You seem to be everywhere. Ever since that first day, he hasn’t been able to shake you. Any corner he turns, every trauma room he enters, there you are. Even when he can’t see you, you still haunt him. He picks up the faint smell of your shampoo, sometimes. Hears your laughter ringing somewhere in the halls and can't help but turn his head towards it.

It’s worse when you’re next to him. You’re great at what you do, there's no denying that. But it's been difficult to work alongside you, elbows and arms brushing while you crowd over whatever patient is bleeding out on the table in front of him. His brain just can't keep up, sometimes. Not with the warmth of your body next to his. Commands come out a little slower than usual. He hesitates for a second longer than he usually does.

However, it's the worst when you’re batting your eyelashes at him when you finally have a moment of downtime. Handing him some coffee from the break room, letting your fingers linger on his for just a beat too long. Casually laying a hand on his bicep when you talk to him, leaving him tingling for an embarrassing amount of time after you leave. He knows exactly what you’re doing. That you know exactly what it does to him. He’s got scars older than you, but that doesn't stop his gaze from following you as you flit around the ER. And he knows you feel it. You’re real young, you’re real fucking pretty and you’re real fucking capable.

Which is why it feels like a cruel joke that you’re always flirting with him. Especially since he’s pretty sure you’d never actually see him in the way that he sees you. Honestly, it makes this inconvenient attraction he has towards you all the more complicated. Jack can't help but notice the way you chew your lip when you’re deep into charting. The curve of your neck when you adjust your hair. When you look up at him with those big eyes, just eagerly waiting for him to tell you what to do next.

Fuck, he’s hard just thinking about it.

His thoughts always wander in that direction when it comes to you. He finds himself at home, thinking of the way that you looked at him earlier in the day or when you swept a slow thumb over your bottom lip absentmindedly, lost in thought. Jack feels filthy when he thinks of you like this, but he still can't help but palm himself through his pants when the thoughts come. Which is more often than he'd like to admit.

When he thinks of you outside of that, however, he’s not entirely sure how he feels. It’s more than just something carnal. He wants to take care of you. And he does, sometimes. Leaves a protein bar by your hand when he hears you complain about how hungry you are, and steps in when patients start being rowdy or handsy with you. 

It’s an entirely different feeling while he watches a doctor get handsy with you instead.

It's the early hours of the morning, and the day shift has started to trickle in. It was always interesting, crossing paths with them. The night shift attracted a certain kind of person. Someone who prefers working under the cover of darkness. Jack noticed that the people on the night shift always played their cards closer to their chests, had a little more hidden depth. Maybe that's why they all worked well together, moving like a unit, fluid and unspoken. 

The day shift on the other hand was, well, bright, in a sense. They were all dazzling smiles and caffeinated energy, bouncing from one patient to the next. They clashed like nobody’s business, bold and brash. There were exceptions of course, like Mohan, who Jack had grown fond of and even attempted to convince to join the night shift on more than a few occasions. (She always said no.)

Then there were the textbook examples. And no one embodies the day shift more than Robby’s prodigal son, Frank Langdon. 

Frank Langdon, who was standing just a little too close to you, elbow propped on the nurse’s station as he gave you one of his signature smiles. Jack was too far away to hear exactly what he was saying, but he didn't miss the way his fingers played with your badge, the light glinting off it as he fiddled with it and examined your photo. Jealousy twists in Jack’s gut, but he can't make himself turn away. He just grips his tablet harder, listening to you giggle at whatever Langdon had to say. It’s the same giggle that you give him when he's just a little too sarcastic in an attempt to make you laugh. That was his giggle.

A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of his daze.

“What'd the tablet do to you?” It’s Robby, looking at Jack expectantly to begin their hand off for the day. Jack can't curb his jealousy fast enough and the other man follows his gaze right over to you and Langdon. He can see the gears turning in Robby’s mind, piecing everything together until he barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “You’re so screwed, brother.”

“I don't know what you’re talking about.” Jack grumbles, and Robby raises a disbelieving eyebrow at him. He’s still gripping onto the tablet, probably moments away from cracking the damn thing in half.

“Right…” Robby has to basically wrestle it out of his grip and Jack finally drags his eyes over to his friend, who looks thoroughly unimpressed. “So you’re just here, burning holes into Langdon for no reason.”

“I’m not,” Jack says, a little too indignantly for his liking. “He’s married. He shouldn't be flirting like that.” Robby laughs at him again, which is really starting to get on his nerves. He knows that it’s a terrible lie, but his mind is too foggy from his overnight shift to think of a better one. He wishes his friend would cut him a little slack here.

“Sure. And it’s got nothing to do with her, I’m guessing,” Robby nods over in your direction, and Langdon is still there. He’s leaning on the nurses station, still talking away while you nod, full attention on him. Doesn’t this guy have a job to do? A beat of silence passes, and Jack doesn't answer. “Okay, well, good luck with that then.”

With that, Robby takes his leave, but not before he grabs Langdon by the scrubs, wordlessly hauling him away. You seem shocked at the sudden intrusion, waving goodbye to the dark haired doctor just a moment too late.

It seems like his best friend can cut him some slack, after all.

—

You’re already two drinks deep when Jack Abbot walks through the door.

You’re in the day shift’s favourite bar, squished into the booth seat next to Trinity. She’s yapping away and gesturing wildly to Robby and Garcia who are sitting across from you, looking equally as squished. Truthfully, you’d tuned her out a few minutes ago; it was a story about Dennis and the farm girl she’s told you a million times before.

Your eyes are wandering across the bar, drifting over your friends who are scattered around as if they own the place. Samira and Cassie are perched on stools at the bar, Parker is trying and failing to teach Dennis how to play pool. Movement catches your eye and your gaze drifts towards the door, where John strides in, with Jack in tow.

You can't even pretend to notice Shen, not when Jack catches your eye right away. He’s got his typical black shirt on, tight in all the right places. His hands are shoved into his pockets as he saunters in, looking confident as always. You swear that you’ve never seen him look out of place before. Everywhere he enters, it feels like all heads turn in his direction.

Well, yours does at least.

And it’s really irritating how fucking good he looks all the time. Scrubbed up, in his civvies and in that unbelievably hot uniform that he rolled up in on the fourth of July. He really has you feeling a lot of things you definitely shouldn’t be, considering that he’s your attending. But that still doesn’t stop your eyes from wandering across his broad frame, up his freckled arms to the grey stubble on his jaw. You practically have to physically stop yourself from biting your lip.

“Oh my God, drool much?” Trinity says in a low voice. She’s clearly stopped telling her story, as Robby and Garcia are now engaged in a conversation of their own. Trinity has caught you checking out Abbot on multiple occasions and she never gives up an opportunity to bemoan you about it. “He’s like, geriatric.”

“Not geriatric. Kind of like, silver foxy?” You laugh, shaking your head. “Plus, I thought we kind of had a thing for older people?” You gesture not-so-subtly at Garcia, who’s taking a sip of her drink and nodding along to whatever Robby is saying. Trinity rolls her eyes at your comment and slips past you, out of the booth.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna get another drink,” She tells you, waving her empty glass. Before she leaves, she sneaks a peek over her shoulder and then leans in closer to you, her breath tickling your ear. “He’s heading your way. So try not to cream your pants, huh?”

That makes you sit up straight as Trinity saunters off and Jack comes into view. He’s looking down at you in a way that makes you squeeze your thighs together. He stares, but only for a moment before sliding into the booth across from you, next to Robby. Garcia seems to have slipped off to get another drink as well. What a coincidence.

‘Well, look who finally made it!” Robby gives Jack a slap on the shoulder as he settles in, whiskey glass in hand. He gives his friend a nod, glass extended in an invitation. Robby accepts, clinks his bottle against his cup and both the men take a sip. You can’t help but be drawn to Jack’s hands, much like you always were during surgery. There was just something about them — the way his fingers were nice and thick maybe, and you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly they would feel like skimming your body. 

You almost let your gaze trail down to his mouth, but you shake your head in a daze as Jack sets down his drink. He still catches you though, the ends of his lips quirked up in an almost smirk. Your heart pounds in your chest as you look down at your hands to avoid any further eye contact, but you can still feel the heat of his gaze on you. It’s dangerously enticing and fuck, are you enticed.

He opens his mouth to say something to you but Dennis plops himself in the spot next to you, interrupting. He’s looking around, beer hugged close to his chest. “I think if I missed one more time, Ellis would have actually killed me.” He says, and you glance over at the pool table where Shen has gracefully slipped into Whitaker's role instead, much to Ellis’ delight.

The conversation takes off again and you can't help but wonder what exactly Jack was going to say to you. He’s wrapped up with Robby and Samira, who has floated her way down to your booth and is looking as angelic as ever. She’s perched on the corner of the table, all long legs and sweet smiles. You watch the way Jack talks to her; smooth, easy and familiar. You’re sure your smile twitches and you give Dennis a tap on the shoulder.

“I think I’m going to get another drink too.” You say, both to Dennis and to no one in particular. You stand and Samira gives you just a bit of a liquored up grin as she helps you adjust your short dress. You thank her with a smile of your own, turning around. There’s hope blooming in your chest at what feels like Jack’s eyes on your back as you walk away, but you're too cowardly to look back and see for yourself.

Trinity is standing at the bar, looking about as dishevelled as you expected. She quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything as you approach.

“Your drink is taking a long time, huh?” You nudge her with your shoulder and she just rolls her eyes. Ignoring her attitude, you rest your elbows on the bar, trying to get a look at where the bartender fucked off to. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Trinity is reapplying her lipgloss and attempting to tame her hair, using her phone to assess her reflection. You try to help and she gives you a grateful smile in return. She nods towards the bartender, who is still kind of ignoring you. “I already got one for you.”

“You’re the best,” You’re still smoothing down her hair, giving her a big smile back. “Should we, like, kiss?” You fake going in for a kiss, and she pushes you away with a laugh.

“Please. You wish,” The bartender finally slides two drinks towards Trinity, who hands you one of the glasses. The chill from the glass is definitely welcome against your warm flesh, flushed from the drinks previous. Trinity shoots you a smirk as she grabs your hand to lead you back to the booth. “Besides, don’t you have a silver fox to catch?”

The two of you arrive at the booth and in the short time you’ve been gone, the people seem to have rearranged themselves. Robby and Whitaker have disappeared and Samira has taken your place, McKay beside her. On the other side is still Abbot, nursing his whiskey. Heads turn at your presence and the pair of you are greeting with excited chatter and big smiles from the girls.

It takes you a minute to realize that the only open spot is next to Jack.

Trinity gives you a small push and you claim the seat next to him. Trinity slides in after you and it’s a bit of a tight squeeze, leaving you thigh to thigh with the attending you definitely don’t have an inappropriate workplace crush on. You can feel the heat radiating off him — his arms, his thighs. You swear you feel him stiffen for a second, but the moment is over as quickly as it happened. He smells woody and warm, and it’s got you basically swooning. Is that just the way he smells, or is it cologne, body wash? You resist the weird, perverted urge to take a sniff of his neck and take a sip of your drink instead.

Conversation comes easy for you guys, especially as the drinks continue to flow. People come and go: Ellis, Shen, Dennis — everyone shuffles through, exchanging seats and manoeuvring around each other as easy as they do on the floor of the hospital.

You and Jack though, you don’t move.

Your two stay pressed together, even when Trinity is long gone. Eventually, everyone thins out and spreads across the bar instead, leaving you and Jack alone together. It’s getting hard to ignore the mirth swimming in his eyes, your faces just a little too close together for the conversation you two are having.

You trace what’s left of the condensation from your empty glass with your finger, savouring the feel of the cool water. Is it hot in here? Or is it just you?

“How about I get you another drink?” Jack offers, the timbre of his voice lower than usual. “On me?”

 It feels like he’s getting closer, close enough that you can smell the whiskey on his breath. It’s probably inappropriate to want to kiss your boss, right? Especially one almost twice your age? The prospect of the situation makes you almost dizzy with want, especially when he’s looking at you like that. Or maybe that’s just the alcohol rushing to your head.

Yeah, it’s definitely just you.

“Actually, I think I need a smoke.” You manage to utter, like the responsible adult you are. You need to remove yourself from the situation, fast. He retreats from your space slowly, and you immediately feel the absence. It takes everything in you to suppress the urge to lean back into him again, instead giving him a shy smile as you exit the booth. Jack lets you leave wordlessly, and this time you’re certain his eyes are on you as you walk away. 

The cool breeze outside is a welcome reprieve from the overwhelming heat inside and you take a moment to let it wash over you. You press your back against the brick of the bar and pull out your pack from your purse and stick a cigarette between your lips, fishing around for your lighter. After some digging, you finally find what you were looking for and you cup your hand around the cigarette, flicking the lighter on until you see the familiar cherry red at the end. Things seem a bit less hazy when you take a deep inhale and exhale slowly, grey smoke curling around the dark sky.

You close your eyes and rest your head against the wall, feeling the tension leave your shoulders. Taking another long drag, you review the night in your head. You’ve always enjoyed flirting with Jack, sure, but Jack also flirts with anything that has a pulse. You never really expected anything to come of it, except maybe something to think about later in the night while you were alone. Lately though, it’s been feeling different. He’s always brushing against you, placing his hand on the small of your back as he squeezes past you. The way he looks at you recently is glimmering with something you can’t exactly place. The way he looked at you when Langdon was trying to charm you.

You lift your hand to take another drag when the cigarette is suddenly plucked from between your fingers. Your eyes flutter open and there stands the subject of your thoughts, Jack Abbot, who has your cigarette between his lips now. 

“Whiskey makes Jack a bold boy, eh?” You tease, watching as he takes a drag. It’s unfair how good he makes it look. He gives a small chuckle at your comment but doesn’t reply, letting silence settle between the two of you. Instead, he extends the cigarette towards you and you take it back. Something is painted on his face, like he’s mulling something over, but you don’t ask. You two continue this for a while, just enjoying each other’s company for a moment, taking turns until you finally hit the filter. It’s easy to admire him in the quiet you share. The flex of his biceps, the way he shifts his weight between his prosthetic and his good leg. He’s so broad and handsome, especially when he’s in his tight shirt and cargos. It’s got you wanting to drop to your knees right then and there.

You don’t miss the way he’s looking at you either, though. It’s common knowledge that Jack’s got a staring problem. It makes you flustered at the best of times and wet at the worst, but this stare was different. You can see the want in his eyes as his hazel eyes basically bore into your soul. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he was giving you bedroom eyes. Every so often his eyes flicker down to your lips instinctively, especially when they’re wrapped around the cigarette the two of you are sharing. You’re sure that you’re probably doing the same.

“So, can I buy you that drink now?” He asks huskily as you put out the smoke, tossing it into the garbage can behind you. Your eyes flick between the door of the bar and your phone; the numbers flashing at you indicate that you’ve been out longer than you’ve anticipated and it was late.

“I was actually kind of thinking of pulling an Irish goodbye. I live pretty close,” You say sheepishly, tucking your phone back into your purse. He almost looks disappointed, and you revel in the feeling. You’re not sure if it’s the drinks you’ve had or the way that he was staring at Langdon like he wanted to strangle him with his bare hands for flirting with you the other day, but the words slip out of your mouth before you can really think it through. “Want to walk me home?”

Your tone is shy but warm, an airy lilt at the end of the invitation. Or at least that’s what you aimed for. Realization spreads across his face, until it’s replaced with a smirk. You know it’s an offer he can’t really deny. Even if he didn’t want to fuck you, Jack Abbot was nothing short of a gentleman. He’d never let you walk home alone so late at night. “Of course.”

“Why thank you, Doctor Abbot.” You give him a smirk of your own as you push off the wall, enjoying the way that he watches you move languidly. He scoffs at your joking use of the professional title you call him at work, tongue darting out to wet his lips. You adjust your dress and you two look at each other for a moment; him staring down at you with that obnoxiously smug look on his face, and you staring up at him half lidded like you don’t know what you’re doing.

“Lead the way, sweetheart.” He gestures with a sweep of his arm, breaking your staring contest. You start off in the direction of your apartment, shooting him a cheeky look over your shoulder as he takes a minute to follow behind you.

“Think you can keep up, old man?”

—

He hangs back, just for a second, to admire the view as you flounce away, your heels clicking against the pavement. He can’t help but appreciate just how good you look, dress hugging your figure in all the right places. It doesn’t help that he caught a glimpse of your panties earlier when you left the booth, and he’s been thinking about taking another peek ever since. He’s so distracted that he barely catches the words you throw at him.

“Watch it, kid.” He warns, starting off after you. The night is just cool enough that he can feel the alcohol flowing hot through his veins as he reaches you, matching your stride. The nickname was just a slip of the tongue, something he calls you when you’ve made the right call when treating a patient or when you’re offering to refill his coffee in the break room. You give him that look that you’ve been giving him all night, the one that’s got him in this mess in the first place. Blinking through your eyelashes, like you want to climb him like a tree. It does make him feel like a bit of an old man in a way, chasing after a girl basically half his age. 

But you’re the one that invited him, right?

“I’m not sure what you mean.” You say innocently, another flutter of your eyelashes. He gives a chuckle at that, rolling his eyes. The night is quiet at this hour and the tension is thick between you two as you walk alongside each other. Jack’s got his hands tucked into his pockets, watching as you walk a bit unsteadily and he’s not sure if it’s the drinks you’ve had or the shoes that you were wearing. Before he could ponder on it any longer, your heel skids and you stumble over a small lift in the sidewalk.

He grabs your waist instinctively, catching you before you go down. You’re closer to him now and the scent that he’s become so familiar with fills the air, masked a bit by the perfume you wear, all floral and ambery. The proximity between you two almost makes him stumble as well. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” He says, voice low, still affected by just how close you are. “Don’t think you’d like to make a detour back to work before your next shift.” He hauls you upright and you give him another sweet smile. Jack can’t help but give you one back.

“Why would I need to?” You recover much faster from the stumble than he does, smoothing your dress down with the palms of your hands. “You wouldn’t patch me up? I’d be in very capable hands, no?” You tease, smirking. He knows you’re joking but the idea of getting his hands on you, being able to touch you beyond the feather light touches you have shared, makes his heart beat in want.

“Yeah, you think so?” He smirks and you slow to a stop in front of a building that he assumes must be your place. You answer his question with a small nod, suddenly shy. He can see you scanning his face, looking for some kind of answer in it. You press your lips in a thin line and finally speak in a small voice.

“Walk me up?”

He should say no. Any sort of gentleman would leave it here, say good night. Especially one as old as he is.You’re staring at him, not breaking eye contact as you await his response. He should definitely say no.

“Sure.”

Goddamn it.

You give him a smile as you turn, pulling the door to your building and he grabs it, holding it open for you. The climb to your place is quiet, the click of your heels against the stairs punctuating the terrible choice he’s making. But the choice doesn’t feel as terrible as it should when he gets to watch you climb the flights of stairs, getting the flash of your panties that he was desperately wishing for earlier.

You approach your door, fumbling with your keys for a second before he hears the soft click of the lock. He’s got his forearm resting against your doorframe, watching as you slowly pull the door open. Jack catches a glimpse into your apartment for a second before you face him; it’s a small studio, lived in and inviting. It smells like you.

You’re just staring at him for a moment and he’s staring right back. The thought that this is a terrible idea is swirling in his mind somewhere, but the heat pooling in his gut as you look at him seems to be all he can focus on right now. You cock your head and enter your apartment, door still wide open. Jack’s body moves before he can even think about it, one foot after the other, crossing the threshold. Something he can’t take back.

He closes the door behind him with a gentle hand, like any loud noise might snap one of you out of a trance. You’ve got your windows open and you’re bathed in the moonlight, the same way you were outside the bar. That exact vision of you has hijacked his better judgement tonight and landed him in the apartment of a pretty young girl. He tries to push the thought aside.

Jack opens his mouth to speak, maybe even tell you how bad of an idea this is, but you’ve already hooked your fingers in his belt loops, pressing your lips against his before he can get a word out. He can taste your lip gloss and it makes his knees buckle a bit, the words suddenly dying on his tongue. You don’t hold back, all dirty and desperate, slipping your tongue into his mouth. He can feel you sigh and pull him closer, hands resting at his stomach now. Your nails scratch against the skin above his waistband and it makes all his blood rush downwards.

You let out a shaky moan into his mouth and his resolve just breaks. His hands finally move and take what he’s been wanting, cupping your jaw for a minute before moving down, rough, skimming down and pulling you flush against him, hands coming to a rest on the curve of your ass.

It’s intoxicating the way you kiss him, like you just can’t fucking get enough. Your hands are wound in his hair, carting through the grey curls. You pull away all too soon, chest rising and falling quickly in an attempt to catch your breath. It sends a shiver down his spine when he sees the sultry look on your face and you grab his hand and pull him deeper into your apartment.

He lets you lead him and come to a stop at your couch. Jack must be drunker than he thought, because you barely push his chest and he lands on the couch behind him. It’s a sight to see when you drop down to your knees without a word, dress rucking up at your waist. He can’t help the moan that slips out from between his lips as you look up at him, the same way you do at work. Waiting for him to tell you what to do. His legs part involuntarily and you slip yourself between them.

“Fuck, baby,” He can’t help but take in the moment, cupping your cheek as you lean into his touch. “ You want to suck my cock that fucking bad, huh?” 

You nod —eagerly, he can’t help but note— and he grabs a fistful of your hair loosely. He gives you a small nod, giving you permission to go ahead. Biting your lip, you trace a soft finger over the bulge in his pants and he can’t help but shiver. You take your time unzipping his pants and pulling him out, hand wrapped around the hard length of him. It’s fucking delicious watching you like this, pumping his cock slow, a wicked grin on your face.

You press a kiss to his tip and his hips stutter at the sensation and then you’re pressing the flat of your tongue against him, licking him from root to head. He lets out a loud groan, grip on your hair tightening ever so slightly. He takes in the scene in front of him, you on your knees just for him. It feels perverted in a way, like he’s way too old to be this undone, especially for a woman so many years his junior. But then you place him between your soft lips, lip gloss all smeared from the sloppy kisses you two had shared earlier and he can’t really bring himself to care. Your hands skim down the sides of his bare legs, not even pausing when you feel the heat of skin turn into cool metal on one side.

Your mouth is so warm and wet and it’s got him wondering what your pussy will feel like if your mouth already feels this good. Honestly, he can’t remember the last time someone has had him like this. Your hand is soft where it grips him at his base, spit dripping onto your knuckles and you take him deeper and deeper, until he almost hits the back of your throat.

“Such a good girl for me.” He drawls, voice shaking as you swallow around him. You’ve settled into a rhythm now and Jack is happy to hold you by the hair and let you take control. It feels so fucking good that he can’t help but thrust into your mouth, a crooked grin forming when you gag and drool for him. He can't help but praise you. “You look so pretty on your knees, drooling all over your tits like that.”

That earns him a moan from you and he can feel the vibration of it around his cock. He thinks it can’t get any better than this, and then you look up into his eyes, lips still wrapped around him and a guttural moan rips its way from his chest. This seems to invigorate you as you begin to suck harder, cheeks hollowed as your other hand sneaks its way up to his balls, rolling them in your palm. It’s sloppy and wet and loud —the only sounds in your apartment are the loud, filthy way you’re taking him deep into your throat, and Jack's soft pants and utters of your name. His brows are burrowed in pleasure and it takes all of his focus to not cum in your mouth. He’s basically dripping from your spit, wet all the way down to his balls.

He pulls you up by your hair, rough. You let out a small whimper, like you’re real sad that he’s not letting you suck his dick like you were trying to suck his soul out of it. His lips are parted and his pupils are blown with lust, the hazel of his eyes barely visible around the black. His voice is husky when he speaks next.

“Get on the bed, sweetheart.” The apartment is small, and the bed is just behind him. You’re still wearing your heels and the sound of them reverberates in the cramped space. You don’t bother to pull your dress down this time and he soaks it all in as he pulls off his shirt, trying his best to kick off his boots and pants that have pooled around his ankles at the same time.

He catches up to you in no time and he knows you’re teasing him, walking all slow and sexy like that. Then he decides you’re teasing just a bit too much and he grabs you by the waist and tosses you onto the bed. You land with a soft bounce on the mattress and he crawls on right after you, pulling you towards him.

He’s nosing at your pussy through your panties, the dampness forming for him to see. You smell so fucking good that it makes him throb and he can’t help but wrap a fist around himself and pump loosely a few times.

“You’re soaked for me,” He says gruffly and you mewl, desperate for him to touch you more. “Should I have a taste?”

Now he’s running his fingertips over your covered slit, and your hips buck. Jack can feel the heat of you just under the thin cloth, radiating through the lace and he briefly wonders if you’ll let him keep them after.

“Yes…” You breathe, and he takes a peek at you from between your legs. You look absolutely wrecked, propped up on your forearms, staring down at him through half lidded eyes.

“Why don’t you ask me nicely?” He coos and you groan, head tipping back. He loves having you like this, nice and pliant under his hands. You’re better than he imagined when he was alone, touching himself to the thought of you. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“Please, Jack,” Your voice cracks as you plead, hips rolling, craving some kind, any kind of friction. “I want it so fucking bad, please…” 

“You always listen so well to me, sweetheart. So obedient.” Jack can’t deny you when you whine for him all breathy like that, so he pulls your panties to the side and does exactly what he said he would do, taking a taste. He laps at your pussy like a man starved, your wetness smearing all over his chin, gathering in his stubble.

He feels your hands grip his hair as you pull him in deeper, wordlessly asking for more. Obliging, he dips his tongue into your cunt and you tighten around the muscle, making Jack’s eyes roll back into his head. He’s sure he’s moaning just as much as you are, one hand on your hip, the other one stroking his cock roughly.

Once he’s had his fill of fucking you with his tongue he lets his fingers take over, sliding two of them into your sopping entrance. Your hips buck again at the intrusion and he lets out a deep growl. “You taste so good, baby —could eat you all fucking night. You like having my fingers buried deep in your cunt?”

The whiskey has worn off by now but he’s drunk with lust, his head spinning as he ducks his head back down, sucking your clit softly. He can feel you fluttering around his fingers, getting tighter as he fucks you rough. He’s caught you staring at them more than once and your little comment about his hands earlier hadn’t gone unnoticed by him.

He can tell you’re close by the way you’re moaning and the way you’re gripping his fingers; he can barely pull them out. The pace he sets is brutal and then you’re coming on his hand and face before he even realizes. The taste of your cum is heady and he’s licking it all up like it’s his last meal.

You’re catching your breath and he flips you over without a word, ass up for him. His hands are rough and calloused on your soft skin, pulling down the top of your dress to expose your breasts. You both moan as he tweaks a nipple between his fingers, before palming your ass and yanking your soaking panties down your thighs.

“Fuck…” Jack curses. He’s rutting against you, coating his cock with your cum, moving infuriatingly slow. You’re pushing against him, pleas falling from your lips as he places a hand on your bare back, pushing you deeper into the mattress. Jack has half a mind to hope that your apartment walls aren’t as thin as he thinks they are. He’s busy trying to sear this moment into his memories to care all that much about it though; you’re under him, moaning his name, begging for him. “Still think I’m an old man? That I can’t keep up?”

He’s throwing your words back at you, the frantic shakes of your head as you rut back into him going straight to his ego and his dick. Jack can't resist the sight any longer as he drags himself up and down your entrance, tapping on your clit a few times and loving the way you jump at the sensation. He’s barely got the tip in when you start moaning for him again, breathy and desperate. Ignoring your begging for him to start moving faster, he pushes in nice and slow instead, mesmerized by the way your pussy just sucks him in.

Gripping fabric of your dress that has bunched up around your waist, he sinks in deeper until he’s fully bottomed out. He stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size and schooling his breathing so he doesn’t cum embarrassingly fast. You’re so tight and he can’t help but think you’re one hundred percent better than what he imagined and one thousand percent better than his fist that he fucks into when he thinks of you. Sharp pain interrupts his thoughts, your nails scratching at his thighs as you try to get him to finally move.

“Feels like you’re made for me, sweetheart. So fucking tight for me.” Thoughts are spilling out now, pleasure taking over and loosening his filter. As much as he wants to savour this, savour you, he’s on the fringes of his self control. You’re gripping his cock in a way that makes his head spin and your small pants have him feeling downright sinful. He tries to start slow, he really does, but he just can’t resist. He’s been thinking about having you for so long, the way you would look under him, and now that he has you, he’s not letting you think about anyone else again. Jack wants you to think about him every time you crawl into bed without him.

He fucks you in earnest, the wet slap of skin on skin just spurring him on. He buries a fist in your hair again, yanking your head up so you’re on all fours for him, back curved. The frame of your bed creaks quickly in time with his thrusts, the same way his thrusts are punching small gasps out of you each time. He loves listening to the noises you make and he pulls your hips up higher, balls slapping your clit as he buries himself deeper. Your moans are getting louder, walls squeezing him tight and he pulls out quickly before his vision goes white.

“Jack, please!” He can tell you’re getting tired of the way he’s been teasing you all night, thinking that he just might edge you all night. But really, he just wants to see what your face looks like when you cum around his cock. He flips you over easily, biceps flexing. Before you can even muster out a squeal he’s back inside you, filling you up to the hilt. Your lips part and your eyes roll back into your head, and he can’t help but smirk as he begins to move once more.

This time the pace he sets is punishing, determined to make you cum before even thinking about chasing his own high. Jack can tell by the way that you’re squeezing him like you don’t want to let him go that it won’t be long. He allows his eyes to sweep over your body appreciatively, your thighs, your stomach, the way your breasts bounce, how absolutely blissed out your face looks.

It’s hard to resist the temptation to splay a hand just below your neck, gauge your reaction, so he doesn’t. His hand is so large against the base of your throat and the way your eyes flutter in pleasure makes his dick twitch. He lets it rest there for a moment, then dips two fingers between your lips, tongue swirling around the tips of them like it was around his dick just a little while ago.

Leaving a wet trail down your chest, he makes his way down to your clit, drawing tight circles around with rough fingertips. He lets out a growl at the noise you make, deep and primal. He glances down, noticing the cream gathering around the base of his cock, his happy trail covered in your slick. His legs shake at the sight, his climax suddenly a lot closer than he anticipated. He can guess that yours is too, judging from the way your cunt is fluttering around him and that you’ve seemed to stop caring who can hear just how good he’s making you feel. 

“You gonna cum on my cock, baby?” You’re nodding loosely, like you barely even registered the question. He loves seeing such a capable girl come apart in his hands like this. “Yeah? Cum for me then.”

And you do, as he should have expected, since you always do what he tells you to.

Your cunt is milking his orgasm out of him, and he can feel his hips stutter. He barely squeezes out the words, asking you where he should finish, half aware that he’s not wearing a condom. You look up with shiny wet eyes, fingers tangling in the curls at the base of his neck  and he nearly cums at the sight.

“I want you to fill me up.” You say, and yeah, that makes him want to cum even more. A few more messy thrusts and he gives a low groan, spilling deep inside you. He’s hutched over your form, body shaking in pleasure, loving the heat that’s radiating from your body. After a few moments the haze of sex dissipates and you two are left chest to chest, your nipples brushing his chest with every breath.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart.”

—

Jack cleans you up, all nice and sweet, with a warm rag from your bathroom. The action is tender, especially compared to the way he just wrecked you. It makes you feel taken care of, which is not something you would admit aloud to him for now. You’re a little confused about the position that this puts you in with your attending. The only thing you can really make sense of is that the entire situation has gotten about a million times more complicated than it was eight hours ago.

But when Jack looks at you, eyes soft in a way you’ve never seen before when you offer to help him remove his prosthetic, you decide that you don’t really care. You’d give anything to have him look at you that way again.

And now he’s here in your bed, freckled back to you and breathing even. He’d fallen asleep soon after you asked him to stay the night, which you thought was sweet. Old man was up way past his bedtime.

Your phone vibrates on your nightstand and you flip it over, squinting at the bright light. You’d pretty much ignored it when you left the bar with Jack, pretty one track minded. You’d miss a flurry of text messages from everyone else: Garcia asking if she could bum a smoke, Samira asking if you left and then following up asking you to let her know you got home safe, Robby wondering if you had seen Abbot anywhere, Dennis just sending you a blurry picture of the bar floor, which you assumed was a drunken accident.

Trinity has sent you the most recent text, sitting atop of your stack of notifications.

Taehyung moved through it all with his usual bright, easy smile, clapping Jungkook on the back as they joked about something you couldn’t quite hear from across the room. Your fiancé looked happy— genuinely happy and a sharp pang twisted in your chest at the sight. You loved him. You truly did. He was safe, kind, and had built a beautiful life with you. But love wasn’t the same as the all-consuming fire that burned in your veins whenever Jeon Jungkook was near.

No one noticed when you slipped away from the bustling main hall, your heels clicking softly against the polished floors as you made your way down a dimly lit side corridor. Seconds later, the supply closet door opened and closed with a quiet click, and Jungkook was on you. The space was small and intimate, barely large enough for the two of you, filled with the clean scent of fresh linens, lemon furniture polish, and the faint woody notes of his cologne that always made your head spin. Shelves lined the walls, stacked high with folded tablecloths and spare glassware that trembled slightly as he pressed you back against them. His hands were everywhere at once, cupping your face, sliding down your neck, gripping your waist with a hunger that had been building for far too long.

His mouth crashed against yours in a heated, desperate kiss, tongues tangling instantly as years of suppressed longing poured out between you. You moaned softly into him, fingers threading through his dark, silky hair and tugging just hard enough to draw a low growl from his throat. The kiss was messy, breathless, all teeth and tongue and raw need. One of his large hands trailed down your body, bunching the soft, flowing fabric of your rehearsal dinner dress higher and higher up your thighs until the cool air kissed your skin. He hooked his fingers into the delicate lace of your panties, yanking them roughly to the side without bothering to remove them. You felt the thick, hot length of his cock pressing against your entrance, already slick and aching for him after just one heated look across the room earlier.

“Jungkook…” you whispered breathlessly against his lips, but the name came out more like a plea than a warning. You tried not to think about how long this had been going on; one entire year of stolen touches, secret meetings, and nights where you told yourself it would be the last time. You tried not to think about Taehyung waiting just down the hall, about the vows you would speak tomorrow, or the life you had so carefully built. But then Jungkook pushed inside you in one slow, powerful thrust, stretching you open so perfectly that all coherent thought shattered.

A choked gasp escaped your lips as he filled you completely, his cock buried to the hilt, your walls fluttering around his thick girth. He was so big, so deep, the delicious burn of it making your toes curl inside your heels. Jungkook pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, his hands gripping your hips with bruising strength to hold you steady in the cramped space. “Fuck, baby… so tight, so wet for me already,” he rasped, voice low and wrecked, barely above a whisper. He began to move then, deep, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the angle perfect in the tight confines of the closet. The shelf behind you rattled softly with each measured pump of his hips, the quiet, wet sounds of your bodies connecting echoing obscenely in the small room.

You clung to his broad shoulders, nails digging into the crisp fabric of his black button-up shirt as you tried desperately to stay quiet. Outside, the rehearsal dinner continued, laughter rang out, glasses clinked, someone called your name faintly in the distance, but in here, it was just the two of you. Your leg hooked around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper as he fucked you with controlled intensity, grinding against your clit with every thrust. Pleasure coiled hot and tight in your lower belly, building faster than you could handle. Sweat beaded along your skin, your dress sticking to your back, while Jungkook’s breath fanned hot against your neck, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered filthy praises.

“You feel so fucking good… always take me so well,” he groaned quietly, one hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight circles over your swollen clit. His pace quickened slightly, hips snapping forward in short, powerful strokes that made stars burst behind your eyelids. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the desperate whimpers threatening to spill out. The scent of him, clean soap, faint sweat, and pure Jungkook— overwhelmed you, making your head spin. Every drag of his cock sent sparks of ecstasy racing up your spine, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around him as you neared the edge.

He could feel it, knew your body better than anyone. “That’s it, baby. Come for me,” he murmured, voice strained with his own impending release. “Let go… I’ve got you.” The coil inside you snapped, pleasure crashing over you in powerful waves. Your thighs trembled violently as you came hard around him, a broken sob muffled against his skin while your pussy pulsed and fluttered, drawing him even deeper. Jungkook followed right after, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan he tried— and failed— to silence. You felt the hot rush of his release filling you, his cock twitching deep inside as he rode out his orgasm, hips grinding lazily against yours until you were both spent and shaking.

For several long moments, the only sounds were your ragged breaths mingling in the dim closet. Jungkook stayed buried inside you, softening slowly, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if he couldn’t bear to let go just yet. He pressed soft, lingering kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, tender now that the storm had passed. You kept your eyes closed, trying to savor the warmth of him, the feeling of being so completely his, even if it was only for these stolen minutes. Tomorrow you would walk down the aisle and promise forever to Taehyung. Tomorrow this would have to end.

The aftershocks of pleasure still hummed through your body as Jungkook cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing tenderly over your flushed cheeks, and kissed you— slow, deep, and devastatingly intimate. It wasn’t the frantic hunger from minutes ago; this kiss was full of quiet longing, his tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. You melted into it, fingers curling weakly into his shirt, wishing you could stay wrapped in him forever.

Eventually he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours with a heavy sigh. “We should get back,” he murmured, voice low and rough, still laced with emotion. He pressed one last soft kiss to your swollen lips before carefully slipping out of you. The loss of him made you ache in more ways than one. Jungkook stepped back just enough to fix himself, tucking his shirt back in, smoothing down the front of his black trousers, and running a hand through his messy hair until it looked intentionally tousled rather than freshly fucked. He gave you one final look, eyes dark and conflicted, the weight of tomorrow hanging between you like a storm cloud.

“I’ll see you back out there, baby,” he whispered, the nickname slipping out like a secret he couldn’t hold in. Then he cracked the door open, checked the hallway, and slipped out without another word, leaving you alone in the dim, cluttered space.

You stood there for a long moment, thighs still trembling, his release slowly trickling down your skin. The distant sounds of the rehearsal dinner filtered in, laughter, music, the clinking of glasses, reminding you that the world outside hadn’t stopped turning.

With a shaky breath, you reached for the small mirror hanging on the back of the closet door. Your reflection stared back at you: cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, hair slightly disheveled. You carefully smoothed everything back into place, patting down stray strands, fixing the smudged edge of your lipstick with your fingertip, and adjusting the neckline of your dress until you looked like the composed bride-to-be everyone expected.

As you stared at your own eyes in the mirror, a heavy wave of memory washed over you. Your mind drifted back to the exact day this all began, the moment everything between you and Jungkook shifted from best-friend’s-girlfriend and best man into something irreversible.

one year ago.

The rain came down in merciless sheets that night, turning the city streets into glossy rivers that reflected the blurred glow of streetlights. Thunder rolled overhead like distant artillery, shaking the windows of the apartment building as you slammed the door behind you. Your heart hammered wildly in your chest, a chaotic mix of rage, hurt, and disbelief crashing through you with every step. The fight with Taehyung had been one of the worst you’d ever had, maybe the worst. It started over something small, as these things often did: a forgotten anniversary plan, a careless comment about your long work hours. But it had snowballed fast, words flying like daggers neither of you could take back.

“You’re never here anymore!” Taehyung had shouted, his usually warm voice sharp with frustration. “It feels like I’m dating a ghost. Do you even still want this?”

You’d fired back just as viciously. “Maybe I don’t! Maybe I’m tired of feeling like I’m carrying everything while you act like the charming golden boy who never has to try!” The accusations had grown crueler, old insecurities dragged into the light, past arguments rehashed with fresh venom. He’d said you were emotionally unavailable. You’d thrown back that sometimes you wondered if he even loved you or just loved the idea of you. By the end, both of you were yelling things you never thought you’d say to each other. “Maybe we shouldn’t even be together,” he’d spat. You hadn’t disagreed. You’d grabbed your coat and left before the tears could fall in front of him.

Now, soaked to the bone, your phone vibrated relentlessly in your pocket. Taehyung’s name lit up the screen again and again, missed calls piling up, text notifications buzzing like angry hornets. You ignored them all, teeth chattering as the cold rain seeped through your thin jacket and into your skin. The wind whipped your hair across your face, stinging your eyes that were already burning from crying. Where could you even go? Chaewon was out of town for the whole week, visiting family in Busan. Hotels felt too lonely, too clinical for a night like this. Your feet carried you almost on autopilot through the storm, blocks blurring together until you found yourself standing in front of Jungkook’s apartment building.

He was Taehyung’s best friend, but over the years he had become yours too. The three of you had built a comfortable little world together, lazy Sundays playing video games, late-night drives for street food, inside jokes that no one else understood. Showing up at his door in the middle of a breakdown wasn’t entirely out of character, but it still felt vulnerable. Your knuckles rapped against the wood, weak at first, then louder as another crack of thunder split the sky.

The door opened after a moment, and Jungkook stood there in a simple black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his dark hair slightly messy like he’d been relaxing. His eyes widened instantly at the sight of you, drenched, shivering, mascara running in dark streaks down your cheeks, lips trembling from the cold and suppressed sobs. “Holy shit,” he breathed, reaching out without hesitation. “Get in here right now. You’re going to freeze to death.”

Strong hands pulled you inside, and the warmth of his apartment wrapped around you like a hug. The door clicked shut, muffling the roar of the storm outside. Soft lighting glowed from a lamp in the living room, and the faint scent of his cologne, something woody and clean, mingled with the smell of rain on your clothes. Jungkook didn’t bombard you with questions. Instead, he moved with quiet efficiency. He disappeared down the short hallway and returned quickly with a large, fluffy towel, an oversized black hoodie that smelled like him, and a pair of his sweatpants.

“Here,” he said gently, pressing them into your arms. “Bathroom’s yours. Change out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia. I’ll make you something warm to eat.” His voice was steady, grounding, the kind of calm that made the chaos in your head feel a little less overwhelming.

You nodded numbly and slipped into the bathroom. Peeling off your soaked clothes felt like shedding a layer of the fight itself. The dry fabric of his hoodie engulfed you, soft and comforting against your chilled skin, the hem falling mid-thigh. The sweatpants were loose but warm. When you emerged, Jungkook had already set up the living room: a steaming bowl of spicy ramen on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the couch, and a glass of water beside it. He patted the seat next to him.

Only then did he ask, voice soft and free of judgment, “What happened?”

The words tumbled out of you for what felt like hours. You told him everything, the small spark that started the argument, how it escalated into screaming matches about commitment, about feeling unseen, about fears that maybe the two of you had grown in different directions. You recounted the cruelest things said: how Taehyung had implied you were selfish for prioritizing your career, how you’d thrown back that sometimes he felt more like a best friend than a partner. Tears flowed freely again as you spoke, and Jungkook listened through it all. He never interrupted, never took sides. He simply nodded, offered quiet “I’m sorry you went through that,” and handed you tissues when your voice cracked.

As the ramen cooled and your shivering finally stopped, the conversation stretched deeper. You talked about the good times too, the early days when everything with Taehyung felt effortless and exciting. Jungkook shared his own observations from the outside, careful and kind. “You two have always been strong,” he said at one point, leaning back against the couch. “But even strong couples hit rough patches. Doesn’t mean it’s over unless you want it to be.”

Time slipped away. The storm outside began to ease into a steady drizzle. Eventually, Jungkook stood and returned from the kitchen with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. “You’ve earned this,” he said with a small, comforting smile, pouring generously. “Might help take the edge off.”

You accepted the glass gratefully. The rich, velvety liquid warmed your throat and loosened the knot in your chest. As you sipped, the heavy topic of the fight slowly faded. The conversation drifted naturally into lighter waters, funny memories from group trips, inside jokes about Taehyung’s dramatic reactions to horror movies, stories from Jungkook’s recent work projects. He was always so easy to talk to, his laughter low and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners when something truly amused him.

Eventually the topic turned to his love life, or lack thereof. Jungkook swirled the wine in his glass, a faint sigh escaping him. “I don’t know… I just haven’t found the right girl yet. Dating feels exhausting lately. Everyone I meet seems nice on the surface, but there’s no real connection. No spark that makes me want to fight for it, you know?”

You tilted your head, studying him under the warm lamplight. The wine had brought a soft flush to your cheeks, and the comfort of his clothes made you feel safer than you had all night. “She’ll come along, Kook. I promise. You’re… you’re really attractive. Like, stupidly attractive. You’re kind, talented, funny, thoughtful. Any girl would be incredibly lucky to have you. Don’t sell yourself short.”

He looked surprised, then shy. A light blush crept across his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he ducked his head with a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Stop it. You’re just saying that because you’re being nice after a bad night.” But when he lifted his gaze again, his dark eyes met yours and held. The air between you thickened, charged with something new and electric. “You’re attractive too,” he said quietly, voice dropping lower. “Really fucking attractive. Inside and out. The way you light up when you talk about things you love… the way you’re so strong even when you’re hurting. Taehyung’s lucky. Anyone would be.”

The compliment landed heavily, warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the wine. You stared at each other across the small space of the couch. The storm outside had become a distant murmur. Your heart pounded hard against your ribs, a mix of guilt, curiosity, and undeniable pull swirling inside you. Without fully realizing what you were doing, you set your wine glass down on the coffee table with a soft clink. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet room.

Then you leaned forward, closing the distance in one breathless moment, and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss started tentative, soft and uncertain, tasting of red wine and the faint salt of earlier tears. But the moment Jungkook’s hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your damp hair, something ignited. The kiss deepened, slow and exploratory, like both of you had been waiting for permission you didn’t know you needed.

The kiss deepened almost instantly, like a dam breaking after years of careful restraint. What started as soft and tentative quickly turned hungry— your lips parting, tongues sliding together in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that sent heat rushing through your entire body. Jungkook tasted like red wine and warmth, his mouth moving against yours with a quiet intensity that made your head spin. One of his hands stayed cradled at the back of your neck, fingers threading through your still-damp hair, while the other settled on your waist, gripping the fabric of his oversized hoodie like he was trying to anchor himself.

You couldn’t stop yourself. The ache that had been building inside you all night, the hurt from the fight, the confusion, the unexpected pull toward Jungkook, pushed you forward. You shifted on the couch, swinging one leg over his lap until you were straddling him, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his thighs. The new position brought your bodies flush together, your chest pressed against his, and you felt the sharp intake of breath he took against your mouth.

Jungkook’s hands instinctively moved to your hips, holding you there as the kiss grew hotter, wetter. A low sound rumbled in his chest— half groan, half sigh— and for a few blissful seconds, he kissed you back like he’d been starving for it. His tongue explored yours, teeth grazing your bottom lip, sending little sparks straight down your spine.

Then he suddenly pulled away, breaking the kiss with a gasp. His forehead rested against yours, eyes squeezed shut, breathing ragged. “Wait— wait,” he whispered, voice strained and rough. One hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. His dark eyes searched yours, filled with conflict. “But… Taehyung. He’s my best friend. You’re his girlfriend. We can’t— we shouldn’t—”

The words hung heavy between you, the reality of what you were doing crashing down like cold water. For a heartbeat, guilt flickered across his face, his jaw tight as he fought an internal battle. You could see it, the loyalty to Taehyung warring with the undeniable desire burning in his gaze.

You shook your head, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. Your fingers curled into the front of his t-shirt, holding him close. “I know,” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper. “I know it’s wrong. But right now… I need this, Jungkook. I need you.” Your voice cracked slightly, raw with emotion. “Tonight I don’t want to think about the fight or what it means. I just… I want this. I want you. And I can tell you want it too.”

Jungkook stared at you for a long, charged moment. His chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes dark and conflicted, lips slightly parted and still glistening from the kiss. The silence stretched, thick with tension and unspoken consequences. Then something in his expression shifted, the hesitation cracked, desire winning out. With a quiet, defeated groan, he slid his hand back into your hair and pulled you back down into a searing kiss.

This time there was no restraint. The kiss was deeper, more possessive, his tongue claiming your mouth as his hands roamed. He kissed you like he was pouring every hidden feeling he’d ever had into it. His lips soon trailed away from your mouth, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the sensitive column of your neck. You tilted your head to the side, giving him better access, a soft whimper escaping as his teeth grazed your pulse point.

“Fuck… you taste so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice husky. One of his large hands slid down to your thigh, fingers slipping under the hem of the borrowed sweatpants, stroking the bare skin there with slow, deliberate touches. The other hand stayed on your hip, guiding you as you began to move.

You rocked slowly against him, grinding down onto his lap in a gentle, teasing rhythm. You could already feel him hardening beneath you, the growing bulge pressing against your core through the thin layers of fabric. Each roll of your hips drew a low, muffled groan from him, the sound vibrating against your neck where he continued kissing and gently sucking, careful not to leave marks but clearly struggling with the urge.

His hands explored your thighs with increasing hunger, squeezing the soft flesh, fingertips digging in just enough to make you shiver. “You feel so fucking good on me,” he whispered between kisses, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Been trying not to think about this for so long…”

You answered by grinding down harder, chasing the friction that was quickly turning the slow burn into an open flame. The living room felt smaller, hotter, the distant sound of rain against the windows the only thing grounding you to reality. Jungkook’s breath grew heavier, his hips starting to lift subtly to meet your movements, hands guiding your pace as he kissed lower, nudging the collar of the hoodie aside to press his lips to your collarbone.

Every touch, every whispered word, every roll of your hips blurred the line further, guilt and desire twisting together until they were almost indistinguishable. The heat between you had become unbearable, a slow-building fire that consumed every last shred of hesitation. Jungkook’s hands were everywhere, sliding under the oversized hoodie, palms hot against your bare skin as he pulled you closer.

Your fingers trembled as they found the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it upward. He helped you, lifting his arms so you could peel it off, revealing the smooth, toned planes of his chest and abdomen, muscles flexing with every ragged breath. The hoodie came off next in a frantic blur, your hair tumbling messily around your shoulders as he yanked it over your head. Sweatpants and his own followed, fabric whispering against skin and pooling on the floor until there was nothing left between you.

Naked, skin to skin, the world narrowed to just this: the warmth of his body, the rapid thud of his heartbeat against yours, the way his dark eyes drank you in like you were the only thing that mattered. Any lingering thought of Taehyung dissolved completely, washed away by the storm outside and the one raging inside you. There was only Jungkook, his scent, his touch, the way he looked at you like he’d been waiting years for this moment.

You rose up on your knees, straddling him fully now, one hand braced on his broad shoulder while the other reached between your bodies. His cock was hard and heavy, flushed and leaking at the tip. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking once, twice, feeling him twitch in your grip. Jungkook’s breath hitched, a low, needy sound escaping his throat as he gripped your hips, thumbs stroking soothing circles into your skin. No words passed between you. None were needed.

Slowly, torturously, you sank down onto him.

The stretch was exquisite, inch by inch, he filled you, thick and deep, pressing against walls that had never been touched quite like this. A soft, broken moan slipped from your lips as you bottomed out, your thighs trembling against his. Jungkook’s head fell back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, his chest rising sharply with a silent groan. His hands tightened on your hips, not guiding, just holding, reverent, steady, like he was afraid this might vanish if he gripped too hard.

You stayed there for a long moment, just feeling him, letting your body adjust to the fullness. Then you began to move. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t rough. It was slow, rolling waves, your hips lifting and sinking in a languid rhythm, grinding down on every descent so his cock dragged perfectly against that sensitive spot deep inside you. Every movement drew quiet, breathy moans from both of you. Your forehead pressed to his, noses brushing, mouths hovering close enough to share the same air. His hands roamed your back, your waist, your thighs, gentle caresses that felt almost worshipful. One palm came up to cup your breast, thumb brushing tenderly over your nipple, drawing another soft whimper from you.

You rode him like that for what felt like forever, lost in the rhythm. The wet, intimate sounds of your bodies moving together filled the quiet living room, mingling with the steady patter of rain against the windows. Your breaths synced— short, panting exhales every time you sank down, shaky inhales when you rose again. Jungkook’s moans were low and guttural, vibrating against your chest whenever he buried his face in your neck. He kissed you there, open-mouthed and slow, sucking gently, tongue tracing your pulse.

You hated yourself for the thought that flickered through your mind, but it was impossible to ignore: Jungkook was hitting places Taehyung had never reached. Deeper, fuller, brushing against a spot that made sparks explode behind your eyelids with every roll of your hips. The pleasure was different, richer, more intense, curling low in your belly and spreading outward like warm honey. Guilt twisted sharp and sudden in your chest, but it melted away again under the next wave of sensation as you ground down harder, taking him to the hilt.

Jungkook seemed to sense it. His arms wrapped fully around you, pulling you impossibly closer until your bodies were flush, moving as one. One hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head; the other stayed on your lower back, guiding your slow, sensual rhythm without forcing it. His lips found yours again, kissing you deeply, languidly, tongues stroking in time with your hips. Every moan, every sigh, every quiet gasp became your only language.

You could feel the tension building in both of you, coiling tighter and tighter. Your walls fluttered around him, clenching with every descent. Jungkook’s breathing grew more ragged, his hips starting to lift subtly to meet yours, pushing just a little deeper each time. Sweat slicked your skin where you pressed together. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails leaving faint crescents as the pleasure crested.

When you came, it was slow and devastating, waves of ecstasy rolling through you, pulling a long, trembling moan from your throat that he swallowed with another deep kiss. Your body pulsed around him, drawing him in, holding him there as pleasure blinded you. Jungkook followed moments later, burying himself deep with one final, shuddering thrust. A broken groan tore from him as he spilled inside you, hot and pulsing, his arms tightening around your body like he never wanted to let go.

You stayed like that for a long time afterward, still joined, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. His hands stroked soothingly up and down your back. Soft kisses were pressed to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. No words. Just the quiet intimacy of two people who had crossed a line they could never uncross.

The next morning light crept in slowly through the half-drawn blinds of Jungkook’s living room, painting long, lazy stripes of pale gold across the hardwood floor and the rumpled blanket that had been pulled over your bodies sometime in the night. You woke gradually, not with a jolt but with a soft, heavy awareness that settled into your bones like warm honey mixed with lead. Your body felt different, deliciously used, sore in the most intimate places, a faint ache between your thighs that made heat bloom across your cheeks even before your eyes fully opened.

Every shift of your hips reminded you of how deeply he had been inside you, how perfectly he had filled you, how your walls had clenched around him in those slow, rolling waves of pleasure. The memory hit you in fragments: the way his hands had gripped your hips with such tender reverence, the quiet hitch in his breath each time you sank down onto him, the way your foreheads had stayed pressed together as if you were sharing the same heartbeat.

Jungkook lay beside you on the wide couch, still fast asleep. His dark hair was tousled against the cushion, one arm draped loosely over your waist, fingers curled loosely against the bare skin of your lower back where the blanket had slipped. His chest rose and fell in deep, even rhythms, lips slightly parted, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. He looked so peaceful, so boyishly handsome in the morning light, and for a fleeting second your heart squeezed with something dangerously close to affection.

Last night had been… God, it had been some of the best sex of your life. Not just the physical release— though that had been shattering— but the intimacy of it. The way it had felt romantic, almost sacred, like two souls reaching for each other in the dark without a single word spoken. You hadn’t rushed. You hadn’t needed to. Every slow grind of your hips, every shared breath, every soft moan had built something deeper than lust. And now, in the quiet aftermath, you lay there feeling the evidence of it still inside you, his release, dried on your inner thighs, a sticky reminder that refused to let you pretend it had been a dream.

But the warmth in your chest curdled quickly into something colder. Your heart felt heavy, a dull, throbbing weight pressing against your ribs as reality seeped in like the gray dawn outside. You didn’t regret it. Not entirely. How could you, when your body still hummed with the afterglow of something so raw and real? Taehyung had never touched you like that— never reached the places Jungkook had found so effortlessly, never made you feel so completely seen and wanted in the middle of your brokenness.

The thought made guilt twist sharp and vicious in your stomach, but it was tangled up with an odd, stubborn sense of clarity. Last night had been a release you hadn’t known you needed. Still, the dread pooled low in your belly, thick and icy, spreading outward until your fingers trembled where they rested against Jungkook’s arm. You had cheated. On Taehyung. With his best friend. The words echoed in your mind like a courtroom verdict, cold and final. You had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed, and the weight of it pressed down on you until breathing felt like an effort.

Your mind began to whirl, thoughts spiraling faster and faster. What if Jungkook woke up right now? What would you say? What if he looked at you with those dark, searching eyes and asked if it changed anything? What if Taehyung somehow sensed it the second you walked through the door, the faint scent of Jungkook’s cologne still clinging to your skin, the subtle marks his mouth had left on your neck that you’d have to hide? Panic flickered at the edges of your consciousness. You couldn’t stay here. You had to leave before the apartment filled with daylight and questions and the terrifying possibility that last night might mean more than either of you could handle.

Carefully, so carefully, you began to disentangle yourself. You lifted Jungkook’s arm inch by inch, holding your breath when he stirred and let out a soft, sleepy sigh. His fingers brushed your hip as they fell away, sending a traitorous spark through you, but he didn’t wake. You slid off the couch on silent feet, the cool floorboards kissing your bare soles. Your clothes from the night before, still slightly damp from the storm, lay folded neatly on the coffee table where Jungkook must have placed them.

You dressed quickly but quietly, pulling on your pants and shirt with shaking hands, wincing at the way the fabric dragged against skin still sensitive from his touch. The oversized hoodie and sweatpants you’d borrowed last night stayed behind; you couldn’t risk taking anything that smelled like him home. One last glance at Jungkook, his peaceful face, the faint red lines your nails had left on his shoulder, and your chest tightened with a confusing mix of longing and shame. You slipped out the door like a ghost, pulling it shut behind you with the softest click. The hallway was empty, the building still hushed in the early hour. Your footsteps echoed too loudly in your own ears as you hurried down the stairs and out into the morning air.

The city was just waking up, the streets still glistening from last night’s rain. Puddles reflected the pale sky, and the air carried that fresh, earthy scent of wet pavement mixed with distant coffee shops opening their doors. You walked the familiar route home, each step heavier than the last. The dread in your belly grew into a storm of its own, churning and expanding until it felt like it might swallow you whole. You had cheated. With Jungkook. Taehyung’s best friend. The man who had stood beside him at every milestone, who had laughed with the two of you over late-night dinners, who had been part of your shared life for years.

How had it come to this? One fight, one storm, one vulnerable night, and now everything was tainted. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, Taehyung again, probably, but you couldn’t look. Not yet. Your mind raced through every possible scenario: what if he could tell just by looking at you? What if the guilt was written across your face like a neon sign? What if Jungkook texted him something innocent later and the truth slipped out anyway? You prayed, silently and desperately, that Taehyung wouldn’t be home when you got there. Maybe he’d crashed at the studio. Maybe he’d gone for a run to clear his head. Anything but facing him with last night still burning on your skin.

But the universe had other plans. Punishment, it seemed, came swift and merciless.

The moment you slid your key into the lock of your apartment door, the familiar click sounded like a gunshot in the quiet hallway. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat. The living room was dim, curtains still drawn, but the lamp on the side table was on. And there he was, Taehyung. He had clearly spent the entire night on the couch, exactly where you’d left him. His hair was a wild mess, dark circles carved under his eyes, clothes wrinkled and rumpled from hours of restless tossing. The second the door opened and he registered your presence, he shot up from the couch like a man possessed, eyes wide and red-rimmed with exhaustion and unshed tears.

“Baby—” His voice cracked on the single word, raw and broken. He crossed the room in three long, desperate strides, bare feet silent on the floor. Before you could even open your mouth to speak, he dropped to his knees right in front of you, the impact loud enough to make you flinch. His arms wrapped around your legs in a crushing embrace, face burying itself against your thighs as heavy, gut-wrenching sobs tore from his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he cried, voice muffled against the fabric of your pants. Tears soaked through immediately, warm and relentless. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean any of the things I said last night— none of it. I was scared and angry and I took it all out on you. I love you. God, I love you so much. Please… please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you. I can’t do this without you.”

His shoulders shook violently under the force of his crying. He clung to you like a lifeline, fingers digging into the back of your thighs as if letting go would make you disappear forever. “I stayed up all night thinking about everything. About us. About how I’ve been taking you for granted. I’ll change. I’ll do better. I’ll be the man you deserve. Just… just tell me we’re okay. Tell me you still love me.”

Your heart sank like a stone dropped into the deepest, coldest part of the ocean. The guilt you’d been carrying since you left Jungkook’s apartment crashed over you in a tidal wave, so intense it stole the breath from your lungs. Here was Taehyung— your boyfriend, your partner, the man you had built a life with, completely shattered at your feet, pouring out his soul in raw, ugly tears. And you… you had spent the night wrapped around his best friend, letting Jungkook fuck you slow and deep while the rain fell outside. The contrast was nauseating. You couldn’t tell him. Not now. Not ever. The truth would destroy him. It would destroy the three of you. Everything you had worked so hard to build would crumble into dust.

Right then and there, kneeling on the floor with him, the decision crystallized in your mind like ice forming over a lake. It had to be a one-time thing. A horrible, beautiful, unrepeatable mistake born from anger and vulnerability and the storm. You would talk to Jungkook, soon, before anything else could happen, and make him understand. You would convince him that you couldn’t tell Taehyung, that it was a mistake that could never be repeated, that the two of you had to bury it so deep it never saw the light of day again. For Taehyung’s sake. For all of your sakes.

Tears spilled down your own cheeks then— hot, guilty, bitter tears that burned tracks down your skin. You sank to your knees too, right there in the entryway, cupping Taehyung’s tear-streaked face in both your hands and lifting it so you could look into his eyes. They were so full of love and relief and desperation that it nearly broke you all over again. “Taehyung…” you whispered, voice thick and trembling. You leaned in and kissed him softly, tasting the salt of his tears on his lips. The kiss was gentle, reassuring, everything he needed it to be. “I forgive you. I’m sorry too. We both said awful, hurtful things. I love you. We’re going to be okay. I promise.”

He pulled you into his arms with a broken sob of relief, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his body shook against yours. You held him tight, stroking his back in slow, soothing circles, letting your own tears fall freely into his hair. The two of you stayed like that on the floor for what felt like hours, two broken people clinging to each other in the wreckage of last night’s fight.

Taehyung’s tears eventually slowed, replaced by shaky, grateful breaths and whispered promises against your skin. But while his were tears of remorse and gratitude and second chances, yours were born from something far darker: a crushing shame that settled deep in your bones, a fear that gnawed at the edges of your mind, and the terrifying knowledge that you had just shattered something sacred and could never, ever take it back.

The apartment smelled like yesterday’s dinner and stale coffee. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence between his sobs. Outside, the city continued its morning rhythm, cars passing, birds calling, life moving forward as if nothing had changed. But inside, everything had. You stroked Taehyung’s hair and whispered more reassurances, even as your mind replayed every slow, intimate moment with Jungkook in vivid, unwanted detail. The way he had looked at you. The way he had felt inside you. The way your body had responded like it had been waiting for him all along.

You hated yourself for it. But you couldn’t undo it. All you could do now was bury it, lock it away, and pray that the secret wouldn’t eat you alive from the inside out.

The week that followed the stormy night felt like walking through fog, thick, disorienting, and heavy with the weight of what you’d done. You threw yourself into repairing things with Taehyung: quiet dinners at home, long talks where he held your hands and promised to be better, soft kisses that tasted like forgiveness. You told yourself every single day that the night with Jungkook had been a one-time lapse in judgment, a moment of weakness you would bury so deep it would never surface again. You even avoided places where you might run into him, deleting the casual “you okay?” text he’d sent the day after and never replying.

But the memories refused to stay buried. At night, when Taehyung slept beside you, your mind replayed every slow roll of your hips, every shared breath, the way Jungkook had looked at you like you were the only real thing in his world. Your body remembered too— the delicious ache, the way he had reached places no one else ever had. The guilt was constant, but so was the pull. By the seventh day, you couldn’t fight it anymore. You told Taehyung you were going out for a walk to clear your head, and your feet carried you straight to Jungkook’s apartment building like they had a mind of their own.

Your heart thundered as you stood outside his door, fist hovering. Just end it, you repeated like a mantra. Tell him it was a mistake. Make sure he understands we can never speak of it again. You knocked before you could chicken out.

Jungkook opened the door almost immediately, as if he’d sensed you coming. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, hair messy, wearing the same black hoodie from that night. The moment his gaze landed on you, something raw and relieved flickered across his face.

“You came,” he said softly, stepping aside to let you in.

The apartment smelled exactly the same, clean cotton, faint cologne, warm coffee. It made your stomach twist with unwanted nostalgia. You sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, the same one where everything had started, hands knotted tightly in your lap. Jungkook settled across from you, leaving careful space between you, but his eyes never left your face.

You swallowed hard. “Kook… what happened last week can never happen again. It was a mistake. I was hurting, the fight with Taehyung was fresh, and I was vulnerable. But I love him. He’s your best friend. We crossed a line we had no right to cross.”

Jungkook nodded slowly, jaw flexing. He ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor. “I know. I’ve been sick over it. He’s like a brother to me. Every time I think about looking him in the eye, I feel like the worst person alive.” His voice was heavy, genuine. “You’re right. It has to stop. We bury it. Pretend it never happened.”

Relief flooded through you, cool and fleeting. He agreed. This nightmare could end here. But the silence that followed stretched too long, thick with everything unsaid. Your mind betrayed you first.

“I still can’t stop thinking about how slow we went,” you whispered, almost against your will. “The way you held me… like I mattered. Like nothing else existed.”

Jungkook’s breath caught. His eyes darkened, pupils blowing wide. “Yeah?” His voice dropped lower. “I keep remembering how you sank down on me… so wet, so tight. The way your walls fluttered every time I hit that spot deep inside. Fuck… I’ve jerked off to that memory every night since.”

Heat flashed through your body like lightning. Your thighs pressed together instinctively. “The way you looked at me when I came,” you continued, voice trembling. “Like you were feeling it too.”

“I was,” he rasped. “I felt everything. Every little gasp, every roll of your hips, the way you clenched around my cock when you fell apart. I’ve never come that hard in my life.”

The air between you crackled, electric and dangerous. You leaned forward slightly at the same time he did. “We shouldn’t,” you breathed, even as your body leaned closer.

“I know,” he growled, but his hand was already reaching for you.

The distance vanished in a heartbeat. Jungkook pulled you up and into his arms, mouths crashing together in a desperate, starving kiss. This wasn’t the tender exploration of last week. This was weeks of guilt, longing, and frustration exploding all at once. Tongues tangled, teeth nipped, hands roamed frantically. He walked you backward down the hallway without breaking the kiss, kicking his bedroom door open.

Clothes came off in a frenzied blur, your sweater yanked over your head, his hoodie tossed aside, pants and underwear shoved down and kicked away. By the time your back hit his bed, you were both completely naked, skin flushed and burning. Jungkook climbed over you like a man possessed, eyes blazing with raw hunger. He hooked his hands behind your knees and pushed your legs up and over his broad shoulders, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The position left you completely open, vulnerable, and aching.

He gripped his thick cock, dragging the swollen head through your slick folds once, twice, teasing your entrance. Then he thrust in— hard. One powerful snap of his hips buried him to the hilt inside you. You cried out sharply at the sudden, breathtaking stretch, your walls fluttering wildly around his girth. He didn’t pause. He pulled back almost to the tip and slammed in again, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm that made the headboard slam rhythmically against the wall.

“Fuck— Jungkook!” you sobbed, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks.

He groaned deep in his chest, the sound animalistic. “So fucking tight. So wet for me. God, this pussy was made for my cock.” His hips snapped forward relentlessly, fast, deep, almost feral. The new angle had him dragging against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, the head of his cock kissing your cervix and sending white-hot pleasure shooting up your spine. Skin slapped loudly against skin. Sweat slicked your bodies. His balls smacked against your ass with every powerful drive.

Nothing like the slow, romantic first time. This was pure, unrestrained need, a week of denial poured into every brutal thrust. He fucked you like he was trying to erase the guilt, like he could fuck his name into your soul. Your legs shook over his shoulders, toes curling in the air. Every drag of his thick cock sent sparks exploding behind your eyelids.

“You feel even better than I remembered,” he growled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark you’d have to hide later. “So deep, shit, I’m so deep inside you, baby.”

You couldn’t form words anymore. Only broken moans and whimpers spilled from your lips as he pounded into you, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the room. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, white-hot and devastating. When you came, it hit you like a freight train, your walls clamping down around him in rhythmic pulses, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your entire body seized.

Jungkook followed right after with a guttural moan, burying himself as deep as he could go and spilling inside you in hot, thick ropes. His hips stuttered through the aftershocks, grinding against you as he emptied every drop.

You stayed locked together, breathing hard, hearts pounding against each other. Slowly, he lowered your legs, but he didn’t pull out. He collapsed half on top of you, forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed like he was savoring the connection.

“We’re so fucked,” he whispered after a long silence.

You let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Yeah… we are.”

Neither of you suggested stopping again.

And so it began.

What was meant to be the final goodbye became the second time, then the third, then an addiction neither of you could quit. Over the following weeks and months, you found yourself at Jungkook’s door again and again. The excuses started weak—“I just need to talk”—but soon you stopped pretending altogether. You would text him a single “now?” and he would reply with his door code.

The encounters grew more intense, more varied, more dangerous.

One rainy afternoon he took you on the kitchen counter. He sat you on the edge, spread your legs wide, and fucked you slow and deep while staring into your eyes, whispering how perfect you felt, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you even when he was with Taehyung. Another night he bent you over his gaming desk, pounding into you from behind while one hand reached around to circle your clit until you were sobbing his name. You rode him in his desk chair, grinding down on his cock while his hands guided your hips and his mouth worshipped your breasts.

He ate you out on the dining table for nearly an hour, tongue and fingers working you until your thighs shook uncontrollably and you begged him to fuck you properly. In the shower you clung to him as he held you against the tiled wall, water cascading over your joined bodies while he thrust up into you. In the backseat of his car in a deserted parking garage, windows fogged, you straddled him desperately because you couldn’t wait the extra ten minutes to get upstairs.

With every new position, every new location, the sex evolved. It stopped being just release and became something deeper, more intimate. He started staying inside you after he came, holding you close, tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin. You talked for hours between rounds— about childhood dreams, fears of the future, silly stories that made you both laugh until your stomachs hurt. He comforted you when you cried after arguments with Taehyung. He listened when you admitted how lost you sometimes felt in your own relationship. He looked at you like you were the center of his universe.

And somewhere in the quiet moments after mind-blowing orgasms, you fell in love with him.

It happened gradually, terrifyingly. You started craving not just his body but his presence, his laugh, his gentle teasing, the way he made you feel truly seen. You caught yourself smiling at your phone when his name appeared. You found yourself comparing Taehyung’s gentle kisses to Jungkook’s consuming ones. The guilt never disappeared, but it became background noise, drowned out by the overwhelming love and pleasure you felt in Jungkook’s arms.

You were in love with your boyfriend's best friend. and then, you were— you were Taehyung's fiance.

The night he proposed was one you'd never forget. The elegant Italian restaurant glowed under warm amber lighting, crystal chandeliers casting soft golden patterns across crisp white tablecloths and polished silverware. The air carried the rich aroma of garlic, fresh basil, aged wine, and seared butter — the kind of scent that made every breath feel indulgent. Soft jazz played in the background, mingling with the low murmur of conversation and occasional laughter from surrounding tables. It was the perfect setting for a special night, or so everyone believed.

Your mother sat across from you, elegant in her cream blouse, chatting animatedly with Chaewon, your best friend, who kept shooting you knowing little smiles. Taehyung was in his element— charming, bright, laughing easily as he poured more wine for everyone. And then there was Jungkook, seated diagonally across from you, his usual easy smile nowhere to be found. His jaw was tight, brows furrowed, dark eyes clouded with something raw and anguished. He kept glancing at you, then at Taehyung, then down at his plate, fingers white-knuckled around the stem of his wine glass. He knew. Somehow, in the way only someone who had been tangled in your secret for months could know, he sensed what was coming tonight.

You hadn’t planned to sneak away with him. Not here, not with everyone present. But the tension had been unbearable from the moment you all sat down. Under the table, Jungkook’s foot had brushed yours once, twice, then stayed pressed against your ankle. When Taehyung excused himself briefly to speak with the waiter about a special dessert, Jungkook’s eyes met yours, dark, desperate, pleading. You gave the smallest nod.

The two of you slipped away separately, hearts racing. You waited in the dimly lit hallway near the restrooms for what felt like an eternity before his hand closed around your wrist and pulled you into the single-occupancy bathroom at the end of the corridor. The door locked with a quiet click.

There was no time for tenderness tonight.

Jungkook spun you around, pressing your front against the cool marble counter, your reflection staring back at you, flushed cheeks, wide eyes, swollen lips. He hiked your elegant black dress up around your waist in one rough motion, yanking your lace panties down just enough. You heard the metallic sound of his belt, the rasp of his zipper, and then he was pushing inside you, thick, hard, and urgent.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your ear, one hand covering your mouth to muffle your moan as he bottomed out in a single thrust. “So wet already… you’ve been thinking about me all night, haven’t you?”

You could only nod frantically, pushing back against him. He fucked you hard and fast, hips snapping forward with desperate intensity. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed quietly in the small space, drowned out by the restaurant’s ambient noise just beyond the door. One of his hands gripped your hip hard enough to bruise while the other reached around to rub tight, frantic circles over your clit. It was quick, dirty, and devastatingly good. Within minutes you were coming hard around him, biting down on his fingers to stay silent as pleasure ripped through you. Jungkook followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a choked groan, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades.

For a few seconds you both just breathed— ragged, guilty, addicted. He kissed the back of your neck softly, almost apologetically, before pulling out. You quickly fixed your panties and smoothed down your dress while he tucked himself away and washed his hands. Your eyes met in the mirror. His were tormented.

“We should get back,” you whispered.

He nodded, jaw clenched. “Yeah.”

You returned to the table one after the other, trying to look casual. Taehyung was already back, smiling warmly as he pulled your chair out for you. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips lingering sweetly against your skin.

“There you are,” he murmured affectionately. “Missed you for a second.”

You forced a smile, cheeks still warm from the bathroom. “Just freshening up.”

Chaewon raised an eyebrow at you but said nothing. Your mother continued talking. Jungkook stared down at his plate of half-eaten risotto, fork gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles had gone white. His expression was twisted— anguish, jealousy, heartbreak, and self-loathing all etched into the sharp lines of his face. He looked like a man watching his entire world prepare to slip away.

The conversation flowed around you. Taehyung’s hand rested warmly on your thigh under the table, thumb stroking gentle circles. You laughed when you were supposed to, nodded at stories about old memories, sipped your wine to steady your nerves. But every time you glanced at Jungkook, your heart cracked a little more. He barely spoke. When he did, his voice was tight, clipped.

Finally, as dessert plates were being cleared and another bottle of wine opened, Taehyung stood up. The table quieted. Your stomach dropped like a stone. He turned to you, eyes shining with love and nervous excitement. Slowly, he lowered himself onto one knee right there beside your chair. The entire restaurant seemed to hold its breath. Soft gasps and murmurs rose from nearby tables as people realized what was happening.

Your mother’s hands flew to her mouth. Chaewon grinned widely, already pulling out her phone to record.

Taehyung took your left hand in both of his, his touch warm and steady. From his pocket he produced a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a stunning diamond ring that caught the chandelier light and sparkled like starlight. It was beautiful. Perfect. Everything you should have wanted.

“Baby,” he began, voice thick with emotion, “from the moment I met you, I knew my life would never be the same. You make every day brighter. You make me want to be better. I want to spend every tomorrow with you— building a home, chasing dreams, growing old together. I love you more than words can say.” His eyes glistened. “Will you marry me?”

Time slowed.

Your mind spun wildly. Saying no would shatter everything. It would break Taehyung’s heart in front of your mother, your best friend, and half the restaurant. It would destroy years of shared memories, plans, stability. Your career, your social circle, the life you had so carefully built— all of it intertwined with him. People would ask questions. Rumors would spread. You would lose the safety net you had clung to for years.

Your gaze flickered desperately to Jungkook.

He sat frozen, head bowed, staring down at the tablecloth. His fork was clenched so tightly in his fist that it looked like it might bend. His shoulders were tense, jaw locked, chest barely rising with each shallow breath. He wouldn’t look at you. He couldn’t. The anguish on his face was so raw it hurt to see.

You looked back at Taehyung— kind, loving Taehyung, on his knee with nothing but hope and devotion in his eyes.

Your throat tightened. The word you wanted to say— no, lodged somewhere deep inside you, trapped beneath layers of fear and guilt and years of momentum. Instead, you whispered, voice barely audible yet somehow carrying across the silent table, “Yes.”

The restaurant erupted in applause. Taehyung’s face lit up with pure joy as he slid the ring onto your finger. He rose and pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply in front of everyone. Your mother was crying happy tears. Chaewon cheered. Cameras flashed from nearby tables.

You smiled. You laughed. You hugged him back.

But inside, something vital fractured.

Later that night, back in your shared apartment, the guilt sat like lead in your chest.

Taehyung made love to you slowly, reverently, the way he always did on important nights. Candles flickered on the nightstand. Soft music played low in the background. He kissed every inch of your skin like you were something sacred, whispering “I love you” between each touch. When he finally slid inside you, it was gentle, familiar, comforting, safe.

But all you could think about was Jungkook’s desperate thrusts in the bathroom earlier, the way he had filled you so completely, the anguished look on his face at dinner. Tears slipped silently down your cheeks as Taehyung moved above you, slow and deep and loving.

He noticed the tears and misunderstood completely. A tender smile crossed his face as he brushed them away with his thumbs, still rocking into you gently. “Are you crying because it feels good, baby?” he murmured, voice husky with affection. He kissed the tears from your cheeks, then your eyelids, then your lips. “I’ve got you. Let it out. I love making you feel this way.”

You nodded, unable to speak, fresh tears falling faster. He took it as overwhelming emotion from the proposal, from the intensity of the moment. He held you closer, hips rolling languidly, murmuring sweet nothings against your skin. When you came, it was quiet and bittersweet, more from emotional exhaustion than pleasure. Taehyung followed soon after, groaning your name softly as he spilled inside you.

Afterward, he pulled you into his arms, spooning you from behind and pressing kisses to your shoulder. “My fiancée,” he whispered happily, already drifting off. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

You lay there in the dark, his warm breath against your neck, the new ring heavy on your finger. Silent sobs shook your body long after he fell asleep. The guilt was suffocating. You had said yes to a future you no longer wanted, all while carrying the scent of his best friend on your skin.

Jungkook’s tormented face flashed behind your closed eyelids again and again.

You had never felt more lost.

Present day.

The supply closet door creaked open just a sliver. You peered out, heart still racing from the aftershocks of what had just happened. The hallway was mercifully empty— no lingering guests, no staff rushing by with trays. Only the distant hum of the rehearsal dinner setup floated toward you: silverware clinking, soft laughter, the low murmur of voices echoing off the high ceilings of the venue. You slipped out quickly, smoothing down the front of your rehearsal dress with trembling hands. Your thighs still felt slick, your core pleasantly sore, and the faint scent of Jungkook’s cologne clung to your skin like evidence you couldn’t erase.

You paused at a decorative mirror hanging on the corridor wall, checking your reflection one final time. Lips slightly swollen but hidden under fresh lipstick. Hair mostly back in place, though one strand still looked a little too mussed. Cheeks flushed, but you could blame that on the warm venue lighting or a glass of champagne. You took a slow, steadying breath, forcing your expression into something calm and bridal. The diamond on your finger caught the light mockingly as you turned and walked back toward the main hall.

No one seemed to notice your absence. Or if they did, they didn’t care. The venue buzzed with pre-dinner energy, florists making last-minute adjustments to centerpieces, waitstaff filling water glasses, family members chatting in small clusters. You spotted Taehyung immediately. He was standing near the head table, looking unfairly handsome in his tailored navy suit, laughing at something Namjoon said. The moment he saw you, his whole face lit up.

“There you are, baby,” he said warmly, crossing the distance in a few strides. His arms wrapped around you before you could prepare yourself, pulling you into a tight, loving hug. One hand rubbed soothing circles on your lower back while the other tilted your chin up gently. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, then another to your temple, exactly where Jungkook’s breath had ghosted earlier. “I was starting to wonder where my beautiful almost-wife disappeared to. The rehearsal dinner’s about to start. Everything okay?”

You smiled up at him, the motion automatic after months of practice. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed a minute to breathe. It’s all a little overwhelming.”

Taehyung’s eyes softened with understanding. “I know. But tonight’s going to be perfect. Tomorrow’s going to be perfect. Because I get to marry you.” He kissed your forehead again, then laced his fingers through yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he led you toward the long head table.

The seating arrangement had been planned meticulously. You sat near the center, with Chaewon— your maid of honor, on your immediate right. Next to her were your other bridesmaids: Jennie, glowing in a sleek emerald dress, and a couple of college friends who chatted excitedly about the florals. Across the table sat Taehyung’s groomsmen, Yoongi looking effortlessly cool in all black, Namjoon with his dimpled smile, and a few others. And directly across from you, of course, was Jungkook. Best man. Taehyung’s closest friend. The man who had just fucked you senseless in a supply closet less than ten minutes ago.

You did everything possible not to look at him.

Taehyung pulled your chair out for you like the perfect gentleman, then took his seat beside you, immediately draping an arm along the back of your chair. His fingers found yours again under the table, thumb stroking over your engagement ring as if reminding you, or himself that this was real. He leaned toward Yoongi and Namjoon, launching into an easy conversation about some new whiskey Namjoon had discovered on a recent trip. Their laughter rolled over the table, warm and familiar.

You kept your gaze fixed on your water glass, on the delicate gold rim of your plate, on the beautiful floral arrangement in the center of the table, anywhere but across from you. Still, you could feel Jungkook’s presence like a physical weight. The heat of his stare. The way his shoulders filled out his black button-up. The faint redness on the side of his neck that you knew you’d left there with your teeth.

Chaewon nudged your side gently. “You good? You look a little flushed.”

“Just the wine,” you lied with a small laugh, lifting your glass as proof.

Before anyone could press further, Jennie leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that only you and Chaewon could hear. Her eyes sparkled with gossip. “Okay, you guys are never going to believe this. Wonyoung just told me she heard two people straight-up fucking in one of the supply closets a little while ago.”

Chaewon gasped, hand flying to her mouth in dramatic shock. “No way. During the rehearsal dinner? That’s insane. Who would be bold enough?”

Your face drained of color. Ice-cold dread flooded your veins, turning your stomach into a tight knot. Your fingers tightened around the stem of your wine glass until you worried it might snap. They know. Oh God, they know. The room suddenly felt too loud, too bright, too small. You forced yourself to breathe slowly, keeping your expression neutral even as panic clawed up your throat.

Jennie shrugged, clearly enjoying the scandal. “Wonyoung said she heard moaning and the shelf rattling. She tried to be sneaky and wait to see who came out, but she got bored after a couple minutes. The only person she actually saw leave was Jungkook. The girl, whoever she was, took too long, so Wonyoung gave up and came back to the table.”

Chaewon made a disgusted yet amused face, leaning back in her chair. “Of course it was Jungkook. Leave it to him to sneak off and fuck some random girl right before his best friend’s wedding rehearsal. The man has zero shame. I swear, he’s going to end up causing drama at the actual wedding if he’s not careful.”

You swallowed hard, forcing a weak chuckle that sounded fake even to your own ears. “Come on, guys. We don’t know for sure it was him doing anything. Maybe he just… needed something from the closet. Or maybe Wonyoung misheard. These old buildings have weird acoustics.”

Chaewon turned to you with a weird, skeptical look, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched. “Since when do you defend Jungkook’s hook-up habits? You’ve literally complained about his ‘playboy phase’ with me a dozen times.”

Jennie giggled, already moving on. “Maybe it was one of the catering staff. Or that cute bridesmaid from Taehyung’s cousin’s side? God, I hope it wasn’t. Can you imagine the drama if someone finds out?”

The two of them launched into eager speculation, voices low but animated, throwing out names and possibilities while laughing behind their hands. You sat there frozen, smiling stiffly when they looked at you, nodding along like you were just as amused. Inside, your mind screamed. Every beat of your heart felt like a countdown. The memory of Jungkook’s cock buried deep inside you, his hand over your mouth, his whispered “so fucking perfect” still echoed in your ears while your fiancé held your hand lovingly under the table.

Taehyung squeezed your fingers, completely oblivious, still deep in conversation with Namjoon about honeymoon destinations. “What do you think, babe? Beach or mountains?”

“Beach sounds nice,” you murmured, forcing warmth into your voice.

Across the table, you couldn’t resist anymore. Your eyes lifted.

Jungkook was already watching you. His gaze was intense, dark, and unapologetic. He hadn’t touched his food. His fork rested beside his plate, forgotten. Those familiar eyes, the same ones that had looked at you with lust and something far deeper in the closet, bored straight into you. He didn’t smile. He didn’t look away. He simply stared, jaw tight, like he was daring the entire room to notice. Like he didn’t care if they did. One of his hands rested on the table, fingers drumming once, slowly, as if remembering how they’d gripped your thigh earlier.

The heat in his stare made your core clench involuntarily, a fresh rush of slick mixing with what he’d left inside you. Guilt and desire twisted together so tightly you felt dizzy. You looked away first, cheeks burning, focusing instead on the way Taehyung’s thumb kept stroking your knuckles.

The rehearsal dinner continued around you— toasts starting soon, servers bringing out the first course, laughter rising and falling like waves. But inside your chest, everything felt like it was fracturing. Tomorrow you would walk down the aisle. Tomorrow you would promise forever to the man beside you. And the man across from you, the one still staring like he owned every broken piece of your heart, would be standing right there watching it happen.

The rehearsal dinner wound down slowly, like the final notes of a song that had gone on just a little too long. Laughter gradually softened into tired goodbyes, chairs scraped against the polished floors, and the warm glow of string lights overhead began to feel almost too intimate. Plates were cleared, half-empty wine glasses collected, and the wedding party slowly migrated toward the connected hotel lobby in a cheerful, slightly tipsy procession. Hugs and promises to meet bright and early tomorrow filled the air. Your mother kissed your cheek and whispered how proud she was. Chaewon squeezed your hand and reminded you she’d be there first thing in the morning to help you get ready. Everyone was glowing with excitement.

Everyone except you.

A heavy fog of exhaustion and dread clung to your bones as you walked beside Taehyung through the elegant hotel corridors. The plush carpet muffled your footsteps, but nothing could muffle the storm raging inside your chest. Jungkook lingered somewhere behind the group with the other groomsmen— you hadn’t dared look back at him since that intense stare across the dinner table. The memory of his eyes on you still burned.

True to old-fashioned wedding tradition, you and Taehyung were to spend the night apart. No shared suite, no last-minute intimacy. Just one final night as fiancés before tomorrow made everything permanent.

Your group reached the executive floor where the bridal and groom parties had been booked. Doors lined the quiet hallway, each marked with elegant gold numbers. Taehyung’s suite was three doors down from yours. The others said their final goodnights, waving and calling out teasing reminders not to stay up too late thinking about each other. Slowly, the hallway emptied until it was just the two of you standing outside your door.

Taehyung turned to face you fully, the soft hallway lighting casting gentle shadows across his handsome face. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen, eyes warm, smile soft and full of love. Your heart clenched so hard it hurt.

He stepped closer, cupping your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed tenderly over your cheeks as he leaned in and kissed you deeply. It wasn’t a quick goodnight peck. This was slow, reverent, full of promise. His lips moved against yours with familiar affection, tongue gently teasing until you parted for him. You tasted the red wine from dinner on his tongue, felt the steady warmth of his body pressing close. One of his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his voice was low and thick with emotion. “God, I love you. I can’t believe tomorrow is finally here. I get to marry the love of my life. My best friend. My everything.” He kissed the tip of your nose, then your forehead, then your lips again, softer this time. “I’ve been dreaming about this day since the moment I proposed. I can’t wait to watch you walk down that aisle toward me. I can’t wait to call you my wife.”

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile that you hoped looked genuine. “I love you too, Taehyung,” you whispered, the words tasting both true and bitterly false at the same time. “I can’t wait either.”

But inside, a mountain-sized rock of fear and doubt sat heavy in your stomach, pressing against your lungs and making it hard to breathe. Tomorrow you would stand in front of family, friends, and God, and promise forever to this man while carrying the weight of months of betrayal. While the memory of Jungkook’s hands, his mouth, his body still lingered on your skin. The thought of saying “I do” felt like stepping off a cliff. What kind of life were you building on such a rotten foundation? What if you ruined him? What if you ruined yourself?

You pushed the thoughts away violently, locking them behind a mental door you refused to open tonight. Not now. Not when Taehyung was looking at you like this.

He smiled against your lips, then leaned in closer, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. His voice dropped into that husky, intimate register that always made your stomach flutter. “You have no idea how badly I wish I could take you into that room right now,” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “How much I want to peel this dress off you, lay you down on that big bed, and fuck you slow and deep until you’re moaning my name. I’ve been thinking about it all night… how perfect you’d feel wrapped around me on the night before our wedding.”

A shiver ran through you, part guilt, part muscle memory from the supply closet earlier. You played along, letting out a soft, breathy laugh as you slid your arms around his neck. “Tae… you’re going to make this separation even harder,” you whispered back, kissing the corner of his jaw. “But you’re right. We’ll have forever after tomorrow. All the nights we want.”

He groaned quietly, pulling you into another deep kiss, this one edged with restrained hunger. His hands roamed your back, pressing you closer, and for a moment you let yourself sink into the familiarity of him, the safety, the love, the life you had chosen. When he finally stepped back, his eyes were dark with want but shining with pure happiness.

“One more night,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Then you’re mine forever. Sleep well, my beautiful bride. Dream of me.”

“I will,” you lied gently.

He kissed you one last time, slow, lingering, full of quiet devotion, before pulling away with visible reluctance. He walked backward a few steps, still watching you with that bright, loving smile, then turned and disappeared into his own suite a few doors down. The soft click of his door closing echoed in the now-empty hallway.

You stood there alone for a long moment, keycard clutched tightly in your fingers, staring at the polished wood of your own door. The mountain in your stomach grew heavier. Your thighs still ached faintly from Jungkook. Your lips still tingled from Taehyung. Two completely different kinds of kisses, two completely different kinds of love, one safe and warm, the other dangerous and all-consuming, warred inside you until you felt dizzy.

Finally, you slipped the keycard into the lock and pushed the door open. The luxurious suite welcomed you with soft lighting, a king-sized bed piled with crisp white linens, and a breathtaking view of the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. It should have felt like a dream. Instead, it felt like a beautifully decorated cage.

You closed the door behind you, leaned back against it, and let out a shaky breath. Tomorrow was coming whether you were ready or not.

You had been lying in the massive king-sized bed for what felt like an eternity, though the clock on the nightstand insisted it had only been forty-three minutes. The silk sheets were cool against your skin at first, but now they clung to your legs like a second, suffocating layer. No matter how many times you flipped the pillow to the cool side, no matter how you rearranged your body— on your back, curled on your side, sprawled on your stomach— sleep refused to come. Your mind was a hurricane, relentless and loud, every thought crashing into the next with brutal force.

Tomorrow.

The word echoed like a death knell. Tomorrow you would walk down a petal-strewn aisle in a dress that had cost more than most people’s cars. Tomorrow you would stand in front of two hundred people and promise forever to Kim Taehyung. Tomorrow you would become someone’s wife.

And tonight, your body still carried the ghost of Jeon Jungkook.

You could still feel the faint ache between your thighs from the supply closet. The taste of his kiss lingered on your lips beneath the mint of toothpaste. His scent, clean, woody, faintly sweet, seemed embedded in your skin no matter how many times you’d showered. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his face at dinner: that anguished stare across the table, the way his knuckles had gone white around his fork.

You and Jungkook had never truly talked about it.

Not once in all those stolen months had either of you said the words “I love you.” The relationship, if it could even be called that, had existed in heated silences, desperate touches, and late-night conversations that danced around the edges of real feelings. You’d talk about music, about childhood memories, about fears of failure and dreams you were too scared to chase. You’d laugh until your stomachs hurt, then fuck like the world was ending. But love? That word had always stayed locked behind teeth and bitten lips, too dangerous to release.

Still, you knew.

You loved him. God, you loved him in a way that felt terrifying and inevitable, like gravity. You loved the way he looked at you like you were the only real thing in his universe. You loved how he remembered tiny details no one else noticed. You loved the way he touched you— like worship and ruin all at once. And deep down, in the quietest part of your heart, you were almost certain he loved you back. The way he held you after sex, the way his voice would crack when he said your name in the dark, the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching… it was all there.

But love wasn’t enough. Not when it was built on lies and betrayal. You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life sneaking around, stealing moments, destroying two people who didn’t deserve it. Tonight had to be the end. One final goodbye, then you would lock your heart away and become the wife Taehyung deserved.

The decision settled over you like cold steel.

You sat up abruptly, heart hammering. The city lights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows blurred through the tears gathering in your eyes. You didn’t bother with a robe, just grabbed the hotel keycard and slipped on the soft hotel slippers. Your silk nightdress brushed against your thighs as you moved silently to the door. The hallway was quiet, dimmed for the night, the carpet plush underfoot. Every step felt like walking toward the edge of a cliff.

Jungkook’s room was only two floors up. You took the stairs instead of the elevator, needing the movement to steady your nerves. By the time you reached his door, your hands were shaking so badly you almost dropped the keycard twice. You stood there for a long moment, forehead pressed against the cool wood, breathing through the panic.

Then you knocked. Soft. Hesitant. Barely audible.

You heard movement inside, sheets rustling, footsteps padding across the floor. The door opened. Jungkook stood there in nothing but black sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair messy from tossing and turning of his own. His eyes widened in genuine shock when he saw you. For a second, neither of you moved. The hallway light spilled into his dimly lit suite, highlighting the sharp lines of his collarbones, the faint red marks your nails had left on his shoulder earlier.

You didn’t wait for an invitation. You stepped forward, gently pushing the door wider, and slipped inside. Jungkook closed it behind you with a quiet click, the sound final in the heavy silence. No words passed between you. You stood just inside the room, staring at him. He stared back. The air felt thick, charged with everything unsaid for months. The king bed behind him was rumpled, one pillow tossed aside like he’d been struggling to sleep too. A single lamp cast a warm, golden glow across the space, catching on the sharp angles of his face and the tension in his jaw.

You moved first, walking slowly to the edge of the bed and sitting down. The mattress dipped under your weight. Tears welled up instantly, hot and stinging, blurring your vision. You tried to hold them back, but one slipped free, rolling down your cheek.

Jungkook was on his knees in front of you before you could draw another breath.

He moved with that quiet, graceful speed he always had, dropping down between your legs, hands coming up to cradle your face with heartbreaking gentleness. His thumbs brushed away the tears as they fell, warm and calloused from years of playing guitar and working out. His dark eyes searched yours, full of worry and something deeper, something that made your chest ache even worse.

“Baby… what’s wrong?” he whispered, voice rough with sleep and emotion. “Talk to me. Please.”

You shook your head, lips trembling. More tears spilled over. “This has to be the last time, Jungkook,” you managed, voice cracking. “Tonight. This… us. It has to end. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t marry him tomorrow while I’m still… while we’re still—”

Your words dissolved into a quiet sob. You cried harder, shoulders shaking, the weight of months of guilt and love and fear crashing down all at once.

Jungkook’s face crumpled. His own eyes glistened as he continued wiping your tears away with careful thumbs, like he could erase the pain if he was gentle enough. “Okay,” he whispered, voice wavering badly. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Okay… if that’s what you need. I’ll… I’ll let you go.”

The words sounded like they physically hurt him to say. His hands trembled against your cheeks. He stayed on his knees, looking up at you like you were his whole world breaking apart right in front of him. You cried harder, leaning forward until your forehead rested against his. Your hands came up to clutch at his bare shoulders, nails digging in like you could anchor yourself to him one last time. The sobs came freely now, quiet but devastating. Jungkook wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing his face into your stomach as he held you through it. His own breathing was shaky, uneven.

After a long stretch of silence broken only by your quiet crying, he pulled back just enough to look up at you again. His eyes were red-rimmed, devastatingly beautiful in their pain. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear with infinite tenderness.

Then, so softly you almost thought you’d imagined it, he whispered:

“Don’t marry him.”

The words hung between you like smoke. Time seemed to stop. Your breath caught in your throat. Jungkook’s eyes never left yours, raw and pleading and full of a love he had never dared speak out loud until this moment. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking slow circles through the silk of your nightdress, grounding and desperate all at once.

You stared down at him, heart shattering into a thousand pieces. Then you pulled back slightly, staring at him through tear-blurred vision. Your heart stuttered. “What… what do you mean?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, cracking on the last word.

Jungkook didn’t look away. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking slow, desperate circles through the silk of your nightdress. “I mean don’t marry him,” he repeated, louder this time, voice thick with emotion. “Don’t do it, baby. Please.”

You shook your head frantically, fresh tears spilling over. “Jungkook… I don’t have a choice.”

“You do,” he said immediately, eyes pleading. “You have a choice. Right now. Right here.”

A broken sound escaped your throat. You pulled away from his touch, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that could hold you together. “No, I don’t. Everyone would hate me. My family, his family, our friends… they’ve all poured so much into this wedding. Into us. I can’t destroy everything like that. I can’t do that to Taehyung. He doesn’t deserve this. None of them do.”

Jungkook stayed on his knees for another moment, watching you unravel. Then frustration flickered across his face. He pushed himself up abruptly, running both hands through his hair, tugging at the dark strands in clear agitation. He paced two steps away, then turned back to you, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“But what about what you want?” he asked, voice rough and edged with pain. “What about you? For once in all of this… what do you actually want?” You looked at the ground, unable to meet his eyes. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. The truth sat on your tongue like fire: You. I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long it feels like I’m drowning. But the words wouldn’t come. Admitting it would make everything real. It would make the pain sharper, the consequences unavoidable.

So instead of answering, you stood up. Jungkook watched you, breath caught, waiting. You closed the distance between you in two shaky steps. Your hands came up to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his sharp cheekbones. For one heartbeat, you just looked at him — memorizing the way his dark eyes searched yours, the slight tremble in his jaw, the love and heartbreak written so clearly across his features.

Then you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was deep, desperate, and devastating, all the things you couldn’t say poured into the press of your lips. Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer as your mouth moved against his with raw hunger and sorrow. Jungkook groaned into the kiss, hands gripping your waist almost painfully as he kissed you back like it was the last time. Because it was.

Tongues tangled. Breaths mingled. Tears slipped from your eyes and mixed between your lips. The kiss tasted like salt and goodbye. You poured every unsaid “I love you,” every stolen moment, every future you could never have into it. Jungkook held you like he was trying to memorize the feel of you, like he could keep you here forever if he kissed you hard enough.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing hard. Your forehead rested against his for one final second. Then you turned and walked toward the door. A sob caught in your throat, thick and painful, threatening to break free. You didn’t let it. You kept your back straight, shoulders tense, even as your vision blurred with fresh tears.

Jungkook didn’t try to stop you. You heard him take one shaky step forward, then stop. “Please…” he whispered, voice wrecked. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. You opened the door and slipped into the hallway, the cool air hitting your tear-streaked face like a slap. The sob finally escaped the moment the door clicked shut behind you, a broken, muffled sound that you tried to swallow as you hurried back toward the stairs.

Your bare feet moved quickly over the carpet. Tears fell freely now, dripping onto the silk of your nightdress. Every step away from him felt like tearing your own heart out. You pressed a hand to your chest as if that could ease the pain, but it only made it worse.

By the time you reached your own floor, your shoulders were shaking with silent sobs. You slipped back into your cold, empty suite, closed the door, and leaned against it, sliding slowly down until you were sitting on the floor.

The ring on your finger felt heavier than ever.

The morning light filtered through the sheer white curtains of the bridal suite like a soft, golden promise. It was supposed to be the most beautiful day of your life, the kind of day people wrote songs about, the kind of day you had spent months planning down to the last petal and place card. Instead, it felt like the heaviest weight you had ever carried.

You had barely slept. After slipping back into your own suite last night, you had curled up on the cold floor by the door for what felt like hours, sobbing until your chest ached and your eyes burned raw. Eventually exhaustion had pulled you into the bed, but the sheets still smelled faintly of the hotel laundry and nothing like home. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Jungkook’s face, his tear-streaked cheeks, the raw desperation in his voice when he whispered “Don’t marry him,” the way his lips had moved against yours in that final, devastating kiss. The memory played on repeat, mixing with flashes of the supply closet yesterday, the storm night a year ago, every stolen moment that had led you here.

Now you sat in a high-backed velvet chair in front of a large vanity mirror, the room buzzing with excited energy all around you. The bridal suite was a whirlwind of satin, lace, laughter, and the sweet scent of fresh peonies overflowing from every available surface. Your mother flitted between the racks of dresses and the champagne station, chatting animatedly with the wedding planner. Jennie and the other bridesmaids lounged on the cream-colored sofas, sipping mimosas and scrolling through their phones, occasionally bursting into giggles. A photographer darted around capturing “candid” moments, someone adjusting a veil, someone else helping zip a bridesmaid dress. Soft classical music played from a speaker in the corner, but it all felt distant, like you were watching it happen to someone else through fogged glass.

Chaewon stood behind you, her fingers gentle but precise as she worked through your hair. She had insisted on doing your makeup and hair herself, “No one knows your face like I do,” she had said with a wink this morning, but right now her usual bright energy felt like it was pressing against a bruise you couldn’t hide. She had already curled and pinned half your hair into an elegant updo, soft tendrils framing your face exactly the way you had pictured it months ago when you’d chosen the style. The makeup artist had already done the base, flawless, glowing skin, subtle contour, the perfect neutral lip, but Chaewon was handling the finishing touches: the smoky eye that made your eyes look bigger, the highlighter that caught the light just right.

You stared at your reflection and hated what you saw.

The woman in the mirror looked beautiful. The silk robe with your new initials embroidered on the pocket, the diamond studs in your ears that Taehyung had given you last Christmas, the faint flush on your cheeks that could almost pass for bridal excitement. But your eyes were dull. The smile you kept trying to force felt plastic and wrong, like a mask that kept slipping no matter how hard you held it in place.

“Hold still, babe,” Chaewon murmured, carefully sweeping a fluffy brush across your cheekbone with setting powder. “You’re going to look insane when I’m done. Taehyung’s jaw is going to hit the floor the second he sees you.”

You tried to laugh. It came out small and hollow. “Yeah… I hope so.”

Chaewon paused, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror. She tilted her head, studying you the way only your best friend could, like she could see straight through the carefully constructed walls you had spent the last year building. The room’s chatter continued around you, but for a moment it felt like the two of you were in a bubble.

She set the brush down and leaned in closer, resting her forearms on the back of your chair so her face was level with yours. Her voice dropped low, soft enough that only you could hear over the background noise. “Hey… are you okay?”

You nodded immediately, plastering on the brightest fake smile you could manage. The muscles in your cheeks protested. “I’m fine. Really. Just… wedding day nerves, you know?”

Chaewon didn’t smile back. She searched your face for another long second, her perfectly winged liner making her eyes look even sharper. “You’ve been quiet all morning. Like, too quiet. And your smile keeps doing that thing where it doesn’t reach your eyes. I know you, remember? I’ve seen you fake it through finals week, through that horrible breakup in college, through every single time you tried to convince me you were okay when you weren’t.”

Your throat tightened. You could feel the tears from last night threatening to resurface, stinging behind your eyes. You blinked rapidly, forcing them back. “I’m just nervous,” you said, keeping your voice light. “Overthinking everything, like always. What if I trip walking down the aisle? What if the flowers aren’t right? What if I forget my vows?” The excuses tumbled out easily, practiced from months of hiding the truth.

Chaewon’s brow furrowed. She lowered her voice even more, almost a whisper now. “Is it cold feet? Like… actual cold feet? Because if it is, you can tell me. I’m your maid of honor. I’m supposed to be the one who helps you through this shit, even if it’s messy. We can slow everything down. We can talk to Taehyung. We can—”

“No,” you cut her off quickly, shaking your head so hard that one of the pinned curls almost slipped. You reached up and caught her wrist gently, squeezing it. “No cold feet. I swear. I love Taehyung. He’s… he’s good to me. He’s safe. He’s everything I’m supposed to want.” The words tasted bitter on your tongue. Safe. The same word you had used in your own head a thousand times. Safe, but not the one who made your heart feel like it was on fire. Not the one who had looked you in the eyes last night and begged you, in the softest voice imaginable, not to go through with this.

You forced another smile, wider this time, even though it hurt. “I’m just overthinking. The last year has been a lot, planning this whole thing, work, everything with Taehyung’s schedule. It’s all hitting me at once. But I’m happy. I promise.”

Chaewon studied you for another beat, clearly not convinced. Her thumb brushed over the back of your hand where it still held her wrist. “You know you can tell me anything, right? Even if it’s scary. Even if it changes things. I’ve got your back no matter what.”

The sincerity in her voice nearly broke you. For one wild second you considered it, telling her everything. The affair. The way Jungkook had fallen to his knees last night and whispered those three words that had shattered your entire world. Don’t marry him. How you had kissed him like your life depended on it and then run away like a coward. How you were sitting here in a wedding dress about to promise forever to the wrong man because the right one was standing on the other side of the aisle as his best man.

But the words stayed locked behind your teeth. You couldn’t destroy everything. Not today. Not when your mother was already tearing up in the corner watching you. Not when two hundred people were already seated in the garden waiting for you. Not when Taehyung was probably pacing in his own suite right now, smiling that bright, hopeful smile you had fallen for years ago.

“I know,” you whispered instead, squeezing her hand one more time before letting go. “Thank you. I really am okay. Just… help me finish my makeup so I don’t look like I cried all night?”

Chaewon hesitated, lips pressing into a thin line. She clearly wanted to push more, but the wedding planner chose that exact moment to clap her hands loudly from across the room.

“Ten minutes until we need the bride in the dress, ladies! Let’s get that veil on and do the final touch-ups!”

The bubble popped. Chaewon gave you one last searching look, then straightened up with a forced bright smile of her own. “You heard her. Time to make you the most beautiful bride this venue has ever seen.”

She went back to work, dabbing at your under eyes with a cool sponge to hide any remaining redness, then carefully placing the delicate lace veil into your updo. The fabric fluttered down around your shoulders like a cloud. Your mother came over, eyes already misty, and adjusted the veil with trembling fingers. “My baby girl,” she whispered, voice thick. “You look like a dream.”

You smiled at her reflection in the mirror, the same fake smile you had been wearing all morning. “Thanks, Mom.”

Jennie popped up beside you, holding up a glass of champagne. “One last sip for courage? Or is it bad luck before the aisle?”

You took the glass, mostly to give your hands something to do. The bubbles tickled your throat as you sipped, but it tasted like nothing. The room continued its happy chaos around you—bridesmaids zipping into their matching dresses, the photographer snapping more photos, your mother fussing over the hem of your gown as it was finally brought out on a rolling rack. The dress was everything you had once dreamed of: soft ivory silk, a fitted bodice with delicate beading, a long train that whispered against the carpet. It should have made you feel like a princess.

Instead, it felt like armor you were putting on for a battle you didn’t want to fight.

As Chaewon helped you step into the gown and began buttoning the long row of tiny pearls up your back, your mind drifted again. Last night’s kiss burned behind your eyelids. The way Jungkook’s hands had gripped your waist like he was drowning. The broken sound of his voice. What about what you want? You hadn’t answered him then, and you still couldn’t answer yourself now. Because the truth was too terrifying: what you wanted was him. All of him. The stolen nights, the laughter in the dark, the way he saw every broken piece of you and loved them anyway.

But wanting wasn’t enough. Not when it would ruin so many lives. “Almost done,” Chaewon murmured behind you, her voice soft again. She fastened the last button and stepped back to admire her work. “There. You’re perfect.”

The entire room turned to look at you. Gasps and soft cheers filled the air. Your mother covered her mouth, tears slipping free. Jennie raised her phone to take a video. The photographer clicked away furiously.

You stood there in the center of it all, the most beautiful bride anyone had ever seen, and felt absolutely nothing but dread. Before Chaewon could pull you aside for one more private question, you could see it in her eyes that she was about to try, the wedding planner appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand and a bright, efficient smile on her face.

“It’s time, everyone! The ceremony starts in twenty minutes. Bride, we need you in position for the processional. Let’s get you to the garden entrance.” The words landed like a final bell.

Chaewon squeezed your hand one last time, her expression still worried but resigned. “You’ve got this,” she whispered. “I love you.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Love you too.”

As the bridesmaids lined up in front of you, as your mother gave you one last tearful hug, as the veil was lowered gently over your face, you felt the mountain of everything you had been carrying finally settle into place.

This was it.

The best day of your life.

And all you could think about was the man waiting at the end of the aisle, not as your husband, but as the best man who had begged you, just last night, not to walk toward anyone else. The doors to the garden opened. Music swelled. Everyone turned to look. And you took the first step.

The first step down the aisle felt like stepping off solid ground into open air. Hundreds of eyes watched you, warm and adoring, but your own gaze kept betraying you. It flickered forward to Taehyung, standing tall at the altar in his perfectly tailored black tux, eyes already glistening with happy tears, that bright, boyish smile lighting up his entire face. Then, helplessly, it slid to the left.

To Jungkook.

He stood just behind Taehyung as best man, posture rigid, hands clasped tightly in front of him. The black suit fit him like it had been made for this exact moment of torment. His hair was styled neatly, jaw clean-shaven, but none of that hid the devastation carved into his features. His eyes, dark, red-rimmed, utterly shattered, locked onto yours the second you looked at him and refused to let go. A sinking feeling twisted deep in your stomach, heavy as lead.

Every step brought you closer. Your heels sank slightly into the white runner. The guests murmured how beautiful you looked, how radiant, how perfect. But all you could see was Jungkook’s face, the way his lips pressed into a thin, pained line, the subtle tremble in his shoulders, the way his eyes glistened like he was barely holding himself together. He looked at you like you were killing him. Like every step you took toward Taehyung was a knife sliding between his ribs.

You tried to look away. You really did. But your eyes kept returning to him, drawn like magnets. Flashbacks assaulted you with every heartbeat. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You blinked them back furiously, forcing a soft, trembling smile for the guests. Your father mistook it for emotion and patted your hand proudly.

Closer now. Ten steps. Five. Jungkook’s chest rose and fell faster. His jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped. For one heartbeat, as you passed the front row, his eyes met yours fully and the pain in them was so raw, so open, that your knees nearly buckled. I love you, his gaze seemed to scream. Please don’t do this.

You reached the altar.

Your father kissed your cheek, then placed your hand in Taehyung’s. Taehyung’s fingers were warm, steady, loving. He squeezed gently and mouthed, “You look breathtaking.” His smile was so full of pure joy it hurt to look at.

Jungkook stood directly behind him, only a few feet away. You could feel the heat of his stare on the side of your face like a brand.

The officiant began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Kim Taehyung and…”

The words blurred. You stood facing Taehyung, bouquet lowered, veil soft over your vision, while every nerve in your body remained hyper-aware of the man standing just over his shoulder. Jungkook’s presence was a storm at your back. You could hear his shallow breathing, could almost feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

Taehyung looked at you like you were his entire universe. He mouthed “I love you” during the opening remarks. You tried to say it back. The words came out, but they felt hollow.

The ceremony moved forward, readings, a short sermon on love and commitment, the sharing of memories from friends. Laughter rippled through the guests at funny stories. You smiled when you were supposed to. Nodded. Squeezed Taehyung’s hands. But your mind kept screaming.

This is wrong. This is all wrong. Then came the moment. The officiant smiled warmly at the crowd. “If anyone here has any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

A respectful, anticipatory silence fell over the garden.

For three full heartbeats, nothing happened.

Then Jungkook moved.

He stepped forward, shoulders squared, voice cutting through the quiet like thunder.

“I do.”

Gasps erupted everywhere. Heads whipped around. A wave of horrified murmurs swept through the guests. Your mother’s hand flew to her mouth. Chaewon’s eyes widened in shock beside the other bridesmaids. Taehyung’s smile froze, then slowly fell as he turned toward his best friend.

Jungkook didn’t look at anyone else. His eyes were locked on you, burning, desperate, filled with months of suppressed love finally breaking free. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking but growing stronger with every word. “I’m so fucking sorry, Tae. But I can’t stand here and watch this happen without saying something. I’ve been in love with her for over a year.”

The crowd’s murmurs turned into outright shock. Someone dropped a phone. A few people stood up. Jungkook took another step closer, eyes never leaving yours. Tears slipped down your cheeks now, unchecked. The veil did nothing to hide them. “From that first night she showed up at my door in the rain, broken from a fight with you… I tried to fight it. I swear I did. But every stolen moment after that only made me fall harder. The way she laughs at my stupid jokes. The way she looks at me like I actually see her. The way she makes me want to be better. I love her in a way I’ve never loved anyone. Deep. All-consuming. The kind of love that ruins you.” His voice broke completely. “I know this destroys everything. I know I’m the worst friend in the world. But I can’t let her marry you while pretending I don’t feel this. I can’t forever hold my peace when my heart is screaming her name.”

Silence. Absolute, horrified silence. You stared at him, tears streaming freely now, chest heaving. The love in his eyes was devastating. Raw. Real. Everything you had been too scared to admit you wanted. Taehyung’s hand dropped yours. He looked between you and Jungkook, confusion melting into dawning horror, then white-hot anger and heartbreak all at once. His face crumpled. “What the hell is he talking about?” he asked you, voice low and trembling. “Baby… what is this?”

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out at first. “Taehyung, I—”

Jungkook stepped forward again, reaching toward his best friend. “Tae, please. This is my fault. I—”

Taehyung’s fist flew before Jungkook could finish.

The punch landed hard, right against Jungkook’s jaw with a sickening crack that echoed through the garden. Jungkook stumbled back, hand flying to his face. Blood instantly trickled from the corner of his mouth. Guests screamed. Chairs scraped. Chaos erupted. Taehyung stood there, chest heaving, eyes wild with betrayal and pain. “You son of a bitch,” he snarled, voice breaking. "How long?"

Jungkook didn’t fight back. He just stood there, blood on his lips, eyes still locked on you even as tears mixed with the red on his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, but the words were lost in the growing uproar. You stood frozen at the altar in your wedding dress, bouquet long forgotten on the ground, tears pouring down your face as the perfect day shattered around you in front of everyone you loved. The man you were supposed to marry had just punched his best friend. The man you were in love with had just torn everything apart in the most public, devastating way possible.

But Taehyung wasn’t done. Rage and heartbreak twisted his usually gentle features into something unrecognizable as he grabbed the front of Jungkook’s suit jacket with both hands and shoved him again, snarling through gritted teeth. “You fucking traitor—”

You moved without thinking, silk gown tangling around your legs as you surged between them. “Taehyung, stop! Please!” Your voice cracked, raw from hours of suppressed tears. You grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back, but he was stronger than you in his fury. His elbow jerked back sharply, shoving you hard.

You stumbled, heels catching in the runner. The world tilted. Strong arms caught you from behind— Jungkook’s arms— pulling you against his chest to keep you upright. His blood smeared across the shoulder of your pristine ivory gown as you gripped his suit jacket, breathing hard.

Every single person in the garden was staring at you now. Hundreds of eyes. Phones still recording. Gasps and horrified whispers rippling outward like shockwaves. Your mother looked faint. Jennie had her hands over her mouth. The officiant stood frozen with the bible clutched to his chest. And Chaewon… Chaewon stared at you like she didn’t even recognize you anymore.

Taehyung’s chest heaved as he looked at the two of you, his fiancée clinging to his best man, blood staining her wedding dress. His eyes were glassy with betrayal, pain, and fury so deep it looked like it might break him. “Is it true?” he demanded, voice low and trembling. “Everything he just said… all of it. Is it fucking true?”

You turned slowly in Jungkook’s arms, still gripping his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you standing. Your veil clung to your wet cheeks. The bouquet you’d been holding lay forgotten on the ground, petals crushed under panicked feet.

You met Taehyung’s eyes, those warm, loving eyes that had looked at you with nothing but devotion for years, and felt your heart splinter. “Yes,” you whispered, voice barely carrying but loud enough in the deadly silence. “It’s true.”

A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Someone cried out. Phones lowered slightly, then rose higher as people realized they were witnessing something historic in the worst way possible.

Taehyung’s face crumpled further, like you had reached into his chest and ripped his heart out in front of everyone. “Do you love him?” he asked, the question raw, desperate, almost begging you to deny it even though the truth was written all over your tear-streaked face.

You looked at Jungkook first, his split lip, the rapidly swelling bruise on his jaw, blood mixing with tears on his chin. His eyes were locked on you, full of love and terror and regret. Then you looked back at Taehyung.

“Yes,” you said again, the word trembling but clear. “I love him. I’m so sorry, Taehyung… I never wanted this. I tried to stop it so many times, but I do. I love him.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Chaewon stood frozen near the altar, one hand pressed to her throat, eyes wide with pure shock and dawning disgust. Your mother sobbed openly. Taehyung’s mother looked like she might faint. The entire wedding party stared at you like you were a stranger.

You took one shaky step toward Taehyung, reaching out with a trembling hand. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you like this. I tried to end it, I swear on everything, I—”

Taehyung spat a thick mouthful of blood onto the white petals at your feet. The red stain bloomed obscenely against the pristine aisle like an accusation that would never wash away. His eyes were cold now, filled with nothing but disgust and heartbreak. “Go to hell,” he snarled, voice low and venomous. Then he turned on his heel and stormed down the aisle, shoving past groomsmen who tried to reach for him, disappearing toward the venue building as guests parted in stunned silence.

You stood there shaking violently, the weight of what you had just admitted crashing down on you. The perfect day you had spent months planning lay in ruins, scattered flowers, overturned chairs, horrified faces everywhere. Chaewon moved next. She walked up to you slowly, her beautiful maid of honor dress suddenly looking too cheerful, too out of place. Her expression was a mixture of disbelief, anger, and deep, cutting betrayal.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, voice shaking. “All those times I asked if you were okay this morning… every late-night conversation we had about the wedding… you were fucking his best friend behind his back? For how long?”

“I… I didn’t know how,” you stammered, words tumbling over each other in a desperate rush. “It started after a fight with him… it was supposed to be one time and it just… it got so out of control. I was scared, Chaewon. I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose everyone. I tried to end it, I swear I did, but I—”

She looked at you with such raw disgust that it felt like a slap across the face. Her eyes, which had always held nothing but love for you, were now ice cold. “You deserve every single bad thing that’s coming for you,” she said quietly, voice trembling with betrayal. “All of it. Every bit of pain. You did this to yourself.”

“Chaewon, please—” You reached for her arm, sobbing openly now, fresh tears pouring down your face.

She jerked away from your touch like it burned. “Don’t. Just don’t.” Then she turned and walked away, following the same path Taehyung had taken, leaving you standing alone at the ruined altar in your bloodstained wedding dress.

A broken sob tore from your chest. The world spun. You felt like you might collapse right there in front of everyone. Jungkook stepped closer, voice wrecked and hoarse. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go like this. I just couldn’t let you marry him without—”

You didn’t let him finish. You grabbed his hand, bloodied knuckles and all, and pulled him urgently through the staring, whispering crowd. Guests parted like the sea, murmurs rising into a roar. You didn’t care. You needed to get away from the eyes, from the judgment, from the wreckage you had caused.

You dragged him toward a side entrance of the main venue building, heart pounding so violently you thought it might explode. The first door you found was a small, secluded preparation room used earlier for photos. You shoved it open and pulled him inside. The door slammed shut behind you, muffling the chaos outside. Jungkook opened his mouth immediately. “I’m so sorry, I ruined everything, I—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

It was hard. Deep. Desperate. Your hands fisted in his bloody suit jacket as you poured every ounce of fear, relief, heartbreak, and overwhelming love into it. Jungkook groaned against your mouth, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head while the other gripped your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. Blood from his lip smeared between you, but neither of you cared. The kiss tasted like copper, salt, and the end of everything you had known, and the terrifying beginning of something new.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, your veil tangled around his fingers. “You’re so stupid,” you whispered against his lips, voice hoarse and shaking. “So fucking stupid for doing that in front of everyone.”

Jungkook looked confused, eyes searching yours, still glistening with tears and uncertainty. “I know. I destroyed your life, your reputation, everything—”

You shook your head, cutting him off again. Your hands moved up to cup his bruised, bloody jaw with heartbreaking tenderness. “I love you,” you said, the words finally free and ringing with truth. “I love you so much, Jungkook. I’ve been in love with you for so long it felt like I was drowning. Our lives… they’re utterly destroyed right now. Everything we knew is gone. But at least we have each other. At least I finally have you.”

A broken, relieved sound escaped his throat. He pulled you into his arms, crushing you against his chest, burying his face in your hair and veil as his shoulders shook with silent sobs. You clung to him just as tightly, fingers digging into his back, wedding dress torn and bloodstained, both of you crying and holding each other like the world outside no longer existed.

For the first time in over a year, there were no more secrets.

Only the two of you.

And whatever came next.

Jeon Jungkook, however, always kept him busy. Like right now, Namjoon thinks as he slams his police cruiser shut, flashing red and blue lights flashing as he makes his way towards the luxury car. His eyes glanced at the license plate prior to making his way to the driver window.

“License and registration.” Namjoon says to Lee Dae who appears that he’s had a rough morning thus far. His face is flushed and he notices a few scratches along his forehead and temples.

“Is there a reason why I was pulled over, officer?” Lee Dae attempts to sound as polite and professional as he could, but it’s evident something is bothering him. He hands over exactly what Namjoon asks of him. “I wasn’t speeding, was I?”

Namjoon doesn’t answer and instead eyes the license for a moment. He had no use for this, but he had to keep Lee Dae talking.

“Everything alright, sir?” Namjoon questions, glancing his way. “It appears you got into one hell of a tussle.”

Lee Dae inhales through his nose. “Not exactly.” he states, ignoring the question. “May I ask again what was the reason for me being pulled over.”

Namjoon sighs. “Well,” he begins, hanging Dae back his license and registration. “we got a call about a domestic dispute.”

For a moment, Dae is confused. Then, it dawns on him, realization settling through. He scoffs, his eyes widening. “That bitch called the police on me?!” he spats, venom laced in his tone entirely. Namjoon almost wanted to laugh, but he was on the clock. “After she attacked me?!”

“Sir, do you mind stepping out of the vehicle?”

Dae is taken back. “Why?” he asks. “Am I being arrested for being attacked?”

“Sir,” Namjoon’s tone deepens. “Step out of the vehicle.”

Dae doesn’t. His eyes harden at Namjoon, one hand clenching the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. His cheeks are still burning after the hot coffee was splashed into his face. He had enough going on in his personal life and it appears as everything was adding onto it - you being unreasonable, him going bankrupt, his parents refusing to help him.

“I’m not doing a damn thing.”

Namjoon could laugh right now. His eyes scan the quiet area. It’s too early for anyone to be out; the birds weren’t even chirping yet.

Without warning, a fist slams right between Dae’s eyes, so sudden that he cannot even predict what he is supposed to do next. He feels his body being dragged out of his vehicle and slammed against the cold concrete of the street.

“I’m requesting backup.” Dae hears Namjoon say from behind him, but his head is ringing so loud. There’s pressure on his back. “The suspect is resisting arrest and attempting to flee the scene.”

“What the fuck?!” Dae hisses, attempting to fight Namjoon off of him, but it’s no use. “You just fucking assaulted me!”

There’s cold metal clasping around Dae’s wrist, his cheek pressed firmly against the ground.

“Whatever that bitch said I did to her, she’s lying!” he hisses, rage overtaking him. “Do you know who I am? I’ll have your job by the end of the day.”

Namjoon yanks Dae up by his shoulders, forcing him to stand before slamming him against his own car. Behind him, he begins to chuckle.

“The suspect is belligerent and matches the description from the reported domestic dispute.” Namjoon radios in before turning his attention back to Lee Dae. “I have no idea who you are, though I’m sure you know what family I work for. Jeon Jungkook has told me to make sure your time with me is one you won’t forget.”

Dash recalls a time in which it was just him and his mother. There were traditions that were held when he was a child - like every Thursday they had breakfast for dinner and every Saturday they’d go to a restaurant of his choosing.

Dash cannot recall a time in which he ever longed for his father, or any father figure in general. He’s grown accustomed to not having one. His mother rarely dated, and if she had at all, she never brought such men home with her. It’s one of the many reasons why he hadn’t cared to reach out to his father as he grew older. The man came around when he wanted to, throwing cash around as if that made up for his years of absence.

It’s why when Dash takes a break from the treadmill - the last piece of equipment he finds himself on right before he leaves the gym - one of the many televisions catches his eye. He removes his headphones, the music blaring from them as his eyes fixated on the News. At the bottom of the screen in bold letters reads “BREAKING NEWS”. Dash doesn’t typically watch the news, especially at the gym, but it’s the man on said news that captures his interest.

Lee Dae - because he would never truly call said man his father - is on the screen. He’s nearly unrecognizable and the only reason he had come to realize just who the man was is because of the similar bold font next to the “breaking news”.

BREAKING NEWS: PROMINENT LEE FAMILY MEMBER, LEE DAE, THRUST INTO THE SPOTLIGHT ON DOMESTIC BATTERY

Dash swallows, his feet moving faster than he realizes, his attention fully on the television. It’s hard to hear in the gym where the music is louder than anything, but he manages to read the subtitles as the reporter speaks.

“A sudden turn of events has transpired early this morning,” the reporter says, her eyes looking right into the camera, behind her an array of flashing red and blue lights. “authorities confirmed to me that Lee Dae, eldest son of one of the city's well-known Lee family, has been arrested with domestic battery.”

“No fucking way…” Dash murmurs to himself, his eyes unblinking. He scans the scenery in the background, his breathing slowly at the familiar houses.

“Sources tell me that the arrest has followed just a day after Lee Dae has officially filed for bankruptcy. Such an act has become talk of the town due to his family name. One officer responded to a reported disturbance early this morning by residence.”

The camera turns to the right, a sea of officers surrounding one man that is on the ground now - Lee Dae. Two officers lift him up from the ground as the reporter begins to stroll towards another man, dressed more formal than in uniform. He’s tall, broad shoulders and serious eyes.

“Officer-”

“Detective.” the man says and as he speaks, his cheeks suck in. “Detective Kim Namjoon.”

“Detective,” the reporter corrects. “can you give any information on what has transpired here today?”

Detective Kim looks right at the camera. “We’ve responded to a series of complaints about screaming coming from a home just down the street. Witnesses allege that a physical altercation had occurred between Lee Dae and an individual. This investigation is an active case and we’re still currently gathering information.”

“Thank you Detective Kim.” the reporter turns back to the camera. “An anonymous source has given us information about Lee Dae’s financial documents that had been filed just yesterday and may play a role in the incident that occurred between him and the woman rumored to be the mother of his illegitimate child. We’ll have more information-”

Dash doesn’t stay in the gym longer. He knew it was rude to shove the man lingering in the entrance out the way, but the feeling in his stomach doesn’t feel right to him. His palms are sweaty as he enters his car and he’s speeding out the parking lot in less than a minute later.

You’re showering when your phone rings from your bedroom and it goes to voicemail - over ten times. If anything, you were sulking, the hot water burning your skin in the way you deserved - deserved for allowing Lee Dae to continue to ruin your life. For hooking up with Jungkook that has Dash pulling away from you. For going too far with the younger man in general that now has him claiming his love for you.

You were done sulking when the water began to cool and decided that you’ve made your bed and it was your time to lie in it. Before you lived in this home, you had an apartment. It was small, sure, but it was yours.

You’re drying your hair when you hear a bang from outside your room. For a moment, you believe it’s Dad coming back with vengeance - and you were prepared to attack him yet again if it meant you could release even more anger. Instead, it’s Dash when you hear his frantic voice calling for you.

“Dash?” you call back, swinging your bedroom door open to see your son just down the hall. He’s sweaty, you note, and in his usual gym attire. “What’s wrong? You look terrified-“

“Are you okay?” Dash’s eyes scan your face then your body for any visible wounds. “The news said you were attacked.”

“The news?” your eyebrows shoot up in confusion. “What do you mean? I’ve been here the entire time.”

Dash takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes for a moment before opening them to look at his mother. He’s been avoiding you for too long. He didn’t want to have that uncomfortable conversation.

“I saw him on the news.” Dash speaks and finally, he feels his heart go back to a normal pace. “They said he got into a domestic dispute with his supposed mother of his child.”

It takes you a moment to connect the dots, but when you do your blood continues to boil. You have more questions than you should probably ask all in one sitting.

“I have no idea what’s going on.” you turn your eyes down the hallway to where the front door is wide open. “Are you hungry?”

Dash remains quiet. His eyes scans you over once more, concluding that you’re fine. Lee Dae, however, was not. He was bruised and obviously beaten by someone that had no care for him.

Dash also cannot find it in his heart to truly care.

“Please stay.” you murmur, your voice low and defeated. “Just long enough for me to make you something to eat. We don’t even have to talk.”

“We should talk.” Dash quips. “About everything.”

It was a step forward, even if that step terrified you.

There was no more hiding anything from Dash and you promised that whatever he asked you, you would answer truthfully. As you cook, Dash sits at the island. He doesn’t speak and you’re positive that he’s collecting his own thoughts just as you are.

Dash is positive that you’re attempting to lighten the mood when you place the stack of pancakes in front of him, the sweet aroma filling his nostrils that remind him of a simpler time - just you and him.

“I know you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” Dash murmurs, forcing a large portion of the pancake in his mouth.

You take a deep breath.

“I don’t want you to hate Jungkook either.”

Snorting, Dash takes another bite of his pancakes, but remains silent. His dark eyes flicker to you and in that instant, he looks far too much like Lee Dae for your liking.

“It’s my fault-”

“You’re both adults.” Dash interrupts. “It isn’t more his fault than it is yours, right? You fucked my friend and my friend fucked you back.”

Your body is hot with humiliation. You never wanted to be here with your son. For years, you prioritized Dash and worked overtime assuring that if you dated, it never interfered with him. Any man you had entertained throughout the years rarely made it to the stage in meeting him, all deemed not not “ready” enough to further the relationship.

“Are you still-”

“No!” you hiss, eyes wide. You shake your head. “Jungkook and I-”

Dash raises a brow.

You sigh. You run a hand over your forehead. “I shouldn’t have done anything with him. You and him…”

Dash waits for you to continue - were you finding the right words? Did you truly feel terrible as you looked saying it? He isn’t sure entirely. A part of him ponders if you and Jungkook were something purely physical or did you harbor feelings for him and vice versa.

Taking another bite of his pancake, Dash begins to think back to how Jungkook has acted. He rarely came out with him to parties like he used to. He avoided the girls that approached him and always made excuses to end conversations prematurely. He hasn’t received any texts from his friend in a long while that asked him to not return to the dorm room - understandable now seeing as he fucks you in your bed.

Dash clears his throat. “Have you talked to him?”

You sigh. “To Jungkook?”

“No,” Dash snickers. “to the other motherfucker who you fucked and allowed to ruin your life.”

“Don’t talk like that.” your eyes glare, but then they soften. You squeeze your hands into fists. You had to put yourself into his shoes instead of living outside of it. “I have. This morning actually.” you sigh. “I may have thrown scorching hot coffee into his face.”

Dash is taken aback by your seriousness. So much so that he laughs, something deep from his throat that has your own lips twitching upwards.

“I’m not sure how the news knows this but-”

“He’s apparently a prominent figure.” says Dash sarcastically. “When I saw him, he was fucked up. Like, really. He was arrested."

Your eyebrows knit together. “Really?”

Instantly, your mind flashes to Jungkook. There’s no way that he and Dae had an altercation together - you’re positive. That would do more harm than good, but damn did it get you going just thinking about the younger man beating that prick’s ass.

“He filed for bankruptcy officially yesterday.” Dash snickers. His pancakes are nearly done and knowing him, he would just go in the fridge and look for something else to eat.

“I know.” you groan. “We’re going to have to start packing soon.”

“What?” Dash’s eyes flicker to yours. “What do you mean?”

“That’s why that good for nothing asshole was here this morning.” you shrug a shoulder. “Apparently…he’s selling the house.” you let out another sigh.

Dash’s face falls a bit, his eyes glancing around the kitchen. “He can’t do that…we…you live here. His parents-”

“Cut him off.”

Even with bad news, you’re giddy enough to know that Dae will still have a terrible life without his parents money.

“You still have your inheritance, though! They wouldn’t allow him to touch it.” you offer a soft smile. “You’re almost done with college and I have enough money saved up-”

“I don’t want that inheritance.” Dash scoffs.

You understand why, but you ask either way. “Why? You can have a jump start into your career. You can…buy a home for yourself. Or save it-”

“All of a sudden I have cousins who pretend to give a fuck about me. Am I expected to meet with these people for the holidays?”

Dash crosses his arms and sits back into the island stool. He’s been with Sumi - not officially - for months. He’s grown close enough with her to hear the stories of what happens in these rich families and he wanted no parts in them.

“Then,” Dash shakes his head. “I got a call from my supposed grandfather to tell me that I could possibly inherit his company. I didn’t ask for this.”

“Wait, what?”

Dae’s father was a strict and serious man. For years, he avoided all contact with Dash and made little effort to be a part of his life. He never asked questions, only made sure the check cleared every month.

“Imagine that.”

You tilt your head, eyes peering at your son as he speaks.

“The illegitimate child possibly inherits everything. I know that would crush him.” Dash cracks a smirk. “I’d just burn it to the ground. Watch decades of hard work crumble.”

“You sound so evil.” you say, amused. “The son I raised wouldn’t do that. That’s something Dae,” you say his name as if it’s venom. “would do. He’s too stupid to run a company.”

Raising your son, you rarely spoke ill of his father. Now that he’s a man, you couldn’t do anything but that.

“But if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. It’s your life.” you grab the sticky plate from the island and toss it into the sink. You turn on the water. “But that inheritance is yours. Do whatever you want with it.”

The silence you and him are left in as you wash the dishes is a comfortable one, at least for you. You don’t want to force him into more conversations that would have him pushing you away again.

You’re scrubbing the sink when Dash does speak up again, this time asking a question you weren’t sure you knew the answer to.

“Do you love him?”

That obviously wasn’t towards Lee Dae.

Dash is staring at you, waiting for an answer. His face is unreadable, you note, the perfect poker face as always.

You turn off the sink water, your eyes cast down as the water goes down the drain. A part of you wishes you could go with it.

“Dash…”

“Yes or no.” says Dash. “Do you love him? Or was it just sex?”

You watch Dash watch you.

The kitchen is entirely still, silent. You don’t say anything in response.

Did you love Jungkook? Of course you did. At first, you adored the friendship Dash & Jungkook had, the motherly side of you witnessing the boyish atmosphere they created together that reminded you of two siblings. You enjoyed having the both of them over and assuring them that when they left, it was always with packed dinners.

Then, it became complicated. Jungook found out about the profile - the one you made just to hookup with anyone, and used it against you.

It became complicated because you liked the way Jungkook spoke so dirty to you, those boyish features you loved about him that you thought were cute now had you swooning.

It became complicated because you loved how good Jungkook fucks you, showing such passion for your body that no man ever has before. His kisses would be left lingering on your hours after the fact, his hands bruised on your flesh like a tattoo.

But even then, you think, outside of sex you thought of Jungkook. You enjoyed his company. You enjoyed the times you and he shared together, even if it was behind the backs of others. He’d lay his head on your chest, listening to the way your heart beat rhythmically, his arms hugging you tightly - almost afraid to let you go.

“That tells me everything I need to know.”

The stool scratches against the floor as Dash gets up. Your heart jolts and you reach out for him. “Wait-“

“I have to get back to the dorm and shower. Sumi and I-“ Dash stops speaking. He’s forgotten he hasn’t talked to you about Sumi, or about anything in his life recently.

“-have plans.”

Sumi, you think. That must’ve been the girl he was with that night. Immediately, that familiar humiliation comes through you.

“I’ve,” you chuckle bitterly, your hand slowly falling. “I’ve missed you…is all.”

Offering a strained smile, Dash nods . “Me, too.”

“Ruining people's lives is suuuuch hard work.” 

Sumi’s voice sounds through his phone speaker, as sugary and sweet as always. Only, Jungkook knows his cousin and knows just how false that voice was. Of course, only when it came to Dash.

 Jungkook hadn’t thought that he’d ever had to talk to his cousin in order to hear about one of his closest friends, but here he sat doing just that. From Sumi, he learned that Dash had started speaking with you again, which was great, only on your side, of course, as he continued to avoid Jungkook like his life depended on it. He isn’t sure he could blame him.

However, you still refused to see him. He was one step ahead, though, as you weren’t completely ignoring him. You answered his texts and sometimes, his calls.

“Tell me about it.” Jungkook sighs. He’s laying against his pillows in his dorm room. “Having to be the mastermind to get the woman you love back is tiresome.”

Sumi snorts. “You have such mommy issues, I swear.”

“Don’t we all?” Jungkook retorts. “Besides, I’m just doing what you suggested.”

It’s been a long month so far. Within said month, Jungkook worked on assuring you and he could be together. But in order to do that, he first had to worry about Dash.

It was Sumi’s idea, Jungkook recalls, thrusting Dash into the Lee family's good graces. Dash had confided in her (Jungkok could vomit on how lovey-dovey she was with him) about his grandfather reaching out to him, and it was Sumi who encouraged him to take up the offer. 

In all wealthy families there were those who were attempting to get into the good graces of the patriarch - that would be Lee Dae’s father himself. Dash had several cousins, all raised with money who attended private institutions like he had. They had the name, yes, but not the work ethic or the strive. 

Lee Daniel, just a year older than Dash, was already out. Wealthy families hated scandal  - and he was the first in Sumi’s plan to fall. Jungkook recalls the moment it happened, him unlocking his phone and revealing it was yet another headline involving the Lee family. This time, Lee Daniel, whose father - married to Dae’s sister - had bribed the elite university to take in Daniel. Of course, it’s something that happens all the time, but they were the first to be caught.

Said scandal had people wondering just how iditioc the Lee family could be if getting into a good University was that difficult.

The next on the list was Lee Nara, only a sophomore in college herself, but old enough to know that drinking and driving was wrong. “I can’t believe you’re adding me to your schemes.” was what Jimin had said, but was fully willing to drive a bit too close to the brand new car she had gotten for graduation just a few years prior to cause an accident. It was Namjoon who answered the call when Jimin’s car “spiraled” out of control and ended up on the side of the road with a hysterical Lee Nara.

Sure, she only had a few drinks that night, but it wasn’t the detectives first time altering a breathalyzer. 

BREAKING NEWS: LEE FAMILY BACK IN THE SPOTLIGHT!

LEE NARA involved in serious drunk driving crash in Downtown

Police confirm that Lee Nara, sophomore, and granddaughter of prominent business man, Lee Dae-hwan, was involved in a serious vehicle collision late last night. First responders rushed to the scene and managed to bring those injured - and unnamed - to the hospital and their injuries under investigation. 

Eyewitnesses describe the scene to be not only chaotic, but heartwrecking. Shattered glass, smoking engines and panicked individuals gathering around the intoxicated and unruly Lee Nara.

Authorities, along with Detective Kim Namjoon, had confirmed that Lee Nara has been taken into custody and is expected to face charges for her crime of operating a vehicle under the influence. Detective Kim has this to say:

“Lee Nara may be young, but she’s old enough to know right from wrong. Let this be a cautionary tale, don’t get behind the wheel if you’ve had a lot to drink. This is a young girl who is known for her high-profile lifestyle as a Lee, but that does not mean that she is above the law.”

“Do you think what we’re doing is wrong?” Jungkook asks, blinking back into reality.

Sumi hums from the other end as if thinking of his question. “Do you feel bad?” she asks him.

Jungkook thinks about it for a moment - then another.

No.

Maybe that was Jungkook’s own privileges catching up to him. Growing up in an elite family, nearly everything was competition. Who could come out on top, who could gain the most, who could be the best.

 This was what it was, only Jungkook was assuring the top spot remained on one who wasn’t competing - Dash. Compared to his cousins, Dash was perfect. He got into college because he worked for it and didn’t need anyone to bribe his spot. He was responsible and as far as anyone knew, not in the limelight giving their family a bad name. 

“Besides,” Sumi’s voice is cheery. “isn’t this what you wanted? Dash has no competition now, not like he ever had. Daniel is a dumbass jock, Nara’s reputation is dwindling.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook hums. “It is what I wanted. I gotta go.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for Sumi’s response before he hangs up. Instantly, his mind drifts to you, so you are who he calls. 

You answer on the fourth ring, your face coming into view. You take a deep breath, your eyes glancing at him in fake annoyance. It does nothing for Jungkook, however, as he smiles widely as he sees you. “Mommy!”

“Kookie…” your tone is lecturing. “…what did I say?”

“To jump in front of a car.” Jungkook deadpans.

“What? No!” you’re fully into the camera now. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Well I'd rather do that than go a day without seeing you.” Jungook sits up on his bed. “Did you get the flowers I’ve sent you?”

Jungkook watches the way you get out of frame to return a few seconds later, holding the bouquet he’s sent you. The flowers are lush and colorful, a mix of lavender blossoms and pink lilies.

You attempt to be annoyed - just a bit - but there’s a glint in your eyes that Jungkook sees.

“I got them.” you say. “I appreciate them, Kookie. But you know-”

Jungkook interrupts you. “It’s been torture, mommy. Why don’t we go out?” he suggests. He wants to change the subject. He doesn’t want to hear you remind him what he already knows.

“Are you insane? Talking to you now is risky.” you sigh. “I thought I told you that we keep talking, it has to be-“

“Strictly platonic.” Jungkook pouts with a roll of his eyes. “I miss you, though.”

Jungkook witnesses the way your eyes soften and his heart jolts. You place the bouquet back out of frame and return back to the phone. “I miss you, too.” 

At that, Jungkook smiles. His heart jolts in his chest like it always does. He doesn’t blame you for being skeptical in meeting with him, but it’s hard for him. He has to force himself from being at your door every night, knowing that Dash could possibly show up at any time. It was riskier then, but the adrenaline clouded his mind. He never thought that the two of you would be caught.

“You do?”

“Of course I do.”

Jungkook tilts his head. “I figured you’d found someone else by now,” he jokes. He’d know if you did. He wasn’t paying Namjoon extra to keep an eye out on you for nothing. 

“And if I do?” you raise a brow, staring right at him through the phone. 

“If you do, it won’t be for long.” Jungkook responds instantly, cooly. “But you don’t have anyone.”

You snort. “Are you following me?” you question, fully joking on the matter.

Yes, Jungkook was in a way. Namjoon got paid more by the Jeon family than he did as an actual detective. “I just know.” he smiles a bit. “Besides, if you did have someone, you’ll still be thinking of me.”

“You’re always so cocky.”

Jungkook isn’t wrong, and that’s what upset you - with yourself, not him. The younger man is a plague on your mind that you cannot get rid of. It didn’t help that he refused to be forgotten, determined to have a relationship with you by any means necessary, an idea you shot down time and time again. 

Yet, when your mind wasn’t plagued with Jungkook, it was about him, especially Dash’s question. “Do you love him?”

“Mommy?”

You blink a few times, your vision returning clearer. You look at Jungkook to find that he’s already looking at you. However, he’s changed the view from him holding his phone to said phone being propped up on his nightstand. You see him laying down, a few strands of hair in his forehead and covering his eyebrows. You see him place his airpods in his ear before continuing to speak. 

“What are you thinking about?” Jungkook questions.

It was your turn to get comfortable. You didn’t have to work until later nor were you expecting company. Dae had kept his distance from you - you thanked the higher power for that - and Dash made it his mission to call before he did, no matter how many times you told him there wasn’t any reason to anymore.

Jungkook watches the way you lay on your own bed, your head crashing onto the soft pillow. He wishes he could be next to you, he thinks, and inhales the sweet (and sexy) scent upon your sheets. Just the memory has his cock hardening in a perverted way.

“You.” you say, answering Jungkook’s question honestly.  

“Me?” Jungkook’s eyes widened a bit, a tint dusting his cheeks. “What about me?”

You couldn’t hold back the snort, your lips twitching upwards. 

“I’m thinking about how cute you look right now.” You tease.

“Cute?” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Stop flirting with me, mommy. Just tell me to come and I’ll bend you over-”

“Jungkook!” There’s no malice in your voice and this time, you laugh. “You have such a dirty mouth.”

“You like how dirty my mouth is.” Jungkook retorts. “I miss using my mouth on you.”

This was your moment to stop him. Jungkook was taking a step and it was your responsibility to not allow him to leap.

Instead, you raise your brows. “Do you really?” you murmur, eyes watching through the screen at Jungkook.

“Yeah.” Jungkook nods his head. “I miss tasting you…”

There it was, you think, your sanity screaming at you to not do this. Everytime you’ve gone too far and went down a rabbit hole with Jeon Jungkook, it causes you to make terrible decisions. 

In your silence, Jungkook continues. “...miss touching your soft skin. I miss trailing my tongue on every inch of you.”

“Kook…”

“I miss laying my head on your chest, too.”

Jungkook’s voice lowers into a hushed whisper, as if speaking lower in the empty room would hide what he’s saying. His tongue glides across his bottom lip. 

“...miss the way your nipples feel against my palm…against my tongue.”

Your thighs clench together pathetically. No matter how many times you told yourself to hang up the phone - because this was not being strictly platonic - you don’t. Instead, your body reacts, imaging said man doing exactly that. His hands gliding against your naked flesh, his warm mouth wrapping around your nipples and suckling on them until they’re hardened and bruised.

“You miss it, too, don’t you?” Jungkook hums and from your view, you witness the way his legs widen just a bit. “I wish you’d stop being so stubborn, Mommy…”

Jungkook’s bottom lip pokes out a bit, so cutely that you are nearly distracted by the way a tattooed hand trails down his torso and to the hem of his sweatpants. 

“Instead you insist on torturing me…” Jungkook trails off.

“Torturing you how, Kookie?”

A shiver runs through Jungkook’s body. He closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding. Your sweet voice speaking his name just does something to him - and he feels it right at his core. 

“You know how, mommy.” Jungkook whimpers, fluttering his eyes open to look at you. His hand slides into his sweats without a care. “I’m so hard at just thinking about you.”

You swallow - hang up the phone, you tell yourself. “You should be hard for girls your own age, Kookie.”

Jungkook snickers humorlessly. “Girls my age won’t treat me like you do.” he says, squeezing a hand around his clothed cock, his boxer briefs painfully tight. “The way you make me cum, mommy, no one has done that before.”

Hangup, you tell yourself, the familiar heart beat growing between your legs.

“Why do you think I can never get enough of you?” Jungkook sighs and from the camera angle, you see the way his hand jerks inside his sweatpants.

“Are you touching yourself?” you ask - damn you, you think. You couldn’t stop watching him and his own pathetic words aren’t helping, either. 

“I have to because you hate me.” Jungkook whimpers. This time, he pushes the sweatpants from his waist. He’s sporting navy blue briefs that he proceeds to push down, as well, his cock springing forward.

Your lips part just a bit. 

“I don’t hate you, Kookie…” you trail off as Jungkook wraps a hand around his cock. You swallow, you were going to regret this when you were in the right mind. “...I miss you just as much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you nod your head. “You were such a good boy for me, Koo…I miss feeling your cock in me. I think about it all the time.”

Jungkook’s heart jolts, his cock twitching in his palm. Instantly, he squeezes it, stroking it as his eyes watch you through the screen closely. “Fuck, mommy.” he gasps. “I can still be good for you! Please-”

“How would you be good for me?” you couldn’t help but ask. You and Jungkook were already too deep - and sure, you could end it now, but you wouldn’t.

“You know how, mommy. Have you forgotten how good you felt when I’d fuck you?” Jungkook grunts, shamelessly taking out his cock. Your eyes zone in on it through the screen, the tip flushed just as you remembered it. Your legs squeeze tighter. “-fuck you so deep just how you like it, too.”

Watching Jungkook pleasure himself is hotter than you’d thought it’d be. Of course, it had to be because it was Jeon Jungkook. A handsome face with a handsome cock and seductive voice that shot a wave of heat through your body - and between your legs. 

“I wish you were here right now, mommy.” Jungkook then whimpers, a total switch up to his once overly-cocky attitude that you’re positive would be back just as quick as it left. “No, I wish I was there! I know you’re wet right about now. You’re always so wet for me, mommy.”

“I am wet.” you admit, voice lowering to a whisper. “I wish you were here with me, too, Kookie. I miss feeling your cock in me.”

Jungkook pumps his cock harder, round eyes widening at you. You’re teasing him, he thinks, the way you’re breast are right in the camera, but not fully exposed just because he knows you want to torture him.

“L-Let me see you, mommy.” Jungkook pants. “Please, I miss you. And listening to you right now is torture…”

Jungkook swallows the lump that’s in his throat, uncaring at how pathetic he might sound. It was obvious what he was doing - you were literally watching him - but it wasn’t a secret to you of all people how he felt for you.

“Hmm…see me?” you ask, tilting your head. “What do you wanna see?”

What didn’t Jungkook want to see? It would be perverse for him to tell you to put your whole pussy into the camera, even if it was his first thought when he ponders your question. His hand squeezes his cock, a whimper coming from his lips. “Your…breast.” he swallows yet again, throat dry. “I wish I could feel them right now…please, mommy.”

Now at the thought of your soft breast in the palms of his hand has him salivating, truly wishing he could hold them in his hands once more - even if it was for a mere second. 

You do, pulling your shirt up to show Jungkook your breast, amused - and aroused - but the look of the man. His head is pushed back against his pillow, his cock wet with his own pre-cum and you hear it as he pumps himself.

“So pretty,” Jungkook whines. His mouth part, his tongue salivating at the way your nipples are hardened. His mind swirls with memories of him between your breasts, his fingers twirling and twisting those very nipples, along with his tongue, suckling and leaving it flushed and bruised. “I wish I could cum all over them again, mommy…”

Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut as you watch, your bottom lip being caught between your teeth. Your legs clench tighter together, the sight you’d never thought would ever be hot to you, but here it was. He isn’t silent, nor are the sounds of him pumping his cock at just the sight of you.

As for Jungkook, his mind continues to replay past encounters with you - his cock springing between your breast, his tip hitting against your tongue, an act so lewd that his stomach churns at just the remembrance. “Gonna cum, mommy!” he grunts. 

As of lately, nothing has gone Jungkook’s way. Sure, he was making moves behind the scenes - assuring that Lee Dae paid the ultimate price for being a piece of shit to you and Dash. Him and Sumi found ways for Dash, the illegitimate child, to strive ahead of his cousins, but all of that wasn’t his focus. What was his focus was simple - cumming to you.

“Fuck,”

Jungkook jumps instantly at the sound, his eyes opening like a deer in headlights.

Jungkook knew that voice, and so did you. You act fast, body warm with embarrassment and before asking any questions, you hang up, your heart pounding.

Jungkook goes to cover himself with his blanket, his cheeks flushed as he watches an unamused Dash close the door behind him.

“should I have knocked?” Dash glances away.

Jungkook grabs his phone, now free of you. He lets out a sigh of relief -  Dash hadn’t seen you on the screen.

“You didn’t put anything on the door.” Dash murmurs, going towards his own bed. He drops his bag onto the bed and opens it.

“You…you’ve been avoiding me.” 

Jungkook’s voice is small. He pulls his sweats up underneath the covers. It was Dash’s idea to put something - anything truly - on the outside of the door to let the others know that they wanted the room to themselves. It mainly meant when they had company, not desperately masturbating.

Dash doesn’t respond and Jungkook is unsure how to further lead the conversation. He sits up, swinging his feet to the side of his bed and straightens his shoulders. He wanted nothing more than to catch Dash around, but he’s made himself disappear and avoided him as if his life depended on it. He could ask Sumi for help, but that would be admitting that he needed her even more, and he’d be damned to give her more satisfaction.

“Dash,”

Dash stops what he’s doing. He slowly turns towards Jungkook and at this, Jungkook is taken aback. What he was expecting was for Dash, upon seeing him again after months, to say something. To berate him, attack him (again) even - and he would take it all. 

This, however, wasn’t what he was expecting. Dash, of course, isn’t a fighter unless provoked. But he gives Jungkook nothing but a simple stare, waiting for him to speak.

Swallowing, Jungkook stands. “I,”

Dash waits for Jungkook to speak. 

Jungkook’s hand clenched and unclenched several times.

“Are you nervous?”

Jungkook exhales. “Yes.” he admits, his cheeks darkening. “...you’re my best friend.” he says quietly.

Jungkook doesn’t see the way Dash’s eyes soften for a moment, or the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. 

“Thing’s would be easier if you,” Jungkook shrugs. “I don’t know, beat my ass.” He’s only half joking - he doesn’t want to get punched again by him, but it was something. “I thought about what I would say when I finally saw you again.”

“What did you come up with?” questions Dash, genuinely curious. He wasn’t positive that Jungkook was at the dorm, but after his visit with you, he knew he couldn’t avoid the man forever.

Witnessing him with his cock out wasn’t how Dash wanted to see the man, however.

“Nothing good enough to get you to stop hating me.” Jungkook snorts humorlessly. “I’m sorry.”

Dash bites the inside of his cheek. Avoiding Jungkook was easier than this. The sight of him and you together left his mind, but it was easier to conceal when he didn’t have to see him.

Letting out a sigh, Dash repeats the words he’s said to his mother. “I don’t…hate you.”

Jungkook inhales. He doesn’t want to speak at the risk of ruining the moment.

Dash sits on his bed, rolling the kink out in his neck. 

“I thought about what I’d do,” Dash begins. “about you…if I wanted to continue to fight you at every given chance.”

Jungkook eyes the way Dash raises his eyes to look at him.

“Or if I wanted to just forget about it and move on with my life. To leave you and my mother behind.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened. “You shouldn’t do that to her.” he’s quick to interject. “She…she really loves you.”

“You’d know.” Dash snickers. 

Jungkook supposed he deserves the jabs.

“I thought she was hurt and I forgot about it all.” Dash crosses his arms. “I forgot the disdain I had for her. The betrayal.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.” Jungkook blurts out. “I-”

“What?” Dash scoffs. “You were going to tell me over lunch that you were fucking my mom?”

Jungkook sighs. He falls onto his own bed, head hanging. “No…” he murmurs. “...I don’t know how I was going to tell you. She…”

Prior to all of this, Jungkook didn’t have an issue with speaking with Dash about any relationships or hookups he had. You were different, of course, as no one wants to hear the personal details about their mother’s sexual life.

“...she didn’t want you to know.” Jungkook murmurs. “I don’t even think she took me seriously. She told me all the time that we couldn’t,”

Jungkook stops to take a deep breath. Dash hasn’t stopped him yet, so he continues.

“be together. It was me who kept pursuing her time and time again.” Jungkook runs a hand through his hair. 

“So…you’re telling me that you have feelings for my mother?” Dash tilts his head, dark eyes staring intently at Jungkook. He wants to laugh at the circumstances. For years it’s just been him and his mom and now she had someone who loved her, but it was someone he brought into her life.

“Yes.” Jungkook nods, now lifting his head to look at Dash. “I do.”

“How long?” questions Dash hastily. 

“H-How long what?”

“How long have you loved her?” 

Jungkook exhales. “A few years,” he murmurs.

“You’ve been fucking my mom-”

“No!” Jungkook shakes his head. “It started a few months ago!”

Dash scoffs.

“I,” Jungkook feels like ripping his hair out. “she was nice. She treated me kindly. She cooked for me just as she did for you and-”

“You have mommy issues.” Dash blurt out, his eyebrows knitted together. “She was just being motherly, Kook, seriously.”

Dash takes a deep breath, shaking his head in disbelief. This entire time he considered Jungkook a brother to him, one he always told his mother he wanted - even if he was fine with just the two of them. Instead, someone so close to him had looked at his mother differently.

With warm cheeks, Jungkook nods a bit. “I know,” he mumbles. “my cousin tells me all the time.”

“Your cousin knows you’re fucking someones mom?”

Jungkook ponders if things would change if Dash knew just who his cousin was.

“Unfortunately.” sighs Jungkook. “She…wasn’t supposed to find out, either.” he murmurs, a warmth returning to his cheeks at just how embarrassing it all was witnessing Sumi that night with Dash. 

“What was your plan?”

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, an action he did often while nervous. “I don’t know,” he admits. It wasn’t a total lie. He had every intention of courting you, he thinks. Though, it wasn’t supposed to all end up like this. Dash wasn’t supposed to find out in such a way, you weren’t supposed to cut him out. Now, everything had to be done differently and day by day, he was working overtime. “I wanted to tell you-”

“That you were fucking my mom.” Dash deadpans.

“No!” Jungkook hisses. “I mean, that I loved her! You…I thought I had time. I thought…after graduation-”

“That you’d run in the sunset with my mother?” Dash snickers, this time the corner of his lips curves upwards by how hilarious that sounds. “You’re a man in college just as I am. She’s out of your league.”

Jungkook would argue that he was more than deserving, but then that would be to admit who he was and what he was doing here. It’s no secret that Dash isn’t fond of his paternal family and how “snobbish” they were to those they deemed unworthy. The Jeon family were far beyond that of the Lee and admitting that he was, in the words of his cousins, pretending to be lesser than, he’d surely despise him even more.

“I know she is.” Jungkook murmurs a response. “But I was working on it all. I was going to prove myself.”

The more Jungkook speaks, he realizes how foolish he may have sounded each time he told you. He had nothing to show to you how serious he was besides promises he wouldn’t reveal until college was over.

“And then what?” Dash questions. “You and her would tell me over dinner?”

“Well I haven’t made it that far yet, Dash.” Jungkook retorts. “I was going to tell you as soon as-”

Dash raises his brows.

“-she agreed. She…she didn’t take me seriously, either.” Jungkook’s shoulders falter as he speaks it aloud. He admits, though Dash obviously is holding himself back from attacking him further, it felt good to speak with him about this. 

Quietly, Dash roams his eyes away from Jungkook and towards the ground. It’s obvious neither of them know what to say next. What he’s gathered from speaking to his mother and Jungkook, that there were feelings developed along the way. She could try to hide it, but he knows his mother well enough. 

“You remember what you told me?” Jungkook speaks first this time. “When your father came into town, that is.”

Dash shakes his head. 

In a way, Jungkook knew he wouldn’t. It isn’t something that Dash said entirely too serious, but he had. “Do you care for him?”

Dash snorts. “Is that actually a question you’re asking me?” he asks. He’s sure he couldn't care less for his father, especially knowing that he was planning on selling the same house he bought for them. However, he supposed it was just a matter of time before Lee Dae came and took everything from them.

Jungkook shrugs one shoulder. “Just making sure,” he murmurs. “You’re already upset with me about getting involved with one parent.”

Dash tilts his head. “How could you be involved with him?”

Sooner or later, Dash would know who he was, Jungkook thinks.

“What if I told you that I’m the reason he was arrested?” Jungkook begins, slowly speaking each word as he examines Dash’s expression. 

“Go on.”

So Jungkook does. He leaves a few details out, but he’s said enough. He admit that it was him who called in the domestic dispute, and when asked if he was there with his mother, Jungkook had to assure he didn’t put you under the bus. After all, Dash is under the impression that you cut Jungkook off, and in a way you did, but not fully like you should’ve. “I was there that day.” Jungkook admits, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I saw your dad leave, hurling out insults after the next. She…wouldn’t let me in to talk to her.”

So what if Jungkook bent the truth in his favor?

“I saw the mess in the background, the look on her face.” Jungkook shrugs once more. “Then I remembered what you told me that day before we had dinner with them.”

Dash is intrigued, dare he say. He didn’t think Jungkook would be the reason Lee Dae had been arrested and the start of a downfall for the Lee family. It revealed the bankruptcy which soon spiraled to his cousins being exposed for their own doings.

“If there was a way for her to get rid of him for good, she’d take it.” Jungkook repeats those words Dash spoke, the same one that he took as bond. “The public image of a wealthy family is everything, right? Lee Dae is not only a deadbeat father, but is a broke abuser.”

For a moment, Dash is quiet to process it all. His face is unreadable and Jungkook begins to think that maybe he’s spoken too soon.

Then Dash laughs. His head falls back and he releases it, his chest rising and falling. Jungkook hadn’t heard that same laugh in so long, he thinks. He recalls the nights the two of them had together at the dorm, eating greasy pizza after a night out. He enjoyed listening to Dash ramble on about everything and nothing all at once, moments he took for granted.

“This life is new to me.”

Jungkook watches as Dash lays down, his hands behind his head and eyes upwards the ceiling.

“Having cousins and grandparents.” Dash continues. “My grandmother keeps inviting me over for dinners. My grandfather said I could inherit his company. It doesn’t seem real.”

Jungkook stands to his feet. “That’s great, isn’t it?!”

Dash shrugs.

“It is.” Jungkook assures, far more excited than Dash was, but that was because he wasn’t from this life. He and Sumi weren’t doing things behind the scenes for nothing. “It doesn’t seem real because you’re different from them. You actually know what it’s like to work for the things you want. I’ve heard about your…cousins.”

Dash snorts. “I’m sure everyone has.”

“That means you’re,” Jungkook states. “next in line. Big inheritance and a company-”

“That I have no idea how to run.” Dash deadpans. “Seems like a never ending headache to me.”

“It’s not going to happen overnight.” Jungkook states. “You have time, that is. But this isn’t the point now.”

“And what is the point?” Dash asks, glancing at Jungkook. 

Taking a deep breath, Jungkook responds. “To beg for forgiveness.”

You felt like you were living life backwards. As soon as you realized you were pregnant by that man, you were forced to grow up faster than the rest of your friends. While they went to college, you found yourself a job that was flexible enough for you to raise Dash until he started school. 

You worked what felt like nonstop, not taking any unnecessary breaks and in your eyes, it worked out. Dash life could only go up from here.

Yours, however, you aren’t so sure. You were living backwards because while you’re sure your friends lived their own lives in college - dating or sleeping around - you were raising a child. Now, you were experiencing something you could have experienced in your early twenties.

You told yourself that you were done entertaining whatever it was you had with Jungkook. Your reality check should’ve come that night when Dash found you and Jungkook together, but of course it hadn’t - living life backwards. You allowed Jungkook right back into your home yet again while he was drunk and highly emotional that led to a night of intense passionate sex that you constantly think about.

Which also led you here with a positive pregnancy test sitting on your bathroom counter. You stare at it intensely, hoping that maybe you were just illiterate. That the 8 letter word clearly written on the test didn’t mean what it actually did. However, the other 4 you took and promptly threw away couldn’t be lying, either.

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply through your nose. All these years, you were careful. Sure, you had hookups, but they led nowhere - and definitely not to a pregnancy. 

You’ve gotten careless. Dash being out of the home caused you to live the life you didn’t in your youth. Only, you weren’t young anymore - you were a mother to a soon to be college graduate; one you just got back into good graces with.

You do what you do best, however. Throw away the test and do what you were planning on doing this morning. 

You haven’t heard from Dae in nearly a month, something you were grateful for. But you knew the man well and if he said he was coming for your home, he meant it. Packing up everything you owned was a hassle, but you managed well with Dash coming and assisting. You and he spoke little and at the end of it, you both ate. 

“I’m having dinner with them tonight.” Dash murmurs, shoving nearly half of the sandwich into his mouth.

You stop chewing. “Hm?”

“My…grandparents?” Dash swallows. It doesn’t sound less weird the more he says it aloud. “It’s a family dinner, apparently. They want me to,” he shrugs his shoulders. “grow accustomed to the family.”

Slowly, you nod your head. “That’s good.” It sounds more like a question than a statement. “You call me if that asshole tries anything.” your mood shifts instantly once you remember that Lee Dae is indeed family. “What changed your mind?”

Dash takes another few bites of his sandwich before responding. “Jungkook.”

Your ears perk at the name. You try your best not to react too much, afraid that maybe Dash was looking for a reaction out of you. Instead, you take a sip of your water. 

“He apologized.” Dash continues. “Over and over again.”

Your stomach churns. You’ve managed to avoid Jungkook - how, you weren’t sure yourself - since that time you fell into temptation. Phone sex with the very man you told yourself you’d stay away from - living backwards.

“Are you two friends again?” you couldn’t help but ask. It weighs on you that you could have ruined something great for Dash and Jungkook.

Dash’s chewing slows a bit, contemplating the question. He tilts his head, voice a bit muffled. “Do you love him?” he questions.

Your stomach churns once more. “W-Why do you ask?” you shake your head. You haven’t given him a direct response the last time he asked. 

“He told me he loves you.” Dash swallows, picking up the bottled water and downing the majority of it. “Said he has for a while now.”

Your mouth salivates and you attempt to swallow the uncomfortable feeling in your throat.

“Dash,” you exhale. You run a hand through your forehead. “it’s complicated.”

“To know if you love someone or if it was just sexual?” Dash knits his brows together. “I know I didn’t love Hana.”

Hana, you think.You remember the girl you’ve seen for dinner and never again. Definitely not the girl you’ve witnessed with him the night he found you with Jungkook.

“I know I like Sumi.”  Dash continues. “I’m not sure if it’s love yet but…” he trails off, humming to himself just a bit  “...I know it could come to that. She’s also the one that encouraged me to accept my inheritance and eventually the company.”

You widen your eyes. “Su…mi…” you say the name slowly. You want to ask questions as any mother would, but you’re unsure if it’s safe as of yet. You’re unsure if you could even show your face to her without feeling like an utter embarrassment of a mother. “I’m happy you have her.”

And it’s words that you mean. Dash is young and he has a long life to live. You’ll be happy whatever path he goes down that leads him into a life of succession. 

Dash hums, watching you for a bit. You’re back to cleaning up, washing a few dishes and drying them by hand. Then, you proceed to wrap it in several newspapers before placing them inside a labeled box. He exhales through his nose. “I want you to have someone, too.”

You look up from the box you were now taping up. Again, your stomach churns. 

“You’ve been alone-”

“Oh, wow.” you scrunch your brows together, only a bit offended. “I’m glad that you think I’ll be nothing but an old cat lady.” you joke.

Dash’s lips curl upwards. “You’d have about 5 if I wasn’t allergic.” he says, and for a split moment he recalls his skin reddening and his eyes watering at just being in the presence of one for far too long. 10 minutes to be exact. “What I mean is…” Dash takes a deep breath. “...I want you to be happy, too.”

“I am happy.” you murmur, voice low. You push the box aside. “Why do you think I’m not?”

“You put your life on hold to raise me alone. You didn’t have many friends or partners that lasted.”

This time, your heart jolts along with your churning stomach.

“And…I liked it when it was just the two of us at times. But,” Dash feels weird speaking so sentimentally with you. “I want you to have someone, too. Someone you love.”

Dash blinks his gaze to you. You notice the look on his face, one of uncertainty. Uncomfortableness. 

“Dash-”

“Jungkook loves you.” Dash blurts out, his cheeks warm. He inhaled deeply, mentally counting for a few seconds before exhaling. 

Oh, you think, and of course your stomach does more than churns. It rumbles loudly.

“I don’t understand it-”

Oh, you think once more. You nearly forgot that though Jungkook had something for older women, that your son didn’t. He thought women your age had to be nearing a nursing home. 

“-but I can tell it’s more than something sexual. I started to think back to all the times when we’ve all been together. The way Jungkook would act when you weren’t around.”

You lean against the counter, staring intently at Dash as he rambles on. Your mouth continues to salivate but you swallow it back. 

“And…I…love the two of you. A lot.” Dash looks away, his cheeks continue to warm. “So if…y-you don’t need my permission to date, of course, but…if you want to be with Jungkook,”

You feel it in the back of your throat now. You place a hand onto your mouth and attempt to keep it back.

“then I’ll respect it. As long as he makes you happy then I can move past it.”

Dash flinches when he hears you heave, and suddenly vomit all over the newly clean sink. He pushes himself back, the stool scraping against the floor. “M-Ma, are you okay?” he gasps.

You nod your head, wiping your mouth. You turn on the sink quickly. “I-I’m fine.” you lie. “J-Just wasn’t expecting that.”

Dash sighs, his shoulders slumping. You clean your mouth with the water. “You threw up because I gave you my blessing?” he deadpans.

No, you think, you vomited because you were obviously pregnant and the morning sickness was now getting to you. But, you would admit that Dash’s words did cause your heart to swell and your mind to swirl.

“Mommy~”

There’s a bouquet of roses in your face just as you open your front door. The breeze from outside runs through your home and seemingly echos off of the walls, having little furniture to dance through.

“Jungkook…” you trail off, your eyes glancing from the large bouquet to the man holding them behind them. 

Jungkook’s sporting a wide grin, dark round eyes sparkling. 

“...what are you doing here?” you question, taking the roses from the man.

“I came to see you, of course.” Jungkook responds. “I want to take you out.”

You snicker. “Take me out?”

Jungkook doesn’t find anything he said amusing. You on the other hand do.

Last week was when you spoke to Dash about, in his words, having his blessing to pursue Jungkook if you desired. It was the last time you and he spoke about it at all, you recall, as it was awkward for the both of you to.

You’re sure Dash has given the same speech to Jungkook himself as since that day,  a new set of roses has ended up on your doorstep. Only this time, it was accompanied by Jungkook himself.

“Yes.” Jungkook nods. “I want to take you out on a date.”

Jungkook’s dressed casually, you note, a dark denim jacket that matches his jeans perfectly. “And where do you suggest we go?”

Jungkook’s smile widens. “Well, of course I want to show you off to the world as mine, but we know you wouldn’t do it.” he starts, and you roll your eyes. “So I was thinking a movie! It’ll be something easy to start with since we don’t have to hide anymore.”

“I see.” you hum. You turn around and step inside your home. Jungkook follows you, closing the door behind him. His eyes trail around the semi-empty home, labeled boxes neatly stacked on one another. “I’m sure Dash has spoken to you…about us?”

You were running out of space to fit the flowers. Most of your counters were already taking up previous bouquets. 

“Yes.” Jungkook leans against the island as you round it to find room for the new set of roses. “I’m not going to lie, I didn’t think it’d ever happen,” he admits.

Jungkook remembers the night Dash had returned back late one night. The conversation began smoothly at first, with him asking subtle questions, that then led on to his childhood and how you always prioritized him over anything else. It made it easier for Dash to speak to him without looking in his eyes in the dark room, stating that he wouldn’t come in the way of whatever relationship he and you had.

“You wasted no time.” you tease, glancing up at the older man. “I was actually on my way out.”

“I noticed. I came to surprise you.” Jungkook hums. “Where were you going?”

You remain silent, pondering on Jungkook’s question.

You couldn’t tell the younger man where you were going. Nor could you tell him about the positive pregnancy tests you took - or the doctor visit that confirmed it. 

“An appointment.” you respond coolly. “Just a check up.” you shrug your shoulders, but Jungkook notices the way your eyes glance away from his. “Have you been feeling sick? Dash told me you weren’t feeling well last week.”

You can feel your stomach churning right now just thinking about it all. 

“What movie did you want to see?” you ask. You needed to change the subject entirely. You could always reschedule for tomorrow, you think. You had enough time.

“Whatever movie you’d want to see.” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “I heard Attack of the Killer Space-”

“You have to be joking.” you scoff. “Of all the movies, you would want to see that.”

“I heard that it was so bad, that it’s good!” Jungkook laughs, his hair bouncing as tosses his head back. “I don’t care what we watch, mommy, as long as we’re together.”

“You’re so corny.” you murmur. “Attack of the Killer Space Beetles it is, then.”

The theater was empty upon arrival and it was something both you and Jungkook expected. The seats are at the very top, the leather making noise as you and Jungkook sit down. The lights were already off and the movie had just begun when you and Jungkook arrived. 

“I have our new five dates planned out.” Jungkook murmurs to you. He places his slushie in the cup holder to his right and opposite of you. 

“Who says I’m going to keep going out with you?” you tease. “People are going to think I’m your mom.”

“I think you overestimate your appearance.” Jungkook lifts the arm rest that divides the two of you. “Besides, I call you mommy all the time.”

It’s embarrassing how quickly it took for Jungkook to be on you in the dark theater. Both of your seats are declined and his lips trail kisses along your neck, his tattooed hand holding you close.

“Kook-”

“Stop, no one’s coming in.” Jungkook interrupts, sinking his teeth teasingingly into your neck. “They don’t get paid enough to check on us, either.”

Your mind tells you that maybe this was Jungkook’s plan. Choose a bullshit movie that no one would see just so he could get you alone - something he could’ve done in the household, yet that wasn’t fun for a man his age, right? Especially not when he could freely hold your hand in public now.

“I missed you, mommy.”

Jungkook’s tongue trails upwards.

“I missed you, too.” you admit. Jungkook captures your lips on his own, his tongue sliding into your mouth to dance along yours.

There’s a familiar ache between your legs that only Jungkook is able to cause. You aren’t sure why you’re allowing this as if you’re his age, but it’s fun. It’s different - it’s new to you. You couldn’t ever resist Jungkook when it’s just the two of you and this only proves that he still has it wrapped around his finger.

“I should have known you didn’t have good intentions bringing me here.”

Even in the dark theater, you can still see Jungkook’s smirk. The shadows from the screen dance off his handsome face. 

“You haven’t told me to stop yet.” 

Jungkook’s hands are warm as they reach underneath your shirt, cupping your breast. 

“I wanted to make our first official date memorable.” Jungkook squeezes your breast tightly. “Making you cum right here while Attack of the Killer Space Beetles play in the background.”

“You’re not fucking me here.” you say sternly.

“Of course not.” Jungkook nods. “That doesn’t mean you can’t cum.”

Jungkook tugs at your bra enough so your breast pops out. His free hand shoves your shirt up. Immediately, your eyes glance down towards the entrance. 

“It’s too dark in here for anyone to even see what we’re doing.” Jungkook assures. “I don’t wanna wait any longer to taste them again.”

Jungkook wraps his greedy lips around your nipple, groaning against it. His free hand roughly shoves your shirt up and your bra down to release the other breast. He grips it in his palm, resulting in a surprised gasp from you. Your back arches a bit at the action, but sensations shoot right between your legs.

Jungkook pops your nipple from his lips, wet and hard. He goes towards the other one, his tongue circling the bed teasingly.

“Ah!” you moan, your eyes fluttering. 

“Such pretty tits you have, mommy. I can’t believe I’ve gone so long without sucking them.” Jungkook grunts. “Now I don’t have to anymore~”

Jungkook’s fingers twist the free nipple between his thumb and index finger, tugging on it in a way that makes you moan even louder. This only makes you wetter and wetter, the pounding between your legs growing by the second.

“You suck them so good, Kookie.” you couldn’t help but praise him. You were just a woman, yourself, who craved him just as much as he craved you. “You must’ve really missed me, huh?”

“Fuck,” Jungkook captures the nipple entirely now, and between suckles he says, “so much, mommy. Missed you so fucking much.”

The theater is loud, dramatic music booming off of the walls along with screaming people running on the screen. Whatever is happening in the movie, you’re unaware. You’re far too enthralled in Jungkook and the way he suckles on your breast as if his life depended on it. Even in the dark, you can see just how captivated he is by it all - popping the bud from his lips just to circle it with the tip of his tongue teasingly. 

“I bet you’re so wet right now.” Jungkook murmurs, eyes flickering up to meet yours. Your expression is one he missed experiencing. “You’re so pretty, mommy~”

Jungook doesn’t hesitate. He’s got you right where he wants you; all to himself. His hand reaches down to your jeans and swiftly undones the button. His hands sneak their way through while your thighs widen to allow him. 

“I knew I was right!” Jungkook grunts, greedy fingers making their way through your panties to touch your clit. It’s puffy and throbbing - and soaked. “Pussy missed being played with, huh?”

“Y-Yes!” you nod, warmth filling your cheeks. Jungkook’s dynamic always catches you off guard - for the better . In an instant, he could go from the sweet, submissive cutie who suckled on your breast like it was his life force, to a dominant man that spoke so vulgar to you.

If Jungkook could, he’d have you right here. He’d pull your jeans right off, push your panties aside and fuck you until you were full of him. But he understands that he couldn’t go that far - not here at least. 

Jungkook’s finger trails along your clit, not even bothering on starting off softly. No, he knows you. He knows just how you want it. 

Jungkook often thinks back to the first time he’s approached you right in the kitchen of your home. He’s found your profile, the flashing “There’s HOT MILFS in your area waiting for YOU to FUCK THEM!” right above the picture of your naked body. Any other time Jungkook would’ve ignored it, but he knew that face. It was you, of all people. The same woman he’s silently pinned after and in his mind, it was a sign.

Your pussy is messy and leaking. Your hand reaches out to wrap around Jungkook’s wrist for support. “K-Kook!” you mewl out, thighs trembling. 

“You like that, mommy?” Jungkook snickers. Your breast bounces just a bit and it captivates Jungkook back towards your hardened nipples once more. Again, his lips wrap around it, suckling on it until it’s swollen and glistening. “Let’s see,”

You gasp out, eyes widening a bit when Jungkook’s twirling fingers slide down - quite easily due to how soaked you are - to your clenching hole. He dips in two fingers easily until they’re knuckles deep. 

Your head falls back against the leather seat, your stomach churning. Jungkook’s finger thrusts in and out of you, screams now erupting throughout the theater. A week prior Jungkook had seen this same movie just to see how ridiculous it was. The main actress, he’d admit, was attractive, but that was all. The cgi was terrible and he’s unsure why it was showing in theaters at all. 

“Fuck, Kookie, it feels so good!” you groan, your lower back arching so you could feel more of Jungkook’s thrusting fingers. Your eyes squeeze shut, mind going blank. You hadn’t realized just how much you missed Jungkook - his tongue, his fingers; just him. Your own fingers or vibrator wasn’t a match for the man that is Jeon Jungkook. 

“I want you to cum all over my fingers, mommy.” Jungkook’s teeth graze into the skin of your breast, adding enough pressure to assure that he leaves his mark. “You’re so wet. I can’t wait to taste you later.”

You bite your lip, but somehow a moan slips through. The thought of Jungkook between your legs again has your stomach churning again, the throbbing only intensifying. 

“You’re gripping my fingers, mommy. You want my tongue, don’t you?” Jungkook asks smugly. “I’ll eat this pussy all night. Gotta make up for the times you took away from me~”

“I-I’m gonna cum!” you hiss, your legs closing around Jungkook’s hand. “You always make mommy feel so good, baby.”

Jungkook groans, his cock throbbing in his pants. And like that, the switch flips and he changes. He goes back to the whimpering, submissive Kookie you knew, the one that would beg so sweetly in your ear.

“Fuck, mommy, I need you.” Jungkook sighs, pounding his fingers inside your gummy walls. His fingertips slam against that sweetspot. “I need to feel this sweet pussy around me again.”

You’re cumming, hard and fast. Your moaning is drowned out by the sound of the CGI Space Beetles being blown to pieces. Your grip on Jungkook’s wrist loosens, your chest rising and falling as you pant.

Whenever you were with Jungkook, your mind always failed to act right. You’ve done things you’d never thought about doing - like being in a cramped cinema stall with the younger man. You're lucky that said cinema is nearly empty with even younger employees that could care less about roaming the halls. 

The restrooms are located at the far end of the cinema, so quiet that you could hear pieces of another movie from theater 16 right across from the rest room.

“Fuuuuck,” Jungkook groans as he enters you, his cock sliding deep inside of you. “so wet and so tight.”

Jungkook’s hands are tight around your waist, his cock plunging in and out of you so needily. Your pussy is squelching only loud enough to echo off of the quiet restroom walls. Your body is pressed against the cool stall door, your breast bouncing against it with each thrust.

“You g-gotta slow down, Kookie.” you pant, but the way your cunt squeezes around his cock tells him otherwise. 

“No one’s here, mommy.” Jungkook’s thrusts are hard and quick, your ass slamming against his groin. “I don’t think I could hold back from fucking this pussy. It’s been too long.”

Jungkook isn’t wrong, you think. It’s been far too long and you’re far too weak to fight for silence - so you don’t. Instead, you moan even louder, your mind blurring until all you could focus on was the cock you’d miss inside of you. Your thighs are soaked with both cum and your juices, his cock messy with creamy white arousal.

“Then don’t hold back, baby.” you choke out, widening your thighs. The sane part of you - the one who would think about this moment with slight regret and judgment - is screaming. This is the exact reason why you, a grown woman with a grown son the same age as the man you’re fucking, was pregnant. “Show mommy how much you missed her pussy.”

And show you Jungkook does, over and over again. His nails dig into your soft, hot skin, angry cock pounding into your cervix so aggressively, stretching you so obscenely. He’s merciless, leaving you utterly sloppy and begging for more.

A hand reaches around your neck to bring you back against his chest. Jungkook’s tongue licks up from your neck, to your ear before forcing its way towards your mouth. You open your mouth wider to invite him into a messy kiss, your whimpers now suffocating in his mouth.

“Gonna fuck this pussy all night, mommy. Make up all the time I had lost.” Jungkook says against your wet mouth. “This pussy was made for me, mommy. It’s finally all mine to claim.”

Your hip is let go, but that doesn’t mean Jungkook takes his hands off of you. No, he has to torture you even more. He finds your puffy clit, his fingers twirling the bud aggressively, your cunt squeezing his cock even tighter - just how he likes it.

“All yours, Kookie.” you mewl out, tongue sliding against his sloppily. There’s a trail of saliva pooling from your lips, but neither of you care. It’s messy and completely obscene, but both of you are far too fucked out to give a damn. “Want you to fill me up aaalll night.”

You prided yourself on being a responsible adult for over two decades and now you’re throwing everything out for amazing dick. This, you remind yourself, was why you were pregnant. You cancelled your appointment to fix this very problem -  a problem you told yourself you would keep to yourself and take with you to your grave  - for this very dick.

“You’re so dirty.” Jungkook gasps, but he’s just as determined as you are to cum in you. His thrusts become sloppy, fingers circling erratically against your clit, juices coating your thighs.

You cum hard, your eyes squeezed shut tightly that you’re seeing nothing but stars. You’re panting, chest rising and falling and you’re a trembling mess of overstimulation. 

Jungkook isn’t far behind you. His thrusts are sloppy, yet still deep and passionate. He doesn’t care about being quiet as with each thrust, he’s groaning loudly, spewing out - “shit, shit, shit” until he himself is cumming deep inside of you, so much that the seed spews out and down your thighs.

It takes five minutes for the both of you to come down from the high and another five minutes for you to get cleaned up. You’re grateful that you and Jungkook weren’t caught, the adrenaline you felt while doing the do now dies down and like you knew you would, you regret every decision you’ve made. However, you would be lying if you said you didn’t think it was fun - and entirely hot, especially with the way Jungkook looks at you through the restroom mirror. You finish washing your hands and you turn to face him. 

“I’m hungry.” Jungkook says, coming closer to you. He leans down a bit to capture your lips. “I want steak.” he murmurs against your lips.

“I bet you are.” you say back, your body moving before your mind could and you wrap your arms around his neck and bring him into another kiss. “I have steak at home. I was planning on cooking in case Dash was coming over.”

“He’s with Sumi tonight.” Jungkook responds, pressing another kiss onto your lips. He missed kissing you. “How about I cook for us tonight? Then, I’ll fuck you into the mattress-”

You push at his chest gently and roll your eyes. “You have a dirty mouth.” you joke, but the words do have you swallowing at the possibilities of the night to come. “You’re wasting no time, huh?”

Jungkook leans away. “Of course not. What I say even during sex, I mean.” Jungkook responds. “I plan on courting you the right way. No more sneaking around.”

Jungkook looks at you, his eyes serious.

“And I plan on having a future with you.”

You break eye contact first. You round Jungkook and go towards the restroom door. You open in slowly, your eyes scanning to see if anyone was near. When you see no one, you exit, Jungkook close behind you.

“I’m serious,” Jungkook captures your shoulder to stop you from going further. “about everything I said.”

You exhale, unaware that you’d been holding your breath this long.

“Kook-”

“No.” Jungkook interrupts. “We don’t have to talk about it here. Or now.” he murmurs. He didn’t want to scare you away. Everything was still new. It would take time for you to get back out there publicly and not hide behind closed doors anymore. He didn’t want to rush anything, but he wanted you to know that he wanted you.

“I want you to know that-”

Your phone rings in your pockets. Jungkook stops his speech. He watches the way you seemingly pale, your eyes zoning in on the number on your screen. “I gotta take this.” you murmur. “How about you go to the car? I’ll meet you out there.”

Jungkook blinks. “O…Okay?” 

You offer a smile  - a strained one - before entering the restroom. Jungkook lingers for a few moments. He doesn’t listen. Instead, he presses his hands gently onto the door and cracks it open.

Your voice is low and muffled, but the restroom is so quiet that he can hear you.

“Yes, I had to reschedule the appointment.” you say. “No…I’m not having second thoughts. I need the procedure done.” There’s a few more seconds of silence. “Yes, I’ll get on birth control. I think that’ll be best after.”

Jungkook shuts the restroom door. He turns on his heels and makes his way down the hall. His mind swirls with what little he’s heard.

Reschedule the appointment.

Second thoughts.

Procedure.Birth control after.

trivia-yandere: okay so like what are we thinking??

Mrs. Jeon beams beside her. "You should be proud, Haewon. We all are." Then she glances at you, her eyes going soft as they always do whenever she looks at you for too long. "You've worked so hard for this, sweetheart."

Heat creeps into your cheeks, and you duck your head with a grin, pretending to be very focused on drying a soup spoon. "I just graduated and you're all getting mushy already."

Mrs. Jeon laughs, light and bright, while your mother waves you off for being so nonchalant about it.

Across from you, seated at the kitchen island with one elbow propped beside an empty glass of cola, Jungkook watches the whole exchange in silence.

He's been quiet all evening.

Not in a way anyone else would notice, probably. Jungkook has always been quieter than most people—never one to fill the room with noise unless he has something worth saying, but you know him well enough to feel the difference. Usually, when your families get together like this, he sits close enough to be part of whatever conversation you're having, even if he mostly lets you do the talking. He'll mumble a comment here and there, roll his eyes when you get dramatic, or kick your shin lightly under the table when you start exaggerating a story for effect.

Tonight, he's barely looked at you.

He's sitting there in a plain black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, fresh from changing out of the suit he wore to graduation earlier, his dark hair still a little messy from the quick shower he took before dinner. One of his long legs is stretched out beneath the island stool, his fingers tapping idly against the condensation on his glass. Every now and then, Mrs. Jeon tries to pull him into the conversation, and every time he just gives a small shrug or a short answer before retreating back into himself.

You notice it because you always notice him. That's how it has been since the sixth grade.

Back then, when your family first moved into the neighbourhood, you were loud in every possible way. Loud voice, loud laugh, loud opinions, loud dreams. You showed up on the Jeons' doorstep wearing a crooked ponytail and grass-stained knees because your mother dragged you over to "meet the neighbours properly," and before the adults even finished introductions, you'd already wandered into their backyard and found a quiet, wide-eyed boy crouched beside a flowerbed, trying to coax a ladybug onto his finger.

Jungkook blinked up at you with solemn, startled eyes.

You planted your hands on your hips and asked, "Do you wanna play?"

He stared at you for a second like he wasn't sure whether you were real, then nodded once.

And that had been that.

Your mothers became best friends almost as naturally as you and Jungkook did. Playdates turned into sleepovers, afternoons at the park turned into evenings spent doing homework side by side at the Jeons' dining table, and somewhere between scraped knees, shared snacks, and long summers spent racing bicycles up and down the street, his house became your second home.

You had always been the one in front, dragging him toward the next thing, the next game, the next adventure. And Jungkook, shy and soft-spoken and so painfully easy to fluster, had always followed a step behind you like he belonged there.

Like he belonged to you.

Even now, years later, there are pieces of your childhood tucked into this house. A faded scratch on the hallway wall from when the two of you tried to bring your scooters inside during a thunderstorm. A tiny burn mark on the patio table from the time you convinced him sparklers were safe to wave around if you were "being careful." A whole shelf in his bedroom probably still crowded with things you'd left behind and never taken back.

You've changed a lot since then, and so did Jungkook.

He shot up sometime in ninth grade, all awkward limbs and broad shoulders that he didn't quite know what to do with. His voice dropped. His eyes got darker somehow, sparklier. He stopped trailing behind you so much, though he still looked for you first in every room.

And in the eighth grade—though he never had the balls to tell you to your face—he started carrying something fragile and dangerous in his chest whenever it came to you.

An embarrassing, pesky crush.

The kind that made his ears burn whenever you leaned too close. The kind that had him lying awake at night replaying every time you laughed at one of his jokes. The kind he buried deep because the thought of ruining your precious friendship was worse than the ache of wanting more.

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.

You’re reminiscing now, scrolling through your phone on the couch, when a violent sound shatters the peace of your apartment.

It’s 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 or–"

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.

“Noona…”

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.

“Jungkook?” You step forward, feeling your annoyance instantly replaced by worry. “What are you doing here? What happened?”

It’s 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. He’s 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 you’re 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. It’s a small, simple star. You’d both gotten them the summer of your second year of college as a permanent reminder of the way you’ve always been each other’s lucky star.

Your best friend doesn’t 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 you’d 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 don’t 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 they’re filled with desperate panic.

“Noona,” he wheezes. “Help… please.”

Before you can get another word out, Jungkook collapses, stumbling forward and practically falling into your arms.

“Whoa!”

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.

“Jungkook!” you hiss, trying to wedge your hands between his chest and yours to get some breathing room. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Stand up!”

Ignoring you, he tightens his grip, pulling you even closer against his body. He inhales sharply, dragging his nose right behind your ear.

“Mmmm,” he whimpers. “You smell so good.”And 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. You’ve 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.

“Jungkook!” You shove his shoulders, using all of your strength to finally peel him off you, just an inch. “Stop that! What the hell is happening?”

You’re a fox. You know scents. And now that he’s this close, the smell coming off him is unmistakable. It’s thick, musky, and sweet.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you breathe as the realization drains you. “You’re in heat.” You stare at him, stunned. “Did you take your suppressants?”

Jungkook mumbles something, his forehead dropping to rest on top of your head, seeking your contact again.

“I forgot,” he confesses miserably, rubbing his cheek against your hair. “I forgot to refill the prescription. Thought I could... I thought I could wait a few days.”

“A few days? Kook, you’re a bunny. You don't just 'wait out' a hormonal nuke like this,” you mutter, smacking his arm lightly as you look at him. . “You absolute dumbass,” 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!"

“Okay, okay, calm down,” you mutter, more to yourself than him. You need help. You need backup. “Come on, you big idiot,” 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. 

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.

“Stay,” 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 won’t leave him alone to go get it because you don’t 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. It’s a photo taken during a hike up Bukhansan last autumn. You’re 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. “Pick up, pick up, you furry little shit,” 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.

“Jungkook!” you yelp, trying to maintain your balance as he pulls you against his chest.

“Hello?” Jimin’s voice crackles through the speaker, sounding amused. “Jungkookie? Are you at–” 

“It’s Y/N,” you interrupt him, trying to pry Jungkook’s arms off your stomach, but it’s to no avail. You grunt, wondering how he can be so fucking strong when his brain is clearly melting.

“Oh, hi!” Jimin chirps, sounding far too cheerful.

“I need help,” you say, your voice tight as you wedge an elbow between you and the broad chest pinning you.

“With what?” Jimin asks. “Do we need to bury a body?”

“What? No!” you huff, trying to stay upright. “It's Jungkook. He’s in heat, Jimin,” you say bluntly.

“Oh!”

“He forgot to refill the prescription,” you explain, struggling against the bunny hybrid attached to your back. “Now he’s sweating like crazy and he’s... Jungkook, stop it!” You swat the top of Jungkook’s head. He’s started licking the sensitive spot behind your jaw.

“He’s licking me!” you shout into the phone. “Did you hear that? He’s licking me! Tell me what to do! His pills? Can I go get them for him? Will they work?”

“Uh, no,” Jimin says, his voice turning apologetic. “That’s not how biology works, Y/N. The pills are suppressants. They stop the hormones from spiking. But once the spike happens… you can’t stop it.”

Jungkook groans, rubbing the front of his body against your backside.

“Sit!” you bark, spinning around to push him back towards the couch. “Jungkook, sit down right now! Bad bunny!”

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. “So what do I do?” you demand, turning back to the call. “I can’t just... leave him like this.”

“Well,” Jimin sighs. “You have two options. Option A: You lock him in a room and you let him ride it out alone. It’ll be miserable for him, bunny heats are painful if they aren't, uh, addressed.”

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.

“And Option B?” you ask. You already know the answer, but you need to hear it.

“Option B,” Jimin says, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “You help him out.”

You choke on air. “Jimin!”

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. He’s 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.

“Hey, you asked! He needs release, Y/N. And not just once,” Jimin chuckles, voice low and amused. “He needs to be… attended to.” He pauses, grinning like he knows exactly what he’s saying. “And there is literally no one else on this planet he would want right now but you.” 

Then, as if he suddenly regretted saying that, he adds, “Anyways… I gotta go now. Don’t keep him waiting too long, alright?”

You frown, confusion knitting your brows. “Wait, Jimin, what do you mean he'd want to be with me? Don’t you dare–”

“Good luck, Noona! Bye!” The line goes dead.

You lower the phone slowly, staring at the black screen in disbelief. Your gaze shifts from the phone to Jungkook. He’s still pressed close, his body trembling against yours on the couch. 

"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. It’s getting harder to resist. You’ve 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 He’s 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 just– it hurts!”

"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. Let’s do this.

You tell yourself you’re 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. “Lift your hips,” you instruct, sounding firmer than you feel. “Come on, big boy, I can’t do this alone! Help me out here.”

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. It’s big. It’s thicker than anything you’ve 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. 

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. He’s 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."

“Tighter, noona, please. Like that... oh God, yeah.”

He’s 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. 

The heat must be frying his brain, stripping away that polite filter and leaving nothing but unfiltered need. It’s a side of him you’ve 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. 

He slumps back with his eyes closed, looking calmer, but when you glance down, your stomach flips. He’s still completely hard. His cock is twitching against your palm like that release didn't even happen. 

“Are you kidding me?” you demand, letting go of him as you stare at the mess on your hands. “How long is this going to last?”

Jungkook blinks at you. “I 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 it’ll stop.”

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. 

But as the weight of his hands and the heat of his mouth press against you, your mind begins to shift. You’re 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 you’re 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. 

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. You’ve known him long enough to recognize that look, the one where he’s 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. “I can’t read your mind, Kook. I need you to tell me what you want.”

"More of you," he breathes, his hands fidgeting on your arms. “I want to see you, noona.”

You stare at him. Jungkook’s eyes are wide and a little desperate, like he’s asking for something he shouldn’t. It makes warmth curl low in your stomach. 

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.

Jungkook’s gaze finally drifts up, leaving your chest to fix on your mouth instead, his lips parting slightly as he watches you. “Do you want my mouth, Kook? You want me to suck your cock?”

"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 to–"

“Ah, ah,” you say firmly, shifting back just enough to look at him while adding, “I don’t trust you not to choke me because you're being way too aggressive.”

Shifting up, you press your tits together around his length and slide them up and down. You lean forward to lick at the tip. “You like that, don’t you? Such a horny bunny, fucking noona’s tits.”

“Yes... oh, yes.”

You smile, moving faster. Jungkook’s 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 you’re aching to be filled. You look down at yourself, then back at him.

“You really couldn't hold back, could you?” you tease, while you watch him try to catch his breath. “Look at the mess you made, Kook,” 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. “What are you going to do about it?” you challenge, tilting your head.

Jungkook’s 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. “Let me clean it,” he says.

“Oh? And how exactly are you going to do that?” 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. “Tell me, big boy.”

“With my mouth,” 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, “I want to clean your tits with my mouth.”

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.

“Mmm, yeah,” you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair. “That’s it, Kook. Sucking my tits so well.”

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. “Do you like it, noona? Do you like how I'm cleaning you?” he asks with a trembling voice.

“Mmm. You're doing so good.”

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.

“Am I doing it right, noona?” he rasps as he looks up at you, thrusting up again. “Right there?”

“Yes, right there!” you sob, your body starting to shake as he keeps rubbing against that sensitive spot. “Just like that, Kook. Don’t stop.”

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 you’re sure he’ll leave marks. 

“You're so sensitive, noona,” 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 I’m 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.

“Aww, my poor bunny,” 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. It’s ridiculous. You’ve had his mouth on your tits for the last ten minutes but a kiss feels like a line you can't – you shouldn't – cross. 

Once you find out how he tastes, there’s 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.

"We– 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. You’re 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?” He whines, his lower lip jutting out in a pout. 

"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.

“If I don't kiss you right now, I think I'm going to explode. Just one. Please,” he pleads, looking up at you from under his lashes. 

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 he’s teasing it with his tongue, sucking gently, dragging it over your lips. 

You can’t get enough. You want to melt into him, to drown in this moment.

Your shorts and his shirt feel like a barrier you don’t 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. 

If this is your last and only chance to have him, you’re going to make the most of it. You’ll deal with the consequences of a broken heart later; right now, you just need him.

You’ll 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 you’ve 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. “Kook,” you breathe, nipping at his neck, “I want you inside me.”

Jungkook stiffens. He pulls back, his hands freezing on your waist.

“What? What’s wrong?” you ask, your brows furrowing. “Did I say something?”

“No! No, you didn't do anything wrong! It’s just that…” He pauses, his voice turning into a hesitant whisper. “Noona, I've never…”

You blink, stunned. Your brain stutters. No way… he can’t mean what you think he means, right? 

“W-what? But I thought that with Sohee... I thought you two...”

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.

You didn't hate the girl, she was cool and nice, which almost made it worse, but you weren't about to be that cliché of the pining best friend trying to snatch a guy away from his girlfriend. You had way too much pride for that.

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. 

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 you’re 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.

“No,” he says nervously. “I... I mean, we never went that far.” He looks up at you.

“Kook, it’s okay,” you say softly, cupping his face. “We don’t have to go any further. I can still help you out with my hands or my mouth.”

You start to shift, moving to climb off his lap, but his hands snap back to your hips, pulling you down hard.

“No!” he gasps. “I want to! I really want to. With you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you.”

He nods vigorously. “I’m sure. Please.”

You take a breath, trying to calm the pounding in your own chest. “Well, let me take these off first,” 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. Jungkook’s hands are trembling where they grip your thighs.

“Noona, wait,” he gasps. He looks down at where he’s pressing against you, his face full of worry. “I don’t want to hurt you. Are you... are you sure you’re ready to take me?”

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. 

"You're so wet..."

"For you, Kook," you whisper, and as the words leave your mouth, his eyes widen. He looks at you like you’re the only anchor he has in the middle of this storm, his hands trembling where they grip your thighs. “I’m going to be fine. I promise.”

Slowly, carefully, you begin to lower yourself down.

Jungkook lets out a moan and you hiss as the stretch starts – 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 you’re joined, looks up at you, his entire body freezing.

“What? What’s happening? Did I hurt you?” He starts to lift his hips, trying to pull out, but you slam your hands onto his shoulders to keep him pinned.

“No!” you pant, your eyes watering slightly from his size. “You’re just... you’re so big, Kook.”

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 he’s about to rip the fabric. “I don’t know if I’ll last long, noona,” he confesses. “You feel too good.Everything feels too good.”

“I don’t care,” you encourage as you start to move. “Just enjoy it, Kook. That’s all that matters to me.”

You find a pace, bouncing slowly at first to let your body get used to his length. Jungkook can’t 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.

“Yes, yes!”

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. “Noona… ah… I… I’m… oh fuck…” 

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.

“Oh,” he breathes, his eyes snapping open. His hands leave your tits, falling back to his sides. He looks down at where you’re joined, his face turning bright red. "Noona... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He keeps apologizing, looking absolutely devastated that it was over so fast.

You grab his face, making him look at you. “Kook, hey, look at me,” you say, stroking his hair away from his forehead. “It’s okay. Really.”

"Noona, this is so embarrassing," Jungkook blinks, his watery eyes searching for yours while he stays locked inside you. “I wanted to last. I wanted to be better for our first time together.”

"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."

“But I wanted you to enjoy it,” he insists, his voice cracking with a mix of frustration and shyness while his chest heaves against yours. 

“And I did Jungkook! I promise I did,” you reassure him, giving him a smile.

“But you didn't cum,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to where your bodies are joined, and you stay silent because there's no point in lying. “What can I do? Tell me what to do so you can feel like that too.”

“There’s no need, Kook,” 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.

“Yes there is! I want to please you, noona.” 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. “Right here,” you whisper.

“Like this?” he asks, his touch tentative, careful. “Is this okay?”

“Mmm, yes,” you moan, letting your head fall onto his shoulder as he starts to rub. “Just like that, Kook. A little more pressure.”

He looks more confident as he watches your expression. “I want to make you feel as good as you made me.”

“You are,” you gasp when his thumb hits the spot. “You’re doing so good, Kook...”

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.

“Noona?” he rasps, his hands sliding to your waist to hold you in place. “Can we...” He pauses then, looking at you with a doubtful expression as if he’s afraid of asking for too much, before he finally whispers, “Can we do it again? It felt so good.” He leans in, pressing a series of kisses to your neck while murmuring, “I want to feel you more.”

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. It’s 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.

“Come here,” 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?"

“Mmm,” you breathe, tilting your head up and bringing your hands to his face, pulling him down to you.

“I need you,” 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. “Please, noona... I need to be inside you so bad,” he whimpers, his hips snapping upward in a desperate attempt to get closer.

“You’re so impatient,” you tease, a laugh catching in your throat as you arch your back into him. “Is the big, bad bunny really that desperate? Are you going to be this whiny every time you want something?”

"Maybe," he gasps, his nose brushing against yours. “If it's you, then yes. Always.”

“You're lucky you're cute, Kook,” 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.

“I'll do whatever you want. I'll be so good, I'll do whatever you say.”

“Whatever I want... now that sounds like a good deal,” you murmur, trailing your fingers over the sharp line of his jaw. “Maybe 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.”

Jungkook whines, grinding his hips even harder, the tip of him teasing your folds. He nips at your neck, hands roaming your body. 

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.

“I'll die, noona,” he groans. “I'll actually die if I'm not inside you right now.” He continues to whine, the tip of his cock poking at your folds. “I need to be inside your pussy.”

You look at him, your own heart slamming against your ribs. You can’t take the begging anymore, not when you’re aching just as bad as he is. “Put it in, Kook.”

“Thank you, noona... thank you,” he breathes.

He maneuvers his large hands to your hips, lining himself up and pushing in, sliding back into your heat in one thrust.

“Ah, fuck! Noona! Oh God…” 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.  “I… I can’t… So good”

“Move, Kook,” you whisper, your legs hooking around his waist to pull him deeper. “Move for me.”

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.

“Is this okay? Does it feel good?” he asks, pushing deep. 

“It feels amazing,” you reassure him,even though the slow pace is driving you crazy. “But I need it harder, Jungkook. Don't you want to please your noona?”

“I want to do everything for you,” he growls. His grip on your hips tightens until his knuckles are white. “I'll give you whatever you want.”

“Then fuck me harder.”

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 didn’t 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. You’re gasping, moaning, lost in the way he’s taking you.

“You like that, noona?” he pants. “Do you like how I'm fucking you?”

He grins against your skin, watching your body react, listening to your moans like they’re music meant only for him.

“Yes… fuck! I love it!” you cry out, your head thrashing against the pillow while you arch your back to meet him. “Harder, Jungkook! Harder!”

“I don’t want to hurt you, noona,” he rasps.

"I like a bit of pain, Jungkook. Don’t 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. “Oh fuck… yes!”

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. “Do you like it like this, noona?” he asks. “Does it feel good when I hit you this hard?”

"Yes, yes! God, Kook, it’s so good!" you sob, your fingers digging into the sheets. Since you’ve realized by now that he has a major praise kink, you lean your head back and cry out, “Your cock feels amazing, Jungkook! You’re so big...”

The words seem to electrify him, his pace becoming even more frantic as he tries to chase the high of your approval. “Really? I’m... I’m doing it right for you?”

You smile up at him, your hands sliding up his sweat-slicked chest to his shoulders as you murmur, “Mmm, Kook. The best I’ve ever had.”

“Better than Taehyung?”

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. “Yes, yes... so much better than him, oh God!”

His answer is driving into you even harder. “I’m close,” he groans, letting go of your wrists to cup the sides of your face, pulling you into him. “Noona… I’m so close.”

“Me too, Kook,” 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.

“Noona!” 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 you’re 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. He’s lying there, looking at you with literal googly eyes. 

You reach out to run your fingers through his damp hair. The strands are soft, falling in loose waves thanks to that perm he’d been hesitant to try. He’d doubted it at first, worried it wouldn’t suit him, but you’d pushed him, told him it would make him look even more handsome. And damn, you were right. 

“What?” you murmur with a tired smile tugging at your lips.

He leans into your touch, letting you tangle your fingers through the soft waves. “Nothing,” he answers. “Just... you're really pretty, noona.”

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.

“Sleepy, Kook?”

“Mmh,” 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. “Can we sleep like this? I like having you close. I don't want to let go.”

“We can sleep like this, Kook,” you answer, settling back into him. "I'm not going anywhere.”

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. You’ve crossed a line that’s been there for far too long. You’ve tasted your best friend, and you’ve let him see exactly how much you wanted him.

You feel him twitch against your back, the small jerks of his muscles telling you he’s already asleep. As Jungkook lets out a long sigh and tightens his grip on you, you push the thought away. 

That’s a problem for future you to solve. Right now, you’re warm and you’re 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.

“Kook?” you mumble, tilting your head toward him, a moan slipping out as he tugs at your nipple. “Back for more already… huh?” you tease, a lazy, sleepy smirk tugging at your lips.

“I… I can’t help it, noona,” he whimpers.

“You’re being so naughty, Kook,” you tease with a smirk tugging at your lips. “Waking up your noona in the middle of the night just because you're needy?”

He nudges his face into your hair, his grip on your waist tightening. “I tried to be good, noona. I really did. I tried to go back to sleep and leave you alone, but I’m dying. I can't stop thinking about how you felt. It’s all I can see when I close my eyes.”

“Oh, really?” you murmur. “My poor, tortured bunny. You spent all that time lying here wanting me while I was dreaming?”

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. “Is all of this for me, Kook?” you ask.

He looks so sweet like this, a massive man reduced to a pleading mess. “Everything is for you,” he answers, his voice trembling as he reaches out to pull you closer.

“Then tell me what you want,” 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.

“Go on,” you murmur softly. “Say it properly.”

“I want to fuck my noona,” he groans, his hands coming up to squeeze your tits as his hips twitch. “I 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 you’re screaming my name and then I want to fill you with my cum over and over.”

“Mmm? You want to do all of that to me? So greedy,” you murmur.

“I’m greedy for you, noona,” he pants. “I 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.”

You bite your lip, heart racing at how desperate he sounds.

“Just please, noona. Put it in. I need to be inside you.”

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. “God… Kook,” you whisper, your nails digging lightly into his shoulders, “that feels so good.”

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.

“God, noona,” he groans, his hips moving in slow circles. “You feel so good. I can't get over how tight you are, you're so warm.”

At his words, you clench your inner muscles around him, pulling him even deeper.

He’s 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 I’m 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 can’t quite name, but he’s 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. 

You expected to feel relief after having him buried in you all night, but instead… it’s 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 don’t 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? I’ve been thinking about it all night while you were asleep."

You bite your bottom lip, “Hmm… yeah” 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 you’re 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.

“I did,”you 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.

You’re 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." 

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. 

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. 

“It's okay, Kook,” 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 you’re 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. “I just want to make you happy, noona,” 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 he’s 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 you’re 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. 

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. 

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 want…"

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. You’re 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 you’re 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, noona…" 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 he’s reading your body and how fast he’s 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 he’s been studying you for years instead of just hours. 

“Yes… yes!” 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 a– fuck!" You’re 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. “Yeah?”

“I'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. You’re going to be mine. I'm going to knot you so deep you'll never forget how this feels."

He’s relentless, burying himself to the hilt over and over until you’re 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 he’s lying on his back, then pulls you onto his lap so you’re 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 you’re the only thing that exists right now.

"You're so pretty," he whispers. “So pretty.”

His words come out in a way that makes you think it’s not just the heat talking. You aren't able to look him in the eye right now. It’s too raw, too real. 

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 he’s 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. You’re 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 can’t 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 can’t 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.

"I– 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. You’re locked in place, still physically connected to him. "Kook, let me up. We need to... we should probably–"

"I heard you," Jungkook interrupts. He doesn't let you budge an inch. "You said you loved me. You said it more than once."

“Forget it!” 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're–"

“You're going to blame the moment?" he asks, his eyebrows shooting up. "You forget I’m the one in heat, noona? My head is the one that's supposed to be messy, not yours.”

“Well, maybe it's contagious!” you fire back, desperate to find some ground to stand on. “Just... 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.”

I fucked it up, you think, your mind spiraling. Twenty years of friendship down the drain.

"Why should I forget it?" he asks. There’s 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 I–"

"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..."

“It didn't feel right because it wasn't you,” he confesses as his thumb traces your cheekbone. “I 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 wasn’t you."

As he says those words, Jungkook searches your face for any sign of rejection while his heart beats like it’s going to come out of his chest. It’s 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."

You’re 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. "And…I'm sorry about... everything I said before," he mutters, looking at you. “About breeding you. My head just went completely crazy for a second. I didn't mean to go that far.”

You let out a laugh, leaning forward to nip at his earlobe while your hips keep their slow, torturous grind. “Don’t be sorry,”  you whisper against him, teasing, “Mmm… maybe not right now, Kook, but someday… who knows? You might just get your wish.” 

m.list ☆ jungkook m.list ☆ join my taglist!

Then he resumed, tongue gliding up your dripping pussy in one slick motion, before giving it a wet, smacking kiss, and diving in tongue-first all over again. You jolted upward with a cutting exhale, but he held you in place easily, fingers curling into your hips. 

While he was busy with that, your hands fumbled for your phone until you found it. Panting, you checked the screen with cloudy vision.

It was your brother. 

“Fuck,” you whispered sharply, fisting Jungkook’s hair and pulling him away. His head jerked up, an annoyed glint in his eyes. 

“I told you they can wait,” he muttered, already pushing your phone away. 

“No, look.” You showed him the screen. “It’s Jimin.”

At this, he actually stopped. It was two in the morning and you hadn’t come home yet. Given Jimin’s protective nature when it came to his little sister, it was no surprise that whoever you ended up being with at this ungodly hour would have to face his wrath.

Even if it was Jungkook, who happened to be his best friend. 

“What should I do? I told him I was going out with some friends,” you said, shivering from the sudden coldness of the room, the heat in your womanhood subsiding from the sheer panic of the call alone.

Jungkook was exhausted.

How many times had Jimin unknowingly cockblocked him again? Since that fateful day in the car where you had confessed to him and destroyed all remnants of self-restraint, you and Jungkook had been clawing at any opportunity to get your hands on each other—to no avail, of course.

First, it was after you and Jungkook went on your very first proper date. It was simple; a movie at the cinema, dinner at a cozy Italian restaurant, and then a long drive to a secluded parking lot to watch the stars—and potentially fuck around a bit. Then, Jimin called and insisted that you had to get home in no less than ten minutes, or else he’d have the head of the guy who had you out so late (you told him you were on a date, but you did not specify with who).

Next time, it was when you were moving into your college dorm. You needed an extra car to take your stuff; Jungkook had one. Trying to sneak in a quickie in your dorm’s bathroom was maybe not the best idea, but you looked too good in your low-rise denim shorts and hot pink tank top. Sue him. Of course, you didn’t let him get too far—Jimin was only gone for a few minutes to grab something from the car, anyway.

The most recent incident was two days ago. Jungkook had been begging you to go on another date with him since it had been an eternity since the last one (it was one week), but you declined, citing Jimin as the reason why. 

“If some guy wants to go on more than one date with you a week, he has to man up and meet me first,” Jimin had apparently said. “That fucking greedy coward.”

But alas, now you were finally alone with him in his apartment—naked, horny, and unbelievably irresistable—and there was no threat of anyone finding out, unless you picked up Jimin’s call.

So, Jungkook decided to be reckless. 

Just this one time.

He snatched the phone from you and declined the call, tossing it away to be forgotten in the covers. You let out a scandalized gasp. 

“You did not.”

“I just did.” He smirked.

Before you could protest further, he kissed you—your lips, your neck, your collarbones—and brought his hand downward to see if you were still wet. You were.

He put a finger in, gliding his long digits against your walls in painfully slow scooping motions as you writhed beneath him.

“You’re crazy,” you breathed heavily. “Jimin is going to kill you if he ever—”

He covered your mouth with his free hand, effectively shutting you up. “Don’t worry about that right now, little miss,” he grunted.

He cupped your cheek, sliding his thumb into your mouth and exploring your inner cheek and tongue. 

“Suck.”

You obeyed. 

Without breaking eye contact, you swirled your tongue around his thumb, letting yourself gag on it as he pressed the roof of your mouth.  He seemed satisfied.

Below, he shoved another finger into you with his other hand. Your eyes rolled back as you whimpered in delight, saliva dribbling down your chin. His fingers curled, stretching your walls and making you cry out.

His cock was barely contained by his boxers, looking like it was on the verge of explosion.

“Need—” you panted,“—I need you inside me. Please.”

“Oh yeah?” Jungkook removed his thumb from your mouth, using that free hand to pull down his boxers. His tip was glistening with precum. “Can you handle it?”

A third finger. 

“Fuck!” you cried, heaving through desperate gasps. “Wanna—wanna cream on your pretty cock.”

And that was enough for him. 

Using his hands to spread open your thighs even wider, he lined up his cock to your entrance, dragging the length of it through your folds. Sometimes, he liked to push inside you slowly.  

But other times, like today, he preferred to slam into you with one, cruel thrust. You sucked him in immediately, walls taut, back arched, and toes curled.  The sudden stretch hurt like a bitch, but somehow that turned you on even more as your pussy spasmed and strained to fit his girthy length. The groan he let out was animal.

A second to catch his breath. A second for your walls to clench helplessly. 

Then, he was fucking you with a rhythm and consistency that could only be described as ruthless. 

“Oh my god,” you gasped. He leaned in, hitting you even deeper—so deep you could feel him in your lungs. “Fuck!”

As he watched you moan and cry beneath him, an idea struck. He fished for your phone, momentarily pausing. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” you huffed, cheeks flushed and eyes cloudy, like you were asking: Why did you stop?

He faced the phone to you as he dialed Jimin’s number with a teasing grin. Horror painted your face as the phone rang, followed by a moment of relief and confusion when he ended the call two seconds after. Jimin hadn’t even picked up yet.

“What was that for?” 

“You’ll see.”

He didn’t give you time to ponder over it further. With your phone in one hand, he continued thrusting again, grunting as he stared at your bouncing tits, the obscene slap of his balls against yours filling the room.

Then the phone started buzzing. Jimin was calling back.

With the most smug look on his face, he pressed the bottom of the phone to your clit.

Your eyes lit up in a mixture of shock, mortification, and ecstasy. 

“You can’t just—“ the phone vibrated against your clit, eliciting a high pitched whimper. “You can’t do this! This is—this is weird.”

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, faltering for just a moment with trembling arms and eyes screwed shut. “Then tell me why you got tighter, huh?” 

He kept going, wincing in pleasure as you pulsed around him, squeezing him tighter as the phone thrummed relentlessly in steady increments against your sensitive nub. With his dick ramming into you, he angled your hips upward so you could get a better view of the lewd sight.

His pace quickened. Your high pitched whimpers echoed alongside the hum of your phone’s vibration. When you dared to open your eyes, he was above you in all of his sweaty, naked glory, looking every bit as desperate as you were.

To top it all off, his free hand came up to grasp your neck, blocking your airway and turning your loud wails into hysterical wheezes. 

“You take me so fucking well,” he hissed, glaring at you from above. “Makes me wanna fucking ruin you.”

 It all was too much and not enough at once. 

Vibrations pressed firmly onto your clit. His cock throbbing against your walls. Hand squeezing your neck. 

And then you orgasmed—violently.  

You couldn’t even begin to describe whatever horridly primal sounds you made, but it was apparently the breaking point for Jungkook, too. Heat bloomed inside of you, spilling out in steady, white bursts as he trembled from above, his pace slowing down with every thrust and groan—leaving you both clammy and gushy.

Panting, he collapsed onto you, bare chest meeting yours. You both took a moment to catch your breath. 

“You’re sweaty,” you finally said. 

His chuckle rumbled against your neck. “You loved that.” 

“Hm,” was your sleepy, half-assed reply.

Eventually he rolled over, planted a quick peck on your cheek, and started getting up to clean. You laid there motionless, still recovering. A few moments later, your phone went off again. 

Four missed calls from Jimin. 

Scrambling to sit up and sound like you were in your right mind, you cleared your throat and answered. 

“Hi.”

“Where are you? Why are you out so late on a Saturday night? Why haven’t you been picking up my calls?” he blared.

“Sorry,” you started, glancing at the door to make sure that Jungkook wouldn’t waltz in yapping about something and risk being heard. “I think I’m gonna stay over at Mei’s place tonight. We just got back from the bar and I’m super tired. I must’ve butt-dialed you accidentally. My phone was on silent so I didn’t realize you were calling.”

Jimin huffed. “You’ve been going out a lot recently. You’re still studying hard, right?”

“Of course.” You bit your lip. 

“Okay,” he finally said. “Are you gonna come home tomorrow or stay at your dorm again?”

“I’ll come home.” You tried to not sound too relieved that he didn’t question you further.

“Alright. Take care.” He sighed. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The line ended. 

Without you realizing, Jungkook had already entered the room, leaning on the doorframe, equipped with towels. “Did he buy it?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, tossing your phone away. “But we can’t do shit like that again.”

He pouted. “Why not?”

Jungkook climbed into bed, handing you a towel. You began to wipe yourself. 

“It’s too…” You struggled to find the right words as you cleaned up your lady parts, wincing when the rough towel grazes your sensitive areas a bit too harshly. 

“Reckless?” Jungkook finished for you. 

“Yes, exactly,” you confirmed. “We can’t act like this all the time.”

Jungkook flung his towel away having cleaned himself, gesturing for you to hand him yours, which he promptly did the same with. All dry now, you quickly found a home in his warm, solid arms. He pulled you closer so that you’d be chest to chest with him.

“Okay, fine,” he finally said, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face. “But what about sometimes? Just here and there, when we know we can pull it off without getting caught?”

You thought about it for a moment, already feeling drowsy.  Closing your eyes, you snuggled into his neck and took a deep whiff of his natural post-sex scent. You managed to say one more thing before drifting off to dreamland for good.

“Maybe.”

masterlist | next | 13.1k

JUNE

june is often the only guaranteed time of the year when you could see your best friend, at least recently. his team consistently made deep playoff runs that extended his nba season farther than the average player and then usually vacationed somewhere tropical right before training camp with whatever pretty model he’s dating at the time. before that, though, jungkook held all of your seasons and time and had done so for the better part of over ten years.

the two of you went from eating lunch by yourselves on the bleachers of your high school football field to sleeping at each other's college dorms and finally, landing jobs in the same city as adults. as most friendships post grad do, your friendship with jungkook sometimes morphs into sparse meetups and birthdays only. it doesn’t help that he was out of the state fifty percent of the week. of course, being his best friend, you both try to put in the effort - thriving in text conversations - but it’s natural that your schedules constantly conflicted. that is precisely why you loved the month of june, when basketball is on a break.

"are you going to bali with her this time? or, is it gonna be somewhere in the pacific?"

jungkook found this nasty dive bar the year that he got drafted to new york - the kind of bar where smoke from the nineties still stuck on the walls. you were both brand new to the city, as you just coincidentally transferred to nyu, and this place was tucked in between other equally gross drinking holes. back in the day, this bar happened to be the one of the only ones that took jungkook’s fake drivers' license and since then, has become your go-to spot.

the man in question winces at your inquiry and instead of answering, calls for the bartender. "hey, frank. can we get two tequila shots over here?"

granted, back then, no one recognized jungkook. when the two of you meet up today, he wears a fairly ordinary outfit of a form-fitting white t-shirt and jeans. a baseball cap nestles the top of his head and he has black tom ford sunglasses to hide his face - you had quipped that the designer shades in the middle of this disgusting bar gave him away immediately. the two of you remain unbothered since sitting down at the end of the bar, but you could feel the double takes and stares every once in a while.

frank, who has been bartending at the bar since you and jungkook first became regulars, nods and grabs a bottle of the brand he already knows that the two of you prefer. every time you come around, he also makes sure that no one even thinks of coming over and intruding, scaring anyone off with a glare before they can even ask jungkook for a picture.

"straight to the tequila?" your eyebrows shoot up. you can tell that jungkook has something to say and truth be told, you may already know what it is. you read him like the back of your hand at this point.

frank slides over two shot glasses filled to the brim with the amber liquid. the two of you thank him and throw the liquor back in one go. when you look back at jungkook, he still remains silent at your question. he just kinda shrugs at you, as he sucks on his lime. some juice drips down his chin and you throw a napkin his way with an eye roll.

a grin spreads on his lips and he mutters a thank you. you still stare at him, waiting.

jungkook clears his throat a little once the initial burn passed. "you see," he says. "mariana and i broke up. two weeks ago, actually."

"jeon jungkook!" you gasped, hand covering your mouth.

you saw it coming, but you still can’t believe it.

truthfully, you’re taken aback at the sudden news, but you’re also not totally surprised. jungkook is a complete lover boy and always has been, unlike some of the dirtbags on his team that had a woman or two for in every city they played in. when he proposed to the girl he'd been seeing for just a little over a year, you were a bit skeptical. mariana seemed like a sweet girl, but certainly enjoyed a lavish lifestyle - at least according to her instagram. you couldn't judge too hard, as you’d only met her a few times, since she lived all the way in los angeles and he would often be the one coming to see her. you just didn't want jungkook to get hurt, but you couldn’t always trust his judgement. you’ve been patting his back and telling him "you’ll get em next time” for years when girls broke his heart time and time again.

evidently, nothing has changed since high school.

he sighs, taking a sip of his water. "it wasn't gonna work out. she and i were just. . .too different." his words were careful, like he was tasting each one on by one.

"koo, you can be honest with me," you respond slowly. "this isn't a press conference."

it’s like he tastes the bitterness of the words on his tongue before he speaks, with the way his facial expression contours.

“well. . .”

you look at him, expectantly.

"she was a gold digger," jungkook lamely admits. "i overheard her on the phone with her friend talking about me and, well, it became this huge thing. then, she wouldn't sign the prenup."

you rub his arm comfortingly. "i'm so sorry, jungook."

even trying to imagine the details hurt. you don’t wanna know the full length because it would just make you upset. you also knew that the last thing jungkook wanted is someone to feel sorry for him.

"this shit always happens to me," he mutters and waves frank over for another drink.

all your life, you've watched girls take advantage of jungkook. you just hoped mariana was the last one. still, this has been happening since the girl who tried baby trapping him right before freshman year. there was even the string of influencers before mariana that just wanted either his clout or his money.

you also order a drink, as you never let your best friend drink alone.

"why didn't you tell me sooner?" you ask.

jungkook runs a hand through his hair. "i was only sure it was over last night." of course he fought for the relationship. he always does. "when she, uh, gave me the ring back."

a dull clank and the ridiculously huge rock drops to the counter in front of you unceremoniously. it’s probably the biggest diamond you'd ever seen in real life. you remember the first time you saw it on jungkook’s then-fiancee's hand and wondered if it was heavy enough to break mariana’s annoying habit of flipping her hair after every sentence.

"fuck her, you deserve better."

and you mean every damn word. you always do. jungkook is a genuinely kind and caring person. he’s loyal, attentive, and frankly, was rich and handsome. you weren't stupid or blind, just uninterested.

"you also deserve better," jungkook grunts, waving over a second round of shots. you don’t try to intervene - you knew he was having a rough night and certainly needed it.

still, you don’t the hide the grimace forming on your face. "gee, thanks."

“what?”

you snort. “this was about you. why the fuck do i have to catch a stray?”

this at least makes jungkook chuckle a little and you’re fine with that, even if it’s at your expense.

"no, seriously. i know i'm making it all about me right now, but i'm sorry you got stood up."

you made a noise of protest, half burying your face in your hand. you were hoping to avoid even talking about it. it’s already more than a little embarrassing to show up to the hangout with what was supposed to be the ‘seduce-the-date’ outfit and you didn’t miss jungkook’s raised eyebrows when he noticed the low cut of your shirt and the way your skirt barely hid your ass.

when jungkook asked you to grab a drink with him over text yesterday, you indicated that it would have to be later in the night because you had a date and deflected the teasing by clarifying that it was a random tinder match. nothing serious - jungkook knows you don’t do that stuff.

of course, when your date never came and you asked jungkook to meet up several hours early, he figured it out instantly.

you shake your head. "it's fine. i'm happy to even make it onto jeon jungkook’s crazy schedule," you reply wryly. "or, i guess i'll be seeing you more if you won't be on your usual romantic beach side getaway this summer."

jungkook flips you off, but can't hide another laugh escaping his lips. you always lighten the mood like that and he never fails to appreciate it after all these years. for whatever reason, he still thinks you’re the funniest person alive.

"see? this is why i keep you around," he teases, dodging a halfhearted smack that you send his way.

in a way, you knew it was true. "everyone else would pity you. you need someone to tell you that it's time to grow some balls," you fire back. "seriously, koo. fuck her. you never needed her."

you don’t dare give jungkook some sort of baby treatment. he’s a grown ass man and he knows that. you never pull punches with him, not back in high school when he didn't get scouted by his first pick school or even two years ago, when you told him off for not calling his mom enough. it’s anything from the little things to the bigger problems, but you are always there to just be real with him in a way no one else would.

jungkook sighs again and lifts his next shot glass to his lips. "i know," he says dumbly. "just thought it'd be different this time. got down on a knee and everything."

he really did care, though. the two of them hadn't been engaged long and jungkook’s last year had been far too busy to host the wedding, but he'd been so eager to talk about it whenever you were able to catch him for a chat. he wanted to have it in the hometown that you both grew up in and bounced off venue ideas as recently as a month ago.

"the right woman will come at the right time," you assure and mirror his movements, knocking back your second shot of tequila. this one goes down smoother than the first and you’re glad it does because you know this wouldn't be the last of the night, with the way jungkook is pacing himself.

it's been a long week for jungkook, you can tell. getting eliminated in the league eastern conference finals last month is one thing, but to have his engagement fall apart not long after is the cherry on top. you’re more than happy to listen to him drone about his sorrows.

“i think i’m over it. for real, this time.”

you pause your movements, lime in your mouth when you do so and it prevents you from blurting anything inappropriate aloud. you try to be supportive with jungkook when it comes to his love life, but he tends to be a little dramatic.

“how so?” you decide to bite, setting the wedge back into your now empty shot glass.

jungkook sighs. “i’m done. done with dating and love.”

this makes you chuckle and you can’t help it. of course, you think jungkook is joking, but you look up and catch the solemn look in his eye.

“you just need a break from it,” you say. “just take a step back and enjoy your life for what it’s worth. you have your dream job and more money than you’ll ever need - lots to be distracted by.”

he says your name. “i’m serious. i think i’m done,” jungkook repeats.

“i'm sure.”

“well, you definitely don’t have a hard time with it. you don’t date.”

you make an unconvinced noise. it’s different for you. you’re just two years out of school, having spent a lifetime working towards your current job as a chiropractor. it’s not like you’ve had the time to even consider anything serious with anyone since midway through your undergraduate degree. you don’t even know if you wanted to do the whole get married and have kids thing. you wanted to run your own clinic, that’s what you know.

“because i have a boring life with boring goals that don’t have room for getting to know a man,” you finally reply, arms folded across your chest.

jungkook rolls his eyes. “doesn’t matter. you still make it work, why can’t i?”

“we’re different people,” you say.

a third round of shots slides your way from frank, along with your cocktails. you didn’t even realize how fast the two of you have been drinking for your cocktails to only come now. jungkook grabs his long island iced tea and you take the first sip of your mango daiquiri.

sugary. strong. tastes like a hangover.

not like it matters. you don’t get opportunities to go out and drink like this often - plus, jungkook obviously needed it. tomorrow is saturday and you get to stay home all day long, beating the heat wave projected to hit new york city tomorrow. it’s one of the reasons why he suggested enjoying tonight as much as possible, when the next day looks to be one where no one should even bother stepping outside.

june always guaranteed those two things: jungkook and the relentless sun.

in a way, it feels like you’ve been trailing after jungkook your entire life. the two of you met in chemistry class in high school and became lab partners. since then, you haven’t left each other’s sides. you both even ended up at duke university after graduating, where jungkook led the basketball team to a national title as a freshman. he became a guaranteed top three pick in the nba draft and went to the new york titans. somehow, someway, you also ended up in new york city after transferring to your dream school - nyu.

it’s an evergreen orbit that you and jungkook exist in, circling in the same atmosphere according to destiny. there should have been many instances where the two of you get torn apart, but have yet to pull away from each other. jungkook hasn’t been traded since joining the titans. you found a job in new york after you passed your chiropractor board exams.

you’ve never considered the idea that jungkook may be trailing after you.

he’s never let go of you. you’re the last person that knew him from the before, even before he knew he wanted to play basketball for the rest of his life. he hasn’t let go and doesn’t know if he can - both figuratively and in this particular moment, physically.

jungkook wakes up to the warm glow of sunlight through his balcony door. it’s not often he doesn’t wake up to a blaring alarm. his life is a comfortable fixed schedule of things that requires him to be up at early hours. gym, practice, games, meetings, interviews, and flights.

it’s also not often that he wakes up with a throbbing headache.

he shifts to rub his temples until he realizes that there’s something on top of him.

jungkook recognizes your scent immediately. vanilla, jasmine and something sharp. it pierces his mind so suddenly that all the memories of last night hit his consciousness immediately.

your legs tightly wrapped around his waist. the taste of you on his tongue. the melodic noises from your lips, filling his room until jungkook couldn’t hear anything else.

he even remembers the promise shared between the two of you, before lines were crossed. the only thing he doesn’t recognize is the ache in his chest, unsure of what it is.

now, he doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that it’s your warm body attached to his - so close that it’s impossible to tell where you begin and he ends.

while he’s not shocked, jungkook doesn’t move either. he’s frozen in place and doesn’t dare open his eyes because when he does, that makes everything real. too real.

questions can come later. jungkook instead buries his face into your hair and secures his grip. you don’t pull away in your sleep, only stirring slightly. the weight of your body calmly melts into his, like it’s normal.

because for a minute, he just wants to exist in the orbit with you.

frank doesn’t say anything when the two of you bid him goodbye and he notices jungkook's hand on your hip. it’s subtle, but the man has watched you both for years and has never seen such a thing. his lips curve into an easy smile as jungkook leads you out the door of the bar, like this is something that he’s been waiting on since the two of you first walked into his bar.

there’s a buzz in the air throughout the short uber ride back to jungkook’s condo. the chatter of conversation fills the air, as you and jungkook debate about video games and existentialism. separately, of course. you’re both drunk enough, but jungkook has invited you back to his for even more drinks and you don’t say no.

between a fit of laughter over jungkook’s animated rant on the nintendo switch, you catch his eyes drifting a little too down south. you think you’re mistaken, but his look lingers and you can’t believe it.

“jungkook, are you staring at my tits?”

considering that you first expected your night to begin with a tinder date, you chose your outfit carefully. the top you threw on is a leopard print halter top with an open front and a gold clasp in the middle - not exactly leaving much to the imagination. even the tiny denim skirt isn’t exactly what jungkook is used to seeing you it, at least when you hang out with him.

jungkook’s movements are slower with the liquor in his body, so he doesn’t even bother denying it. “yeah,” he says simply.

you smack his arm without hesitation. “god, all you men are the same.”

“ow - what? it’s not like you’re an ugly hag or something,” jungkook retorts and the statement doesn’t fly past your head.

he’s not wrong and you know that. still, you’ve always assumed that it’s the same case for jungkook as it is for you. not stupid nor blind, but simply uninterested. this shared mindset is what makes your friendship work as an attractive man and an attractive woman. everyone around the two of you has questioned it at least once - if you and jungkook ever saw each other in that way.

the answer has always remained the same. the two of you are friends and anything else has never been on the table simply because it’s never come to mind.

so, you brush off his staring.

soon, you’re standing in front of jungkook’s front door, watching in silent amusement as he fumbles to open the door.

“you do know that you live here, right?” you quip dryly and it earns you a glare from your best friend.

it seems like forever ago when you made your first visit here. you were the very first person that saw jungkook’s new condo, purchased once he signed his rookie contract with the titans. the building itself left you breathless and that was before you even stepped foot inside. it’s a five bedroom behemoth of all marble with a wrap around balcony and high ceilings, easily worth a number that you probably couldn’t even dream of. after all these years, it’s still strange to see jungkook, the annoying boy you ate lunch with everyday in high school, with this much wealth. there were well off people where you came from and then there’s people like him, who have a boundless amount of money. it never changed jungkook, he’s never been that kind of person, but you often forget how different your lives are now.

there are a lot of memories in this place. you can remember every lavish party that jungkook has thrown over the years, where dozens of guests filled the surroundings to the brim. you also remember the quiet nights where it’s just you two, watching movies and eating dinner. quiet nights, like tonight.

you kick off your heels once he gets the door open, as does jungkook before he makes a beeline for his mini bar.

“if you wanna smoke, there’s some prerolls in my room,” he calls out, amidst the clinking of bottles and glasses.

knowing jungkook, that isn’t a suggestion - especially with the way the night has gone. poor guy probably needs it. you’re not necessarily opposed to the idea anyways, so you make your way into his bedroom, squinting because he keeps his condo so damn dark. the walls are dark and his lights are dim, as if he lives in some sort of dungeon.

you flick his lights on and as usual, his bedroom is a mess. jungkook has a habit of just throwing things everywhere and has always been this way since you guys were teenagers.

muttering to yourself, you shake your head. “at least he keeps the rest of his apartment clean.”

it doesn’t take you long to find the pack, sitting on top of his bedside table. by the time you do so, jungkook’s footsteps approach and he appears at the door with two glasses with ice and a whole unopened bottle of whiskey. normally, you would object to mixing liquors and claim that you’re too damn old for that shit, but tonight could be an exception. jungkook is mostly cheered up compared to when you first sat down with him at the beginning of the night, but a little more fun couldn’t hurt.

surely not.

“balcony?” you both say at the same time and both let out a tipsy giggle.

you have to lead the way because jungkook’s hands are full, but not before popping into his walk-in closet and snatching the first hoodie that you see. it may be june, but it’s still nearly one in the morning.

“don’t spill your drink on that sweater, that’s one of my favourites,” jungkook warns and follows you to the sliding door connected to the balcony from his bedroom.

as a new york city transplant, you’re still in awe of the skyline every time you see it - especially from as high up as where jungkook lives. the lights spread out across you endlessly, rolling out before you in dots and streaks and flashes for what seems like a thousand miles. you didn’t think it was possible for the sky to be so bright in the middle of the night until you moved to the city. you and jungkook used to count stars on his mom’s roof and that used to be the brightest sky you’ve ever seen.

even at this hour, the city is alive with noise. from the floor you’re situated on, you can only make out faint noises of cars of the street, but there’s still a hum in the air that never quite goes away.

“careful,” you remind jungkook, opening the door for him to step through.

he thanks you with a lazy grin. “i really doubt you’re gonna get cold, but there’s a blanket on the smoking couch if you need it.”

the smoking couch is a self-explanatory piece of furniture that jungkook actually got from you. even at his big age and salary, he asked for your couch a few years ago when you mentioned offhand that you were getting rid of it for a new one. jungkook complained it would be a waste of a perfectly good couch, but you had a feeling that he was too attached to the memories of it and how he would nap on it every time he visited your shoebox apartment.

its patchwork green and brown fabric doesn’t match any of jungkook’s other furniture, all of which are on the more modern and minimalistic side and worth several times the price, considering you found it for fifty bucks on facebook marketplace a few years ago. he has it out on his balcony with some plants and a little table for an ashtray. you plop right on the couch, tucking your feet underneath your knees and you do grab the blanket, but only to cover your lap and the tiny ass skirt you had on.

jungkook sits next to you and pours your drinks. “at least now that mariana’s gone, i don’t have to throw away this couch,” he muses, still trying to deflect the pain away. “she always said it was ugly.”

you laugh. “that’s becuase it is ugly.”

he flips you off and the two of you fall into conversation again, while sipping on your whiskey on the rocks. it’s easier to rant than earlier and the alcohol goes down smoother, too. jungkook continues talking about mariana and the faults in their relationship, while you patiently listen and give your two cents only when asked.

“then go find a pretty girl to sleep with,” you scoff when jungkook starts complaining about being lonely already. “you say you don’t wanna date, fine. i’m sure you’ll find a willing and able body to spend a night with you. you nba players have a reputation for a reason.”

jungkook rolls his eyes, pinching your leg at the comment. you squeal and slap his hand away. at this point in the night, it ends up being him who gets cold and demands for you to share the blanket with him. the summer heat has certainly died down in the night time and although it isn’t chilly, there is a slight wind. you begrudgingly scoot closer and do so instead of handing it to him because there’s no way you could take it off your lap.

“pft, you make it sound so easy,” he remarks.

you give him a look. “you’re jeon jungkook,” you deadpan, wondering if he has lost his mind. “i haven’t gotten laid in literal months, but if i was a rich and famous basketball player -”

“woah,” jungkook begins to laugh and holds his hand up. “months? you’re joking, right?”

“i’m glad my suffering is giving you a good laugh tonight,” you shoot back.

you find the forgotten prerolls and take one out, placing it in between in your lips to search for a lighter in between the couch cushions. jungkook digs into his pockets and pulls out one for you, clicking it and bringing it to your lips. he leans in when he does so and you can smell his woodsy cologne, mixed with the liquor on his breath.

“just surprised, that’s all.”

the tip burns amber and you inhale deeply, letting the weed travel into your head space. you open your eyes and clouds curl around your heads, as you pass the joint over to jungkook. as courtesy, you unzip the sweater you stole from him and fling it to the side, so it doesn’t end up smelling dank. the sharp air hits your chest and you’re feeling a little exposed, but you just let it be. you open your eyes and clouds curl around your heads, as you pass the joint over to jungkook.

you snort. “can’t imagine what it’s like?”

“no,” jungkook admits with a laugh, bringing the joint to lips. “don’t you, you know. . .get frustrated?”

too much information doesn’t really exist with jungkook to a certain extent. you don’t talk about things insanely detailed, but you’re adults about topics like sex. it’s not in your nature to give information to jungkook about anything beyond what you wouldn’t tell a female friend anyways.

you just sigh dramatically, tilting your head back to look at the sky. “yeah. why do you think i was disappointed after my date cancelled?” you snap. you normally wouldn't have gone for a dating app to fulfill your needs, but the drought was getting desperate.

“damn,” jungkook whistles and shakes his head in the same disbelief.

“tell me about it.”

“well, what do you wanna do about it?”

it’s an innocent question at first. but, the air feels strange around you. the liquor burns hot underneath your skin and smoke warms your cheeks, the silver of it dancing around you in a haze. you feel light from everything swirling in your body, but the atmosphere is heavy. jungkook’s heavy lidded glance is casual at first, but it's like there's something’s he’s holding back.

you know where you are before you open your eyes. metal tickles your belly and it's jungkook’s rings, as one hand splays across your torso and the other arm tightly wrapped around your waist. you can hear a low hum coming from the living room, likely his housekeeper vacuuming. his balcony door is left slightly ajar and the morning traffic fills your ears.

his balcony. last night. you left it open, last night.

the realization is slow and ludicrous, as if you're in a cartoon. you even comically open a single eye to confirm your suspicions and that you aren't imagining things.

you’re in jungkook’s bed.

he’s pressed up behind you and when you finally make a movement, you notice that you’re naked under his sheets.

the third realization is actually the realization of everything that occurred last night. most of it comes back to you, at least the important parts. some of the fragmented moments are lost with whatever liquor you downed. but, his words echo in your head - the promise made between the two of you. it plays back in your head on repeat like a sick jokes and the wicked headache throbbing in your ears doesn’t help. you knew you’d be hungover today, but this isn’t how you expected to wake up.

you shift slightly and your heart drops when you feel the rumble of jungkook’s chest, as he groans when you move.

by this point, you’re pretty much in shock. you’ve accepted the fact that you are definitely naked in your best friend’s bed and that there’s a certain ache in parts of your body that you can’t ignore. not like you could deny anything because, unlike the movies, you remember how this came to be. you just don’t know what to think.

“don’t run.” jungkook’s muffled voice mutters lowly, his face pressed into your hair.

jungkook thinks for you with these words and he’s right. you wanted to run. this insane and that’s the only option here. in that very moment, you’re sure that over a decade of friendship just went down the drain because neither of your desperate asses could keep their hands to yourselves. still, he doesn’t let you go and even pulls you closer against his back.

“jungkook -”

“ - it’s fine.” he yawns lazily. “we’re cool. chill out and stop moving.”

you still. your mouth opens, trying to find the words to reply, but you then hear a low snore. bastard. it seems like jungkook wasn’t even looking for a reply. he just wanted to go back to sleep.

when you experimentally try to peel his arm off, he bristles in his sleep and tightens his grip again.

there’s no escaping. you let out a huff. maybe he has a point. even if you try to leave, it doesn’t change anything. he said you guys are cool. you figure that means he isn’t making big deal out of things and you shouldn’t either.

jungkook said the exact same thing last night. all of the lingering questions in your mind deplete at that and you have no choice but to sink into his embrace, at least for the time being. your head pounds, but the lull of sleep begins to circle you again. his arms are too comfortable and the scent of his fresh sheets calm you down.

a part of you wouldn’t admit it, but you’re okay with that. for now. if what you agreed on last night remains true, then this is. . . okay. there shouldn’t be any questions that follow. you ignore the unknown sinking feeling in your stomach and close your eyes.

jungkook nudges for you to turn around and you do, without even thinking twice. he pulls your into his chest and your head rests in the crook just underneath his chin. you breathe in deeply and you let sleep take over again.

the blanket leaves your lap when you crawl on top of jungkook, straddling him. it comes without thinking twice after the two of you looked at each other dead in the eye, saying this should be fine. you place your hands on his chest to steady yourself against the buzz of liquor in your muscles.

he chuckles at your clumsiness, but he grips your hips to keep you in place.

“it’s just one time, right? everything goes back to normal after?” you repeat for maybe the third time, needing the assurance in this unbelievable situation. you didn’t even consider this as an option and yet, you’re sitting on jungkook’s lap.

you think it’s the alcohol, but you’re not nervous. he isn’t either. for you, you still don’t think that this is real. but, when you look up at jungkook, he’s calm and moving easily. he has an air of confidence that you’ve never seen up close, only from the wall during college frat parties when a classmate would pull him to the side to flirt with him. you’ve also seen it during interviews, when he plays up his personality for the fans. it’s attractive and it’s not a debate.

jungkook nods, eyes drifting to the way your legs are parted above him. “everything goes back to normal. one time.” his hands slowly graze lower, to the hem of your denim skirt. “nothing serious. just stress.”

that’s what this is. you’re both stressed out and this is an outlet for you let it all out. there’s no other reason for the uncomfortable wetness in between your legs. your breath hitches when his fingers trail further down, until he palms the flesh just underneath your ass.

“okay.”

“you sure this is okay?” he has to ask again, too, just like you. his eyes burn into yours, searching for any doubt.

you don’t verbally answer. something comes over you and instead, you experimentally lower yourself into his lap - enough for you to finally feel the hardness bulging out of his jeans. with a roll of your hips, jungkook hisses and your mouth hangs open. the message is clear and both of you are too deep in to take any steps back.

jungkook brings his lips to yours and kisses you slowly, like he’s savouring the taste of you on his mouth.

he’s a good kisser. a great one even.

he sucks on your tongue and you feel your heart stutter. you make him hear it, too, when you whine at his boldness. your grab his chest more firmly now, feeling the hard planes of muscle underneath his shirt.

you kiss him back with vigour and he also responds with a tighter grip of his hands, now on the curve of your ass. he squeezes a generous handful, earning another rock of your hips. you move without even thinking, grinding down into his clothed erection.

jungkook pulls back, only to reattach his mouth to the column of your throat. you think you’re floating.

“fuck -” you sigh, feeling your skin tingle with each nip and kiss jungkook brings to your skin. it’s intoxicating, the way he feels.

he moves like he knows what he wants. now that he has your permission, he can do it. you bite your lip when you see jungkook undoing the clasp at the front of your shirt. when your tits come free from your top, he pauses for just half a second and hopes that the groan he involuntarily makes isn’t as desperate as he thinks it sounds. you don’t even know that you’re aching for it until he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, flicking his tongue skillfully against the bud.

you tangle your fingers in his hair as he draws circles against your nipple, grinding up to meet the rhythm of your rolling hips. jungkook decides he’s had enough and releases your tits with an obscene popping sound to suddenly stand up with you in his arms.

jungkook doesn’t struggle a single bit to carry you back into his bedroom, abandoning everything on his balcony. he hungrily captures your lips again when he does so, effortlessly leading the way without letting go. he kicks the sliding door open back into his room and steps carefully back inside.

a gasp leaves your mouth when he practically throws you onto his bed.

your eyes are smoldering, watching jungkook yank his shirt off. you’ve seen him shirtless many times throughout the years, but it feels different tonight. your gaze trails down and memorizes every curve and vein and muscle lined with ink. you also fully take your top off, chucking it to his floor, and he climbs onto the bed - looking like a predator stalking his prey.

he finds your lips again as he shoves his hand up your skirt, making a strangled noise when he finds your panties completely soaked. it’s almost embarrassing how wet you are for jungkook. you whine and he moves the lace to the side, slowly dragging a single finger along the outside of your folds - just enough for you feel, but not enough to be where you really want him. your hips jerk slightly and you pull away from the kiss to fumble with the zipper of his jeans.

“off,” you pant, feeling dizzy as though your breath has been physically knocked out of you.

jungkook only stops teasing you to kick off his jeans and when he turns back to you, your mouth goes dry at the sight of how big the bulge in his boxers is. you don’t have a moment to react further because jungkook pushes your legs further apart and presses soft kisses up your thigh. he sees the arousal in between your thighs and he knows what he wants. what he needs.

he looks up at you with darkened lips, wet with saliva. “gonna eat you out now,” jungkook rasped and his directness alone almost draws a moan out of you. “tell me if i do anything you don’t like.”

you nod rapidly. his mouth finally approaches your core and you can feel your knees buckling from just the ghost of his breath. jungkook licks a languid stripe up your pussy and through the lace fabric of your panties, burying his nose into it. you cry out, fisting a handful of his hair again and he enjoys it, groaning your name when you do so.

he finally hooks his thumbs underneath and drags your panties down your legs. you begin to reach for the zipper of your skirt when his hand shoots out.

“no. keep the skirt on, it’s hot.”

you bite your lip, clenching around nothing from his words alone.

jungkook’s mouth connects with your body again, noisily letting you know how much he’s enjoying it. your back arches off the mattress with each lick and suck, as he focuses on your puffy clit and the sinful noises that it draws out of you.

a single digit eases its way past your walls and you’re so wet that there’s little resistance. he curls the fingers once and you whimper, desperately needing more.

“please,” is all you can babble, mouth hung open.

he listens well, slipping a second finger inside and moans when he does, like he can’t get enough of you. the two fingers plunge deep and his thumb circles your clit with precision, palm slapping wet against your cunt.

he growls against your thighs , mostly to himself. “fucking hell, this pussy is so noisy for me -” and returns his mouth back to your clit, wrapping his lips around it.

jungkook adds a third finger and the sweet stretch is all you need to finally see stars. it comes all at once, dizzying and hot, taking over your vision and all you can do is pull jungkook closer by the hair. you cum on his mouth, swearing incoherently, and he doesn’t let up - pumping his fingers into your greedy hole and swirling his tongue around your clit until you’re too sensitive to take more.

you’re given a moment to catch your breath, chest heaving because you don’t remember the last time you came so hard. jungkook is caught off guard when you yank him in for another kiss, palming his clothed cock when you do so. you taste yourself on his tongue and he moans into your mouth, the vibration deep, not letting up when you finally slip your hand under the waistband of his boxers.

jungkook is big. you could already tell by the imprint of his erection, but feeling him is another story. he makes quick work of the remaining clothing on his body, as do you - clothes haphazardly thrown across his bedroom.

you try to sit up onto your knees, stroking his thick cock, when he stops you.

“no, no,” he chuckles darkly, pinning you back down by the hips. you give him a look and jungkook shakes his head. “i won’t last if you do anything.”

he spreads your legs and you almost miss it, but he pauses for half a second to admire how pretty you look. jungkook brings two fingers to your lips and you open them without having being told to so do. you wrap your lips around the fingers, sucking gently, and it elicits a deep exhale from jungkook.

his fingers ease into your pussy again, sinking into the wet heat and your thighs tremble. you sigh, as you anticipate jungkook’s next move. you’re visibly a bit nervous - it’s been a while since you’ve been with anybody and he’s impressive. you could tell that it’s going to be a slow adjustment.

jungkook notices and kisses your forehead, as if to reassure you. it’s sweet - a little too sweet for the moment and the circumstances - but, it still relaxes you.

“i need you inside me. now.”

he groans at your words and doesn’t hold back any more. lining himself up with your entrance, your eyes nearly roll back to the back of your head from just the tip dragging inside your walls. he’s teasing you purpose, barely getting the tip wet and so, you dig your nails into his back.

“fuck, okay,” jungkook chuckles darkly and pushes in, the stretch more than what you’re used to. “you still whining?”

you don’t have it in you to curse at him because of the way his thick length is burying inside your pussy. your clenching walls have dissolved whatever teasing jungkook has left in him because he’s now a moaning mess.

“god, you feel so good,” he breathes, trying to will himself to still and prevent himself from losing control.

“more,” you choked with big eyes, as you adjust to his length.

he can’t deny you for long. jungkook finally bottoms out and your back arches off the mattress at the feeling of being so full.

he fucks into you, abs contracting with each rough thrust, and you love every second it. you make it known that you don’t want him to hold back, whispering dirty pleads into his ear.

the pace he sets is brutal - like he’s starving. his hips snap ruthlessly, as he watches the way your tits bounce with every thrust. the way he’s completely and utterly pussy drunk is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life, watching the way his face morphs into complete bliss at the way your slick covers his length every time it disappears into your cunt. he brings a thumb to your clit and you mewl desperately, feeling a knot build in your stomach.

jungkook leans down, dipping his tongue to your collarbone and up to your ear. “you’re taking me so well,” he grunts and the praise goes right to your head.

“fuck - i’m gonna -” you cry out, as the pressure builds and you know you’re close.

you’re taken aback when jungkook grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“don’t close them. i wanna watch you while you cum on my cock.”

nearly screaming, you reach your second climax with jungkook gripping your face. his eyebrows furrow and his jaw clenches as he chases his own release, his eyes never leaving yours. your vision is white hot and you see double for a few moments, arching off the bed again. the way your walls flutter around his cock sends him over the edge.

his mouth falls open and with a shudder of your name, coats your insides with his release. you wrap your legs around him when he does, feeling every twitch and pulse of his heavy cock, completely filling you up.

“shit,” jungkook pants into your neck, still buried deep inside you.

you whimpers when finally pulls out slightly a few moments later, when you both catch your breath. jungkook looks down and hisses at not just near the loss of contact, but the way his sticky seeds spills out of your entrance before he’s fully out.

the noise that comes out of your mouth seems to be one of protest. he isn’t far off either, as he grows half hard again inside you at the sight of the mess he’s made in your pussy.

neither of you have to say anything. instead, jungkook flips you over so that you’re now on top.

“think you have the enegy to go again?” you tease, hands steadying yourself by placing your palms flat on his muscular chest.

you don’t know what comes over you. you’re needy, hot, and you know you could go for hours. the smirk on jungkook’s face mirrors yours and you can tell he’s thinking the same thing. he doesn’t answer, only lands a harsh smack to your ass. it elicits a moan out of you and unconsciously, you sink all the way down on his cock again.

you and jungkook don’t break promises. vows are sacred in your friendship and always have been. he remained your prom date even after several girls chased a 'yes’ out of him during your senior year of high school. you never missed any of his games in college, even the exhibition bouts and away face offs miles away from campus. the two of you never lied to each other nor missed any milestones. you remember when he rushed back to new york after a six game road trip in the west coast, exhausted and sleep deprived, just to make your graduation ceremony.

we’re cool.

that’s how you end up eating scrambled eggs at jungkook’s island counter, while he sips on coffee and finishes cooking the last of his gross sausage-slash-cottage cheese situation. you wear one of his oversized t-shirts and shorts that go up to below your knees, half paying attention to the show playing on your phone.

it isn’t awkward, but the air feels slightly charged. maybe it’s just in your imagination because he whistles happily as he moves his breakfast around in the frying pan. he doesn’t usually make his breakfast, preferring meal prep, but today is an exception to a lot of things . . .like sleeping with his best friend.

still, the promise from last night remains and the two of you carry on as best as you can without making things weird. you try to push any thoughts away to uphold his promise alone, pretending like it’s any other morning. you’ve even fallen asleep in his bed with him a few times before in the past - long ago, before mariana, at least - so, you try and make it seem like one of those nights.

it’s a slow paced morning since peeling away from jungkook’s body when you woke up - until he gets a call.

“what’s up, garbanzo?”

garbanzo is the ridiculous nickname that jungkook’s agent goes by and to this day, you seriously can’t recall that man’s government name. jungkook answers the call on speaker since he’s cooking and you tune out most of the conversation, until you pick up some discussion about the olympics.

that’s why you love the month of june. you get jungkook all to yourself no matter what and even though he may not have a tropical getaway in sight with his now ex-fiancee, he still has an obligatory trip to paris to make. team usa needs him badly and he’s been itching for a gold medal since the start of his career. he really only has these few weeks to relax until he has to step up.

garbanzo runs jungkook through his schedule prior to the start of the olympics and it sounds jam-packed.

“we’ll need you in vegas for the 29th to check in before training camp,” he says and you notice jungkook sigh. “then, we only got a few days of practice before the exhibition showcase stretch and the last of prep - get you used to fiba rules and letting coach run through all the lineups and systems. the team is expected in paris on the 24th. any questions?”

jungkook stops cooking at some point to search for a pen and paper. you’ve already walked over from the living room and you slide his notebook over. his scatter brain never remembers anything unless writing it down. he gives a lopsided grin when you do so and mouths a ‘thank you’ while holding the phone in between his cheek and shoulder.

that’s his life for you. it’s like he’s a machine and he still somehow has time to pour into his personal relationships, like trying to figure out his love life and making time to see you, his best friend.

when jungkook hangs up, much of the earlier tension lingering from what you and he did last night has dissipated. he’s too visibly stressed out to even be thinking about that stuff and so, you also push it away.

“you’re leaving soon,” you say, sipping of the glass of orange juice that he poured for you earlier.

“i am,” jungkook replies, shoulders sagging. “not like i wasn’t expecting it - i signed up for the damn thing. it just feels like i’ve barely gotten any time off.”

the emergence of small talk is enough to let any of your nagging thoughts about last night vanish.

you nod in understanding. you know that he still needs to go home and visit his parents before training camp. a part of you wanted to come with, at least to see your own family, but you just have too much going on at the clinic with one of your coworkers away on vacation.

"bring me a nice souvenir back from france, okay?”

“what, like a chanel bag? their paris boutiques are the best.”

rolling your eyes, you reply, “i was thinking of something more like an eiffel tower figurine.” your tone is dry and unamused. the difference in wealth between you and jungkook has always taken a backseat to your friendship, but it’s moments like this when you remember. it’s not strange at this point in your life, but you still get taken aback by how casual jungkook can be about it. you don’t blame him, though, as you’re sure that he’s just used to spoiling his parents and his little girlfriends in the past.

he just chuckles a bit. “okay, okay, fine. wish you would be able to make a game, though.”

to this day, you really do try to make all of jungkook’s games. he’s gifted you season tickets at madison square garden and when you can, you travel for many of his playoff games. whenever his parents are able to make it to an important away game, it’s likely that you’re seated right next to them. you’ve confused broadcasters and have been called his relative a few times due to the frequency of your appearances, despite the fact that you and jungkook look absolutely nothing alike. going to paris, though? not only out of budget - you refuse his offers to fly you out to a totally different continent, which is much different than him getting you a hotel room out of state - but, again. work. it’s taken over your life.

“i’ll be cheering you on from my shoebox,” you say, shaking your head.

jungkook doesn’t know it now, but this is the last time he can catch you before he heads off to training camp. he promises to you that everything is fine and normal that morning, but nothing is fine and normal in his head after. the memories of the night you shared swarms his head, stuck there like a square peg in a round hole. the next month and a half are agonizing and it has nothing to do with his trip to the olympics.

he doesn’t understand why. he’s slept with women casually on countless of one night stand occasions in the past and forgets their names right after. he’s made promises with you since the beginning of your friendship that he’s never broken.

yet, jungkook can’t forget you and struggles to keep the promise he made to you. that everything will go back to normal afterwards.

you seem to fare well enough. you continue to call and text him throughout his stay in vegas and his journey to paris for the games, no matter how overworked you are with everything else going on in your life. you keep the promise well enough, at least in jungkook’s eyes.

when he finally comes to a realization, the texts and calls from you stop.

you go almost radio silent by the first week of august and jungkook nearly misses it because of the hectic schedule of the olympic games. jungkook’s mind is set on the tournament and pushes the conversation he wants to have with you to when he returns to new york. team usa fights through the quarterfinals and semifinals in the span of two days and the only contact he receives from you is a bland congratulation after each bout. no calls, no memes, no everyday small talk.

he only recognizes the drop in communication from you after team usa captures the gold medal. you send him another congratulations text and when he reads through your text thread, jungkook notices that you have said nothing else but that and immediately sees that something is wrong.

then, his fears kick in again. he just can’t lose you, too. jungkook pushes away the nagging realization to the bottom of his heart and tracks you down because you’re his best friend. nothing else.

JULY

it’s hard to avoid jungkook when you live in the same city, even if it’s as big and bustling as new york. you’ve never had to avoid jungkook in the past, so you grow nervous when the olympic games come to a close and athletes return back to their home countries. you don’t know how much longer you can dodge his increasing calls and texts, which start off casual. jungkook double, triple texts you on multiple occasions. he asks how you’ve been, if everything is alright, and repeatedly tries to make plans with you. there’s about a month or so until nba training camp starts and the titans need jungkook back in their facilities, so he’s trying his best to catch you before then.

still, you try your absolute best to ghost him - at least until you can figure your shit out.

once jungkook left in june, you did your best to maintain your usual friendship, even after what happened. it’s easy to not think too much about it when the man in question was missing for the majority of the summer and you figure that, by the time he comes back from paris, it’ll all just be a faint memory.

your plan goes swimmingly well, until you find yourself heaving in front of a toilet every morning come late july.

“are you. . .seeing anyone?”

around this time, your older sister, layla, comes to new york for a visit. she lives and works upstate, so she tries her best to see you as often as possible. it doesn’t take long for you to make a run for your bathroom after letting her in through your door.

it’s impossible to hide, especially in your little studio apartment - you’ve refused to even think about having another sloppy roommate since getting your job, so you settle for the tiny unit. you make her some coffee, as you go over your plans to grab food with her, until you feel a familiar queasiness in your stomach. it’s the fourth day in a row where you’ve vomited violently into your toilet, but you couldn’t cancel your sister date because of some stupid stomach bug.

“what?” you ask hazily, hunched over on your bathroom floor. you’ve been so fatigued lately and any sudden movements, like running to make it to the toilet, leave you feeling lightheaded.

she follows you into your bathroom, privacy be damned when you run off in the middle of a conversation and the sounds of your vomiting become too loud to ignore.

layla raises an eyebrow at you. “you heard me.”

it’s another hot summer day and the denim of your jean shorts dig into your waist, making you even more uncomfortable. you adjust your tank top over your stomach.

“no. i’m not,” you reply, still confused at the question, and change the topic. “can you please grab me some pepto bismol? it’s in my medicine cabinet -”

“pepto bismol?” layla interrupts with a laugh. “why would you need that?”

“for my stomach bug?” you say, feeling irritated at the way she’s laughing at you.

layla is older than you by eight years and has lived by the whole older-sister-knows-best mantra since you were babies. the age gap was a pain growing up because she never hesitated to boss you around, but as you’ve grown older, it’s evolved into more worldly advice and looking out for you. she’s the glamorous first born daughter, who’s put together and has worn the same shade of red lipstick since she was a teenager. you’ve always silently understood that she does, in fact, know best - at least until now.

she crouches down next to you, smoothing out your hair and tying it back with the extra scrunchie that she always keeps on her wrist. “babe, you do not have a stomach bug,” layla urges.

“what?”

“how long have you been throwing up in the morning?” she asks.

in that moment, you realize what layla is alluding to. it hits you like a truck, but you still try your best to stave it away with the best of your defenses.

you falter slightly. “a few days.”

layla helps you to your feet, hooking her arms under yours and bringing you up with brute force. she puts the toilet seat down for you to sit on, as she leans against your bathroom sink. the room feels cold, in spite of the blazing heat spreading throughout new york city. your fluorescent lights seem to sting your eyes all of a sudden.

“when was your last period?” the question comes hesitantly when she sees the expression tugging at your face, looking scared and unsure.

in the span of five seconds, you go through all the possibilities of anything but this one. you also quickly figure out that you’ve missed your period for this cycle. it’s an internal bargaining with yourself, convincing yourself that it could be anything but this. you have to be sick. it’s what you’ve been telling yourself for days - have you known for that long? the idea never even crossed your mind because it was so preposterous.

layla can see it in your eyes and a thin smile spreads on her lips, the kind that is knowing and pitying.

you finally speak. “layla, there’s no way. absolutely none.” your voice is slightly shaky and you want to believe that it’s from vomiting your breakfast into the toilet a few minutes ago.

“do you want to go pick up a test?” she asks, so gently.

there aren’t anymore questions that follow, at least in the next little while when you and your sister go to the pharmacy across the street for a pregnancy test. the trip is almost silent because you don’t know what to say. layla isn’t expecting some sort of loaded explanation, but you debate on telling her about what happened in june with jungkook. you don’t, not until you’re sure.

it’s a cruel thing - you’ve spent all month trying to forget about that night because it was supposed to just be one time and that’s it. you’ve pushed it away with every text and call to jungkook in paris, who’s at the tail end of the games and needs focus now more than ever.

the heat of new york city sinks into your skin with each footstep outside and a certain daze floats in your head, dizzying you with fear and disbelief.

you take a test and you take another. three, even, just to be sure. layla doesn’t need to be there at all, but you ask her to sit on the floor instead of wait outside the door. you force yourself to not even think about jungkook during the process, completely in denial.

so, you pee in a cup, while your sister tries to distract you with hometown gossip. she tells you about the neighbours getting divorced and about the girl in your graduating year that had a baby before high school ended. you try your best to listen and give your two cents, but at some point, the waiting has to come to a stop.

six lines in total. two of them for each test.

“are you sure that’s two lines?”

you stare back at each test, hoping that at least one of them says otherwise, just enough to fuel the certainty in your mind that screams that this isn’t really happening.

layla grimaces and looks over your shoulder. she places a hand there, calmly. you try to ground yourself in it, but the tears have already started to fall.

she shakes her head. “you’re pregnant,” she says, getting straight to the point. there’s no use in beating around the bush, especially when the evidence is crystal clear in front of you both.

all your life, you weren’t sure what your future would look like when it came to family and love. your parents divorced when you were so young that you didn’t know what a healthy marriage would look like. you’ve dated casually, but it’s never gotten far and you only have yourself to blame. you’ve only ever wanted to be successful in your career and make money. you never wanted to get married and thinking about kids wasn’t even on the table, especially when the topic never even came up with your exes.

now, you’re pregnant.

you’re also still crying, burying your face into your hands as you sit on the toilet. it crashes upon you when layla utters those words because it’s suddenly become reality. you don’t even know what you’re crying over, whether it’s the dumb decision you made to sleep with your best friend or the embarrassing scene you’re making in front of your sister.

you cry everyday until your doctor’s appointment. like everything else in your life, you’re on top of it. you schedule it the same day that layla comes to visit and you take the tests. you needed answers as soon as possible, while all these thoughts float over your head.

how do i tell him? do i tell him? do i keep the baby?

as this happens, you watch jungkook on your laptop, streaming his games every single time. you text him each congratulations, short and almost empty. you don’t say anything else because you can’t bring yourself to lie to him in any capacity, so you create distance. that’s the easiest thing to do in your mind and always has been. when trouble comes, you run. you could only hope that jungkook doesn’t notice, even though you know damn well that he knows this about you better than anyone.

when layla comes back to the city on the date of your appointment to accompany you, it’s obvious to her that you’ve come to a decision.

she sits across from you at the coffee shop next to the doctor’s office. the two of you walked here in silence after your appointment, where the doctor explained how far along you are and the options that you have. it’s now the beginning of august and jungkook has won his first ever gold medal, expected to come back to new york sometime in the next few days.

"i think i want to keep the baby,” you finally utter, hands in your lap and your eyes fixed on your latte. you can’t say it to layla with a straight face, so you look away.

it’s a strange, sudden attachment you feel to the life growing inside of you. the indecision over your pregnancy has bent and willed you to tossing and turning every single night until your appointment, when you finally felt this unknown calm. you looked at the ultrasound and saw the indication of this baby and it melted every wall you shot up since taking the pregnancy tests.

layla doesn’t hesitate. “i know,” she whispers. “i saw the look on your face earlier.”

unlike the past few days, you don’t cry. you’ve wondered if you’ve been crying from confusion or anxiety, but the answer is clear today. the tears are indeed from the fear of the unknown, until you finally came to an answer.

“this wasn’t part of the plan,” you say with a shaky voice.

the plan.

you’ve always been the kind of person who has always known what she wants and you’ve been willing to do whatever it takes to get there. you made it to your dream school after trials and tribulations, got a job, and the next step was supposed to be opening your own private clinic. you don’t do well with uncertainties - as if anyone does, especially with a surprise like this - but it’s different for you. you can barely operate when you don’t know something.

yet, you don’t know at all what’s supposed to come next after this. for some reason, this uncertainty doesn’t thud in your chest or stutter your brain. even though you could easily not go through with the pregnancy, it’s like the option was never even there. the feelings you hold for this unborn child are finite and you can’t even begin to think otherwise.

layla places a hand over yours. “and that’s okay,” she says.

you can tell that she wants to ask so bad. she’s avoided questioning you about the paternity of your child since finding out about your pregnancy, waiting for you to come at your own pace. you’re not the type to randomly sleep around and she figures that there’s a story to be told, when you’re ready.

it’s now or never.

you lean back in your seat, contemplating and tangling the words from your mouth. once you tell layla, it doesn’t just become real, but it effectively breaks the promise you and jungkook made on that june night. everything was supposed to go back to normal after that night, after the one time that you two cross a line. it nearly breaks your heart because this has never happened before.

today marks the first time that you’ve ever abandoned a promise between you and your best friend.

it shatters so loudly in your ears and it’s like everything plays back before you in a film reel. in that moment, you recall the moment that you and jungkook became lab partners in high school. he was so shy and awkward back then, having yet grown into his charms and frame. you became quick friends after bonding over rock bands and video games. you remember him leading the varsity team to a national championship and then again, when he went to duke. over the years, you recall every time he’s defended you and stood up for you for various reasons - like when people question the sincerity of your friendship. it’s happened a lot with girls who wanted to get close with him or people who wanted to be friends with jungkook because of his fame.

you think of other promises, the ones that live in the a.m. and whispered conversations in the dark. he’s promised to never leave your side. you’ve promised to never change, no matter what. the loyalty etched between the two of you runs deep and until now, you were certain that there’s nothing in the world that could shake it off.

when you avoid jungkook for the first week of his arrival back to new york, it’s because you realize that you’re not only breaking that promise from june, but so many more from the years past. you can’t bear to face him afterwards, even though you know you have to talk to him at some point about this.

you’ve ran away from a lot in your life. you’ve ran away from relationships that scared you because of the commitment it involved. you’ve ran from your hometown, where all your trauma and hurt lives in your childhood home, where the walls are stained from the arguments of your parents. you’ve even ran from yourself over the years, throwing yourself into your work because you can’t stand to face your flaws and anxieties about anything outside of it. you tried running from jungkook that morning in june.

this time, you need to stop running. you have no choice.

AUGUST

jungkook notices quickly that you’ve created distance between the two of you. it’s not the kind where you need a few days of space, but he can instantly tell that it’s different this time. he isn’t the type to do so, but he blows up your phone by day three of your avoidance from him. he expected to hang out with you as soon as he landed from his trip to paris, but you didn’t even call once.

he shows up at the clinic where you work and when he does, you’re not even surprised. you’ve been drowning in your agony over the situation, while still coming to terms of the new life that you’re about to enter. this isn’t a light decision that you’ve made, but you still make it and you need to accept it. so, it’s almost as if you’re waiting for jungkook to come to you because everything else is just so damn loud and you can’t do it alone.

a baseball cap covers his eyes, the usual accesstory that jungkook leans towards when he doesn’t want to be recognized in public. he dons a black graphic t-shirt that exposes his tattooed sleeves and baggy denim that falls just underneath his knees. his signature shoe line is what you notice first, the sneakers a bright orange on his feet.

jungkook calls your name from where he sits in the waiting room of your clinic.

you’re still in your scrubs, as you walk out with your bag. the only other people still around at this hour are one of the massage therapists and the receptionist. the latter eyes you, having informed you a few minutes beforehand that jungkook is here, waiting for you.

“hi,” you breathe heavily. even though you were warned that he’s here, the actual sight of him is like you’re being thrown in a loop - disoriented and shocked.

“sorry to show up suddenly,” he says, standing up warily. he’s still not sure why you’ve been avoiding him and you can tell from the softness in his eyes that he’s hurt. your heart aches at that. “i texted you that i’d be coming, but i don’t know if you saw . . .”

you’ve been leaving all of his messages on delivered since he won his gold medal. this is in spite of the fact that you’ve read every single text. everything ranging from updates on his travel to him trying to make plans and finally, jungkook questioning if you’re alright and if something is going on.

it was easy to ignore it all, until he’s standing in front of you like a puppy with wide eyes and slumped shoulders.

you lie by shaking your head, but you gesture for him to follow you outside, so that the others can lock up the clinic. “how are you?” you say, trying to fill this silence.

he doesn’t answer until the two of you are in the underground parking lot of the building. you take the subway to work, but you already know that jungkook has driven here and you wordlessly walk over to where his bmw m8 is parked.

the two of you stop and jungkook leans against the side of his car, eyes fixed on you.

“what’s going on?”

you look at your feet, suddenly at a lost for words. you’ve practiced this in your head so many times, the way this conversation would go. it’s what comes after the conversation that you’re afraid of. you know exactly how jungkook would react. at least you think you do. he would offer child support and your friendship would never be the same because a promise - several of your promises, actually - has been broken. he would be present, but things will change forever.

the answer you give is not the one that jungkook wants. “can we go for a drive?” you answer his question with a question of your own, still not ready to let it all out.

an hour or so later, you and jungkook sit on the hood of his car on the old storm king highway, just outside of new york city. it’s a beautiful three mile segment of a winding, curvy road that’s always been your escape from the craziness of your lives within the city limits. the views of the hudson river at this pullout are breathtaking and for just a moment, you forget about everything.

jungkook fiddles with his hands and doesn’t look at you. he thinks that he’s done something wrong, you can tell, and it spreads a dull ache across your chest. you’ve upset him. it takes everything in you to not wrap your arms around him.

instead, you place a hand over his and he stops fidgeting. he finally looks up at you, eyes still sad.

“i’m sorry for avoiding you,” you finally whisper, trying your best to not cry.

jungkook notices and his expression morphs from despondence to concern. “what?” he murmurs back. then, his fears finally fall out. “if it’s because of what we did, why did you keep acting like everything was fine in july?”

you shook your head rapidly. “it’s not because of that,” you say, even though it’s a half truth. you did want to keep trekking on after the night that the two of you slept together, but then this whole mess happened.

a wash of relief visibly moves over jungkook and he’s comfortable enough to scoot over closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“please, just tell me what’s going on,” he pleads and this time, you reach your limit of running away.

instead of verbally answering - because you’re scared of choking on your words and becoming a crying mess - you reach into your purse and hand him the ultrasound scan from your appointment. a picture tells a thousand words and you can’t imagine what words go through jungkook’s mind when he takes it and everything finally clicks into place.

he stills. he goes silent. he doesn’t react at first at all and this frightens you. you almost want to snatch the scan back and laugh about a good-natured prank. but, the two of you are grown up now. you’re adults with real world problems and decisions to make, long past the days when you were teenagers with nothing to lose.

this is the first moment in your life when such a reality hits you - that nobody is here to hold your hand or tell you that everything will be okay. not even jungkook.

after what feels like forever, he finally speaks.

“why didn’t you say anything?”

“because i promised you.”

you don’t specify what promise you’re referring to because at this point, you’ve broken so many. the promise back in june, the promise to never lie to one another, all of it. you can’t look at him, so you look out to the river below. a part of you wishes to live in that water, where the stream gently rocks in waves endlessly and nothing truly matters.

jungkook turns to you and reaches out to gently turn your chin towards him. his touch is soft, you let a tear trail down your cheek and it stings so bad. you brace yourself for the worst, but it never comes.

“you want to have this baby, don’t you?” he whispers and it takes you aback.

you thought that jungkook knew you so well that he’d be surprised that you’re willing to go through with the pregnancy. he’s supposed to assume that you don’t want the baby and is supposed to be angry with you for wanting otherwise. you’re the career woman with no time for anyone or anything. yet, he shocks you by immediately reading you and realizing that you, in fact, want this child.

your lips part and you need a second to find your words, even though your answer is crystal clear.

“y-yeah. i do,” you admit, still searching for any sign of anger in jungkook’s expression.

instead, he nods and you see the tears welling up in his own eyes. he leans in and kisses you right in between your eyebrows, lips so careful and light.

“i’m with you. every step of the way.”

there isn’t a universe where jungkook doesn’t say this, not with the way he cares so deeply about you, but hearing the words aloud finally tears down your inhibitions, freeing them to the wind swirling around the two of you. the lookout seems so much warmer now and everything in the world is muted to the sounds of jungkook’s assurances. he means the words, too. he cups your face and makes sure that you know that he means it, with the way he looks at you.

you whisper, “i don’t mean to drag you into this -”

“- drag me?” jungkook laughs a little, shaking his head like he can’t believe his words. “it’s not like this was a one woman job,” he says wryly.

“this is a huge thing, koo,” you reply, shoulders sagging. “our lives will change forever after this.”

his next move surprises you.

jungkook suddenly hops off the hood of the car. you’re about to ask him where he’s going when he also tugs you off the hood, only to drop down to the ground. on one knee. in front of you.

you nearly jerk back in shock, eyes wide at the sight. before you can say anything, jungkook grabs your hand and interrupts you with your name - breathy and sharp at the same time.

“marry me. please.”

the world stops spinning on its axis when jungkook says these words without hesitation. the summer air smells like greenery and a mixture of salt and fresh water from the hudson river below, but you can only smell the fear underneath your skin. you hear cars passing by, but it somehow feels so far away. it’s like a bubble has formed, trapping you and jungkook in a imaginary place where only you and he exist and nothing else matters.

the bubble pops fast. this is jeon jungkook, your best friend since you were sixteen, on one knee in front of you and asking you to marry him. the ultrasound scan is still tucked underneath his arm. and you? you’re unsure of what’s even real.

“what?” you say, jaw hung wide open. if he wasn’t there, in front of you on the ground, you would have sworn you heard his question wrong.

jungkook doesn’t falter. “i want you to marry me.”

all your life, you’ve been making promises to jungkook. somehow, in the span of less than two months, it feels like you’ve failed to uphold every single one. even looking into his big, brown eyes that hold nothing but hope and courage, you don’t know if you even have the guts to make a new one.

TEASER FOR PART TWO

“it’s practical,” jungkook argues, squeezing your hand back. “i have amazing health insurance and it makes sense for both of you to be under it. i want to provide for you. and, listen, what about our kid getting to have both parents around?”

your eyes soften. “we can’t just get married because it’s convenient. i am sure that you will still be around,” you say. “look, marriage is no joke -”

“- neither is having a kid together,” jungkook cuts you off and your heart flutters slightly at the word together. that is what this is, though. you have decided that you’ll be having this baby and jungkook has declared that he will be here throughout it all. “you’re my best friend, i love you, and you’re having my kid. why wouldn’t we get married?”

*******

jungkook sighs. “i’m not asking you to quit your job.” there it is, out there first and made clear. “but, would you consider working closer to me?”

“i’m still confused here, jungkook.”

“the team has in-house chiropractors. would you consider coming to work for the titans?”

*******

you're bent over the adjustment table, as jungkook presses his painful erection into the curve of your ass. you gasp and are immediately met with his hand slapping over your mouth, muffling the whines that you make as you grind back into him.

"the other players are still around," he hisses, head slightly thrown back. he doesn't care anymore and knows damn well that you don't either.

still, you try and protest. "jungkook, we shouldn't -"

"- that's not what your pussy is saying," he chuckles lowly into your ear. he parts your legs with his knee and when his hand creeps down, he finds a patch of wetness.

this was only going to last for so long. your heated gazes from across the kitchen at night, the possessive way he gripped your hip last night in front of his teammates, the unspoken words. the air has been thick with tension for weeks now and it needs to be dispelled.

you bite down on your lip so hard you think it will bleed. "we're just fucking, okay?" you whimper when jungkook begins to suck on the sweet spot below your earlobes.

"just fucking."

This story is about love. The greatest love of them all. The love that — as the tale goes — finds you at the most unexpected time. About a boy who searches for love in the city where its rooted, and somehow falls for the epitome of lust. A young and foolish poet with less than a dime to his name, fleeing his hometown, his family, all that is known to him, for the sole purpose of something as simple as love.  

Paris is ruthless, never-sleeping, never-ending, and at this time cold and unfamiliar to most, even its citizens. How could it ever welcome a boy as him, a boy far from home with no plan, following his heart without certain direction. 

Where does a young and fiery heart lead a lost boy in the great city of love? The answer is Montmartre. To the Bohemians, the underworld, a place where no nobleman would ever set foot. 

Jeon Jungkook follows the sound of distant chatter as the cold nips at his cheeks, his nose red with frost and breath leaving as fog. The town around him is dead, he has been led there by none other than his own two feet, roaming mindlessly around in the now silent streets of Montmartre, looking for a place to seek shelter. He has no other plan but to ask kindly, to hope people might take pity in him, a beautiful and lost boy with nowhere to go. 

There’s something in the likes of an old, abandoned, dilapidated palace in the far end of Jungkook’s vision, an empty home which somehow seems to be gleaming with life. From where Jungkook stands, he can hear laughter, noises which oddly sound like rattling silverware, pots and pans. It’s all very strange, but inviting. 

The torn soles of his boots sink deeper and deeper into the snow as he stands rethinking his decision, his cheeks puffing as he breathes out a deep and final breath. He has left his hometown. In his hands are what is truly nothing, a leather suitcase which contains a change of clothes and a toothbrush, and tucked into his other arm is a typewriter — the living reminder of why he has no money. 

With heavy steps, he embarks on his journey. Around him is nothing but silence — drunks who have fallen asleep in the snow with a bottle in hand, escorts giving up on their quests, tugging on their short skirts. Nothing all that romantic, which surprises Jungkook. 

He fled home for Paris in hopes of encountering romance. To find it pulsating around him, fuel to his work, his lousy poesy which only consists of shallow descriptions of love. He wishes to encounter it in person, up-close, so he might know what this love is really all about. Why so many poets before him seems to be so fixated on this subject. 

It’s not like Jungkook has lived a life without love, his parents were perfectly normal and capable of showing affection — just not to each other. They seemed to have burnt out along the way of having Jungkook, their only son. But if love is all-consuming, deadly, a strong enough force to drown in, how come some people fall out of it? 

That is to Jungkook a mystery, one he hopes to unveil in Paris, alongside what love truly is. What it is to love someone unconditionally, to love someone so deeply that the world stops spinning, that one would rather simply not exist if without love. 

Yeah, your dad isn’t thrilled, to say the least. But he’s supportive—though a little bit concerned for your mental well-being. He’s nagging you over a call while you’re trying to see your place for the first time. It’s a storefront located in the corner of a long mall strip—a little small, but the location is great. Plus, you can live on the second floor, so it’s one less place to rent. 

“Okay, I get it,” you say into your phone, which is sandwiched between your ear and shoulder. “I promise I’ll visit often.”

The door refuses to open no matter how hard you jam your newly-received keys and twist desperately. You click your tongue.

“Don’t try to carry too many heavy boxes. You could hurt your back.”

“Sure,” you reply, still focused on getting the damn door open. “I won’t.”

“If you can’t lift anything, ask someone nearby. People in small towns are nicer than city folks.”

“Alright, alright,” you chuckle.

Finally, there’s a click, and the glass panel swings open. 

Dust floods your nostrils. The space is large, empty, and a little bit torn up, but it all comes to life as soon as you see it— the display counter stacked high with cookies, the bookshelf with pastel-colored beanbags, and the wooden tables you’ll tuck in cozy corners.

“Dad, I think I gotta go now.” 

He sighs, heavy with worry. “Alright. Go on. Have fun.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

And you end the call.

Outside, your car is packed to the brim with boxes of things you want to decorate the space with. There’s paint, furniture, plants, and the most important thing: a coffee machine, a purchase you made at the department store three hours ago on your way here. Some stuff you thrifted. Some are personal belongings. Regardless, it’s all yours. Truly yours—this place, this life, this dream.

You grin. 

No more getting yelled at by a fifty-something man who’s balding because he can’t shampoo properly. You’re going to be your own boss.

No more working unpaid overtime to meet deadlines. You’ll make your own schedule.

No more convenience store meals. You’re going to eat right and live right.

It’s taken you ten years to finally chase your dream of opening a bakery, and if you’re going to do it, then you aren’t going to let a single thing go wrong.

Your hair is up. Chest puffed out. Summer playlist on. A car full of goodies.

You unload the boxes from the car so that they’re all sitting in a heap in the middle of the floor. Then, you venture upstairs to explore your future residence, and imagine all the little trinkets you’ll use to make it your own. The bathroom is small but functional. The bedroom has cute windows that give you a beautiful view of the glistening town, sea glinting somewhere beyond it. 

Perfect. 

You put on an apron you don’t mind getting dirty and drag out a ladder from your trunk. The rest is simply letting the paint work its own magic. ABBA’s greatest hits blast in the back as you sing along (probably a bit too loudly) to Dancing Queen and Honey, Honey. Paint smears all over your apron and sunlight flickers in through the windows, shrouding the whole room with warmth as you dance around. 

There’s color everywhere. Just how you like it.

Maybe an hour or so passes before your arms start cramping, so you take a break, stepping outside to get some fresh air away from the smelly paint toxins. 

The strawberry matcha latte you’ve been sipping on since this morning has melted into a cold watery-grassy soup, but you guzzle it down nonetheless, desperate to quench your thirst. You sit on a bench and look around, taking in the scene outside—your new home.

It’s familiar. 

There’s an ice cream shop at the corner. A bike passes by every few minutes. The sky is a bright blue and the clouds look like cotton candy. The sun beams down relentlessly but there’s a steady breeze from the ocean that makes the heat bearable. You haven’t gotten to visit it yet, but you don’t doubt that the beach is as beautiful as ever.

Really, this town hasn’t changed a bit since the first day you came here. Although you note bitterly that you have, though.

That lanky thirteen year-old stumbling out of the car on that hot summer day over a decade ago feels like a stranger.

To her, everyone was a friend. Dogs never bit even if they barked and thorns never pricked if the flower was pretty enough.  So endearingly naive. So easily lovestruck. You used to see the world through rose-tinted lenses, but of course, a few years in the real world is more than enough to break the glass. 

But it’s okay. You don’t miss her. 

What you’ve missed, though, is baking.

You tell yourself that it’s taken you so long to pursue this passion just because you got distracted by the currents of other peoples’ lives: going to college, getting an office job, and working your way up the corporate ladder.

Or maybe, it was just because you were a coward who could never recover from teenage heartbreak.

But as you examine the flaking walls of your new place, streaked with your favorite colors, you remind yourself that cowards don’t quit their job and sell their apartments, armed with nothing but a dusty, stubborn dream. Cowards don’t try. You do.

Still, it’s a shame that you let a man—a boy, really—deter you from it for so long. 

The very same boy that you could run into at any given moment if he stayed in the same beach town you knew him from. The same boy that once lit up your world like the sun and pulled at your heartstrings like the moon did with the tides. How you wish that he’d only shaped your teenage summers and not your entire life. 

You shake your head. That doesn’t matter now. 

You’re back, and nothing can stop you this time. 

Not even Jeon Jungkook.

There’s some ice at the bottom of your plastic cup. You swirl mindlessly, watching it clink against plastic as you lose yourself in your thoughts. 

It’s been ten years since you’ve last seen him. You can’t help but wonder if he’s doing well or if he stayed in town.

Now that you’re thinking about it, even if you did run into your former teenage heartthrob, chances are he won’t even remember you. And if you recall correctly, his dream has always been to move to the city. The chances of running into him are slim given how dead set he was on getting as far away from this town as possible. 

But maybe he’s changed. Most people do. 

Maybe he doesn’t cry at Spiderman movies anymore. Maybe he’s grown to love spicy food instead of gagging at it. You wonder if banana milk is still his favorite. If he still has a secret sweet tooth. 

You also wonder, in some dark, secluded corner of your heart, if he’ll still call you by that nickname you used to love so much should you ever run into him again.

As your mind spirals with unanswered questions, your watery matcha latte is slurped empty. You poke at the ice with your straw some more. 

The crunch hides the tentative footsteps approaching you. You fail to notice the hesitant sound of someone clearing their throat. The silence of someone gathering the courage to speak.

“Clem?”

Clem. For Clementine. Your favorite fruit. 

A voice that you haven’t heard in years.

Your heart does something weird and your stomach plunges. Your body freezes for a moment. Are you hallucinating?

Wind whooshes by and tickles your skin, but you’re sure it’s something else that gives you goosebumps.  A second feels like a minute. Breathing feels like falling.

Finally, you whirl around, facing the stranger with the weirdly familiar voice.

And it’s him. 

Jeon Jungkook.

He looks different, obviously, but the years have treated him well. His jaw is more defined and there’s stubble that wasn’t there before. His nose is no longer too big for his face and his hair is no longer dyed chestnut brown. It’s black—just like his eyes—which have not changed at all, still frustratingly round and sparkly, rivaling the sparkle in his—oh God—piercings?

He has lip piercings and eyebrow piercings and—wait, are those tattoos?

“It’s really you,” he says, voice a tinge deeper than you last remember.

Only now do you realize how you look to him. Strands of hair shoot in a gazillion different directions from your messy ponytail. There’s pink and blue paint smeared all over your apron and T-shirt.  You’re wearing denim shorts with a pair of crocs and shit—your socks are mismatched, too. One is purple with cats on it and the other is striped with pink and white. A sheen of sweat layers over your face and you haven’t put on any makeup.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, half-mortified, half-thrilled.

He chuckles, low and soft. Kind, but careful. He takes a few steps forward.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

You gulp. 

It feels like you’re meeting him for the first time again—minus the skateboard, the concrete, and the clementines. But there’s still the hot summer sun above you, and a thrum in your chest that only exists with him.

“Yeah. It has.”

THEN - thirteen summers ago

You spent the first week in your new summer house alone, which was actually quite a welcome break from the hyper-social environment you’d been in before: school.

Now, you didn’t have to worry about petty girls giving you side glares when you laughed too loudly, or snotty, barely teenage boys rough housing each other a few desks away. There was only you—with your nose in a book or dancing around the kitchen with flour in your hair, instead of in the mirror picking at your pimples through tears.

Mornings were for reading on the beach behind your house. Afternoons were for baking.

Your mother’s cookbook had hundreds of recipes, sticky notes tacked on to extend pages with comments from generations of women in your family, dating all the way back to your great-great-great grandma. Of these many recipes, you found yourself gravitated towards baked goods the most. It only made sense given your big sweet tooth. 

So for hours at a time, you’d confine yourself to your summer home’s huge kitchen—relishing the way it was much bigger than the one at your apartment back in the city—and bake.

That day, you wanted to make clementine tarts. 

You were walking home from the farmer’s market after having bought a few too many clementines—your favorite fruit—eyes only barely peeking over the overflowing paper bag.

Your flip flops slapped against the pavement as you dragged your feet, exhausted from the heat but brimming with the excitement of getting to make one of your favorite pastries. 

Perhaps you rounded the corner too quickly, because a moving body catapulted into you, sharp pain darting through your shins from getting hit by a wooden board as you stumbled backwards. 

You yelped as you landed on the hot pavement, butt aching and clementines tumbling out of the bag like hail. You didn’t even see the person who ran into you at first, barely registering the fact that you’d just been knocked to the ground by some skater-boy.

All you saw was your clementines scattered on the road and a car’s tires squashing half of them splat against the concrete. 

You might’ve cursed something like “no no no,”or “shoot,” under your breath, immediately lunging toward the road in a desperate attempt to save the few remaining fruit.

Of course, you didn’t succeed, because you were yanked back by the collar before a car could squash you splat, too.

It all happened so fast. One moment you were reaching out to grab a clementine and the next your back was pressed against someone else’s chest, a car wooshing by where you were previously on all-fours.

“Jesus,” a voice from behind you muttered. “Are you seriously trying to die for a bunch of oranges?”

You turned your head around.

It was a guy. And fuck, he was cute. Shaggy, pin-straight black hair framed his face. Big nose. Thin glossy lips. Eyes so round they could be planets. He looked your age, maybe a bit older.

Oh right. You were supposed to respond when someone talked to you.

“They’re clementines.”

An award winning reply.

He let out a tired and somewhat amused huff, standing up to collect his skateboard which had rolled a few steps away. You watched, amazed as he kicked the skateboard up and propped it against his leg in a single, easy motion.

“Whatever, it’s basically the same thing,” he grumbled, offering a hand towards you. “Sorry for running into you, though.”

“It’s fine, no worries.” You took his hand and stood. “But… they’re not the same thing, actually. Clementines are sweeter.”

Could you not say anything normal?

“O-kayyy, sure.” He rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. “And you’re welcome for saving your life, by the way”

“We’re even, then,” you quipped. “You ruin my farmer’s market haul and then save my life.”

You chuckled, retrieving the paper bag and crouching down. You tried to pick off whatever was salvageable from the streets, and the mystery boy simply stood back, watching for a few moments. He clicked his tongue, then joined you on the ground to help. You murmured a soft “thank you,” to which he grunted something in response.

That was how it started; just two kids on a sunny day picking fruit off the hot pavement. Names and ages were quickly exchanged with casual conversation. 

Jeon Jungkook. Fifteen. Your name. Thirteen.

You told him about being new to town, the amazing summer house you’d been enjoying, and a recent book you’d really liked. He was surprisingly easy to talk to. Or maybe you just talked too much and liked how attentively he listened, offering quips and comments at all the right moments. 

You’d always been a chatterbox of some sort, but with your recent seclusion from socialization, you found yourself especially unable to shut up—even more so when he offered to walk you home (perhaps out of guilt for crashing into you) and carry your bag of half-squashed fruit.

“And yeah. I was planning on making a bunch of tarts and if I had any left I’d make an upside down cake.” You were rambling about what you were planning to bake when you got home. “But now I think I only have enough for the upside down cake.”

“You’re obsessed with clementines, huh?”

“What’s wrong with that? They’re a good fruit. No seeds. Super sweet. Easy to peel.” You led the way with a bounce in your step. “And they don’t drip all over your hands like oranges do.”

“Whatever, clementine girl.”

A lot of his vocabulary consisted of whatever, sure, and mhm, you noticed.

“That’s a stupid name,” you chirped.

“Suits you, doesn’t it?”

“Hey!” Slightly offended, you turned around with a glare, walking backwards. 

He said it straight faced, but you were sure that amusement twinkled in his eyes. Then he stuck out his tongue and smirked, satisfied. You huffed and rolled your eyes, pivoting on your feet, determined to not let him see the begrudging smile on your face.

When you reached the front doors of your big blue house, a look of shock painted his face.

“No way, you live here?”

You giggled. “It’s nice, right?”

“I mean, yeah, but,” he pointed backwards with his thumb, “I kind of live right there.”

You followed his thumb to the house down the street. 

“No way.”

And that was how you found out that you were neighbors. After a good laugh, you promised that you’d come by with some cake sometime, since you lived so close. He said that you really didn’t have to; he didn’t have a sweet tooth. You insisted, saying that it was a thank-you gift for walking you home. ***

“Well it’s not like it ended up being out of my way or anything,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Do you want the cake or not?” You put your hands on your hips. 

He started walking away, waving his hand dismissively in the air. 

“Do whatever you want.” 

You grinned.

Later that week, you went out to buy more clementines and make the fruity tart of your dreams. It was some of your best work yet—tangy, rich, and freshly warm from the oven.

But when you knocked on the door of the house across the street, it wasn’t Jungkook at the door; instead, it was an equally doe-eyed little girl who looked suspiciously like him, just smaller and cuter. She couldn’t have been older than eight.

“Uh, hi there,” you laughed awkwardly. “Are your parents home?”

She ignored the question, sparkly eyes trained on the box in your hands. With an indulgent inhale, she scrunched her nose adorably before looking up to you.

“Is that a cake?” She leaned in closer. 

You smiled. “They’re clementine tarts.”

A huge grin lit up her face. You chuckled, watching as the small girl ran away.

“Mom! Someone brought us a cake!” She disappeared into the house. 

There were a few hushed scoldings of, ‘don’t open the door for strangers,’ and ‘next time this happens you’ll be put into time-out,’ before a woman appeared at the doorway. 

Her stature was short, but she was so slim that she looked tall. Warm colors wrapped around her; a beige cardigan and flowy, brown lounge pants. She was beautiful in the kind of way that made you feel safe. Of course Jungkook’s mother would be like that. 

She sighed in relief when she saw you, seemingly grateful that you were just some lanky teen.

“Hi, sorry about that,” she began. The girl, presumably Jungkook’s little sister, hid behind her legs. “How can I help you, sweetheart?”

You smiled politely. “I um… I know Jungkook.” She raised an eyebrow slowly, not upset, just teasing. “I’m the new neighbor?” You gestured toward your house across the street, unsure why you sounded like you were asking. “I, uh, said I’d make him some tarts.”

“Our new neighbor!” She allowed herself a big laugh, shoulders sagging as she decided that you weren’t any kind of threat. “How exciting! Come in, darling.”

She guided you inside with a gentle hand on your shoulder, the little girl excitedly introducing herself as Jeon Somi as you were led into the kitchen. 

“Let me go get Jungkook,” she said, smirking. “Feel free to make yourself at home.” 

As she went off to retrieve her son, you were left alone with sparkly-eyed Somi. 

“I like the smell,” she quipped, rocking back and forth in her chair. 

“Oh really?” You took a seat next to her, shuffling under the kitchen table. “I bet you’ll like the taste even more.”

Somi grinned, wide and toothy, and you noticed that she was missing a few teeth. Then, she began to yap about her favorite cake flavors. 

You tried to be attentive at first, but at some point, your attention started drifting to the house. 

It was, if you had to describe it in one word: full.

The refrigerator had dozens of magnets and childish drawings plastered onto it. At the doorframe leading into the kitchen, little marks adorned the sides, coupled with names and ages—a record of Jungkook and Somi’s growth. You noticed that Jungkook grew nearly ten centimeters last year. 

The kitchen, like yours, was lived in. But the difference was that you could tell that it was lived in by many people, unlike your kitchen which had your lingering touch alone.

Dishes in the sink from a mom who hadn’t had the time to clean up after breakfast. A half-finished juice box from a chatterbox of a little girl. Coffee spills on the counter from a dad who rushed to work this morning.  A stash of chips tucked into a corner for a ravenous, growing teenage boy. 

After his mother’s third call, said teenage boy finally appeared, muttering annoyed huffs under his breath as he trudged down the stairs. He was in his lounge wear, which consisted of grey sweatpants and an oversized Spider-man t-shirt.

“What do you want?” he grumbled. 

Jungkook’s mother gleamed. “Your friend is here.”

He whirled around to face the kitchen. You waved. He chuckled in disbelief as you sent him a cheeky grin. Then, his eyes zoned in on the box, a flicker of excitement gracing his face before being washed away by his usual stoic expression. 

“You actually came,” he said, walking over, impressed. 

“I make good on my promises, you know.” You smiled brightly as he approached you and examined the box. “You should have it for dessert.” 

Lifting the top of the box, you revealed the crispy, warm goodness, the fruity aroma traveling through the air.

Somi squealed something along the lines of: “can we eat it now?” and Jungkook’s mom trotted over, beaming as she comically wafted towards the tart, admiration evident in the gleam of her eyes. 

“We just have to have this for dessert!” She glanced back and forth between you and the shimmering pastry with amazement. “You’re welcome to join us for dinner, sweetheart.”

At first, you were going to decline—the polite thing to do. You wouldn't want to intrude.

But when you looked at Jungkook—his expression somewhere between welcoming and not giving a shit about whether or not you stayed for dinner—you stuttered, unsure of your answer. 

Then, with sharp eyes, he let out the tiniest scoff, seemingly amused by your inability to speak. You took it as a challenge.

“I’d… I’d love to stay for dinner.” 

Somi squealed again. 

And just like that, a new tradition was born. 

Every week, or every few days, you’d bring the Jeon’s a new baked treat, sometimes with the recipes from the cookbook, other times your own sugary creations. After a lot of begging and pestering, your dad eventually agreed to meet the Jeon’s instead of holing up in his room with work all the time, and after the first slightly awkward dinner, he felt comfortable enough to socialize weekly because he knew it made you happy.

Nothing particularly riveting happened during dinners themselves, but just the plain simple fact that you’d get to see Jungkook made you giddy. Your conversations were limited by the presence of your families, consisting of only short exchanges while washing dishes or setting the table together. Otherwise, you’d mainly let the parents talk and drag you into conversation.

That was the foundation for you and Jungkook’s friendship: awkward family dinners and stolen glances. They’d bring up embarrassing childhood stories, like Jungkook peeing his pants at the movie theatre during a scary movie, or you running up to hug the trash collecting man because he looked like a cartoon character you used to like. 

Somi, however, was always the star of the show. After all, every time someone said something, it was to make her laugh—which she did a lot. That was just how families worked, you learned. The happiness of the youngest was the most important thing. Also, she was your number one customer, always asking for the biggest slice or biggest piece of whatever pastry you’d bring.

(Once, you brought chocolate raspberry jam croissants, and she’d taken the box and hidden it in her room so she could eat it all by herself. She was grounded. You didn’t see her at the next dinner.)

Eventually, you and Jungkook exchanged numbers, something that his mother encouraged so you could update them on your baking endeavors and whatnot. 

From that point on, you’d send texts to each other under the dinner table—starting off small with messages like forget what my mom said about the talent show i did last year please. Then, things escalated to talking about things that were completely unrelated to the conversation at hand, doing anything to not be engaging with the parents’ dull chatter.

Favorite movies. Favorite artists. Funny school stories. And so on. 

At some point, you and him would get yelled at for being on your phones during dinner, something about always being present and cherishing the moment, and you’d both share an annoyed look of understanding before putting your phones away.

Still, you’d smile so hard your cheeks hurt. 

However, you had an inkling that he wasn’t really as excited about these dinners as you were. For Jungkook, you were just a welcome distraction from the boring talk of adults. For you, he was the main event. 

Of course, you did other things throughout the summer, too. For one, you went to a seasonal carnival fair with your dad, dragging him to scary rides and overpriced food stalls. You also made it a personal goal to read at least two books a week, becoming a frequent customer of the bookstore across the farmer’s market. 

What you were proudest of,  however, was creating your very first original cookie recipe—a chewy matcha white chocolate cookie stuffed with strawberry cream cheese. It was a hit, circulating all the way to the neighbors down the block with the help of Mr. and Mrs. Jeon.

But you had to admit: the thing you looked forward to the most was dinner nights with the Jeon’s.

If anyone asked, you’d tell them that you fell in love with the family. 

Don’t get it wrong, you loved your dad to bits. But, he was quiet—only loud in his love, and a big part of that was unfortunately hushed by the breast cancer that took your mom many years ago. That was fine. You enjoyed his company and his endless support for your endeavors. 

But at the Jeon’s, there was always laughter and warmth, the kind that only existed in families untainted by grief. 

Even in silence, you could feel the ghost of a million laughs in every room, the echo bickering of siblings in front of the TV, and the radiant love of two parents thrumming around the home like an insistent, never-ending hug.

It was true. You did love the Jeon family.

However, if you were really, truly honest, the main reason you looked forward to dinners at their house so much was your big, fat crush on Jeon Jungkook himself.

So these dinners, as mundane and forgettable as they might’ve appeared to others, was your secret source of joy. 

Two weeks before school started again, your dad was explaining something about the economy while you were zoning out, picking at your slice of cheesecake absentmindedly. 

Jungkook, who sat next to you, nudged your knee with his and leaned over.

“Not gonna finish that?” He pointed to your plate with his fork.

“I had too much while I was tasting the batter,” you explained, pushing your plate to him. “Want some?”

He hesitated for half a second—just long enough for you to notice.

“Only because I don’t like wasting food.” He stabbed a piece and popped it in his mouth. “Especially because I’m on dish-washing duty today. Leftover food’s a bitch to deal with.”

“Are you sure it’s not just because you have a sweet tooth?”

His eyes narrowed at you, offended. “I do not.”

It was clear you didn’t believe him.“Sure.” 

“I really don’t,” he mumbled under his breath, stabbing another chunk of cake with more force than necessary.

“Okay. Fine.” You dropped it, rolling your eyes. 

He went on to finish the entire slice anyways, your dad droning on in the back about real estate or something. But it wasn't like you’d know—you were too busy sneaking glances at Jungkook to really pay attention. 

You muffled a giggle watching crumbs pooling at the corner of his mouth as he munched away.

What a liar.

He totally had a sweet tooth.

The inciting incident. First grade. Recess. Kids playing in the sandbox and cartwheeling in the grass as teachers looked on from afar to make sure no one broke their neck. 

Jeon Jungkook and his rowdy gang of little boys thought it would be hilarious to sneak up on the girls and throw bugs at them. 

And you? Yeah, you weren’t having any of that. So when they ran over and tried to release a bunch of bugs from their grubby hands, you promptly took action, standing up and pushing Jungkook to the floor. 

He landed on his butt, and the cockroach he was holding jumped from his hand and climbed onto his face… and into his mouth. 

He spit out the creature with an extremely dramatic ‘yak,’ and all of the other boys simply ran away. The girls squealed and backed up, pointing towards Jungkook while shrieking in horror.

With confident strides to a gagging six-year old Jungkook, you plucked the poor creature off him and released it a few steps away. When you turned around, everyone was gawking at you.

“You weren’t scared?” a girl asked. 

You shot her a toothy grin. “I’m not scared of anything.”

And Jungkook took that personally.

Following that day, Jungkook took every opportunity possible to test your limits.

Creatures would appear inside your backpack nearly every day. He would jumpscare you at every corner. He’d show you random pictures in the middle of the day, trying to see if you had some kind of obscure internet-diagnosed phobia. A dried up sponge for trypophobia. A drawing of a huge building for megalophobia. Things like that.

It was—at first—hilarious, because you truly weren’t scared of anything; no bug, picture, or prank could startle you. But then, sometime in between first grade and now, you started getting annoyed.

You couldn’t enjoy field trips without him pestering you every moment with stupid pranks, and when you asked him to stop, he would simply tell you that he’d keep going until he found the one thing you were afraid of. 

One time in seventh grade, you told him you were scared of snakes just so he could stop messing with you.

But then, you let down your guard on the way home from school, and when you saw a snake slithering by your foot, you showed no reaction, just stepping back calmly and promptly to assess the situation. 

When you turned around, it was Jungkook armed with a stick that had a string tied to it, connecting it to a flimsy toy snake—the same one that had just passed your ankles.

“So you aren’t actually scared of snakes, huh?” he hummed, stroking his chin in deep thought, standing there completely nonchalant as if he hadn’t been annoying you for the past several years with the same old tricks. 

“Jeon Jungkook,” you spoke through gritted teeth, plastering on a sweet smile. “How about I give you something to be afraid of instead?”

“Huh?” he looked up a moment too late, only to see you lunging at him. 

He was slow. You’d already seized him by the ear, dragging him forward with a death-like grip. 

From there, all the way to where your paths split ways at the neighborhood intersection, you tugged him forward muttering curses of all sorts. His whining, begging, and pleading to let him go did not work. You were merciless. When you released him, you gave him a very stern warning: no more pranks and no more prying. 

You’d think he’d learn from that, but no, he did not. It took only two weeks for his fear of you to subside, overpowered by his mysteriously insistent curiosity to know your true fear. 

So, your second solution was avoiding him. You’d take classes that you know he’d never take. You made sure your friend groups never intersected. You even memorized the path he’d take to his classes, purposefully taking longer routes around the school to evade the hallways he’d be in.

You were somewhat successful, but alas, it was a small town and a small school. Everybody knew everyone, and Jungkook’s presence was impossible to avoid completely. 

Surely after enough of your aversion he would’ve given up, right? Wrong. But, he did tone it down a bit, and by the time college applications rolled around, you were almost able to forget about the ten-year long debacle entirely.

Well, almost. 

Because of one particularly stupid chemistry assignment, you are now in Jeon Jungkook’s house during a thunderstorm and he’s looking at you like he’s discovered earth’s greatest secret: the only thing you are scared of.

It happened quickly. 

One moment, you were quietly finishing up work at his house, scribbling away at chemistry problems—-with snacks scattered all across the kitchen table, formula sheets and spare pieces of paper everywhere. 

It started with droplets of rain on the window. Concerning, but nothing to worry about too deeply yet. Then the clouds shrouded the sky with a dark bloom, and the droplets started to sound more like hail. The chemistry problems on your paper began to blur, and the only thing on your mind was: oh shit.

You don’t have a good explanation for it. 

Nothing particularly traumatizing has happened to you during a thunderstorm; but since you’ve been a little kid, you remember being scared to death of lightning and heavy rain. It was an unstoppable force—like the whole world was angry and wanted to show it—and there were times when you used to think it’d be the end of the world every time it rained too hard and the sky parted with electric sparks.

Regardless, it’s your best kept secret; well-timed bathroom breaks and sparingly using your “sick day” school absences has helped you hide this particularly embarrassing fear.

But of course, when the first strike of lightning jolted from afar, sizzling into the air, you wince, looking toward the window, face probably streaked with fear you failed to hide. 

He turned, looked at you, and knew—basically immediately.

‘You’re scared of thunderstorms.’ 

You snap back to the present moment. Right. He’d just said that. 

He says things like this often, but usually there’s a hint of playful deductiveness to it. ‘You’re scared of apple stickers,’ he’d once declared before. Or, ‘I knew it. You’re scared of failure,’ he once said jokingly to lift the mood after you failed an exam and cried in the middle of class.

But this… his tone is different. Not deductive. Not playful. Just factual—and surprised. 

You don’t reply right away. Maybe you can say that you’re tricking him. Maybe you can play it off as one big joke. Or maybe, you can run away.

“Where’s your bathroom?”

He blinks twice. “Oh, uh, it’s that way.” He points. “Down the hall to the left.”

“Great,” you say, forcing a casual smile. “I’ll be right back.”

You get up, chair scratching the kitchen floor in your haste, and scurry away from his prying eyes.

Halfway to the bathroom, he calls, “Wait!”

You turn, trying to seem like you’re in less of a rush to find shelter than you are. “What?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

He’s standing up now, and the full view of his Ironman loungewear is surprisingly the trigger that makes the absurdity of the situation dawn on you. You’re in Jeon Jungkook’s house and he’s finally figured out what you’re scared of.

Before you can reply, there’s another crack of lightning from outside the window, which is followed shortly by an overwhelming roar—shaking you to the core.

You yelp—again—and instinctively crouch to your knees, lightly trembling. 

Wow. This is a new low. This is possibly the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you. Death would be mercy, you think. 

He meekly rounds the kitchen table, stopping in right front of you, and then scoffs lightly. 

Cheeks flushed and face hot, you reply, “Yeah yeah, laugh all you want, I bet you—”

Another crack. You whimper, abandoning your snarky comment. 

There’s a pause; only the heavy beat of rain against the rooftop and windows persist. Finally, he crouches down, and meets you at eye-level. His face is close—too close—to the point where you can see the mole under his lip. You tell yourself that you’re drawn to his face just because it’s a good distraction from the mayhem outside. 

“Hey,” he starts, voice low and soft. “I’m not making fun of you.”

“You definitely laughed at me just now,” you murmur, grumbling. “Are you happy? You finally know what I’m scared of.”

“Not really,” he admits, snorting. “I was just… surprised.” You stay silent. He takes it as permission to keep going. “Who knew that a girl who can walk through a haunted house alone can’t handle a thunderstorm?”

“Shut up,” you spit out, but there’s no venom behind it. He rolls his eyes. 

You’re about to say something snappy, but there’s another rumble, and you flinch again. His eyes cloud with worry.

“Is there anything that can help?”

This is the worst. Being reduced to helplessness in front of Jungkook of all people has to be your greatest nightmare. But then again, he doesn’t really seem satisfied like you’d think he’d be upon finding out your true fear. He just seems… concerned. 

You avert your gaze, admitting quietly, “I usually just thug it out and crawl under a table.” 

He pauses, lips pursed in consideration. Then, he looks back to the kitchen table, jerking his head toward it. “Well, we have one right here.”

You wait a few seconds before responding, trying to gauge if he’s being serious or not.  

“This is stupid.”

“But it’ll help, right?”

You consider it. The table is sturdy, large, and pressed up against a wall on one side so you can lean on it. It doesn’t look bad, and at this point you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough so it doesn’t really matter what you do now. You sigh, defeated. 

“Never mention this to anyone,” you mutter, scrambling to your feet.

In seconds, you’re settled under the table, back leaning on the wall, hands over your ears, knees to your chest, and eyes screwed shut.

Okay, yeah, you’re really doing this in the middle of Jungkook’s home and that’s just something you’ll have to live with for the rest of your life. 

He must be holding back laughter. Or taking a picture. Or something. You don’t know but you also don’t care—only wanting for the storm to pass. 

There’s some ruffling, like he’s opening and closing drawers and cabinets to find something. A few seconds pass. 

Then, in one swift motion, a soft blanket wooshes over your body. You open your eyes to see him crawling under the table.

“Hi,” he says, criminally charming.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He scooches over, sitting next to you. “Thought this would help.”

You look at his hands. Wired earphones. Surprisingly thoughtful. 

He offers you one, and you take it with shaky hands, shoving it into your ear. He puts the other bud on himself, then presses play on his phone. 

Immediately, half of your head is flooded with the soft tune of some acoustic instrumental, a smooth voice following after with some adlibs. It’s like that for a while, just you and Jungkook under a table listening to someone sing over the strumming of guitar. 

“It’s a nice distraction,” you finally say. 

“Mhm,” he hums. “I like this song a lot.”

A few more gentle moments pass, but when the world roars again, ripping the sky outside the window with a bright flash, you flinch again—hard. He notices.

You bury your face into your hands. “Oh my God, this is so embarrassing.”

He doesn’t laugh this time, but you don’t dare to look at his face.

A second goes by. Two seconds. Three.  

Then, he takes one extremely shaky and long breath, and his arm hooks around your shoulder, hand pushing your head into the crook of his neck. You sharply suck in air, chest tight all the sudden.

It’s awkward. A little uncomfortable. But you don’t move and neither does he. He smells good, you note, like cinnamon and vanilla and all the comforting scents you want to smell while waiting for a storm to pass.

“I can, um, distract you with a story—if you want?” His voice pitches, fluctuating at all the wrong moments like he’s playing the right notes but not quite the right way.

“Um… sure?” 

You’re not much better off. 

Your palms sweat. Your face heats. Your heart hammers. What the fuck? This hasn’t happened during any other thunderstorms before.

He continues, arm still stiff over your shoulder, but warm and firm with intent.

“It’s about a boy. A really stupid boy,” he starts. “Uh, you know that thing they say about little kids? How they like to be mean to the girl that they like?”

You nod against his chest. Maybe you’re hallucinating it, but it seems like his heart is picking up speed, too.

“Well…” he takes another long, deep breath. “I think I’ve been in that phase since first grade.”

“You owe me!” Taehyung flails, feet stomping underneath the dining table like a tempered toddler.

Wedding season peaked in the fall — both a blessing and a curse. Hence, you only liked two things after being bombarded with back to back bookings: 1. a sweet treat 2. spending time with your friends. After weeks of tearful vows and hours of rigorous editing, seeing Taehyung, one of your closest friends since college, should be a blessing. 

Should be.

“When have we ever kept tally on owing shit? And for the last time, Tae,” you rub your temples, “I'm not helping you film. Can't you just cancel or reschedule with one of your directors?” 

In any other circumstance, you would have taken up this project.

You and Taehyung have a long-standing history starting as bright-eyed film students in the same cohort. You’d eventually discover his innate skills and very (heavy emphasis on the very) eccentric visions in film. He was different — highly cherished and praised by the university's faculty. You, on the other hand, put in extra hours only to barely skim the baseline.

You were just … good. Which isn’t a bad thing, but in a room full of endless potential and creativity, you felt like you didn’t belong. 

Taehyung never saw an issue in your style and passion, stereotypical or not.

Even though your classmates awarded him with the title “Most Likely to Win an Oscars,” he did quite the opposite. Everyone, including yourself, expected greatness from Kim Taehyung — whether it be through starting his own production company or winning a Sundance Film competition. 

But … his passions took a turn. 

Of all the spaces he could’ve wound up in, he landed himself in the adult film industry.

Yes. Porn.

When he broke the news on his career switch, you smiled and nodded, praying you didn’t display a single ounce of disdain. He’s been nothing but supportive in your journey and career. The least you can do is swallow and hide your judgment in favor of supporting your best friend.

Minus this particular tall ask. 

He frowns. “Please? I really need your help. You’ll do just fine, I promise.”

“I’m literally a wedding videographer.” You deadpan. 

“And you’d be perfect for the job!”

You shake your head vehemently, choosing to redirect all the attention to your untouched plate of chicken wings. They're cold now, time wasted on Taehyung's bizarre request.

“Come on.” He pleads. “I never ask you for these types of favors …”

"What about the time you asked me to stick a thermometer up your ass?"

"That was a medical emergency!"

You both continue listing crazy requests you’ve done for each other, inevitably leading to the same response: no, you didn’t want to film porn on his behalf. 

Boundaries existed for a reason and Taehyung knew when to throw in the towel. The last thing he'd want to do is make you uncomfortable.

Still, his shoulders drop, eyes hung low in disappointment. “Alright, I’ll let the director know I’ll have to miss out on this project.”

Bam, case-closed, you both can resume the night as intended.

Utensils scrape and clatter against the plates among other tables in the restaurant, but the silence and tension rings louder between you and your best friend. He purses his lips and looks away, unwilling to meet your eyes or say what’s weighing on his mind. 

You sigh. “Can I ask you something?”

"Sure, whatever." 'Sure? Whatever?' Now, that's teetering close to fighting words …

“Why this field? Our professors always loved your work—”

His bitter laugh cuts through your words. He leans against his chair and tips his head back.

“Spare me the judgment. I expected this from other people, not from my best friend.”

“I’m not judging—”

“You are.”

This was supposed to be a carefree night. 

No drama.

Instead, it seems to be leading right to the dreaded Talk™. Which, unfortunately, is anything but carefree.

“You’re right.” You concede, catching a flash of his frown. "Only because we've always tip-toed around this topic."

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth. Tell me why you decided on this route.”

“Dude, you can’t even say ‘sex work’ or ‘porn industry’ without looking like a deer in headlights. What makes you think I wanna talk to you about it?” Taehyung rolls his eyes. 

You grimace. Has your discomfort always been this apparent?

Hold on. Pause. You agree with the first part, but the second part didn’t make sense. 

“But you want me to help film?” You press.

“Well, I was wrong for trying to bring my friend out of their shell. There’s more out there besides weddings.”

Silence.

“W-wait.” He stammers. “That’s not what I meant. You know I respect–”

You hold a hand up. 

"I know.” You say, keeping your voice as leveled as possible. That was a talk for another time.

“Just tell me why you chose this route, Tae. I only ask because I genuinely care and want to know.”

You do.

Both you and Taehyung know that's all you do … too much sometimes, but that's what he loves about you.

“It’s just,” He starts, visibly uncomfortable and awkward, “I’m burnt out from all these expectations. You said it yourself ... ‘All the professors loved your work.’ I can’t fuckin’ keep up.”

“Filming porn is easy." He continues. "There’s no second-guessing. And … it's different. Makes me feel special.” He sniffs and wipes at his nose. “I'm happy there.”

You grab his hand, squeezing gently while he looks at you with a guilt stricken expression.

“I'm sorry for being short with you.” He apologizes. "You're right too. We keep dodging this topic."

Your thumb traces the top of his hand, “I think I’m just a little biased about that—the porn industry.” You correct yourself. “For the record, I'll always support you.”

Taehyung scoots closer to your chair and wraps his arms around you.

“I’m sorry again for pressuring you. I really did mean it when I said you’d be perfect for the job.”

You laugh. “I don’t think they need a wedding videographer’s touch for that sort of production, but thanks.”

The night continues as intended: lighthearted and free. Waitresses and nearby patrons stare in fascination (or in annoyance … you can't tell nor do you care) whenever a laugh rings a little louder at your table. You always feel fuller after being around your best friend.

“Proud of ya,” he drunkenly confesses after one too many drinks. “Love seeing you in your element.” 

Funnily enough, Taehyung had also dabbled into the wedding industry. Let's just say his clients didn't appreciate his … visions. Not everyone was keen on a Carrie themed wedding announcement, okay?

That's the difference between you and Taehyung. Tried and true versus abstract and risky. There's much to learn from each other, which is why the friendship works.

And you do have a thing or two to learn from Taehyung. 

Hell, you’ve always played it safe – never tested boundaries. You went to school, got decent grades, and now you run your own business. Everything was fine. Too fine.

The world was your oyster; yet, you’ve never made a quest to seek out for more. Point is, you’re comfortable and that’s what makes you uncomfortable.

Substituting for one of Taehyung’s gigs wouldn’t mean you’re forever locked in to that field … right? Makes you wonder, should you just do it? 

“Fuck it,” you mumble to yourself. 

“Hm?” Taehyung looks up from his phone after placing an order for a cab.

“I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”

“Huh? What are you—”

“Filming. Just this once.” You say, more definite in your words.

“Wait, uh, are you serious? You don’t have to, really. I was kidding when I said you owed me.” Taehyung waves his hands frantically.

“No shit.” You grin. “We’re friends. There’s no such thing as owing each other favors. I want to help you because I do. It’s important to you; therefore, important to me.” Self-growth, you tell yourself, because you needed that too.

He stares at you and shakes his head. 

“Let’s talk again when we’re both sober, okay?”

“But …”

“Sober.” He says, final and definite.

One week later

“Not too late to back out.” Taehyung’s voice blares through your phone speaker. 

Actually, it was too late and highly unprofessional if you were to back out the night before. 

“Why would I do that?”

He says your name sternly, “You don’t have to do something you’re uncomfortable with.” 

“Then why would you even ask me to do it?” You stare at your phone, hands slowing as you rub your moisturizer into your skin. 

“Honestly? Didn’t think you’d actually agree …” 

Hard to believe since he damn near dropped on his knees begging for your help.

“Well … surprise.”

“Okay, thank you. Seriously. You really are doing me a huge favor.” He sighs. “Let me know if you need any pointers.”

“Think I should be okay.” You lie. One way or another, you'll get through this project. Similar to your wedding bookings, you'll go in blindly. And similar to your bookings, everything has an opportunity to end beautifully … or not.

Again, you remind yourself to keep an open mind.

“I’m still shocked about this whole ordeal.” He confesses. 

“How so?” 

“You've never seen someone else's genitalia in the flesh.” He snorts.

“I know what a penis and vagina looks like, Tae.” You roll your eyes. 

“You know what I mean.” 

Celibacy at your age was nothing groundbreaking. Remaining a virgin at twenty-nine, however, was not something you accounted for. Your parents' strict dating policy as an adolescent residing under their roof had lots to do with it, but you had full reigns of your romantic life in college. But … thanks to your fixation with school, dating never happened. Consequently, sex never happened either.

Though, you had many close "fuck it" moments and contemplated randomly hooking up with a stranger to say you've at least experienced sex. Again, never happened. Your first time should be with someone you trusted and cared for. Plus, physical attraction played a huge role and there wasn’t anyone you felt particularly drawn to like that.

At the end of the day, virginity was a social construct. Life goes on. Who cares whether you've been sexually active with another person? 

Hint: you do. And secretly, so does the rest of society.

“So what?”

“Kind of poetic if you think about it.”

What was so poetic about filming porn as a virgin?

“Whatever you say, Shakespeare.” You scoff.

“That's a compliment." You don't have to see him to know he's got a prideful smirk plastered on his face. "But alright, I won’t keep you up any longer. Big day ahead of you tomorrow. Text me if anything comes up.”

“Mmkay, will do. G'night.”

Your clock reads a quarter after eleven. Too late to be doing any editing, but your mind buzzes with one too many thoughts to allow for respite. 

Settling into bed, you crack open your laptop. Might as well be productive and work out your inquiries and schedule for the upcoming month.

Emails? Replied.

Bookings? Confirmed.

Stomach? In knots.

You sink deeper into your mattress. Maybe this was all a mistake, but it's too late to back out now. 

Laptop still perched on your stomach, you groan before immediately clicking into your private browser tab to type in the infamous website you frequented in your early college years when curiosity got the best of you and hormones ran high. 

The first thing you saw were the flashing ads. ‘WANNA JERK OFF? YOU WON’T LAST FIVE SECONDS.’ Next came the tits. And by god, there were lots. You’ve never seen anything more perfect and round than the ones on your screen. A hand leaves your keyboard to grip your covered breast. Hm, yeah, definitely smaller than the ones you see — nipple far from perky like theirs.

More random thumbnails of lewd images pop up as you soak in the page. Your heart races and palms sweat, exhilaration coursing through you as you type in the production company’s name: RkivedShots.

“This is all for educational purposes. Like studying the night before an exam. Yep.” You reason.

Laying against your headboard, your knees prop up to steady your laptop. Hands reaching for your wired earphones, you lower the volume on your speakers in the event you accidentally clicked on something. 

You didn't live with any roommates, but this felt private. In the off chance your neighbors had super hearing powers, you preferred keeping all potentially explicit sounds to yourself.

'Director Kim is different. I like his vision. Totally my style.' Taehyung recounted during a coffee run last week.

Within ten seconds of being on the company’s channel, you concluded one thing: RkivedShots was … odd.

You hover over a thumbnail appearing as a clam, later transitioning to a vagina. The title of the video read: reborn as a mussel like aphrodite spawning in sea foam [cum as sea foam].

What the hell.

‘we found god in each other’s genitals’

‘possessive possession — don’t worry, we have a shaman on site’

‘if you were clay, i’d mold you into the prettiest vase [hardcore bdsm]’

Your eyes widen at all the titles, which progressively worsens with the video’s preview containing trippy transitions and themes. Oh, you feel sick.

The idea of filming porn was no easy feat as is, let alone editing afterwards. But if you can’t even stand looking at RkivedShots’ thumbnails, how were you going to survive being on set tomorrow?

Fuck, you have to persevere.

‘fucking the patriarchy out of a conservative [not clickbait]’

Seems normal … ish.

You click on the video out of curiosity.

Big mistake.

Let's paint the scene: Two men at the Oval Office. One man, rather on the thinner side, dressed in hipster clothing with a matcha latte in one hand and a book in another while he had, what you presume, an older politician bent over a desk. 

“SAY YOU LOVE FEMINISM OR ELSE I WON’T FUCK YOU.”

“OH FUCK, I LOVE FEMINISM!!! PLEASE DON'T STOP!” The politician begs and fucks himself back.

Book tossed onto the desk, the hipster pours his iced matcha latte onto the politician’s back and begins going to pound town while the national anthem played in the background.

Your jaw drops.

With a grimace and a quick 'ew,' you frantically search for the back button to free yourself of whatever was playing. Says a lot when you feel more relief on the company's main channel than you had on that one video.

“God, what was that?” You mumble, finger swiping at your mousepad to sift through other videos. Your eyes land on another video titled ‘grapefruit.’ Short and simple. You’re not chancing it though and would rather edit a twenty hour long footage than watch someone potentially fuck a grapefruit … or whatever Director Kim came up with.

Finally, you reach a video appearing "normal" based on the title and thumbnail alone, only showcasing a half naked man in boxer briefs, face cut from view. His tattooed arm rests on his torso, hand cupping his groin area. 

‘relax with me after a long day [JK 🐰]’

You swallow. 

Thirty minutes long. A simple masturbation video. In comparison to all the hour long videos on this channel, this felt like an anomaly. Heart hammering in your chest, you click on the thumbnail.

You made a mental note to call it a night if you see even one crazy transition. You're hopeful though — hopeful the video would do exactly as the title suggested.

To relax — ease your mind a little after being exposed to nothing but oddities this evening.

Maybe, this one will be normal. 

But this begged another question: was porn normal?

Your breath hitches once the video begins, soft piano music playing in the background. The man on screen stirs something in the depths of your stomach. The piercings, sharp jawline, and angled brows paired with his round eyes? Every part of his face was a contradiction. And yet, you were undeniably captivated by his beauty. 

Eyes talk and his spoke to you without words. 

Unlike the video’s thumbnail, he’s completely clothed. The production style mirrored a vlog, except there's the looming knowledge of what's yet to come. Probably him. No, undoubtedly him. 

“Hey.” He greets with a lopsided grin. You increase the volume on your earphones a little higher, eager to hear more of him. 

The video cuts to him cooking a meal, eating, watching television, and working out. Mundane life stuff. Every segment was less than three seconds long. Short-lived. That is, until the next clip cuts to him showering.

The all glass shower and camera angled modestly leave viewers with wandering thoughts. Even with the steam blurring the shower glass, there's urgency in his movements — longing to rejoin the camera.

The sight of him emerging from the shower stall has you clenching your thighs together. Camera still propped at the same angle, you're only able to make out his upper half. Which, honestly, was more than enough for your mind to dip into darker territories. And fuck … his dripping wet hair and body does things to your poor heart … among other parts of your body. 

As he dries his hair, you catch his eyes. 

Again, no actual words get exchanged. He keeps you entranced.

He’s on a light brown couch now, appearances matching the video’s thumbnail. 

Fumbling with the camera, he props it on the table. Not even one second after he backed away, the camera falls face down. He chuckles, rich and full of life. You bite back your own giggle having related to his struggle plenty of times in the past. 

“Whoops, sorry—dropped ya' on accident.” He says as he moves the camera upright. Seated back, that's when you see it. 

The outline of his hard cock. 

How’d he get like that? You’re not sure.

What you’re sure of, though, is how your body reacts as he smirks. Given any other man you've encountered online with this exact demeanor, you'd immediately rule them as overly confident, borderline cocky — only deserving of being ignored. Yet, you stay for him.

He knows he's hot.

And maybe for that reason, he needs no formal transition or introduction to what he does next. Your eyes follow the hand trailing down his torso and past the waistband of his boxers. Still covered, he wraps his hand around his hard length. The outline of his closed fist moves slowly, tugging until he releases a shaky breath.

“Fuck—ngh,” he tosses his head back, moans coming out sporadically — the slight lift in his voice damn near mimicked a whine.

Tongue heavier in your mouth, you watch him pull the front of his boxers down to expose his cock. It slaps against his abdomen. Thick. Hard. Flushed. 

He’s so beautiful. It’s only natural every part of him matched his perfection. The vein running on the underside of his cock matched with the ones on his hand.

You really should click out. 

Really. 

You shouldn’t dip your hand down your front.

Shouldn’t cup your still-covered pussy only to feel your arousal has seeped through your panties. 

Shouldn’t press your middle finger down your covered slit.

Shouldn’t whimper when he pauses to spit into his hand only to go back to jerking his length, legs spreading wider.

“Wish you were here with me.”

You’re not sure who he was referring to. Certainly not you, but the admission was enough coercion to give into your needs. 

For a moment, you forget why you're even on this site. "Research" purposes. Right. Yeah … and you're in the exploratory phase now, searching aimlessly for some form of relief.

You deserved it.

He wants you to.

Why else would the video be titled that way? 

The handsome man on your screen seems to contribute to your reasoning, giving you one more reason, one last go ahead. His honey voice resounds in your ears. “Want you to play with yourself too. Can you do that for me?”

The softly spoken request sends a shock wave down your spine, and if you weren’t already so aroused you would be ashamed at how fast your body reacted.

Your brows pull together at the bare contact of your middle finger and clit. 

You moan as you rub your clit in small circles, relieved from the motion. The occasional wet sounds reach your ears when you move a little quicker to match his pace.

You’re determined to do so, especially when he keeps voicing his praises. “Good. So good. Can you keep up with me?”

The laptop's fan whirs on your stomach, heat keeping you warm. Your forearm knocks and shakes the laptop. Still, you had the perfect view of him.

Another shaky breath slips past your lips.

His hips lift from the couch, hand paying extra attention to the top half of his shaft. He knows what he likes. What gets him shuddering — what gets him wanting more.

A clear, translucent liquid builds at his slit the more he jerks himself off. Doesn't touch it though — no, not yet. Lets it build until it dribbles down the edge of his length on its own, and he lets out a particularly raspy moan at the sight.

"Fuck." You choke, arm slipping down lower. Your middle finger stops just at your entrance.

Penetration was not your thing, but tonight, you entertain the fantasy of him inside you. Middle finger teasing your entrance, you push and prod, imagining his tip kissing your entrance. Would he beg to enter inside of you, whine and groan the same way he does while playing alone with himself? Smear and mark his precum all over your entrance to claim you as his?

Truthfully, the concept of something entering in you felt better than the actual act. You've tried fingering yourself in the past — hurt and burned like hell. Could never get the position right. And honestly? Who cared knowing the clit was right there?

But the thought of the man on screen pushing his length inside — stuffing you, fucking you, filling you up good … god, you needed to feel something, anything, inside you. 

Arousal trailing down your slit and ass, you wedge your arm down even lower. Your finger pushes against your entrance with a little more purpose, the first knuckle slipping in with little resistance.

Eyes shut, you bite the inside of your cheeks. You don't linger inside for long as a result of the stinging sensation.

A sigh of relief tumbles out as your finger goes back to its happy place.

Again, tried and true.

“Wanna cum with you so badly.” He breathes, jaw going slack before he wraps his lips around the digits of his other free hand. You watch with anticipation, teeth biting down your bottom lip at the sight of his wet, glistening fingers tracing around his nipple. 

T-shirt tucked underneath your chin, you shudder from the cold air, but copy what the man does. Imagine it’s his lips enclosed over your hardened nipples, the cold metal piercing making contact against your skin. He’d look up at you, smile prettily like he has in the video, and worship your body as he likes.

Fuck. 

There’s a certain numbness you feel at the bottom of your stomach signaling your end. You tense, fingers moving faster over your clit. 

His once pushed-back wet bangs are now dried and wavy on his forehead. If not for all the sinful acts he’s doing to himself neck down, he’d look like someone you could see hanging out with and talking to — a friend. Let’s be real … how good of a friend can you be to someone you’re about to cum with? 

He's not faring any better. His impatient whines grow louder, bleary eyes fighting to stay open as he jerks himself off faster. Everything tells you he’s going to cum: the blush on his chest, the tightness in his balls, the freshly bitten lips. 

Oh, you want every bit of it. Want, no, need to see how he finishes and how he loses control of his body in his climax. 

But just at the last second, he pulls away. Cock resting flushed and firm against his stomach, he laughs. Breathless, akin to a mock. Your hand comes to a halt as well, clit twitching against your fingers. There's no gratification in cumming if the experience was stolen and watered down.

“Sorry,” he breathes. “Still with me? Didn’t finish yet, right?”

A soft, yet frustrated whine leaves your lips. Technically, you didn't need him — could finish the job yourself. But you wanted this … wanted to end with him.

You wait patiently, body reeling in excitement as he wraps his hand around his length again. Your fingers remain stagnant, afraid one minor movement might lead to an unsatisfied orgasm.

“Want you to finish with me. Please?” His head falls back as he wanks himself again, speed ramping up. 

He does this multiple times. Gets himself all worked up. Teases himself—teases his viewer. Gets close. Stops. 

Rinse and repeat.

He edges himself near the point of punishment — excels at it like it’s his favorite sport.

And you follow after him every time because it feels good to be led like this. You’re so fucking wet, fingers coated with your slick. You're sure if you move from where you’re laying, there would be a damp spot on your bedsheets, a clear indicator of your arousal.

“You wanna cum with me so badly, huh?” He husks. “Been so good for me, yeah? Would be so nice to cum together, right baby? I’ll give you what you want.” 

His words earn another moan from you — and fuck, you don’t think you can last a minute longer. Quickly, your mouse hovers at the time bar again, eyes scanning for any indication of the most played segment. 

28:37. The video peaks right there — the finish line.

And you're deserving of every bit of this victory.

He wets his lips with his tongue and smiles. The glint of his lip piercings catches the light and then—

"Oh fuckfuckfuck, I'm gonna cum—"

You've been so good, so obedient. To hell with your goal of a timed orgasm to match his … you have to put yourself first. Toes curled, your body loses all control as you finish before him. 

It's enough, though. His whines, the stutter of his chest, the speed of his hand. And when his cum paints his abdomen and dribbles over his veiny fist, your hand flattens on your mound, four fingers rubbing vigorously to extend every second of your long-awaited orgasm. Back arching off your headboard, your body withers from the impact: gut-punching, velvety … practically soul-sucking.

You lay there shaking and sensitive from your earth-shattering orgasm for a couple seconds before pulling your hand out of your pants. It's then you realize how numb and achy your arm got from all the exertion. You raise your poor hand to your face, light catching and displaying a clear sheen of the aftermath of your intense orgasm. Before your mind could register what you had done, a breathy laugh cuts through the silence.

“Fuck. That was a good one.”

Whelp, there it is: post-nut clarity.

You’ve never ripped your earphones out and closed a browser faster than you have now. Shame heats up the back of your neck at the realization you had just beat off to a random stranger online. Sure, you’ve done so before in your early twenties, but you’ve grown since then (so you think). There were many alternatives to getting off without watching other people. 

You shake your head in embarrassment, forearm coming up to cover your eyes. 

Every part of your body feels weightless, tension no longer present in your muscles after finishing the way you did. As tempting as it was to just go to sleep, you know you’ll regret not cleaning up the mess between your legs and fingers in the morning. 

Another minute goes by before forcing yourself to look for a new pair of underwear and sleep shorts. The clean up and change is quick only because you can’t bear looking into the mirror. 

So afraid you’ll unearth and confront your true feelings of the time spent with the video:

You liked it. Specifically, you liked how safe you felt behind the screen with that man. 

Sleep comes with little effort tonight … all thanks to a boy with eyes that spoke without words.

a/n: ty to my lovely betas @takeitawaykenny & @lovieku!! yall both saved my life with ur eagle eyes and big brains. this couldn’t have happened without your guys help and input 🥺 tytytytytyyyy

now.. gentle readers, thoughts/predictions? im editing ch1 atm, so any encouragement would be greatly appreciated ♡ i anticipate posting in a couple weeks. toodles!!

There's an old Greek myth that explains why people are drawn to each other, always trying to find the one, their perfect fit.

Long ago, people were not in the forms they know today. Rather, they were attached back to back, never even facing each other, but could feel the other with every move they made. They could be two men, two women, a man and a woman, or a myriad of other combinations. They were always two, and at the same time one. They had four arms, four legs, two heads. An amalgamation of flesh and limbs, moving as one, a partner connected to them in every sense of the word. They could never leave each other's sides, and they would always know each other's souls. They were powerful, beautiful beings, who had to be punished for their hubris, as stories of humanity often go. The gods separated them in half, dividing the limbs from eight to four, the heads from two to one. 

Forever, humans were destined to search for the soul who was once tethered to their own, their missing piece. 

A human without their soulmate wasn't truly human yet at all, not in the same, completed sense they were before. It's what drives us to search for them without ever being told to, that has us brush paths with other minds and other beings until we find the familiar touch we ached for all along, without ever even realizing it.

Most people were lucky to meet their soulmate by the time they were in their 30s. Others found theirs by the time they were middle aged. Some never found theirs at all.

You were luckier than most, having found the one when you were all but five.

You could barely even recall the memory. Not what you said, not what he said, it was all a blur. All you remembered was the moment your eyes met his, and how every atom in your body was drawn to him, knowing that this was the person you had spent every previous life searching for. And now he had practically fallen into your lap.

He had known it, too. He knew no matter what you did, no matter what came between you, he was yours.

Your parents weren't around much when you were growing up, and when they saw you attached to the hip with the neighbor boy, they figured he had it covered. "Jungkook will take care of you," they had said, not wanting to deal with whatever trouble you had caused back when you were still seeking their affection. As if it were actually worth something. "You're his problem."

Perhaps you took it a bit too much to heart.

When you'd get picked on during recess he was the one who stood up to your bullies. (Well, he tried.) Sometimes they'd retaliate, their aggression being redirected from you to your poor friend. (He'd still have to fight, because you got in a lot less trouble when you used your hands rather than whatever was sharpies nearby, which was your usual move.) It was usually you who started it in the first place, too. If Jungkook didn't get there in time to step between you, however, it often ended up worse, with him tagging along as you were dragged to the principal's office for whatever nefarious scheme you had cooked up. You expected him to come with you each time it happened, you didn't even have to ask. You always got everything you wanted, especially from him. He'd sit with you in every detention you received even if he didn't do anything wrong. He'd always apologize on your behalf to whoever you pissed off that day with your abrasiveness and foul mouth. When he got his first part time job, much of his tiny paychecks were spent on taking you out to eat and buying you gifts when he happened to piss you off— which was a lot.

A part of Jungkook acknowledged you were a burden— something you would accuse him of thinking over and over again but he'd never admit. (At least, not out loud.) Great emphasis had been put on the fact that he was expected to stay by your side through anything. He was supposed to be your protector, your mentor, your best friend since birth. Given that he was the one born a few weeks earlier, he was put in charge of your well-being. It's not like your folks really wanted to parent anyway, too busy booking cruises and leaving the responsibility on Jungkook's shoulders. His parents gave less of a shit about it than yours did. They were to preoccupied with image, a large part of it involving your futures. They'd coo and awe at the idea of the two of you growing up and getting married, so much so that you yourself proclaimed it as fate when you two were all but five.

Jungkook's always been expected to spend his entire life with you.

You were constantly getting in trouble though, refusing to make serious connections with anyone else because you had him. You always had him. Any text you sent him and, no matter how busy, he was at your place within the hour. You were his problem to fix, over and over again, no matter what prior engagements he had planned to spend away from you. It's not like you ever wanted him to be away from you, though. He really was your only friend, or at least the only one you actually liked. Eventually he was able to convince you to at least pretend to be friends with others, for appearances' sake. He thought a bit of feminine influence could do you some good, and to an extent you did. You weren't exactly fond of the new "friends" you had to make, however. You pretty much openly disdained everyone except for Jungkook.

Though sometimes you openly hated him too.

Especially when his attention was directed anywhere other than you. You'd scoff and have an attitude whenever he went out with fellow classmates at university, and throw a major bitch fit if it happened to be a girl. Any chick Jungkook so much as mentioned would have you seeing red.

What could he possibly need her for any way? Was she just another one of the sluts he kept on the side that he thought you didn't know about? After all, how could you not hear about it when your "friends" have been telling you rumors about your best friend since high school? What did those cunts have that you weren't providing for him? Were they just another tool for him, the way your friends were for you? It's not like he could connect with any of them, not the way he does with you.

You were born with an innate corruption that never seemed to go away. From a spoiled toddler, trouble maker kid, rebellious teenager, and now bitchy adult, you never quite found yourself able to relate to the people around you. They were all so fucking boring and stupid, anything they had to offer simply coming off as dull to you. You didn't need any of these dimwits, their fake smiles and false concern. Jungkook was all you needed. 

You knew Jungkook saw the darkness in you. The way he'd give you a glare before speaking to whatever teacher was reprimanding you. The way he told you "Don't." at times when you barely opened your mouth, knowing exactly what you were thinking and what you were about to say, and that the results would be calamitous at best. The exasperation in his voice when he had to diffuse whatever situation you caused. The annoyance in his tone when you'd spam him with calls or texts when he wasn't answering. Whenever he called you a psycho bitch when you were yelling at him about wanting to fuck whatever girl happened to approach the two of you that day. He wasn't blind to it— he bore witness to everything. He had to watch and study your every move for years, because he knew if he kept his eyes off of you for even a second, he'd face the consequences one way or another. 

Sometimes you wondered why he stayed. Was it just because he was expected to by your parents? Surely he would've ditched you as soon as the two of you became adults. Did he love you, despite everything you constantly put him through? He always seemed so put out though when you'd interrogate him on that type of answer, asking if he loved his "new girlfriend" (latest fuck) more than you, if she was prettier than you. The answer was always no. But then again, Jeon Jungkook was always a big fat liar, so how could you ever trust him?

You came to the conclusion that whatever sinister wickedness you possessed, he did too. Maybe he wasn't as bad as you, but he was also far better at hiding it. Some twisted link the two of you shared kept you unable to let go of each other.

That didn't stop you from worrying over that exact thing, though, every minute of every day.

No matter how many times Jungkook assured you he'd never leave you, you never seemed to fully believe him. It's been that way well over twenty years now, and Jungkook is beginning to suspect it'll be a permanent fixture of his life.

Jungkook wondered himself sometimes why he stayed with you. You were a total conniving bitch, constantly manipulating him into doing what you want and throwing tantrums when you weren't his absolute top priority. God forbid he openly date another girl. He knew you weren't completely stupid— he was messy at times. He'd slip up and something would throw a wrench in his plans despite him usually thinking three steps ahead. Better than the impulsive streak you bore. Still, he made an effort to hide any of his secret relationships from you. Even when the girls begged and insisted on making things official, Jungkook had to tell them otherwise. Over and over again they'd ask him to pick them over his best friend, and every time it guaranteed a fast exit for him. His answer was always the same and unwavering. He was unable to commit to any woman, knowing your reaction to any girl becoming an even temporary part of his life would be disastrous. Was sex really worth facing your wrath?

A small, meek part of him was scared you'd actually leave him.

The fear may be irrational, but it's one he's always been anxious of. He used to be terrified about you getting expelled and being sent to another school away from him, out of his sight. He didn't even want you to spend detentions alone, afraid you'd make things worse for yourself without him there. God, the amount of shit he had probably unknowingly saved you from. What if one day you piss of the wrong person and are taken away from him forever? What if you went to jail because of some dumb shit you pulled? He wouldn't even be able to stay inside with you, penitentiaries often being divided by sex. 

You were always his responsibility, and though it has been a burden on his life for as long as he could remember, he couldn't stand the thought of you being anyone else's. You were his. His problem. Made for him. He had always known it in his bones.

He'd have to push down the deeper recesses of that thought, however, reminding himself the two of you literally grew up together your entire lives. You were like a sister to him— or as close as he'd ever get to one. Jungkook was constantly reminded of the fact by family, friends, and peers. "They're not like that, they're practically related," people would say when others would question how close the two of you were. "They're basically brother and sister." Something in his stomach churned whenever he heard that, but he knew why it was said. He practically raised you. Hell, he's still teaching you how to behave. He couldn't possibly allow himself to see you that way. He'd stick his dick in whatever he could to make sure of it.

No matter how much you'd try to tempt him.

You'd make teasing remarks and joke about the concept of you two jumping in bed together, much to his (mock) disgust.

"I hope you're not planning on going out in that," Jungkook warned, flipping channels through your TV as you pranced about shorts that tested his patience. 

"Why? Don't think they look good on me?" you said playfully. 

"No," he deadpanned, not reacting to your (cute) angry pout. "They're indecent."

"Would they look better on the floor, you think?" you teased.

Jungkook's ears burned at that, but he kept his eyes glued to the TV, not wanting to look at your smug face should you interpret his expression for flustered. "Quit embarrassing yourself and go put on actual clothes."

It was your turn to become unnerved this time, your face heating up in both agitation and embarrassment as you scoffed at Jungkook's words. "Fine!" you huffed, trying to ignore the all to0 common twist in your chest at the rejection. Why should you feel so defeated? It's not like you had any hope of a different response... right? Jungkook's always acting disgusted when you make jokes like that. He wasn't your boyfriend, and clearly he never would be. He saw you as his best friend, basically his sister. Never anything more.

But he was so much more to you.

He was your birthright, your possession. Yours. Your Kookie, no matter how often he reminds you to stop calling you by that stupid childhood nickname. Yours. And yours alone.

No matter what whore he ended up taking to bed, he'd always end up kicking them out and going to you in the morning. No matter what psychotic argument you started, how much you'd push his buttons, and how much you'd push the limit, he stayed.

He may yell back. He may put you in your place the way no one else would be able to. He may quell your bratty attitude and bring you back down to Earth even in your bitchiest attitudes.

No matter how much you pushed it though, he stayed.

Though you were so, so scared that one day you were going to take it to far and drive him away for good.

To a certain degree you were self aware of your own behavior. You were exhausting to put up with, and there was a reason beyond your own stubbornness that you only had Jungkook. You couldn't help it, though. Sometimes the resentment and fire would just build up in you and explode with no warning at all. 

Today was one of those days.

You yanked Jungkook's headphones off his head, startling and angering him as his game was interrupted. He yelped and glared at you, mouth open to scold you and ask what the fuck you thought you were doing. That is, until he saw what was in your hand, and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

You wore a sneer of absolute disgust as you held up the pair of panties between two fingers, dangling it as far as you could away from you and into his space. The rage permeated off of you in an intimidating aura, sending a chill down Jungkook's spine as you glowered down at him in his gaming chair.

"Found this buried in your couch cushions," you growled in an accusatory tone, tossing them in the trash can by his desk.

Jungkook rose from his chair, leaving his game unattended to. "It's not—"

"What, were you fucking another one of your whores right before I came in? Is that way you didn't have time to clean your disgusting couch?" You wiped your hand across your shirt, as though trying to get off any germs that had transferred from the fabric. "Can't believe you let me sit on that thing after you defiled it. Fucking gross."

Jungkook rolled his eyes, knowing already where this was going. It was a fight that has been rehashed to the death any time you find out a woman has so much as stepped foot in his apartment. "I don't get what the big deal is."

"The big deal is I had to sit on a place where your nasty ass fucked some slut!" You exclaimed, eyes narrowing. "Fucking gross, Jeon. Can't keep your dick in your pants? You just have to nail half the city for, what, your STD collection?"

"I use protection, stop throwing such a bitch fit," Jungkook snapped back, irritated with you already. "So I fucked a girl on my couch—"

"Ha! So you admit it!" You pointed a finger in his face, eyes blazing at his confession. "And to think you were about to pull some bullshit lie up your ass. Oh, don't give me that look Kookie, I know exactly what you were about to say."

Jungkook slapped a palm over his face, letting it drag. He wasn't going to win this. He never did. "And what was that, since you know everything?"

You clasped your hands together, cheeks burning as you felt yourself fume and stew. You couldn't get the picture out of your head. Jungkook, banging some faceless whore on the couch where the two of you watched the entirety of Breaking Bad and half of Netflix. Now when you looked at it you'd only be able to envision him on top of another girl. You know you shouldn't be naive— he's probably used a different girl on every surface of his goddamn apartment. Still, coming face to face with physical proof of his disloyalty set you off like nothing else. With dramatic vitriol, you mimicked your friend's most likely mindless words. "Oh, it's not what you think! Those aren't mine. Those are just a friend's. I'm sure it's an accident! She was no one!"

The girls were apparently always "just no one" to him. They didn't matter. You matter, that's what he always assured you.

Then why did you feel like nothing when you found a piece of fabric wedged between the cushions?

Jungkook crossed his arms, unamused by your theatrics. "She was no one. Why should you even care anyway?"

"Because I do!" You felt the toxicity leach out of you through every pore, this illogical fury reaching a boiling point. "And you just... don't! You never do, huh? You just don't give a fuck about me, do you? You know how upset it makes me, but you go out and do it anyways. I mean, fuck how I feel, right? Clearly you don't give a shit."

Jungkook sighed, taking a step towards you and reaching out. "You know that's not true."

"It is, though. That's why you hid it from me, isn't it?"

"I forgot all about it!" Jungkook said, exasperated, throwing his hands up. "If I didn't give a shit about you anyways I'd leave it out where you can see. I didn't do it just to hurt—" He stopped himself, running his hands over his face. "Why do you have to take it like some personal attack every fucking time? Why do you have to be such a bitch for no good reason?"

That part made your chest sting, a mixture of both emptiness and pain filling up the hollow cavity where your heart should be. You stay quiet for a moment, letting his words hang in the air. You couldn't help it or choke it down, your eyes beginning to sting as tears appeared along your water line.

Why couldn't he fucking get it? Why didn't he understand he was yours? You made it so clear to him that you're his in every way. What did he still need other girls for? 

Why weren't you enough for him?

Jungkook, blood now boiling, examined your sorrowful expression. As much as he wanted to stay angry at you for coming in screaming about his sex life you had no part in (as he often had to remind himself), he couldn't help but soften. He's seen you cry a thousand times over the years, yet it never gets easier; he couldn't help but melt at the sight of you. The scowl he once had morphed into one of worry, and he reached for you out of instinct. You tried to slap his hands away, but he ignored your protests and sniffles and wrapped you in a bear hug, letting you bury your face into his chest as you started to cry.

"I'm sorry. Please don't be upset with me," he immediately backtracked, trying to soothe you as he tangled his fingers in your hair, pressing his lips to your forehead. Regret quickly replaced any feelings of exhaustion or anger towards your antagonizing. He couldn't stand seeing you upset like this. The screaming and tantrums he could handle, but something about your expression just now made him want beg on his knees for your forgiveness. Why did he always have to upset you? Why was he always hurting you somehow, without even meaning to?

You hated it. You hated how weak he made you. You hated him sometimes for making you so miserable for no reason at all. 

You let your tears fall onto his shirt as you sobbed, though he didn't seem to mind. He soothingly pet your head in the way he knew you loved, and held you a little tighter. You loved the moments you could spend in his arms, from sharing a bed during shared family vacations or making up after a fight. It was one of the few times you could let yourself believe in the security you so desperately craved from him.

"I'm just a fuck up, aren't I?" Jungkook softly said, voice calm as he stroked your hair. "I made you cry and everything. I'm really the worst."

You let out a small giggle at that, hiding your face in his shirt so he wouldn't see. "You're not the worst," you whispered, a small admittance.

"I'm not?"

You shook your head a little, blinking away the tears. "Everyone else's the worst."

Vibrations emitted from his chest as he laughed. "You're right. Everyone else is the worst..." He squeezed you a little tighter for a second. "That's why it's just you and me."

You grasped onto the fabric you were crying into, curling your fists at his assurance. "It is?"

He kissed your forehead, pressing his lips against you as he inhaled the lilac-scent of your shampoo. "Of course. Always."

You let your cheeks dry as you take in his words. This is always how it ended. Jungkook would give you some sweet words to dissuade your anger, and you'd forgive him like always until he did it again, and the cycle would repeat.

God, you were such a toxic piece of shit. You should let go of him. Let him fuck who he wants without having to worry about upsetting you, a girl who he wasn't even interested in remotely. He'd never see you the same way, and here you were punishing him for what? His disloyalty? Why should he owe you anything after everything you've put him through.

Maybe you were just addicted to punishing yourself, like someone in a situationship. But yours wasn't even that.

Your head swam with thoughts of self doubt and hatred. Quietly, you asked, "Do you ever hate me, Jungkook?"

He seemed to freeze in your embrace, the question unexpected. Usually it's something you accused him of in one of your fits, not ask during the come down. "Of course not. What makes you think that?"

You sniffled. "Sometimes I just think you'd be better off without me."

Jungkook hadn't given it much thought before, mainly because he'd rather do anything than imagine his life without you in it. As many flaws as he could list, he could name a plethora of things he liked about you. Your drive and wit that could charm any talk show host, if you actually cared to impress anyone but him. Even that aspect, your unwillingness to people-please anyone else and do what you wanted. You weren't a doormat the way he was, always choosing to fight rather than cower. You were always able to do much more damage than he could, whether it was against bullies or mean coworkers or abhorrent professors. If anything, he felt like often he held you back. Sure, from trouble, but who would you be if you didn't have someone you were always tied down to? Who would you be without him?

The thought made him feel sick, and he wrapped his arms around you a bit more securely to really feel you with him. You weren't going anywhere, you were right here in his arms.

Then why did he sometimes feel so distant from you? Like right now? He was always able to tell what you were thinking. Except the times you retreated into yourself, in your shell where even he couldn't reach you at times. It always made him anxious about whatever he'd say next.

"I don't like to think about it, honestly," Jungkook said honestly. Was it something you thought about? Did you ever think about leaving him? Were you thinking about it now? "I don't want to imagine us not being together."

"Even though I give you so much grief?" you questioned. "Even though you have other girls?"

Jungkook laughed. Your jealousy and possessiveness over him was still showing. Good. This he could work with. "You don't have to worry about that. They aren't important."

"What if one becomes important?"

It's an unexpected question that, again, Jungkook hadn't considered.

"None of them would be as important as you," he assured. "No one ever could."

Part of that made you feel better, but it wasn't quite what you wanted to hear. You didn't want anyone holding even a modicum of importance to Jungkook besides you. You didn't want him to be fucking any girls or giving anyone else the attention you deserved. Sure, you were the most, but you weren't guaranteed to forever be the only.

You finally look up at him, those sweet, charming, doe brown eyes meeting you with softness and patience. Far more than you actually deserved. 

You were so immeshed and intertwined with Jungkook that you didn't know what parts of you were all him and what aspects of him were all you. Your souls had perhaps mixed beyond separation, instead making two indistinguishable entities forever bound to one another. To you there was no law more true than he was yours, and you were his. It was truer than physics.

But maybe he didn't deserve to be tied to a wretched little creature like you. You were jealous and possessive of him, and he made it clear though every rejection of your advances that he wasn't as much yours as you would hope.

What was the point of envying something you can never truly have?

"Do you ever want space from me?" You said it in such a hushed tone Jungkook barely caught it.

"No." He furrowed his brows as he took in your words. Did you want space from him? Was that it? Jungkook's mind whirred with your questions. Had he pushed it too far? "Do you... want me to give you space?"

Your fists curled again, nails digging into your palms. Jungkook gave you too much space for your personal liking. Space that he was using to fuck other women and spend time away from you. What more could need? What more did you have left to give?

The moral quandaries of the situation flooded your head, and you were unable to decide what to answer. You were a selfish bitch, through and through. He should be yours and no one else's, and you've believed that since the day you met him. He was yours, yours, and yours.

But clearly he wasn't, and clearly he didn't want to be. He didn't want to be yours the way you wanted to be his, and the reminder caused your heart to weigh just a little bit more every day.

How long could you keep him like this? On the brink of insanity as he tries to please your impossible whims of ownership over him? What would be the last straw on the camel's back to drive him away from you and to someone he could actually choose?

Would space be good for him?

"I don't know," you admitted quietly.

That sent Jungkook's mind spiraling. His two instincts were to 1.) push you away and ask frantically why you didn't automatically say no the way he did or  2.) hug you so tight you'd never be able to escape his clutches. He'd keep you in his apartment forever if he had to, chain you to his desk and never let you leave, like a legitimate psycho.

His breathing quickened and his heart rate spiked, and instead of either option he froze again, blood running cold. He didn't even know what to do or respond. Should he scream the way you do him until you changed your mind to what he wants? Should he do whatever it took to make you stay? Where were you getting these ideas from? Did someone plant them in that stupid little brain of yours? You hardly had any friends, and what few you did was mainly for appearances and boredom, though you often complained to Jungkook about what bores and nags they were in your eyes. Jungkook has always been the only person in this world you liked, let alone loved.

Did you meet a guy? No, that couldn't be it. All of your "friends" were girls, and you found most guys intolerable and annoying with the exception of him.

But what if you found another exception?

"Jungkook?" You nervously said, perturbed by his unusual quietness.

Jungkook decided to play it cool. Faking a laugh, he teased, "Jeez, what's gotten into you today? These aren't your normal questions. What happened to my girl?"

He ruffled your hair until you whined and squirmed in an attempt to leave his arms. He didn't let you.

"Jungkooook!" You whined, nails slightly scratching at his forearms in retaliation. You wrapped your hands around each, the thick muscle pulsing beneath your palms as he kept you glued against him.

"C'mon, ask me a real question the way you normally do. Prove you're my best friend or I'll believe you're an imposter." He nuzzled his nose in your neck, causing you to wiggle out of ticklishness this time. You giggled at his affection, lightly slapping at his arms in protest as he blew air against your neck. "Prove it."

You bit your lip to suppress a smile, unable to stay mad at him for too long. "Was she prettier than me?" you pouted, your tone more playful than angry now.

His nose touched yours softly as he stared at you, relieved to have a question he's finally knows how to answer. "Nah," he smiled, fingers twirling around a strand of your hair as he tried to keep you in his orbit. "No one is. You know that."

You grinned at his compliment, the line well rehearsed and well used, but comforting all the same.

Still, you thought about how many times you've had this argument, and how many more you'll have in the future. It'd always go like this, with you as the possessive and jealous best friend who couldn't stand the idea of anyone else in his life. How long would it be before he figures out you're just not worth the trouble?

—

Jungkook kicked it back in his friend's garage as the two shared a joint, letting the smoke fill their lungs and siphon out of the garage door and into the open air. Sitting in front of his friend's janky heater, he wondered to himself about his predicament. This was one of the few opportunities he could spend out of your sight, as you were in class. God, the way he had to bribe you with boba and sleepovers for over a month just to convince you to stop causing so much chaos away from him... It's a miracle you weren't kicked out of this school before you pissed off one of your professors by disagreeing with their lectures and insulting their intelligence. Hell, the only way Jungkook was able to salvage your place at previous schools was by emphasizing your immaculate scores. They were contradicted your reckless behavior, sure, but schools wanted to keep their testing scores up. You were never stupid by any capacity, you just used any bit of genius you possessed to manipulate and get away with whatever degeneracy you had planned. Usually some nefarious scheme of revenge against some girl who so much as looked at Jungkook the wrong way. He got very used to the women approaching him suddenly finding snakes in their backpacks or surrounded by rumors sullying their good name. Your craftiness, no doubt. Clearly you had too much freetime. At least with classes, though, Jungkook was able to take some breaks— though you'd disapprove of how he'd use some on girls that coincidentally happened to vaguely resemble you. At least vaguely enough for there to be plausible deniability.

Jungkook passed the weed to his friend, a chill dude with good weed but a boring personality. Maybe Kook did have a bit of that same darkness you possessed, finding everyone else to be a waste of time unless they can be of use to him. He could definitely use the joint right now... and perhaps a little advice.

"Mind if I pick your brain on something?" Jungkook asked. His friend gave him the side eye, unused to the man's sudden interest in his thoughts.

"Lady troubles, huh?" A puff of smoke escaped his friend's parted lips. "Is it that chick you just fucked a while ago? What's her name... Sarah?"

"Nah man, not her." Truth was Jungkook's pretty much forgotten her name already, as he usually does. He's pretty sure she's rang already once or twice, but he wasn't finding himself in any hurry to return her calls. He's mainly been worried about you these past couple of weeks. God, maybe he was the sleazy piece of shit you thought him to be. No wonder you were so disgusted with him. "It's just... someone."

Ever since the most recent fight you have been off. Less texts spamming him constantly with memes or annoyance for not replying immediately. When he took you out for boba you actually paid for yourself— which you never do. You also turned down his invitation to watch Godzilla movies at his place, even after he insisted he cleaned every inch of that goddamn couch three times. Something was up, and every passing moment made Jungkook unusually antsy. Now he was the one bombarding you with calls checking up on you, your unusual reserved attitude putting him in a frenzied state. Didn't he fix it? You were never upset for this long. Ok, maybe you were sometimes, but you'd never just... leave him alone. You'd be waiting at his apartment, sitting on the couch you now know he's violated, and starting up right where you left off with the argument last time. You should be cussing and shouting, not MIA from the screen you were usually glued to.

"Riiiiight..." the friend said with a drag, nodding as he passed the joint back. "So tell me about it."

"It's my... friend." It felt odd calling you just that, without the word best in front of it. It felt so much more insignificant compared to what you actually meant to him, the small word doing nothing to compare. But if he went out of the gate with best his friend would definitely know it was about you. Still, it’s not like you could be anything more, no matter how badly Jungkook wanted to cross that line. He couldn’t, though. He knew the minute you acted serious about it, didn’t brush it off as a joke— the moment he had you he wouldn’t be able to let go. He couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen, he couldn’t pretend everything was normal. You most certainly wouldn’t be ready for it. The situation at hand was proving it. "She's acting strange lately. Like... I dunno, distant. We got in a fight earlier but usually by now everything's normal again."

"Did you do something particularly heinous?" the friend inquired.

To her, definitely, Jungkook thinks, taking a hit. "Not anything new."

"Maybe she just wants space," the friend suggested.

"I don't want to give her space," Jungkook blurted out without meaning to.

That is responded to with a grin. His friend's eyebrows rose at Jungkook's reaction. "Oh? Why not?"

She's mine. She should be with me. She's mine. "I dunno... just doesn't seem like the right call I guess."

"Hm." His friend took back the joint and pulled in a long inhale, thinking. "So you wanna make her talk to you, huh?"

Did he? There was always the risk it'd just become another screaming match with you. You didn't seem to have any interest in opening up right now, so closed off to Jungkook for what seems like the first time.

What was it? Was it because he had been spending a bit less time with you now? What with his admittedly growing social life due to inevitable popularity, (Which you hated, though it was unavoidable with his good looks and charisma. You couldn't truly blame any of Jungkook's bimbos for being unable to resist.) and stress filled classes, he certainly wasn't spending as much time with you as he did when you two were kids. Were you just giving him a taste of his own medicine? Or had you finally decided to get a life of your own that didn't involve him? He hoped neither. 

Did you not need him any more?

The mere thought made it feel as thought his insides were being flipped inside out.

"I tried talking to her, but she sort of just shut me out." Jungkook reached for the joint for a much needed hit. "I don't think I can handle this for much longer. I feel like I'm gonna go just... nuts soon. I'm this close to not holding back."

From what, even he wasn't sure. 

"Then don't," his friend shrugged. "Make her talk to you, if it's that important. See if she likes you enough to listen to you. Someplace that catches her off her guard." He paused to think for a moment. "Or get her drunk. Girls love spilling their guts when they're drunk. My sister's always telling me TMI after a glass of wine."

That wasn't half a bad idea. It was typical for you to blabber on nonsense when you were drunk with Jungkook. Whether it was discussing the idea of eloping or wrestling with him for long enough that he had to take a cold shower after, you were much less inhibited when you were under the influence.

"That's an idea," Jungkook murmured to himself.

"You're usually great with women," his friend consoled. "You clearly just gotta man up with this one, dude. Remind her what she's missing." He took another pause. "It's probably a good thing she's mad. They're only mad if they care. It's when they stop caring you have to get worried."

Well, at least you're always mad at him. That was a comforting thought.  

As for getting you to console to him and stay by his side, there was one idea that came to mind.

You absolutely hated parties. You didn't want to talk to anyone about their dumb problems or deal with the alcohol wafting off people's breaths. With girls occupying the bathrooms with their wailing and guys constantly bombarding you to try a line of coke off a paper plate, you found the events unappealing to say the least. You used to stay by Jungkook's side during freshman year and drink in the corner with him, talking shit about whoever was passed out in the living room or gyrating on who in public. Jungkook's gotten a lot more popular lately, though, much to your chagrin. He was practically the main event, being greeted by practically everyone whenever he went to one of these events. Every guy would shove a beer in his hand and dab him up like he was part of one of their dumbass frats. You practically had to beat off other girls with a stick and death glare when they approached him, their high pitched flirty voices and batting lashes making you want to gag. Seeing him be the king of a world you could and would never fit into left you stewing and steaming like the world's angriest pot of soup.

Jungkook didn't give you much of a choice this time, though. 

After maybe two weeks of resisting the temptation of returning to Jungkook's side and giving in to your most selfish desires, he ended up cornering you. He barged into your apartment with plans he had set up without your prior input— a page he had taken from your book, no doubt. He insisted on the two for you going to some Yo Gabba Gabba bullshit frat party despite your protests. You hated parties. You hated feeling loneliness in a crowded room. You hated the idiots that surrounded you and the way they'd squabble and flock around Jungkook, desperate for his approval. Little did they know he thought the same as you— that they were mouth-breathers who were a waste of his time.

At least, that's normally what he seemed to think. Now that he was dragging you along for whatever godforsaken reason, despite your known hatred for public socialization, you were getting worried. Had he gotten sick of you avoiding him? The emotional distance you've been trying so hard to put between you two? Was this some sick punishment of his that he knew would be your personal hell? To watch him flirt with other girls before your very eyes and be too cool to be attainable? How cruel. How you. Perhaps he was learning. For once, and you couldn't believe it, it didn't seem like things were going your way. 

When you complained it was too chilly a night for you guys to be going out, he simply tugged off his hoodie and wrapped it around you, problem solved. When you insisted you would agree to watching his Godzilla movies instead he suggested to do it tomorrow instead. When you complained you didn't have anything cute to wear Jungkook yanked out the going-out top you convinced him to buy for you just last month. Any excuse you could come up with he was able to retort with ease, as though he had already prepared the answers.

This was going to fucking suck.

You pouted as you thought of all the pretty faces that would come up to him tonight, completely ignoring you at his side and making it obvious they'd like to win a night with him. You comforted yourself with the thought that at least they don't know he snores, which could be a fun surprise. Then you upset yourself again with the thought of him tangled in the bed with another girl in the first place.

Jungkook was set on torturing you tonight for all your misdeeds, clearly. 

You grumbled as you made your way to the car, already feeling a little warm from the lemon drops Jungkook prepared back at his place. Of course he'd pregame you with your favorite to make the night a little more bearable. You felt it necessary to pregame any social interaction. The liquor coat managed to keep your temperature somewhat tolerable for the cold night air, or at least long enough for when you guys got to the party. 

It seemed however that 2.5 lemon drop martinis weren't enough to get rid of your foul attitude, considering the fact you were bitching the entire time about how much you didn't want to go. Jungkook recalled the saying about the horse and the water, but figured he'd make the most of it. At worst, he could always drown the horse, but what a waste of a bitchy horse.

"Oh my God, fucking Jin from 402 is going?" You scowled at your phone, seeing whatever worst-classmate-of-the-month posted on his instastory, glaring at the screen like the blue light itself was offending you. "He's such a bitch. He fucking cried at my reaction to his presentation, I don't want to deal with him. It's so awkward dealing with people after you make them cry."

Jungkook thought about all the times he's made you cry over the years. Out of frustration of him fucking other girls, the one time you got your fingers caught in a drawer he was slamming shut, that other time he may or may not have purposefully lied to the guy you were talking to that you were saving yourself for Jesus, causing said almost-crush to ghost you. (It didn't really matter anyways. Jungkook knew the guy wouldn't last five minutes in you. He was just doing you a favor and saving you from bad sex, if anything.) It wasn't awkward all of those times. Well, until recent developments.

"It'll be fine. I'll stick by you the entire night, he won't even have the guts to confront you the way you deserve," Jungkook oh-so-helpfully assured.

Your glare redirected to him, a scoff accompanying it in appropriate fashion. "Yeah fucking right. You're going to be out of my sight within five minutes of walking through the door. It'll be some loser with a Bass Pro hat giving you a joint or a beer or what-fucking-ever, and suddenly it's so long, bestie!"

Jungkook rolled his eyes at your rant, trying to mentally disengage now that he saw the house in the distance, the neon lights from the LED strips inside calling to him like a beacon. He was just five minutes from taking you inside a place you’d do anything to leave, even if it meant getting a conversation over with him. All he had to do was take you to some unoccupied whatever-the-fuck, and ask you what was wrong. Maybe manipulate you a little by saying he wouldn’t drive you home until you told him. You’d be too lazy to even think of looking into other options. "I'm not going to leave you."

"You say that, but we both know your word means nothing the second some broad with fat tits walks by threatening to motorboat you." You stirred at the thought, envisioning it all too clearly, your imagination finding the liquor in your system massively beneficial for the anger bubbling up inside you. "I mean, seriously, why'd you even bring me here? You could've gone by yourself."

"I wanted you to come with me."

"To what? Go sit on a couch next to some guy who can't take a hint, all while you fuck some chick in a bathroom that hasn't been cleaned in 5 months? No thanks."

"I told you, I'm not going to leave you."

"Yeah right. Suck my dick, Jeon. I could be home reading Onyx Storm right now."

"We both know you're not going to start reading that any time soon. It's been sitting on your nightstand for almost a year."

"Tonight could've been the night!" You protested. "But no, you just insisted on dragging me along to some stupid party to go watch you get hit on by some hot girl in an Urban Outfitters corset two sizes too small."

"That's not why I brought you here," Jungkook sighed, hoping that the increasing volume of the party music would soon drown out your incessant arguing. "I thought it'd be a good place for us to catch up, have fun. Maybe talk. A change of scenery could do us some good."

"If you actually wanted to hang out with me, sure! We could've! I said I was fine with watching Godzilla tonight. But nooooo, you couldn't be bored looking at ugly little me, you just had to go find something that would give those precious pupils of yours a break." You snarled, shuffling further into the passenger seat, hoping your skin would glue itself to the leather so you didn't have to leave this car. "So, so sorry for not giving your retinas a day off. I know you must have cataracts by now just from looking at me."

Jungkook put the car in park, finally turning towards you with a hard stare that would've made anyone's knees buckle. His face was suddenly centimeters away from yours, his rage radiating off of him stronger than UV rays in July.

"Oh my fucking God. What, do I have to fuck you in the car for you to feel pretty?"

Your eyes widened, and your mouth hung open, closing and opening over and over again as if you were a singing fish. You didn't know what to say. Usually you were the one making those sorts of comments — and at least it'd be somewhat disguised as a joke.

"I-I—" You stammered, feeling yourself get flustered. "Shut up!"

Jungkook laughed at your shocked expression. Typically he wouldn't even humor your jokes of flirtation towards him, instead brushing them off and ignoring them, chalking the comments up to poor attempts to get under his skin. He was living for your reaction, however, how clearly you wore your expressions on your sleeve. He could practically see every wheel turning in that evil head of yours, trying to make sense of him, of his mask slipping just a little bit. For once, he had the upper hand, and he was enjoying it so, so much.

"How long do you think it'll last, huh? A few weeks? A year?" He leaned in closer, letting his breath fan against your skin. "How long do you think it'll be until you need it again?"

You jumped out of the car as though he electrocuted you, heart hammering so fast you swore you were having palpitations. "L-Like you'd— like that'd—" you glared at Jungkook as he laughed at your mess of a self. You huffed, realizing he was just fucking with you. "Shut up!"

He let out another cackle at your expense. "Getting to you, huh? But you always say this sort of thing."

"You don't," you pointed out. "You just ignore me and call the comments stupid. You don't even react."

"I've always been good at hiding my reaction," Jungkook reminded you. Painfully. "You never have."

You scowled at him, rolling your eyes. "You're so fucking full of yourself, Jeon."

"Yeah? You wanna be, too, I bet."

That sent an electric current straight to your core. You tried to compose yourself and hide the effect he's having on you, taking in a deep breath like you were trying to convince both parties of your confidence. "You're not getting to me, Jeon."

"Yeah, but you only call me Jeon when you're pissed at me," he smiled. "So I must be getting under your skin."

"As if—"

You were cut off by a loud buzzing from Jungkook's pocket, barely heard over the party music in the distance, the house several yards away. Of course Mr. Popular had someone trying to contact him every moment of the week. No wonder he was no longer having time for you—you were having to share his precious time with all of these other losers. He pulled it out of his pocket, and your eyes spied a suspiciously all too feminine name for your liking. 

Jungkook's gaze met yours, twinkling with mischief as he practically dared you to seethe and pout over it as you normally do. You wanted to prove him wrong so bad, though. Whatever games he's suddenly playing, he will not win.

"You know what, Jungkook, do what you want," you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. "I don't even care anymore."

His smile disappeared at that last part, a frown gracing his features now. Something about that set him off inside, though he tried to regain his composure to hide his reaction to your words. Still, he was pissed off.

You don't care? Really? Since when? You always cared! You cared so fucking much all the time, especially when it came to Jungkook! You cared too much about everything!

We'll see how much you don't care.

He picked up the buzzing device, ignoring your scowl of disapproval. He could practically feel your eyes jump out of your skull from his peripheral vision as you spotted the name Sasha on his phone. He's not entirely sure why he does it, just some instinct to put you in your place. To see if you do care, and if so, how much?

"You're actually answering that now?" you hissed, seething. Of course he's got some side hoe calling him when he's alone with you, but the gall of him to actually pick up? And in front of you, after all that... whatever that was? What game was he playing at?

Truth be told, Jungkook wasn't so sure either. He was, however, willing to make a gamble on that jealous streak of yours.

He patted your head patronizingly, cooing at your anger. "It would be rude of me not to answer."

"Ignore the bitch," you snarled, grumbling under your breath, resisting the urge to grab his phone and chuck it far, far away. Last time you did that it cost you an entire week's worth of tips at your waitressing job. One you inevitably got fired from after you poured coffee on the old man who grabbed your ass as you walked by. For some reason they didn't believe it was an accident. 

Instead of listening to you the way he normally did, he answered the call. "Hey, Sasha." There's a purr in his tone you never heard him use with your name. It made your stomach twist into a Gordian knot.

"I'm leaving." You turned away to stomp towards the lame ass party.

Jungkook didn't let you run off, however, grabbing your wrist and tugging you closer to him, muting the call for a second. "Stay."

His word left no word for argument, and with the certainty in his tone, you could do nothing more but return to your place next to him and within earshot of the receiver. He chuckled as you stayed in place, pissed off but obedient. He could get used to this.

"I know you want to listen in anyways. Nosy." The amount of times he had caught you going through his phone (you knew all of his passwords, even the ones he forgot) and the amount of times it's started a fight was immeasurable. 

Jungkook smirked down at you, staring as he listened to Sasha excitedly ask how he's been and what he’s been up to. He twirled a strand of your hair, pleased with the scowl you bore. "Yeah, sorry it's been a while," he said, focusing on your lock being woven between his fingers, admiring how shiny it was even in the dark. "I've missed you."

You refrained from saying anything, knowing Jungkook was all too eager to see you have a meltdown over one stupid phone call, just to prove a point. It'd be very much like you, though. You've done so over far less. Still, you stayed in place, for some reason wanting to be good for Jungkook. You tried to ignore the dumb cunt's voice, her shrill giggles piercing your ears. You did your best to look unaffected, pulling the best poker face you could muster. 

"Have you missed me?" Jungkook asked, eyes still locked with yours. His smirk deepened. "Or just the feeling?"

You couldn't help but let out a grimace of anger and disgust contort your features, your ears burning as you listened to your best friend's sleazy talk to this random whore. Her bout of giggling and scolding Jungkook for being so teasing did nothing to endear her to you. 

Jungkook relished in your expression, loving getting to see how jealous you were getting in real time, unable to do anything about it. He never broke eye contact with you, continuing to play with your hair as he nodded slowly to Sasha's response. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately..." Jungkook said, smug as he watched you seethe right in front of him. He could feel how hot your ears were when he brushed your hair behind them, the normally affectionate gesture now being laced with something you had never known. 

"Thinking of you under me, how good you'd feel..." His eyes flickered down from your eyes to your lips for just a split second before returning up. "How you're the prettiest girl I've ever known."

You turned around to march off again but Jungkook stopped you, pulling you in so your back was pressed against his chest, his bicep wrapping around your front to keep you in place. You were now closer to the phone, able to better hear her annoying squeals of excitement. You reached up into his arm, fingers digging into the firm muscle as you tried to get him to let go, but he didn't. He instead leaned his head down closer, and you felt his breath tickle your ear, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

"Bet you've been thinking about it too, huh?"

You squirmed more in his grasp, pawing at the thick arm that kept you in place as you listened to her fervently agree. For some reason you were still feeling hot all over, even when Jungkook was talking to another girl. An odd twist of lust and jealousy churned in your gut, the direct eye contact with you making you feel a strange, unexplored level of intimacy with him. You didn't know what to make of it, of Jungkook's sudden games. It was as though your time apart from him had truly affected him deeply, and now he was making up for the lost time in the most diabolical way possible. He was punishing you for depriving him of your presence, so it seemed.

Jungkook was always so touchy with you. Hugs, pecks on the cheek, kisses on the forehead, playing with your hair, sitting/laying in each other's laps— it was all common. You should've known he'd be a whore from the get go with his love language clearly being physical touch. He was usually so gentle with you though, but now it was more domineering, more calculated. For once, you were under his control.

You didn't think he had it in him. It was usually you who bossed him around.

You also didn't know why you were going along with it. You had half the mind to scream into his phone and call whatever harlot on the other side to fuck off. Still, he wanted you to be good for him. Being good was new for you, but perhaps Jungkook was the one to bring it out of you. 

That, or you happened to bring out the darkness in him that was capable.

He let go of his hold on you with his arm, though his fingers slightly trailed up the column of your neck, forcing you to tilt your head back as he tipped your chin up. You looked straight up at him towering over you, his hooded eyes and wicked grin doing nothing to set your mind at ease. 

In a whisper so quiet it's barely there, one you're unsure Sasha would even be able to hear, Jungkook breathed, "I want you so bad..."

You hated to hear him purr it into the phone, into her undeserving ears. Fuck, what you'd give for him to say that, just you and him alone. You swiped for the phone, but Jungkook read you too fast, swatting your hand away. You opened your mouth to yell, but it's quickly covered by the palm of his hand. He turned you around to press against the car, any noises muffled by his large hand that easily covered half of your face. You glared at him, earning a cheesy ass grin of satisfaction; Jungkook was realizing he actually liked making you mad.

Meeting your stare, he continued. "You really have no idea... All the things I've wanted to do to you..." He licked his lips slowly. "Make you cum over and over again on my—"

Before Jungkook could finish spewing filth, you bit, hard, glaring at Jungkook all while his smug expression shifted to a painful scowl and he yanked his hand back with a hiss. "I gotta go," he hastily snarled into the phone, hanging up on Sasha and shoving the phone in his pocket.

You didn't even have time to properly gloat before he was in your face, placing his bitten hand out on the car behind you. "You fucking bit me!"

You probably haven't bitten him since the 3rd grade. Or 11th. 

You stuck out your tongue at him, not regretting your actions, running high on adrenaline and the slight buzz of the martinis. "Serves you right, asshole. That was so fucked up and... and..."

"And what?"

And why was I actually getting turned on during it?

"And you better delete her number before the end of the night! I will check," you huffed, shoving him back and crossing your arms. You could only hope he attributed the blood rushing to your cheeks to the rage and alcohol, rather than anything something more insidious. 

He examined you, taking you in, your fast breaths and flushed face. Maybe it was because of the cold? Maybe you were just angry at him for being abrasive and gross in front of you—for making you listen to him like that.

But he couldn't shake off the feeling that you liked it a lot more than you led on.

"Just when I thought you could stop acting like a brat for two minutes," he tsked, stepping back and turning away to run a hand down his face. Somehow he seemed actually disappointed, but most importantly caught off guard. "Whatever, lets just head inside."

Grabbing your wrist and dragging you along before you can dig a further grave, Jungkook took you to the den of debauchery.

—

You would think that the fact Jungkook was dragging you through the front door, wrist in hand, scowl on his face, was enough to signal that he was a bit occupied at the moment. Alas, your generation has skipped the course in social cues, and the two of you found yourselves surrounded by the last people you ever wanted to see.

Correction, Jungkook was surrounded. So surrounded, in fact, by the very people you predicted, that his hold on you slipped away, too many people between the two of you. Every guy is calling him "the man!" and "duuuude!" wanting to catch up and grab a beer, light a joint, fuck a bitch, whatever. The girls on the other hand were all touchy, grabbing onto his biceps, tugging on his clothes with surface-level compliments, caressing his hair, all like it would convince him they were the special one compared to the four other girls doing the same thing.

Goddamn, some of the girls' voices were so high pitched you were surprised the neighborhood dogs weren't howling. You were currently suppressing the urge to phone in a noise complaint for the very party you were at, but last time you did that Jungkook forced you to sit through a 6-hour documentary on how caviar was made, and you'd rather not be haunted by the image of fish eggs again.

You had to hand it to him though, he proved you wrong. While you predicted he would be swarmed and whisked away in five minutes, he managed to accomplish the feat in five seconds. That was a new record.

You pondered for a moment on a pragmatic way of ditching, but find yourself lacking in suggestions. You were too buzzed to steal his keys and drive away yourself, and you definitely didn't trust any of the bozos here to get you home without a blowjob for the road. You also didn't have time to steal Jungkook's wallet to pay for an Uber using his credit card.

Faintly, you heard him say, "Wait! I need to talk to my—"

Didn't matter. Jungkook's magnetic field was too strong for even him to dissuade, something that you learned long ago. You knew there was no point in awkwardly standing around the growing crowd of sycophants, waiting for them to thin out and set him free. Too many times you'd see them disperse, with Jungkook nowhere to be found, only for you to later walk in on him with a group of guys clapping him on the back, cigars in hand, or worse, stepping outside a closet, fixing the buckle on his belt. 

Instead you sashay towards the kitchen, knowing the remedy to increase your buzz and keep the bad vibes going. One shot of Grey Goose later and you're good to go, primed and ready for wherever the shitty party full of trust fund college kids may lead. Had you known you were going to be taken hostage here in the first place, you would've at least texted a gal pal of yours to come with. Not that you liked any of them that much, but at least you wouldn't be painfully alone, ready for the vultures.

Unfortunately, the gods of the universe seem to have it out for you, as you make eye contact with none other than Kim Seokjin in the living room. He's got a classic red solo cup in his hand and a jarring look of recognition, and boy, is that look pissed. Instead of the mysterious liquid giving him the courage to go out and actually get laid, the loser seems encouraged to instead confront you for that comment you made about how his forensics diagram was worse than a 3rd grader's drawing depicting their trauma.

Immediately he sprung from the couch, marching his way over to you, and while you could admit karma should slap you in the face, you thought Jin's too beneath you to be deserving of that privilege. 

You moved deeper into the crowd, hoping you were able to slip between the bodies faster than he can keep up. Through the maze of gyrating miscreants, your drunk ass managed to bump into someone actually useful.

"Woah! Hey, slow down," the guy laughed, steadying you back on your feet after you bulldozed into him. "Are you alright?"

"'M fine," you mumbled, spinning your head around to see if Jin was still tailing you. You grabbed onto the guy's shirt, spinning him around so you were now switching sides, his body blocking the view from where Jin would probably come from. "Just avoiding someone."

"Some creep who won't leave you alone?" The man chuckled, pulling you closer to his frame to hide you better.

"Something like that." Opportunities like this didn't usually fall into your lap, and you were grateful for the barrier at the moment.

"I get it. I can help a pretty girl like you blend in, then."

You looked up at his face and begin to scrutinize the details. He's objectively handsome. Not Jungkook handsome, but sure, he'd do. If Jin spotted you with him he might feel too awkward to separate you two and ruin the vibe. Hell, if you're lucky and he does, the stranger might be willing to tell him off without any questions. Maybe even punch him in the face, which would make an interesting TikTok. He called you pretty, too, which was a great indicator. Guys seemed to constantly fantasize about committing violence for a pretty girl. Or to, but you'd take your chances for at least a few minutes until you had to shake him off too.

You slipped on one of your sly smiles, the coy one that made guys think you were actually flattered by their attention. The one that screamed you're making me feel special and made them think they had a chance. "My hero," you grinned, pulling him closer, his chest right against yours.

"What's your name?" He asked, hands settling on your waist, his lips on your ear so he could speak at a much more sultry tone than the heavy bass would typically allow you to register.

You told him, batting your lashes, your voice a sweet caress in comparison to the noise and your true nature. "What's yours?"

"Jimin." You'll probably forget it later. "Want to dance with me?"

You nodded, and he spun you around, hands now on your hips as he moved you in tune with the music. He was at least on beat, which was a plus. You just hoped he wouldn't be the type who came in his pants from a bit of grinding. That was always annoying.

Your eyes scanned about the room for Jin, your body moving in natural rhythm with Jimin's as you gyrated along with the others, blending in just as planned. 

Jimin whispered something in your ear that you barely heard, but you giggled anyways. Guys liked when you laugh at whatever stupid shit they think you want to listen to; it boosted their egos and makes their cock hard, like they'll get the chance to use your bra strap as a guitar string or something. Whatever, though. You could still let yourself get lost in the music, the booze in your system making you feel much looser and easy going than you'd usually be with strangers like this. You suspected the man behind you would suggest after twenty-or-so minutes of dry humping on the dance floor to go upstairs and see what other moves you have.

What you did not expect, however, was to spot Jungkook's face.

His head was whipping about as he spun, eyes searching the room and stopping when he spotted you.

The look on his face was one he usually pulled when you've fucked up majorly. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched, and suddenly you were very aware that the party you just arrived at was over for you.

He must've managed to shake off his posse, because now he's making a beeline towards you, parting the crowd like the Red Sea and snatching your wrist to wrench you away from Jimin's embrace.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Jungkook scowled, his grip on your wrist tight as he pulled you in.

"Yo, man, fuck off!" Jimin grabbed your arm, yanking on you, and suddenly you felt like tug-of-rope on field day. "You're the creep that's been following her around?"

"Let go of her. We're leaving." Jungkook tried to tug you back, but Jimin didn't let go.

"What are you, some stalker? Her ex?"

"What?" Jungkook guffawed at the man's accusations, his face one of shock and disgust. "No, you idiot. She's mine. Why don't you go hump someone else, yeah?"

Jimin looked at you, your bored, blank expression showing no sign of fright or worry. He slowly let go of your arm, taking note of how you don't move away from Jungkook or make any effort to reach back for him. He already fulfilled his hero role tonight, you had no further use for him. That, and you really, really weren't in the mood to suck his dick to the terrible playlist currently mauling your eardrums. 

He seemed as though he were both more understanding and more confused the longer he assessed the situation.

"Sorry, man. Didn't know she had a boyfriend."

Jungkook scoffed, pulling you closer to him and glaring back at Jimin, obviously still peeved. He didn't say another word to him, instead dragging you along and straight through the front door of the party he demanded you attend.

"We haven't even been here for, like, half an hour!" 

"Oh, like you care," he spat, rolling his eyes. "What the fuck was that? Since when do you just let guys hump you like a dog in heat?"

"I was trying to avoid Jin. I told you he was here but you didn't give a fuck. I had to improvise." You shrugged, struggling to keep up with his long legs as he yanked you across the front yard. "Hey, slow down!"

He stopped, spinning around to glower at you directly, his sudden halt causing you to face plant into his chest. You grimaced, pushing yourself off, stumbling back. "You could've come to me. Not some stranger giving you fuck-me-eyes."

You deadpanned, finding his audacity to be impertinent at best. "Last I checked, you were the one who left me, remember?"

"I wasn't trying to! I literally had to tell everyone to fuck off because I didn't even get the chance to talk to you."

"Why the fuck would you need to bring me to a party to talk to me when you have me on speed dial?"

Jungkook flicked your forehead, causing you to yelp in pain and rub the sore spot.

"What the hell was that for?" you whined, still too buzzed to knock him upside the head in retaliation the way you would've. You're never given an answer, however, as Jungkook proceeded to drag you back to the car, away from the chaos that frat Alpha-Beta-Omega had to offer.

You stumbled over your steps, the alcohol making you as coordinated as a freshly born fawn, and Jungkook had to half carry you back to his vehicle. He thought about what a terrible, unsuccessful night it's already been, and how much stupider your decisions were when you were under the influence of alcohol. Clearly drinking loosened you up too much, and he had half a mind to go back inside and punch Jimin in the face for how he was feeling you up. How you let him.

"What a stupid fucking idea," he muttered to himself, deciding to never, ever take anyone's advice ever again.

—

The two of you arrive back at your place, but in no better a mood. You certainly weren't, now significantly more sobered up after the events that took place. You didn't even have a decent buzz to lull you to sleep, instead left with the dull nothingness that was not being under the influence.

Jungkook snapped on the lights, his movements quick and aggressive, showing his clear agitation. You didn't give a shit. Throwing a tantrum over nothing was supposed to be your thing, and he didn't come off nearly as endearing as you when you did it.

You weren't going to let Jungkook think for even a moment that his attitude would sway you. You were just as mad at him as he was at you, and had a much better reason to be on top of that.

"I'm surprised the campus slut really even gives a shit about what I do," you drawled. "So I grind on one guy at a party. You meanwhile have probably fingered a dozen girls in each—"

Jungkook chortled, nostrils flaring with anger already. "Please, you exaggerate so much—"

"I saw how all of them were all over you. Oh, Jungkook, pleaseeeee fuck me. I need you so bad!" You didn't notice Jungkook's red ears as you say that, ranting on, practically in your own world. "You just loooooved it didn't you? Liked their attention, right? I mean, what do you even need me for at this point?"

"Oh please, all I did was say hi to them. Meanwhile I have to watch you practically fuck a guy in some dingy ass frat—"

"That you brought us to!"

"Yeah, to talk to you! Because you've been fucking weird and avoiding me after I fucked some girl, when you could've just said you wanted it to be you," he fumed. Heat crawled up your neck at his words, the bluntness of his accusation throwing you for a loop. Was he buzzed from the party? Had he been drinking for the few minutes you were apart? Just openly speaking about this like it's nothing, when to you this was everything? "That's why you act like such a bitch, right? And hate all of them? Because you’re jealous?"

You did your best not to crack under the assertion, puffing up your chest with faux bravado that you prayed he couldn't see past."Look at you fucking projecting, Jeon. I saw how you looked at Jimin; you looked like you wanted to kill him. Yet I'm the jealous one? At least I don't pretend to be fucking nice, like some pathetic people pleaser!" 

"You're the one who I always have to please the most. I'm always doing what you say, all the time. Practically everything I do, I do for you! And you can't even acknowledge how much I cater to you. What could he possibly offer you when I give you everything?!" Jungkook carded his hands through his hair, wanting to rip it out at the roots. Fuck. He sounded like you right now. 

"Everything?" You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Please. You're out fucking random girls— what does that give me? Huh? Panties shoved between your couch cushions as a reminder of a part of you that clearly isn't for me."

Why did you even care that part wasn't for you? Why were you so bothered by it?

"It was an accident!" He fumed, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. "And I've never practically dry humped someone in front of you."

"Get over yourself! What was that earlier, huh? The phone call? Forcing me to listen in on you talking about how much you want that bitch and what you want to do to her? Just another one of your sick, twisted mind games, isn't it? You fucking freak."

Jungkook gave you a dark stare, suddenly breathing harder than you remembered. He moved forward very slowly, each movement calculated, like a predator slowly sneaking up on it's prey.