DayzeeesReads🌼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anytime.”

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

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

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

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

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

“True.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aside from this conversation being a massive HR violation?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Five minutes. Long enough to have heard… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 It’s hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's absolutely ripped. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck, indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“_____?”

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

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

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

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

“What’s the matter?” he asks gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, let’s try again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...Waiting?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dizzy with want, your hands scrabble between you and aim for the button of his slacks, eager to be properly introduced to what’s underneath. But to your slow horror, Jungkook freezes at the touch, motionless for a few breathless seconds before he actually starts lifting off of you and pulling back. It’s only when he’s completely sat up and is staring at you that the full weight of what you’ve just done hits you like a freight train.

Holy shit. Holy shit. 

You really were just dry humping. A coworker. And you were doing it on the premises of the place that pays your fucking bills! Making out, dry humping, and you were actively aiming to do much more if he hadn't stopped you. 

What the fuck has gotten into you? 

You scrabble upright, dizzy with the mortification rapidly seeping deep into your bones. Stupidly, you blink at him, paralyzed with embarrassment but unable to look away. A deer in headlights.

Jungkook stares right back, eyes dark and all pupil. Dazedly, you wonder if you look as fucked out as he does—there’s a smattering of red across his cheeks, and his hair has been thoroughly mussed by your own hands. A tongue dips out to swipe over kiss-swollen lips, stealing your attention away from the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

And suddenly, you’re able to kickstart into gear.

“I am so sorry,” you burst out, panic nearly choking you. “That was highly inappropriate and I seriously don’t know what came over me—”

It takes you a few moments to register that he’s moved back in, and that it’s the returned press of his lips that interrupts your babbling apology before it can properly catch its stride. You’re almost too afraid to respond in kind, as if you’ll somehow scare him away again, but the insistence in his kiss practically knocks the breath from your lungs. Patiently, he coaxes your rigid lips back pliant. And only when it’s clear you won’t try to run away does he lean back a second time, but only enough to see your eyes properly.

“No,” he murmurs, breath fanning hot over you. “That was very much appropriate.” 

You’re not quite sure how to respond to that, too shell-shocked by this turn of events and actively battling your triggered fight or flight response. “Um. Then…then why did you…”

Jungkook’s eyes flutter closed, as if he’s gathering himself. “I want to,” he mumbles, seemingly to himself, but then he’s looking right at you again, gaze heavy with resolve. “It’s just…do you mind if I try something first?”

That throws you for a loop. Your jaw opens then shuts again while you contemplate his question, as well as your answer. “I mean, I guess? It depends on what it is.”

That you don't instantly reject him visibly unwinds a tension in his body that you only now realize was there. A rather feral look crosses his face, immediately inciting goosebumps to ripple across your skin in anticipation. But then the intensity of his expression dims, edged with something more contemplative. Jungkook gives you a pensive nod then stands, looking around curiously. “Hey, where does that viper sit?”

You blink, bewildered. “…The who?”

“The one who’s always with you at lunch.” He locks eyes with you, tongue poking through his cheek. “You know. The one who’s on your team but still had no second thoughts about leaving you here tonight by yourself.”

Joy. He’s talking about Joy. 

The question makes you pause in suspicion, but you still hook a thumb towards the cubicle next to yours, on the other side of your shared wall. “There. Why?”

“No reason,” he says with a sly grin, holding out a hand to you. You take it without question and he easily helps you to your feet. But then before you can process it, he’s slid both hands around your waist and easily lifted you off the ground, already in route to the exact cubicle you called out. You yelp in surprise, your arms reflexively circling his neck—your legs, his middle—in your body’s scramble for balance. But Jungkook’s hold on you is secure, grip moving down to the back of your thighs instead, and now that your chests are once again flush, you can actually feel his chuckle. His amusement provokes yours, and you can’t help but giggle as he carries you over to Joy’s cube as easily as if you weigh nothing.

Clearly, his exercise routine is working out for him.

After using a hand to sweep some objects out of the way, Jungkook carefully sets you down on Joy’s desk, right next to her monitor. Your mirth only grows at the feeling of whatever printouts she left for later review crinkling under your weight, at the sight of displaced pens rolling off the edge and disappearing to the ether that is the floor.

Jungkook has set you down, but he doesn’t pull away, just leans down and recaptures your eager lips. He’s tall enough that he’s kind of hunching over to kiss you, neck really craned, but he doesn’t seem to care much about that, kissing you with the same ferocity as moments before, when the two of you were entangled on the carpet. And you can’t help but match his fervor, hands reaching to guide his slim hips even closer, into the widening gap you naturally create for him between your legs. 

Time constricts and expands, an endless and meaningless concept. Because all that matters now is the tongue he slips past your lips to slide against yours, slowly, like he’s savoring the taste of you. All that matters is how fucking great he smells—like clean laundry and smoke and warm skin speckled with sweat—something you’ve always caught whiffs of, but now completely surrounds you, invading all your senses and sending your lust into overdrive. 

“Is this what you wanted to try?” you pant hotly when your lips finally separate for a moment in your quest for air. “Defiling Joy’s desk?”

He’s leaning his forehead against yours while he also attempts to catch his breath, and he’s so close that it would be hard for you to miss his amused flash of teeth. “Sort of. I’d like to defile it more thoroughly, though. Starting with this.” 

Jungkook leans in for one last kiss, one that starts at your mouth, moves to your neck, and to your surprise, continues down the line of your body. Over your collarbone, careful hands popping open a few buttons of your blouse so he can nestle more surely into the curve of your breasts, warm lips skating across eager skin. For a few moments, he actually nuzzles his face into your middle, a gesture you find rather sweet before he incites a shiver through your body by licking against your clothed navel. And before you can fully realize what’s happening, he’s slipped to his knees.

You look down at him in surprise, body still slotted between your legs, but this time more eye-level with the secret, needy part of you that has been thrumming excitedly with every beat of your heart. “What are you…”

“You’re always doing everything for everyone else,” comes his murmured reply. “Will you allow me to do something for you?”

Your brain is still so hazy from the spell of his mouth that it takes you a moment to recognize what’s happening. What he’s asking for. But when his large palms are hot against the naked skin of your thighs, gentle pressure urging them to part even more, it all hits you like a truck. Your eyes dart around, paranoid. “Jungkook,” you hiss. “…Here?”

“They’re too cheap to put cameras anywhere other than the lobby.” He turns his head, lips pressing reassurance into the side of your knee. “And no one’s here.” His reminder as gentle as the kisses he continues to adorn you with. “Just you.” Kiss. “And me.”

He’s right, you know. No one else is here to witness the series of bad decisions you’ve just made—to witness the ones you’re still seriously considering. 

Still, you hesitate.

Jungkook’s staring intently at you, doe-eyed and cherry-lipped and deceptively innocent despite what he’s requesting of you. “Please?” he asks again, oh-so-sweetly. Reverently prostrating before your altar, praying for the blessing of an ambivalent goddess. You. “I just…I really want to. Ever since that day, I can’t stop thinking about it and I—please?”

Your brows furrow as you try to make sense of what he’s saying, still scrambling to keep up with this current turn of events. What day? Your mind whirrs, jumping around before finally settling on an embarrassing memory you’ve willed yourself to forget. 

Lunch, where Wendy somehow got you to admit you’ve never gotten head, and Jungkook, purportedly oblivious, too busy on his phone to ever pay your table any attention. 

…Except from what he’s saying right now, he had heard every word. Heard, and filed it away for safekeeping, only revealing to you now, when he can possibly do something about it.

Absently, your tongue dips out to swipe across your lips, and Jungkook’s attention visibly strays towards the action, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your thighs and sending electricity straight to your core. God, do you want to say yes. Even though you’ve never done this before, your inexperience is not at all the reason for your reluctance. It’s the optics. You’re at work.

Your head tilts as you try to accurately take stock of the situation. You’re at work. But technically, you should have clocked out hours ago. Technically, this job has been stealing a lot of time that should have been yours to choose what to do with. Case in point—you’re the only person on your team still within a five-mile radius of this godforsaken building. Because everyone else deserted you without a second thought, designating you to be the one who struggles to print presentations for a meeting that has been on the calendar for literal months.

But. 

While it’s easy to assume they forced this fate upon you, Fate is not one easily compelled to do another’s bidding. And, trapped in the gaze of the sweet man still patiently awaiting permission to ruin you, you can’t help but wonder if this has been Her plan all along. 

For months you’ve been doing everything for everyone else, so unhappy and stressed that each day in this place only wound you tighter and tighter. So…what if you finally just let yourself snap? Did what you wanted for once? Stopped following the rules that nobody else ever seemed to and just let go? 

You exhale. Fuck it.

“Okay.”

Jungkook grins, boyishly innocuous at first, but rapidly morphing into something much more devilish as you watch. He turns to kiss your knee again, and you startle a little at the action, newly on edge. “Don’t be nervous,” he says, still holding your gaze. Making sure you can see his resolve. “I got you.” 

“Okay,” you say again, but that’s easier said than done, especially when he takes the opportunity to gently push your knees even further apart. Naturally, your skirt rides further up, and you can’t help the apprehension that washes over you at your increasing lack of modesty. Still, you hold true to your word, aggressively tamping down the urge to scramble off the desk and pretend this all never happened. But though you brace yourself for what comes next…

Jungkook doesn’t move.

Long moments pass before you can’t help but say something. “Are you just gonna look?” Because that’s all he seems to be doing, laser-focused on the juncture of your thighs.

He visibly stirs at the sound of your voice, but still doesn’t do much more than tsk at you. “Don’t rush me,” comes his light reprimand, eyes still locked on what you’re sure at this point is a growing dark spot on your panties. “I don’t half-ass things and I definitely won’t rush this. No one’s here, so just relax and enjoy the ride.”

Your jittery nerves have you reflexively mouthy, but your retort swiftly dies on your tongue when his hand finally moves further up your skirt—further inward—and two fingers pointedly press right against that dark spot and glide over your clothed lips. You gasp, fighting against the urge to snap your legs shut when he slowly circles your clit and sends sparks dancing down your legs. 

“Better?” he murmurs.

“Much,” you squeak.

“Good,” he says, eyebrows knitted in thought as he circles and circles. Your thighs twitch, and he leans forward like he can’t help himself, nose pressing solidly against you with a long, audible inhale.

A fascinated oh falls from your lips, heartbeat accelerating excitedly in your ears, but Jungkook only responds by nestling further against your pussy, tracing the length of your lips with a slow, wet swipe of his tongue through the fabric. He breathes hot against your clit and you inadvertently buck at the stimulation, only inciting the wicked curl of his lips. He looks up at you darkly through the curtain of his bangs, and something unexpected and primal simmers beneath your skin.

“Can I have these?” he asks huskily, lightly snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin. 

You clear your throat, suddenly wishing you had the foresight to put on something more interesting today than your unassuming cotton undies. “Have as in you won’t give them back?”

He lets out an amused puff of air, tilts his head. “I haven’t decided yet.”

You nod your assent. You’re now impossibly invested in where he plans to take this, and it’s not like you don’t have more pairs at home. “Knock yourself out.”

Immediately, his hands are up your skirt. They’re big, but they’re also gentle, caressing your thighs and even taking a slight detour to the meat of your ass before continuing their mission to the band of your underwear. When he starts to pull, you help him, shifting your weight so he can slip the fabric over your hips and down your legs.

Jungkook’s Adam’s apple dips when his eyes are finally able to feast on you without a barrier. “So fucking hot,” he mutters, almost to himself, and then without further warning, his mouth seals around your sex.

You whimper in surprise, not at all used to the sensation of someone kissing you there. And kiss you he does, carefully at first, judging your reaction. But when you do nothing but grip the edge of the desk, biting your lip in an attempt to stifle the rather desperate sounds crawling up your throat, he swiftly devolves into kissing you with the same passion as he had the lips on your face. His tongue laps at you with sure, even strokes, dragging across the seam of you and then through it, making sure to slide along your clit on every upstroke. 

Your breath quickens, jaw falling slack. You weren’t sure what you imagined oral sex to be like before this, but you never expected how easily your body submits to his ministrations. Almost without you realizing it, your thighs part even more, hips automatically canting down to meet his eager mouth. A hand reaches for him, fingers winding through his hair and rooting there, and Jungkook hums in approval, his own hands wrapping securely around your thighs, your ass. His fingers sinking into the yielding softness of you, gently holding you steady against his face while you start to gyrate and moan.

God, does he look good down there. He’s always looked good, even before you knew what he was hiding behind those shy smiles and nerdy glasses, but something about the sight of him, jaw working as he sucks on you, lashes fluttering in pleasure in his quest to please you—

Without warning, he detaches with an audible pop, and a disgruntled sound reflexively leaves you. Breathless, you start to ask him why he stopped, but the words die on your tongue when you realize he’s staring at you again. That he pulled back for a moment just so he can get a good look at the mess he’s making of you. So he can properly see how your pussy aches and drools for him.

“Good?” he asks, voice deep and thick.

“So fucking good,” you sigh. What you know he wants to hear, but also 1000% the truth. You’re starting to understand what Wendy has been blathering about, but is it always like this? Or is it Jungkook in particular who is making you so unbelievably aroused? Is your rapidly snowballing crush on him that strong, or does pussy eating simply rank high on his skillset?

As if he can hear your thoughts, Jungkook moves to slip a finger into you, and you can’t help but moan when he breaches you, the digit sliding in so easily that he quickly adds another, thumb pressing surely into your clit as he starts a slow drag in and out. 

“Shit,” you shudder, eyes rolling back into your head. Hips sliding further off the desk, reflexively seeking the delicious stimulation. One of your hands scrabbles across the desk, unconsciously trying to root you, and you’re much too preoccupied with how good he’s making you feel to notice when you accidentally knock over a mug full of pens. A stapler clanks to the ground. “Fuck.” 

“Look, baby,” he breathes, moaning along with you when the pet name immediately makes your pussy flutter. “Look.”

At his encouragement, you do. You watch the flex of his tattooed arm as his fingers continue to disappear within you, a lewd squelch coinciding with his movements. You watch as he adds another finger, the additional stretch immediately noticeable but even more delicious. You watch him watch you, eyes all pupil, lips swollen and slick with your desire.

“More,” you whine, frenzied and greedy. And Jungkook immediately heeds your call, leaning back in. He sucks on your clit with three fingers sunk in you, expertly crooked towards your pelvic bone, and you jolt, accidentally knocking something else off the desk. Neither of you pays the resulting clattering any attention, too wrapped up in the way you writhe at his ministrations. He hums in approval, the vibrations only intensifying your ecstasy. He flattens his tongue as your hips desperately circle, letting you control the stimulation. And when it’s clear you still need more, he changes tactics and rapidly laps at you instead, as if you’re a melting ice cream cone, while he beckons, beckons. 

Your blood is volcanic, hot pressure bubbling beneath the prison of your skin, building and building within your core. The higher he takes you, the more the grip you have on his hair unintentionally tightens, but that only seems to urge him on, locking eyes with you as the thrust of his fingers turns harder and more calculated. Giving you no other choice but to finally erupt.    

You cum with a loud groan, gasping through it while your cunt rhythmically clamps down on his digits, hard. Jungkook talks you through it, murmuring encouraging words your buzzing brain has trouble deciphering because his hand still doesn’t stop, pounding right into your g-spot and making your eyes cross and toes curl with the force of it. And when you finally can’t take anymore, jerking with oversensitivity, you grab him by the wrist in a wordless plea for mercy.

And Jungkook grants it. You can tell that he wants to play with you more—wants to guide you over and over to the precipice just see the look on your face when he shoves you off—but ever the gentleman, he reins in his enthusiasm and obediently slips his fingers out of you. He takes a few seconds to admire his handiwork, eyes shining with in reverence as he marvels in the dripping, throbbing, panting aftermath that is you.

“Wow,” you say, still dizzy with endorphins. Never in a million years did you think it would feel like that.

“Yeah,” he agrees, voice thick. “Wow.” He lifts his hand, remnants of you visibly slicking his fingers and webbing between the digits, and without a second thought, sticks them in his mouth and sucks. The resulting slurping of his errant tongue is nothing short of obscene, but your cunt flutters again anyway, interest clear despite being thoroughly satisfied only moments before. And when line of your essence starts to drip down your thigh, Jungkook makes sure to lean in and catch it with his tongue.

You shiver with the feeling of him on you again, mouth hot and wet, thighs still trembling. He’s taking his time, tongue dragging a slow path back up to the source, determined to feast upon the rewards of his efforts. But you can’t take it anymore. God, he’s so hot. He’s so fucking hot and you want him so fucking bad.

You need him. Biblically. 

Near delirious, you reach for him, hands scrabbling across his shoulders, fingers trailing the back of his neck and guiding him to stand. Arms circling his waist and pulling him closer to you—close, close—Jungkook easily slotting into spread of your thighs.

He follows your unspoken commands easily and without question, looking down at you with a rather pleased smile that crinkles his eyes in the corners. Determined to steal the breath from his lungs, just as he just did to you, you lean in to lick that smile pliant and open. There’s a curious taste on his tongue that it doesn’t take long to deduce is you, and that’s only even more of an aphrodisiac, revving you up further. 

Your hands continue to roam, sliding down a little to grope his backside, startling a laugh out of him. But when your fingers tease the waistband of his slacks, his delight visibly shutters away into something else entirely.

“You don’t have to do that,” he breathes, even as he reflexively bucks into the hand you’re using to palm him over his pants. “This was about you.”

“Then let it be about me,” you counter, a mischievous smile curling your lips. Even through his pants you can tell he's hard. That he wants this just as badly as you do.  Still, when he gasps out a wait, you obediently stop your ministrations and move to take your hand back. 

He doesn't let you get far, lacing his fingers through yours and visibly considering his next words for a few moments before settling on, “What do you need?” 

It’s a simple enough question, but you can't help but be immediately reminded of him saying these exact words to you, a little over an hour ago. Now, however, they sit heavy on his tongue, heady and syrupy in hushed invitations. 

The revelation hits you all at once, heart pounding excitedly in your ears.

You need only ask. You’ve only ever needed to ask.

And since all caution was thrown to the wind the moment you agreed to let him suck your soul out through your pussy...

“You said you’ve been thinking about me? Well, I’ve been thinking about you too. For a while, even though I’ve been trying not to.” 

You’ve had his attention this whole time, but the way Jungkook's regarding you now, now that you’ve said that? He's hanging onto every word, so hyper-focused that it would unnerve you if this wasn’t exactly what you were looking for. 

“So…” Adrenaline has your fingers restless against his, but you still dive headfirst. “What I need is for you to fuck me and finish what you started.”

A beat. One where he holds your gaze, the space between you so electrified that you’re surprised you don’t see sparks. But then he’s on you again, mouth meeting yours in a frenzied clash of lips and teeth, and this time he doesn’t stop you when your hands scrabble for his fly.

Jungkook wastes no time, smoothing his hands up your legs and pushing your skirt out of the way. He lets out a shuddered breath when you stroke him through his underwear, when you reach down the waistband and grip him properly.

He’s warm and thick in your hand, and the thought of him finally in your guts damn near has you vibrating. Just like you thought before, he’s already nice and hard, but you still pump him a few times just to revel in the proof of what you’ve done to him. Velvet over stone.

And despite having all the time in the world when the foreplay is for you, Jungkook doesn’t seem to have any patience for himself. You’re only able to enjoy the weight of him in your grip for a few passes before he’s surging into action. Strategically, he grabs you by the knees and lifts, maneuvering your legs into the crooks of his elbows. The move opens you up to him further and forces you more horizontal, leaning back on your forearms, nearly pressed against the cubicle wall.  

The way he ate you out moments before ensured you’d be primed for him, your pussy soft and slick and just begging to be filled. When he finally lines himself up and begins the slow press in, your jaw immediately falls open, tongue going lax at the intense pleasure. “Oh my god,” you manage to whine, eyes threatening to roll shut.

The unhurried way he’s sinking into you is likely in effort not to unintentionally hurt you. Because after everything else, why not add another thing to the ever growing list of surprises you’re learning about your unassuming coworker—not only has he been tatted and muscular this whole time, but his dick is also fucking huge. Without even realizing it, you’ve stopped breathing, the pressure of him nudging your walls apart too much stimulation for your body to continue even subconscious functioning. 

As if he can tell your brain is actively short-circuiting, Jungkook’s hands circle your thighs, thumbs kneading the flesh in mild distraction for when he finally bottoms out. It’s only now that you can properly notice the effect you’re having on him—hair starting to stick to his forehead from perspiration, teeth grit as he struggles to stay still for you.  But you don’t want him to be still.

“Fuck me,” you whimper, wiggling in your impatience and making him suck in a breath. “Please. Give it to me.”

The resulting roll of his hips has him swearing and you seeing stars. “Fuck. You can have whatever you want,” he says, already making good on his promise with a slow grid. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

It’s good, so good, especially because Jungkook uses his grip on your thighs as leverage to ramp up his thrusts, easily maneuvering you over his cock in a way that has your toes curling. By the time he’s really fucking you—jaw set, brows furrowed in concentration—you’re crosseyed and mewling incoherently. You should be embarrassed by the sounds he’s pounding out of you, but you’re so focused on the overwhelming pleasure that you can’t find it in yourself to care very much. 

Chasing the high you already feel him leading you towards, you lift one of your legs to change the angle, and he catches on immediately, helping guide your ankle to hook over his shoulder with a distracted kiss against the bone. And it’s deeper this way, the angle ensuring he brushes against your spongy nerves with every stroke, only making you spiral faster. 

He notices, of course. Notices how quickly he’s taking you to your end and revels in it, sliding a hand inward and he thumbing your clit, fast and hard.

You jolt at the extra stimulation, gasping and overwhelmed. “Oh my goddd…”  

“Come on,” he croons, his dulcet tone at odds with the wickedness of his hand. His dick. “Don’t you want to cum for me?”

“I…” you choke out, struggling to form any sort of coherent thought as you feel everything get tighter. “I…”

You see his lips moving as he presumably says something else. But you can’t understand anything other than your own moaning when your pussy finally locks down. This orgasm is somehow more intense than the last one, your thighs rippling with the force of it, your hands desperately scrabbling over the desk in an effort to find something to ground you. 

And Jungkook fucks you through it, still talking, and it’s only when the whooshing in your ears starts to subside that you can finally decipher what he’s saying in between his own moaning. “There you go. Being so good for me. So good.”

Your only reply is your gasping breath as your orgasm slowly fades, replaced with oversensitivity. But you don’t want him to stop. You don’t want this to stop, reveling in the feel of him on you, in you. And Jungkook doesn’t, instead sliding your leg off his shoulder so he can grab you by the waist with both hands and properly yank you forward, moving you over his cock to his liking. 

The desk creaks with your effort, a rhythmic cacophony with the harsh smacking of his balls against your ass. You mewl, needing him closer still, and curl your legs around his hips, locking your ankles. He’s now trapped against you, but he groans like that’s exactly what he wanted, both hands gliding up the length of your body to grasp the back of your neck instead, giving him even better leverage to plunge into you, deep, deep. He leans down and rests his forehead against yours, licks into your panting mouth. 

At this point, his thrusts are turning manic, but you’re meeting every one of them, deliriously following him in his descent into madness. But when he catches your lower lip with his teeth, your breath hollows, and then, quicker than you can register it’s happening, you cum again, spasming around him with a long, high-pitched whine.

Jungkook lets you ride it out, but this time, his thrusts slow while you thrash. And it’s not until your soul finally floats back into your body that you realize he’s already pulled out of you and is bucking into his own fist instead.  

You almost took him over the edge with you, you realize. Though he clearly has incredible stamina, you have finally brought him to his limit, and everything inside you glows at the knowledge that he’s here, roughly pumping himself, moans falling freely from his lips because of you. 

Entranced, you reach for him, delighting in the whimper he lets out when your fingers wrap around his base. His own hand immediately falls to grip the edge of the desk instead, and you glide your fist up, finding his cock sticky with your juices. Jungkook just rests his head in the crook of your neck and lets you jack him off, whining through it when you match his previously punishing pace. And it doesn’t take long before he finally, finally splashes hot over your hand. Against your thigh. 

Your hand slows, twisting your wrist and milking him for every drop. Intent on extending his pleasure, just like he made sure to do for you. And you only stop when he flinches away from your touch, twitchy and shivering as he leans against you. 

Reluctantly, you let go. The two of you share the same balmy breath, struggling to calm your racing hearts. And when Jungkook finally backs away from you, unhurried in the way he gathers himself back into his slacks, there is a wildly satisfied grin on his face.

You’re satisfied too, though you try to have some sense of propriety and use a tissue from the box next to Joy’s monitor to wipe off the sticky evidence of his pleasure. Throwing away the evidence, you hop off the desk, locating your long-discarded panties and slipping them back on, smoothing down your skirt.

“So,” you tease lightly. Your head swims a little with the knowledge of what you just did, but you’re surprised to realize you feel zero guilt about it. “Is your plan to stick it to everyone who’s wronged me? If so, we should do it on Mabel next. That’ll show her.”

Jungkook laughs, a giddy, giggly thing. He’s now doing his best to pick up and replace everything that fell from Joy’s desk during your romp. “Nah, I could never disrespect her like that. That ol’ girl’s been such a great wingman these past few months.”

That’s a rather curious statement to make. You frown a little, shoot him an inquisitive sound.

“You always call me when Mabel’s not working,” he shrugs. “So when I wanted to see you, she was nice enough help.” 

You can’t help it—a smile creeps across your face, equally bashful and flattered. He wanted to see you! For months, by his open admission. “And the printer knew exactly when you wanted to see me?" you joke. “Sounds like dark magic to me.”

Jungkook’s valiantly trying to straighten and smooth out some of the papers the two of you disturbed. “Deleted some print jobs,” he replies offhandedly, clearly distracted by the task at hand. 

Record scratch. 

There’s an extended silence as your brain shuffles through different iterations of his sentence, trying to decipher exactly he meant by that. Because there's no way he just admitted to what you think he just did. “Did…did you just say you've been deleting my print jobs?” you ask incredulously. Because there’s no way.

There’s no way, yet at your words, Jungkook immediately stiffens. His lips part, but he doesn't defend himself. Doesn't say anything at all—just drops the pen he’s holding and stares at you with wide eyes.

Holy shit. Holy shit. He really has been doing it! He obviously hadn't meant to tell you that, but the relaxation of afterglow has clearly removed the filter between his brain and his mouth. 

The weight of his revelation hits you, seemingly happenstance events connecting in your mind and starting to fall into place. All the hassle and irritation that stupid printer has been giving you, and it turns out Mabel has been working just fine?! 

“Please don't be mad,” he pleads, finally finding his voice.  

“Are you seriously saying that all this time—”   

“No! No, I only did it a few times,” he sheepishly rushes to correct you. “And I promise, I haven’t done it in weeks.”

“Seriously?” 

“I just...wanted an excuse to talk to you!”

“Jungkook, you literally talk to me all the time!”

“About work! Not—” he averts his eyes, lets out an irritated breath. “It’s just. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out.”

You blink, gaping slightly as your whirring mind tries to process what he’s just told you. “Ask me…out?” 

“I didn’t mean to do…all this.” He waves a hand over the mess the two of you are still cleaning up, clearly embarrassed. “I mean, at least not before buying you dinner first.”

Moments pass as you stare at him in stunned, disbelieving silence. Then, like a volcano erupting, laughter bursts from you, loud and sudden. Because what the fuck? You can’t believe all of this is actually happening to you. In real life. “You jackass,” you cackle. “Do you have any idea how much grief that printer has been giving me? I’m over here stressed and you’ve been gaslighting me and doing it on purpose?”

“Just a few times,” he repeats, visibly confused by the juxtaposition of the mirth in your voice and the actual words you’re saying. 

“And that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still a jackass,” you laugh. “But…” You clear your throat, suddenly somehow shy, despite everything that has occurred and been said. “…I suppose you can still take me out to dinner.”  

“Yeah?” His lips stretch into a slow, hopeful smile.

“Yeah. Now, if you want. I think we’re pretty much done here.” You smile back, quickly taking stock of the binders still scattered across the floor. Most of them are completed, but whatever else you need to do can be done tomorrow morning. “Besides, I seem to have worked up an appetite.” 

Jungkook looks nothing short of smug, but you suppose you can’t fault him that. “Well then,” he practically purrs, “Let’s hurry up and feed you.” 

Moving in comfortable silence, the two of you finish putting everything you’ve disturbed back in their original spots, gathering the last of the binders and stacking them neatly on your desk. You reach for your purse while Jungkook goes to collect his hastily discarded belongings.

“So,” you start. “Where are you taking me? It’s kind of late.” This late on a weeknight, kitchens would be shutting down soon.

He pauses in sliding his leather jacket back on, frowning a little as he realizes you’re right. “Shit,” he mutters. “I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”

“You can,” you say with an unbothered wave of your hand. “That can be next time. Let’s just find something quick now.”

“So you’re saying I get a second date?” he grins.

Oh. That is what you just implied, isn’t it? You would be embarrassed by how forward you were being if Jungkook wasn’t visibly delighted by it. Wow, he really does like you. And since the feeling is mutual, you just look away coyly and say, “If you play your cards right.”

Jungkook hoists his backpack over a shoulder, and it’s only then that you see what else he happened to be carrying in his hands when he dropped everything for you. A helmet.

You gesture towards the object with a curious incline of your head. “What’s that for?”

“My bike,” comes his easy answer, but that’s not the kind of helmet that one wears for bicycle rides. No, this one is made for something much faster. 

Now that you think about it, you’ve seen the motorcycle in the parking lot before—you’ve just never really given it a second thought. And now you can’t stop thinking about it, because the unassuming vehicle you’ve often passed on your way into the building has been Jungkook’s the whole time. Your mind is blown. How many more times is he going to surprise you tonight?  

“…Do you always drive a motorcycle?” you ask incredulously.

“Depends on the day,” he shrugs with grin. “Sometimes I take the bus, but I like to ride my bike when the weather’s nice.” His eyes are bright with pride, visibly happy to have impressed you. 

Your mouth opens and closes, thoughts racing so fast your tongue struggles to hold onto any of them. Before you realize you’re doing it, you blurt, “Alright. Are you even real?”

Jungkook blinks owlishly at you, clearly not expecting that question. “What?” 

“I thought I’ve known you for months. But was any of that real?” you repeat. “Hell, do you even need glasses?”

“Of course,” he rushes to say. “It’s all me. I can just be a little shy, is all.” Wow, he actually said shy with a straight face, as if he didn’t just finish ravaging you over multiple surfaces. “And I like to be professional, so this place doesn’t get to have all facets of me. I know you can relate.”

You can. Your constant struggle to not complain? To be professional and work hard and hope you’ll be rewarded for your efforts? Obviously that’s a reason why the two of you ended up in this situation in the first place.

He ducks his head a little, tapping the glasses he picked up off the floor in petition for their validity. “And these really are prescription. I mean, I can mostly see without them, but since I stare at computer screens all day, it’s less strain on my eyes.”

“Oh,” you say quietly, feeling silly to have even asked. But who knew the quiet IT guy who kept mostly to himself was also this? Buff and tatted with a wicked tongue that you’re now intimately acquainted with. 

Shyly, he holds his helmet out to you. He hesitates before speaking again, almost like he’s afraid of spooking you. “Wanna go for a ride?” And from the way color lightly blooms across his cheeks, you get the sense that he’s offering you more than just protective gear.

You take it without second thought.

The next day you and Jungkook get off the elevator together, a respectable distance between you, but arms still brushing too often to be casual. When you come to the hallway that will force you in separate directions, you pause.

“Have a good day,” you say. Jungkook grins, the delighted brightness of it baring too much teeth and crinkling his eyes in the corners.

“You too,” he winks. “Let me know if Mabel gives you any more issues.”

You snort at his brazenness, biting down a smile as you head to your cubicle. Your whole body buzzes, glowing from inside out.

You’re technically right on time, but you’ve definitely arrived later than usual, and that’s obvious when you head over to your department and find Joy already there waiting for you. She frowns as you approach, no doubt clocking your empty hands and wondering how she’s going to make it through the morning without her expected syrupy caffeine fix. 

To her credit, she doesn’t call you out on it, but you don’t really care if she does. You’re done playing errand boy. From now on, everyone else will have to stop before work and get their own shit, if they want it so bad.

Because it’s all so clear to you now. You’re here, and you’re going to do your best, but you’re not going to let this place wear you down to jaded slivers. You’re going to work hard and learn all that you can, but you refuse to be anyone’s lapdog. 

They will respect you. And your value will be recognized and rewarded—or you’ll simply find somewhere else where it will. 

Joy must sense your new resolve, because she simply hovers by your desk and chirps, “Good morning.”

“Morning.” 

“Did you have a good night?”

Your lips quirk. “You could say that. What about you?”

“Eh, it was okay,” she sighs. “Met a guy for dinner, but I don’t think that’s going anywhere.” 

So while you were stuck here last night, having a grade-A meltdown, she was on a date. That tracks.

Joy chatters on while you put your things away, not seeming to notice or care that you’re not particularly interested in what she’s saying. And while this would normally irritate the living shit out of you, today, it doesn’t. 

Today, your eyes can’t help but glaze over as your mind drifts back to how your night went. Today, you just hum agreeably until she gets bored with you and decides to go back to her own cubicle.

And when you hear her ask over the wall if you’ve seen her stapler, you just smile and smile.   

Just a few tables away, the couple remain in their seats with sweetest smiles that could compete with the food that's currently sitting on your plate. Your table is not quiet either.

Gabriel is a good company and he keeps the conversation alive. While he's finished with his dessert, only the empty plate is the only proof of it until the waiter takes it away, he lets you eat yours in peace as he tells you life stories. You're interested and equally joined in this conversation, regardless of your eyes drifting away every time Gabriel even slightly looks elsewhere. 

Much to your luck, he does not mention his friend and so you bluntly ignore their presence. At first glance. 

There's only so much you can do to try and ignore their known presence, until you hear Nara's laugh up to where you are. It's not the one that's annoying and makes head turns at the interruption. After all, you're outside and the sound of waves washes out most noise. 

But not even nature can blur this one out, as Gabriel merrily chuckles when he recognizes her laugh but continues in his talk. 

With no help, you naturally let your eyes wander toward their table. Jungkook's toothy grin makes you scrunch your nose at the fact he's actually having a good time. As if he could feel your eyes right away, he looks. Before you know it, his brows shoot up in a provocative manner as he takes a sip off his whiskey. 

You roll your eyes, making sure he sees it before you straighten your back. Ready to pop your elbows on the table to rest your chin on top of your hands – and give Gabriel's back your full attention – you bump into the tall glass that is yours.

A sound of surprise makes it out of your mouth as you both grab the glass and prevent it from spilling onto the white table. Even the cloth on the table looks expensive.

“Shit–”

Gabriel laughs, covering your hands with his as you both hold the glass. Your cheeks heat up by the accident that almost happened.

“Stop, or I will think I make you nervous.” he jokes, causing you to shake your head with laughter. 

“Men. You always think everything is about you.” you joke back.

He lets go of your hand, the warmth of it leaving yours as you put the glass in a safe distance. Briefly, your brows shoot up in a mocking manner right at the table with a perfect view of Jungkook. He catches it, mockingly rolling his eyes at you. 

As much as his presence is distracting, you try your best at not giving him any of your attention. But it seems as if you're playing a tennis match and you keep bouncing the invisible ball between you two – your two dates tonight completely oblivious. 

After a while, you excuse yourself to use the restroom – the amount of drinks you've had has caught up to you. You make sure you don't pass right by their table, making your presence known to clueless Nara. 

Unsure whether she would speak up first after seeing you or not, you don't test it just in case. 

You're not drunk, the drinks you've ordered aren't on the strong side. Also you've ordered a glass of water to make sure you're in a sober state. The slightest buzz caused by the alcohol is just a faint feeling and definitely not the cause of your heated cheeks. 

As you come out of the toilet and spot your reflection in the spotless mirror, you ask yourself; Why?

Your blood boils and the pent up tension that seems to be between you two is taking a proper grip on you. Washing your hands with a nice scented soap, your mind goes back to the conversation you had back at the water park. 

You're an idiot. You've understood that Jungkook just wants to make decisions on his own. They don't concern you. Until they do.

Both having your own reasons, you understand your own. This can't keep going on for any longer.

Jungkook sees it far more freely than you do. You're already playing with fire – you have been for a long time and it scares you of what it could lead to happen. 

It's not even about Jungkook. It's about you. And about your weakness when it comes to him. 

Drying your hands, you sigh and try to correct your faded out lipstick. Of course, you've forgotten to bring your purse with you. 

With determination to get back and maybe pack it up here, you pull the door with force and make your way to the table, where Gabriel's waiting. Plan is to not look toward the certain table, not making known your obvious awareness of their presence. Checking on Gabriel, you almost stumble in your tracks as you stare at the couple standing by the table. 

Your table.

You've got to be kidding me.

Nara's voice is more audible with each step you take, trying to appear unbothered by the fact they just had to butt in. Well, what can you do, right? It was most likely inevitable.

Her cheerful mood is a mocking difference to your gloomy one that suddenly appears by the realization she came to say hi. She's quick, cheeks swelled up in a huge smile and for a moment, you feel awful for not being able to replicate her happiness.

Behind her, Jungkook not so willingly stands there. His whole stance is not hiding that he would much rather take a different route than to your table. His face does not look amused while yours awakens.

“We noticed you before, we just didn't want to interrupt.” You hear Gabriel who smiles warmly. 

“Are you enjoying your date?”

Your first natural reaction and response is to correct her, to deny that this is not a date. You're not sure what Gabriel told her, or his friends, but regardless of how romantic this set-up is – this is not exactly a date. 

It's in a very much friendly atmosphere and you both gathered from all the talking, that relationship just doesn't work for any of you right now. Gabriel's initiative plan of a hook-up has been swept away under the rug by you. 

Going back to your seat, you briefly look at Jungkook who just stares with a little bored glare.

Your so-called date tonight opens his mouth, about to correct her by himself so he keeps the things straight mainly for you, but before he can your smile widens. 

“Great. Gabriel picked out the best place.” You compliment him, giving him a look of appreciation as he seems to be fond of it. His bright smile says it all.

“Him and Jungkook think alike then.” Nara compliments Jungkook, her brown eyes moving to him while there are stars dancing in them. 

But he stares at you. It lasts a split second but then he gives her a faint smile and a mere nod. 

“What are your plans after this?”

“We haven't talked about it that much. We were planning to go for a walk.” you respond, looking at Gabriel in question who nods to your statement.

“Well, I was about to take Jungkook to one of the clubs here. It's a different vibe.”

“Club? I don't know…” you mutter unsurely, not totally sold by her idea of how tonight should continue. But the truth is that spending it with them – out of all people – seems like a sabotage.

“You love clubs.” Jungkook speaks up, eyes daring you to say otherwise as your jaw clenches.

“I do?”

“Especially dancing on tables,” he adds.

Gabriel shows a sudden interest, a surprised but pleased sound coming out of his mouth as he questions you with a bright; “Really?”

“That's great! We should definitely end tonight on a double-date.”

You make a grimace, clearly not showing any interest in that but once you give Gabriel a look, he seems to be enthusiastic by the idea. You should've known he's too free spirited to pass this chance. 

“Don't worry. If you end up dancing on a table, I will be there to hold you.” Gabriel tries to joke.

It's not even the fact he's joking on your account, it's what he says that causes you and Jungkook to stare at each other knowingly. 

“Oh please,” you scoff, “Jungkook is bringing up something that happened once–”

And had so much more content to it of why you ended up drunk out of your ass.

“He's not one to brag when it comes to being wasted either.”

Jungkook scoffs at the audacity, a tongue poking his cheek as he prevents himself from adding up to the exchange of words you're having. 

“The decision is up to you. But I've checked the weather app and it shows it's supposed to rain. Just wanted to inform you, so you don't end up soaked.” Gabriel says, ignoring your little banter which seems like old friends or siblings bantering. 

If they notice the sour mood, they don't comment on it. At this point, you think they are just pretending they are not aware of it to make everyone more comfortable. 

“I'm not afraid of little rain.” 

Gabriel smirks, “Great. Neither am I.”

“Great! So you're joining us? Come on! When are we gonna see each other again?”

Hopefully never again.

“Fine.” you mutter.

“We'll wait outside.” Nara says, motioning for Jungkook to leave the two of you alone. Without looking your way, he turns around and follows her. You chuckle under your breath as Gabriel calls out for the waiter.

It's time to leave either way. After all, there are reservations for this place and you were ready to leave any minute. The waiter comes and before you open your purse, Gabriel quickly pays off the check, of course not agreeing with you splitting it.

“I could've paid the half.” you make sure to tell him as you both stand up, a little frown settled on both your face and lips.

Gabriel laughs, “You can buy me a drink at the club.”

Following him out of the restaurant, you bid goodbye to the staff before you make way outside. Seeing Nara and Jungkook waiting. He keeps his hands inside his pockets, sighing as he leans his back and stares at the dark sky above him. 

He doesn't see it. But Nara keeps his eyes on him the entire time, the little stars of admiration seeps out all the way to here. 

Once you join them, Gabriel offers to get a cab. You wait very shortly for it, enough for Gabriel and Nara gush about this restaurant while you remain silent. Jungkook joins their conversation, all of a sudden showing an interest which mentally causes you to scoff. 

In the cab, you end up sandwiched between Jungkook and Gabriel, after Nara complains she doesn't feel well sitting in the backseat. 

Your knee keeps touching Jungkook's, as much as you try to keep every part of your body from touching both of them. As the driver drives over countless bumps, their sides keep bumping into yours.

What a great ride.

Expectations are a part of our lives. 

If you thought about a true Hawaiian party, you imagine drinking  from a coconut shell – preferably outside on a beach. Once the cab stops and drops you in front of a square building, you realize tonight will be nothing like that.

Almost clawing out of the cab, you're glad to be met with less suffocating air that reeked between you in the backseat. You make the best of it and finally catch a breath, ignoring the way your lungs and heart pounds.

Feeling a hand on your back, you're met with Gabriel's excited gaze at the club's building. There's a big neon sized sign, making it seem as one of those you get to see in GTA games.

“This place is right outta GTA.” 

Poking your cheek at Jungkook's comment full of amazement and excitement, you wonder if it was a good idea to agree to come with them. It wasn't. No matter how many times you convince yourself that you'll be having fun, he's just always here. He doesn't even have to do anything. It's his pure presence. 

Your holiday is surely coming to an end, not having to spend your last days with Jungkook feels… wrong. All it takes for you to sit down and just have a proper conversation about it. But that hasn't seemed to help. Whenever you talk, it ends up in argument – both of you clearly have different views and even though there comes a certain understanding, it just gets twisted and then you're back to square one.

No progress, just this enormous tension, you happily let Gabriel to guide you inside. Jungkook and Nara stay behind, following you slowly as you find yourself in the middle of Gabriel's and Nara's conversation.

Once the bouncer lets you in, not even caring to check IDs, murmuring to all of you to have fun, you're surprised to be met with stairs that lead to the basement. Not only it seems dodgy as hell, you hesitate and for some stupid reason, you search for Jungkook. 

He seems to catch your gaze, features softening as Nara excitedly walks down the stairs. The bass suddenly booms in the place, startling you as the crowd screams in enjoyment. 

“Woah, seems very lively here.” Gabriel comments, following Nara without a question.

“You good?” Jungkook asks, taking a few steps down as he stops. A few steps below you, he looks up at you.

“Yeah,” you nod, watching him give you a brief nod before he follows the others. An odd feeling from what seems like a normal interaction melts in your chest, wondering if there's a chance that you two just get over this.

Everything got twisted, with your help of course and without any doubt, you're more than ready to admit it. Jungkook has taken it more to his heart than you would've ever guessed. 

Your doubt about this place is slowly wiped off once you get inside, the club truly thriving at its best. The club is fully packed and you keep your eyes on Jungkook's back, not wanting to lose them. Luckily, they wait for you and the entire group to get together before you dive into the crowd to try and find a place to sit and have a drink. 

A few moments later and a few people bumping into you, you're luckily able to find one table unoccupied. There are empty glasses left that are put to the edge of the table, hopefully soon taken away. The stench of hard liquor can be smelled around the entire booth.

“I'm gonna get us drinks. Jungkook, give me a hand?”

Jungkook keeps his features neutral, hardly giving any reaction after he's been addressed to. You know better though. By the way his eyes move up and down Gabriel's face, you can tell the underlying irritation of being even addressed by Gabriel. 

Whatever his problem is, it's quite entertaining to watch. Especially when everyone's clueless.

“I would rather not leave the girls alone.”

Fuck. You hate your first hand reaction and by looking at Nara, who's swooning over him and already salivating at how that simple action and sentence screams attraction and good manners, you're far better at hiding it.

Nara can't keep her eyes off your friend, not giving  a damn how obvious she is. 

Gabriel seems slightly embarrassed that he hasn't thought about it, nodding.

“The bar is right there, you should be able to see us.” Nara butts in, clearly complimented by Jungkook's previous statement of not wanting to let you out of his sight. 

Jungkook doesn't seem to be convinced. Before he can state otherwise to Nara's input, they convince him they'll be right back. As you watch Jungkook going to the bar, stopping there and looking your way right away to check, you and Nara are already watching him.

Looking away, you cross your legs before Nara sits down on the opposite side, facing the bar with her back. She turns to you with a bright smile.

“He's perfect.”

A little stunned by her words, you don't hide your expression as she giggles because of your reaction. 

“I'm sorry for being so straight-forward. It's probably weird for you.”

You haven't had the chance to talk to her alone. All the times you actually spent in her presence, there were other people around – their friends included. It feels a little odd but you don't have to make it any more weird than it has to be. 

Because in the end – it doesn't have to be, right? 

This is what you wanted. There's a woman mesmerized by Jungkook, a possible someone in his life whether that includes just fun or something more. Knowing how the universe tends to give you a reality check and a whiplash, you quickly leave this thought alone. 

“Why's that?” you question, seeming unbothered. Letting your shoulders to relax and convince yourself there's not a reason why you just have a specific stand toward her. 

Girls should help each other, right?

Girls should stand with each other.

Where has your feminism gone? 

“Well,” she giggles, “I mean he's your best friend, you probably don't wanna hear me gushing about him.”

You don't have to hear about it because she makes it pretty much obvious. Be nice!

Reminding yourself to behave, almost as if you could hear Jungkook somewhere in the back of your mind, you put up a tight smile. “It's fine.”

“You're probably used to it.”

She expects a response, your eyes traveling to left and right as you shrug. “I don't really care about it.”

Him attracting female's gazes just comes with him. It’s like cherries coming with a pit. They’re just like that.

Nara looks behind her, checking on the guys to see them still waiting as Jungkook briefly checks on you two once again. She smiles at him, causing him to wave at her as you fight off the natural response of rolling your eyes. 

It’s clear she doesn’t want to rip her eyes off him, but she does in the end just to be back in the same position. Facing you with her full interest. Once she speaks, you understand why.

“Jungkook told me about the break-up he went through.”

You’re trying hard not to show your obvious shock. It has never occurred to you that he might've mentioned that part of his life to someone, who in the end is just a stranger. Or at least that’s what you’re trying to tell yourself but that’s besides the point now. 

Learning now that he has spoken to her about it doesn’t really sit well with you. Not for any vile reasons, but it just leaves a weird feeling inside you. Jungkook has always been someone who can find friends easily, have almost any kind of conversation with the other person. 

However, the break-up being this particular topic is not something you would’ve ever guessed. Perhaps, it’s not even about the topic itself but the fact that he has so easily closed off any parts of it. Regardless of him being able to talk almost about everything, the break-up was never one of them. 

Even with you – you, Jimin and Taehyung – he seemed to put an end to it and not really talk about it, unless one of you started it. Politely as it can be, he would answer but not dwell on it for too long. He closed off that chapter.

“He did?” you breathe out, having a hard time to believe it.

It’s not like she’s lying. Obviously, she knows about it. To what extent, you’re not sure. 

“Yeah, he mentioned it. Never got into really much detail, I totally respect that.”

Not really sure what to respond, you nod.

“Did he move on?”

Your eyes got bigger, surprised not only by her sudden question but more by her boldness. Her voice is soft, not coming out as the annoyingly nosy kind.

“Shouldn’t you be asking him that?”

No matter how harmless she sounds, Jungkook is still your best friend and you won’t be spilling his secrets or personal stuff. That’s not loyal nor nice. 

“I did,” she says. 

Oh.

“I just–maybe it’s silly but–I just wanted to hear your thoughts on it.”

You blink, a frown making its way on your lips. Her facial expression doesn’t drastically change, more of a confirmation crosses her features. It’s obvious you won’t say anything more than Jungkook has. More so, it’s a confirmation that you have his back no matter what. 

Considering where your relationship is at now, it does make you sad. But like you said. No matter what – you both have each other's back. The thought of it not being like that freaking scares you.

“Like–do you think he has moved on?” she asks sheepishly, playing with her perfectly cut nails. 

Noticing her slight discomfort caused by her own curiosity, you decide to end it. 

“Yeah, I think he has.”

Her eyes don’t leave yours, she listens carefully and once she gets her response, she immediately sighs in relief. Understandably. Nobody wants a guy who hangs up on his ex. Before she can say anything else, something that clearly proves her relief, the guys come back. A drink is placed in front of you and you waste no time in drinking it.

“Are we gonna dance or what?” Gabriel asks, clearly in the mood to show his Italian roots.

Surprisingly, you’re the first one to place your palms against the table to brace yourself to stand up. “Let’s go!”

You came here to have fun. Gabriel seems to be pleased by your decision to join him right away. He quickly goes and throws a shot down his throat. Jungkook brushes past you to sit down, your jaw tensing at the close proximity. 

Gabriel reaches his hand toward you, ready for you to take it. Jungkook sits down in the booth, arm resting against the frame as the other one reaches for his glass. He takes a slow sip of his whiskey, his eyes not leaving yours. 

Quickly accepting Gabriel’s hands, you let him take you to the dance floor and away from the intensive brown eyes. 

Hoping Gabriel won’t take it as an opportunity to touch you more than necessary, you’re relieved he mostly keeps his hands to himself, even though his proximity is close. At least that allows you to relax a little bit. You’re not feeling yourself as much as you would if you would’ve drank more. Damn it. 

Jungkook was right. You lose yourself a lot more when you drink. Which is not necessarily always positive, but it does allow you to relax and don’t care about your dance moves. Luckily, Gabriel is a great dancer and twirls you cutely to some kind of Hawaiian remix that genuinely makes you giggle through it all.

Once you come back to the table to drink more, a glass of water already awaits you. Knowing well damn who has put it there, you avoid the same brown eyes that are no longer aimed at you. Screw him for being still so attentive. 

Him and Nara seem to be in a conversation which you slightly interrupt. She seems a bit disappointed that her alone time with Jungkook has come to a pause. 

“You up for a dance?”

Well, she surely wastes no time. 

Jungkook seems to be enjoying the same drink he had when you went dancing. Judging by the neutral expression he’s sporting, you see he’s not really in the mood to dance. There’s just something sour about him being so… bland. 

Not waiting for his answer that is clearly not meant for you anyway, you don’t bother brushing past him while he’s still sitting. Your butt almost in his face, an apology is sitting on the tip of your tongue but you decide to not be the first one to speak up. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem to be wasting his time either. “Yeah.” he says, standing up before you can plop onto the seat next to him.

Trying not to take it personally, it surely does look like you can’t be in each other's presence. The absurdity of the events is comical. First Gabriel takes you away, now Nara does the same to Jungkook.

Once Gabriel sits down and catches one of the waitresses to order drinks for you, he’s talking to you through the loud music. He chose to order the drinks, knowing it might take longer than going straight to the bar. He wants to talk and doesn’t want to leave you alone. 

It should be flattering and it is, yet you don’t hold that thought for too long. 

Since Gabriel’s voice is not audible enough to hear him properly – and his vocal chords most likely about to suffer – he decides to slide closer to you. He occupies the seat next to you and even jokes it’s better this way, which is understandable. Yet the look he’s got in his eyes tells you he talks more about your proximity than the obvious practicality of your conversation. 

You can smell a faint pinch of alcohol on his breath, his demeanor starting to loosen up even more. All of a sudden, your eyes dance across the dance floor to find only one person. It takes a while and a few oblivious glances toward the crowd until you spot him. 

Seeing them two from the distance, you bite the inside of your cheek at how good they look together. Two good looking people are dancing, their moves smooth and if you didn’t know better, you would assume there’s something going on between them. Perhaps there is. 

For one ridiculous second, you imagine yourself in Nara’s place. You catch yourself wishing that it would be you and Jungkook dancing together. 

For fuck sake!

You fight the urge to rip out your hair, simply because your mouth says something and your mind goes completely against it. None of this is normal. Normal is Jungkook hanging out with a woman, while you’re being a good friend and should be completely supportive. After all, it was your idea and push that originally pushed him to enjoy his time with someone else. 

You’ve voiced it out differently than it came out which only brings you back to your never-ending thoughts. Jungkook was right. It’s not your decision to make. And it’s clear if he wanted to be with someone else, whether it’s a relationship or a hook-up, he could easily do so. You never doubt it.

Selfishly, you made that decision based on your fears and the odd feelings.

To think you should’ve had the time of your lives, you’re bummed to declare that this vacation is the worst vacation you’ve taken. Not only have you managed to get into a fight with Jungkook, every second here feels like a punishment as well. 

You’re here with Gabriel, who wants to have everything you allow him to have. He’s respectful, has been a good friend and never crossed a line, even though he made his original intentions known. Yet, he’s not someone you would hook-up.

Why? You ask yourself. 

He’s a good looking guy. A few women here stare at him, probably wondering why he’s in your presence when there’s not even an ounce of something happening between you. He’s talked so much about his life and himself, that you feel as if you’ve known him for months. Stranger, yet he’s someone you know a lot about.

He’s easy-going, friendly and polite. Among everything that has to do with his tan and dark hair. 

And here you are. Staring at your best friend instead, going at it with some woman you randomly met, wishing it was just you and him. 

Nara suddenly turns around and shamelessly puts her arms around Jungkook’s neck. He seems surprised, you notice it simply by the way he freezes for a moment, his arms not moving but still resting on her hips. That’s when you decide to swallow and quickly turn around.

You screwed up.

“Why?”

“What,” you almost shriek, staring at Gabriel who mimics a confusion. 

“You just said fuck.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. Just now.”

Your cheeks start to feel hot and you fight the urge to fan your face. It’s really getting hot here. Chuckling nervously, you swim in your own embarrassment wondering if you really said something out loud. You haven’t noticed! That has never happened to you!

There’s not a hint of joking or amusement on Gabriel’s face and he looks rather… worried. 

“Listen,” he says, still loud enough for you to hear. “Is something wrong?”

“Why?”

“I mean like–have I crossed a line or something?”

“No, why? Why would you ask that?” Suddenly, a guilt starts building up and you almost panic you’ve managed to fuck up another thing.

“You seem off ever since we came back from the dancing. Even before that, actually.”

You try to deny, but the way he raises his brow at you tells you to think about it twice. 

“Hey,” he says softly, searching your face and forcing your eyes to look at his. “I’m not trying to come out as pushy. I’m perfectly fine just hanging out, it’s almost time for us to say goodbye. I’m fine with whatever you give me. But if you don’t wanna be around me–just say so.”

“Gabriel,” you breathe out, shaking your head. “That’s not–I don’t mind you being around me.”

“What’s wrong then?” he asks.

You lean forward, elbows on the table as you cover your face for a moment. Taking a deep breath, you embrace yourself to face him again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what though?” 

“For not being… present? I haven’t been in a mood.”

“But you were perfectly fine before.”

That’s what I made you think.

One advantage of him not knowing you well. 

“I screwed up.”

“You haven’t.”

“Yes, I have.” you argue, almost whining. 

“How?”

“I–we had a fight with Jungkook.”

“Okay?” he asks, surprised yet keeps his cool. “Friends fight, right?”

“They do–I just kinda pushed him to hang out with other people.”

“And how is that bad?”

“You don’t understand.” you shake your head.

He leans forward, “Then make me understand.”

Sighing, you lean back against your seat. There’s no way you’re about to spill everything to him. It wouldn’t help. What you can give him though, it’s a partial truth. 

“I pushed him away, so he could… meet someone new.” you admit embarrassingly.

“And that’s not what he wanted?”

You nod. “I thought I was doing the right thing. He went through something and I just thought–I was being selfish.”

“Y/N,” Gabriel laughs softly, “Jungkook is an adult. I’m sure he can take care of himself.”

“No, I know.”

“And if he didn’t want to hang out with Nara, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t. He’s not doing it just because you told him to, right?”

Well, you never technically told him to hang out with her specifically. It was meant in general which doesn’t really matter now. 

“God, I hope so.”

“Trust me, he isn’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“What kind of person would he be? I might not know him that well like you, but let me tell you something… he definitely doesn’t seem like the type who’s doing everything someone tells him. Look at him–”

You would rather not. 

And you don’t. 

Gabriel shows somewhere in the crowd and you’re actually not interested to look. Not anymore.

“He is having fun.”

That leaves a sour expression on your face that you’re trying hard to control. 

“And it’s time for you to have fun as well. I’m sure you can talk about it later.”

You’re unsure. But once Gabriel asks if you want more drinks, you don’t hesitate to agree. A few minutes later and your drinks are sitting in front of you. Luckily, the topic changes naturally and none of you dwell on whatever has been said. 

The familiar tingle in your muscles that causes you to relax is awakened. Gabriel orders you a glass of water too, which causes you to smile.

“You’re such a gentleman.”

“Are you drunk already?” he laughs which causes you to nudge him. 

“I’m trying to be nice, so take the compliment.”

“I will gladly take this one.” he hums, not tearing his eyes off you.

They’re really brown. You’re not sure if you ever noticed it that much. Maybe it’s the lights, or the lack of, but they seem to shine. He looks… happy. 

“I will be very bummed to say goodbye.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” you laugh.

“I’m not,” he shakes his head with a smile. “I probably won’t see you again.”

“You will live.”

He laughs at that and how easy you shake off his dramatic words. 

“Come on, let’s dance.”

“Is this the time you take it on the table?”

You give him a look, “No. That happened once and I had a great reason for it.”

“I’m curious now.”

“Maybe you will learn about it. Let’s dance now.” 

You stand up, outstretching your hand toward him. He looks surprised by the initiated contact but happily takes it. You lead him toward the dance floor, no longer caring about anyone’s drinks. You’ve been sitting there for a while and Jungkook hasn’t returned with Nara. 

Grasping Gabriel’s hand and intertwining his hands with yours, you start dancing to an unknown song that just makes you want to move to its contagious melody. Gabriel naturally turns you around, hovering his arm over your figure so you can twirl beneath it. 

With a wide smile, you start to laugh when Gabriel picks up the pace of his dance moves, twirling you around like a doll. “Gabriel!”

You hear him laughing behind you, slightly pressing his chest against your back. He still keeps it respectful and he’s not fully pressed against you. As your eyes move elsewhere, the smile suddenly freezes and slowly drops. 

Jungkook starts right back at you.

Just a few feet away, there he is. Standing beneath the colorful changing lights with a stoic look. Seconds later, you’re reminded of his company as the long fingers brush against his chest, coming from behind him smoothly like a snake, wrapping around its prey. 

Okay, that’s kind of dramatic and harsh. Minus you comparing her to a snake, you applaud yourself for the poetic words. 

She can’t keep her hands to herself, completely oblivious that Jungkook has stopped moving and she’s the one brushing against him – too close to be described as something sexual. And then you notice it.

This is what you wanted, right?

It’s written all over his face. Taking it as a provocation, you make sure he sees the glare you give him before you turn around and wrap your arms around Gabriel’s neck. He seems a little surprised by your sudden interest, but happily enjoys the close proximity. Unfortunately for you, he sways your bodies and makes you face the pair again. 

Nobody forces you to look there. The curiosity and the fire burning inside you do. And you curse yourself for it. 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

Whatever this is, it’s absolutely dumb. 

Wishing you never look, you’re not forced to stare at Jungkook’s hands all over Nara’s body and you swear, you feel sick to your stomach. 

Stopping your movements, Gabriel notices right away and you quickly wipe the sudden concern mixed with curiosity off his face. 

“I’m thirsty. My legs are killing me.”

Gabriel laughs, “Already? Where is the girl that danced on the table?”

“She’s in there somewhere, trust me.” you comment through your teeth.

He laughs again, “Okay. Let me get you a glass of water.”

“Okay. I’m gonna use the restroom and fix my make-up.”

“Nothing to fix. You’re beautiful.” 

The smug look makes you roll your eyes playfully. “Keep trying, bud.”

He laughs, shaking his head at you as he salutes you. You part your ways, your legs ushering you to the restroom. 

There’s a girl leaving the stall to wash her hands. You share a smile before you hide your flushed face in one of the stalls. As you finish your business, you flash the toilet and make your way toward the set of sinks. Met with an empty bathroom, you wash your hands as you catch a glimpse of your reflection. 

Your lipstick is slightly smudged, must have happened from the few drinks and you licking your lips. The one you’ve chosen to wear tonight is unfortunately not waterproof, so it was bound to happen. Trying to fix the corners of your lips, you wonder if you should just call it a night. 

You don’t get a good feeling from this. You’ve danced, drank and that’s about it. It’s better to leave before any of you drink some more. You’ve learned your lesson and you’re not about to spend tonight wasted, probably regretting things that haven’t happened yet tomorrow. 

With determination to get back and maybe pack it up here, you pull the door with force but you stop in your tracks, almost bumping to no one else than Jungkook himself. Gasping in shock while he remains unfazed, your shock is soon replaced by annoyance. 

He's leaning against the door with his arm, hovering over you. 

“Are you having fun?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you cock your brow at him.

“I do,” you respond, “Which can't be said about you when you've stalked me to the restroom. Which I may add, this is a ladies' restroom.”

“Oh, I am having fun.” he clarifies, “Especially seeing you bored out of your mind by your date tonight.”

You scoff but he tries to look thoughtfully. 

“It's entertaining.”

“Your date must be boring as well when you have the time to watch us. Not to mention you have to be entertained by us. You're welcome for making your date better.”

Now he's the one who scoffs. “Please, his desperation reeks through this place. It's hard not to watch.”

“What desperation.”

“Nara told me about him. He's not the relationship kind of guy, not that I haven't noticed but she confirmed it on her own.”

“Nice, you even talk about us. How sweet!”

Jungkook's eyes narrow, “Trust me. Talking about any of you is the furthest of my wishes.”

“Nice to know. Now move.”

Ready to walk past him, he blocks your path and decides to stay right in the door frame.

“Seriously?”

“Have you kissed him?”

You scoff out loud, turning to walk inside the restroom and surprisingly, Jungkook joins you. 

“This is lad–”

“I don't care. Just answer.”

“Why does it matter?”

He furrows his brows, “Just wanna know.”

“Have you kissed Nara?”

It's like he expects this question, however has zero reaction to it as he bluntly says; “No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want to.”

You hate how happy that makes you inside. And this is what your problem is. No matter what – you see and feel Jungkook. 

“Have you?” He pushes again without saying the rest of the question. He doesn't have to. 

Clenching your jaw, you don't want him to give him any satisfaction of knowing the truth. Jungkook knows you're honest and that you wouldn't lie about stuff like this. 

Huffing out, you mutter annoyed; “No.”

“Why?”

“There was no time to.” you snap, trying to walk past him again but he stops you without touching you. He stands in your way again as if he could see right through your bullshit.

You're sure that if you gave Gabriel a hint, he would definitely take you up on that kiss. Probably a lot more than that. 

“Stop lying.”

“I am not. People usually kiss after a date.”

“Stop lying.”

Fucking hell.

“What are we playing at?” he asks out of a sudden, making you look away. 

“Meeting new people.” you reply.

“I don't believe you.”

You stare. Those dark big eyes stare at you and you're reminded how many times you've seen them in a million different ways. He's familiar. He's Jungkook. Your Jungkook.

He doesn't feel like a stranger. He's home. But there's still a faint feeling of distance you have between each other and that's the exact opposite you've wanted. You've caused this. But all you've wanted is to get back to the friendship you've had.

“Why haven't you kissed him yet? And be honest to yourself, not just to me.”

“Because I don't want to. Not yet.”

“If he's gonna push himself on you, I'm breaking his neck.”

“Jungkook!”

“I don't care what's going on between us, Y/N. But I'm not gonna allow some stranger to just play you for a good fuck. You don't know this man.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“I care about you. I don't care if we're fighting like a bunch of kids. But if something happens to you–”

“I am getting to know him. I'm safe.”

He stares with those deadly serious eyes, he looks angry. Not at you, in general. 

“Did Nara something tell you?”

He stays silent.

“About Gabriel?”

You know Jungkook. He wouldn't flip out just like that. So it does make you question if there's any possibility of Gabriel having a side you don't know yet. Not the one you want to get to know anyway.

“Nothing you already don't know, I'm guessing.”

“He's been honest with me, I'm aware he's not looking for a relationship. We're just having–fun.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” he exclaims.

“You sound like a jealous boyfriend. Get a grip.”

“Makes two of us.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can hide it all you want but Nara's presence bothers you.”

“No, it does not. You're the one who doesn't want to kiss her. Why are you wasting her time?”

“Spending an enjoyable time with someone doesn't have to revolve around kissing and having sex. Not as much as you've tried to push it up on me.”

“I made a mistake. I thought I was doing something beneficial.” you clarify.

“Beneficial for who?” Is all he says before he walks away with no bother in the world. 

Somehow, you can't seem to talk without getting into an argument. That realization should make you cry. It doesn't. But maybe it will until all the frustration and madness fade away.

Coming back to where the party is pretty much alive, you’re pulled onto the dance floor by Gabriel. His movements smoother, caused by the alcohol consumed. Letting go of that conversation that happened in the restroom, you get consumed by his dance moves. Doing everything to enjoy your time here rather than going back to the only man who seems to be clouding your mind. 

Turned with your back, almost pressed against Gabriel’s chest, his hands seem to be more courageous and exploring your hips, close touching  your ass. 

Blinding red lights cross over your features, drowning every corner and face in them. And you’re too in your head, going back to him despite being in the company of someone completely else. So in your thoughts that you barely notice Gabriel’s hand brushing against your ass, testing the waters as one would say. 

Waking out of your unwanted daze, you turn around and give Gabriel a nervous chuckle, not really sure if you’re dancing for this. He gives you a half-drunken smile, pulling you closer smoothly, yet your breath is knocked out of you from the sudden shock. 

“Uhh–”

You’re not sure if he hears you, too immersed in whatever’s going in his head but you see the flicker of his eyes toward your lips. Freezing, knowing what’s coming but you’re stuck in your place.

“Gab–”

He makes a sound of acknowledgement, but he doesn’t seem to be paying too much attention to anything other than the one feature his eyes seem to be glued onto. One hand holds the back of your neck, tilting your head ever so slightly causing your eyes to almost bulge out of their sockets. 

Is this what you want? 

It’s not those hands you’re used to. And that’s what scares you. You’re already comparing in your head and you wonder if you just let him do this. To experience something–no, someone different. This is your chance.

Head saying something, but your body doesn’t listen and for some reason, your hand finds his stomach and you slightly push. He doesn’t seem to get the clue and his head moves closer. Before you can process what’s happening, Gabriel’s warmth and proximity leaves and a cold air hits your face for a moment. 

“What the hell, man?” Gabriel seems to shake himself out of his daze.

Jungkook’s back is facing you, broad shoulders and muscles flexing. Without seeing his face, you know that scold is decorating his usually soft features. 

“No. What the fuck.” Jungkook says in his face, surprisingly not dripping with venom in his voice as you would expect him to. 

“We were dancing.”

You shake yourself out of the daze, coming in between them and without realizing touching and squeezing Jungkook’s forearm. 

“She clearly pushed you away.”

“You guys–”

“What–you didn’t.” Gabriel protests, suddenly growing embarrassed. 

“He was about to kiss you.”

He stares at you, not moving an inch as your gaze falls down in slight embarrassment.

Something crosses his face and he nods, chuckling to himself. “Right.”

“Then I will leave you up to it.”

And he leaves, brushing through the crowd effortlessly as you watch in desperation.

“Is it true?” Gabriel asks, stepping closer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I–” he shakes his head, “I drank too much.”

No. He’s not wasted. You can tell he’s had a few drinks, but it’s nothing too bad. 

“No, it’s um–I’m just not feeling it tonight.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Mix of confusion and embarrassment is seen on his face but you excuse yourself and go on a hunt to find Jungkook. 

Going in the same direction he went, your eyes search everywhere for him. Not being able to find him anywhere, you wonder if he just left. A part of you argues with you, he wouldn’t leave you here. But not being able to find him anywhere wonders if… 

Shaking your head, you’re about to try and go outside, thinking he just went to get some fresh air. As you check one last time, it happens to be the it and from the corner of your eyes, it’s just a few seconds but you recognize him immediately. The choice of his clothing, the way he holds himself. Even the way his body moves.

And the woman in front of him, copying his dance moves. Anger bubbles inside you and for a moment, you wonder if you should do the same to him. He’s unbelievable. 

You cannot believe him.

You left Gabriel in the middle of the dance floor just to find Jungkook in the very same position, not giving a damn he nearly caused a scene. Complementing to go there and give him a piece of your mind, he gives Nara a twirl and something urges him to look in your direction, spotting you there. 

You huff, shaking your head in disbelief as you make your way out of there. You’re not rushing out of there, growing tired of whatever this game is or absurd situation. Tonight should just end already. 

Getting outside feels like a sudden relief, soon to be replaced by shock as rain pours down, drenching you immediately. Yet, there’s something calming about the crazy change of weather. It’s easier to breathe, freshness enters your airways.

Someone opens the door and you feel the presence without having a look. His presence. 

“You’ll get drenched.”

Informative and almost expressionless, you chuckle under your breath.

“Already am.”

“You don’t have to stand there though.”

You turn around, glaring at him. “Why do you care?”

“Is that even a question?”

Pulling lips into a thin line, you scoff. “You’re selfish, you know that?”

His brows shoot up for a moment. “Tell me more.”

“Are you serious?”

He shrugs, “Do tell.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Okay.”

You come closer, having an urge to punch him across the face but you stop yourself, hands in fists. 

“You come, push Gabriel away for dancing with me and then you do the same with Nara. How does that make sense?” You almost exclaim in total despair.

“No, I pushed him because he went for a kiss and you clearly pushed him.”

“Oh, it was a mere touch.”

He scoffs loudly, hands covering his mouth as he nods with jaw clenched, brushing his fingers across his lips to stop himself from saying something. 

“If a woman puts her hands on me and puts a pressure to pull me away, that’s where I draw the line. But then again, I would never kiss someone who clearly doesn’t want it. I would make sure she wants it.”

“Don’t you know it all.”

“Respect toward women? I think I do. It’s a bare minimum.”

God, he’s insufferable! Insatiable, idiotic and yet – absolutely right. But you’re mad at him. Too mad to tell him he’s right. Only because he’s clearly angry at Gabriel. Slightly dramatic too. You would handle it. You didn’t need him to come there and rescue you from an innocent kiss. If it happened, you would communicate it with Gabriel if it didn’t feel right.

“You’re overreacting. You’re making it seem as if Gabriel pushed his tongue down my throat.”

“Lie to yourself all you want. But I know you. Inside and out.”

Rolling your eyes, you wave your hand. “Whatever.”

“No. No. It’s not whatever. It’s the truth. If you would’ve wanted it, I know what that looks like and let me tell you–” He points the finger toward the club. “That was not it.”

“Well, thanks for the rescue then. You can go back.”

He stares, not moving an inch. He gently moves his hand toward your face, tugging a piece of strand hair that’s stuck to the side of your cheek due to rain. You don’t move, in fact, your breath is caught in your throat as your heart erupts in your chest. A rush of adrenaline circulating in your system. 

Eyes dropping down to your lips, his thumb brushing against them, wiping some of your surely smudged lipstick in its corner. The other hand goes to the back of your neck, squeezing you there. Head dropping down, he’s not touching you with none of his features – nose and lips close to bumping and you catch yourself slightly pulling toward him. He’s like a magnet.

And then he pulls you away.

“This is what it would’ve looked like if you wanted it.”

Waking up from under the spell he so effortlessly made on you, your features twist into an annoyance and anger. He doesn’t look smug about it. He just accepts the truth, pointing you exactly that. It annoys you to the core and you scoff.

“That’s because I’m only used to it.”

He grins, nothing cheerful about it. It’s sassy and calling you on your bullshit. 

“You’re not giving me any space to experience something else.”

His brows raise, smugness coming to life as he bites his lips, nodding. It pisses you off so much, but all you can do is to stare at his own drenched form as his dark hair gets even darker under the moonlight and street lights.

“Tell yourself that all you want.”

A few beats of your heart, the time seems to stop for a moment until the door of the club opens and the two people that are easier to blame for everything, come to the scene.

“You guys where you went? Holy shit–It’s pouring!” Nara squeals, but giggles as the cold rain hits her glowing and spotless skin.

Despite everyone probably feeling the sudden shift of the events, none of them make it awkward or question it. They’re pretty much relaxed, even though Gabriel seems to be still embarrassed and quieter than usual. 

“I think I’m calling it a night.”

“Oh, bummed about it but it looks like there’s gonna be a storm. So it’s best we get home.” Nara agrees, already pulling out her phone to call the cab. 

Jungkook bluntly ignores Gabriel’s presence, not even turning around to acknowledge his presence as he comes closer to you.

“Sorry for… you know… pushing myself onto you. I–”

“No–” you shake your head. “It’s fine. No need to apologize.”

Giving Jungkook a side look, you see him rolling his eyes as you roll your own. Grabbing Gabriel by his wrist, you pull him aside out of Jungkook’s earshot. 

“He’s protective over me. Don’t beat yourself over it.”

Gabriel briefly looks in Jungkook’s direction. “Kinda annoyed at him, but I wouldn’t wanna kiss someone that doesn’t want to kiss me. I got caught up in the moment, which does not excuse me at all–”

“Gabriel, it’s fine. It’s not–nothing happened.”

Apparently, Jungkook can be very protective. Even though, deep down you know you didn’t want the kiss and that’s why Jungkook stepped in. He knows you the best. 

“Yeah.” He sounds disappointed and relieved at the same time, smiling at you. 

“The cab’s here.” Nara informs.

You move without hesitance. 

Once you enter the beach house, there’s a complete silence between you two – no difference after the last conversation you’ve had. If it wasn’t for the talking Nara and Gabriel did, there would be a dead silence on your way here. 

The two of you were dropped off first and you bid goodbyes in case you never meet again. Their vacation is ending just as much as yours does. You don’t even have their numbers or social media. They’re just people you met on your stay here.

Who knows if Jungkook does. He seemed to be getting along with everyone. 

Inconveniently, you both go to the kitchen and get yourselves a can of soda. You stay standing, leaning against the kitchen counter as you check the time. Jungkook does the same but sits down and drums his fingers against the marble island. 

You put your phone on the table, taking a sip to avoid the crucial silence that waits to explode. Realizing the slight fear you so desperately want to avoid, you take a few unnecessary sips. It feels like no matter what any of you says, it will just cause a bigger storm that is outside. 

In the distance you hear the sky rumbling. Great, it seems like there’s a storm coming. 

Something vibrates on the marble surface. Your and Jungkook’s eyes follow the sound as you notice it’s Taehyung calling you. Clearing your throat, you set aside the can and turn off the vibration, while your phone stills flashes.

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up, “You’re not getting that?”

“What do you want me to say to him? Tell him that this entire vacation has been awful?”

Jungkook’s brows frown and there’s a sadness crossing over his features over your blunt statement. 

“Other than the two days we actually had fun, of course.”

“I didn’t start it though,” Jungkook says, “We had this conversation before and it didn’t really go well.”

“I made a mistake.”

“Thank you.” he almost exclaims, proving his point. “You should change your clothes.”

By the time you got inside the cab, the rain was merciless to you and your clothes got super wet. Jungkook’s on it worse. Since he let you get inside the vehicle first, he got drenched and that’s the reason why he shrugged off the button-up and currently sits shirtless. 

You realize you just noticed. 

It’s the first time you properly looked at him since you’ve arrived.

“So do you,” you point out, “Or are you planning those droplets to just dry off?” 

There’s a hint of sarcasm aimed at the skin he’s currently showing. Of course, he doesn’t mind. He’s Jungkook. He could walk here totally nude and he would joke about it. 

He smiles. He freaking smiles and you give him a good roll of your eyes in return.

“Isn’t it uncomfortable to sit down with a wet ass anyway?”

“Are you pushing me away again?”

“That’s not–”

You sigh.

“That’s not it.”

“Isn’t it though?” Jungkook pushes, “That’s what you’ve been doing. Not me, Y/N.”

“I apologized for that. It wasn’t my decision to make, you made that clear and I understand.”

“But then you do what? Glue yourself to a guy who mostly just wants sex from you to prove what?”

Your jaw is close to hitting the floor. 

“Gabriel never hid his intentions. But you don’t know that of course, because you’re quick to judge him. Also, he has never really just wanted sex from me. He never pushed me to do anything and you made it sound as if that’s all I’m good for.”

“I would never even imply that because you know that’s not true! You’re more than that!”

“Then why are you even saying it?!” you exclaim, massaging your temples for a second.

“Fine, you wanted to have fun of your own. Doesn’t matter what your intentions were–”

“Suddenly we’re talking about my intentions?”

Jungkook takes a breath, “You’re not letting me talk.”

“I do! But you’re talking nonsense!”

“Nonsense?” Jungkook exclaims, standing up. “Or things you don’t want to hear?”

You stand, not moving an inch as you’re trying to process his words.

“You might think this is some ego stuff, but I can tell when you’re interested and when you’re not. Gabriel is just someone you’ve filled your free time with, to prove your own point.”

“Don’t you know it all?” you mock.

“I don’t, but I know you.”

“Oh, please–”

He chuckles, “Deny it all you want.”

“Gabriel is a nice guy, despite what you think. And you sound jealous.”

“I am.”

Everything stops for a moment.

“What?” you chuckle, a faint sign of nervosity. 

“We should’ve had all that fun. Not you and him. Not me and Nara. This was never supposed to be about them.”

You bite your inner cheek, his words hitting you in every bit. He’s right.

“I thought it would be a great opportunity to meet someone. Us–that would just block you.”

“And if I wanted that, I would’ve said something. And if you never want to have sex with me and want all of this to stop, you should’ve said so.”

“I thought this break we have going on is a great way to experience something new.”

“Did you want to experience it?”

“Well–I thought more of you–”

“Exactly.”

Mouth in a thin line, you poke your inner cheek. “You did seem to hit it off with her.”

“You did seem to hit it off with him.”

“Well, he’s a nice guy. I told you.”

“Yet, you don’t want him near you. Not in the way you’ve implied before.”

You don’t deny nor confirm. It’s pointless.

“And you? You said you don’t want to kiss Nara.” you say, straightening up as Jungkook nears you, interested in what you’re about to say. “Why?” 

The simple question sounds like a mere whisper, faded out by the rain hitting everything outside. 

“Because those are not the lips I wanna kiss.”

Ready to drop on your knees, you watch Jungkook’s eyes drop down to your lips and you strongly grip the counter behind you. Knuckles turning white, your eyes move on their own and follow Jungkook’s lips. 

“That sounds romantic.”

He shrugs, “I’ve always been kind of a romantic guy. Bear with me.”

There’s a flicker of lightness in his voice—a confession that feels more like a gentle reminder, because you’ve always known this about him. The corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly, subtle enough to miss, but you catch it. 

Before you even realize it, a soft giggle slips out—and suddenly, you’re both just looking at each other. No words pass between you, but in that silence, it hits you.

This is the first time you’ve genuinely laughed together since everything went downhill. Laughed. If that’s what you can call it.

Despite the genuine exchange of giggles and looks, there’s something lurking behind those big dark eyes. Without realizing, you have no idea there’s the same look in yours. It’s as if he’s daring you to react. To question something you both already know.

“Then tell me,” you feign obliviousness. “What lips are those you’re talking about.”

He lightly chuckles, the tip of his tongue gently wets his bottom lip. He cocks his head to the side, taunting you. “Guess.”

“I am supposed to guess now?”

“I could show you,” he hums, coming closer. “You wanna hint?”

“Try me.” you try not to swallow dryly as he grips the edge of the counter right next to your hands, caging you. 

“The lips that speak sometimes before they think.”

Biting down your lip, you prevent yourself from gasping in offence but it’s all written in your eyes. It makes Jungkook smile in triumph, but you continue in this game.

“No idea.”

“Hm,” he sucks in his bottom lip, feigning his deep thinking. “I guess I should show you instead.”

“You want to?” you ask, voice barely steady, trying not to sound like you need the answer too much.

“I’m dying to.” 

He’s so close. His warm breath tickles your face, and every part of you is strung tight—caught between the urge to close the space and the fear of what it might mean if you do.

Your hands twitch where they rest on the counter, so close to his, but not quite touching. 

“Well,” you breathe out already breathlessly, “We wouldn’t want you to die.”

“Is that your way of giving me permission?” he cocks his brow at you, finding your response nothing but amusing.

Your mouth is one step ahead and before you can think thoroughly about what your next words will be, they already leave past your lips–proving Jungkook’s previous words right. 

“You never stopped having one.”

In other scenarios, perhaps you would cringe at the raw honesty in that one statement. Sounding too real, romantic and even maybe a little needy. Not at the moment though. Now it’s your turn to give a reminder because that’s exactly what it is. 

It’s not about never wanting to—it’s about the constant battle of trying not to.

“It’s that easy, huh?”

His nose is so close. The familiarity of it on its way to bump yours is right there, yet he’s just inches from it. Holding himself back and driving you to insanity. 

Finding some voice left, you whisper; “Nothing is easy when it comes to us.”

It’s the painful reality, one you’re running from because there were days when a statement like this would be pure lies. Nothing else.

All of this is pushed aside. All of this is forgotten as Jungkook’s lips touch the apple of your cheek. So faint that you wonder if he even touched you or it’s all in your head. Eyes closing automatically, you slowly pry them open, knuckles turning white from how hard you’re gripping the counter.

“Seems easy to me.”

You gulp, “Then why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“You want me to kiss you?” he questions deeply, clearly taunting you, playing with you.

He plays this game well. You will give him that.

“You said you know when a woman wants it,” you breathe out. “You said you know me inside and out.”

He smiles. He freaking smiles.

“You got me there.”

Just be done with it, you think. But the thought of not getting what you want at the moment consumes you. It feels like–if it’s just this time, so be it. You earn for him. The tension between you is insufferable. He’s right here. On the tip of your fingers, on a golden plate.

a/n: had to split this chapter into two parts (not happy about it but what can i do) please give some love to both parts and read my a/n in the second part that's posted! <3

PART 2

If you’ve enjoyed this chapter, please consider buying me a coffee☕️: https://ko-fi.com/personasintro ♡

A ripple of murmurs went through the class, subtle but present. You could feel the stares. You looked up just in time to see him glance nervously your way before lowering his eyes and walking toward the seat beside you.

Jungkook. Everyone knew who he was, even if he rarely spoke. Top of the class. Never late. Always dressed clean, minimal, quiet. You didn’t expect anything from him. Didn’t need another nerdy guy going stiff just because you shared a desk.

But that day, he surprised you.

He sat down carefully, barely making a sound, and opened his book. No fidgeting. No glances. Just… stillness. Until you heard the smallest breath of a murmur.

“Chapter’s interesting,” he said, eyes still on the page.

You blinked.

“What?”

He didn’t flinch. “The reading. It’s good. Surprising, kind of.”

You studied him, confused. He hadn’t even looked at you. It was like he wasn’t trying to talk to you—just thinking aloud, and you happened to hear.

You didn’t answer.

But your curiosity flickered.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

The next few days, he didn’t speak again. But he was always on time. Always with his notebook perfectly aligned. Always glancing at your desk when he thought you weren’t looking—quick, nervous flicks of his eyes.

Then came the Wednesday.

You’d forgotten your pens, bag full of it. Not on purpose—just one of those mornings where you left everything behind. You muttered something under your breath, frustrated, and slammed your bag down.

Before you could think to dig through your things again, a sleek black pen rolled across your desk.

You turned. Jungkook was still facing forward, penless himself now.

“You sure?” you asked, surprised.

He nodded once. “I have another.”

You waited for a smile. A joke. Some kind of flirtation.

Nothing.

Just a calm silence.

It threw you off more than someone asking for your number ever could.

Then came the Thursday rainstorm.

You stayed behind after class, waiting for it to ease, stuck at the school’s entrance while thunder rumbled in the distance. Everyone else had already left, except for him.

He walked up beside you without a word, holding an umbrella. For a second, you thought he was going to walk past.

He hesitated.

“You live near East Gate, right?” he asked, voice low, eyes on the rain.

You narrowed your eyes. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen you leave that way. Every day.”

You didn’t answer.

He tilted the umbrella slightly toward you. “Come on.”

You stared at him like he’d grown two heads. But you followed.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

That walk changed everything.

He didn’t try to impress you. Didn’t pry. Just walked beside you, holding the umbrella with quiet precision to make sure it covered you both.

When you reached your turn, you stopped.

“Why’re you doing this?” you asked, genuinely confused.

He paused. Looked at you for the first time, really looked—eyes soft behind his wet fringe.

“Because you look like no one ever asks how you’re doing,” he said. “And i kind of want to.”

You stood frozen as he walked away, raindrops hitting your shoulders after the umbrella disappeared with him down the path.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

From then on, he became your quiet shadow.

Always beside you in class. Always one step behind in the hallway. But not in a clingy way. He respected your space but showed up when it mattered.

One morning, you came in late, eyes puffy from a night you didn’t want to talk about. You slumped into your chair, hoodie up, bare faced (that rarely happens whenever you go to class) sleeves tugged over your hands.

He didn’t say anything.

But when you finally looked at your desk, there was a folded note, written in perfect; clean handwriting.

“It’s okay to have days like this. You’re allowed to fall apart sometimes. I’ve got notes if you need them.”

You folded the paper slowly. Pressed your lips together. And something inside you melted.

You weren’t used to being seen like that.

You weren’t used to someone not asking for anything in return.

That day, you turned to him and whispered, “Thanks.” giving him a small smile.

He looked up, startled, as if he wasn’t expecting you to respond.

And smiled, unsure, but real.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

You think to yourself, you might fell for him. Maybe. Which is a weird feeling to you.

Given that you both barely have a proper (real) conversation.

Well you did exchange numbers—that’s because you both somehow were assigned to work together, so Jungkook thought it would be better to interact outside of class.

For study purpose of course.

Eventually both of you did text one another—occasionally. Just short texts nothing conversation worthy.

Yeah, you felt this weird butterflies.

But, you didn’t fall all at once.

It happened slowly. Over study sessions you didn’t consider were study sessions, coffee walks that became routines, quiet texts late at night when he’d ask, “Did you eat today?” and not stop asking until you said yes.

Over the time, during study sessions, you found yourself laughing around him. Trusting him.

Letting your guard down without realizing it had dropped.

One night, you asked through text, in your bed, loneliness crept again, “You know i’m kind of… a mess, right?”

He replied few seconds too fast.

“I know,” he said. “But you’re the kind of mess that makes sense to me.”

And you fell.

Quietly. Completely.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

You weren’t sure when the lines blurred—when study sessions became excuses to sit a little closer, when shared coffee turned into shared glances, when “see you tomorrow” carried the weight of don’t forget me.

Jungkook didn’t rush anything. He never did.

But one Friday, something shifted.

He caught up with you after class, his hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up, headphones around his neck, looking nervous in a way that made your heart weirdly ache.

“Hey,” he said, walking beside you. “There’s this exhibition at the design building… the one with digital installations. I thought—maybe you’d like it.”

You turned to look at him. “You inviting me?”

He nodded, looking at the floor. “If you want. No pressure. It’s tomorrow.”

You almost teased him. Almost said something sarcastic just to keep things from feeling too serious. But something in the way he looked—open, nervous, sincere—made you soften.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d like that.”

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

The exhibition was small. Quiet. Dreamy.

Digital light shifted across the walls like watercolor in motion. Projected clouds drifted across the floor.

Every room had its own ambient sound—soft, electronic music and echoing whispers. It should’ve felt awkward, being alone together in that hush.

But with him, it didn’t.

You stood in one of the installations surrounded by cascading lines of digital rain, blue and silver glowing all around and he looked at you like he wanted to remember the moment.

“I like this,” you said quietly.

He glanced at the ceiling, then back at you. “Me too.”

A beat passed.

“Honestly… i didn’t know if you’d say yes,” he admitted. “To coming here.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

He looked at you. “Because i’m not like the other people you talk to.”

“You mean the loud ones? I don’t talk to just anyone, anymore. Besides, didn’t we spend a good amount of time together for the past month to be considered as…friends?”

He smiled, barely. “Yeah. The ones who know what to say. And yeah i knew that but still, i thought it was just a study session, coffee catch ups with you—that you’d rather spend your time with your other…friends.”

You shifted your weight. “Maybe i got tired of people who always know what to say and FYI—i’d rather spend my time with you.”

Silence.

Just the sound of soft electronic rainfall.

Then he said it—so low you almost missed it:

“I really like being around you.”

You turned to him, heart suddenly too loud in your chest.

He’s so dreamy, handsome.

“I really like being around you too.”

And he looked at you like you’d just said the one thing he’d been waiting to hear.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

Your first kiss wasn’t at the exhibition.

That night had already held enough. The way he kept sneaking glances at you while pretending to read the plaque beside a sculpture, the way his hand hovered close to yours but never quite touched.

You walked the whole gallery like that, quiet but full of something neither of you wanted to name yet.

Later, he offered to walk you home. You said yes.

The air was cold but not bitter, the city dim and quiet in that in-between hour.

Your footsteps echoed against the pavement, your breath blooming white in the air. He kept his hands in his coat pockets, close but not brushing yours.

“Did you like the exhibit?” he asked, his voice low and a little shy.

“I did,” you said. “But i think i liked walking around with you more.”

He turned his head slightly, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nodded, not looking at him. “It was… nice. I don’t usually do things like that. With people.”

Jungkook was quiet for a moment. Then “You mean dates?”

You blinked. “Was this a date?”

His voice went even softer. “I wanted it to be.”

You stopped walking. Your apartment was just ahead, but you didn’t want to go in yet. The moment felt full.

Suspended.

He looked at you, eyes searching. “Can I be honest?”

You tilted your head. “Aren’t you always?” you giggled.

He smiled faintly. “I think about you a lot more than i should.”

You swallowed. “What does that mean?”

“It means i’ve liked you for a while. Even before you started talking to me.”

“You’re not exactly… forward, you know.”

“I didn’t think i was your type.”

“You’re not,” you said simply. “At least, not what i thought my type was.”

His expression didn’t change much, but you saw the flicker of hope behind his eyes.

You glanced down at your keys, twisting them between your fingers. “You’ve been patient with me.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” he said. “But sometimes i think… i just want to know if i’m the only one feeling this.”

You looked at him then. Really looked.

His scarf was wrapped high, almost to his mouth. His cheeks were pink from the cold, eyes warm, uncertain, but wide open.

He wasn’t trying to be smooth. He wasn’t trying to win. He was just there, telling you the truth.

Then slowly and tentatively, he stepped closer, his breath shallow.

His voice barely carried “Can I kiss you?”

You felt everything in you pause.

And then “Yeah,” you said softly, heart pounding.

“Yeah, you can.”

He didn’t hesitate after that. He leaned in, hand rising to your cheek, thumb brushing gently across your skin. His lips met yours in a kiss that was soft, slow, careful.

He was learning something sacred; he didn’t want to rush what he’d waited so long to feel.

When he pulled back, your lips still tingled from the warmth of him, your chest full and fluttering.

You smiled, breath curling in the air. “You always this careful?”

His voice was low, but sure. “Only when it’s important.”

And you knew, right then, it was.

You didn’t talk much after that kiss.

Not because it was awkward. Because it wasn’t. It was the kind of silence that wrapped itself around you like a blanket. Soft, steady, enough.

He waited for you to open the door. Didn’t push. Just gave you that small smile, the one he only ever gave you and said, “Text me when you’re inside.”

You nodded, stepped in, and closed the door.

Then leaned your forehead against it.

You were in trouble.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

The next few days were different in all the ways that mattered.

You still sat beside each other in class. Still studied together in the library. But now there were new things. A small, subtle shifts.

His knee brushed against yours and didn’t move. He’d lean in when he spoke, voice softer. You’d catch him looking at you, and this time, you didn’t look away.

You weren’t used to this version of yourself; unguarded. And Jungkook, for all his quietness, seemed to understand that.

He never rushed you. Never asked “what are we?” or “where is this going?”

He just stayed.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

It wasn’t planned.

The day had been normal. Classes, campus noise, another group project that had you rolling your eyes while Jungkook just quietly took notes. He always took notes, even when no one else cared. You liked that about him. You’d never told him.

You were both walking back from campus, the sky soft with evening gray, when it started to drizzle.

Jungkook held his bag over your head.

You laughed. “You know i’m not gonna melt, right?”

He just looked down at you. “You’re still cold when it rains. You get quiet.”

You didn’t answer. Mostly because he was right. You did get quiet.

And he noticed.

By the time you reached your apartment, your hair was damp, and your mood had shifted. You weren’t sad—just heavy.

One of those days. You didn’t say much as you opened the door and let him in.

Jungkook toed off his shoes carefully, still holding that nervous energy he always carried when he was in your space. You dropped your keys in the bowl by the door and stood in the kitchen, hands on the counter.

“Want tea?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

The silence between you was soft. Not tense. Just full of all the things you weren’t ready to say out loud. You made tea. He sat at the table. You sat across from him, knees brushing under the wood.

Then, out of nowhere, you said it.

“I don’t let people in.”

He looked up, startled. You weren’t looking at him—just staring into your mug.

“I don’t know how to do that,” you continued. “It’s easier when no one expects anything.”

A long pause. Then:

“I never expected anything,” he said.

You finally looked at him. He looked… calm. A little sad. But calm.

“I just liked being around you.”

You nodded slowly. “You still do?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Even more now.”

The air between you shifted. Slowed. Deepened.

And you whispered, “Stay tonight?”

He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t assume.

He just said, “Okay.”

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

You sat on the floor of your bedroom while he changed into the extra clothes you gave him. A quiet hum played from the speaker, barely audible.

When he stepped back into the room; barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes soft, you suddenly felt that aching fear again.

What if you messed this up?

What if it didn’t last?

And then he crossed the room and knelt in front of you.

His hand rested gently on your knee. “You don’t have to be anything for me,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to perform. Or smile. Or fix anything.”

You looked down at your lap, fighting the warmth in your throat.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted.

“I’ll wait while you figure it out,” he said.

Just like that.

No grand declaration. No demand. Just steady, honest patience.

You reached for his hand.

Held it.

And when you finally crawled into bed beside him, there was no space left between you. You pressed your back to his chest, his arm wrapping loosely around your waist. His breath tickled your shoulder.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you whispered back.

And you meant it.

You woke to the quiet shift of fabric. The soft sound of him sitting up beside you.

Morning light filtered through the curtains in a pale blur. Your back was still warm from where his arm had rested. You blinked slowly, your mind caught between dreams and now.

Jungkook was already awake, hoodie wrinkled, hair messy from sleep.

He was sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

He looked like he was thinking too loud.

You propped yourself up on your elbow. “Hey,” you said, voice scratchy.

He turned to you immediately, like he’d been waiting. “Hey,” he echoed. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You sat up slowly, pulling the blanket around your shoulders. “You okay?”

He nodded. Then shook his head. Then let out a quiet breath, like he wasn’t sure how to start.

“Can i ask you something?” he said softly.

You stilled, heart already beginning to tap faster in your chest. “Yeah.”

He looked down at his hands, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his sleeve.

“I don’t want to ruin anything. I’m not trying to pressure you,” he started, voice careful. “But… what are we?”

You didn’t answer right away.

His eyes lifted. “I just…last night meant something to me. You mean something to me. And i know you don’t let people in easily. So i don’t want to assume anything, but i also don’t want to keep pretending this is just… nothing.”

You watched him for a moment, your throat tight.

“I didn’t think you’d ask,” you murmured.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re usually the quiet one. The patient one.”

“I still am,” he said. “But being patient doesn’t mean I’m not feeling things too.”

You swallowed, fingers tugging at the edge of the blanket. “I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to explain what i feel when i’m with you. It’s new. And a little scary.”

He nodded slowly. “Same.”

You looked at him. “But i don’t want it to be nothing either.”

Jungkook’s expression softened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, quieter this time. “Yeah.”

He shifted closer, his knee bumping gently against yours. “Then maybe… we don’t have to label it yet. But I just needed to know i wasn’t alone in it.”

“You’re not,” you said.

You meant it.

Jungkook exhaled a breath he’d been holding. Then reached out, tentative at first and he curls his fingers around yours.

“Okay,” he said, voice warm now. “Then i’m yours. However long it takes.”

You smiled, eyes stinging just a little. “You’re really not what i expected.”

He grinned—finally, fully. “I get that a lot.”

And in the quiet that followed, your fingers remained laced with his. Simple. Certain.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to run.

It had been a month.

One month since Jungkook had leaned across your front step and kissed you like it mattered. Since he’d touched your face like he was afraid you’d vanish if he blinked too fast.

And somehow, things still felt new. Still soft. Still unreal in moments like now, with him sprawled across your bed in a hoodie, reading on his stomach, feet swaying behind him like a kid.

You were half-working on an assignment, half-watching him.

“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.

“I’m admiring,” you corrected.

He turned his head just enough to catch your smirk, then gave a small smile. “Baby,” he said under his breath, “you’re distracting.”

“You like it,” you replied, nudging his leg with your foot.

He hummed. “I do.”

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

Your relationship had grown into something… daily. Quiet rituals that made your chest ache. He’d walk you to class with your fingers looped in his sleeve. He’d wait for you outside the library, sipping iced coffee and reading the latest novel you lent him. You started wearing his hoodies without asking. He stopped looking surprised when you kissed his cheek mid-sentence.

But even with the sweetness, there was still something unspoken hanging between you.

Something warmer. Heavier.

Like tonight.

He was still lying on your bed when you finally gave up pretending to work and climbed over him, plopping yourself beside his back with a sigh.

He closed his book and peeked at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “You’re just comfy.”

He let out a soft laugh. “You say that every time you use me as a pillow.”

“Because it’s true, baby.”

You shifted, laying your head against his back. Your palm flattened over his spine.

Jungkook went still for a second—then melted.

“Do you…” you hesitated, unsure why your throat suddenly felt tight, “do you ever want to do more than just lie here?”

He was silent for a moment.

Then, softly: “Yeah. I do.”

You sat up a little, just enough to look at him.

His cheeks were already flushed.

“I just never know if you’re comfortable,” intertwining your fingers together.

“Or if you want to. I’ve never really… gotten this far before.” he added.

You blinked. “You haven’t?”

He shook his head. “I’ve dated a few, but it never got serious. And no one ever really looked at me like you do.”

That last part made your chest squeeze.

“You mean like you hung the stars?” you teased gently.

He smiled, eyes shy. “Kind of, yeah.”

You reached out, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You’re not the only nervous one, baby.”

“I’m not?”

You shook your head. “I’ve been with my fair share of…flings? boyfriends?, whatever you wanna call it—but it never felt right nor did it worked out, obviously. It always felt like they expected something from me. You don’t.”

Jungkook shifted, sitting up properly now. You were both facing each other, legs crossed.

“Can i ask you something?” he said quietly.

You nodded.

His voice was careful. “If we… wanted to try something. Anything. Would you tell me if you weren’t ready?”

“Always,” you promised.

He reached forward, brushing a thumb against your cheek. “Okay.”

You leaned into his palm.

And after a beat, you whispered, “Would you kiss me now?”

His lips twitched. “I’d give you anything you want.”

When he kissed you—slow and warm, one hand still cupping your jaw—it felt like everything in the world slowed down. Like it was just you and him, tangled in hush and trust.

You shifted closer, your hand slipping beneath the hem of his hoodie, resting just above his waistband. You felt him freeze, just slightly.

“Too much?” you whispered.

“No,” he breathed. “Just new.”

You smiled into the kiss. “We’ll take it slow.”

“Promise?” he breathes into the kiss.

“Promise.”

And when he pulled you fully into his lap, burying his face in your neck with a soft laugh, it felt like something more than new.

It happened on a night that didn’t feel special; no candles, no dramatic music, just the two of you in your room after dinner, legs tangled on your bed, warm with laughter and full from pasta Jungkook had insisted on cooking himself.

He was wearing gray sweatpants and one of your oversized shirts, sleeves pushed up, his hair messily falling across his forehead.

You had just pulled him down for a kiss. Playful, slow.

But then it lingered. Deepened.

And something shifted.

His tongue slipped against yours, deliberate. His hand came up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer like he couldn’t help himself anymore.

When you whimpered against his lips, he pulled back slightly, gaze heavy-lidded.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and rough.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Just… wasn’t expecting you to kiss me like that.”

He brushed your cheek with his thumb. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve been waiting to.”

“I have been,” he murmured. “For so fucking long.”

Your chest tightened, breath caught in your throat.

“We’ve kissed many, many times before?,” you giggled.

And then his lips was on yours again, more desperate this time. No teasing. No question.

Jungkook leaned over you, pressing you into the mattress, his body slotting between your thighs like it was instinct.

You felt how hard he was through the thin fabric of your shorts. He wasn’t trying to hide it. He wanted you to feel it.

“Jungkook,” you breathed, tugging at his shirt. “Please.”

He sat back just enough to yank it over his head, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “You sure?”

“Baby,” you said, reaching for him again, “I’ve never been more sure.”

Something in his expression cracked open at that relief, hunger, something fierce and protective all at once.

“Then let me have you,” he said, voice dark, breath ragged. “Let me fuck you like you deserve.”

The way he said it; need dripping into every syllable made your whole body shudder.

He tugged your shorts down fast, your panties going with them. When you gasped, he kissed the inside of your thigh, then hovered over you again, his cock straining visibly in his sweats.

“God,” he whispered, eyes raking over you. “You’re so fucking pretty like this. Laid out for me.”

Your hands reached for him, desperate. “I want you, Jungkook. I don’t wanna wait.”

“You won’t,” he said, voice curling around you like silk and smoke.

He shoved his pants down just enough to free himself, stroking himself slowly as he stared at you.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he murmured. “No idea how long i’ve wanted to be inside you.”

You reached between your legs, spreading yourself open for him.

His mouth dropped open slightly. “Fuck.”

He lined himself up, eyes locked on yours. “Tell me if i go too fast, okay?”

You nodded, heart hammering. “I trust you.”

That did something to him.

He pushed in slow, deep, all at once.

Your breath hitched, legs trembling.

“Holy fuck,” Jungkook groaned, head falling to your shoulder. “You feel like heaven. So wet for me already.”

You clung to him, nails dragging lightly down his back.

“Move,” you gasped. “I need you.”

He obeyed without hesitation, pulling back, then slamming into you again with a rhythm that made your head spin.

It was hard and deep. Not rushed, but intentional. Like he knew exactly how to tear you apart and put you back together.

“Baby,” he breathed, panting against your throat, “you’re taking me so well.”

You moaned, legs tightening around him.

“You always this tight, or is it just for me?”

“Only you,” you choked out, voice cracking. “Only ever been like this for you.”

That made him growl.

“You feel perfect. Like you’re made for me.”

Every thrust dragged a whimper from your lips. Every kiss to your neck made you melt further under him.

You could feel how careful he was, even in the roughness. Like he wanted you to feel claimed, but not hurt. Never that.

“You like when i talk like this?” he asked, voice low in your ear.

“Yes,” you moaned. “Fuck, Jungkook.”

“You make me lose my mind, princess. Got me thinking about you all day. Couldn’t wait to fuck you full of my come inside.”

Your back arched, nails digging into his shoulders.

He shifted his hips, angling deeper. “You gonna come for me like this? Gonna come on my cock hm?”

You nodded desperately, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. “Yes….don’t stop.”

“Look at me,” he whispered.

You did.

And in the silence that followed, he slowed down, but pressed in deep and stayed there.

His body trembled above yours, like he was holding something back—not just his release, but something heavier.

You cupped his cheek gently. “Jungkook?”

His voice broke.

“I love you,” he whispered; then again, faster, almost panicked. “I love you so much it’s scaring me.”

You stared up at him, eyes wide.

“I—” His throat worked as he swallowed, his brows drawn tight with emotion. “I never thought i’d have this. You. I never thought someone like you would ever even look at me.”

“Jungkook—”

“I used to watch you,” he continued, voice cracking. “In class. You were always so confident. So distant. But then you sat next to me—God, i still remember the way you looked that day. I thought it was a joke. Like there’s no way you would sit beside me.”

Your chest ached. He kept going.

“But you did. You stayed. You talked to me. You let me see pieces of you no one else gets to. And i still don’t know why. I still think maybe you’ll wake up and realize you could do better and just… leave.”

You shook your head, eyes stinging.

“But you don’t,” he whispered. “You stay. You’re patient with me when i get quiet. When i don’t know what to say. You still kiss me like i matter.”

His voice dropped lower, barely a breath.

“I don’t know what i did to deserve you. But fuck—i’m so glad you exist. I’m so glad you sat next to me.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

He saw the silence as hesitation, and something in his face crumpled.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, pulling back just slightly. “You don’t have to say it back. I just….i needed you to know. Even if i’m not what you expected. Even if I’m not enough.”

And that’s when it hit you.

This boy; this quiet, brilliant, soft-hearted boy had been holding it in for months.

You surged up and kissed him.

Not soft. Not gentle.

You kissed him like you were giving him an answer.

He gasped against your lips when you pulled away.

“I love you,” you whispered. “Are you kidding? You’re everything.”

He blinked, stunned.

“I didn’t say it sooner because i was scared i’d ruin this,” you said. “But Jungkook… you are everything i could ever ask for.”

He let out a shaky breath—half a laugh, half a sob—and kissed you again, deeper this time. Needy. Grateful.

You weren’t sure what hurt more. The way he was moving inside you, or the way he was looking at you.

Like you were a miracle.

Like you were something he’d never believed he could have.

Every thrust was deep, steady, but trembling with emotion. He was holding on for dear life. His forehead pressed to yours, sweat on his brow, his breath hot and uneven.

“God,” Jungkook groaned, voice raw, “you feel so good, too good.”

You cupped his face again, thumbs brushing over his flushed cheeks. “You can let go. i’ve got you.”

But he didn’t. Not yet.

“I don’t want this to end,” he whispered. “I don’t want us to end.”

“We won’t,” you said softly. “I’m right here.”

He choked on a breath, hips stuttering. “I’ve never… never loved anyone like this.”

You nodded, tears welling. “Me either.”

And still, he didn’t stop moving. He couldn’t; not when your body clung to his like a prayer, not when your nails curled against his back, not when your lips parted with little gasps that sounded like his name.

“Let go, baby,” you whispered. “I want you to come inside. Cmon baby.”

His pace faltered; sharper, desperate. “Can’t believe you’re mine,” he breathed. “Can’t believe it’s you.”

Then, with a deep groan against your neck, he finally gave in—shuddering in your arms, body tensing, spilling into you like it was all too much and not enough at once.

You held him through it.

Through the tremble in his limbs.

Through the whispered “I love you” that followed on the heels release. Ropes of come dripping out as he pulls out slowly then inside again. You moaned at the sensation.

He didn’t move for a while—just stayed there, inside you, wrapped around you, like he couldn’t stand to lose the warmth.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, stroking his hair. “You don’t have to hold on so tight.”

He nuzzled into your shoulder. “I want to, though.”

“I know,” you smiled. “Me too.”

Eventually, he shifted, settling beside you, your bodies still tangled beneath the blankets.

The silence was heavy but comforting. No more fear. No more holding back.

Just breathing. Together.

You turned to look at him, and he was already watching you.

“What?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He traced your jaw with his thumb, eyes soft.

“Out of everyone in this whole world… somehow, it was you.”

Your chest ached.

You kissed him, slow and deep and sure.

And thought, yeah.

After all, you’d started it. Kissed him like you meant it, touched him like you owned him. Let him touch you like you were fragile and ruin you like you’d begged for it.

And then you left.

Crept out of his bed with first light spilling like confession over your bare skin. Not like a street cat, no—more like a coward. A traitor to your own hunger.

Because the truth? You were scared.

That night, you thought you were scratching an itch—one born from years of tension, of mission-night adrenaline, of too-close brushes and unspoken dares. You told yourself it wasn’t lust. That it wasn’t him.

But the lie collapsed the moment he slid into you, and your world sharpened to the shape of him. This wasn’t just hate, wasn’t just need—it was a burn, a bind. A dangerous craving with teeth. A tether you didn’t want, not with him.

Because if you stayed, if you let that moment become more than heat and fury, it might become something else entirely.

And that? That was terrifying.

Because how the hell could it work between you and Jungkook? You were field agents, ghosts in the night. Partners whose existence hinged on silence and steel. There was no room for this—not when death stalked you like a shadow, not when one blink could mean gone.

Or worse, it had meant nothing to him. Just a night. Just a slip. A mistake he'd wipe clean without a second thought.

You knew his reputation. The smirks in the breakroom. The trail of wreckage with red-lipped grins.

Before you could spiral further into that hellscape of doubt, a knock shattered your thoughts.

You blinked. Shit. Yoongi.

Your neighbor-slash-informant. Supposed to stop by with intel. Beer and greasy wings—your agreed-upon cover for the handoff. One you were supposed to go through with Jungkook. Supposed being the operable word.

You’d dodged every attempt he made to meet. Ghosted him. Not out of spite. Not out of professionalism.

But because being near him now? It felt like dancing barefoot on broken glass—beautiful and brutal and destined to bleed.

No way in hell you’d sit beside him in some surveillance van with his knee brushing yours. Or worse—straddle his bike again, chest to his back, arms tight around his waist like you had some right.

Besides, it had been reckless going to him that night. The remaining ghosts from the hard drive job were your cross to bear, not his. You couldn’t risk dragging your partner into your unfinished business. So you used the time to hunt, to try and rewind your thoughts to a time when your hatred was clean and easy.

You weren’t counting on Revenant assigning a new job three days later—blowing your cover and your plans. Recon was easy to duck, but you’d eventually have to face him. You knew that. You just needed time. Time to build armor again.

You yanked the door open. “Yoongi, I—”

And stopped breathing.

Jungkook.

Leaning against the frame like the devil come to collect, his black hair a mess, frustration stitched into every strand, mouth carved into a blade. 

A sleeveless black t-shirt clung to him, flashing the edge of ribs and the brutal lines of his ink-laced arm. Heat shimmered at his throat. Those baggy jeans—anchored by a punk belt, the kind that made you think of things you shouldn’t.

His eyes—glazed and wild, sharp enough to slit open every lie you’d wrapped around your heart.

And you—idiot that you were—stepped right into it.

“Not Yoongi—whoever that is,” he rasped, voice rough and scorched, like he’d been yelling or drinking. Or both.

He shifted, revealing the beer pack in his hand. Bottles clinked like accusations. He didn’t wait for permission. Just brushed past you—his arm grazing yours like a dare. Like a scar reopening.

And gods, you hated the part of you that ached at the sight. That stupid, traitorous ache that whispered he fit here.

You shut the door slowly, as if trying to cage a hurricane. “Are you… are you okay?”

There were a dozen better things to say. Like How the hell do you know where I live?

But of course Jungkook knew. You were Revenant’s best tracker—but he came close second. Only best when it came to haunting you.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he shot back, eyes glinting like broken mirrors.

You gestured at the bottles, pathetic.

He scoffed. “I can hold my liquor just fine, thanks.” But his gaze didn’t linger on you—it prowled your space like he was hunting ghosts. Like he was searching for signs you'd moved on.

You were suddenly, viciously aware of the worn band t-shirt clinging to your frame and the male boxer shorts riding up your thighs, rolled at your hips. No makeup. You looked like you would if he was coming back home to you. Which he wasn’t.

And he—he was a wrecking ball made of ink and silence.

“Why are you here, Jungkook?” Your voice was a whisper already bracing for pain.

This had to be it. His confrontation. His judgement. You running. You fucking him and leaving. Cowardice with a kiss. Like the stitches down your side, a reminder carved into you like art. Like consequence.

Or—worse and somehow better—he was here on Revenant’s orders. You’d been dancing on the edge these past two weeks, and you doubted he’d covered for you on callback day.

You were becoming a stray. And strays didn’t get mercy. They got leashes—or bullets.

But instead of a knife, he dropped the beers on your coffee table with a thud and turned.

“To work,” he said. “Thought I’d show up instead of waiting for you to.”

The guilt slithered up your throat like smoke. You took the hit without flinching.

Maybe you were being paranoid. A cocktail of no sleep and the weight of those men still hunting you. Of too many hours spent remembering the shape of Jungkook in your hands.

You weren’t being unprofessional, you inhaled as you reminded yourself.

You were still doing your job—tracking, reporting, filing notes. You just… needed space, while the field work wasn’t necessary. Distance. Needed to breathe. To exist in a room without drowning in him.

Without unraveling.

Jungkook reached into the six-pack and popped the cap off with a flick of his thumb, muscle memory smooth as murder. “Might as well drink while we sort this crap out,” he said, nodding to the files sprawled like landmines across your coffee table.

He called it crap. You could’ve laughed.

Revenant missions were never casual. They were shadows with knives, cover stories written in ash, warfare so deniable even your heartbeat lied. Blood-on-your-hands kind of work, buried intel with bodies. And the files between you now? They were preludes. Invitations to the next disaster. 

You eyed the bottle like it was a loaded gun.

One rule left unbroken.

Don’t drink with him.

Because when walls thinned, and eventually came down—you knew what followed. Chaos. Heat. Want that left bruises.

And you were barely holding.

“Fine,” you muttered, grabbing one like it didn’t spell your undoing.

Another line blurred. The last one.

You ended up on the floor beside him, backs against the couch, knees brushing in the kind of proximity that shouldn't feel like drowning. Between you—snapshots of death, scribbled intel, faces frozen mid-breath. Your handwriting scratched across the margins like shrapnel.

War lived in your pen. Jungkook had always said that. Like he knew you wrote in rage.

The beer dulled the razor-edge of your posture, but not your perception. Not around him.

Jungkook wore calm like a disguise—like a bomb under a silk napkin. He exhaled cool detachment, but you could smell the lie on him along with the bourbon lurking on his breath. He was trying to be casual, but the effort showed in the curve of his jaw, in every brush of his leg against yours that never pulled back.

Every move was a push.

And you were breaking.

The tension between you snapped tighter, breath by breath. The air was too thick. Too still. One glance too long and you'd combust.

You reached for a grainy photo—light blown out, figure indistinct—and his fingers brushed yours. Featherlight. Incidental.

But it detonated something in your chest.

He didn’t look at you. Just took a swig like he hadn’t set you ablaze.

And you hated him for that. Hated the flex of his throat, the stark line of his jaw, the way his veins caught the light. That fucking light scar on his cheekbone. Hated the heat pooling in your palms, the part of you that screamed to crawl into his lap and burn all over again.

He was still Jungkook.

And you were still hopelessly tangled in the memory of that night.

His mouth on your throat, hands in your hair, breath whispering your name like a curse—those were not ghosts you could outrun.

Silence wrapped around you like a noose. He didn’t speak. Didn’t touch.

But he was there.

A shadow that never left.

Focus, goddammit. 

You forced your eyes to the files, to the pattern you could solve with one hand tied behind your back. Easier than untangling the way his fingers tapped that bottle, like they ached for something else to press into.

He leaned forward, pulled a folder closer. Bit at the metal glint of his lip ring.

You seized the moment to snap yourself out of it. Your voice—measured, steady. Barely.

“That shot was taken two days before the drop. The guy in the background—you recognize him?”

“Mhm,” he said. “One of Choi’s henchmen. Shows up like mold. Slimier, too.”

You huffed, dry. “Perfect. Another one to track.”

He slid a page your way, fingers grazing your wrist longer than necessary. “This spot—see it?”

You did. The pattern was clear. The message clearer. “They’re circling back.”

“Exactly.” He leaned in, voice lower. “You’d think they’d learn. But rats don’t stop running into traps, do they?”

Your spine stiffened. You weren’t sure if he meant the target.

You weren’t sure he didn’t.

The space between you quivered. A standoff without a gun. It was a fragile balance—this cold war between you. The space where hate blurred into want. Where loyalty slipped its collar and curled up next to need.

You were staring at his eyes, trying hard not to dip them to his lips like he was watching yours. 

But you cracked first—anything to break this spell he had you under. “Thought the superiors sent you to keep me in line, not drink and share a slumber party.”

His mouth twitched, slow and wicked. But there was heat behind it—undeniable.

He didn’t even look up. Just murmured, “Pretty sure you were supposed to leash me. But hey, who’s counting casualties?”

The words hit like a bullet—subtext woven through every syllable.

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t trust what would come out of your mouth.

Then—ding.

The doorbell split the air like a blade.

You stiffened. Instantaneous. A tripwire pulled in your spine.

Jungkook’s head snapped up at the same moment. His gaze cut from the door to you—catching everything. The flicker. The twitch you hadn’t meant to let show.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t need to.

He was already rising, fluid and dangerous, moving like the door was his to shield. Like you were.

And that—

That was what you couldn’t fucking stand.

You weren’t a damsel. Not a kept thing.

You didn’t need saving. You were his partner for fucks sake!

You moved fast. Intercepted him. Your palm met his chest—not harsh, but hard enough to stop.

Hard enough to remind him.

His body didn’t yield, but something behind his eyes shifted. That burn—low and dark—ignited again. The kind you didn’t dare name.

“You’re not my bodyguard,” you snapped, blade-edged, jaw locked.

His jaw clenched. The muscle under your hand tensed like it wanted to defy you. “No… I’m not.”

And there it was. That weightless second where neither of you moved, both too proud, too furious, too wired.

You knew his tells. He knew yours.

You pushed him just enough to block the door from his view, then yanked it open.

And there was Yoongi.

Leaning against the frame like the world owed him something and he planned to collect in charm. Hoodie half-zipped, eyes glittering with unbothered precision. A smirk pulled at his mouth like he knew he could get away with anything.

“Damn,” he said, low and deliberate, amusement bleeding into every syllable. “If I knew you were answering doors looking like that, I’d have brought dessert.”

His gaze trailed over you—lazy, unapologetic. From the defiance in your stare to the shirt clinging too well and the heat blooming in your throat. He drank it all in.

And for once, you didn’t bite back. Didn’t spit your usual venom. Because you felt Jungkook before you saw him.

His presence unfurled behind you like a stormcloud. Heavy. Electric. Half of his chest brushed your spine, his breath grazing your neck—hot and possessive. Not touching, but near enough to feel the warning in it.

Mine, it seemed to say.

Yoongi’s smirk faltered. Just a little. Just enough.

“And who’s this?” he asked, head tilting like it mattered.

You answered too fast, too sharp. “My partner. And you’re late.”

Yoongi’s brows ticked up, but he didn’t push. He just held out the chicken wings delivery bag, fingers loose, like he wasn’t dropping dynamite between two unstable elements. “Got the intel. Movement patterns. You’ll want to check the second location listed. It’s all inside, like always.” he pointed the packaging with his chin. 

You reached for it, but Jungkook was faster.

He moved around you, body encaging yours like a wall of heat and intent, hand closing over the bag strap—over Yoongi’s fingers. Not hard. But pointed. Held it a beat too long.

A message without words: Back off.

Yoongi didn’t blink. Just arched a brow, amused. “Didn’t know you’d been having company.”

“Didn’t know I needed to check in with you about that,” you said, slicing your voice thin and cold. Ice over a fire.

Behind you, Jungkook went still.

Like you’d just lit a match and dropped it in gasoline.

Yoongi chuckled, stepping back, unbothered. But his gaze lingered—bouncing between you like he could read the unsaid. And maybe he could.

“Guess I’ll let you get back to… whatever this is,” he said, voice wry.

He lingered just long enough to grind his heel in it.

“I’ll be up in my apartment if you need me.”

The weight in his stare as he said it was intentional. You gave a small, polite smile—sharp-edged. Dismissive.

But Jungkook—through your periphery you saw the way his tongue pressed into his cheek like it was trying not to bite through.

Yoongi vanished into the hall.

The door shut behind him with a snap.

And then you turned.

You were on him before he could breathe.

A weapon unsheathed.

Your movement cut through the silence, quick and decisive, and just like that your chest was brushing his. Standing on the tip of your toes so your faces were just inches apart, eyes locked on the black pools in front of you. You could see everything—every flicker, every fracture.

“Do not make me check you.”

Jungkook’s eyes flared wide. But it wasn’t fear. No—what lived there was something hungrier. Darker. His breath shivered. His fists clenched.

He wanted to break something.

Or take you apart.

He was vibrating with restraint. With that desperate, wild thing that had clawed its way loose the moment you slipped out of his bed like a thief. He hadn’t gotten to chase you. To claim what you took with you.

Now? He was seconds from snapping.

“You had me once,” you whispered, venom-laced velvet. “Once. Not even long enough to piss and mark territory. Don’t forget that.”

Then you turned.

Cold. Precise. Beautifully cruel.

Like you hadn’t just sliced him open with your teeth.

You walked away with purpose, spine straight, blood roaring beneath still skin. Left him there in the ruins.

He didn’t follow.

Didn’t speak.

But you could feel him—rage coiled tight in his gut, heat rising like a fever. When you sank into the couch, you didn’t have to look to know he was gripping the air like it betrayed him.

“I shouldn't have come,” he muttered finally. “It was a mistake.”

His voice—low, scraped raw—crackled through the room like static. He stalked toward the table, dropped the delivery bag and snatched up his keys. His stride was all anger and ache.

But before he reached the door, your body moved without thought catching up.

“Wait—Just wait.”

Your hands lifted to your hair, dragging through with frustration. “We should talk about this. We’re partners, Jungkook. We can’t let one night get in the way of our work.”

He stopped like you’d shot him.

Tension rippled through his frame. When he turned to face you, it was slow. Dangerous.

“One night…” he repeated.

Voice like gravel. Like regret. As if it tasted like blood in his mouth.

“God, you must really hate me…” he huffed, the dimples appearing as he gnawed at his bottom lip. “Is that what it was for you? Just one night?”

And there it was.

The air between you thickened. Dense. Combustible.

Every breath you shared was a threat.

A challenge.

A lie neither of you could keep telling much longer.

Then—

Clang.

A metallic thud slammed through the stillness.

The fire stairwell.

Adrenaline sliced through the haze like a blade to the jugular.

The heat between you evaporated—consumed by instinct. No words, no delay. Just the clean, brutal snap of motion as both of you shifted gears like twin chambers firing. He pivoted. You dropped to the shoe bench near the front door, lifted it with practiced efficiency. Underneath—your weapon. And the spare you always kept, just in case. Just for him. 

You tossed the Glock in his direction.

He caught it without looking—like your hand and his were parts of the same weapon, forged to work in tandem. His keys hit the ground, but neither of you so much as flinched.

This wasn’t chaos. This was code.

You and Jungkook moved like a language only your bodies remembered. Poetry written in violence. He stepped left as you went right. Breaths synced. Limbs mirrored.

Partners indeed. But not just that.

The stairwell door creaked again.

You moved into the hallway, silent as ghosts.

“One. Downstairs,” you murmured, voice razor-thin.

Jungkook nodded, just once. “They’re running scared.”

Then the chase detonated.

You sprinted down the concrete steps, the cold biting into your bare feet like punishment. Jungkook’s boots struck beside you, each step deliberate, brutal. Every movement between you practiced, precise, deadly.

You hit the garage’s lower level. Shadows clung to the corners like predators watching from the dark.

Jungkook’s hand snapped to your lower belly, half his fingers grazing bare skin beneath your t-shirt as he halted you. The touch seared, more dangerous than anything else in the room. Your breath hitched, traitorous.

Focus.

Ahead—a figure, caught mid-motion. The guy turned—saw you.

Recognition flared in Jungkook’s voice. “Guy from the photo. Snake tattoo.”

The man bolted.

Jungkook fired. The shot rang clean, ruthless. The SUV’s tire exploded before the target’s foot even left the ground. Rubber shrieked against pavement.

But it wasn’t over.

Two—no, three—more.

Armed. Unafraid.

Professionals.

“Split,” Jungkook muttered, low and lethal.

You peeled right, vanishing behind a beam. Gun raised. Heart hammering. Jungkook ghosted left—faster than light, heavier than wrath.

First one came at you with a crowbar, the arc whistling death.

You ducked the blow and fired—right into his thigh. His scream echoed off concrete. Another came behind him, bulletproof vest thick on his chest. Your second shot knocked him back but didn’t drop him.

You barely adjusted before Jungkook slammed into the guy, body to body, sheer force. The man hit a car hood with a sickening crunch.

You turned—

Too slow.

Another came in low, fast. Trained. 

Fuck.

Your arm lifted, but his hand was already there, wrenching your wrist wide. Pain sparked. You fought back—knee snapping up, breath a growl—but his grip held.

And then you felt him.

Sudden, fierce. Jungkook’s hands on your waist, lifting, flipping you back over his hip. Your body hit the ground—hard.

But his body cushioned it.

Your breath stuttered. 

He was under you. Hot and solid. Every muscle taut, every breath ragged. His fingers lingered too long just below your ribs, brushing over skin no one should be touching. Heat bloomed.

Time stopped.

“Show off,” you muttered, lifting your arm. You fired. The man dropped, clean.

“I like dramatic entrances,” he replied, his voice low and a promise, his eyes all flame.

Another guy emerged from the shadows, slipping behind a van with his gun already raised.

Jungkook moved instantly.

No hesitation, no question—just his body between yours and the threat, shielding you like instinct. The shot rang out, ricocheting off metal, too close. Jungkook didn’t flinch. He grabbed you and rolled you both behind the SUV’s bumper, one fluid movement, his arms tight around you.

Your hand clutched his bicep. His thigh wedged between your legs. His arm beneath your head. The concrete should have been cold, but all you felt was him—hot, tense, grounding.

Your heart thundered. His echoed it.

“Close one,” you breathed, shaken, eyes locking with his.

His breath washed over your lips. “You okay?”

“You’re on top of me.”

A slow grin tugged at his mouth. Dangerous. “Yeah. Not complaining.”

You shoved at him—but it lacked force. Like you needed to push him away before you did something worse.

Jesus. You were still on the clock.

You rolled to a crouch, nodded toward the final attacker. The heat in his gaze vanished. The smirk? Gone. He snapped back into mission mode like it was a second skin.

The last man bolted.

Jungkook pursued.

You followed.

Your heels slammed the concrete. Pain screamed up your legs, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Your blood roared in your ears. Jungkook closed in first, tackled the guy without mercy, slamming him into a pillar so hard the echo cracked down the garage like thunder.

The man fought hard—rage in every limb, desperation in every move. Jungkook was still buzzed from the alcohol, still bleeding—but still stronger. You reached them in a blur. Drove your elbow into the guy’s spine. He dropped like a felled beast. Motionless.

You stood over the body, breath jagged. Heart roaring. Body trembling with more than just adrenaline.

Jungkook leaned against the pillar, bruised and split-lipped. Blood painted a line down the side of his face—sharp, bright, and brutal. It caught the light like a vow. He looked like a tornado just barely held in place.

“You’re bleeding,” you said, voice tighter than you meant.

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

He looked at you. And for a beat—under the flickering garage lights—he wasn’t your enemy. Or a mistake made in a night, the one you’d run from. Or even just your partner.

He was everything you feared you wanted.

His chest heaved. Yours mirrored it.

And then he stepped closer.

You didn’t move.

“You hesitated,”  he said quietly.

You blinked, thrown by the shift. “When?”

“When that cameo scumbag came at you. You looked at me first.”

Your jaw locked. “So?”

His gaze didn’t waver. He stepped closer until you could taste the bourbon on his breath. Blood and sweat clung to the air between you like incense in a burning church.

“So don’t,” he murmured. “Next time, just take the damn shot.”

Your spine stiffened. “You saying I can’t handle myself?”

That dangerous smirk flickered again. But this time, softer. Less weapon, more wound. He reached out—and his fingers brushed your jawline. Just barely. Just the edge of it—slow. Intentional. Reverent. As if memorizing the shape of your defiance.

“I’m saying I notice everything you do,” he rasped. “Especially when it’s for me.”

Your breath caught mid-throat. The confession gutted you more than his touch.

But before you could speak—

A grunt. Wet and gurgled.

One of the bodies on the ground wasn’t quite done dying. He writhed, breath rattling like a broken instrument.

You both turned.

Jungkook stepped back.

Not far. Not enough for the space to cool. Just enough to draw his pistol. Calm and quiet, his fingers wrapping around the grip like it belonged to him, like it knew the shape of him.

And he fired.

One shot. Final.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—It throbbed.

It hit harder than the bullet. Not because of what he did. You’d both done worse. God knows you were past redemption.

But you stared. Not at the body. At him.

Because this?

This was different.

This was standing in the middle of the fire. Not running. Not denying. Just… burning.

“We—we need to deal with the bodies,” you said, but your voice sounded mechanical, hollow. You could feel the revelation of your feelings sending your body into shock. “If they trace this back here... I can't—The ones from the hard drive job, they’re still out there. I can’t risk—”

“Shut up.”

The words hit like a whip and you froze. 

The bastard knew it. Knew your body, your mind like it was his. 

“I got this,” Jungkook said, eyes gentle, steady, locking onto yours. “Take the guns. Check on your informant. I’ll be up in a few.”

Your mouth was dry. You couldn’t leave him, you needed—

“You’re hurt. Not to say drunk,” you bit out, more afraid than angry.

He gave a short laugh—lacking energy, his body was betraying him too. “I’ve had worse.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And yet.”

“I have contacts too, you know. I’ll burn the mess before anyone smells it. Go upstairs.” Then he looked at you again—really looked. And everything in you fractured.

“Trust me.”

And you did. You fucking did.

That was the real problem.

It wasn’t the blood or the mess or the ghosts that haunted you.

It was that.

You trusted him more than you feared what your feelings for him could do.

You’d checked on Yoongi. Safe. No tail. Still smirking like the devil had given him his lines personally.

By the time you returned to the apartment, the sky had bled into ink—thick, suffocating. One of those nights that clings to your skin, whispers against your pulse. The kind that knows your secrets. The kind that feels sentient.

You’d been pacing ever since. Barefoot. Restless. Your heartbeat ticking like a landmine. You kept glancing at the window without realizing. At the door. At your phone. Not checking it. Just… listening. As if some part of you knew the kind of mess Jungkook possibly walked into and hadn’t come back from. As if your body was betraying the fear your mouth refused to voice.

Then— Three knocks.Soft. Deliberate. One pause. Then two more.

His rhythm.

Always his.

You opened the door before your mind caught up. Like instinct had already laid out the red carpet for your ruin.

And there he was. Relief hit you like a sharp exhale. Not loud. Not visible. But it bloomed in your chest like pain. You didn’t let it reach your face—didn’t dare. You still hadn’t decided what scared you more: the idea that something had happened to him… or the fact that you cared that deeply if it had.

Bruised. Bloodstained. Sweaty strands of dark hair plastered to his temple like shadows, eyes heavy-lidded and shining too dark in the hallway light. He looked like the aftermath of a war—and yet, you couldn’t look away.

“It’s sorted,” he said. “I identified two of them as Choi’s underdogs, but it’ll take a while to—”

You didn’t let him finish.

“Let me check that cut on your brow,” you said, already grabbing his wrist and pulling him inside. The door shut behind him with a quiet finality.

If something serious had happened, he would’ve led with it. Jungkook was nothing if not brutally efficient—he didn’t bury the lede. Which is exactly why, despite the wreckage on his skin, your focus stayed on him. Not the mission. Not yet.

He followed wordlessly. Heavy-footed. Letting you lead him toward the bathroom like he was tied to you by something ancient and binding.

You rummaged through the cabinet, refusing to look at his face too long, refusing to feel that heat that still hadn’t left your skin from earlier.

Behind you, he laughed—a lazy, low, lopsided sound. The kind that always came with trouble. The kind that curled into your belly and settled there, warm and invasive.

“Baby, it’s a tiny cut,” he drawled, voice syrupy and wrapped in alcohol. His eyes edged something like endearment through the mirror. “I just need a shower. Don’t worry about it.”

Baby.

That nickname again, cutting like a silk against bare skin. A reminder from that night together. A trigger. A temptation.

You turned.

Just in time to catch the sway in his stance. One shoulder slumped against the doorframe. His pupils were dilated. Lips slightly parted. And God, he looked feral—like want was eating him alive from the inside out.

“You’re too drunk,” you said, your voice low and clipped. “How much did you drink before coming here on your fucking bike like a lunatic—before continuing to drink?”

You glared at him, jaw tight. “And don’t even deny it. I saw the damn thing parked out there.”

He grinned, all teeth and danger—boyish and wicked. “Just a bit.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “You fucking—”

You moved before the thought even formed, your hand going straight to the exposed skin above his belt—where his shirt had ridden up. Palm flat. Skin too warm. Muscles tight beneath.

You shoved him back. A push that lingered too low. Too intimate.

He stiffened. But didn’t stop you, kept walking back.

His breath grew shallow. His eyes dropped—to your mouth. The air around you turned charged, electric.

“I told you I can hold my liquor,” he murmured, voice fraying at the edges. “I am holding it. Barely. I’ll admit that. But God, you—”

His hand hovered near your throat, clawed fingers curling just short of contact. Not grabbing. Just wanting.

But didn’t.

“You’re— Fuck.” he struggled.

Your knees nearly buckled. That memory—his hands on your throat, mouth on your skin—flared so bright you could taste it.

“You look at me like you want to kill me,” he said. Voice cracking on something too real. His hand dropped. A surrender. But not defeat.

“And maybe I do,” you snapped, though your hand stayed where it was—gripping his side like you needed the anchor. Like you didn’t want to let go. Your nails curled slightly between his belt and his V line. He shivered beneath the pressure.

His pupils dilated further, eyes locking on yours as if remembering everything you too were failing miserably to forget.

And then—he reached.

His hand slid behind your neck, fingers threading into your hair. Not yanking. Not dragging.

Just there. Claiming without question.

Breath warm against your lips.

Your heart stuttered.

Then you reached behind him—found the faucet—and yanked.

Water exploded over both of you, steam rising instantly, curling around your limbs like smoke from a fire you couldn’t put out.

He gasped, startled. His shirt clung to him instantly, outlining every line, every inch, water running in rivulets down the slopes of his body.

“What the—?” he started.

“You said you needed a shower. I agree,” you cut him off, hissing. Stepping into the spray with him, heat crawling down your spine. “You need to sober the hell up.”

He stared at you for a breath, stunned.

Then that look flickered into place.

Dark. Amused. Dangerous.

Water traced a slow path down his jaw, dripping from the cut above his brow. Down his throat. His chest. His voice came low and rough, barely more than a growl.

“Careful,” he murmured. “Or I’ll begin thinking the secret to have you under me is getting you wet.”

You pressed your finger to his cut meaning to hurt—to shut his mouth—, hovering close enough to feel his pulse beneath the skin. Your own shirt was soaked through, clinging to your curves like a dare, and you were suddenly too aware.

He grunted but didn’t pull away. Instead, he smiled. That insufferable, knowing smirk that said he could read every inch of your skin. Worse, that he could get under it.

“You wish,” you snapped, pulling your hand away.

His laugh was low and rough, soaked in sin. “I did,” he said, leaning in until the mist between you was all but gone. “And look at you now. Drenched. Again.”

Silence collapsed over the bathroom like a loaded gun.

You stared at each other like it was war. Like one word, one twitch of muscle, would set the whole damn room on fire.

His gaze locked with yours, dark and searing. Possessive. Like he’d never stopped seeing you as his. Like he knew every thought crashing through your mind in that moment.

And you wanted him.

God, you wanted him.

But the wanting didn’t make it less dangerous.

It made it worse.

You wanted his hands on you. His mouth. His body pinning you to the wall so hard you forgot your name. You wanted him to ruin you—devour every inch, mark every part, leave nothing untouched, nothing sacred. Just like he did that night.

You wanted him because you weren’t supposed to.

Because it would burn everything you’d built—every wall, every rule, every lie. And still, you’d do it again.

His voice broke the silence, rough and low, like a sandpiper doing his best to lure you in.

“I killed them.”

The words crashed into you like thunder. 

He didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. Just stared, soaked and still, letting the truth settle slowly in your lungs like you were taking a drag from one of his cigarettes.

“The rest of the guys from when I…stitched you,” he said, voice hoarse, eyes hollow and burning. “Every last one of them. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Your breath caught—snagged hard in your throat.

“What? When?” The whisper barely passed your lips.

His jaw flexed, twitching like he was chewing on the weight of it. “I had a lot of time on my hands the past two weeks,” his chest kept rising and falling, eyes unrelenting. “A lot of anger to burn.”

You lost yourself in the black pool of them, able to catch your reflection, thinking that the better question would be why, but you knew the answer. And it wasn’t because Jungkook would always have your back, because you were partners. It was the something more.

Whatever thin, frayed thread had been holding you back—snapped.

For a second you had to remind yourself—it’s okay to want something that might ruin you. To crave what cuts. And maybe you were already bleeding.

Your hand reached his collar, tugging. He let himself be pulled, leaning down like a storm bending toward you, moving slow, steady, devastating—giving you time to run. But you didn’t.

Because you wanted him to kiss you.

The moment his lips caught yours, everything burned off like fog meeting sun. The ache. The exhaustion. The war.

The kiss was slow at first—sinful, soaked in longing. The kind that studied every edge of you. Then your teeth caught his bottom lip, dragged with just the right pressure. He moaned—a dark, low sound that made your insides twist.

Jungkook leaned his forehead against yours, breathing heavy through the water falling over your heads.

“This is a bad idea,” you whispered, eyes closed as he teased your lips. 

He trailed a hot path toward your ear, fingers curling around your hips. “Since when do we follow good ones?” 

A bite on your lobe, soft. You lost control.

You pressed into him harder, hand locked in his jaw, seizing his lips completely. He shuddered, fingers coming to slide from your temples through your damp hair. Clutching, desperate. Your bodies taut with desire, tension razor-thin. 

You moved, hands falling on his shoulders, then a push—you climbed him without mercy. His hands immediately under your thighs, squeezing. You were dizzy—drenched in him—just like that night, feeling feverish. Each kiss made your thoughts blurrier, your skin tighter, your breath more ragged.

Jungkook slammed you against the tile wall like he could read your mind, his hips grinding against yours. God, he was so fucking hard. You moaned, he grunted. Water rained down, steaming over your flushed skin, making every nerve feel electric.

You gasped with another roll of his hips, body trembling with every throb of want.

Fuck, you needed out of your clothes. 

Needed them gone—

One leg came down, then the other. You shoved him back, his raven eyes searched for yours, dizzy. Almost supplicant. 

Your lips parted, clit throbbing as you stripped the soaked t-shirt clinging to you. It peeled away slow, like silk over embers, baring you to the heat of his stare.

Jungkook froze.

Breathing heavy. Watching.

His gaze licked your chest, then fell to the stitches still holding on your side, right underneath your ribs. 

“You should’ve taken those out,” his was voice low, raspy, “Now it’ll leave a scar,” and you caught the way his teeth found his lip, that damned dimple deepening—like he was already claiming it. His name etched in flesh.

Good, that had been your intention. 

“No shit…Sherlock,” your lips curled into a knowing smirk. A laughter almost fell from your lips when you saw the realization befalling his eyes. His knuckles whitnening, balled in fists. 

That fuelled you. 

Your fingers fell to strip the boxer shorts next, leaving you only in your black lace panties. You stood bare before him, water sliding down your curves like an offering.

He stared in a daze, gulped.

Like you were a sin too beautiful to resist.

And he was ready to confess the only way he knew how—with worship and destruction.

Jungkook’s inked fingers found the back collar of his shirt, pulling it off in one fluid motion—water trailed down his chest like a whisper. Boots thudded to the tile, cast aside like fallen armor. Still, his gaze never left yours.

Your thighs pressed together as you took him in. 

He was bare but for drenched jeans, dangerous and unguarded. The belt fell next, with a splash, and then his fingers found the button—until you closed the distance, taking over. You dragged his zipper down, slow, eyes piercing his.

His breath hitched.

Not even blood had undone Jeon Jungkook like this. This wasn’t vulnerability. It was exposure. Raw. His chest rose hard; pierced lips parted, begging for that final push—like if you did so, he’d come undone right there.

And you liked the feeling.

You liked the power humming beneath your fingers. The way he vibrated with the effort of not losing it.

Just to test him, to twist the wire tighter, you dropped your hand after unzipping him, let the distance stretch—mocking a retreat. Your steps pulled back, every line of your body begging to be chased.

“Don’t—Come here. Now,” Jungkook snarled, one step faltering.

You chuckled, slow and dangerous, stopping. Your eyes stayed on his, playful and defiant.

Jungkook could twist your mind into knots. Wreck your logic with a look.

But two could play.

And you had fire in your lungs now.

You stalked back toward him, eyes never dropping, and slid to your knees with the kind of poise that could unravel a man.

Tilting your head, biting your lip, you murmured, “Is this what you wished for? When you kept thinking to yourself I’d crawl back to you? That I was yours to keep?”

His breath was wrecked. His jaw flexed.

“Yes,” he said, the word broken with need. “That—and so much more.”

The confession hit the air like a lit fuse on dry kindling.

You smiled—slow and knowing, like a promise draped in danger. “Really?” you whispered. “And what else did you wish I’d do?”

Your hand slid up his thigh—slow, commanding—knuckles brushing soaked denim, the heat of his skin bleeding through. You felt the muscle tense beneath your palm, a quiet shudder betraying his restraint.

Jungkook’s eyes flared—black, volatile, molten. Then he moved. Fast.

He surged forward, seized your waist with fingers that dug into flesh like he was claiming a victory he hadn’t yet earned. He yanked you upright, effortless, like your body weighed nothing to him—like control was already his.

You barely had time to blink.

With a grunt, he flipped you over his shoulder, and the air rushed from your lungs. Your wet hair clung to your back, your cheek pressed to the plane of his spine. A yelp caught behind your teeth.

Then—smack.His palm fell to your ass like a whip, loud and ruthless.

You gasped, startled and electric, the sound swallowed by the hiss of steam and the wet splash of water against tile. The sting bloomed through your skin and burrowed down into heat.

"You're a fucking menace," he muttered, voice rough and thick with something darker than amusement—like each word had been dragged over gravel, heavy with the battle he was losing against himself.

Your laugh came out breathless. Aroused. Dangerous. "Funny, you seem to like it."

He growled—actually growled—and the sound lit up your nerves like dynamite. With one hand steady at your thigh, he reached out and turned off the shower, then walked you out like a man done pretending.

He carried you down the hall like a stolen prize, like something sacred and savage he’d fought to win. No hesitation. No falter. His gait was confident, practiced—and yet you’d never walked this route together before. He still knew exactly where your bedroom was.

The door creaked open and shadows welcomed you. Moonlight spilled across the sheets like it, too, had been waiting.

The room pulsed.

He didn’t lower you gently. He tossed you down like a challenge, like he was daring you to run again so he could catch you all over.

You landed with a bounce, limbs splaying, hair a halo across the bedding, lips parted. The moment held, thick with the throb of everything unsaid.

Then he was over you.

Jungkook’s body came down like a waterfall—damp denim scraping over lace, his weight pressing you into the mattress, heat bleeding through every inch. His arms caged your head. His breath ghosted over your cheek.

He was everywhere.

You arched into him, chasing friction like it might answer the ache inside you. His skin was slick with water, warm and wild. His jeans rubbed with exquisite cruelty between your thighs.

And his eyes—God, his eyes were flame.

He dipped his head, brushing lips to your throat—once, soft enough to almost hurt. Then he bit. A sharp press of teeth that said mine, that said run again and I’ll follow.

“You left, you ghosted me,” he pulled the soft skin beneath your ear between his teeth, like it was penance.

“Ah,” you moaned, your head tipping back, hair plastered to your face, his heat bleeding into you as steam still clung to your skin. One of his hands slid to your breast, bold, hungry, and you could barely think around it.

“I—I’m…”

But the words died in your throat. Thought scattered.

Jungkook’s breath stuttered against your mouth. Hot. Shaking. And then—

He moved.

Devastating.

One hand wrapped around his cock, dragging it out of his jeans with a groan that sounded broken. The kind of sound that could tear open ribcages. The kind that made your breath catch, knees press inward, thighs shake. The other— He hooked rough fingers into the lace clinging to your soaked skin, yanking your panties aside like they’d offended him by existing. No finesse. No delay.

You spread your legs before you realized you had. The want in your chest curled like claws—sharp, urgent, feral.

Then he thrust.

Hard. Deep.

You cried out. His name caught on your tongue like a spell gone wrong. He filled you—inch by inch—with a slowness that wasn’t mercy, but control. You arched. He didn’t stop. Buried to the hilt, the stretch a brand, a claim.

He felt perfect. Like he’d been made to wreck you.

You remembered—fuck.

The condom. It hit you mid-moan, a flash of ice through the heat. You weren’t on the shot—you never were. Not with how it messed with your body, your reflexes. Not in your line of work.

Your hands flew to his hips, trembling as you tried to stall his rhythm, tried to choke out words through the haze.

“JK—ah, fuck—Stop. Wait—”

He started to pull back, the motion sudden, his breath sharp, panicked. His eyes found yours and they pleaded.

“No. No, please. Baby, please—”

A breathless laugh fell from your lips. You couldn’t help it. His desperation—it was fucking adorable. You dragged your nails down his back, slow, soothing. “We forgot the condom.”

Relief transformed him, but he didn’t waste a second. He slipped out cursing under his breath, and was on his feet in an instant, already moving.

“Bathroom,” you said, still catching your breath. “Second drawer.”

He came back fast, foil in hand, eyes locked on you like a man starved.

You were already on your knees, waiting for him at the edge of the bed. One hand curled around the back of his neck, pulling him in. The kiss was slow, deep. Sin-drenched. You toyed with the damp strands at his nape, shivering at how they curled against your fingers.

Jungkook pushed his soaked jeans off. Finally. Your mouth watered. The white boxers clung, transparent, and left nothing to the imagination. You licked your lips.

You helped take them off too. Then his inked hand found your chest, pressing you back into the mattress. A smirk playing on his lips. The condom hit the sheets a second after. You chuckled, low, breathless.

And then he was on you.

His weight pressed into yours, lips at your ear, voice low.

“Tell me again what you said that night.”

“What?” you breathed. You could barely remember your own name.

“That you hate me,” he bit your jaw. “Lie to me again, and tell me that you hate me.”

“I hate you,” you said—except it came out soft. Like a kiss. Like a confession.

His mouth traveled down. Kisses trailed heat. You whispered it again. He sucked one nipple. 

“Fuck, I hate you.” and again. His chest rumbled, a dark chuckle as he closed his eyes and trailed down. He dragged his teeth through your lower belly. It coiled. You fisted the sheets. 

“Mhm, I hate you.” you kept chanting like a shield.

He reached between your legs and moaned into you.

“Ah— I fucking hate you,” you gasped, back arching, fingers clawing at his hair, desperate to keep him there.

“I hate your mouth…Those goddamned hands,” and as if on command he squeezed your thighs, his tongue circled, teased, playing with your rationale. “I hate— I—” you started losing yourself, hips undulating, trying to meet his pace. 

Jungkook groaned—devouring you like he’d never tasted anything real before. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Just moaned, begged, burned.

“Don’t stop,” you panted. “Jungkook—”

He didn’t. He ate like a man dying. Sucked and swirled and bit until your body broke, splintered into light, your orgasm ripping through you like it had claws. You cried out, one hand fisting the sheets, the other holding him there.

“Oh, God— Fuck!”

He looked at you from between your legs, licking you through it, slow. 

Then he rose with one last long lick, grinning like a feline, crawling back up, mouth crashing into yours—letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You kissed him back hard, wild, lips swollen, mind reeling.

He groaned into it, and the condom was in his hand in a second. He ripped the foil and rolled it on. His eyes—blown and wild—never left yours.

His hands found the back of your knees, and he pulled, fast. Like he couldn’t bear to wait a second longer. 

He dropped.

And thrust into you—no warning, just heat and pressure and that tight, perfect stretch.

Your mouths clashed. You kissed like addicts, like two people who had tried everything else but nothing ever came close to this.

Your nails sank into his shoulders, searching for something to hold as he drove into you. Over and over.

Jungkook moaned. Deep and raspy. Feral. One arm braced beside your head. The other—he slid under you, gripping your ass, dragging your hips up to meet every punishing thrust.

He fucked you like he was possessed. Like he wanted to possess you.

Your orgasm started building again—fast, feral. He felt it. The way you clawed at his back, your moans climbing in pitch against his neck.

“You thought we were done?” He wrapped that hellish inked hand around your throat—not tight, just there, a tether. His pace slowed. Unbearably slow. His eyes dark, locked to yours. “I’m not done. Understand?”

You barely had time to gasp before he slid out, flipped you like you weighed nothing.

A whimper escaped your lips, thighs clenching. 

He reached out, his hand gripped your jaw, angling your head back to him. His breath came hot over your lips. “Head down. Ass up.”

You stared at him, defiant—because you could. Then, slowly, you leaned even more toward him, let your tongue flick his lip piercing. A challenge. 

“I’ll let you be the boss tonight, then.”

You caught how his tongue poked his cheek. How rage and lust twined in his eyes, before going on all fours and sinking your head further into the mattress, tauting him. 

“You—” he shook his head, jaw tight. He gripped your waist with one hand, the other guiding him to your entrance. “I swear you’ll be so spent you won’t be able to run. Not tonight.”

Then he slammed into you.

The sheets muffled your moan. Your clit throbbed as he forced your knee out and drove in again—Hard, fast, vicious. 

“JK…” you cried out.

His hand fisted in your hair, tugging, arching you flush against his chest. Mouth to your ear. “Ngh, fuck, baby—it keeps getting better–”

He pounded into you. You could barely breathe. Barely think.

“Yeah,” was all you managed, and you squeezed your eyes shut, taking it.

Your walls clenched. Hands pressed into the sheets, rocking back into him, chasing every stroke. 

You arched again, his hands pulled, squeezed—slick skin on his thighs, water still clinging to both of you, and all you could think about was that you could be doing this for two weeks had you not been such a coward.

He hit deep. Again. And again.

“Harder,” you whimpered. “Ah, right there—!”

He grunted and gave it to you.

“Jungkook, I— Mhm–” You shattered. Your orgasm burst white-hot and ruined you.

He kept going, chasing his own end. His hand closed around your breast as he came, groaning against your back, filling the condom with that sexy, throaty moan of his. It echoed deep in your core. 

You both collapsed—sweat and steam and aftermath. 

“Fuck,” he panted against your shoulder blades.

A second passed, just your breaths filling the bedroom, then—

“JK… You’re crushing me.” You chuckled against the sheets, and he pulled out, breath ragged, rolling onto his back beside you. 

You stretched out your legs, sore and blissed out. Watched as he rolled the condom off, tossed it toward the bin.

Then he dragged you to his chest. Lazy grin. Warm eyes.

You kissed him—lazy, honey-slow. His throat rumbled with a sound that made your stomach flip.

“Stay with me,” he breathed against your lips. “Just—”

“I missed you,” you whispered, fingers sinking into his damp hair.

You felt more exposed than when you were beneath him, neck bare and exposed.

“I missed this.”

He went still. Eyes finding yours. Then—he kissed you again, deeper, longer. You wondered if it would ever stop being this… head-spinning. 

When he pulled back, he nuzzled your nose. “I fucking missed you too.”

You lay there. Still breathing. Still burning. Still tangled.

“They can’t know. No one can.” your voice was barely a whisper. 

You didn’t say why. You didn’t need to. Jungkook knew. 

If your superiors caught wiff of it—worse, if whoever was your enemy next did… You’d both have a grave marked with your names. 

“I know,” he said. Then added—grumbling, “But that informant of yours should. The nerve on that guy!”

You snorted. Rolled your eyes. One hand untangled from his hair to cover his face, pushing gently.

He bit your palm with eyes closed. Dragging the flesh there. The vision did something stupid to you. 

In a swift motion, you straddled him.

And he looked up at you like you were everything. Just laid there beneath you, round eyes ravaging on the shape of your body on top of his.

Your hands slid to the space between his chest and abs, feeling him, pinning him. He started to breathe hard, slowly hardening under you again. 

Holy fuck.

His grip returned—your hips in his rough palms. Fingers curling. 

You arched, dipping towards his mouth. Brushing, featherlight, teasing. 

“You should know by now I’m not the most patient guy,” he grunted, fingers running along the expanse of your legs. You laughed against his mouth, low, satisfied. 

Then you bit. His lip. His jaw. His throat.

When you returned to his mouth and he tried to kiss you—eager, barely in check—you stopped him. Smiled. Your lips just hovering, his breath rough. 

You held him there, hand on his jaw. 

Then you rolled your hips on his cock, slow, hard.

Jungkook moaned, head tipping back. 

“My turn,” you clashed your mouth against his.

A faint rustle broke the silence.

Cold air kissed your bare skin—an empty space beside you where warmth used to be. Your arm instinctively reached out, fingers curling into the mattress before you stirred, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks.

Jungkook…?

You blinked awake. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, lit only by the soft morning sun sneaking in through the curtains. His back was to you, spine a canvas of light and shadow. He bent forward, pulling something from his jeans. The screen of his phone lit up once, a low buzz vibrating through the silence. 

Shit. You’d soaked his phone the night before. Please be working—

He answered it with a rough, still-sleep-heavy “Yeah?”

You moved before your thoughts could catch up—sliding across the sheets like you were weightless, drawn by the scent of him, the pull of him. Your body folded around his, forehead pressing to his shoulder, your mouth tucked into the space just beneath his jaw, breathing him in. He smelled like sweat, like cotton, like you.

He shifted, pulling you closer. 

Jungkook was so deliciously warm it hurt. 

“You owe me, you know,” a voice crackled through the line—male, lazy drawl layered with something sharp underneath. “You dropped a bomb on me last night. Took me four hours to cover it. I want answers.”

The contact.

You hadn’t known a name, hadn’t needed to. But Jungkook had mentioned someone last night. Someone who could clean up a mess. Now, the puzzle was whole.

Jungkook’s fingers found your thigh, skimming over your skin like it was habit. Like he didn’t need to look to know where you were.

“You’ll get them, Taehyung,” he muttered, mouth brushing your hair as he spoke. “Got anything for me?”

A pause. “Yeah. I have what you wanted. Meet me in thirty.”

He turned, lips catching yours—barely there, like he couldn’t not kiss you. Then his hand slid lower, slipping between your legs, teasing, slow and confident.

“Make it two and a half hours,” he said into the phone, voice quieter now, voice that always made you ache.

“Two and a half? What the hell are you—”

“I’m busy.” A smirk tugged at his mouth. “Send the address.”

He ended the call without waiting, phone thunking softly onto the nightstand. His body turned fully, slow and heavy with sleep and want. He looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made sense.

“Morning,” his lips found your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “Where were we?”

You laughed into his skin, teeth grazing the scar on his shoulder—the one you’d given him that first mission, when you didn’t trust him and he’d called you reckless.

“You were just about to take off my stitches and then make me breakfast.”

Jungkook grinned, unrelenting. “Then round three in the shower?”

You groaned, but you were already folding, fingers running through the soft and haparzed strands of his hair again, lips catching his.

“Regroup. Round three now, everything else later.”

And he was already on top of the situation. Already on top of you.

You staggered through alleys slick with city grime, rainwater swirling in neon puddles at your feet. Every step punched a fresh flare of agony through your side, where your coat clung wetly to the blood seeping from beneath. You didn’t know if your ribs were bruised, fractured, or split like kindling—but every breath felt like dragging lightning into your lungs and hoping you didn’t catch fire.

They’d said four men. Maybe five.

They’d lied. It had been closer to eleven—if you were counting the one catapulted through the window. You’d clawed your way through that hell. Fought like an animal in a trap. And you’d gotten what you came for. The hard drive burned cold and hard against your belly, its weight heavier than steel.

But now you were bleeding.

And somehow, your body—battered, burning—had walked you here.

Of all places.

To him.

You stood at his door, water dripping off your soaked clothes to pool at your feet, hand raised in mid-air, suspended in hesitation. The alley behind was too quiet. The storm outside sounded muffled, like the world was pressing in from all sides and this was the eye of it.

You hated him.

You hated him with an intensity that tasted like smoke and felt like lust. Hated his smirk. His arrogance. His voice. His eyes. His mouth. Hated how often you imagined it against your skin, even now.

But you couldn’t walk another block.

And you couldn’t risk what was in your hidden pocket. Couldn’t risk losing yourself out there when you'd already lost too much.

Your fist met the door before your pride could stop it. The knock echoed through the porch. You turned your head, checking behind you out of habit, expecting a shadow to crawl from the storm. Nothing. Another knock, this time louder—sharper, more frantic. Pain bit at your side, sharp as a blade twisting. You doubled slightly, hand pressed harder over the heat blooming beneath your ribs.

And then the door jerked open.

And there he was.

Jeon Jungkook.

Fucking hell.

His black hair was a mess—still damp like he’d just gotten out of the shower, frowzy strands falling across his forehead. His raven eyes, sharp as always, scanned you in a single, sweeping glance. No flicker of surprise. No warmth. Just that same infuriating coolness that always made your blood boil.

“Seriously? Where the fuck have you been? Losing a fight with a sewer?”

His voice was a cold blade, smooth and deadly.

You didn’t reply. You looked past him instead, scanning the dark corners behind his shoulder—checking for threats, anything to distract from his judgment.

“Hi to you too,” you muttered, lips twisting in a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. Sarcasm was armor, and you wrapped yourself in it fast.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there with his arms crossed like he’d been expecting you—and maybe he had.

That was the thing about Jungkook. He knew your tells like battle scars. And he used them.

"Can I come in?" you asked, the words rasping out before you could steel yourself. Your voice cracked, just slightly, under the weight of everything you were trying not to show. "Please."

That made him pause.

Jungkook wasn’t used to you asking for anything—let alone pleading.

He didn’t say a word. Just stepped aside, eyes never leaving yours.

You passed him like smoke, brushing too close, too fast, but not fast enough to miss the heat radiating off his skin. You didn’t look at him again. Couldn’t.

“Thank you,” you muttered, half breath, half defeat.

The door shut behind you with a soft click.

You and Jungkook had been orbiting the same hell for too long. Tossed together by whatever bastard thought pairing oil with fire was a great tactical move. You worked like wolves. Clashed like storms. And when it mattered, you covered each other’s backs with snarls and bloodstained fists.

Still, you had rules. Self-made. Non-negotiable.

No drinking with him.

No sleeping in the same room.

No letting him see you bleed.

No showing up at his door when you were breaking.

Too late.

The couch called to your bones, but his voice cut through the air like a whip. “You’re soaking wet.”

You rolled your eyes, dragging a hand through your drenched hair. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Your fingers found the back of the sofa, steadying yourself as exhaustion clawed at your spine. Your clothes felt like lead. Your skin itched from the dried blood you knew clinged underneath. If you closed your eyes, you were done for. So you didn’t.

He moved to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Leaned against the frame, arms folded, every muscle taut beneath the hold of a black shirt. The battered—and quite edgy—fabric hugged his torso like it wanted to be torn off. His sweatpants hung dangerously low, a taunt all on their own.

Your gaze flicked down. Just once.

Big mistake.

"I’m assuming you got it?"

The husky scrape of his voice pulled your head up. You stared for a beat, then moved to the table in the kitchen like your legs weren’t screaming with every step.

"What do you think?" you bit back, reaching into your jacket and yanking out the hard drive. You chucked it at him without ceremony. “Prick.”

He caught it with the kind of lazy precision that always pissed you off. No flinch. No reaction. Just a long look, like he was trying to read past the rain and bruises to what lay underneath.

But your coat was still on. Your secrets still safe—for now.

You slumped into a chair. He moved beside you, sliding his laptop across the table and plugging in the drive.

"‘Kay then, let's just throw the thing around so we lose the leverage we have and money we won’t be paid for."

You allowed yourself to shut your eyes for a second, and leaned your head against the wall behind you. “Dramatic as ever.”

The clicking of his keyboard filled the room. Rhythmic. Familiar. You focused on it like it might keep you conscious.

“What took you so long then? Are you that out of shape?”

A small laugh escaped, tight with pain. “As if.” You shifted in your chair, wincing as fire flared under your ribs. “They lied. There were more of them than their intel promised. A lot more,” you muttered, voice brittle with leftover rage.

The keyboard stopped.

You opened your eyes to find him staring.

“How many?”

You let out a breath. Winced again. “Ten? Maybe twelve? I didn’t exactly count heads while they were trying to break mine open.”

His expression faltered.

Just a crack. A flicker. Barely there—quick enough that anyone else might’ve missed it. But you saw it. The sharp flash of something unspoken that darted through his gaze like a blade—gone just as quickly as it came.

He stood slowly. Like he was bracing for impact. Like he could already taste the blood in the air. His movements were quiet, calculated. An animal not yet sure if it needed to strike or mend.

“You’re hurt.”

The words were low, almost a growl. Not concerned. Not yet. But deadly focused.

“Not really.” You shot back too fast. Too automatic. The deflection barely made it past your lips before another sharp wince cut through you, slicing clean under your ribs like a warning. “I’m just soaked… and sore. Pretty normal after rain and knocking out a few men.”

His gaze sharpened.

Whatever he’d been doing on his laptop no longer mattered. Jungkook stepped closer, leaving the glow of the screen behind like it was nothing. His full attention snapped to you like the click of a safety being released.

His eyes dragged over you—slow, deliberate. Mapping out every flinch, every shiver of pain beneath your soaked jacket. You felt stripped bare, despite the layers you still wore. You hated that look. Hated how closely he could read you. Like his fingers weren’t the only things that could undo you.

You shifted back in your seat instinctively, tension rippling down your spine.

But his voice cut through your retreat like iron.

“Take that off.”

The command didn’t even try to be soft. You saw the way his jaw tensed around it, like he hated how much he wanted to say it—and how badly he meant it.

Your breath stilled. An unholy cocktail of defiance and heat clawed up your throat.

“Excuse me?”

“You're drenched,” he said, cool and precise, but his tone wasn’t nearly as detached as he wanted it to be. “You're shaking. And now I can bet my ass you're bleeding too.”

His eyes dropped—too focused, too dark—and locked onto your side. His voice lowered, rough like gravel. “Just get in the bathroom.”

Oh. Oh. He was fucking serious.

And that made you want to punch him.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed the heat rising in it—rage, maybe. Or something worse. Your fingers curled tight against your thigh, jaw grinding. “You can ready your ass then ‘cause you couldn’t be more wrong!”

But even you didn’t believe that. Your body throbbed in agreement, every nerve screaming betrayal beneath the slick black of your sleeves. You knew how to fake strength. But you were running out of it.

You stood. Slowly. Painfully. If you could just make it to the door—

“You have the package,” you muttered, trying to keep your spine straight, even as your knees threatened to fold. “I already did my part. Now you keep it safe.”

You turned your back to him. The mistake was thinking he’d let you go.

You barely made it four steps before his hand was gripping the collar of your jacket, yanking you to a halt. “Just get in the fucking bathroom, for fuck’s sake!”

"Or what?" You spun, fury lashing in your tone, a snarl curling your lips as your fingers fumbled furiously with the zipper.

You would leave his place with or without the damn jacket. You didn’t care. This was a mistake—coming here, letting him see you like this, giving him even an inch of something he could hold over you.

"Or I'll fucking make you," he growled, yanking the jacket from your shoulders as the zipper finally gave way.

The motion twisted your arms awkwardly, pain lancing through your side with a white-hot burn. You faltered. A sharp breath escaped you as your knees buckled.

He caught you immediately.

And when he steadied you, it wasn’t with roughness. It wasn’t with victory.

“Sorry. Fuck—I'm sorry.” His voice dropped, rough and ragged, hands gently guiding you back upright. “Just… please, let me help you.”

Your head fell forward, forehead brushing the side of his shoulder. Not from affection. From sheer exhaustion. From not having the strength to keep up the fight.

When you finally opened your eyes again, his were already watching you, one hand dragging through his hair in a clear sign of restraint. His chest rose and fell beneath that clinging shirt, his breath a little too uneven.

“Look—you came to me. You’re already here.” His hand returned to your hip, grounding and firm. “Let me just take a look at that.”

You opened your mouth, ready to throw another snarky line just to keep the rhythm of control in your corner, but before you could, he was already steering you—gently, insistently—toward the bathroom.

“Jungkook—”

His hand shot up near your mouth, not touching, just fingers curling in the air like he was this close to losing whatever thread of patience he had left.

“Just—shut your pretty mouth for a second.” He turned to open the bathroom door, not waiting to see if you obeyed. “Get in. Take that off.”

He nodded toward your shirt and gave the smallest push to your lower back. “I’ll be right back. No arguing.”

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind you.

His bathroom was bigger than expected. Clinical. Sterile. Almost too neat for someone in this line of work. But it made sense, in that strange, maddening way Jungkook always did. Controlled chaos in the field—total discipline at home.

The dim light spilled down the tiled walls in long, moody shadows. The floor was freezing under your bare feet as you peeled off your shirt, every movement stiff with pain. Your fingers trembled, but you managed it.

Your cargo pants stuck to your thighs, soaked and heavy. You unfastened them, sliding them low enough to access the damage—only to the curve of your hips. Anything more and your pride would unravel too.

You sank onto the closed toilet lid in just your open pants and a black sports bra, arms bracing hard on the basin. Your breath came shallow, dizzy from blood loss.

The door swung open, startling you.

You jerked, arms flying up to cover your chest. “You could always knock.”

“And miss the show?” His voice was low, shameless—but it didn’t bite. There was no cruelty, only that maddening velvet steel that was his signature.

He stepped in slowly, kneeling before you with a med kit tucked under one arm, movements deliberate and devastatingly calm. The sight of him like that—on his knees, flushed skin and damp hair, inked arm flexing beneath that cursed black shirt—made your stomach twist violently.

Desire, or pain. Maybe both.

“Just give me that—I can manage,” you said, reaching for the bottle of antiseptic in his hand.

But his fingers wrapped around yours, guiding your arm down with a tenderness that disarmed you more than any threat. “No, you can’t.”

He looked at you—really looked—his eyes falling to the crimson trail running from your ribs, jaw tightening as he exhaled. “This’ll sting.”

His hands hovered over your skin, the gauze paused midair. He wasn’t moving. Just staring at your torso like it told a story he hated reading.

You shifted. “Well?”

That snapped him out of it.

He pressed the antiseptic to your wound and your world exploded.

“Son of a—”

“Breathe.” His voice was a rasp, low and oddly soft, his free hand finding your hip. His fingers didn’t press—just steadied. A quiet promise not to let you fall.

And for a second, you let him hold you like that.

You lost track of everything once he peeled the bloodied gauze away, his movements deft and careful. Jungkook picked up a hooked needle with the same deadly focus you’d seen him use while disarming a bomb or loading a gun. His teeth came down to snap the nylon thread, the noise sharp in the bathroom’s too-quiet air. Your breath hitched.

Modesty didn’t matter now. Not with the sweat on your brow, the taste of copper in your mouth, and the burn that spread from your side like a live wire. You uncurled your arms from your chest and gripped the basin and wall behind you, knuckles whitening, fingers digging into porcelain.

“Oh, God…”

You didn’t mean to say it out loud.

He noticed—of course he noticed. Jungkook’s eyes darted to your face. Then his hands came down to your knees, grounding you with a touch that was unexpectedly steady. Unexpectedly warm. Like an anchor.

You couldn’t stop staring at the needle, though.

Your gaze clung to it like it might jump at you. You weren’t new to fieldwork—scars littered your skin like a patchwork of every mission that had gone sideways. But stitching? That was personal. Up-close and brutal. It wasn’t the pain that got to you. It was the implication. The intimacy of being opened and closed again in someone else’s hands.

Worse than all that was him seeing you like this.

Panicked. Fraying. Human.

“Hey.”

His voice slipped through your spiraling thoughts.

Then his hand was on your face—firm and unrelenting. His fingers curved under your jaw and tilted your chin down, forcing your eyes to meet his. He looked thunderous, but not in the way you’d grown to expect. Not cruel. Not smug. He looked… patient. Focused. Like he was trying to will the fear out of you.

“You really need the stitches, baby,” he said, and the nickname unraveled something low and sharp inside your chest. “I don’t have anesthesia—But I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

You blinked at him, momentarily mute.

It wasn’t just the pain—it was the softness, the way he said baby like it was a secret he hadn’t meant to let slip. You didn’t know if you wanted to slap him or lean into him.

Your chest tightened. So you nodded, barely.

“That’s it. Keep your eyes on me.”

And then he stitched.

The pain came instantly. Sharp and molten. Your whole body flinched, muscles locking as you grabbed your discarded shirt beside you and shoved it into your mouth to muffle the cry. It was either that or scream.

But you didn’t look away from him.

Not once.

Even through the haze of agony, you couldn’t ignore how he looked up at you between every pull of the thread. His brows furrowed in concentration, his lashes casting shadows over cheekbones sharpened by the low light. That little scar he had on his left one. Every few seconds, his eyes found yours, like he needed to make sure you were still breathing.

And worse—you liked that he was watching.

His fingers moved too near your skin, grazing the edges of you, slow and precise. With each tug of the needle, a jolt ran through your spine. Not all from pain. Your body was buzzing, alive in a way that made you clench your jaw and hate every molecule of awareness you had.

Because why did he have to be this close?

Why did you want him closer?

You took the shirt out of your mouth and swallowed hard. The tension in your voice matched the tension on your skin. “You always do this?”

He didn’t look up. “Do what?”

“Play medic for strays?”

His jaw clenched tight, shadow gathering under his cheekbone. His hand paused on the final stitch, threading the knot harder than needed. His silence was louder than a curse.

He tossed the needle aside like it had burned him, shoving the med kit across the tiles with a careless flick of his hand.

“Only the ones that run into traps alone.”

The words cut deeper than the stitches.

His hands hovered in his lap, still curled into fists. You watched his teeth bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make that faint, telltale line dent his cheek. The one that only showed when he was furious. When he was trying to hold back.

You knew that look. You’d seen it too many times. He always wore it before things exploded.

“You should’ve told me,” he said finally. His voice was raw, softer than before. A confession, almost.

You couldn’t handle that softness.

Your gaze dropped to the floor, jaw tight. “It’s just a scratch,” you muttered, but the words rang false in your ears yet again.

He sat back on his heels, eyes still burning through you. “Just a scratch,” he repeated, the laugh hollow. “Yeah, right.”

The silence that followed wrapped around you like a vice.

Not peaceful. Not even quiet. It throbbed—the kind of quiet that made your skin prickle and your lungs tighten. It felt like something had cracked open between you, and neither of you knew how to close it.

You moved to stand, needing air, space—anything that wasn’t this. But before your muscles could engage fully, his hand came down, flat and sure, against your thigh.

Not a grip.

Not a threat.

Just there.

“Don’t,” he said.

You made the mistake of meeting his raven eyes.

Electricity. That’s what it felt like. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the dark brown whole, and there was something feral clawing behind them. Something wild. Untamed.

Not hate.

Need.

“I’m not staying,” you whispered, barely able to push the words past the burn in your throat.

Jungkook rose in one fluid movement. He was suddenly there, towering over you, too close, too solid, the heat of him crowding the air.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

The words were a promise. A warning. Maybe both.

He turned his back to you before you could respond—walked to the sink like the conversation was over. He scrubbed his inked knuckles hard, the water hissing as it hit the porcelain, blood swirling down the drain in thin, ghost-red streams. He didn’t look at you once.

But he didn’t have to.

He thought you’d stay.

So you stood. Fast. Pain stabbed through your side, but adrenaline burned hotter. You clutched your wet shirt like a weapon, storming for the door with your pride clenched so tight it nearly suffocated you.

He moved before you could touch the handle.

“What is it now? Huh?” His voice snapped like a whip. “What’s the hurry?”

He stood in front of the door like a sentinel. Like he’d expected this after all. His body blocked every inch of escape.

“I’m going home,” you bit, hand flying to the knob. “You have the damn drive, you don’t need me to run it. I’m done here.”

His hand clamped over yours, solid and immovable. His grip was hot, skin calloused. Like steel locked against silk.

“You were bleeding just a second ago, goddammit! You’re hurt. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you out of here.”

Your voice dropped, venomous. “You don’t get to decide.”

Jungkook leaned in, so close you could feel the fire of him, smell the faint cotton-and-cigarette scent clinging to his skin—a contradiction so sharp it made your breath hitch. His voice came out low, all grit and fury, the heat of it brushing your cheek like a threat.

“I do when my co-worker is falling apart and pretending to be fine. You’re not going the fuck out there like that and that’s final. I didn’t stitch you up only for you to drop dead.”

You didn’t speak. Not with words.

Your body did.

You shoved him.

Hard.

Your palms collided with his chest and he staggered back, spine hitting the door with a thud that echoed like a gunshot. His jaw clenched. A muscle ticked in his neck. And for a second—just one second—you thought he might lunge. There was that flare in his eyes again. That glint of the monster you knew better than most. Want tangled with rage. But he didn’t move.

He just stood there, breathing hard, teeth clenched behind those pierced lips he didn’t part. The way he stared—like he could rip you apart and worship you in the same breath—lit something molten in your chest.

Then, abruptly, he turned his face away, playing nervously with the loops piercing his bottom lip. Calmed himself. Swallowed it all.

“I’m running you an ice bath,” he muttered, voice flat but dragging like smoke over gravel. “It’ll help with the bruises. Trust me, you’ll thank me tomorrow.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You stood there, vibrating with the fury and the pull, while he moved like a storm through the bathroom, filling the tub. You could hear the splash of the water hitting porcelain, could see the slow swirl of mist rising where frost met heat. Jungkook crouched and pulled something from behind the tub—a coiled noose of silver tubing, a trickle system you hadn’t noticed. Typical. Always had a backup.

“There’s clean towels there,” he said, passing you on his way out, pointing to a cabinet with one long finger. His shoulder brushed yours—intentionally or not, it didn’t matter. It burned. “Don’t lock it,” he added without looking at you, already opening the door. “Just in case something happens. I won’t come in. Just—spare me from having to barge through it, will you?”

Then he was gone, the door closing behind him like a full stop.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The room was quiet except for the hum of the water. You exhaled slowly, peeling away the rest of your clothes as you hated yourself for complying so easily. The sports bra clung to your skin like a second wound, and your pants stuck as if determined to keep every painful inch of the night stitched to you. Your underwear followed. Cold air rushed in against your naked skin, but it wasn’t the chill that had your blood racing.

You stood over the tub for a moment, teeth sinking into your lip as your fingers hovered. Then, jaw tight, you slipped in.

It was ice.

Literal ice.

You hissed, biting down a scream as the freezing water bit into your bones like knives. But you didn’t get out. You let it happen. Let it burn the heat off your skin. Let it numb the ache in your side and slow the beat of the panic still coiled in your gut.

You stayed submerged there until the pain was dulled by another—the kind that started to settle in your fingertips, the subtle ache of skin flushing blue at the nails.

That’s when you moved. Slowly. Deliberately.

You rose, dripping and goose-pimpled, wrapping yourself in the thick towel you found exactly where he said it would be. Your body felt like it didn’t belong to you anymore, your brain spinning in that hollow, too-calm way that meant you were still in survival mode.

Your eyes fell to your soaked clothes on the floor and tugged at your bottom lip again. Maybe you could use Jungkook’s drier and then call a cab or something. You gulped drily, looking down on yourself and the towel that hid even less than your previous attire. 

But then again, the feeling of having the wet clothing itching back your skin, tormenting your wounds, made you want to yell. 

You decided by leaving them in a heap in the corner and opened the bathroom door with a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

And there he was.

Leaning against the wall right across from the door.

Waiting for you.

Like he knew you wouldn’t bolt.

Like he dared you to.

His eyes dragged up your form slowly, drinking in the towel, the steam curling around your hair, the flush in your cheeks—not just from the water. His lips parted slightly, breath shallow, but he didn’t speak.

The silence between you screamed enough.

He exhaled like he was trying to drag the edge off himself, and you stood there in a trance, waiting for him to move first in this chessboard you stood on every time you were face to face. 

“It’s late. Take my bed,” Jungkook said finally, shoulders tensing, fists balled up inside the pockets of his sweatpants. “The couch is a wreck and you’re not curling up on the floor like some damn street cat.”

Your laugh cut through the air, sharp and disbelieving. “Don’t fucking order me around.”

“Oh, I will, since you bled all over my bathroom and all that,” he shot back without missing a beat, turning down the hall like he’d already won. He didn’t even check if you were following, but of course you did—seething and restless and not quite finished.

Jeon Jungkook was the king of final words. He collected them like weapons. Filed them sharp and threw them with intention. You doubted he even knew how to end a sentence without stamping it in blood.

When he reached his bedroom, the sight of his rumpled sheets made you pause in the doorway. They looked like him. Dark and messy and lived-in. He strode over to a dresser, fingers trailing over the wood as if the casualness could fool either of you. It didn’t. His every movement was intentional—controlled, like he was holding himself together at the seams.

“I’m not staying,” you said again, softer this time. A warning, or maybe a plea.

He didn’t turn around. “You are.”

Then his gaze lifted—through the mirror perched above the dresser. It met yours with devastating precision, and the current in the room sparked like something struck metal.

The bedroom shrank. The walls leaned in. The air felt heavier with every breath you stole, your pulse thudding traitorously against your skin.

You felt everything too much—the towel clutched tight around your chest, the damp fabric molding to your curves; the tendrils of wet hair brushing along your spine; the sting of cold air on your bare thighs. Your nipples peaked beneath the cotton, begging for a little more friction.

Jungkook turned finally, grabbed a shirt from the drawer—white, of all things—and tossed it to you with a flick of his wrist, eyes somewhere over your head. “I’ll dry your clothes after you put that on.”

You caught the shirt with one hand, inhaling as it settled in your grip. It was soft. Lived-in. You could smell him on it.

He gestured with a jerk of his chin. “Bed’s clean.”

You rolled your eyes instead of answering. Arguing now was pointless.

You could dig your heels in, sure. But your body ached. Your side pulsed. Outside, the rain hadn’t let up for hours. And the bastards you’d escaped tonight weren’t going to rest easy. If they were hunting, you weren’t up for round two.

Plus, he did say he would dry your clothes for you. You’d have to wait for that anyway.

Jungkook watched your stance shift—read the surrender in your silence like the tactician he was. Deciding it was safe, he stepped forward, back to the mirror, facing away from you.

He gave you privacy. As if it mattered anymore. As if he hadn’t already seen you stitched and half-naked, skin marked with blood and bruises.

Still, you waited.

You kept your eyes locked on his broad back, on the way his shoulders tightened when you didn’t immediately move. He wasn’t relaxed—he was steel braced for impact. Like he knew what would happen if he turned again.

You let the towel slip. Slowly. Let it fall in a whisper at your feet before grabbing his shirt and tugging it on. It clung in places, soft cotton sticking to damp skin. His scent curled around you, confusingly comforting, irritatingly intimate.

You tugged at the hem—useless. It barely brushed your thighs.

“Of all the black shirts you own, you had to choose the white one for me? For real?”

He turned then—and froze.

His eyes dropped again. Just for a second. Took in the stretch of your legs, the curve of your hips, the little puddle starting to soak through the shirt as you brought your hair all to one side. His throat bobbed.

And when his gaze snapped back to yours, it was searing.

“I’m fine,” you found the need to reassure him, stepping forward. Too close. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely, voice wrecked. “That’s the problem.”

His eyes were wild—something caged came back, clawing just behind them once more. Like if he stayed a second longer, he’d do something neither of you could undo.

And so, he bolted.

“I’ll finish checking the drive,” he barked, already halfway through the door, not sparing a glance back, closing it behind him.

You were left alone, blinking in the sudden silence, his scent still clinging to your skin, your blood still thrumming like a war drum.

You crossed the room slowly, each step softer than the last, until your legs hit the edge of his bed. And then, without thinking too hard, you slipped beneath his sheets, still warm from his body.

And for the first time in hours, you let exhaustion win.

Your eyes felt too heavy to open, but it was your own voice that betrayed you first—a soft medley of a moan and a whimper, curling out of your throat like it hadn’t asked for permission.

Everything smelled like him.

The cotton warmth of Jungkook’s bedsheets clung to your skin, soaked in his scent, and it made your limbs feel heavier, your thoughts more tangled. You shifted beneath its weight, your body aching and too warm under the covers. A chill skittered down your spine regardless.

Was there a window open?

You clenched the pillow under your head, breath catching as another whimper slipped out, softer this time, needier. “Jungkook,” you whispered into the sheets, the sound too raw for comfort, too real.

And then you felt it—that presence.

Like a sixth sense, prickling beneath your skin. The faint light beneath the door drew the silhouette of a man carved out of stillness, perfectly rigid, perfectly silent.

Your pulse surged.

Maybe he hadn’t heard. Maybe you were imagining it. Fever dreams could do that.

But your breathing turned shallow, and the room spun slightly, dragging your consciousness fully awake. You could feel him, even without seeing his face. You could feel the way his attention wrapped around you from the other side of the door like a noose waiting to tighten.

And then your mouth betrayed you again, raspy from sleep and dry with nerves. “Are you coming in or not?”

The silence fractured.

The door creaked, slow and deliberate. The knob turned with a soft click, and then he was there.

Jungkook’s eyes latched onto yours like a hook in the gut. Gone was the usual sharpness, replaced by something raw—wide and glassy, like he’d just lost a fight with his own thoughts. His hair was a darker mess than earlier, like he’d run his hands through it in frustrated loops. His face looked shadowed, haunted. Sleep hadn’t touched him.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, heat flashing beneath your skin. The thin sheet pooled at your hips, clinging to the sweat and fever coating your bare legs.

He just stood there.

“I tried the couch,” he said, voice low, almost hoarse. Like it hurt to speak.

You swallowed. Hard. “M-My clothes are probably dry now, I’ll go—”

“No.” His voice cracked with something too sharp to be gentle. He gripped the frame of the door with both hands, like he needed to anchor himself or else he’d do something reckless. “Stay. It’s not that.”

His eyes followed your leg sliding beneath the sheets, and your breath stilled.

“What is it then?” you asked, trying not to let your voice tremble.

Jungkook hesitated—then his jaw clenched, breath flaring through his nose. “I kept hearing you… couldn’t sleep.”

You licked your lips, nodding faintly. “I think I’m breaking down in a fever.”

That was all it took.

He stepped inside, slow like he was wading through quicksand. As if afraid you might flinch. His knees met the edge of the bed and he hovered there, wavering fingers finally lifting to your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the slope of your neck. His touch was gentle, hesitant. Like he was afraid to confirm what he already knew—but hungrier for the permission to touch you than he should’ve been.

You didn’t look away.

Your eyes stayed locked on his while his palm lingered against your pulse. And there was heat there, not just from the fever. Your thighs shifted under the sheets, friction teasing your skin in all the wrong—and right—places.

“So?” you asked, breathless.

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. His hand was still on your neck, fingers grazing the sensitive skin behind your ear. His lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Let me… uh, let me check on the stitches.”

He pulled his hand away too slowly, reluctantly, and the air felt colder where he’d been. You nodded faintly, heart hammering, remembering suddenly—damn. You were still only wearing his shirt.

You swallowed again and tugged the covers higher over your hips before raising the hem of his shirt. You stopped right under your breasts, baring the stitched flesh to his eyes.

His breath caught audibly.

He didn’t say a word. Just reached out, and when his fingers found the edge of your wound, they were soft. Reverent. He traced the perimeter of the bruising like he was learning it by touch.

Your eyes fluttered. You hadn’t expected that kind of delicacy from him. But it was undoing you in pieces.

Then his fingers drifted lower. Barely an inch, grazing your skin like they had no business being there—but made themselves welcome anyway. Your stomach coiled, every inch of you taut with anticipation. And when he reached your lower belly, your breath hitched and a moan slipped out.

He froze.

“I—” he whispered, mentioning to pull back his fingers. “I should stop.”

You were faster.

Your hand shot out, seizing his wrist, eyes blazing. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

His breathing turned frantic, eyes wide and searching your face like it was a war he didn’t want to win.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” his voice trembled but made no move to get out of your hold. “You have a fever and—”

“And I’d say the same if I hadn’t one,” you interrupted, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt until his lips hovered over yours.

Jesus, you had to be fucking delirious. 

You struggled to pin his gaze, feeling the burning of your wound from holding your abs tight from the position you were in. But you weren’t stopping this. 

He growled low, like something deep in him finally snapped—and crashed his mouth onto yours.

Your fingers threaded through his hair instantly, tugging with just the right amount of pressure. He moaned into the kiss, biting your lower lip, devouring you with an intensity that blurred every line you’d drawn.

Clothes started melting away, yours first. Jungkook’s mouth only left yours to slide his t-shirt over your head. Then his hands ran all over your naked back as he trailed a path from your neck to the sweet spot beneath your ear, lowering you back down. 

His tongue lashed and you could feel his body was heat and tension and want as you pulled him closer to you. “You’re mine.” he whispered.

God, you needed his clothes gone. 

You tipped your head back into the pillow, a whimper falling out of your mouth as you savored the warmth of his mouth back on your throat. The faint sting of his hand brushing against your ribs completely subsided by the knee he had between your legs, occasionally brushing against your core through the sheets. 

“For tonight,” you teased with a grin. 

Jungkook fisted your hair and covered your mouth ardently, and you moaned feeling his damn tongue all the way down between your legs where you needed him most. Your toes curled in pleasure. 

You didn’t know if it was the burning fever taking control over your body or your own unbridled desire, but you needed him closer, needed to feel his skin on yours. 

You started clawing his black t-shirt impatiently and he chuckled against your mouth, bringing his hand to the collar of it, pulling it out for you. 

His heat poured onto your torso immediately and you shivered, letting your fingers glide over his narrow waist, getting under the waistband of his sweatpants and pulling them down to his thighs. 

When you mentioned doing the same with his boxer briefs, mind dizzy as you felt him hard beneath it, he gripped your wrist, halting your movement. 

“God, you’re killing me,” he lifted himself inches off your face, staring deeply, voice wrecked with need. “We can’t—”

“I told you. This is not my first rodeo,” you said against his mouth. “And I don’t want to think about all of this. Just finish what you started.” 

Jungkook growled and his hand came down on your collarbone, pushing you. You fell back down onto the pillow, gasping as your hair fanned around you. He got up, baring his teeth, yanking his sweatpants and briefs all the way down. 

Your heart started thumping in your ears, heat firing your chest, neck, cheeks, as your eyes drifted up his body. Your own burning for him. 

Fuck. Perfect golden skin. Tight stomach, narrow waist. Toned arms, one of them inked to the knuckles—a devil in the night ready to pounce. 

Killing smile. 

Gentle, so fucking gentle with you tonight. 

Jesus, you really were fucking delirious. 

You clenched your thighs, but he kept pinning you down with his eyes, clearly unhappy about you being injured as well as you not wanting to think about the repercussions of what was going on between the both of you. Which you found adorable because his eyes kept darting to your breasts and then to your thighs as you peeled the sheets from them and watched him struggle to breathe. 

Jungkook was as untamed as you were, and he couldn’t stop the storm coming any more than you could. 

Suddenly, all of him was stretched above you, fitted against your body like sin. He squeezed your thigh, pushing it down on the mattress, and you spread your legs wider. A whimper left your mouth when he came down grinding on you. Your back arching, eyes closing as he sucked a nipple into his mouth. 

“Mmm,” you fisted his hair back again, relishing on the softness of his raven locks.

His hips dipped again, rolling against you, and you bit your lips, pulling his face toward your mouth. “You have—” you tried as another roll of his body made you clench. “Ah—please tell me you have something.” 

He looked up to your eyes, smiling. “Yeah.”

You bit his lower lip, dragging your teeth as he gasped and squeezed your under-thigh. You locked one ankle on his lower back, pushing him into you. 

“Ah, fuck,” he moaned.

His body stretched as he reached for his bedside table, opening the drawer and haphazardly pulling out its contents until he found what he was looking for. Your mouth only left his neck once he rose up, taking out a condom, looking down at you from between your legs. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows were etched in anger as he tore the wrapper with his teeth. His eyes never leaving your body as he tossed it and fisted his cock. 

Instinctively your hand came down to rub your clit and he groaned. 

He looked like a god staring down on you as he rolled the rubber on. Your head swarmed with the vision, your fingers working faster, tummy coiling expectantly. 

“You’re so fucking hot it hurts,” he breathed hard, coming down on you again. Your eyes locked as he reached between you to guide himself. 

Your hands snaked around his neck, one tugging at the hair on his nape as he crowned your entrance, pushing inside just barely. You couldn’t help but clench. “JK…” and he groaned in response. 

“You’ll be crawling back to me,” he whispered, pressing himself deeper and deeper. 

You moaned, relishing how he stretched you.

“You can run away as much as you like,” he kept going, grunting as his inked knuckles wrapped around your neck. “Throw a tantrum for all I care…”

He sank into you, filling you to the brink, so deep, stretching you so completely, that a single cry torn straight from your throat. 

“But after tonight, you’ll be crawling back to me,” Jungkook growled. “Again and again—You’ll be fucking mine.” 

His mouth crashed into yours, making you moan, bringing your legs to the small of his back as he withdrew and sank back in deeper and harder.

“Oh, fuck,” your back arched off the bed. 

Your breathing became labored as he propped himself with his other hand, staring you down as he plunged into you over and over. He gave a little squeeze on your neck, and you clenched around his cock, making him moan, dipping his head back for a moment. 

Jeon Jungkook felt so good. 

God, he felt amazing on top of you. 

You clawed your way from his pecs, down to his abs, and you felt it tighten under your touch. His pace turning unruly, wild.  

You spread your legs wide, as wide as they would go, dazed with fever and how good it felt the deeper he went. “Nhg, you feel so fucking good—fuck,” he gasped. 

“I need–” you held onto him and he sucked the air groaning, “Harder, JK.” he rolled his hips into you on command. 

God, you were spiriling. 

Your hands snaked around his waist, and you digged your nails into his ass, helping him roll into you harder, as you met him halfway. 

Sweat glistened your bodies, and it was getting hard to breathe. You couldn’t give a damn if the stitches would tear, the lush pressure of him on top of you, inside of you, kept your mind reeling. 

You’ll be fucking mine, he had said. 

You already were. 

“Jungkook, I–” you gasped, trying to mold his body to yours as your orgasm started building. “Jungkook–”

“What, Jungkook, what?” he teased. 

But your mouth came to the curve of his neck and collarbone instead, biting and moaning as he kept ramming your spot over and over. 

Your nails dragged down his back, burning his skin as you arched into him. You cried out as you found your release, the world spinning, your body wrecked as euphoria crashed into you. 

Holy shit. 

Jungkook came completely undone a few erratic thrusts later, with the sexiest moan you’d ever heard in your life. He managed to hold himself from collapsing on top of your wound, shifting gently to the side. 

You were both a tangled and panting mess. You closed your eyes, enjoying his heavy breathing on your mouth. 

You felt his hand snaking to your hair again, turning your head to the side. He pecked on your mouth slowly until you opened for him, not helping the whimper as your tongues collided again. 

“Jungkook, what?” he asked again lazily, his eyes barely opening, hazy with pleasure. “What was it that you were going to say before?”

A laugh rumbled on your chest, low. You nuzzled your nose on his and although you were unable to remember what the hell you were about to say, you decided to do what you did best—tease him. 

“Oh, nothing… I was just going to say that, uhm, I hate you.” you kept your eyes closed, waiting for his reaction. 

When he didn’t utter a single word, you opened one of them to see his eyebrows were angry and he tilted his head in that way you fucking loved to tease him about it. 

“You do know I’m literally still inside you—?” 

You snorted, rolling to the side and claiming his mouth once more. 

God, you were fucked. 

explicit warnings: i know it’s a slow burn but there’s definitely smut lol, choking, head/hair tugging, penetration, oral (f rec), backshotssss, marking bye, rough sex, ass play, breast play, his hands are a nice necklace😀, taunting cus reader’s an icon, thighs, breath play, spanking, hand job, protected sex, multiple orgasms, restraints (his hands, robe tie), brat!reader but who is honestly shocked🙂‍↔️, brat tamer!yoongi lmao, yoongi is a menace i’m sorryyyy, but reader is…?????, need them both™, teasing, rawdogging HELLO?? (pls wrap it up fr!), commanding yoongi a ha ha, pain kink, cowgirl🙂‍↕️, this is just the calm before a whole damn storm

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“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”  

This is it.

The brink of no return.

Your soul dips into the dark.

“Please make me fucking forget.”

Did you go too far? 

Is there a limit to his accommodation? Did you actually think this was gonna be easy? 

When silence swirls between your robes, you start to second guess your demand. 

But Yoongi simply stares before stepping aside, allowing you to enter his room with jellied legs. 

This is madness, but you’re gonna go through with it. Whatever the hell this will be. Because you may not know much, but you figure all men sit up the same when sex is on the table. 

This man, though... 

Quite frankly, you aren’t sure about anything when it comes to him. Unless it’s about him doing something questionable. Then there’s no question about it.

The enigma himself makes no conversation as you step inside, even as your eyes roam around a cleaner, more put-together room than when you left the first time. Did Yoongi clean this much while you made a mess of your dreams? 

The only answer you get is a door shutting, followed by a massive presence at your back. Before you can so much as turn around, the first words on your shoulders burn like embers,

“Was he your first.” 

Fuck. 

This isn’t what you approached him for. He’s supposed to make you forget, not remember. Remember?

You don’t turn around; you don’t respond right away. Instead, you swallow before focusing very hard on the fact that Yoongi sleeps on the bedside nearest the window. At least, judging by the way the covers are flipped. You happen to prefer the side opposite.

The heat from his body proves soft but intense, and you can’t help but close your eyes when you finally answer with a question, 

“Do you remember yours?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you ever regret it?” 

“No.”

Your vision lowers to the rug lying still under the bed. A splash of light grey amongst a darkened, moonlit sea. 

No matter how quick Yoongi answers. No matter how even his tone. 

He still remembers it, too. 

But this isn’t what you expected when you walked in here. You assumed this man was going to get right to it, save no room for you to second guess yourself. Clearly he gave zero shits about kissing you in that taxi, and he damn near undressed you in the living room. 

So what’s the holdup here? Does he want this for real? Or not? 

Head at a slight angle, you admit with a hint of finality, “I don’t wanna talk about that.” 

“Mm.” A warm, rough hand subtly tugs at your belt, and prominent knuckles nudge through the smooth material of your robe. “So what are you really here for.” 

Your eyes blink thrice. 

Yoongi cannot be serious. Does he really not know? 

No. He knows. With a shift of your jaw, you realize he’s just fucking with you, purposefully not in the way you want. “You’re being difficult.” 

“You woke me up.”

Ah. That’s fair. 

“So tell me.” 

Well. If you’re gonna have to spell things out for him, he’s gonna be waiting for awhile. Because the more you stand here not doing anything, the harder it is to gather a little thing called courage. Courage to meet the beast in his den, and madness to let him devour you whole. Now you have neither. Neither, neither, neither.

Awkwardness sticks to your throat until it’s jammed, and you can barely mush your lips together to form sounds. The courage you speak of flees before you can wrangle it, and what’s left of your answer tumbles out like boulders, “This is.. I don’t.. I can’t.” 

“You can.” 

“It’s,” you huff, noting that you don’t like this horrible mix of hesitation and anger, “It’s… I’m—” 

Your vision jolts as you feel a quick tug shit you’re spinning fuck your back just hit a wall—

“Of all things today,” Yoongi murmurs with slits for eyes, “This is what gets you to shut up?” 

Damn it. 

You don’t even have a rebuttal. Because he’s right. Yoongi’s sharp discernment is millimeters from your face and you have no intention to move nor speak. Only quick breaths. Only shaky exhales. 

But you do swallow.

Which brings out a sound you will never admit you like: a breathy, condescending laugh, as coarse and as soft as his touch. 

“You mean to tell me,” he observes, tilting your chin while his irises blaze dark, “You came all the way in here for nothing?”

“No, I—”

“All that talk, and for what.” 

Defend yourself. Say something. Say just one word two words any words—

Did Yoongi just pat your cheek? ..Twice? 

Why did you kinda like that—

“Makes no sense,” he ponders aloud, lolling his head and staring down your crumpled lips. “Who even are you..” 

Now that's an easy one. You always have the answer to that question. 

“No one,” you whisper. “Sorry to disappoint you.” 

Seems like the people back home aren’t the only ones you’ll let down. If Yoongi keeps that question loaded in the chamber, he’s gonna keep shooting the same target. Over, and over, and over. 

But you don’t have to worry. Because he drops it, caging you in with a hand near your stiff, risen shoulder, “So what are you here for.” 

This is a mistake. Either Yoongi doesn’t want this, or he’s being frustrating on purpose and your fire is both stoked and quelled. “Now I don’t know for sure.” 

“The more you stall the harder it gets,” he goads with a lick of teasing. And for a split, minuscule second, you wonder if that meant more than one thing.

Goddamn, he’s annoying. He’s outright savoring this. 

Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. You woke him up for god’s sake. If someone did this same thing to you after the day you’ve had, you wouldn’t have even let them in. 

Unfortunately for you, Yoongi’s version of dealing with a midnight inconvenience is whittling them down until they leave— 

“So you can tell my bellhop off but I get nothing, huh.” 

Oh, shit. 

Oh, shit. 

You’re so taken aback that you can only ask, “What?” 

Mercifully, the dragon gives you air, straightening before leaving your personal space. 

Your focus should be on his words. You know this. But he uses this moment to rake his hair, and words are no match for the sleeve cascading down his inked forearm. 

Even as his hair flows in waves, you still cling to his tattoos as he looks downward in thought. “You think I wouldn’t check who the fuck was coming up here?” 

It takes you a second to process. 

But you realize what this means and you fall silent again.

Yoongi saw that? All of that? You acted without much thought, and if he really did see and hear everything that went down, there’s a chance he thinks a lot differently about you now. No wonder he’s so thrown by this switch in behavior. 

But on the other hand.. The way he touched you in the living room. Was all that because of what he saw? Is that side of you the one that pulled him close? 

You thought his parting would allow you room to breathe. How very wrong you were. 

Shoving all contemplation aside, you decide to coat the room with concern, your assertion making a brief comeback, “He said a lot of shit, Yoongi. What was that about?” 

He languidly approaches the long table at your side—one you faintly noticed while leaving the room the first time. Unbothered, he slides unhurried fingers over a gun, stopping on the barrel before reaching for something less lethal. 

A decanter, it seems. Liquid flows from the container into a smaller glass, and you assume it’s whisky from the deep amber tones and luscious pour.

When you wonder where else Yoongi litters his weapons, he cuts through your surveying, 

“You really wanna know?” 

Looking up, you nod. 

He sets the bottle down with a dull clink. “He took his chances.” 

“His.. What?” 

Now what the hell could this man mean by that? You were clearly being coaxed into leaving the premises, vaguely feeling like something seemed off. How is he being so dismissive about all this? 

Slowly, Yoongi shakes his head, looking out into the night while taking his initial sip. “I don’t come here often. But when I do, I come alone.” Long fingers nestle his cup perfectly as he explains further, “It’s been awhile, so. Had to feel out the staff.” 

The staff. Is that why Yoongi held your hand? To weasel someone out? You really thought he meant it when he said he just wanted to… 

How naive. 

“His plan could’ve been solid.” 

“But what?” You ask, newfound frustration clipping your tone. 

Yoongi slides you a look over the rim of his glass. “He didn’t know who he’d be dealing with.” 

Your eyes roll so far they strain.

But this begs a question. Does he mean dealing with you? Or him? Surely he meant your little show at the elevator but he could very well mean himself. 

Facts are facts. Would Yoongi really trade il-don for you? Absolutely not. So you have to assume he’s mostly talking about the latter. 

Your scoff is pitched to the side, “Of course. You wouldn’t trade il-don for anything.” 

Yoongi pauses, not acknowledging your comment in the slightest as he strolls back your way. “Something I am curious about..” As he leans in, musk and whisky invade both your space and senses. And you hate, hate, hate that you need more of it. “Who was he talking to?” 

“Someone he royally pissed off.” 

“Mm.” 

“You’re not gonna punish him?” 

“Me? Nah.” Leaning on the sideboard, he stares out the windows across the room. Your vision follows suit. “Not until I have to.”

If what happened wasn’t enough to warrant a punishment, you’re morbidly curious about what ticks the box. “I figured he’d be dead by now. At least for trespassing.”

Yoongi only shrugs. “Grey zones aren’t just amnesty for the clans. Anything goes here, too, so a ransom attempt isn’t surprising.” 

This man really doesn’t stand on black or white. Here you are with eggs for brains discovering you were almost taken instead of saved, and he’s chalking it up to, what, just another Tuesday? Or is it still Monday? You don’t even know anymore. 

Your question leaves you a little scuffed. Because you feel exactly like leftover goods. The fruit at the back. “Are you always this heartless?”

“So I’ve been told.” 

Great. 

So much for being… Safe up… here… 

You glance at the touch on your hip, and your eyes traverse up his arm as he toys with your belt again. 

Shouldn’t you feel disgusted? Shouldn’t you be walking away? It’s crystal clear how little this man thinks of you, or anyone for that matter. He probably brought you along just to be a shield for his precious il-don. So why can’t you bring yourself to leave? 

Your knot starts to loosen.

His voice begins to flow.

“But if you’re gonna go for what’s mine, don’t be an idiot.” 

Wait.

No. Nope. Stop thinking about what that could mean. Because if you think too hard, it will only leave you disappointed. 

But there’s something you won’t stop doing. And Yoongi knows you won’t. So as he keeps playing at your waist, your words come out in shudders, 

“Can’t believe you used me.” 

Yoongi hums, and it makes you shiver when his touch leaves you to rest against wood counters. “You’re about to use me, too.” 

Fucking hell, he’s right. 

“Gotta say I didn’t expect it, but..” Damn him and his head tilts. “I’m impressed.” 

You’re too empty-headed that you can’t even process his words as genuine praise. His touches already feel like pops of lights in the night sky.

It’s a given. You aren’t prepared for him in the slightest.

“Come here.” 

Lightly pulling your hand, Yoongi brings you to stand in front of him. And from this point of view, you become even more ensnared. 

His robe flows down his taut build so beautifully, painting him like dark water over rolling hills. At his peak, the hair you’ve come to miss frames his face like artwork. Mesmerizing. Your downfall. 

“You get one more chance. Tell me why I’m awake.” 

Your brow lift is only a front. The rest of you is shaking, trembling, howling. “You clearly know.”

“Tell me anyway.” 

Relentless. Will you shame yourself for wanting to see him use this same strategy on other people? Most likely. But will that stop you from thinking about it anyway? Absolutely, positively not. 

But there’s another side of you that’s being comforted. And it’s the side that realizes how much he’s spoken, how much time you’ve spent without needing to watch behind your back. 

Yoongi talking this much? It’s making things easier. And it’s strangely making you feel a little better, even if the subject matter isn’t the greatest topic in the universe. 

After you steal a glance at the other whisky glass, you look into his eyes. Determined and decisive. Knowing exactly what you want at this very moment, because you just need a little more time. 

“Tell me more. About grey zones.” 

Something in the air freezes. And Yoongi’s brows crease so comically you almost laugh. “That’s it?” 

“Yes.” 

His nod is slow as he sets down his glass.

And you’re quickly hauled back so fast that you don’t have time to react. 

A rush of air. The world topples. Soft sheets. 

Dangerously, a thin chain sways above as Yoongi shrouds your body in silk and lingering smoke. A gasp escapes you as he peers into your eyes, and your senses fire as a commanding hand slides up your thigh. 

“Final answer?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck you know you want him and you still do but also talking to him isn’t half bad and maybe you’re just tired of being lonely— 

Musk. Alcohol. Breathing hard, you take it all in. Slowly nodding because you can’t function otherwise, which makes a dragon flash teeth. 

But he obliges without moving a muscle, so you’re left underneath a demon—robe dangerously close to opening and exposing everything once again.

A man of conviction, Yoongi does exactly as you ask. Eyes drooped, he continues his explanations, as if he didn’t just shove you into his enormous bed and tangle you under his legs, 

“They started awhile ago, back when all the high-powers got locked in a grudge match. Took half the city with them.” 

Immediately, your shoulders start to sink into his tale. “Half is a lot.” 

“Everything went to shit,” he agrees. “Not even the Politicol could stop it all.” 

“Bullshit.”

His level expression is enough to refute.  

Now that’s a shock to learn. For as long as you can remember, the Politicol have always held more power than any force should ever have. If they weren’t able to keep this under control, the high-powers used to be ungodly. 

Staring at the slippage on Yoongi’s shoulder, you wonder if those ink lines are to immortalize the ones that came before him. The history he must’ve grown up memorizing. 

Still.. Why does he have them all? There’s no way he doesn’t know how disrespectful that is to all three clans. 

But then again. He said he didn’t choose them himself. Which leads you nowhere in this unending maze. 

Head disheveled; robe coming undone. To outsiders, you’d be at Yoongi’s mercy. 

But in reality, you’re laser focused on him and his explanations. Especially when his voice scratches every itch just right. “So…” You watch his gaze slowly slide down your face. “What happened?”

Even now, Yoongi’s hands stay exactly where they are. The only thing that moves is the tinkling swing of his silver above your warming neck. “Deals were made, stripping power from all of them in certain sectors so that none could completely take over.” 

“Why only in certain ones?” 

A corner of his mouth quirks up. “Let’s just say the negotiations went how you think they did.” 

Your eyes roll yet again. But another question pings into your mind as quick as the first one, knitting your brows. “Wait… Deals with the Politicol? Or each other? No way they would’ve let cowards put them all on a leash.” 

At this, something interesting passes over Yoongi’s face.

But it flits away before you can snatch it for further inspection, and the shift of his leg against your thighs resets your brain. 

“Any of the clans could’ve monopolized if they had the right resource, but. They weren’t ever gonna let outsiders get a piece. Called a truce and kept their mouths shut.” 

Makes sense. You know exactly what resource he’s referring to. “The il-don.” 

“That’s part of it.” He shifts again, but this time, your legs have more room to move. “But grey zones have priority infrastructure. The ones that keep the lights on. If you had the money, you had the people. And people are the best resource there is.” 

It’s at this moment that a lot of things click into place. 

And one of those is figuring out that you may have been a little wrong about the man above you. 

Is he heartless? To a high degree. But that comes with being calculating. Patient. Smart. Everything that Yoongi has been this entire time you’ve tagged along. 

He’s not keeping the il-don safe because he treasures it. It’s because the money is a tool. A tool to help him get what he wants whenever he needs. And leverage it for value instead of frivolous decisions and material things. 

Yoongi must have really, really enjoyed your tangerines.

A stray touch finally makes its way inside your thigh. And you flare between your legs. Shivering. Aching. You’re sparkling inside but won’t allow yourself to fully explode. Not when he’s revealing so much without telling. Not when you’re starting to see things from his angle. 

“Keep talking,” you rush out, gripping his robe and squeezing his pelvis. 

Though his fingers still light flares on your skin, Yoongi stops in his daring quest, observing your face without judgment. 

“I like it,” you shakily admit. Because screw it, since you’ll never see him again. “Learning about all this.” 

You sigh at his weight. His beautiful, strangely calming weight. “About you, too.” 

Stopping all movements, Yoongi coats your skin with gravel. “What good will knowing all this do.” 

He’s got a point. And it hammers home exactly what you were just thinking. “Nothing, maybe,” you answer, squeezing his robe a little longer. 

Fuck, you really are this deprived. This lonely. Is bedding a dangerous man—this dangerous man—really better than being alone right now? A mental reset is outstandingly in order throughout the coming abysmal months.

You finish your weak explanation, hoping it’s enough to convince him, 

“But it’s helping.” 

Yoongi lifts his head to watch your eyes. And you observe how dark his are in return. How cold. 

But yet.. Why do you also see…?

With a slight huff, you tack on, “And you aren’t so annoying to talk to right now.” 

There it is. That spark you’ve seen before in dusty, tinkering streets. “Don’t push your luck.” 

“I might.” 

He exhales, shifting himself into a sitting position and facing the door. “The thing about grey zones.. No affiliation, no rules. You can be anyone here.” 

When you lift your upper body to sit, you watch his side profile as you repeat, “Anyone?” 

Yoongi turns to look at your lips. 

You know there’s a question you want to ask. But for some reason, it’s difficult to say. 

But eventually, you can’t help it. Because you’re intrigued. You’re haunted. And you really, really need this. 

“Then who do you want me to be.”

He lets out a cross between a scoff and a laugh. Looking into your eyes, he asks in disbelief, “You?”

“I’m pretty good at pretending.” 

“Sure you are.” He gives you another small grin before resting forearms on his knees. “But you don’t want my answer to that.” 

Swallowing is proving too difficult. What the hell does he mean by that? Is it one big bluff or a real opinion? “You’re just being a pussy.” 

All you get is the side of his cheek rising high.

Yeah. He’s not gonna tell you a damn thing. 

“Forget about me then. Who are you right now?” You wait as his expression falls back to earth. “Agust? Or Yoongi?” 

When you end with silence, you’re met with an approaching shadowed visage. And even in this moment, you sense static in the air, both of you poised and locked in a dangerous, thrilling dance. 

“You tell me.” 

Your breath cuts as he slips a finger inside your robe, and you dare not breathe when he pulls—slow, unhurried, intoxicating. 

You’ve never felt quite like this. 

Are you supposed to do something, too? Is there something that usually happens here? Your experience isn’t zero but it is clearly leagues below where it should be. 

Before you can blink a third time, your garment is ever, ever so slightly off your shoulder.

And you haven’t uttered a damn thing.

So he keeps going, sliding it lower, and lower, until he reveals a part of you that you didn’t mean to reveal so suddenly before. 

This time, it’s deliberate. And that makes it terrifying. 

This is the point of no return. The slope of your chest barely keeps your robe from dipping any farther. It’s happening, and life between you will never be the same when it’s over. 

And yet. 

Your nerves speak up at the worst time.

“Get me a drink,” you whisper, “Then maybe I will.”

Yoongi flicks up an eyebrow before obliging, and you silently mourn the loss of his heated touch. 

He walks over to pour you something neat, taking his time bringing both glasses to the bed. When you sit up properly, you habitually adjust your robe, scoffing at his hum. 

“Thanks,” you whisper, taking the glass and smelling the piercing aroma. “Maybe this is what I needed all along.”

“You ever had sex before?”

The question is so sudden and blunt that you cough up a burning sip. “Ow, fuck..” Wincing, you wipe your mouth before breathing in scratchy inhales. “If you must know, I have.”

“Maybe you are good at pretending then,” Yoongi drawls. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Don’t get me wrong. This situation is new to me.”

His brow raises are definitely talking a lot for him. 

“I’ve just never.. I dunno. Never had just one night.” Taking a more cautious sip, you continue. “Much less with someone like you.”

“Like me?”

“With a.. You know.” You fiddle with your glass. “A customer.” 

When you hear his reaction, you stare at his raised cheek, stomach fluttering when he sighs downward,

“You can’t just say shit like that.” 

“I can say whatever I want,” you counter. “Especially since I…”

You don’t wanna finish that. It helps that Yoongi doesn’t look your way still, taking a sip of his whisky instead. His locks swing forward as he leans, and you almost reach out to feel them. Maybe you’ll get to very soon. When you finally get over this final hurdle of outright shyness. 

Why are you so timid right now? Why can’t you just tell him what you very obviously came in here for and get on with it? You’ve been decisive as fuck the rest of today, so what’s got your tongue pressed this time? Is it really your abysmal level of experience?

Or is it because you’re gravitating to more sides of him with each passing second? 

“Since you what.” 

“Since I don’t like you,” you snip. 

Yoongi flashes teeth in amusement. “Keep telling yourself that.” 

“Oh, shut up.” You take another drink, feeling the burn down your throat. “I don’t have to if it’s true.” 

Both of you keep drinking in silence after that. Which makes things a weird mix of calm and awkward, considering what your original mission was. 

Going over the events of today, it’s a wonder why you aren’t crashing into a dreamless sleep. You’ve been up and having the most exhausting day ever, and yet, you can’t imagine shutting your eyes. 

Think of something else to talk about. Anything. Any topic you could possibly hold a conversation with Yoongi over. 

What did he respond to before? No small talk, since the plantains thing from months ago was a bust. And when you conversed over ramyeon it was more of him angering you on purpose—wait a minute. 

There was something you never circled back to. 

And as soon as you ask him about it, he appears impressed you remembered, 

“Were you bluffing when you said you knew what I was shopping for?” 

“No,” he responds immediately. “And I know I’m right.” 

“Prove it.” 

Mouth curved at an annoying angle, Yoongi shoots you a look before placing his drink down, getting up to walk to a tall armoire. 

Your eyes follow his every movement, even the way his ass moves under that damned robe. But soon, your jaw goes slack not because of his assets. 

But because the motherfucker was right on the money. 

How the… How the fuck did Yoongi know? 

In front of your face lies exactly what you were searching for. Sleek. Minimal. Lightweight and visibly balanced. You don’t even want to keep shopping around because this is the only one you want. 

How did he know you were shopping for daggers based on one single line of questioning? 

“I wasn’t gonna show you until you asked,” he divulges. “Honestly, I was hoping you’d forget. This one was hard as fuck to track down.” 

Eyes flicking up to his, you ask in wonder, “Can I…?” 

He lifts it slightly, signaling that you can indeed hold it yourself. 

And it’s perfect. 

“Wow,” you breathe out, feeling along its edges and hilt. It’s all one continuous line, with metal so black and matted that you almost moan. “I don’t have much on me, but.. I’ll give you whatever you want for this.” 

“Keep it.” 

What? 

“It’s yours.” 

There’s no way he’s just gonna gift this to you. It’s perfectly crafted in material you can’t even find in Crane. And they have almost every class of ore in existence. 

Who even is this man? 

“Yoongi, this is…” You shake your head while extending it back. “I can’t just take this.” 

“You can.” He fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist. “I did.”

Oh. Charming. The weapon you’re being gifted is stolen goods. “Well, in that case, I really can’t accept it.” 

But goddamn, this is more than perfect. You can’t even pluck one finger off the handle. And you can’t change the fact that it was already taken, right? Right?

“At least…” Scowling at your own crumbling morals, you mumble, “Not without good reason.”  

He looks at you over his shoulder. “Do I need a reason?” 

“No,” you reply. “But I’d like one.” 

Yoongi sighs long before moving his fingers. “I lied to you back there in the lobby.” Looking up at a clock instead of you, he works his jaw. “But this time, it really is just that.” 

“You expect me to believe you?” 

Fuck, the veins in his hands are so prominent when he laces them together. “No. But it’s better than those chopsticks you’re saving in the bathroom.”

Oh. So he saw those, too.

“Thank you,” is what you wave in white. Because that’s exactly how you feel and this one gesture does excuse some of his faults. Maybe. Or your standards have plummeted to the gutters. “I, umm. I usually keep one for self-defence. Just in case.” 

Turning it over and back again, you marvel at its light but solid weight. “But I lost mine in the last rough raid before they suddenly stopped.”

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“K.” Placing it on the closest nightstand, you go back to holding your glass between your hands. “One day I’ll pay you back somehow.” 

Yoongi shoots that down on sight. “No need.” 

“But I want to.” 

He glares before picking up his alcohol. “Anyone that owes me shit gets treated a lot different.” The drink rests in his hand like a liquid gem. “So just accept it as a gift, doll.” 

You’d laugh if you knew he was kidding. But you know he’s dead serious, so you only nod. 

It’s quiet again as you both retreat into your minds. 

Yoongi has the mental fortitude of a fortress it seems. Because he really is set on waiting until you tell him what you woke him up for, and it’s been awhile since this all started. 

But being in his presence while the night is quiet is somewhat comforting. You’re finding it easy to think about other things now, especially after he gave you so much to mull over. 

Like grey zones and how they came to be. It’s fascinating how you had no clue even though you should. Even though this whole conflict affected half the city. 

Wanting to gain more insight, you blurt your curiosity, “How long ago were the grey zones fought over? Before everything was decided?” 

“Years. Decades, at this point,” Yoongi answers, his gaze locked as you think about this timeline. “Most people don’t even bother knowing, though.”

“Why? This sounds like a big part of our history.” 

“No one cares if a Crane kills a Dragon.” His tone shifts slightly. And you wouldn’t have caught it if not for his subtle sulk. “They only resent the blood they have to wipe from the street.” 

Your lids lower all the same. Because that resonates deep within your chest, so much so that you feel your heart bend in its aching. “No one cares about us, either.” 

When Yoongi catches your look, you give a sad excuse of a smile. “Being a vendor? Especially where I am? You quickly figure out how little you matter. You as a person, I mean.” 

You slide fingers along the tiny rim of your glass, lost in the fibers of his rug more than anything else. 

Maybe you’re just a loose fiber in the rug of this city. One that will pretend to run only to be swept back into the folds. “The only things that people remember are what you offer. Anything other than that isn’t worth their time.” 

Lifting your chin, you save face. “Can’t say I won’t miss you.” May as well admit it all if you aren’t ever gonna see him again. “You were the only one that ever let me bother them.” 

“You never bothered me.” 

You look up to see him staring. Lip curled upward, you huff. “With all the looks you gave me? I find that hard to believe.” 

Yoongi doesn’t laugh in return. “What would I gain from lying?” 

Mm. That’s an interesting question. But the alcohol starts to talk for you as you have the balls to flirt. “People lie to get laid, for one.” 

“Mm.” He takes a measured sip of his glass, the last dredges of it swaying at the bottom. “Can’t say I’ve ever needed to.” 

“Shocker,” you drawl, sipping to match his pace. And it’s after this drink that you loosely admit, “This is really good, by the way.” 

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Lifting the glass to peer inside, you swirl it around before divulging a past you don’t talk about—ever. But what are rules of conversation when you want to stall? “My uncle got me into whisky a long time ago. But fruit stands don’t pay for top shelf alcohol.” 

“Where’s he at now?” 

“Uhh.” You look away. “Gone.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” 

He gets up, and you watch in silence as he makes his way to the sideboard. Stuff shifts around before he appears to pour another glass. And he stays there for a bit, black robe blending into all the dark decor. 

“Yoongi?” 

He turns. 

“Can you keep talking?” You keep your drink steady between your robed legs. Buzzed and vulnerable, you offer an explanation, “Turns out there’s a lot I wanna forget right now.”

Like endings. And future endless days without your most frustrating, most dangerous, most favorite customer. 

Yoongi pauses before walking back to the bed. When his thighs settle next to yours, he asks without much heart, “What do you wanna know.”

“You.”

His jaw shifts, and you feel a slight tug in your chest. 

Was that too forward? Probably. But you’ll take what you can get, like a last meal chosen to hit every one of your desires. “Anything you wanna tell me, of course.”

Yoongi remains quiet. Which isn’t unexpected but still a little letdown. 

“Not much to tell.” 

Ah. Just more lies then. Maybe you should stick to the original plan. “Nothing at all?”

He looks at you, planting a hand on the bed to lean a little closer. “Nothing you’d wanna hear.”

You shift between his eyes. Wondering if it’s better not knowing or if you really do wanna give in. 

Perhaps his eyes will speak for him instead. Glowing dark. Hints of ember and smoke. Years and years squeezed into those irises. 

“What if I do,” you quietly question, catching the light on his alcohol-tainted lips. 

Reaching out, you boldly place a thumb over one side, slowly brushing off excess liquid and marveling at how soft he is there. Tender, just like his name. “What if I don’t care.”

Yoongi waits for a moment before holding your wrist, the atmosphere trembling and buzzing around your shoulders. Oxygen depletes as he leans in close, his beautiful features almost touching yours. 

You feel something locking into place. Something beautiful and terrifying. And it holds you down as you feel his hair, his warmth, his—

A noise blares into the room before you can feel yourself rushing upward, your body reacting on survival instinct alone. Glasses spill onto the rug and you don’t know what’s happening but lack of sleep lack of comfort lack of everything has you ready for—

Time stops. 

Sounds muffle. 

And your eyes flash wide as you see the tip of your blade pointed straight at Yoongi’s side. 

Just as he’s poised with a gun pointed towards the door. 

It’s a phone ringing. 

A fucking. Telephone. 

What have you done?

As Yoongi slowly shifts his gaze to your outstretched hand, you tremble in severe regret. Regret that you pulled this on him with the very weapon he gave you. Regret that he knows all there is to know about how you still feel about him. 

But you didn’t mean to… You didn’t even think. And you abhor how you directed your fear at the one person that kept you alive. The one person you fucking saved. 

When Yoongi lowers his gun, he doesn’t acknowledge the guilt on your face. But as he walks away to grab his device, his gaze flicks back to you before he answers across the room. 

Shit. 

You fucked up you fucked up you fucked up. 

You weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t care. You really weren’t. But who knows what Yoongi will think of you after that shock of a face off. 

Coming into his room was most definitely a mistake. Now you can’t wrangle your emotions for shit, head pounding with feelings and outcomes and adrenaline to the brim. 

Yoongi’s close to the wide bathroom stairs, so you can’t hear what’s being said. He does keep looking at you, though, which keeps your fingers pressed against a hilt. 

Are you in danger? Will Yoongi not want anything to do with you anymore? Is it alarming that you can’t decide which one is worse? 

The call doesn’t last long.

And as soon as he hangs up, you’re sputtering like a broken fountain, dagger still wielded as he stalks forward—phone clunking to the ground. “Who was that.” 

“No one.”

“What’s gonna happen to me.” 

“Nothing.” 

Fuck. You really did fuck everything up. Your brain is so battered that you’re gonna be skittish and paranoid for a long, long time. “Yoongi, I’m so—I didn’t mean to—It just happened—”

Forget it. It’s over. Your last interaction will haunt you forever and the only way you’ll experience what could’ve happened between you will be in your wildest darkest sweetest illest—

Burns flare at your eyes when Yoongi’s chest meets the quivering tip of your blade. 

“Stop,” you wince out, a damning tear pinging to your feet. “Just stop.” 

He starts to walk forward, which alarms you enough to step back because what the fuck is he doing! Why can’t your arms move? Why can’t you lower the fucking dagger? 

“I can’t,” you croak. “I can’t move.”

You’ve been firing on all fronts the whole day. Even in your dreams, you’re in survival mode. You can’t unlock your arms because they fight for the rest of you. Your legs propel you when the rest of you wants to give up. 

But that still doesn’t stop your heart from aching. It burns, it burns, it burns. 

When Yoongi grips your wrist, you choke on a sob. When he calls you smart, you squeeze your eyes shut in shame. And when he whispers to drop the fucking blade or he’ll do it for you, you do so after a maddening pause. 

It clunks to the ground when a gun does, and you’re suddenly spun until the backs of your knees hit something solid. 

Immediately, you’re thrust back onto dark sheets again, tears now rolling into your ears as you instinctively let Yoongi smother you whole. 

His hand slides to your inner thigh, and your mind reels when you start feeling a hardness on your stomach. Breath whooshes out of your mouth before you're covered in silk and muscle, and pleasure bursts from where he quickly devours your neck fuck.

Hands are quick to untie your robe as fire stokes your throat. 

“I won’t ask again,” he vows with a voice that rumbles. “Tell me what you fuckin’ want.” 

“Yoongi—” 

“Say it and it’s yours.” 

“Make me forget,” you shove through your teeth. “Just make me fucking forget.” 

“How.” 

Fuck lack of experience. Fuck being shy. You aren’t wasting another damn second and your emotions need all the release they can get. Loose lips, loose tongue, looser inhibitions.

The monster inside of you yanks at its chain, claws and claws at its confines screaming at you to give in. You need this. You want this, especially if Yoongi himself is gonna give it so willingly.

Just say it. Just say it.

“If this really is the last time I’ll see you…” 

Yoongi stills as your eyes lock unblinking. 

Tell him. Four words. 

“Fuck me like it.”

A proverbial chain snaps as Yoongi dives into your neck, ravishing you and sucking hard on your vein. When you yelp, your clenched legs seem to encourage, and he thrusts forward to launch you up the bed with a purpose. With intention.

All to let you know what you just got yourself into.

His fingers light little fires along your skin, burning everything in their paths up your arms, your sides, squeezing into your imperfections and latching down. His lips set your being ablaze as he keeps feasting, causing your breaths to get shorter, and shorter, and shorter. 

“So sensitive..” 

When you feel the warm swipe of a tongue, your eyes scrunch shut as you shudder. Which makes the whole thing worse for you when Yoongi chuckles dark in return. 

“I don’t think you’re ready for this.” 

“Shut up,” you huff out, grasping for his robe and raking at his sleeves. “Of course I am—Fuck.”

His thumb rolls across your exposed nipple, pinching it to make you arch right up into his chest. “You sure?” 

When the hell did he even open your robe? How did he do that so quick without you knowing? 

You bite down on your lip to keep from screaming, nodding in determination while your brows almost kiss. 

Watching your expression, Yoongi pinches again, biting his own lip while slowly spreading that shit grin. Your moan comes out more like a muted hum, which seems to displease. 

“Uh uh,” he orders. “You’re gonna be loud for me.”  

“But what if someone—” 

“They won’t.” 

He continues in his control, sliding a hand under your thigh to hitch it up before shoving it to the side. 

And you know where he’s going. But it still shocks you all the same when his fingers make contact with your slick. 

Your very, very wet slick. 

Many, many things will haunt you for life. Your experiences. Your choices. 

But right now? The only thing that will follow you to your grave is this distinct, biting, staccato batch of laughter. “You shouldn’t’ve ever come in here.” 

Breath ragged, you watch as Yoongi concentrates, exploring your cunt with his long digits and hitting every nerve with perfection. When you rub against him, he growls, lifting shiny fingers to insert right into his mouth. 

Sucking. 

Licking. 

And your eyes mirror his at once—as black and pulsing as fallen stars. 

He swoops down at the same moment you tug on his clothing, his mouth latching onto the side of your neck he hasn’t ravaged. Impatient, his hand yanks the bottom of your robe to the side, fully exposing your legs and leaking folds while you grapple with your own obstacles. 

It’s messy. It’s jilted. It’s exactly what you want. 

As soon as you find the slit in his robe, you take a brave leap and reach for his cock, not knowing what you’re gonna find but having a vague idea based on his—

Oh. What.

Fuck, he’s gonna split you in two. 

You’ve held one before. You know what they feel like. But this cannot be possible and you’re already mentally preparing yourself for your breaking point. 

“You good?” 

You snap your head right up, realizing how stunned you must be if he’s asking. “I… You’re fucking huge.” 

Yoongi doesn’t react, but that somehow makes it more attractive. Like he knows. And he doesn’t deny a thing. “That a problem?” 

“I mean… I think I’ve lived a good enough life.” 

To your surprise, the man above breaks completely as you keep blabbering, shoulders shaking alongside those stupid dimples. Those beautiful, elusive dimples. Too bad this is the last time you’ll ever see them. “Did what I wanted.. Not everything, but most of my list.” 

Yoongi’s still chuckling. And for a brief moment, you’re brought back to the days he was just a patron. Back to when you would think about him before bed, delighted to see him stop by. 

This is him. This is Yoongi with you now. 

Where was he this whole time? Was he really waiting until you answered him for real? 

You went so far into your head that you missed the change in position. So it makes you jump like hell when you realize where his teal mop of hair resides. “Wait, wait, wait. What are you doing?” 

Between your thighs, Yoongi lifts a brow, locking your legs with tough arms before you can even move. 

“Yoongi, you don’t have to—oh, fuck!” 

The first contact of his tongue on your folds makes your eyes burst, your legs effectively being pinned down in their tensing. Jolts of lust spiral from your core as he licks, sucks, twirls around your clit like it’s second nature, and you feel yourself welcoming his every thrust.

This is happening. This is happening? You’ve never done this before, not that you’ll admit it. Whatever Yoongi’s doing is completely new territory for you and you don’t ever think you’ll leave. Permanent residence. No other land to discover. 

Whines echoes throughout the room before you slap a hand over your mouth. Because the whole world will hear his name if you don’t. Especially when he adds fingers and curls them just right what the fuck! 

He makes you forget. And forget. And forget. You even forget your own name. Only his. Saying it into your palm over and over and clawing his sheets with the other. 

A low growl rumbles between your legs before you hear him purr, “Just like I fucking thought.” 

What’d he say? He didn’t say that. You’re hearing things, you’re sure of it. There’s absolutely no way Yoongi’s imagined anything about you, much less what you taste like. 

And the words keep coming as he whispers how tight you feel. How hot. How perfect you’re gonna fit him. 

While all you can utter in return is gibberish mixed with the syllables of his name. 

Pleasure rolls in waves as he learns every inch of your cunt, fingers drenched in your slick and the curves of his cheeks lathered in your scent. When he reaches beneath you to grope your ass, he gives a rough squeeze. 

“Move your fucking hand.” 

Your eyes fling wide. 

“I wanna hear you.” 

“No, I’m—there could be people—”

He clambers over you, robe wide open and revealing a body that rips your soul clean out. When he seizes your palm to shove it to the side, another monster starts to wake within your chest. 

And this one takes treacherous pleasure in those slitted eyes. 

“You’re gonna scream for me.” 

“Or else what.” 

The dark rumble. The rolling thunder. 

Your other monster is starting to match his glint. “You don’t wanna do that with me, doll.” 

“Do what?” you ask with flitting eyes. 

When all you get is a sharp smirk in return, your stomach flips in desire and excitement. So when he slaps the side of your breast, you hum high with a delighted flinch.

“Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.” 

Yes. This is what you came in here for. Your shyness will have to be comfortable with the unknown, but it’s also helping seeing Yoongi much more relaxed. 

Like a normal person. 

Especially when he leans over to open his bedside drawer, hair swaying as he grabs for what you think are condoms. 

Your hunch is right when he rights himself again, teeth nicking a wrapper before tearing it in one sweep. When you start to clench your legs together in response, he shoves them back open with a thigh, robe parting to show exactly what’s going to splice you in half. 

You’ll gladly take his amusement at your jaw unhinging. Because what you see is heaven sent. 

Yoongi says nothing as he wraps himself fully, and he continues to be silent as you whisper, 

“I wanna see you.” 

It doesn’t take long for him to understand. As his length presses against your core, he slips off his dark robe, letting it slide down equally dark sheets before pouring onto the floor. 

You’re just as quiet as he situates himself above your beating heart. Which is for the best. Your thoughts are better left unsaid. 

All you can do is grip his arm, sliding your hand up until you can finally, finally brush his hair with your own fingers. Exhaling when you discover how soft it feels. How comfort can be found in something as trivial as tendrils.

“This is helping, too,” you murmur to his lips, inhaling what you realize is your own scent. 

When he cradles your chin, your breath cuts. “Things happen when you say what you want.” 

“If only it was always that easy.”

“It is with me.” 

Your heart skips twice before tripping on itself, and you instinctively curl your palm against his head. “Everyone around you must be so lucky.” 

An eyebrow lifts before he huffs. “Not talking about just anyone, love.” 

…Huh? 

What does he mean by that because shit you’re getting tugged forward he’s so strong—

“Now, if you’re gonna be difficult,” Yoongi warns. “Let’s give you enough time to reconsider.” 

Your thighs widen as he positions himself at your entrance, cockhead rubbing along your folds as you tense. 

“Uh uh.” He hums. “This is what you want, yeah?”

“It’s been awhile,” you spat, rolling your eyes when he shoots you a knowing look. “Just… give me a second.” 

Obliging, Yoongi starts slow, making your head roll into the pillow as you accommodate his girth. Holy fuck, he’s big. But he’s sliding in easy after his little feast down there, which you piece together as one big prep for the main course. 

“Fuck,” he groans, resisting every urge to plow straight into you. At least, from what you can decipher in his pinched features. If this feels amazing for you, you can’t even imagine what he must be feeling now. It only gives you butterflies knowing he’s following through with his word. “So fucking tight.” 

“Not my fault you take up… so much space,” you grit through your teeth, neck straining as you blow air to the ceiling. 

Fully sheathed, Yoongi rests inside until your muscles relax. And you only peel your eyes open when you start to slip into more pleasure than anything else. 

Okay. You can do this. You can fit him surprisingly well—maybe too well—and you’re okay to keep going without restraint. 

When you peer down your body, you expect him to look bored or indifferent. Like he’s wasting time dealing with you. 

So it makes you shiver when Yoongi looks ready to ruin. 

Toned arms flex at his sides, hands keeping your thighs held in their place. When a strand of vibrant hair falls, his chains spark in the moonlight streaming in from the windows. A dragon that waits. And waits.

You’re ready. Your demise will be your reward. 

“I’m good,” you assure him. “You can move now—”

A second invisible chain snaps with a clink, and Yoongi launches into a thrust that has you seeing stars. You tumble through the dark as he thrusts again, mouth open with silent yells before you gnaw right into your lip. 

“Relax for me,” he commands. “Just like that.” 

Your cunt hugs him tight as you bounce even harder, his little grunts of praise making you mewl and whimper in bursts. 

Fucking hell, this feels good. 

You cannot wait to find out how it’ll feel when you piss him off. 

His hands grip your hips, hosting you up onto his thighs as he thrusts hard into your cunt. Your body rocks in an arch, limp and at his mercy—which there is very little of. Enchanted, your  lip tightens with the pull of your teeth, eyes squeezing shut as he feels so fucking good and hitting. Just. Right. 

It all carries you so far gone that as soon as you feel a rush of air, the sting on your ass makes you react—piercing moan making both of you freeze.

And Yoongi’s eyes deepen a shade as he slowly grins. “There you go.” 

“Don’t act like you—fuck!” His second swat has you grunting through your teeth, and his thrust forward at the same time he does it again has you whining. Monosyllabic, his name shoves out of your lungs, with each part more chipped than the next. 

“What’s that, love?”

“Yoongi, please—”

“That’s right.” He clutches your sides so damn rough. “Say my fuckin’ name.” 

And his pace pitches you into the sun, rocking so hard you won’t be surprised if the bed frame snaps in half. In thirds. In sevenths. Your legs go completely limp as he drives in, filling you and hitting a spot that pierces your eyes with stars and light and lust. Down down down you spiral, up up up you go. It’s only you and him now, with Yoongi plowing into you like his life ends come morning. 

There’s nothing in the world that feels like this. Burdened by the dangerous weight of a man—this man—while feeling so light you could float? Absolutely nothing can compare. 

Your body finally rests as he stops, but you get no breather as he flips you over with strong arms. Disoriented, you squeak as he tugs you backward, your ass rising in the air as your head is shoved into luxury cotton. 

Sweet pain sears your ass again, and you gasp with wide eyes as you feel his cock at your entrance. “What are you—”

“Lift up. Higher.” He slides his dick up your folds. “You’re gonna like this.” 

“You don’t speak for me—”

He thrusts into you as soon as you get accustomed to his length and size. And the place his thumb presses makes you scream into your pillow. His pillow. A hotel suite pillow that you’re biting to stay afloat. 

How the fuck does that feel so good? How does all of this feel so good? His thumb on your asshole already has you melting, but the smacking of his sack against your clit makes you want to repent.

“So fucking—fuck.”

Drool strings from your mouth as your arms are tugged at the elbows, your whole upper body coming up for air. Precious precious air that’s cut off when Yoongi chokes you from behind.

“Yoo—!”

His strength slams your chest into the headboard, right at the edge of the bed before you feel the force of his palm hit the wall. 

“What did I fucking say.”

“A lot.”

“I’m gonna hear you.”

“But—”

He shoves you flush against dark wood, your cheek smushing hard and your lips curling. “Let them hear you, too.” 

You keep your moans muted until fingers are shoved down your throat. And you gargle until he yanks them out. 

“That’s it. I know you can take it.”

“You’re easier…” Gritting your teeth in a smug grin, you taunt in a bold-faced lie, “Easier to take than I thought.”  

His laughter is not lighthearted. “You’re still gonna go there, huh.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you pout, eyes drooping from the euphoric shocks his thrusts provide. Sweat rolls down your arms as you slip on the wall, but it gives your chest a cool surface to rest. “Go where?” 

Suddenly, the grinding stops. And your cunt feels abandoned as he pulls out so fast. When you think to spin around, he spanks your ass with a harsh, “Don’t move.” 

Do you want to disobey? Yes. But you’re more curious than anything, so do as he says.

And your eyes light up when you realize what he comes back with. 

“Now… I could use this,,” he warns, pressing a silky smooth robe tie along your neck. “Since you don’t wanna behave.”

“Do it,” you taunt, wishing like hell that he does. Yes, yes, yes. You’re drunk on lust and volcanic want and you will fight for nothing more. “You won’t.” 

Your neck is rocked back before you feel him slap your ass. “Then stay still.” 

And you obey as you feel your belt—or his, either one—wrap loosely around your column before it’s tied. 

Gently, your chin is turned, and you’re surprised when you’re met with stern eyes. “Can you breathe.” 

Blinking, you nod. “Yeah, I can.” 

“Two taps if you’re out, understand?” 

“Yes.” 

A swift pat to your cheek. “What’d I say.” 

“Two taps,” you repeat, figuring out fast that you’re liking this development a little too much. “If I’m out.” 

Holy fuck the yank you feel is exhilarating, your body bending back as shock overcomes your senses. 

Lidded eyes staring down at yours, he vows, “You better make them count or we never do this again.” 

“I will, I will,” you rasp out, breath still coming to you fine albeit a little more harshly. “I promise.” 

“Good girl.”  

Wait, did he say again? 

As he slips right back inside, you lose all passing trains of thought. Cunt filled while his fingers clog your mouth makes you traverse to another plane. Every part of you, at his mercy—

Then he yanks you backward and all that mercy burns in the flames of heaven. Flocks to the clouds of hell.

The belt is completely taut as you succumb to his thrusts. Hard. Fast. Rough thrusts make you cry out as he toys with you, gravelly hums tumbling down your back as you arch for him. All the sounds you make echo throughout the room, a symphony of mewls and moans as Yoongi controls your every move. 

“Take it.”

“Hmm?”

“You want it,” he repeats. “So take it.”

Oh. Oh, he wants you to—Oh.

You start moving back and forth, doing exactly as he says. Taking what’s yours for the night and shamefully not forever.

But it turns out it’s not enough because he tugs. 

“Like you fucking mean it.”

Fuck.

Groaning, you move with more intention, sliding up and down his cock and feeling full every time. It feels good having control, you muse, and imagining him watching your debauchery turns you on that much more.

Your thrusts turn to rough slams, friction running fast while you chase it with all your strength. The groans you hear sound primal, hissed taunts egging you on.

“Guess you can listen after all.” 

“Fuck you.”

Another hard yank. 

Your laugh only spurns him on. 

Slaps to your ass, grabs to your breasts. Yoongi is worshipping every inch of you and you won’t even notice this until nights later when you’re alone. You’ll remember the way he squeezes just right, the way he fits so well, the places he hits with no hesitation nor guesswork. It’s pure experience strangling you with passion and you don’t even know how to embrace it all.

But then you start to feel it. Your breath tapering. It’s getting harder and harder to suck in air and you’re starting to see stars across your eyes. 

When you reach an alarming point, you quickly slap his leg twice, oxygen gushing into your lungs right as he lets go. 

You almost come on that exhilaration alone. Adrenaline pumps pumps pumps into your veins, eyes blowing black as he spins you around.

Hot, open mouth kisses pepper your burning throat, and you have the nerve to catapult him all the way back onto the bed. 

Yoongi lets you top him with a laugh, and you immediately use this opportunity to pin him down with a chokehold. Wanting him to feel the same way you just did. Knowing deep in your soul that he wants it, too.

“Cute.”

“You asshole.” 

Holy fuck, you can’t even recognize your own voice. It’s hoarse. It’s rugged. 

It’s salacious.

He cocks a brow while peering down his nose. “You done?”

“What?” You blink. Slowly releasing his neck, you admit with a rasp, “No, that’s not what I.. I’m not done with you.” 

Yoongi slides into a smirk, and you attempt to scoff with a burning throat. 

You wanna tell him how good he is. How stupidly attentive he is. But all you settle for is something neutral. Safe. And maybe a little forward. 

“Just felt like calling you that.” 

Yoongi’s smile mellows into a line, and if you weren’t in such an evocative position, you would have thought it was genuine contemplation. But he slides hands up your thighs before slapping the side of your ass. “Get on.” 

Fuck. You don’t really know how. At least, you don’t know how to do it without showing him you aren’t used to it. 

So the confidence will keep getting faked. With a little help of your quick wit and tongue as you grab his length. “Didn’t hear a please.” 

Yoongi huffs out amusement. “I don’t say that.” 

His tip goes in fine. Fuck. Okay. You can do this you can do this. “Why am I not surprised—!” 

He shoves you down as soon as you give him enough leeway, and you groan out as you catch yourself with hands on his chest. 

“This is where you’re gonna live,” he says with confidence, laughing in condescension when you scowl. “Fuckin’ love it.” 

He can’t say stuff like that. 

You ride until you find a rhythm, rolling your body and finding the friction you want. It’s there for the taking. And he’s encouraging you with gravelly words and hums, with hands up your stomach and grasping your chest. 

After a single swirl of your hips, he throws his bed back until his neck strains. “Fuck.”

So you take that cue, rotating between rides and swirls. When he tweaks and rolls thumbs around your nipples, you clench hard around him, and he does it until you moan to the ceiling. 

A slap to your breast makes you whine, and you keep going before leaning forward, placing hands against his shoulders and bouncing your hips on his cock. 

“—a fucking natural,” Yoongi praises, chuckling to himself as he toys with the silk streaming down your neck. 

“Maybe I’ve just practiced.” 

“Show me more then.” 

Quickly, he tugs you down flush against him before grabbing your ass, slamming you down and pistoning up until you scream.

You start biting his shoulder to quell your shouts, which makes him moan loud enough to make you possessive. Wildly possessive. Before long, you feel yourself going limp on him, only for him, solely for his pleasure and yours. 

“Just like that. There you go.” 

You mewl into his skin as he grabs you, holding you down as he slams into you again and again and again. Drunk with power, you begin to mark his throat, devouring and feasting with reckless abandon.

Growling ragged, Yoongi flips your position and pins you face down, shoving up hard into your cunt before plowing. You fully lean into the yells now, saying his name and inching over the goddamn edge of the bed.

It’s there. Your release. It’s potent and it’s visceral and it’s everything you need need need—

“Yoongi, I’m close—”

He penetrates so far that you can taste him, and you come so harshly that you convulse. Squeezing like hell and quivering in a full body fold.

Holy shit, the screams. Is that you? 

The sinister laughs of pride prove you right. “That’s my girl. Fucking scream.”

You can’t stop. All you know is extreme pleasure coursing through your veins, pulsing beautiful colors and making you arch like mad. 

But you have more to handle. Yoongi prolongs your euphoria by yanking you back only to sink into you again, hands rubbing both nipples and tongue speaking deadly sins in your ear.

“You aren’t done,” he growls. “Lemme hear you again.” 

“I can’t—”

“Liar.”

His name rips from your mouth as you surprise yourself, gushing around his length and squeezing in powerful pulses. Nothing exists. Nothing at all. Everything you know is a feeling, as vibrant and shimmering as the sun above your street back home. 

All the heat you’ve ever felt coalesces along your skin, and the words whispered in your ear slide right down with your sweat. You aren’t quite sure what you hear. But judging by your preening, it has to be praise. Dirty, dirty, sinful praise. 

When your limp weight is flipped, you allow your legs to be hoisted up with no resistance. Looking upward, you peel open lids to the equivalent of a king. A god. And your outright awe blocks your ears from catching what your dragon swears. 

“—perfect,” he grits, inserting himself into your squelching folds. “Again.” 

No fucking way you have more left in you. You’re already floating in the ether, buzzing in pleasure and sweat and ecstasy. If you come one more time you’ll be an empty shell. 

“Earn it,” you boldly rasp out, grappling a bit of your spirit and reining it back one last time. “Take it, you bi—”

Your heart leaps up your throat as you’re pitched upward, groan serrated and high as you grin in triumph because it feels so fucking rewarding when he gives gives gives. 

Letting everything go relaxes your folds, causing Yoongi to rock into you with pride and without resistance. His chain smacks against his pecs at the same pace as your bouncing chest, and you’re more than sure you’re gonna feel bruises on your legs where he sinks his claws.

Skin slapping skin. Mewls and gritted curses. Heady scent covers them all in a thick layer and you feel the light grow closer and closer, stronger this time than all the others before it. Why? Why do you know this one will pitch you over the edge for good? 

Both of you may feel the same. 

Because Yoongi suddenly shoves himself so far into you and presses his body flush against your shuddering shaking screaming form.

You pulse frantically around him, throat sore and ragged from your final cry as tears stream down your face. It feels so fucking gorgeous that it hurts, and you enter a plane so mystical it’s completely separate from your earthly vessel. The two of you become closer than one, and you feel Yoongi stutter in his groan before yanking out and ripping the condom off.

Hot spurts paint your skin—a sweaty, spent canvas that dips slow with your labored breaths. His own breathing is rough but not exhausted, and you chalk that up to the mountain of stamina and experience he has on you. 

It’s done. 

Thoroughly spent.

All the pent up emotions dissipate in a slow descent. The chaos of today finally lowers its head, your monsters making their ways back into their cages. Moonlight shines brighter. Fuller. 

Illuminating a man in silver as he slowly heads into the bathroom. 

Holy fuck. You just slept with a gangster. With a Dragon.

With Yoongi.

There’s no way you can forget this. No way you can see yourself moving past this moment, even years and lifetimes from now. It doesn’t matter if Yoongi never thinks about you again, because something transpired in this room that you’ll keep locked away in your soul forever. 

As he brings back a towel to wipe his essence from your skin, you wonder. 

Was it all worth it? 

Or will this torture you in every dream you’ll ever have? 

A palm digs into the mattress before you feel weight and jewelry. The silk around your throat is carefully undone, and lazy, heated lips descend on your neck once more.

Bliss.

Sighing, you utter his name much softer now, telling him please without knowing what for. 

“What do you want,” he whispers.

“I don’t know,” you admit in a wisp. 

Yoongi keeps worshipping your throat, and you mewl when he reaches to rub your breast in a slow squeeze. When you drag your hand down to grip his cock, he tenses with a gritty hum. 

“Careful, love,” he rumbles. “There’s a lot more I can do with you.” 

“Tell me.” Your breath starts shorting in anticipation. “Tell me everything.” 

“Nah.” When he slides forward, the bare tip of him meets your cunt, causing you to flinch with a bitten lip. “You’re just gonna have to wonder. Day, after day, after day.”

Fuck this guy with the spite of a thousand lives. You’re the one holding his cock, so how the fuck is he still being this sure of himself? 

“Put it in,” you blurt, earning his gaze of utter confusion. 

“What?” 

“Just for a second.” You stroke him, feeling slick velvet and wetness coating your fingers. “That’s the last thing I want.” 

His eyes search yours, and for the first time tonight, he’s the one that looks hesitant. “You sure…?” 

“We’ll never do this again,” you whisper. “And I know you want it, too.” 

His gaze holds yours for a moment, searching your eyes for any sense of doubt. 

When he finds none, Yoongi positions himself at your entrance, and you feel his knuckles brush your folds before he sinks in. Slowly, cautiously, extraordinarily. 

And both of you groan so full. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi glowers, teeth sharp as he grounds them hard. His arm veins strain, shifting all his ink in pretty ebbs and flows. All his stomach snaps taut, and you can’t look away from his sheer look of concentration and lust. “Fuck.” 

“Feels so good,” you gasp, enjoying the way he’s slowly grinding against your walls. All the slick from your releases allows smooth strokes, and you already feel close for yet another time. An unbelievable amount of orgasm in such a short span. You’ll never reach this peak. Not with anyone else. “What the fuck, I’m close again—”

“Shit—”

It happens in a snap. But more of a mellowed, drawn-out river flow than a full waterfall. Your eyes slowly roll before closing, and your chest arches slow as you rock back and forth on his cock. The squeezes are harder. The pulses are fuller. You’re milking him for all he’s worth, like your cunt won’t let go until it’s pumped him dry. 

Which makes Yoongi lose his absolute mind, hissing as he pulls out quick before spilling onto you all over again. Again? 

Holy fuck, again? 

As he groans up above, his eyes are wiped dark completely. Which makes you wonder how you can still see stars embedded inside. 

Was it all worth it? 

You’ve never been more achingly sure.

It’s a long shot to know if he feels the same. And an even longer one for that to truly be the case. 

But it’s okay. 

This is the first, the last, the only time you have. And it was more than you could’ve ever asked for. 

As he falls into the sheets next to you, both of you exhale harsh, hearts pounding and pounding into the bed and to the ceiling. 

You can’t even move. Every single limb is sore from base to tip, and the door looks so, so far away. 

When you whisper his name, you get a little acknowledgement at your side. Gathering all the strength you have left, you whisper, 

“I know this is when I’d be kicked out, but.. I can’t move.” 

The small puff of air you get in return sounds like a yes. But you aren’t sure until Yoongi verbally gives you a real answer, 

“S’ok.” 

All you can do is hum, noticing with a sharp pang that you feel soft towel wipes before the smooth slide of sheets up your bare skin. 

“Just stay on your side.” 

Ah. 

Well. At least you aren’t alone for a night. 

“And you.. Stay on yours,” you murmur, darkness seeping into your peripherals. 

“Mm.”

Yoongi can be as cold and heartless and calculating as he wants. But you know he’s more than what he shows. 

Because with a second sharp hit to the chest, you also realize the side you’re on is the side he was on before. He’s not gonna make you move just to keep his preference. 

Don’t think too much about it. Do not. 

“I wish everything was different,” you whisper, drifting into a dreamless sea. “I don’t want to hate you...” 

Your forehead is swept by a warm hand. You cannot lift your lids any longer, but your ears still hang onto their efforts. 

And the last thing you hear before succumbing to the dark is a lighter flick and a fact. A cold, expected, damning fact. 

“You’ll always hate me.” 

When you wake, you’re greeted by the same room you fell asleep in. 

Sunlight cuts through grey skies to shine every surface, and you breathe in a musky, comforting scent as you stretch your limbs. 

Did last night really happen? 

The soreness between your bare legs is more than enough to prove so. 

Slowly turning, you whisper to Yoongi that you’re ready to go when he is. 

Only to find out that you’re talking to no one. 

Shit.

Shooting up, you start to panic. Maybe he’s in the living room already? Getting ready to call someone to bring you back home? 

Glancing at the nightstand on his side, you don’t spot the dagger he gifted you, brain grappling with what that could possibly mean. 

Your ribs crackle when you bite back emotion. It’s all over. 

Shifting back to swing your feet onto cold fibers, you pause with swimming eyes. 

Because the blade rests ready on your nightstand, propped on a set of plain clothes in the perfect position you would need it to be.

Teeth clenched and eyes burning, you swipe it before rushing out of bed, head pulsing and a dull ache between your legs. “Fuck..” 

The shirt and pants you’re given don’t exactly fit, but you’ll take what you can get as you punch limbs through long sleeves and high pants. 

Yoongi isn’t here. 

You feel it in your whole being, and you have no fucking clue why it hurts. 

But if he’s not here…

Who do you start to hear outside the door? 

You freeze, lungs expanding as you hold multiple breaths. 

It sounds like talking. But also a myriad of sounds? 

Heading into the bathroom, you silently glide across the floor before swiping up the chopsticks. Because yes, you’re still gonna save them. For defence. For keepsakes. For a grave reminder. 

Tucking them in a pocket, you ready your dagger under your garment, pressing it flat against your skin like you were trained to do. 

Slipping out into the hallway, you hear the sounds clearer. Movement. Slides of furniture. 

What the hell is going on? 

You’re about to retreat back into the room when a man crosses in front of the hall. 

And his hair is strikingly… 

Orange?

As he catches you in his vision, he stops on a dime, hand outstretched in greeting. “Hello!” 

Your step back makes him laugh. But you’re not laughing in the slightest as you question, 

“Where’s.. Where’s Agust?” 

“Gone.” The smile spreading makes you squint. “Need to see him?” 

Your answer is immediate.

“I’d rather die.”

-

-

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

But for now, the bar of the hotel is great, just like the rest of the facilities, especially to forget how awfully lonely you are while your friend is getting married. You look around and you try to spot your friends, before you remember that they wanted to scuba dive. Too dangerous for you, you rather much enjoy tanning on the beach. Maybe you’re boring, but it’s a too stupid way to die in your opinion. And what about the sharks? The jellyfishes? The sea urchins? No thanks. A good book is funnier — and safer. 

Yet, the relaxing time you were expecting is fading away when a man takes the seat next to yours at the bar. Your breath hitches because damn! He looks good. You are not sure you’ve ever seen a man this handsome. He is tall and his black hair is shining. He looks casual with his Hawaiian shirt and his shorts. Okay, he must be very muscular because you can see how the fabric of his bottom held his thighs. And what is it on his right arm? Tattoos? It’s the first time you get to see so much ink in real life. It’s scary but… sexy. All of the stranger seems sexy. Especially his charming smile. 

You’re having a hard time not staring at him but what can you say? It’s not easy taking your eyes off of him. He is attractive, too attractive. It’s in moments like that you wish you had more confidence so you could talk to him but at the same time, would someone like him be interested in you? You have no doubts he just has to clap his fingers for a dozen of women to be naked in front of him. And yet…

"No scuba diving?" He asks you

You are surprised — it’s an understatement — because how the hell does he know that?! But you can’t say anything when you meet his eyes. They are so black, it’s intimidating but there is a sparkle of playfulness in them. This man is a paradox: all seems mysterious and comfortable at the same time; cold and warm; distant and kind. However, a weird feeling embraces you, just like you’ve known him all your life. Is it… love at first sight? You’ve read about it, you’ve seen it in movies but experiencing it… Wow, it’s an all other level. 

"I saw you and your group of friends yesterday at the restaurant, and this morning, I spotted them heading to the boats" He explains — your shock must have been well visible 

"You have a great memory to remember so much about strangers" You joke 

“Selective memory in fact”  He corrects with a oh-so-charming smile and you literally feel your heart melt and your cheeks burn “And I’m particularly attentive to beautiful women"

This sentence could make you ill-at-ease, it’s such a playboy thing. But the way he is sipping on his fresh beer so casually and his eyes… So honest. You must be crazy because you feel like he hasn’t said those words to anyone else but you which it’s impossible. Like you said before: dozens of women must be at his feet. 

"I—It’s—"  

Okay, it’s so embarrassing to stutter in front of him, especially when he seems to be confident — but could he not when he looks this good. You can’t do otherwise and it doesn’t help that you are blushing. 

"I’m Jungkook" He introduces himself, holding his hand to you

You take it, and gosh… How can holding someone’s hand feel so right? If those stupid books are right, maybe it’s what love at first sight is. 

"Y/N" You gulp 

Sweet smiles are exchanged, someway conveying silent promises and confessions. A weird sensation. A good sensation. Jungkook seems to be everything you’re looking for in a man and it’s quite overwhelming. Unfortunately for you, when you’re stressed, you talk nonsense and you don’t have time to shut your mouth. 

“I’m afraid of being strangled by an octopus” You say out of the blunt to get back to his first words and you watch in horror surprise lightens up his face “That’s why I didn’t go scuba diving. But I’m okay, I read. Maybe it doesn’t look too exciting to read while you’re in Bali but I really enjoy it, especially this book about a princess who escapes the castle to live with the squire but it turns out that he lied to her and he is actually the last son of the foe kingdom and he had a mission of kidnapping the princess. It’s not as stupid as it sounds. I know that my friend Mi-yeon (she is getting married tomorrow) says that I should stop reading those novels but I think dreaming a little is not that bad, right? Do you dream?” You know how stupid you sound and you want to slap you in the face

Jungkook eases you with his sweet smile and you fall even more for him. 

"Can I invite you for diner?" He asks and you have to pinch your arm to make sure you are not dreaming 

Is this handsome guy seriously asking you out? You? You have seen beautiful women since you arrived, way more beautiful than you so why? Maybe it’s a mistake but this mistake might be your only chance to spend time with Jungkook. You just can’t take your eyes off of him and you don’t care if it lasts one night, one week or only one second. You know it deep down, he already has all of your heart and it only took him one minute.

Later that day, you took extra care on your makeup and you choose one of your favorite dresses, a satin white dress with thin straps — thanks to your light tan, the color fits better than usual. You even had to call Mi-yeon for advice about your hair: letting it loose or tightening it into a bun? Your friend choose the bun — the argument about avoiding hair in your mouth during diner convinced you. 

You really, really hope that your makeup conceals your blushed cheeks — it can’t do anything for your pounding heart. It’s actually strange because you do feel stressed about this date — you can’t believe it’s a date! — but you also feel like it’s the most natural thing ever to meet Jungkook. 

A wave of comfort wraps around you when you spot Jungkook at one of the tables of the walls-free restaurant. The setting is really romantic. The only lighting comes from a multitude of candles, warmly licking the wooden columns. The structure is framed with light and white curtains flying around with the light breeze coming from the near beach. 

Yes, it’s gorgeous but you can’t enjoy it. All you can see is him. Just him with his black hair styled backwards, but it’s natural since a lock of hair falls on his forehead. He is perfect in his white shirt that holds his brawn chest. And his damn smile… It could kill. The way Jungkook is looking at you and is smiling at you, it makes your heart stops — or pounds at a crazy pace, you don’t know. 

On the other hand, Jungkook’s heart is not better. You look stunning. The most beautiful woman he has ever seen. You are breathtaking in your dress and he wonders why he is feeling like that. Fuck, he even doesn’t know what love is and yet, it can’t be anything else than that. One look, it’s all it took for him to love you. All he has believed in, all he has thought was the truth, all he has planned for his future, it’s all shattered. Maybe it should scare him but it doesn’t. He can’t be scared when he has met you, when you exist and you are in front of him. He swears that, if you are crazy enough to want him, you will wear a white dress soon, on your wedding day with him. 

"You are beautiful" He whispers, more for himself and for you, as he stands up to welcome you 

"You look great too" You reply with blushed cheeks 

You sit down and talk. All night long and it feels like ten minutes. You never get out of topics and the more he talks, the more you love him. He tells you that he is an architect, that he is actually here for work and that he is quite lonely — but he realized it only recently. You also learn that he lives in Seoul, like you, which makes you think that you could see each other when you both come back to South Korea. 

Despite the night going well, you can’t help but blathering on stupid and weird things like your neighbor’s dog that ate a pigeon once or the time the cashier wanted to sell you marijuana in the supermarket because you ‘looked miserable’ — to be fair it was just after your breakup but you left that part aside for Jungkook. Rather than looking at you like you were crazy, Jungkook seems charmed by your rambling. Maybe because he knows that it’s caused by your attraction to him. 

"Well" You say as Jungkook is walking you to your room "It was very nice"

Your hands brush from time to time and even if it’s a light touch, it electrifies you. You wish you can touch him more but you are too shy to do the first move. Jungkook has been sweet but he is so perfect that you wonder if you are good enough for him — funny when he wonders if he is good enough for you. 

You are disappointed when you reach your door. You should have lied and said that your room was on the other side of the hotel complex. You sigh and grab the magnetic card unlocking the door. The night is over and you are sad. You wish it could never end because you don’t want to let him go. You want to stay with him tonight, all nights actually. You have known him for a few hours but you don’t know how life is without him anymore. It’s crazy. 

"It was" Jungkook says softly 

Should you go? Yes, you should but you don’t want to. You ask your brain to look for anything to keep talking to him. Nothing comes to your mind so you stare at him, eyes locked into his beautiful, shining doe eyes. 

"I want to kiss you, if you allow me to"

You can’t believe that he says that so casually while your hearts is jumping in your chest. Is he used to this? Because you are certainly not. But who are you to deny him?

So you nod and your pounding heart echoes in your ears when Jungkook steps closer. He gently cups your face and ever so slowly, presses his lips on yours. It’s sweet and kind and romantic and perfect. The best kiss ever, so you naturally want to feel him more. You wrap your arms around his neck and invite him to kiss you deeper. 

Despite being glued to each other, Jungkook doesn’t want to push too much. Especially because he doesn’t want it to be the only time he kisses you. He wants to do it everyday, for the rest of his life. If he didn’t know it before, your mouth on his assures it. 

He pulls back and rests his forehead against yours while you are catching your breath. Both the kiss and the explosion of emotions that it brings left you breathless. You are in trouble: you are irreparably in love with him. 

"Y/N" God, your name has never sounded so good "Can I take you on a date? When we are in Korea?" 

—————

“Can I call you back?” You ask through the phone but actually don’t wait for any answer and just hang up

You were searching some documents for the assurance in your husband’s office when you found it. A phone. At first, you tried to look for some rational explanations of why your husband would hide a phone in his desk. It could be an old devise but you have never seen it before. Moreover, it’s quite a recent phone. So, your next thought was that it could be a professional phone. And you wished it was. But it wasn’t. 

The latest text, from yesterday, was an address. A hotel address. It was an appointment for tomorrow. Your heart sunk as you went through the convo: over and over again, the same hotel room with different dates and hours. For four months. 

So this is it. Your husband is cheating on you. You can’t stop your crying because the pain in your chest is just unbearable. You have to open the window because you can’t breathe, your lungs seem too small all of the sudden. You thought that Jungkook was the love of your life when you married him three years ago. And even now, with your broken heart, you still believe he is. You haven’t thought about living without him, it can’t be possible. 

When you hear the front door and your husband asking if you’re home, your sobbing gets lourder and  you have to put your hand on your mouth to mutter it. The steps you know so well — just like you thought you knew your husband so well — are getting closer and closer. Jungkook calls you again but doesn’t receive any answer. He heads to your bedroom but finds it empty. He frowns, growing worried because he knows you should be home. Then, he hears some fainted noises coming from the corridor. He concentrates and spots that the noises are located in his office. When he pushed the door, he didn’t think he would find you crying in his leather chair. The biggest tears he has seen since he knows you.

“What’s going on”’ He hastily asks you, panicked that you might be hurt 

And you are indeed. You are feeling so much pain that you wonder how your heart hasn’t stop beating of how squeezed it has become. 

“I can’t believe it…” You whisper, more to yourself than to him

Once again, your husband frowns but only a second. Because his big does eyes widen at the sight of his secret device in your shaky hand. All his blood is drained from his face, making his skin look pale. He gulps but his throat feels as dry as a desert. 

“I can explain” He starts but his voice is already broken 

Why do his words hurt even more? They sound so much like what you have witnessed in movies. You close your eyes in a ridiculous attempt to prevent the hurricane from happening but it’s already too late. It’s four months too late. 

“Y/N, I swear, it’s not what you think” Jungkook beseeches as he steps closer but you hold your hand up to stop him

“So you don’t go to those rendezvous in that hotel?” You ask

Your voice has some hope in it, like you still think there is a tiny chance that your husband is not cheating on you. But a single glance at him and at his guilty face is enough to definitely break this hope. How can you know him this much and not at all at the same time? 

Your crying breaks the heavy silence around you. Every single tear is killing Jungkook. He doesn’t know what to do but he absolutely hates seeing you suffer. And he hates even more being the reason of it. He feels all your pain like his own. He feels your heart breaking in his own chest. Three years ago, at your wedding, he promised you to punish all the persons who would hurt you. Today, he might have to punish himself. 

“Please, believe me, I’m not cheating on you” He begs

He wishes you’d look him in the eyes so you could see how much he loves you but you can’t. You can’t look at him without feeling like dying. Your soul is being torn apart so roughly — mainly because you haven’t imagined that Jungkook would ever do that. Your husband is perfect. When you talk with your friends and tell them about the flowers he bought you, or the restaurant he took you just because you said that you saw an ad on social medias, they always envy you to have such a caring and loving husband. When your friends cry about being cheated on, you always tell yourself that you’re lucky that you won’t ever live that. 

And here you are. 

“So what are those messages, Jungkook? Who asks you to meet at the hotel?!” You ask and yell and cry at the same time 

You are confused, angry and sad. You don’t know what to think and Jungkook either. He doesn’t say anything that it’s driving you crazy. Why doesn’t he deny? Why doesn’t he say that all those texts are a misdial? Why doesn’t he tell you he loves you? 

Every second of silence takes away a piece of your broken heart. 

"I’m sorry…” Jungkook finally says

It’s the worst thing he could say. Because now it’s real. It’s too much real. Someway, you wish he has lied, denied anything and told you that you misread the situation. Maybe you could have gone on with your life. But he said he’s sorry. So everything is true. Now, you can’t hold on an irrational explanation because it’s fucking true! 

You run pass though him and it hurts a little more that Jungkook doesn’t even try to stop you. You leave your house like you wish you could leave the pain behind. 

You spend the night at your friend’s. You try to cry yourself to sleep but you can’t. The pain in your chest keeps you up all night and it gets worse every time you imagine your husband and an unknown woman in this hotel room. Aren’t you enough? Did you change? Did you get boring? You didn’t even see the signs, Jungkook seemed as happy as ever. Your sex life didn’t decrease so you wonder if it has ever been enough for your husband. You try to look at the past four months and spot out the little changes but everything was the same! Maybe even better. Jungkook is such a great actor because you would have never imagined he would have a double life. 

—————

You stare at the ceiling of your friend’s guest room. You want to empty your mind but your heart is too painful to ignore and it reminds you of Jungkook. Ever since you have met him, he has filled your soul, brain and heart. It’s just impossible not to. But right now, you wish you could just forget everything, especially the day you saw him for the first time, four years ago. 

You did spend the night crying but you also thought. Maybe your marriage is not over. Maybe there is still hope. You could forgive Jungkook. You could if it means you’ll get to be with him. You’ll talk about it, he’ll promise to not see her ever again and you’ll push this painful episode aside so you can follow up with your life together as before. 

But before that, you have to make sure that Jungkook won’t attend his date today. You saw on the phone yesterday that he was expected at six pm in the same hotel. He is not stupid enough to go after that his wife found out about his affair, right? If he loves you, and he does, he won’t go. Right? 

But if he does go, then it means there is no hope left. It’s all over. And you’re not sure you’ll survive it. 

So you don’t really know why you’re in the hotel lobby. You keep telling yourself that Jungkook loves you and that you trust him but you’re still here. You have never been more stressed in all your 28 year-old life. You look at your watch every ten seconds. You almost sigh in relief when 6:01 is written on your wrist, like you find yourself so damn stupid to have thought that Jungkook would show up. 

But he does. As he walks toward the elevator, looking as good as ever in his black suit, he tramples on your poor heart at each step. He enters the elevator and disappears behind the metallic doors. It’s all over. Jungkook is flying away with your heart, your love, your soul and pretty much your whole life. It’s so painful that you feel empty. It’s a dull ache in your whole body and there is nothing you can do about it. Your husband didn’t chose you while you would have chosen him a hundred times. 

Your body moves automatically as you are heading to the bar of the hotel. You hate that he has chosen such a luxury hotel to cheat on you. Does she deserve all this? You hate her. You hate him. You hate how he hurt you. But mostly, you hate that you don’t hate him. Even after breaking your heart, you still love him. 

When the bartender hands you your order, you scoff. You didn’t even realized that you ordered a wapplesky, a apple and whiskey cocktail, your husband’s favorite. Your eyes water when you take your first sip and you wish you could blame it on the bitterness of the alcohol. 

You feel the presence of a man next to you. At first, you thought it was Jungkook because of the black suit the man is wearing. But it’s not him. However, the man is really, really handsome. His brown hair matches his brown eyes. His nose is straight and flawless. And you can tell he is muscular underneath his clothes. Yes, he looks really good but you can’t help comparing him with Jungkook and he doesn’t stand a chance. Will you think that about all the men you’ll meet? If so, maybe you won’t ever be able to love again. 

You swallow the rest of your glass and the stranger takes the opportunity to talk to you, or to flirt with you actually. 

“Can I get you another one?" His voice is charming, soft and deep

You do appreciate how soothing it is. But should you accept the offer? Well, Jungkook is probably fucking another woman right now so… 

“Yes, thank you” You try to sound cheerful 

“Jackson, by the way” The man introduces himself and you do the same 

You both start talking and oddly enough, you don’t feel as bad as before. Maybe your pride gets a little restored at the thought of flirting with the another man when your husband has been cheating on you for four months. 

“So, you’re visiting Seoul?” Jackson asks at some point 

“No, actually I live here”

“So, what are you doing in a hotel?” His question is nothing but curiosity but it brings a huge weight into your chest that makes you wince 

Should you tell him? Won’t you be embarrassed? Maybe but your whole life is already upside down so it can’t be worse. 

"Actually, my husband is here” Instinctively, Jackson’s eyes land on your ring that he hasn’t noticed before, way too distract by your beautiful yet sad eyes “With another woman”

Jackson is taken aback, not sure what to say but you help him by asking:

“What am I doing here when he obviously doesn’t care about me?”

Your voice breaks at the end of your sentence. Your tears escape your eyes. You honestly don’t believe that the pain will ever go away, it’s just too much. 

“It’s never stupid to do things out of love”

You look up at Jackson, surprised by his comforting words. He truly looks like a good man. His warm hand gently squeezes yours on the desk bar and he gives you a soft smile. He does look cute like that, completely at the opposite of the sexy and charismatic man he is when his handsome face is neutral. 

You squeeze his hand back to silently thank him and his thumb caresses the back of your hand. You almost moan when it takes off the unbearable weight off of your chest for a second. For all the people around you, your interaction seems intimate. You are indeed pretty close to each other and the tenderness in your both eyes could be interpreted as a heavy flirting. Your touching hands are puzzling. 

Especially for Jungkook. As he walked through the lobby, he spotted you in the open bar. He can’t be wrong, he‘d recognize you in a thousand-people crowd. But what the hell are you doing with this man? Who is he? And why is he fucking holding your hand? Jungkook feels his jaws and fists clench as he walks to you with a dark and dangerous aura around him. He swears, he could kill the man touching his wife. 

Jungkook moves quickly and precisely as he grabs Jackson’s arm and twists it against his back in an professional armlock. Jackson hisses in pain and you gasp in shock. 

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Jungkook barks

“Jungkook, stop! Are you crazy?!” You shout as you try to push him

Your strength is nothing compared to your husband’s but as he feels your hands on his tensed forearms, he releases his hold and frees the man. 

“Oh my god, Jackson, are you okay?” You ask, worried, which only makes Jungkook angrier — why do you care about that guy in the first place? 

“Yeah, don’t worry” Jackson reassures you while massaging his sore arm and shoulder

“What is wrong with you?” You yell at your husband 

“Am I supposed to let another man touch and flirt with my wife?” Jungkook talks back, clearly upset 

You can’t believe his audacity! He has been cheating on you for four months and even after you found out, he went to see his mistress! You scoff, not even caring to respond. He is pathetic. You grab your bag and Jackson’s hand before heading towards the elevators. Both men follow you, completely flabbergasted by your actions. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jungkook asks but you ignore him 

“You have a room right?” You talk to Jackson and he nods “Then, we’re going to have sex” 

The doors of the elevators open and you push Jackson inside but your husband gets in too. 

“What the fuck?!” He yells and you ignore him once again “You’re not doing that!”

“Why not? Didn’t you do it just now?” You reply 

“No, I didn’t! I told you I didn’t cheat on you"

“So why are you here ?!” You yell 

“I can’t tell you but I swear, I’m not cheating on—“

Jungkook stops talking as he perceives a movement at his peripheral vision. Jackson has pulled a shiv out of his inside suit pocket and Jungkook blocks it only a inch away from his stomach. However, he receives a punch in his ribs that makes him wince but he doesn’t have time to think and roughly pushes Jackson again the wall. The impact is so violent that the elevator shakes a little and that Jackson drops his knife. Jungkook’s body immediately tensed in the small room and his eyes darken, just like he was ready to kill someone. 

Jackson fights back and punches Jungkook in the face while your husband crushes Jackson’s ankle with his foot. The brown haired man falls down with a growl, which allows Jungkook to take the avantage. He throws numerous punches in Jackson’s face until his nose and lips bleed, mixing with his own cut knuckles. The last remained forces abandon Jackson who faints. 

Jungkook is panting and you’re just shocked about what just happened. Everything was so fast and you’ve never seen your husband like that. He is sweet and he doesn’t even want to kill a spider! And now he is punching strangers?! What the hell is going on?! 

You’re pressed against a corner and your husband immediately walks to you, his eyes already softer when they land on you. 

“Are you hurt, baby?” He asks, quite panicked 

“Is-is he dead?” Your voice, just like your whole body, is shaky 

"No, just unconscious” Jungkook says nonchalantly, he doesn’t give a shit about Jackson, he only cares about you “Did he hurt you? Tell me, I swear I’ll kill him”

When you shake your head, unable to make any sound, your husband hugs you. Fuck, he was so afraid to hurt you during the fight. He acted by instinct but his mind was worried sick about you. He actually hates that you have witnessed this side of him. Jungkook’s dark part is, in fact, really dark and violent but it’s not the real him. The real him is the one he is with you: a loving husband. 

When he is sure you’re okay, physically at least, he knees down to rummage in Jackson’s pockets. He almost shouts of joy when he finds his key room. At that exact moment, the elevator doors opens and he grabs your hand to guide you towards the room. He presses the magnetic card on the knob and carefully enters. He makes sure it’s empty before pulling you in. 

“Can you explain what’s going on?”

“Not right now, but I promise” Jungkook kisses your forehead and starts searching the room. He checks the desk, the wardrobe, the bed, the bathroom but, as he expected, no clue. He sighs and runs his bruised inked hand in his raven hair. 

“What are you looking for?” You ask

“A phone. Or computer, something electronic” He answers as he turns around to think about where it could be

“Did you check the headboard?” 

Your husband looks at you with awe eyes and he swears he loves you even more. He listens to you and, as always, you were right. A phone was indeed hidden behind the headboard. He makes sure to turn it off and you leave the room. 

—————

"Can you explain now?" You grow frustrated in Jungkook’s car 

Your husband sighs and makes his raven hair messier with his hand. You know it means he is deeply in thoughts. Several reasons explain why Jungkook has secrets: first, it’s the normal protocol. Second, he loves you and he is afraid you’ll see him differently. He is afraid you’ll run away. However, since you found out his phone and believed he was cheating on you, he has already begun to loose you. The night you spent at your friend’s almost killed him. 

"I can’t tell you much" He finally says

"Why did you punch Jackson? And where did you learn to fight like that? Did you take boxing classes?" Your questions are as confused as you are

Your husband was a completely different person in this elevator and you’re not sure you liked who he was. You fell in love with an ever so sweet man who told you that he didn’t like conflict and who always stops people from fighting when they’re angry. And now he is throwing punches at strangers?

"Didn’t you see he was trying to kill me? What was I supposed to do?"

"But why would he do that?! It doesn’t make any sense, you’re a good husband, a good neighbor and a good architect"

You watch Jungkook’s fists tighten on the wheel, the knuckles turning white despite their bruises. His gaze is desperately on the road and you know he is avoiding your eyes. Something’s off…

"You’re… an architect, right?" Your voice is low and unsure, almost a whisper 

Jungkook’s silence is a confession. 

"Oh my god! You lied to me"

"I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you the truth" He tries to take your hand but you resist

"Stop the car"

"No, listen to me—"

"Stop the freaking car!" You yell 

"We’re on the fucking freeway, I can’t stop the car!" 

You can’t believe that Jungkook lied to you about his job! For four years you’ve known him! How could he do that? He goes to work every morning and you ask about his day and he tells you lies every single day! 

"So, what’s your job?" You question, arms crossed on your chest which makes your husband’s heart squeeze because you only do that when you’re deeply disappointed 

"I can’t tell you" He looks at you but you don’t so he continues with his usual soft voice that you would like to hate right now "I’m not an architect, my job is… a little more physical"

"Do you have other lies? Please tell me because I’m not sure I can handle other secrets later"

Your eyes are full of tears now. Your life is a whole mess and it only took 24 hours to become one. You’re tired, you’re sad, you’re scared and the adrenaline rush has disappeared, leaving you in a very fragile mindset. Honestly, you’re close to a mental breakdown. 

Jungkook winces, he has a lot of secrets. But he knows that you need to know, maybe not all of them but some parts. 

"I lost my parents when I was 10" He drops the bomb

"But, they were at our wedding…" You respond, completely shocked 

"I hired actors" He confesses, leaving your mouth open in astonishment

Well, it was suspicious that you got so well with your mother-in-law and that she didn’t insist to spend Christmas with you… 

"What else?" You ask after a few silent seconds but you’re not sure you can take it, it’s like your whole life is lie or more exactly your husband’s life is a lie 

"I have guns"

"What?!’ You look at him, baffled ‘In our house?"

Jungkook nods. What the hell? You don’t even know what you say anymore. This is insane. It must be some kind of joke or prank or something. 

"Are we married? Like legally married or this is just another big lie?"

"What? Of course we’re married! I didn’t lie when I asked you to marry me and I don’t lie when I say I love you, baby" You hate that you love how his voice gets more gentle when he says that

In this hurricane, your husband’s words soothe everything. It’s like if he loves you, then nothing else matters. He grabs your hand and this time, you don’t take it away. Jungkook leads your left hand to his face and kisses your wedding ring, maybe the only true thing in his life. Two days ago, you were dead certain you knew everything about your husband but right now, he looks like a complete stranger. 

Jungkook parks the car in your house’s alley. You don’t leave the car just yet and look at your home. It’s the perfect one: three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a huge kitchen, an office for your husband — but you don’t know why now — and a cute garden with a lot of flowers. Everything is perfect, your life with your husband in it is perfect. But it’s a big lie. There are freaking guns hidden in your own home and you didn’t even know! Oh my god, what if you had children and they found them and get hurt? 

"I have to do some stuff in my office but I promise that you can ask all of the questions you want after that, okay baby?" Jungkook says in your entryway that usually make your friends jealous

Jungkook is looking straight into your eyes and you can’t help loving his doe eyes, even though they’re a little more worried than normally. You nod and your husband kisses your forehead. It’s not like usual, it’s longer and deeper, like he was afraid it was the last time. To be true, Jungkook is terrified that he’ll loose you. You’re the only good thing in his life and he loves you more than anything. It was love at first sight, and the way your stress made you do and say embarrassing things — as much as you thought he’ll just run away in the middle of your first date — made him in fall in love with you. Ever since then, he has been down on his knees for you and he won’t ever be able to stand up. 

He heads to his office and grabs the phone that started all this mess. He dials a number he knows well before an electronic voice asks him to identify himself. 

"Osmium 1-3-0-6" 

Some ring tone echoes his Jungkook’s ear as he is waiting for someone to take the call. A familiar female voice starts speaking. 

"Osmium 1-3-0-6, your mission has just begun, I doubt it’s already over"

"I had a problem" Jungkook winces when he remembers Jackson holding your hand, anger boiling in his veins 

"What kind of problem?" The operator asks quite unfazed, it’s not like she didn’t know Jungkook and he has the tendency to have, or create himself, problems 

"An agent, not ours. I took his phone, I send you his electronic chip, possibly encrypted and dangerous" Jungkook pursues as he grabs his computer and inserts the chip in his devise