looking directly at him, your eyes cold and accusing.
"I was right all along. Guys like you... you don't care. You think you can just say all these flirty, meaningless things, make someone feel special, ask them out like it's no big deal... and then just... not show up."
Jungkook flinches as if you've physically struck him, each word cutting deeper than the last. He tries to open his mouth, to explain, to apologize, but you don't give him the chance.
"Do you even know how long I waited yesterday? How humiliating it was to just... to just sit there, thinking you'd show up? And how I almost got harrasâ" You stop abruptly, your voice catching.
The memory of what happened after, the fear, the helplessness... you can't bring yourself to relive it, let alone share it with him. You shake your head, anger bubbling back to the surface. "You know what? Forget it. I don't have time for this."
You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back with enough force to make it screech against the floor. You start gathering your things haphazardly, your movements sharp and hurried.
"Ace, waitâ" Jungkook stands as well, panic flashing across his face. He reaches out as if to stop you, but you're already pulling away.
"No, Jungkook." you say firmly, clutching your books to your chest. You look up at him, your eyes glistening but resolute. "I'm done. Just... leave me alone and don't ever talk to me again."
And with that, you turn and walk away, leaving Jungkook standing there, the weight of your words and his regret pressing down on him like a storm he doesn't know how to weather.
The moment you step out of the exam hall, your chest feels tight, and your eyes sting with the threat of tears. It's as if the universe has decided to conspire against you.
Yesterday was a total disaster, every moment of it chipping away at your composure. And now, not only had you almost broken down right in front of Jungkook earlier, but the test you thought you could do well on, just went horribly wrong.
Your steps are unsteady as you walk out, your knees weak and your shoulders sagging under the weight of everything. The frustration bubbling in your chest mixes with regret, twisting into a knot of self-reproach.
Maybe instead of waiting at the concert venue yesterday, clinging to some foolish hope, you should've just gone straight home to study. At least that way, you wouldn't have crossed paths with those creeps in the alley, wouldn't have found yourself in the middle of a nightmare that refuses to let go.
You swallow hard, willing yourself not to break down right there in the open, but the lump in your throat grows heavier. Everything feels wrong... too loud, too bright, too much.
"Oh, hey, Y/n !!" a familiar voice slices through the haze of your thoughts. You blink, lifting your head to find Kim Seokjin, your ever-reliable senior, striding towards you with his signature boyish grin.
Seokjin has always been the dependable type, the one who'd send you mock questions late at night or lend you his pristinely annotated notes without hesitation. His easygoing charm was usually a comfort, a beacon of positivity on even the most stressful days.
"How was the test, Y/n-ah? Did the questions I gave you help?" he asks, his brows wiggling playfully, an attempt to tease you as he always does. His tone is light, full of genuine curiosity, but today, it feels like static in your ears.
The world around you blurs as his question echoes in your mind, clashing with the disappointment and frustration roiling in your chest.
You can't even muster a smile. Your throat tightens, and your lips quiver as your gaze drops to the ground, unwilling to meet his.
Seokjin's grin falters. His sharp eyes, so quick to notice the smallest detail, catch the shimmer of tears threatening to spill. Concern washes over his face as he steps closer, his demeanor instantly softening. "Y/n?" he calls again, voice quieter now, tinged with worry. "What's wrong?"
You open your mouth to respond, to brush him off with some excuse, but the words refuse to come. The dam breaks before you can stop it and a single tear escapes, sliding down your cheek, carrying with it the weight of everything you've been holding in.
"Hey..." Seokjin steps closer, his hands gently settling on your shoulders as he leans down, his face level with yours. His gaze is soft, concerned, and without a trace of judgment. It's all it takes for the dam to shatter completely.
Before you know it, your shoulders shake, sniffling giving way to quiet, uncontrollable sobs. Tears spill freely, blurring your vision, but you don't even try to stop them.
Seokjin reacts instantly, his protective instincts kicking in as he wraps an arm around your trembling shoulders. With a quick glance at the throng of students milling about, he guides you away from the bustling corridor.
His movements are careful but firm, shielding you as he steers you towards a quieter spot.
He leads you outside, where the fresh air feels both grounding and overwhelming against the storm inside you. Still holding you close, he walks you to the cafeteria.
Luckily, it's mostly empty at this hour, the silence offering a small measure of comfort. Gently, he sits you down at a secluded table and takes the seat right beside you, his arm still a reassuring presence around your shoulders.
"Jin, I'm sorry... I justâ" you manage to choke out between hiccups, your voice trembling with guilt and embarrassment. The last thing you wanted was to burden him like this, to disrupt his day with your sudden outburst.
"Hey, don't apologize." Seokjin says, his voice steady but kind. He tilts his head to catch your gaze, his own warm and earnest. "You don't have to say sorry, okay?"
His words are simple, but they're enough to make you feel seen. Even through the tears streaming down your cheeks, a small, shaky smile begins to tug at the corners of your lips.
Seokjin notices, and his own grin breaks through, soft and encouraging. "I've just been having a really... bad day." you murmur, as if speaking the words aloud might shatter you further.
He nods, his expression softening even more. "I understand." he says simply, his tone gentle but firm, as though he truly does. There's no pressure in his words, no expectation for you to elaborate.
"She won't even look at me." Jungkook murmurs, his voice tinged with frustration and something far more vulnerable. One strap of his bag hangs loosely off his shoulder, swaying slightly as he walks. His gaze is fixed downward, the usual energy in his steps replaced by a weight that drags him down.
Taehyung strolls beside him, his attention divided between Jungkook and his phone. "Maybe she just needs some space." he says, his tone nonchalant but edged with understanding.
Jungkook huffs, his hand raking through his dark hair in agitation. "I think she hates me." he mutters, the words falling heavily between them.
Saying it aloud makes the possibility feel real, and the thought makes his chest ache. His steps falter, his pace slowing as if his own doubts are physically pulling him back.
Taehyung glances up from his phone, a small frown forming as he looks at his friend. "Come on, Kook. That's not true. She's mad, yeah, but she's not the kind of person to hate someone... especially not you. She just needs time to cool offâwait, hold on." Taehyung suddenly halts mid-sentence, his body stiffening as his gaze locks on something ahead. "Is that Y/n ??"
Jungkook's head snaps up at Taehyung's words, his eyes following the direction of his friend's stare. His heart skips a beat when he spots you through one of the large cafeteria windows.
You're sitting at a corner table, and you're not alone. Right beside you is Kim Seokjin, a senior Jungkook knows you've always been close with. His brows knit together as he takes in the scene.
You're wiping at your face, and the movement makes his stomach drop. Even from a distance, it's obvious that you've been crying. Seokjin leans closer, his hands gesturing animatedly as he talks, his expression bright and full of intent. He's clearly trying to comfort you, trying to draw out a smile or a laugh.
Jungkook feels a surge of emotions, each one sharper than the last. The first is jealousy, immediate and searing.
But it's quickly overwhelmed by something far heavier... concern. The sight of your tear-streaked face slices through him like a blade. His heart clenches painfully as questions flood his mind.
Why are you crying? Is it because of him? Or did something else happen?
The memory of yesterday crashes over him, the regret he's been carrying since last night twisting into something unbearable. The thought that you might be hurting because of his mistake feels suffocating.
Jungkook's jaw tightens as he watches Seokjin lean even closer, his smile warm and reassuring. He's trying to make you feel better, and maybe he's succeeding.
Jungkook's fists clench at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he struggles to hold back the urge to storm in there. Every fiber of his being wants to cross the distance, to kneel before you and tell you how sorry he is, to explain everything, to make it right.
"Thanks, Jin." you murmur, a soft smile gracing your lips.
After spending nearly forty minutes unloading all your frustrations about how terribly your test went, a weight feels like it's been lifted.
While you didn't delve into the messier parts... the thing with Jungkook, or how disastrously everything spiraled yesterday, you still feel an undeniable sense of relief. Seokjin's steady presence and his knack for lightening the mood had provided a much-needed balm to your frayed nerves.
"No biggie." he replies, his grin warm as he affectionately ruffles your hair. It's a gesture that draws a small, genuine laugh from you despite everything. "You'll be fine, kid. We'll hit the books together for the next test, alright?"
You nod, his reassurance leaving a comforting echo in your chest. The two of you step out of the cafeteria, the evening sun outside a soft contrast to the heaviness you'd felt earlier.
"I'll head home now, okay?" you say, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. "Sure." Seokjin nods, his hands slipping into his pockets. "I've got plans with my friends anyway. Take care of yourself, yeah?"
With a final wave, the two of you part ways. You walk towards the familiar gates of the campus, the hum of distant chatter and the rustle of trees in the breeze filling the air.
The moment you step outside, your eyes fall on Jungkook almost immediately. He's leaning against the bricked compound wall, the sun casting a faint golden glow over his figure.
His head is tilted down, his thumb scrolling through his phone as his teeth worry his lower lip, a nervous habit you've come to notice over time.
For a moment, you falter, your steps hesitating as a wave of emotions threatens to crash over you. But just as quickly, you steel yourself, tearing your gaze away and forcing your legs to move forward.
As though sensing your presence, Jungkook's head lifts, his sharp eyes locking onto you as he instantly lowers his phone lowers. "Ace!" he calls out.
You grit your teeth at the sound of the nickname, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag. You don't look at him, don't give him even the satisfaction of acknowledgment, and continue walking as if you hadn't heard a thing.
But Jungkook isn't one to give up easily. You can hear his footsteps quickening behind you, the sound growing louder as he closes the distance. Before you know it, he's beside you, slightly winded from the effort.
"Ace." he says again, softer this time, the name rolling off his tongue like a plea. "Don't call me that." you snap, your voice low but sharp. You don't stop walking, though your heart is pounding in your chest.
He doesn't falter, easily matching your pace, his longer strides making it seem like the effort to catch up was nothing to him. "Hey..." he tries again, his voice softer this time, almost tentative.
This time, you glance at him, your glare sharp and unforgiving. "Did I not tell you to leave me alone?" you snap, your tone biting, each word a dagger meant to push him further away.
"I know." he admits, his voice quiet but steady. "But can you please just hear me out, Ace?" The nickname slips out before he realizes it, and when he does, he quickly backtracks. "I mean, Y/n." he corrects, a flicker of uncertainty flashing across his face. "I just want to make things right."
You scoff, keeping your eyes fixed ahead, refusing to give him even a fraction of the attention he's so desperately vying for. "Well, I'm not interested." you reply curtly.
Jungkook's jaw tightens, his steps faltering for the first time as he processes your response. But he doesn't stop. Instead, he keeps walking beside you, a quiet determination etched into his features, like he's unwilling to let this be the end of the conversation.
"I saw you in the cafeteria earlier..." Jungkook begins again, his voice quieter this time, almost hesitant. You don't reply, your gaze fixed firmly ahead.
The evening breeze, though warm, carries a hint of lingering daylight fading into the deep hues of dusk. It brushes past you softly, stirring strands of your hair, yet the gentle ambiance does little to ease the storm brewing within.
"With... that senior..." he continues after a beat, his tone cautious. "His name's Seokjin, right? And... I noticed you were crying." His voice falters slightly, as though he's treading carefully, trying to choose his words in a way that won't set you off.
Your pace doesn't waver, but your scoff cuts through the silence like a whip. "Why do you even care?" you snap, not sparing him a glance. The bitterness in your voice is unmistakable, each word drenched in the frustration you've been holding back.
"If I'm in the cafeteria, if I'm with Seokjin, or if I'm cryingânone of that is your business anyway." you say coldly. Jungkook flinches, just slightly, the weight of your words pressing against him. Yet, he doesn't retreat.
A low sigh slips past his lips, but he doesn't slow his pace, stubbornly keeping stride beside you. There's a quiet determination in his steps, a hope flickering within him that maybe... just maybe, you'll give in and grant him the chance he's desperate for.
He pouts slightly, his gaze drifting to your face, noting the resolute expression you wear, the way you refuse to even glance his way.
His shoulders droop as his eyes fall to his feet, sulking like a child who's been denied his favorite treat. The sight would've been almost endearing, had the tension between you not been so palpable.
You catch his dejected demeanor from the corner of your eye, and though a small part of you feels the faintest tug at your heartstrings, you steel yourself.
"Stop following me." you bite out, your tone as sharp as glass, slicing through the tension hanging heavy in the air. But of course, he doesn't listen. His footsteps fall in line with yours, the quiet persistence of his presence an unspoken challenge. It makes your blood simmer.
Finally, you come to an abrupt halt, spinning around so quickly that Jungkook almost walks into you. Your eyes blaze with unfiltered anger, your frustration spilling over like a dam finally breaking.
"You know what? You can't do this." you snap, your voice trembling, not with weakness but with the weight of emotions clawing at your chest.
Jungkook freezes but his mouth opens, a soft breath escaping as if he wants to respond, but you barrel on, refusing to let him derail your thoughts.
"I have every right to be mad at you, Jungkook." you begin, your voice gaining strength with each word. "You can't just force me to listen to you, or follow me around like this, expecting me to magically forgive you."
The wind picks up around you, teasing the loose strands of your hair as you fix him with a glare sharp enough to cut steel.
"I don't know what happened to you yesterday.... why you didn't show up... but you could've called me, Jungkook !! Or maybe a text would've been enough too because just... how long would that have taken?" Your voice cracks slightly, and you hate how vulnerable it sounds, but you push through.
"Is that really too much to ask for? Especially from someone who insisted on taking me out in the first place?"
Jungkook looks as if you've physically struck him, his shiny eyes clouded with regret, his lips parting to speak. But you don't let him.
"So don't just stand there acting like you can fix this by following me around. Leave me alone. At least give me the space I'm asking for, because I am mad at you. I need time to cool off. To think about whether I even want to give you a chance to explain yourself." You pause for a moment, your chest rising and falling with the force of your emotions.
"That's all I have to say." you finish, your tone final, like the slam of a closing door. "So stop following me and go home."
You turn around sharply, your steps determined as you step off the pavement to cross the road and get to the other side. You don't wait for his response, don't care to see the impact of your words etched on his face.
All you want is distance.
Your thoughts are so clouded with anger that you don't notice the sound at first... the low hum of an engine approaching, growing louder by the second.
It isn't until you're halfway across the road that it registers... the sharp roar of a car speeding in your direction, the headlights glaring like molten fire.
Your breath catches, your body freezing in place as the realization crashes over you. There's no time to move, no time to think. The car is coming too fast.
Just as you brace for impact, a sudden force yanks you backward, spinning you around with a strength that feels almost supernatural. The world shifts in a blur, and the next thing you know, you're against something solid... someone solid.
The wind roars in your ears as you're pulled out of the way, the rush of the car passing dangerously close, the draft whipping against your bare legs.
You blink, your chest heaving as you try to make sense of what just happened. Your heart pounds violently in your ribcage, your head spinning.
Jungkook's arms are around you, his grip firm but trembling slightly. His eyes bore into yours, wide and dark, filled with a mix of panic and something deeper, something you can't quite place. His breathing is labored, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.
For a moment, the world seems to narrow, the noise of the street fading into an eerie silence.
"How... did youâ" you begin, but the words die on your lips because the way he moved just now wasn't just fast. It wasn't just instinct. It was something else entirely... something that defied explanation.
You couldn't comprehend how he managed to react so quickly, whether his reflexes were simply that sharp or if there was something more to his speed. It was almost unreal, the way he had reached you in mere seconds, as if defying the very limits of human ability.
The car had been barreling towards you with alarming speed, and any ordinary person would have hesitated, stumbled, or arrived a heartbeat too late.
But not him. It was as if he'd moved with purpose, instinct overriding all else, bridging the impossible distance between you in the blink of an eye.
"Are you okay?" His voice trembles with genuine concern as his eyes search yours, his hands now gently holding your shoulders, steadying you as if afraid you might collapse at any moment.
He takes a small step back, his gaze sweeping over you, silently checking for any sign of injury. "Ace, are you okay?" he repeats, this time louder, almost as though his words might anchor you to the present.
You blink, still dazed, your mind struggling to catch up with the chaos of the moment. You try to find your bearings, still feeling the adrenaline pumping in your veins, your heartbeat loud in your ears.
"I..." you begin, the words stumbling over each other as your breath catches in your throat. "I'm fine." you finally manage, though your voice is shaky, betraying the storm still raging inside you.
"God, you almost got knocked over by that car." he mutters, his tone laced with disbelief as he stares at you with a mixture of relief and lingering panic.
His hand reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his eyes never leaving yours, as though trying to ensure you were truly alright.
"I know you don't want to see me right now..." Jungkook begins, his voice softer than you've ever heard it, laced with hesitation and something akin to vulnerability. He gulps, his eyes scanning yours for even the faintest sign of permission to keep talking.
"But..." He pauses, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Can I please at least walk you home?" he asks, the words spilling out in a way that feels both desperate and determined.
"I can't just leave now, not after..." His voice falters slightly, the weight of the moment pressing on him. "Not after you almost died right in front of me."
You can see how much he means it, how much he's grappling with the thought of what could have happened. And though every rational part of you wants to turn him away, there's another part... smaller, quieter, but persistent... that doesn't want to be alone right now.
So all you do is just give him a small nod, and Jungkook exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Relief flickers across his face, and though it's faint, the corners of his lips lift into the gentlest smile.
Without a word, he reaches for your hand... his grip firm yet careful, like he's afraid you might slip away and guides you across the road. His eyes dart back and forth, scanning for any lingering danger, as though the world itself might conspire to hurt you again.
The silence that follows isn't heavy... it's steady, a quiet agreement between the two of you. The rhythmic sound of your footsteps against the pavement fills the space, accompanied by the distant hum of the city.
He doesn't try to apologize, doesn't flood you with explanations or desperate pleas for forgiveness. Instead, he just walks beside you, his hand warm and grounding in yours.
When your apartment building finally comes into view, a subtle sense of relief washes over you, a small weight lifting from your chest. But beneath that relief, there's something else... a faint pang of bittersweet emotion, an undeniable comfort in his presence that you're not ready to fully acknowledge.
As you stop near the entrance, Jungkook gently releases your hand. The absence of his touch feels oddly noticeable, like you've been untethered.
He offers you a soft smile, one that's equal parts tender and hesitant, as though he's afraid of pushing too far. "Goodnight, Ace." he says quietly.
He takes a few steps back, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer, as if to make sure you're truly safe. Before you can muster a response, he turns around and starts walking away, his figure retreating into the dim glow of the streetlights.
You walk into the lecture hall, your thoughts a tangled mess. You'd spent the entire night tossing and turning, replaying yesterday's events in your mind.
Were you too harsh on Jungkook? Should you have given him a chance to explain himself, to redeem whatever it was he'd done wrong? The questions gnawed at you, leaving you feeling restless and unsure.
As you climb the steps of the lecture hall to your usual seat, your eyes fall on Jungkook. He's already here... early, for once and it's unusual enough to catch your attention.
His head is bent, focused on writing something in his notebook, and for a moment, you're struck by how absorbed he looks. You quickly remind yourself not to stare and continue making your way to your desk.
But as you get closer, you notice something unusual... a bouquet of soft pink tulips resting delicately on your desk. You freeze for a split second, eyebrows furrowing in surprise.
Who could've left them there?
Slowly, you take your seat, eyes scanning the delicate petals before landing on a small note tucked neatly into the paper wrapping.
Curiosity gets the better of you, and you carefully pluck the note free, holding it up to read. The handwriting is familiar, slightly messy but endearingly so.
"I know you said to leave you alone and give you space, and I promise I'm trying... but you didn't say anything about not giving you flowers. Today, it's tulips. Tomorrow, I'm thinking lilies... or maybe daisies? I haven't decided yet but I hope these make you smile, even just a little <3"
Your heart stutters, warmth creeping into your cheeks as you read and reread the words. It's simple, thoughtful, and so undeniably him. You glance over your shoulder, and sure enough, Jungkook is still seated behind you, his gaze fixed on his notebook.
But you don't miss the slight upward twitch of his lips, as if he knows you've seen the flowers, knows you've read his note.
You turn back to the bouquet, running your fingers lightly over the petals. A small, involuntary smile tugs at your lips, and for the first time since yesterday, the weight on your chest feels just a little lighter.
A week goes by, and you find yourself standing in front of your coffee table, staring at the growing collection of bouquets that now dominate the space. Tulips, roses, lilies, daisies... each arrangement more beautiful than the last.
Jungkook had been persistent with his floral deliveries, never missing a day. True to his word, he kept his distance, gave you space. No texts, no begging for forgiveness, no sudden appearances, no overwhelming gestures... just the quiet, steady arrival of flowers that spoke louder than words ever could.
And as much as you tried to brush it off, to remind yourself that you were still upset, you'd be lying if you said the sight of those vibrant bouquets didn't make you feel like the most special girl in the world.
A small smile tugs at your lips as you glance at the bouquets one last time before grabbing your bag.
Since it's Saturday, you need to head to the art studio and get back to working on the painting for the upcoming exhibition. The piece is almost finished but it still needs a few finishing touches.
You don't expect Jungkook to remember your plans for the exhibition, not after everything that's transpired between the two of you.
Since you haven't been texting or communicating much, you've resigned yourself to the idea that you'll have to tackle it alone, just as you always have. Besides, he's always been late whenever you've asked him to accompany you, so it's hardly a surprise.
But when you push open the door to the art studio today, the sight before you catches you completely off guard.
Jungkook is already there.
His back is to you, his broad shoulders relaxed as he stands before the canvas. A paintbrush is poised in his hand, moving with careful precision as he touches up the details on the painting and his head tilts slightly as he steps back to examine his work.
You pause in the doorway, unable to tear your gaze away. The air is tinged with the faint smell of paint and turpentine.
For a second, you debate whether to step in or quietly retreat, but the sight of him working so earnestly on something that matters to you pulls at your chest. You clear your throat softly, breaking the silence.
Jungkook freezes mid-brushstroke, his movements halting with an almost endearing hesitance. He turns his head, glancing over his shoulder to meet your gaze.
For a moment, his eyes widen, caught somewhere between surprise and relief, before a small, sheepish smile curves his lips.
"Hey." he greets, his voice warm, tinged with a softness you can't ignore. There's something almost... hopeful in the way he looks at you, as if your presence alone has made his day.
"Figured you might need a hand with this." he adds, the corners of his lips lifting into a grin that's equal parts playful and genuine.
You finally step into the studio, your gaze lingering on him longer than you'd like to admit. "You're talking like I didn't basically finish that entire painting all by myself." you quip, the teasing lilt in your voice breaking the tension as you walk towards the table behind him.
Setting your bag down, you keep your movements casual, though your heart beats just a little faster than usual. He lets out an airy chuckle, his shoulders relaxing as he turns back to the canvas.
"Fair point." he admits, the brush in his hand resuming its careful strokes.
Leaning back against the table, you cross your arms and let your gaze settle on him. There's something almost mesmerizing about the way he works.
He's ethereal like this, you think, a picture of calm and serenity that feels almost out of place in the chaos of your thoughts. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches on the faint traces of paint smudged on his fingers, and you can't help but marvel at how effortless he makes it all look.
Suddenly, the buzz of a phone rings through the studio and Jungkook instantly stops painting as his hand reaches for his phone in his back pocket.
You watch him, a quiet curiosity pulling at your focus as he glances at the screen and answers. "What's up?" he asks, his voice casual. You can hear a familiar voice on the other end of the line, and when he responds, you realize who it is.
"No, Jimin, you can't wear that because I'm wearing it tonight." Jungkook says with a hint of amusement, rolling his eyes as he continues. "Besides, that jacket's not gonna fit you anyway." he adds with a dry chuckle, clearly used to the back-and-forth dynamic with his roommate.
As the conversation unfolds, you piece together more details about Jimin, who you've heard plenty about over the course of your friendship with Jungkook.
You've listened to him vent about how Jimin, his roommate constantly borrows his clothes without asking, empties his ramen stock with reckless abandon, and perhaps most infuriating of all, sets the alarm for mornings he never wakes up for.
That means it's left to Jungkook and Taehyung to rise with the blaring sound of the alarm, cursed with the sole responsibility of dragging Jimin out of bed, an endless cycle that never seems to end.
You smile to yourself, quietly amused by the mental image of their dynamic and find yourself lost in the memory of those moments when Jungkook would casually spill details about his life... little snippets about his roommates, his frustrations, his moments of laughter.
He never hesitated to confide in you, his words flowing freely as if sharing his world with you was second nature.
It's strange, the way the simplest things can hold so much weight and it's funny how something as simple as hearing his laughter on the phone makes you realize how much you've missed it, how much you've missed him.
When the phone call finally concludes, Jungkook turns his gaze towards you, a soft, almost tender smile gracing his lips. "That was Jimin." he says with a quiet calm "He wants to wear my jacket for the party tonight."
Right. The party.
It had been the talk of the week. Since it was the weekend, a guy from your class, Jackson (A/N: YOU KNOWWWW I HAD TO IT'S BASICALLY A FANFICTION RULE. LIKE, WE NEED TO HAVE A JACKSON WANG PARTYYY I'M SORRY, BUT IT'S A MUST!) had invited a crowd of people to his infamous house party.
Jackson, was known for throwing some of the wildest parties on campus, and the buzz around it had been palpable. Word spread fast, as it always did with him, and soon enough, everyone seemed to have made their plans to attend.
For a moment, the thought of it makes you pause. You hadn't exactly given it much thought when the invitation came, brushing it off as one of those things everyone would show up to, whether they felt like it or not.
Jackson's parties were almost a rite of passage, an event no one truly missed, even if they wanted to. And yet, there was always something about them that made you hesitant.
The flashes of bright lights, the sea of unfamiliar faces, the chaotic energy that permeated every corner of the room... it was all a bit too much at times.
"You're coming, right? To the party?" Jungkook asks, his voice softer than you expected, tinged with something that almost feels like hope.
You swallow hard, your gaze dropping to the floor. "I... I don't know." you murmur, trying to dodge the weight of his question. Jungkook knows better than anyone that parties aren't your scene.
The loud music, the crowded rooms... it's never been your thing. And yet, there's something in his eyes, an unspoken plea that makes it harder to outright refuse.
He shifts slightly, almost nervously, before he speaks again. "Please come." he says, his voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability catches you off guard, and you look up, meeting his gaze.
"I'll pick you up." he continues, his tone steadying as he inches closer, the distance between you shrinking until you can almost feel the warmth radiating from him. "And I promise..." He hesitates for a heartbeat, as if searching for the right words.
Finally, his voice drops, softer but resolute. "I promise I'll show up this time."
The sincerity in his eyes, mixed with that quiet determination hits you in the chest. It's a promise laced with a deeper meaning, one that goes beyond just a party. It's a promise to be there, to not let you down again.
And though every instinct in you screams to tread carefully, you find yourself nodding. "Okay." you say, your voice soft but decisive. Jungkook's eyes widen in disbelief as he looks at you. "Waitâreally? You're serious?" he asks, his tone a mixture of surprise and a hint of hope, as if he can't quite believe you've agreed so easily.
You chuckle at his reaction, the warmth in your chest growing, and nod again. "Yes. But I swear, if you're late, even by a minute... let's just say that'll be the last time I'm talking to you." you warn, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to look stern, though the corners of your mouth betray you.
Jungkook's face lights up with a mix of relief and amusement. "Ace, promise you, I'll literally replace all my fingers with Q-tips and my toes with paper clips before I show up late again." he says dramatically, and the absurd image makes you laugh despite yourself.
He watches you with a grin, clearly satisfied with the way he's managed to make you laugh, but before you can even process it, he inches closer.
"I'm not gonna let you down, Ace."
The moment Jungkook presses the brakes, his gaze flicks to the clock on the dashboardâ6:47 PM. He promised to pick you up at 7:00, and true to his word, he made sure to arrive early, thanks to the car he was able to borrow from his landlord.
He thinks of this evening as his second chance, an opportunity to finally set things right, to prove to you just how deeply sorry he is and how much he truly wants you.
His heart beats a little faster just thinking about it. The simple fact that you agreed to let him pick you up, to go to the party together, fills him with a quiet sense of relief and anticipation.
He sits in his car, eyes drifting to your apartment building just across the street, a faint sigh escaping his lips and for reasons he can't quite explain, there's a nervous energy crawling up his spine.
He leans back in his seat, closing his eyes for a brief moment, trying to steady his breath, as if that will help calm his racing thoughts. No slip-ups tonight. No fuck-ups. No mistakes. Everything needs to be perfect because he just doesn't want to disappoint you again.
The minutes seem to stretch endlessly, each one heavier than the last. Jungkook steals another glance at the clock, now 7:03. His pulse quickens as he looks towards the entrance of your apartment building, his gaze scanning for any sign of you.
And then, like something out of a dream, he spots you.
You emerge from the building, and time seems to slow. His breath catches in his throat as his eyes drink in the sight of you dressed in a delicate baby pink dress that clings to your figure in the most perfect way.
It's as though the fabric was made just for you, caressing your curves, flattering every line, and giving you an ethereal glow that makes his heart beat faster. Your presence is magnetic, and for a moment, he's completely mesmerized, utterly entranced by the beauty before him.
You don't notice him yet, too preoccupied with fixing your hair, fingers delicately tugging at strands in the most graceful way. Then, your eyes flick nervously to your phone, probably checking your makeup, and Jungkook can't help but smile softly.
You look so incredibly perfect, so radiant, and the sight of you has him nearly breathless.
The moment your gaze meets his, everything stops. His heart, for the briefest moment, completely halts... frozen in awe. His smile falters, not out of disappointment, but because he's utterly captivated, lost in the sight of you.
You smile at him, your face lighting up, and wave as you jog towards the car. The sight of you moving with such effortless grace makes his chest tighten. You approach the passenger seat and open the door, sliding in with such poise.
"Wow, I didn't actually expect you to be on time." you giggle, carefully settling into the seat. "I honestly thought you would show up at least 10 minutes laâ"
"God, Ace." Jungkook interrupts you, his voice almost a reverent whisper as his eyes never leave you, his gaze deepening with something far more intense than admiration.
You haven't noticed yet, too busy adjusting yourself in the seat, but he can't tear his eyes away from you. "You look... perfect." he breathes out, his voice thick with awe, as though the words are barely enough to capture the magnitude of what he's feeling.
You laugh softly, shaking your head in playful disbelief, still unaware of just how utterly lost he is in the moment. You're so used to his compliments by now that you brush it off nonchalantly. "Well, you don't look too bad yourself." you reply with a casual shrug.
At this, Jungkook chuckles, as if it's the first time he's truly registered what you said. He finally snaps back to reality, though his gaze still lingers on you... lingers in a way that makes your pulse race, just a little.
His eyes flicker to your seatbelt, or rather, the lack of one. "Safety first, Ace." he murmurs, his voice low, almost playful.
Before you can fully process his words, you're caught off guard as Jungkook leans closer. His arm stretches across you, his hand reaching for the seatbelt latch beside your head.
The sudden proximity has your breath catching in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You can't help but press your back further into the seat, the heat of his body so close to yours sending a flutter of nervous excitement through you.
His movements are slow as every motion seems to stretch the moment longer than it should. He pulls the seatbelt over your body, his fingers slightly grazing your shoulder as he slides it into the buckle with a soft click.
"There." he murmurs, his voice a low hum, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Despite the storm brewing inside you, you manage to force out a small smile, attempting to mask the fact that you're utterly flustered.
But of course, Jungkook notices. His keen eyes catch the flicker of emotion on your face, and though he looks away, the subtle twitch at the corner of his lips betrays his amusement.
Soon, the engine hums to life, and the drive to Jackson's mansion feels fleeting, a blur of streetlights and quiet anticipation. As Jungkook pulls up and parks the car, he's quick to get out, jogging around the front to your side.
He opens the door for you, extending a hand to help you out. His touch is firm yet gentle as he ensures you're steady on your heels, his gaze flicking down briefly to check before locking the car.
A small smile plays on his lips as he tilts his head towards the mansion, silently asking... Shall we?
You giggle softly, nodding in response, and as the two of you begin walking towards the grand entrance, his hand instinctively finds the small of your back.
The gesture is subtle yet possessive, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine.
As you pass by the bustling lawn, your gaze flits to the chaotic scene unfolding around the swimming pool... half-naked people getting drunk, laughing, stumbling, and diving into the water with reckless abandon.
The air is thick with the scent of chlorine, alcohol, and mischief, a typical backdrop for a night like this.
Stepping inside, the energy shifts but remains electric. You don't miss the couples tucked away in shadowed corners, making out or the group of guys fervently playing beer pong, their cheers and jeers blending with the pounding bass of the music.
The house hums with life, every corner alive with people immersed in their own worlds.
"Let me grab you a drink." Jungkook offers, his voice soft against the noise, and you nod in agreement. He gently guides you to the nearby couch before disappearing towards the kitchen, his figure weaving effortlessly through the throng of partygoers.
Left alone for a moment, you can't help but smile to yourself, watching him retreat. You're glad you decided to come tonight. A part of you has missed Jungkook terribly, and maybe you're finally ready to give him another chance. Or at the very least, hear him out.
His persistent flower deliveries for a week straight had seemed to chip away at the walls you'd built, each bouquet softening you little by little.
Soon enough, Jungkook returns with two red cups in hand, his smile soft and almost shy as he passes one to you. "Here." he says, his tone casual, though his eyes linger on you like he's studying your reaction.
The moment you take a sip, the taste hits you and it's awful. Your nose scrunches, your brows knit together, and you stick out your tongue slightly, the bitterness and burn leaving an unmistakable mark on your face.
Jungkook notices instantly, and a laugh escapes him. "What... is this?" you ask, peering suspiciously into the cup, as if the liquid itself might answer for its crimes.
There's no hiding your disdain because alcohol has never truly been your thing. You've always wondered why anyone would willingly endure the bizarre bitterness of it all.
Leaning closer, Jungkook smirks, clearly entertained by your reaction. "That..." he begins, gesturing to your cup. "Is just vodka with a splash of juice."
You shake your head, unconvinced, muttering, "Tastes like regret in a cup." but despite yourself, you lift the drink to your lips for another tentative sip. Predictably, your face contorts all over again, the exaggerated expression drawing another round of laughter from Jungkook.
"Ace..." he says, his voice warm and teasing. "You don't have to drink it if you don't like it." His tone softens as he leans just a little closer. "No one's going to judge you for sticking to soda, you know."
His words make you laugh and even with the unpleasant taste lingering in your mouth, there's a sweetness in the way Jungkook looks at you, like he wouldn't mind spending the whole evening watching you wrinkle your nose at bad cocktails.
You finish your drink with a playful shrug, flashing Jungkook a daring smile that makes his chest tighten. "What's the worst that could happen?" you tease, as if daring the night itself.
The music hums in the background, weaving seamlessly with the low buzz of conversations and bursts of laughter. Before long, you're weaving through the party, bumping into friends here and there.
You expect Jungkook to eventually drift away, to join his own circle of friends now that you're mingling. But he doesn't. His presence is steadfast, his palm a constant, reassuring weight on the small of your back as he guides you through the thrumming chaos of the party.
He's always close, sharing snacks with you and even encourages you to try a few different drinks despite your initial distaste for alcohol. Surprisingly, you're enthusiastic, more curious than hesitant and it makes him grin every time you wrinkle your nose at the unfamiliar flavors.
But as the evening stretches on, it becomes clear to him that your alcohol tolerance isn't quite what he expected. He notices the subtle shift first... the way your laughter grows just a little louder, a little freer, unbound by the careful control you usually maintain.
Then, you're swaying ever so slightly, your balance unsteady as your fingers curl tighter around his arm for support. The warmth of your touch lingers, igniting something deep within him, but he focuses on keeping you steady.
He stopped drinking the moment he realized you were getting tipsy, choosing instead to stay sharp, to look after you. He's never seen you like this... so carefree, so unguarded and it's a side of you that's both unexpected and utterly captivating.
Every new song the DJ plays is met with newfound enthusiasm. "This is my favorite song everrr !!" you exclaim for the fifth time, your words slightly slurred but full of infectious excitement. Jungkook can't help but laugh, shaking his head as you tug him towards the dance floor.
Under the neon lights, you're a vision. Your hair, slightly mussed from the night's revelry, frames your face perfectly. The faint sheen of sweat on your skin catches the light, giving you an almost ethereal glow.
His hands find your waist, steadying you as you sway to the beat, your movements loose and uninhibited. Your hands rest against his chest, featherlight but grounding, and you lean in closer without even realizing it.
Your smile... soft, almost childlike in its drunken charm leaves him utterly spellbound. The way your laughter bubbles up, unrestrained, the way your eyes sparkle with mischief and warmth, the way your presence seems to light up the room... it's intoxicating in a way that no drink ever could be.
Jungkook watches you, mesmerized, as you move with the rhythm, your hands occasionally pulling him closer. The proximity, the warmth, the raw intimacy of the moment... it's enough to drive him to the brink.
Time slips by in a blur, and before long, an uncomfortable warmth begins to creep over you. It feels as though the air in the room has thickened, pressing against your skin and making it harder to breathe.
You shift restlessly, tugging at the neckline of your outfit, your gaze flickering anxiously around the crowded room. The buzz of alcohol lingers in your veins, but a sudden wave of lightheadedness washes over you, making the space feel stifling and claustrophobic.
Jungkook is quick to notice the subtle shift in your demeanor. "What's wrong, Ace?" he asks, his brows knitting together in concern. "Too... too many people." you mumble, inching closer to him as if seeking refuge.
Your voice wavers slightly, and he doesn't need any more convincing. "You wanna get out of here?" he offers, his tone gentle, and you nod instantly.
Without hesitation, Jungkook reaches for your hand, his fingers wrapping securely around yours. He tugs you gently, maneuvering through the throng of partygoers with practiced ease.
He helps you climb the steps with care, his arm subtly supporting you as you wobble slightly on unsteady feet. The hallway above is bustling too, but doors line either side, and Jungkook begins checking them one by one, searching for an empty room.
After a few minutes, he finds one and pushes it open, ushering you inside.
As soon as the door clicks shut, sealing you both away from the chaos, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. The room is dimly lit, the muffled sounds of the party barely audible through the walls. You sway slightly before stumbling towards the bed, collapsing onto it with a dramatic flop.
Jungkook chuckles softly, leaning against the door for a moment to watch you. "You okay there?" he teases, but his voice is laced with affection. You're sprawled out, your arms flung wide, your cheeks flushed, and your eyes fluttering as you fight to keep them open.
When your hands move to rub at your arms, shivering faintly despite the warmth of the room, Jungkook springs into action. Without a word, he helps you sit up as he slips off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.
The fabric is heavy with his scent, a mix of cedarwood and something unmistakably him, and it instantly envelops you in a comforting cocoon.
"Better?" he asks, his voice softer now as he sits down beside you on the bed. You nod, adjusting the jacket slightly before leaning into him, your head coming to rest on his shoulder.
"God, Ace..." Jungkook breathes, his arm curling around your shoulders to hold you close. "You're so cute, you know that?"
A sleepy smile tugs at your lips, but you don't respond, too lost in the warmth of his presence. Jungkook glances down at you, his chest tightening at how small you look in his jacket, your lashes brushing your cheeks as you hum softly.
He leans his cheek lightly against the top of your head, a contented sigh escaping him as he holds you.
"You know, Ace..." Jungkook begins softly after a few seconds of silence. There's a weight to his tone, one that instantly has your ears perking, even though your eyes remain closed.
You hum in acknowledgment, the quiet sound of encouragement making him tighten his hold around your shoulder. "I'm sorry about that day..." he murmurs, his words gentle yet heavy, laced with regret.
Your brows knit slightly, and though the haze of alcohol still clouds your mind, his voice feels like a lifeline, grounding you. He takes a steadying breath, his hand brushing against your arm as though searching for the courage to continue.
"For not showing up." he adds, his grip tightening ever so slightly, as if afraid you might slip away at the mere mention of his mistake.
That gets your attention. Slowly, you open your eyes and shift, moving away just enough to look at him. Even through the tipsy blur, you can clearly make out the sincerity in his gaze.
"I'm sorry I didn't call or text to let you know I couldn't make it." he continues, his dark eyes locking with yours, his voice thick with remorse. "It was never my intention to blow the chance you gave me. I know how much it must've hurt, and I hate that I let you down... I hate that I made you cry."
For a moment, you just stare at him, your breath caught in your throat as his words sink in.
"So, please..." he says, his voice trembling slightly, as if the weight of his emotions is too much to contain. "Give me another chance. Another way to make this right. Because I want this... I want us... more than anything."
He pauses as he swallows hard, his eyes searching yours with a mix of desperation and hope. It's as though he's laying his heart bare before you, every beat of it beating just for you.
You watch him, your own heart pounding in your chest. The way he hesitates, the way his brows furrow in an almost imperceptible show of vulnerability, it's unlike anything you've seen from him before.Â
This isn't the Jungkook who always teases you with easy confidence, the one who flirts with you like it's second nature. This is the Jungkook, stripped of pretense, standing before you utterly, irrevocably exposed.
"I..." he continues, his voice dropping lower, thick with emotion, "I really, really like you, Y/n and... and I've never felt this way about anyone before. Not like this."
The words leave him in a rush, and for a split second, he looks away, as if the intensity of his feelings is too much to handle. But then his eyes find yours again, filled with an unyielding sincerity that takes your breath away.
"I've been falling for you in ways I didn't even know were possible..." he admits, his voice a whisper now, trembling but resolute. "And I can't lose you... not without showing you how much you mean to me."
The way he's looking at you, like you're the only person in the universe makes it impossible to look away. For a moment, you're not sure if it's the alcohol or the intensity of the moment making you dizzy, but you can feel something shifting deep inside you.Â
You're both locked in each other's gaze, time seeming to still as Jungkook processes the weight of what he's just said while you grapple with the enormity of what you've just heard.
The muffled music from the party fades into nothingness, eclipsed by the deafening rhythm of your heartbeat.Â
It pounds so loudly, you wonder if Jungkook can hear it too... but he's too caught up in the thundering of his own to even notice.
Suddenly, your gaze falls to his lips, the distance between you feeling maddeningly close yet achingly far. Something stirs deep within, a silent yearning urging you to close the gap. Though tipsy, your mind is clear, fully aware of the choice you're about to make.Â
Perhaps it's the liquid courage coursing through your veins, giving you that extra push, daring you to lean in just a little closer.
Jungkook's gaze dips to your lips as well, and the way you lean ever so slightly forward sends his world spiraling in a blur of chaotic emotions.Â
His heart throbs, his pulse races, and though a part of him wants to leap up and break into a celebratory dance, he stays rooted, leaning in as well.
The space between you diminishes, your breaths mingling, his features so near you can trace the warmth emanating from him. It feels like the world has shrunk to just the two of you, suspended in a moment where nothing else matters.
But then, as if the universe itself is playing a cruel joke, a sudden commotion erupts outside. The sharp sound of gasps and screams pierces the quiet moment, shattering the delicate bubble that had cocooned you.
Both of you flinch, your heads snapping towards the open window where the noise originates.
You don't move at first, your body sluggish with the haze of alcohol and the lingering electricity of the moment. The chaotic sounds from outside grow louder, and you can make out frantic voices rising in panic.
"What's... going on?" you murmur, glancing towards Jungkook. His expression tightens, concern flickering across his face as he unwraps his arm from around you.
"Stay here." he says softly, his tone calm but firm. Rising to his feet, he crosses the room in long strides and peers out the window. His eyes widen, his body stiffening as he takes in the scene below.
A boy dangles precariously from the edge of the roof on the other side of the mansion, one trembling hand clutching to the ledge for dear life. The scene below is chaotic, a crowd gathered on the lawn, their faces painted with horror as they scream and plead for the boy to hold on.
Jungkook takes in the height of the fall and the sheer helplessness of the people below, the pit of his stomach sinking at the thought of what could happen if the boy loses his grip.
It's clear the guy is drunk... his erratic swaying and terrified yells make that much obvious, but none of it changes the gravity of the situation.
Jungkook's jaw tightens as he scans the lawn. The crowd looks frozen, their panic rendering them useless. His gaze flicks back to the boy, whose grip is visibly weakening, the tremor in his arm growing more pronounced.
Jungkook knows there's no time to wait for someone else to act because this is on him now.
He spins back towards you, still seated on the bed with his jacket draped loosely over your frame. Your brows furrow in worry as you look at him, sensing the urgency in his movements. "What's happening?" you ask, your voice tinged with unease.
"Nothing, just some drunk idiot doing something stupid." he says, though the tightness in his voice betrays his nonchalance. He approaches you, crouching down so that he's at eye level. His hand reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch tender despite the situation.
"Ace..." he murmurs, his gaze steady and reassuring. "I'm just gonna go check out what's going on, okay? Stay here for me, please. I'll be right back." His voice is gentle, but there's an underlying edge of determination that tells you this isn't something trivial.
You hesitate, your instincts tugging at you to follow, to see what's happening. But the exhaustion from the night and maybe the alcohol, makes your limbs feel like lead.
"Okay." you whisper. The relief on Jungkook's face is immediate, and before standing, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Before you can process it, he's already out the door.
"Tae, call Jungkook. Fast." Jimin mutters, nudging Taehyung as both of them stare at the boy dangling from the edge of the roof. His hand clutches desperately at the ledge, his entire body trembling as he fights against gravity.
Taehyung hesitates, concern flickering across his face. "But isn't he with Y/n? I don'tâ" Another anguished yell from the boy interrupts him. His grip visibly falters, and the gasps and screams from the crowd below grow louder.Â
Taehyung curses under his breath. "Okay, okay, I'll call him." He fumbles for his phone, his fingers trembling as he struggles to find Jungkook's contact. Before he can press the call button, a new sound cuts through the chaos... a sharp and familiar thwip.
Jimin and Taehyung whip their heads towards the noise, their eyes widening as they catch sight of him.Â
Jungkook, in his red-and-blue mask and suit, is already swinging into action. The crowd gasps collectively, their shock palpable as they watch him soar through the air, moving with an effortless precision that seems almost unreal.
"Holy shit, it's Spiderman!" someone exclaims, their voice cutting through the chaotic murmurs of the crowd.
Jungkook fires another web mid-swing, the silken thread shooting with precision and anchoring securely to a sturdy section of the roof near the dangling boy. There's no pause in his movements, his body twists with effortless agility, each motion fluid as he adjusts his trajectory.
The wind whips past Jungkook, a roaring rush in his ears, but his focus remains razor-sharp, his mind calculating every move with unwavering precision.
In a single, breathtaking moment, he reaches the boy, wrapping one arm securely around his torso. The boy lets out a gasp of relief, clinging to Jungkook as if his life depends on it... which, in this moment, it does.
Jungkook's other hand shoots another web to maintain balance as the two of them swing away from the roof's edge.
The crowd below erupts in cheers and gasps, their eyes glued to the cinematic scene unfolding above them. Jungkook adjusts his grip on the man, ensuring he's held securely, and twists his body mid-swing to aim for a clear landing spot.
With a calculated flick of his wrist, he releases the web and they descend, the ground rushing up to meet them.
As they near the lawn, Spiderman bends his knees, absorbing the impact with practiced ease. He lands gracefully, his feet firmly planted on the ground, holding the boy steady in his arms. The boy collapses, shaking and sobbing, but otherwise unharmed.
The crowd bursts into applause, their earlier panic giving way to awe and gratitude. Phones are out, recording the moment, but Jungkook doesn't pay any attention to the commotion. He gently sets the boy down on the grass, crouching beside him.Â
He helps the boy sit up, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "You're okay now." he says softly, his masked face tilting as he checks the boy for any visible injuries. "Try to stay off rooftops when you've had a bit too much, yeah?" he adds with a hint of humor, though his tone remains gentle.
The boy nods shakily, muttering a string of thank-yous between his sobs. Jungkook pats his shoulder reassuringly before standing up, his masked face turning towards the crowd.
He raises a hand briefly, signaling that everything is under control before shooting another web and swinging away, disappearing into the night.
Jimin and Taehyung, still standing on the sidelines, exchange a look, their mouths slightly agape. "Did we justâ?" Taehyung starts, but Jimin interrupts him, shaking his head with a wry smile. "Yeah, we just watched Jungkook save the day. Again."
Your eyes stay wide, transfixed on the scene unfolding outside. Moments ago, you were too drained to even consider moving from the bed. But as the shouts and screams grew louder, curiosity got the better of you.
Dragging yourself to the window, you peeked out, expecting nothing more than a drunken brawl or some careless antics.
What you didn't anticipate was the sight before you, a familiar masked figure clad in red and blue, swinging effortlessly through the air, the distinct silhouette of Spiderman in action.
For a moment, you wonder if your tired, tipsy mind is playing tricks on you, but the gasps and cheers from the crowd below confirm it's all real.
It happens in the blink of an eye, so fast it's almost surreal.
You stand there, frozen, as you watch a few people helping the man stumble back into the mansion, his trembling form supported by their hands.
The rest of the crowd, still buzzing with excitement, murmurs about Spiderman, who has already disappeared into the night, leaving nothing but the echo of his presence behind.
As the noise begins to settle, you find yourself mesmerized by the surreal events you've just witnessed. How does Spiderman always seem to appear at the most critical moments?
Even in the alley, when you thought you were on the brink of disaster, he showed up, as if the universe had willed it. The fact that you've now seen him not once but twice in real life... it feels almost impossible, like you're living in a dream.
Minutes stretch on, and you remain near the window, watching as the commotion slowly dies down, people returning to their partying and laughing as if nothing unusual happened.
Just when you begin to wonder where Jungkook has gone, the door to the bedroom creaks open. "Oh my God, Kook!" you exclaim without thinking, spinning around to face him.
Jungkook, slightly winded from the frantic dash, freezes in place. He's caught off guard to see you standing by the window, your eyes wide with excitement.
Before he can respond, you rush towards him, now much more alert, the weight of the alcohol clearly wearing off. "Did you see that? Spiderman was here!!" The words spill from your lips, and you can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of awe.
Jungkook's heart skips a beat, his eyes betraying a flicker of something... he's suddenly very aware of how much he has to keep up the act. He's trying to catch his breath after changing out of his suit and running back here, but also, he's trying to hide his own involvement.Â
"Oh... y-yeah, I saw... I saw that." he stammers, doing his best to sound casual, as though he had simply been another spectator on the lawn. "Wow, I can't believe it. He was so cool." you breathe out, almost dreamily, your eyes still sparkling from the adrenaline of the moment.
Jungkook chuckles softly, his gaze lingering on you, studying the way excitement lights up your features. "I'm guessing you're all sober now." he teases, his voice tinged with amusement.
You blink, snapping back to reality as his words register. You touch your temple sheepishly, realizing the alcohol's haze has indeed lifted. "Yeah... I guess I am." you admit with a shy laugh.
"Should we leave?" he asks, his tone gentle. He tilts his head slightly, gauging your reaction. The party suddenly feels insignificant compared to everything that has unfolded tonight, and you nod in agreement. "Yeah, let's go."Â
Jungkook leads the way as the two of you make your way down the stairs and out of the mansion. The cool night air greets you, brushing against your skin as you follow him to his car.
True to his nature, Jungkook is as chivalrous as ever... again opening the door for you, putting on your seatbelt.Â
The car hums to life as he starts the engine, and the drive begins, the city lights streaming past the windows in streaks of gold and white.
For a while, you sit in comfortable silence, the events of the evening swirling in your mind. But then, a memory crashes into you... what had happened back in the room, before everything was interrupted.
Your heart flutters at the memory... the moment when his lips had been so tantalizingly close to yours, and the way he had laid his heart bare, confessing his feelings with such raw sincerity.
Your fingers fidget in your lap, your gaze flickering to Jungkook as he focuses on the road. He looks calm, but the faint tension in his jaw and the way his hands grip the steering wheel a little too tightly suggest otherwise.Â
Is he thinking about it, too? You wonder if his mind is replaying the same confession, the same moment the two of you almost kissed, just as yours is.
When the car rolls to a stop right in front of your apartment, neither of you makes the first move to leave. The quiet is serene, the kind that feels full of unspoken words and lingering glances.
You turn your head to look at him, only to find him already gazing at you with those dreamy eyes and that small, endearing smile that could melt glaciers.
"What?" you ask, a soft giggle slipping out despite yourself. "Nothing." he murmurs, his voice tender as his head tilts slightly. "You're just... so pretty."
Your cheeks burn, and you quickly glance out the window to hide your face, biting down on your lower lip to suppress the giddy smile that's threatening to take over.
"You're even prettier when you're all flustered." he adds, his tone teasing, and when you turn back to him, you lightly smack his arm. "Stoppp." you whine, your voice tinged with playful embarrassment.
Jungkook chuckles, and his laughter only deepens the rosy hue on your cheeks.
"I should go." you finally say, straightening in your seat as you fumble with the seatbelt. Jungkook's smile falters just slightly, a flicker of disappointment passing through his eyes, but he nods, understanding.
His gaze drops to the steering wheel as you gather your purse and prepare to step out.
Just as your hand reaches for the door handle, you pause and glance back at him. "Jungkook..." you call out softly, your voice catching his attention immediately. His head snaps up, and he hums in acknowledgment, his eyes searching yours.
You offer him a small, tender smile before leaning across the console. Your hand cradles his cheek gently, and before he can process what's happening, you press a firm, lingering kiss to his lips. His breath hitches, his entire world narrowing to this one perfect moment.
Then, just as quickly as it began, you pull away, your eyes flickering with mischief and affection. Before Jungkook can say or do anything, you dart out of the car, running towards your apartment building with a laugh bubbling up your throat.
He sits there in stunned silence, his lips still tingling from your touch. His wide eyes stare ahead, his mind racing to catch up. Did she just... kiss me?Â
He quickly turns his head towards the entrance of the building, and there you are, standing under the warm glow of the lights with the brightest smile on your face. His jacket still swallows your frame, the sleeves hanging past your hands as you wave at him enthusiastically.
"Bye!" you call out, your voice slightly muffled by the distance, yet it carries enough warmth to make his heart skip a beat. Before he can even lift his hand to wave back, you're already turning around, disappearing into the building with a spring in your step.
Jungkook leans back in his seat, a soft chuckle escaping him as his fingers brush lightly against his lower lip. In this moment, with your laughter still ringing in his ears and the lingering warmth of your kiss on his lips... he swears he's just won at life.
Jungkook scans the campus, his eyes darting from one familiar face to another as he searches for you. Ever since Saturday, he hasn't been able to go a single moment without thoughts of you invading his mind. It's maddening, this constant pull towards you.Â
He's been trying to find you all morning, but with no shared classes today, it's been nearly impossible to catch even a glimpse of you. Frustration gnaws at him as he exits the cafeteria, his steps aimless, his mind preoccupied. That's when his gaze suddenly lands on the soccer field.
A group of boys are kicking a ball around, their shouts and laughter echoing in the air. But Jungkook barely pays them any mind. Instead, his attention is drawn to the bleachers, where he spots a familiar figure sitting alone.Â
He squints, trying to get a clearer view through the sunlight streaming down. There you are, perched in the middle of the stands, your laptop balanced on your knees, fingers flying over the keyboard.
For a moment, he hesitates. You look so engrossed, so focused, and he wonders if you're too busy for him. But the thought of walking away without talking to you feels unbearable especially after how things turned out between the two of you on Saturday.
Without overthinking it, he strides towards the field, his steps quickening as he crosses the grass. Reaching the bleachers, he takes the stairs two at a time until he's standing just a few feet away from you.
"Ace." he calls out, his voice carrying a warmth that he hopes catches your attention as he moves closer. You glance up, startled, and the corners of your lips twitch into a small smile when you see him.Â
The sight of you, framed by the sunlight, takes his breath away for a second.
"You busy?" he asks, nodding towards your laptop, though he's already sliding right beside you, completely ignoring the need for an invitation.
You glance at him briefly, a small smile tugging at your lips as you focus back on the screen. "Yeah, I've got this assignment to finish." you reply, fingers dancing over the keys.
He leans closer, just enough for his shoulder to brush against yours, peeking at your laptop screen with childlike curiosity. "What's it about?" he asks, his tone casual but his attention entirely on you.
You laugh softly, nudging him away playfully. "Nothing you'd find interesting." you say, shaking your head. "Try me." he challenges with a grin.
"Were you looking for me?" you ask, changing the subject, your voice light as you keep typing. "Obviously." he says, without hesitation. You stop typing for a moment, tilting your head to look at him. "Obviously?" you repeat, a teasing edge in your voice.
"Yeah." he replies, leaning back slightly, his expression softening. "I missed you."
The words catch you off guard, making your heart flutter, though you roll your eyes to mask your reaction. "Please." you mutter, shaking your head, but your cheeks are already starting to warm.
"What?" he protests, leaning closer again. "I'm serious. I haven't stopped thinking about you since Saturday."
The way he says it, like it's the most normal thing in the world, sends your stomach into a series of somersaults. "And especially after..." he trails off, a sly grin spreading across his face as his gaze locks with yours.
You narrow your eyes at him, already knowing where he's going. "Don't." you warn. "What? I'm just saying..." He shrugs, feigning innocence, though the grin never leaves his lips. "It's kinda hard to forget when you kissed me like that."
"Jungkook!" you whisper-shout, looking around as if anyone might overhear, even though it's just the two of you by the bleacher stands. You hide your face behind your hands, your laughter muffled but unmistakably bright.
He laughs too, leaning closer, gently pulling your hands away from your face. "Why are you embarrassed? I liked it." he says softly, his tone suddenly tender. Your breath catches as his thumb brushes against your knuckles, the playful atmosphere shifting into something more heartfelt.Â
"I mean it." he murmurs, his voice low and steady, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. "You've been on my mind nonstop." As he leans closer, the world around you fades into the background.Â
For a moment, all you can do is stare into his eyes while your heart pounds wildly against your ribs, and before you can stop yourself, a small, shy smile tugs at your lips. "Maybe you've been on my mind too." you admit, your voice soft and trembling with vulnerability.
His lips part slightly, and he tilts his head just enough to close the gap between you further. "Yeah...?" he asks, his voice husky and full of something unspoken but undeniably magnetic.
Your eyes flick down to his lips, and before you realize it, you're wetting your own. The air between you feels charged, like a storm waiting to break. You hum in response, your breath hitching as the space between you grows impossibly small.
"Well, that's good." he whispers, his voice dropping to a near growl, his lips so close now you can almost feel their heat.
Your heart skips a beat as your eyes flutter close, anticipation coursing through your veins. Just as you tilt your head, ready to close the final distance, his breath mingling with yoursâ
THWACK!
Out of nowhere, Jungkook's hand shoots up beside your head with lightning speed, snatching something in the middle of the air.
The sudden motion jolts your eyes open, a wave of confusion washing over you. In his grasp is a soccer ball, which he swiftly hurls with a force that sends it soaring high into the air.
Jungkook clicks his tongue in frustration, clearly irritated that a moment like this was interrupted once again. "Are you kidding me?" he mutters, his glare fixated on the boys on the field, who offer a sheepish apology before quickly rushing off to retrieve the ball.
But you're not focused on them anymore. Your gaze is fixed on him, still in awe of his reflexes. It takes you a moment to process the rapidity of his movements, and your mind is drawn back to that time when he yanked you out of harm's way, pulling you from the middle of the road just when a car was barreling towards you.Â
His instincts, so sharp and immediate, leave you in a state of quiet disbelief. How does he react so swiftly? It's almost like he has an inhuman sense for danger, a superhuman awareness that requires no thought, just pure instinct.
"How did you... do that?" The words slip from your lips before you can stop them, your voice almost a whisper, as if still in disbelief. Jungkook glances at you, pretending to be clueless, his lips curling into that familiar mischievous smile.
"Do what?" he asks, his tone laced with mock innocence. "Oh, come on..." you say, frustration and fascination mixing in your voice. "You know exactly what I mean. How did you catch that ball with such ease? And how did you even know it was coming towards us?" Your eyes narrow, searching for any hint of an explanation.
Jungkook just shrugs, his gaze shifting lazily as he casually brushes off the question. "I just... sensed it." he responds with a calmness that only adds to the mystery. There's no sign of strain or effort in his voice, as if it's a completely natural thing for him to do.
You stare at him, still not fully convinced, your mind racing as you try to make sense of his words. How could he possibly have known, and how could his reflexes be so... precise?
As the silence between you lingers, your thoughts finally crystallize into one undeniable conclusion. "Well, your reflexes are... impressive." you murmur softly.
"Thanks, cutie." he says with a grin, before adding. "But honestly, maybe you should move to a safer spot. You know, one without flying soccer balls and potential danger zones." His playful tone draws a giggle from you.
"You're probably right." you admit, shutting your laptop and tucking it under your arm as you stand. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you glance at him with a smile. "I guess I'll head to the library." you inform him and begin walking past him.
But as you take a few steps, you hear the familiar sound of his sneakers on the ground behind you. Turning slightly, you arch a curious brow at him. "You're coming?" you ask.
He nods, an almost childlike grin lighting up his face. "Of course." he replies casually. "Kook..." you start, a knowing look on your face, "Don't you have class?"
He shrugs, utterly unbothered. "I think sitting next to you in the library while you finish your assignment is way more important." he says, his tone so nonchalant it makes you laugh.
Before you can protest any further, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, steering you towards the library. "Come on, Ace."Â
Finally clicking the submit button, you let out a low groan of relief, stretching your arms and rolling your neck to ease the stiffness. A glance at the clock shows it's almost 6 p.m. Your gaze shifts to the figure beside you, and your heart softens at the sight.Â
Jungkook's head is resting on the table, his cheek pressed against his forearm, his breaths slow and steady as he sleeps. A small smile tugs at your lips as you watch him, his peaceful expression making your chest ache in the best way.
When he'd promised to accompany you to the library, you'd braced yourself for endless chatter, playful teasing, and his usual antics.Â
But instead, he stayed quiet, only speaking when he noticed your frustration, gently offering help or encouragement. Eventually, the stillness must have lulled him into sleep.
You chuckle quietly to yourself, leaning a little closer to his sleeping form. Bringing your hand up, your fingers hover over his bangs, which have fallen messily across his eyes.
Gently, you brush them aside, tucking the strands away. "God..." you whisper, your breath catching as you take in his serene face.
Your eyes trace the soft curve of his features... the way his lips are slightly puckered, the faint rise and fall of his chest, and the way the warm library light casts a soft glow on his skin. He looks so perfect, so at peace.Â
Your heart flutters, a wave of fondness washing over you. You could stay like this forever, just watching him, soaking in his presence. But as endearing as the thought is, you can't ignore the concern creeping in.Â
The angle at which he's sleeping looks far from comfortable, and you're almost certain he'll wake up with a sore neck.
"Kook." you call softly, your voice barely above a whisper as your hand gently rests on his shoulder. You give him a light shake. "Kook, wake up. I'm done with my assignment." you say, a tender smile gracing your lips.
He stirs slightly, a quiet groan escaping him as he blinks himself awake, his sleepy eyes finding yours. And for a moment, as his gaze locks on yours, you think this moment might be even more perfect than the last.
"Ace..." he murmurs, his voice groggy as he straightens up, rubbing his face with both hands. His eyes blink open briefly before closing again, clearly fighting off the remnants of sleep.
"I'm sorry... I didn't even realize when I dozed off." he says, his fingers running through his messy hair. You giggle softly, charmed by his sleepy state. "It's alright." you assure him. "Why don't we head home?"
He nods, immediately helping you gather your belongings. In no time, the two of you exit the library, stepping into the dimly lit hallways where the faint buzz of students still lingers.
The evening air feels calm, but snippets of conversations drift towards you, most of them buzzing about the same thing.
"Can you believe Spiderman showed up at Jackson's party on Saturday?" someone exclaims.
Jungkook's posture stiffens ever so slightly at the mention of his alter ego, though he quickly masks it, keeping his expression casual.
"I still can't believe Spiderman showed up that night." you say, falling into step beside him as the both of you pass by the chattering group of students. "Yeah, me too." he replies evenly, his voice steady. "It's crazy he came just in time." he adds.
"Exactly!" you beam, your admiration shining through. "He's doing God's work, I swear. Always jumping in to help people when they need him the most. I admire him so much." you say, glancing at Jungkook with a wide smile.
Jungkook matches your smile, though his is softer, almost shy. "Yeah... he seems like a cool guy." he says, his tone measured.
As the familiar gates of the campus come into view, you slow your steps, turning to look at him again. "You know what? I've been saved by Spiderman too." you say quietly, your voice holding a hint of nostalgia.
Jungkook's breath hitches ever so slightly, his heart racing in his chest. He knows exactly what you're referring to. "Oh... really?" he asks, feigning cluelessness.
You nod, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah. It's something I'll never forget." you say, your gaze distant for a moment before flicking back to him.
Jungkook hums softly, his fingers curling slightly as he resists the urge to say more. The weight of the secret between you feels heavier now, but he forces himself to stay silent, allowing you to keep believing that you don't actually know who the mysterious hero is.Â
As the two of you walk out of campus, you can't help but notice how Jungkook keeps his gaze down, his eyes fixed on his feet with each step. It's unusual... strange, even.Â
The Jungkook you know would usually be brimming with curiosity, bombarding you with questions and probably wanting to know every tiny detail about your encounter with Spiderman.
Yet, he doesn't. He remains quiet, his hands shoved into his pockets, his expression unreadable.
You steal a glance at him, wondering why he isn't asking why you needed saving or what exactly happened or when it happened.Â
But as you take in his slightly slouched posture and the soft shadows under his eyes, you convince yourself that maybe the remnants of sleep are still clinging to him. Maybe he's just too tired this evening, preferring the quiet.
Jungkook walks you home, just like always, his hand brushing close to yours with every step.
When you finally reach your apartment building, there's a familiar ache in your chest, a reluctance to let the night end so soon.
"Well, Ace." he says, his voice soft, lingering like the evening air. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow." He starts to turn away, but something in you doesn't want to let him go so early.
"Kook!" you call out suddenly.
He halts mid-step, turning back with a curious hum. "Yeah, Ace?" His smile is easy, but the way he looks at you... like you're the only thing worth noticing, makes your heart skip.
You chew nervously on your bottom lip, unsure how to voice what's bubbling inside you. Jungkook notices the hesitation immediately, the way your gaze falters, the way your fingers fidget like they're trying to find courage. He takes a step closer, his eyes encouraging.
"Do you... maybe..." you start as you shift nervously. Your eyes dart to your feet for a moment before you muster the courage to meet his gaze again. "Do you wanna come upstairs and have... ramen?"
Jungkook blinks, his expression momentarily blank, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. Then, a wide grin slowly spreads across his face... a little too smug.
"Ramen?" he repeats, his tone lilting with playful disbelief.
"Yeah..." you say, your voice slightly shaky. "I mean, only if you're not busy or something. No... No pressure." You fidget with your fingers, wishing you could sink into the ground when you hear how nervous you sound.
He steps closer, so close that the scent of his cologne wraps around you. He tilts his head, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement and something softer. "You're telling me..." he begins, his voice low and teasing. "That the girl I've been walking home almost every day, the girl I think about all the time, just invited me upstairs... for ramen?"
Your heart stutters at his words, and you glance away, cheeks burning. "It's just ramen, Jungkook." you mumble, trying to downplay how flustered you feel.
He leans closer, his grin widening as he watches you squirm. "Oh no, Ace. Ramen with you? That's not just ramen... it's the highlight of my life."
You let out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes at him, though your heart feels like it's doing somersaults. "Geez, you're so cheesy."
"And you love it." he quips, winking with a smirk that sends your heart into overdrive. "Besides, how could I be busy when a pretty girl invites me to have ramen with her?"
You purse your lips, trying to fight back the smile threatening to take over. Then, before you can stop yourself, you blurt out. "So... if there was another pretty girl here inviting you for ramen, would you say yes to her too?"
Jungkook's teasing demeanor falters just a little, replaced by something softer. He steps even closer, his playful smirk giving way to a tender expression. "Another pretty girl?" he repeats. "That's impossible. Because to me, you're the only pretty girl to ever exist. No one else even comes close."
You feel your breath hitch, your cheeks warming again as his words sink in. "You're such a dork." you mumble, turning quickly towards the entrance of your building to hide your flustered state as you beginning walking.
Jungkook chuckles and follows you, grinning to himself as you both walk up the stairs.Â
Once you reach your flat and unlock the door, he leans closer, his voice brushing against your ear. "For the record..." he murmurs. "I'd say yes to ramen with you every single time. Always."
Your heart flutters wildly, and though you try to act composed, you know this boy has you completely wrapped around his finger... and you don't mind it one bit.
"Damn, Ace, didn't know you were secretly a professional chef." Jungkook quips, leaning casually against the counter as he watches you pour hot water into the instant ramen containers.
You roll your eyes, scoffing playfully. "Please, professional chef? I can barely cook to save my life. Instant ramen is the height of my culinary expertise." you reply with a resigned sigh, as if you're baring some deep secret.
Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head. "Well, if this is all you can make, you've already won me over."
You smirk, pushing one of steaming containers of ramen towards him. "Here."
He takes it with a grin, the warmth of the container seeping into his palms. Just as he turns to head towards the couch, you stop him. "Wait." you call out. "Do you wanna go up to the terrace?"
Jungkook pauses, glancing back at you with a curious expression. "The terrace?" he echoes, his eyebrows raised. You nod, setting your own container down for a moment.
"Yeah. My landlord keeps it open all the time, and it's a nice spot to relax. The breeze up there in the evening feels amazing. And trust me, ramen always tastes a hundred times better up there. I do it all the time."
He lets out a low whistle, clearly intrigued. "Well, who am I to argue with the ramen expert? Lead the way, Ace." he says with a lopsided grin.
You shake your head, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. "Let me grab us some blankets first. It gets a little chilly up there." you say, already moving towards your bedroom.
You pause at the door, glancing back at him. "If you don't mind, could you grab two soda cans from the fridge?"
Jungkook salutes dramatically, his grin widening. "Yes, ma'am." he replies, making his way to the fridge.
As he pulls the cans out, he can't help but smile to himself, feeling oddly delighted by the domesticity of it all. Your random invitation, your apartment, even the small request to grab sodas... it all feels so intimate, so comfortably you.
He pauses for a moment, holding the cold cans in his hands, and lets the feeling wash over him. This is you letting him in, in your own subtle, unspoken way.
It's not grand or flashy, but it's real, and it's enough to make his chest ache with a quiet, unexpected joy. All he can think about is how utterly blessed he feels to be here, in this moment, with you.
Soon enough, you return with the blankets draped over your arms, and before you know it, the two of you are climbing the stairs to the rooftop.
The faint creak of the door gives way to a breathtaking view, and Jungkook steps out first, taking in the expanse of the city sprawled before him.Â
The horizon glimmers with city lights, and the soft hues of twilight paint the sky in shades of deep blue and fading gold. "Wow, it really is nice up here." Jungkook breathes, his voice tinged with genuine awe.
"I told you." you say, smiling as you glance at him. "The breeze up here is perfect, and the view makes everything taste better."
You both settle on the cool ground, the chilled surface beneath you contrasting with the warmth of the blanket Jungkook drapes over your legs while he keeps the other blanket loosely on his knee.
The quiet hum of the city below rises faintly, mingling with the rustle of the breeze as the two of you dig into the ramen, the steam curling into the cool night air.
You glance at Jungkook, the faint glow of the rooftop lights catching the subtle curves of his face as he eats, his features softened by the serenity of the moment.
But as much as you want to savor the calm, your mind is elsewhere... tangled in the unspoken words you've been carrying since Saturday.
You didn't invite Jungkook over just for ramen. There's a deeper purpose behind this seemingly ordinary evening. Ever since you kissed him that night, the weight of his confession has lingered heavily on your mind, accompanied by the guilt of not giving him a proper answer.
Now that the anger and hurt from that one fateful weekend have finally faded, you can see things clearly. You've realized that his feelings deserve an answer... one you've kept bottled up, partly out of fear, partly out of your own stubbornness.
And tonight, under the vast expanse of stars, you want him to know. You want to tell him that you feel the same.
"Kook..." you call out softly. He pauses, a noodle dangling from his lips as he turns to look at you, his wide eyes meeting yours. There's a hint of curiosity there, but mostly he's just... Jungkook, always patient, always steady, even when you're unsure of yourself.
"I..." you begin, licking your lips nervously, the taste of the warm broth still clinging to your tongue. "I realized I never actually responded to your confession. You know... at the party."
His lips twitch slightly, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he sets his ramen down. The playful glint in his eyes tells you he's already enjoying this, even before you've said anything else.
"Uh-huh." he hums, dragging out the sound as he leans back a little, one arm propping him up effortlessly. "And why's that, huh? I thought that kiss you gave me had already sealed the deal."
Your jaw drops, heat rushing to your face as you gape at him. "What?!" you exclaim. "Sealed the deal? Are you sayingâWAIT, we're dating already?!"
He chuckles, a low, teasing sound that only makes your cheeks burn hotter. "What, you didn't know?" he asks, feigning surprise as he sits up straighter. "Wow, Ace. Here I was, thinking I was off the market and everything."
"What?" you ask, still baffled. Jungkook loves the look on your face. God, every time he thinks you can't get any cuter, you prove him wrong, and he just can't resist the urge to tease you.
"Wow, Ace, this is making me sad. You think we aren't dating already while I already told my friends all about my amazing girlfriend and the little kiss she gave me."
You gape at him, heat rising to your cheeks. "Jungkook!" you exclaim, lightly swatting his arm. "You did not tell anyone that!"
"Oh, I definitely did." he says, his voice laced with playful mischief. "Told both Jimin and Taehyung. I mean, I had to brag, right? They were both jealous, by the way."
You sputter, words failing you as he stares at you with the most infuriatingly smug expression. "You're impossible." you mutter, shaking your head in disbelief.
"And yet..." he counters smoothly, his voice dipping into something softer, warmer. "You invited me over for ramen. So, really... who's the impossible one here?"
You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips twitching despite your best efforts to look annoyed. "Kook, I'm being serious." you say, your tone quieter now, the teasing atmosphere fading as you lean forward slightly.
"And I'm listening." he replies, his gaze steady as his teasing smile softens into something more sincere. "Go on, Ace. I'm all ears."
You take a deep breath, the weight of your emotions pressing heavily against your chest. "What I'm trying to say is... I like you too, Jungkook. Like, a lot." Your voice wavers, but you push through, determined to finally let it all out.Â
"I just... I was scared to let you in. I had all these doubts and insecurities that kept holding me back. It took me a while to realize you were actually being sincere and... I needed time to figure out my own feelings."
Your hands tremble slightly as you set your container of ramen aside, your gaze finally locking with his. The cool night air seems to hold its breath as you take the leap you've been avoiding.
"But now I'm sure." you say. "I want to give this a chance. I want us to work out." A shy smile spreads across your lips, one filled with quiet hope.
For a moment, he doesn't respond, his expression unreadable, and the silence stretches just enough to make your nerves spike.
But then, slowly, his lips curve into a smile... a real one, bright and genuine, the kind that lights up his entire face and makes your heart stutter in your chest.
"Finally." he murmurs, his voice low but brimming with warmth as he leans a little closer, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear you say that."
The sincerity in his tone sends a rush of emotions flooding through you, and you can't help the small laugh that escapes. "Really?" you ask, your voice soft with disbelief.
"Really." he affirms. "Ace, I've been crazy about you since the beginning. And trust me, you're worth every second of the wait."
Your heart races as he reaches out, his hand brushing against yours, his touch warm despite the chill of the night. "And just so we're clear..." he adds, his tone playful again. "We are actually dating now. No takesy backsies."
You laugh despite yourself, the tension dissolving as you swat his arm lightly again. "You're so annoying." you mutter, though the smile on your face says otherwise.
"And yet, you like me." he quips, his grin softening as he leans back, the stars above reflecting like tiny galaxies in his eyes. You shake your head with a small laugh, returning your attention to your ramen, but Jungkook's gaze lingers on you, his heart feeling impossibly full.
To be here, like this... with you, feels surreal. His chest swells with an indescribable warmth, a mix of joy, gratitude, and something so deep it almost feels sacred.
He's spent so long wanting this, dreaming of this moment where the space between you would no longer feel insurmountable.Â
Now, sitting beside you under the open sky, your laughter ringing softly in his ears, it feels like he's stumbled into a piece of forever. The stars above pale in comparison to the light he feels radiating from you.
But as his heart revels in this newfound closeness, a pang of unease cuts through him. You've trusted him with so much tonight, your words raw and honest, and yet... he's been keeping something from you.
His alter ego, the double life he's carefully shielded from the world, remains a secret from you too. The weight of it gnaws relentlessly at his conscience, each passing second adding to the burden.
It feels wrong... like he's betraying the very thing he's worked so hard to rebuild with you.
You glance at him suddenly, oblivious to the turmoil brewing inside him. âKook, can I ask you something?â you ask softly, setting your container aside again.
His throat tightens, a mix of anxiety and anticipation building within him. He doesnât know what youâre about to ask, but he manages a small smile, nodding.
âWhy... why didnât you show up that day?â The words are tentative but heavy, carrying the weight of unspoken hurt. His breath catches in his lungs.
Itâs as if your question aligns perfectly with the turmoil in his mind, directly touching the secret heâs been hiding... the very one he so desperately wants to reveal.
âItâs justâŠâ you continue, your voice wavering slightly. âYou didnât show up, and I was so mad at you that I didnât even stop to think if something mightâve been wrong. Was everything okay that day?â
Jungkook feels his heart crack at the sight of your concern. The genuine worry in your eyes only amplifies the guilt gnawing at him. How could he have kept something so monumental from you?
He swallows hard, his throat tight, and suddenly, the weight of his secret becomes unbearable. The need to confess is overwhelming, pressing against him like a tidal wave he can no longer hold back.
"Y/n..." he begins, his voice unsteady as he sets his ramen aside as well. The way he says your name, low and serious, makes you furrow your brows. His expression has shifted, the playful spark replaced by something heavier, more vulnerable.
"Yes Kook." you say softly, slightly confused by the sudden change in his demeanor. His eyes search yours, as if trying to find the courage to say the words he's been holding back.
"I... I have something to tell you." The words tumble from his lips, as though theyâve been wrenched from the deepest part of him. The urgency in his tone makes your stomach twist with unease.Â
You watch as Jungkook drags a hand through his hair, his usual air of confidence entirely absent. The nervous energy radiating from him is palpable, and it sets your heart racing.
âYes, Kook?â you ask gently, your voice soft in an attempt to coax him into sharing whateverâs weighing on him. His eyes meet yours briefly, before flickering away like he canât bear to hold your gaze for too long.
He opens his mouth to speak but falters, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow. Then, without a word, he abruptly rises to his feet, his movements sharp and restless. You blink in surprise as he takes a few steps away walking towards the parapet, his back turned to you now.
Jungkook exhales shakily, his shoulders stiff as he grips the edge of the parapet. The city sprawls out before him. He stares out at the distant rooftops, the low hum of the city serving as a backdrop to his spiraling thoughts.
"I justâŠ" he starts, but the words catch in his throat, leaving his sentence unfinished. His hands clutch the cold edge of the parapet tighter, the tension in his frame visible even from where you sit.
Your concern grows with each passing second. Rising to your feet, you walk towards him. âHey... whatâs going on, Kook?â You reach out hesitantly, your palm resting on his shoulder. âTalk to me.â you urge, standing beside him now.
He turns to face you slowly, his eyes darting to yours for the briefest moment before looking away "IâŠâ His voice is raw and trembling with emotion. âY/n, itâs justâŠâ He trails off again, his brows furrowed as if the words are physically painful to say.
You inch closer, your hand brushing against his arm in silent encouragement. âTake your time.â you say softly, your tone patient and understanding.
Jungkook swallows hard, his breathing uneven. âI donât know how to tell you this...â he admits. âItâs just⊠itâs hard, Y/nâ
Your chest tightens at the vulnerability in his words. Whatever heâs holding back, itâs tearing him apart. âHey...â you say gently, lifting your hand to cup his face so that he can face you, your thumb brushing lightly along his cheekbone.
âWe donât have to talk about it if youâre not ready.â you assure him.
God, why did you have to be this understanding? Why did you have to look at him like that... with eyes so full of patience, warmth, and a kindness so profound it pierced straight through him?Â
It was as if you could see every fragile part of him and chose to cradle it with care instead of turning away. It wasnât fair. How could you be so gentle when he was so tangled in guilt, fear, and secrets? How could you make him feel seen, safe, and utterly unworthy all at once?
Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head as if trying to dispel the overwhelming emotions surging through him. He steps away from your hold and his hands grip the parapet again.
âNo⊠no, I canâtââ he starts, his voice breaking, but he stops himself, shaking his head more furiously.
You sigh softly, stepping back to give him space. âKook, itâs okay.â you murmur. âWe can talk about it another day if you need more time.â Your voice is calm, soothing, but your heart aches at the sight of him unraveling.
You gesture towards the blankets and ramen waiting for you both on the ground. âLetâs finish eating and head back downstairs, yeah?â you suggest, turning to return to your spot.
But Jungkook knows he canât wait. The weight in his chest is unbearable now, the truth clawing its way out. He watches you move away, his senses overwhelmed by the thought of losing this chance, this moment.
Before he can think, his body reacts on instinct.
Just as you take another step, you hear a sharp thwip. Something attaches to your hip, and before you can process it, youâre being twirled around and pulled forward with a startling force.
You gasp, the world spinning for a fraction of a second, before you find yourself pressed firmly against a broad, solid chest. Your arms instinctively reach out, your fingers clutching at a pair of sturdy shoulders.
Your wide eyes lock with Jungkookâs, his face just inches from yours. Your breaths come in uneven gasps, your chest rising and falling as you try to process what just happened.
His hands rest securely on your waist, the warmth of his touch grounding you even as it sends your thoughts into chaos. He pulls you just a little closer, and your lips part, words faltering as you try to make sense of it all.
"What justâ" you begin, your eyes darting downward to the nonexistent space between your bodies. Your hands instinctively move to his nape, fingers gripping gently, seeking stability in the whirlwind of the moment.Â
"Kook, what just happâ" Your voice falters, trailing into silence as your eyes search his, desperate for answers, for clarity.
But instead of speaking, a small, almost shy smile curls at the corners of Jungkookâs lips. Itâs a smile thatâs equal parts tender and mischievous, one that sets your heart racing.
"Come here." he murmurs, his voice low and intimate, carrying the weight of the moment.Â
His hands slide up your sides gently, until they cradle your jaw, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks with a touch that feels like both a question and a promise.
And then his lips meet yours. Warm, soft, and undeniably certain, the kiss steals every thought from your mind. Thereâs no space for hesitation, no room for protest... only the way you melt into him, your body responding instinctively as his hands curl around the back of your neck, drawing you impossibly closer.
At first, the kiss is slow, a careful exploration of emotions long kept at bay. But then it deepens.
Jungkook tilts his head, his mouth opening wider as he pours every unspoken word, every buried feeling, into you. Your arms tighten around him, fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him back with a passion that matches his own, your heart pounding like it might burst.
When you finally pull away, your lungs burn for air, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. The reality of it all hits you at once, like a tidal wave crashing over you.
"Youâre⊠youâre Spiderman?" you whisper, the revelation tumbling from your lips in a breathless rush, your eyes wide with both awe and disbelief.
A low chuckle rumbles from Jungkookâs chest, his forehead resting against yours as his thumb brushes over your cheek. "Shut up." he murmurs, his voice teasing but thick with emotion.
And then he pulls you back in, capturing your lips once more, like heâs afraid to let go, like this moment is all that matters.
The kiss leaves your knees trembling, and Jungkook, despite the control heâs trying to maintain, is utterly unraveling.Â
The way you clutch onto him, desperate and unyielding, the way your body molds against his... God, itâs maddeningly euphoric, almost narcotic in its allure.
Every sensation, every taste, feels heightened, like youâve set his very being on fire.
When he feels your tongue brush against his, a shiver courses through him, and the soft, breathless gasps escaping your lips only fuel his resolve to pour everything heâs ever felt for you into this kiss.
When he finally pulls away, your lips part from his reluctantly, your eyes remaining shut as if to savor the lingering warmth of his touch. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, and your forehead rests against his, grounding yourself in the moment.
âWowâŠâ you exhale shakily, the word slipping out of your lips like a confession. âWow⊠justâŠâ you attempt to speak, but the words falter. Youâre spellbound, caught in the gravity of what just transpired.
The truth, the kiss, the sheer intensity of the moment... itâs all so utterly consuming, like the world has shifted on its axis.
âWellâŠâ Jungkook begins softly as he steps back just slightly, enough to give you space, but his hands remain on your waist as though afraid to let go entirely.Â
His gaze searches yours, his dark eyes swimming with a mixture of vulnerability and tenderness, as if this moment might shatter under the weight of the truth. âI didnât know how to tell you.â
Your breath catches in your throat as his words hang in the air, heavy and significant.
âAnd I just knew...â he continues, his voice growing softer. âThat I couldnât keep it from you anymore... especially now. Especially when weâre finally here... when I finally have you this close.â His thumb brushes against your side in a soothing motion, a silent attempt to anchor you as the realization starts to sink in.
âSo⊠this...â you begin hesitantly, your voice trembling. âThis is why you didnât show up that day?â
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks down, as though ashamed. âYes.â he admits.
Your mind reels as the pieces begin to fall into place. Images flash through your memory... the articles you read, news reports, moments you never fully understood until now.Â
âOh my godâŠâ you let out, your hands instinctively gripping his arms as if to steady yourself. âThis is why you couldnât show up. You wereâŠâ Your voice falters as the truth becomes undeniable. âYou were saving... all those people from that... that fire.â
He nods slowly, his expression softening. âYes, baby.â he murmurs. âI was. And Iâm so sorry. I shouldâve just called, I shouldâve told youââ
âWait...â you interrupt, your words coming faster now as another realization crashes over you. âAnd⊠so youâre the one whoââ You pause, your heart pounding as the memory resurfaces. âYouâre the one who saved me that day? In that alley?â
âThat's how you knew my address... oh my god... that was you. It was you all along.â Your words tumble out in a rush, chaotic and overwhelmed, but Jungkook doesnât seem to mind. His eyes remain fixed on yours, an expression so tender, so full of unspoken love, that it sends a deep ache through your chest.
âI⊠I donât even know what to sayâŠâ you stammer, your trembling hands moving to cup his face, your fingers grazing the sharp edges of his jaw. âYouâve been there all this time, havenât you? Even at the party⊠you saved that guy. And that day on the road when that car almost hit meâoh my godâŠâÂ
Your eyes widen as the puzzle pieces click into place, every moment youâd brushed off as coincidence now feeling monumental. âNo wonder your reflexes are so good! Are those⊠like⊠your Spidey senses or something?â
A soft laugh escapes Jungkookâs lips, a sound so comforting that it momentarily steadies your racing heart. He lifts his hands to cover yours, his palms warm against your skin as he leans into your touch.
âYeah...â he murmurs, a faint smile curving his lips. âI guess you could call them my Spidey senses.â
âYouâre incredible.â you confess, your voice trembling with unrestrained emotion. âDo you even realize how incredible you are?â
A soft, almost bashful smile flits across his lips, but it vanishes as his eyes meet yours, raw and unguarded. âI donât care about being incredible.â he murmurs, leaning forward to peck your lips. âI just care about you. About us.â
Your heart feels as if it might burst, the intensity of his words unraveling something deep within you. You lean forward, your forehead gently pressing against his.Â
âI know itâs a lot to take in...â he says softly, closing his eyes. âIt is.â you admit. âBut you couldâve told me, you know...â you murmur. âI wouldâve understood.â
His eyes flutter open, glistening with a mixture of regret and relief. âI know...â he whispers, his voice thick with the weight of unspoken apologies. âI know that now.â he says, leaning in, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that leaves you breathless.
The kiss is soft, a mosaic of emotions woven into one unspoken promise. It carries the weight of his regrets, the depth of his feelings, and the strength of his resolve. Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as you pull him closer, anchoring yourself to this moment.
Jungkook sighs into the kiss, his hands firm on your waist, grounding you both in a reality that feels too fragile and too perfect all at once.Â
When you finally part, your breaths intertwine in the fragile space between you.
âYouâre not just Spiderman to me...â you murmur, your voice trembling with emotion but carrying an unmistakable firmness. âNot the masked vigilante, or whatever these people like to call youâŠâ Your words waver, but you hold his gaze.
âBecause before all of that... before everything... youâre Jungkook. Youâre my Jungkook.â
His lips curve into a soft smile with his heart somersaulting in his chest.Â
Slowly, reverently, he raises his hand to cup your cheek, his touch featherlight yet grounding. His thumb moves in gentle circles against your skin, as if trying to memorize the texture of this moment.Â
Then, with infinite tenderness, he leans in, pressing the softest, most delicate kiss to your forehead... a silent promise, a gesture filled with love too profound for words.
âAnd youâre my everything.â
check out-> drabble 1; the one with the damn suit
âfin. ⥠â§âË â ౚৠâ§â .á
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